el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #92 (part 1)
Kazrack cried out with alarm as the ooze formed into a fist-like pseudopod and slammed into his chest. There was an acrid hiss as the delicate etching on his masterwork plate melted away. The dwarf jerked back, certain the ooze would have burned through his labor of love in only a few moments of contact.
Roland hastily prayed to Bast to grant him protection from energy gearing it towards acid and drawing his crossbow, drew back.
The Keepers of the Gate withdrew and Ratchis called out, “Martin, make the call soon!”
“Feel free! Attack!” Martin the Green said, confused that the sole responsibility had fallen on him. (1) “It attacked us first.” With an additional word of the arcane he cast mage armor upon himself.
Dorn moved behind Ratchis and loaded his crossbow, turning his head from side to side to keep an eye on the corner of the room oozing its magma phoenix.
Two arrows from Gunthar hissed and disintegrated as they plunged into the vaguely humanoid ooze para-elemental. Its limbs dripped with each step forward, leaving behind slimy green and brown bits of itself that snaked back into the corner pit it had emerged from, creating a trail.
Bastian called for flame in his dialect of dwarven and hurled it at the thing, but it snuffed out as it struck it.
Kazrack ducked another of the thing’s psuedopods as it drove them back towards the center of the room, below the raised column that held the stairs. Roland stepped in front of Bastian with words of prayer on his lips, but the prayer became a cry of agony as the heavy limb of the thing slammed him. The Bastite lost his spell and stumbled backward, dropping his crossbow. Bastian stepped to the side to draw its attention and tried to cast again, but again the thing whipped a limb out and the bearded warrior-warlock found his spell was ruined as well.
Kazrack, Ratchis and Gunthar moved in. Their metal weapons hissed as they sometimes cut pieces both great and small from the ooze elemental, leaving trails of acrid smoke to trace the arc of their swing. However, most of the blows made shallow cuts that were reabsorbed into its slimy mass. Martin crept forward and with a mental nudge cast bull’s strength from his ring of marked excellence upon Gunthar.
“Thank you for using me, kind sir,” the ring said in the watch-mage’s mind. “But really you should fill me up with more spells. I am nearly depleted.”
Bastian flung more flame at the thing and this time it seemed to shrink the slightest bit from it.
“Everyone back up and let it come to us,” Ratchis said, and Gunthar and Kazrack immediately complied. The half-orc stepped back as well, and had to duck the swing of the thing. Another pseudopod stretched out far, scoring Kazrack’s armor once again.
“Krauchaar! Bless my bones and make me strong so that I might fell my foes easier,” Kazrack called to the dwarven warrior god.
As Roland was overcome by the powerful scents of the room when he transformed into his panther shape, Bastian leapt at the para-elemental, ducking one of its blow and doing a shoulder roll to get back to his feet on the other side of it, warhammer in hand.
“Bastian! Not that way!” Ratchis said to him. “This way! We need to all stick together and decide one way to go.”
Bastian shrugged and dove through the monster’s threatened area again, easily avoiding its blow, but Ratchis must have been momentarily distracted because he suddenly felt the weight of a burning punching blow strike him on the side of the head. He stumbled back, and Roland immediately cast a healing spell that resealed the blistered and bruised skin. Kazrack stepped between and cut another hunk from the para-elemental.
“Stick with the plan,” Kazrack said. “Fall back, everybody back.” But by then, having reached the center of the room, where the stairs had one been, the Keepers of the Gate were unsure of which way to go.
Gunthar’s left hand stabbed with great speed using Mozek’s sword, Hornet. There was a rain of slime whenever he closed with it, keeping it at bay with the longer blade as he repeatedly plunged in the other. Suddenly the top part of the vague humanoid swelled up and it thrust itself into Gunthar shoving him back with great strength. Gunthar cried out as he tried to push back, pressing into the acidic ooze, but he slid right between the two gray columns where multi-colored fragrant smoke puffed and twirled.
“This thing is nastier than the abortion bucket at a whorehouse,” Gunthar said, as he swung his melting longsword. He had managed to keep his feet, but his non-magical blade was whipping bits of slag with every swing.
Kazrack, who was closest to the smoke-filled corner side spun around in time to feel the immaterial black claws of a smoke elemental slip through his armor and slice his flesh beneath.
