Session 14

A long session:

Party:

The Meek Sun (Thief 3) - Grey Woman 

Slough (Halfling 2) - Mutant Man

The Swirling Champion (Fighting-man 1) [Retainer] - Gold Man

Tusk (Fighting-man 1) [Retainer] - Green Man

There was a great revel in the riverside settlement. Many had come from their work in the fields and huts to look upon the longship that had been rowed halfway into the fields, and been conscripted by the Judge to depart from their labors and aid in lifting the craft fully out of the water and onto its keel.

Some two hundred idlers and twenty mercenaries (including the party) looked upon the scene, and the Judge proclaimed the day’s labors to be shortened and for all to finish their tasks and retire early. For a great thing had been done that day, and a great treasure brought to the settlement. She also told the party to meet her at the Tower of Judgement that evening, and departed with the amphorae of spices.

So the party and their Gold companions crowded into the drinking pit, toasting with bowls of whiskey and sweet water, sweet fermented mash, and cigars. They drank to remember the dead, and drank to forget the visions of the horror-dust.
They toasted “Slough the Brave” and “The Bold Mutant” and asked him to regale them with how he slayed the moth-horror, and he supped on bitter tannin-bark tea and had his burns sponged and spoke again and again of the burning canoes, the unearthly sound of its wings, and the bravery of the Gold archers. There were toasts to great deeds, to the raising of the ship, to Slough’s bravery, to the canny dealing of Meek Sun, to the mystery of Last Walker, to the dread sorcery of Plumage of Spring, to this, to that, until all were very drunk and toasting to even the idea of toasting. All mercenary wages were spent as the day bled into night, and as with any good party hangers-on from the field gathered near.

The revel drifted out of the drinking-pit—to the bartender’s relief—and into the common spaces of the settlement. There was much talk, scattered music on drums and rattling bamboo, shows of wrestling and dancing, and a general haze of cigar and hash smoke.
Meek Sun counted her days and figured the smuggler would be appearing the following morning, and so practiced a five-finger discount on a jug of excellent whiskey and privately toasted the dead Eyes; falling asleep among furs, weapons, and collected treasures.
Last Walker retreated into himself in an idle walk, alone among the partygoers, and felt a blossoming in his head of some greater psionic potential—along with some deeper feeling of wrongness, out there in the inner dark.
Plumage slipped away in the growing dusk to meet her dead-thing; it emerged from under the river’s surface and was much the sight of horror in the dark. Together they plotted to hit the dungeon in but a few days—until then, the dead-thing would wait at the bottom of the river.
Slough, of them all, did not get privacy; he was reveled in the drinking-pit and in the common spaces and asked to tell his story again. He was pulled further away from his companions. Attention from so many who would have seen him as a field worker, or an accused thief to be executed, before all his adventures dampened the mutant’s mood even as the booze flowed and the night ran late.

The bailiff made his rounds, found the three conscious party members, and bade them to the Tower of Judgement where the Judge awaited them on her couch wrapped in Red. It was a much quieter affair; she offered a toast of her own and drank to the prowess of the party.
“Sly you are, and disloyal, but your results speak true,” quoth the Judge. And may they all prosper and their enemies die. And she would not hear any more talk and sent them away to be drunk in some other place. Such was the way of Carcosa.

Days passed in repose. Meek Sun’s smuggler contact approached in the night and the two exchanged electrum for gold at a two-to-one rate, but spoke of neither jewelry nor gems. He asked about the longship and seemed sly when the thief gave him brief answers, and was brief in turn when she asked of the lotus trade. So she bought obsidian-headed arrows and they took leave of each other.

It was learned that the longship had a great rent in its hull, and needed upkeep besides—the repairs would take a month. When surprise was expressed, the party learned that the settlement knew only how to make canoes, and larger craft would require testing and discovery. Then came the issue of payment: to focus on the longship would take away from other precious labors. An account must be struck, so said the Judge.

Time and money. While the party sat with their mercenaries to think through a solution, a new problem had taken root in their midst. A day out from the battle some began to feel uneasy in sleep; others counted it on poor whiskey or the after-battle shakes. Two days out some took grog in the day to feel calm, and would avoid the sun, and kept close to each other. Three days out most would avoid the sun for they said it shone in terrible hues and avoid the dark for they said it was cold and full of grasping death, and neither ate nor drank nor kept on a full conversation.

