Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
Within a heartbeat, we were back in Mage Point. Within an hour, items had been traded and a vast sum of gold and diamonds handed to the leaders of the temple to St Cuthbert and Janga was on his way towards revivification. By the end of the second hour we had filled our pockets with gold from traded items, and had received a summons from Manzorian to meet and discuss the situation.
We returned to his azure castle, and met in his library where he explained the research he had been carrying out during our absence. Idly causing a book to fly across the room with his a gesture he dropped his finger onto a column of handwritten text alongside the printed script.
“I granted Balakard the use of my library for a time,” he explained. “It would seem that he was in the disgusting habit of writing in books; even books which did not belong to him. His notes are quite intriguing, and seem to indicate that he thought the Ebon Triad was a front for Kyuss’ servants. The source of the Ebon Triad was here.”
As he pointed, a chart unrolled and moved to his fingerpoint. “The bandit kingdom of ‘Redhand’, ruled over by Prince Zeech. Previously a noble town devoted to the worship of St Cuthbert, the writings of the cleric Rhorsk indicate that the town was taken over by a powerful movement towards Hextorite worship. In the writings of this religious transformation, there are mentions made in the texts to ‘the writhing dead’. The initial sweep of the Hextorite takeover was defeated by many people, not least the reclusive elven mage Lashonna, although Rhorsk’s texts indicate that the leaders of the cult escaped.
“Balakard’s notes in the margin seem to indicate that this Prince Zeech believes himself to be the annointed one, or perhaps even the son, of Hextor himself, and is involved in some kind of project designed much like the ziggurat you’ve described only made from the local red stone. The town is strongly controlled and law is enforced by the ‘Watchers’ and the ‘Blessed Angels’, who are rumoured to fly over the town enforcing the Prince’s will.”
.oOo.
We spent a few days crafting and purchasing new equipment before teleporting far to the north.
From atop a hill outside the city, we could see the winding ‘Toilway’ which led to the central of three gates. A long and noisy queue wound out of the gates, and flags and banners fluttered from the spires and walls beyond. The city was in festival, and we hastened to join the queue and enter.
Speaking to a few people as we waited to enter, we were quick to learn that the people were careful to praise and compliment their ruler whenever they were in the presence of strangers. They spoke of a celebration of 20 years ‘noble rule’ by their ‘gracious and wonderful leader’. They told us of a great banquet being organised by the ‘glorious Prince Zeech’ to which “even Lashonna herself has been invited”.
Once I had talked us past the guards (managing to convince the hobgoblin guardsman that the curious combination of a half-orc necromancer travelling along with an elven archer a pygmy savage and a gnome cleric of the travel god was perfectly normal), we passed into the city proper.
Almost immediately we managed to lose Fez, finding him 10 minutes later in the bustle of people waiting at the sign of the ‘Curious Owlbear’, from which was coming the scent of dozens of differing meats, some cooked, some cured and some raw. An obese Halfling was more than willing to sell, and it seemed that we were more than willing to buy, as we left a while later with Fez gnawing on a hunk of raw centaur steak, and Endo stuffing over 200 gold pieces of expensive (and in many cases previously sentient) meats into his backpack.
As we walked away, I could hear one of the people in the queue telling another how the Halfling had recently organised a banquet (“attended by no less a person than his august majesty the Prince Zeech!”) where recently dead and fragrantly seasoned centaurs had trotted from table to table cutting slices of meat from their own bodies.
.oOo.
Having discussed a selection of inns with passers-by, we took the decision to head to the ‘DeLuxury’, the most decadent and exclusive inn in the city. Even ‘his gloriousness’ the Prince had been seen within its stone and wooden walls. As we strolled inside, we were astonished by the surroundings – dancing girls cavorted for the watching wealthy patrons, whilst a colossal bar (made from a substantial chunk of a sailing ship) seemed to be serving every spirit we could think of. Excellent music floated from a stage beyond a well-equipped casino, whilst the clattering of silver cutlery on bone china and the scents of superb food wafted from the other side.
I sauntered into the hotel, catching sight of at least one familiar face; resting on a chaise-longue whilst savoring a brandy was Professor Murat, who until recently had owned the Emporium in Diamond Lake – before it had been destroyed by the rampaging black dragon Ilthane.
