Adventure Log VI.II
THE DEAD WARRENS PART II
SECTION 1
As Nightingale navigated the treacherous depths of the Dead Warrens, he followed the trail of destruction left in his companions' wake. Passing by the remnants of battles fought, he pressed onward, his senses alert to every eerie sound and unsettling sight within the labyrinthine passages. The stench of decay and the echoes of distant growls filled the air, serving as grim reminders of the dangers lurking in the shadows.
As he ventured deeper into the darkness, Nightingale's heart quickened with each step, anticipation mingled with apprehension. He skirted past the looming skeleton owl bear, its monstrous form a stark testament to the perils that awaited. Sidestepping the twisted remains of the Derro adversaries, he pressed forward, his resolve unwavering in the face of adversity.
The cavern beckoned like a yawning maw; its depths shrouded in darkness save for the faint glow of torchlight ahead. With cautious footsteps, Nightingale approached, his senses keenly attuned to any sign of danger. And then, amidst the dimly lit chamber, he caught sight of familiar figures—the silhouettes of his companions, their forms outlined against the flickering flames.
Taylan, ever watchful, was the first to spy Nightingale's arrival, his eyes widening in surprise and relief. With a quick gesture, he alerted the others, drawing their attention to the newcomer's presence. As Nightingale stepped into the circle of light, a wave of camaraderie washed over the group, their reunion a testament to the bonds forged in the crucible of adventure.
Together once more, the party stood united, their resolve unwavering as they prepared to face whatever trials lay ahead in the shadowy depths of the Dead Warrens. With Nightingale's return, their ranks were bolstered, their spirits lifted by the strength of their fellowship.
However, for one of the party, Nightingale presence was not so welcome. Calli's expression, briefly bright with the joy of reunion, now darkened with a shadow of apprehension. Her gaze met Nightingale's with a mixture of wariness and discontent, the weight of their past grievances casting a sombre pall over their reunion.
For Calli, the sight of Nightingale stirred a tumult of conflicting emotions within her. Despite the relief of seeing him safely returned, there lingered a sense of resentment, fuelled by the wounds of betrayal. Memories of past transgressions flooded her mind, a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered and the bonds that had been strained to their breaking point.
"You’re late," she said, her words laden with the weight of their unresolved issues. And as she met Nightingale's gaze once more, the awkward tension that had enveloped them like a shroud seemed to loom larger than ever, casting a shadow over their reunion.
"I was delayed," he began, his voice tinged with apology, but he left their personal issues for another time and got to the important part.
His tone grave, he revealed the shocking news: the Queen had taken possession of Trinia Sabor, the woman accused of murdering the king. The revelation struck the group like a thunderbolt, leaving them reeling in disbelief.
Calli's distress was palpable as she grappled with the weight of the news, her heart heavy with guilt and remorse. "We need to go back and help her," she urged, her voice filled with urgency.
But Byron silenced her with a stern look, his tone resolute. "Quiet, head in the game," he admonished, his words carrying the weight of authority. "Our mission remains unchanged. There is an enemy lurking around the corner, and we cannot afford to falter. If we fail here, war beckons."
The gravity of Byron's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the stakes they faced. With a shared nod of understanding, the group refocused their attention on the task at hand.
As they stood at the entrance of the corridor, shadows seemed to dance menacingly along the walls, casting eerie shapes that flickered in the dim light. The corridor stretched ominously from north to south, its depths shrouded in darkness. Opposite them loomed a towering stalagmite, its jagged silhouette looming like a silent sentinel.
At the southern end of the corridor, the party's eyes were drawn to a cavern bathed in an eerie glow. The air was heavy with the sounds of sickly, frightened murmurs that echoed ominously off the cavern walls. Amidst the unsettling cacophony stood a monstrous figure—an ogre of grotesque proportions, its form twisted and deformed. Its thick, blubbery skin seemed to pulsate with malevolence as it loomed menacingly in the centre of the cavern, casting a pall of fear over all who beheld it.
As the party readied their ambush, tension coiled in the air like a serpent, anticipation palpable as they awaited the perfect moment to strike.
The plan had been for Calli to weave arcane threads, casting a 'ghost sound' that echoed up the corridor, a siren's call luring their monstrous foe closer. As the creature passed they could all work together to end it before it knew they were there.
In preperation Calli laid protective enchantments upon Byron, fortifying his resilience against the vile diseases that the pustulous ogre might unleash.
Trevor, a shadow among shadows, dashed across the tunnel and concealed himself behind the stalagmite, his muscles tensed and ready for action.
But the party hadn't been quiet enough.
A flicker of movement drew Byron's attention, and he tensed, poised to strike as he glimpsed the two malevolent Derro’s creeping forth, their twisted forms armed with cruel implements.
With a primal roar, Byron surged forward, his claws slashing through the air as he lunged at one of the Derro’s, striking true.
The other Derro, cunning and sneaky, darted in between the narrow space behind the stalagmite toward Trevor with malice gleaming in its eyes, seeking to catch the barbarian unawares. But Trevor was alert, hurling a tanglefoot bag that the nimble creature managed to only narrowly evade.
In the flickering light of Nightingale's sword, magic crackled, manifesting as a searing 'magic missile' that streaked forth and struck the Derro assailant, yet the creature cackled in perverse delight at its pain.
Amidst the chaos, the massive figure of the ogre lumbered forth, its heavy footfalls reverberating through the corridor like thunder, a harbinger of impending doom. With a guttural roar and a malicious grin, it bellowed “Rollf give big reward for your head!”
Taylan, his eyes alight with arcane power, unleashed beams of scorching energy from his eyes that seared through the air, engulfing the Derro with blistering heat, and in ablaze of infernal light it incinerated the creature reducing it to a heap of ashes.
Little Focker, the swift drake, darted towards the ogre, but had to execute a last minute aerial manoeuvre to evade the beast’s retaliatory strike. Once out of its clutches the Drake stabbed his sharp tail towards it only to find it barely made a scratch against the creature's resilient and rubbery hide. The Ogre roared in mockery “You think that hurt Cabbage Head? Hahahaha!" Its derisive words echoing through the chamber like thunder.
In the tumultuous chaos of the confined corridor, the lone remaining Derro, fuelled by desperation, fired at Trevor with a poisoned crossbow bolt, its aim set on sapping the barbarian's strength. However, fortune favoured the valiant Half-Orc as the deadly projectile missed its mark by a hair, whistling past Trevor's ear with a malevolent hiss, leaving a trail of venomous intent in its wake.
