Theryn set about searching through the
shattered ruins of the tent, taking note of the well-appointed furnishings and
other luxuries that Radegast’s spells had shattered into splinters. He rifled
through an unlocked chest containing his and hers clothing, and came up with a
leather bag containing some coin, a pearl, a stoppered potion, a bone scroll
tube with a stopper shaped like a skull, and a tiny jeweled box. The monk
pocketed the leather pouch and began moving broken furniture to get a better
look at the interior of the tent.
Varien crouched down and distastefully
examined the Red Wizard’s corpse. Even when dead, the rank odour of evil still
clung to the necromancer, though now it was intermingled with the odours common
after one’s demise. Varien found the documents of passage that the Red Wizard
had waved at him before the melee erupted. He looked them over and had no
reason to doubt their veracity. The paladin shrugged and pocketed them for
later.
Xylon walked to the edge of the dig site
and took note of the smoking remains of the zombie sprawled at the bottom of
the pit. From what the wizard could tell from the corpse’s garb, this zombie
had come from the Dalelands.
He carefully climbed down the ladder and
took a look at the half-uncovered stone tablets that had been dug from the
earth. The first stone was large, almost like a tombstone marker, and was
covered with ancient script chiseled into its surface. The letters of the
script appeared to be Draconic, or related to Draconic, but they were jumbled
together in an unfamiliar way. Xylon rubbed his hands and began preparing a comprehend languages ritual.
Bob picked his way through the jumble of
rubble and dismembered zombies to the west of the tent and walked down the
stone steps to where Radegast was sprawled on her back, staring upward with a
look of annoyance on her face. He broke out one of his healing kits and treated
her chest injury. Radegast pointedly ignored the cleric, and Bob so no reason
to break the silence as he packed up his healer’s kit and climbed the stairs.
Inside the tent, Theryn righted an upturned
desk and frowned at the turbulent earth that had swallowed the female Red
Wizard. A finely woven area rug had been pulled into the ground. Theryn tugged
on the end of it. The end came away ragged and torn, and Theryn felt the ground
shift unsteadily beneath his feet.
Bob poked his head inside the tent and
began looking at the scraps of parchment scattered about. He figured the Red
Wizard’s notes would be a good place to start piecing together the reason why
he was so far from his home in Thay. Bob frowned – the notes were written in
Mulhorandi, the official language of Thay, which used Infernal script – just
reading it made Bob feel uneasy and a little sick to his stomach.
Bob looked up from the scraps of paper to
see Theryn on his hands and knees, shifting rubble. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for evidence,” Theryn said. “There
should be two bodies here, not just one.” He pulled a rock from the ground and
was rewarded with a blast of stale air from below.
Theryn checked the underside of the rock
and saw smears of fresh blood.
Bob’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a…secret
tunnel?”
He pointed at the fissure that Theryn’s
digging had uncovered. Sure enough, the narrow opening, though choked with sand
and shards of rock, bore signs of human workmanship, as though Erwen’s earth eruption spell had churned its way
into a stone corridor. The opening looked wide enough for a single person to
shimmy through.
Bob and Theryn shared a knowing glance.
Xylon found himself recalling everything he
had learned about Ancient Netheril as he used magic to read the Netherese
script on the tablet. How the elves had first taught humankind the ways of the
Weave, the magical force that binds the Universe together, but it was the
Ancient Netherese who proved they had a real knack for it. How Netherese
arcanists could bend the Weave to their will, shearing off entire mountaintops
and sending them floating into the sky, where they built their cities. How Ancient
Netheril was located in what was now the Anauroch Desert, ruled by liches like
Larloch and Aumvor the Undying, separated into High Netheril (the realm of
floating cities) and Low Netheril. How the archwizard Karsus seized control of
the Weave from Mystryl, but lost control of it and caused the Fall of High
Netheril. But all this was academic.
Varien stood watch after helping Xylon lift
the tablet clear of the dig site. He stared up at the apex of the ziggurat and
took note of the bats that were circling it. He began to climb the steps to get
a better view.
Theryn dug around in the fissure and came
up with a bloody boot. “See? Two wizards!”
Bob nodded, impressed.
Theryn examined the boot and twisted its
heel, revealing a hidden compartment.
Bob nodded again, impressed.
Theryn extracted a small, intricately
folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, he frowned as he saw unfamiliar words
printed on it in a decidedly feminine hand.
