[DnD] Tomb of Horrors (GFF D&D Adventure X)

It was many days before the three of them returned to Freeport, with the halfling hitching a ride for reasons of his own. Perhaps it was simple wanderlust, or perhaps he was getting a little too well-known in certain parts of Veltalar. Shadowspade kept his own counsel.

While they were away, the Freeport Captain's Council had finally reached the end of weeks of deliberation. The issue: who to blame for the Foulspawn Incident. News traveled slowly out of Lamid, but eventually the larger picture became clear. Adventurers were at fault. Lazy, sloppy adventurers. An initial, half-hearted attempt was made to find the precise adventurers responsible, but the testimony of the Lamidans was considered unreliable in identifying them. One of the culprits was said to be a doppelganger who rode a white stallion and always stank of rotting meat, while other stories insisted that the blame lay on a talking golem and a tiny bear that it had tamed. Worse, the golem was said to have escaped justice by flying away in a magical bag. It was all very preposterous.

In the end, there was only one real solution: all adventurers would be blamed equally. To prevent this sort of catastrophe happening again, the course was clear. Soon the news went out: any and all mercenaries and sellswords working within the walls of Freeport must register with the city. Henceforth, individuals with tasks in need of resolution would bring them to the proper authorities, and the Council's wise sages would assign worthy adventurers to each task as they deemed appropriate. The resolution met with relatively little resistance from Freeport's dozens of mercenaries, mostly because they were extremely hung over from a festival the previous night. The convenient timing of the resolution's passage has not gone unremarked-upon.

And thus in a very short time indeed Glenn and Puyet were both assigned to a longstanding case involving a man who had misplaced some kind of tent. The exact details of this undertaking have been lost to history; the official records were incinerated under Freeport's rarely-enforced laws regarding printed obscenity. While it is regretful that this intriguing adventure must remain a mystery, most undertakings around this period are delightfully well-documented. Consider, for example, the grim and dangerous quest in which Gra-fa-zut and Samwise promptly found themselves entangled — a venture deep into a deadly place known even today as...

The Tomb of Horrors.

"Mr. Shadowspade! Lovely to see you again. How'd things go with the rats in Mr. Farvington's cellar? Wonderful, just wonderful. I'll go ahead and put that one in the outbox. Let's see if we've got anything else for you... ah! Here we are. Actually, we just need one more for this and you can probably get started on it today. Bit of a specialist position, though...

Excuse me! Are any of you in the lobby swordmages, by any chance? Swordmages, hands in the air. Ah, yes! Already dealt with that escaped lion, I take it? Great. So it's settled! Here are your briefing envelopes; the rest of your group should meet you on site. They're a motley bunch, but I'm sure the sages know what they're doing. Best of luck!"

And so Samwise and Gra-fa-zut were thus en route to the municipal cemetery in the heart of the old city, Samwise reading over the briefing as he walked.

Summary of Problem
Ancient lich looms ever-closer to godhood, as each death within his sphere of influence makes him ever stronger!

Location (Be Specific!)
Old city boneyard (von Brandt mausoleum)

Reward (if any)
Salvage on-site (estimated large)

These things were always so melodramatic. Nobody ever had goblins in their turnip patch, they had a plague of miscreants plotting a massive famine!

The pair arrive at the cemetery to find the rest of their group already there. A kobold, a minotaur, and a shifter — hardly an ideal company for close-quarters work underground. You take what the sages give you, though. The old von Brandt mausoleum is a massive affair, but it's a sham; the heavy doors hang wide open, and the mausoleum is revealed as nothing but an empty shell. No bones lay at rest here; the real tomb lies far below. The mausoleum of Aloysius von Brandt conceals only one relic of the dead: a perfectly maintained staircase, leading down into inky darkness.

How ya doing, buddy?

The group stares hesitantly down into the dark tomb below. The sunrod and torch provide more than enough light to see to the bottom of the stairs and a little beyond. The stairs were perhaps 25 feet, terminating in broad corridor roughly 20 feet wide. The floor below is a bright melange of colorful mosaic tiles. Among the random scatter of colors, a broad red streak of tiles wends roughly down the center of the corridor below; the red streak curves east and west irregularly on its way down the corridor to the south. There's no sound of anything moving down there, and while there's a distinct smell of rot it's no stronger than you'd normally expect from a poorly-tended graveyard.