“Finish this thing!” Ratchis roared, but the ooze elemental sucked itself back into a ball to avoid his vicious blows. Kazrack leapt away from the smoke elemental and brought his magical halberd down on the ooze in a wide downward chop. The thing exploded sending acid in all directions. Ratchis and Kazrack absorbed most of it, patches of skin and hair burning away. Ratchis looked down to watch the individual globules rolls slowly back into the corner the creature had emerge from, and saw that his Boots of Uller were now less than rags on his feet, and he winced as he felt the burning cold of the stone floor on his bare soles.
“The acid pool retreats,” Roland warned the others. “It may reform. We need to pick a way and go!” He hurried back towards the original portal they headed towards, and Dorn and Bastian followed him.
Martin the Green drew the Wurfel Kraft from its pouch and activated the side depicting grapes.
The smoke para-elemental floated silently after them. It was a column of black, blue and orange, twirling and expanding within itself. It had two ghostly black claws that hung beneath it as if dragged by an invisible string. It enveloped Bastian as the man spun around. The smells passed over him like waves, taking his mind away to some memory or another each time. Baked beans, frying fish, the musk of a boar’s den, the spoiled stench of a pig sty, the disgust of burning hair. Suddenly, Bastian realized he could not breath. The smoke elemental was as much within his lungs as around him, and he jerked in pain as the claws raked over his chest.
Roland roared and leapt at the Bastian, knocking him back out of the thing. The Bastite felt the thing’s sharp claws catch his back as he leapt away, and Bastian bent over and let out a hacking cough. Black smoke emerged from his mouth and he stumbled into the cube’s blue field, leaning on Martin for a moment as he caught his breath. The elemental monster twirled and snaked across to Ratchis who was now making for the black lightless doorway as well, and in half a moment it now enveloped him.
“What the f*ck are you looking at, Pointy? Gunthar was heard to say, and everyone turned to see him address a pyramidal modron that looked exactly like the one they had left on the tower above. (2) It had come through the black portal between the smoke and the ice corners and was walking with determination into the center of the room.
“Everyone gather about me! The smoke cannot enter the cube,” Martin said, following the modron as it changed direction without turning its body, now moving towards the same door the party was headed towards. Each of its three upright sides had a large yellow eye, and a bill like horn for a mouth. It had three arms and three legs, one of each on each of those sides. (3) It disappeared through the portal.
Holding his breath, Ratchis managed to leap into the cube’s blue field before breathing in any of the smoke elemental. In a moment, everyone was crammed within it, as the para-elemental hovered above them. Martin moved the cube right up against the portal and the wall there.
“We should all go through together,” Kazrack said of the portal.
“I can slowly move the cube forward allowing us to pass through in a line grasping hands and bringing the Wurful Kraft’s field with us,” Martin suggested. “But, if this is like the door to the pocket dimension that held the city of Topaline, then we will be blind when come through the other side.”
“I don’t think Hurgun would have made doors in his house that make you blind every time you go through them,” Roland said.
“He may have had way to make himself immune to that side-effect,” Martin posited.
“We have no choice,” Kazrack said. “The best we can hope for is that we stay together.”
The Keepers of the Gate locked arms and Kazrack stepped out of the cube and through the portal. He felt a shock of cold as all went black, but Ratchis cried out as he felt something stab at his very being. Stunned, he fell through the portal behind the dwarf, but Dorn who was next cried out as well and let go of the half-orc. The Herman-lander reeled as he tried to shake off the pain, so he could not resist when Gunthar shoved him through the portal after the first two. Roland, who had been grabbing onto the rear of Dorn’s coat with his teeth, yowled and let go, falling to one side stunned.
Gunthar shrugged and leapt through and Bastian helped Roland to his feet and sent him through as well. The bearded warrior leapt through with Martin right behind.
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Kazrack and Ratchis found themselves in a short dark tunnel of some sort with an arched ceiling. It was barely more than fifteen feet long and just about the same width, and ended in a portcullis of broad metal bands, from beyond which came a dull yellow light.
“I hope this delay does not mean we have been separated,” Ratchis was saying to Kazrack as he rubbed at the pain in his temples. Dorn stumbled through and fell to the ground. Gunthar came right behind him.
“Where are we now?” the Neergaardian’s voice reverberated down the short tunnel. There was murmur of clicks from beyond the portcullis.
“Did you hear that?” Kazrack was asking as Roland came through with Bastian right on his heels.
“What is this place?” Roland asked when he regained his senses. He walked over to the portcullis and began to sniff at the openings in it.
Martin the Green stepped through.
“My! It is a lot more crowded in here than I though it would be,” he said, and with that the portcullis began to slowly rise.
