The group sets out on the morning of 14 Quon 4769, heading down the famous Seven Bridges Road toward the great capital city of the Ty Kyen empire, Kyenyin (the road is so named because it crosses Anaruqin, the Great Mother River, seven times between the Kuhyen Pass and Kyenyin). The day is cold and overcast, but dry.

Rain hits the next day, and then dry but freezing temperatures; they manage to make good time, however, and arrive at appropriate inns or other accommodations each day. Everyone recognizes the Ponna Hanni, of course, but are exquisitely polite in pretending not to, and to address him by his traveling name. [not sure if Edain realizes this at first, or not]

Fourth and fifth days are cold but clear and dry, beautiful traveling weather. The sixth day warms up a bit, but brings clouds and rain, which tapers off the next day, although it remains overcast. On the eighth day, cool, cloudy and dry, they fail to reach any settlement before dusk and fear they’re going to have to camp out at last (they have gear for it, of course – two modest tents, one slightly larger than the other), and sleeping rolls, etc.). But they come upon a farmstead (have they passed others, abandoned? Maybe). 

The elderly farm couple are suspicious at first, and clearly fearful, but as soon as they recognize the Ponna Hanni become welcoming and accommodating, while careful to keep up the pretense he’s just “Andahiru-ke” [Mr. Underhill]. The entourage learns of the depredations of organized outlaws in the area in the recent past, ever since the news of Lord Yagimashi and his heir’s deaths on the New Year. He’d been letting things go to shit for several years, focused on his political/military goals, and with his death it all burst loose! Now the bandits seemed organized, and were taking all they wanted from the peasantry, including their sons – they had impressed the couple’s own sole surviving son into their ranks just six days ago (which had spared them the worst of the looting, apparently).

After a night with the peasants, the entourage sets out again, more warily. They note that the countryside seems tense and wary, and opt to camp out, away from the Seven Bridges Road, that night. Both Viroj and Snow Crow have a sense of being watched, and during her watch Sujia thinks she sees movement in the darkness. She wakes Khatia, who stealthily ranges out, but finds nothing beyond a few broken branches – nothing to prove any human agency had been involved. Still, they remain cautious.

The next day the entourage approaches the next village along their route, and Viroj pauses to cast his Moonstones: ten white jade discs in a midnight-blue leather pouch. The five large discs are of blue-tinted white jade, representing Tasuki (the Greater Moon); the five smaller disc are of rose-tinted white jade, representing Dao’yu (the Lesser Moon). Each face of the discs has a rune carved into it, symbols representing different entities, powers, ideas, etc. Each Moonstone set is unique to the person who creates it, carving symbols with meaning to them onto their set.

His reading leads him to believe an ambush is awaiting the group in the village. They go in prepared, and Khatia fire-arrows the first bandit/mercenary who fires on them. Viroj engages their leader in a hard-fought battle, ultimately subduing him with ritual magic (?). Snow Crow blunders into two bandits while trying to be stealthy, but manages to avoid death by his fast reflexes and a quick tongue — eventually talking first one, then the other, into considering switching sides for a big payday.

Edain uses his Voice on the mercenary/bandit fighting him, causing him to listen to reason. Eventually the five surviving bandits (the one fire arrowed in the calf, dies from blood-loss and shock before he can be treated) are lulled into compliance and locked into a secure building while the entourage investigates. They find the villages denizens all brutally murdered and their bodies piled into one house. After careful and arcane questioning, they determine the men they fought committed this atrocity. 

Edain, in his role as the Pona Hanni and the only legitimate authority available, acts as judge and jury. Realizing these criminals could never trusted out of their sight, whatever promises they might make under duress and/or magical compulsion, he offers them a choice between a quick and painless execution by beheading, or a more lingering death by burning alive at the hands of his fire-archer. Under their stoic leader, they chose execution, which Khatia carries out… but not until they’ve questioned the condemned.

The group learns that the nearest major town, Libeo Wan (Riverbend) is in the control of two bandit warlords, Meijin-Lai and their own captain, Hartuj Yan. The two joined forces last year, and now are seeking to raise an army to make their control of the province de facto, in hopes the Emperor will simply ratify them as the new legitimate government rather than send an Imperial army to pacific the region. The entourage are unwilling to see this blatant brutality be rewarded, and decide to approach the town, two and a half days walk away, cautiously to see what might be done. 

They enter the town separately, giving various stories to the gate guards: Khatia is a mercenary looking for employment (they advise her to seek the warlords, who are looking for good warriors – a Fire Archer would be most welcome, if she speaks true); Snow Crow is a wandering troubadour, looking for food, a room, and some coin; Viroj is a simple monk, seeking to pray at the local temple, as is Sujia; and a now-disguised Edain is a journeyman blacksmith, looking for work (Snow Crow used his stage skills to hide the Pona Hanni’s more obvious foreign features – hair color, skin color, a little spirit gum to alter the shape of his eyes).

Most explore the town while Snow Crow heads to the local inn (the Blue Lotus) to ingratiate himself and get a gig. He manages to impress the wifely half of the couple running the place, and gets himself a room and food in exchange for entertaining the house that evening. Khatia hits the local geisha house, where she enjoys some time with a handsome boy-toy and learns what’s been going on in the past couple of tendays. Viroj scopes out the local temple, while Edain and Sujia make the general rounds.

The general impression is of a town living under fear, but trying to go on as normally as possible. The town was infiltrated just days after news of the disaster at Kuhyen Pass arrived, and the two warlords seized control, killing or imprisoning the few legitimate authorities remaining after Lord Yagimashi’s stripping of the forces for his army. They have since consolidated their grip on the town and surrounding hinterland, bringing in as many young men (and a few women) as possible to form the bulk of an army. 

They learn the core bandit group consist of 40-50 men, twenty of which remain in the town to keep it under control and train/indoctrinate the new recruits; the rest are on expanding patrols to pull in as much in the way of supplies and warm bodies as they can from the hinterland. Training of the new recruits goes on daily, and no one not fully-trusted is allowed to leave the town’s wall once they enter – which means the group is trapped for the moment. There seems to be some friction between the two leaders, one of who is brutal and short sighted, wanting to simply take everything they can and kill anyone they want, while the other seems focused on longer-term goals, ultimately wanting to legitimately rule the region.

Sujia invokes a ritual that evening during Snow Crow’s performance, granting him the blessing of the Immortal of Creativity; he gives a show that will be remembered for years by those who experienced it. Beautiful, moving, and inspiring, it brings the house down! Kahatia pumps the two gate guards, with whom she’d made an informal “date”, for all she can get, then leaves them cold at the end of the evening, while agreeing to follow their advice in applying to “the bosses” the next day.

Plans are formed that night as to how they should proceed…

Before dawn the next day the Hand found themselves gathered, along with with the Lords Grimbold and Aldor, and Aldor’s son Imrah, in the Gateway Chamber of the city of Zhan-Tor. It was an immense, eight-sided space in a lower level of the subterranean part of the city, at least three stories high. The center of the chamber was filled by a massive granite monolith, also eight-sided, which stood five meters tall and was topped by an ornate cap of bronze and steel. It sat on a circular stone dais, and four massive chains rose from the cap to vanish into the shadows of the four-lobed roof.

It was not the first time Devrik had seen a Nitarin Gateway protected by placing solid matter over its locus, but this one was by far the most impressive, he had to admit. No one was using this portal without proper authorization, nor would any would-be invaders be using it to sneak into the city!

The chamber was dimly lit by amber glowstones spaced around the walls, and as the party entered through the twin bronze doors two guards materialized from the shadows. They spoke no words, but Grimbold stepped forward and handed them a sheave of stamped and sealed papers. A few moments of dutiful examination, and one of the guards vanished back into the shadows; the other ushered the party over to stand at the foot of the shallow stairs leading up to the central dais. 

After a few minutes there was a faint bass rumble from the stone beneath their feet… Toran was the first to notice it, but in seconds everyone was aware of it. Above them the sound of metal grating as it moved over stone echoed, and ever so slowly the four massive chains pulled taut and began to lift the granite monolith into the air. Almost everyone’s eyes widened at the sight, and several of the group stepped back in alarm.

“What are they using to power the gears lifting that monster?” Toran whispered to Grimbold. “What gear ratios are they using?”

“The main channel of the River Hündek runs directly beneath this chamber, and its mighty flow is what powers the mechanism,” the older Khundari replied, clearly pleased at his interest. “The gear ratios are—“

“Never mind about that,” Draik squeaked as the geometric pattern on the dais floor became visible. “Are you really expecting us all to just step up and stand under that thing?!”

“It’s perfectly safe, my young friend,” Grimbold assured him. “Those are Khundari-forged chains, after all.”

“Yes, and we haven’t crushed an outlander… by accident… in months,” agreed the portal guard, completely deadpan. Draik squinted at him in suspicion of being mocked, then glared at Grimbold. It was hard to be sure with all that beard, but he was almost certain the old ambassador was laughing at him.

Before he could give voice to his indignation, Mariala patted him on the shoulder and smiled in reassurance. “I’m confident there’s nothing to worry about, Draik. We won’t step onto the platform until Vulk opens the gate, and at that point even if the chains broke we’d be gone before the block could crush us, right? Besides, do you think Lord Grimbold would risk it himself if there were any real danger?”

Draik reluctantly allowed himself to be mollified, although he continued to eye the massive stone suspiciously, as it loomed ominously five meters over the dais. Meanwhile, Vulk and Devrik muttered together, the fire mage lending his arcane power to Vulk’s ritual… after a few minutes they announced the portal was opened and locked onto their destination.

Grumbling under his breath, Draik was the last one to step onto the platform, and he didn’t run to the center and the, to him still quite invisible, portal. He just walked very quickly. With the usual slight disorientation he always felt with Gate travel, he found himself standing in the courtyard of the monastery of Alatonu-Kahar, more than 700 kilometers southwest of where he’d been…

• • • • • • •

Imrah happened to be standing closest to the portal when the interesting apothecary fellow stepped through, looking very relieved. He’d only met the man briefly at Lord Grimbold’s birthday celebration, but had thought him rather humorous. Certainly he’d been easier to talk to than the tall and intimidating Telnori gladiator, the shorter but even more intimidating fire mage-fighter, or the aloof and intimidating lady, and more relatable than either the strangely lithe Khundari or the indiscriminately lascivious cantor of Kasira. Draik was also the only one of the so-called Hand of Fortune who was not a much more experienced T’ara Kul than Imrah himself. In fact, he wasn’t a practitioner at all.

“So, how was your recent visit to the famous mushroom caverns?” he asked, choosing a conversational topic he knew was of interest to the other man. “Did you learn anything that will be useful to you in your apothecary work?”

Draik looked briefly surprised, apparently having planned to make a beeline across the courtyard to where Lord Grimbold, Imrah’s father, and Cantor Vulk were conferring with several of the Telnori monks. Instead, after a quick glance at the others, he shrugged and turned toward Imrah, smiling amiably enough.

“Oh yes, it was actually quite fascinating. I’ve had a professional interest, you might say, in all things fungi for a couple of years now, and Master Hradlok certainly showed me some things I’d never seen nor heard of before. I even talked him into giving me a few samples, which I hope may help improve my own greatest achievement, in time.”

“Ah, your famous Baylorium! It’s a fungus-based creation itself, if I understood what I’ve heard of it? A rather rare and unusual one?”

“Indeed. Not merely rare, but absolutely unique,” Draik said, somewhat smugly he thought. “Remind me to tell you the tale of our discovery of it, when we have more time – it’s too long a story, and it looks like we’re ready to head out already.”