“Let’s take this to Xylon,” Theryn said.
Theryn and Bob brought their paper scraps
to Xylon for translation.
Xylon grumbled something about paperwork.
Atop the ziggurat, Varien stared up at the
bats, which were circling in the pyramid in a decidedly irregular way. He saw
them flutter ever closer to the apex of the tower and then dart away as if
spooked, only to return in a few moments to dart away again.
Varien looked down at the surface of the
ziggurat and felt his blood run cold.
Carved into the wide capstone that topped
the pyramid was the image of a terrible beast that defied his mind’s attempts
to comprehend its origins. It was at once crab-like, snake-like, and worm-like,
with oversized pincers that uttered sinister promises of bone-crushing power.
Varien couldn’t tell where thorax ended and abdomen began, and its head,
helmet-like, seemed to bulge into three dimensions in an otherwise
two-dimensional carving.
The bats that flocked to the graven image
seemed drawn inexorably, but the moment their shadows crossed over the
bas-relief they wheeled away, screeching in pain.
Varien was sure of two things. First, this
was an abomination from the darkest depths, and second, the area had been
consecrated, long ago, and by persons unknown.
He reached out his hand, pointing at the
carving. He cast an eldritch blast that was instantly deflected into oblivion
as the swirling energies made contact with the relief.
Varien’s eyes widened.
Xylon frowned at the stone tablet. “This is
a waste of time,” he said. “It’s a piece of ancient wayfinding for a town called
Quesseer.”
“Quesseer?” Radegast repeated. She had
limped up to join the history lesson. “Sounds Netherese.”
“Yes, a town that must have stood on this
site ages ago,” Xylon continued. “A caravan stop; a watering hole. That sort of
town. This marker gives directions to the inn, the saddler, the marketplace,
the public square. It would be helpful if the buildings this sign referred to
were still standing, but they’ve returned to the dust from which they were
constructed. The very dust beneath our feet, I’d wager.”
“Still, it belongs in a museum,” Radegast
said.
Xylon snorted. He pulled out a piece of
parchment, scrawled the words “pointless directions to nonexistent places”, and
affixed it to the front of the tablet with a piece of wax. He turned to Bob,
Theryn, and Radegast. “What else do you have?”
“These papers from the wizard’s tent,”
Theryn said.
Xylon ran his hands over the writing, his
eyes rolling back into his head. Radegast envied the ease with which the wizard
could use magic to comprehend languages that would have taken her months of
study to decipher. Not that she would ever admit it to Xylon.
“You’ve got scraps of a journal here, a
record of the Wizard’s activities here at Old Owl Well,” Xylon said after a few
moments of meditation. “Seems he was a Nishkir – a Thayan monster hunter.
Concerned with the study of magic and its interactions with creatures. Also
necromancy. Keeps talking about his undead ‘servitors’ and adding to their
ranks with local stock.”
Bob cast an uneasy glance in Varien’s
direction.
“His partner was a Barakir – a scholar, the
sort sent on missions from Thay to discover magic artifacts or knowledge and
bring it back for further research,” Xylon continued. “They were digging around
Old Owl Well in search of untapped power, from what I gather from these scraps
you found.”
“Can you put that in writing?” Theryn
asked.
“Give me a minute,” Xylon grumbled.
“And what about this?” Theryn handed the
wizard the folded piece of parchment he had found in the hidden compartment in the
woman’s boot.
“Oh my,” Xylon said after reading for a few
moments. “This one had secrets. And apparently the two of them were an item.
Both had “beastly appetites” according to this diary. In fact the woman writes
that the sex was the only part of this assignment she was actually enjoying.”
At this, Xylon winked lecherously.
Bob gagged.
“Anyway, looks like the woman, Joruna,
wasn’t a necromancer at all, and in fact was looking to betray Hamun Kost, the
Red Wizard. She says here that the Necromancers have ruled Thay for too long,
and must be overthrown. She says she was planning on meeting someone named
Fadime in Neverwinter, part of a group called ‘The Resurrection.’ Very
mysterious. Probably you shouldn’t have killed her,” Xylon said.
“Hey, no editorializing,” Theryn said.
Xylon shrugged. “Was she good-looking?” he asked the monk.
“I was not evaluating her beauty in the
moments I had to neutralize her threat,” Theryn said. “But yes, she was smoking
hot.”
Xylon arched an eyebrow. “Pity.”