Meanwhile, the monster's laughter gave Calli an idea, and her mellifluous voice infused with arcane power wove a jest into her enchanting incantations, the very air vibrating with the resonance of her spell craft. "Why didn't the skeleton like to cross the road? Because he didn't have the guts!" Her words, dripping with magical essence, struck a chord with the ogre, unleashing a torrent of raucous guffaws from the beast that reverberated through the corridor, shattering the stillness with its sheer force. It then lay there on the floor, clutching its sides with uncontrollable hysterics.
Amidst the cacophony of mirth, Byron, his primal fury unbound, launched himself at the prone ogre with the ferocity of a raging tempest. His initial assault glanced harmlessly off the beast's rubbery hide, but undeterred, he pressed on with unrelenting determination. With a thunderous roar, Byron's claws found their mark, tearing through the ogre's flesh with savage ferocity, unleashing a grotesque spectacle of bodily fluids that painted him in a vile, viscous hue.
Meanwhile, Trevor, undaunted by the chaos unfolding around him, wielded his axe with deadly precision, his every movement a testament to his martial prowess. With a swift and decisive strike, he severed the Derro's hands in a whirlwind of steel before delivering a fatal blow that cleaved through its chest, sending it crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
As the battle raged on, Nightingale found himself frustrated, his path to the ogre obstructed by the tumult of combat and the narrow confines of the corridor. Undaunted by the odds stacked against him, he then did something no-one had ever seen him do before. His arm seemed to extend, elastic like, to unnatural proportions, weaving around the obstacles and then unleashed a dazzling display of martial prowess, his rapier extending like a serpent's strike as he pierced the ogre's exposed flank with unerring precision.
The ogre still in the clutches of Calli’s spell, continued to shake with laughter, proclaiming that once he recovers from this, he’d rip their heads off.
Taylan once more channelled the arcane energies within him, unleashing searing beams of light from his eyes that converged upon the writhing ogre. The creature convulsed in agony, its laughter now a grotesque symphony of pain and madness, yet still echoing with the lingering effects of Calli's bewitching spell.
Watching the disgusting fluids being beaten out of the ogre seep into Byron, Calli again emitted a low hum, reached out a well-manicured hand, and lightly tapped his shoulder. The vibration from the hum seeped into his form to bolster his resistances, as she hoped to protect him from the foul diseases they must carry.
Seizing the opportune moment, Little Focker, the stalwart drake, descended upon the creature with ferocious intent, his tail lashing out like a whip of retribution. With a savage strike, he delivered a punishing blow that tore through the ogre's flesh, inflicting further agony upon the already beleaguered beast.
But it was Byron, fuelled by a primal surge of raw strength, who delivered the final, decisive blow. With a thunderous roar, the barbarian unleashed a devastating assault, his claws slicing through the air with lethal precision. In a swift and fluid motion, Byron's talons found their mark, cleaving through the ogre's neck with unrelenting force. As his claws punctured the ogre's rubbery skin, the creature's innards erupted in a grotesque display of pus and bile. A sickening shower of foul-smelling fluids splattered across Byron's face and body, drenching him in a putrid cascade of filth. Despite the revulsion that surged within him, Byron pressed on. With a sickening crunch, Byron severed the creature's head from its body, its grotesque laughter abruptly silenced as its lifeless form slumped to the ground in a macabre heap.
Calli immediately set to work using her magics to clean the party of the gore.
As the echoes of battle faded, the party stood amidst the carnage, their breaths heavy and hearts pounding with the adrenaline of combat. Looking at the beast strewn before them, Nightingale made a startling revelation: the slain ogre was not just an ordinary ogre, but an Ogrekin—a twisted offspring born from the vile unions between ogres and their unfortunate victims.
With their newfound knowledge, they thoroughly searched the Ogrekin's remains and discovered it was wearing masterwork studded leather armour. Nightingale, noticing it's superior craftsmanship, donned the armour, and had an immediate sense of enhanced protection as it seamlessly moulded to his form.
Pressing forward, the party ventured deeper into the foul-smelling cavern, where three pits exuded an overwhelming stench of decay and despair. Within these pits, they found prisoners—emaciated, frightened, and sickly, living in squalor amidst rotting body parts and stagnant water.
Utilizing his extendable arms, Nightingale liberated each prisoner from their wretched confinement, offering them hope of escape.
As ascended, Calli cast her prestidigitation spell to clean them all and then spoke to one of the prisoners, a woman called Tiora. She explained they had all been kidnapped and imprisoned here for a long time. There used to be a lot more of them but one by one, their jailor, Rolth Lamm the Necromancer, would select people after inspecting their body parts and then they’d never be seen again. She had no idea what he was doing but she was sure it was something terrible, and warned them not to face him as he was too strong. Calli retorted they had killed Rolth's father, Gaedran Lamm, easily enough and she wasn't afraid.
Tiora managed to bolster her fellow captives and promised to guide them to safety. She thanked the party heartily, saying she would never forget what the ‘Flowers of Korvosa’ had done today. As a precautionary measure, the party agreed that Little Focker could guide them out of the Dead Warrens to safety, and Gale gave Tiora a crossbow so they would not be helpless on their escape. Once done, he was to fly back to them which the little Drake was only too happy to accommodate. Tiora thanked them and she and her fellow captives left.
SECTION II
When Little Focker returned, Calli cautiously traversed the northern corridor, her steps silent against the stone floor, and she approached a wooden door with a latch. Holding her breath, she strained to hear any sign of movement beyond its weathered surface but was met with only eerie silence.
Moments later, Trevor joined her, his hand trembling as he slowly turned the latch, his senses keenly alert for any hint of danger. The door creaked open, revealing a room shrouded in a noxious miasma—a sickening blend of decay and acrid chemicals that assaulted their senses.
Within the chamber, a grotesque tableau unfolded before them. Glinting instruments of torture and surgery lined the shelves and benches, casting ominous shadows across the dimly lit space. At the centre of it all lay a monstrous creation—a hulking figure stitched together from a patchwork of disparate bodies, looming nearly seven feet tall. Its head, disproportionately small atop its massive frame, bore a shock of brown hair and a distinctive scar upon the left cheek—a grim reminder of its former identity as Gaekhen, the young man they sought to rescue. Two other corridors could be seen from this room. On veering in a south westerly direction, the other northwest.
Faced with the daunting task of removing Gaekhen's head from the monstrous creation before them, the party deliberated on the best approach. Trevor, ever pragmatic, proposed a straightforward solution—severing the head with his trusty axe. However, Byron interjected, advocating for a more precise method using a saw to ensure a clean cut. Nightingale chimed in, suggesting that they first remove the stitches binding the head to the creature's body.