They sought Last Walker to steal thoughts and figure what the issue was; but all he pulled was the terrible fear of eternal doom, and he soon succumbed and did nothing but smile and laugh.

They sought Plumage of Spring, but she had lost it worse than most and only wanted her sword to cling to in the apocalypse.

By the fourth day only Meek Sun, Slough, and one of the Gold mercenaries were left standing—and only then because Slough had not been hit with the horror-dust.

On the morning of that fourth day they awoke to Last Walker and Plumage making to walk out of the drinking-pit; so too most of the Gold mercenaries, all aloud with weeping and proclamations of doom. Thinking quickly Slough roused his fellow villagers to restrain the affected mob, and had them bound and herded to the drinking-pit to much outcry. The party met the settlement’s leaders outside; the latter were not surprised of the trouble, for the party always brought trouble.

Through a closed door the mob was asked questions: what did they weep for? Would they stop weeping? What doom did they fear? There were no answers forthcoming.

Slough and Meek Sun, not wanting to lose their companions, said they would seek a cure—be it through sorcery, the lotus, or some method yet unknown to Carcosa. The Judge, saying they had yet shown results and the longship’s repairs would take a month, bade them to do so. For she needed sailors and fighting-men, and may the river-pirates not strike while the settlement was preparing.

They paid the barkeeper to feed that weeping mob from her own table for a few days, and prepared to head west for a lotus cure if one could be had.

With them came the lone remaining Gold archer, one who fought alongside Slough, wrinkle-browed and loyal and who was called The Swirling Champion. And another, a Green youth who was by turns stupid, uncharismatic, and cowardly—working for nothing but a share of treasure—called Tusk.

The band departed immediately. They spent a day in travel on the river and sped past any distractions, and spoke only a little. Tusk questioned how the lotus would cure anything, because it was just a plant; Meek Sun said the world was full of strange and powerful things, and for him to just wait.

They lighted upon the drug-lab and questioned the rat-head mutants within, first thanking them for the lead on the longship. The mutants were enthused and also let slip that another visitor had come by and asked about the same ship. Suspicious.

But time was pressing, and the horror-struck mob needed a cure. The mutants knew how to prepare the lotus into powders, poultices, or potions, and suggested the placid Blue lotus in potion form to ease horrors. But for such a large group, the time and expense for such potions would be high—perhaps there was another way. The party asked for directions to that alchemical village in Ux-Mar’s southern plains and received a reckoning on how to reach it by water, and slept and headed further west to bother that Jale sorcerer.

On the second day they made it across the lake with little trouble and came to the Flower of Peace’s tower. They paid the requisite fee and told the robed Jale attendants to hurry up or get their necks wrung, and Tusk alone noticed a pile of charred and sodden wood at the tower’s entrance.

The Flower of Peace met them with the same cheer as before, seemingly deep in a project. They explained the situation, the horror-dust, and the affliction of so many of their comrades—and asked if the sorcerer knew a plant or lotus that would cure such an affliction en masse. She was fascinated by the prospect, and thought for a while and said such research was not in her hands but could be discovered. It would take time though, and cost much.

Thwarted again from an easy solution, the party retired and privately counted their funds; in cash they had not nearly enough for research nor lotus in bulk. They asked would the sorcerer take payment in artifacts—she would, on her own appraisal, but she would. In fact, she would take payment in many things: artifacts, scrolls, lotus.

They said they would bring whatever they could find, and the sorcerer smiled and bade them to bring the funny Ulfire elder with the jolly grin next time, for his was a light mood in a grim world. The party thought the sorcerer high on her own supply and bedded down for the evening and headed out on the water the next day.

Following rumored directions, they went across the lake southeast to seek a waterway around the swamps. And find it they did, the boating prowess of The Swirling Champion guided them well through a tangled river way with many oxbow lakes at its sides. He spoke of the glacial meltwaters of the eastern hills forming a great river that fed those swamps, with a thousand tributaries each full of pirates and mercenaries. He had apparently been born in those hills and found his troop there too.

Tusk did not deign to admit where he had come from, and Slough could only vaguely recall the settlement from his youth, but Meek Sun claimed to be a wanderer raised on the hip of wanderers across Carcosa.

