ADVENTURE LOG XXVII
BEST LAID PLANS
The Ghost Cathedral of Woecester and the graveyard nearby buzzed with activity below them, as the orc war band and accompanying followers went about their business. The cooking meat from the camp fires drifted up on the wind to where The Flowers and their guiding Shoanti stayed low, and discussed their options. Shadfrar, who had pointed out their leader Gilgamesh the Vile, warned the raiding party could only be making a run at Flameford, the nearest Sun Clan Shoanti settlement, and looked like they’d be ready to move soon. Possibly that night. If there was going to be any chance of stopping it they would have to act fast.
Nightingale nodded, his eyes darting across the muddy landscape (for the area around the ruins were thick with moist churned earth that occasionally bubbled and belched) and took in the job before them, as he had many Korvosan nights before as Blackheart. He crawled back from the ledge, beckoned the party to him, and begun to lay out his plan. The Shoanti kept watch while the group went over their options in quiet voices, and it wasn’t long before the Flowers seemed satisfied.
Calli kissed Taylan on the cheek, casting tongues, so he’d be able to speak and understand any language for a period of time. He verified his magic cloak was fastened properly with the two black raven clasps, took a deep breath, and started off directly for the ruined cathedral on his own. Nightingale settled in to watch, in case anything went wrong.
Meanwhile, Calli unpacked her disguise kit, and Travis obligingly allowed her to examine the colours of his skin more closely. Using the half-orc as a reference, she transformed herself and Byron into orc versions of themselves, with shades of green paint, hair grease, and fake teeth. They worked out their cover story: they escaped from Kaer Maga slavers and were headed north to find their people. Travis helped them come up with names, he dubbed Byron ‘Claws’ and Calli became Ka’li Orkay. For his own part, Travis borrowed one of her mirrors shaved his own head, looking more ferocious for every dark braid he cast aside.
The guides with them looked between Taylan and the rest with increasing concern as the lone half-elf walked into the lion’s den, but to their surprise, the orc guards on watch simply nodded to him as he passed. Nightingale explained in a whisper that the cloak’s power made it seem Taylan was meant to be there, no matter how out-of-place the reality. The younger Flower walked cautiously at first, flinching when one of the orc warriors suddenly raised an arm nearby, but relaxed when he saw it was only to summon a runner with a drink refill. Emboldened, he explored the camp. When he neared the boarded up door in the low mound of earth to the rear of the ruins, the two guards at the door narrowed their eyes at him, and he understood that although they didn’t see him as an outsider, he still wasn’t on the list of approved people to get past that particular checkpoint. He wove through the encampment, picking up pieces of conversations around him as he closed the distance on Gilgamesh. All talk was about the upcoming raid. The leader himself was drilling his sergeants on their roles, stood around a crude map sketched in the soft dirt between them, making each repeat in succession their roles until he was satisfied, and then sent them to their troops to ensure everyone was on the same page. Up close, Taylan could understand why Gilgamesh was in charge. He towered above the rest, with bulging muscles bigger than the half-elf’s head. To Taylan’s disappointment, Gilgamesh wasn’t drinking from a tankard the way the rest of the war band seemed to be, but had a drinking flask with a cork he kept at his side. Eventually he, too, summoned a runner, but instead of the usual replacement mug refills everyone else was getting, this harried orc runner took the leader’s flask and rushed back to a cauldron where they were brewing ale about fifty feet away. It was refilled, and returned. This is what Taylan needed to know, and he strolled jauntily back to the rest of the Flowers to share what he had learned.
The Flowers were a bit concerned over how strict the leader seemed to be, their plan to lure the orcs into a grand celebration seemed unlikely, but decided to carry on and hope for the best. Taylan described the flask and drink, and using prestidigitation, Calli flavored and colored a light blue potion Nightingale held out so that the contents more closely resembled ale. The expanded party dug through their belongings until they found a flask Taylan deemed close enough to the one he’d seen as to hopefully go unnoticed, and they filled it with the potion. Gale took one of Calli’s shoulders in his hand and gently squeezed. “Remember, send up your dancing lights in red if it all goes to hell, green for go. We’ll not be far away.” She smiled, handed the party’s Haversack over to the Shoanti to look after in case she got frisked by the war band, and left with Byron around the long way so they could approach the cathedral from east as opposed to the south where the others were hidden.