Tensions simmered as differing opinions clashed, and Trevor, frustrated by the indecision, stormed off down the southwestern corridor. Taylan, sensing his friend's frustration, followed suit, the two of them venturing further into the unknown depths of the Dead Warrens.
As they traversed the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor, they encountered another door looming ominously in the dim light, hinting at the secrets that lay beyond.
As they swung open the door, the room unfolded before them—a sanctuary of knowledge shrouded in shadow. Two towering bookshelves loomed within, their shelves burdened with ancient tomes and scrolls, each whispering tales of arcane secrets and forbidden arts. Taylan's eyes danced across the spines, recognizing the ominous titles—treatises on necromancy, manuals on golem crafting, and a chilling abundance of volumes devoted to diseases and plagues.
Eagerly, he beckoned Nightingale, who swiftly abandoned Byron's task to join in the exploration, and Calli, who was grateful for the excuse to leave the extraction. Together, they combed through the shelves, their fingers tracing the dusty spines in search of hidden treasures. And hidden treasures they found—two scrolls nestled among the volumes, a scroll of identify and a scroll of command undead.
As the casters marvelled at their discovery, Trevor's curiosity led him to a tome on the Plague. Intrigued by its presence amidst the arcane texts, he resolved to delve into its pages, pondering the sinister connection between disease and the dark arts.
Calli smiled to see him focused on the pages, and extended an invitation to her book club. Trevor waved this off with another flippant remark about "giddies"- the term for those in the upper classes, usually derogatory. There had already been a few over breakfast in the Weasel, but she let it go as always. She'd have to keep looking for a way to connect with the bouncer.
In the dimly lit chamber, Byron grimaced as he embarked on the gruesome task of severing the head. With steady hands, he carefully untangled the stitches that bound it to the grotesque body, a sickening sight that turned his stomach. Then, with a heavy heart, he wielded the saw, its teeth gnashing through flesh and bone in a macabre dance. Blood spattered, staining his hands crimson as he finally freed the head from its ghastly host.
Placing the head into a nearby sack, Byron wiped his hands on his clothes, eager to rid himself of the chilling unease that permeated the room. Even Little Focker, usually fearless, seemed unsettled, his instincts urging him to flee this place of nightmares.
As the rest of the party returned with their newfound treasures from the library, Byron decided to venture forth down the north-western corridor. Trevor, his stalwart companion, walked alongside him, their usual banter filling the air as they teased each other about their height—a friendly rivalry that never failed to amuse. It served to help calm everyone's nerves, wound tight from the increasingly horrific adventure.
Entering the next chamber, they found themselves in what appeared to be the Necromancer's bedroom. A grand four-poster bed dominated the space, flanked by a simple writing desk and a full-length mirror leaning against one wall. A narrow passage beckoned to the east, leading to yet another chamber shrouded in mystery.
Byron's sharp senses caught the faint whisper of cloth rustling down the corridor, setting the group on edge. With a swift motion, he signalled for silence, his companions tensing in anticipation of the looming threat. This had to be the lair of the Necromancer—a place of perilous secrets and unspeakable desecrations.
As they cautiously moved single-file into the narrow passage, a bone-chilling atmosphere enveloped them, suffused with the stale scent of decay and death. The room itself was sparse, save for a narrow bed, a desolate shelf adorned with grim relics, and a pair of tables flanking the doorway inside. But it was the sight on the left table that sent shivers down their spines—a severed torso, its tattooed chest rising and falling with an unsettling mimicry of life, and its one remaining arm that reached out blindly, grasping at the air.
A piece of fabric floated down from above, landing soundlessly on the floor. In an instant, the air crackled with dark energy as a monstrous undead abomination materialized before them. Its form twisted and contorted, a grotesque amalgamation of rot and despair. The previously stale stench of death suddenly overwhelmed them, choking their senses with its putrid embrace.
Reacting with lightning speed, Trevor surged forward, his massive frame propelling him past Byron, and underneath the legs of the Zombie. As he emerged flanking the creature he unleashed a thunderous swing of his axe. The blade tore through the air with deadly precision, cleaving into the undead creature's rotting flesh with a sickening crunch. But even as the axe connected, foul bile and putrid pus oozed from the creature's wounds, a testament to its unnatural resilience.
Meanwhile, Little Focker, ever the vigilant guardian of Byron, soared through the air in a daring display of aerial acrobatics. With a swift barrel roll, he launched himself at the zombie, his spiked tail poised to strike. Yet, despite the precision of his attack, the creature seemed unfazed, its decaying form absorbing the blow without faltering.
Taylan, his eyes ablaze with arcane power, unleashed a torrent of fiery magic from his wand, the searing flames engulfing the undead monstrosity in a blaze of infernal fury. But even as the flames licked at its decomposing flesh, the creature pressed on, its relentless advance undeterred by the onslaught.
Seizing the opportunity, Byron launched himself into the fray, his primal strength and agility fuelling a flurry of claw strikes aimed at the creature's exposed vulnerabilities. But to his dismay, his attacks seemed to glance off its rotting hide, their impact dulled by the creature's resilient form.
Seeing his companions' efforts falter, Nightingale sprang into action, his extendable arms lashing out with his rapier in a desperate bid to find purchase. Yet, with each thrust and slash, the creature seemed to shrug off his blows, its undead form mocking their futile attempts to bring it down.
With a sickening crunch, the zombie's putrid fist collided with Byron's face, sending shockwaves of pain rippling through his skull. He stumbled backward, blood spattering the ground as bile and decay oozed from the creature's pores, filling the air with a noxious stench. Gasping for breath, Byron fought to regain his footing, his muscles tensing as he prepared to retaliate against his undead assailant.
Across the chamber, Trevor's heart pounded in his chest as he locked eyes with a sinister pale blue Derro with bulging white eyes, wild hair and four-fingered hands hovering high above in the corner of the room. The creature's pale visage twisted into a malevolent grin as it conjured forth a spectral hand, a chilling aura of malevolence radiating from its outstretched fingers. With lightning reflexes, Trevor lunged to the side, narrowly evading the ghostly grasp as it swiped through the air with deadly precision.
But the Derro was relentless, its spectral hand closing in for another strike. Gritting his teeth, Trevor swung his axe with all his might, the blade slicing through the air in a desperate attempt to ward off the ethereal threat. Yet, to his dismay, the ghostly hand danced effortlessly around his weapon, its incorporeal form mocking his futile efforts with an eerie, otherworldly grace.
