[DnD] Once More Into The Depths (GFF D&D Adventure 8)

Gary responds to the idea of gorilla barbecue with a great deal of skepticism.

"Eat this? Basically looks like a big hairy human. I had some human meat once. No good. Stringy. I'm not interested in putting a big chunk of hairy man-meat in my mouth. If you want to, go ahead. Not that I'm saying you do want to. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some of my best friends like to chew on a big slab of man from time to time."

Cal shrugs, tucking the ape pelt into his pack and setting to work cutting off the silverback's left hand. Surely, nothing ill will come of this monkey's paw.

Whatever the reason, Gheth seems a little more restless than usual. He makes no outward demands, but he attends to what is usually a perfunctory post-battle spear cleaning with great intensity. Maybe his goddess had come to him with a specific request. Better not to inquire into such matters. Let the man polish his spear in peace.

Puyet grumbles as the changeling gets elbow-deep in ape guts, and impatiently punts open the west door. It's evidently some kind of torture chamber — there's a rack to the north, and what looks like an iron maiden on the opposite wall. Yet another of the small, hapless goblins is trapped within a rusty iron cage on the west side of the room, and judging by the dried blood on the floor he's probably quite familiar with the room's various apparatuses.

A wide pit is carved out of the floor of the chamber; a rope ladder descends into parts unknown. A glass orb dangles from a chain on the ceiling, illuminating the room with bright light. Large double doors lead to the north, and a smaller door leads west. Smoke is trickling in underneath the west door.

A gnomish woman in chainmail is poking the goblin prisoner with a sharp stick when Puyet kicks in the door. She turns and smiles at him.

"Oh, hi there! Don't worry about the greenskin here, we're just discussing a minor supply issue. Mind the drop!"

Ignore the blue tooltip, it means nothing.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

"Oye, woman! I'd assume you heard none of the commotion outside your doors. How spectacular. If only I could be so fortunate to be so easy-minded. Since we've never met, I'm sure you're smart enough to know it is not our luck to have arrived in this place. I'd like to ask, just once, if you could tell me the layout of this place. A map would be extra pleasing. If nothing else, some clue as to how to arrive at the surface would be handy."

FELIPE NO

(Business Time continues with vigorous spear cleaning as Gheth follows some of the party into the other room, and listens in on Puyet's conversation)

(Gheth's lot is not an especially tiring one, but he aims to do it well)

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

Glenn looks back at the staff sitting in the middle of the room. That's not the sort of thing he wanted to leave behind if he could help it. He makes a mental note to come back if they seem to be on their way out, and keeps up with the rest of the party, staying out of the way of the more affluent types until the party needs someone snuck up on or something stolen.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

"Silly man, of course I heard. I just didn't care. I mean, what's it to me? Gorillas can't use doors. I was perfectly safe.

Now, as for the surface. How are things up there, anyway? I think I can help you out. What you need to do is — well, wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. Can you fly? No, huh. Well then, Plan B.

You'll need to go down into the Colossal Caves — you can take the ladder right here if you like. Now, the caves are fairly expansive, so you'll be walking for a while but eventually — if the carnivorous plants and the ghosts of the vengeful dead don't getcha — you'll find yourself in the Doomed Kingdom Of The Cannibal Drow.

They're at the very bottom of an old volcano, so... you're sure you can't fly? Oh, dang. Well, if you can awaken the ancient fire spirit that has slumbered there for aeons untold, you can probably coax the volcano into an eruption. Then you just ride the lava up to the surface, and you'll be right smack dab in the middle of the Parched Desert of Endless Thirst. Problem solved!

Ooh, you're not fireproof, are you. That is a pickle. Well then, Plan C: Find a friendly wizard. Or an unfriendly wizard which you then torture into cooperation. Probably not a lot of those in the Caves, though. Rumor has it that there's a wizard in the Portal Maze, though! You just take those stairs to the east where the gorillas showed up for no good reason. That gives you an idea of what the Maze is like. One of my cousins says he saw the Tarrasque in there but that seems unlikely.