Varien knelt at the edge of the carving and
touched its surface. Even through his gloves he could feel the sudden burn of
necrotic damage and he yanked his fingers away, cursing sharply.
“This isn’t right,” he seethed. “This
should not be.”
He was distracted from his thoughts by the
sight of movement along the northeast ridge. Varien could see riders mounted on
horseback making their way down a switchback path on the hill nearest Old Owl
Well. He counted eight riders.
The disturbing relief forgotten, Varien
called down to his companions.
“We’re going to have company!” he shouted.
“Riders coming in from the north!”
He drew his sword and flexed the injured
fingers on his other hand. “Let’s see how they like an eldritch blast.”
Radegast grabbed her bow as she and Alec
bounded up the stone steps to the top of the ziggurat and spied the approaching
riders.
Xylon set down a second stone tablet – an
ancient wanted poster, if he was reading it correctly – and dusted off his
robes. “Let me do the talking!” he
shouted to Varien. “But cover me!”
“I’m going to drop an eldritch blast on
them!” Varien shouted, his fist raised.
“Let’s try talking first, shall we?” Xylon
said. “If it goes south, then with the blasting.”
“Fine,” Varien shrugged. He began walking
down the stairs. Radegast followed while Alec scowled from the high ground.
Xylon kept his hands where the approaching
riders could see them and walked around the boulders on the north side of the
ziggurat. The sound of hoofbeats and whinnying horses was painfully loud in the
valley.
A little too close for comfort, the lead
riders pulled up on their reins and drew their horses to a halt. Their
companions trotted around to surround the wizard. The dust began to settle as
Xylon was aware of the number of lances now pointing in his direction.
He put on his most imperious airs. “As a
nobleman, I do not appreciate being surrounded by dusty cowpunchers without so
much as a hail-and-hello.”
He was met with silence. The two lead
riders sat above him. The one on the left was a man wearing leather armor and a
traveling cloak while his companion on the right, a half-elf, was bedecked in
full plate armor that glinted in the sun. There was a creaking of said plate
armor as its wearer leaned forward, a scowl that could curdle milk marring his
too-handsome-by-half features.
“And I do not appreciate having a
month-long operation ruined by a bunch of brigands!” he growled at Xylon.
Xylon held his temper and tried to look
innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, good sir. Whose operation?”
“Why, the Order of the Gauntlet’s
operation, of course!” the half-elf said, banging the emblem on his shield.
Several of the others surrounding Xylon, also wearing plate armor, murmured their
assent.
“Well, not just the Gauntlet,” the other rider said sotto voce .
“The Order of the Gauntlet?” Xylon said.
“We happen to have a member of the Order in our party, and I’m sure she was not
aware of any operation in this area. Perhaps you should better communicate and
coordinate with your organization’s members.”
“Impertinence!” shouted the armored rider,
though Xylon knew that his Elven nobility was no doubt causing the half-elf
some internal difficulty.
His companion suppressed a chuckle.
Xylon took a closer look at the second
rider and noted the Harper pin holding the catch of his cloak together.
“You are with the Harpers?” Xylon said. “I
am for the Harpers as well.”
“Indeed,” the man replied.
“Have you heard about the incident outside Conyberry?” Xylon asked.
The man frowned. “What incident is this?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss it in mixed
company,” Xylon said.
“And I’d prefer to clap you in irons,
transport you to Triboar and have you answer for your crimes!” the mounted
rider said.
Varien took this opportunity to interject,
trying not to show his lust for the man’s shining plate armor.
“Crimes?” he shouted. “How about the crime
of using zombies! Raising the dead! Why were you letting these crimes against
humanity and Goodness be committed out in the open while not doing anything about
it?”
“Is this your friend from the Gauntlet?”
the leather-clad rider asked Xylon with a wry chuckle. “I hope for his sake he
is not.”
Xylon shook his head and pointed at
Radegast, who was approaching. “That’s her coming now.”
“Hi!” Radegast said, putting on a front to
cover her lingering injuries. “Chevall Radegast De’ath, pleased to meet you.
What seems to be the trouble?”
The armored rider sneered. “ Chevall De’ath, is it? Well, I am Captain Andalen Kraklos, Whitehawk of the Gauntlet.”
Radegast performed the bare
minimum of the required curtsey. “The honour is mine, Whitehawk.”
“Honour,” Kraklos snarled.
