Having tentatively accepted the newcomer from the Sword Coast, DonBrapp was adamant that the Harper haflings join the group for a raid against the Zhent caravan.  Fyrnlocke scouted an unseen route into the camp, and the Harpers released and spooked the horses while Quilro launched flasks of oil into the campfire.  The combination of surprise and magical sleep enabled Kailute and Fyrnlocke to flank and slaughter the remaining sleeping guards.  Kailute and Shuos handily defeated Eldkin, the Zhent caravan leader.  Delbar and Traynin were not prepared for the dark invocations that returned three of the men at arms from death, who then fed upon two remaining captives.  Having extorted basic information about Semmemon and Peregost at Darkhold, Quilro slit his throat.

Making up for some of the evenings deeds, the halflings and Kailute deposited the remaining wagons to unsuspecting farmers, while the living dead dug a hole for the stolen Zhent war gear.  Four drunken Waymeet townies will never forget the night they spent ravaging the Zhent camp, and rescued from magical web by a barbarian half-orc.

Delbar and Traynin made their way back to Elventree, with the intent to find a fence for the weapons, and make contact with Illayin Corniche, their Harper contact.

Four wagons of enscorcelled Zhent equipment (10 to 25K GP estimated) was recovered, and buried five miles out of Waymeet.  Delbar and Traynin returned to Elventree to attempt to find a fence that would exchange the Zhent equipment for money.

The group’s journey closer to the summoning area was waylaid by a group of kenku who had a pack of blink dogs, who fought off the party until parlay was no longer a choice but a necessity.  The last surviving bird-person spoke of the dark monsters in the deep hole, that generally aligned with the directions toward Malcho’s final holdfast.

Another restful evening in the caravan, although Kailute and Fyrnlocke contort on the floor.  The spring morning breaks on a glorious day, with a half day’s travel to the intended destination.

Moving out along the rolling hills, a slight headwind prevents the scent of the fettered zombies from offending the group.  They lol along behind the second wagon, shuffling and bulging in the putrifying sunlight.

Evidence of the Kenku movement crosses the path from time to time, but as you proceed southwest, the air takes on a more menacing tinge.  A scent of sage mixed with charcoal lightly fills the air, and the grasses turn from a fresh green bloom to browned, and in some places appearing scorched without direct evidence of fire.

“Ho, now, look yonder.”  Fyrnlock points, and the rolling hills give way to a box like valley plunging around 150 feet below current level.  The valley appears about a half mile long, perhaps a quarter mile long.  At the far end of the canyon appears a cave like opening, although it is difficult to observe because the area appears encased in shadow even though there are no clouds in the sky.

[Private to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin: You find yourself attuned with a growing menace, or something of dark and chaotic power emanating from below the ground, and becoming more powerful as you move toward the location indicated by the halflings.]

[Private to Kailute Crashhawk: Something foul emanates from the below the rolling hills, with growing menace as you approach the area indicated by the halflings.  No insects, no birds overheard.  The scent is offensive, and unlike anything you have encountered before.  Like the wafting remnants of a burning plastic fire.]

[Private to Quilro: Something foul grows closer as you approach the location indicated by the halflings.  You’re not sure, but among the rolling hills you may have observed an auld elven marker for “shrine” carved into a stone.  This area was among the northern reaches of Fandreyl millenia ago, so elven ruins would not be surprising.]

Pulling the reigns to stop the Shaggin' Wagon. Stands, licks his right index finger and holds in the air as if checking for the direction of the wind:

"Ho! Beards of fire and choke! I find myself attuned with a growing menace, some dark and chaotic power emanating from below the ground, it grows and boils my beard the closer we come to the demon hole!"

He sits back down and shakes the reigns to restart the wagon motion: "Tally Ho!"

