The Faerun Seven

(From Session 2: vs. the vermin) Bryn was waiting for the warlock and the half-orc to recover from their encounter with the nasty giant centipedes and looking idly out the tower window. There wasn’t much to see, just a man she didn’t recognise riding by on horseback. He was finely dressed and she wondered, for a moment, what he might be carrying on him. Suddenly, a gigantic raven ridden by what looked like a smaller raven swooped down and snatched the man from his horse. It flew swiftly away south over the Darkwood, carrying the dangling figure in its claws.   “Whoa! Did anyone else see that?!” She babbled out a nearly coherent description of what had happened. Thibault rushed over but wasn't quick enough to see anything. He looked at her doubtfully.   Mistle didn’t get up to look, but she spoke dreamily from the corner she’d been resting in. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard tell of raven folk who live in the Darkwood in a giant hollow oak tree. Didn’t think they much messed about with stealing humanfolk away, though.”   "But it left the horse. Seems odd, don't you think?" Bryn repressed a shudder. Giant bugs. Creepy bird folk stealing unsuspecting travellers. Probable ghosts. She just wanted to get the treasure Vrena had promised and get out of this broken down tower. "If it were just looking for a meal, you'd think it would take the horse as well.”   Thibault still looked doubtful that she'd even seen what she claimed. “Look, there,” she said, pointing, “there’s the horse.”   “Oh, I see,” he said.   "Have some faith.” She turned away from the window. “I may be a thief, but I'm not a liar." She muttered the last to herself. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted the blonde Adonis. He looked too noble by half.   "Nowt as queer as Ravenfolk!" said Greeba cheerfully.   They rested a while longer until Gorlock suddenly sprang to his feet, all spry after his little nap. “I’m feeling better. Let’s explore the rest of the tower!”   "Vrena, will you please lead?” asked Greeba. Bryn wondered where the half-orc had come from, to be so polite. The thief reluctantly complied, the half-orc following after.   They all made their way to the top of the tower with nothing to show for it – the only thing Bryn had found so far worth taking was a chess set. That, and the barrels of oil in a storage room just below the top of the tower. She was starting to wonder if Vrena was setting them up in some elaborate scheme. But, at the top of the tower, they found the ghost of Brecos.   Wind whipped across the battlements, buffeting them. A stack of wood, taller than an average human, sat in the center, unlit and rotting. The last beacon, never lit. A pair of struts and pulleys were affixed to one ledge, old ropes descending from them to the ground.   But it was the old, yellowed, skeleton in an oilskin coat propped against the woodpile that drew their eyes. A translucent form appeared above the remains.   Thibault dropped to his knees and began to pray. Bryn shifted farther away, taking up a spot near the wall. "Who are you? Do you need help?" asked Greeba, clutching her sturdy Warhammer.   Gorlock, seemingly unsurprised, bowed to the apparition. “How can we be of service?” Perhaps the warlock had secrets yet?   The ghost opened it’s mouth and for a moment they heard nothing, then a faint voice.  "Hello there.... I've waited a long time for you."   "For us personally?" Bryn looks at Vrena. "Or just anyone?"   The ghost ignored her, turning to Gorlock and Greeba. “Aye, help is what I need.”   "What can we do? What do you need?" The warlock and berserker spoke almost in unison.   "She... she is down below, waiting for you. She controls the vermin, like she controlled me. You need to stop her!"   "Ah, the evil below. Of course." Bryn’s hand dropped to the hilt of her rapier. Figures they should have gone below first. But, maybe they could get some useful information out of the old man’s ghost.   "The woman... she came here... beautiful. She charmed me... made me do things ...Bad things. But I'm no murderer! I found a moment of lucidity, came up here and took the rat poison. But even now I'm not free..."   "How can we free you? If we kill her, the magic will end?" Gorlock and Greeba both had moved closer to the ghost, so intent were they on hearing his story.   The ghost looked to Gorlock. "There is a trapdoor in the entry hall, down to the cellar. There, a hidden door behind the wine rack leads to the caves... You must defeat her, then I can be free...” His voice was a mere wisp.   “Did you ingest all of the rat poison?” asked Thibault, almost to himself, his prayer finished. He  fumbled among the wreckage and found an empty vial of poison by the body and held it up. The ghost looked thoughtful, but ignored the vial. He only seemed to have eyes for Gorlock and Greeba. "Aye, surely... but her vermin will seek to overwhelm you. I must give you my strength...”   "What were the things she made you do? What was her purpose?" asked Bryn. The ghost was rambling. He hadn’t told them much that was useful as yet. But he ignored her too.   "Her vermin? You mean the centipedes?" asked Greeba, shuddering in revulsion.   "Centipedes, rats, bats..." The ghost beckoned to Gorlock, and floated towards him. He reached into his own chest, pulled out a wisp of ectoplasm, and reached for Gorlock's heart.   "Gorlock, look out!” shouted Greeba. They all as one stepped forwards, but Bryn didn’t detect any malice in the ghost.   "I don't think he's lying, at least, for what it’s worth,” said Bryn. But still, he was a ghost.   Gorlock was poised to run. The ghost stopped. "You must take my gift willingly, or not at all."   “Are you…lending us your strength?” asked Greeba.   The ghost nodded and reached again for Gorlock. The warlock braced himself, but stayed steady.   "His name was Brecos," said Vrena, softly.   “You knew him?” asked Greeba.   "He was still alive when I was young... during the war... the last watchman... a smuggler, they said."   "Was the talk of treasure a ruse to get us to come to the tower, Vrena?" Bryn took a hard look at the thief. Had she had an ulterior motive? Had she known that it was his ghost that dwelt here? Perhaps there was no treasure at all, and this was merely revenge. For what, who knew.   Vrena glared at Bryn. "Don't be foolish."   Bryn shrugged. "Just asking. We've seen naught but barrels of oil so far."   Meanwhile, the ghost’s cold hand entered Gorlock’s chest, meeting no resistance. The warlock shivered, but stood taller after, almost shining with good health. But Brecos had faded and grown more insubstantial.   “Thank you, my friend,” said the warlock to the ghost.   "I can aid all of you... though there will be little of me left when it's done. The strength will only last an hour or so, you must be quick."   “Then let us not waste time,” said Bryn, stepping forwards. Quickly, they all lined up to receive the ghost’s blessing. By the last, he was barely a memory, his voice the barest of whispers.   “Thank you, good Sir,” said Thibault. “Would you like to receive the last rites? Before you pass away?”   He nodded to Thibault. "Do it once she's gone and my tower is free."   "Thank you, boosted with your strength the just will surely prevail,” said Greeba.   "Good luck..." said Brecos, and vanished, leaving behind only old bones.   They quickly descended, grabbing a few barrels of the oil as they went. So long as the evil below wasn’t a ghost, surely fire would help tame it.   At the bottom of the tower, Bryn noticed a door they had not entered before. Would there be anything of interest there? Perhaps, even, something that would help them? Or something shiny and gold? Either would be good.   Mistle and Greeba had noticed it as well. As one, they opened the door and crept into the room, the door creaking. It held only a bunk bed a couple of chests, and a small table with a chipped stoneware basin and ewer. Hardly something to write home about. Mistle, eagle-eyed, pointed out the water damage to the floor. “The floor could be treacherous here where it's rotten...be careful!”   Bryn weighed her options. So far, this little adventure had brought them nothing but trouble. She couldn’t leave the chests unopened. She nodded to Greeba and Mistle and then leapt to the closest chest on her tiptoes, landing so lightly it wouldn’t have disturbed a fly. She opened the chest. Unlocked and deservedly so – it was empty even of cobwebs. She shook her head at Greeba, who deflated.   Bryn swiftly and gracefully moved on to the other chest, harkening back to her days of interminable dance lessons. At least they had proved useful, just not in the way her father had intended. She opened the last chest and made a face. Nothing.   “Ah, fie! Let’s go sort this hag out!”   “Greeba, help me get this trap door open,” said Vrena, straining to lift it by the iron handle. The half-orc easily prised it open and they descended into the darkness of the cellar. A pervasive odor of rot and mold fouled the air. Bags of roots and tubers hung from the ceiling overhead, having sprouted roots through the cloth and withered in their time here. A stack of moldy sacks were piled to the side of the stairs. A pair of wine racks sat against one wall.   One of the racks has suffered a partial collapse, leaving bottles and broken glass on the floor. Skittering could be heard from the dark corners of the room that were not reached by the torch Vrena was holding.   "I rather wish I'd brought my cat," said Bryn, taking a look around. Ah! But there, behind one of the wine racks, she could see the outline of a hidden door. She pointed at it and nodded to Greeba.   “Shall I kick the door?” asked the half-orc.   “How about I’ll try opening it first?” asked Bryn. The half-orc was eager, that was certain.   “Yes, I think silence is of the essence here!” whispered Mistle.   “But be ready with the barrel. Vrena, you have the torch handy? Thibault, by me?” As Bryn approached the wine rack, swarms of red-eyed rats erupted from the piles of sacking, squeaking angrily.   They headed straight towards Mistle. Vrena drew her hand crossbow and shot at them and then retreated up the stairs, leaving the halfling below. Mistle slashed at the approaching horde with her short sword as they swarmed over her legs.   Bryn muttered the only elf cantrip she knew, poison spray, at them, but they seemed immune to the attack. At the very least, they ignored it.   "Burn the little buggers!" yelled Greeba.   Xarius, the half-elf sorcerer broke his long silence. “Fire? Acid? Ah, poison!” A puff of poisonous gas wafted over the rats nearest him, but they shook it off.   Gorlock, stumbling to back away, fired an eldritch blast, but it barely signed the fur on one rat. Eamon, the even quieter monk, danced in with his scabbarded sword and laid about him. Two rats fell dead. He kicked about and two more lay squashed upon the ground.   "I do believe your nickname is going to be Exterminator, Eamon," said Bryn.   “I'm far too weak for a title like that,” he muttered, scraping some blood off his shoe.   Thibault moved swiftly forwards to protect Mistle and threw the barrel of oil he’d been lugging right into the midst of the swarm. Some were immediately crushed. Then the barrel burst open and drenched the remaining rats in slick oil. The squeaked in rodent-y rage and moved in to attack Mistle and Eamon.   Oily rats swarmed the halfling ranger, even managing to get under her armour, and biting as they went. The ones that went after Eamon were not as lucky. He shook them off with sweeping kicks and they went flying.   Greeba roared. She grabbed the rat-covered halfling and pulled her up the stairs, still covered in oily rats.   Mistle managed to fend off nine of the distracted critters, her face screwed up in disgust. You could barely see her under the rats.   “Stand back!” yelled Bryn, and tossed her torch on the remaining oil-covered rats on the cellar floor. She pulled Eamon back, hoping not to singe the monk. WHOOMF. The oil went up, the sacking helping to fuel the fire. It was an inferno filled with screaming rats. Xarius cast poison spray at them again, but the flames burn it away before it can do any damage.   Gorlock, perhaps shaken by the flames, again attempted an eldritch blast, but it missed the rats and hit a nearby wall. Eamon, unperturbed, punches and kicks at anything near him, killing some of the half-singed rats. Thibault weighed in with his blade, taking out even more of the foul creatures. Small corpses littered the ground.   But on the stairs, Mistle was still covered in angry vermin. They bit and scratched at her, making a godawful noise. Greeba managed to scrape some of them off with her hand axe. Below, Vrena’s aim was true, and with one shot she killed all five of the rats near Thibault. Mistle laid about her with a flurry of swipes with her short sword, remarkably calm considering the amount of rodents still upon her.   Bryn bounded up the stairs and aided her with her rapier, managing to kill the last of the rats clinging to the halfling. She wiped her blade to get the rat blood off. The smell was unimaginable in the cellar. Foul smoke, singed fur, the stink of the rats’ nest.   They all took a deep breath, regretting it immediately.   “My, my, I'll be needing a swig of wine or better yet, brandy after that!” Mistle headed towards the wine rack, but Thibault grabbed her and cast cure wounds to get rid of the worst of the bites and scrapes.   Vrena moved the wine rack. "This secret door should open easy enough. Ready?" She seemed anxious to continue, but time was short. The door did indeed open quickly, but with a creak. They followed her down a limestone tunnel as it descended ever deeper. There was a flutter of leathery wings above them.   “Bats,” said Vrena.   “Rats with wings,” said Bryn, gritting her teeth and feeling grimy already.   “Finally, something I can shoot!” Mistle patted her bow.   The path opened into a tall, cathedral-like room. The floor was white with guano and crawling with beetles. It seemed as if the entire ceiling was seething with bats. They stirred as the group walked below them and then dropped down to attack with no warning.   Xarius put his hands to the sky and cast burning hands upon the bats above him. Fire erupted from his fingertips and a score of bats fell to the ground dead. But even more were waiting to swoop down upon them...

Fantastic work K - going have to give a double story award, 50 XP - nearly doubles your session haul! :D

Oooh, yay! I did edit it a bit after posting, as I read through again and realised how clunky it was. I'd been so wrapped up in getting all the dialogue in! Though, that's kinda how I write books -- usually start with the dialogue and then add the other layers in. I was just too anxious to get it up! Will try and do one each session, if I have time.

