Tarkun plodded through the mostly abandoned streets of the slums, muttering about ingratitude and barbaric personalities. Small flickers of smoke rose from his nostrils as his inner fire responded to an agitated state of mind. While of noble birth, it as not in his nature to place himself above others. This case, however, made his blood boil.

So it took an indeterminate amount of time before he actually stopped to think. His steps had taken him in the wrong direction along snaking, labyrinthine passages. While it's scant hundreds of yards to the spot where his previous companions are, it might as well be on another plane of existence.

Ahead, just visible between ruined walls and collapsed masonry, a gnoll leaned over a fallen, bloodied humanoid figure. The creature's armor seemed much tidier than the usual refuse one would expect from it.



This message was last edited by the GM at 08:58, Thu 05 Nov 2015.

Tarkun was rightfully furious when he left his last party. As he ran the scene of this encounter and the last over in his head hundreds of times, he kept muttering to himself things like 'savage brutes,' 'nature versus nurture,' 'diplomacy is almost always an option,' and whatnot that supported the case in his head.

However, once his anger began to abate, and he started seeing things from an outside perspective and with rational thought, he starts to realize the things he did wrong and will need to own up for once he gets back to the barracks.

But where were the barracks?

This didn't look at all like where he thought he was headed.

Should he have taken a left turn back there?

As he was surveying his surroundings trying to orientate himself, he sees the Gnoll over the bloodied body. He cautiously draws his brass wand, ready to discharge a spell if needed. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Clearing his throat, he calls out to the Gnoll. "Excuse me? You there? The...uh...Gnoll in the armor. Is everything alright?"

The gnoll looks up towards Tarkun. Its ugly, hyena-like muzzle is matted with blood. More blood is liberally splattered all over the front of its armour and the handaxe it holds. Its dull, bead-like eyes regard the dragonborn sorcerer.

Tarkun's analytical mind somehow connects that particular type of handaxe with the kind used to butcher horses. The motionless, bloodied heap of flesh behind the gnoll doesn't seem to be a horse, however.

"Ghhh. Why aren't you with the rest of your cadre? I fucking told you I need no help!" The creature is visibly annoyed. "Or did you get lost in the ruins again? By Yeenoghu's thirty dark names, if I have to shepherd one more of you scaly-skins across the city I'll go insane!"

It sighs, shaking its head, trying to breathe calmly, rubbing its eyebrows with a blood-encrusted hand.

"Okay, okay. I got this. No need to kill another one of you. Breathe deeply. In. Out. In. Out. Okay, I feel better now. Come on over and help me carry this meat back to the camp, will you?"

The gnoll turns and hefts a limp body onto its shoulder, then motions to the a large bundle on the floor.

"Pick this up and follow me."

"Does this fool presume me a kobold," Tarken mused. However, no sooner than the thought was born and passed, an idea began to form in the Dragonborn's mind.

"Yes boss. Right away boss," Tarkun says, doing his best to feign ignorance. He figures if he's going to act the part, he needs to look the part as well. He sheds (much to his dismay) the ornate robe in favor for the simple breeches and shirt he wore underneath, hoping the Gnoll doesn't take notice, since it hasn't already.

Tarkun picks up the bundle and follows.

"By Mystra, I hope the rest of his group is as stupid as him, else I may be walking into my death."

The gnoll leads Tarkun to a nearby clearing in the slums. four more kobolds are packing chunks of meat into leather bags. It's grisly and bloody work. Several more corpses are nearby, harvested for edible meat.

"Bossman!" one of the kobolds yips, as it squints at the Gnoll, the bright sunlight hurting its eyes. "We're almost done. Got a good amount from those two corpses. Should make nice tasty food!" It slobbers as it speaks, obviously hungry. "Ol' Norris will give us a few, will he?"

"Of course. Now you scaly fleas, load up and let's go back to the well." The gnoll motions impatiently. "Form up and let's go."

The kobolds regard Tarkun with curious gazes, but stay silent as they secure the bundles with ropes, then pick up their load. The small column slowly forms, and the gnoll motions westwards, out of the slums. "Let's go. Keep together and we'll be having a fest in an hour. If anyone gets lost, I ain't rescuing you, y'hear?" He glares at Tarkun.

Tarkun followed, keeping an eye out for where he was and what was going on. When they get to the clearing, he winces at the grisly scene.

When the Gnoll glares at him, he just shrugs his shoulders. "What? I still found you, didn't I?"

The meat is loaded onto backs, the gnoll helping with a friendly shove or kick here and there. Soon enough the little caravan is heading westwards through the winding ruins of the slums.

