The light fades.

As their sight adjusts to their gloomy surroundings, details of the room that the adventurers find themselves in become clear.

They are standing on a dirt floor at the far end of a room which is supported by regularly spaced beams of thick timber. The walls and ceiling are constructed of wood, pine from its appearance. At the opposite end of the chamber is a set of wooden steps, which lead up to a closed trapdoor. Several dusty crates and a weathered traveler’s chest sit against the right hand wall.

A long table is positioned against the wall on the left. A pair of iron candelabras, their tallow candles cold, are set at either end of the table. At its center is a wide, shallow iron bowl which holds a few indiscernible objects within it. A thick tome sits to the left of the bowl, its covers held closed with a buckle. A number of iron implements, blades and possibly holy symbols, are arranged to the right of the bowl, along with what appears to be a mask of some kind. Three large pieces of yellowed parchment, marked with drawings and writing, have been nailed to the wall behind the table. To the right of the table, a few black robes hang from pegs.

In the center of the dirt floor an intricate pattern, undoubtedly a ritual circle, has been created with the careful arrangement of narrow pieces of slate gray stone. The stones, and the dirt surrounding them, are marked with dark stains.

From above are briefly heard a pair of muffled voices.

Sir Dryvyk's face was pale and sweaty as if were trying not to vomit. Passing through the portal wasn't the kind of white light experience he hoped for one day, no, it had been horrific. Not of the strong constitution of his father and brothers, the moors drained on the Knight every time he ventured into them. He finally straightened to his full height and drew a deep breath.

Which he held, his eyes growing wide...

Turning suddenly he raised his shield as if to protect against something not entirely unseen. But after a moment or two of looking fitfully he seemed not to find the being which had raised his hackles.

The stairs were so inviting... It took all of his considerable discipline not to rush up them towards what he prayed would be glorious sunlight!

He closed his eyes and continued that fervent, unceasing petition to the God of Righteousness.


"PRAYDAR going to detect in the direction of the voices...

OOC: Dryvyk senses a single evil presence above, meaning one of the two individuals that can be heard speaking is aligned with darkness.

Unsurprisingly, most of the implements in the nearby table, along with the ritual circle, radiate evil.

"Alright," Barnabus announces, immediately coming to grips with their situation, "we don the black robes and hold the implements aloft as we march up the stairs and declare ourselves to be the new second shift of death cultists..."

Hearing the voices above and recognizing that they might be heard just as easily, Barnabus reaches into his pack, finds a gnawed-upon chicken bone, and condemns the bone to a lengthy silence. He offers it to Dax to hold when he leads the way to the surface.

Then he motions for their travelling chest to be opened and the evil implements without to join those within, courtesy of his shovel.

His eyes lock with Safherd's, despite her best efforts, and they ask her to check out the crates and the cultists' chest.

Finally he whispers in Sir's ear what he might to do destroy the summoning circle, thinking that a little bit of a diversion might soothe the discombobulated paladin.

Cast Silence 15' Radius.
Shovel evil stuff into chest with other evil stuff.
If book and pages are not evil, B. will add them to his pack.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:49, Wed 06 Dec 2023.

Nineve spared a little time in surveying the table, in particular the symbols laid there, striving to discern if they represented any deities with which she was familiar.

She also did something she'd intended to do further back, but hadn't had the chance for.

After her recent mind-touch with the crypt knight, she grasped something of what Sir Dryvyk must be going through, attuned to emanations of evil, in this place so rife with them.  The curative spell could only mend the body, but it was better than nothing...

Barely!  Nineve rolled 2 using 1d6+1.  cure light wounds -- Sir Dryvyk.   (My luck with the d-roller has been bad in this game!  Sensing a failed save somewhere in my future, I've got another character concept in mind, just in case...
(performed either before B casts silence, or beyond its area)

Using the chicken bone as the focal for the spell was actually funny, in spite of all else.  Had sound not been dampened, the party would've heard Nineve's soft laughter.

As the light faded and their surroundings came into focus, Malivoire relaxed somewhat.  He had envisioned gating directly into a meeting of the temple faithful, who likely would have been somewhat miffed to have their ceremonies interrupted in such a fashion.  He quickly recovered the golden medallion that had enabled their escape and tucked it safely away, before exiting the confines of the magic circle.

While the others examined the implements laid out on the table and before Barnabus could abscond with them, Malivoire quickly scanned the yellowed parchment pages nailed to the wall to see if he could discern the nature of what wa written there.

Safherd regards Barnabus distrustfully, but moves to the crates and chest to examine them. She works swiftly, returning to the priest and speaking to him in low tones once he has passed the focus of his silence spell to Dax.

”The crates hold bags of trail rations and gear for horsemen: bits and bridles, saddlebags, horse blankets, that sort of thing. It all appears new and unused.”

“The chest has clothing in it, along with two pairs of boots, a pair of gloves, and a cloak. There’s also a heavy crossbow and a case of unused quarrels.”

“Nothing you could use to rid yourself of more of us. Excepting the crossbow, of course.”  This last statement does not hold a trace of sarcasm. It is spoken with utmost seriousness.

Nineve needs only a moment of examination to determine that the ritual implements on  the table are dedicated to the Lord of the Underworld, Nergal. The iron symbols are all variations of the dark god’s sigil: a single human skull. The daggers also carry the same symbolism on their pommels and blades. The mask, likewise, is a depiction of a death’s head.

The iron bowl contains four bones which appear to be of human or demihuman origin. The bones are slick with moisture and assuredly not old.

The black robes are simple in appearance, with no apparent stitchings or markings of any kind.

Two of the parchments which Malivoire examines are clearly maps. One reminds the mage of the map that Mazzahs obtained from Perri Ticklebottom, depicting some of the layout of what Malivoire presumes to be the ruined temple north of Helix. The second map unmistakably shows a section of the Barrowmaze, illustrating the location of the shrine of Nergal the advent uncovered, along with a number of surrounding corridors. The final parchment is a skillfully rendered drawing of a large pit, it’s border marked by runes, its circumference watched by indistinct, shadowy figures.

From above, those outside the sphere of silence hear one of the voices speak in a cheerful tone, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

"I rely on more inventive methods, S., you know that," Barnabus deadpans as he shovels the implements of Nergal into one of his many sacks.

"Half the time, I don't even know I'm about to kill someone much less how I'll get the deed done. To be sure, sometimes I even suspect that I am the plaything of a vengeful god. Besides I have no truck with crossbows. I'm more of a bludgeoner, you know."

Once sacked, the implements get deposited into their traveling chest.

"That could be a death mask, could be," he whispers appreciatively, remembering their patron's specific request for just such a thing.

Into his own pack, he adds the buckled book and the three pieces of parchment.

"Okay, Dax, after Sir takes care of that..." he whispers, pointing first to the circle and then to the stairs.

That's the plan.
Give a holler if you prefer another.
Deprive the cultists of their implements, ruin their circle, and exit.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:24, Thu 07 Dec 2023.