[sblock=ooc]I'm working out numbers with Mowgli, but I can at least give you guys some narrative closure now. There aren't really any apologies that say enough how sorry I am for floundering this game into a slow death. I want to thank everyone for having more patience than I had any right to expect. I'm ashamed to have dropped the ball so very far. You all deserved better.
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Unlike his compatriots, Crove seems to have an overwhelming sense of self-preservation. The battle seems to last forever as he moves from one gambit to another in an effort to keep clear of the party. He fills the room with webbing to slow everyone down, and as the humanoids begin to chop their way free, he spits out an arcane phrase which allows him to vanish from view.
Unfortunately, he seems to have forgotten the familiar attached to his side. Ausk recovers his stomach and chuckles at the sight of Alfred flailing, ostensibly hovering in midair. It's not nearly as difficult, then, to find the old man's flesh with Kalgor and Ausk's blades, though it is still a challenge, since the only point they really have to aim at goes directly through the familiar. Still, a screech and spatter of blood make it clear they've hit home.
Giving up his attempt to hide, Crove tries setting the webbing ablaze, but Anaerion manages to counter the attempt even as Rylidak and Gragnor stop coating the sticky strands with the results of their dry heaves. Crove's bellow of despair is amplified by a much louder, unearthly screeching. Loud, heavy pounding sounds above, accompanied by the screeching of inmates carrying down the stairwell. As the pounding progresses, Anaerion and Gragnor's sharp ears catch the gurgling sound as one by one, the screams are cut off.
"He's coming, you fools! Only I can bind him! Only I--!" but Crove's railing warning is completely unnecessary. The party knows exactly what's coming, and how to stop it. Anaerion, taking a minor cue from Crove's earlier actions, grabs hold of the just-recovered Rylidak. The two blink out of sight, only to reappear behind Crove, now surrounded by Kalgor and Ausk on one side and the paladin and wizard behind.
"Bossss, it's coming!" Gragnor warns as he zips overhead to join the others. And they see it. Or, don't see it:
A slimy slurp sounds around the doorway at the northern stairwell as the wall itself begins to swell from the creature pulling its way through. Everyone smells it: the fresh version of the putrescence they previously encountered at the house in the market and the cave with the ghoul.
"Yooooogggg Sooothhooothh!" comes the groaning voice, as unsettling as the putrid scent.
Crove reaches for his holy symbol again, but lets go as Anaerion greases the thing out his grasp. Rylidak's and Kalgor's blades grind against each other somewhere in the depths of Crove's bowels as both fighters skewer him. He sputters, blood running from his open mouth. Fingers wriggle as he tries to pull the words of some saving magic, arms straining for the spawn his machinations had brought to this world, his goal literally just out of reach.
His ancestors howling in his ears, Ausk uses his bill to give the man what he wants: with a swift, efficient swing, the half-orc sends the asylum master's head arcing over to the bottom of the stairwell.
There is less a shudder this time than there is a full-fledged earthquake when the final cultist falls. Crove's open-in-death mouth actually opens further, as if something has been pushed into it, then it's lifted off the ground as the doorway collapses open. You realize now why Anaerion's eye became visible: Crove seems to have put some kind of magical effect on the Western part of the room: though you cannot see all of the creature, you catch sight of flailing, barbed tentacles, dripping viscous fluids as they cross the border to the unseen magical effect. Two of them embed themselves in the opposite walls of the hallway, pulling at the walls, threatening to bring the asylum down on your heads.
Even as the bricks begin to crumble, there is a wave of ... something. Those small extensions of the creature you can see begin to ooze more than the slime that runs across their surface of barbs - no, not barbs. Teeth. Tiny, sharp teeth in a million hungry mouths. But the substance of them is breaking apart, faster than the sturdy structure of the asylum.
There is one final, groaning cry, and for one brief moment, the natural invisibility fails entirely, and you can see the spawn. It is made of an anatomically impossible conglomeration of sinew twisted and intertwined in the mockery of body parts. No, no the sinew seems to hold
actual body parts together: a quartet of humanoid feet are lashed together to compose each gigantic 'foot.' Eyes, of all shapes and sizes, blinking and unblinking, peek out from the writing mass. The mouthed tentacles whip about. Crove's head, held above the creature by one especially thick tentacle, serves as a gruesome, screaming 'face' for the melting monstrosity.
Then the world seems to hold its breath and is silent for a moment, save for the wet splutch of the oozing flesh splattering to the floor. Crove's head adds a final, solid thud as it lands atop the foul-smelling gunk that was the Spawn of Yog-Sothoth.
With the death of both Crove and the Spawn, the lunatics in the room cower away from the world, making it easy to release the man in the cell, who-after professing his eternal gratitude-confirms he was an orderly for the asylum who stumbled upon Crove's full plans. He surrenders himself to Rylidak for testifying as to the true breadth of madness the asylum contained.
Yrehgg, Golthia, and a host of Crows stand, wide-eyed, in the misty rain outside when the party makes its way out into the gray world above. The witch's patron apparently insisted she attend this final battle, and bring what aid she could (even other planes, it seems, had begun to grow nervous at the portent of the old gods returning). They can do little more than play clean-up, however, as the mayor promises the party whatever riches the city might possess despite needing to rebuild from the horrors several of their own released.
But the Kopec is a city built on layer after layer of older cities, and rebuild they shall, Yrehgg assures. But your work, he says with sincere gratitude, is finished far beyond his satisfaction.