Aldrūan 4, 653 DR: The group gathers supplies and makes plans to explore the village well. The first descent. The upper level. Violet mushrooms. Last stand of a forsaken people. The second descent. Fyrgol falls into the abyss. Dammon carries Frygol to the top. Zêla tends to the broken Feyri. The Pools of Belyranyl. Guardian of the Ilwyryn Doors. The shattered body of Arsod Salðas. Dagger of Kar Ajmur. Cavern of the horses. The sound of arrows.
Continued from Arsod’s Trail.
Amdor, 4 Aldrūan 653
Dammon walked around the ground floor of the Magstìr Dursòr Grân, tracing the lines of stone and masonry with his unfeeling fingers. Masked by old peeling frescoes and hanging shields, he spied a pattern of stonework. Larger henge-like stones were incorporated into the front and rear walls of the lodge. If similar stones were present in the other lodges, the Village of Nyl could certainly have once been an Ēōyn temple, and a large one at that. This made the magician think more on the age of the lodges. They had assumed based on what they’d been told, that the lodges were constructed by ðardram either during the village’s fortification or after the Occupation of Illûwyr. Dammon was standing near one of the fireplaces when a knock came from the door. The old steward dutifully exited his office and crossed the atrium. After the old man undid the locks and chains, Jak and Ērēus entered with bundles of furniture legs and broken wood. This was not their first trip back to Arsod’s camp. As the two dumped the firewood in the camping room, Dammon inspected the nearby fireplace. The fireplaces, and presumably the lodges, were constructed before the Catastrophe he surmised. There was no natural firewood for days and days in any direction. The lodges then, he conjectured, were much older than they’d been led to believe.
After a cold dinner, the group made plans to follow Arsod’s presumptive footsteps into the well. Their first stop was to the village chandlery. Arsod’s journal mentioned that he bought four coils of rope; the group decided to buy five and some lantern oil. Next, they waited until after nightfall and went out to the well. There they found a wide ring of stone surrounded by eight chests. They had seen villagers scurrying over to the well the last few days, opening the hinged crates, dumping buckets into the well, filling large jugs and racing back to their homes. It was a strenuous routine that the villagers repeated regularly. At Jak’s prodding, they huddled around the chest farthest from the Eyes of Illûwyr lodge. Inside they found a long coil of rope anchored to a iron ring. Each coil was tied to metal bucket equipped with a tipping mechanism. Then the diminutive form of Fyrgol stepped forward with an oil lantern, grabbed the rope and disappeared over the edge. Dammon peered down until the Feyri reached the bottom safely. Fyrgol untied the rope and the group pulled it back up. Fyrgol was followed by Dammon, Jak, Callain, Tressta, and Ērēus. Zêla stayed above, offering to check the well now and again should they need help up.
At the extent of the bucket rope, they discovered a strange collection of things. Water entered the area from the eastern wall through a stone conduit built into the well’s wall. Water poured from the pipe into a large metal basin, which was suspended over a deeper abyss by crossed metal beams. Where each of the beams were anchored into the surrounding walls stood a wooden door framed in small violet mushrooms. Dammon grabbed a mushroom, and after some examination determined that it looked similar to ones he’d seen with curative properties. He gathered some and placed them in a pouch. While the group gathered on the edge of the basin, which overflowed into the abyss beneath, Callain examined the beams and door thresholds but could find no evidence of prior visitors. Searching done, everyone took a position around the room while Ērēus stepped forward to push open the first door. Mushrooms crumbled around the frame, bouncing into the abyss below. As the lantern was brought to bear they found a seated figure covered in thousands of the small mushrooms. Only its skeletal hands, glistening with precious rings, were not covered by the wet violet caps. Dammon and Tressta maneuvered toward the seated corpse, Tressta was drawn to the corpse’s rings while Dammon scraped aside the mushrooms covering the figure’s face. Jak stood nearby with his spear pointed at the corpse. Unmasked, Dammon revealed a jawless skull with a crystal glistening from a bone eye-socket. Drawing a knife, the magician carefully worked the stone free of the skull. Callain watched the grisly undertaking uneasily and as usual, found it impossible to let the event pass without comment. “You’re just going to dig that thing out? You are sick.” Tressta removed the skeleton’s rings, identifying each of the stones as she pocketed them: bloodstone, amber ringed with topaz chips. Dammon examined the excised eye, determining it to be a Ðaldōs artifact. He then removed mushrooms from the rest of the soiled robes, finding a silver Drāūn pendant lying on a leather mantle with stabbed tears. Around the chair, lumps of mushrooms covered decomposed books and scrolls. Among these were found a bone scroll tube and a rusted trident head with the Dekàlic inscription:
“Dægad, Ordained 13 Vulūne 1228, Kyrim Dnurm”
The priest’s scroll contained spells entitled: Words of the Dead and Servant of Waves.