“What do you know of-”
“Please,” Xylon interrupted. “You were
speaking of crimes. No crimes were committed here, I assure you.”
“Oh no?” Captain Kraklos snapped. “How
about the crime of interfering with official Gauntlet and Harper business? How
about you rolling up here and wiping out two persons of interest without a
moment’s hesitation?” He turned to Radegast. “You, as a Member of the Gauntlet,
should know better than anyone the importance of observing and reporting on the
activities of evil, not making a preemptive strike and losing all chance of
discovering their purpose here!”
“You what?” Varien said, angered. “Yes, we
walked in. Yes, we saw evil in the form of zombies, the walking dead, who, by
the way, made the first move against us. We saw a grave problem, and we. Took.
Care. Of. It.” He scoffed at Captain Kraklos. “If you were worth a hundredweight
of the armor you are decked out in, you would know what to do the moment you
saw a ziggurat crawling with the undead. And if you don’t, I suggest you donate
your armor to someone who could make better use of it, and go ahead and end
your life.”
Captain Kraklos’s hand drifted towards his
sheathed sword, as did Varien’s.
Xylon stepped in front of the fuming
Varien. “Listen, good sirs, consider this. I am a wizard, not a mind reader. As
my friend here says, we saw a problem, and decided to take care of that
problem. We did not mean to offend the Order of the Gauntlet in the pursuit of
justice here. So please, tell us, what is going on here?”
“What’s going on here is that we’re looking
at the waste of weeks’ worth of surveillance operations,” Captain Kraklos barked.
“Thanks to your blundering.”
“Whitehawk Kraklos,” Radegast said with as
much deference as she could convincingly muster. “If the Order has taught me
anything, it’s that we assume the best while preparing for the worst. We were
prepared to deal with just such an infestation of undead.”
Kraklos opened his mouth to reply, but his
leather-clad companion spoke first.
“You rolled in here like you knew something
was up,” the leather-clad rider said. “Let’s start with that.”
Radegast nodded. “I was recently asked to
sing ‘A Song of Other Times and Places’ by a member of the Gauntlet, Whitehawk
Daran Edermath, who in turn advised me and my friends to investigate this area
as he’d heard of ill dealings afoot.”
“Edermath?” Kraklos said, shaking his head.
“Yes, of course, Edermath. He’s been put out to pasture in Phandalin, last I
heard.”
“Phandalin?” The leather rider shook his
head. “Gross.”
“And when you arrived, rather than
investigate, you burned, blasted, and battered a gaggle of zombies who as far
as I can tell posed no great threat to your wellbeing, and I assume eliminated
the Red Wizards out of hand?” Kraklos said.
Radegast nodded.
“You said your rank was Chevall?” Kraklos
snarled. “If you were ranked any higher I would bust you back down to Chevall
for your ineptitude.”
“Hey now,” Xylon said. “There’s no need to
insult the lady.”
“Look,” Varien said. “They were evil . Trust me. What I did, I would do
again, gladly. You should be thanking us for our help.” He turned and stalked
away.
“Your friend has quite the temper,” the
leather-clad rider said to Xylon.
“Well, it stems from personal reasons,”
Xylon said, watching his friend disappear around the edge of the ziggurat.
“Ah yes, tempers often do.” The rider said.
“What about you then?”
“My Gauntlet companion here is sound in her
intentions to help out,” Xylon said. “As for the rest, I deeply apologize, and
ask how we can be of service to you.”
“Well, for starters, you may address me as
Brightcandle Garmen Ulreth,” the leather-clad man said while Kraklos sat there
gnashing his teeth.
“Brightcandle Ulreth, if these Wizards were
looking for treasure or great power, perhaps they found something,” Xylon said.
“Would you like to know what’s on the roof of this tower?”
“We know,” Ulreth said.
“Sir, you are a Harper!” Xylon said. “If
you seek information about a truly great power, might I interest you in the
location of a cave of great power, Wave Echo Cave?”
Radegast sucked in a quick breath at how
cavalierly Xylon was treating the secret Gundren had entrusted to the party.
Ulreth laughed as Kraklos’s complexion
deepened – his humanity showing through in splotches of red fury. The paladin
dismounted with a metallic rattle and stood nose to nose with Xylon.
“You would attempt to misdirect your
betters by sending them off on a wild goose chase? Perhaps you’ll next try to
give us the location of the Tooth Fairy’s treasure hoard!”
