As the immense roiling mass begins to drift towards you, you race for the stairs in the adjoining chamber.  Alasha'an, closer than the rest of you to the black cloud of corruption, looks as if she'd prefer to stand and fight ... but joins her companions as your footfalls echo as you cross the dark marble.

The walls of the second chamber, like the first, are covered with rusted weapons that reflect little of the light from the braziers that blaze away in each corner, and the same pervading stench of decaying flesh fills the air, as you reach the wide stone stairs, steps lit, if poorly, by the light from above, and from somewhere below.

With just a backwards glance to confirm that the roiling mass continues to stalk you, you head downwards, careless of your footing, and unable to rest a hand for support on the weapon-clad walls to either side, though thankfully nobody falls as the stairs prove steep yet in good repair.

You descend perhaps sixty feet before the stairs give way to another chamber, its walls still covered in the rusted tools of war. Smaller braziers burn in the corners, and there is a raised and rune-scribed ring of stone that marks the centre of the floor.  Small side chambers are lined with stone sarcophagi, while in the opposite wall hang two doors, with an all too familar round plug of stone, about five feet in diameter, bound with with graven chains embedded in a seal of plaster at its centre.

The shifting darkness gathers at the top of the stairway behind you, slowly moving forward, as if savouring the moment ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

”Yetta lass, if Calanor’s blade be the right one, we must break the seal on yonder portal with it. Or maybe Alasha’an’s blade be the right one? Ah’d steer clear of yon magic circle on the way there though. Dunno if we can ‘old this thing ‘ere on the stairs though. T’other one were onto Ayas inna blink of an eye.”

Hamin reacts, but perhaps not in  the way that Brugar expects.  "Heal him." he calls to his daughter, and he makes a break for the seal, skirting around the circle as he goes.  Dropping his polearm, away from the circle, he pulls Calanor's sword from his back and charges towards the seals as fast as he can.

OOC - Double move this round, if there is a second round action he will charge the doors and strike at the seal as soon as he is able.  I am working on the assumption That this is a Great Sword.

10:07, Today: Hamin Carmine rolled 28 using 1d20+16.  hit seal with Calanor's blade (assumes charge).
10:09, Today: Hamin Carmine rolled 12 using 1d10+6 ((6)).

OOC: Brugar is down 98hp, that's about two-thirds of his total hit points. 8 nights of peaceful sleep and he'll be virtually fully healed. Probably not worth poking him with a wand of CLW if that monster is about to attack. Brugar took 48hp damage in one round (two hits) from its smaller cousin.

OOC: a couple of pokes might keep him up for an extra round, and that might just be enough ...

"Keep moving," Yetta tells Brugar with a small smile that holds little humour, pulling the Dwarf along with her around the markings on the floor as she fishes her wand out and speaks the word of command to activate it and heal him.

Yetta pulls the injured Brugar along with her, healing him as they go, and being careful not to cross the circle inscribed upon the stone floor.  Alasha'an trails along behind them, sword out as she warily watches the roiling mass that slowly descends the stone stairwell. 

Striding ahead of his three companions, Hamin has already reached the doorway, but does not pause there, nor look back, as he swiftly drops his polearm to one side and draws Calanor's blade, his hands fastening tight around the pommel as the one-eyed warrior brings the greatsword down hard upon the plaster seal ...

... a loud noise, like a thousand hammers striking anvils in unison assails your ears as the seal shatters, bursting asunder.  The chain drops away, the noise lost amidst the tumult, as the door swings slowly open.  Upon the stairs, the shifting cloud of darkness and corruption pauses ...

The plaster dust swiftly settles, revealing another steep flight of stone stairs leading down, the stench of death and decay somewhat lessened, though the air beyond is foul and stale.

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

"Stairs down." Hamin calls, as he heads into the foul air on the staircase, "Come on ...."

"Can we block the door?" Alasha'an calls out, bringing up the rear, her gaze flicking between Yetta and Brugar and the roiling mass following slowly in their wake.

"Would it do any good?" the elf ponders sourly, answering her own question, albeit with another, as she retreats towards the stairs. "We've opened the final portal after a journey lasting hundreds of years.. and we're but seconds from disaster!"

"Dunno, but be worth tryin'," Brugar mutters as he swings the door closed.

He quickly retrieves some iron spikes from his backpack and hammers them in with the side of his blunt battleaxe to wedge the door closed before he follows the others down the stairs.

Of course, if the approaching monster brushes the door open before he can do that, he will abandon the effort and retreat downstairs immediately, or if it is just a tentacle reaching through the doorway he will take the opportunity to lop it off instead.