Ērēus opened the next door. As they swept lantern-light through the large chamber, they saw decomposed rectangles on the floor. Each rectangle appeared to be a moldering pile of furs and textile collapsed upon a reclining skeleton. Along the far wall a long fissure lined with tiny mushrooms ran lengthwise from one end of the room to the other. Dark liquid seeped from from the crack forming sticky black puddles on the floor. Dammon stepped into the room and peered at the the decomposed beds. He sensed no magic. Fyrgol walked in behind him and stopped. The Feyri explained that a ghost was sitting on each of the rectangles, adults and children. Callain crossed the basin and looked in. “I don’t see any.” Fyrgol looked up at their new crass companion. “Each bed contains a spirit,” he explained again. “Have you been drinking?” Fyrgol stepped aside, but Callain did not enter. “Can they see us?” The archer asked. “I assume,” Fyrgol sighed. “What are they saying about us?” Fyrgol shook his head. “I only see them, I cannot hear them.” Callain chuckled. “What good is that?!” By that time, Tressta had moved passed them and was inspecting the dead. “It looks like they were killed in their sleep.” Callain watched the comely Taládan woman closely. It was difficult to reconcile her beauty with the monstrous red-claw on her right arm. “Birth defect,” he said to his new confidante, Fyrgol. His small companion was trying to ignore him. “Are any of the spirits dangerous?” Callain asked. “Only if they attack,” Fyrgol answered. Tressta and Dammon visited each of the skeletons, picking through the decay and collecting valuables. Fyrgol watched curiously as the ghosts passively observed their worldly possessions being taken from them. At one point, Dammon identified a mythrul tooth in one of the skulls and cracked it loose. As they turned to leave, Fyrgol pointed out that one of the ghosts were missing.
The looting complete, the group regrouped around the water basin. Callain stood across from the pipe, listening to the water splashing far below. Jak mentioned that if Arsod came this way, he must have tied a rope off at this level before continuing past the basin. Callain searched the area again and found some rope strands that supported Jak’s hypothesis. Ērēus opened the last door. The lanterns revealed a small chamber with old wooden boxes jumbled and broken against the far side. The floor, boxes, and walls were covered with more of the mushrooms. A long mound of something lay in the middle of the floor, covered in violet fungi. Dammon looked into the room and sensed magic from beneath the long central mound. After scraping aside more of the violet caps, they uncovered an armored skeleton with a rusted sword lying to one side. Some small buckles lay near the waist and feet. Despite the condition of everything else, the soiled cuirbouilli cuirass appeared remarkably intact. Dammon explained to the others that the scaled cuirass had a dweomer. Jak stepped in and helped wrestle the cuirass off the wet and slimy skeleton. On a rear panel of the cuirass were inscribed the Dekàlic words:
“Preserve this servant that Kyrçul’s toll be richly paid.”
Jak explained to the others that Kyrçul was the aspect of Drāūn that collected the dead.
With the rooms explored there was some discussion of why the Dekàlans would occupy these rooms without exploring beneath the basin. It seemed improbable that the Dekàlans would have lived at the bottom of the well without recognizing the significance of this place and exploring farther. The rooms appeared to be excavated out of the natural rock. It was unclear whether they were hewn before or after the metal basin was installed. Dammon knelt down on a support beam and looked beneath the basin. With his dark-vision, he could see the vertiginous cavern walls dropping away beneath them. The basin was suspended above a deep abyss. At the cavern’s bottom he could discern an stony island surrounded by watery pools. As he described this, Tressta tied their ropes together and fastened one end to a metal beam. They then lowered the rope into the pit. When all the rope had been uncoiled, Dammon could see the rope’s end swinging significantly short of the bottom. They needed more rope. The group hauled the rope back up and waited for Zêla to return. Sometime later, she showed her wrapped and goggled face above. After signalling with one of the lanterns a rope was lowered. Tressta grabbed the rope and began the long climb up. As Zêla caught the first glimpse of her companion nearing the top, Tressta lost her grip and a retreating scream echoed from the well. Zêla glanced around the courtyard but saw no response. Below, Dammon weaved Narla’s Gentle Descent and caught Tressta before she struck the basin. As Tressta recovered from her fall, the magician weaved a second spell. A wind turned inside the well and Dammon was lifted to the top. There, he instructed Zêla to open another of the chests and cut off another coil. She handed him the rope and explained that she’d be back in an hour or so. Dammon returned to the group and the rope was added to their own. Tressta then tied the rope around Fyrgol so that he could be lowered below the basin.