“Intruders. Come forward for judgment,” came the clockwork voice of what could only be some kind of modron. Its voice was eight tones that complimented each other in cold harmonies, two, three, four even five at a time, the chords changing with each word. There was another murmured cacophony of clicking that washed around them in the cramped tunnel.
“Maybe we should go back and try another way,” Ratchis said.
“These creatures obviously dwell here,” Kazrack reasoned. “We should not flee from them, but step forward and explain our cause.”
“The voice said something about ‘judgment’,” Ratchis replied. “What if they judge against us?”
“I see no reason why they would, we have done nothing wrong,” Ratchis opened his mouth to interrupt, but Kazrack just continued on in a harsh whisper. “But if such a thing were to happen, we’ll be sure to stand by Martin and he can activate the cube and we can push our way out of there.”
Since no one could think of a better plan, and the modrons seemed more likely to be parleyed with than the para-elemental guardians, they stepped past the risen gate. Ratchis and Kazrack led the way, with Martin close behind them. The trio was followed by Dorn and Roland, and Bastian and Gunthar took up the rear.
The Keepers of the Gate stepped out into a tiered gallery. This chamber seemed much the same square shape and size as the first room of the Maze, but the floor level was only thirty feet long and twenty-five feet wide, and surrounded by twelve foot tall walls. The entire place seemed carved from one immense cube of living rock. The ceiling was arched and plated in dull gold that emanated the yellow light of the chamber.
Directly across from them was another portcullis, this one closed and above it was a elaborate stone balcony set with a tall-backed stone throne-like chair. The balcony was carved from the great angular stone that made up the rear wall. There was a closed portcullis to the left and right beneath the tiers as well. (4) There were no seats behind or above it. The tiers were connected by short narrow stone steps, and each one was not much wider than five feet.
The tiered seats were filled with nearly two score modrons of various kinds. There were nearly a dozen of the pyramidal ones, but nearly a score had one eye and round spheres for bodies, with two spindly legs, tiny wings and no arms. (5) There were a handful of six-sided cube-bodied modrons, with two legs that ended in black hooves and two arms, but with two eyes on each of its facing sides. (6)
The balcony was flanked by a pair of pentadrones (7) that spun, lifting their flat limbs slightly as they buzzed. And within the balcony propped awkwardly atop the throne was the strangest of these creatures yet. Its head was a great sphere with ten round eyes set evenly about it, and beneath each was a long tentacle that ended in a narrow clawed finger. The top of the sphere was a wide mouth, and the whole head rested on a pair of trunk-like elephantine legs.
"Intruders. You shall be judged,” they heard the freakish thing before them say. Its mouth did not move, but there was no doubt it came from the lead modron. A tentacle touched something on a panel before the throne and the portcullis behind them slammed shut. “I am the Decaton. (8) I command the collective for the Master.”
“Whatta load of freaks!” Gunthar swore. Roland hushed him.
“Martin, step forward,” Kazrack whispered, stepping aside to let the watch-mage past. “You are our best talker.”
“The first question of this inquiry shall be question number one, and question number one is: Do you have an invitation?” the decaton asked.
“Oh great and unerring servant of Ptah,” Martin began looking up with arms outstretched in exaggerated supplication. “We come seeking to save our world from the random fluctuations that threaten to tear it apart because of the very existence of this Maze. We did not mean to arrive without an invitation, but it an emergency.”
“No invitation, no admittance,” the decaton said, and all the other modrons echoed the rule. “Admission with out invitation is a violation.” The thing’s multi-toned voice hit a sharp dissonant chord when it said its last word.
“Violation. Violation,” the modrons all repeated in agreement in their cold voices.
“We did not seek to violate this place or its rules,” Kazrack spoke up. “But we have come to save your master, Hurgun of the Stone.”
“Perhaps you are unaware that he is trapped in the center of his own Maze and he must be rescued if the Maze is to be moved away from Aquerra and he is to retain control of it," Martin added. “Our goals here are selfless, but others who may soon access it will be not be so.”
“There is no center of the Maze,” the decaton replied, its voices striking dissonance again when it spoke the word ‘center’. “You are operating with incomplete data. Incomplete data leads to violations. Violation equals re-assimilation or banishment. Decaton calls to the gallery for affirmation of judgment.”
“Wait! Wait!” Martin cried out. “We have done nothing. We are here to stop the planar bleed. Surely Hurgun left you with instructions of what to do if he did not return.”