Your call, really. Wish I could help you with your map idea, but any map you might make would be worthless by the time you finished it what with the curse and all. Still, the stairs definitely go to the Maze and the pit here definitely goes to the Caves. At least today. I checked.

Oh, one other thing. I recommend you stay out of that room to the north. It asks you annoying questions and then shoots you. Lost a kidney that way."

The gnome bends the captive goblin's arm backward until it snaps, as if by way of punctuation.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

1 Die Roll My insight is unparalleled

Gary must not see what she's doing, or be seen by her. i quietly motion for him to crawl inside the human fighter's pack to hide before venturing into the next room.

Upon gazing on her, I immediately compliment her on her beauty and efficiency. Certainly no shrinking violet, this one.

Reasoning that torturing someone must be hard work, I pop open a bottle of raisinjack, and offer her a swig. After taking a sip to prove it wasn't tainted with poison, of course. Perhaps alcohol will serve to loosen her tongue.

I couldn't help wonder out loud about the curse she mentioned, why she's doing what she's doing, who she's doing it for, whether she knows what the room to the west is for, and what the staff at the room we came from is all about. Our eladrin friend seems frantic to pry it from the dais, and perhaps she might be able to illuminate us whether such a move is wise or not.

I examine her face closely for any nervous tics and microexpressions which might indicate a less-than-forthright response.

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

"Why thank you, stranger. I don't usually accept drinks from men covered up to their shoulders in gore, but today is Opposite Day."

Taking a long pull from the raisinjack bottle, she waves in the direction of a handmade calendar on the south wall. Alongside Opposite Day are such important gnomish occasions as Flapjack Week and the High Festival of Adorable Puppies (this last is scratched out, with the notation "Inadequate puppies, maybe next year."

"Now, the curse, that's an interesting story. Four hundred years ago — year of the Lazy Scribe, as it happens — legend has it that the tieflings had a massive city here under the ground. They were a great civilization at one time, the horned folk, but by 1079 things had begun to go against them rather badly in their war with the dragonkin and so underground they went.

History has lost the name of whoever was in charge of the place, or else his name was just unpronounceable — you run into that with tieflings quite a bit. Lot of apostrophes for no good reason. Anyway, he kept this minotaur as a slave. Minotaurs. as you may know, have a natural talent for mazes; as it happens, the primary defense of the city was an elaborate labyrinth leading from the surface to the city gates. Only way in or out. Dozens of scouts and spies were sent in, and nearly all of them starved to death before they could even so much as report on how the streets were paved.

One morning His Grand Generalship P.Q. Apostrophe wakes up and finds his bipedal cow missing. As it turns out, Mister Moo Moo had gone turncoat, and on his way out he memorized the route. Your average dragonborn has more important things to think about — things like 'how do I drink from a glass without getting my tunic wet' — so they just took his directions and made a map rather than committing them to memory.

Anyway long story short Apostrophe's whole battalion died messily and with his last breath he cursed the entirety of what was then the city, willing that no one could ever map this place again."

She belts down another gulp of raisinjack.

"A lot of places in the world defy mapping, of course. You just look away for a second and your parchment's gone blank. Wizards do love their secrets. But here? Things are a little more dramatic. You can keep your map — it's just that the very rocks that form the walls and floors will move around until your map is dead wrong. I'd demonstrate, but anybody standing in the doorway would probably find it unpleasant."

As for the rest of Cal's questions, the gnome seems somewhat less inclined to ramble. She begins to get more than a little surly, and Cal notices that his raisinjack bottle is nearly empty.

"What does it look like I'm doing."

"I'm doin' it for me. 'cuz it's funny."

"I wouldn't mess with that if I were you. Less'n you wanted to get your face rearranged by the ceiling. And by 'your face' I mean 'a massive stone cube will flatten you into a creamy meat paste.'