The place is practically humming with magic, though; Gra-fa-zut picks up on it practically as soon as he arrives. The mausoleum stands in stark contrast to the dilapidated mess that constitutes the rest of the cemetery; The stonework looks practically new, and the grass around the mausoleum in a large radius looks significantly lusher and healthier than the sickly brown & yellow grasses in the rest of the graveyard. Maintenance enchantments weren't inherently suspicious, but old Aloysius had been among Freeport's founding fathers, and as far as anyone knew his descendants had scattered to the four winds ages ago. Task mages don't work for free.

Breaking the awkward mood, Beefi suddenly leaps up, introduces himself, and hurtles down the stairs. As he has no light, he can't really see much more than he could have from up above. The corridor continues south for quite a long way; he can't see the end of it from here. On the walls are beautiful frescoes; cows grazing in open fields, gnolls standing guard in a wizard's study, wolves on the prowl. On the west wall is a gruesome portrayal of slaves cowering in a doorway, suffering under the cruel lash of a demon.

The frescoes are amazingly lifelike and detailed; it's as though you could step into the scenes, or the inhabitants of the scenes are threatening to step into reality. Beefi realizes with a start that this perception isn't entirely false; one of the painted gnolls carries a brass-bound strongbox, but the box isn't part of the painting; it's just affixed to the wall somehow.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Uxig spots no obvious traps, but with torch in hand he spots something the minotaur could not have seen in the darkness; a faint message is engraved in the red tiles.

I CONGRATULATE YOU ON YOUR POWERS OF OBSERVATION! SO MAKE OF THIS—

There was more to the message, but it was beyond the range of his torch.

Beefi carefully prods at the painted frescoes, looking for a hidden route to avoid walking the suspicious red pathway. Nothing obvious presents itself, but the plaster of the demon torturer fresco gives a different sound when poked at, as though there were a hollow on the opposite side.

Though he's not especially interested in the chest, Garold can't help but spot a hidden lever jutting slightly from the bottom of the wall-fixed strongbox. In addition, with the improved illumination of the sunrod he can make out much more of the hidden message in the tiles. The corridor leads south for at least another 100 feet before the range of his sunrod is exhausted.

SO MAKE OF THIS WHATEVER YOU WISH, FOR YOU WILL BE MINE IN THE END NO MATTER WHAT!

Go back to the tormentor or through the arch, and the second great hall you'll discover. Shun green if you can, but night's good color is for those of great valor. If—

While there's clearly more to the message and Garold can see the signs of etching in the rest of the tiles, he simply can't read more of the tiny engraved letters without getting closer.

Uxig returns to the surface, glaring quizzically at the genasi and the halfling, and gather up some scattered rocks (and a broken chunk of tombstone or two). Back in the tomb, he flings them about here and there to no immediate result; the rock thrown at Beefi's feet as the minotaur prods at the torturing demon fresco produces a hollow ring unlike the flat crunching of stone on stone that the rest of his tosses produced. Was something below the minotaur's feet?

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

3 Dice Rolls *oh, ouch.

Garold proceeds cautiously down the corridor, tapping the tiles ahead with his spear. He finds several hollow-sounding spots — 5, including the place Beefi was standing on. If it was holding the minotaur's weight it couldn't be all that dangerous, but there was no harm in caution. As he locates the suspicious areas of tile he leaves scratches on them with the tip of his spear, that the others may avoid them more easily. As he works, he gradually reads the rest of von Brandt's taunting message.

If shades of red stand for blood the wise will not need sacrifice aught but a loop of magical metal — you're well along your march. Two pits along the way will be found to lead to a fortuitous fall, so check the wall. These keys and those are most important of all, and beware of trembling hands and what will maul. If you find the false, you find the true and into the columned hall you'll come, and there the throne that's key and keyed. The iron men of visage grim do more than meets the viewer's eye. You've left and left and found my tomb and now your soul will die.

Garold was not a man of great sophistication, but even by his limited standards von Brandt's idea of poetry was badly lacking. At length he finally comes to the end of the message, and the end of the corridor along with it. The snaking path abruptly splits at the end.

