The companions descended a narrow twisting staircase to come to an open archway that opened into a very long room. From the series of three huge fireplaces, two with massive spits, long tables piles up with bowls and pots and pans hanging from hooks and beams in the ceiling, it was obviously a kitchen once fit for a king. The whole of the place was dusty. Cobwebs clung to just about every corner or anything that had not been moved in gods knew how many years.
Around the stonework of the fireplaces, patterns of various animals were carved. One entirely bulls. The next sheep and goats. The third seemed to be all manner of fowl: chickens, geese, pheasants and other birds that were not immediately recognizable. Another wall contained what appeared a massive oven. The trim here was lined with sheaves of wheat and other grains, long loaves of bread, cakes, pies, and what they guessed to be smaller squared rolls or buns
The party passed through with some trepidation, expecting attack from every webbed or shadowy corner, which were many as the only light sources came from the party’s weapons or the ball of light at the end of Alaria’s staff.
“This is the epitomy of a shame.” Haelan said sadly.
“How do you mean, Hilltender?” Pyrnion said, more to distract himself from the dark closed space than any interest in the daelvar’s musings.
“To have a kitchen like this just sitting...unused. The amazing feasts that must have been made here once upon a time.” Haelan tone was filled with obvious sorrow.
Duor and Jovias poked around the carvings and looked up into the completely black and soot stained chimneys. The crockery was ancient. The multitude of various sized pots, pans and assorted utensils of iron and copper and ancient cracked wood. Nothing of note or value to the dwarf or satyr’s eyes.
Buttercream nosed around, as ferrets were want to do, investigating on, under and around the kitchen. She mentally pointed out a small archway that led to an small side chamber.
*I’m not goin’ in there.* she said with a small sneeze. *Stinks bad. Worse than goblins.*
They examined the pantry that was apparently for perishables. The whole place stank of musty dead vegetation and dried husks of vegetables and fruits that were ages beyond identification. A noticeable chill filled the room. Molds covered and filled most of the ancient wooden boxes and reed baskets that would have housed the castle’s foodstores.
Fen noted the distinct lack of dampness for something laying beneath a swamp.
“Woof. Let’s get out of here.” Alaria said with a shiver. Whether from apprehension or insulation, the chill of the room seemed to be increasing to a bone-biting cold.
“Agreed.” Braddok said, his nose scrunched up at the unpleasant rotting odor.
“LOOK OUT!” Jovias cried and swung his pinecone headed mace very near Alaria’s arm.
The magess, instinctively, shirked away from the halfling’s blow and whirled about to see the mace pass through a...tendril, of sorts, a bulbous nodule of...something...reaching toward to her arm from one of the baskets.The mace passed through it, merely scattering clumps of the stuff to the floor before a second, then third and more reaching shapes began to lift from the boxes and baskets.
It seemed to be the mold, itself! Moving of its own accord toward any of the companions close to it.
“EW! It’s...the mold?” Haelan said in surprise. the breath of his exclamation a visible puff escaping his mouth as the room now felt like the winter air.
“Get out of here!” Braddok commanded, swiping Kandu through two of the reaching, rapidly increasing growths.
“Cover your mouths and noses! Don't breathe it in!" Duor shouted out as he quickly wrapped his own cape around his face.
*Hilltender! The door! The door!* Buttercream's voice came to Haelan's ears. The daelvar turned to see the ferret, moving back and forth before the doorway, slowly being sealed by expanding mold.
The party turned to see, with a good deal of alarm, that the mold also coated the walls and was quickly building up around the doorway, closing it off.
Fen’s leaftip spear head blazed with green fire and swiped at the opening. This, apparently, was the wrong thing to do as the mold growth doubled in size in an instant. The cold became more intense and the doorway was nearly entirely closed by the mold, expanding in a visible burst nodules.
“Behind you!” Jovias shouted in alarm, pointing behind Duor with his short sword but completely at a loss as to what to do with it. Weapons, it seemed, did nothing against this stuff!
The dwarf rogue swung around with his green etheral energy to strike into a very solid, very hard, lumbering form. The size and shape was vaguely hobgoblinish, though what few bits of the desiccated skin could be seen were nearly blue. The bulk of the form, however, was covered in the brownish mold.
“Hobzombie!” Duor shouted.
The creature swung, clumsily, at Duor and missed completely. Another strike from Duor and additional swipe from Pyrnion’s magical axe laid the creature low, though the mold still undulated around it on the floor, reaching for the feet and legs of the dwarf and zephari.
Mold was growing before their eyes. Pressing in from the walls, spreading out from the baskets, lowering from the ceiling.
“I must...We can’t...I have to get out...out of here...LET ME OUT!” Pyrnion said in obvious panic and dove through the doorway back out to the kitchen. His great muscled form and golden feathered wings brushed through the closing mold and clung to him. He disappeared from the others’ view behind the curtain of brown mold with a cry, whether pain or panic, none could tell.
