Session 4

Again:

Party:
Rattlebones (Sorcerer 1)

The Plumage of Spring (Sorcerer 1)

The Meek Sun (Thief 1)

The Eyes of True Men (Fighting-man 1)

Slough (Halfling 1)

Come the third day of their mission, the party sought The Judge of Stones to inform her of Quiet Breath’s demise. She would not meet them in person but spoke through an emissary: the hulking executioner/bailiff with a smooth voice, who for all the politics did not regard the party poorly. The Judge (by proxy) told them they had actually profited over her, for now she could not execute their Ulfire friend—but she still expected the thousand coins agreed upon.

They fumed and drank whiskey and tannin-rich bark tea and ate fried mushrooms and on the midday marched out into the insect-thick air and back to the hill ruin.

In dark they came upon it, and no sign of the earlier campfire. Plotting a two-pronged attack against the denizens of the first dungeon level, Meek Sun and Slough concealed themselves in swamp mud and crept towards what lay among tumbled stones. A hastily cleared camp and a staircase leading down they found; the staircase cleverly chiseled and pieced together, to break underfoot and send intruders tumbling.

A plan was hatched: one to set off the trap and throw down heavy stones, and the larger force to ambush from behind. Plumage of Spring took point and the rest returned through those narrow hand-carved caves to the south to lay in wait.

The crash of tumbling stone brought forth the three remaining Noble Chanters from their lair, plus a masked Green man and a startlingly-fresh skeleton!

Backs were turned when the main force sallied forth and missed every arrow, javelin, and thrown dagger! Once again the two groups acted at once; blades flashes and axes dropped and there were the screams of the dying. One of each foe was hewn or speared or stuck with an arrow; Plumage of Spring called upon the cosmos and summoned a burning face in a cloud of smoke, and declared a term of service until the sun broke the horizon; Rattlebones was cracked in the head by a mace and never managed to demand service for her conjured servitor!

Unbroken, the remaining Noble Chanters hefted maces and cried for blood for their fallen friends. A strike on The Eyes of True Men proved too weak for his bamboo mail and doughty strength.

So too did the dream-matter servitor probe around, heedless of the carnage around it. One of its expanding fanged lumps swelled to engulf the head of Slough, who was made confused and aggressive, not knowing friend from foe.

The morass was a confusion of parries, near misses, deadly strikes, and disaster! The final Noble Chanter had reserves of strength seen only in the cornered and dying, and in the end there were two standoffs: he and Meek Sun, and Slough and Plumage of Spring (who had taken the long way around while commanding her servitor to fight).

Cornered and wounded the final foe dropped his weapon and requested only a quick death. Meek Sun dealt him a blow to the groin and aided Plumage of Spring in wrestling Slough to the ground until his serene wits returned to him.

The survivors splashed water on their fallen companions: Rattlebones did not awake and they found that her brains had slid out of her crushed head from the blow. So died the final member of that lost slaver caravan. Meek Sun had the reeling acolyte bound hand and foot and stuck next to the corpse while the party ventured west to were those Chanters had come from.

A rough barracks greeted them. Bedrolls of matted grass, a brazier with a low fire. Food scraps, quickly snapped up and toasted over the brazier. The smell of close-packed humanity.

Plumage of Spring found a charcoal rubbing of the geometric patterns in that vaulted chamber, rolled it and took it while the other party members turned to more material concerns. The barracks brought forth plenty in gold and silver and glittering gems cut in alien geometry; and better still the bodies which had secreted a heavy neck-pouch of gold and a thumb-ring engraved with vultures.

Wounded, wealthy, and with captive they interrogated the last Chanter on what lay in other rooms; his morale held fast as did his stoic silence. They kicked him and went along their way west, to a doorway yet untouched. Meek Sun heard low, monotonous chanting from beyond and devised that she and Slough would wear the robes recovered from that mountain fane, hoping in the darkness one robe looked much like another. They also devised Slough would speak about the symbol rubbing to catch off guard whoever was inside, while Plumage of Spring and her servitor would lurk in preparation.

Inside was another robed Chanter a distance away from a statue with extended hands: an inhuman, lurking figure with twisted head and torso in outline of some great piscine beast come on the shore shapeless and lurching. The Chanter appeared deep in meditation of his chant, and when spoken to ever softly about the engravings he rushed up in a fury.

“You dare not break the song! Hideous invaders, interruptors of ritual, slayers of kin!” He roared, and a third eye on his forehead broke open and fixed upon Slough—whose humbleness and prior experience protected him from the mind-invading horrors!