One path leads east into a stone archway; the archway is utterly clogged with mists, and Garold cannot see anything of what might lie beyond it. The arch is set with three large gems: a yellow topaz on the left, an orange tourmaline on the right, and a bright blue sapphire at the top of the arch.

The second path leads to a massive stone carving of a bearded green devil's head, with the path leading directly into the devil's open mouth. Curiously, the light of Garold's sunrod does not illuminate the interior of the devil's mouth, and the path thus leads into an impenetrable darkness.

Back at the north end of the corridor, Samwise descends the stairs at last and heedlessly pulls the hidden lever on the chest. Without warning, the floor opens up beneath him! He reflexively attempts to grab the chest to avoid falling, but he's not quick enough; the halfling plummets 30 feet onto a bed of rusty spikes. On the upside, it's obvious that he's not the first to fall for this trap. 6 small gems are scattered around the floor of the pit, amongst dozens of brittle bones.

30 damage to Samwise

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

1 Die Roll durrcana

After working together to haul Sam out of the pit, Beefi and Garold resume prodding at the walls. They find no more hollow spaces, however.

Having gone to great pains

to recover the chest, Samwise gives it the once-over for any more tricks. Finding it clean, he greedily flips it open.

It's empty.

Gra-fa-zut arrives fashionably late, and is immediately curious about the giant green devil head. One thing's for damned sure; that thing is magical. In what way, he's not certain. But it definitely is magical.

Tired of all this pussyfooting around. Uxig decides to start breaking things. Though it takes a few good whacks from the little kobold, the fresco of the slaves cowering in a doorway collapses to reveal a narrower hallway — roughly 10" wide, leading west. Alas, his torch is again inadequate to see to the corridor's end.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Slim heads back to the surface to purchase a 10-foot pole, and returns. He enthusiastically aids Garold in smashing apart more floor tiles, but all they uncover is another dangerous pit, without even the consolation of more gems at the bottom.

Suddenly, Uxig remembers that (as a kobold) he can easily see in the dark. He peers down the dark western corridor again, espying a massive, moldering wooden door at the end.

Beefi picks up a few odd chunks of masonry and plaster, hurling them forcefully into the mouth of the green devil's head. They vanish soundlessly into the black void; no sign of their fate is apparent.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

11 Dice Rolls *claw 4 damage

Try as he might, Garold could not see anything through the archway. The white mists were just too thick.

Sam crept up on the doorway as stealthily as he could. He detected a strange sound on the other side — a scraping, as though of stone against stone.

Throwing caution to the wind, the kobold rushes past him, kicking in the door. There's a huge goddamn gargoyle inside, sitting on a dais. It seems kind of upset. There are broken chunks of stone scattered all around the dais; the little stone fragments are twitching. Seeing as Beefi and Sam are operating by the radius of his torchlight, Slim is the only one who actually sees the gargoyle.

Then it starts shrieking. That should clue them in. It leaps from its dais, flying through the doorway and easily passing over Uxig's head. It lashes out in all directions with its four clawed arms; Uxig and Sam manage to duck the assault, but the minotaur isn't so lucky. Two of the gargoyle's stone claws tear into Beefi's face and chest, sending great spurts of blood spraying onto the walls.

Gargoyle Defenses: AC 23, Fort 23, Ref 22, Will 20

Flying Strike!
Claw 1: Miss
Claw 2: Miss
Claw 3: Crit! 18 damage to Beefi, and 5 ongoing damage.
Claw 4: 13 damage to Beefi.

Uxig 24, Gra-fa-zut 21, Garold 18, Sam 12, Beefi 9, Gargoyle 32

FELIPE NO

6 Dice Rolls claw 4 (vs gra-fa-zut)

Though the Freeport irregulars harried the gargoyle with many a cracked limb, it seemed that none of the wounds truly bothered it. How could you even tell whether you were wounding such a creature? Only the swarm of stinging bees unleashed from Garold's arrow seem to slow the monster down a bit. Though the gargoyle had been issuing a series of incomprehensible screeches since Slim broke down that door, the beast's shrill, echoing screams seem, for an odd moment, to form comprehensible words.

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If it indeed had the gift of language, it seemed no more inclined than before to back down in the face of Uxig's threatening words. Enraged, the gargoyle's mighty leap carries it directly to Garold; it favors him with a single vicious swat from a stone claw, as though in warning.

