"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book III: Fanning the Embers
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Finally. . .
Hey all. . .
I finally began to re-post The Story of Ratchis my sixty-odd page character background.
Enjoy.
Hey all. . .
I finally began to re-post The Story of Ratchis my sixty-odd page character background.
Enjoy.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #41 (part I)
Session #41
Part One: The Descent Begins…
“Something happened,” Ratchis said, feeling the rope jerk and hearing the crunch of metal echo up from deep down in the pit. He had already lowered the lantern on the end of the rope over fifty feet and there was no bottom to be felt. He was able to notice however that thirty feet below the area expanded either into a room, or the shaft itself became wider.
The half-orc pulled what was left of the lantern up. The metal was twisted and the glass was broken, the lamp oil had all spilled out.
“There goes yet another lantern,” Martin sighed.
Ratchis looked over at him annoyed.
“We’ll make do,” the ranger grunted.
“There used to be some kind of something built over this shaft,” Helrahd said, and hawked something green and yellow down into it.
Martin cringed.
Blodnath snorted his agreement with the red-haired dwarven scout, and pointed to scuffs in the stone, “Something was bolted at three points over this shaft, probably a winch mechanism of some kind for lowering things…”
“Or bringing things up,” Martin suggested.
The balding white-haired dwarf glared at the watch-mage. He placed a stone sliver he carried behind his ear in his mouth, and moved it back and forth with his tongue.
“We can rig something up so one or more of us can get lowered down easy,” Blodnath continued. He looked to the silent brown-haired dwarf behind him. “Ain’t that right, Baervard?”
The dwarf did not nod.
“Yeah,” Helrahd spit again. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I’m going down first,” Ratchis demanded.
“I don’t think many folks are gonna argue with ya,” Blodnath sneered, and set to getting the ropes with Helrahd and Baervard.
Soon, Beorth, Derek and Kazrack returned from having searched the perimeter of the monolith and the nearby area for some other way in whatever structure lay beneath. They had no luck.
“There could be some other entrance miles away if it is some kind of cave system,” Derek said.
“This is the only one we have. This is the one we are going to use,” Beorth said.
“We will be so vulnerable getting down there,” Martin said. “Whoever is on the ropes is at the mercy of whatever might be down there.”
“That’s why I’m going down first,” Ratchis repeated for the benefit of the newly arrived companions.
Helrahd snickered from ten feet away.
“And I’m going with you,” Beorth said.
“And we will send one of our number who is a good climber,” Captain Adalar said, stepping into the conversation.
“Why do we have to go down there at all?” Jeremy asked. He had his arms around his body as a cold wind brushed past them and swirled up the ash around them into miniature black cyclones. “We don’t know what is down there and whether it has anything to do with the gnomes.”
“The wight came here and he was under the control of the gnomes,” Kazrack said. “This could be their secret lair or something. It is certainly foul enough.”
“The boy might be right, however,” Now it was Belear’s turn to chime in. “The wight was not in control of the necromancer gnome once he was killed, but he came here anyway. He wasn’t sent here for all we know. This could be a time consuming sidetrack while our true goal is back in Garvan.”
Captain Adalar who moments before was ready to go down and explore, now carefully considered the elder priest’s words, “That could be true. Perhaps a more direct approach would be better than a delve into a dangerous and potentially irrelevant place. We do have time constraints. We came to aid the gnomes, but we do want to return to our people and give the news of the drow and aid them against the bear-men beasts.”
“Quaggoths,” Martin said. All the dwarves but Belear and Kazrack turned and glared at the watch-mage, who looked down.
“On the other hand,” Kazrack said, rubbing his chin. “There may be a tool, weapon or information in this place we can use against the fiends if this place is theirs, or once was theirs.”
Beorth nodded.
“You speak wisely,” Belear intoned.
“We explore it some and then come to a decision if it is necessary for us to continue,” Ratchis offered.
“This a foul place, where the darkness of evil reigns. I cannot leave here without attempting to destroy it,” Beorth said. “I can sense it from the very stone. I can smell it emanating from the pit.”
“That’s called rot,” Jeremy said, and he turned away, to watch for anyone or anything approaching as Blodnath called them over to the pit’s edge.
Derek followed the Neergaardian, and patted him on the back warmly, but he did not say a word.
Blodnath talked them through getting the rope harnesses he rigged up on. At the end of the rope were one large loop and two smaller ones askew from it, allowing someone to slip the rope around the waist and then put each leg through a smaller loop. As a person was lowered down, they need only steady themselves with the rope, and did not have to hold on. Two of the ropes were tied and looped around the statues, and a third around the headstone type flat stone at the top of the shaft for the third, and using pitons hammered into the stone as levers on the rope.
Ratchis was sent first.
The half-orc descended into the darkness of the shaft. He could see with the vision granted him by his sub-human lineage, but the glare of the sun from above still put a strange sheen on his vision and he found himself squinting. He looked up to see Baervard being lowered quickly after him.
They had worked out a system of tugs on the rope that told those doing the lowering when to stop, go up or continue down. And as the ten-foot shaft opened on either side of Ratchis, he tugged once meaning stop, as he just came into view of the area. The shaft continued down further than he could see with his darkvision.
Just where the shaft opened there was kind of shelf all around him. It was a round level ringed with a low wall and holding four large stone sarcophagi. He could see some kind of masks hanging from the spaces between the sarcophagi on the wall.
Ratchis slowly turned and surveyed the first level of the shaft, as Baervard was lowered even with him.
Baervard grunted and pointed down, and Ratchis looked in time to see two strange figures floating up towards them in the darkness. They were like wavering slices of shadow only visible where they crossed the meager light gleaming down from above, and thin slits of red glowing eyes.
They split from one another and swooped at both Ratchis and Barevard, but perhaps they were playing with this bait being lowered two them, because they missed.
“Undead shades!” Ratchis hollered up the shaft as he swung his long sword with one hand and steadied himself on the rope with the other. The thing easily flew out of his range, but it flicked a shadowy finger as it passed again, and Ratchis felt its cold touch cut him to the bone. He could feel his muscles cramp up as if they were slowly atrophying.
Baervard stabbed at the one that dogged him with a short sword, but his blow was ineffective, slipping through the thing as if it were not there.
Above, Beorth leaped out of the harness he was being helped into and ran over to Ratchis’ rope which was being held by Golnar, Tolnar and Jolnar.
“Pull him up! Pull him up!” the paladin cried, grabbing the front of the rope and starting.
“But he didn’t tug the rope,” complained Jolnar.
Kazrack looked down the shaft and called to his gods, “Lords and Ladies, please come to me and allow me to emit your divine will to force these creatures to flee from your sight!”
The shadow attacking Baervard took off in a straight line down into the darkness of the shaft, but the lower one still dogged Ratchis, and reached out and touched him easily as he spun on the rope, trying to fend it off. Again, he felt that deep cold down to his bone and soul, and his muscles shriveled even more. The rope began to burn his hand.
“Pull him up now!” Beorth commanded, and Captain Adalar nodded with a guttural bark and pointed. The paladin and the three young dwarves began to pull them up.
The half-orc jerked upward as the creature took another swipe at him and it missed.
Jeremy and Kirla began to quickly and smoothly pull up Baervard.
“Nephthys! Send this dark thing from my sight until such time that I can free it from the curse of unlife!” Ratchis cried, clutching his belt of bent, scored and broken chain links. The shadow fled down into the darkness of the shaft.
The two spelunkers were pulled all the way back to the top.
“This is too dangerous,” Ratchis said. “We need a better plan to handle this and we are weak from our fight.”
“We should leave these dead lands and make a camp and rest some,” Martin suggested. “We are all injured and some of us are suffering deeper wounds.” The watch-mage looked from Kazrack to Derek.