El DonBrappo enjoys driving the wagon. The bumps in the road, the gentle and jarring sounds of the environment. It's the only time he feels alone and comfortable losing himself in thought. Contemplation and prayer are in many instances one and the same for Bartholomew of the Lucheszi Friars. The road to Demonhole has provided him with ample opportunity to ruminate upon the success and possible moral relativism of the Murder Night outside Waymeet. He has never animated the dead before and is overcome with a sense of satisfaction regarding this "ability". He pulls upon his beard and wonders what the Brap would think and asks for his counsel but is met with silence. The absence of a reply does not give DonBrappo existensial pause as he is used to it, his faith buoyed by the positive execution of his spells and incantations. He pulls his beard with a little more vigor as a new idea blooms in the prism of his mind's eye. HELMITES. Useful allies in the plugging of a demon's hole or competitors for the physical and spiritual booty? Perhaps if they could be waylaid in time and "repurposed" for a Holy justification? He relaxes behind the reigns and no longer struggles with the morality of reanimation, it's simply just a thing he can do.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:22, Wed 06 May 2020.

In reply to El DonBrappo Bartholomew McJurgin (msg # 4):

Dubbing the practical, but in no way showy, riding horse taken from the Zhents as Alpo, Kailute practices riding and moving with the horse.  Alternative paces and riding close with Shuos, Kailute attempts to both better train the horse and to create practical familiarity between the two beasts who are unuse to each other's prseence.  As they close in on the demon hole, Kailute pulls Alpo close to Don Brapp.

"Do you hear naught?  The silence of the wood?  Beasts and insects make not a sound.  Whatever good work Malcho may have done here has been undone, if not perverted.  We best keep our eyes and ears open, and hope that our Kenku friend here will help warn us of any enemy or trap that has been laid for us."

Fyrnlocke, sitting astride one of the recovered draft horses, also appears tense.

"There remains a foulness about.  I cannot place it, but the closer we draw toward that canyon, more it seems to grow.  I can almost taste a putridity...."  He spits on the ground.

Holding the reigns firm with his left hand while stroking and pulling at his beard with the right:

"Brains..."

From where the party observes the canyon, the makings of a path weave down into the valley.  Various tracks appear to have used the path, both bird-like, clawed, and some humanoid.  The kenku captive chirps and caws in discomfort, attempting to writhe free of its tyings, but unable due to both the tightness of the ropes as well as the severity of its wounds.

The lay of the land is rolling, but upon inspection ancient ruins poke about the swales of dead grass, and dusty soil collects in the corners of long-forgotten stone foundations.

With some trepidation, given the obvious infernal atmospherics, the party delved into the box canyon and scouted its entrance.  Just within the cave stands a befouled statue of a cloaked elven female, standing 15’ tall carved of a blueish quartz.  Marred by flame and neglect, the figure appears to be holding a bird in her palm, but that portion of the statue is cracked and broken.  The entire area is littered with dead grass and twigs.

Quilro searched the statue, and located a compartment in its base with a white quartz winged key, and two potions of extra healing.

Heading north, the group encountered a long rift in the passage, which appeared filled with sand.  Their discussions attracted the attention of an infernal mephit, who flitted down a smaller passage to the east yelling “….must tell Gra’zooot!”

Flanking the ledges, DonBrappo easily invoked the power of his Lord and Sentinel, and the ogre-sized undead were left attempting to shuffle their way through the sandstone walls.
Unfortunately, however as the zombie men-at-arms followed enthralled, the western wall gave way to an avalanche of sand.  The half-orc and Fyrnlocke were able to deftly avoid being swept into the center crevasse, but the three caravan guards called to unholy service were buried in the sand.

Quilro scouted the passage ahead, and the air grew moist and uncomfortable, tinged with a metallic taste.  A mist filled cavern was crossed by a rotting log.
As the group attempted to navigate the log, the disturbed souls of long dead elven priests and supplicants arose a cacophony that pierced the ears and confidence of the entire party.  Fyrnlocke lost his footing, and fell 40’ to the pit below.

Again DonBrapp displayed adept spellcasting, as silence surrounded him, and the foursome recovered their wounded member, and continued north across a second slick and rotting tree limb.

At a three-way intersection, the party headed east into what appeared to be a long rectangular hall.  The deeper they delved, the more oppressive the mists and scents offended them.  At the far end, a natural staircase led up to a sundered blue quartz pedestal.  Atop a deep blue satin pillow rested a softball sized lapus lazuli carved symbol of a bluebird, surrounded by a cloud.

Although both elf and half-elf claimed thieving abilities, and swore there were no traps, as soon as Quilro palmed the symbol, the ceiling shook as the floor gave way, and boulders began to fall from the ceiling at the western end, heading east.