Asking the dwarf to hold still seems both futile and contraindicated in the circumstances, so Yetta quickly uses her wand to heal Brugar once more while he grabs the spikes from his pack, then drags him away from the door once his work is done.

Hauling the doors closed, Brugar attempts to seal them once more, hammering in steel spikes to prevent them from moving at all, as Yetta tries to heal him.  For a few long seconds, the Dwarf resists her efforts to pull him away, but eventually allows the young woman to drag him off, down the stairs after Hamin and Alasha'an, the one-eyed warrior perhaps a pace or two ahead of the Elf.   

The foul, stale air is almost choking, the ancient stone steps crumbling and uneven beneath your feet, slowing your descent, and though it seems at first that Brugar's handiwork may have stopped the roiling mass, the gathering, swirling shadows that grow in the darkness at the top, proved that the barrier has only slowed it.

Another sixty feet down, down ... and the stairs give out into a chamber running eastwards away from you, an opening just visible at the far end.  Both north and south walls are lined with sarcophagi with but a narrow passage between them.

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

With a pang of regret, for the pole-arm dropped at the top of the stairs, Hamin runs straight down the corridor between the sarcophagi, clasping Calanor's sword with both hands.  With the dark mass closing behind them, he has little choice ...

Brugar glances behind him as he follows Yetta down the stairs. He glares at the dark mass following them but doesn’t hesitate to follow the party down the narrow passage between the sarcophagi. His axe and shield are held ready to greet any foe that seeks to slow the party.

Your footsteps echo on the stone as you race down the long hall towards the far opening, lungs burning in the foul air, the cold, ancient stone uncaring as to your fate.

Hamin leads the way, Calanor's blade held before him, the weapon unfamiliar but his grip sure.  Close behind him come Brugar and Yetta, the Dwarf ready to fight, the young woman frustrated in her efforts to heal him.  Last follows Alasha'an, her own dark pitted blade in hand.

You slow as you reach the opening to the east, allowing Yetta the chance to use her wand once more to heal Brugar.  Beyond lies another chamber, smaller than those before, a tall urn in each corner, an opening onto stone stairs in the north wall and a pool in the centre, perhaps ten feet across.

Behind you, at the far end of the sarcophagus-lined hall the roiling mass of corruption gathers, engulfing the west end of the room in darkness ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...

Brugar eyes the pool of water in the centre of the room suspiciously as he makes his way around the western side of the room toward the next set of stairs.

Hardly pausing, Hamin skirts the water, and heads straight on down ....

As you continue your headlong flight, ever deeper into the ancient crypt, the roiling mass of corruption follows inexorably after you, the Ages old dust stirred up by its passage being absorbed into its constantly shifting form as it seemingly looms larger, feeding ...

... heedless of your footing, you skirt the central pool and take to the stairs, Yetta, with Alasha'an on her heels, pausing in her attempt to heal Brugar as the Dwarf's stolid stature provides him at least with some stability as you descend the steps, sometimes two at once, teetering on the edge of your feet losing what little grip the crumbling stone affords.

It is Hamin who is first to reach the level below, holding up Calanor's blade to bid you halt.

Before you is yet another wide hall, running east to west, perhaps thirty feet long by eighty wide.  To either end is a small side chamber - to the east you glimpse but more of the stone sarcophagi, while to the west you see a floating globe, perhaps ten feet in diameter, spinning slowly as the light within pulses urgently if erratically, as if yearning for release.

But directly opposite you, standing in the centre of the hallway is a woman cloaked in a dark shroud, her form within also shifting before your eyes, betwixt that of a crone, bent and grim with hair white and thin, next a middle-aged woman, stern and forbidding, hair grey and tied back, last a young woman, starkly beautiful with raven tresses, the dully glinting metal links of armour just visible beneath the folds of cloth draped about her form ... and smiling expectantly, inclining her head in greeting, a sword held casually in her blood-soaked hand, the twin of the dark blade that Alas'ahan bears, crimson drops pooling on the stone flags beneath the lowered point ...

OOC: Map of the proceedings updated ...
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:25, Fri 22 Mar.

"Ah, well, this is it then," Brugar murmurs to himself as he takes in the scene of the wide hallway at the foot of the stairs.

He pauses just a moment to gaze around at his companions, then walks forward into the hall. He angles slightly to the left, though, so he ends up halfway between the woman and the entry to the smaller western chamber, then halts and faces her with shield and axe in hand.

"It would appear so." Hamin concurs, as he follows Brugar into the chamber to stand with dwarf between himself and the battle crow.  Calanor's sword is heavy in his hands, but starting to fell more comfortable now that he has been carrying it for a while.