Just before they began their stage of the plan, Calli pulled his head down for his lips to meet to hers, casting tongues on him in a more intimate way than she had Taylan. Together they turned and walked up to the orcs standing guard outside the Cathedral. They demanded to know who approached, and Byron took the lead, assuring they were friends. However, the carefully crafted backstory escaped him, and he also claimed they were from the Broken Tooth Tribe of orcs. Thankfully the guards didn’t question on this matter, but stonewalled the pair, explaining Gilgamesh had declared no unknown orcs were allowed within. Even Calli’s wiles were unsuccessful, and after one of the guards consulted within, he began leading the two across to the far side of the camp where the prisoners were being held.
With diplomacy having failed, Calli cast charm monster, and the orc leading them faltered. As he led them through the center of the graveyard camp, past the cauldron and many tents of the non-warrior orc craftsmen and family, he warned them he was meant to be locking them up, but he was willing to pretend he’d lost them if they just ran off. Byron and Calli got him to confirm that they were planning on raiding the Shoanti in the morning, and that Gilgamesh was taking no chances. They thanked him for his assistance, claimed they’d take his advice to make a run for it, and waved him off. They watched as the guard returned across camp to the other side of the cathedral, out of sight, and approached the cage to see who they had locked up. Five filthy human monks cowered at the far side away from the door. A door that, as far as they could tell, wasn’t even locked. Around them, the other orcs looked over occasionally with interest but not suspicion, as the two newcomers had been escorted in by one of their own in a seemingly friendly exchange. Wanting to wait until things kicked off before making their move, Calli joined some of the non combatant orc’s around the campfire and began making friendly small talk. They warned her Gilgamesh had ordered them to keep the noise down until after the raid, but if she could play softly, she was welcome to play. She used summon instrument to produce a small set of bongos, and entertained, watching the orcs at the cauldron.
Nightingale, having not seen the signal and getting nervous about how much time had past since his young charge left his sight, used a sending to check in with Calli. She let him know their stage had failed, but they would focus instead on freeing the prisoners. Plan was still a go. Nightingale, Taylan, and Travis stood together, Nightingale cast invisibility on himself and Travis, Taylan cast it on himself, and then Taylan teleported the three of them into the midst of the warband. They watched, shuffling from foot to foot while they silently counted the minutes, aware their invisibility had a time limit. They were in luck. Gilgamesh held up his flask, and the same gangly runner Taylan had spotted before rushed over to grab it.
Travis and Nightingale followed him towards the cauldron about 35 feet as planned, and waited. As the runner returned, Travis released a bunched-up empty burlap sack he’d set in his path, and it became visible just in time for the runner to trip over it and fall on his face. Gilgamesh’s flask bounced out of his hand as he landed, and when it had settled Gale set their decoy flask directly next to it- it became visible- and snatching up the original- which vanished as he tucked it into his jacket. They then stepped back and allowed the runner to look around, recover the dropped flask, curse at the nearest orc he could see for leaving a sack lying around, and then resume his errand. The orc had been too flustered to notice the change. And to their relief, Gilgamesh was too engrossed in his plans to suspect foul play.
The invisible trio stepped cautiously, moving in behind The Vile in anticipation. Gale reached out and found the form of the unseen Travis, waited for one of the orcs to be speaking nearby as a sound cover, and whispered a casting of enlarge person upon him.
Gilgamesh took a swig from his flask. Confusion flickered across his faced, as the ale tasted better than he expected it to, and he took another long gulp. He looked over at the runner, about to ask what they’d added to the brew, when his airway failed him. He dropped the flask and grabbed at his throat, where thin slits appeared at either side like strange gills. They flapped uselessly, unable to take enough water from the air to breathe. He choked, unable to speak, making only desperate flailing motions to his men while his eyes bulged from the strain.
Nightingale had been warned when his friendly alchemist Svjatlo Raev gave him the water breathing potion that something had gone wrong in the crafting of it. For two hours after consuming, unlike the spell, you would no longer be able to breathe air or speak, but must spend the two hours under water to survive them. He hadn’t forgotten the warning.