Loratio the innkeeper welcomed us into his palace, and I was swiftly persuaded to pass over a thousand gold pieces to pay for single rooms for each of us, although Endo and Flynne rapidly squandered a fortune more to upgrade to the best rooms the DeLuxury had to offer.
Whilst chatting within the palatial hotel, we were told that the banquet was to take place in 6 days, and that only the richest and most influential within the town were to be invited.
Whilst Endo ate a mixed grill of truly gargantuan proportions, including generous haunches of storm-giant, seasoned steaks of wyvern and bulette, and even glazed and thinly sliced pieces of white dragon lion.
Losing interest in the half-orc’s gluttony, I wandered over to the part of the inn where the musician was playing. Within half an hour (as Endo was tearing into a string of naga sausages), I found myself playing my lute first in accompaniment and then in out-and-out competition with the resident bard, Titus.
I matched his song, twist for twist and note for note before taking advantage of a lull in his singing. Whilst he was sipping some water I launched into a song of my own creation, picking up where his song had left off and weaving his story into an ever higher crescendo.
When we had finished, I stood after Titus, and was rewarded by not only a tremendous burst of applause from the spectators, but also a prize in the form of a week’s accommodation in the penthouse suite of the DeLuxury.
After amusing ourselves in the hotel for a couple of hours, we decided to leave and explore the city. We had to wait for Fez, all looking out of the doors and pretending not to notice as he demanded that the innkeeper provide “A tall girl, very tall. Long legs. And fat. I want meat on her. But not Halfling. Human girl. Fez likes them tall and heavy”.
Trying not to look at the tiny savage, we headed first to the ziggurat.
“Shoddy,” was Endo’s verdict. “The workers have fallen behind, and the management is hopeless. Look at the line of that scaffold. And that raising platform won’t hold anything like enough weight once they need to lift much higher.”
I squinted at what he was pointing out, but couldn’t really make out the details he was trying to get across to me. All that I could think was that the red-stone edifice looked remarkably like the destroyed ziggurat back at Kuluth-Mar before it was destroyed.
.oOo.
The Cathedral to Hextor was truly impressive. Staring up at it, we squinted at parts of the chipped and damaged sculpture higher up the building which showed the hallmarks of architecture devoted to Hieronius. The temple had been re-consecrated a number of years ago and devoted to the darker God, but at the Prince’s orders was open to the public.
A robed figure was presiding over 2 cleaning hobgoblins, whilst several other red-robed clerics bustled around in the background.
Cornering one of these, Fex passed over a large purse of gold to have the blessings of Hextor placed upon it (a process which involved dipping it in chicken entrails and what looked suspiciously like human blood); and whilst this was carried out I learned from one of the acolytes that the High Priest had been ‘insulted’ by the Prince by not inviting him to the banquet at the end of the week.
.oOo.
Back on the street I tried to ask a few people about the cleric to St Cuthbert ‘Rhorsk’. They seemed very reluctant to discuss him, and his memory was largely derided by those who were prepared to talk to me. The most concerning thing was that the temple itself was now a shambles, gently falling apart and rumoured to be haunted.
Unable to pass up something like a haunted temple, we headed that way immediately.
.oOo.
The Church of Blessed Deliverance had been badly burned in years past and was barely standing at the present time. Signs nailed to the single remaining door read that it had been condemned by order of the Prince. I muttered the words to an invisibility spell which allowed Fez to slip into the ruined temple with Flynne. A few minutes later the little warrior reported that there were tracks in the dust and signs that the rubble had been moved a years ago (around the time that Balakard had come this way).
Gesturing, Janga cast a spell to open a matching pair of doors both inside and out of the church, and we stepped through to stand near Flynne, and he pulled open the now uncovered trapdoor which led down into the temple crypts. We walked down the narrow circular stone stairwell into a scene of dark devastation.
Cracked and gnawed bones littered the floor of the violated crypt. The walls had been torn down in places, and perfectly circular tunnels burrowed magically into the earth and stone beyond. Hearing a moan from the corner, we spotted a figure curled up and rocking gently. Looking up at our torches, we could see the twisted face of a feral grey-skinned man, his once-white Cuthbertite robes tattered and hanging limply over his emaciated frame.