Making their way deeper, the party followed twisted tunnels that led to another cavern, this the home of a banished drider and his companions.

Rushing forward across the perilous bridge, the agile Fyrnlocke again lost his footing, and plunged into the spiders web below.  The Enraged drider attacked with all of his fury, but ultimately the party overcame him and his four giant spider companion.

Crossing from north to south, the party approached another 5’ opening, with a slick ladder carved into the sandstone walls.  Luminescent fungi provided some illumination, but the continuous rolling mists partially obscured the floor of the large, teardrop shaped cavern oriented east-west.  What was visible, beyond the sounds of the flapping mephit, was evidence of a campsite for approximately 8-14 humanoids.

The far eastern end was entirely cloaked in two globes of magical darkness, preventing observation of the awaiting enemies.

Again DonBrapp sought magical energy, and countered one of the magical globes, revealing a female dark elf, clad in smooth black chain mail and armed with an ornate silver flail.  The party moved quickly to engage.


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:24, Thu 14 May 2020.

After the shitstain Gra'zooot had been driven back to the plane from whence he came and the moss licking dirt elves had been righteously smote by El DonBrappo and his sturdy pounding with the hammer known throughout the Western Realms of Faerun as DemonStryker he took pause to examine the quicksilver effusing itself from the gateway hidden in the depths of this foul dungeon.

The loathsome places he'd been...The horrendous deeds he'd done...all in the name of his Holy Mission and the dream of his Clan's return to Undermountain. The chaos of this portal buzzes inside of him...an electric calling to understand...to...be...knowing.

After completing the first experiment with Holy Water he is determined to increase his collection of coin and knowledge...he must possess this liquid...this substance of the ether.

He entreats his comrades to fend off any unwanted intrusion. Even if magically withdrawn he must not allow his concentration to be broken. He empties a second vial of Holy Water onto the ground before him...kneels before the gate and cleans a space of ground from whence to begin the ritual of consecration. He lays out the cloth his Holy Book is wrapped in, and places the Iron Cube of Brap upon it. He prays for the luck of the Lucheszi and flips a coin into the air letting it fall where it may to invoke chance for great return. He honors the true name of the BRAP -  Vergadain!

"May fortune favor the bearded ones!"

"I consecrate these vials to be vessels of my crusade - receptacles of fortuity - unbreakable repositories of the BRAP!"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:52, Wed 13 May 2020.

Having fought the Babau until it had to retreat back to the Abyss to recover, DonBrapp again braved the gate chamber to collect two vials of the viscous, molten mercury like liquid in his consecrated vials.

Noting the four elemental portals, the party decides enough information has been gathered to report to the Harpers.  A pathway to the Underdark, likely leading to or near the Drow city of Chad Nessyn, as well as an active portal to an infernal plane should yield significant reward by, with, or through Delbar and Traynin.

Moving back through the chamber, DonBrapp grasps the proximity of the chaotic planes, and raises the two drow to even more powerful undead creatures than the men-at-arms.  Quilro and Fyrnlocke look sidelong at each other in disgust.

Kailute waits in the shadows covering the party as the Mephit returns with additional drow warriors.  Hiding in the shadows, the half-orc bull rushes one of the drow in the dark, who tumbles over the lip before righting himself with levitate while the other covers the lip of the ladder and ledge above in total magical darkness.

Quilro rushes up the ladder, shoulder rolling into the globe of darkness with sword and dagger. Parnak the Mephit begins shooting lightning bursts into the Barbarian.
DonBrapp and the undead drow move toward the drow levitating down;  Fyrnlocke spins to present an attack to the dark elve’s rear.  The cleric invokes the protection of Brapp for protection from evil.

Cloaked in darkness, Parnak connects on a critical strike to the barbarian, sinking a painful claw strike into the half-orc.

Defensively, the drow levitating above cloaks those below in magical darkness, so the entire party is now blind fighting.  Quilro flings his dagger into the melee, without connecting.  The cleric dispels the magical darkness, somewhat rebalancing the odds, and the dark elf screeches to his companion in Drowspeak something urgent.  Changing direction, the drow begins to hover in retreat toward the curved ceiling of the teardrop shaped cavern.

