Peteinmaine
First Post
at least...
until Seth starts playing......
until Seth starts playing......
Barrow of the Forgotten Story Hour - Complete! 8/13/08
mundinironhand
First Post
why do you think i want him to be a paladin huh? its the only way i'm safe
Bootsy – 4th Level Gnome Sorcerer.
Celtir – 4th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 4th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 3rd Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 3rd Level Aasimar Incarnate (LA buyoff as per UA).
“With this, I consider my debt to you, for the death of the Tomb Spider, paid in full.” Sigur had agreed to ferry the companions to the top of his water fall and then return them to the tomb once they had restocked their depleted supplies in town.
“We thank you for all your help in this, it will make things easier for us when we finally confront the tomb robbers,” Celtir said as he clasped hands with the fey.
With them was Tristan. A human paladin they had met back at the Coronet and Cabbage, who had heard of the companions and their quest to eradicate the evil within the tomb while he was staying at the Inn. Despite what he had heard, he was eager to help and had offered to join their quest. Glad to have an additional sword arm, the companions welcomed him into their ranks.
Turning back to the task at hand, they made their way back to the series of rooms where they had seen the visions of the forgotten king and his retinue. After some debate, they decided to carefully inspect the mirror room. In truth, Bootsy was loath to leave any treasure unpilfered, no matter the risk.
Opening the door, Celtir averted his eyes, staring only at the floor at his feet. Moving carefully into the room, he approached the first sarcophagus. His first order of business was to pry the gems from the eyes on the face carved into the stone lid. The jeweler in town had mentioned that all the rubies from the sarcophagi in the other room were flawed and it seemed these were of equal quality. After stowing the gems, he spent the next few minutes trying to pry off the lid. Finally, in exasperation, he called for Frankie to come in and help as well.
Frankie approached, also keeping his eyes on the floor at his feet and finally the two of them together were able to remove the lid. Within was a desiccated corpse, wrapped in a burial shroud. Taking his dagger Celtir carefully cut away the wrappings to inspect what lie beneath. There was nothing but the emaciated corpse.
As they moved to the next sarcophagus to repeat the procedure, Bootsy’s impatience finally won out. Closing his eyes, he carefully made his way down the stairs and over to the third sarcophagus. There, using only his hands to guide him, he went about removing the gems from the lid of the sarcophagus. After a false start, chipping away at the nose for a few moments, he was finally successful.
He repeated this procedure with the next sarcophagus and finished just as Frankie and Celtir finished inspecting the contents of the second sarcophagus. Believing there was nothing more to be found, they all carefully left the room.
Once they were safely out in the hall there was a brief discussion concerning the mirror. Finally, his frustration getting the better of him, Bootsy went to the room where they had fought the two undead creatures and collected some stone from the broken sarcophagus lids. Closing his eyes, he asked Frankie to open the door to the mirror room. Facing the general direction of the mirror, his first throw was too high, bouncing off the wall above the mirror. His second throw was spot on, the clang of the stone striking the glass echoed throughout the chamber.
Bootsy turned to his companions, “That’s how a gnome casts Detect Magic on a mirror. Since I didn’t hear no breakin’ glass, it’s magic and as we all know, contrary to the fairy tales your mum’s told ya’, there’s no such thing as a beneficial magic mirror. Let’s move on.”
As they stepped off the next set of stairs, the room filled with images as had the others. They saw the same hill, covered with snow. Bloodstains clashed with the mud and frost. The blond king had fallen to one knee, his left arm hanging useless by his side. Bestial humanoids surrounded him as he caressed the cheek of the red-haired woman lying mortally wounded before him. Behind the king stood the raven haired knight, his silver armor stained with blood and his eyes wild with triumph, wrath and greed. He held the kings crown aloft with one hand as his curved blade sliced down at the king with the other. As the image faded, the dim light revealed a plain stone door to the east.
Beyond, a soft light illuminated the corridor from no single point. The north and south wall of the corridor had more of the intricate designs they had seen throughout this part of the tomb. There was no dust, no webs, no sign whatsoever of age or weathering. The passage turned to the north up ahead.
Curious about the cleanliness of the tomb, Bootsy removed some dirt from a pouch and sprinkled it about the floor before him. The only reaction was from Frankie.
“You carry a pouch full of dirt?” He asked with a look of disbelief.
Bootsy just returned the look, “Are you saying you don’t?”
The others just shook their heads and smiled as they continued on.
Around the corner, smooth stone stairs descended to the north. The ceiling stayed at the same height as the corridor, despite the decent. At the bottom, purple curtains that glittered with gold tracery covered tall openings to the west and east. On the wall facing the base of the stair was a huge painting that depicted a tall, dark-haired man sitting on an opulent throne. He wore a golden crown and a dark frown.
“The Betrayer,” Bootsy spat. “Or your mothers a gnome.”
“But my…,” Frankie started.
“That’s what I’m sayin’, it’s The Betrayer!”
“Right.”
Wencis moved the western curtain aside. Beyond was a patterned floor and marble walls that gleamed with magical light. They appeared polished and unmarked by age. To the northwest was a statue of a mounted warrior. A narrow passage opened eastward along the north wall.
Tristan opened the curtain to the east. The room was similar, with glossy floors and walls that shone with magical light, only this room was much larger. To the southeast was another statue of a mounted warrior, the horse’s hooves kicking in the air. North of the statue along the eastern wall were two iron coffers. A large dais and jewel encrusted throne were set against the north wall. Bootsy’s eyes locked on the jeweled throne and his jaw dropped. He didn’t really notice that sitting on the throne was a handsome, clean-shaven man with a powerful build, his raven locks spilling from beneath a golden crown onto the pauldrons of his fine plate armor and violet cloak. Sheathed blades leaned on either side of his fine chair.
The paladin concentrated for a moment. “He’s evil.”
Almost immediately after this announcement, the figure opened its dark eyes and frowned, “Who would disturb the rest of the king?”
Celtir, always the diplomat, stepped forward. “We seek the tomb robbers we have been pursuing, though we have lost their trail. Have you seen them?”
“I have seen no-one,” he answered in a deep voice. He looked Celtir over, top to bottom. “You are an elf. Tell me Elf, what news is there of the lands above?”
“This region has known only peace for many years now, the bonds of an ancient treaty protecting this land.”
A look of disgust passed quickly over the man’s face, “And your lands?”
“The Elven lands are mostly peaceful, though we fight occasional humanoid incursions from the wild lands to the north. Who are you?”
The dark knight’s voice grew louder, “I sit here, in this place, on this throne and you dare to ask who I am? I will show you who I am!”
At this the man leapt to his feet, drew his blades and descended from the dais. As he did, the bejeweled throne faded to a plain stone seat and Bootsy let out a cry of anguish. The man’s hair withdrew under the crown and his skin turned gray and ran, revealing bone and muscles beneath. His armor sagged and corroded, seemingly grafting itself to his distended flesh along with the crown, which lost all luster. His lidless eyes burned with madness.
“How dare you come here and question me!” he howled. “Now you shall share my pain! Knights, to arms!”
The statue of the mounted figure in the corner changed to reveal a lance bearing skeleton warrior atop a skeletal horse. A clatter from the western passage suggested more trouble was on the way.
Charging forward, Frankie confronted The Betrayer, his axe cleaving through the armor that was grafted to his body. The Betrayer struck back, slashing him with his bastard sword and following up with a punch to the face. Frankie’s skin seemed to distend and detach, almost starting to look like he might come to resemble The Betrayer’s withered features. Frankie seemed unconcerned by this and continued his assault.
Drawing his bow, Celtir drew a bead on The Betrayer. His attention focused on him, he did not see the mounted skeleton charging down on him immediately. At the last moment, he saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and tried to dodge, but the undead creatures lance pierced deep into his side, knocking him back and causing his shot to fly wide of its mark.
The other knight rode up to Wencis on the other side of the room. Unable to charge with his lance, the skeleton drew a longsword and slashed down at him. Wencis met the blade with his shield and struck back with his mystical hammer, chipping bone from the large beast. Energy from his Soul Spark burned at the creature as well.
Bootsy cast one of his latest spells. A fiery ray struck the knight that had charged Celtir, hitting it almost exactly dead center, where horse met rider. Tristan charged forth, hoping to finish the undead abomination with his war mace. His mace struck true, sending still-smoking bones flying, but the horse and rider still stood.
The Betrayer and a raging Frankie stood toe to toe. Frankie traded blow for blow time and again with the creature before him. He knew if something didn’t change, he would not be able to outlast the abomination. Glancing up briefly The Betrayer looked to Celtir who stood close to the paladin and shouted “Betrayer!” Celtir felt a wave of magic wash over him, but resisted its effects.
Celtir took a defensive stance and started to cast a spell, but was unable to maintain concentration with the mounted knight and his steed striking at him.
The other knight was having a hard time piercing Wencis’ heavy armor, though the skeletal mount was able to sink his teeth into his shield arm. Ignoring the welts on his arm, Wencis and his Soul Spark reduced both rider and mount to a big pile of bones. As the bones clattered to the ground, Wencis ran to the east to help with the other skeleton, followed closely by his Soul Spark.
Bootsy got there first. Tristan was a little surprised to see a small unarmored gnome run up and strike at the large skeleton. He was even more surprised to see him land a solid hit, smashing bone from one of the legs of the horse.
Seeing this skeletal creature surrounded by attackers, the paladin ran to help the dwarf. As he arrived, The Betrayer once again shouted, “Betrayer!” while looking at the dwarf this time. Frankie, unable to control himself, struck the paladin a solid blow. The Betrayer followed this up with two deep strikes, one from his large bastard sword, and the other from a short sword. Frankie fell to the ground bleeding heavily.