There is still time for Tarkun to do something before the gate to the Kuto's Well section is reached. Perhaps the dragonborn has a cunning plan?

A hundred scenarios played in Tarkun's mind since walking in to this situation. However, none of them had any chance to play out as it seemed the Gnolls were on a schedule. He had hoped to talk to some of his lesser kin in order to sow some seeds of dissent, but perhaps that will have to wait until later.

As they started moving out, Tarkun took a deep sigh. "Mystra, Tiamat...whichever one is watching over me, I could use some guidance in this. If I meet my end, I shall meet it gladly, but I'd rather not die this day."

A prayer and a moment of inspiration are good ways to multiclass into Cleric.

Anyawys.

Tarkun plods along with the rest of the kobolds, the big Gnoll at the back f the column. The ruins get thicker and more labzrinthine towards the center of the slums. Then there is a clearing, close to the notrh shore. Sitting clear in centre f the small, mostly untouched square is a small church with the symbol of Ilmater visible above its entrance. The building seems mostly intact, with only a single blast of dragonfire marring its white facade. The roof seems half-caved in however. The gnoll growls and makes the caravan detour and avoid the spot, however, giving Tarkun no time to investigate.

It's only a short walk from the church to the northwest gate in the Slums. The party passes a former stable. Horse skeletons lie around, intertwined, sad reminders of the past. They seem to have burned to death, trapped in the stable. Not a pleasant way to go.

The "gate" from the slums into Kuto's well is little more than a big hole in a wall. A hole large enough for a wagon. Not that there aren't more holes in the wall... but this one seems to have some sort of guard. A grey-robed man holds up his hand in greeting, provoking the gnoll to spout more expletives about the man's parentage.

"So creative today. Let's see the pass. You know the boss insists on that."

There's more grumbling as the gnoll produces a small clay tablet with markings on it. The man inspects it and breaks the tablet in half, while sharing the following in a calm, almost bored voice.

"Done. They're already eagerly expecting you. And I see you have found plenty of meat. Still so fresh, too. I bet Norris will appreciate the trouble you have gone through. His pet is hungry."

The kobolds snicker - at least until the gnoll silences the closest one with a backhanded slap. The small group hastens through the ruins, along a cleared path, towards the centre of this district. Tarkun can already make out a small fortification ahead - about ten feet high and twenty to the side, with a few  kobold archers hiding behind crenellations.

The door to the small fort opens, waiting to admit the small group into darkness.

Tarkun took care not to draw unwanted attention to himself. He kept his head down and his mouth closed, speaking only when spoken to. He couldn't help but wonder who this Norris was, or what his pet could be. Though, Tarkun had a feeling he would probably be finding out soon.

The "fort" turns out to be the top of a broad spiral staircase, with a pair of thick chains hanging in the middle. There is a heavy sound of finality as the doors close behind the group, cutting off escape. These hold many pails, and it seems there is a primitive mechanism to transport water from the depths via a conveyor-like mechanism. It doesn't seem to be currently operational, however. A few kobold guards give the group puzzled looks as they descend the stairs about ten feet. This brings them to the level of ground waters. Stone walls give way to simple dug earth here, and the water level seems to be just a few inches below the ground here. The well continues down, the chains dipping into sweet, transparent water.

There are irregular passages in every direction, and the gnoll takes the small group into a random seeming tunnel. This goes on for a dozen feet, then opens into a small earthen cavern strewn with various pots and cooking equipment, a primitive chimney and ventilation allowing a fire to burn in a fireplace. More tunnels lead out of the cavern. Warming himself at the fire is a gray-bearded, silver-haired man with a tired expression.

The gnoll shoves Tarkun forwards, towards the man, while he and his group remain in the tunnel.

"Hey, Norris. here, more food for your pet."

The gray-bearded man barely looks towards the dragonborn, before a terrible chittering emanates from one of the other tunnels opening into this room. A monstrous, insectoid creature runs inside, head raised high as if it had tracked the scent of a fine meal.Its eyes glint hungrily as it regards the obviously terrified kobolds, then the dragonborn. A dozen silver spikes seem to be punched into its chitinous body at various place, and these glow in synch with the silver ring on Norris' finger.



"Eh, a dragonborn. How interesting. Who knew one was in Phlan? But this presents a curiosity at best. Tell me, visitor, is there some special reason I should not allow you to become a meal?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:11, Thu 19 Nov 2015.

"Damnit," Tarkun curses himself. "My hubris and arrogance have surely caused my downfall. If this is my fate, so be it."