Beginning of Beefi's turn: 5 damage to Beefi
Beefi makes his save vs ongoing
Mauling Claws:
Claw 1: 16 damage to Garold
Claws 2, 3, 4 miss.

Uxig 24, Gra-fa-zut 21, Garold 18, Sam 12, Beefi 9, Gargoyle 32

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

14 Dice Rolls save vs enervation

As the huge gargoyle thumps down next to him, Garold's reaction is one of panic rather than of careful planning — but it works just as well. With a shout, primal spirits shove the beast away from him.

Uxig scrambles around being generally useless, but the minotaur at least seems to find him amusing.

Gra-fa-zut smirks confidently as the Gargoyle slams into the floor next to him. In a single graceful turn, his blade rips through the Gargoyle's body; the steel transmuting to a deadly energy that passes effortlessly through the stone. Almost at once, the gargoyle begins to rot from within; the stone carapace falls off in flakes as it moves.

Alas, the gargoyle is ready for the bees this time. Garold will have to think of something else. Maybe wasps. Maybe hornets. There were many possibilities.

Sam's crossbow bolt just snaps in two as it hits the gargoyle's stony hide. The situation called for heavier munitions. Gladys' report was deafening in the stone corridors, but the pistol had bored a smooth hole clean through the damned thing's torso; he could see the shifter through the exit wound, clutching at his sensitive lupine ears. Still the gargoyle barely seemed to notice that it had a hole in it.

No one knew why Beefi wore a horned helmet atop his already considerable horns, but no one could argue with the results; with a few quick motions, the gargoyle was sprawled on the floor and then, just as suddenly, sprawled at the bottom of a pit.

It leaps out almost immediately, its horrible shrieks only intensifying, but their attacks seemed to finally be having an effect. Whatever magic animated the gargoyle was breaking down; the thing was less a living statue and more of an unsteady collection of fragments at this point. Not that this made it less dangerous. It tears into Gra-fa-zut with a fury, and the swordmage is hard-pressed to deflect the ragged claws flying at him from all sides.


Chanic, how do you get 5 damage out of 1d8+6? Giving you 7 on that one.
Gargoyle OA on Uxig as he leaves F-1: 11 damage
Sam doesn't get the +2 damage from the rune for reasons I explained elsewhere.
And neither does Beefi, in either case. Gargoyle bloodied by Brutal Slam.
33 damage to Gargoyle from the fall onto spikes
Gargoyle's turn: Move action to un-prone, move action to jump out of the pit, Action Point! Mauling Claws vs Gra-fa-zut: 22 damage.

Uxig 24, Gra-fa-zut 21, Garold 18, Sam 12, Beefi 9, Gargoyle 32

Jam it back in, in the dark.

2 Dice Rolls *FINAL ATOMIC BUSTAAAA

With great fury the irregulars drive the gargoyle back into the pit, only to watch in stunned horror as the minotaur leaps in after it. Truly, Beefimania was running wild on the gargoyle this day, and what recourse could it have?

With a thunderous crash, Beefi smashes into the battered stone beast with all his weight. With a last horrible screech, the monster crumbles into rubble. It is silent at last. Beefi notices a leather collar slip off the ruined heap that was the gargoyle's neck, studded with blue quartz. Perhaps more importantly, he's at the bottom of a pit.

Victory! 1,750 XP (350 each).

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Before investigating the gargoyle's room, Slim takes a look at the collar that Beefi's found. He can't find anything particularly useful about it either, but between the two of them they notice a scrap of parchment folded into the collar's leather bands. Alas, the scrap only contains another cryptic attempt at bad poetry.

"Look high and low for gold, to hear a tale untold. The archway at the end, and on your way you'll wend."

Garold and Slim head off down the western passage again, getting a better look at the gargoyle's room. Other than the heaps of rubble (many of them looking a great deal like chunks of the very gargoyle they'd just destroyed), a heavy wooden door leads south, and another door provides a second route to the east. The stone debris has stopped twitching, for the moment at least.

Beefi wanders off into the dark southern portion of the entrance hall as the party's light-bearers split off to the west. Though he can barely see anything in the gloom, neither the gems on the collar nor the archway appear to react to each other.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Slim pokes open the two doors at a distance. Luckily, they're both ajar; perhaps someone else passed through this part of the tomb recently? Both doors open onto roughly-identical rooms with floors of mossy cobblestone, each with an additional door leading south. The southwesterly room, however, contains more of the broken stone rubble that lies in heaps in the gargoyle's chamber.