Xylon held up a placating hand. “Unlike my
hotheaded companion, I mean no offense when I speak. We have encountered a
great evil here, and didn't want any more bloodshed. We are a group of
experienced travelers – a paladin, a rogue, a monk, and spellcasters – and we
can take care of this evil for you.”
“What did you say your name was?” Ulreth
said.
“Watcher Xylon Nightshade,” Xylon said.
Ulreth’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard of
you,” he said carefully.
“Of course,” Xylon said with a hopeful
smile.
Ulreth returned Xylon’s smile with one of
his own that quickly dissolved into sardonic laughter. “Well, Watcher Nightshade , considering I was going to
order to you do that very thing anyway, your suggestion is received with
thanks. You and your friends will explore Old Owl Well and pick up where these
Red Wizards left off, handing over the fruits of your explorations to Captain
Kraklos and me when you have found them.”
“Uh, certainly,” Xylon said.
“And Chevall De’ath?” Captain Kraklos said
to Radegast.
“Yes?” Radegast asked.
Kraklos sneered. “Our horses are thirsty.
Do fetch them some water for us.”
Radegast. “Water, was it?” She pulled a pad
of parchment from her pocket and produced a quill pen, scratching some letters
on it. “Here you go,” she said, handing the parchment to Kraklos.
Kraklos was confused. “What is this?”
“Oh, it’s a catalogue card for the Vault of
the Sages in Silverymoon for a treatise on cutting and enchanting dowsing rods
that your men can use to find a source of water nearby. Fascinating reading, by
the way – the author, Trabalyn the Wizened, was notable among druids and
rangers for being able to smell fresh water a mile away.”
Kraklos blinked.
“Or did I forget to mention that I’m a
librarian by trade, and not a drawer of water?” Radegast said sharply as she
turned and walked away.
Ulreth’s laughter again echoed around the
ziggurat.
“So, what do we do now?” Theryn asked Xylon
as the Harpers and Gauntlet riders trotted off to water their horses at the
nearby well.
The rest of the party had gathered outside
the lopsided tent.
“I’m going to pray about this before we
make our next move,” Varien said. He took out his holy symbol and knelt in a beam
of sunlight that peeked through the roiling clouds overhead.
He started praying to Sune, but he wasn’t
exactly sure whether his god would answer, or his patron.
In the end, it was a vision of a fiery
phoenix that filled his mind. Bring my
fire to the dark places .
“Right,” Varien said, straightening up. “I
am to bring fire to dark places, so into the ziggurat we go.”
“And bring information to the stupid,”
Radegast said under her breath.
Theryn lowered his voice. “By the way, Bob
and I found a way into the tower. Turns out Erwen’s earthquake spell had a side
effect.”
“Nice,” Varien said. “So, do we have any
shovels?”
“Zombies were hitting us with shovels,”
Radegast said. “We have shovels for days.”
“Right. Let’s start digging.” Varien,
Theryn, and Bob got to work widening the hole inside the remains of the
wizard’s tent.
“Ugh, did I mention that my back hurts from
all that writing?” Xylon said.
“Get in the hole, you lazy wizard,” Varien
said, offering him a shovel.
Xylon conjured mage hand and it gave Varien the finger.
Soon the adventurers had cleared enough of
the rubble to reveal a crevasse, from which a steady stream of stagnant, stale
air leaked.
Erwen frowned. “Guys, Who isn’t going to be
able to squeeze down that fissure. And anyways, he’s acting quite strange.
Almost like he’s scared, which for an owlbear is pretty unnatural. I think I’d
better stay up here with him.”
“I’ll watch Erwen’s back,” Alec said. “He
might need some assistance with these newcomers.”
Varien nodded. Casting light , Varien gingerly climbed through the enlarged hole, followed
by Xylon, Theryn, Bob and Radegast.
The close confines of the tunnel opened
into what looked like a stone stairwell. Varien led the way as he carefully
maneuvered down the stone steps. Streaks of fresh blood and drag marks marred
the dirt-covered floor and steps, which ended at a solid wall.
Varien searched the wall and found a nearly
invisible seam between two blocks that looked door-like. He pulled out a
javelin and worked it into the seam. He pushed with all his strength and felt
the blocks give just before the javelin snapped in two. A hidden door scraped
open on ancient hinges as Varien cast aside the javelin and shouldered his way
through. A blast of stale air hit the party in the face as they stepped into
the breach.