Glancing over, Imrah saw that the Lady Mariala and Ser Devrik had joined the others near the gate, which was swinging open. The Telnori monks were motioning their guests forward, and his father turned to look for him. At his annoyingly tolerant gesture, Imrah and Draik gathered up Erol, who had been studiously examining some rather uninteresting carvings on the far side of the courtyard, and moved to rejoin the group.

“Erol gets a little nervous around real Telnori,” Draik said to him, not quite sotto voce enough as they passed out of the monastery. Two coaches stood outside the pale, six horses harnessed to each, and his father was just climbing into the first one. Lord Grimbold, Lady Mariala and Cantor Vulk joined him, leaving Ser Devrik to join Imrah, Draik and Erol in the second coach.

“Um, real Telnori?” Imrah said, trying to distract himself from the fact he was going to spend the next couple of hours sitting next to (or maybe across from) the gravel-voiced warrior-mage. “But isn’t he… I mean, aren’t you…?” He glanced uncertainly at Erol, who just rolled his eyes… and was it Imrah’s imagination, or did the ferret look annoyed too?

“Oh, his body is Telnori, to be sure,” Draik said, laughing. “But his mind… isn’t. It isn’t a lot of things, actually—”

“It’s a long story,” Erol interrupted. “And complicated. But before my little friend here tries to tell you about it, I suppose I’d better do it myself. After all, it’s not like he was actually there when it all went down… which is why he always gets the details wrong.”

The eastern sky was growing lighter as the party rolled away from Alatonu-Kahar, and Erol began his tale of death, limbo, and rebirth…

• • • • • • •

It was late morning when they arrived at the the port of Daronn, not the largest city on the island of Kezdan, but the closest to their ultimate destination. A fast Imperial sloop, the Sea Witch was waiting for them in the harbor, and there was no waiting for the tide – several oar tugs pulled them out to the open sea, and from there it was only a short sail to the island of Asdach. 

Once they were under weigh, Imrah found himself alone with his father at the port railing, watching the Kezdan coast slip by. “So,” Aldor began after a few moments of introspective silence, “I’m still not certain you should be accompanying us on this journey… Elgin Falarom was a powerful man when I knew him in my youth, and if he has become as fey as Grimbold suggests, the danger—“

“Father, I’m nearly 20, and a graduate of one of the best chantries in Tolus,” Imrah interrupted impatiently. “I’m supposed to be out in the world, for at least the next year, learning to use my powers in real-life situations. This is exactly what I should be doing! And you know danger is always going to be a part of it!”

“I do know, son,” his father sighed. “In any case, it’s too late to second guess things at this point… but I still worry. As your father it’s in my job description. At least I’ll be around, along with a great many experienced folk, to keep you safe. Speaking of which, what do you think of our companions on this venture?”

Imrah wanted to pursue the issue of Father accepting his growth into adulthood, not to mention the assumption that he needed protecting… but realized there wasn’t much point. As infuriating as he found the old man’s lack of faith in his ability to protect himself, he supposed time and experience would eventually take care of it. At least he fervently hoped it would. 

“They are certainly an interesting group,” he said instead. “I heard some amazing tales on the coach ride down to the coast. Did you know—“ He cut himself off, realizing the story of Erol’s death, even if it ultimately hadn’t, er, taken, was not a tale to reassure a worried parent. “—um, the story of how Ser Draik and Cantor Vulk developed that Baylorium of theirs?”

• • • • • • • •

It was early afternoon, in a light drizzle, when the Sea Witch arrived at Agate Cove, the small town (or maybe largish village) which served as Asdach’s only port. It didn’t take an experienced seaman’s eye, Aldor thought, to realize that something seemed off about the scene as the ship maneuvered toward the lone wooden pier jutting out into the small, pebble-bottomed cove that gave the place its name. The wet, cold weather could hardly explain the complete absence of any signs of life. Surely, even such a small place would have fishing boats, people on the dock or along the stoney beach, or moving about the streets? And why was there no smoke from even a single chimney of the score visible through the mists?

It was obvious that everyone, even the crew, felt the same sense of uneasiness. The captain conferred quietly with his Imperial passengers, and only reluctantly ordered his men to tie off the vessel and lower a gangplank to the pier. He might be in command, but Aldor knew his orders had put him and his ship at Lord Grimbold’s pleasure, and his old friend was not one to be deterred from his duty by a little strangeness… quite the opposite, actually.

The gangplank had just been set in place, and the party beginning to file off the ship, when a dozen haggard-looking people suddenly appeared from one of buildings nearest the dock. They moved slowly at first, peering around furtively, as if fearful of being seen; when they saw nothing to spook them, they rushed forward, onto the dock and out the pier toward the ship.

Captain Klemith immediately ordered his men to form a cordon along the side of the ship, as he stepped forward to meet the crowd. Aldor joined Grimbold, the Hand, and his son (much as he wished the lad would stay safely aboard the ship), as they followed the officer to form a small crowd of their own facing the presumed townsfolk. Even as the first group of… refugees, he couldn’t help thinking of them… came to a ragged stop in front of them, more stragglers began appearing from other nearby buildings and dashing dockward.

A middle-aged woman in the robes of a cantor of Liska, looking more than a little worried and exhausted, stepped forward from the growing crowd. She scanned the people before her, clearly trying to decide who was in charge. The captain took a step forward, and introduced himself, then demanded of the woman “What in the Void is going on here? Who are you people?”

“If it please you sir, I am Elena Karstan, cantor of Liska, and these good folk are all that are left of the citizens of this town… perhaps of the entire island. Please, I beg you captain, take us with you… take us and leave this accursed place now, do not linger! As you can see, there’s barely more than a score of us, surely you’ve room…”

“Room isn’t the issue,” Klemith growled, clearly not pleased by the idea of letting a mob of uncertain temperament and motives aboard his vessel. “In any case, these good people have come to sort out whatever it is plaguing your island.” He gestured at Grimbold and the others. “We’ll want to know much more before there’s any talk of leaving.”

“Yes, we’re here to help you,” Vulk said, his tone soothing and calm. Aldor was not surprised Grimbold had let the Kasiran take the lead – he clearly trusted the Hand, and Vulk was a herald, after all. “I am a cantor of Kasira, and these others are my associates…” He quickly introduced the Hand, Grimbold, and the Halems. “Are you the senior cleric on the island, cantor Kastan?”

“No, or, at least I wasn’t… although I seem to be now, I suppose, since cantor Lisbeta and Mayor Heshkar vanished half a tenday ago… they went inland, looking for more survivors… they never returned, and everyone has been looking to me for guidance sincerer … I…” She seemed on the brink of hysteria, Aldor thought.

“I understand,” Vulk reassured her, giving her a moment to take a deep breath and gather herself. “Can you tell us what, exactly has been going on? Start at the beginning, and try to include anything that might be relevant… I promise you, we’ll get it all sorted out, whatever the situation.”

The woman looked dubious, but nodded, took another deep breath, and began her tale. Almost three months ago people began vanishing. At first it was only a few, and was simply put down to the usual things – accident, misfortune or simply failing to tell others they were leaving. But then remote farmsteads began to be found abandoned, and closer farms began reporting people simply vanishing while out on errands.

A month ago, the disappearances were becoming almost daily and whole households– family, servants, even guests– would vanish overnight. Around this time some islanders reported glimpses from afar of stange, moss-covered humanoid shapes moving amongst the trees… and a purple-skinned man with violet hair. But if anyone ever got close enough to learn more about these apparitions, they never returned to report on it. 

The Mayor began sending messages to neighboring Momor Island, describing the crisis and begging for help. A ship dropped off a squad of Imperial troops four days later. They were quite confident (and more than a little dismissive, the cantor added with a grimace). They headed inland the day they arrived… and haven’t been seen since.

When families in Agate Cove (the largest community on the island, with 387 souls at the last Imperial Census) began to vanish in the night, real panic began to spread. Many people fled, climbing aboard every fishing boat that would carry them. Several of the boats even made multiple trips back but, as the disappearances grew more frequent — occurring even in broad daylight — the boats stopped coming. The people who had been reluctant to leave their homes at first were now trapped.

“When the reports about the sightings of a purple man reached me,” Cantor Elena sighed, “I began to realize that the beginning of all of this might be much earlier than the disappearances. I think it must  be related, somehow, to the stange purple-skinned, violet-haired man, with his crazy violet eyes, who showed up on the island about three years ago. He’d passed through town back then, staying only a few days before vanishing into the swamps… to everyone’s relief, I must admit. He was a very.. intense individual, as I recall. When nothing more was heard of him, it was assumed that he had been lost and was dead in the marshlands – a ten day wonder, eventually forgotten.

“My suspicions were confirmed when, four days ago, a beautiful, silver-haired woman arrived in a small skiff, which she’d piloted here by herself. I think she must be Aunari, although she didn’t say as much. She said she’d had word of our plight, and had come to lend what aid she could. Unfortunately, that very first night in town, while she listened to our sad tale, several of the more desperate islanders stole her ship!” 

This theft seemed a great embarrassment to Cantor Elena, on behalf of her flock. Glancing at the ragged group behind her, Aldor had the distinct impression that not a few of them were wishing that they’d thought of stealing the boat first.

“Despite this outrage, the Lady Flaricia, as she named herself, promised she would look into the matter. That actually gave me a feeling of relief – she seemed so serenely confident, but without the arrogance of the soldiers. She was particularly interested in what I could tell her of the strange purple man. She seemed to have some knowledge of him, although she didn’t elaborate, at least not to me.”

The cantor’s face, briefly animated, fell into grimness again. “But the next morning, after a night of meditation, I think, she’ headed off toward the swamps, and we’ve had no word from her in two days, now. I fear she has met whatever fate has overtaken so many others.”

Mariala and Vulk exchanged glances – both had been subtly using spell and ritual to determine the veracity of the woman’s story, and by their small nods both agreed she spoke the truth, at least as she understood it. Vulk smiled in reassurance as Grimbold stepped forward.

“I know Lady Flaricia of old, my dear cantor,” he said, “and I have no doubt that she is thick in the midst of whatever is going on here… and has it well in hand. We have come at her summons, actually, and you may be confident that between us we shall get to the bottom of it all.”

“I truly hope that you do, Lord Grimbold,” the clearly exhausted woman replied, “and I hope we can all return to our homes to find our loved ones waiting for us… but right now all any of these people want is to get off this island! Will you not let us board?”

A three-sided scrum ensued, between the captain, those of the Hand who didn’t want to lose the ship should the party themselves need to evacuate, and those who were confident the ship could ferry the survivors to safety and be back in a matter of hours. The townsfolk, who were increasingly anxious to be gone, could only wait as their fate was debated. In the end, it was Vulk’s eloquent argument on behalf of the islanders that carried the day, and Captain Klemith agreed to take the 27 townspeople to the nearby island of Momor, and then return to drop anchor — well off shore — and await the return of Lord Grimbold’s party.

Even before the Sea Witch sailed, with its supercargo of grateful people safely aboard, the party  had set out for the ruined temple on the edges of the marshland, which had seemed to Cantor Elena to be the most likely center of the trouble. The rain had let up as the nine left Agate Cove behind, but the day remained a cool and foggy one… not a great day for a walk through the woods, Aldor thought. He’d asked about horses, but there were few on island save for farmers’ plow horses, and even fewer in the small town itself. If they couldn’t all ride, there was no point… and he hid a smile at his son’s obvious relief. The lad’s allergy to the beasts made horseback travel unpleasant for him, although he always manfully made the best of it when it couldn’t be avoided.