Despite thorough examination, the gargoyle's room turns up nothing more of use. The dais offers up only a single unhelpful inscription, etched around the periphery:

To Fluffy, on his 300th birthday

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Slim examines the rubble thoroughly (though taking care not to touch it). Contrary to his intuition, the rubble doesn't seem to be composed of any kind of droppings. Rather, it seems to be pieces of the gargoyle itself: a head here, a leg there, the occasional identifiable chunk of torso. Based on this room alone, Fluffy has been destroyed at least a dozen times before. Slim doesn't feel quite so bad about his role in smashing the thing.

————————————————————

Looking for any sign of a trap and finding nothing suspicious, Beefi strides into the eastern doorway. But even as he passes through the door, the tomb seems to fade away around him. For a moment, all is darkness — then Beefi finds himself in the middle of a small cemetery at dusk. The graveyard seems very badly maintained indeed; the grass is utterly untended and wild, and wildflowers and moss have begun the work of reclaiming the mausoleum standing in the center of the property. Six freshly-dug graves encircle the mausoleum. Beyond the fence encircling the graveyard is only an inky blackness.

Six people (three men and three women, all human) wander the cramped graveyard; they make no attempt to hide their business from Beefi (indeed, they seem not to notice his intrusion at all), and he easily overhears them squabbling about money.

A seventh figure emerges from within the darkness of the mausoleum; a gaunt, pale human man wearing priestly garb greets Beefi with a smile. The holy symbol of Pelor hangs from his neck.

"Greetings, friend. As you so readily intrude into a stranger's tomb, perhaps you can also help me to redistribute the wealth of the dead. A merchant in Veltalar has died and left 1000 pieces of gold to his three daughters and their husbands, but his will was indirect and unclear at best. He asked that his daughters receive 396 gold altogether; Elena receives 10 gold more than Nara and Greta receives 10 gold more than Elena. Jared receives twice as much gold as his wife, Callum got precisely as much gold as his wife, and Radu got one-and-a-half times as much gold as his wife. So far as I can tell, they've all complied with the wishes of the dead; but for the sake of maintaining church records I must know who is married to whom! I have tried to ask them myself, but they seem too busy squabbling over their inheritance to aid me."

The priest sneers scornfully for a moment.

"Perhaps you can help. I am sure I have all the information I need to put it together, but it's been such a long day..."

————————————————————

Back in von Brandt's tomb, the rest of the team looks on quizzically as Beefi seems to freeze mid-stride in the middle of the room he'd just entered.

I was speaking idiomatically.

The priest is startled by Beefi's quick response, and he looks quite downtrodden and sad for a moment before regaining his composure.

"Ah, yes, that is... that would be appear to be... very good. Well, thank you for your help, noble sir! Please, take this with my thanks."

With a forced smile, the priest presents Beefi with an ornate abacus of silver with ebony beads — and the scene fades away as suddenly as it appeared, leaving Beefi standing in the small room with his abacus. Shrugging, he returns to his original task and listens at the southern door; it's faint, but he can hear the rustling of straw and the strident tones of an argument between two men. Just behind Beefi, Uxig hangs motionless in midair, his arm pulled back as though preparing to slap something.

————————————————————

Uxig finds himself on a bare dirt road passing through a thick forest. The road leads directly into the mouth of a low cave; the cave looks too small for anything like an orc or a human to explore, but someone Slim's size could live there comfortably.

A strange little sign is posted a few feet in front of the cave, providing an unusual query to travelers.

THIS CAVE CONTAINS TEN XIVORTS AND 25 IMPS. IF TWO OF THEM COME OUT OF THE CAVE TO MURDER YOU, WHAT IS THE CHANCE THAT THE FIRST WILL BE A XIVORT AND THE SECOND AN IMP?

Uxig spots dozens of beady eyes peering from within the darkness of the cave, awaiting his answer. Behind him, the dirt road looks to continue on into the forest for miles.

Most amazing jew boots

5 Dice Rolls xivort attack 2

Shouting a mighty battle cry, Slim charges forth in the cave. He utters a vicious oath as he encounters an imp near the mouth of the cave, splattering in against the cave floor with his hammer.