“We await your judgment, Decaton,” the other modrons all said.
“Is there not a second in command? An assistant to Hurgun?” Martin asked.
“Gilbart,” the Decaton replied with a warm group of tones that hummed nicely at the base of the back. “Gilbart is absent.”
The Keepers of the Gate all looked at each other, but none recognized the name.
“Outsider influence has led to corruption and re-programming of crucial modron units,” the Decaton said. “ We operate at less than full capacity. The modron maintenance re-assimilation station is no longer operational. However, judgment must still be made.”
“But you said yourself that we are operating with insufficient data,” Martin reasoned. “And now, so are you. You will be in violation!”
“Judgment has been reached, ” the Decaton said. “These before the Collective have been found in violation of the rules of admission and thus must face banishment, ” The last word words squelched in the party’s ears, and they winced. “All in favor?”
The modrons clicked, “Aye” in perfect unison.
“Those against?” The only sound was Martin the Green growing desperate.
“You have been found to be in violation, ” the decaton said to the Keepers of the Gate. “You are to be banished. You must GO TO HELL! ”
The decaton pointed to the portcullis on their left with three of his tentacles while another depressed something on the console before him, and it started to rise.
“You have no authority to do this,” Martin protested. “We have done nothing to deserve this fate!”
“Please step to the left, ” the Decaton said in a perfunctory manner.
The Keepers of the Gate looked at each other dumbfounded as all the modrons around them clicked and whirred and repeated the words “banishment” and “hell” to each other in perfect agreement.
“What can we do to not go to Hell?” Kazrack asked. “How may we make up for being in violation?”
The decaton turned its great spherical head so that one of its eyes was looking right at Kazrack, while another looked right at Martin.
“Can you repair the modron station? We cannot re-assimilate. We cannot repair the damage, ” the Decaton said.
“Yes! Please allow us a chance to repair it!” Martin took up the slim hope. “You are obviously not functioning at full capacity and need to be serviced at this modron station. We can help you and then you can help us help Hurgun.”
“Outsider influence, ” the Decaton said. “Our numbers dwindle remaining unassimilated because of the strange monkey demon. It was in violation. The Master was seeing to it. ”
“Mitha-agogol! (8)” Martin cried. “How long ago?”
“It has not been seen since…” the thing’s huge head jerked back and forth spasmodically and it clicked and whirred unintelligibly. “Please step to the left. ”
“You cannot pass judgment if you are in need of repairs,” Roland said. “Your judgment might be flawed and then, as Martin said, you would be in violation and would have to banish yourself to Hell.”
“Direct us to this modron station and we will do our best to fix it for you,” Kazrack said.
“Modron station is past Hell, ” the Decaton said. “Please step to the left. ” It pointed with six of its tentacles this time.
“We formally request permission to visit the modron station before going to Hell in order that it might be fixed,” Martin said.
“Request approved on conditional basis, ” the Decaton replied.
“And uh, we’d like a guide,” Martin added. “Perhaps a tridrone to show us the way to the Modron Station?”
“Tridrone-9,” the Decaton announced, and a pyramidal modron presented itself at the left hand exit that was now open. “Designation Nine will guide this outsider contamination to the room of Hell and beyond to the modron station. This is Rule Priority Two, second only to your primary designation.”
“Yes, Decaton,” the tridrone replied in its honking voice.
“We thank you for your kind aid, and hope we can return the favor by repairing the modron station, defeating the monkey-demon and rescuing your master from whatever fate has befallen him,” Martin said. He turned to the tridrone guide. “Lead away, good Tridrone. Guide us to this modron station at once!”
The pyramid of ruddy flesh upon spindly legs made a slight adjustment and then retreated back down the tunnel to the left. Ratchis and Kazrack followed it, followed closely by Martin and then the rest.
As the last of them passed under the portcullis it slammed shut and they could hear the decaton say, “Sentence rendered: To Hell! ” The modrons in the gallery clicked their agreement.
The Keepers of the Gate found themselves in a tunnel much like the one they first appeared in, except this one had narrow stone stairs leading up to the gallery tiers on either side. They were blocked by gates of their own.
”Tridrone-9, please lead us to the modron station,” Martin asked the modron again.
“This. Way.” It clicked and scurried through the portal of darkness at the end of the tunnel.
“Do you think Hell is really, you know… Hell?” Roland asked Martin. “I mean, like the plane realm ruled by Set?” (9)
Martin could only shrug as each member of the party passed through the portal in turn.