Ērēus and Jak lowered Fyrgol from one of the crossbeams. Hand over hand they lowered the Feyri into the abyss. Fyrgol held a lantern in one hand, looking into the deep shadows at the primitive Ēōyn paintings that shone along the natural walls. Thousands of years ago, the natives of Illûwyr painted these images of horses and wind, probably suspended from ropes much like this one– Fyrgol look around, surprised as the world around him slowed to a crawl. The knot that held him at the rope’s end was floating past his head like a pennant waving in a soft breeze. “That was my rope,” he thought to himself, strangely disconnected from the events unraveling around him. Looking down he saw the looming blackness of the abyss open wide to swallow him. He reached for the rope’s end but the abyss’ pull was too great; he was falling into the unknown, surrounded by rain from the overflowing basin above. Dammon had described an island and pools of water at the cavern’s bottom, but the inhuman magician was the only one that could see it. If he hit the island he was dead. Perhaps he’d be lucky and the pools would save him? Fyrgol fell. His eyes returned to the shifting shadows along the cavern walls as he and his lantern plummeted. The primitive paintings looked animated in the dancing light, like horses running through the clouds, circling him on his journey. Fyrgol fell. It occurred to him that he’d fallen such a long way and still there was no floor, no island, no pools of water. Perhaps he would fall forever? Perhaps he had already landed and somewhere his mangled and broken body lay lifeless on the floor of the great abyss, while his spirit continued to fall, forever repeating its last moments? Had he seen that painting before? Fyrgol fell. Surely by now, somewhere far above, the group realized that the knot had come undone. Who were those people anyhow? How far had he traveled with them, away from the rings that bound him to the Feyri realms. The only connection that remained from that life was Skaeldythoel. He thought about his family, and all those he might never see again. Fyrgol fell. What was the point of protracted time if there was nothing he could do to save himself? How many Fædòl Nāe had experienced this purgatory between instants of time, while their doom hurtled inexorably toward them? Fyrgol didn’t want to be a spectator to his own doom any longer. “Fuck it.” He willed himself back to regular time and the world turned into a maddening blur of shapes, sound, and agony.
Ērēus and Jak looked helplessly at one another. Tressta gasped. Callain listened keenly to the distant sickening impact and splash of water. “Watch that first step,” he offered. Callain was used to dirty looks. The two warriors pulled the rope back up. Gathering her wits, Tressta re-tied the loop and tested it before the next volunteer, Dammon, was lowered down. As he descended, he too took note of the extensive wall paintings. Far below, the crumpled form of Fyrgol lay on the edge of a watery pool, the water dark with a growing cloud of blood. One of his legs was twisted obscenely and it was all he could manage to cling to the pool’s edge. Above, Ērēus and Jak slowly lowered the magician. He could have weaved another Descent but wanted to conserve his energy. When he finally reached the bottom, Fyrgol was mumbling about voices and screams in the distance. As Dammon tore a bandage from the Feyri’s clothes, he stopped to listen to the wide cavern. He did hear voices in the distance, screams of men, women, and children. He was reminded of a day on the streets of Oð, long ago. There was no time for reminiscing. He bound his companion as best he could but still, Fyrgol slipped from consciousnesses. Dammon reached into a pouch and grabbed some of the curative mushrooms he’d collected above. The magician then spumed digestive juices onto the mushrooms and mashed them in his fingers. Stuffing the violet pulp into Fyrgol’s mouth, the Feyri sputtered and his eyelids fluttered. He was alive but needed more help than Dammon could offer. After some yelling up and down the misty cave, the group signaled to Dammon that Zêla had returned. Dammon weaved Annoch’s Rising and carried the body of Fyrgol to the well’s top. There he handed the broken Feyri to the bardess and returned to the bottom. While Dammon rested on the rocky island below, Jak climbed into the loop and was slowly lowered into the darkness by Ērēus and Callain. For the entire length of his descent, all he could see was the lantern glow above and the sputtering puddle of burning oil below. Tressta was the next to be lowered. After a few minutes of lowering the woman, Callain looked over to Ērēus and said, “I think I’m comfortable up here.” Ērēus didn’t bother giving the archer his expected look, instead concentrating on the strenuous task at hand. Once Tressta stepped out of the loop, they hauled the rope back up and Callain climbed on. Exhausted, Ērēus braced himself against the far side of the basin and carefully lowered their newest companion into the darkness. After a long and tiring effort, Callain was delivered safely to the cavern floor below. Ērēus offered up a prayer to Amra, tied the lantern to his belt, grabbed the rope, and climbed over the basin’s edge. The climb down was not easy, especially after assisting his companions. About half-way down, the Taládan warrior lost his grip and dropped. Watching from below, Dammon weaved another Gentle Descent, interrupting Ērēus’ fall. The warrior landed softly in one of the mushroom ringed pools. Ērēus stood up and thanked Dammon. Everyone was listening anxiously to the cavern’s strange disembodied voices. Distant screams and pleading cries floated out of the dark.