It was some six kilometers to the ruins, and for the last two the party had to leave the road and follow a narrow track as the light woodland faded to a mere scattering of trees and the ground grew increasingly marshy. The mists grew thicker as they approached the edge of the true swamp, which had slowly been claiming the ruins of the old Eldaran temple, abandoned centuries ago. A drifting fog shrouded the wrecked building as they approached, softening its jagged features and muffling sound in disturbing ways. 

As soon as the ancient tower came into sight, the group moved more cautiously, scouting for guards, or any sign of life or movement. Aldor could see that the western foundations of the main structure are already underwater, and much of that section of the building’s roof and walls had collapsed into ruin. The western portico appeared to be still roofed, and several still-standing pillars held up portions of the main roof to the northeast, but most of the old temple was open to the air. He scanned the standing parts of the old holy site carefully, but saw no sign of sentries…

A three-story tower anchored the eastern end of the ruin, and appeared to be in marginally better condition than the main structure. Much of the dark gray slate roof had collapsed, true, as had portions of the third floor walls, but it nonetheless looked as if the interior remained structurally sound… maybe. It would, in any case, be the likeliest place to encounter any inhabitants the paladin thought.

As it turned out, it was from the more sheltered parts of the main ruin that danger came on them, when the companions were almost at the first rank of tumbled walls on the south side of the old temple. Several figures lurched out of the swirling fog, climbing from behind piles of fallen stone or coming around the massive alter-like structure looming at the center of the site. Most of them, Aldor saw with horror as their features became clearer, were very obviously no longer human! Reaching over his shoulder he drew his holy sword and muttered a prayer to Cael as he ran forward…

Grimbold was just as horrified as his friend when he could make out what was rushing them – while two looked like normal Umantari… no, the girl looked Umantari, but surely that male must be Telnori… the rest of the creatures appeared to be humanoid-shaped collections of mobile fungus! Even as he leapt atop the rubble of a collapsed wall to gain the higher ground, he could see by their clothing that these creatures must also have once been people – no doubt some of the missing islanders. But what horrible infection could have brought them to this state? No flicker of intelligence could he see in those dead, fungal eyes. Then there was no time for thought, only fighting…

Grimbold hurled two taburi at the nearest of the fungus zombies, hitting it in both thorax and abdomen… but the blades hardly seemed to slow the thing down. He pulled his gray battle axe, Girhündal, from his back and awaited the creature’s charge…

To Grimbold’s left, Aldor was already dashing forward to meet another of the fungus things, glancing back toward his son as he did. “Imrah, cast a spell of Resistance on yourself! ” he called. Then he was swinging Xalavado, the Flame of Aranda, in a great arc. Its blade glowing with the silver-blue light of the Greater Moon, it sent the head of the first of the fungus zombies spinning off into the fog. 

Focused on the fight now, Aldor failed to note the annoyed grimace on his son’s face as he completed the spell he’d already been in the middle of casting… nor did he see Imrah’s smile as the glimmer of protection flared strongly about him, a perfect Form and a perfect result!

Mariala, however, caught the by-play and smiled in secret sympathy as she cast her own Resistance spell on herself. Lord Aldor was certainly a striking man – the hints of silver in his chestnut hair only accentuated his obvious virility. The man did seem oblivious to his son’s emotional state, though. She was diverted from considering how she might facilitate a conversation between the two by Devrik rushing past her, drawing his great blade… and then slowing to a stop.

“Wait, some of these seem like normal people,” he ground out. “Are we sure—“

He was cut off by Toran sending a crossbow bolt into one of the hideous fungus zombies as it lunged forward. The bolt passed clean through a twisted, grasping hand and drove on into its skull, which seemed to kill it. It went down, anyway, and stopped moving. Eventually. At least it was one of the obviously monstrous creatures, Devrik thought, not like the Umantari girl or the Telnori man… although the clothes the thing wore did concern him a bit.

He was also more than a little annoyed at the Caelan paladin and his obviously over-compensating battle sword, with its gaudy silver glow. They already had his own flaming holy sword, after all… this just seemed like overkill. And weren’t paladins supposed to concerned about all life or something? The man had certainly had gone in swinging… with what Devrik grudgingly had to admit was a pretty spectacular decapitation.

Erol, at least, seemed to heed his words of caution, using his shock net to ensnare the young girl – clearly a thrall to some outside force, Devrik thought. Although she wasn’t felled by the “elec-tric-ity” running through her, merely staggered. So maybe not entirely normal? As she struggled to free herself Devrik saw several more of the shambling horrors approaching from around the central alter… damn, they were in danger of being outnumbered!

The twisted, distorted fungal features of this group, despite their ragged clothes, convinced Devrik they were probably too far gone to save, and in any case too dangerous to live. He cast an Orb of Vorol into the midst of the pack, and the yellow-white seed exploded into a ball of searing orange flame, engulfing four of the creatures.

To Devrik’s disgust, only one of them was actually immolated by the blast, collapsing to writhe on the stones with high-pitched shrieks that were decidedly inhuman. The others were momentarily staggered, but no more. Only singed, they quickly began staggering forward again, ignoring still smoking “flesh” and clothing.

“Damn wet zombies!” he grated out as Vulk moved to join him. “Between their damp hides and wet skin, and this cursed moist air, my fire seems at a disadvantage…”

“All the more reason you’ll need this, then,” the cantor said, laying his hands on his friend’s shoulders and murmuring an invocation to Kasira. Almost instantly the faint golden glow of Her protection sprang up around Devrik, and he felt the warmth of Her hand held over him. With a nod of thanks to Vulk, he leaped over the remains of a crumbled wall to face the Telnori thrall before that maniac paladin could kill him…

Meanwhile, one of the still-smoldering fungal zombies lunged at Toran, it’s claw-like fingers rippling in a very disturbing manner, the Khundari thought. He dodged the clumsy attack, and swung his battleaxe Ergonkïr around to sever the creature’s left leg. It staggered forward, going down without a sound… and then continued to claw its way forward, its face strangely devoid of any expression. A second swing of Ergonkïr clove its skull, but Toran was horrified to see, not blood or brains, but writhing tendrils of fungus, that only slowly grew still.

At the same time Aldor was also noticing the strange lack of emotion from the creatures, as he counter-struck another one, severing its right leg mid-thigh. Even as it began to collapse, he brought his holy sword up and around to drive the blade through its head — and the thing never made a sound nor showed any sign of anger, fear, pain… it just fell, writhed for a moment, and then stilled.

Turning away in disgust, Aldor saw Ser Devrik moving swiftly past him to engage the still human- well, Telnori-looking man that had been coming up on his left. Still looking like whatever he’d been before this calamity had taken him (a scribe or scholar by the looks of his now ragged robes, Aldor guessed), the man wielded a ball & chain mace. It swung clumsily at the short, muscular red-headed warrior-mage, who ducked under it easily. Devrik turned the duck into an attack of his own, which neatly disarmed his opponent. 

Ah, he is fighting to subdue with his flaming blade, not kill, Aldor realized, and approved. Whatever was driving the still normal-seeming folk to attack them, in the company of such obvious monsters, perhaps it could be reversed or ended. Best not to kill those, if they could avoid it— his thought was cut off as another of the fungal horrors lunged at him from behind. He wheeled and with a spinning kick sent the creature flying out of the temple – to land almost at the feet of his son! Dismayed, he leaped forward with a cry of warning…

Imrah stumbled back at the sudden appearance of the twitching monster in front of him, but didn’t panic. This was his chance to show his father what he was capable of! He raised one hand, and focused his inner eye, calling the Form into being…  but as he prepared to pour the cool energies of his Principle into it, he saw the flaw. So small… but the Ice Needle of Burkon was too dangerous a spell to take chances with… he aborted, but the energies fought him, draining his reserves….

Toran, seeing the young journeyman mage hesitate, realized what must be happening. He leaped from the pile of stones he’d retreated to, Ergonkïr raised over his head, and brought the battleaxe down on the fungal horror’s head, splitting it in two. The creature fell without a sound, and an embarrassed Imrah nodded his thanks to the Khundari Shadow Warrior, who was already moving to support Grimbold. 

And damnit, his father had seen the whole humiliating thing…

Oblivious to the younger man’s inner turmoil, Toran quickly attacked the fungus zombies to the left of Devrik, while Erol speared another to his right. This gave  Devrik space to attempt a casting of Dispel on the Telnori thrall he was engaged with. But despite a solid casting, there appeared no change in the man, and Devrik cursed.

“By the Void, how do we handle these enthralled bastards,” he growled in frustration.

“Death?” Toran replied, cutting down his own opponent with a blow that nearly severed its head.

“Really? Would you kill someone with a cold?” Devrik objected, dodging the clumsy attempts of the thrall to grab him, still trying not to kill the poor bastard.

“A severe cold that turned them into ravening monsters and made them want to kill everyone around them? Probably,” his Khundari friend shrugged, wiping his battleaxe on the mossy ground. 

“But damnit, what if it’s curable?” The fire mage demanded, using the flat of his still-flaming sword to drive back the Telnori.

“Even if it proves so, eventually, you cant stop a plague without burning a few carriers,” Erol offered, deftly avoiding the ball & chain mace of his own opponent and counter-striking to drive his trident through its chest, pinning it to the pillar behind . “Do we really want to risk this shit, whatever it turns out to be, spreading?” he added, plunging his dagger into the thing’s skull to finish it off.

“I don’t think there’s saving any of these people, Devrik,” Mariala called from where she and Vulk stood near the enthralled girl, still struggling in Erol’s net. “I attempted to enter this one’s mind, hoping to engage whatever is controlling her in mental combat and thereby free her. But, while I sensed some small part of the girl still remains, something very strong, and very alien, is inextricably intertwined with the fragments of her personality… and it is dominant! I don’t think—“

She was cut off as the girl shrugged free of the entangling net and lunged at her with a rusty dagger pulled from her girdle. Vulk leaped between the two of them, and deftly blocked the blow with the Staff of Summer, sending the girl stumbling backward. He aimed the Staff at her and spoke the word to trigger its Weaver’s Web spell. But even as the power began to flow he sensed something interfere with it – it was like a spike being driven through the clean lines of the artifact’s perfect Form! The energy flared suddenly, out of control and wild. Instead of glowing white strands reaching out to ensnare the girl, a mass of sticky white energy engulfed Vulk, leaving him trapped and immobile, like a fly in milky amber.

“Get down, all of you!” Devrik cried out a warning, pointing to the top of the ancient tower. As he struggled to stay upright Vulk turned his head just in time to see a flash of purple skin and hair between crumbled sections of wall — and then a cone of flame was roaring down at them. Most of the others hit the ground, but Vulk was again engulfed, this time in flames.

Fortunately, his amulet of Protection from Fire activated, leaving him unscathed even as the very flammable stuff of the misfired spell flared up around him and then evaporated, freeing him. The others had hit the ground in time to let most of the flames, already at their maximum range, wash over them with little more than singed clothes and hair.

The fungal zombies near the group didn’t fare quite so well, the one that looked like a young maiden taking the brunt of the spell — she went up like a torch. The older Telnori was scorched but still functional, and took the opportunity of Devrik’s distraction to turn and lunge at Aldor, drawing a curved dagger from its fraying robes.

Aldor, himself distracted by the Breath of Zhone spell cast by his one-time friend, swung Xalabon at the onrushing thrall, but the glowing blade went wide and  the creature slipped past to drive its dagger into the paladin’s left thigh. With a grunt of pain, Aldor staggered and fell to one knee… the creature drew back its blade to strike at his exposed neck…

Two things happened almost simultaneously. 

Imrah, seeing his father’s peril, instinctively called on his power to cast Effluvium, hoping to knock the attacker away with a powerful blast of elemental water. Unfortunately there was no time to check the Form, and the spell misfired, a great gout of water exploding upward from the nearest pool of stagnant swamp water. Coming down again, it drenched everyone for ten meters around.