SESSION THREE: THE ABERRANT ACOLYTE WITH TOO MANY TENTACLES Gorlock flew down the stars, an eldritch blast already leaving his hands. A half dozen bats fell to the ground. Mistle, not to be outdone, took aim and fired into the centre of the closest swarm. Wings pierced, more dropped and the swarm dispersed into confusion.   Greeba wasn’t far behind. Bat bones crunched under her heavy feet as she ran and then—jumped!—into the air, waving her Warhammer wildly around her head. Six more bats fell, some perhaps by surprise. The remaining bats swarmed towards Thibault, wanting to get away from the half-orc, but he was ready for them and killed two as soon as they came near.   The bats were angry now, making high-pitched noises that were enough to make someone’s hair stand on end. They re-doubled their efforts to attack Thibault, but his heavy armour held them back. Vrena took the opportunity to get close, using both of her short swords to good effect.   “Thank you for your assistance, Vrena!” said Thibault, ever polite. Then some sloshing sounds and a faint eldritch glow from the next cave drew his attention. It was mostly filled with water, with a crescent of sandy shore. A craggy rock was all that broke the water’s surface. It was carved with a number of strange glyphs and a rough depiction of a three-eyed, tentacled, fish-like creature. A pair of well-worn manacles dangled from the rock. Every bit of it gave Thibault the chills.   Xarius hadn’t noticed yet. He cast acid splash at the bats, but they dodged and the spell fell harmlessly to the cave’s floor. Bryn moved past him to get better aim and fired her short bow, taking out another half dozen bats as the arrow ripped through their wings.   Thibault said, “I can hold the bats, better check out what is coming towards us. These disgusting sounds do not bode well.”   At his words, slimy skeletal forms began to emerge from the water and, from the darkness beyond them, a low-throated woman’s chuckle came. It was pure malice.   “EEEeeeeek!” shrieked Xarius. “Stay away from me!”   “She’s here,” said Greeba, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.   “Not for long!” said Bryn.   The woman oozed forwards, almost gliding. A red eye glowed in the centre of her forehead. Slimy tentacles slithered beneath her diaphanous robes, remarkably dry even though she seemed to have come from the water. She followed close behind the skeletons who had already closed the gap between them, their blank-eyed stares not betraying their intentions. Xarius, suddenly finding himself right in the thick of things, shrank into his robes, trying to look small.   “Our holy devotion will guide us through,” said Eamon solemnly, shifting his feet into a fighting stance.    For a moment, nothing happened. And then Thibault heard an inhuman psychic scream that seemed to come from within his own skull. He let out a strangled cry that made Greeba tear her eyes off of the Aberrant Acolyte in front of them to stare at the poor paladin.   “Ye gods, I have a headache the likes I’ve not had before!” he cried out after a moment. He shook his head to clear it. Eamon took that opportunity to attack the skeleton nearest him. It exploded beneath his fury, bones shattering everywhere. Not done, he punched another one so hard that everyone heard the crack of bone, but the skeleton managed to stay on its feet. Gorlock blasted it, and it too went down, crumpling into itself.   Mistle, farther back, aimed for the last bat swarm, but her hands were shaking and the arrow flew wild. She wasn’t the only one distracted by the gruesome sight in front of them. Greeba, shaking with rage, swung her Warhammer so wildly that it whiffed through the air. She hit nothing, but the bats tried to swoop in for an attack. One got stuck in Thibault’s mane of hair, messing about his perfectly coiffed locks.   Vrena continued the attack on the bats, hoping to at least remove one enemy from the fray and even managed another attack on a skeleton. But the damage had been done to Thibault’s concentration and his next attack missed the mark. He pulled the remains of the bat out of his hair and tossed it to the floor.   Xarius took a deep breath and cast burning hands, and while his aim was true, the skeletons remained standing. They were scorched but stalwart.   Bryn moved closer and brought her bow to bear on a skeleton near the sorcerer. The arrow flew straight into the eye socket of the skeleton, making a noise as it hit the back of the skull, and the skeleton dropped where it stood. Bryn glared at the acolyte, wanting her to know that they were coming for her. They would not be put off with these rotten bags of bones!   The acolyte grinned and Bryn felt the same sharp pain that Thibault had felt as a psychic scream tore through her brain. She gritted her teeth and shook it off, giving a laugh. She stared right into the acolyte’s dark eyes and drew her finger slowly across her throat.   As if that was their cue, the skeletons attacked Thibault and Vrena, managing to do a small amount of damage. Gorlock tried to distract them with an eldritch blast, but it shot harmlessly between them. He cast some healing to Thibault, but the remains of the eldritch beam dazzled his eyes and only a small portion of it fell upon the paladin.   “Damn!” said Gorlock.   “That’s okay! Thanks, Gorlock, it still feels better than the skeletons!”   