Gilgamesh fell to his knees, and the orcs around went into a panic, crying out for a healer from the camp. Some began looking outward at the surrounding landscape, searching for malicious mages attacking from afar. Gilgamesh’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his hands went limp as he began to pass out. Before he hit the ground, Travis appeared swinging his axe- enlarged and in a rage- and removed the orc leader’s head with one swing. Travis bellowed in orc, “This is MY tribe!”
On this cue, Taylan sent a wave of fear into the warband, and nearly every orc within 30ft, which included all of his sergeants, turned and ran screaming from the ruins of the church. The small handful of troops that had been outside the spell’s range watched their line of command fall apart, looked into the growling face of Travis, and agreed they wanted none of that. They, too, fled.
Some of those running had taken off through the camp, and as people tried to ask what had happened they got the reply, “Just run! It’s awful! GO!” The panic spread, and the crowds of orcs began swiftly grabbing only what was most important before taking off after the running troops, leaving tents, supplies, and the bubbling ale cauldron behind.
Byron rushed towards the other Flowers in case they needed backup, and Calli pushed past fleeing bodies to get to the cage. She opened the flimsy door and the men within cowered. They were gaunt, with rotten teeth, and their smell was overpowering. She stepped back and invited them to leave with a sweep of her arm. “Calvary’s here!”
One of the monks dug deep into himself to find his courage. He stood, “What trick is this? We’ll not trust you, orc. You came here seeking power, but it’s not for you to take!”
Calli prestidigitated them clean, but noticed welts and scars remained on their skin. Lepers. She moved back, leaving the door open, “No trick, except this disguise I wear. You’re saved!”
The brave monk turned to the others and proclaimed, “Brothers, sing, we are saved!”
“Father Mayflower, can it be so?” The monks all began singing with scratchy voices, in a language that sounded almost draconic. Calli cast tongues on herself to understand, and found they were singing a version of the poem she’d been taught.
There was mud, Mud came here
Here the swamp remains
Beware of the swamp, Do not stir the mud
For the mud kills everything it sees
The hero came, And sleep called
And here the serpent lies
But nothing is dead that sleeps forever
And even death can die.
Keeping her distance, she encouraged them to partake of the food and drink left behind by the orcs, and asked them if they should be worried about the serpent in their song. It quickly became apparent the monks themselves didn’t know the translation of their “holy song.” They explained the words were painted on the walls of the crypt beneath. She looked over at the door in the earth to see Byron, orc disguise smeared off and tusks nowhere to be seen, working on it with his crowbar.
“He might not want to do that,” Father Mayflower warned. “There are protections in the library below that the orcs set off in their search for power.”
Calli removed her own orc disguise and joined Byron and the other Flowers- Travis back to normal size- at the door. The monks followed behind, Father Mayflower giving more of their background as they gathered. “We found this place many years ago and have kept watchful prayer to the unnamed god of the cathedral. We know there’s a library below but we’ve not the minds for such things, and we dared not enrage the protections below. We haven’t received many visitors until recently. Before you were the orcs, and before them a lone stranger. A tall man in a red coat. He wanted to know our song. Brother Mayhew, you’ve been making drawings haven’t you? Share your work with these heros!”
Brother Mayhew, who exhibited more obvious evidence of having been tortured, and walked with a pronounced limp, pulled a crumpled sheaf of papers from within his robes. He was reluctant to part with them, but Mayflower gentle took them and passed them across. “It fails to catch something of the stranger’s noble face,” Mayflower explained, “but it’s rather good.”
Calli took the drawings, and wordlessly passed them along, carefully keeping her face a mask of neutrality. The others were less concerned with seeming rude. Confusion and horror dawned on them as each took in what was shown in red crayon. A bulky crouched figure with two taloned feet was mostly obscured by two large bat-like wings wrapped around itself, parting only to peek out with a massive, vicious seeming eye. None of them had ever heard of such a creature before.
“The stranger was interested in our basement. There’s a barrier in it that we can not cross, but the stranger did! He found something on the shelves, made symbols in the air before the barrier, and was able to pass through unharmed. He carried a small pouch as he entered, cradled as if it was precious to him, like a baby. When he returned, it had gone.” Brother Mayflower spoke with reverence remembering his visitor. “But since he left the swamp has been worse. Gas bubbles and earthquakes are more frequent. But he was very courteous to us. Such a noble man!”