After more rest, Dammon stood and pointed to a place beyond the lantern’s circle. He explained that there were doors set into the cavern wall with rampant silver horses, similar to those in the cave paintings. Callain moved ahead and found footsteps leading through the pools in the same direction. As the group moved across the mushroom ringed pools, Dammon noticed that many of the screams and sounds were repeating. Closer to the doors, the magician saw a figure sitting against the doors, facing them. The screams were now emanating from the left. A wind then stirred around them suddenly, buffeting them all sides and slowing their progress. Ērēus and Tressta pushed through the wind toward the doors. Dammon weaved Asálāyd’s Wind and cleared a path for Jak and Ērēus. Callain made another comment but his words were lost in the whirlwind. The archer’s head snapped back as a column of air struck him in the face. “Don’t come this way,” he yelled. Beyond the archer, a large body of swirling wind had coalesced across the cavern pools and the screams and terrified cries seemed to be everywhere. Callain stepped back, swung his bow toward the doors, and released an arrow at the seated figure. The arrow buried itself into the sitter’s crotch, but it did not move. Dammon weaved Jyrik’s Rain of Icy Knives sending thousands of frozen shards through the swirling winds. Jak, Ērēus, and Tressta stabbed at the construct, unsure whether their weapons were injuring the monster. Dammon stepped back and summoned a ball of lightning between his hands. Whispers in a foreign tongue filled their ears, but without Fyrgol to translate, the ancient words were forever lost. The elemental spirit moved, sending blast after blast of wind at its attackers. Ērēus blocked one gust with his shield and swung his sword into the creature. Jak dodged another blast, and stabbed again. Finally, Dammon unleashed a stream of lightning into the swirling mass. The winds stopped and the shape disappeared.
The group then turned their attentions to the poor pierced fellow on the flow-stone threshold of the doors. The man appeared shattered. His face and limbs were crushed and distorted. The decomposed corpse was well-dressed and covered with small mushrooms. One hand lay to his left in a heavy glove. To his right a collection of lockpicks were scattered across the threshold stone. Dammon peered closely at the man and discerned a magical aura near his waist. Tressta picked through his clothes and found a stone insectoid head pommel tucked into his belt. Drawing out the weapon, she found a red stone blade that fit the description of the Dagger of Kar Ajmur. The dagger secured, Tressta collected the lock-picks and examined the three keyhole lock. Using her own tools, she worked on each keyhole in order, but one of her picks snapped in the third hole causing each part of the lock to reset. While Tressta worked on the locks, Dammon handed some the violet mushrooms to Callain. He’d taken a strong blast to the face and still looked a little dazed. “These look nasty!” He announced, shoving them into his mouth. Dammon did what we could to help the archer, but was pretty certain the scout would soon have two black eyes. Tressta picked another lock and stood back. Jak pushed against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “That was anti-climatic,” Callain announced. Tressta sighed and went back to work on the locks. After many more attempts, the mechanism clicked satisfyingly, and the large doors slowly opened inward.
Jak was the first to smell the rich, humid, pungent smells that emanated from beyond. Dammon sensed for magic, but finding none, stepped across the flow-stone threshold and into the chamber. Beyond the doors lay a large natural cavern littered with horse skeletons. The walls of the room were adorned with delicate stone draperies that seemed to glow in the lantern light. Many of the natural curtains were painted with primitive images of horses and riders similar to those seen in the long shaft. At the room’s far end, the smooth floor ended abruptly with a dark chasm. Across the gap, the far wall appeared honeycombed with dark recesses and caves. Calain followed the others, careful not to step on any of the skeletons laying about the floor. As he caught up with the group, he heard the unmistakable sounds of wood creaking and the twang of bowstrings.
Continued in Death of a Minstrel.
Characters
- Callain = 2+1 CPs (155)
- Dammon Shroudson = 2 CPs (250)
- Fyrgol = 2+1 CPs (183)
- Jak of Cænden = 2 CPs (247)
- Tressta Drynsval = 2 CPs (240)
- Arsod Salðas: dead
- Dægad of Drāūn: dead
- Ērēus of Amra = 2 CPs (321)
- Familiar = Unkn.
- Sadàys Màldii
- Zêla ma Ler = 1 CPs (183)
Played: 28 Jul 2012