Wencis and his Soul Spark attacked the remaining skeletal knight, the energy of the Soul Spark burning it deeply. Bootsy moved to the side looking for an opening and then cast forth a sheet of flame over the skeleton. All that was left was a pile of smoking bones.
Concern for Frankie’s life driving his blow, Tristan slammed his war mace down onto The Betrayers head, crushing his skull and driving its armored helm into its cadaverous body. The Betrayer fell to the floor, his evil life finally ended once and for all.
Moving quickly, the paladin and Celtir converged on Frankie to heal his wounds.
Wencis moved to the open the coffers and found them filled with coin and jewelry. Bootsy, still devastated by the transformation of the throne from jeweled to plain, moved up to it. Running his hands over it, he ignored the misgivings of the others and climbed into the seat. He shook his head in sorrow and whispered, “Tis naught but stone.”
Celtir – 4th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 4th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 3rd Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 3rd Level Aasimar Incarnate (LA buyoff as per UA).
Betrayers and Kings Part 1
“With this, I consider my debt to you, for the death of the Tomb Spider, paid in full.” Sigur had agreed to ferry the companions to the top of his water fall and then return them to the tomb once they had restocked their depleted supplies in town.
“We thank you for all your help in this, it will make things easier for us when we finally confront the tomb robbers,” Celtir said as he clasped hands with the fey.
With them was Tristan. A human paladin they had met back at the Coronet and Cabbage, who had heard of the companions and their quest to eradicate the evil within the tomb while he was staying at the Inn. Despite what he had heard, he was eager to help and had offered to join their quest. Glad to have an additional sword arm, the companions welcomed him into their ranks.
Turning back to the task at hand, they made their way back to the series of rooms where they had seen the visions of the forgotten king and his retinue. After some debate, they decided to carefully inspect the mirror room. In truth, Bootsy was loath to leave any treasure unpilfered, no matter the risk.
Opening the door, Celtir averted his eyes, staring only at the floor at his feet. Moving carefully into the room, he approached the first sarcophagus. His first order of business was to pry the gems from the eyes on the face carved into the stone lid. The jeweler in town had mentioned that all the rubies from the sarcophagi in the other room were flawed and it seemed these were of equal quality. After stowing the gems, he spent the next few minutes trying to pry off the lid. Finally, in exasperation, he called for Frankie to come in and help as well.
Frankie approached, also keeping his eyes on the floor at his feet and finally the two of them together were able to remove the lid. Within was a desiccated corpse, wrapped in a burial shroud. Taking his dagger Celtir carefully cut away the wrappings to inspect what lie beneath. There was nothing but the emaciated corpse.
As they moved to the next sarcophagus to repeat the procedure, Bootsy’s impatience finally won out. Closing his eyes, he carefully made his way down the stairs and over to the third sarcophagus. There, using only his hands to guide him, he went about removing the gems from the lid of the sarcophagus. After a false start, chipping away at the nose for a few moments, he was finally successful.
He repeated this procedure with the next sarcophagus and finished just as Frankie and Celtir finished inspecting the contents of the second sarcophagus. Believing there was nothing more to be found, they all carefully left the room.
Once they were safely out in the hall there was a brief discussion concerning the mirror. Finally, his frustration getting the better of him, Bootsy went to the room where they had fought the two undead creatures and collected some stone from the broken sarcophagus lids. Closing his eyes, he asked Frankie to open the door to the mirror room. Facing the general direction of the mirror, his first throw was too high, bouncing off the wall above the mirror. His second throw was spot on, the clang of the stone striking the glass echoed throughout the chamber.
Bootsy turned to his companions, “That’s how a gnome casts Detect Magic on a mirror. Since I didn’t hear no breakin’ glass, it’s magic and as we all know, contrary to the fairy tales your mum’s told ya’, there’s no such thing as a beneficial magic mirror. Let’s move on.”
As they stepped off the next set of stairs, the room filled with images as had the others. They saw the same hill, covered with snow. Bloodstains clashed with the mud and frost. The blond king had fallen to one knee, his left arm hanging useless by his side. Bestial humanoids surrounded him as he caressed the cheek of the red-haired woman lying mortally wounded before him. Behind the king stood the raven haired knight, his silver armor stained with blood and his eyes wild with triumph, wrath and greed. He held the kings crown aloft with one hand as his curved blade sliced down at the king with the other. As the image faded, the dim light revealed a plain stone door to the east.
Beyond, a soft light illuminated the corridor from no single point. The north and south wall of the corridor had more of the intricate designs they had seen throughout this part of the tomb. There was no dust, no webs, no sign whatsoever of age or weathering. The passage turned to the north up ahead.
Curious about the cleanliness of the tomb, Bootsy removed some dirt from a pouch and sprinkled it about the floor before him. The only reaction was from Frankie.
“You carry a pouch full of dirt?” He asked with a look of disbelief.
Bootsy just returned the look, “Are you saying you don’t?”
The others just shook their heads and smiled as they continued on.
Around the corner, smooth stone stairs descended to the north. The ceiling stayed at the same height as the corridor, despite the decent. At the bottom, purple curtains that glittered with gold tracery covered tall openings to the west and east. On the wall facing the base of the stair was a huge painting that depicted a tall, dark-haired man sitting on an opulent throne. He wore a golden crown and a dark frown.
“The Betrayer,” Bootsy spat. “Or your mothers a gnome.”
“But my…,” Frankie started.
“That’s what I’m sayin’, it’s The Betrayer!”
“Right.”
Wencis moved the western curtain aside. Beyond was a patterned floor and marble walls that gleamed with magical light. They appeared polished and unmarked by age. To the northwest was a statue of a mounted warrior. A narrow passage opened eastward along the north wall.
Tristan opened the curtain to the east. The room was similar, with glossy floors and walls that shone with magical light, only this room was much larger. To the southeast was another statue of a mounted warrior, the horse’s hooves kicking in the air. North of the statue along the eastern wall were two iron coffers. A large dais and jewel encrusted throne were set against the north wall. Bootsy’s eyes locked on the jeweled throne and his jaw dropped. He didn’t really notice that sitting on the throne was a handsome, clean-shaven man with a powerful build, his raven locks spilling from beneath a golden crown onto the pauldrons of his fine plate armor and violet cloak. Sheathed blades leaned on either side of his fine chair.
The paladin concentrated for a moment. “He’s evil.”
Almost immediately after this announcement, the figure opened its dark eyes and frowned, “Who would disturb the rest of the king?”
Celtir, always the diplomat, stepped forward. “We seek the tomb robbers we have been pursuing, though we have lost their trail. Have you seen them?”
“I have seen no-one,” he answered in a deep voice. He looked Celtir over, top to bottom. “You are an elf. Tell me Elf, what news is there of the lands above?”
“This region has known only peace for many years now, the bonds of an ancient treaty protecting this land.”
A look of disgust passed quickly over the man’s face, “And your lands?”
“The Elven lands are mostly peaceful, though we fight occasional humanoid incursions from the wild lands to the north. Who are you?”
The dark knight’s voice grew louder, “I sit here, in this place, on this throne and you dare to ask who I am? I will show you who I am!”
At this the man leapt to his feet, drew his blades and descended from the dais. As he did, the bejeweled throne faded to a plain stone seat and Bootsy let out a cry of anguish. The man’s hair withdrew under the crown and his skin turned gray and ran, revealing bone and muscles beneath. His armor sagged and corroded, seemingly grafting itself to his distended flesh along with the crown, which lost all luster. His lidless eyes burned with madness.
“How dare you come here and question me!” he howled. “Now you shall share my pain! Knights, to arms!”
The statue of the mounted figure in the corner changed to reveal a lance bearing skeleton warrior atop a skeletal horse. A clatter from the western passage suggested more trouble was on the way.
Charging forward, Frankie confronted The Betrayer, his axe cleaving through the armor that was grafted to his body. The Betrayer struck back, slashing him with his bastard sword and following up with a punch to the face. Frankie’s skin seemed to distend and detach, almost starting to look like he might come to resemble The Betrayer’s withered features. Frankie seemed unconcerned by this and continued his assault.
Drawing his bow, Celtir drew a bead on The Betrayer. His attention focused on him, he did not see the mounted skeleton charging down on him immediately. At the last moment, he saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and tried to dodge, but the undead creatures lance pierced deep into his side, knocking him back and causing his shot to fly wide of its mark.
The other knight rode up to Wencis on the other side of the room. Unable to charge with his lance, the skeleton drew a longsword and slashed down at him. Wencis met the blade with his shield and struck back with his mystical hammer, chipping bone from the large beast. Energy from his Soul Spark burned at the creature as well.
Bootsy cast one of his latest spells. A fiery ray struck the knight that had charged Celtir, hitting it almost exactly dead center, where horse met rider. Tristan charged forth, hoping to finish the undead abomination with his war mace. His mace struck true, sending still-smoking bones flying, but the horse and rider still stood.
The Betrayer and a raging Frankie stood toe to toe. Frankie traded blow for blow time and again with the creature before him. He knew if something didn’t change, he would not be able to outlast the abomination. Glancing up briefly The Betrayer looked to Celtir who stood close to the paladin and shouted “Betrayer!” Celtir felt a wave of magic wash over him, but resisted its effects.
Celtir took a defensive stance and started to cast a spell, but was unable to maintain concentration with the mounted knight and his steed striking at him.
The other knight was having a hard time piercing Wencis’ heavy armor, though the skeletal mount was able to sink his teeth into his shield arm. Ignoring the welts on his arm, Wencis and his Soul Spark reduced both rider and mount to a big pile of bones. As the bones clattered to the ground, Wencis ran to the east to help with the other skeleton, followed closely by his Soul Spark.
Bootsy got there first. Tristan was a little surprised to see a small unarmored gnome run up and strike at the large skeleton. He was even more surprised to see him land a solid hit, smashing bone from one of the legs of the horse.
