Session 23 (Part One)
Rescue Mission!
A chill north wind twirled Rowan’s cloak about his lean frame as he stomped into Nan’s Tavern, leaving a muddy wake. “He’s gone…the gate guard said he departed to the west and north before first light.”
Quintus cursed under his breath as the weary ranger slumped into a chair and pawed half-heartedly at some day-old bread. “Impetuous idiot! He knew we were going after them…all I asked for was six hours to refit and learn what we could.”
Sextus strummed a soothing note on his hand harp. “Peace, brother. His son was among those taken. Would we be so cautious if one of our sisters was among the captives?”
Quintus opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, giving the bard a quick nod instead. Rowan glanced towards one of the shattered shutters of the inn. “Osirian’s Eye will be rising soon, perhaps we should be off before our young Brigante companion gets himself into too much trouble.”
The sorcerer glanced at Cragen, who shrugged, finished the half-empty tankard of ale that sufficed for his breakfast and rose with a creak of his war harness. “Aye…let’s be off…there be foul necromancers to send to their eternal damnation.”
The elder Scipio suppressed a wane smile. “Very well. We shall meet at the south gate in one-quarter turn of the hourglass.”
The rising sun did little to ward them from the chill wind. Rowan rose from the jumble of tracks, absently rubbing a piece of torn loam between his fingers. “Even Cragen could follow this trail…and it takes us to familiar ground. Unless I miss my mark, we are bound for the sixth mine trace.”
Sextus rolled his eyes. “Lovely, kobolds and traps.”
Quintus looked skyward and closed his eyes. The sorcerer’s temples pulsed as he communicated with Severus, who wheeled above in great, lazy circles. “He notices nothing untoward, although I am competing with many hares and field mice for his attention today.”
Cragen laughed and slapped the Quintus on the shoulder, staggering him. “Hah! Tell that bird ta bring us a few then, for a bit of rabbit stew.”
Quintus suppressed a grin at the dwarf’s hearty spirit. Despite his initial misgivings about the walking legend, Cragen was proving to be a stalwart companion.
(DM’s Note: When Cragen was introduced to the party, Quintus, caught up in the confusion of Brother Lew’s “Ascension” and Sextus’s death and rebirth, almost put a crossbow bolt through Cragen’s eye!)
Their path did indeed lead into the sixth mine trace. Dried bits of flesh and the occasional rotting finger bone marked the path through the mine. Mangled zombie skeletons and crushed skeletal remains revealed several sprung kobold traps, but the diminutive creatures were not in evidence. “Hiding in their holes,” growled Rowan, “good for them.”
The party held a quick parley and decided to hobble their mounts several bowshots from the mine entrance. “We won’t tie them off,” said Rowan, “That way, they will at least have a fighting chance if the kobolds try to eat them.” Quintus looked over his shoulder as they moved away from the horses, mentally calculating the small fortune they were probably leaving behind for kobold dinner tables. He sighed as they re-entered the mine and rock closed in above them.
The trail ended before a concealed door the party had discovered before in one of the mining pits. They cautiously passed through the portal and into the dry underground riverbed beyond. Cragen busied himself tapping on the rock while humming a bit, clearly glad to be back underground. The detritus of the undead army spread north along the smooth passage. With silent shrugs of assent, the companions followed, wary and watchful. Quintus, Sextus and Cragen made use of magical light to avoid stumbling blindly around in the dark. They continued to push on until Cragen called a halt.
“It is evening above…Moradin needs to hear my prayers.”
They settled in for a long, uncomfortable rest on the stone, each keeping his own counsel. Darkness greeted them, cold and silent as they rose and continued. A turn of the hourglass into their march, Rowan called a halt as the faint sound of water on stone reached his keen ears. They closed ranks and advanced with caution to find a rough-hewn landing and storage area. Debris from rotted crates and barrels graced the perimeter of the walls, but several crude wooden dugout canoes bobbed fitfully in a stream of water that seemed to appear from no where.
Cragen sank to his knees and began tapping on the stone near the stream’s edge. He grunted and stood after a few grains. “Underground river. It may have followed the dry course we have been in until now, but it flows beneath it now, only to emerge here. Shall we follow?” He eyed the unstable looking canoes warily.
Quintus glanced at Rowan. The ranger shrugged, then nodded, “That is the path.”
A quarter turn of the hourglass later, they were poling their way along the underground steam, heading into the dark unknown.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 23 (Part Two) – Death’s House
Enjoy
!