At the same instant Erol leaped over a pile of fallen wall stones, plunging his trident into the thrall’s exposed back with his full strength. One of the tines severed the thing’s spine — apparently the more human ones still had fairly human anatomy — and it died instantly. The ex-gladiator noted, with some relief, that it wasn’t blood that seeped from its wounds, but some pink-tinged ichor-like substance. Which seemed to lay to rest Devrik’s idea that the poor sods could be saved.

Aldor barely had time to pull himself up and give a grateful salute to the quasi-Telnori warrior before Devrik was lunging forward, hands outstretched and a deperate “NO!” ripped from his damaged throat. The paladin saw a small, bright light arcing down towards the too-tightly packed group — he recognized the seed for a fireball spell all too well. His leg almost gave out again as he threw himself toward his son, praying to Cael that his own body might spare the boy the worst of the flames.

But instead of blossoming into a lethal ball of fire, the tiny seed flame flickered and dimmed at Devrik’s gesture. When it exploded, little more than a wall of warmth swept over the group as a gout of orange-red flame shot up into the sky, apparently at the command of Ser Devrik. The flames exploded overhead, making a spectacular fireworks display… Aldor was impressed. He’d known the man was a fire mage, but hadn’t any idea that he was also a pyrokinetic… a useful talent, he supposed, in his chosen art!

While most of the others gathered around a shaken-looking Devrik, Grimbold saw one of the last of the remaining fungus zombies turn and run for the entry to the old tower. So, the things can move quite quickly if they’re motivated, he thought.  With a shout to Toran, who stood nearest him, the Khundari took off after the creature — no doubt it was returning to its master, and Grimbold wanted a word with his former friend sooner rather than later.

After dispatching the last two smoldering fungus zombies, the rest of the group followed the two Khundari, Vulk taking only a moment to staunch and bind Aldor’s wounded leg. More lasting healing would have to wait, they both understood, as long as the immediate threat of the Purple Druid loomed over them.

The curving stairway along the north wall of the tower was in passable condition.. any rubble from the partially collapsed floor above seemed to have been cleared away to make a path. Enough of that second floor remained intact as well, along the eastern side of the tower, to give them another clear path to the next staircase on the south wall. 

Alcoves lined the upper third of the interior walls, or at least the sections still standing, each one with a statue… ancient representations of the Immortals, Imrah suspected in passing. Their time-ravaged faces, worn smooth and pitted by the centuries, stared down on the interlopers, and gave the young mage an intense feeling of unease… and somehow the one empty alcove was even more unnerving!

The walls and most of the roof was gone from the third floor, with only the section to the south to southeast still covered by timbers and dark gray slate. But the fact barely registered with Imrah — along with the others, including his father, he gaped at the piles of glittering gold, chests full of sparkling gemstones, and scattered jeweled rods and tiaras which covered what remained of the flagstone floor. 

Standing amidst all this treasure was the imposing figure of the Purple Druid himself! He was tall, Imrah noticed, almost as tall as his father perhaps, and looked in remarkably good physical shape for a man who must be in his seventies. If you ignored the purple skin, lavender hair, and penetrating violet eyes, of course. The five hideous fungus zombies arrayed around the space barely registered in the presence of their master.

“So, my old friends,” he spoke in a deep, resonate tone that failed to mask his sneer. “I see you’ve brought a pack of young minions to help you steal my hard-earned treasures! Well, it shall not happen, I promise you!”

“Well, at least their minions are better looking than your minions!” Devrik muttered. Aldor shot him a quelling look, then stepped forward to address his old friend.

“Elgin, you must know that we are not here to rob you. We only want to know what has happened to our friend. What have you done to these people? And why? You were a good man once, even a great one… it’s not too late to undo what’s been done here, if you’ll just let us help you.”

“And what would your Immortal Patroness, Drina, say to all of this,” Grimbold added. “Surely She does not condone what you’re doing, Elgin, the extremes to which you’ve gone in Her name?”

The mention of Drina was perhaps a mistake, Grimbold realized when the Druid’s face twisted with rage. Maybe Aldor could’ve gotten through to him if he’d just kept quiet…

“Drina,” he sneered, and his violet eyes seemed to blaze. “She abandoned us long ago, for she was weak and irresolute, even if Immortal. She refused to do what needed to be done to remove the infestation of mankind, in all its varieties, from this world, to return it to its pristine state. But I shall not fail in that holy task!” He gestured, and his five remaining minions moved in to attack.

Erol was the first to react, leveling his trident and channeling the power of the Burning Shaft through it. A searing beam of light  lanced out to strike the nearest fungal horror square in the chest, burning a hole clean through it. He could briefly see daylight through the smoking circle before the creature collapsed, twitched, and died.

Aldor drew Xalabon from the sheath on his back, the silver-blue light shining from its blade as he drove the holy sword through the monster’s gut. Despite which, the thing somehow managed to claw its way up the impaling blade to counterattack, leaving a dagger embedded in the paladin’s right thigh. Even as the pain drove him down again to one knee, Aldor ripped his sword up and through the creature’s torso, cleaving it in half from the waist up. It fell to either side, the fungal mass within writhing briefly before going still.

Toran, meanwhile, attempted to cast Stavin’s Arrows at the Purple Druid, only to suffer the same sense of interference others had encountered. His Form fractured, and he was blown backward by the concussive force of the misfire! Only his Shadow Warrior training managed to keep him on his feet, if bent over and gasping for breath. Before he could fully recover he saw their enemy gesture…

A blast of blue-white elemental cold, which he recognized from their time with Korwin as the Breath of Arandu, sprang forth from the druids hands. Three of the group were caught in the cone of freezing magic – Grimbold’s left leg was anchored in a block of ice to the pavement, but Aldor’s holy sword, raised in defense, somehow split the magical energy around him, leaving the paladin unscathed.  The diverted cold caught Draik obliquely, but he seemed to suffer no more than a chill, Toran saw before he himself was engulfed. His own right foot was as frozen to the stone as Grimold’s left he realized as the intense cold dropped him into darkness.

Just outside the cone of terrible cold, Imrah tried, once again, to cast the Ice Needle of Burkon, only to, once again, feel the alien interference shattering his Form. It took considerable, tiring effort for him to abort the spell safely, but thank the Immortals he succeeded in the end.

Devrik fared no better a moment later when he tried to cast Ariel’s Fiery Ribbons. He too felt an outside presence driving a magical spike, as it were, through his Form, forcing him to abort his casting. But experience allowed him to do so without fatiguing himself… and he had no trouble sensing whence came the disruption. It was very certainly that purple bastard!

While Devrik was aborting his own spell, Mariala was having better luck with her Fire Nerves. The Purple Druid failed to block her magics, whether because he hadn’t sensed them or simply couldn’t handle four spells almost simultaneously. He staggered back a step as the spell hit him… but no more than a step, and seemed unaffected by any pain. She did notice, queasily, that his flesh beneath the purple skin momentarily writhed, as if worms burrowed there.

His spell deflected, Devrik drew his own holy blade to block a clawed attack by another of the fungal minions. Naturally, he counter-struck, and cut the creature in half at the waist! The top part of the body still tried to claw at him, even as it toppled to the floor. Both halves writhed disturbingly for a moment before stilling.

Despite being pinned by the ice to the floor, Grimbold parried a ball & chain mace attack from another fungus zombie and seized the initiative. His battleaxe caved in the attackers chest, sending the thing staggering backward. Devrik, now aware of their enemy’s ability to disrupt spells and prepared for it, again cast Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons. The rainbow-hued sheets of flame immolated the zombie’s head, and with a spinning kick he sent it stumbling over the edge of the shattered floor, to plummet three floors to the ground where it burst like a melon into flaming bits!

After dispatching the first fungal horror Erol had taken a moment to focus and send himself into his extratemporal state of hyper awareness and speed. He felt the shift in his perceptions as the world seemed to slow down around him, and hurled his trident at the one remaining zombie, pinning its head to the wall. He then immediately cast Handor’s Flash at the Purple Druid, only to blind himself instead when the spell misfired. He staggered back, clutching his head and hoping the misfire hadn’t affected any of his companions.

Aldor, meanwhile, had regained his feet, although blood streamed down both thighs now. When the Lady Mariala’s spell had hit his old friend, he’d seen the writing shapes beneath Elgin’s skin, and realized with dismay that, if this was truly him, his friend was beyond saving. This saddened him, but he was never one to balk at the hard choices in battle. He poured everything he had into a lightning strike, praying to Cael to make the end merciful. It was a brilliant maneuver, and should have decapitated his foe – but the purple form moved with a shocking speed of its own, ducking below the swing. A few strands of lavender hair were all the blade managed to part from their owner.

As the Purple Druid straightened Imrah, having given up on magic for the moment, threw his own taburi at their foe. But the bastard’s preternatural reflexes again saved him, his head tilting to one side just enough for the blade to miss, if only narrowly. So close, curse it!

Glaring at Aldor, the Purple Druid’s right hand began to glow with a strange black light as he summoned the Fist of Kuhan. With a snarl he punched his now stone-like fist at the paladin’s chest, intending to cave it in and end the fight. But Aldor dodged the blow and counter-struck. Ducking in under Elgin’s guard, he drove Xalabon clean through his one-time friend. The surpised druid had no time to react before Aldor ripped the glowing blade upward, splitting his upper body in half from sternum to crown. 

The corpse fell to the floor, and it was almost with relief that Aldor saw it had no internal organs, none at all – only writhing masses of fungal fibers, in myriad shades of purple, seemed to have been animating the body. As the twisting tendrils slowed and eventually stopped, every piece of treasure scattered across the tower chamber paled, wavered, and then vanished. It had all been an illusion, if a powerful one…

In the sudden silence the group stared at one another. “Was that it?” Draik said, staring around at the now mostly empty space. “That seemed remarkably quick for a boss fight…”

“I’m not sure it was a, what did you call it? A ‘boss fight’?” Aldor said thoughtfully, half collapsing onto a pile of rubble (which a moment earlier had looked like a large iron-bound chest). He grimaced as he probed gingerly at his latest wound. “Did you notice that all the other, um, creatures, even the most disfigured and distorted by the fungus, still had many humanoid features – organs, even if infused with the alien growth, bones, a spine? This,” he nodded at the nearby purple corpse, “seems to have been animated entirely by fungal growth. I see no evidence that it was ever Umantari, as Elgin was.”

Draik had knelt by the body and was studying it intently without actually touching it. “I have to agree with Lord Aldor,” he said absently, poking at what should have been brains with his dagger. “This appears to be a construct, made entirely of whatever this stuff is… which, by the way, isn’t really a fungus. At least not any fungus I’ve ever seen or heard of.”

“What is it, then?” Devrik growled, wiping down his sword before re-sheathing it on his back.

“I’m not at all sure,” Draik replied as he stood up and stepped away from the purple corpse. “I’d have to do a much deeper examination, of as many of these corpses as possible, to even begin to understand what we have here. Still, it does seem to have many similarities to Novendian fungi, as well as significant differences… I wonder…” He shrugged off his pack and began rummaging in its contents.

“Well, until you give us something else to call them, I’ll stick with “fungus zombie,” if you don’t mind,” Devrik said. “Also, should we burn these things? Are they infectious, do you think?”

“They don’t seem to be, at least not easily; but yes, probably safest to burn them,” a distracted Draik agreed, pulling several empty vials from his pack. “But let me get samples from as many as possible first.”