“Go away,” it wheezed.
“You Rhorsk?” Fez was already midway through drawing his flail, but paused to ask the question.
“You know me?” The creature was clearly either utterly insane or undead; perhaps both, but I didn’t think that a lasting conversation with Fez would help his situation and moved swiftly to take over.
“Yes,” I interjected. “We have had the honour and privilege of reading your book, sir, and were wondering if you might be open to answering a few questions. Could you tell us what took place all those years ago?”
“Ah,” came a dusty chuckle from Rhorsk. “I did keep a few things out – although I’m amazed that you’ve all found me out so quickly. I only finished writing a week ago.”
We looked at one another in concern.
“Have you had anyone else visiting,” I asked. “Perhaps in the last few… er… days?”
“Yes! Berelain, Berepal, something like that.”
“Balakard,” I suggested?”
That’s the one,” agreed the ghoulish cleric. “Came in here… must’ve been a couple of days ago, and was asking about the same writings. I told him of the execution of the heretics, which I wrote in my book, but what I didn’t write about was that after the executions I found where they were keeping the bodies I went there and spoke with their dead souls.
“They told me that they had been set on their path by ‘Mother Maggot’, which had given them the secrets of the undead and promised them still more support. They met her under a building in the south east of the city.
“I watched the building for a year afterwards, but there were not movements, and I eventually concluded that ‘Mother Maggot’ had moved on.
“The final expulsion of the heretics and cultists from the city was a tremendous time. Much upheaval – Lashonna was there, of course – couldn’t have done it without her. The Prince was involved as well, but not the church.
“Your man Baklava asked me about the same things. He said that he was going to try and infiltrate the house. Perhaps if you hurry, you might catch him!”
Unwilling to tell the cleric that Balakard’s visit had been more than two years ago, we bade him farewell and gently closed the door behind us before piling stones onto it to ensure that the ghast’s long rest might not be disturbed for many more years to come. Then, following the descriptions he had given us, we trekked through the city to where he thought ‘Mother Maggot’ had been based.
.oOo.
After a couple of missed turns, it was getting dark by the time we found the right squat 10 year old building; clearly built some time after the cult’s existence. People still celebrating in the streets seemed to give it a wide berth, and when I asked some of them why I learned that it was a sick house, run by a mad old woman.
After spending a few moments planning, Endo cast his most sickening spell, and we watched his skin dry out and sink away. His eyes seemed to shrivel somewhat, and his lips sank away from his teeth.
Taking one of his almost skeletal arms each, Flynne and I led Endo to the sick-house door, and Flynne knocked. A moment later, the door was heaved upon from within by a squat wizened looking woman with a face-full of warts. As she squinted more in curiosity than anything else at Endo and prodded him with one knobbly finger, we led him into the rooms beyond.
The rooms beyond had about 40 beds all of which were occupied. Some of the occupants moaned or thrashed, but others were still. The old crone heaved at the bedding of one of the stillest, and a rigid corpse rolled off the bed.
“Put him down there,” she indicated. “He doesn’t need it any more.” Flynne and I grinned as we lowered Endo onto the sweat and blood-stained sheets before I turned to the old woman and told her a completely made-up story about how Endo might have contracted the lethal disease which now presented itself.
As I spoke, Flynne disappeared into the back of the long building, and the woman produced a muddy potion which she poured between Endo’s rigid lips, and which he then coughed all over the badly stained sheets. I continued my tale, working into it a gentle suggestion that she should go to sleep as soon as possible.
Whilst she began to nod, Flynne returned and gave me a sign that there was something worth investigating at the back of the building. The old woman put herself to bed at my assurance that we would ‘let ourselves out’, and we watched her fall asleep before opening the door and letting in Janga and Fez.
.oOo.
At the back of the building was a deep sheer pit covered by a thick wooden board. A dropped stone fell for a long distance before cluttering to solid ground beneath. Deciding to go straight down, we leapt into the pit and floated gently to red brick flooring below under the power of a simple spell of slow-falling.