“Why not just camp here?” Kazrack asked. No one seemed to pay him any attention.
“I am loathe to leave this place and its undead to walk the world of the living for even one more night,” Beorth said without emotion. “Even if it is at the bottom of some pit.”
“Are you sure you’ve lost your memory?” Jeremy asked.
Beorth sneered.
“We cannot hope to succeed in our current condition and without a way of handling those shadow-creatures,” Belear offered.
Ratchis snorted his agreement, and soon the Fearless Manticore Killers and their dwarven allies were marching back across the ash that roiled up and burned their lungs and eyes.
The sun was an orange sliver ahead of them, as they got back to the embankment and climbed up panting and faces black with soot. They made camp.
Watches were set and a cold night fell.
-------------------------------------------------
It was decided that the next day would be taken doing nothing but resting. As the day waned, both Derek and Kazrack felt the weakness of the life drained from them make their bones aches and the spirit wither. Each fought a battle with that darkness within them, but while Derek overcame his peril, Kazrack felt the bite of shadow deep within himself. The darkness did not leave him, and the worry of doubt took up a space in his mind and in his faith and spirit. (1) He walked off to pray alone.
Tholem, 11th of Prem, 565 H.E.
As the previous day had been hot and the night had been cold, so again was the next day unusually hot. The sun seemed to press down on them as if to smother them with palpable heat. The air was so dry, their eyes stung them even before they began to march out across the acrid ash again, amid the tall often conical stone pillars.
In an hour’s time they were back at the monolith that marked the entrance to whatever subterranean tomb they had stumbled upon. They rubbed their burning eyes and wheezed, preferring the shards of bone to walk upon to the black ash.
It was deathly quiet, and the rotting remains of already rotting undead baked in the uncharacteristic early morning heat for this early spring morning. The ropes remained undisturbed, still coiled neatly by each stone they were anchored to. Soon, Ratchis, Kazrack and Beorth were putting on the harnesses to be lowered down.
Jeremy handed the Right Blade of Arofel to Beorth.
“Take care of her,” the Neergaardian said with a melodramatic smile.
“It’s a she?” Beorth asked, quizzically, it seemed amnesia had the same affect on his curious and sheltered nature as having been raised in a monastery had.
“It’s a sword,” Jeremy replied.
Ratchis and Kazrack both called upon their gods to enchant their weapons, and Ratchis went one step further and cast light upon his longsword as well.
They had not been long hanging in the darkness of the shaft, when Ratchis’ keen eyes spotted one of those shadowy undead creature swooping towards Beorth.
The half-orc reacted quickly and pulled belt of scored, twisted and broken chain links from around his waist and spun with all his strength.
“Nephthys, let you divine light send this thing away so we may penetrate the mystery of this tainted place!”
The show of divine power was too much for the thing and it fled back down the shaft.
“That will give us some time,” Ratchis said, turning to the others.
When they again arrived at the point where the shaft opened and revealed the ledge, Karack was able to shift his weight and begin to swing. He grabbed the stone ledge and pulled himself over the low wall.
Beorth tried to emulate the dwarf, but his lack of physical grace caused him some troubles and soon he was swinging back and forth wildly and spinning out of control. Above, Jeremy, Helrahd and Derek cursed and the rope twisted and burned in the hands.
“All those years of training and I end up a damned pulley operator,” Jeremy quipped.
It took Ratchis two tries to grab the ledge, but soon he was over as well, holding out Kazrack’s light flail for Beorth to grab on to, as he straddled the low wall and held on to a narrow stone support. Feeling more embarrassed than dizzy, Beorth was soon on the ledge as well.
The walked around the ledge, trailing their ropes behind them and pulling for slack, while trying to be careful not to tangle themselves up too much.
The sarcophagi were large, and a thick stone lid covered in etched runes covered each one. They were so long, there was barely a foot of space on either side of them on the ledge, as they pointed from head to foot in towards the shaft.
Beorth examined the runes, but did not recognize them. Nor, did Kazrack.
The floor of the ledge and the tops of the sarcophagi were thick with dust. It did not look as if anyone had stepped here in years and years. Kazrack pointed out some masks he found hanging about five feet high on the wall. There were four of them and they hung between pair of sarcophagi. They were a deep rust color and lacquered, and they had snouts like a gnoll’s, each with a different expression. One was bearing its teeth and seemed to be angrily growling. One had down cast eyes, and the snout was turned to the left, as if the turned away from whomever it was facing with a look of docility and fear. The snout of the third was scrunched and twisted, and the face was one that suggested pain, while the fourth was expressionless.
Beorth covered his eyes with his right hand and reached out woth his left, stretching out his senses to detect the presence of evil from the masks or sarcophagi, but except for the palpable sense of evil he could feel all around them, the objects did not seem to be tainted with darkness.
Kazrack called to Lehrathonar to allow him to sense dweomers – but there were none to be seen, except for the glow of Ratchis’ boots and white prayer shawl draped over Beorth’s shoulders. (2)
They disentangled themselves and gave the sharp double yank, causing those above to pull up the slack and yank the spelunkers up over the ledge wall and to swing back and forth in the pit. They swung there for a few moments, and then gave the signal to continue their descent.
It was only twenty more feet before they came to another ledge. This one also had a low wall, and had sarcophagi, but these were rectangular, though made of the same stone. However, they could see the lids on some were cracked.
Again, Kazrack easily maneuvered himself into a swinging arc to grab the ledge and climb over. Beorth also had an easier time of it, but Ratchis spun wildly for several moments. Ratchis glared at his companions who seemed to be ignoring him every time he spun round and saw them. Beorth and Kazrack took to looking around. There were more lacquered gnoll-face masks. Beorth noticed the angry one was hung crookedly on the wall.
“Maybe I should fix it,” Beorth suggested to Kazrack, but the dwarf did not hear. He had just notice that three narrow stone stairs led down to a lower ledge, and there was some clinking of metal and footsteps coming up one that was nearby.
Ratchis was finally able to steady himself on the spinning rope as those above swore in the terrible sun, but Kazrack did not notice. The dwarf yelled out, “Look!”
A figure ascended the final step. It was a skeletal figure dressed in ring mail armor and dressed in torn and filthy burgundy tabard that had some heraldry ripped from it. It held a long sword in one bony hand, but as it rose it pointed and finger and spoke a muttered word. Arrows of black light exploded from the creature’s finger and went racing towards Kazrack in a blink’s time.
The dwarf cried out as he felt a deep cold reminiscent of the wight’s touch, but just a shadow of that shadow. He staggered forward, swinging his flail and smashing the thing in the shoulder. It did not cry out. It’s only sound was the clinking of its armor and the cracking and stretching of leathery tendons.
Beorth turned as he saw a second one emerge from another stairway, to point at him and send two the cold arrows rocketing into his chest.
Ratchis finally grabbed the lip of the ledge wall only to feel the sharp cut of a long sword blade across his forearm. He yanked his arm back and rolled over the wall an onto his feet cursing under his breath. He had his long sword in his hand.
“Anubis, using be as a vessel to fill with your divine might and send these creatures from here so we may better purge this place of evil,” Beorth cried, and a wave of positive energy erupted from him, and his white shawl began to glow, filling the ledge with pure white light.
The creature hanging over Ratchis turned and the half-orc took his opportunity to cleave into its hip bone. It wobbled, but continued to hurry away towards the staircase it had emerged from. The one that had attacked Beorth also fled and the paladin thrust his sword through its rib cage as it turned, but Kazrack found himself barely deflecting a sword blow from the first. The shock went down and numbed his arm for a moment. (3)
However, the dwarf did not despair, he swung his flail with all his might, slamming the thing in the thigh-bone. There was a cracking sound as it fell to its knees, awkwardly.