Devrik grunted acknowledgment and moved to use his pyrokinesis to melt the ice holding both Grimbold and Toran bound to the flagstone floor. Vulk was already kneeling over Toran and chanting his invocation of Thalia’s Surcease to revive and heal their friend. While Mariala carefully assisted Draik in extracting tissue samples Vulk moved on to lend his healing skills, and small doses of Baylorium, to both Aldor and Grimbold. 

Erol followed after Draik and Mariala, dragging away each corpse as they finished with it to pile them all in the largest open space available. Once they were done, and everyone else was healed and upright once more, Devrik tossed a small burning brand onto the corpses, then stared intently it for a moment. The flickering flame burst suddeenly into roaring life and began to consume the bodies. In the face of an indescribably vile stench, they lingered only long enough to be sure the immolation was fully underway before retreating back down the stairs.

Back on the ground floor of the temple, the group repeated the process with the corpses there. Draik was particularly careful to get samples from the two “thrall” specimens (although the charred girl was admittedly a bit of a challenge). They took care to drag the bodies far enough from the ruined temple to remain unaffected by the smoke and smell, as they took a few minutes therein  to rest and regroup.

“Whether that thing up there was really Elgin, or merely a simulacrum of some sort, given the number of missing people there must be many more of those fungus zombies around,” Grimbold pointed out. “Plus, we still have to find Flaricia… and pray to Gheas that she hasn’t been infected like the islanders.” 

“Which means,” Mariala sighed, eyeing the twin staircases in the eastern section of the temple with distaste, “that we have to go down.” No one disagreed. “And maybe the fungus zombies have killed all the rats,” she muttered to herself as everyone geared up and prepared to descend.

The undercroft of the ruined temple proved to be less dire than Mariala had feared, however. Unlike the surface structures, it appeared mostly intact, if damp and moldy. Algea-streaked water trickled down the ancient stone walls, especially in the western half, but the ceiling was quite high, avoiding much of a sense of claustrophobia. There was also some movement of air, and once Vulk invoked Kasira’s Sight the darkness vanished in the featureless gray pseudo-light of Her blessing.

Six pillars, three north and three south, upheld the triple-groined ceiling, and between them a large rectangular plinth of stained white marble dominated the center of the space. Atop the plinth two figures seemed to oppose one another – the figure to the south was carved from white marble, and was a serene-looking woman with great feathered wings; the northern figure was an armored man with raised sword, carved of gleaming black marble. The whole thing sat in the middle of five alcoves ranged on the nothern, western, and southern walls.  

The largest alcove was in the western wall, a marble alter berfore it, and within which had stood two statues, one male and one female. Only the male remained intact, however, the other having fallen with the shifting of the foundations; it lay now in moss-covered pieces. Of the four smaller alcoves, two in the north wall and two in the south, three had single statues with their own low alters set before them. The alcove in the northwest was different – it lacked an alter, was flanked by stange, crudely carved dog-like figures, and had no statue, nor even a pedestal. The back wall of the niche appeared to have been knocked out to reveal, or perhaps to create, a corridor extending to the north.

“I think these statues must have represented Agara and Arial,” Vulk said after examine the larger alcove and both figures, whole and broken. “Although these are very antique representations of the King and Queen of the Immortals… some of this symbolism hasn’t been used in 500 years!”

“And I think these two must be Shala and her brother Tanar,” Mariala called out, standing before the alcoves in the south wall. “But you’re right, I’ve never seen some of this icoography before…” She glanced across the chamber to where Aldor was on one knee before the lone alter and statue on the north wall, hands clasped on the hilt of his sword and head bowed. “And I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that one must be a representation of Cael.”

“It is,” Imrah agreed, trying not to be too embarrassed by his father’s ostentacious display of piety. “ Which I’m guessing would mean this empty and altered niche must have once held the likeness of Zelist, Immortal Patron of the Lesser Moon. Since her Cult was removed from the Eldaran Church in something like the 10th centry, that makes this place very old!”

“Yes, it would predate the founding of the Empire, actually” Grimbold said. “And I’d say the age and style of this stonework is in accord with that supposition.”

“But surely this section was build first,” Toran put in. “I’m not as familiar as you with Oceanian architecture, but the style and age of the work down here seems significantly older to me than that of the surface structures… and of better quality.”

Before the two Khundari could descend into a deep analysis of stonework and architecture a call from Erol drew their attention to the eastern end of the chamber. His vision still recovering, he had followed Devrik and Draik into a smaller room connected to the larger by a short hallway, and had apparently found something of interest. While the others wandered over to see what it might be, Mariala and Imrah decided to check out the passageway beyond the last aclove.

Less than seven meters long, it had clearly been constructed much later than the rest of the building, and by craftsman of decidedly inferior skills, using low-quality material. It slanted somewhat drunkenly to the northwest, and ended in a wide and seemingly bottomless pit. Even with Immortal-blessed sight they couldn’t see an end to it.

“That’s quite a shaft,” Mariala excalimed, perring cautiously over the edge.

“Mmm, seems more yonic than phallic to me,” Imrah observed, deadpan. Mariala choked back a laugh and considered the younger man beside her. She could see much of his father in him, if less formed and refined by time, but suspected his sense of humor came from his mother.

“Yes, well, in any case it’s a dead end,” she sighed. “I suppose we’d best go see what the others have found, yes?”

• • • • •

What the others had found was a rectangular chamber maybe 6 meters wide and 12 meters long. A shallow, wide niche was inset into the east wall, opposite the entrance, in which stood two granite statues. No one was sure who these figures represented, but between them sat a rather large chest of pale green wood, bound in brass. At each end of the room a low alter was set, and on each rested elaborately carved stone reliquaries. 

In the center of the room, at just above head height, hung a clear crystal phial, suspended by thin wires between three thin rods of metal depending from the ceiling. The rods were tinted in three different colors: red, green, and blue. But what was really odd was the beam of yellow light being emitted from a large, faceted crystal set in the wall above the entrance door. I shone down at an angle, passing through the clear phial, which spread and diffused it to shine on the mysterious chest opposite.

Ot it would have shone on the chest, if Toran wasn’t crouched in front of it, blocking the beam. He was muttering to himself in some irritation when Mariala and Imrah arrived. After another minute he rose, tucking his magical lock-opening amulet back into his scrip and shook his head.

“There’s magic involved here, no doubt,” he growled. “I know I did a flawless job on that lock with my tools – it’s not a very complex lock – but it wouldn’t open. Now my amulet, which can open even the most complex mundane lock, has failed as well. Some stronger magic protects this chest!”

“Maybe these have something to do with it,” Draik suggested. He stood before the northern of the room’s two alters and had pulled open the doors to its reliquary. Unlike the reliquaries on the alters in the main chamber, which had long ago been emptied of whatever relics they’d one held, this one held five glass spheres. Each was flat bottomed, with short cylindrical necks stoppered by a cork, and contained a transparent liquid in one of five colors: red, yellow, green, blue, and brown. 

Aldor, standing near the souther alter, opened that reliquary as well, revealing another five glass spheres. The liquids in these five containers were magenta, purple, teal, orange, and cyan. There ensued a debate of some minutes as the companions tried to figure out their next move. It seemed obvious that they must pour one of the colored liquids into the empty phial, thereby changing the color of the yellow light as it passed through. But which color was needed? And were there consequences for choosing poorly?

In the end, Mariala and Aldor’s argument for simplicity won the day, and the paladin poured the blue liquid into the crystal phial. The light turned green, and on striking the chest, an audible click could be heard. Toran cautiously lifted the lid of the green chest… and nothing happened. Inside the chest were eleven identical bracelet’s, and nothing more.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Toran said suddenly, looking slightly embarrassed. He reached into his scrip and pulled out an identical bracelet. “I found this when I was dragging that charred thrall girl to the corpse pile… it slid off her wrist when… well, when her whole hand popped off. It had seemed out of place on her, and I meant to mention it earlier, but in all the excitement…”

“So, they must have some connection to all this,” Grimbold said, taking the offered object form Toran. “It seems unlikely to be a coincidence. But why was only the girl wearing one? What are they for?”

Another debate ensued, until Vulk and Imrah each took a bracelet and slipped them onto their wrists, over the protest of some of their companions, especially Aldor. The paladin was furious with his son for taking such a foolish risk, but his anger was somewhat mollified when, through trial and error, the two pioneers solved the mystery. Turning the silvery of the two bands of metal one way, and you rose slowly into the air, the further you turned the faster you rose. Turn the coppery band the other way, and you fell at similarly controlled rates.

As Imrah sank back to the floor he turned sharply to the Lady Mariala, who had the same look of sudden enlightenment on her face “The bottomless pit!” they exclaimed at the same time.

In the end, to Imrah’s vast annoyance, it was his father, not he, who joined Cantor Vulk and Lady Mariala in the reconnaissance down the mysterious hole…. to find who knew what at the bottom…

16 Turniki 3020, Avantir, Ocean Empire

Vulk uses his psionic healing powers, boosted by the Staff of Summer (and the spell Defanged Serpent as a power stunt), to heal first Aldari, then Raven. By the time he gets to Ser Bizwyk (CS on Defanged Serpent), the man has stopped breathing. But he is able to neutralize the poison, and then revive him by more conventional means. By the time he gets to Barii the boy is mostly dead. Fearing a failure after such rapid, intense use of his power, he puts the boy in Stasis, as his mother, the house cook Karin, looks on.

They rig a method of getting the boy upstairs to a bedroom, and begin to ponder what the fuck just happened. Then Captain K’Jurol burst in with the news of Mariala and Dr. Lurin Ar’Hanol. (and when is Devrik going to notice her name?!)

Devrik, assured the rest of the Hand will remain vigilant in his absence, and at the urging of Raven, accompanies Vulk  and the Captain back to the Sea Foam Inn. There they find Mariala keeping the crowd at bay, and demanding Vulk save Lurin. Vulk approves of her casting of Stasis, and assures her it will last more than long enough. Devrik whips the table cloth off the table (leaving plates, cups and lit candles standing) and they use it to make a crude litter which the four carry through the streets… to little apparent reaction from the jaded Imperial citizens.

At Bekatia House they gather both dead friends in Mariala’s bedroom, where Vulk prepares to heal and then revive them. Draik gives his friend a little pick-me-up, and Vulk becomes a meth-addled speed demon, esp. after Toran uses Zyna’s Tap on him to clear his fatigue.. Casts Smile of Kasira on himself (CS), then scores another CS on his psionic healing talent. Wreathed in glowing green energy, he neutralizes the poison in both victims simultaneously. Dari revives fully, but Lurin requires mouth-to-mouth from Mariala to recover.

While Draik makes his CSI: Avantir investigation into the kitchen, the food and the poison itself, Mariala sends one of the house servants back to the Sea Foam Inn to recover the chocolate tort, if possible. Servant Yon Frigan (called Yon Yon) is a self-starter with some real initiative, and Mariala is grateful when  he returns with dead rats instead.

Devrik whispers, “That chocolate torte looks a lot like a dead rat..”

A plant alkaloid would be bitter, says Draik, but this didn’t seem to be. Only Aldari didn’t finish his because he didn’t like the taste, but he might just not like shellfish. The poison is also different, if no less lethal, than the one that killed poor Therok. Both are native to eastern, southeastern, and south central Ishkala, tropical to semi-tropical plants — information he gleans from his herbal book (gift from Vulk).

They question the staff, using Truth Sense and find no lies are being told. Erol tries out his newly mastered Violet Eye spell, asking if the poisoner is in the house, and gets an ambiguous yes/no answer. Consults with Mariala, who tries it herself, asking if the poisoner was invisible. She gets an unequivocal NO! For an answer.

Jeb, who has been sick all day with a nasty head cold, asks Vulk if he should eat the food left outside his room for him, in light of the recent attack. Vulk takes the tray back downstairs, where Draik determines that the mustard (a key ingredient in the shrimp dish)was poisoned, and gets his first full sample, confirming his suspicions. Cook Karin make the mustard herself, last batch about a tenday ago.