Rotting prayer mats surrounded a black triangle painted onto the floor, and a tangle of fresh-looking rope was near the room’s only exit. As we moved towards it, the rope twitched, then uncoiled and seemed to expand into a 10 foot tall human-like form of coiled and knotted ropes. It flailed towards us, catching Flynne around the head with a knotted lump of rope before entwining him tightly in a series of coils.
The elf stabbed at the rope-creature with his shortsword, and then Fez ran in screaming with his axe, hacking at the creature. Endo told us not to bother casting spells at the monster, before causing lightning to crackle and spark all over it. There was a stench of burned hemp.
Dropping Flynne, the rope creature flailed at Fez, wreathing him in coils of rope, and a noose began edging its way around his neck.
I hastened all my comrades, and Janga also cast a spell to empower himself, and whilst Flynne hacked at the creature more with his enchanted shortsword and Fez writhed around trying to savage the rope-monster with his spiked armour. Endo’s spellcasting brought forth another floating skeletal hand, which he sent forwards to touch Fez. The tiny savage suddenly grew to massive proportions, pulling free of the knots with ease.
As it battered repeatedly against Fez’ new hill giant form, I sang and Janga struck it with his enchanted mace. Flynne struck, but then Fez’ newly expanded two foot long armour spikes tore into it, shredding ropes as though they were rotting strings.
Pushing past its remains, we moved down the tight corridor into a circular room which contained a 15 foot wide pit. Runes carved into the mouldering brickwork spoke of the power of the ‘Avolakia’, a worm which could turn into a humanoid, as well as glorifying Kyuss.
We clung to Fez’ broad shoulders as he climbed 40 feet downwards to the ceiling of a chamber shaped like an upturned mixing bowl. Flynne invoked the power of his sword and took flight over the black stone floor whilst the rest of us dropped gently to the floor as I once again invoked the powers of the feather falling spell and we drifted to the floor.
As we fell, we looked around ourselves, seeing a number of alcoves containing stone statues of wormlike monsters, and a huge statue of a three headed six armed monster, which was missing three hands. Its leathery hide seemed dry and dusty, but as we neared the floor we noticed that its one good eye seemed somehow wet. The massive figure was almost a perfect replica of the ‘Overgod’ which we had fought under Diamond Lake all those months ago.
The instant we touched the floor, the wet eye blinked, and the huge arms began to flail towards us; the ground trembling as it approached.
We returned to his azure castle, and met in his library where he explained the research he had been carrying out during our absence. Idly causing a book to fly across the room with his a gesture he dropped his finger onto a column of handwritten text alongside the printed script.
“I granted Balakard the use of my library for a time,” he explained. “It would seem that he was in the disgusting habit of writing in books; even books which did not belong to him. His notes are quite intriguing, and seem to indicate that he thought the Ebon Triad was a front for Kyuss’ servants. The source of the Ebon Triad was here.”
As he pointed, a chart unrolled and moved to his fingerpoint. “The bandit kingdom of ‘Redhand’, ruled over by Prince Zeech. Previously a noble town devoted to the worship of St Cuthbert, the writings of the cleric Rhorsk indicate that the town was taken over by a powerful movement towards Hextorite worship. In the writings of this religious transformation, there are mentions made in the texts to ‘the writhing dead’. The initial sweep of the Hextorite takeover was defeated by many people, not least the reclusive elven mage Lashonna, although Rhorsk’s texts indicate that the leaders of the cult escaped.
“Balakard’s notes in the margin seem to indicate that this Prince Zeech believes himself to be the annointed one, or perhaps even the son, of Hextor himself, and is involved in some kind of project designed much like the ziggurat you’ve described only made from the local red stone. The town is strongly controlled and law is enforced by the ‘Watchers’ and the ‘Blessed Angels’, who are rumoured to fly over the town enforcing the Prince’s will.”
.oOo.
We spent a few days crafting and purchasing new equipment before teleporting far to the north.
From atop a hill outside the city, we could see the winding ‘Toilway’ which led to the central of three gates. A long and noisy queue wound out of the gates, and flags and banners fluttered from the spires and walls beyond. The city was in festival, and we hastened to join the queue and enter.