“Th-th-that d-d-didn’t s-s-s-sound goo-ood." Jovias shivered through chattering teeth. “B’may b-b-be the right-t-t idea."
Haelan invoked a prayer of his goddess and the cold which was now severely inhibiting the party’s movement and actions was alleviated...still noticable, but no longer freezing.
“Fen, can’t you control it!” Haelan suggested.
“Do what now?!” the half-elf replied, incredulous, as he backed away, pressing now, back to back with the rest of the companions.
“It’s mold! It’s a plant, isn’t it?” Haelan explained.
“I’m not sure. But whether it is or no, I can not today.” Fen said.
“I say we dive.” Braddok said. The cold blue flames of Kandu seemed to be their best defense against the stuff. The reaching clumps of mold were the least interested in the swordsman and noticeably backed away from his sword swipes.
The hobgoblin corpse seemed to be reanimating. Braddok, again, cut it into multiple pieces. The mold set to bringing the parts back together.
“Alaria can you get us out of here?” Braddok asked.
”Fire would seem to be ineffective. I have no ice or cold incantations.” she replied, swiping at a clump of mold with her staff. The sparking electricity at the end of the staff did burn away a bit, and it did not grow after. “Lightning seems effective, but I dare not risk electrifying all of us in so small a space.”
“Fried or frozen seem to be our options.” Fen said in dry seriousness.
“Use the damnable orb! We have it and nearly die. We don’t have it and nearly die. We have it again. Bloody thing’s a curse and a half. Blow this stuff...somewhere!” Duor shouted in frustration as he burned away bits of mold that had begun wrapping themselves around his forearm.
Alaria knew the dwarf was right, but she’d expended so much energy in the battle with Rach’sha. Manifesting the orb’s powers again might be more than she could handle. They needed a rest...yet, again, the dwarf’s need for greed seemed to have landed them at the doorstep of the Grey Lands. What choice did she really have?
“Make ready to race for the door.” Alaria said calmly as she withdrew the mystic orb from her pouch. A moment of concentration and, thankfully, very little effort later, the orb’s blue and white light swirled within the crystal. She let loose a single short burst of wind, directly at the doorway. It was strong enough ( or perhaps cool enough?) to brush aside a small opening.
All of the party made a made dash for the kitchen.
Some minor swipes and scrapes to remove the few bits of mold that had struck and clung to a few of them was all that was required. The concern immediately became Pyrnion, on his hands and knees, nearly in the middle of the huge kitchen. His axe lay on the ground just beside his hand, yet he had not the strength to grasp it. His bronzed tan skin was nearly grey and he shook visibly. Frost seemed to be forming along the tips of his wings and the feathers that mixed with the hair on his head.
Buttercream circled, hair bristled, around the zephari but did not dare or know how, for that matter, to remove it without touching it. *The bird-man does not look good.* she chitted to Haelan when the Hilltender appeared.
Haelan rushed for the bird man and again invoked the prayer of resistance from cold.
“G-g-get-t-it-t-t-t off...” Pyrnion said weakly.
The Braddok and Duor careful began clearing the zephari of the clumps of mold that covered much of his back. When that was finished, Alaria threw her protective cloak over him. Whether its enchantments of protection from the elements would help or the cloak itself simply lending a layer of warmth, didn’t matter. His lips were blue, he needed to be warmed.
“Set a fire, quickly.” Alaria said. Directing Jovias to the task in the bread oven where a dust and cobweb covered stack old wood was still piled...and happened to be the furthest from the mold-filled pantry.
Haelan’s hushed tones had already produced a honey-colored glow around his hands which he was applying and seemed to be “spreading” the healing light around Pyrnion’s near-frozen form.
“It’ll be alright, Pyrnion. you’ll be ok now. Is that better?” the care-filled Hilltender asked quietly.
Braddok and Duor looked to the pantry in concern but the mold seemed unable to “reah” more than a few inches from the doorway and eventually all sign of movement ceased and the spore-tendrils receded back into the side-room. With the dwarf’s help, the Grinlian warrior moved one of the large wooden tables over to the doorway and flipped it up on end to cover the opening.
The satyr seemed quite adept and had a fire burning in a few moments. Haelan and the satyr helped the still shivering winged man over toward it.
“This feels better.” Pyrnion admitted as the last of the chills were leaving him. “Thank you, my friends. I am ashamed for my...panic. My kind are not accustomed to being in so closed a space...I am also not accustomed to experiencing such a bitter cold. How do you people endure that?”
“We are not zephari.” Duor replied with a jabbing smirk.
“Can you continue?” Alaria said seriously. “I will not be able to use the orb again in battle. I must conserve my strength in case we need it to escape.”
Pyrnion shook his head and took the axe, handed to him gently by Haelan.
“Maybe is wasn’t a 'hobzombie'...maybe it was a 'Zomblin'?” Jovias said to no one in particular.
The rest of the party looked at the satyr minstrel with assorted faces of disapproval.
“What?!” Jovias exclaimed.