The xivorts and the imps charge forward, crying in dismay. Nobody had ever outright refused to answer the question before. It just wasn't done! This was all terribly disconcerting. Two of the xivorts swing at Slim with their crude swords, but he is shielded by his courage, his excellent defensive position in the cave mouth, and the fact that xivorts are pathetically weak.

"The destroyer has come!", one of them blubbers. "All is doom!

Defenses:
Xivorts AC 15, Fort 12, Ref 13, Will 13
Imps AC 15, Fort 13, Ref 14, Will 13

Uxig 6, Xivorts 24, Imps 16

Sam strides into the strange room next, finding himself strolling alongside a mighty river. A few yards ahead, a goliath woman heaves a small boat into the water, holding it in place with her heel while she considers the three shackled prisoners following behind her: an orc, an elf, and a drow.

"You there! Don't be afraid, these fools are no threat to anyone except each other. I must get them across this river, but the Freeport council, fools that they are, only provided me with this insultingly tiny boat. I cannot possibly fit more than two people on this! These criminals are geased to prevent an escape, but the only thing preventing them from murdering each other is my constant vigilance. Left to their own devices, this drow will surely kill his elven cousin, or the elf kill this hapless orc, or both. It'd be all the same to me, save that I get paid double for bringing them in alive. What do you advise?"

FELIPE NO

2 Dice Rolls xivort attack 7-AJ

The xivort seems to mull Slim's offer for a moment, then shakes its head sadly.

"Sorry, mister. But all you've done is show me that one man — one tiny, insignificant man — can stand up against what seems against unstoppable odds. Stand up, and fight, and maybe even prevail. And knowing that, how can I possibly surrender to you? It's kind of ironical."

The xivort wipes away a single tear before bouncing his sword off Slim's shoulder armor.


————————————————†”———

The goliath woman chuckles.

"That makes sense, doesn't it? Thanks for your help, short stuff."

She crouches down, patting Sam on the head as one might pet an adorable puppy. A moment later, Sam feels the cold stone under his feet instead of the warm grass on his back. His hat feels strange on his head suddenly, and as he reaches up to readjust it he feels a slip of paper tucked into the band. It's a coupon - "75% off your next visit to Razor's Edge Tattoo and Piercing".

The kobold is still in stasis. What was taking him so long?


————————————————†”———


Gra-fa-zut strides into the paralyzing room, and finds himself in a broad clearing in the middle of a forest. The genasi shivers... Freeport was only halfway through a mild autumn, but this place seems to be fully in the grip of winter. The dead, yellow grass crunches underfoot, and the trees on the edge of the clearing are capped with snow.

A befuddled-looking ogre stands nearby with a huge shovel; 9 saplings in burlap sacks are scattered on the ground next to him. The ogre notices Gra-fa-zut with a start, and pulls a tattered parchment from his belt. He recites:

"Hello, traveler! My master, the wise and benevolent Aloysius von Brandt, requires that I plant these trees in a particular fashion so that they may be used in a certain ritual. Alas, he has not given me detailed instructions on this matter, nor am I able to resolve it myself; I am but an ogre, brutish and stupid. Could you devise for me, traveller, how we might plant these trees in such a way that they form ten rows, each row comprising three trees? I cannot possibly manage it alone, as I am stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

The ogre seems unhappy to insult himself in such a way, but judging by his expression he is resigned to it.


————————————————†”———


Garold steps into the odd room, and finds himself in a dusty storeroom. Several gnomish women are here, squabbling; the argument seems to involve a small pile of iron rods.

"You there!" shouts a gnome, startling Garold out of his observations. "We have decided, as a group, that triangles are the secret to power. Therefore, we must take these six iron wands, and use them to create as many triangles as possible. And by we, I mean you, you insolent trespasser. GET TO WORK. Or you will never leave this storeroom alive."

Indeed, crates seem to be stacked floor-to-ceiling in every direction.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

10 Dice Rolls imp sting 8

With a snarl, Slim smashes the two nearest xivorts' skulls together, dropping them like dirty rags.

"Indeed, what hell this world is that two men of such like mind must be opposed in this futility. Whichever of us shall persevere, let no one say that we — GMMPH!"