The prophecy spoke of 'The Sword', and their best guess had been Calanor's sword -  but to fight against the Mórrígan or to burst the bubble ...

"The blade of a dead man," the crone speaks, turning over the sword in her hand until she holds it level, her piercing eyes following your approach though she offers no other acknowledgement than her words themselves.

"Soaked in the blood of a god," says the middle aged woman, grimly, angling her bloodied palm towards you.

"Wielded by one who has turned his back on the gods," finishes the warrior maiden, somewhat petulantly as she lowers the sword once more, her eyes moving to the sword that Hamin grasps, though at the last she laughs, the sound like the tolling of a bell and the clashing of metal, a smile creasing her thin lips.

"And still the struggle manages to surprise me !" she licks her ruby red lips.

The warrior maiden looks back to her own blade and then suddenly throws it from her, though it vanishes before it has flown more than a few feet though the air.

"And you are here, the last portal broken, to free the last of my captives and claim your victory."  It is posed as a question, but though the words she speaks sound more like a statement, still she pauses, a small smile on her lips, as she awaits your reply.

"Not quite right." Hamin responds grimly.  "It is wrong to say that I have turned my back on the gods.  While I won't get down on a knee and worship any god, there are those I quite like and those I don't.  In my youth, I practised the arts that sent many people to their doom, through war and conflicts, that should have pleased you.  Since my return from the greyness, I have continued to fight in a great war, something that should please you.  During that time, I have helped free gods from imprisonment and, indeed, spoken directly to gods.  Something that few mortals have ever managed.  I have never turned my back on any god.  Even now, I fight a battle.  Something that should bring pleasure to you, even though I battle against you and your plans.  I find that I prefer the world to have sunlight and flowers, birds singing freely and people who do not live permanently in fear of  undead monsters or creatures from the darkness.  Therefore, I do what I know.  What, I assume, pleased you in the past.  I fight, and I fight whatever is in front of me - be it orc, demon, shade or even a god.  Moreover, I take pleasure from that battle and, eventually, I will take pleasure from my victory. " Hamin is resolute, as he bares his soul to the mistress of battle and the slain.

"However, on my travels, I have learned mercy, and I am prepared to use that, as well as the sword, to win my battles.  Even now, I offer you the opportunity to cede to us, as you know that we will succeed in our objective.  You have known for many years that we would come here to complete the task of freeing the captive gods. That success will mean many more battles - wars between nations trying to recover their land and humanity, battles with humanoids and barbarians from the wild lands, fights between gangs and individuals for control.  More battles and more death to feed you.  You
only really win, when we succeed."  Hamin looks implacably at The Morrigan, almost challenging her to gainsay his words.

Brugar stands beside Hamin, his shield and axe held ready to defend them both, if required. He listens to Hamin's words, watches the woman, but still spares a portion of his attention to watch for a surprise attack as well.

Where did that accursed sword of hers vanish to, he wonders, and will it just as suddenly reappear?

The warrior-maiden listens patiently to Hamin's words.  "You are wise for a mortal," she allows, smiling, though all trace of laughter has vanished now and she seems deadly serious like the cutting edge of a blade.

"You have indeed served me well.  All of you," her gaze sweeps over Brugar, Yetta and Alasha'an.

"I am the goddess of war.  I delight in conflict for that bares the souls of those who fight, bringing out their best and the worst.  Without that struggle there would be no progress only decadence and decay."

"Gods of Darkness and Gods of Light ... your mortal battles mirror ours, and ours yours in turn."

"I think perhaps you are the first to realise the truth," she inclines her head to stare levelly at Hamin.

"I am the goddess of war," she repeats.  "Not the goddess of victory nor of triumph.  The last war was over long ago and the pickings since have been thin indeed."

"I am not here to stop you."

"I am here to ensure that you succeed, that the wheel turns full circle and the cycle begins anew."

"I think that, of all the mortals there are, you four will appreciate that wars are never truly won, that all victories are but fleeting ... and that that those who still stand at the final battle are ever changed by the struggle."

The Morrigan inclines her head to you all.

"But though my concern is only with the fight itself, still every war must have one who wins and one who loses, and this victory is yours ..."

So saying, the Dark Mistress of War stands aside to allow you past.

"So take that blade and break open the final prison and thus fulfil the Prophecy and claim your victory. Though I do not think you will enjoy your spoils ...

"Ma'am." Hamin says, nodding his respects to Mórrígan, as he walks towards the orb.  While he does not worship any deity, he does not deny them, nor their place in the world.

"I hope your last thought is wrong, if only for a while ..." he adds, as he touches the blade to the orb.