Enter Katarn
Katarn gazes out across the waving grassland at the distant pine clad hills, silhouetted in the washed out morning light, the sun’s rim not yet visible above the ridge. A feint drizzle of rain kisses his skin blown on a zip of wind that smells of sea coast although that lies many leagues to the East. Behind him the dawn sounds of the rising camp grow slowly. Kan-tra strolls up behind him, four sturdy ponies following in an obedient line. ‘Come Katarn, let us away before the sun rises full. You said you wanted back to the city to see your friends full swift, move your skinny elf butt’.
Katarn blinks back a cold-wind tear, sniffs and playfully slapps at Kan-tra’s broad leather-bound back. ‘Full swift it is then, last one to the green-sea’s edge is a dog-dropping-breathed son of a gnoll’. Tumbling in a somersault to the saddle of the nearest beast he spurs away before the hill-bred Kan-tra has moved, the entire line of ponies scrambling after him in surprise. The burly barbarian grunts in annoyance and thanking the gods that his pack was on the last pony, speeds after the disappearing train on swift feet.
Neither of them is particularly keen to enter the city which appears to be in a state of confusion as they gaze down upon it from a safe hilltop. But go into it they must if they are to join up with their friends again. The surly guards question them closely on entry and Katarn’s glib manner is pushed to it’s limits to avoid giving away too much. This end of town seems to be hosting an unusual number of soldiers from the Earl Avayasev’s retinue and the Polochenko gate guard appear tense and twitchy.
Iinitial enquiries reveal news that the party of ‘heroes’ have departed that very morning from the South gate, with an honour guard of cavalry and Priests of the Church of Saints. The honour guard is back apparently and Katarn’s careful enquiries suggest that the group is safely on their way to Rura-Faran. The news of a planned ban on entry to the ruins is easier to discover, clearly gaining much favour from the populace and due to go to Council that evening. Katarn knows his friends well and making haste to the South gate places a quiet wager with Kan-tra that the ruins are exactly where the party might be found.
Sure enough, by duskfall the trail of the errant group has turned distinctly East and then North, looping back towards the ruins, but marked by a second group of horsemen. Someone else is following them. Katarn and Kan-tra slow their pace, having no intention of blundering into the pursuers in the dark, and eventually camp on a ridge line about 2 miles from the ruins.
Morning finds them scouting the next ridge carefully, to find a group of some 20 Polochenko cavalry and a priest or two rummaging about in what must be the party’s overnight camp. The well chosen location must be Droog’s excellent work, and the pair of them watch carefully as the cavalry split into pairs in a variety of directions searching for signs of the occupants’ intentions. One pair of riders gallops away towards Chupek, perhaps to report, perhaps to return with reinforcements. It appears that the interdict on the ruins is in full swing already?
Katarn and Kan-tra work their way along the ridge, taking care to keep away from the ridge top to avoid being silhouetted. Kan-tra’s keen eye spots movement in the distant ruins, tiny figures disappearing into what appears to be a large crack in the ground. They find a shielded gulley away from prying eyes and work their way into the city as stealthily as possible, leaving the mounts in a ruined tower.
Access to the crack is made easier by a rope left dangling by those who have so recently gone before and the agile pair descend with ease. It takes only a moment to figure out where the party have gone, and they pursue the group into a series of circular rooms connected by a mixture of stairs and corridors. The architectural style is highly varied with connecting corridors and rooms of clearly different eras. Scarcely have they passed more than a few rooms in when distant sounds of battle reach their ears. Springing forward with weapons in their hands they are nearly shaken from their feet by the sudden and very solid crunch of massive stone slabs dropping into doorways behind them. Cut off, only way now is forward!
Sprinting through various rooms it takes them nearly a minute to reach a balcony area overlooking a large domed circular chamber. Some kind of balustrade has fallen away from this balcony and they skid to a halt just in time to prevent a forty foot fall onto what appears to be a mass of caltrops. Blood stains the floor, and the signs of magical battle are clear from the extensive range of scorch marks on the walls. Katarn’s eye’s narrow and spotting a set of concealed hand holds in the wall he and Kan-tra silently slip off the balcony and begin to descend. Seconds later his friends, together with a couple of figures Katarn doesn’t recognise burst into the room panting and frustrated, brows furrowed.
Stories are quickly exchanged, and the welcome break used to assess the position. Katarn is shocked to hear that Droog has been killed. This place would appear to be some kind of ancient accommodation structure converted into a labyrinth. The way out is apparently blocked, and armed pursuers probably behind them anyway. Forwards lies an unknown tangle of rooms, traps and foes. However, all the fables and songs about minotaurs known to the bards in the group talk of great wealth and wonder guarded by these territorial creatures. Though Droog was not particularly popular, perhaps his death can be avenged and made good in some small way by the garnering of booty?
The new party members are Wanda, a pale mystical robed figure who reveals little about herself, and Lewellyn, a chain clad paladin of Heiro the Righteous and very clear about his role in the world.
Drucilla wanders away to investigate the wall of stone, and with Fareena, determines that this is not shadow magic but a truly solid chunk of stone. She aims an item at the wall and let’s rip a Lightning bolt with a clap of thunder. Scorched stone shards splinter in all directions and a small hole appears in the centre of the blockage. With some help it is widened with tools and Drucilla passes her brave little familiar Vince the bat through the tiny portal. Vince flaps away into the gloom and Drucilla closes her eyes to absorb the empathic messages flowing back to her.
Meanwhile, Troy has been gazing with some interest at the illusion in the centre of the room that still sways and croons lasciviously. Yes, there, in the centre of the image is a statue. A female form about lifesize and holdings a longspear that can now be seen to extend outside the limits of the illusion but presumably not visible before because of the power of the suggestion created by it. Around the statue’s neck is a copper plaque on a fine silver chain, upon which are finely inscribed a sequence of indecipherable runes.
Troy stares at it for ages and begins to work out the patterns, reckoning that an hour or two of effort might give enough of the gist to determine roughly what it says. He points out the basics to Wanda who tells him exactly what is on it, her surreptitiously cast ‘Comprehend languages’ spell coming to the fore!
It says:
Hocus Pocus, Trouble I see
Now left, now right, then stone I be
If I desire to right this state
A clever trick then must I make
A gift from Mefnil’s hand so kind
In mine own hand the cure I’ll find
Yet how shall I escape this bond
I stand as still as a lily pond
This jest no doubt Mefnil amuses
Full besting any bardic muses
Investigation of the figure’s left hand shows it to be oversize for the scale, and moulded perhaps from clay rather than stone. They chip away at it carefully and a small clear glass vial of oily liquid is revealed. Do they dare try this on the statue? It could be another enemy, or a trick? Who the heck is Mefnil?