Ratchis slipped out of his harness and stuffed it into a crack on a sarcophagus lid. He hurried over to aid Kazrack, who was amazed that he missed as he swung at the skeleton’s head, but it leaned forward, essentially ducking as it came back up to its feet. Ratchis came up alongside his dwarven companion and thrust his sword into the thing, but there was no chip or crack of bone. He had pierced the armor, but there was no flesh underneath. (4)
The thing pulled away from him and turned to go down the stairs, but with a quick flick of his meaty wrist, Ratchis cracked the thing’s helmeted skull and it tumbled in a jumbled of bones and armor down the stone steps.
“We must go down and finish them,” Beorth said, sliding from his harness and frowning when he saw where Ratchis had put his.
“Wait, that last one wasn’t turned,” Ratchis said. “It was only trying to draw us down there.”
The half-orc lit a torch and handed it to Beorth.
Kazrack had a puzzled look of growing horror on his face.
“What is it?” Ratchis asked, the spell on his sword glaring in the half-orc’s face.
“Nothing. I…uh, thought I heard something…”
Ratchis put a finger to his lips and crept over to a stairway. He crouched down and looked and could see one of the minions at the bottom of the stair, cringing. By moving over to another stairway he could see the other doing a similar thing. Just to be same, he slunk over to the third staircase and looked down. There was something small and gray that seemed to crawl just out of his field of vision as he crouched.
The Friar of Nephthys went back to his companions and placed a finger to his thin brown lips again. He quietly prayed to his goddess for her healing blessing, closing the wound on his forearm.
He pointed to Beorth’s harness and grabbed his own and slipped it on. He gestured down to the pit, and moved to the ledge wall. Beorth slipped his back on and Kazrack walked over still looking pale. As they clambered over the wall hoping to swing down and surprise, Kazrack heard the sound again.
This time they all heard it. It was the muffled and cracking sound of a baby’s cry, echoing from deep down in the darkness of the pit.
-----------------------------------
Notes
(1) DM’s Note: Kazrack permanently lost two levels from the encounter with the gnoll-wight-witch-doctor. (See Session #40)
(2) The Shawl of Estes was a gift from the party’s sometime nemesis/sometime benefactor Richard the Red. Beorth does not know of its history or importance due his amnesia brought on by a pixie’s curse for killing one of their kind.
(3) DM’s Note: Not every hit a character takes for hit point need to be described as drawing blood. Bruises, twists, dizziness, fatigue and a whole other little details can be used to relay the loss of energy as one engages in melee. Of course, blood is good too.
(4) DM’s Note: Not every miss completely misses the target. I often describe armor absorbing damage or a foe parrying a blow or other similar things to keep combat lively and fresh.
Session #41
Part One: The Descent Begins…
“Something happened,” Ratchis said, feeling the rope jerk and hearing the crunch of metal echo up from deep down in the pit. He had already lowered the lantern on the end of the rope over fifty feet and there was no bottom to be felt. He was able to notice however that thirty feet below the area expanded either into a room, or the shaft itself became wider.
The half-orc pulled what was left of the lantern up. The metal was twisted and the glass was broken, the lamp oil had all spilled out.
“There goes yet another lantern,” Martin sighed.
Ratchis looked over at him annoyed.
“We’ll make do,” the ranger grunted.
“There used to be some kind of something built over this shaft,” Helrahd said, and hawked something green and yellow down into it.
Martin cringed.
Blodnath snorted his agreement with the red-haired dwarven scout, and pointed to scuffs in the stone, “Something was bolted at three points over this shaft, probably a winch mechanism of some kind for lowering things…”
“Or bringing things up,” Martin suggested.
The balding white-haired dwarf glared at the watch-mage. He placed a stone sliver he carried behind his ear in his mouth, and moved it back and forth with his tongue.
“We can rig something up so one or more of us can get lowered down easy,” Blodnath continued. He looked to the silent brown-haired dwarf behind him. “Ain’t that right, Baervard?”
The dwarf did not nod.
“Yeah,” Helrahd spit again. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I’m going down first,” Ratchis demanded.
“I don’t think many folks are gonna argue with ya,” Blodnath sneered, and set to getting the ropes with Helrahd and Baervard.
Soon, Beorth, Derek and Kazrack returned from having searched the perimeter of the monolith and the nearby area for some other way in whatever structure lay beneath. They had no luck.
“There could be some other entrance miles away if it is some kind of cave system,” Derek said.
“This is the only one we have. This is the one we are going to use,” Beorth said.
“We will be so vulnerable getting down there,” Martin said. “Whoever is on the ropes is at the mercy of whatever might be down there.”
“That’s why I’m going down first,” Ratchis repeated for the benefit of the newly arrived companions.
Helrahd snickered from ten feet away.
“And I’m going with you,” Beorth said.
“And we will send one of our number who is a good climber,” Captain Adalar said, stepping into the conversation.
“Why do we have to go down there at all?” Jeremy asked. He had his arms around his body as a cold wind brushed past them and swirled up the ash around them into miniature black cyclones. “We don’t know what is down there and whether it has anything to do with the gnomes.”
“The wight came here and he was under the control of the gnomes,” Kazrack said. “This could be their secret lair or something. It is certainly foul enough.”
“The boy might be right, however,” Now it was Belear’s turn to chime in. “The wight was not in control of the necromancer gnome once he was killed, but he came here anyway. He wasn’t sent here for all we know. This could be a time consuming sidetrack while our true goal is back in Garvan.”
Captain Adalar who moments before was ready to go down and explore, now carefully considered the elder priest’s words, “That could be true. Perhaps a more direct approach would be better than a delve into a dangerous and potentially irrelevant place. We do have time constraints. We came to aid the gnomes, but we do want to return to our people and give the news of the drow and aid them against the bear-men beasts.”
“Quaggoths,” Martin said. All the dwarves but Belear and Kazrack turned and glared at the watch-mage, who looked down.
“On the other hand,” Kazrack said, rubbing his chin. “There may be a tool, weapon or information in this place we can use against the fiends if this place is theirs, or once was theirs.”
Beorth nodded.
“You speak wisely,” Belear intoned.
“We explore it some and then come to a decision if it is necessary for us to continue,” Ratchis offered.
“This a foul place, where the darkness of evil reigns. I cannot leave here without attempting to destroy it,” Beorth said. “I can sense it from the very stone. I can smell it emanating from the pit.”
“That’s called rot,” Jeremy said, and he turned away, to watch for anyone or anything approaching as Blodnath called them over to the pit’s edge.
Derek followed the Neergaardian, and patted him on the back warmly, but he did not say a word.
Blodnath talked them through getting the rope harnesses he rigged up on. At the end of the rope were one large loop and two smaller ones askew from it, allowing someone to slip the rope around the waist and then put each leg through a smaller loop. As a person was lowered down, they need only steady themselves with the rope, and did not have to hold on. Two of the ropes were tied and looped around the statues, and a third around the headstone type flat stone at the top of the shaft for the third, and using pitons hammered into the stone as levers on the rope.
Ratchis was sent first.
The half-orc descended into the darkness of the shaft. He could see with the vision granted him by his sub-human lineage, but the glare of the sun from above still put a strange sheen on his vision and he found himself squinting. He looked up to see Baervard being lowered quickly after him.
They had worked out a system of tugs on the rope that told those doing the lowering when to stop, go up or continue down. And as the ten-foot shaft opened on either side of Ratchis, he tugged once meaning stop, as he just came into view of the area. The shaft continued down further than he could see with his darkvision.
Just where the shaft opened there was kind of shelf all around him. It was a round level ringed with a low wall and holding four large stone sarcophagi. He could see some kind of masks hanging from the spaces between the sarcophagi on the wall.