"Dunno. Can't open that door, somebody's jammed something in the way on the other side. The smoke only started coming through a little while ago, dunno who did that either. Fuckin' goblins probably. Nothin' but trouble."

And with that, she wrenches the prisoner's head around on his neck with a crunch and the goblin slumps to the floor.

Garrmondo sticks his head in the door, more-or-less repeating Cal's last question.

"I JUST SAID your guess is as good as mine, you overgrown — WHOA WHOA WHOA HOLY CRAP!"

The gnome flings the empty bottle at Garrmondo's face and practically leaps into the pit.

"The Overlord is on the move! Batten the hatches! Man the torpedoes! Seal the bulkheads! PANIC!"

Garrmondo brushes glass shards off his shoulders, his bulky helmet having protected him from laceration.

A faint boooooing sounds from the bottom of the hole, and the gnome's voice is audible just once more:

"RETRACT THE SAFETY TRAMPOLINE! GET ME SOME COFFEE!"

Relieved of any further opportunities for inquiry, Cal reflects on the answers he'd received. Her explanation of the curse seemed honest enough, though it was obvious she was just repeating an old story that had probably been mangled over many years of telling.

Her treatment of the poor goblin hadn't been justified at all, and she seemed to resent even being asked — her affable attitude turning to borderline hostility almost in an instant. She'd obviously been hiding something, but Cal wasn't sure whether it was important enough to risk the torpedoes — whatever 'torpedoes' were.

As for the staff, she'd only confirmed what was already suspected, and she seemed as honestly ignorant about the west door as she claimed to be.

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

1 Die Roll I perceive nice things

What a crazy biddy, I think to myself, as I kick the west door open and jam it into position. And weren't gnomes supposed to be gooder than goblins?

I then amuse myself by examining the iron maiden, rack, the cage containing poor gobby's corpse, and the rest of the torture room. Maybe there are even goodies to plunder in here, incongruous as it may be!

I was speaking idiomatically.

Cal attempts to dramatically kick the western door in, only to have it only move a couple of inches and come to a complete halt. Something big and heavy was in the way. Like a big pile of stones that used to be a fireplace. Something like that. Cal quietly curses his own lack of tidiness and tries to hide his limp as he checks the torture chamber for any viable goods.

There's really nothing of interest save the goblin he'd just seen executed as well as the skeleton of another goblin inside the iron maiden, and while harvesting goblin bones might normally be an interesting idea there was the question of how Gary would react.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

The western door resists my mighty foot. Let's see how it resists my superb sword arm!

Hack the wooden door into pieces.

"Gary, it's safe to come out now! I'm afraid your fellow goblin didn't make it. Do you know him, or his murderer?"

I take the breather to reorganize my inventory and do a little mischief.

Take 16 arrows from cart to put into quiver.
Transfer silverback gorilla pelt to cart.
Take flask containing gibbering mouther parts and pour contents down the hole.
Cut the rope ladder so nothing can come up.

FELIPE NO

1 Die Roll perceive traps, precious?

Gheth takes a bit of time post-cleaning out to get back to prime condition, and then cautiously advances down the darkened stairwell to see if torches are present. In good spirits now that he's been healed proper, he decides to give their goblin friend a bit of encouragement as he goes.

It probably comes out a little more awkward than he'd planned.

Spend 1 surge
Advance down stairwell unless unable to see
Perception check: traps

Most amazing jew boots

Cal painstakingly carves apart the door, revealing at great length that it does, indeed, lead back to the fireplace room where they first entered the dungeon. That was a worthwhile use of his time; now he won't have to go all the way around in the extremely unlikely event that he needs to go back there! Having secured this extremely useful shortcut, he then eliminates the only possible method the gnomes could have to climb back up. Then he dumps some slime down the hole. Disappointingly, the hole does not begin to writhe around and curse at him.