Seeing this skeletal creature surrounded by attackers, the paladin ran to help the dwarf. As he arrived, The Betrayer once again shouted, “Betrayer!” while looking at the dwarf this time. Frankie, unable to control himself, struck the paladin a solid blow. The Betrayer followed this up with two deep strikes, one from his large bastard sword, and the other from a short sword. Frankie fell to the ground bleeding heavily.
Wencis and his Soul Spark attacked the remaining skeletal knight, the energy of the Soul Spark burning it deeply. Bootsy moved to the side looking for an opening and then cast forth a sheet of flame over the skeleton. All that was left was a pile of smoking bones.
Concern for Frankie’s life driving his blow, Tristan slammed his war mace down onto The Betrayers head, crushing his skull and driving its armored helm into its cadaverous body. The Betrayer fell to the floor, his evil life finally ended once and for all.
Moving quickly, the paladin and Celtir converged on Frankie to heal his wounds.
Wencis moved to the open the coffers and found them filled with coin and jewelry. Bootsy, still devastated by the transformation of the throne from jeweled to plain, moved up to it. Running his hands over it, he ignored the misgivings of the others and climbed into the seat. He shook his head in sorrow and whispered, “Tis naught but stone.”
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Betrayers and Kings Part 2
As the others gathered up what they could, Celtir walked around the large section of stone that occupied the space between the two sides of the room and the corridors.
Approaching a point on the western side, he heard what sounded like metal striking stone. Moving closer, he inspected the wall, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. Knowing dwarves and their uncanny knowledge of stonework, he called Frankie over.
Searching diligently, Frankie finally found the outline of a door. Running his hand over its surface until he felt he had just the right spot, he pushed and the door swung open.
A tight stairway descended to a landing below. Between sharp ringing reports that must have been a metal tool on stone, he heard shouting in a guttural tone. They moved down the stairs as quietly as they could but each step seemed to echo within the stone stairwell.
Finally the narrow stair gave way to a wide room lit by a faint white light.
Four statues stood within, each apparently ensorcelled to add a lifelike aspect to it. One represented a tall human male with a salt and pepper beard and a symbol of Heironeous emblazoned on his shield. His brown eyes flashed and his brown hair blew in an illusory wind. Another showed a female elf dressed in armor made from overlapping metal leaves. Her tall bow was made of ivory and the green of her cloak seemed to blend into the background of the room. She crouched in a hunter’s stance, peering off into the distance at some unseen target. The red-haired woman from the paintings was depicted in the third statue. Her hair, kept in check by a silver circlet set with a gleaming diamond, fell in waves down her back, over her white and gold robes. In one hand, she held a staff tipped with a dragon’s head. Her other hand stretched out to the statue across the room – a kingly figure. The gold crown on his head nearly blended into his blond, flowing hair. The man’s blue eyes shimmered in the dim light as he stared across the room at the red-haired woman. He held a black longsword point downward in one hand. The other hand was held out, palm upward, toward the statue of the woman.
Beyond the statues, sarcophagi along the southern wall had been wrenched open, their lids cast to one side. Around a corner in the eastern part of the room came the sound of shouting and ringing.
Bootsy checked his crossbow and then held up a fist. Slowly, at about one second intervals, he raised his fingers. One. Two. Three.
He leapt into the chamber with Celtir close at his heels. Around the corner he saw two more thoughtlessly opened sarcophagi. Here also, was a male Hobgoblin in half-plate, his black hair shorn close to his scalp, swinging a pick at the floor. Nearby stood a slight but imposing man in rich violet robes, reptilian scales on his forehead and bald pate, as well as his bright yellow eyes marked him as not quite Human. He had just enough time to look at Bootsy and sputter, “Fools! You’ll ruin everything!” Bootsy let fly with his bolt, but the shot went wide, striking the wall behind Xernon.
Celtir ran to the far side of the room taking cover behind one of the sarcophagi and fired an arrow into the Hobgoblin’s shoulder, eliciting a snarl. Xernon threw what appeared to be a dark stone that landed next to Bootsy. It shattered and a serpent-like creature formed out of the smoke that issued forth. It had a snake-like body and two arms that ended in long claws. Its mouth was full of sharp teeth, two extra long fangs on either side.
Frankie sliced into it with his great axe almost as soon as it appeared. Bootsy, maneuvering himself to the best position he could find cast forth another sheet of flames, badly burning the creature. Tristan stepped forward, swinging with his mace, but the serpent darted out of the way.
Wencis and his Soul Spark ran up to the Hobgoblin and both slammed the creature with hammer and soul energy.
Celtir continued to pepper the Hobgoblin with arrows. The creature, finding it self suffering from multiple wounds, drank down a potion that seemed to stop the most significant bleeding.
Xernon cast and pointed at Wencis, whose heart filled with fear and dread. He started to run back, but stepping close to the paladin, he felt the fear lessen and was able to stand his ground.
Frankie continued to slash at the serpent, which bled freely from a number of wounds. Bootsy drew his small mace and landed a solid blow as well. Surprised once again by the unarmored gnomes attack, the paladins mace missed its mark. Seeing the paladin’s confused look Wencis called out, “See what we have to deal with? A sorcerer who thinks he’s a warrior.”
A sparkling ray lanced from Xernon’s finger, striking Frankie in the back. His muscles sagged and his great axe felt heavy in his hands. Growing angry, he loosed his battle rage and felt some of his strength return and he slashed the serpent once more, neatly slicing it in half and it dissolved once again into the smoke that had formed it.
Celtir turned his attention to Xernon, grazing him with an arrow.
Everyone else turned their attention to the next creature in line. The Hobgoblin cringed as the companions converged on him and cut him down.
As he saw the last of his defenders fall, Xernon cursed the companions and cast another spell, this time pointing at Celtir. A yellow arrow streaked from his finger and Celtir felt acid burn his flesh where it hit. Celtir tried to return the favor, casting forth a beam that seemed to fizzle and die as it struck Xernon.
Xernon laughed out loud, “Ha! You fools think you can harm me with magic! Now you will all die by my hand! He pulled out a wand and two balls of energy flew forth and struck Tristan.
Bootsy cracked his knuckles and cast. Xernon saw him casting and with a slight smile he gave a small nod as if to say, “Bring it on.”
The scorching ray struck Xernon right in the chest, burning his robe and causing him to scream in pain and outrage. The paladin stepped forward and slammed Xernon with his war mace, knocking him back against the wall where he slowly slid to the floor. Xernon and his tomb raiders were no more.
Tristan looked about the room. Stepping up to the statue with the symbol of Heironeous, he brought his mace to his chest in salute. In that moment all four of the statues looked upon him. A translucent apparition stepped out of the king’s statue and addressed the companions.
He smiled warmly and spoke in a strong but somehow distant voice. “Thank you my friends. It is good to see that heroism remains in this world. My time to return is not now, but it may be soon.
“In my time it was prophesied that my rule would end prematurely, but that I would return to aid the world in its most dire struggle. I sense that time coming, but my bones have been stolen and if they are not recovered, I don’t know if the prophecy can be fulfilled.
“My name is Theron, but that is no matter, for my time is past. The name you need to know is Sertrous. I heard that scoundrel,” the king gestured toward the body of Xernon, “refer to something called the Vanguard of Sertrous and while I do not know who or what the Vanguard of Sertrous is, I know that it is evil. It must not triumph!
“The villains stole my bones and the weapons of my wife and my champions! Those arms are very powerful and should not be used in the service of evil. Still they did not get this.”
King Theron reached down into a sarcophagus and through its bottom. When his hand emerged, it held a black longsword that glowed with a silvery light.
“This weapon, Merthuvial, once helped me save a kingdom. May it aid you in your heroics and serve as thanks from a forgotten king.”
Tristan stepped forward and accepted the sword and saluted the king with the dark blade. Saluting back, the apparition disappeared, as did the lifelike images on the statues. The quiet of stone and death pervaded the area and the light of the blade shone bright.
Wencis leaned over to Celtir, “How come the new guy gets the good stuff?”
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Assuming Leera had been truthful, there were still two members of the band unaccounted for, a Goblin and a Halfling. The hole in the floor was just big enough for a small creature to squeeze through. A few more hours of work would have to be put in to get it large enough for a human sized creature. Bootsy turned to his companions, “Rope me up.”
Once all was ready, Bootsy stepped to the edge. “Right, let’s try not to advertise our presence here.”
Tossing his sunrod down through the hole, he clambered after it. Looking down through the hole, the companions saw him standing in the middle of a circle of light as he yelled up, “Hey, toss down the wand that mage was using!”
The companions all smiled and said, almost as one, “So much for stealth.”
It was quickly determined the tunnel went on for quite a ways, much farther then Bootsy was comfortable going on his own. After exploring the tunnel for a couple hundred feet in either direction, he climbed back up. Frankie was the first to take up a pick and start hammering on the stone floor.
----------
After about two hours, they finally had a hole big enough for all of them to squeeze through. As they gathered at the bottom of the rope, Frankie looked around. The tunnel was about five feet wide and seven feet tall. The air was damp and the stink of rot hung in the air.
“Looking at the green beams that were used for supports, I would say this is a new tunnel. It has the look of an exploratory tunnel used for mining, though I don’t see any minerals, metals or gems worth mining for. It was dug, using a combination of magic and muscle. If you look at the arching of the tunnel and the marks in the igneous and sedimentary stones, you can see where they used different methods, each leaving different marks on the stone. The patterns of striations in the stone of this area imply a low likely hood of finding any precious metals…”
“Frankie…”
“…But over here we have some metamorphic rock. Now this stuff forms deep down, under tons of pressure…”
“Frankie!”
