Session 8, part 2
The stairway twists ahead of the Heroes, visibly writhing; despite the Heroes' desperate attempt to remain grounded in reality, it is squirming away from them. Somewhere above--or below--them, the echoes of footsteps subtly dance through their heads.
Abruptly, the spiraling staircase opens up into a large room--far larger than the building that houses it-- that trails off into darkness. A pale luminance plays on the walls; they are glowing softly in patterns vaguely reminiscent of tentacles.
Before they can move on, they distinctly hear the sounds of someone climbing the stairs behind them--in a hurry. They have no time to react before the entity is upon them.
Dashing Orcblood Croons faints with a short shriek.
A vague memory of fire and strife flits through Fighting Man Dances' head, but refuses to fully surface. Ultimately, the halfling must offer it as a sacrifice to time. Intelligent Chameleon's face is guarded--and his mind unspoken--but his eyes, for but a brief moment, reflect recognition.
The man is clearly surprised to come up behind them stands in shock for a moment, then speaks in elation.
"It has been a long while, friends! Now I know the meaning of my master's words of prophecy--that I should seek out the house of madness and be welcomed into the arms of the past. For surely, this is a house of madness and what else could you be but the past?"
Fighting Man Dances' monkey hops up and down on the back of the tiger, but his master still does not recognize the newcomer.
Chameleon holds his tongue, so the man speaks up again.
"Perhaps, little one," he suggests, seeing that the halfling's face is blank, "you do not remember me, but I well remember you."
Fighting Monkey Dances is screaming, now. The halfling's face is puzzled. "You tied Monkey to a tree?"
Finally, in exasperation, Chameleon breaks in. "The halfling remembers half that of a man. Welcome back, Swift. Though your presence now is inexplicable to us. We left your dead body in this flaming city when it perished."
"Surely, you play some joke at my expense! I have never died. And this city has clearly never burned to the ground."
Before the group can puzzle out this odd turn of events, Orcblood regains consciousness. The Heroes determine that the best course of action for the moment might be to send for reinforcements. Orcblood is directed to seek out Nightfall Softly Calls.
The growl of Chameleon's tiger is still low and the death-nausea discharge of The Dream has not subsided. Chameleon and the tiger share a wordless conversation and the tiger prowls into the darkness that swallows the far end of the chamber. Chameleon is not far behind.
Fighting Man Dances and Swift Serpent Strikes stand in uncomfortably dense silence on the stairway and wait.
And wait.
Eventually, they can make out movement in the darkness. As their hands tighten around their weapons, the forms of a man and a beast take form, striding forward. Drained faces flush when it becomes clear that these forms are, as hoped, those of Chameleon and the tiger.
"So, is she back there?"
"No. Nothing is back there."
"Nothing?"
Chameleon's glare is haunting in the pale tile-light. "Nothing."
They continue to climb the stairs.
At the top level, they are confronted with a single door. It seems larger, when they stare at it overlong, than the frame in which it stands. Try as they might, they cannot pry the door open. In frustration, the Heroes turn their attention away from the door and prepare to descend into the depths of this unnatural bookstore.
Their smoldering silence is interrupted by a long, wailing screech, immediately behind them. The warriors spin around to fight, only to see that the door has swung out into a lightless void and that the monkey hangs from the door's handle over nothing.
The void is not entirely devoid of objects; various pieces of furniture float by, out of reach, illuminated by some unseen light source.
The stench of rotten flesh wafts through the nothingness and, as the party stares into the void, a bloated, festering corpse speeds toward them.