The loud cracks of ripping wood tore through the air as Byron managed to remove the heaviest of the boards nailed over the door. He made quick work of lesser boards, and it was only moments before the door itself was opened, revealing stone steps that descended into darkness. The magic users in the party all instinctively summoned their various light sources, and cautiously The Flowers lowered into the new space, leaving the monks above in relative safety.
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In spite of the swamp surrounding the ruins, the basement was entirely dry. It smelled of old books, and a good deal of dust, and layers of cobwebs long since abandoned coated the stone alcoves carved into the walls holding scrolls seemingly centuries old. They occasionally pulled out a tome or scroll, but most seemed to be in languages none of them knew, and some were so old they began to disintegrate in their hands. They had heard tales of places like this left behind by the ancient Runelords, and wondered if this was one of their lost libraries. Calli and Nightingale were very interested in returning at a later date, when time was less of the essence, to properly explore. Calli suggested they bring her bookish friend Nif back when they did.
But the monks had warned of sentries, and they’d need to ensure the area was safe for themselves before they looked too hard at anything. As they progressed down the aisle, their light shone through gaps between the bookcases and showed the passages led off into further aisles and columns that extended beyond where the light could reach. They could just about make out a shimmering barrier to the right of the room, but Nightingale spotted movement to the left behind some of the weathered stone columns.
The party snapped into practiced action, applying magical buffs to those who needed it, and bracing for battle. They were ready just in time, as multiple giant scorpions and a single chuul engaged them in a violent, but short-lived battle. The creatures were no match for the experienced party, and within a few rounds they had been dispatched.
Between the success of clearing the cathedral of orcs, and the ease of clearing out the library’s sentinels, The Flowers were feeling quite pleased with themselves. They gathered around the shimmering barrier, and focused on their next mystery. A simple trap door was set into the stone floor just beyond the barrier.
This was no simple matter. Three runes of warding floated within the barrier, and even the lyrakien Rune confirmed it was the most advanced spell she’d ever seen in her life, and something akin to a god would have had to cast it. Dispelling it was out of the question. They recalled what the monks had said about the stranger referencing something within the shelves before passing through, and spread out to try and find the key.
It was Travis who spotted the trail of dried blood and followed it to an alcove of scrolls. Laying on top of the ancient parchment was a newer one, with much less grime than the others. He unrolled it and was relieved to see the spiky writing was in common, so he read it out to the others. It told an eerie story of an ancient land with corrupt monks who learned of the ability to leave eggs of unborn creatures in areas of great moral absence, or evil, which would unhitch their souls from their bodies, uncouple them from the world, and they would become a danger to it as they would be of it and yet uncaring of it. An earth-bound demon free to enact whatever evil it wished without fear of banishment. The monks sealed an unborn essence in an egg and laid it in the lair of an evil wyrm, where it grew swollen and bloated on the very evil of the air. In time it hatched, and the world is now doomed.
A short discussion was had about what the stranger might have left below. If the monstrous creature was trying to repeat the ritual, they needed to stop it. Travis held the scroll out to Byron, pointing out the elongated bloody fingerprints on it, and taking the cue Byron tapped into his animalistic rage and got the scent of the stranger. It was, by far, the worst thing he’d ever smelled. He was able to then more quickly track the scent down the shelves to another section it had touched.
He removed a book with a bloody hand print baring the same unusually long fingers. It was nearly crumbling from age. Within one page was outlined in red- more blood. It described a great battle against ‘the Myre.’ A beast so fearsome that most weapons could not penetrate it, and magic had no effect. Four great heroes held it off, and it took an ancient sword wielded by a knight in single combat to finally pierce the hide, but before it could be felled, it spread wings and took flight to the north. The page had been bookmarked by another scrap of parchment showing a sketched map of the ruins above, with three rune wards marked upon it. One in the Cathedral wall near what had been the main entrance, one in the ruin of a wall facing east, and one in the mound of earth that the door to the basement had been set within.