Frankie turned to his companions. “Can you tell us anything we might find meaningful?” Bootsy asked.
“I thought that’s what I was doing.”
“Ok, how about something that is not just meaningful, but also of could be of immediate use…
“But…”
“…And be something that we would all understand,” Bootsy finished.
Frankie frowned. “The tunnel probably reaches the surface about two hundred yards that way and it probably comes out near the side of the hill with the statue on it, but on the side away from town.”
“And the other way?” Bootsy asked.
“It goes down.”
“Right. Let’s see where down goes.”
----------
After about eight hundred feet, the air started to pulse and there was a scent like that which precedes a storm. Another two hundred feet and the tunnel opened up. The tunnel widened to about twenty feet and the ceiling rose to eight or nine feet. The porch had no far wall, instead opening into a great, echoing hallow. Even from this distance the air seemed to be charged, as if a great storm were imminent. The walls of the opening ascended and descended, moving closer together as they rose into darkness and forming a wider space as they went downward.
Ahead, on the edge of the terrace were two bodies. Actually, as they quickly discovered, it was one body and one statue of a goblin. Not wanting to get too close to the pit, they used a rope to snag the small body and drag it closer. Bootsy noted that much of his equipment stayed behind. Tying the rope around himself and handing the other end to Frankie, he crawled over and quickly grabbed the items, which included a wrinkled piece of paper and then quickly crawled back.
His eyes lit up as he saw what they were. A masterwork crossbow and a masterwork short spear, both his size. “Celtir, can you tell me if it’s magical?” He asked, holding up the crossbow.
Celtir cast his spell and looked at some of the equipment they had recently collected. A number of them detected as magical, including the crossbow. He also examined the note only to find it was written in a language none of them recognized.
Bootsy was very excited, and then he realized something. “A light crossbow? What kind of pussy uses a light crossbow?” he asked sardonically as he slung it over his shoulder.
“Apparently one just like you,” Frankie answered with a grin.
Bootsy just shook his head. “Let’s see if we can get back to town. Maybe someone there can figure out what this note says.”
“Frankie, could you carry the Halfling back to town for me?” Celtir asked. “And we have to make one other stop along the way.”
The companions started back up the tunnel.
End of Session 6.
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Session Notes.
Finally, our wayward son has returned. Yes we have reached the very end of the first third of the trilogy and our 5th player finally showed up. His excuse is the one that so many gamers have used from time to time… a woman. For him it’s a reason to miss a game, for the rest of us, it’s one of the reasons we want to get out of the house once every two weeks. (Just kidding Dear.)
So, being fully prepared and using the creativity that comes from a lifetime of gaming, they wrapped up the last two encounters with little difficulty. Ok, the dwarf was dropped at one point at -7, but he was up very quickly. The barbarian actually has one of the worst ACs in the group, so it doesn’t seem quite right to call him a meat shield, more of a damage sink (Like a heat sink, but for stabby things). He sucks up the damage so the others don’t have to.
There will be some administrative/clerical tasks to take care of by e-mail so there may be an interlude at some point.
Not counting our players, I know we have at least one reader (Unless he dropped off). This seems a good place to ask for comments… Anyone?
In any event, it’s into the rabbit hole and on to the second part…
Finally, our wayward son has returned. Yes we have reached the very end of the first third of the trilogy and our 5th player finally showed up. His excuse is the one that so many gamers have used from time to time… a woman. For him it’s a reason to miss a game, for the rest of us, it’s one of the reasons we want to get out of the house once every two weeks. (Just kidding Dear.)
So, being fully prepared and using the creativity that comes from a lifetime of gaming, they wrapped up the last two encounters with little difficulty. Ok, the dwarf was dropped at one point at -7, but he was up very quickly. The barbarian actually has one of the worst ACs in the group, so it doesn’t seem quite right to call him a meat shield, more of a damage sink (Like a heat sink, but for stabby things). He sucks up the damage so the others don’t have to.
There will be some administrative/clerical tasks to take care of by e-mail so there may be an interlude at some point.
Not counting our players, I know we have at least one reader (Unless he dropped off). This seems a good place to ask for comments… Anyone?
In any event, it’s into the rabbit hole and on to the second part…
High Cleric
First Post
"In any event, it’s into the rabbit hole and on to the second part…"
I won't trust which pill to take, the red or the black, if Bootsy is holding them out.....
Honestly, it was a good session, and having the paladin there, I think, really helped take some of the edge off the encounters.
The interlude will probably include an interrogation of the corpses by Celtir via Speak with Dead which wil hopefully direct us onto the next path to take. Although, I am itching to see what killed the other two henchmen down in the caves.
I won't trust which pill to take, the red or the black, if Bootsy is holding them out.....
Honestly, it was a good session, and having the paladin there, I think, really helped take some of the edge off the encounters.
The interlude will probably include an interrogation of the corpses by Celtir via Speak with Dead which wil hopefully direct us onto the next path to take. Although, I am itching to see what killed the other two henchmen down in the caves.
High Cleric
First Post
Interlude
The air was thick with the cloying incense. The room in the inn was darkened, lit only by a few candles, despite the late morning sun outside.
Bootsy looked bored holding the brass bowl and muttered to Wencis, “I wish he would hurry up. There was this pudgy farmer’s daughter that walked by…’
At a stern glance from Celtir, the gnome suddenly noticed a dark smudge on his shoes and slopped some holy water on the floor.
‘Don’t drop the water, Boots,’ the aasimar laughed, and then quieted too.
Neither noticed that elven cleric suppressed a small grin.
Clearing his throat, Celtir called out to his god, Solonor, and asked for divine assistance to speak with the corpses of Xernon, the tomb raider, and his henchman, a Halfling spellcaster. He took the bowl of holy water from Bootsy and traced it over Xernon’s body. The water appeared almost fiery for a moment then faded. Celtir looked to Wencis, holding a censer of incense, and the aasimar waved it dutifully.
A small moan came out of Xernon’s throat, interrupting Bootsy’s memory of this female goblin that he once came across bathing in some mud, and he started out of his reverie. The corpse of Xernon bucked once on the table and quieted. Celtir sighed.
‘Not enough strength to conquer that one,’ he whispered. Turning to his companions, he asked, ‘Do you remember how some of our spells failed against him?’
‘Not mine!’ the gnome sorcerer giggled, then was elbowed in the ear by Wencis, who was aiming for a rib but forgot Bootsy was a gnome.
Celtir looked over at the halfing corpse and grinned.
‘To the Nine Hells with it!’ he said, ‘The morning’s early…’
The air was thick with the cloying incense. The room in the inn was darkened, lit only by a few candles, despite the late morning sun outside.
Bootsy looked bored holding the brass bowl and muttered to Wencis, “I wish he would hurry up. There was this pudgy farmer’s daughter that walked by…’
At a stern glance from Celtir, the gnome suddenly noticed a dark smudge on his shoes and slopped some holy water on the floor.
‘Don’t drop the water, Boots,’ the aasimar laughed, and then quieted too.
Neither noticed that elven cleric suppressed a small grin.
Clearing his throat, Celtir called out to his god, Solonor, and asked for divine assistance to speak with the corpses of Xernon, the tomb raider, and his henchman, a Halfling spellcaster. He took the bowl of holy water from Bootsy and traced it over Xernon’s body. The water appeared almost fiery for a moment then faded. Celtir looked to Wencis, holding a censer of incense, and the aasimar waved it dutifully.
A small moan came out of Xernon’s throat, interrupting Bootsy’s memory of this female goblin that he once came across bathing in some mud, and he started out of his reverie. The corpse of Xernon bucked once on the table and quieted. Celtir sighed.
‘Not enough strength to conquer that one,’ he whispered. Turning to his companions, he asked, ‘Do you remember how some of our spells failed against him?’
‘Not mine!’ the gnome sorcerer giggled, then was elbowed in the ear by Wencis, who was aiming for a rib but forgot Bootsy was a gnome.
Celtir looked over at the halfing corpse and grinned.
‘To the Nine Hells with it!’ he said, ‘The morning’s early…’
High Cleric
First Post
Celtir gathered more incense from his bag, muttering a small pryer under his breaht, and almost absentmindedly grabbed Bootsy as he crept toward the fredom of the hallway.
‘Take this,’ he handed another bowl of holy water to the protesting gnome, and before Wencis could remark, filled the censer with more incense.
‘Halfling,’ Celtir intoned, ‘I command you, in the name of Solonor, the Hunter, and by the forces of Light, to answer these questions.’
Bootsy shook his head. The elf was always too serious. He needed a roll in the hay to loosen him up. He made a mental promise to get a date for his companion, maybe that milkmaid…
The halfling’s body convulsed on the table, a small rill of blood seeped from the cracked lips.
Celtir’s eyes narrowed and he asked, ‘What direction from Kingsholme are the abductors of the dead king's bones headed, north, east, south, or west? Answer, shade!’
The dead lips parted and a whisper escaped, ‘I was not given this information. Only that we would meet a contact within the Tunnel.’
The elf suspected he heard a thread of complacency from the corpse, and he muttered a prayer to Solonor and the corpse jerked spasmodically.
‘Think he’s ready to...’ Wencis began but stopped when Bootsy kicked him.
‘You don’t want the Halfling to answer that, do you?’ the gnome asked.
Celtir ignored Wencis’s embarrassment and asked his second question.
‘What information were you given about your contact, including his/her name, description, and background?’
The corpse resisted for second then responded, ‘Fadheela is her name, I know nothing more.’ It then exhaled deeply and relaxed, blood flowing more freely from between its lips.
Wencic looked to Bootsy then at Celtir. ‘Fadheela?,’ he asked.
The elf smiled, ‘A name we already know from the note. Not much gained. Although I did enjoy making the wretch twitch a bit…..’