Arrows and javelins broke upon this last Chanter’s garb, a magnificent set of carapace plates molded together; he strode forward and unraveled Slough flesh from bone with but a touch. But The Eyes of True Men, furious and to save his companion, rushed forward hefting the brazier and poured its burning coals all over the Chanter. Flames burst and the scene was lit in flickering flame, and bolstered the party took dagger and axe and arrow and fell upon the Chanter until his robes were char and his head rolling into a corner. They stripped him of his armor and ring.

Slough, unraveled, look up at them with flickering eyes. The mutant was barely there but hoisted up and slapped on the back. He thanked his friends, and they rewarded him with a load of coins to be carried. And they bound their wounds and gathered up the spoils and corpses—loading their captive Chanter so heavily he bent over near double and rasped from the weight of it. Slough mentioned this was turnabout for their own fears of capture, and after a moment of reflection the party picked treasure they valued and loaded the Chanter with Rattlebones’ corpse instead.

Punishment for his murder, they said. Slough could not push the point further through pain and exhaustion.

The party did not want to rest in the dungeon, nor did they trust the exposure of the camp above, nor the protections of the Grey settlement who might deem them weak enough to capture. So thinking this they counted heads and Plumage of Spring offered that the Chanter might walk free if he promised not to run before the group had returned to civilization and rested. He assented, and they unbound his legs and he did not run.

Again they forced march in the dark, and again they had someone buried under the mangrove (Rattlebones next to Quiet Breath), and again they spent a day in recovery awash in whiskey and blood.

The Last Chanter, whose appellation seemed to have stuck, remained in the settlement for the following morning. While the others headed out, Plumage of Spring asked of his band’s purpose, and the meaning behind the geometric inscriptions in the dungeon, and the horrific statue formerly prayed to. How had a dungeon so recently exposed by lightning been so quickly inhabited?

Last Chanter asked if this was a request to join the movement, but an understanding passed between the two and it was not to be, for the Noble Chanters aligned to the Old Ones—the sorcerer-kings would, in the end days, know the deception and destroy Plumage of Spring for it. He told how Old Ones had immeasurable power, greater even than the creators of Men, and how Chaos would in time grind even the stones of Law into dust. He told Plumage of Spring that all would kneel, given enough time.

So saying, he produced an edge of flint and lunged over the rude table at Plumage of Spring and cut her throat.

He was over the table and out of the drinking pit in seconds; the barkeep threw a cursory jar that shattered on the doorframe and rushed to the sorcerer. Thought surprised and spitting up blood, she yet lived. She mouthed “treachery.”

The barkeep’s cry for capture went out, and by a narrow margin the Dolm man fled among the flooded hemp fields, broke past the tree line, and was lost. The party gathered and watched from atop the suspended walkways, dreading what would happen next.

They sold the cult’s weapons as good metal, and their robes for good cloth. At noon they retreated to their private corner of the drinking pit and paid gold to not be disturbed—for after counting all their profit in coin was a fourth of the demanded price, and it was already the fourth day with their group diminished or wounded. Meek Sun considered cutting and running to another settlement; Plumage of Spring was silent; Slough’s trust in the justice of the The Judge had waned.

They turned their eyes to the gems and jewelry recovered, and made to secret them in kind amongst themselves so no one’s loss might deplete their treasures. Meek Sun would approach a smuggler she knew of (convenient to mention at such a time) to appraise each.

But there was no time to do so, for the bailiff/executioner intruded upon their corner to bring them to The Judge of Stones at once. He saw the stacked coins and instructed them be brought as well. Under his hooded but watchful eye the party went to the tower of judgement and found small reception there.

The Judge sat atop her customary ladder and asked why there had been trouble, why a sorcerer lived past having a throat cut, and why she had not been handed monies recovered when they were brought back Their most eloquent silenced, their second-most with death hanging over his head, their unofficial leaders buried under swamp mud, it was up to The Meek Sun to explain.

The thief gave a straightforward account of the dungeon struggle, embellishing nothing and omitting much (hidden jewelry). When asked to speculate on the value of such struggle she would not, but the Judge mused aloud that clearing out the first level of that dungeon would provide safety—and prove value. Seeing no way out the party agreed, and so was told to return to that terrible hill the following day.

The Judge took their bags of gold as well, leaving the silver for expenses, and declared it just.

Kills 3 acolytes (30xp) 1 bandit (10xp) 1 skeleton (10xp) 1 4th-level cleric (175xp)

Loot 393sp, 121gp, gem (50gp), gem (100gp), leviathan tooth thumb ring engraved in flying beasts (500gp), gem (10gp), gem 100gp 4 iron maces & 1 obsidian sword (23gp), 1 set carapace plate mail, enchanted ring, 3 fine robes (2gp)

Book of The Dead

Boss - Abandoned in a temple

The Lurking Minion - Sacrificed for power

The Quiet Breath - Struck down by a ghoul

Rattlebones  - Killed by a vengeful acolyte