~ Old One
Rescue Mission!
A chill north wind twirled Rowan’s cloak about his lean frame as he stomped into Nan’s Tavern, leaving a muddy wake. “He’s gone…the gate guard said he departed to the west and north before first light.”
Quintus cursed under his breath as the weary ranger slumped into a chair and pawed half-heartedly at some day-old bread. “Impetuous idiot! He knew we were going after them…all I asked for was six hours to refit and learn what we could.”
Sextus strummed a soothing note on his hand harp. “Peace, brother. His son was among those taken. Would we be so cautious if one of our sisters was among the captives?”
Quintus opened his mouth and quickly shut it again, giving the bard a quick nod instead. Rowan glanced towards one of the shattered shutters of the inn. “Osirian’s Eye will be rising soon, perhaps we should be off before our young Brigante companion gets himself into too much trouble.”
The sorcerer glanced at Cragen, who shrugged, finished the half-empty tankard of ale that sufficed for his breakfast and rose with a creak of his war harness. “Aye…let’s be off…there be foul necromancers to send to their eternal damnation.”
The elder Scipio suppressed a wane smile. “Very well. We shall meet at the south gate in one-quarter turn of the hourglass.”
The rising sun did little to ward them from the chill wind. Rowan rose from the jumble of tracks, absently rubbing a piece of torn loam between his fingers. “Even Cragen could follow this trail…and it takes us to familiar ground. Unless I miss my mark, we are bound for the sixth mine trace.”
Sextus rolled his eyes. “Lovely, kobolds and traps.”
Quintus looked skyward and closed his eyes. The sorcerer’s temples pulsed as he communicated with Severus, who wheeled above in great, lazy circles. “He notices nothing untoward, although I am competing with many hares and field mice for his attention today.”
Cragen laughed and slapped the Quintus on the shoulder, staggering him. “Hah! Tell that bird ta bring us a few then, for a bit of rabbit stew.”
Quintus suppressed a grin at the dwarf’s hearty spirit. Despite his initial misgivings about the walking legend, Cragen was proving to be a stalwart companion.
(DM’s Note: When Cragen was introduced to the party, Quintus, caught up in the confusion of Brother Lew’s “Ascension” and Sextus’s death and rebirth, almost put a crossbow bolt through Cragen’s eye!)
Their path did indeed lead into the sixth mine trace. Dried bits of flesh and the occasional rotting finger bone marked the path through the mine. Mangled zombie skeletons and crushed skeletal remains revealed several sprung kobold traps, but the diminutive creatures were not in evidence. “Hiding in their holes,” growled Rowan, “good for them.”
The party held a quick parley and decided to hobble their mounts several bowshots from the mine entrance. “We won’t tie them off,” said Rowan, “That way, they will at least have a fighting chance if the kobolds try to eat them.” Quintus looked over his shoulder as they moved away from the horses, mentally calculating the small fortune they were probably leaving behind for kobold dinner tables. He sighed as they re-entered the mine and rock closed in above them.
The trail ended before a concealed door the party had discovered before in one of the mining pits. They cautiously passed through the portal and into the dry underground riverbed beyond. Cragen busied himself tapping on the rock while humming a bit, clearly glad to be back underground. The detritus of the undead army spread north along the smooth passage. With silent shrugs of assent, the companions followed, wary and watchful. Quintus, Sextus and Cragen made use of magical light to avoid stumbling blindly around in the dark. They continued to push on until Cragen called a halt.
“It is evening above…Moradin needs to hear my prayers.”
They settled in for a long, uncomfortable rest on the stone, each keeping his own counsel. Darkness greeted them, cold and silent as they rose and continued. A turn of the hourglass into their march, Rowan called a halt as the faint sound of water on stone reached his keen ears. They closed ranks and advanced with caution to find a rough-hewn landing and storage area. Debris from rotted crates and barrels graced the perimeter of the walls, but several crude wooden dugout canoes bobbed fitfully in a stream of water that seemed to appear from no where.
Cragen sank to his knees and began tapping on the stone near the stream’s edge. He grunted and stood after a few grains. “Underground river. It may have followed the dry course we have been in until now, but it flows beneath it now, only to emerge here. Shall we follow?” He eyed the unstable looking canoes warily.
Quintus glanced at Rowan. The ranger shrugged, then nodded, “That is the path.”
A quarter turn of the hourglass later, they were poling their way along the underground steam, heading into the dark unknown.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 23 (Part Two) – Death’s House
Enjoy
!~ Old One
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