Nightingale surmised this was how they’d be able to get through the barrier, and returning to the surface he, Byron, and Travis were able to dig into the spots marked and locate palm-sized red stones, each with the expected rune carved within. They returned to the basement and as they approached the barrier began reacting, and when they touched the stones to it, it vanished completely.
“Let’s go fight this impossible to defeat evil, then, shall we?” Calli muttered.
“Nah, this is just another day,” Travis shrugged.
Byron opened the trap door, and everyone crowded around to look within. It was a much smaller room below, with a strange tall protrusion of black leather and ivory spikes through the stone in the center, a book and scroll resting upon the ground, and at the back of the room a massive purple egg resting on a bed of black tendrils. Travis spotted the black protrusion and declared, “That’s a beast. That’s the top of a beast!”
No one was eager to get any closer, so Nightingale engaged his mage hand to retrieve the book and the scroll. Unrolling the ancient yellow scroll he read:
Was a Mire, Came the Myre, Here the Myre Stays
Beware the Myre, Wake not the Myre, For all it sees it Slays
Heroes came, and slumber called, and here the Drake doth lie
But that is not dead which eternal sleeps and even death may die
Calli, hearing it, knew this must be the original poem, and in the back of her mind she traced exactly how the linguistic drift had occurred over the centuries. She hoped she’d have a chance to report it back some day. Nightingale opened the book to a marked page and read out what seemed to be the rest of the Myre’s story, handled by someone whose hand was dripping in blood. He read out how the four heroes had tracked the beast to Woecester, and found it hiding in the swamp that the locals called the mire. The beast was ancient beyond reckoning and had the power to absorb or repel and magic directed at it. Realizing they would not be able to defeat it, they bound it with three rune stones buried within the cathedral. The stones were enchanted so that none of evil intent could touch them, only those of good could handle them, and they hoped in this the beast would remain trapped for all time, put to sleep by their magic. Should the beast ever be roused again, only replacing the stones would bind it again.
A cold chill ran through The Flowers’ veins as Gale read out the message written in blood underneath the passage. ‘Thank you for freeing my servant by passing through the barrier with the stones I could not touch. -Red.’
They had made a terrible mistake.
The ground of the small room erupted, as Travis was proven correct. The black protrusions thrashed and stone fell away to reveal the head of an enormous black dragon. Everything shook around them as it began clawing its way out of its prison, and it became a race to return the runes before it got free.
Calli played a frantic haste spell and bolted for the door of the cellar. Taylan rushed between the two barbarians, grabbing their arms and waiting until Nightingale took hold of Travis’ other arm, before teleporting them all up to the outside of the cellar door- right next to where one of the rune stones had been buried. Nightingale dimension doored himself directly to the east wall where his stone had been retrieved. Travis set off across the cathedral towards the entrance with his stone, barbarian rage coursing through his muscles, and as he reached the wall, the earth exploded.
The Myre, the ancient black dragon, had made it through both the celler floor and the remaining stone tiles of the Ghost Cathedral, and now loomed over them all in a fury hundreds of years in the making.
Byron plunged his red stone into the nearby hole it had been dug up from and began packing the dirt down on top of it.
Calli made it out of the cellar with Rune and Focker, coughing and covered in dust and mud, but having avoided any damage as the monster burst through. She looked up, then up some more, into the hateful eyes of the drake. Her hands came together, spreading to reveal the glowing musical staves of her hold monster spell, and she sent it at the dragon, whose jaws snapped upon the glowing lines and sucked them up like noodles. The Myre seemed to get even faster from the meal. “Don’t cast at it!” she squeaked, and crouched back into the doorway, ducking down out of line of sight.
“Casting is all I do!” Taylan despaired, and activated his cloak’s magical stealth to hopefully cause the dragon to ignore him as the orcs had.
Nightingale and Travis, at the same time, shoved their stones into their respective holes, and a great wave of power triangulated between the three runes. The bright glow covered the Myre like a blanket, forcing it back down into the earth. Though it thrashed and hissed against the magical restraint, it was only moments before the ground closed itself back up again and it was as if it had never been there. The runes, as well, were resealed into their hiding places.
