Bosmuppance
Approach to cave
The creature knows nothing of why. Only hunger. A gray, gnawing hunger unlike any it had experienced before.
Long periods of cold; no fat on its rodent bones to shield the knife of frost. Many broodkin died. Paws to the gray sky. Eyes unseeing.
The only thing that brings any comfort is moving north and west. Toward the mountains. Toward the cave. The creature could only feel a faint chemical precursor of hope moving toward the snow-covered mountains as its peers stopped moving and froze alongside it.
As the creature came closer, it felt the warmth of the sun in the sky. Moving slowly to preserve energy, the ferret nearly slithered, having sucked the moisture and nutrients out of pine boughs or mud puddles in the snow. It was barely alive.
Its mind only reacted, turning with agony to the sky out of fear of a predator. A large bird perhaps, even though none had bothered the rodent from the sky on its arduous path so far. The creature did not possess the ability to recall this.
A rectangular contraption careened out of the sky; eventually settling upon a mountain ridge overlooking the hole. Several upright beings crouched in the front of the red, boxy contraption with wheels and horses.
The great, glorious hole. FOOD IN THAT HOLE. WARMTH IN THAT HOLE.
GO TO HOLE.
The creature did not notice the well adorned elf-prince jump from the garish rectangular contraption, or the shimmering illusion of carnival horses that appeared to pull the wagon. Nor did it shy in fear from the group of humanoids standing on the forward edge of the machine.
The odd resonance the entire thing conveyed within a 10’ radius was lost on this creature, sated as it was by the horrible scent of pestilence overwhelming Quilro as he jumped down from the Vundark. The other heroes, aside from DonBrapp reeled at the rotting piles of refuse, dung, and offal that were gathered at the mouth of the dark cave. The gray snow belied a trail of disgusting rotting meat.
The creature never saw the elf turn a snowy white owl invisible and recoil its wings at the horrid smell below. The creature would have scurried away in abject terror from the skyborne predators under normal circumstances.
It just kept crawling forward.
The creature was unable to read the revolting look on the elf’s face as he attempted to read powerful magic while all of his senses were under direct assault.
It never saw the enormous rupture of magical energy drawing immediately forth celestial boulders; flaming meteors summoned from beyond the sky erupting into being before launching with unseen speed into the maw of the disgusting hole in the side of the mountain.
It only heard the searing flash before the sizzle of moisture and raw putrid undeath energy for a moment before it perished with uncounted other small mammals and creatures similarly summoned toward Bosmos’ repulsive cave.
Even centaur revelers paused, dozens of miles away as the Galena mountains shook with the concussive force of a meteor impact. Turning his head to the northwest, Keldorn smiled.
“Putrid. Death smells. Foul creatures. May I have some mice?” Pine Boughs connects with Draxos, and shares the repugnant vision of the cave mouth below.
Quilro has to right himself, having nearly exhausted his energy overcoming the repulsive smell while attempting to read an incredibly powerful smell.
“Dwarf! Can you magic up some lilacs?” He shouts, struggling to contain his stomach and bowels.
The snowy owl descends from the still rising steam vents created by the meteor explosion. The air is heavy with the putrid moisture of steaming, burnt flesh, feathers, and dung.
DonBrapp steps forward spryly, jamming two fingers of one hand into the elf while singing the words that would cure a creature of any illness, momentarily allowing the elf to breath freely.
“Dunno what they taught ye about praying in Elf Academy, but that’s not how Vergadain awards the faithful!”
Surveying what remains, DonBrapp is reminded of elder human legends that spoke of Moander, an elemental god of rot and pestilence. The now burning piles of offal and garbage that seem to move of their own amongst the many creatures indicate a malevolent interplanar presence. Again.
Kailute soaks a strip of his tunic in strong spirits before ripping the cloth and using it to cover his and Shuos mouth and nostrils, before activating his gift and taking wing toward the upper part of the cave.
“You’re telling me you can’t divine a simple smelly fruit? Even cloudkill could work here…” Quilro’s voice trails off…
As Petra and Tomas step out onto the driver’s ledge of the Gundar, a voice permeates the minds of all present…
“THIS IS NOT HOW FRIENDS INTRODUCE THEMSELVES.” Bosmos’ voice, weedy and raspy as if exerting great effort is heard within all the heroes.
Kailute pauses, barely able to suppress a gag as live pillars of fetid garbage appear to be moving along the floor, walls, and ceiling of the cave. Piles of rotting trash, decaying corpses and rotten detritus, now much obliterated by the meteor swarm surround a raised dais in the center of the cave.
Honing in to Lucifuge, the barbarian rules out an undead life form, although the energy of undeath and rot fully permeates the area.
As Draxos scans the area for targets Quilro releases another concussive explosion of flame into the cavern. The force reverberates throughout, again causing the centaur drummers to pause.
The interior of the cave is scourged with dripping black soot. Below the raised dais coarse debris is charred with repeated magical fire attacks.