Heeding the call of his companion, the other drow also begins to hover toward the ceiling over to the east, heading toward a darkened opening in the ceiling about 60’ above.

Quilro darts north, following the retreating mephit.  Seeing it limp in the sky, the elf discharges a killing blow of magical energy and the infernal creature falls into the web filled cavern below.

Observing that the hole in the ceiling of the large cavern is beyond the team’s ability to climb, they retrace their steps up the ledge, and toward the rickety wooden bridge.



This message was last edited by the GM at 18:27, Thu 14 May 2020.

DonBrapp observes the half-orc is significantly wounded, and the elven thief is bleeding in several locations through his armor.  Calling forth the favor of the Brapp, he heals them both.  Fyrnlocke waves off assistance, noting he is thus far relatively unscathed.

“Been a lot of talk of dark elf attacks this season;  thought it just tavern guff.  Think I may reconsider that position now that we’re down here.” Fyrnlocke notes.

DonBrapp orients the party with his innate ability to discern direction underground.  He leads the party north back across the rickety bridge.  Quilro leads, and Fyrnlocke follows both deliberately scouring the way ahead for traps or abnormalities.  The mixture of moisture and rotting wood make the bridge especially dangerous.  Focusing on searching for traps and lost in the acrid mist, Fyrnlocke and DonBrapp lose their footing, tumbling to the webs below.  Extracting themselves from the webs, Kailute throws a rope to pull the two up from the web.

Quilro and Kailute explore the ledge above to the west, and find four bird shaped urns crafted out of the same material the initial statue at the Chapel’s entrance.

The elf successfully locates and disarms a gas trap from the first urn, and the half-orc removes the lid.  Within are three vellum scrolls wrapped around a cylinder, which at first glance appear to be nearly two thousand years old.  Aside the scrolls is a leather pouch.
While the two inspect the urns, DonBrapp quaffs a potion of healing.  Not noticing a device on the second urn, upon opening there is a click noise, and the sound of escaping air with a peppery almond scent.  Within the urn are four bloodstone bars, but Quilro advises to depart lest the party rue the result of an unseen gas trap.  Fyrnlocke concurs, and the party continues to the north.

Handling the ancient scrolls with his thick dwarf hands, Quilro recommends to DonBrapp stowing them for later study.


This message was lightly edited by the GM at 18:26, Thu 14 May 2020.

Moving north and then east into a previously unexplored chamber, the party crosses a pressure plate that activates two inverted axes, slicing into the barbarian.

The further the party moves east, the drier the passage way becomes, and the air seems to pull in this direction.  As they move, a dark gray blanket like creature jumps from the ceiling, encapsulating Kailute and Fyrnlocke.  A gray furry manta-like creature covers them, and Quilro again releases bolts of magical energy.  As the missiles connect with the creature, half-orc and half-elves feel the recoils momentarily pause the constriction slowly crushing them.  The undead drow shuffle forward under the cleric’s command, and the dwarf swings and missed with his hammer.  Fyrnlocke and Kailute fight their way out from underneath, with the half-elf grimacing in pain.

For the second time, the fighting thief loses control of his weapon, and it clangs across the floor from underneath.  Each strike of the undead drow appears to inflict additional damage.  When the melee ceases, the lurker is ended, but the barbarian has suffered significant damage and quaffs a potion along with the fighter-thief.

Moving forward, the party discovers another passage hacked out of the side of the sandstone passageway.  It leads into a darker passageway, claw marks bely its mining by monsters, and it is marked with magical illumination.  Marking their map, they note is it likely an entrance to the Underdark, heading east.

Continuing their exploration, the party discovers the long-abandoned remains of what appears to be a party of halflings.  From their rotting bones, 38gp, 12 sp, a rusting sword and dagger are all that mark their graves.

Doubling back, the party makes its way back to the large collapsed cavern that held the drow camp, the party notices two recessed sandstone doors that they did not observe the first time.  Within the easternmost door, they find a tortured human who has been held by the dark elves for an unknown amount of time, but Faerenal is suffering extreme mental distress.  He relates an ambush from dark elves that appears to have occurred on a caravan from Darkhold, through Voonlar before getting to Zhentil Keep.  They counsel him to hold fast, and press on.


This message was last edited by the GM at 18:26, Thu 14 May 2020.