"BIOLOGICAL WARFARE! WHERE ARE MY ENGINEERS? ASSEMBLE THE ATTACK TRAMPOLINE!"

Gary clambers out of his hiding place in Garrmondo's pack, gazing on the macabre scene with apparent disinterest.

"What, just because I'm a goblin and he's a goblin we must know each other? I respect you and all but that's kind of bigoted. Just saying. Besides, how would I recognize some stupid gnome? They all look the same."

Gheth descends the stairwell into a truly massive chamber. Several torches are mounted high on the walls, but visibly is still somewhat limited by the pale blue mist that fills the room.

The blue fog is pouring out of a portal much like the one he'd encountered during the catastrophic events in Lamid, but this particular gate seemed relatively benign. At the very least, nothing had jumped out of it to try to devour him yet. The soothing periwinkle was definitely an improvement on the bright yellow, as well. Broad steps lead up to the portal, which hovered atop a massive altar and was bordered on the top and sides by a steel frame. The portal definitely appeared to be a permanent fixture.

Judging by the sheer scale of the chamber and the massive flagstones under his feet, it seemed as though the room must have been carved out by giants. The size of the portal seemed to be consistent with this theory: it was easily wide enough for three grown men to pass through shoulder-to-shoulder.

But the clumsy hands of giants could scarcely have assembled the glass-topped display cases lining the walls of the room. The cases on the north and south walls were all at least 20 feet away, and he couldn't really make out the contents through the fog. On the west wall to his left was the largest case in the room, containing what looked like some kind of historical diorama. Six figures were poised in battle; Gheth couldn't make out the individuals on the other end of the case, but nearest to him was a very detailed miniature of a young black dragon.

Was this some kind of trophy room? Perhaps a museum? Gheth looks around for any obvious security measures and doesn't spot anything. It was a small miracle that no one had smashed the cases and made off with the contents by now.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

1 Die Roll anything interesting?

Glenn walks down the stairs to join his dragonborn ally and is instantly fascinated by the diorama. His eyes pick out what appear to be two dwarves, a halfling, an elf, and a human. There was clearly an interesting story behind this piece of art, that much was for sure.

Glenn also gives the room a glance over for anything unexpected, more out of habit than anything else, and moves to examine the other display cases.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

1 Die Roll Can I see good things?

"My apologies, Gary. To me, all non-human creatures do look alike. I had just assumed you might know him, since you were three rooms from each other in this godforsaken place. I shall be more discerning in the future."

My mission to conquer the door and cut off the murdering gnomes has been accomplished, and I am exceedingly proud of myself. Deciding that it's not worth the risk to explore the dungeon further without support from my colleagues, I join the rogue and cleric in the museum. The displays catch my eye, and I spend some time admiring them.

Perception check: 10 + 12 = 22

If we are going to leave this place through a portal, there's no reason why we can't take away the booby-trapped staff of the Avalanche. I take the eladrin aside, and in a conspiratorial tone, ask to borrow some of his rope. After the entire party enters the portal, I plan to tie the rope to the staff, and yank it in when I enter.

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

1 Die Roll history check

After expressing his interest to try his luck at the portal maze, seeing as luck was the only thing getting them into and out of this mess, Puyet headed that way.
On his way out, he realized that Gary might still come in useful, so he boosted attempted to boost his morale by giving him a piggy back ride. Puyet followed Gheth down the stairs. The numerous displays amazed him, and he wondered if any of them were scenes from his studies, or if, perhaps, he had heard tales of them in the barracks.

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

Garrmondo and Glenn examine the battle diorama, finding something about it hauntingly familiar. It hadn't been so long at all since the fighter had sat across a campfire from Gabriel Sledgehammer, and here was the dramatic battle that the paladin had spoken of time and again. In a wondering tone, the fighter passes on the story to the newcomers that they may understand what a strange thing they are seeing. Even if someone else had spied upon the battle and created this strange tribute, why was the case so dusty? The battle had happened less than a year before, hadn't it?