Eamon concentrates his attack on the skeleton near Greeba, cracking its bones and making it stagger back while Mistle fired an arrow at the one nearest Thibault, dropping it in one hit. It fell with a clatter of bones. The cave floor was beginning to resemble a charnel house.   Vrena stepped forward into the space, not caring that she stood in the middle of some long-dead remains. She continued her attack, destroying another skeleton.   Xarius panicked a bit, casting the first spell that came to him. Poisonous spray covered the skeleton in front of him, but had no effect. Bryn shot at it and took it down.   The remaining skeleton attacked Eamon viciously, cutting the monk.   “Don’t hurt me,” he cried out, “I am but a humble monk!”   Another low laugh drew their attention to the acolyte. Her robes fell away, revealing the horrific mass of writhing tentacles that made up her body. A wave of fear fell upon them. They had to withstand it! They could not run now! All stood strong, except for the half-orc, tortured by some long-forgotten memory from her childhood. She howled in agony, dropped her Warhammer, and ran.   “No wonder you hide down here,” said Bryn. “Just look at you. A body not even a mother could love.”   “We must close rank now,” cried Thibault. “She shall not pass!”   Gorlock cast Sacred Flame upon the unholy acolyte, but she writhed out of the way. Eamon punched the last skeleton right in the jaw and it exploded in another rain of bones. He strode forward towards the acolyte, but her tentacles knocked his weapon away before he could make contact.   Mistle’s arrow went wide, as Greeba’s panicked flight by her jostled her elbow. The half-orc was trying to breathe, trying to catch her breath, but nothing but thoughts of terror filled her mind. She took the stairs up, wanting only to see daylight.   “Now you die, bitch!” shouted Vrena, slashing at the acolyte, but while she drew blood, the horror still stood. The thing’s tentacles reached for Vrena, grabbing at her.   Thibault threw a javelin at the acolyte, but missed, perhaps put off by the way she swished and swayed on her tentacles. Bryn tried an arrow as well, but missed. She crept closer, wanting to get a better shot next time.   The acolyte was not distracted from her purpose. Her tentacles wrapped around Vrena and drew the thief to her, piercing her flesh. Vrena screamed in pain and horror, while above, they heard the slam of a door as Greeba found sunlight.   “Hang on, Vrena!” cried Bryn, regretting the uncharitable things she had said to the girl earlier. But it was no use, Vrena’s body went limp. “No! Get her!”   “As my faith commands, I must remove evil,” said Eamon, but he slid on some bone shards and his attack went wide the same time as Gorlock’s eldritch blast flew off into the water. Mistle had more luck, as her next arrow took the creature in the flank, but the acolyte did not fall. With an inhuman roar, she raised Vrena’s body above her head like a bloody trophy.   Everyone redoubled their attacks, chipping away bit by bit. Bryn dropped her bow and drew her rapier, blocking the creature from Thibault, who was looking very harried. She hit, drawing a fountain of blood, but it only seemed to make the creature more mad. The acolyte dropped Vrena’s body unceremoniously behind her and reached for Bryn, but the thief managed to wriggle her way out of the creature’s tentacled grasp.   That seemed to give everyone some spirit – Xarius drew his crossbow and fired, hitting the creature in the stomach. Bryn went to attack again with her rapier, but had to fight back bile rising in her throat as the creature’s smell was like fish stew that had been left to rot for weeks on end.   As if maddened by their successful attacks, the aberrant acolyte reached a few tentacles behind her and snapped Vrena’s neck with a spiteful crack without even looking to see what she was doing. More tentacles reach again for Bryn, wrapping tight this time and burrowing in.   “Agh! It stings!” Bryn chokes out a scream and then falls limp.   “Dear acolyte, I don’t hit women normally, but let’s see if I can change that,” said Eamon, but missed as the creature swung Bryn’s body around as if to show them what she had done.   “I have no such qualms!” cried Mistle, letting an arrow fly from her longbow. It struck the hideous creature directly in the red eye on her forehead and the acolyte slowly collapsed into herself, until she fell into a puddle of tentacles and blood.   “Well, I am definitely not putting that thing in the stew pot!” chirped the halfling.   Thibault pulled Bryn from the congealing mass of tentacles and he and Gorlock administered what aid they could. She came to with a start, looking around frantically.   “It’s okay, we made it,” said Gorlock. Thibault nodded at the warlock and then took the stairs two at a time, bursting out the tower door above, sunlight making him blink. “Greeeeeebbbbbaaaaaa! Come back!!!!”   After a rest to collect themselves, they take the time to look around, finding a waterlogged chest in the water and a small amount of treasure. Was this what Vrena had come looking for and lost her life for? Had it been worth it? They had, at least, managed to set Brecos’ spirit free and killed an evil, but at what cost? Indeed, Vrena had more gold upon her person than was found in the chest.   “We must bring her back and honour her,” said Greeba, now calm but sweaty after her run. “I shall carry her back.”   “Perhaps we should use some of the gold to raise a glass in toast to her memory once we get back to the Inn,” said Bryn.   They make their way back to the Cumin Inn, but it is a sombre return journey. They are in no mood for the two dangerous looking fellows that they meet on the road.   “Hey there!” said one. He looked familiar from their last visit to the Inn.   “That’s Vrena dead, then?” said the other. He didn’t sound very upset.   “She died well, fighting evil,” said Bryn shortly.   "We're her friends. We thought you'd take good care of her,” said the first, eying them.   "The tower is free of evil now and Brecos' ghost is free." They moved to keep walking, but the two louts stubbornly resisted.   "You got the treasure, then?" said the first. Droog, was it? “She trusted you and you got her killed.”   Thibault was out of patience. He dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword. The two roughs looked at each other uncertainly.   “Tell ya what. Hand her over with all her money; we'll take care of the funeral,” said the shorter one after a moment.   “We've brought her back to lay to rest with honour,” said Greeba in a tone that brooked no argument.   Gorlock turned on the charm. “Good fellows,” he said, “How can we make good by her dear name? I propose we have a toast.”   “A toast? You mean, like drinks?” Droog scratched his head, threatening to dislodge some lice.   “And it's all in her honour! Let's raise a goblet to Vrena!” Thibault said loudly, his hand still on his sword.   “Hmmmmph,” said Mistle, clearly unimpressed with the local louts. They scowled at her. She scowled back.   “Eh, okay then. You guys are buying!” The two followed them into the Inn.   “Indeed,” said Gorlock.   Inside, they made good on their word, buying a round with Vrena’s money and arranging for her burial with the local priest. Xarius performed a graceful dance, some kind of funerary right he had once learned, and the inn was filled for a time with talk of Vrena and her deeds. The Seven, saving the monk, savoured their ale slowly, all wondering if there had been any way that things would have worked out differently. But, at least, they were alive and had gained much from the experience. Wisdom? Perhaps.

Excellent stuff Kim - giving another 50 story XP!

Woot!

"Everyone, while you were busy with your brews, I've found us a couple possible options for new income. One, Ostler's got a rat problem..." When Bryn pronounced these words, over our table at the Cummin Inn, we were so far from imagining the fate that was hanging over our heads or more precisely, creeping under our feet... She pounded her fist on the table rhythmically while mincing her words, as if to clench the deal: "Big rats!... Ginormous rats!" Torgin, our new companion and sometimes a dwarf of few words, waved his axe towards the cellar’s door. A bit skeptical, I chanced: “And what about the cat? Too well fed or scared by the size of the rodents?” Bryn stared at me, knowingly: "Thibault, I think the rats may be bigger than the cat..." Mistle had also a good point: “Well I for one feel duty-bound to help, the Cumin is like a second home to me! And the thought of those rats nibbling away with their nasty yellow teeth at the food stores just turns my stomach!” Besides, Ostler the Innkeeper promised us some free booze for a couple of weeks, so it suddenly became a very seductive business proposition. Soon enough, Greeba, Gorlock, Eamond and Xarius acquiesced one by one. We took our weapons and without a moment's hesitation, we opened the cellar door and walked down the stairs in the darkness. “Well then”, said Mistle, “there's no time to lose. We had best go down there during the day, the rats will be more sluggish and possibly sleeping, so we can take them off guard.” As a precaution, I paused for a moment, and tried to feel any impure emanation from around me… Reassuringly, none of the patrons were a cause for concern but, almost expectedly, something under the Inn was emanating with undead energy. Ginormous Rats?… and maybe more than we bargained for, as well. Stepping down in the darkness, the smell of fermenting beer from the brew vat downstairs assaulted our nostrils. But more worrying was the red glinting eyes of a pack of enormous rats, looking up at us in the darkness… and squeaking angrily. Torgin quickly lit a torch and made contact with the menacing rodents, swinging his axe and screaming “Come here yer wee beasties, say hello to Torgins AXE!” His axe fell on the back of one of the rodents and almost split it in two. “SQUEAK!!!" But the Rats soon counter attacked as a pack and their tactic paid off: 3 times over, Torgin gasped in pain as the sharp teeth of the rodents who attacked him from all sides took bites of flesh off his legs. Bryn, still in the stairs, waiting for the group to attack, exclaimed: "I do hope that dwarf has a tough hide." Unfortunately, a tough hide was not enough to curtail the frenzy of these starved monsters. Their ravenous attacks left our new companion within a sliver of his life... blood pouring out of his shredded legs. With the surprise of the rodent-ambush subsiding at last, Eamon was the first to react. He immediately jumped over the bar in an impressive acrobatic figure and rushed down the steps to help the poor Torgin. Once down the steps, he delivered a flurry of blows to the rat closest to him, sending the giant vermin flying off against a chest with a sinister noise of ribs cracking. “Its chest got crushed on a chest… oh the irony!” Zinged Mistle, feeling obviously upbeat about the impending scuffle. More angry squeaking could be heard from the storerooms down the hall, where their doors looked meticulously chewed off at the bottom by a respectable gap. Gorlock, seeing the brave dwarf falling so quickly, decided to make sure he doesn’t suffer the same fate and after a brief abjuration, a bright, metallic glow surrounded his limbs and torso. Assessing the situation, it was now urgent that I’d jump in and distract the pack of rodents until the spell casters and ranged attackers could clean up the place. I leapt into the fray and let my trusted longsword fall on one of these vermins with the expected toll.  