They were standing in a once-grand chamber
that was suffering the effects of long neglect. The dark green stone floor of
the ziggurat was broken in the centre of the room, giving way to a gaping pit.
Writhing tendrils of sickening green vapour slithered up from the dark reaches
of the crater, only to break apart and fade before seeping much further into
the room.
The ceiling overhead was at least 30 feet
high, supported by rows of great pillars that lined the outside of the chamber.
Those pillars near the centre of the room, however, were lying broken on the
floor – blasted outwards by whatever force caused the hole in the middle of the
hall.
The light cast from Varien’s spell and
Theryn’s torches dimly illuminated what looked like immense stone double doors
standing in the centre of each wall to the south, east, and west. Checking to
his left, Varien saw that there was a set of stone doors there as well.
Varien closed his eyes and opened up his divine sense , scanning the darkened
chamber for the presence of evil.
He was not disappointed.
The noxious stench of undeath registered on
his senses – there was some manner of zombie lurking on the far side of the
pit, deep in the shadows.
“It smells like trouble!” Varien shouted.
“Don’t think you need divine sense to
figure that out,” Radegast muttered, her nose wrinkling.
He strode forward and jumped using his boots of striding and springing. He
landed on the far side of the hole, near the fallen remains of a pillar. His light spell illuminated a hunched figure
shambling along, its back to him.
The creature turned.
Varien’s blood ran cold.
The zombie was little more than scraps of
bone held together by the frayed remains of its clothing, but what flesh was
left seemed to heave and bulge in an obscene mockery of life.
Varien realized that it was not flesh that covered the creature, but a roiling
mass of writhing worms, filling the empty cavity beneath its ribcage, twisting
around its bony limbs and infesting its very marrow.
The creature’s skull gazed at Varien, eye
sockets ringed with the toothy maw of worms where its eyes should have been.
It opened its mouth and screamed with a
dozen voices.
Varien felt his skin begin to crawl in
revulsion, but his resolve did not waver. He cast eldritch blast , lighting up the worm-ridden zombie with a beam of
crackling energy.
Xylon rushed to follow Varien, and as he
climbed over the ruined pillar, he heard a slurping sound from the darkness to
his left. His Elven darkvision revealed two suppurating creatures, resembling
animated bruises, scuttling towards him on bristles of slick hairlike tendrils,
leaving a trail of reddish slime behind them.
“Creeping boils,” he muttered. “I hate
those.” He cast burning hands and
scorched the approaching boils.
Radegast readied her longbow and fired an
arrow that struck the zombie square in the chest. To her horror, she watched as
the boiling worms in the creature’s gut pulled the arrow into its chest cavity,
chewing it to splinters.
Bob cast misty step and disappeared in a swirl of mist, reappearing on the
far side of the pit. He cast bane on
the three creatures.
Jumping into the fray, Theryn landed two bo
staff hits and a kick for good measure.
Xylon turned and cast fireball . To his horror he realized he could only create three
pockets of safety, leaving one of his teammates to take the brunt of the blast.
He chose Bob.
As the fireball descended, Bob held up his
middle finger at Xylon.
The fireball
spell burned the boils to a crisp and scorched the zombie, sending sizzling
worms scattering in it wake as it howled and took a swipe at Varien.
Xylon turned to the creeping boils, which
had been burned to scabs by his magic. As he watched, cracks began to appear in
the cauterized outer shells. The wizard’s eyes widened.
Both boils popped in a torrent of
blood-hued acid. Xylon was caught and burned by the splatters.
To Varien’s horror, the zombie made a
coughing sound and in a spray of sputum sent a worm flying at him. He raised
his shield to block it but the worm found purchase on his forearm, wriggling
furiously as it bored into his flesh.
The paladin could feel the violating pain
of necrotic damage seeping into his arm. He scraped the offending creature from
his forearm, grinding it under his heel, and cast heal on himself.
Radegast cast cure wounds and gave bardic inspiration to Bob.
Bob cast a twinned guiding bolt that struck the half-burned zombie, which erupted in a
fount of green gore that sent dozens of writhing worms everywhere.
Worms splattered against Varien and the
rest of the party, who tried to dodge the creatures, which then flopped vainly
on the stone floor in puddles of greenish ichor.