‘Take this,’ he handed another bowl of holy water to the protesting gnome, and before Wencis could remark, filled the censer with more incense.
‘Halfling,’ Celtir intoned, ‘I command you, in the name of Solonor, the Hunter, and by the forces of Light, to answer these questions.’
Bootsy shook his head. The elf was always too serious. He needed a roll in the hay to loosen him up. He made a mental promise to get a date for his companion, maybe that milkmaid…
The halfling’s body convulsed on the table, a small rill of blood seeped from the cracked lips.
Celtir’s eyes narrowed and he asked, ‘What direction from Kingsholme are the abductors of the dead king's bones headed, north, east, south, or west? Answer, shade!’
The dead lips parted and a whisper escaped, ‘I was not given this information. Only that we would meet a contact within the Tunnel.’
The elf suspected he heard a thread of complacency from the corpse, and he muttered a prayer to Solonor and the corpse jerked spasmodically.
‘Think he’s ready to...’ Wencis began but stopped when Bootsy kicked him.
‘You don’t want the Halfling to answer that, do you?’ the gnome asked.
Celtir ignored Wencis’s embarrassment and asked his second question.
‘What information were you given about your contact, including his/her name, description, and background?’
The corpse resisted for second then responded, ‘Fadheela is her name, I know nothing more.’ It then exhaled deeply and relaxed, blood flowing more freely from between its lips.
Wencic looked to Bootsy then at Celtir. ‘Fadheela?,’ he asked.
The elf smiled, ‘A name we already know from the note. Not much gained. Although I did enjoy making the wretch twitch a bit…..’
Bootsy – 4th/1st Level Gnome Sorcerer/Fighter.
Celtir – 5th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 5th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 4th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 4th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
“Both my parents and grandparents are always going on about how much harder things used to be”, said Celtir as he stood up and took a deep breath of the fresh spring air.
Wencis paused at his examination of the foliage around the entrance to the tunnel they had discovered. “Yeah, mine too. Always going on about how much longer it took to become really skilled in the old days. They always complain about how youth today are so caught up in learning so many different skills and trying to master amazing feats that there isn’t enough time for ‘real adventuring’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I mean, just because the old man survived some ‘Tomb of Horrors’ as he describes it, doesn’t lessen the meaning of what we’re doing. We’ve worked hard to solve this problem this past week.”
Celtir ran his hand over his chest where a Varag had driven a blade through him, coming within a hairs breadth of ending his life. “You got that right.”
They were searching the area to see if they could find any trace of anyone having used this entrance recently or any other useful clues. The lack of results had resulted in a little meaningless banter.
Frankie stood from where he had been examining the ground near the stone cap that covered the entrance. “Yes, well fortunately Dwarven skill with stone is unchanged. I would say someone has either gone to great lengths to keep this area undisturbed during mining, or it was dug from the other end. Construction of a mine this big should have a significant impact on the area around the entrance.”
Looking to the trees around the opening Wencis noticed Bootsy leaning over next to one of the larger ones. “What in the Nine Hells is Bootsy doing with that squirrel over there?”
They saw him give the little creature that was chittering away before him a crust of bread before he stood and walked over. “The ground squirrel says he ain’t seen no one around this area and from what he describes, the mine was probably dug this past winter, though he didn’t see what did it.” The others gave Bootsy a skeptical look. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn from a burrowing mammal, they’re everywhere you know. We Gnomes think it’s a trick everyone should learn.”
“Right…. So what’s our next move?” asked Wencis.
Bootsy pointed to the stone covering the tunnel entrance, “Everyone back in the hole.”
Standing at the edge of the great hollow the companions tried to see what lay beyond and below. They didn’t see any tunnels exiting on the far side and the bottom of the hollow was lost in darkness. Always eager to solve a problem with fire, Bootsy took out a flask of oil. Fashioning a wick out of a piece of cloth soaked in oil and setting it alight he dropped the flask over the edge. “One burning troll… two burning trolls… three burning trolls…” Smash! The bottle hit the bottom and the oil ignited, illuminating the bottom of the hollow in a flash. “About one hundred and fifty feet, I would say.”
“How much rope do we have?” asked Tristan.
Wencis smiled, “It just so happens, we know where to find a two hundred foot long rope ladder.”
Tristan looked incredulous. “What… how… I… I can’t even imagine the logistical nightmare of fashioning something like that, not to mention carting it around?”
“Yes, well we didn’t make it, but we are the new proud owners,” Bootsy smiled. “Let’s go get it.”
While the others secured the ladder near the edge of the precipice, Bootsy took some time to study the magical emanations that filled the entire cavern. He had felt magic like this before, “Earth magic. This whole area is saturated with the power of the earth.”
Frankie looked up from where he had just driven a spike into the stone floor and seemed to bask in the energy around him, then looked to Bootsy and smiled, nodding his agreement.
Moving to the edge, Celtir gave the rope ladder a tug. “Well, let’s see what’s down there.”
At the bottom, they found the hollow’s smooth floor to be roughly circular. The air was alive with energy and thick with the smell of developing lightning. Small holes punctured the walls near the floor, opening into dozens of small tunnels that ran off into lightlessness. Dull dust was thickly heaped around the edges, thickest near the holes.
Bootsy once again turned his attention to the magical emanations that suffused the air. Celtir could feel it as well. “It’s possible that casting spells here could increase their power,” Bootsy said with a smile.
Celtir nodded, “The magic here can also be shaped, utilized to transfer us… somewhere else.”
“That’s a little vague,” Wencis said with a frown. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“It’s happened recently,” said Bootsy trying to focus on reading the residual lines of energy. “Someone has used that magic recently.”
“Can we follow?” asked Frankie.
Bootsy looked around thoughtfully. “Yes. But it will take time to gather the energies, about eight hours, maybe more.”
Celtir nodded his agreement, and then sat down to focus his thoughts. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” said Bootsy as he sat down and found a comfortable spot to nap, “Wake me when you’re ready.” He started to snore almost immediately.
The others gave the small tunnels a cursory examination, the horrid smell and cramped quarters dissuaded them from exploring more then a few feet.
After only about an hour Celtir’s head snapped up. “Wake Bootsy, I hear something coming.”
Rousting Bootsy, the others gathered their equipment and spread out, each looking in different directions. Suddenly a wave of insects appeared. Pouring out of the holes, a carpet of roaches swarmed toward Bootsy. A number of giant roaches, some as large as a big dogs, came with them.
With them came The Stench. A sickening stench filled the air as the insects skittered into the room. Most of the companions just wrinkled their noses and tried to inhale as little as possible, but Bootsy caught it full force. Sickened by the smell, he had to focus his will power just to keep from vomiting. He found it hard to focus his full attention on the matter at hand.
Despite his condition, Bootsy attacked. A fan of flames leapt from his outstretched hands burning away a large number of the insects. But the swarm kept coming and rolled over him, thousands of tiny insect biting at him as they crawled over his whole body.
Tristan and Frankie charged toward the two largest Roaches, both hacking deep with their weapons. Celtir cast a spell and a burst of bright light burned at the swarm, catching Bootsy just at the edge of the effect. “Sorry!” Bootsy just waved it off.
Wencis and his ever present Soul Spark smashed one with hammer and soul energy. There was a bright blue spark and the smell of ozone as electricity leapt from his hammer, frying the insect instantly. For a moment he considered naming his soul energy hammer, “The Bug Zapper”, but that thought passed quickly as it didn’t seem a very heroic title. The remaining creatures scuttled up to Celtir and bit at his legs.
Bootsy, enraged beyond reason by the bugs that swarmed all over him, smashed a flask of alchemist fire right at his own feet. The smell of burning insects mixed with The Stench and the swarm broke up, the tiny insects scurrying back into the dark holes that spawned them. Finding him self free of the insects, Bootsy started patting out the flames that were burning away his robes.
Frankie and Tristan kept smashing at the insects in front of them, but the creatures survived the attacks and continued to bite back. Celtir kept up his attacks with his bow, stepping away from the insects each time they closed the gap to attack him. Bootsy drew his crossbow and fired at any moving insect he could get within his sights. Wencis and his Soul Spark leant their support to the others where they could. Finally able to focus their attacks, the companions quickly killed the few remaining insects.
While Celtir sat down to continue gathering the magical energies of the node, Tristan looked into the holes the insects had crawled out of. “Well, we have some time to kill. How about you tie a rope around me and I see if I can find anything within the small tunnels.”
Wencis laughed, “Kind of like the Gnomish yo-yo, except with a paladin. A paladin yo-yo!”
Tristan found himself giving his companions yet another confused look. “Guess we didn’t tell you about that part of our story,” Wencis said with a smile. The paladin started to worry a little about the sanity of his new companions.
Tristan crawled through each of the cramped tunnels, one at a time, going as far as the rope tied around his waist would let him. Finally his search paid off. Just as he was about to crawl back the way he had come, he found the rock his hand was resting on was actually a skull. Picking it up, he examined it closely in the light shed by Merthuvial. It was definitely humanoid, probably Human or Elven. Sifting around in the dust and grime, he found two desiccated bodies. There was little left, though he was able to scrounge a potion, some coin and a spider figurine carved from black banded red jasper.
Once he had climbed back out, he showed his companions what he had found. While Bootsy set about identifying the potion, Celtir cast Detect Magic and Wencis cast Detect Evil on the figurine.
“It’s definitely magic,” said Celtir.
“It’s not evil,” added Wencis.
Tristan held up one of the coins. “Look at this.” The others gathered around as he showed them the face of the coin. On it was the profile of a beautiful Elven woman and a spider.
“Drow,” Celtir spat, unable to hide his disgust.
“I’m ready.”
The others looked to Celtir. “Gather around, I expect everyone within the node will go, but we should stay close nonetheless. Especially since we don’t know where we’ll end up.”