Given the Ishkala origins of the poisons, Erol tries Violet Eye again, asking “Is the poisoner affiliated with Ishkala in any way?” Once again, he gets an ambiguous yes/no answer.

Given Draik’s new certainty about the poison, the Hand clears out the kitchen (to Karin’s dismay – all that wasted food!), and scientifically array it at Mariala’s suggestion, to see if the rats who eat it die. While Devrik gently plays the pipes, they watch as the rats come out (Mariala nerves herself, but watches from inside, thru a window). The rodents enjoy the feast and waddle away healthy and happy.

Erol tries one more time with Violet Eye, asking directly if the Cook Karin put the poison in the food. This time he gets a resounding YES! (CS). Mariala casts the same spell and gets the same YES! answer. While there’re doing that, Vulk has lain down, with Devrik watching over him, to project his ethereal form out of his body. He searches the house for invisible or ethereal presences, and finds nothing save for a tattered ghost, hardly more than a cold spot in the cellar it’s so old. Devrik feels bad for it, and promises to research it.

Mariala uses her psionic abilities to peer into the cook’s mind, after she is prompted to remember some lost time two days prior, on her way home form the market. There is a block in her mind, and Mariala is unable to pierce it, seeing only two large, mesmerizing eyes – which is all Karin can be made to remember.

Similar probing of their waitress at the tavern, Betha, turns up no similar books in her mind, and suspicion turns to Captain K’Jurol. He volunteers to have his mind probed, after admitting to missing time three days earlier on his way home from the tavern that night. Mariala find the same mesmerizing eyes and an absolutely solid wall blocking off a small part of his memory.

At this point the Hand and family retire to the Extradimensional Mansion (the group should come up with a. name for the house) for assured safe food and a good night’s sleep. Devrik casts one of his new Vularu spells, reads the Tarot, and peers into the Flames of Xydona before bed. The nine hours of the Vularu spell result in one of the most vivid dreams of his life – the image of an old house, in an old neighborhood, next to a small park with a very tall fir tree. He knows it is somewhere in Avantir, and that it bears very strongly on the future of the Hand of Fortune.

The next day the group spread out to search the city for this building, having little more to go on. They all have some success in narrowing it down, but it is Draik (with a CS) who actually find the place, in the southern Fourth Circle. That afternoon, the Hand gather in front of the house, which appears abandoned. They decide to just forge ahead, despite Draik suggestion they just burn it down (Devrik likes!). After knocking, and Toran jiggling the handles to a sea shanty he learned on shipboard, Draik and Toran race to pick the two locks on the front door – amazingly Draik succeeds (needing 10 or less and rolling 1) just beating Toran; less amazing is Toran’s success.

Once inside the single large room at the front of the house Vulk draws the musty curtains. Place is empty of all but dust. As they move toward the doors leading deeper into the house, they are transported through a disorienting array of steps, to be plopped down, nauseous  and confused, in an ancient underground temple. Vulk pukes Ito a nearby shrubbery. Toran shows off his new Yalva skills by lighting a Sphere of Sholakas in his hand to light up the gloom. Draik determines the plants (and the humidity, despite the relative coolness of the temple) mean they are likely in a subtropical-to-tropical locale.

The doors north and south are magically sealed, a massive stone face blocks the east. Toran convinces Mariala to perform a charming gavotte on the symbol-marked stepping stone in the central pond, while Draik and Vulk click the gemstone buttons Vulk discovered while testing the water pouring from the cobra-head statues at the west end of the pool. Hilarity ensues for the GM, as they dance about, press buttons, and continually unlock and lock both sets of doors without realizing it.

Eventually Toran discovers that the northern doors are unlocked now. Vulk picks up a stone torch, and lights it from the ethereal flame flickering on one of the wall torches.

They are wary of the decorated central plates in the corridor, not stepping on them. But Draik sets off a trap nonetheless, and darts rain down on him, Mariala and Toran. Miraculously, all three avoid being hit, although a few darts stick in clothing or bounce off armor. Toran studies the floor carefully thereafter and identifies the trapped plates. 

Most everyone else traverses the hallway safely, and then Devrik makes a running start, leaps, and floats over the whole distance. He is using a new Vularu spell, Horrid Hover (but doesn’t realize that he has finally  triggered a latent psionic ability of telekinesis).

In the Statue Puzzle Room, they fairly quickly solve the puzzle, only triggering the dart trap once, as the pointer faces the north wall. Erol is hit by a dart and thought for a moment that it was a poisoned one, starting to panic until he realizes it has not pierced his armor. When the third button resets to the south, Toran figures it out and they light all four beacons and unlock the door.

Toran is meticulous about checking for trapped floor plates as the Hand proceed east down a short corridor.

In the ruined alter room, Mariala casts a Read spell to translate the stone slab. “What weapon did Darmok wield at the Bridge of Tanagra?”

They spend some time trying to solve the riddle, eventually realizing the answer may once have been on the carved mural that now lies in pieces on the floor.

B’okiri pour form a hidden entrance, and attack. Erol nets one on the weapon arm, CS ruining the creatures counterstrike.

Toran hurls his Chaos  Spear of  Shazirka at one, singes it, but doesn’t stop its attack. He counterstrikes then, and his battle-axe slices through its muzzle.

Mariala’s Syncope of Shala puts four of the six to sleep.

Erol’s opponent attacks with a mankar, Erol CS blocks with his trident and is able to follow up with a Tactical Advantage, stabbing his trident into the little guy’s stomach – but still it doesn’t go down!

Then an arrow from Draik’s short bow hits its left thigh, finally bringing it down and opening the femoral artery. It quickly bleeds out.

Devrik attempts an Orb of Vorol, but is forced to abort the Form.

More of the little buggers pour out of the hole, and the attack continues. Erol damages another, takes a hit his belly armor absorbs, while Toran’s muzzle-wounded opponent blocks the Khundari ninja’s next attack.

Vulk attempts Weavers Web from the Staff of Summer, but it misfires, engulfing not only the two B’okiri they are fighting, but Erol and Toran as well. Erol manages to quickly rip himself free, but Toran is more firmly stuck. And annoyed.

A B’okiri hurls a slingstone at Draik, who merely moves his head aside slightly to avoid the missile.  It instead strikes Toran’s webbed would-be opponent, who is rendered insensible.

Draik takes another B’okiri with another arrow, this time in the right calf; it goes down, but isn’t out.

Devrik attacks with the Holy Sword of St. Helathor, and his opponent counterstrikes, slicing across Devrik’s right hand – he drops the sword! Vulk uses his psionic healing talent to patch up the wounded hand, after another round of Mariala’s Syncope takes all the remaining little buggers out of the fight.

Mariala fails to cast Tongues, to question the prisoner(s), so Vulk performs his own ritual to the same end. While the others interrogate, Toran attempts to open the doors to the south – CS with Lockpicking, and yet no luck! Even his magic key fails to pierce the magic holding them shut. 

Similarly, attempts to Dispell the enchantment on the doors fails, in a bit of a fiasco – Vulk attempts to bolster Mariala’s attempt, fails, she prepares to cast but Devrik bumps into her while trying to help with his own version (CF), and the whole thing comes to naught. Erol succeeds in casting the spell, but it proves ineffectual against the temple magic.

“Vulk fails to cast dispel to assist Mariala, and when she begins to cast her spell, Devrik rushes to stop her so he can cast Dispel to assist and accidentally shoves her instead.” – Devrik

Draik fails his claustrophobia test, and refuses to enter the small tunnel whence came the B’okiri. Toran enters alone, able to see thanks to his darkvision. Comes on a lone guard watching through the eastern hidden door/peepholes, and attacks. The creature dodges, then counterstrikes, but fails. Toran then cuts his right leg from under him, finishing him off with a blow to the chest.

Erol has had enough of Draik’s hysterics and, on hearing the clash of arms within, goes after Toran. He grabs the stone torch from Vulk, and squeezes through the opening. Halfway to Toran he is ambushed by a second watcher, from the west. Erol brilliantly blocks, and then stabs, but the B’okiri dodges. 

Devrik ignites his holy sword and enters the fray, crushing the skull of Erol’s opponent into flaming ruin.

Vulk, after several minutes of cajolery to try and get Draik to enter the tunnel, finally gets him in a headlock and drags him in, kicking and screaming (but quietly, Darik’s not stupid).

Toran and Mariala operate the mechanism that lifts the doors east and west, the group exits east into the Antechamber. Toran uses his mundane lock picking skills to open the ancient, rotting doors into the main chamber.

Confrontation with Ambassador Mai Shin, who reveals himself to be Thuron Yan (who the group has trouble remembering – they’ve killed so many people, and burned down so many buildings in the last 2-3 years).

Some invisible force keeps Devrik (first) and the others from moving more than two-thirds of the way down the aisle. Thuron Yan monologues, explains his revenge plan and reasons:

In the year 2894 SR, Thuron Yan was born into a noble family on the island and nation of Yaro. Located in the tropical archapeligo southeast of the Ishkala continent. A precocious child , he was sent to study at the Imperial University of Ty Kyen when he turned 16. There he found his great passion lay in botany, alchemy and medicine.

At the age of 20 he met a stunning woman, unlike any he had every seen before, with pale skin and flaming red hair and eyes greener than any emerald. He was attracted by her exotic beauty, she found his intelligence appealing, and the two began a love affair. His family, once they learned of it, did not approve and insisted that he return home, now that his education was concluded.

He refused, and was prepared to defy them, no matter the cost, for the love of Axziga the Fair. In turn, Axziga was prepared to reveal her greatest secret to her lover, believing now that their love was true. But when the young man learned that his great love was, in fact, a red dragon in human guise – he freaked out. He had, since childhood, been possessed of a terrible fear of reptiles, and most especially of snakes. Seeing her in her true form, he went practically catatonic, and when she reverted to human form he fled from her in horror.

Hurt as she was by his reaction, Axziga was prepared to overlook it once he calmed down and had time to consider, to realize she was the same as she’d always been, and that he loved her. But it didn’t fall out that way in the end. His horror and disgust were bone deep, and knowing that he had enjoyed congress with a reptile sent him almost mad. Her every attempt at reconciliation was rejected, and the final time with harsh and hurtful words. He then departed to return home to his family.

Axziga’s pain and sorrow turned quickly to anger and grief at that point. She secretly followed her former lover back to his home, spying on his every move. When he all too quickly agreed to a marriage his parents had arranged, her anger and grief turned then to rage and vengeance. On the eve of his wedding day, she cast a terrible ritual she had learned long before, from priests of ancient Pagonia in the West — she caused him to become a creature part man and part snake. His family drove him away in horror, forcing him to flee his homeland.

When Axziga caught up with him in the jungles of Vavau, she gave him one last chance to return to their great love – surely now he could understand how he’d hurt her, and must repent of it, having experienced it himself. But still he could not look on her without revulsion clear on his face. Then the last of her own love died, and she became as cold and cruel as all of her race are said to be, casting a second great ritual, this time a curse. He would be condemned to live in this hated form for eternity, unable to die, always an outcast from all civilized people.

It took him almost two decades to find a way to suppress the curse, although only for a time – always he would eventually revert to his hybrid snake form. It was after that when he first met Olbu, a young man cursed with lycanthrope, and took him on as his eyes, ears, and hands in the world of Men when he could not go there himself. He in turn helped the young were-tiger adapt to his condition, and to find him a harem of women he could turn into were-tigresses.