They camped among banyans and their watch caught a small band of Grey hunters, raft heavily laden with a slain giant crocodile full of spears. The two groups watched each other at arrow-point but merely nodded at each other, twin lights in the dark soon distant.

The waterway opened up to another vast lake, and its far northeast shore was a stripped-clean bank of mud and moss. By reckoning they knew there would be a smaller tributary that could take them into Ux-Mar and the alchemist settlement, and sought it out.

At that tributary mouth, marking the bank yard by yard, they found its slow-moving waters parted by a monolith of strange aspect—affected by some kind of metallic growth, and mind-catching whenever looked at. It communicated a feeling of wistful melancholia in the deepest part of the mind, so the party deliberately avoided looking anywhere near it and had Meek Sun examine in through her mirror while they paddled close.

At its base was a statue of the same material, but in the shape of a man—a man with a fine sword, gesturing to slice open his palm and flick it at the monolith. Even the cast blood was frozen as metal in a small spatter.

Disturbed but interested, the party prodded the thing to see if it turned other things to metal, saw it did not, and paddled on upstream with intent to recover such a strange thing.

They came to a fork in the tributaries, the southeast branch running fast but murky, the northeast running slow and weed-choked. Reasoning from their travel that the hill dungeon was north of them, they headed north—but not before the sharp-eyed Meek Sun saw something lurked just below the water’s surface. Not wanting to repeat their disaster against the moth-horror, the archers kept a distance, aimed their weapons and shot true, then watched as a shapeless furred fungoid thing drift downstream amidst a blot of blood.
They went on. North took them as suspected, to the same drier ground from which the lightning-struck hill rose up. It was dusk then.

They set their canoe among tall reeds, and crept up the hill to the cave side-entrance. Once inside they lit torches, had the two fighters lead the way, and followed remembered routes down the warrens.

But they must have lit torches too brightly, or returned too soon, for at their backs rushed a half-dozen veterans in acid-etched armor! Total surprise was had, and in the cramped tunnels a sure spearpoint struck Meek Sun in the back, and two more against the fighters in the back rank! Badly struck, wheeling, and at a disadvantage, the party took up a fighting retreat downstairs and let loose their arrows to strike down one veteran.

Taking the advantage of the narrow warrens and slow walk of their foes, the party broke ranks and fled into the deeper dungeon, back to the room of scattered bones and the animate statue. They bound their wounds and marked that lights and the sound of marching came from the east, and that smoke-stains and lingering ash came up from the way down.
No choice, then. The party fled further down, away from the lights, and found once again that fountain that the Eyes of True Men had thought to drink from before his demise. Tusk alone believed it would cure his wounds, and drank deeply—bringing him from very stupid to just stupid, and him claiming that he felt the strength of the very earth in all his blows and that he could attack as fast as thought.

So they thought him drunk and descended ever deeper, into those halls where the excavated tunnels became secure masonry, and a pervading stink of smoke clung to everything. They saw that antechamber with the dart trap, and checked the square holes in the southwest wall if there were more darts with virulent poison—it was not so.
Tusk came out of his delusions of strength and groaned about the pains he suffered.

Meek Sun and Slough knew that such foes came from a deeper layer of the dungeon, and so decided to move east into the smoke-clouded rooms beyond and find the healing shrine. It awaited them as expected; but only Tusk and Swirling Champion heard the imposition to “pray,” and the previous interlopers were left in the cold silence. Tusk verbally prayed that the Old Ones would make him strong—to much distrust among the others—and Swirling prayed so that he would be with his band once more.

They padded south and west, checking east to see the antechamber where they had ambushed the veterans earlier, and came to a door well-set. Listening at it gave away nothing, and inside was a scene: a throne shattered into splinters, holes in the walls and ceiling everywhere, the floor partially collapsed. Strange and ominous.

There was talk of how much longer the party should stay in the dungeon, and how to get out. Maps had been updated, and if they could wait hidden in that place they might escape to the surface later along a known route. So they noted the doors in the throne room and closed the door behind them, and took station at a west most door. Again, a silence beyond—and in that silence, undead!

The party retreated some and let loose arrows, then again! Dead accuracy against the dead slew one, and the rest shambled out to reveal a half dozen remaining, all tied at the waist with rope. A pair of the undead clubbed Tusk down with hammer-strong fists, but the movement of their line was yet slowed by the slain.