The party pushes on, back toward the original three way split in the sundered chapel.  They choose first to explore northward, and prod through thigh high green mist into a pit full of sleeping demon dretch.  Quilro quickly burns a web directly into where he thinks the noises from the pit are emanating;  this prompts the dretch to release a stinking cloud of noxious vapors to billow forth from the hole.  DonBrapp is incapacitated, but his unholy drow shuffle forward.

The luck of the elves find Quilro unleashing lightning, wounding two while Kailute nearly cuts one in half with his bardiche.  As the undead dark elves connect, it almost appears as if the demons are recharged by each of the negative energy attacks.


As the damage mounts, the dretch call out “Why do you wish to continue?  Ghost elf has no need nor want of you!”  Attempting to intimidate the last remaining dretch, Kailute extracts the information that the demons were taking advantage of looting adventurers for the glory and power of Grazoot, and that beyond the ghost of an elf awaits.  At Quilro’s suggestion, Fyrnlocke flings two flasks of oil into the pit, and the horrifying screams of the infernal being are nearly overwhelming.  In a stunning reversal of his previous thieving, Quilro lands a killing thrust in the final dretch.

Fyrnlocke volunteers to be lowered into the pit; and reports nothing in the pit.  Taking stock of their health, the party proceeds into a larger cavern filled in the center with a luminescent blue lighted mist billowing into the ceiling.  Throwing a rope into the column, it disappears.  Approaching the column with the holy symbol thrust forward, the billowing appears to slow and grow brighter.

Quilro, feeling more and more attracted to the column, ties himself off and jumps into the column.  Disappearing from view of the party, he finds himself in the ancient and decaying chambers of Paranthus the Mage.  Draped in rotting vestments, with bright blue burning eyes, who cries “How did you recover the symbol of Faerdrar?!!”

“My consumption of magical research into planar travel and flight to the exclusion…  are you mocking me!?!  BRING ME WINE!”

The long ago cursed elven mage is clearly suffering the ages of lichdom.
Fyrnlocke produces dice, and asks Kailute if he cares to throw bones for coin.

Castind aid on himself, DonBrapp jumps into the column and finds himself standing behind Quilro and an elven lich, to which the Mage-Thief was accosting with the bird holy symbol.  The moment he arrives, magical fireballs rip from the hands of the lich, shredding and burning the elf and knocking the dwarf back with damage.  Restoring Quilro’s wounds with necromantic energy, Paranthus reveals the way to cleanse the chapel by destroying his spellbooks by burning them in the holy fires of Correllon Larethian in Myth Drannor.  Paranthus is taken aback by the dwarfs apparent knowledge of Halaster, whom the lich knows as “Blackcloak.”

Back in the cavern, Fyrnlocke takes coin after coin from Kailute.  Kailute decides the way to solve this is to up the ante from coppers to silvers.

Paranthus identifies the key as gaining access to the internal sanctum of the chapel.  Reminiscing about the glories of Myth Drannor paling the outpost of Silvanae, the two grab the spellbooks and return to the antechamber.

Fyrnlocke has won 27sp and 15cp playing bones with Kailute.
Quilro quaffs a potion to address his painful burn wounds.

The party doubles back through a winding, 5’ wide passageway, leading to a pile of smoking bones over a pit.  After digging through the bones for several hours, Quilro again disappears into another chamber.  A horribly disfigured statue of Faerdrae with six arms holding bird like blackened skulls.

Quilro attempts to check traps on one of the urns, and is burned with the darklight of the negative material plane.

Commanded to “Choose your fate” by a horrifying voice, he is healed and energized and returned to the antechamber before.

Sanctifying the bones for burial, DonBrapp conducts the rites of Brapp internment.  The bones disintegrate, and the air clears just a smidge as the dead are returned to rest.
Quilro spikes his way across the slippery logs, and the party recovers Faerenal.  In so doing, a drow patrol is alerted to Kailute.

The party is pulled into a withdrawing melee with two dark elves.  At the nick of time, Maktar and the Helmites pour into the chamber and take up melee positions to assist the party.  Quilro tells Maktar everything the party has learned up to this point, particularly interested in the portal to the Abyss.  In a parting gift, the Helmites provide minor healing.