In this rendering, strangely, the battle did not seem to be going all that well. Both dwarves were sporting grievous wounds, and the elf mage stood helplessly with a staff broken in two. An engraved marker on the front of the case reads:

"In Memory Of Hamfist's Harriers. Their Sacrifice Shall Never Be Forgotten."

Meanwhile, Puyet and Cal move to examine the rest of the cases. In the northwest case, a massive human-shaped form was wrapped entirely in linen. Was this a burial chamber as well? A small silver box sat next to the giant's head, the torchlight glinting off sapphires set in the lid. Neither Cal or Puyet can imagine what sort of creature might be under the wrappings (if any): an ogre or a giant would have greater girth to go along with their height, but the mummy seems only as big around as a normal man despite being 15 feet tall or more. The marker reads:

"Only the wealthy and powerful could afford this kind of ceremonial burial, as both precious metals and the preservative spices used in mummification are exceedingly rare in the vast Athasian desert. It was believed that by preserving their bodies, the dead might be able to live again should the gods ever return to their world. Needless to say, no divine resurrections are on record."

In the north case lie a small assortment of decrepit-looking books, all of them bound in leather or some other kind of hide. Two tomes lie open to pages near the middle. Inside the left book are an assortment of various diagrams, appearing to detail the internal anatomy of several unrecognizable creatures. On the right, the pages are packed top-to-bottom with an unreadable black scrawl.

"Demonomicon of Iggwilv, Volumes 3-7"

In the northeast case sit three bulky metal objects that the adventurers can make neither hide nor hair of. The misshapen thing on the far right looks much like the warforged-crewed boat from the stars that Garrmondo once claimed to have encountered, but the other two seem entirely useless for any function.

"Transportation for War and Leisure Among the Terrans."

In the southwest case are the immobile bodies of seven large beetles, all but one painted in various bright colors.

"The Gully Dwarves of Krynn take great delight in the nature of the common fire beetle, and often keep these dangerous insects as pets. Upon the beetle's eventual death their sturdy exoskeletons are often given to children as gifts, much like human children are given dolls to play with."

In the south case are more incomprehensible doodads. A tiny black box sits in what looks like a puddle of blank ink, and an oblong grey egg appears to be sprouting several sheets of unusually white parchment. Dozens of other strange things both large and small litter the case, most of them constructed of a strange material that looks unusually smooth but is clearly neither metal nor glass.

"Recovered from a Terran government office, function unknown."

In the last cast (the southeast) are metal tubes of various sizes, with obvious handles jutting out of each. Why you would want to hold onto the metal tube is unclear.

"Typical field armament of X-Com operatives during the First Alien War."

Several members of the party scour their memories for anything that might make sense of any of this, but not to much avail. Garrmondo certainly knew plenty about the dragon battle, but the display's understanding of historical events seemed to diverge with his. If this was history, it sure wasn't his history. Puyet spends a great deal of time examining the "armaments" case, but can't imagine any use for the tubes. They looked like little cannon barrels mounted on a crossbow grip. You'd rip your arm off!

Cal and Glenn look around bewilderedly for any clue that might make sense of the room. High, high up on the vaulted ceiling Glenn spots a banner dangling down. In large block capitals, it reads:

"PRIMITIVE CULTURES"

Out of the corner of his eye, Cal spots something moving in the diorama case. He whirls to look, but everything is just as still and quiet as it should be. Just a trick of the light, perhaps.

How ya doing, buddy?

1 Die Roll Arcana

The X-Com and Terran exhibits pique my interests, as did a hint of motion from the diorama. But sometimes, a trick of the light is but a trick of the light, and nothing more. Surely there is nothing to worry about here.

More concerned with the consequences of liberating the display cases of their exhibits, I try to recall if there are magical wards that might trigger to our detriment. I covet the rocket launcher, laser rifle, and plasma pistol on display.