Kazrack cried out with alarm as the ooze formed into a fist-like pseudopod and slammed into his chest. There was an acrid hiss as the delicate etching on his masterwork plate melted away. The dwarf jerked back, certain the ooze would have burned through his labor of love in only a few moments of contact.
Roland hastily prayed to Bast to grant him protection from energy gearing it towards acid and drawing his crossbow, drew back.
The Keepers of the Gate withdrew and Ratchis called out, “Martin, make the call soon!”
“Feel free! Attack!” Martin the Green said, confused that the sole responsibility had fallen on him. (1) “It attacked us first.” With an additional word of the arcane he cast mage armor upon himself.
Dorn moved behind Ratchis and loaded his crossbow, turning his head from side to side to keep an eye on the corner of the room oozing its magma phoenix.
Two arrows from Gunthar hissed and disintegrated as they plunged into the vaguely humanoid ooze para-elemental. Its limbs dripped with each step forward, leaving behind slimy green and brown bits of itself that snaked back into the corner pit it had emerged from, creating a trail.
Bastian called for flame in his dialect of dwarven and hurled it at the thing, but it snuffed out as it struck it.
Kazrack ducked another of the thing’s psuedopods as it drove them back towards the center of the room, below the raised column that held the stairs. Roland stepped in front of Bastian with words of prayer on his lips, but the prayer became a cry of agony as the heavy limb of the thing slammed him. The Bastite lost his spell and stumbled backward, dropping his crossbow. Bastian stepped to the side to draw its attention and tried to cast again, but again the thing whipped a limb out and the bearded warrior-warlock found his spell was ruined as well.
Kazrack, Ratchis and Gunthar moved in. Their metal weapons hissed as they sometimes cut pieces both great and small from the ooze elemental, leaving trails of acrid smoke to trace the arc of their swing. However, most of the blows made shallow cuts that were reabsorbed into its slimy mass. Martin crept forward and with a mental nudge cast bull’s strength from his ring of marked excellence upon Gunthar.
“Thank you for using me, kind sir,” the ring said in the watch-mage’s mind. “But really you should fill me up with more spells. I am nearly depleted.”
Bastian flung more flame at the thing and this time it seemed to shrink the slightest bit from it.
“Everyone back up and let it come to us,” Ratchis said, and Gunthar and Kazrack immediately complied. The half-orc stepped back as well, and had to duck the swing of the thing. Another pseudopod stretched out far, scoring Kazrack’s armor once again.
“Krauchaar! Bless my bones and make me strong so that I might fell my foes easier,” Kazrack called to the dwarven warrior god.
As Roland was overcome by the powerful scents of the room when he transformed into his panther shape, Bastian leapt at the para-elemental, ducking one of its blow and doing a shoulder roll to get back to his feet on the other side of it, warhammer in hand.
“Bastian! Not that way!” Ratchis said to him. “This way! We need to all stick together and decide one way to go.”
Bastian shrugged and dove through the monster’s threatened area again, easily avoiding its blow, but Ratchis must have been momentarily distracted because he suddenly felt the weight of a burning punching blow strike him on the side of the head. He stumbled back, and Roland immediately cast a healing spell that resealed the blistered and bruised skin. Kazrack stepped between and cut another hunk from the para-elemental.
“Stick with the plan,” Kazrack said. “Fall back, everybody back.” But by then, having reached the center of the room, where the stairs had one been, the Keepers of the Gate were unsure of which way to go.
Gunthar’s left hand stabbed with great speed using Mozek’s sword, Hornet. There was a rain of slime whenever he closed with it, keeping it at bay with the longer blade as he repeatedly plunged in the other. Suddenly the top part of the vague humanoid swelled up and it thrust itself into Gunthar shoving him back with great strength. Gunthar cried out as he tried to push back, pressing into the acidic ooze, but he slid right between the two gray columns where multi-colored fragrant smoke puffed and twirled.
“This thing is nastier than the abortion bucket at a whorehouse,” Gunthar said, as he swung his melting longsword. He had managed to keep his feet, but his non-magical blade was whipping bits of slag with every swing.
Kazrack, who was closest to the smoke-filled corner side spun around in time to feel the immaterial black claws of a smoke elemental slip through his armor and slice his flesh beneath.