Speaking to a few people as we waited to enter, we were quick to learn that the people were careful to praise and compliment their ruler whenever they were in the presence of strangers. They spoke of a celebration of 20 years ‘noble rule’ by their ‘gracious and wonderful leader’. They told us of a great banquet being organised by the ‘glorious Prince Zeech’ to which “even Lashonna herself has been invited”.
Once I had talked us past the guards (managing to convince the hobgoblin guardsman that the curious combination of a half-orc necromancer travelling along with an elven archer a pygmy savage and a gnome cleric of the travel god was perfectly normal), we passed into the city proper.
Almost immediately we managed to lose Fez, finding him 10 minutes later in the bustle of people waiting at the sign of the ‘Curious Owlbear’, from which was coming the scent of dozens of differing meats, some cooked, some cured and some raw. An obese Halfling was more than willing to sell, and it seemed that we were more than willing to buy, as we left a while later with Fez gnawing on a hunk of raw centaur steak, and Endo stuffing over 200 gold pieces of expensive (and in many cases previously sentient) meats into his backpack.
As we walked away, I could hear one of the people in the queue telling another how the Halfling had recently organised a banquet (“attended by no less a person than his august majesty the Prince Zeech!”) where recently dead and fragrantly seasoned centaurs had trotted from table to table cutting slices of meat from their own bodies.
.oOo.
Having discussed a selection of inns with passers-by, we took the decision to head to the ‘DeLuxury’, the most decadent and exclusive inn in the city. Even ‘his gloriousness’ the Prince had been seen within its stone and wooden walls. As we strolled inside, we were astonished by the surroundings – dancing girls cavorted for the watching wealthy patrons, whilst a colossal bar (made from a substantial chunk of a sailing ship) seemed to be serving every spirit we could think of. Excellent music floated from a stage beyond a well-equipped casino, whilst the clattering of silver cutlery on bone china and the scents of superb food wafted from the other side.
I sauntered into the hotel, catching sight of at least one familiar face; resting on a chaise-longue whilst savoring a brandy was Professor Murat, who until recently had owned the Emporium in Diamond Lake – before it had been destroyed by the rampaging black dragon Ilthane.
Loratio the innkeeper welcomed us into his palace, and I was swiftly persuaded to pass over a thousand gold pieces to pay for single rooms for each of us, although Endo and Flynne rapidly squandered a fortune more to upgrade to the best rooms the DeLuxury had to offer.
Whilst chatting within the palatial hotel, we were told that the banquet was to take place in 6 days, and that only the richest and most influential within the town were to be invited.
Whilst Endo ate a mixed grill of truly gargantuan proportions, including generous haunches of storm-giant, seasoned steaks of wyvern and bulette, and even glazed and thinly sliced pieces of white dragon lion.
Losing interest in the half-orc’s gluttony, I wandered over to the part of the inn where the musician was playing. Within half an hour (as Endo was tearing into a string of naga sausages), I found myself playing my lute first in accompaniment and then in out-and-out competition with the resident bard, Titus.
I matched his song, twist for twist and note for note before taking advantage of a lull in his singing. Whilst he was sipping some water I launched into a song of my own creation, picking up where his song had left off and weaving his story into an ever higher crescendo.
When we had finished, I stood after Titus, and was rewarded by not only a tremendous burst of applause from the spectators, but also a prize in the form of a week’s accommodation in the penthouse suite of the DeLuxury.
After amusing ourselves in the hotel for a couple of hours, we decided to leave and explore the city. We had to wait for Fez, all looking out of the doors and pretending not to notice as he demanded that the innkeeper provide “A tall girl, very tall. Long legs. And fat. I want meat on her. But not Halfling. Human girl. Fez likes them tall and heavy”.
Trying not to look at the tiny savage, we headed first to the ziggurat.
“Shoddy,” was Endo’s verdict. “The workers have fallen behind, and the management is hopeless. Look at the line of that scaffold. And that raising platform won’t hold anything like enough weight once they need to lift much higher.”
I squinted at what he was pointing out, but couldn’t really make out the details he was trying to get across to me. All that I could think was that the red-stone edifice looked remarkably like the destroyed ziggurat back at Kuluth-Mar before it was destroyed.
.oOo.
