Deep beneath the earth, in a maze of caverns, below the chapel of the Sealers of the Stone Maw, the party halted. The light of small fires from the room ahead played off the walls of the tunnel in which the party stood.
In hushed tones, the party sent the drow ranger, Zyn and the halfling rogue, Shadowale ahead, who soon signaled the party forward. They found themselves on a ledge, with a ramp descending into a particularly large cavern. Gently burning piles of roots provided coals, which were scooped up and arranged around nests of eggs by a half dozen kobold attendants. The party had stumbled across a kobold hatchery.
Fearing the eggs might hatch, and they be attacked from the rear should they press on, the party grimly readied their weapons. Arrows felled a few of the attendants, and human monk, Turnin and dwarf druid Bearchief moved to block the exits.
With the attendants slain, the party set about systematically breaking the eggs.
The human wizard, Kyllar, secretly rescued one small egg from a nest, placing it delicately in his pack while the others finished up.
The deed done, the party continued on, and the next tunnel descended deeper into the earth. Halfway down, the party noticed that the tunnel... changed. No longer was it natural stone, nor even carved stone. Large, interlocking geometric bricks of stone constituted the corridor from ceiling to floor. Slowly, they crept to the bottom of the steps, peering out into the room ahead, which was illuminated with glow of numerous torches.
The Elder Giant had his back to them; twin great axes at his side, and Bulwark’s shield lashed to his person as an arm guard. Kobolds looked on; confused as he ordered some to open the bags of dirt and bury a large ring-shaped artifact on the floor, then reconsider, and with an evil bellow, order another crew to start digging it out.
Not understanding the Elder’s confusion, but seeing an opportunity laid bare before them, the party charged; Zyn, with his paired short swords and Turnin, with his quarterstaff, flung themselves at the groups of digging kobolds, who, cornered, were swinging at their attackers with shovels or drawing daggers; the dwarf druid Bearchief shifted into bear form, and launched himself ferociously towards the Elder; Shadowale shooting off some arrows and preparing to slash once the Elder was properly distracted by the bear; and Kyllar hugged the wall, crouching behind dirt sacks and lobbing magical attacks around the room.
The Elder turned, barked orders, and tried to fondle the air to cast a spell. For a moment, the very perceptive party could see stone spike appear on the floor, blocking their paths to their foes… but then nothing. The spell had failed. The party closed.
Soon, bloodied and enraged, the Elder ripped Bulwark’s shield from his arm, launching it behind him; narrowly missing Turnin, who was still preoccupied fighting kobolds. The Elder readied his second axe, and began swinging wildly; sweeping strokes carving their way through the party.
With the last of the kobolds slain, the party was able to converge on the Elder, overpower him, and kill him. They stood, surrounding him breathily heavily and trying to staunch a few of the more grievous wounds.
The Elder’s arms and armor were too large to be properly used by the party, but Zyn noticed a small druidic runestone, and noticed too that the symbols matched the ones found on runestone from the druid from Sora’s party.
Before the revelation could be discussed, the party realized they were not alone.
They turned, and Brenda stood at the tunnel, a dark tome chained with others to her armor, and dangling at her hip. The party looked back, and found that her assistant, Harold, mute, disfigured man, stood solemnly in the middle of the stone circle, his left arm wrapped in bandages and held close to his body with a sling.
The party was, understandably, a bit taken aback. Bearchief, still in bear form, growled, and Turnin, asked a lightning fast series of questions.
Brenda, feeling more than a bit laconic, ignored most of the inquiries. She left as soon as the party consecrated the last of her brethren; she was able to enter the chapel via the collapsed entrance because she is stronger than they; no, there will be no reward; no, the city guard is no here with her.
Regarding the slain Elder for a moment, she thanks the party for silencing the souls of her fallen brethren, for they were ever-so annoying. She thanks them again for slaying the Elder, an “obstacle.” She expresses surprise that the trio was able to accomplish all these things, and then notes that the party has grown to five. She then apologizes. You see, her master has work for her to complete; and the party is in her way. What work? Why calling upon her patron to infuse someone with great power, to let them be her patron’s will in the world… to be her patron’s…. Herald.
The black tome was drawn and open by Brenda, unintelligible words springing from her mouth. Harold/Herald started to levitate. The floor within the circle disappeared, revealing a cosmos within the stony, circular maw.
The bandages on his face split, revealing a long probing tongue and his jaw, split into two half-mandibles. His bandaged arm began to contort and bulge too, ripping through the cloth and unfurling itself, revealing a fleshy tentacle whip of an arm. The more words Brenda spoke, the more teeth sprung from his jaw; the more muscles bubbled up on his flesh and the longer his whip arm became.
Kyllar fired a probing cantrip at Herald, which passed right through him, impacting upon the wall behind him. The party bum rushed Brenda. Her chant staggered, and she drew a mace, trying to fend off their blows, and to inflict wounds and blast the party with eldritch powers through new invocations. While new injuries were liberally spread throughout the party, she was quickly overwhelmed.
Bearchief reared up, and then lunged, sundering her armor and burying his muzzle deep in her stomach. Brenda staggered and collapsed, leaving Bearchief face covered in gore. Bearchief growled.
The cosmos flickered momentarily, then disappeared. The ritual was broken. Incomplete, but still potent, Herald descended. His tentacle arm flailed out, striking Kyllar and jerking him nearer before coiling back around herald. His most human arm, still bubbling with muscles, conjured magical missiles, which branched out, each picking a different nearby party member and streaking out towards them.
Kyllar decided he did not want to be near the abomination, hitched up his wizardly robes and hoofed it towards the exit. Herald waved his tentacle arm once in the air-
-and stepped through a rift to block the wizard’s path. Surprised, Kyllar copped another magical missile to the face.
Shocked at the betrayal, Turnin ran to Brenda’s fallen form, and tugged frantically at the books chained to her macabrely split form.
Herald continues to menace the party, appearing and disappearing around the room. Wounds are traded, though the weakened party feels them more. Kyllar is soon felled by a magical blast; Zyn by the strike of the fleshy whip. Turnin, having ripped the chained books from Brenda and secured them as best as possible chases after Herald, but he too is soon badly wounded. Shadowale continually scampers behind Herald, slashing at him viciously. Finally, Herald winks into existence in front of Bearchief, whose snout is still wet with Brenda’s blood, bores through Herald, ending him. He shifts back into his dwarf form with a sigh of exhaustion, covered in hot blood.
Fallen party members are revived, and the party staggers slowly through the winding caverns to the surface; Bearchief taking the time to scrawl warnings in ancient druidic runes in each corridor. The party exits the chapel to a waning sun.
Brenda had three books on her person; the black tome; a journal; and book of cleric’s prayers. Bearchief takes the black tome, and departs alone on a quest to find druids who can deal with the wicked book and properly seal the Stone Maw again. Kyllar takes the journal, and begins to read it, in an attempt to make sense of what just happened exactly. Turnin clutches the book of clerical prayers, once again his sense of safety community taken from him. Shadowale licks his lips, looking forward to the next hundred drinks to pass his lips. And Zyn just smiles, pleased at how much blood he has been able to spill with this group...
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