Theryn caught a worm in his neck and could
feel the circular mouth chewing into him. He pulled it off and threw it at
Radegast, blowing her a kiss as he did so.
Radegast skewered the worm with the tip of
an arrow.
Bob, smoke curling from his singed robes,
gave Xylon the stinkeye. The wizard blew him a kiss in return.
Bob shuddered.
Silence descended on the interior of the
ziggurat, broken only by squishing sounds as Varien confidently strode over the
carpet of dead worms that was spread over the stone floor.
“So, shall we try these doors, then?” he
said, indicating the stone double doors to the east.
Varien and Theryn found they had to pull
the doors open rather than pull them, and revealed an antechamber of sorts
beyond the main hall. The party shuffled in.
They were in a large, rectangular room, its
walls covered with a detailed carving that went all the way around the chamber.
On the opposite side of the room were heavy stone blocks, stacked to the
ceiling.
The adventurers examined the frieze. The walls of the chamber were carved to
depict what could only be described as an owlbear holocaust. A stylized army of
armored soldiers and robed spellcasters rained ruin and destruction down upon a
finely detailed herd of vicious looking owlbears that carpeted the rolling
hills like a feathered plague.
“Don’t let Erwen see this,” Bob said. “Or
Who, for that matter.”
“This looks like a depiction of some sort
of ancient battle,” Radegast said.
Xylon pushed up an imaginary set of
spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Actually, this is a depiction of the
Caravan Wars. You probably slept through that history lesson.”
“Ah, of course, the Caravan Wars.” Radegast
said.
Bob snorted and got out his sleeping bag.
Following Bob’s lead, Varien used prestidigitation to get a small fire
going. “Those doors look solid enough. We should be able to hunker down here for
a while and catch our breath.”
Theryn was checking out the heavy stone
blocks on the eastern wall. “These look like they were dropped into place to
block an exit, or entrance, to this chamber.” He said, puzzled. “Look, they fit
into grooves in the floor here. Why would they seal this room off?”
“To seal the evil in,” Varien said
automatically.
Xylon ran a hand along the blocks. “There’s
some sort of magical aura coming off this barrier,” he muttered.
“Perfect – heavy doors to one side, magical
barrier to the other,” Varien said. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”
Xylon and Radegast sat down to meditate
while the humans drifted off to sleep.
Hours passed.
Suddenly, Xylon’s eyes snapped open.
Something was wrong.
Varien’s campfire had dwindled to a blue glow
that cast weird shadows against the wall carvings, giving them an eerie sort of
animation.
But that wasn’t what was wrong.
The air.
Xylon couldn’t breathe.
The
fire!
The doors to the antechamber must have made
a near-perfect seal when they had been shut up, and the campfire had done the
rest, using up most of the useful air inside.
Xylon lurched to his feet, feeling dizzy.
He stumbled to the stone door and pushed on it to no avail. He drew a ragged
breath and tried to yell for help, but it came out in a wheezing cough.
That was enough for Radegast, who had
almost drifted into unconsciousness without realizing it. She blinked back the
blackness, which seemed to be gathering against her.
Xylon tried to cry out again, but his
shriek dwindled away to a hoarse rasp.
Radegast struggled to her feet, realizing
she had only moments to make a move.
Kick
Varien? She thought. Or…
She whirled and cast shatter with her last strength.
A thunderous ringing sound echoed in the
small antechamber, threatening to burst the eardrums of the party. The blast
wave struck the door square on and blew it open, carving out fragments of stone
along with it. Radegast winced as she realized the damage she was doing to the
ancient artwork.
The sound, coupled with the rush of fresh
air, roused the other party members.
Radegast turned to Varien. “Turns out we
need air more than we need fire.”
Varien got to his feet and dusted himself
off, as Bob and Theryn did the same. “Well, let’s continue our exploration,
shall we?”
They approached the lip of the crater in
the centre of the room. They could smell a dark foulness that seemed to seep
into their pores. The pit was nearly 30 feet wide at its mouth, but it narrowed
the further down it went. And down it certainly went – for what they estimated
was a hundred feet or more. Varien cast light
on a fist-sized chunk of rubble and tossed it into the pit. It clattered
and bounced, but its light was soon swallowed up by the green glow at the
bottom. They did not hear the piece of stone make a final impact.
The funnel-shaped bore of the shaft was
pocked here and there by what looked like cave entrances.