Ratchis slowly turned and surveyed the first level of the shaft, as Baervard was lowered even with him.
Baervard grunted and pointed down, and Ratchis looked in time to see two strange figures floating up towards them in the darkness. They were like wavering slices of shadow only visible where they crossed the meager light gleaming down from above, and thin slits of red glowing eyes.
They split from one another and swooped at both Ratchis and Barevard, but perhaps they were playing with this bait being lowered two them, because they missed.
“Undead shades!” Ratchis hollered up the shaft as he swung his long sword with one hand and steadied himself on the rope with the other. The thing easily flew out of his range, but it flicked a shadowy finger as it passed again, and Ratchis felt its cold touch cut him to the bone. He could feel his muscles cramp up as if they were slowly atrophying.
Baervard stabbed at the one that dogged him with a short sword, but his blow was ineffective, slipping through the thing as if it were not there.
Above, Beorth leaped out of the harness he was being helped into and ran over to Ratchis’ rope which was being held by Golnar, Tolnar and Jolnar.
“Pull him up! Pull him up!” the paladin cried, grabbing the front of the rope and starting.
“But he didn’t tug the rope,” complained Jolnar.
Kazrack looked down the shaft and called to his gods, “Lords and Ladies, please come to me and allow me to emit your divine will to force these creatures to flee from your sight!”
The shadow attacking Baervard took off in a straight line down into the darkness of the shaft, but the lower one still dogged Ratchis, and reached out and touched him easily as he spun on the rope, trying to fend it off. Again, he felt that deep cold down to his bone and soul, and his muscles shriveled even more. The rope began to burn his hand.
“Pull him up now!” Beorth commanded, and Captain Adalar nodded with a guttural bark and pointed. The paladin and the three young dwarves began to pull them up.
The half-orc jerked upward as the creature took another swipe at him and it missed.
Jeremy and Kirla began to quickly and smoothly pull up Baervard.
“Nephthys! Send this dark thing from my sight until such time that I can free it from the curse of unlife!” Ratchis cried, clutching his belt of bent, scored and broken chain links. The shadow fled down into the darkness of the shaft.
The two spelunkers were pulled all the way back to the top.
“This is too dangerous,” Ratchis said. “We need a better plan to handle this and we are weak from our fight.”
“We should leave these dead lands and make a camp and rest some,” Martin suggested. “We are all injured and some of us are suffering deeper wounds.” The watch-mage looked from Kazrack to Derek.
“Why not just camp here?” Kazrack asked. No one seemed to pay him any attention.
“I am loathe to leave this place and its undead to walk the world of the living for even one more night,” Beorth said without emotion. “Even if it is at the bottom of some pit.”
“Are you sure you’ve lost your memory?” Jeremy asked.
Beorth sneered.
“We cannot hope to succeed in our current condition and without a way of handling those shadow-creatures,” Belear offered.
Ratchis snorted his agreement, and soon the Fearless Manticore Killers and their dwarven allies were marching back across the ash that roiled up and burned their lungs and eyes.
The sun was an orange sliver ahead of them, as they got back to the embankment and climbed up panting and faces black with soot. They made camp.
Watches were set and a cold night fell.
-------------------------------------------------
It was decided that the next day would be taken doing nothing but resting. As the day waned, both Derek and Kazrack felt the weakness of the life drained from them make their bones aches and the spirit wither. Each fought a battle with that darkness within them, but while Derek overcame his peril, Kazrack felt the bite of shadow deep within himself. The darkness did not leave him, and the worry of doubt took up a space in his mind and in his faith and spirit. (1) He walked off to pray alone.
Tholem, 11th of Prem, 565 H.E.
As the previous day had been hot and the night had been cold, so again was the next day unusually hot. The sun seemed to press down on them as if to smother them with palpable heat. The air was so dry, their eyes stung them even before they began to march out across the acrid ash again, amid the tall often conical stone pillars.
In an hour’s time they were back at the monolith that marked the entrance to whatever subterranean tomb they had stumbled upon. They rubbed their burning eyes and wheezed, preferring the shards of bone to walk upon to the black ash.
It was deathly quiet, and the rotting remains of already rotting undead baked in the uncharacteristic early morning heat for this early spring morning. The ropes remained undisturbed, still coiled neatly by each stone they were anchored to. Soon, Ratchis, Kazrack and Beorth were putting on the harnesses to be lowered down.
Jeremy handed the Right Blade of Arofel to Beorth.
“Take care of her,” the Neergaardian said with a melodramatic smile.
“It’s a she?” Beorth asked, quizzically, it seemed amnesia had the same affect on his curious and sheltered nature as having been raised in a monastery had.
“It’s a sword,” Jeremy replied.
Ratchis and Kazrack both called upon their gods to enchant their weapons, and Ratchis went one step further and cast light upon his longsword as well.
They had not been long hanging in the darkness of the shaft, when Ratchis’ keen eyes spotted one of those shadowy undead creature swooping towards Beorth.
The half-orc reacted quickly and pulled belt of scored, twisted and broken chain links from around his waist and spun with all his strength.
“Nephthys, let you divine light send this thing away so we may penetrate the mystery of this tainted place!”
The show of divine power was too much for the thing and it fled back down the shaft.
“That will give us some time,” Ratchis said, turning to the others.
When they again arrived at the point where the shaft opened and revealed the ledge, Karack was able to shift his weight and begin to swing. He grabbed the stone ledge and pulled himself over the low wall.
Beorth tried to emulate the dwarf, but his lack of physical grace caused him some troubles and soon he was swinging back and forth wildly and spinning out of control. Above, Jeremy, Helrahd and Derek cursed and the rope twisted and burned in the hands.
“All those years of training and I end up a damned pulley operator,” Jeremy quipped.
It took Ratchis two tries to grab the ledge, but soon he was over as well, holding out Kazrack’s light flail for Beorth to grab on to, as he straddled the low wall and held on to a narrow stone support. Feeling more embarrassed than dizzy, Beorth was soon on the ledge as well.
The walked around the ledge, trailing their ropes behind them and pulling for slack, while trying to be careful not to tangle themselves up too much.
The sarcophagi were large, and a thick stone lid covered in etched runes covered each one. They were so long, there was barely a foot of space on either side of them on the ledge, as they pointed from head to foot in towards the shaft.
Beorth examined the runes, but did not recognize them. Nor, did Kazrack.
The floor of the ledge and the tops of the sarcophagi were thick with dust. It did not look as if anyone had stepped here in years and years. Kazrack pointed out some masks he found hanging about five feet high on the wall. There were four of them and they hung between pair of sarcophagi. They were a deep rust color and lacquered, and they had snouts like a gnoll’s, each with a different expression. One was bearing its teeth and seemed to be angrily growling. One had down cast eyes, and the snout was turned to the left, as if the turned away from whomever it was facing with a look of docility and fear. The snout of the third was scrunched and twisted, and the face was one that suggested pain, while the fourth was expressionless.
Beorth covered his eyes with his right hand and reached out woth his left, stretching out his senses to detect the presence of evil from the masks or sarcophagi, but except for the palpable sense of evil he could feel all around them, the objects did not seem to be tainted with darkness.
Kazrack called to Lehrathonar to allow him to sense dweomers – but there were none to be seen, except for the glow of Ratchis’ boots and white prayer shawl draped over Beorth’s shoulders. (2)
They disentangled themselves and gave the sharp double yank, causing those above to pull up the slack and yank the spelunkers up over the ledge wall and to swing back and forth in the pit. They swung there for a few moments, and then gave the signal to continue their descent.