The Flowers cautiously returned to the basement and were surprised to see everything was as it had been before. Books and scrolls covered in dust, and a shimmering barrier guarding an unassuming trap door. The only difference was the smashed remains of the purple egg outside the barrier. They crept towards it, wondering if the Myre had crushed it while escaping, but their stomachs dropped to find it had hatched. Imprinted within the solid egg was the shape of a long-legged humanoid with a top hat and ragged clothes. As if part of a race memory a phrase drifted through their minds: “The master frees the servant, the Hobgoblin lives.”
Their bard, though she wasn’t entire sure how she knew, shared with the others that legends spoke of a strange creature that had no soul and traveled between realms, releasing evil wherever it went, controlled by a gigantic red master demon of some sort. This was ancient, ancient history. The strange raggedy creature known as the Hobgoblin had tried to free its master from a village, but she’d heard rumours that it had died. Recalling the poem she’d heard multiple times that day, she quoted, “But even death may die.”
A deep feeling of dread permeated their bones. They knew they’d made more than a mistake, this was a terrible misstep that was bound to have awful repercussions. One more mess they’d have to clean up. Their immediate concern was to get better warnings put in place so that no one could be tricked into releasing the dragon again.
They left the cellar once more, looking to see where the monks were hiding, and to their shock found them all dead by their own hands. “They were part of the plan,” Nightingale grimly observed, “the evil monks from the story.”
It chaffed to have been duped so fully. They were determined not to let it happen to anyone else, and returning once more to the cellar, vowed to destroy all the accounts that could lead anyone to figuring out the barrier. It took time to investigate and burn anything that explained what had happened, but they did uncover a couple of tomes about Nightingale’s magic. The magus was a particularly rare type of caster, coming along only once a generation. He found two spells within the books that he was able to add to his own spell book.
Travis also found an account of the acropolis they were looking for. The Acropolis of the Thrall Keepers sits atop a raised area in the shadow of the Wyvern Mountains. Built by Thassilonian wizards known as the Thrall Keepers who were a competing order of scholars working against Therassic monks who built somewhere known as the Black Tower- the library that laid beneath Jorgenfist. It’s true grandeur lay underground. Eager to display their value to Runelord Karzoug the Thrall Keepers turned increasingly to the teachings of the Rune Goddess Lissala. Through their meditations they sought a method to duplicate the workings of Thassilon’s most powerful conjurers. The Acropolis was somewhere for them to practice and perfect their summons, calling forth ever more dangerous creatures they could present to Karzoug. Following forbidden methods stolen from dubious sources- strangely garbed merchants visiting from the plane of Leng. The Thrall Keepers set about calling forth a gigantic entity from the distant corner of the universe known as a havero, or ‘the eyes and arms of forever.’
At this, Travis felt the memory of Zellara’s most recent Harrow reading tug at his mind, and he knew the vision of fighting tentacles underground was something to do with this havero. He continued with the book. The Thrall Keepers located a havero slumbering in orbit around a dead star, and attempted to draw it out of the dark tapestry into a specifically designed prison in their acropolis. The havero twitched in its slumber, never quite waking, but its pre-conscious thrashings wiped out the Thrall Keepers and destroyed much of the above ground structure in a matter of minutes. Once the Thrall Keepers were dead, the havero returned to its slumber.
The Flowers were shocked to learn how deadly the acropolis really was, and wondered at the bravery of Shoanti warriors who dared seek the mark therein. The mark they themselves now sought.
Having finished pouring through the library and saving or burning anything as needed, they returned to the Shoanti up on the ledge, and filled them in on the long story of what had transpired. Byron was happy to reunite with his baby hippogriff Shank, whom he’d left under Shoanti protection. Travis applied some Unguent of Timelessness to Gilgamesh’s head to preserve the evidence and dropped it into a sack taken from the abandoned camp. Nightingale resummoned the horses, and they all set off once more towards the acropolis, wanting to put distance between the cathedral and their eventual camp for the night- knowing the orcs might return at any point.
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As they continued north the next day, great range of the Wyvern Mountains raised before them, stretching off both west and east as far as they could see. It took much of the next day before they reached them, and their guides led them to a partially-collapsed black granite tower bearing the seven-pointed star- the sihedron rune- settled into the base of one of the mountains, raised slightly from ground level. A pair of twenty-foot wide stone doors stood ajar, and a flight of steps within descended out of view. The Shoanti said the doors were always like that, attempts to close it had proven fruitless, as it would always be open again when next they checked.