A running (shambling?) combat ensued, the conscious party retreating back north and peppering the undead line with arrow and javelin. With no guess to what stood at their backs, and the torchlight flickering after being passed to Slough, the party soon knew it was a matter of time until the line was made immobile by the weight of all the dead. And so it was, and the last undead struggled forward but could not gain footing on those dusty flagstones.

The party examined it in fresh torchlight: a much desiccated zombie in ochre shades like the setting sun. Not a Gold man, and dressed in ancient rotted robes, and with a fresher rope binding it at the waist. They slew it at a distance and wondered at it.

Back in the throne room Tusk was alive but badly bruised and mildly bitten, and he cursed the others when they woke him. All fights and no treasure he said.

And they entered the strangely-shaped chamber in which those undead had issued from—a place full of crusted gore and blood—and wondered at its usual shape and placement. They spent minutes searching the far wall, and it was Champion who noticed a clever bolt in the wall, which slid out and allowed a narrow section of wall to shift on ancient grooves. The darkness beyond was lit to reveal a long-running tunnel both north and south.

Feeling the fatigue of much adventure, the party headed north and found the passage ended shortly in a kind of armory; racks for weapons and armor stood empty, and rust stains and dull fragments cast sharp shadows. In such a place they found one blade wrapped triple and dusty but fine, and a box once wiped off studded with good stones and carrying much coin.
They rested there, counted shares, handed the blade to Champion, and contemplated their next move.

If there was no more healing through prayer, they could have hidden for a day—a risky choice—but decided to explore for another safe place. South past the throne room took them to a kind of court chamber with raised dais and benches lining the walls. Meek Sun noted that stone slabs clearly visible might be closed in the north and east doorways.
A western chamber to the court was some kind of archive, clay tablets stacked. Were they had a sorcerer to decipher any of them. Slough found that some tablets were lighter than others, and carefully cracking open one revealed an ampoule of opalescent liquid.

So they took up a few more tablets for their potential value, and retreated to the hidden halls. Torches aloft they went south and east, coming to a kind of abandoned nest with scattered, twisted bones but brushing past. A hint of firelight beyond set them ill at ease, and they extinguished their torches and had Meek Sun creep forward and step lightly.

At the end of the corridor was some hidden hall, a small campfire inside—and around it, no one. Not a soul. Unnerved the party turned to face an ambush that never came.
In that silence and wishing for Last Walker’s psionic talents, they went into the light and looked around a rough camp, diminutive in scale. A vermin charred over the fire, skins were piled for sleeping. So around the fire they sat and spoke of their next move, and to look at the tablets.

Then they felt the knives at their backs or at their throats. Spirits? Some unseeable horror? Tusk the coward blubbered and pled how the Old Ones favored him and how he should not be killed or great vengeance would come upon his killers. Slough, more circumspect, instead slowly reached for a grog ration and uncorked it and left it in front of him.

The grog lifted itself up in the air, tipped back, and was sampled by an unseeable thing. Guttural dungeon-speak went out, and the invisible foes were suddenly seen—diminutive mutants with scintillating wings and compound eyes. There was no language shared between the two groups, and the mutants levitated on their wings as if hung on air alone, but one gestured at the grog with a knife.
Another dram was procured and handed over. Meek Sun said to let them drink, and shortly half of the mutants were giggling and wheeling in the air. The remaining two looked inscrutably upon the party, who offered up a food ration by the fire.

On separate sides of the fire the groups watched each other. The party in low tones discussed this opportunity; a camp to rest in, a hidden side of the dungeon to hide away in, and potential new allies. Slough mentioned the stinking mutants above who took payment in meat, and the shaggy white-haired mutants who sought coin, and said to make another such kind of deal there.
So it was, and the decision was to rest the night for it must have been night by then; but Meek Sun called for a constant watch to be kept. And a watch was kept.

Kills 7 zombies (140xp), 1 spawn (15 xp)

Gains 400gp, jeweled box (500gp), Potion of Gaseous Form

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

The Burrowing Excellence  - Frozen in place by a Spawn

The Eyes of True Men - Putrefied from within by delayed poison

The Dreamer of Skies - Dragged to watery doom

Book of The Lost

The Plumage of Spring - Doomed

The Last Walker - Doomed