Almost at the same time, Mistle promptly nocked an arrow on her bow and, with a swift and elegant gesture, aimed at the rodent still menacing Torgin, which was mostly concealed. But Mistle looked determined and sharply focused to score a bullseye, and the arrow buried itself deep in the rat with a clean “thump” noise, pinning it to the dirt and killing it instantly. Gorlock, still glowing from his magical armour, was now ready to strike with more sorcery! :-) He pronounced a short incantation and gestured until an intense blast of light and energy came out of his palms. The shockwave, although fearsome, missed the rat he was aiming at and crashed against the door right behind it, taking a whole chunk of the wooden panels with it. “Crap!”, punctuated a frustrated Gorlok. Meanwhile, Torgin was taking stock of his initial assault and, in the true spirit of his ancestors, decided that this offensive was dynamising him, rather than putting him down. He gathered all his combativity and his energy to reach his second wind and counter attack, dwarf-style! Swinging his battleaxe vengefully, he shouted “Take that ye Sasnack!” and a giant rat fell with a long agonising ”SQUEEEEAK!” The rats, attracted by this juicy, blood-covered, dinner-on-legs that was now Torgin, closed-in around him and let their gnashers land on his poor embattled legs. In a grimacing smile, and through bloodied teeth, Torgin finally fell, vanquished by the vermins. Seeing this tragedy, Bryn ran down the stairs after Torgin who was by now in the throes of a semi-comatose red mist. “Mother is that you? your whiskers have shrunk” was all he could mutter, looking strangely at one of his assailants. Limping acrobatically upon a table on the way to her target, she shot an arrow to a rat in the corridor and hit it enough to make it turn around and flee through a hole in one of the storage room doors. High up on the staircase, Greeba, the impressive half-orc, was visibly pining for a good ol’ slash and bash!  She grabbed one of her hand axes and threw it at one of the remaining rats, more than 30 feet away! With a worryingly satisfied smile exposing two cute orc-fangs, she looked at the axe flying and the business end of it landing straight on the head of her target, splitting its skull in two clean halves.  It was now Xarius' turn to stand up and be counted! Seeing him, Bryn stomped a beat on the table and started to chant: "Dead rat, dead rat, dead rat dead rat dead rat!" Still in his delirium, Torgin was mumbling… - “Mother, your eyes are red and beady, have you been kissin elves again?” Xarius was now fully invigorated by the encouragement and let a fire bolt propel itself out of his hands. The bolt flew across the room but missed the rat it was meant to hit. Damn! Back to Eamon, for more monkish demonstration of pure deadly acrobatics! "Worry not, Dwarf, i am here to rescue you!" “Oh mother your voice is deeper than i recall…” replied Torgin We are losing the dwarf, I reckoned…. Eamon, crushed a rat instantly. So far, 100% success for our monk! "The dwarf is saved huzza!" “Thank you mother i love you too” We were now surging in the corridor and moving to the main door at its end. A rat was hiding in a corner of a side storage room but we didn’t bother as I could feel again the same undead presence that I felt when we started this mission. I warned my comrades-in-arms of the undead presence. ”Sorry about that!” mumbled Torgin, who still had a sense of humour in spite of his near-fatal gushing wounds. Anchoring the string of her bow and aiming at the main door, Mistle was ready to shoot at anything that could burst from that room when I would open it. Meanwhile, Gorlock joined his hands and started a discrete chant for himself. A beam of light seemed to come from the above shone onto Torgin and his wounds stopped bleeding instantly. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and asked: “Wha, what happened?” As Torgin found refuge in one of the store rooms, the last rat who laid cornered in the other room finally mustered the courage to jump at my throat. Luckily, my sword was at the ready for this eventuality… and didn’t miss. The dead rat slid off the blade and thunked to the cold dusty floor. Taking advantage of that short break in combat, we dusted each other off and I healed the dwarf a little more. Once that was done, we had to decide to pursue the exploration or come back later. Almost out of a premonition, Bryn suggested we have the possibility to come back later now that we might have “lucked out”. But neither her, nor the rest of my companions, nor myself were willing to let Evil stay there one more day. My family got slain by leaving these sort of tasks to tomorrow and I made it my life purpose from then on, to seek Evil and destroy it wherever it crawls. Greeba was already looking at the last door with a mix of expertise and lust for destruction. She reached at her belt and brandished a ridiculously oversized warhammer. Torgin checked out the tool with an admirative glance:  “Never goes out of fashion, a good warhammer…” and paused. “... and multipurpose too!” he hinted, maybe hoping to give the hammer a try on that door. Greeba, feeling equally like-minded, replied in Dwarvish: “I like how you think, Friend!”  