Nightingale and Taylan went first, aided by dancing lights but silent as the tomb, down the steps made of the same black granite flecked with red crystal as the outside tower. Along the wall was carved script they recognized must be ancient Thassilonian, based on the book Travis had found before. The only word they recognized was ‘Karzoug.’ The stairs ended in a twenty-foot wide and tall hallway that led to the east, opening into a large chamber. The floor was cluttered with dust, and tiny amounts of ash looked to have been disturbed recently in places, but signs of the trail vanished to the east once the stone became clear of debris, as if four humanoids had moved through not long ago. Gale signaled to the others the stairs were safe, and the rest of the group joined them.
Nightingale pointed out the trail, and both he and Byron tracked it along the hall to one of the closed doors along the right of the hall. To the left the hall opened into a massive chamber with a ceiling at a height of nearly sixty feet. The air seemed slightly cool, and dank; a result of still dark water filling the floor fifteen feet below, leaving only five-foot walkways around the outside of the chamber and a single bridge halfway between the east and west sides of the room. Two large stone doors stood in the walls to the south, and the east. Smaller doors were set in the walls to the north west and south west, and all four doors depicted a raised sihedron rune.
With no obvious handle or levers in the door where the trail ended, Byron used his crowbar to press on the raised sihedron rune, and with a grinding noise the door slid out of the way revealing another short stone corridor beyond. In the corridor stood Krojan of the Sklar-Quah and three of his fellow Sun Clan Shoanti. They had been watching through small slits in the stone.
Krojan explained they were worried that the outsiders would disrespect the ruins in their attempt to gain the Thrall Keeper’s mark. He questioned them, demanding to know why The Flowers were after the mark in the first place. When they replied they wanted to earn respect among the Shoanti, he laughed, saying a tshamek could never impress the Sklar-Quah. He told them to carry on, he wanted to watch and see what they were made of.
Brushing off his disdain, the Flowers moved on to the next door in the hall, and Byron again pressed on the rune to open it. The floor of the otherwise empty chamber contained a five foot diameter hole in the center ringed in tangled runes. Inside the hold a shaft filled with brilliant emerald light dropped into the depths. The lyrakien volunteered to go through first, and as soon as she entered she began drifting downward, as if with a feather fall spell. She tested flying against the pull, and she while she could, it was a struggle against some unseen resistance. She let it take her to the bottom, about seventy foot down, and then reentered the hole from the other side, where the same sensation pulled her all the way back to the top again. She reported another mostly empty hall below, but hadn’t ventured far.
The Flowers agreed to finish exploring the level they were on before heading down, when Krojan pushed through and heckled their hesitance around a hole. Something about him irritated Byron more and more every time he spoke, and he couldn’t resist bickering with the warrior any time they crossed paths. Krojan stepped into the hole, proclaiming himself unafraid, as he gently disappeared from view. The Flowers turned their backs and ignored him.
Travis had been listening at the small door in the room they were in, and hearing nothing, opened one. Inside was a bronze statue depicting a half snake, half human female. Her arms were crossed over her chest. In her right she held a large quill, and in the left a jade-handled whip. Six bird-like wings emerged from the torso’s shoulders, and instead of a head it had a disc bearing a seven-pointed star. Jade runes ran down the human belly and down along the serpentine lower half. Searching the room Byron discovered a shallow drawer at the base of the statue containing a four foot wide circular frame and several wedge-shaped metal plates, each punched with its own intricate design. Each plate slid smoothly over the adjacent plate along the rim. It seemed like it was made to fit into something, so they took it with them. They detected magic from the whip, but also that it was cursed, so left that where it was.
Krojan returned from below, saying there was nothing down there to be afraid of, and asking what they had found. Byron pointed out the magic whip with a smile, but before Krojan could get too interested Calli specified it was a cursed magic whip, and both men looked disappointed.
