Episode #10: Chokers and Memories

From the Ashen Codex of Lady Penitence

In the name of the Raven Queen, the most merciful ---

Has it only been two days since the shipwreck? Time and space are warped on this island into unnatural forms. I cannot tell.

My thoughts keep returning to Andalou's diary, lost among my other effects to the waves. It is like my mentor has died again. I could have used her wisdom. Perhaps she had some knowledge of the alien beasts that walk here, or the shadowy cultists that have cast their pall of necromancy over this place. What I miss even more than the diary, I am ashamed to say, is my cache of calming draughts. I have not had one in days, and I can feel the ashes of anger I thought long-dead beginning to flicker into life... underneath my robes, I can feel his brand beginning to awaken again.

All I can do is pray.

After dispatching a necromancer, his thrall and the strange monsters that he summoned, we sallied into the ziggurat, towards what we can only hope is the Oracle (or Truth Seeker?) of which the shaman spoke. At a fork in the path, the eladrin found a mysterious glass orb with some intelligence inside, with light at its heart and an Elvish tongue.

The Shifter, as he is wont to do, broke off from our party and shot at the great globe-like plant that hung from the cavern ceiling, puncturing its rubbery skin. He and the others rolled some fruits in the shining fluid that issued forth and rubbed it on to the fletching of some arrows.

There is an old tiefling superstition called 'the Left-Hand Path'; basically, when torn between the two options, choose the sinister road. This is not always meant to be taken literally. But the left-hand path here in the ziggurat smelled of damp plants, like the swamps I grew up in, and I was more eager to follow it than the dry, dusty way, which puts me in mind of a catacomb or grave.

The eladrin and I entered a chamber with curious square holes in the floor that led to a pit with figures underneath—not necessarily undead, but definitely under some sort of magical influence. Stone beams arced up into the darkness that concealed the ceiling—and as we shortly found out, other things.

Long limbs shot out at us from above, with deadly claws extended. I managed to dodge, but Edrathior was caught by the throat. Our cries soon brought the others to our aid, and we soon discovered that the beast we grappled with had only a small, halfling-sized body, with long rubbery limbs that it uses to move swiftly overhead and catch prey. (I found out later these beasts are called 'chokers,' which—really? This only demonstrates the paucity of creativity in today's naturalists.)

Our party managed to vanquish two chokers and several of the bodies that levitated up from the pits, though we all took all manner of grievous wounds. The halfling was quite nearly done for, I think, but he recovered quick enough to engage in a bit of graverobbing in the pits below.

Past the room with the chokers, I and the half-orc that serves Avandra came across a curious wooden statue, of a great elf maiden or goddess, which turned out to be hollow. Both the half-orc and I stood inside and looked through the statue's eyes, and we were soon suffused with calm as we were embraced by plants that healed our wounds. We called to the others, but it did not seem to work for the—perhaps the statue has a limited amount of power, or it reserves its gifts for the feminine, who can know?

In the next chamber, we could only progress by climbing up a vertical shaft, all overgrown with vines and moss, but relatively easy of footing thanks to a trellis underneath. I was half-cheered by the climb, as it put me in mind of my girlhood days climbing trees in Malpheggi. But about halfway up, a curious thing happened—I had a vivid vision, totally alien to me, where I was a small halfling. My father was gone—a not uncommon occurrence, I knew, though I cannot describe just how I knew – and had left behind his pipe and pipeweed. I filled the pipe to the brim with the fragrant herb, smoked it all, and became violently ill. I surmised that the vision came from the memories of the halfling, who was scrambling up ahead of me.

At the top of the shaft, it appeared that the others had also received visions plucked from the mind of the person climbing above them. I told of what I had seen—somewhat untactfully, now that I think upon it. The Shifter, whose gaze is often suspicious, had a tinge of pity in it when he declined to share what I know must have been some scene from my own past. I do not want his pity, or his charity. That bestial visage reminds me of … him.

We had not much time to ponder these visions, for almost as soon as we finished our climb, a voice spoke in our heads:

"The first riddle has been solved," she said. "I will speak the second when you are ready. If you fail the riddle, you will be slain by the answer."  The voice was deep but feminine, a telepathic voice coming from everywhere—or nowhere.

As I write, we are pondering our options. At the end of the chamber stands a massive statue of a beast, a woman above the neck and a lion below. Her paws lie on either side of a staircase that drops into darkness. A fresh corpse—one of those cultists—lies atop the stairs, headless.

I do not fear death. If the Raven Queen takes me now, all the better... I can go to her before Amon sinks his claws into my heart again.