As the others gathered around him, Celtir concentrated. The energies of the node gathered around them, making their skin prickle and their hair stand on end. Finally there was a bright flash, then darkness. Then there was a feeling as if they were being pushed through the very earth. Though it was a little disconcerting, they were unharmed. Just as they started to worry that they may be stuck underground forever, there was another flash and they found themselves standing in a crater. It was obviously contained within a larger space, though the rim of the crater kept them from seeing much of their surroundings.
Carefully, the companions climbed up the wall of the crater to see where the magic of the node had sent them.
Beyond, they found a wide underdark vista lit by a pale light that shone through enormous columns that marched into the misted distance. The benighted waters of a sunless sea met a pebble strewn shore a half-mile or so away. Across that dark water, a city glimmered around the base of the nearest column.
A cobbled road, which emerged from an opening in a dimly glowing cavern wall about a quarter mile to their left, passed within ten feet of the crater and continued on to the right. It finally connected to a narrow but elongated stone formation that spanned the shadowy sea and reached more than a mile to the city.
Just across the road from the crater, a strange covered wagon sat. A broad dusky dwarf, bald, with a white beard, stood in front of it, smiling. He wore a thick leather coat and gloves that had gold piping. Two large gray lizards stood idly nearby.
The grinning Dwarf called out in a deep baritone in perfect Common, “Node travelers and unless I miss my mark, surfacers too! I am Bruthwol Coalhauler, humble merchant! Perhaps you would like to see my wares?”
Wordlessly the others looked to the paladin with the unspoken question, “Evil?” He gave a small shake of his head indicating he could sense no evil.
Celtir stepped forward. “Greetings. Could you tell us where we are exactly?”
Bruthwol spread his arms and answered, “Welcome to the Great Grotto! Once a major center of trade, it has been relegated to a backwater by disease and war. Brigands ne’er do wells and refugees from this or that underdark power inhabit the fallen Drow city of Pedestal. See it there surrounding that first column beyond the Sullen Sea? Never will you find a more wretched hive of…”
“Yes, yes,” Bootsy interrupted, “It’s a terrible place, I’m sure. What brings you to this area?”
The friendly smile never left Bruthwol’s face as he answered, “Well even lowlife’s need trade to sustain them. Thus I also call pedestal my home.”
“Have you seen anyone else come through recently?” asked Wencis.
Bruthwol looked thoughtful for a moment, “Well, I have been camped here a few days. Not too long ago, a cloaked figure, a female humanoid by the shape, though I couldn’t discern much else, emerged from this very node. She ignored my greetings and stalked off toward the Oceanbridge. Is she a friend of yours?”
Celtir was careful in his answer, still not sure if he could trust this Dwarf. “No, but we would like to speak with her. Who would we talk to if we needed some questions answered?”
“Well, I’ll answer what I can, but if you have hard questions, or seek someone,” Bruthwol said with a knowing look, “Es Sarch is the one to talk to. You can find him at the Dripstone Inn on the street of the Five Hanged, directly north three blocks from Pedestal’s southern gate. He knows everything about the city, though he’s sure to want something in return for his help.”
“What can you tell us of Pedestal? Would surfacers be welcome there?”
Bruthwol laughed, “No more or less then anyone else. Keep to yourselves, don’t let anyone push you around and you have as good a chance of surviving to see tomorrow as the next guy. But then again, if you’re still alive then the next guy is probably dead. Listen, Pedestal has no central power. Several groups claim sovereignty, but during bad weeks, the city is little better than a war zone. Good weeks are merely lawless. Anarchy rose in the collapse of the Drow hierarchy. A terrible plague ten years ago wiped nearly all of them out.
“The three top powers are the Inheritors, House Dusklorne and the Assassins Guild…
Bootsy stepped forward and interrupted, “You got any acid in there? Or maybe some oil?”
Bruthwol’s smile grew even wider, “I sure do, step right this way, all my goods are in my wagon.”
“How about a map?” Wencis asked.
“Why sure, I’ll give you a free map of Pedestal with any purchase over ten gold.”
After a short discussion the companions purchased some basic equipment, even giving the gregarious Dwarf a small tip and made ready to head off to Pedestal. As they walked away, Bruthwol called after them, “Be careful crossing the Oceanbridge, wild Kuo-toa and worse swim in the sea’s murky waters. Sometimes travelers who start at one end of the bridge fail to arrive at the other. In fact, part of the bridge has been damaged for a while now. Good luck! If you spend any time in Pedestal, look me up at the Bazaar on East Row. I keep a stall there and should be there within a few days time.”
The companions smiled, waved and kept on walking. “That seemed a little strange,” muttered Wencis.
Celtir – 5th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 5th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 4th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 4th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
Down the Rabbit Hole
“Both my parents and grandparents are always going on about how much harder things used to be”, said Celtir as he stood up and took a deep breath of the fresh spring air.
Wencis paused at his examination of the foliage around the entrance to the tunnel they had discovered. “Yeah, mine too. Always going on about how much longer it took to become really skilled in the old days. They always complain about how youth today are so caught up in learning so many different skills and trying to master amazing feats that there isn’t enough time for ‘real adventuring’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I mean, just because the old man survived some ‘Tomb of Horrors’ as he describes it, doesn’t lessen the meaning of what we’re doing. We’ve worked hard to solve this problem this past week.”
Celtir ran his hand over his chest where a Varag had driven a blade through him, coming within a hairs breadth of ending his life. “You got that right.”
They were searching the area to see if they could find any trace of anyone having used this entrance recently or any other useful clues. The lack of results had resulted in a little meaningless banter.
Frankie stood from where he had been examining the ground near the stone cap that covered the entrance. “Yes, well fortunately Dwarven skill with stone is unchanged. I would say someone has either gone to great lengths to keep this area undisturbed during mining, or it was dug from the other end. Construction of a mine this big should have a significant impact on the area around the entrance.”
Looking to the trees around the opening Wencis noticed Bootsy leaning over next to one of the larger ones. “What in the Nine Hells is Bootsy doing with that squirrel over there?”
They saw him give the little creature that was chittering away before him a crust of bread before he stood and walked over. “The ground squirrel says he ain’t seen no one around this area and from what he describes, the mine was probably dug this past winter, though he didn’t see what did it.” The others gave Bootsy a skeptical look. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn from a burrowing mammal, they’re everywhere you know. We Gnomes think it’s a trick everyone should learn.”
“Right…. So what’s our next move?” asked Wencis.
Bootsy pointed to the stone covering the tunnel entrance, “Everyone back in the hole.”
----------
Standing at the edge of the great hollow the companions tried to see what lay beyond and below. They didn’t see any tunnels exiting on the far side and the bottom of the hollow was lost in darkness. Always eager to solve a problem with fire, Bootsy took out a flask of oil. Fashioning a wick out of a piece of cloth soaked in oil and setting it alight he dropped the flask over the edge. “One burning troll… two burning trolls… three burning trolls…” Smash! The bottle hit the bottom and the oil ignited, illuminating the bottom of the hollow in a flash. “About one hundred and fifty feet, I would say.”
“How much rope do we have?” asked Tristan.
Wencis smiled, “It just so happens, we know where to find a two hundred foot long rope ladder.”
Tristan looked incredulous. “What… how… I… I can’t even imagine the logistical nightmare of fashioning something like that, not to mention carting it around?”
“Yes, well we didn’t make it, but we are the new proud owners,” Bootsy smiled. “Let’s go get it.”
----------
While the others secured the ladder near the edge of the precipice, Bootsy took some time to study the magical emanations that filled the entire cavern. He had felt magic like this before, “Earth magic. This whole area is saturated with the power of the earth.”
Frankie looked up from where he had just driven a spike into the stone floor and seemed to bask in the energy around him, then looked to Bootsy and smiled, nodding his agreement.
Moving to the edge, Celtir gave the rope ladder a tug. “Well, let’s see what’s down there.”
At the bottom, they found the hollow’s smooth floor to be roughly circular. The air was alive with energy and thick with the smell of developing lightning. Small holes punctured the walls near the floor, opening into dozens of small tunnels that ran off into lightlessness. Dull dust was thickly heaped around the edges, thickest near the holes.
Bootsy once again turned his attention to the magical emanations that suffused the air. Celtir could feel it as well. “It’s possible that casting spells here could increase their power,” Bootsy said with a smile.
Celtir nodded, “The magic here can also be shaped, utilized to transfer us… somewhere else.”
“That’s a little vague,” Wencis said with a frown. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“It’s happened recently,” said Bootsy trying to focus on reading the residual lines of energy. “Someone has used that magic recently.”
“Can we follow?” asked Frankie.
Bootsy looked around thoughtfully. “Yes. But it will take time to gather the energies, about eight hours, maybe more.”
Celtir nodded his agreement, and then sat down to focus his thoughts. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” said Bootsy as he sat down and found a comfortable spot to nap, “Wake me when you’re ready.” He started to snore almost immediately.
The others gave the small tunnels a cursory examination, the horrid smell and cramped quarters dissuaded them from exploring more then a few feet.
----------
After only about an hour Celtir’s head snapped up. “Wake Bootsy, I hear something coming.”
Rousting Bootsy, the others gathered their equipment and spread out, each looking in different directions. Suddenly a wave of insects appeared. Pouring out of the holes, a carpet of roaches swarmed toward Bootsy. A number of giant roaches, some as large as a big dogs, came with them.
With them came The Stench. A sickening stench filled the air as the insects skittered into the room. Most of the companions just wrinkled their noses and tried to inhale as little as possible, but Bootsy caught it full force. Sickened by the smell, he had to focus his will power just to keep from vomiting. He found it hard to focus his full attention on the matter at hand.