Arcana Check.

The word "Hamfist" seemed familiar to me, although I've never actually met this Argumentus fellow that the human fighter was telling us about. Then it hit me: I very recently read a book about it. Perhaps the volume about Bombastus the barbarian has something about "Hamfist's Harriers".

Quickly skim through "The Life Of Bombastus Hamfist, As Told By Himself" for clues about the diorama.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

After hearing the story of the battle against the dragon, Glenn wonders if the diorama might be hiding some secret. Watching the figures in the case carefully, and preparing himself for the worst lest any security systems go off, he tries pushing the glass wall down on top of the dragon. He felt silly, but it was worth a try.

How ya doing, buddy?

Cal puts his practically-nil training in matters arcane to use, and stares real hard at the whole room. He doesn't see any magical invisible lines or ghosts or anything. Coast's clear!

Shrugging, Cal takes the brief moment of quiet to read another few pages of The Life Of Bombastus Hamfist, As Told By Himself.

Quote:

Consciousness returned to Bombastus in stigmatic pools as his mind gradually cleared of the cobwebs cluttering its inner recesses, yet the Stygian cloud of charcoal ebony remained. An incompatible shield of blackness, enhanced by the bleak absence of sound.

Bombastus' muddled brain reeled from the shock of the blow he had received to the base of his skull. The events leading to his predicament were slow to filter back to him. He dickered with the notion that he was dead and had descended or sunk, however it may be, to the shadowed land beyond the the aperture of the grave, but rejected this hypothesis when his memory sifted back within his grips. This was not the land of the dead, it was something infinitely more precarious than anything the grave could offer. Death promised an infinity of peace, not the finite misery of an inactive life of confined torture, forever concealed from the life bearing shafts of the beloved rising sun. The orb that had been before taken for granted, yet now cherished above all else. To be forever refused further glimpses of the snow capped summits of the land of his birth, never again to witness the thrill of plundering unexplored lands beyond the crest of a bleeding horizon, and perhaps worst of all the denial to ever again encompass the lustful excitement of caressing the naked curves of the body of a trim young wench.

This was indeed one of the buried chasms of Hell concealed within the inner depths of the palace's despised interior. A fearful ebony chamber devised to drive to the brinks of insanity the minds of the unfortunately condemned, through the inept solitude of a limbo of listless dreary silence.

Despite his insistence on maintaining the third person perspective, Bombastus had been well-named. If nothing else he certainly had a broader vocabulary than some of his descendants. There's nothing in the book about a battle with a dragon — but even if Bombastus were the Hamfist on the plaque, he could scarcely have written about a battle that killed him.

Taking a long shot, Glenn tries to recreate in miniature Motsognir's triumphant demolition of the stairwell wall. He shoves the side of the case with all his might, but the glass doesn't break — the case just slides smoothly away from his hands, as if rolling on tiny wheels. Before Glenn can react, the massive display recedes completely into the wall. For a moment there's an visible case-sized hole in the floor beneath where the display used to be, then a similar display rises out of the pit.

The new case contains another miniature battle. A single man in gleaming platemail stands in the middle of a cemetery, fearless in the face of several zombies. On the other side of a low hill, a small group of brigands — a doppelganger, a bugbear, a duergar, and a halfling — crouch out of sight, as though lying in ambush.

The plaque reads:

"Thanks to the quick work of the mercenary adventurers called 'The Fist Of Kord', Lord Broden's famous broadsword was returned to him in time to fend off this assassination attempt."

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

My kleptomania getting the better of me, I open the display case of the X-Com exhibit and liberates the object marked "Laser Rifle". I have no idea what a "laser" is, certainly no craftsman I know. But a tool that can help me plunder more easily will surely come in handy!