Over time the snake man and his were-tiger associates traveled the world, looking for a cure for Thuron Yan’s cursed condition. Olbu and the other weres seemed much less interested in a cure for themselves, but remained loyal to their benefactor. Thuron Yal amassed fortunes over the decades, spending them as needed in pursuit of his goal. He also gathered a tremendous library of esoteric tomes, and taught himself, mostly, the ways of magic.

In time he and his companions settled in the Valley of the Golden Orchid, on the island of Kensuai, in the nation of Couri, neighbor to own lost homeland of Yaro. They built a comfortable villa and settled into various routines. And while Thuron Yan failed to find a way to reverse his condition and his curse, he did eventually learn of the whereabouts of his former lover.

Almost thirty years ago he and his were-tiger entourage infiltrated the ancient temple in Okara that the now reclusive red dragon had made her lair. They battled through and slew most of her B’okiri servant/worshipers before confronting the dragon herself. Even defeated and faced with a dragon-slaying artifact, Axziga refused to lift the curse, further foretelling that if he did kill her, then no power above or below would ever be able to remove it.

He slew her anyway.

Since then he has taken over her former lair and her minions (turning the easily manipulated B’okiri into his own minions/worshipers), keeping both as a back up retreat. He has also focused his efforts on circumventing his curse by transferring his mind into another body. He had died twice, prior to his encounter with the Hand of Fortune, and each time his snake form was become even more reptilian, more monstrous, and less human. He fears he will eventually become only a snake, losing his humanity forever. To stave off that day he fights the cold, emotionless aspects he feels growing within him, striving to be kind and compassionate where he can afford to be. But each new iteration of eternal form is colder, more ruthless, and less human…

Once he finishes his backstory he then summons a water elemental. The elemental goes first for Devrik, reeking as he does of the hated fire-stink. Our hero is battered, but retains his feet and his weapon.

Erol throws one of his Blast of Norinos grenades at the elemental, but it seems to have no effect on the creature. Devrik’s holy sword does, however, causing a steaming wound that quickly fills in as the elemental pulls back in dismay.

Vulk uses the Staff of Summer to summon an earth elemental, which will take four rounds. Mariala summons her own water elemental (name?), which takes two rounds. Draik moves to place himself in front of the concentrating Vulk, to protect him should the elemental attack. Which it does, and Draik dodges, drawing it away.

Toran keeps trying Stavin’s Arrow, but all except one attempt fails. The successful one does do some damage to the water elemental, however. Once the two elementals are fully engaged with each other, it frees up everyone’s attention for the Big Bad™.

Erol’s eye is caught by the Snake Lords gaze, and he is Charmed, despite the power of his new helm-of-not-being-possessed. He stands frozen. Vulk casts Kasira’s Armor on Erol, not realizing his friend has been charmed. 

Between the Kasira’s blessing and Erol’s magic helmet, when Thuron Yan Commands Erol to “defend me!” the Charm has been broken, and the command doesn’t take. But Erol, aware of the command, plays along and moves forward to take up a defensive stance in front of the Snake.

After her own water elemental appears and engages the first one, Mariala casts Resistance on herself.

Devrik considers summoning a fire elemental, but even under the best conditions (and these are far from that) it would take much too long. Instead he casts Immolation on himself — with a CS.

Erol whirls to launch a surprise attack on Thuron Yan, who is indeed taken aback to find his Charm/Command combo has failed. But his shockingly fast snake reflexes save him, as he sinuously evades the hero’s trident thrust at his belly (CS vs CS).

But the attack has the advantage of causing the Snake Lord to release his psionic wall that was keeping the others at bay. Devrik glides forward, a manshape of living ethereal (?) flame. As he does, Draik looses an arrow into the swam of B’okiri who have emerged to watch their Master kill the intruders – again he hits one in the left thigh, severing the femoral artery. As it bleeds out, its fellows charge forward, to Vulk’s exasperation.

Thuron Yan whips two blades from his side and cross cuts them through Devrik’s neck in a blinding move, decapitating the man! Except he’s made of flame, and so instead the blades pass harmlessly through him.

Erol invokes his Extratemporal psionic talent, with CS. His next attack on Thuron Yan is dodged, and the snake counters with his massive tail/body. He sends the gladiator flying into the swarm of B’okiri. Erol spears the first to come at him on his trident, lifts it up above his head and hurls its dying body into the water.

Mariala figures a sleepy spell ain’t gonna cut it this time, and unleashes her Fire Nerves spell. The B’okiri collapse mid-charge, mewling in pain. Thuron Yan just grimaces and glares at her, but isn’t incapacitated. 

A lone B’okiri, with more guts than brains, attacks Flame Devrik™ from behind, and gets a scorched blade for his trouble. The creature then decides discretion is the wiser option and retreats. Draik is having none of it, however, and once again his arrow finds a thigh and the femoral artery… another one bites the dust.

Devrik tries to cast Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons, but the distraction of the back stabbing B’okiri attack is enough to force him to abort the Form.

Vulk invokes a holy curse on Thuron Yan.

Mariala sends a second and third attack of Fire Nerves, keeping the B’okiri down and further discommoding Thuron Yan.

Doesn’t stop him from blocking Erol’s next attack, however, and again countering with his tail. He takes Erol’s legs out from under him this time, and lunges in with both falchions to end the gladiator with another decapitation move. But Erol successfully blocks and rolls back to his feet, protected by Kasira’s blessing.

The earth elemental finally appears, and is immediately set onto the enemy water elemental— the three-way elemental battle shakes the very ground and threatens the structural integrity of the ancient temple! Bad elemental kicks a watery foot into the earth elemental’s groin, sending chips of rock and dirt flying in a spray of water.

Toran fires a cross-bow bolt at the Snake Lord, but even as he’s fighting Devrik and Erol he manages to snatch it out of the air! It distracts him for a critical instant, however, and Devrik finally gets off Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons. The rainbow-colored flames slam into the snakes’ torso, engulfing him, and he screams in agony before collapsing to writhe and burn on the floor for a moment, before dying.

With his death, his summoned water elemental is freed, and saying “enough of this bullshit,” it vanishes in a spray of mist. Mariala dismisses her own elemental, with great thanks. Vulk has an idea for his earth elemental… but for the moment it just stands and waits.

While Toran sings (beautifully) an ancient Khundari funeral dirge, Vulk invokes the blessings of Kasira on the snake corpse of Thuron Yan, after which Devrik summons all of his pyrokinetic and magical Yalvan power to fully immolate the body, eventually turning it to fine ash and presumably ending the ancient curse that would otherwise revive and restore the man.

Afterward Erol pisses on the ashes, to the embarrassment of his companions.

Vulk utilizes his earth elemental to help Toran search for any hidden recess where loot might be found, and indeed, they find a small, well concealed chamber where Thuron Yan has hidden his recovered library (as much of it as the Hand didn’t loot themselves the year before). It is a tremendously valuable find, almost incalculable, really. It contains books, tablets and scrolls from across much of the world, on a variety of subjects both arcane and mundane.

Now, how do they get home again…?

The Harlath Theater lies not far from the center of the suburban village of Khuronton, its lot surrounded by a screen of trees and a sagging wrought-iron fence which, while locked, is easily scaled. Weeds push through the cobblestone walkways and crude graffiti are scrawled at various points across the stonework. Inside the theater, . Unless otherwise stated, the theater’s features are described as follows:

Ceilings, Walls, and Floors 

The theater’s exterior walls are built from hewn blocks of sandstone. Interior walls are paneled hardwood, and while the hardwood floorboards may complain under any movement, they remain sound. Ceilings throughout the theater’s backstage areas are 3 meters high.

Interior Doors

Doors within the theater are made of oak wood and open outward on their hinges.

Exterior Doors

All exterior doors to the theater have been locked and further reinforced with chained padlocks. The keys to both padlocks and doors are long missing, but the padlocks can be opened with a successful

Dexterity check using thieves’ tools; the doors themselves can be opened with a similar check or a successful Strength check.

Light

Heavy curtains are drawn over the theater’s few

windows, shrouding its interior in darkness even during the height of day.

These areas are keyed to the floor-plans:

1. Amphitheater

Semicircular rows of layered seating descend below grade toward a cracked stone stage. Pieces of litter and old food scraps are strewn about. A trio of staircases evenly spaced throughout the amphitheater provide access to row levels. Two tunnel entrances at the bottom at the steps lead presumably to backstage areas.

The litter left about the amphitheater has been left over the years by youths and other explorers who sometimes like to sit upon the steps at night and observe the theater from a safe distance. Characters might notice, in their peripheral vision, a few mice startled at the party’s approach and disappear into holes in the stone.

The two tunnels at the lowest level of the amphitheater each extend for a few feet before terminating at a pair of double doors. 

2. Main Stage

The main stage of the Harlath is barren save for crude graffiti and piles of litter. Multiple locked doors lead to the theater’s interior.

3. Fountain Plaza

Weathered stone tables and toppled chairs are scattered throughout this barren plaza. In the plaza’s centre is a parched, geometrically-shaped fountain. Kiosks flank the east and west ends of the plaza. Wooden shutters pulled over their service counters have been shattered through, exposing their interiors to the elements.

Patrons gathered at this plaza before and after shows to mingle and enjoy food and drink served from the kiosks. The kiosks have been used previously by explorers as entrances to the theater’s interior, as breaking through their shutters is easier than bypassing the locked and reinforced doors.

4. East Kiosk

The hole smashed through the shutter of this kiosk is big enough for creatures of Medium size or smaller to squeeze through with little effort. When the characters enter, read aloud:

The interior of this kiosk is a mess. A food preparation station is in disarray; some pots and pans still rest upon a large hearth against the far wall, but others are scattered over the floor, along with various other utensils that have been knocked off of nearby shelves. Open doors lead into a storage closet and a stairwell.

Any food items were cleared out shortly after the theater closed, and there is little else of value in this kiosk. The storage closet contains nothing but bare shelves and empty containers. The stairwell leads down to the main and subsurface levels of the theater.

5. West Kiosk

The hole smashed through the shutter of this kiosk is big enough for creatures of Medium size or smaller to squeeze through with minimal effort. 

This kiosk looks to have been thoroughly rummaged through. Dirt, debris, and rusting cooking utensils litter the floor. On the far wall, above two hearths, the words “Masa was here” are scrawled in red paint. Open doors lead into a storage closet and a stairwell.

The graffiti in this kiosk is the result of a completed dare by a youth a generation ago. The storage closet contains nothing but bare shelves and empty containers. The stairwell leads down to the main and subsurface levels of the theater.

6. Stairwell

These stairwells connect the balcony, stage, and subsurface levels of the theater. They creak heavily under any weight, but remain structurally sound.

7. Set Storage Room

Items of furniture and panels of wood painted to resemble various set pieces are scattered about this room, loosely organized. The room overlooks the main backstage area to the east. A winch hangs over the platform.

Furniture and set pieces were kept in this room when not in use. There is nothing of significant value to be found here. The winch is operated by a hand crank to raise and lower a wooden platform between the backstage area and this storage room. The noise of the winch’s operation will startle

a bat that hangs from the ceiling concealed behind a tall cardboard statue, causing it to fly screeching into the rafters of the backstage area.

8. Workshop

Shelves stocked with tools line the west wall of this room. Piles of lumber flank the north and south walls. Dark brown stains cover large parts of the floor. In the middle of the room, laid atop a workbench, is a humanoid-looking figure of bone and wood. The room and a winch overlook the main backstage area to the west.

In better days, this workshop was used to construct all manner of set pieces and props for the theater’s performances. Now, it is being used by Argus Rapling, who is building himself a foul mannequin out of the remains of an explorer who broke his way into the theater a few weeks ago and was killed by the caretaker. 