He sighs as he straightens his clothes and himself, and resigns himself to death. However, he still had one trick up his sleeve. No better time than immanent death than to lay all the cards on the table.

"Well, good sir, that would depend entirely on how willing you are to suffer the wrath of The Dragon Queen. Oh, do I have your interest now? You see, I am Tiamat's Chosen. Here to do her bidding and gather the appropriate materials and artifacts in order to free her from her hellish prison. Surely, you must be aware of The Dragon's Queen power, even in her current state."

02:57, Today: Tarkun rolled 14 using 1d20+3.  Deception.

Norris raised an eyebrow at Tarkun's bluff.

"Wrath of the dragon queen?" He stood more erect, somewhat taller, displeasure turning his face into a hideous mask. "Let me tell you that I survived the dragonflight, and have no love for the dragon-kin after what tey did to my family. Only my daughter remained of my family - and a dragon found her fanciful, so he abducted her into his mountain lair. So, it is clear how my hate of dragons runs deep. And now, an emissary of Tiamat herself. Yes, I would find it pleasurable to let my pet tear you apart, slowly, taking its time. Each of your screams would be a delight to my ears." He paused, thinking, tapping a finger against his lips as an idea blossoms inside his mind. "I see. Perhaps I could buy back my beloved daughter from Ssrixsas? Would he not like to have a self-proclaimed emissary of his Queen as lunch?" He laughed, the sound not unlike the malicious barking of a hound. "We shall see! Guards! Escort our guest to his new quarters!"

The gnoll put his paw onto Tarkun's shoulder and motioned towards one of the tunnels with its snout. "Let's go, sire. Your accommodations are waiting."

The guards didn't even bother searching Tarkun. The aforementioned quarters turn out to be nothing but a hole in the ground at the end of one of the tunnels, ten feet deep and knee-high with stale water. The dragonborn was thrown in without much fuss; the hole then sealed with a thick stone slab with several fist-thick holes.

"Enjoy your stay, sire." The gnoll barked fom above. "It's bound to be brief."

With that, Tarkun was left in darkness, knee-deep in cold water.

Tarkun resigned himself that Norris would see through his bluff and feed him to his pet...whatever that was. Thankfully, either Norris bought his bluff, or figured some other tactical advantage for him, especially with this Ssrixsas.

Tarkun was less than please with his "quarters," however, the Dragonborn really couldn't complain considering he was still alive. So what if he was knee deep in what was probably waste water?

Thankfully, they didn't search him, which meant they didn't discover his focus wand, which meant he could still cast spells. Looking at the thick stone slab, he highly doubted a couple Magic Missile spells would be enough to break it. He wondered if several castings of Ray of Frost would be enough to freeze the stone enough that a good blast or two of Firebolt or his breath would be enough to shatter it. Even if it was, he didn't know who might be standing guard outside his prison.

It seems to Tarkun, that once again finesse and his silver tongue probably holds the key to his escape. Obviously this Ssrixsas was a dragon, which meant this this infernal blessing coupled with his own natural talents would give him a distinct edge in trying to beguile him. Norris revealed a juicy bit of information concerning his daughter in his monologue. As Norris said, he plans on using Tarkun to trade to Ssrixsas for his daughter. Therefor, all Tarkun needs to do is convince Ssrixsas that he is nothing special, certainly no emissary of Tiamat, and that this is all some cheap ploy of Norris. If all goes right, the two should hopefully destroy each other. At least be engaged enough with each other that Tarkun can escaped unnoticed.

There's a faint tremor, then a stronger one. The ground beneath Tarkun shifts and becomes nothing but a pile of loose dirt, falling down. And Tarkun with it! Apart from the tremor, there was no warning at all. The fall is not long - perhaps thirty feet in all - and the sorcerer lands on a pile of something mushy and foul smelling, the impact sending splurts of water in all directions.

Upon getting his bearings, he finds himself sprawled on a big fungus in a narrow tunnel. The spongy flesh mushroom flesh cushioned his fall enough to spare him from any damage. The fungus itself seems to have been filled with a large amount of water, and this is now splattered all around the walls and floor of the tunnel.  Dim light emanate from clusters of tiny toadstools clinging to the ceilings and walls. Looking up, he can just about glimpse the stone used to seal him in. Perhaps he could climb back up...

Or perhaps moving in one of the two directions offered by the tunnel would be preferable to desperately clawing his way back into captivity?

To the right, the tunnel seems to brighten perceptibly and go deeper. There's also the sound of incessant buzzing, like that of a bunch of flies is chasing eachother over a ripe carcass.

To the left, the tunnel darkens and dips as well. This side seems silent, apart from the periodic water-dripping sounds.