Take

With my new plundering tool in hand, I rifle through the Terran and tome exhibits with the greatest of ease.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Another diorama, another inconsistency. Glenn had heard news of Lord Broden's disappearance and presumed death when he had passed though Freeport not too long ago, while choosing a target for some minor theft to make enough money to get him to the next town. He never took any heirlooms of any sort - people were entitled to memoirs of their history. In the end he had settled on a particularly corrupt magistrate's gold vault, taking enough to get by, and enough to give to the small resistance movement in the area to stir up a little trouble and uncover a few secrets. If there was one thing Glenn hated, it was rich people thinking that their money made them invincible.

Glenn knew that Broden's broadsword was never returned to his manor, and that if this battle, like the one before it, was one which happened but had a different outcome, then Broden probably wasn't using the sword he held in the case. From what Glenn had heard about the sword, it was a fearsome weapon.

Not sure whether this diorama might disappear somewhere as well, Glenn decides to try pushing it back into the wall too. If that didn't work, well, he'd have to find another way.

Most amazing jew boots

1 Die Roll insert coin, eh

Cal tries to figure out a way to get to the artifacts inside the "X-Com" case, but to no avail; there's no latch, no keyhole, nothing. And attempts to smash the glass are futile; Cal brings the hilt of his sword down on the glass cover and gets nothing but a loud thunk for his trouble. Worse, the display instantly responds to the pressure from the attack and begins to recede into the wall. Within seconds, it's been replaced.

The new southeast case contains an assortment of little cards, roughly the size of a standard poker deck. Each of the cards is like a little painting; here a knight charging into battle, there a bright comet streaking down to earth. All in all, 22 cards lie secure inside the case.

"The Deck Of Many Things has swayed the destinies of men and nations alike, bringing both treasure and tragedy to those who dared to pick a card. Do you feel lucky?"

Next to the plaque is a little slot roughly large enough for a gold coin, and a larger slot roughly wide enough for a playing card.


--------


On the west side of the room, Glenn pushes the second diorama into the wall — curious about what will appear next. The third diorama appears promptly

A halfling woman stands alone in a narrow hallway, facing a massive carpet of spiders. Behind her, in a pool of blood, lie the bodies of a burly human, a robed elf, and a dwarf in platemail. Suspended from the top of the case on a narrow string is a skeleton in a black robe, floating above the spiders.

"St. Brigid's adventures nearly came to an end here, when her second-in-command betrayed her and her companions for a demon's promise of power. She barely escaped with her life, and Hargast remained uninhabitable for more than a century."

How ya doing, buddy?

Oh, a vending machine! I know just what to do with it! I see Gary looking at the cards longingly, and decide to give him a break.

Give Gary a coin, tell him to insert it, and take whatever comes out.

The Brigid diorama was interesting, to say the least. I know from the human's account that Hargast was where Garrmondo came in. He next got involved in an incident that entailed successful liberation of a heavy cake from an orc, if I recall correctly. I wonder how on Earth the diorama will mangle that.

In any case, I find myself drawn to the preserved rich corpse exhibit. Since the glass is indestructible and apparently enchanted to run away, I try various ways to impede the security measure.

Chop off the legs of the glass-topped exhibit.
If resistant, apply a few drops of black pudding on the legs.
Start a small fire under the display with flint and steel, using a few drops of oil as accelerant and a pound of dry alfalfa as kindling. Perhaps it might melt the glass!
Stand ready to extinguish said fire should it flare out of control.

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

While the changeling mutters about things he couldn't really have known, Glenn decides to see what comes next in the sequence of dioramas, pushing the case back into the wall like the others.

Most amazing jew boots

Puyet takes note of the tales and tragedies told to him and displayed in the cases. He decides not to play or tinker with the cases as a precaution. A good soldier knows not to muddle around with things he doesn't understand or can't control.

Puyet held Garrmondo by his pack as he stuck his head through the portal, ready to pull him back should any unholy force attempt to rip him through it.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?