Despite his condition, Bootsy attacked. A fan of flames leapt from his outstretched hands burning away a large number of the insects. But the swarm kept coming and rolled over him, thousands of tiny insect biting at him as they crawled over his whole body.
Tristan and Frankie charged toward the two largest Roaches, both hacking deep with their weapons. Celtir cast a spell and a burst of bright light burned at the swarm, catching Bootsy just at the edge of the effect. “Sorry!” Bootsy just waved it off.
Wencis and his ever present Soul Spark smashed one with hammer and soul energy. There was a bright blue spark and the smell of ozone as electricity leapt from his hammer, frying the insect instantly. For a moment he considered naming his soul energy hammer, “The Bug Zapper”, but that thought passed quickly as it didn’t seem a very heroic title. The remaining creatures scuttled up to Celtir and bit at his legs.
Bootsy, enraged beyond reason by the bugs that swarmed all over him, smashed a flask of alchemist fire right at his own feet. The smell of burning insects mixed with The Stench and the swarm broke up, the tiny insects scurrying back into the dark holes that spawned them. Finding him self free of the insects, Bootsy started patting out the flames that were burning away his robes.
Frankie and Tristan kept smashing at the insects in front of them, but the creatures survived the attacks and continued to bite back. Celtir kept up his attacks with his bow, stepping away from the insects each time they closed the gap to attack him. Bootsy drew his crossbow and fired at any moving insect he could get within his sights. Wencis and his Soul Spark leant their support to the others where they could. Finally able to focus their attacks, the companions quickly killed the few remaining insects.
While Celtir sat down to continue gathering the magical energies of the node, Tristan looked into the holes the insects had crawled out of. “Well, we have some time to kill. How about you tie a rope around me and I see if I can find anything within the small tunnels.”
Wencis laughed, “Kind of like the Gnomish yo-yo, except with a paladin. A paladin yo-yo!”
Tristan found himself giving his companions yet another confused look. “Guess we didn’t tell you about that part of our story,” Wencis said with a smile. The paladin started to worry a little about the sanity of his new companions.
Tristan crawled through each of the cramped tunnels, one at a time, going as far as the rope tied around his waist would let him. Finally his search paid off. Just as he was about to crawl back the way he had come, he found the rock his hand was resting on was actually a skull. Picking it up, he examined it closely in the light shed by Merthuvial. It was definitely humanoid, probably Human or Elven. Sifting around in the dust and grime, he found two desiccated bodies. There was little left, though he was able to scrounge a potion, some coin and a spider figurine carved from black banded red jasper.
Once he had climbed back out, he showed his companions what he had found. While Bootsy set about identifying the potion, Celtir cast Detect Magic and Wencis cast Detect Evil on the figurine.
“It’s definitely magic,” said Celtir.
“It’s not evil,” added Wencis.
Tristan held up one of the coins. “Look at this.” The others gathered around as he showed them the face of the coin. On it was the profile of a beautiful Elven woman and a spider.
“Drow,” Celtir spat, unable to hide his disgust.
----------
“I’m ready.”
The others looked to Celtir. “Gather around, I expect everyone within the node will go, but we should stay close nonetheless. Especially since we don’t know where we’ll end up.”
As the others gathered around him, Celtir concentrated. The energies of the node gathered around them, making their skin prickle and their hair stand on end. Finally there was a bright flash, then darkness. Then there was a feeling as if they were being pushed through the very earth. Though it was a little disconcerting, they were unharmed. Just as they started to worry that they may be stuck underground forever, there was another flash and they found themselves standing in a crater. It was obviously contained within a larger space, though the rim of the crater kept them from seeing much of their surroundings.
Carefully, the companions climbed up the wall of the crater to see where the magic of the node had sent them.
Beyond, they found a wide underdark vista lit by a pale light that shone through enormous columns that marched into the misted distance. The benighted waters of a sunless sea met a pebble strewn shore a half-mile or so away. Across that dark water, a city glimmered around the base of the nearest column.
A cobbled road, which emerged from an opening in a dimly glowing cavern wall about a quarter mile to their left, passed within ten feet of the crater and continued on to the right. It finally connected to a narrow but elongated stone formation that spanned the shadowy sea and reached more than a mile to the city.
Just across the road from the crater, a strange covered wagon sat. A broad dusky dwarf, bald, with a white beard, stood in front of it, smiling. He wore a thick leather coat and gloves that had gold piping. Two large gray lizards stood idly nearby.
The grinning Dwarf called out in a deep baritone in perfect Common, “Node travelers and unless I miss my mark, surfacers too! I am Bruthwol Coalhauler, humble merchant! Perhaps you would like to see my wares?”
Wordlessly the others looked to the paladin with the unspoken question, “Evil?” He gave a small shake of his head indicating he could sense no evil.
Celtir stepped forward. “Greetings. Could you tell us where we are exactly?”
Bruthwol spread his arms and answered, “Welcome to the Great Grotto! Once a major center of trade, it has been relegated to a backwater by disease and war. Brigands ne’er do wells and refugees from this or that underdark power inhabit the fallen Drow city of Pedestal. See it there surrounding that first column beyond the Sullen Sea? Never will you find a more wretched hive of…”
“Yes, yes,” Bootsy interrupted, “It’s a terrible place, I’m sure. What brings you to this area?”
The friendly smile never left Bruthwol’s face as he answered, “Well even lowlife’s need trade to sustain them. Thus I also call pedestal my home.”
“Have you seen anyone else come through recently?” asked Wencis.
Bruthwol looked thoughtful for a moment, “Well, I have been camped here a few days. Not too long ago, a cloaked figure, a female humanoid by the shape, though I couldn’t discern much else, emerged from this very node. She ignored my greetings and stalked off toward the Oceanbridge. Is she a friend of yours?”
Celtir was careful in his answer, still not sure if he could trust this Dwarf. “No, but we would like to speak with her. Who would we talk to if we needed some questions answered?”
“Well, I’ll answer what I can, but if you have hard questions, or seek someone,” Bruthwol said with a knowing look, “Es Sarch is the one to talk to. You can find him at the Dripstone Inn on the street of the Five Hanged, directly north three blocks from Pedestal’s southern gate. He knows everything about the city, though he’s sure to want something in return for his help.”
“What can you tell us of Pedestal? Would surfacers be welcome there?”
Bruthwol laughed, “No more or less then anyone else. Keep to yourselves, don’t let anyone push you around and you have as good a chance of surviving to see tomorrow as the next guy. But then again, if you’re still alive then the next guy is probably dead. Listen, Pedestal has no central power. Several groups claim sovereignty, but during bad weeks, the city is little better than a war zone. Good weeks are merely lawless. Anarchy rose in the collapse of the Drow hierarchy. A terrible plague ten years ago wiped nearly all of them out.
“The three top powers are the Inheritors, House Dusklorne and the Assassins Guild…
Bootsy stepped forward and interrupted, “You got any acid in there? Or maybe some oil?”
Bruthwol’s smile grew even wider, “I sure do, step right this way, all my goods are in my wagon.”
“How about a map?” Wencis asked.
“Why sure, I’ll give you a free map of Pedestal with any purchase over ten gold.”
After a short discussion the companions purchased some basic equipment, even giving the gregarious Dwarf a small tip and made ready to head off to Pedestal. As they walked away, Bruthwol called after them, “Be careful crossing the Oceanbridge, wild Kuo-toa and worse swim in the sea’s murky waters. Sometimes travelers who start at one end of the bridge fail to arrive at the other. In fact, part of the bridge has been damaged for a while now. Good luck! If you spend any time in Pedestal, look me up at the Bazaar on East Row. I keep a stall there and should be there within a few days time.”
The companions smiled, waved and kept on walking. “That seemed a little strange,” muttered Wencis.
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Across the Ocean
Wencis looked around him. He stood on the span of massive stone blocks that was the Oceanbridge. The ominous waters of the Sullen Sea were on either side of him at this point. Out across the water he saw a lone isle protruding above the glassy water a half mile or more away, faintly glowing with blue light from a source he could not see. Ahead, a few of the stone blocks were cracked and sat askew. A navigable path yet existed where the corners of the stones came close together. They had seen sections of the bridge had suffered minor erosion but this section seemed to have sustained damage.
Tristan examined the crossing. “I don’t like the looks of it. It’s bad enough having water on both sides of us, now we’ll have it pretty much on all sides as we cross this section. I’ll go first, the rest of you be ready for an ambush.”
Bootsy loaded his crossbow, “We always expect an ambush.”
Sure enough, no sooner had Tristan stepped out onto the first block when the surface of the water rippled and the air grew foul with the stench of rotting fish. Four humanoids hauled themselves from the depths, covered in slimy, bulbous flesh and vestigial fins. Their gaping maws were filled with rows of sharp teeth. Even more horrific, an alien form of writhing tentacles, fishy scales and glowing malevolent eyes rose to the surface about twenty feet from the bridge.
Bootsy’s bolt plunked into the water next to the huge aberration. Frankie, Tristan and Wencis all confronted the humanoid creatures, each causing significant injury to the scum. The Soul Spark’s attack killed the one Wencis had wounded. Frankie then felt someone trying to infiltrate his mind, but through force of will was able to resist the intrusion. The humanoid creatures slashed at the heroes but most of the creatures strikes were turned aside by their armor.
Celtir fired an arrow at the disgusting fish, his arrow appeared to strike true, but he saw it seemingly pass through the creature and splash into the water. If he hadn’t been paying close attention he could see it would have been easy to miss, but now, having seen what happened, he knew the truth. “The huge fish thing is just an illusion!”
A sense of dread fell over the companions as this news sank in. Somewhere around here was an attacker they could not see.