It was only twenty more feet before they came to another ledge. This one also had a low wall, and had sarcophagi, but these were rectangular, though made of the same stone. However, they could see the lids on some were cracked.
Again, Kazrack easily maneuvered himself into a swinging arc to grab the ledge and climb over. Beorth also had an easier time of it, but Ratchis spun wildly for several moments. Ratchis glared at his companions who seemed to be ignoring him every time he spun round and saw them. Beorth and Kazrack took to looking around. There were more lacquered gnoll-face masks. Beorth noticed the angry one was hung crookedly on the wall.
“Maybe I should fix it,” Beorth suggested to Kazrack, but the dwarf did not hear. He had just notice that three narrow stone stairs led down to a lower ledge, and there was some clinking of metal and footsteps coming up one that was nearby.
Ratchis was finally able to steady himself on the spinning rope as those above swore in the terrible sun, but Kazrack did not notice. The dwarf yelled out, “Look!”
A figure ascended the final step. It was a skeletal figure dressed in ring mail armor and dressed in torn and filthy burgundy tabard that had some heraldry ripped from it. It held a long sword in one bony hand, but as it rose it pointed and finger and spoke a muttered word. Arrows of black light exploded from the creature’s finger and went racing towards Kazrack in a blink’s time.
The dwarf cried out as he felt a deep cold reminiscent of the wight’s touch, but just a shadow of that shadow. He staggered forward, swinging his flail and smashing the thing in the shoulder. It did not cry out. It’s only sound was the clinking of its armor and the cracking and stretching of leathery tendons.
Beorth turned as he saw a second one emerge from another stairway, to point at him and send two the cold arrows rocketing into his chest.
Ratchis finally grabbed the lip of the ledge wall only to feel the sharp cut of a long sword blade across his forearm. He yanked his arm back and rolled over the wall an onto his feet cursing under his breath. He had his long sword in his hand.
“Anubis, using be as a vessel to fill with your divine might and send these creatures from here so we may better purge this place of evil,” Beorth cried, and a wave of positive energy erupted from him, and his white shawl began to glow, filling the ledge with pure white light.
The creature hanging over Ratchis turned and the half-orc took his opportunity to cleave into its hip bone. It wobbled, but continued to hurry away towards the staircase it had emerged from. The one that had attacked Beorth also fled and the paladin thrust his sword through its rib cage as it turned, but Kazrack found himself barely deflecting a sword blow from the first. The shock went down and numbed his arm for a moment. (3)
However, the dwarf did not despair, he swung his flail with all his might, slamming the thing in the thigh-bone. There was a cracking sound as it fell to its knees, awkwardly.
Ratchis slipped out of his harness and stuffed it into a crack on a sarcophagus lid. He hurried over to aid Kazrack, who was amazed that he missed as he swung at the skeleton’s head, but it leaned forward, essentially ducking as it came back up to its feet. Ratchis came up alongside his dwarven companion and thrust his sword into the thing, but there was no chip or crack of bone. He had pierced the armor, but there was no flesh underneath. (4)
The thing pulled away from him and turned to go down the stairs, but with a quick flick of his meaty wrist, Ratchis cracked the thing’s helmeted skull and it tumbled in a jumbled of bones and armor down the stone steps.
“We must go down and finish them,” Beorth said, sliding from his harness and frowning when he saw where Ratchis had put his.
“Wait, that last one wasn’t turned,” Ratchis said. “It was only trying to draw us down there.”
The half-orc lit a torch and handed it to Beorth.
Kazrack had a puzzled look of growing horror on his face.
“What is it?” Ratchis asked, the spell on his sword glaring in the half-orc’s face.
“Nothing. I…uh, thought I heard something…”
Ratchis put a finger to his lips and crept over to a stairway. He crouched down and looked and could see one of the minions at the bottom of the stair, cringing. By moving over to another stairway he could see the other doing a similar thing. Just to be same, he slunk over to the third staircase and looked down. There was something small and gray that seemed to crawl just out of his field of vision as he crouched.
The Friar of Nephthys went back to his companions and placed a finger to his thin brown lips again. He quietly prayed to his goddess for her healing blessing, closing the wound on his forearm.
He pointed to Beorth’s harness and grabbed his own and slipped it on. He gestured down to the pit, and moved to the ledge wall. Beorth slipped his back on and Kazrack walked over still looking pale. As they clambered over the wall hoping to swing down and surprise, Kazrack heard the sound again.
This time they all heard it. It was the muffled and cracking sound of a baby’s cry, echoing from deep down in the darkness of the pit.
-----------------------------------
Notes
(1) DM’s Note: Kazrack permanently lost two levels from the encounter with the gnoll-wight-witch-doctor. (See Session #40)
(2) The Shawl of Estes was a gift from the party’s sometime nemesis/sometime benefactor Richard the Red. Beorth does not know of its history or importance due his amnesia brought on by a pixie’s curse for killing one of their kind.
(3) DM’s Note: Not every hit a character takes for hit point need to be described as drawing blood. Bruises, twists, dizziness, fatigue and a whole other little details can be used to relay the loss of energy as one engages in melee. Of course, blood is good too.
(4) DM’s Note: Not every miss completely misses the target. I often describe armor absorbing damage or a foe parrying a blow or other similar things to keep combat lively and fresh.
handforged
First Post
wow, Nemm. Another great update. I really can't wait to see what happens as they descend. With your world being as deadly as it is, this cannot be good for the FMKs. I hope that it wasn't as deadly as I fear it was.
~hf
~hf
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Predictions. . .
First, the good news - expect another update sometime this weekend - maybe even tomorrow.
The bad news: Right now in the story there are 6 pcs and 9 npcs trying to gain access to this place. Not everyone is going to make it back out. . . Shall we start the predictions?
Also, this "adventure" is long done and gone (remember, I am 17 sessions behind) so feel free to make whatever speculation you like on what is happening, what this place is and what the FEARLESS MANTICORE KILLERS (or the FMK) might face?
First, the good news - expect another update sometime this weekend - maybe even tomorrow.
The bad news: Right now in the story there are 6 pcs and 9 npcs trying to gain access to this place. Not everyone is going to make it back out. . . Shall we start the predictions?
Also, this "adventure" is long done and gone (remember, I am 17 sessions behind) so feel free to make whatever speculation you like on what is happening, what this place is and what the FEARLESS MANTICORE KILLERS (or the FMK) might face?
Pillars of Hercules
First Post
Kazrack
No clue who won't make it out, but if I have to guess, and if that guess has to be a PC, I'm going with Kazrack.
Why? His player seems to have just gotten over his "death wish" phase, and there's nothing to bring the dice gods down on you like suddenly deciding that you want to live after all.
No clue who won't make it out, but if I have to guess, and if that guess has to be a PC, I'm going with Kazrack.
Why? His player seems to have just gotten over his "death wish" phase, and there's nothing to bring the dice gods down on you like suddenly deciding that you want to live after all.
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #41
Part Two: An aborted Descent…
The trio of heroes swung down with anger, trying to ignore the disturbing cry below which now faded into their cries.
Ratchis brought his feet deftly down on the low wall that marked the lower ledge, and though he teetered for a moment, he kept his footing, slipping his chain belt from his waist to call on Nephthys’ power.
Beorth’s boots struck the low wall and the paladin went flying back, twisting and spinning wildly. Above, Jeremy, Helrahd and Derek cursed under their breaths as their hands burned with the twisting jerking rope.
Kazrack was dropped too far and he slid past the lower ledge, where the shaft continued downward. He looked back up at his companions as he passed them, crying out, “No! No! Too Low!”
Ratchis jumped down from the wall, spotting one of the skeletal guardians moving towards him from the left, while another mover around a sarcophagus to take aim at Beorth’s spinning form. This level like the previous had the rectangular stone coffins, but no masks.