And without fault, in a couple of deafening blows, she pulverised the locks, the heavy door’s panels and took the rest off its hinges. Bryn turned towards the rest of the group and mouthed with an admirative face: “Orc-Smash!!!” The room past the threshold was pitch dark, so Gorlock created a bright light on Eamon’s sword, glowing in turn all around the party and lighting up a flight of stairs descending into darkness. At the end of the stairs, we could see the shimmers of water and blood-smears on flagstones. Some daylight was coming from a well-shaft above one of the pools, and two enchanted torches were giving out a dim light around them. Once landed in the room, we could see that the water shimmerings were of a large rectangular pool. The edges of the room were rough as were the ground itself. Some half-finished job, it seemed. Quite unusual but crude and human-made, added Torgin. As we were pondering on the meaning of all this, some repellant-looking creatures suddenly creeped out from the shadows and took us completely by surprise!   Hissing, malodorous Ghouls emerged from the shadows, crawling towards us and reaching me first. Fortunately, the first bite ripped on my chainmail with a disturbing noise of broken rotten teeth. Always pragmatic, Bryn shouted: “Heh, if we don't manage to kill them, the door's unbarred now. Ostler'll find out soon enough what was below…” The Ghouls were in position around me and Torgin. But their weak speed meant we could now counter attack. Torgin slashed a big chunk off one of his, but didn’t slay it. Mistle did the same on another ghoul with her shortbow. And I missed mine… not the best start but it could have been worse… Fortunately, when the ghouls attacked us again, they were not much more successful than us: Torgin got some bitemarks and was a bit weakened but resisted their foul poison. And all the bites destined to hurt me ripped again on my trusted chainmail. Meanwhile, Xarius loaded his crossbow and shot across the room to superbly hit one of the ghouls and wounded it quite seriously! Bryn positioned herself on the platform in order to have a better defensive advantage, and slashed one of the undead abominations with her rapier. Next to her, Greeba planted her warhammer in the ghoul on her right. Eamon also distributed a flurry of blows on another ghoul. But even if these attacks made them sway, the monsters managed to hold on tight nevertheless.  The status quo lasted for a short time until some ghouls finally fell: First from Xarius and followed by Eamon. Then I got blessed when I landed a devastating blow on the ghoul in front of me. But more worrying was when Gorlock saw a Ghast leaving the shadows from the back of the room and, taking a wide berth from me, engaged Bryn.   The Ghast lunged at her and attacked Bryn with its poisonous claws. Even though she resisted the poison, the Ghast dealt some devastating wounds to her and she collapsed on the ground.   All I could scream while seeing her falling was:"Hold on Bryn, we'll save you!" Then, like in a nightmare battle, it was Torgin’s turn to be mercilessly slain. Seeing this tragedy unfold, Xarius prepared a fire bolt between his hands and blasted it towards the nearest ghoul. It went up in flames and collapsed. Bryn was struggling not to die at that point… and was putting a brave fight at this! Meanwhile, another Ghoul got slain by Eamon. Gorlock healed Torgin right before he got up and slayed the last ghoul with a swing of his battleaxe. From then on, it became a race: we all concentrated our efforts on putting the ghast out of combat before it could give Bryn the “coup de grace”... and failed all our attacks, including myself. Out of desperation, I lunged on top of Bryn to try to provide cover, and maybe distract the merciless ghast. In a terrible moment of bad luck and brutality, the monster ripped out Bryn’s throat in the most gory manner. In unison, everyone in the party screamed in despair! Greeba, blinded by the most visceral rage, swung her warhammer with all her strength towards the grimacing head of the ghast, its mouth still chewing the windpipe of the poor Bryn. Upon impact, the head of the undead got crushed like a watermelon and bits of skull got dispatched all across the room. Greeba let out an inhumane scream that only ended when the warhammer fell at her side, having finally avenged her friend.  Everyone rushed at the side of Bryn and first in disbelief, then in resignation, we had to admit that the healing powers that could be her salvation were by far out of our reach. So, we carefully carried her corpse towards the surface, Myrtle dressed her with the noble clothes that she had in her backpack. I gave her the last rites and while singing her favourite songs, we all carried her to her last resting place: the tallest Hemlock tree in a beautiful clearing in the nearby forest.