Amidst the chaos, Calli's voice rose above the din, her melodic incantations weaving a tapestry of arcane power that enveloped her companions in a shimmering aura of resilience. The air crackled with energy as her enchanting melody filled the chamber, infusing her allies with renewed strength and determination in the face of overwhelming odds.
As the battle raged on, Calli's keen eyes scanned the larger room, her senses alert for any sign of the elusive necromancer or any hidden secrets concealed within the shadowy recesses of the chamber.
In the heart of the smaller chamber, amidst the swirling chaos of battle, Taylan's attempt at copying Trevor's manoeuvre past the giant zombie ended in a calamitous slip, sending him crashing to the floor right before the towering corpse. The creature seized the opportunity, its rotting fist descending like a hammer, crashing into Taylan's face with a sickening thud. Bile and putrid pus erupted from the zombie's fist, splattering across Taylan's features in a vile shower of decay.
Witnessing his comrade in distress, Byron's primal instincts surged, driving him to strike at the zombie with ferocious intensity. His razor-sharp claws tore through the air, seeking purchase on the undead flesh, but the creature's necromantic existance thwarted Byron's efforts at every turn, leaving him frustrated and seething with anger.
Undeterred by the creature's stubborn endurance, Nightingale recalibrated his strategy. With a deft flourish, he infused his rapier with a potent cocktail of corrosive acid, transforming it into a deadly weapon of destruction. With a swift, precise thrust, Nightingale plunged the blade deep into the zombie's decaying form, unleashing a torrent of sizzling acid that ate away at the creature's flesh with voracious intensity. The zombie convulsed in agony, its wretched form writhing and contorting as the acid consumed it from within. As the putrid remains of the zombie disintegrated into a noxious cloud of foul-smelling vapours, its body exploded showering all within range of it in his rancid fluids.
The creature was dead. But amidst the turmoil, a terrible realisation settled over the room, as the ominous flutter of another cloth descended from above.
As before, just as the cloth it the ground, another huge Zombie appeared. As this new horror emerged from the shadows, Trevor's instincts kicked into overdrive. With a lightning-quick reaction, he jumped onto a nearby table, propelling himself into the air with remarkable agility. With a mighty leap, he seized the Derro's legs, grappling desperately to thwart its dark machinations.
From the other room Calli's music continued to bolster her allies. The thin path into the battle proper was still blocked by bodies, enemy and friend alike, so she continued her search of the bigger room. Satisfied Rolth wasn't hiding within and planning to ambush them, she pocketed a few things from within the drawers, including a dagger with a broken key-shaped blade. She recalled them finding a similar one in Gaedren's stash, and made a mental note to compare them when time allowed.
Meanwhile, Little F, recognizing the futility of his previous attacks against the zombie, shifted his focus to the Derro, hoping to disrupt its sinister plans. With a powerful flap of his wings, he swooped up to the malevolent creature, exhaling a noxious cloud of fumes in an attempt to disorient it. Yet, to his dismay, the Derro merely laughed in scornful amusement, seemingly unaffected by his efforts.
On the other side of the chamber, Taylan knew he couldn't take much more if he wanted to leave alive, so he made a full retreat back to the room with Calli for a chance to recover.
Nightingale repeated his previous assault, his rapier still gleaming with corrosive acid as he drove the blade into the new zombie's rotting flesh. The acidic onslaught tore through the creature's decaying form, dissolving flesh, and sinew with relentless efficiency.
Meanwhile, the relentless zombie launched a frenzied assault on Byron, its jagged teeth gnashing hungrily as it sought to sink them into his flesh. With lightning-fast reflexes, Byron dodged the creature's deadly bite, narrowly evading its grasp.
As Trevor dangled precariously in the air, the spectral hand of the Derro lashed out once more, seeking to snare him in its icy grip. With a deft manoeuvre, Trevor swung out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the ghostly appendage, and maintaining his precarious hold on the Derro's legs.
Seeing Taylan fall back into the larger room in terrible condition, Calli knew she'd have to get into the fray. She seized upon a daring plan. With determination etched on her face, she propelled herself forward, sliding beneath the towering zombie on a slick trail of rancid fluids left by its fallen predecessor. Emerging on the other side, she rose to her feet with a swift grace, her eyes fixed on the Derro orchestrating the malevolent onslaught.
With a flourish of her hand, Calli unleashed her innate bardic magic, weaving a spell of charm in a desperate bid to sway the Derro to their cause. Yet, to her dismay, the creature merely scoffed at her efforts, its laughter echoing mockingly through the chamber, undeterred by her enchanting melody.
The sound of the Derro's mocking laughter, coupled with the perilous situation Trevor found himself in, dangling precariously in the air with the spectral hand closing in on him, ignited a primal fury within him. With a surge of raw, untamed energy, the dark and malevolent alter ego residing deep within Trevor's psyche, known as Shiv, broke free from its shackles, unleashing chaos, and mayhem.
As Shiv took control, Trevor's demeanour shifted drastically. His eyes gleamed with a feral intensity, and his once steady hands now trembled with unrestrained aggression. The air around him crackled with an aura of danger as his very skin seemed to seethe with acidic fury.
With a snarl of primal rage, Shiv's gaze locked onto the Derro, now visibly shaken by the sudden transformation. Without hesitation, he lashed out with a vicious swing of his mace, the lethal weapon whistling through the air with deadly intent. Though the blow narrowly missed its mark, the Derro's terror was palpable as Shiv's ferocity bore down upon him.
Down below, Nightingale, driven by a surge of fury and fuelled by arcane power, unleashed a torrential blast of acidic energy. The noxious substance surged forth, engulfing the zombie in a caustic deluge that ate away at its decaying flesh with voracious intensity.
As the acid seared through the creature, dissolving every inch of its grotesque form, a sickening explosion ensued, scattering foul-smelling filth and rancid fluids in all directions. The putrid remnants of the zombie rained down upon the battlefield, dousing everyone in its vile aftermath.
In a frenzied sequence of events, the Derro tried once more to hit Shiv with the spectral hand, but unable to shake the half-orc off his legs he was unable to properly aim it, and became tangled in his own robes with the attempt.
Calli thought to use the little blue creature's laughter against it by trying her uncontrollable laughter spell on the Derro, hoping to disrupt its focus, but her jests proved ineffective against the malevolent creature's resolve.
Meanwhile, Shiv, consumed by rage, unleashed his full strength, propelling himself upwards with a forceful kick against the ceiling. With an animalistic growl, he seized the Derro and hurled it down to the ground below. The impact was brutal, the sickening sound of bone against stone echoing through the chamber as Shiv descended upon the fallen foe. His acidic essence spilled from his limbs, adding to the creature's agony.