The Cathedral to Hextor was truly impressive. Staring up at it, we squinted at parts of the chipped and damaged sculpture higher up the building which showed the hallmarks of architecture devoted to Hieronius. The temple had been re-consecrated a number of years ago and devoted to the darker God, but at the Prince’s orders was open to the public.
A robed figure was presiding over 2 cleaning hobgoblins, whilst several other red-robed clerics bustled around in the background.
Cornering one of these, Fex passed over a large purse of gold to have the blessings of Hextor placed upon it (a process which involved dipping it in chicken entrails and what looked suspiciously like human blood); and whilst this was carried out I learned from one of the acolytes that the High Priest had been ‘insulted’ by the Prince by not inviting him to the banquet at the end of the week.
.oOo.
Back on the street I tried to ask a few people about the cleric to St Cuthbert ‘Rhorsk’. They seemed very reluctant to discuss him, and his memory was largely derided by those who were prepared to talk to me. The most concerning thing was that the temple itself was now a shambles, gently falling apart and rumoured to be haunted.
Unable to pass up something like a haunted temple, we headed that way immediately.
.oOo.
The Church of Blessed Deliverance had been badly burned in years past and was barely standing at the present time. Signs nailed to the single remaining door read that it had been condemned by order of the Prince. I muttered the words to an invisibility spell which allowed Fez to slip into the ruined temple with Flynne. A few minutes later the little warrior reported that there were tracks in the dust and signs that the rubble had been moved a years ago (around the time that Balakard had come this way).
Gesturing, Janga cast a spell to open a matching pair of doors both inside and out of the church, and we stepped through to stand near Flynne, and he pulled open the now uncovered trapdoor which led down into the temple crypts. We walked down the narrow circular stone stairwell into a scene of dark devastation.
Cracked and gnawed bones littered the floor of the violated crypt. The walls had been torn down in places, and perfectly circular tunnels burrowed magically into the earth and stone beyond. Hearing a moan from the corner, we spotted a figure curled up and rocking gently. Looking up at our torches, we could see the twisted face of a feral grey-skinned man, his once-white Cuthbertite robes tattered and hanging limply over his emaciated frame.
“Go away,” it wheezed.
“You Rhorsk?” Fez was already midway through drawing his flail, but paused to ask the question.
“You know me?” The creature was clearly either utterly insane or undead; perhaps both, but I didn’t think that a lasting conversation with Fez would help his situation and moved swiftly to take over.
“Yes,” I interjected. “We have had the honour and privilege of reading your book, sir, and were wondering if you might be open to answering a few questions. Could you tell us what took place all those years ago?”
“Ah,” came a dusty chuckle from Rhorsk. “I did keep a few things out – although I’m amazed that you’ve all found me out so quickly. I only finished writing a week ago.”
We looked at one another in concern.
“Have you had anyone else visiting,” I asked. “Perhaps in the last few… er… days?”
“Yes! Berelain, Berepal, something like that.”
“Balakard,” I suggested?”
That’s the one,” agreed the ghoulish cleric. “Came in here… must’ve been a couple of days ago, and was asking about the same writings. I told him of the execution of the heretics, which I wrote in my book, but what I didn’t write about was that after the executions I found where they were keeping the bodies I went there and spoke with their dead souls.
“They told me that they had been set on their path by ‘Mother Maggot’, which had given them the secrets of the undead and promised them still more support. They met her under a building in the south east of the city.
“I watched the building for a year afterwards, but there were not movements, and I eventually concluded that ‘Mother Maggot’ had moved on.
“The final expulsion of the heretics and cultists from the city was a tremendous time. Much upheaval – Lashonna was there, of course – couldn’t have done it without her. The Prince was involved as well, but not the church.
“Your man Baklava asked me about the same things. He said that he was going to try and infiltrate the house. Perhaps if you hurry, you might catch him!”
Unwilling to tell the cleric that Balakard’s visit had been more than two years ago, we bade him farewell and gently closed the door behind us before piling stones onto it to ensure that the ghast’s long rest might not be disturbed for many more years to come. Then, following the descriptions he had given us, we trekked through the city to where he thought ‘Mother Maggot’ had been based.
.oOo.
After a couple of missed turns, it was getting dark by the time we found the right squat 10 year old building; clearly built some time after the cult’s existence. People still celebrating in the streets seemed to give it a wide berth, and when I asked some of them why I learned that it was a sick house, run by a mad old woman.