Tarkun tries to brace himself against the growing tremors, however it ultimately proves futile as the bottom literally drops out. He screams as he falls and hits the soft, wet spongy thing. He looks up from where he fell and is thankful the mushroom prevented what would have been a guaranteed grievous wound, if not outright death.

Tarkun inspects both tunnels and weighs his options.

"Well, the path right does appear to have some illumination, which is a bonus. However, if that sound IS flies over a dead body, then chances are something lethal lies that way.

"On the other hand, the left path is dark, but quiet."

As he contemplates his chances he sees a rounded stone, which he picks up and inspects. One side was covered in mossy growth, the other side bare.

"Why not," he mumbles to himself.

"Mossy side up, I'll go left. Smooth side, I'll go right."

He flips the stone in to the air and watches flip end over end. It crashes to the ground mossy side up.

"Left it is then."

Tarkun takes out his wand, and begins to carefully and cautiously walk into the darkness.

Taking 10 on Stealth Check, 13.

The tunnel gets darker and darker. Its floor and walls are surprisingly smooth, as if the rock had been eaten away by acid. Or perhaps a thousand small rock-grinding teeth? Who knows? The darkness is inky black ahead, forcing the dragonborn to slow his steps and listen intently. This goes on for a few hundred yards - then there is a sound hat makes Tarkun stop.

It's a soft, squishy sound, as if someone was squeezing something. Something drips into a metallic container, drop by drop. Then there's a crunching sound, not unlike the splintering of bones.  It's hard to say how far ahead the sounds originate.

Tarkun heightens his caution as he continues to move forward. He crouches lower as he moves closer to the wall. Whatever was making this sound couldn't be good.

11:57, Today: Tarkun rolled 19 using 1d20+3.  Stealth.

There's a snort, a sudden inhale as if a creature was taking scent; a shuffle of claws against unworked stone as something was turning this way and that. Then whatever is down the corridor seems to quiet down and still its breathing, as if hoping the intruder hasn't noticed it yet.

The tension is inky black and suffocating, just like the darkness around Tarkun.

Tarkun steadies himself as he draws his wand. Once again he curses himself for his stubbornness that led him to this situation. After the moment's silent beratement, points his wand down the corridor and utters the draconic word that would unleash a bolt of fire. In truth, he wasn't intentionally trying to hit whatever was ahead (though if he did, it would be icing on the cake). What he was hoping for was enough illumination to one, get a better image of what was ahead and two, try to disorient the thing enough to get in another attack if possible.

01:59, Today: Tarkun rolled 13 using 1d20+5.  Firebolt Attack.
01:59, Today: Tarkun rolled 5 using 1d10.  Firebolt Damage.

The firebolt flashes in the darkness, its brightness almost blinding Tarkun. Ahead, maybe thirty feet away, a pale humanoid form garbed in mismatched dark clothes convulses, fright distorting its rat-like face as sparks fall around it from the near-miss. Its eyes are stark white, pupil-less. At its feet are two metal buckets; on the walls, a few of the spongy mushrooms just like the one Tarkun landed on before, some of them squeezed out.

But the light lasts for but a split second, and in the ensuing darkness the dragonborn can clearly hear the humanoid turning and running away. Its clawed feet scrape against bare rock, its breathing frantic as it puts every ounce of strength to get away from the sudden threat in this long-abandoned tunnel. It chitters a warning, again and again.

Tarkun takes off running after the rat-thing. Tarkun realizes there were more where he came from, and he couldn't have it alterting them. With another arcane word, Tarkun shoots another bolt of fire hurling its way.

23:31, Today: Tarkun rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  Firebolt Attack.
23:31, Today: Tarkun rolled 7 using 1d10.  Firebolt Damage.

There is a short cry as the firebolt obscures the creature's back. It stumbles and falls heavily; there is a short whimper from it, echoing through the corridor. Then, it exhales a last time, and everything is quiet.

For a second or two.

The cry was obviously heard by someone. There is a soft, hair-raising sound, like a thousand spiders crawling over paper. The sound rises in volume, slowly, unhurriedly. It sounds like whole avalanche of spiders, rolling down the corridor, ready to suffocate the intruder in tiny, hairy spider bodies that crawl into the nose, mouth, eyes.

Tarkun pauses to say a silent prayer to Mystra for the slain creature. Tarkun wasn't completely naive. He knew embarking on this life would mean taking the lives of others. That didn't make it easy and he feared the day it would become easy. His moment of silence was broken by the sound. At first he couldn't tell what it was, but when he could, it made the skin under his scales crawl. There was only one option for him.

Run.