The battle had taken its toll on the Bear, and fatigue swept over him. He staggered out of the room and collapsed into a heap on the four-poster bed, where Taylon used a wand of healing to begin healing the two of them.
As the battle raged on, the group found themselves locked in a deadly dance of steel and sorcery, their every move met with ferocious resistance from the relentless foe before them. With each passing moment, the air crackled with tension, the outcome of their struggle hanging in the balance as they fought to overcome the horrors that lurked within the Necromancer's lair.
In a dazzling spectacle of arcane prowess, Nightingale summoned forth a tempest of electricity, weaving it into a potent bolt of pure energy. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed the bolt, a searing arc of lightning that surged toward the Derro with unstoppable force. The air crackled with power as the bolt lashed out, wrapping itself around the malevolent creature in a blinding display of raw elemental might.
The Derro convulsed and writhed as the electrifying current surged through its twisted form, its shrieks of agony reverberating off the chamber walls. Sparks danced across its flesh, illuminating the grim tableau in a flickering, blue-white light. Yet, despite the overwhelming power of the lightning, the creature refused to yield, its dark willpower keeping it tethered to the realm of the living.
In retaliation Nightingale found himself the new target of the spectral hand. The claws of ethereal energy raked across his form, leaving shallow gashes in their wake, but Nightingale managed to evade the worst of it, sustaining only minor injuries
Seizing the opportunity presented by Shiv and Gale's assault, Calli bravely climbed over the hulking barbarian and plunged her dagger into the writhing Derro, delivering a decisive strike.
Shiv, sensing an opportunity amidst the chaos, seized the moment with primal ferocity. With a savage grin, he pounced upon the incapacitated Derro, his massive hands closing around its throat with bone-crushing force, and began smashing it into the stone floor. Each thunderous blow sent shockwaves rippling through the chamber, the sound of impact mingling with the crackling of arcane energy and the creature's agonized screams.
With a final, brutal twist, Shiv silenced the Derro's cries forever, his triumph echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. As the last remnants of electrical energy dissipated into the air, leaving only the acrid scent of ozone in its wake, the party stood victorious, their enemy vanquished in a display of unparalleled might and determination.
Nightingale had tried to coax the mysterious alter ego that dwelled within Trevor for some time and now here he was. Seeking to establish a connection with Shiv, he lavished praise upon the fearsome warrior. However, Shiv was not receptive to Nightingale's overtures, dismissing them with a disdainful glare and telling him in no certain terms to fuck off. The memory of their previous encounter when Nightingale tried to daze him, when grappled in the arms of the Korvosan’s Bear arms, only fuelled Shiv's resentment, his hostility palpable as he recoiled from Nightingale's attempts at camaraderie. It was evident that Shiv harboured a deep-seated aversion to any form of flattery, especially from someone he considered an adversary.
Confused by Shiv's reaction, Nightingale found himself at a loss, unable to comprehend the abrupt shift in demeanour as he thought he made a connection with Shiv.
Taylan, wary of the unpredictable chaos that Shiv embodied, stayed in the safety of the adjoining chamber, continuing to heal the substantial damage he and Byron had soaked up while Byron remained in an exhausted sleep.
Calli though, ever the diplomat, sought to bridge the divide, attempted to engage him in conversation, extending an offer of medical assistance should he require healing. Yet, Shiv remained obstinate, refusing to acknowledge any vulnerabilities or accept aid from her. Instead, he insisted they tell him where he was and why he was here. Calli gave a simplified version of events, that they were in tunnels beneath the cemetary to put a stop to undesirables who'd been preying on Korvosans. Shiv proclaimed it of no concern to him, and asked how he got there in the first place. Calli and Gale carefully began explaining that when he wasn't around, there was another him that had control of his body. This made no sense to him at all, and he began demanding the location of Byron, the object of his simmering animosity and confusion.
However, his rage seemed to fade rapidly as exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave. Shiv's formidable facade crumbled, his once-fiery gaze growing dim as weariness overtook him. With a final surge of anger, he collapsed to the floor, his body relinquishing control as Trevor's consciousness emerged once more. The enigmatic Shiv started fading into obscurity with each passing moment.
And just as swiftly as he had emerged, Shiv vanished, leaving behind only the fading echoes of his tumultuous presence. In his wake, Trevor returned, the transition seamless yet tinged with a lingering sense of unease. The party exchanged uncertain glances, the enigma of Shiv lingering in the air like a shadow, a testament to the complexity of the mortal psyche and the mysteries that lurked within.
As Trevor started to recover, the party delving into the pockets of the deceased Derro and unearthed a trove of valuable and arcane treasures, each item pulsating with latent magical energy.
First among their findings was a slender wand, its smooth surface etched with intricate runes—a wand of ghoul touch. With a mere flick, it could unleash the chilling power of necromancy, sending waves of paralysis coursing through the veins of a single humanoid foe.
Next, they uncovered a wicked-looking dagger, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light of the chamber. Crafted with exquisite precision, the dagger seemed imbued with an aura of malevolence, promising swift and deadly retribution to those who dared to wield it.
Yet perhaps the most intriguing discovery was the robe of bones, its fabric adorned with a macabre tapestry of embroidered figures—each one a haunting representation of undead creatures. With a whispered incantation, the wearer could detach one of these figures, summoning forth an actual undead creature to serve at their command.
Amidst the Derro's belongings lay a weathered spell book, its pages filled with esoteric incantations and mystical formulae—a testament to the arcane prowess of its former owner. Within its ancient bindings lay the secrets of a myriad of magical spells, each one waiting to be unleashed upon the world.
Lastly, they uncovered a gleaming ring, its surface shimmering with a faint protective aura—a ring of protection. Wrought from precious metals and imbued with potent enchantments, it promised to shield its wearer from harm, serving as a bulwark against the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
Trevor, dazed and confused, looked up at his companions as they viewed the items and asked what happened? Nightingale looked down at him and simply said “your other self was here”. Nightingale gave Trevor the ring of protection and then deliberately walked away turning his gaze to the twitching form of Gaekhen.
Trevor's mind was a haze of confusion as he struggled to make sense of the fragmented memories that danced at the edges of his consciousness. Nightingale's cryptic words only added to his bewilderment, leaving him grappling with the unsettling notion of an alternate self-lurking within him. Lost in the depths of his introspection, he barely noticed as Taylan's healing magic washed over him, soothing his battered body and easing the lingering ache of battle.
Nightingale focused his attention on the undead torso squirming on the table, its grotesque form a grim reminder of the dark forces they had encountered. Using one of the spells in the Derro's book, he channelled his arcane energy into undoing the evil that animated the unlucky Shoanti. As the spell took hold, the necromantic taint that had infused the flesh began to dissipate, leaving behind only the inert remains of the once-animated abomination.