After spending a few moments planning, Endo cast his most sickening spell, and we watched his skin dry out and sink away. His eyes seemed to shrivel somewhat, and his lips sank away from his teeth.
Taking one of his almost skeletal arms each, Flynne and I led Endo to the sick-house door, and Flynne knocked. A moment later, the door was heaved upon from within by a squat wizened looking woman with a face-full of warts. As she squinted more in curiosity than anything else at Endo and prodded him with one knobbly finger, we led him into the rooms beyond.
The rooms beyond had about 40 beds all of which were occupied. Some of the occupants moaned or thrashed, but others were still. The old crone heaved at the bedding of one of the stillest, and a rigid corpse rolled off the bed.
“Put him down there,” she indicated. “He doesn’t need it any more.” Flynne and I grinned as we lowered Endo onto the sweat and blood-stained sheets before I turned to the old woman and told her a completely made-up story about how Endo might have contracted the lethal disease which now presented itself.
As I spoke, Flynne disappeared into the back of the long building, and the woman produced a muddy potion which she poured between Endo’s rigid lips, and which he then coughed all over the badly stained sheets. I continued my tale, working into it a gentle suggestion that she should go to sleep as soon as possible.
Whilst she began to nod, Flynne returned and gave me a sign that there was something worth investigating at the back of the building. The old woman put herself to bed at my assurance that we would ‘let ourselves out’, and we watched her fall asleep before opening the door and letting in Janga and Fez.
.oOo.
At the back of the building was a deep sheer pit covered by a thick wooden board. A dropped stone fell for a long distance before cluttering to solid ground beneath. Deciding to go straight down, we leapt into the pit and floated gently to red brick flooring below under the power of a simple spell of slow-falling.
Rotting prayer mats surrounded a black triangle painted onto the floor, and a tangle of fresh-looking rope was near the room’s only exit. As we moved towards it, the rope twitched, then uncoiled and seemed to expand into a 10 foot tall human-like form of coiled and knotted ropes. It flailed towards us, catching Flynne around the head with a knotted lump of rope before entwining him tightly in a series of coils.
The elf stabbed at the rope-creature with his shortsword, and then Fez ran in screaming with his axe, hacking at the creature. Endo told us not to bother casting spells at the monster, before causing lightning to crackle and spark all over it. There was a stench of burned hemp.
Dropping Flynne, the rope creature flailed at Fez, wreathing him in coils of rope, and a noose began edging its way around his neck.
I hastened all my comrades, and Janga also cast a spell to empower himself, and whilst Flynne hacked at the creature more with his enchanted shortsword and Fez writhed around trying to savage the rope-monster with his spiked armour. Endo’s spellcasting brought forth another floating skeletal hand, which he sent forwards to touch Fez. The tiny savage suddenly grew to massive proportions, pulling free of the knots with ease.
As it battered repeatedly against Fez’ new hill giant form, I sang and Janga struck it with his enchanted mace. Flynne struck, but then Fez’ newly expanded two foot long armour spikes tore into it, shredding ropes as though they were rotting strings.
Pushing past its remains, we moved down the tight corridor into a circular room which contained a 15 foot wide pit. Runes carved into the mouldering brickwork spoke of the power of the ‘Avolakia’, a worm which could turn into a humanoid, as well as glorifying Kyuss.
We clung to Fez’ broad shoulders as he climbed 40 feet downwards to the ceiling of a chamber shaped like an upturned mixing bowl. Flynne invoked the power of his sword and took flight over the black stone floor whilst the rest of us dropped gently to the floor as I once again invoked the powers of the feather falling spell and we drifted to the floor.
As we fell, we looked around ourselves, seeing a number of alcoves containing stone statues of wormlike monsters, and a huge statue of a three headed six armed monster, which was missing three hands. Its leathery hide seemed dry and dusty, but as we neared the floor we noticed that its one good eye seemed somehow wet. The massive figure was almost a perfect replica of the ‘Overgod’ which we had fought under Diamond Lake all those months ago.
The instant we touched the floor, the wet eye blinked, and the huge arms began to flail towards us; the ground trembling as it approached.