“Finish this thing!” Ratchis roared, but the ooze elemental sucked itself back into a ball to avoid his vicious blows. Kazrack leapt away from the smoke elemental and brought his magical halberd down on the ooze in a wide downward chop. The thing exploded sending acid in all directions. Ratchis and Kazrack absorbed most of it, patches of skin and hair burning away. Ratchis looked down to watch the individual globules rolls slowly back into the corner the creature had emerge from, and saw that his Boots of Uller were now less than rags on his feet, and he winced as he felt the burning cold of the stone floor on his bare soles.
“The acid pool retreats,” Roland warned the others. “It may reform. We need to pick a way and go!” He hurried back towards the original portal they headed towards, and Dorn and Bastian followed him.
Martin the Green drew the Wurfel Kraft from its pouch and activated the side depicting grapes.
The smoke para-elemental floated silently after them. It was a column of black, blue and orange, twirling and expanding within itself. It had two ghostly black claws that hung beneath it as if dragged by an invisible string. It enveloped Bastian as the man spun around. The smells passed over him like waves, taking his mind away to some memory or another each time. Baked beans, frying fish, the musk of a boar’s den, the spoiled stench of a pig sty, the disgust of burning hair. Suddenly, Bastian realized he could not breath. The smoke elemental was as much within his lungs as around him, and he jerked in pain as the claws raked over his chest.
Roland roared and leapt at the Bastian, knocking him back out of the thing. The Bastite felt the thing’s sharp claws catch his back as he leapt away, and Bastian bent over and let out a hacking cough. Black smoke emerged from his mouth and he stumbled into the cube’s blue field, leaning on Martin for a moment as he caught his breath. The elemental monster twirled and snaked across to Ratchis who was now making for the black lightless doorway as well, and in half a moment it now enveloped him.
“What the f*ck are you looking at, Pointy? Gunthar was heard to say, and everyone turned to see him address a pyramidal modron that looked exactly like the one they had left on the tower above. (2) It had come through the black portal between the smoke and the ice corners and was walking with determination into the center of the room.
“Everyone gather about me! The smoke cannot enter the cube,” Martin said, following the modron as it changed direction without turning its body, now moving towards the same door the party was headed towards. Each of its three upright sides had a large yellow eye, and a bill like horn for a mouth. It had three arms and three legs, one of each on each of those sides. (3) It disappeared through the portal.
Holding his breath, Ratchis managed to leap into the cube’s blue field before breathing in any of the smoke elemental. In a moment, everyone was crammed within it, as the para-elemental hovered above them. Martin moved the cube right up against the portal and the wall there.
“We should all go through together,” Kazrack said of the portal.
“I can slowly move the cube forward allowing us to pass through in a line grasping hands and bringing the Wurful Kraft’s field with us,” Martin suggested. “But, if this is like the door to the pocket dimension that held the city of Topaline, then we will be blind when come through the other side.”
“I don’t think Hurgun would have made doors in his house that make you blind every time you go through them,” Roland said.
“He may have had way to make himself immune to that side-effect,” Martin posited.
“We have no choice,” Kazrack said. “The best we can hope for is that we stay together.”
The Keepers of the Gate locked arms and Kazrack stepped out of the cube and through the portal. He felt a shock of cold as all went black, but Ratchis cried out as he felt something stab at his very being. Stunned, he fell through the portal behind the dwarf, but Dorn who was next cried out as well and let go of the half-orc. The Herman-lander reeled as he tried to shake off the pain, so he could not resist when Gunthar shoved him through the portal after the first two. Roland, who had been grabbing onto the rear of Dorn’s coat with his teeth, yowled and let go, falling to one side stunned.
Gunthar shrugged and leapt through and Bastian helped Roland to his feet and sent him through as well. The bearded warrior leapt through with Martin right behind.
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Kazrack and Ratchis found themselves in a short dark tunnel of some sort with an arched ceiling. It was barely more than fifteen feet long and just about the same width, and ended in a portcullis of broad metal bands, from beyond which came a dull yellow light.
“I hope this delay does not mean we have been separated,” Ratchis was saying to Kazrack as he rubbed at the pain in his temples. Dorn stumbled through and fell to the ground. Gunthar came right behind him.
“Where are we now?” the Neergaardian’s voice reverberated down the short tunnel. There was murmur of clicks from beyond the portcullis.
“Did you hear that?” Kazrack was asking as Roland came through with Bastian right on his heels.
“What is this place?” Roland asked when he regained his senses. He walked over to the portcullis and began to sniff at the openings in it.
Martin the Green stepped through.
“My! It is a lot more crowded in here than I though it would be,” he said, and with that the portcullis began to slowly rise.