The party was disheartened to find they'd run out of places to look. Rolth was not here. Once they'd recovered and Calli had cleaned the vile fluids off of them, they began retracing their steps, making sure to destroy anything that could be used by the twisted necromancer on the way. They returned to the pantry with the carrion golem inside, needing to retrieve the final arm of their missing Shoanti to complete their gruesome collection.
Their plan, though fraught with peril, was their best chance at success—shower the creature with a relentless barrage of acid through the door's narrow opening until it succumbed or engage it head-on if forced to.
Nightingale, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, unleashed a searing torrent of acid from his rapier. The hiss of corroding flesh echoed through the chamber as the golem roared in agony, its brainless instincts driving it to desperation, and it began charging at the door, repeatedly slamming against it trying to reach its assailants.
With grim resolve, Calli stepped forward, her rapier gleaming in the dim light as she struck with calculated precision at the beast's exposed hide through the hole they'd made. She felt it sink in, but the golem barely noticed it. A rapier wasn't going to be much use in this fight. She warned the others, and the party positioned themselves around the door, ready to attack it once it broke free. Finally, fuelled by blind rage, crashed through the weakened doorway with a deafening roar, its disgusting form made up of rotting animal and humanoid parts, no longer recognizable in their mutilated states. The monster reaked with the same rancid decay they'd been continually subjected to through this underground horror show.
Byron met the golem head-on, his claws slashing out chunks of rotten flesh, sending maggots flying off its frame.
Taylan, had prepared his acid wand, and targeted the holes Byron was creating, each strike sizzling through the air and aiding the destruction.
Amidst the chaos, Trevor stumbled, his senses overwhelmed by the foul stench and grotesque spectacle unfolding before him. Retching violently, he struggled to maintain his composure.
The golem lashed out at the nearest threat, and Byron took the force of a hit harder than the decaying parts should have been able to impart, more evidence of the necromantic magics that gave it this immitation of life.
Somehow this creature seemed even more disgusting than the others they'd faced, and Calli's aim failed her.
Undeterred by the golem's relentless assault, Taylan and Nightingale pressed their advantage, their weapons and magic dancing with deadly precision as they sought out the creature's weaknesses. With each strike, they chipped away at its decaying form, determined to bring the abomination to its knees.
As the golem faltered under the onslaught, Byron unleashed a final, bone-crushing blow that sent shockwaves rippling through its twisted frame. He then reached inside the cavities he'd been carving and ripped it apart. The creature collapsed in a heap, its grotesque form convulsing in its death throes as its malevolent presence faded into oblivion.
With the battle won and the threat of the carrion golem vanquished, the party retrieved the last remaining fragment of Gaekhen. As they took hold of it, the weight of their mission hung heavy upon them. Their success could hopefully prevent a war. And so each step back to the surface felt like a journey through the depths of their own resolve, the solemn burden of their task pressing upon them like the weight of the world itself.
SECTION III
Their first order of business was to return the mace to the clerics of Pharasma, a token of gratitude for the blessings bestowed upon them in their time of need. Making their way through the graveyard, they soon found themselves standing once more before the doors of the large black cathedral.
As they entered the hallowed grounds, an atmosphere of reverence washed over them, a palpable sense of sanctity that seemed to infuse every stone and shadow. Approaching the two warrior Clerics with reverence, Trevor outstretched his arms with the mace laid out, his gesture a silent offering of gratitude and respect. The clerics accepted the mace with solemn gratitude. With a nod of acknowledgment, Trevor stepped back, his heart lightened by the knowledge that he had honoured his duty to the clerics.
Calli then asked if the clerics could check if members of their party were suffering from any diseases or rot that they may have caught from the many fluids and bites encountered in the Dead Warrens.
On their initial inspection the Clerics couldn’t find anything but that didn’t mean they weren’t infected.
“It is imperative that you remain vigilant for any signs of infection." Said one of the clerics. With a sense of urgency, the clerics outlined the symptoms that the party should be wary of.
"Watch for any changes in skin colour, particularly a sickly pallor or the appearance of lesions," they advised, their voices firm. "Fever, fatigue, and nausea may also indicate the onset of infection."
Their warnings grew more dire as they continued. "Be especially mindful of any rot or decay in your limbs," they cautioned, their expressions grim. "If you notice your flesh blackening or parts of your body becoming necrotic, seek immediate medical attention."
The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on the party as they absorbed the clerics' words. They understood the severity of the threat they faced and the importance of heeding the clerics' advice.
Furthermore, the clerics emphasized the risk of contagion. "You may be highly infectious," they warned, their tone grave. "Entering the city would pose a significant risk to others."
Calli then suggested that if the Clerics healed them all there and then, regardless if they were showing symptoms or not, that would nullify any possible contagion.
After a moment's consideration, the clerics nodded in agreement, acknowledging the wisdom in Calli's proposal.
"We shall perform the healing rituals," one of the clerics intoned, their voice low and resonant with authority. "But such magic comes at a price."
Trevor, ever the shrewd negotiator, stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he proposed a trade. "We offer you knowledge in exchange for your healing magic," he declared, informing them about the shelves of books left behind in the tunnels. "Those tomes contain valuable insights into the workings of necromancy and the undead. With them, you can better arm yourselves against the forces of darkness that threaten this graveyard and our city."
The clerics exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes gleaming with interest at the prospect of such knowledge. After a brief moment of silent deliberation, they nodded in agreement, their decision made.
"It is a fair trade," they declared, their voices carrying the weight of authority. "We shall perform the healing rituals, and in return, we shall have access to the knowledge contained within these tomes."
With the terms of the agreement settled, the clerics wasted no time in beginning the healing rituals. One by one, they laid their hands upon each member of the party, channelling divine energy into their bodies to cleanse them of any lingering taint of disease or corruption.
As the healing magic flowed through them, the party felt a sense of renewal wash over them, their strength and vitality restored to its fullest. With the ritual complete, they thanked the clerics for their aid, their gratitude sincere and heartfelt.
In a shrewd manoeuvre, the party also saw an opportunity to negotiate with the clerics. None of them wanted to utilize the Cloak of Bones themselves, as it would be a greater risk than boon, so they asked the clerics if they would like to purchase it. The clerics, eager to destroy something so detested by their goddess, agreed and offered the full price of 1000 gold pieces for the cloak.