The xivort's last words were interrupted mid-sentence by Slim's hammer as the xivort attempted to circle around him. It was a tragedy; they could have been fast friends, had the xivort not been so blue and ugly and suspiciously gnomelike. The final xivort meets a similar fate in the same way; slow learners, these things. Maybe that's why he'd never seen any of them before. Perhaps this was some strange sanctuary, a private preserve where the dumbest of nature's creatures could survive in a tiny world free of orcs and dragons.

Perhaps he, Uxig Uxigson, was the very engine by which the xivort race had just been rendered extinct.

At any rate, the only remaining threat to him at the moment was a great swarm of imps; provided you use "threat" in the loosest possible sense of the word. The way a snowball is a threat, for example.

Slim takes 10 damage from gettin' stung
Did you know? 4 tiny creatures can fit in one space!


————————————————†”———


Beefi knocks on the south door, while Sam sidles up next to him curiously.

"OCCUPIED!", shrieks a reedy voice on the other side of the door. "Wait your turn!"

Perhaps 30 seconds later, the door opens from within. Two shirtless, oily elves saunter out, fastening their belts with an air of irritation. They stop in their tracks momentarily, looking on Sam and Beefi with amazement.

"My, my. Aren't you the brave little thing."

"Do be gentle with him, you brute."

The elves scamper away, giggling amongst themselves; if they even noticed the three adventurers trapped in stasis, they give no sign. The next room lies nearly as bare and empty as the current one, though the stone floor has been replaced by a ceramic tile. The chamber is decorated only with a small heap of straw and the occasional unidentifiable puddle. Yet another door bisects the south wall.


————————————————†”———


"Our names? Um. Er. I'm Triangle Puzzle Attendant 1, and these are my good personal friends Triangle Puzzle Attendants 2, 3, and 4.

"We have been here—"

The gnomes quietly confer over a small pamphlet.

"—since earlier this afternoon. And by 'here', I mean—"

The pamphlet is consulted again.

"—Wands & Things, a magical accessories wholesaler in Anytown, Thay. I have no idea how that happened to the crates; I'm sure the help just fell behind on sorting the inbound shipments again. It happens. The crates are, as you may have surmised, full of quality magical goods which we intend to sell at wholesale prices; we cut out the middleman and pass the savings on to you, Name Of Testee — er, Garold. Yes. None of us are really hungry at the moment, and I'm sure the issue with the crates will be sorted soon. If not, Attendant 3 is quite the ritual expert and she'll be glad to cast Traveler's Feast for us in the event of an emergency."

There is a long, awkward silence during which the four gnomes examine their pamphlet at great length.

"So, how's the triangle thing coming along? Any progress, there?"

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Slim turns and strides away from the cave as the flames erupt behind him. His work was done here. He suddenly finds himself back in the tomb, landing painfully on his tail as he falls out of his mid-air paralysis. Looking down, he sees something new wrapped around his waist — maybe his dragonly ambitions were easier than he thought. He certainly felt more draconic.




————————————————†”———


Dismayed by the relatively mundane nature of the vision chamber, Garold provides the gnomes with a solution — pouring on heaps of contempt along with it. The gnomes look on his solution with interest, but are disappointed in the end.

"Four triangles? That's the best you could do? Look, if you make a triangle and then lay it down, and put another triangle on top of it... see? Six triangles! Plus a hexagon in the middle. Hexagons are dangerous, but we have safely trapped this one with Triangle Power.

Your solution isn't even as good as the one we thought of ourselves! Get out of here, you jackass. It's clear you don't understand Triangle Power."

Garold finds himself back in the vision room; all but Gra-fa-zut seemingly recovered. The halfling and the minotaur seemed to be engaged in dialogue with a pair of elves. Unlike the rest, Garold returned with no reward for his strange experience — at least, none that he immediately noticed.


————————————————†”———


The elves seem immediately taken with Beefi, fairly fawning over him and his burly physique.

"Aren't you just the nicest thing. You know, I'll get in trouble for this, but — well. Cyril and I never really wander too far from our appointed chamber here while we're on duty; it's frightfully dangerous round here as I'm sure you've noticed. But we do know a few things, pieced together mostly from folks like yourself who got turned around or were just out-and-out fleeing.