Another round of attacks from Frankie, Tristan, Wencis and his Soul Spark left only two of the creatures standing and those creatures were seriously wounded. Bootsy and Celtir fired at the creatures and one more fell back into the water.
A final strike by Frankie dropped the last one, the companions turned to see what could be done about the fish.
“Run?” suggested Celtir.
“Probably a good idea,” said Bootsy.
As Frankie turned to leave, Tristan struck at the dwarf with Merthuvial. “What in the abyss are you doing!?” Frankie yelled.
“
! I bet that fish thing is in his head!” cried Bootsy, as he fired off a spell hoping to daze the paladin. Unsure of what else to do, Celtir fired a spell that burst in a flash of light over the water, hoping to get lucky and hit an invisible creature. Tristan, with a glazed look in his eyes, slashed the Dwarf again. By this time Frankie was bleeding heavily. He backed away from the paladin and Wencis stepped forward to try to defend him. Before he could get between the Dwarf and the paladin, a twisting pattern of subtle, shifting colors filled the air. Frankie was fascinated by the display and stopped moving to admire the colors. Wencis resisted the effects and moved to slap Frankie. Before he could get there Tristan approached and stabbed Frankie yet again, awakening him from his stupor. Bootsy charged past in the opposite direction, drawing an attack from the paladin that left him sorely wounded.
“We’ve got to put him down!” yelled Bootsy as he launched a barrage of Magic Missiles at the paladin. The companions focused all their attention on him. A rain of blows and attacks pummeled Tristan from all sides. Finally, Frankie caught him right under the jaw with a massive uppercut with the head of his axe, lifting him right off the ground and knocking him onto his back. Tristan did not get up.
Bootsy felt the mental intrusion of the fish inside his mind, “
you!” He yelled as he fired a crossbow bolt into the illusory fish. Grabbing their unconscious companion, the heroes moved as quickly as they could away from the area. Behind them the image of the huge fish creature blinked out.----------
“Well, at least we shouldn’t have any trouble getting into Pedestal,” Bootsy said with a smile.
The companions had made it across the rest of the bridge without incident. They had not revived Tristan, just in case the fish creature could still impose his will over the paladin.
“What do you mean?” asked Celtir.
Bootsy pointed back to where Frankie and Wencis were dragging the paladin along. “I would think it would be pretty easy to gain entry to an evil city while dragging the body of a paladin. Come to think of it, we may be able to earn a little coin. Come one, come all! Hit the mighty paladin with a stick! Find out if they really do have candy inside!”
The others just shook their heads.
Celtir took out a healing wand, “Look, we don’t know whether or not we can enter without being accosted and we might need the extra sword. I think we’re far enough away that we can risk waking him.”
“All right, but we’re taking his weapons and hog-tying him just in case. I’m not letting him use me to practice his swordsmanship again,” said Frankie.
Once the paladin was healed and it was clear he was thinking for himself, the companions untied him. “Sorry friends, I tried to resist, but the creatures will was too strong.”
Bootsy just smiled. “That’s all right. We enjoyed beating the
out of you.”They were finally in a spot where they could get a good look at Pedestal. The wide sloping base of a massive column was built up with streets, walls and hundreds of elaborate structures. A few glimmered with faint illumination and here and there, lanterns shed green illumination in small pools separated by gulfs of shadow. Portions of the small city were completely collapsed and obviously abandoned, though others showed clear signs of habitation and upkeep. A great wall surrounded the lowest edges of the city and upon that edifice, hundreds of rusty spikes pointed toward the cavern’s high ceiling. Rotting heads adorned scores of the spikes.
Up ahead, dark stones sagged over an open gatehouse. The gaping arch revealed a rubble-strewn roadway, a low barricade of piled debris and an ominous cityscape beyond, where shadowed buildings leaned above sloping cobbled lanes illuminated by green light from glowing lanterns.
“This must be the South Gate,” observed Wencis.
Bootsy shook his head, “How in the Nine Hells does Bruthwol get his wagon in over these piles of rubble? For that matter how does he get his wagon across the Oceanbridge in the condition it’s in?”
Celtir started toward the entryway, “If we see him again, you can ask him.”
The companions hadn’t taken three steps when a gray, pudgy humanoid that had willowy limbs and flipper-like hands and feet bounds from the shadows, its fishlike head sported bulbous eyes. It carried a spear and a large shield and the smell of rotting fish hung in the air around it. With a gurgling snarl it leapt to attack.
It gurgled once again as Bootsy’s bolt pierced his shoulder. It stopped gurgling completely when Frankie’s axe almost bisected the creature. Two more of them emerged from the darkness of the open gatehouse. Wencis and his Soul spark charged forward dropping one of the creatures as Celtir’s arrow pierced the other in the chest. Two more of the creatures behind a low stone wall toward the back of the gatehouse launched javelins but missed their intended targets. Using organized offensive tactics, the companions rapidly mowed through the remaining creatures.
----------
Lights of every hue streamed from the windows of the sprawling three-story building. Conversing voices, snippets of song and the clatter of crockery spilled into the street. Odors of exotic tobaccos, yeasty drink and barbecued meat suffused the air. The wall facing the street was a sculpted formation of flowstone, like dozens of drooping hands, apparently built up from water that had fallen from somewhere high above. Here and there, stone faces leered out from the depths.
“This has got to be the place,” said Wencis. They had passed few other creatures on the way here. Those creatures had either ignored them or avoided them completely by turning down side streets and disappearing into the darkness.
As they entered the Dripstone Inn, conversations dropped as the patrons gave the companions the once over. Few of the faces seemed welcoming and those that did seemed hungry or insane. Dusky Dwarves, wild eyed Derro, slim Drow and stranger creatures sat around the room in lantern lit niches scattered about the large, high ceilinged chamber. A central bar was stuffed with bottles, casks, pipes, vials, cigarillos and less familiar paraphernalia. Cloaked in white linen, a humanoid figure stood behind the bar. A number of servers moved about the room, similarly shrouded. A side door apparently opened into a busy kitchen that was alive with the sounds and scents of cooking. From a great stone chair across the common room, a humanoid figure observed, wrapped in and hooded by a crimson robe that had a complex pattern of eyes on it. Whatever this creature was, the companions felt that little escaped its notice.
Once again the companions looked to the paladin with that unasked question.
Tristan gave his companions an incredulous look and whispered, “Are you kidding me? I fear that if I try that here my eyes will start to bleed. I think it best we leave that question unanswered and run with the assumption that everyone is. Let us just be cautious.”
As conversations around the room resumed, one of the servers motioned the companions over to an empty table.
Before they could ask any questions, the server placed a single menu on the table that listed the prices for common goods and services.
“Who would we talk to, to arrange accommodations for the night?” asked Celtir.
“And what does ‘Other Services May Be Available upon Request’ Mean?” Bootsy asked with a mischievous grin.
In response, the silent figure just pointed to the bar.
Bootsy handed the creature some coin, “Here’s 15 gold to start a tab.”
Wencis looked at the menu doubtfully, “Do I want to know what a ‘Blood Jelly’ is?”
Celtir stood, “You guys order dinner while I go arrange the rooms.”
Having arranged for the companions to occupy almost the entire second floor of the Inn, Celtir returned. After eating a quick dinner of carefully selected items, he motioned one of the servers over. “If I had some questions I needed answered, who would I talk to?” He asked, already suspecting the answer. The creature pointed to the figure seated in the stone chair. Before he could even ask about how to get an appointment, he saw the figure motion him over.
As Celtir approached he tried to get a good look at the figures face, but it was lost in the voluminous fold of his robe. He had a sneaking suspicion that Es Sarch and his minions were all undead though he could not place the type. An odor like thyme mixed with dirt assaulted his nostrils as the figure raised his arm in greeting and spoke with a raspy voice.
“Travelers from the sun-poisoned skin of the world, welcome. I am Es Sarch. I deal in information. Thus I know many truths, but not the one that brings you to this fallen city.”
Celtir was little confused by his manner of speaking. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you know why we’re here?”
Es Sarch’s head tilted slightly, and then he responded slowly and deliberately as if talking to a child, “No. I just said I don’t know why you are here.”
A little embarrassed, Celtir felt the need to apologize again, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be direct. We’re used to everything being overly cryptic.”
A brief, repeating hissing sound escaped from Es Sarch’s hood. Celtir assumed he was laughing. “We seek a woman…”
At this point, Bootsy called from across the room only to be interrupted by Wencis elbowing him in the ribs, “Actually two, if you have an extra! Ooof!”
Celtir continued, “Um… A woman named Fadheela. Have you heard of her?”
Es Sarch appeared to think for a moment before answering, “Yes I know her. A high ranking individual with the Assassins Guild I believe, a dangerous woman to be sure.”
“So, is she a Drow?”
“No… To be honest I am not sure what she is, though I suspect she’s a Medusa.”
“We have reason to believe she’s associated with a group calling them selves the Vanguard of Sertrous. Do you know anything of this organization?”
Es Sarch paused once again before answering. “I know something of what you speak, but to learn more, I will have to expend resources. Thus I propose an alliance. Aid me with a few tasks I’d prefer to be accomplished by those outside Pedestal’s power structure. Upon completion of these tasks, I’ll know more of Fadheela. In your debt for your favors to me, I will deliver that information to you. What say you?”
Celtir thought for a moment. “Can you give us some time to consider? My companions and I will have to discuss this privately. Can you give us until… say… tomorrow?”
Es Sarch gave a gracious nod, “Take what time you will. The offer shall remain open.”
Celtir nodded back, “Thank you for your time.”
As he sat back down at the table, he paused as he looked at the plate that was set before him.
Bootsy grinned, “We ordered you some Sweetmeat. We thought it would be a confectionary, but apparently around here it’s just a fancy name for pickled brains. Eat up, we don’t want to appear rude.”
End of Session 7
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