“Nephthys, please heed me and send my foes away,” Ratchis cried, spinning his chain, but the guardian on the right fired two of those bolts of black light at the helpless paladin. Only the tiny figure on the floor moved away from the half-orc priest. He saw it move at the bottom of his vision, so he tipped his head to get a better look before it disappeared behind a sarcophagus.
It was a baby.
But its skin had gray tone with no luster, and its little big head was split open down the front and raw with gore, fragments of skull sticking out. It dragged one little broken leg, the bone sticking out the side of his chubby thigh behind it.
But its skin had gray tone with no luster, and its little big head was split open down the front and raw with gore, fragments of bone sticking out. It dragged on little broken leg, the bone sticking out the side of his chubby leg behind it.
Ratchis gagged, as noticed the already protruding jaw, the black coarse hair and the ridge of bone down its back. There was no doubt it had orcish blood.
Meanwhile, Kazrack took moment of hanging too low to help to look further down the shaft, as a shuffling and murmuring sound drew his attention. He could see that the shaft ended only twenty feet below this last ledge, but what was down there horrified him.
The bottom of the shaft was filled with the blank and rotten faces of babies struggling to look up at him. They crawled over each other’s sore-covered leathery flesh, their exaggerated jaws salivating; their little hands, most missing fingernails, some still having them twisted back and protruding from the dead flesh they punctured, reaching up to Kazrack as they took notice of him. The dead babies bubbled like a cauldron of pure horror. The dwarven rune-thrower could see that the babies were several feet deep, crawling over each other and pushing others down blindly in their vain attempt to reach him. A handful of emaciated rats crawled in and out of the pile of tiny bodies nibbling on filmy eyes and tiny tender ears and toes, squeaking delightedly.
Suddenly, one of the babies cried out that halting cry of hungry baby, and another took it up and then another, until they roiled and cried in a cacophony that rose up the shaft.
“What the hell is that?” Helrahd asked aloud.
Derek felt a chill wash over him and he shivered though he was covered in sweat.
Golnar, Tolnar and Jolnar were having trouble interpreting the jerks on their rope, which Kazrack hung from.
Captain Adalar walked over. “Play it safe. Pull him up.”
Below Kazrack began to scream, “By the gods! The babies are demons! Pull us up! Pull us all up!”
There was a final hard jerk and Kazrack dropped closer to the pit of zombie infants, but then he began to rise smoothly up.
He was in time to see the second skeleton guard, side-step to avoid Ratchis and fire two more of the dark bolts at Beorth.
The paladin tried to keep his calm, even as he was buffeted by the necromantic bolts, and he did not cry out. He reached out pathetically to press a hand against a support and steady himself, but he failed.
“You fools! Ascend! Flee!” Kazrack cried passing them on the way back up. He looked up to the top of the shaft and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Pull us all up!”
The armored skeleton turned back to Ratchis, and swung its sword at him only to have it blocked by the half-orc’s own sword, which threw off crazy shadows of the thing as he parried its blows.
“Beorth! D’naar! Fall back!” Kazrack was quickly being pulled into the darkness above.
Ratchis tried to move in such a way to put the sarcophagus between him and the undead guardian, but he over-extended him and the thing took the opportunity to swing, nicking the leaping priest in the thigh. The wound burned, and Ratchis could feel a sheet of blood rush down his leg as he grunted angrily.
But the dark-cloaked undead warrior did not concern the friar of Nephthys and woodsman. It was the enslaved remains of an infant, trying to crawl into the wall to get away from him. It repeatedly smashed its already split head into the wall, gurgling.
“Nephthys, forgive me,” Ratchis whispered. His vision was fractured for a moment by a swollen tear, but then he brought his sword down on its little head, cleaving it oven all the way down to its stomach, which exploded into hundreds of tiny insects that scurried into all directions.
Beorth was finally able to steady himself in time to see Ratchis dive off the ledge wall. He bounced twice, as Baervard, Blodnath and Kirla groaned. The half-orc jerked the rope twice, so the paladin did the same. In a moment, they were being pulled up. But the skeletal guards walked to the edge and pointing up murmured their arcane words and fired more of the black bolts at Beorth. He felt cold and weak, and bruises swelled up painfully wherever the things had struck him. (1)
Ratchis reached into his bag and pulled out a flask of oil he had prepared with a strip of oil-soaked cloth and he lit it off of Beorth’s torch and tossed it down.
It exploded and one of the guardians shuffled back and screeched.
He lit another and dropped it straight down on the zombie babies, for a moment there was a flash that allowed him to see the crawling bodies twist and roll as they were engulfed in the splattering burning oil. The wail rose in intensity, and the smell of burning flesh rose with it. The scorched babies were swallowed and smothered in the ceaseless and futile crawling of the others, the flames going out as they were sucked down.
And there was darkness again, from which the murmuring and crying emerged.
Soon, all three of the adventurers were back at the surface; the top of the black stone monolith with the others.
Kazrack was laying on his back on the black stone, covering his eyes with his hands, the rope harness still around his legs and waist.
Ratchis fell to one knee and began to pray quietly to Nephthys, while Beorth simply stood head bowed silently.
“Was it really that bad?” Jeremy asked, cautiously.
“Yes,” Kazrack replied. “There are horrors down there.”
“This is truly a terrible terrible place,” Beorth added.
“It doesn’t make any sense, how did all those… babies get down there?” Kazrack said, sitting up.
Martin blanched.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ratchis said, standing. “We’re going to put them all to rest and destroy this place.”
There was a long silence.
“It doesn’t matter if it has anything to do with the gnomes or not,” the half-orc added with a barking tone. “Though I am sure it does.”
Beorth nodded in agreement.
“Let us just hope our delay here does not mean more gnomish lives will be lost,” Belear said.
“And what of Ephraim?” Derek asked. “We have to warn the gnomes that the Gothanians might mistakenly try to make war on them.” (2)
“It will take him some time to get to Twelve Trolls (3) and deliver his message, and even if the King decided to use force, Gothanius has not standing army. It will take time to gather and organize the militia,” Martin explained.
“It is a long walk back, and I am still weakened from our encounter with the shadow yesterday, as are we all wounded,’ Ratchis said. “Let’s us go back and camp for the night and return in the morning.”
“I am loathe to leave this place unrazed,” Beorth said, with a bit of visible frustration.
“And patience will all allow you to see it razed,” said Belear quietly. “The half-breed speaks wisely. Let us return to the edge of this dead land and camp again to regain our strength, now that we know the true horrors that await us below.”
So again they secured the ropes and hefted their gear and began the long march back to the dimpled scrubland that they camped at.
“And tomorrow, let’s figure out a better way of determining who holds which ropes,” Jeremy announced, but no one reacted to his comment.
--------------------------
The sun bobbed up and down out of view behind the lip of the huge crater this dead land was in as they walked towards it. The long shadows of the stone pillars crossed diagonally across their path, making it even darker.
The sound of their boots crunching in the black ash and the occasional cough were the only sounds. Derek found it unnerving and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders and looked around. He hated that there were no animal sounds, no sound of wind in reeds or branches; it was unnatural.
Derek’s eye was struck by movement across a narrow band of light coming between two narrow pillars. He turned his head to see a humanoid figure made of shadow emerging from the blackness and swooping at him.
He ducked and cried out. The rest of the troop was ahead of him and they all stopped and turned in time to see it fly up and turn for another pass. Ratchis came charging from what had been the front of the group, and Golnar, Jolnar and Tolnar who were closest, pulled out their respective weapons.
“There might be more!” Derek warned, worried that everyone was now looking in his direction as opposed to looking for another attack.
Martin the Green turned to watch the front.