Varien led the group away from the pit to
the northern set of doors. As he pulled the doors open, a green glow spilled
out into the main room – there was something illuminating the interior of this
chamber.
The green walls of this room seemed to
writhe and glow with an unhealthy light. The walls of this chamber appeared to
have panes of glass set into the stonework.
As Varien approached the walls, he could
see that enclosed within was the source of the light - thousands upon thousands
of glowing green worms that wriggled and writhed in a gap between glass and
stone that was about two inches deep.
Bob shivered.
Radegast’s voice was pitched up an octave
from its usual register. “I will slit the throat of any idiot who breaks this
glass.”
The party looked about the room. There was
a heavy worktable off to one side, upon which were scattered several small
instruments, long rusted – pitted hooks, ancient blades, and other small tools.
Centuries of dust covered both the table and a small stand of glass tubes built
into the tabletop.
“What’s this all about?” Xylon asked,
almost to himself, as he played his hand over the glass panes.
“Careful…” Theryn warned.
Xylon ignored him. “There’s magic at work
here, too.” He said confidently. “I think-”
He stopped. His hand had touched a seam in
the glass that would have been invisible otherwise.
Heedless of the snapping jaws of the
glassed worms, Xylon bent to investigate. He could make out a finely machined
apparatus of glass fibers and panels, shaped like a revolving tray that
appeared to provide access to an enclosed compartment between the glass wall
and the panel. As if by turning it, one could retrieve a single worm from the
wriggling morass behind the glass walls for study.
“Such craftsmanship!” Xylon said, almost to
himself. “These Netherese really knew their stuff.” He cast mage hand and had it materialize between
the stone and the glass. The spectral hand frantically beat against the glass,
and then calmed itself, giving Xylon the finger. Xylon made the hand fiddle with the apparatus.
“Don’t mess with it,” Bob hissed.
“Mess with it? I’m a professional!” Xylon
said. He cast identify while the
other members of the party looked around with increasing discomfort. The worms
seemed aware of their presence somehow – their writhing movements became more
pronounced the closer they got to the glass.
“Fascinating,” Xylon breathed. “This is
some serious Netherse magic, folks. What they call a quasimagical artifact.”
“A what now?” Varien asked.
“Quasimagical,” Xylon repeated. “The
Ancient Netherese discovered a way to harness the Weave into devices known as
mythallars, which stored vast amounts of raw magic and provided the energy
necessary to activate quasimagical items without the sort of sacrifice
necessary to imbue conventional magic items with arcane power. As long as there
was a functioning mythallar nearby, these items would draw magical energy from
it.”
“Point being?” Theryn asked.
“I think this artifact still has some juice
in it that will let the revolving panels capture a sample worm from behind the
glass and rotate it around so that an arcanist could examine it.”
“By what logic would you try to open this
thing?” Theryn said.
Xylon closed his eyes again. “This device
utilized a command word to activate it.
Ancient Netherese uses the Draconic alphabet – I think I can puzzle out
the command word…” He concentrated.
“Again, by what logic…”
“I have it!” Xylon said confidently. He
stood before the panel and stretched out a hand. “Gixustrat,” he said.
Behind the glass panel, the fiber apparatus
began to glow. The panels began to turn, slowly at first.
“Hah!” Xylon said. “Success!”
“I’m out,” Bob said, backing towards the
exit.
There was a shattering sound as the glass
panel gave way, sending a slurry full of struggling worms gushing out onto the
floor.
“Aw, hell naw,” Theryn said.
“No worries!” Xylon said. He cast fireball centred on himself as his
companions scrambled to get out of the way.
The fireball blossomed over the approaching
swarm of worms, burning them to cinders. The flames washed up against the glass
walls, its heat weakening the ancient material. There was a sharp splintering
sound like a cannon shot as cracks fractured through the glass panels all the
way around the room.
“Holy-” Varien had time to say.
The glass shattered.
There was a sudden rush for the exit.
Varien slammed the door, nearly catching the fringe of Xylon’s robes.
Everyone stood doubled over, panting.
Xylon straightened up, produced a pen and
parchment, and wrote in block letters, DO NOT OPEN WORMS INSIDE. He affixed the
note to the stone door with a generous helping of wax.
The wizard dusted his hands off. “There,
fixed it.”
Radegast’s hand strayed towards her dagger.
“Well then, south it is!” Varien said, leading the way to the unexplored
section of the grand hall.