Suddenly there was a grinding, thumping noise, and the entire building shook slightly, as if something large had shifted. Everyone froze, but once it had calmed again, they continued searching. Reaching the bisecting hall at the far end of the chamber they could see either end had collapsed, so they listened at the large stone door and hearing nothing, opened it. Inside the walls were decorated with six life-sized bas-relief carvings that depicted a diverse collection of priests, each adorned in billowing robes covered in Thassilonian runes. An intricate sculpture wound around the carvings, coiling among them like a long tangle of ribbons. Several ancient skeletons, some clad in hide armor or clutching Shoanti weapons, were scattered around another sculpture like that of the prior room. Calli was able to work out the snake women were depictions of the goddess Lissala, an ancient diety of runes worshiped by the Thassilonians. She got closer to the wall carvings and noticed tiny letters on the walls running all through them, and felt she could potentially work out what they were saying- keeping in mind all the warning skeletons. Her lyrakien said she was picking up magic in the room, but couldn’t figure out exactly what. Calli told the rest of the party to carry on while she studied the walls.
Nightingale proclaimed he’d stay with her, and Taylan agreed, while Travis moved on with Byron following behind. The Bone-Caller guides split up, two for each half of the Flowers. Krojan and his cronies tucked into the gap of collapse hall between the two groups, to better keep an eye on everyone. While Calli continued trying to decipher the walls, Nightingale discussed the fallen Shoanti with their guides. There wasn’t enough left of them, the remains were too old, to know exactly which group they had once belonged to, but the Skull Clan assured him they would ensure the remains would be properly removed and cared for. This was their tribe’s role, after all.
Meanwhile Travis had turned down the hall parallel to the one they’d entered, and after listening, opened the door on that side. The curved northern alcove of the chamber displayed a brilliantly colored bas-relief carving of Lissala, with an actual woman’s head instead of the rune disc, but her serpentine lower half coiled around the seven-pointed star. Tiny gemstones embedded in her tail made it seem as if the scales glistened with moisture, but in many places chunks of the carving were cracked or tumbled away, giving the serpentine woman an appearance of age and decay. He and Byron searched the area for any other hidden drawers, but didn’t find any.
Time ticked by, and Nightingale noticed Calli mumbling to herself as she worked. He asked what she was picking up, and she could only give vague replies about how complicated, but interesting, the story was. She was unable to say what was interesting, only that she was almost to the ‘best bit.’ Something about the skeletons, seemingly unharmed, and the way Calli no longer even glanced away from the wall, unsettled him. “Calli, let’s come back to this. We need to make sure the tower is safe, first.”
Calli heard him, distantly, but the story before her was unlike any she’d ever read before. She just wanted to read a bit more… A tiny voice inside her asked herself why was she having such trouble explaining what she was reading? And why was it so hard to look away? It took a great deal of willpower, but she was finally able to close her eyes and physically step back from the carvings. “The wall is trapped!” she admitted to the others.
Calli and Travis both heard one of the doors open on the other side of the chamber, and warned those in the rooms with them. With this warning, everyone listened, and many then heard the soft footsteps approaching each room. The groups in the rooms prepared attacks, while Krojan indicated his band would have nothing to do with it and remained where they were.
The Flowers were slightly surprised, but even more annoyed, to see Red Mantis Assassins turn the corners, curved blades in hand. Byron and Travis made quick work of the first of their two attackers, the body vanished under their assault leaving the familiar pile of equipment behind. Calli failed to hold person one of their assassins, Gale cast his reach spell causing his arms to lengthen unnaturally, and Taylan stomped on the granite floor with a thunderstomp causing a ripple of power that rolled forward and knocked one of their assassins prone. He followed up with a fireball on top of the duo, and the flames had far more effect than they had previously in Orisini’s house. Calli began singing her inspire courage, and Nightingale moved slightly closer to skewer the standing assassin straight through the heart. He vanished in a predictable pile of loot. Byron tore into the second assassin on their walkway with both claws, but it proved stronger than its colleagues. The two remaining assassins detonated a red mist that surrounded them, and then began weaving their weapons in front of them in an attempt to fascinate with a hypnotic pattern that failed miserably. Travis threw his axe at the Mantis Byron had nearly gutted, and it wedged itself neatly in the skull of the strange bug-like helmet. The gear fell to the floor, and his axe returned to his hand.
It was at that point that four impossibly large tentacles burst from the dark water below, each unique and dangerous in its own way.