The shadow flew down without effort, drifting like a leaf and ran a cold finger across Derek’s face. The young man moaned as his muscles sagged and drooped as if meat had been sucked from his arms and legs. He felt the weight of pack and his armor much more heavily.
“Krauchaar, bless my weapon!” Captain Adalar cried out, hefting his great axe into the air, and for a moment the blade shone with divine light. (4)
Golnar charged at the incorporeal undead as it moved to drift past Derek. He was over-enthusiastic, however, and fumbled the warhammer as he hefted it over his head and it went flying back, landing at his brothers’ feet.
Martin cried out as another shadow swooped at him, emerging from around the base of a large pillar.
“Martin! What are you doing? Put your back to something!” Jeremy cried out, drawing the Right Blade of Arofel and running to the front of the group, placing himself between the watch-mage and the undead thing.
Tolnar fired his crossbow at the one dogging Derek, but the bolt flew right through it.
“We must retreat from these things!” the young dwarf cried out, fear in his voice.
Kiral harrumphed and charged as well, but the head of her flail also went through the thing. She looked at her weapon with puzzlement.
“Anubis! Send these things away so we may destroy them in your name when we have regained our strength!” Beorth cried out, clutching the silver jackal’s head around his neck. There was a wave of positive energy and the shadows screeched and took off straight into the air and the inkiness of the falling night.
They all let out deep breaths and then wordlessly fell back into formation and hustled back to the site of their former campsite.
They were all silent as they set up their tents and unpacked their bedrolls and lit small fires with what was left of the tinder they had brought with them. They spoke the fewest words possible to arrange watches, and soon the only sound was the snoring of the dwarves and Ratchis.
The night passed without event, but the next morning both Ratchis and Derek still felt the weakness in their limbs, and the priests in the group spread around their healing, along with Ratchis’ use of Lesser Restoration on Derek. The rest of the day was spent in rest and idle speculation of what might be found even deeper in the place they had uncovered.
“I just don’t understand how so many babies, half-orc babies could be in the same place at the same time,” Kazrack mused aloud.
“I cannot even begin to conceive of how such a thing is possible,” Ratchis replied solemnly.
“Soon their souls will be at rest,” Beorth commented.
“But for now, how about we rest some more?” Jeremy said, crawling into a tent.
The next morning they’d march back to the monolith.
End of Session #41
------------------------------
Notes
(1) DM’s Note: These were simply magic missiles with different flavor text to make them seem like the tools of an undead creature. These skeleton guards were simply adapted Baneguards from Monsters of Faerun.
(2) Ephraim was the only survivor of a mercenary expeditionary force sent to explore the area north of Greenreed Valley for further expansion of the Kingdom of Gothanius. He claimed tall of his companions were killed by gnomes that used magic and undead. (see session #39)
(3) Twelve Trolls is the capitol of the Kingdom of Gothanius, named so because it was built on the site of the Battle of the Twelve Trolls – where human and dwarven forces called a truce long enough to battle a fierce group of powerful trolls led by the Troll King Frojack.
(4) DM’s Note: Captain Adalar cast Magic Weapon
Part Two: An aborted Descent…
The trio of heroes swung down with anger, trying to ignore the disturbing cry below which now faded into their cries.
Ratchis brought his feet deftly down on the low wall that marked the lower ledge, and though he teetered for a moment, he kept his footing, slipping his chain belt from his waist to call on Nephthys’ power.
Beorth’s boots struck the low wall and the paladin went flying back, twisting and spinning wildly. Above, Jeremy, Helrahd and Derek cursed under their breaths as their hands burned with the twisting jerking rope.
Kazrack was dropped too far and he slid past the lower ledge, where the shaft continued downward. He looked back up at his companions as he passed them, crying out, “No! No! Too Low!”
Ratchis jumped down from the wall, spotting one of the skeletal guardians moving towards him from the left, while another mover around a sarcophagus to take aim at Beorth’s spinning form. This level like the previous had the rectangular stone coffins, but no masks.
“Nephthys, please heed me and send my foes away,” Ratchis cried, spinning his chain, but the guardian on the right fired two of those bolts of black light at the helpless paladin. Only the tiny figure on the floor moved away from the half-orc priest. He saw it move at the bottom of his vision, so he tipped his head to get a better look before it disappeared behind a sarcophagus.
It was a baby.
But its skin had gray tone with no luster, and its little big head was split open down the front and raw with gore, fragments of skull sticking out. It dragged one little broken leg, the bone sticking out the side of his chubby thigh behind it.
But its skin had gray tone with no luster, and its little big head was split open down the front and raw with gore, fragments of bone sticking out. It dragged on little broken leg, the bone sticking out the side of his chubby leg behind it.
Ratchis gagged, as noticed the already protruding jaw, the black coarse hair and the ridge of bone down its back. There was no doubt it had orcish blood.
Meanwhile, Kazrack took moment of hanging too low to help to look further down the shaft, as a shuffling and murmuring sound drew his attention. He could see that the shaft ended only twenty feet below this last ledge, but what was down there horrified him.
The bottom of the shaft was filled with the blank and rotten faces of babies struggling to look up at him. They crawled over each other’s sore-covered leathery flesh, their exaggerated jaws salivating; their little hands, most missing fingernails, some still having them twisted back and protruding from the dead flesh they punctured, reaching up to Kazrack as they took notice of him. The dead babies bubbled like a cauldron of pure horror. The dwarven rune-thrower could see that the babies were several feet deep, crawling over each other and pushing others down blindly in their vain attempt to reach him. A handful of emaciated rats crawled in and out of the pile of tiny bodies nibbling on filmy eyes and tiny tender ears and toes, squeaking delightedly.
Suddenly, one of the babies cried out that halting cry of hungry baby, and another took it up and then another, until they roiled and cried in a cacophony that rose up the shaft.
“What the hell is that?” Helrahd asked aloud.
Derek felt a chill wash over him and he shivered though he was covered in sweat.
Golnar, Tolnar and Jolnar were having trouble interpreting the jerks on their rope, which Kazrack hung from.
Captain Adalar walked over. “Play it safe. Pull him up.”
Below Kazrack began to scream, “By the gods! The babies are demons! Pull us up! Pull us all up!”
There was a final hard jerk and Kazrack dropped closer to the pit of zombie infants, but then he began to rise smoothly up.
He was in time to see the second skeleton guard, side-step to avoid Ratchis and fire two more of the dark bolts at Beorth.
The paladin tried to keep his calm, even as he was buffeted by the necromantic bolts, and he did not cry out. He reached out pathetically to press a hand against a support and steady himself, but he failed.
“You fools! Ascend! Flee!” Kazrack cried passing them on the way back up. He looked up to the top of the shaft and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Pull us all up!”
The armored skeleton turned back to Ratchis, and swung its sword at him only to have it blocked by the half-orc’s own sword, which threw off crazy shadows of the thing as he parried its blows.
“Beorth! D’naar! Fall back!” Kazrack was quickly being pulled into the darkness above.
Ratchis tried to move in such a way to put the sarcophagus between him and the undead guardian, but he over-extended him and the thing took the opportunity to swing, nicking the leaping priest in the thigh. The wound burned, and Ratchis could feel a sheet of blood rush down his leg as he grunted angrily.
But the dark-cloaked undead warrior did not concern the friar of Nephthys and woodsman. It was the enslaved remains of an infant, trying to crawl into the wall to get away from him. It repeatedly smashed its already split head into the wall, gurgling.
“Nephthys, forgive me,” Ratchis whispered. His vision was fractured for a moment by a swollen tear, but then he brought his sword down on its little head, cleaving it oven all the way down to its stomach, which exploded into hundreds of tiny insects that scurried into all directions.