It was at that time that Taylan made a very inappropriate remark “We need to repair Senior Ding Dong!” Taylan's words hung in the air, casting a pall over the solemn atmosphere. Byron's stern reprimand echoed through the group, his voice carrying a weight of disapproval. The young man's face flushed with embarrassment as he realized the gravity of his words, and he quickly fell silent, chastened by the rebuke.
Calli's intervention broke the tension, her compassionate plea resonating with the clerics. With a solemn nod, they agreed to mend the dead boy's body, understanding the significance of preserving his form for the Shoanti death rites. With practiced gestures and whispered incantations, the clerics wove their magic, stitching together the severed limbs and restoring the body to wholeness.
The sight of the mended body brought a sense of relief to the party, knowing that they had honoured the traditions of the fallen and ensured his journey to the afterlife would be unimpeded. With the body now intact, they prepared to carry out the final leg of their journey, a task laden with significance and reverence.
With the limbs securely reattached to the deceased, they faced the task of transporting the body through the city. While the priests offered a wheelbarrow, the notion of a corpse laid within it seemed inappropriate. Instead, the clerics provided a rug, and they carefully swathed the body within its folds for the journey back.
SECTION IV
As they made their way through the city, the party couldn't help but feel the weight of their sombre task. Trevor carried the bundled body of the fallen Shoanti lad draped over his broad shoulders, the weight of the deceased pressing down on him both physically and emotionally. Passers-by cast curious glances at the group as they made their way through the city, but most averted their eyes.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the city, the party approached the towering walls of the Citadel. The fading light painted the ancient stones with hues of orange and red, while long shadows stretched across the cobblestone streets. Their seemed to be a great flurry of activity from Guards stationed at the entrance and people in general who all seemed to be running with excitement in one direction to the city’s town square. The guards eyed the party walking towards the warily.
To allay their concerns, Calli then informed the guards that they were on a mission from Cressida Kroft to return Gaekhen's body and requested to see her. The guards were aware of their mission but regretfully informed them that the Field Marshall was not present but offered to take custody of the body. The party politely declined, expressing their desire to speak with Cressida directly.
Upon asking for Cressida's whereabouts, the guard informed Calli that she was currently in the town square with Queen Illesoa. Trevor inquired about the commotion there, and the guard revealed that it was the execution of Trinia Sabor, the accused assassin of the king.
The news shocked the party. Calli firmly believed a possible injustice was about to be committed and so she was determined to get to the square, believing that accessing Trinia's memories would provide proof of whether the girl had committed murder or not. Without waiting to see if anyone would join her, she turned and broke into a run.
Calli's heart pounded as she led the group through the bustling streets, their pace quickening with each step. The urgency of their mission weighed heavy upon them as they navigated the maze of narrow alleyways and crowded thoroughfares.
As they reached the town square, they could see it teemed with hundreds of people, both commoners and nobles. You could easily tell the difference as Korvosa’s elite were adorned in garish gowns, fine capes, and sparkling jewels that would dazzle anyone. The atmosphere resembled more of a grand ball or celebration than an assassin's public execution.
Amidst great flourish and pomp, Queen Ileosa made her entrance, heralded by music and drums. She appeared as a regal monarch, exuding poise, style, and grace, quite different from the subdued mourner the party had encountered before. Draped in a green and white silk dress, she was accompanied by a retinue of servants, with Sabina among them.
Taking her place in a high throne-like chair, Queen Ileosa presided over the public courtyard, while at the other end loomed the headman’s block, a grim reminder of the impending execution. The executioner, a towering figure clad in an executioner’s helm, idly wielded an immense axe, adding to the air of foreboding.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a palpable anticipation gripped the crowd, their murmurs fading into a tense silence as a single, foreboding drumbeat echoed through the square. All eyes turned toward the procession, where Trinia Sabor was now led toward the headsman’s block.
With a solemn gesture, one of the guards removed Trinia’s shackles and hood, revealing a visibly frightened woman. Her hands bound, Trinia ascended the platform, forced to kneel over the wooden block as the headsman awaited his grim duty.
Queen Ileosa then rose from her seat, commanding the attention of the hushed audience.
Queen Ileosa's voice resounded across the crowded square, her words carrying a weight of authority and resolve. She spoke of the city's recent trials and tribulations, acknowledging the suffering endured by its citizens. With empathy in her tone, she lamented the loss of lives, homes, and fortunes, expressing solidarity with the people's pain.
In her address, she painted a portrait of Trinia Sabor as the personification of their collective anguish—a deceptive assassin whose actions had plunged Korvosa into chaos. Yet, amidst the sombre reflections, she offered a glimmer of hope, envisioning a future where the city would rise from the ashes stronger than before.
With solemn determination, Queen Ileosa declared that justice would be served, signalling the dawn of a new era for Korvosa. Her words resonated with the promise of closure and renewal, as she called for Trinia's execution—an act symbolizing the city's resolve to overcome adversity and rebuild its future.
“Off with her head!” she cried!
The party was still too far away to intervene.
As the headsman heaved his axe, the tense atmosphere in the square became palpable. The crowd held their breath, awaiting the fatal blow. Suddenly, the headsman let out a strange grunt, causing confusion among the spectators. He staggered and dropped his axe, clutching his hand in pain. A dagger protruding from it. It was then that chaos erupted.
A figure emerged from the shadows, swift and agile, dressed in a hooded cloak and leather armour. With a rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other, he leaped onto the executioner's block. The crowd gasped as he swiftly freed the condemned woman and subdued the executioner by hurling another dagger into the other man’s hands.
“It’s Blackjack!” Someone from the crowd shouted.
The mysterious figure addressed the crowd, and his voice rang out, commanding attention. "Justice for Korvosa!" he declared, “Down with the Queen!” igniting a wave of fervour among the onlookers. Some cheered, while others cried out in outrage. The scene descended into pandemonium as the crowd divided between supporters and detractors.
Amidst the commotion, the queen hastily retreated, her entourage of guards close behind. Meanwhile, guards attempted to apprehend the hooded figure, but the crowd's fervour made it difficult to manoeuvre. In the midst of it all, the executioner, wounded but determined, raised his axe, and poised to strike Blackjack in the back of his head.
As the chaos unfolded in the crowded square, they finally got within range to begin assisting. Nightingale took decisive action. With a swift incantation, he conjured a scorching ray that seared through the air, aimed directly in front of the executioner. The blistering heat streaked past his nose and caused him to flinch away, halting the deadly swing of the axe and saving Blackjack's life. In a moment of acknowledgement, Blackjack nodded gratefully towards Nightingale, his saviour in the tumultuous fray.