Atop the raised dais, in a gaudy, overstuffed chair reminiscent of some of the trappings of Zenghyi sits the dwarven form of Bosmos. His beard is gray and matted with infernal mold, and his eyes are glazed over, only an unholy green spark peering deep from within indicates an infernal presence. His body is covered in grey-green moss; a sickly creeping vine that sparkles with the same green electricity in his eyes.
“Even for a dwarf, I remember keener fashion sense.” Kailute quips, before leaping to thrust Lucifuge into a column of pestilence.
The half-orc is almost pulled into the tower of elemental rot, bending mid-flight to avoid falling while yanking his blade free as Draxos sinks a volley of arrows into the same amorphous monster.
DonBrapp scurries forward, magical boots speeding him toward a location where he is about to invoke the holy fires of Vergadain until two tentacles reach from within the burnt garbage to seize the dwarf by the ankles. Kicking the offending limbs aside the cleric calls down yet another gout of magical fire, sucking all remaining oxygen out of the cave into an enormous eruption. Whatever moisture remained is now burned away.
“Brother DonBrappo; why do you strike the tokens of my power. It is far better to accept the eventual victory of Moander’s breath than to resist. Bring the maiden to me.”
Bosmos stands, pulling forth two more charred columns of animated rot and filth to advance toward the heroes.
Petra shoves her way from Fyrnlocke, who was attempting to fortify the Vistani from the olfactory revulsion points her ring toward the cave and releases a powerful lightning bolt, surprising not only her but the heroes in the cave as it bounces several times from garbage column to rock surface before eliminating another of the shambling mounds.
Kailute notices his magical armor is suddenly heated; odd as it did not warm during either of the prior magical explosions of flame.
Quilro steps forward preparing to cast but is distracted by two tentacles that grasp for his legs, unable to find purchase on the elf due to his abnormal strength but preventing him from casting.
Draxos quickly restrings his forever breaking bowstring while fighting off the continuing urge to vomit.
“Did I not do my part?” Bosmos’ reedy voice echoes in the heads of all within the cave as the dwarf, now shattered moves toward the edge of the dias.
With a backward reach DonBrapp grabs a potion and quaffs it, quickly changing into the form of a falcon. The dwarf’s mind momentarily recoils at his new form, discomfited by his new mass and ability to naturally fly. The bird-dwarf flies toward the top of the cave, past Kailute to observe the three animated columns of filth and what unlucky forest creatures remain, centered around the wounded form of Bosmos.
The failing druid spasms, his dwarven body twisting and convulsing into the form of an enormous mountain bear. Large, feral, and covered with the same rotten grey green moss as the druid had been, the enraged bear rears up at the flying creatures, exposing its underbelly of matted fur and open sores.
“For my least competent brothers.” Kailute mutters as he slices into the bear with Lucifuge off a diving flying attack. Screaming in pain, the bear rakes the flying barbarian with his claws, pummeling the half-orc and bruising him with the strength of the blows. Focusing to regain control of his movement, Kailute now notices his armor is hot to the touch and is beyond uncomfortable, almost burning his flesh through his tunic.
Watching Bosmos-bear rag doll the barbarian, Draxos hastily brings his bow against the infected forest creature, sinking three magical arrows into the shapeshifted druid.
With a shriek, the creature shrinks back into the form of Bosmos; emaciated as if totally starved of nutrition. His hair is completely white, and the lower portion of his body is covered with the green electric moss armor.
As Bosmos transforms, all the remaining fey and wild creatures begin to fight amongst each other to get to the open world beyond the cave. DonBrapp descends in flight and begins ministering to the fallen druid the necessary preparations for an exorcism.
Quilro shifts form into a familiar harpy and flies up to protect DonBrapp, as Draxos continues to release arrows into the remaining sentient garbage piles.
A green whispy cloud, sparkling from within with green electricity and protruding greasy black tentacles whips at Kailute, nearly sapping his strength. His magical wring allows the half-orc to slip out of the monster’s grasp and pull the limb straight off the amorphous mass. This activity enrages the barbarian, and he leaps toward the remaining creatures for revenge.
Quilro takes defensive a position on the dais protecting the dwarves, while Draxos covers from outside the cave.
As DonBrapp prepares to excise whatever planar infection Bosmos suffers, he can feel a power reaching out through to him. He experiences visions of Bosmos discovering a powerful relic in the mountains, using it to command all the natural and fey creatures of the Galenas.
The dwarf lives the exultant victory of Bosmos; observing from a rocky promontory as groups of undead fall into pits and deadfalls created by the forest.
Until the armor speaks. Demands. “The rot must take all.”
DonBrapp realizes the moss armor has cursed or possessed the druid and is confident he can drive out the curse through his favor with Vergadain.
As DonBrapp completes his chants, Draxos and Kailute cut down the remaining aberrations. The half-orc shakes as his rage abates.
Quilro steps forward, his moonblade on his hip as he touches the mossy armor with a dispel.
“Risked yer weapon there, ilf.” DonBrapp snorts. Quilro nods and puts his hand back on the pommel. Mildly disappointed as the pirate’s soul stirs, still embedded within.
“Tomas! Get over here! What is the deal with that chair?!” DonBrapp shouts, as Quilro quietly casts a spell of feeblemind on the stricken druid.