“Intruders. Come forward for judgment,” came the clockwork voice of what could only be some kind of modron. Its voice was eight tones that complimented each other in cold harmonies, two, three, four even five at a time, the chords changing with each word. There was another murmured cacophony of clicking that washed around them in the cramped tunnel.
“Maybe we should go back and try another way,” Ratchis said.
“These creatures obviously dwell here,” Kazrack reasoned. “We should not flee from them, but step forward and explain our cause.”
“The voice said something about ‘judgment’,” Ratchis replied. “What if they judge against us?”
“I see no reason why they would, we have done nothing wrong,” Ratchis opened his mouth to interrupt, but Kazrack just continued on in a harsh whisper. “But if such a thing were to happen, we’ll be sure to stand by Martin and he can activate the cube and we can push our way out of there.”
Since no one could think of a better plan, and the modrons seemed more likely to be parleyed with than the para-elemental guardians, they stepped past the risen gate. Ratchis and Kazrack led the way, with Martin close behind them. The trio was followed by Dorn and Roland, and Bastian and Gunthar took up the rear.
The Keepers of the Gate stepped out into a tiered gallery. This chamber seemed much the same square shape and size as the first room of the Maze, but the floor level was only thirty feet long and twenty-five feet wide, and surrounded by twelve foot tall walls. The entire place seemed carved from one immense cube of living rock. The ceiling was arched and plated in dull gold that emanated the yellow light of the chamber.
Directly across from them was another portcullis, this one closed and above it was a elaborate stone balcony set with a tall-backed stone throne-like chair. The balcony was carved from the great angular stone that made up the rear wall. There was a closed portcullis to the left and right beneath the tiers as well. (4) There were no seats behind or above it. The tiers were connected by short narrow stone steps, and each one was not much wider than five feet.
The tiered seats were filled with nearly two score modrons of various kinds. There were nearly a dozen of the pyramidal ones, but nearly a score had one eye and round spheres for bodies, with two spindly legs, tiny wings and no arms. (5) There were a handful of six-sided cube-bodied modrons, with two legs that ended in black hooves and two arms, but with two eyes on each of its facing sides. (6)
The balcony was flanked by a pair of pentadrones (7) that spun, lifting their flat limbs slightly as they buzzed. And within the balcony propped awkwardly atop the throne was the strangest of these creatures yet. Its head was a great sphere with ten round eyes set evenly about it, and beneath each was a long tentacle that ended in a narrow clawed finger. The top of the sphere was a wide mouth, and the whole head rested on a pair of trunk-like elephantine legs.
"Intruders. You shall be judged,” they heard the freakish thing before them say. Its mouth did not move, but there was no doubt it came from the lead modron. A tentacle touched something on a panel before the throne and the portcullis behind them slammed shut. “I am the Decaton. (8) I command the collective for the Master.”
“Whatta load of freaks!” Gunthar swore. Roland hushed him.
“Martin, step forward,” Kazrack whispered, stepping aside to let the watch-mage past. “You are our best talker.”
“The first question of this inquiry shall be question number one, and question number one is: Do you have an invitation?” the decaton asked.
“Oh great and unerring servant of Ptah,” Martin began looking up with arms outstretched in exaggerated supplication. “We come seeking to save our world from the random fluctuations that threaten to tear it apart because of the very existence of this Maze. We did not mean to arrive without an invitation, but it an emergency.”
“No invitation, no admittance,” the decaton said, and all the other modrons echoed the rule. “Admission with out invitation is a violation.” The thing’s multi-toned voice hit a sharp dissonant chord when it said its last word.
“Violation. Violation,” the modrons all repeated in agreement in their cold voices.
“We did not seek to violate this place or its rules,” Kazrack spoke up. “But we have come to save your master, Hurgun of the Stone.”
“Perhaps you are unaware that he is trapped in the center of his own Maze and he must be rescued if the Maze is to be moved away from Aquerra and he is to retain control of it," Martin added. “Our goals here are selfless, but others who may soon access it will be not be so.”
“There is no center of the Maze,” the decaton replied, its voices striking dissonance again when it spoke the word ‘center’. “You are operating with incomplete data. Incomplete data leads to violations. Violation equals re-assimilation or banishment. Decaton calls to the gallery for affirmation of judgment.”
“Wait! Wait!” Martin cried out. “We have done nothing. We are here to stop the planar bleed. Surely Hurgun left you with instructions of what to do if he did not return.”