Beorth was finally able to steady himself in time to see Ratchis dive off the ledge wall. He bounced twice, as Baervard, Blodnath and Kirla groaned. The half-orc jerked the rope twice, so the paladin did the same. In a moment, they were being pulled up. But the skeletal guards walked to the edge and pointing up murmured their arcane words and fired more of the black bolts at Beorth. He felt cold and weak, and bruises swelled up painfully wherever the things had struck him. (1)
Ratchis reached into his bag and pulled out a flask of oil he had prepared with a strip of oil-soaked cloth and he lit it off of Beorth’s torch and tossed it down.
It exploded and one of the guardians shuffled back and screeched.
He lit another and dropped it straight down on the zombie babies, for a moment there was a flash that allowed him to see the crawling bodies twist and roll as they were engulfed in the splattering burning oil. The wail rose in intensity, and the smell of burning flesh rose with it. The scorched babies were swallowed and smothered in the ceaseless and futile crawling of the others, the flames going out as they were sucked down.
And there was darkness again, from which the murmuring and crying emerged.
Soon, all three of the adventurers were back at the surface; the top of the black stone monolith with the others.
Kazrack was laying on his back on the black stone, covering his eyes with his hands, the rope harness still around his legs and waist.
Ratchis fell to one knee and began to pray quietly to Nephthys, while Beorth simply stood head bowed silently.
“Was it really that bad?” Jeremy asked, cautiously.
“Yes,” Kazrack replied. “There are horrors down there.”
“This is truly a terrible terrible place,” Beorth added.
“It doesn’t make any sense, how did all those… babies get down there?” Kazrack said, sitting up.
Martin blanched.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ratchis said, standing. “We’re going to put them all to rest and destroy this place.”
There was a long silence.
“It doesn’t matter if it has anything to do with the gnomes or not,” the half-orc added with a barking tone. “Though I am sure it does.”
Beorth nodded in agreement.
“Let us just hope our delay here does not mean more gnomish lives will be lost,” Belear said.
“And what of Ephraim?” Derek asked. “We have to warn the gnomes that the Gothanians might mistakenly try to make war on them.” (2)
“It will take him some time to get to Twelve Trolls (3) and deliver his message, and even if the King decided to use force, Gothanius has not standing army. It will take time to gather and organize the militia,” Martin explained.
“It is a long walk back, and I am still weakened from our encounter with the shadow yesterday, as are we all wounded,’ Ratchis said. “Let’s us go back and camp for the night and return in the morning.”
“I am loathe to leave this place unrazed,” Beorth said, with a bit of visible frustration.
“And patience will all allow you to see it razed,” said Belear quietly. “The half-breed speaks wisely. Let us return to the edge of this dead land and camp again to regain our strength, now that we know the true horrors that await us below.”
So again they secured the ropes and hefted their gear and began the long march back to the dimpled scrubland that they camped at.
“And tomorrow, let’s figure out a better way of determining who holds which ropes,” Jeremy announced, but no one reacted to his comment.
--------------------------
The sun bobbed up and down out of view behind the lip of the huge crater this dead land was in as they walked towards it. The long shadows of the stone pillars crossed diagonally across their path, making it even darker.
The sound of their boots crunching in the black ash and the occasional cough were the only sounds. Derek found it unnerving and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders and looked around. He hated that there were no animal sounds, no sound of wind in reeds or branches; it was unnatural.
Derek’s eye was struck by movement across a narrow band of light coming between two narrow pillars. He turned his head to see a humanoid figure made of shadow emerging from the blackness and swooping at him.
He ducked and cried out. The rest of the troop was ahead of him and they all stopped and turned in time to see it fly up and turn for another pass. Ratchis came charging from what had been the front of the group, and Golnar, Jolnar and Tolnar who were closest, pulled out their respective weapons.
“There might be more!” Derek warned, worried that everyone was now looking in his direction as opposed to looking for another attack.
Martin the Green turned to watch the front.
The shadow flew down without effort, drifting like a leaf and ran a cold finger across Derek’s face. The young man moaned as his muscles sagged and drooped as if meat had been sucked from his arms and legs. He felt the weight of pack and his armor much more heavily.
“Krauchaar, bless my weapon!” Captain Adalar cried out, hefting his great axe into the air, and for a moment the blade shone with divine light. (4)
Golnar charged at the incorporeal undead as it moved to drift past Derek. He was over-enthusiastic, however, and fumbled the warhammer as he hefted it over his head and it went flying back, landing at his brothers’ feet.
Martin cried out as another shadow swooped at him, emerging from around the base of a large pillar.
“Martin! What are you doing? Put your back to something!” Jeremy cried out, drawing the Right Blade of Arofel and running to the front of the group, placing himself between the watch-mage and the undead thing.
Tolnar fired his crossbow at the one dogging Derek, but the bolt flew right through it.
“We must retreat from these things!” the young dwarf cried out, fear in his voice.
Kiral harrumphed and charged as well, but the head of her flail also went through the thing. She looked at her weapon with puzzlement.
“Anubis! Send these things away so we may destroy them in your name when we have regained our strength!” Beorth cried out, clutching the silver jackal’s head around his neck. There was a wave of positive energy and the shadows screeched and took off straight into the air and the inkiness of the falling night.
They all let out deep breaths and then wordlessly fell back into formation and hustled back to the site of their former campsite.
They were all silent as they set up their tents and unpacked their bedrolls and lit small fires with what was left of the tinder they had brought with them. They spoke the fewest words possible to arrange watches, and soon the only sound was the snoring of the dwarves and Ratchis.
The night passed without event, but the next morning both Ratchis and Derek still felt the weakness in their limbs, and the priests in the group spread around their healing, along with Ratchis’ use of Lesser Restoration on Derek. The rest of the day was spent in rest and idle speculation of what might be found even deeper in the place they had uncovered.
“I just don’t understand how so many babies, half-orc babies could be in the same place at the same time,” Kazrack mused aloud.
“I cannot even begin to conceive of how such a thing is possible,” Ratchis replied solemnly.
“Soon their souls will be at rest,” Beorth commented.
“But for now, how about we rest some more?” Jeremy said, crawling into a tent.
The next morning they’d march back to the monolith.
End of Session #41
------------------------------
Notes
(1) DM’s Note: These were simply magic missiles with different flavor text to make them seem like the tools of an undead creature. These skeleton guards were simply adapted Baneguards from Monsters of Faerun.
(2) Ephraim was the only survivor of a mercenary expeditionary force sent to explore the area north of Greenreed Valley for further expansion of the Kingdom of Gothanius. He claimed tall of his companions were killed by gnomes that used magic and undead. (see session #39)
(3) Twelve Trolls is the capitol of the Kingdom of Gothanius, named so because it was built on the site of the Battle of the Twelve Trolls – where human and dwarven forces called a truce long enough to battle a fierce group of powerful trolls led by the Troll King Frojack.
(4) DM’s Note: Captain Adalar cast Magic Weapon
Last edited:
Martin Olarin
First Post
Pillars of Hercules said:
As the player of Kazrack all I can do is give a sigh of resignation over this perception of his actions.
Look_a_Unicorn
First Post
"As the player of Kazrack all I can do is give a sigh of resignation over this perception of his actions."
If it makes you feel any better, other readers percieve Kazrack's decision's to be based around really really good roleplaying, and admire a player/group that can actively anti-metagame for the good of their character's development.
</suckup>
No really, I do admire what you've been doing! I encourage the same amongst my players.
If it makes you feel any better, other readers percieve Kazrack's decision's to be based around really really good roleplaying, and admire a player/group that can actively anti-metagame for the good of their character's development.
</suckup>
No really, I do admire what you've been doing! I encourage the same amongst my players.
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