The dark stains on the floor are old bloodstains from the caretaker’s dismembering and disposal of the rest of the body. Further inspection of the mannequin on the workbench reveals it to be of distorted humanoid proportions, with longer limbs than would be expected for the stoutness of its torso. Bits of bone have been woven with twine around slats of wood. A skull is mounted atop a barrel torso. A successful Physician check can confirm the bones are human.

9. Backstage Balcony

A raised scaffolding platform connects the performance balcony to the main backstage area below. Two sets of stairs in the middle of the balcony and a ladder on both the west and east ends of the balcony provide access. Multiple doors at the north end of the balcony likely open into the performance area beyond. 

Like the theater’s other exterior doors, these doors are locked and chained up from the outside.

Hazard: East Ladder. The ladder providing east balcony access is in poor condition, and will fail under the weight of the next Medium or larger creature that attempts to climb it. When the ladder fails in this way, the creature must make a successful Agility roll to avoid falling as one of the wooden rungs gives away. A character who fails

this roll falls 1d10 feet to the ground below.

10. Performance Balcony

This balcony was probably used as an extension of the main stage for performances. It is speckled with bird poop and littered with stones, likely thrown up from the amphitheater below by generations of bored children.

Trap: Swinging Axe. Argus has rigged both of these stairwells with tripwires that cause an axe, previously suspended from the ceiling above by a crude system of pullies, to swing downward when triggered. Those with a suitable light source can use passive Awareness higher will notice either the tripwire running across one of the stairs or the axe suspended to the ceiling. Anyone who unsuspectingly activates the tripwire must make a successful Agility roll or take slashing damage. Once triggered, the trap mist be reset manually by Argus.

11. Privies

These two stalls are filled with buckets beneath holed benches as well as empty washbasins.

12. Private Dressing Rooms

Ornate vanities trimmed with silver and gold filigree fill these small dressing rooms. Standing mirrors are noticeably free of dust. Clothing racks still hold some of the pieces worn during the last performance ever held at the Harlath.

13. Writer’s Room

The door to this room is ajar. On entering you see that it is in disarray. Books and the pages torn from them are scattered over a large oak table and its surrounding chairs, partially drape themselves over a piano against the north wall, and litter the floor. Half-emptied shelves line the walls. As you enter, the skeleton of a cat crawls out from under the table and begins to approach you at a lazy saunter, its eye sockets burning with pinpoints of soft blue light. 

Scripts and musical pieces were drafted in this room by Zamarin Imgarhol and her team. Argus, recognizing the room as representative of his bullying and exclusion, has trashed it and the majority of the works kept within it.

Scritches the Cat 

The skeletal cat is what remains of Argus’s pet, Scritches, who eventually died of natural causes and was animated by the same forces that keep the caretaker bound to the theater. Scritches’ mannerisms are identical to that of many living cats—Scritches is curious and somewhat friendly, and will approach party members in the room looking for pets and Scritches along its spine. A character who makes a successful Animal Handling (or similar) roll or Wisdom roll will quickly bond with Scritches, causing the cat to follow them around thereafter, until the character acts in a way that is hostile to Scritches.

14. Prop Storage

These alcoves backstage are laden with all manner of performance props — instruments, replica weapons, pieces of fake jewelery, and all manner of items, both interesting and mundane.

Encounter: Swords at East Prop Storage. In the east storage area is a box that contains six wooden prop swords. The swords, animated by the same magic that binds Argus, will fly into the air and attack any characters that come within 10 feet of the box, fighting until they are destroyed. The swords using flying sword statistics.

15. Cast Dressing Room

This larger communal dressing room is filled with vanities, clothing racks, and mirrors. The spectral figure of a young man hovers in the middle of the room, before a full-length mirror, gazing at his face, which looks to have been partially caved in. The figure turns to you. 

“Haven’t seen a living person in a long time,” it says,” sounding quite sad.

This dressing room was where non-star members of the cast got ready for performances. It has remained mostly untouched since the theater’s abandonment. The furniture is of fine quality, but there is otherwise nothing of any significant value to be found here.

The Ghost of Hakim

The spectral figure in this room is the ghost of a young man named Hakim, who was felled by Argus years ago while exploring the theater with his friends, most of whom managed to escape after Hakim was slain. Hakim poses no threat to the party, and is eager to have some living people to talk to after some lonely years in the theater. His face, contorted by his violent death, is marked by a weak smile. He hopes that the party may be able

to recover his remains and subsequently put him to rest. In exchange, Hakim freely shares his the story of his death with the party, as well as the following information:

Hakim has observed the corporeal spirit of the theater for long enough to believe that it is its former caretaker.

The spirit often groans loudly in a way that approximates singing, and moves through the theater dusting off its surfaces.

The caretaker has been using Hakim’s remains to build a mannequin as some sort of macabre arts and crafts project that takes place in the theater’s workshop.

An undead cat is present in the theater. Hakim believes the cat was the pet of the caretaker in life – and perhaps still is.

The caretaker spends most of its time in the depths of the theater’s storage room.

Hakim believes that one of his friends, who fled into the bowels of the theater, was also slain by the caretaker, but he’s not seen his spirit, if so.

Hakim doesn’t dare check the lower level for fear of the caretaker and what he might find. Hakim further explains that he would greatly appreciate

it if the party can recover his remains and arrange for them to be burned appropriately so that he may move on to the next life. He would prefer not to accompany the party during any further exploration of the theater, for he wishes to stay away from the caretaker, who still seems able to cause him pain, despite his own current incorporeal form.

16. Backstage

This area was kept clear for easy movement during performances. Staircases in the center of the room rise to the backstage balcony. A crank-operated elevator platform near the west end of the room allows for transport of large items to and from backstage to the storage areas one level below (Area 19). 

The elevator still works and can support up to three hundred pounds without failure, though the noise of its crank echoes throughout the empty theater. Its platform is currently lowered to the level below.

17. Lift Elevator

This elevator is operated via the hand-crank in the backstage area of the level above.

18. Manuscript Storage

This small room is a mess. Books and scrolls that had once sat on the shelves that line the walls have been pulled onto the floor and torn to shreds.

The team at the Harlath had written many plays and musicals, more than they could rehearse and perform. This room was used to file them away for future use or sale to other performance companies. Like the writer’s room, Argus destroyed most of the contents of this room in his rage.

19. Mannequin Storage

In the shadows you see several faceless humanoid figures, dark and menecing, arranged in various poses, huddled togehter into this cramped room—after a momentary start, you relaize they are just mannequins. 

The Harlath often used mannequins as background extras in larger scenes where live actors were not required.

Encounter: Swarms of Spiders. Any creature that steps more than two feet into this room agitates two swarms of spiders that recently hatched beneath a pile of mannequins. The spiders attack until reduced to half their hit points or fewer, at which point they disperse and flee. 

20. Dressing Room

Characters approaching this room can hear ragged breathing and scratching coming from beyond the door. When the characters enter, read aloud:

This dressing room smells of foul decay. Racks of clothing and costumes line the near walls. Against the far wall is a dresser, a standing mirror spattered with old blood, and a chair.

This dressing room was used as extra storage, and for when larger performances occupied the rooms on the upper level. The clothing here is stinking and dusty.

Encounter: Hakim’s Friend Davoz. The sounds from within this room come from a friend of Hakim’s, named Davoz, who was also slain by the undead caretaker after he discovered them exploring the theater. Unlike his luckier (or wiser) friends, Davoz fled to the lower level of the theater and attempted to hide in this room before the caretaker found him and put an axe through his head. 

Argus then left the room intending to return for cleanup later, closing the door behind him. Now, foul necrotic energies have reanimated Davoz as an angry corpse that attacks any and all living creatures. As soon as the party opens the door to this room, Davoz lunges forward in a frenzy of teeth and gnarled hands, fighting until he is destroyed. Davoz is a ghast with a 60 Constitution.

21. Below Stage Area

Barrels and other containers line the walls of this spacious chamber. Three lift mechanisms in the centre of the room rise to the ceiling and, by Toran’s estimation, the main stage above.

The lift mechanisms in this room were used to raise and lower actors and set pieces during actual performances. The containers around this room hold spare parts, cleaning supplies, and worn and broken set pieces, once scheduled for restoration.

22. Hallway 

This hallway connects to the tunnels that lead to the amphitheater. The tunnels and this hallway were occasionally incorporated into shows for more immersive performances.

23. Storage Room

The double doors to this spacious chamber are slightly ajar. It is dimly lit by the flickering of candlelight, which comes from several half-melted candles standing atop a table covered in a grey sheet in the middle of the room. Scattered across the table is an inkwell, quill, and several pages of parchment packed with script. Large set pieces piled against the walls cast long shadows across the room.

Argus the Caretaker. Argus spends most of his time here, reading, re-reading, and modifying the script that he originally presented to Zamarin years ago. When he notices the characters, he moves quickly to attack unless they can quickly make an appeal to him with a successful Rhetoric (Persuasion) roll or a successful  Wisdom–Religion check (see Appeasing Argus below). 

Alternatively, if Scritches is accompanying the party, Argus will not attack unless directly provoked for fear of upsetting his pet. Argus is a wight. He wields a felling axe instead of a longsword, but his statistics are unchanged. If his corporeal form is destroyed, it crumbles to dust and disappears entirely within moments as his spirit is banished from the theater.

Appeasing Argus. If he is not destroyed, Argus can be put to rest by having someone acknowledge the work that he has put into his script. The energies that reanimated Argus have preserved parts of his personality and most of his memory, though he is twisted by anger and resentment and can speak only in stumbling, fragmented sentences. 

If the party successfully appeases Argus by asking how they can help him, what angers him, or a similar sort of question, Argus will explain the following to the characters in as few groaning words as possible:

He was tortured and disrespected by the theater staff.

They ridiculed him for his script which he showed them.

If the theater will not value his work, then Argus will make sure that nobody makes use of the theater again.

He was pushed to his limit and did not deserve to be treated the way he was. He only wanted his work to be considered fairly.

Argus has written a genuinely impressive work—any positive acknowledgment of his work is enough for his spirit to rest. Depending on how the party communicates with Argus, this may be as simple as one party member taking the time to read it and providing Argus with honest feedback. Or, they may promise to Argus that they will shop it around to other theater companies in the hope of it being picked up for performance. It is important that the party is genuine in their appreciation, as Argus will notice disregard for his script or see through any lies about their feelings and immediately attack the party. If Argus is moved by the party’s acknowledgment of his work, he thanks them, sits down, begins to sob, and then slowly crumbles to dust. 

ALTERNATE (if adventure runs short) 

If Argus is appeased and begins to fade, his spirit visibly rising form his rotting corporeal form, then the young demon which has possessed him since before his death will rise to seize control, restraining the enslaved spirit.

The demon will attack with what powers it has, to stay in its host (the only one it has known). If the physical form is destroyed, or if Argus’ spirit is freed to move on to his afterlife, the demon will try to jump to a new host (Mental Combat).

If the Bowl of Barsol is present, or some other spirit trap, it will be possible to capture the demon wihin such a device, once it is free of its host

Aftermath 

Marliza Farim will be eager to hear of the party’s experiences in the theater. Before she delivers payment, Marliza will request a walk-through of the theater to confirm that it is no longer haunted. If the characters destroyed Argus or put him to rest, she delivers the reward as promised. 

If Hakim was not put to rest, the ghost remains in the theater, but does not make himself known during any inspection and is much less disruptive than Argus was. Hakim prefers to make his presence known only in specific circumstances, to play small tricks or provide minor assistance as he sees fit. He remains at the theater unless and until his bones are properly buried. 

If Argus is destroyed or put to rest, Scritches’ spirit is also put to rest.