First thing: never go through the misty archway without pressing the keystones first. I don't know what happens but nobody ever comes out. When I think about it, maybe that's not necessarily bad news. Maybe there's a hidden paradise in there and nobody ever wants to come back. Awfully selfish of them in that case, though.

Second thing: I once saw something come OUT of the devil's head, so it's possible to pass through it. Maybe it's only one-way, though.

What else... oh! The first gargoyle is kind of a jerk, but the second one's very quiet and polite really so there's no point harassing him unless you need to. Some bastard broke one of his arms off a few weeks ago and he's been inconsolable ever since.

Best of luck with everything, you two. Most adventurers just run screaming when they encounter us, such an insecure bunch in general really. At least we're a step up from the 15 lightning traps that we were hired to replace. I think it's quite an improvement in matters really, don't you? At any rate it's teatime and it's frowned upon to socialize overmuch with intruders, so we'll just get out of your way."

Cyril knocks on the east wall and the stones rumble aside, revealing a cramped but tastefully appointed little apartment on the other side; the elves hurry into it and close up the secret door again, leaving Beefi and Sam alone in the room.

How ya doing, buddy?

Beefi looks over the abacus, but it seems to have no special function or magical significance. It's just a really nice abacus. He also spots no hidden doors in the room (save that belonging the elves, and nice as they are they seem unlikely to invite him in)

Garold puts his sharp ears to the south door, curious about the next challenge. He hears the sound of gently churning water, as though a river was nearby.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Sam keeps a close eye on the door as Beefi pulls it open, but nothing untoward seems to occur. The room beyond is a small one, roughly 10x10, with a floor of metal panels. Strange glass levers are set in the east and west walls, with two more levers on the south wall; all four are set in the upward position.

A placard set on the whole above the southern levers reads: "DESCENDER WILL NOT OPERATE BELOW FULL CAPACITY. WHEN READY TO DESCEND, PULL ALL LEVERS SIMULTANEOUSLY."

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

The ogre seems shocked and saddened by Gra-fa-zut's sudden angry outburst, but nevertheless his solution seems to be correct; he finds himself back in the tomb, a small mahogany box in his hands. A single fresh oak leaf is nestled within.



Shouting insensibly, he barges into the cramped lift (adventuring parties being 25% larger than they usually were in the days of the tomb's construction) and the levers are pulled. With a creak, the floor panel swings away beneath their feet and the five of them plummet into a portal looming beneath the floor of the lift.

A split second later, they materialize just below the ceiling of a flooded chamber. Tumbling down, they fall onto hexagonal platforms; each of them landing at least 10 feet away from the other. A sixth platform stands empty, a simple iron trap-door built into its surface. If there's anything else of interest in the room, it lies drowned beneath deep, brackish waters. Dozens of sleek silhouettes dart back and forth beneath the surface, curious about the new arrivals.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Garold and Slim lean out cautiously from their respective platforms, peering into the murky water in an attempt to examine the local fauna. The water teems with swarms of excited piranha. When sufficiently hungry, piranha in such numbers can easily skeletonize a minotaur in less than a minute. When not starving and desperate, however, the fish are much less dangerous than their reputation would indicate — but if these piranha have a food source other than hapless adventurers, it's not immediately evident.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

The boys catch some fish. Due to the conditions of their environment the piranha are undernourished and kind of slimy, but having fallen through that portal it's hard to say how long it'll take to find a way out of the tomb. There were still plenty of rations to go around, but no sense cracking those open when dinner comes right up to you.

Garold gives the room one more once-over, looking for any obvious ledges or outcroppings. Though the rough stone walls might be climbable by an expert, there's nothing that protrudes far enough to hang anything on.

That "rusty thing" was a glitch in the map export, sorry

Suspicious, Gra-fa-zut scans the room for any hint of arcane skulduggery. But there's nothing to be found; it's just your typical mundane giant fish barrel.

FELIPE NO

Garold tosses the bite-size fish chunks into the water experimentally. Sure enough, the piranha were all too happy to chow down on their own dead.

Beefi boldly leaps the 15 feet to the empty platform. Peering down into the small window set into the hatch, he sees a mosaic tile floor about 30 feet down.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

No sounds down the hatch. Seems pretty quiet. Yep.



How ya doing, buddy?