“We await your judgment, Decaton,” the other modrons all said.
“Is there not a second in command? An assistant to Hurgun?” Martin asked.
“Gilbart,” the Decaton replied with a warm group of tones that hummed nicely at the base of the back. “Gilbart is absent.”
The Keepers of the Gate all looked at each other, but none recognized the name.
“Outsider influence has led to corruption and re-programming of crucial modron units,” the Decaton said. “ We operate at less than full capacity. The modron maintenance re-assimilation station is no longer operational. However, judgment must still be made.”
“But you said yourself that we are operating with insufficient data,” Martin reasoned. “And now, so are you. You will be in violation!”
“Judgment has been reached, ” the Decaton said. “These before the Collective have been found in violation of the rules of admission and thus must face banishment, ” The last word words squelched in the party’s ears, and they winced. “All in favor?”
The modrons clicked, “Aye” in perfect unison.
“Those against?” The only sound was Martin the Green growing desperate.
“You have been found to be in violation, ” the decaton said to the Keepers of the Gate. “You are to be banished. You must GO TO HELL! ”
The decaton pointed to the portcullis on their left with three of his tentacles while another depressed something on the console before him, and it started to rise.
“You have no authority to do this,” Martin protested. “We have done nothing to deserve this fate!”
“Please step to the left, ” the Decaton said in a perfunctory manner.
The Keepers of the Gate looked at each other dumbfounded as all the modrons around them clicked and whirred and repeated the words “banishment” and “hell” to each other in perfect agreement.
“What can we do to not go to Hell?” Kazrack asked. “How may we make up for being in violation?”
The decaton turned its great spherical head so that one of its eyes was looking right at Kazrack, while another looked right at Martin.
“Can you repair the modron station? We cannot re-assimilate. We cannot repair the damage, ” the Decaton said.
“Yes! Please allow us a chance to repair it!” Martin took up the slim hope. “You are obviously not functioning at full capacity and need to be serviced at this modron station. We can help you and then you can help us help Hurgun.”
“Outsider influence, ” the Decaton said. “Our numbers dwindle remaining unassimilated because of the strange monkey demon. It was in violation. The Master was seeing to it. ”
“Mitha-agogol! (8)” Martin cried. “How long ago?”
“It has not been seen since…” the thing’s huge head jerked back and forth spasmodically and it clicked and whirred unintelligibly. “Please step to the left. ”
“You cannot pass judgment if you are in need of repairs,” Roland said. “Your judgment might be flawed and then, as Martin said, you would be in violation and would have to banish yourself to Hell.”
“Direct us to this modron station and we will do our best to fix it for you,” Kazrack said.
“Modron station is past Hell, ” the Decaton said. “Please step to the left. ” It pointed with six of its tentacles this time.
“We formally request permission to visit the modron station before going to Hell in order that it might be fixed,” Martin said.
“Request approved on conditional basis, ” the Decaton replied.
“And uh, we’d like a guide,” Martin added. “Perhaps a tridrone to show us the way to the Modron Station?”
“Tridrone-9,” the Decaton announced, and a pyramidal modron presented itself at the left hand exit that was now open. “Designation Nine will guide this outsider contamination to the room of Hell and beyond to the modron station. This is Rule Priority Two, second only to your primary designation.”
“Yes, Decaton,” the tridrone replied in its honking voice.
“We thank you for your kind aid, and hope we can return the favor by repairing the modron station, defeating the monkey-demon and rescuing your master from whatever fate has befallen him,” Martin said. He turned to the tridrone guide. “Lead away, good Tridrone. Guide us to this modron station at once!”
The pyramid of ruddy flesh upon spindly legs made a slight adjustment and then retreated back down the tunnel to the left. Ratchis and Kazrack followed it, followed closely by Martin and then the rest.
As the last of them passed under the portcullis it slammed shut and they could hear the decaton say, “Sentence rendered: To Hell! ” The modrons in the gallery clicked their agreement.
The Keepers of the Gate found themselves in a tunnel much like the one they first appeared in, except this one had narrow stone stairs leading up to the gallery tiers on either side. They were blocked by gates of their own.
”Tridrone-9, please lead us to the modron station,” Martin asked the modron again.
“This. Way.” It clicked and scurried through the portal of darkness at the end of the tunnel.
“Do you think Hell is really, you know… Hell?” Roland asked Martin. “I mean, like the plane realm ruled by Set?” (9)
Martin could only shrug as each member of the party passed through the portal in turn.
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