Meanwhile, Byron commanded his Drake to swoop across the crowd, snatching the executioner's axe out of harm's way. The crowd watched in astonishment as the agile creature deftly retrieved the weapon, preventing further danger.
Trevor, with the dead Shoanti slung over his shoulder, forged a path through the throngs of people, his formidable presence causing them to part instinctively. Calli and Byron followed closely behind, both moving with purpose towards the stage.
Upon reaching the platform, Trevor's booming voice echoed through the chaos as he rallied the crowd to save Blackjack. Intimidated by his imposing stature, the crowd surged forward with renewed energy, spurred on by his impassioned plea.
Seizing the opportunity, Blackjack swiftly whisked Trinia Sabor onto his shoulder and deployed a grappling hook to retreat up onto one of the city walls. With a theatrical bow to the frenzied crowd, and then one pointedly at Nightingale, he vanished from sight, leaving behind a sense of awe and wonder in his wake.
Trinia's escape with Blackjack left Calli feeling frustrated and powerless. She had hoped to use her magic to uncover the truth of Trinia's innocence, but now that opportunity had slipped away. Despite their best efforts, the elusive duo seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving no trace behind. The Drake, following Byron's instructions, attempted to track their movements, but it was as if they had disappeared like ghosts, leaving Calli with a sense of defeat and uncertainty. Her hopes at appealing the queen's reason, or calming the crowd, were also beyond reach.
As the party reached the stage, they beheld the full scope of the chaos unfolding before them. Field Marshal Cressida Kroft, flanked by her troops, stood at the forefront, desperately attempting to restore order amidst the tumultuous crowd. Nobles clashed with nobles in heated skirmishes, their once-dignified demeanour giving way to raw aggression and fervour. It was a scene of utter pandemonium, with tensions reaching a boiling point as emotions ran high and conflict erupted throughout the square. Calli even witnessed her own mother in the fray being whisked away by her servants for her own protection. Her mother in that moment also spotted her bright pink hair on the stage, and pointed up at Calli, but Renly refused to slow.
Upon spotting the party, Cressida Kroft quickly assessed the situation and realized they were carrying the Shoanti's body. She instructed them to follow her back to the citadel, assuring them that her troops could handle the chaotic crowd.
As they walked alongside Cressida, she shared her concerns about the queen's actions. She expressed her belief that Queen Ileosa was acting impulsively and without considering the consequences of her decisions. Cressida explained her intention to disband all existing law in the city- the guards, Sable company, and the Hellknights- and install a new group loyal only to herself, a move she feared would disrupt the peace and stability of the city. She also confided that she felt her own position was at risk due to the queen's erratic behaviour.
Nightingale suggested replacing the law in the city could be a good idea, considering the terrible state of things as they are, but agrees that a group only answeable to the queen doesn't seem any better.
Kroft took his comments in good stride, offering a bit of defence for her people, but continued, explaining that she could no longer offer them official positions within the city's structure, and as such would no longer be able to pay them. However, she emphasized that she would appreciate their assistance from time to time on "sensitive missions." She recognized that it was a significant request, but she believed it was essential for the well-being of Korvosa, a city she held dear to her heart.
Trevor raised the question of whether these missions would go against the Queen's wishes. Kroft assured him that they would not, stating that her intentions were aligned with the betterment of the city.
A spirited debate ensued between Trevor and Nightingale. Trevor argued that the Queen, regardless of whether her actions were right or wrong, had the authority to enact changes and make decisions as she saw fit. Nightingale, however, took a more principled stance, asserting that no single individual should wield such unchecked power to perpetrate injustice. The two debated passionately, with Kroft interjecting at times to express her agreement with aspects of both arguments. It was a complex and challenging discussion, navigating the delicate balance between loyalty to authority and moral integrity.
Calli had flashbacks to classes of hers that went over these very topics, frequently argued throughout the realm over the years, and felt Trevor would fit in among the "giddies" far better than he suspected.
In the end, Nightingale managed to persuade Trevor to see the potential value in Kroft's missions. If they could use their influence to guide the Queen towards more just and equitable decisions, it could ultimately benefit Korvosa as a whole. Trevor conceded to the logic of this argument, nodding in acknowledgment of Nightingale's reasoning.
It was at this time that Taylan suggested that they should just replace the Queen with Calli. Taylan's casual comment caught Kroft off guard. She sternly warned him against uttering treasonous words, emphasizing that such talk could have severe consequences. Taylan, at first said he wasn't from Korvosa, and that he didn't much care what the current queen thought of him. Byron, in his characteristic straightforward manner, reprimanded Taylan, and after the party explained the deadly reprocussions for him and any others implicated, like the party, he relented and agreed to be more careful. Calli promised more lessons in the future on what is and is not appropriate conversation.
The group then relenquished the dead Shoanti's body to Kroft, who expressed her gratitude by rewarding them the 1000 gold pieces promised. However, before they departed, Taylan felt compelled to inform Kroft about the lingering threat of the Necromancer, believing that he was actively attempting to amass an army of undead for some nefarious purpose. Kroft's expression shifted to one of concern, dismay and possibly even defeat, realizing the gravity of the situation. Byron and Trevor exchanged knowing glances, silently chastising Taylan for once again speaking without considering the consequences of his words.
Nightingale realised now was the time to leave, and feeling like there was something familiar about Blackjack earlier, he suggested they all vacate and make their way to The Dirty Duck tavern to test his suspicions.
SECTION V
As they made their way to the establishment though, the party found themselves veering to the place where they had met just three weeks ago. Before they knew it they were standing outside Zellara’s house. The strange harrow artist who they had discovered had been killed some time ago.
As if compelled the party entered the house once more.
The once cozy chamber within this small home was now shrouded in a scent of stale air, dust, and mold. The walls, once adorned with vibrant brocaded tapestries, now hung faded and torn. The brightly coloured rugs that once graced the floor were now worn and frayed. The entire house seemed to exude an air of neglect and abandonment.
Within the room, the only furnishings were a wooden table draped with a discoloured red throw cloth and several tall-backed chairs.
Seated in one of these chairs was once again Zellara, but she appeared as a ghostly apparition, with only the top half of her body visible. In her spectral hands, she shuffled a deck of harrow cards with ethereal grace.
The real deck of cards that had once been Zellara's leapt from Calli's pouch and hovered over to fuse with the ghostly deck she shuffled. The fortune teller thanked them for their assistance in getting it away from Gaedren and ending his reign of terror. The translucent figure waved a hand in invitation for the party to sit. As they took their seats, she regarded them with a solemn gaze and uttered words that sent a chill down their spines:
"Fate has decreed that I should call upon you again. Death awaits you all in different forms."
