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.

Episode #9: The Bloody Stairs

The tiefling was dressed darkly, clad in leathers and bearing no apparent weapons. An arcanist, then. He introduced himself as Melech, and claimed to be an associate of the cultists, but was not one of them. Some sort of neutral party or contractor? He had apparent command over the bullette, which bristled nearby, eager to renew the fight, and made vague threats of relinquishing his control over it.

He asked who they were ("So...you're survivors of the wrecks?") was interested in trading information, offering only a little bit in term for some of their names. But the PCs were not willing to give up any items, and only Ecaris, Penitence, and Edrathior really spoke to him. He claimed to know the small gray creature they had captured—Ilnix, a familiar to Lucan. According to Melech, the cultists are led by two twins, Lucan and Phaedris. Edrathior had heard of them. He pointed out, for "free," that Ilnix, if he gets within 1 mile of his master, will be able to communicate with him telepathically. Likewise, if he is slain, his master will know and be slightly crippled by the experience.

He advised them to turn around and not try to tangle with the siblings. If they had survived, good for them, but they wouldn't survive long if they went further. And doing so would also bring Lucan's familiar closer to him. A risky thing to do. So Gregor made sure to pummel the little creature again and keep him unconscious. Of course, if Ilnix didn't return to his master, that, too, would invite suspicion.

Edrathior, meanwhile, trying to examine the reliefs carved in the underside of the arch. He saw depicted there, in pictograph fashion, a line of human warriors side by side with apes. At the center of them was a more regal figure. A leader? Beside him was a larger ape, this one four-armed. Alongside these carvings was written in antiquated Elven:

The Vigilant Road of Cuicatl, Guardian of the King

When Edrathior passed beneath the arch of stone, an overwhelming vertigo swept over the group and knocked some to the ground. The world seemed to spin and darken. Looking up, they saw a clear night sky with very differently looking stars. Melech referred to this as worldfall, which some of the PCs knew to mean  when a plane (or part of a plane) becomes coterminous with the mortal world (i.e. falling into the world). Although not as overwhelmed by the experience as the PCs, he seemed amused or mildly surprised that it had happened just then. It was now fully night.

In the blink of an eye, hours had passed and the PCs (and the whole Isle?) seemed to be no longer in the mortal world...or had another plane imposed itself in the mortal world?

Unwilling to part with any more information, or any of their few items of value, they left Melech behind. and continued down the trail, which now had become an ancient, cracked road of flagstones with weeds and other vegetation poking through. They soon heard the distant screams of primates in what sounded like a battle. A short while later, nearing their destination, a maddened ape rounded the corner and charged at them. It was slain quickly.

Soon they came upon the end of the road: a broad, if steep set of stairs leading up a set of ziggurat tiers up into a cave. Flanked by mighty trees, the entire entrance was  Presumably this was the temple of the "Truth Seeker" or oracle the Olman shaman spoke of. Overhead, a massive, organic-looking globe of light hung from the foliage above the stairs. Gruff pondered shooting it, but decided against it.

It was also the site of a slaughter. A battle between apes—"normal" ones and ones that had worn jewelry and other jungle adornments—and the invading human cultists. The apes had clearly lost, but several humans lay dead as well. At the top of the steps a single living cultist remained. Next to him, its back turned, was a skinny figure cloaked in black, facing the inside of the temple.

The battle that followed was ugly. In it, demonic, lightning-spewing beetles had been conjured, the cultist fought to the death, and the cloaked figure was revealed to be some sort of powerful undead. And a tiefling corpse at that, unleashing forceful blasts of energy. With great effort, the PCs defeated all of them.

Episode #8: The Arch

The net the imp-thing was bound up in was small but effective, sticky with resin and natural barbs. The PCs interrogated and intimidated the creature to the best of their ability, learning only a little. He didn't seem afraid to die; indeed, he seemed to welcome death, saying he would only come back. There was discussion about whether to kill it, leave it behind, or bring it alive. Indecision ultimately led to keeping it alive and bringing it along.

"You are in trouble, much trouble!" the creature shrieked at them. When pressed, it said other curious things. "You will be cut in two. Always in two." Penitence may or may not have recognized something in its disturbing claims, but the tiefling shared nothing with her new companions.

Gregor took charge of the imp-thing and they showed it to the Olman tribesmen. The shaman repeatedly spoke the words he used the night before, suggesting it was a demon, obviously affiliated with the invaders to the Isle.

The PCs foraged for a few hours before setting out, finding only some maroon-colored, grapefruit-sized fruit for sustenance. It was sweet and tasted vaguely of fermented cider but was shunned by the Olman. Grüff also scrounged up enough material from tree fibers and with Elody's help fashioned a length of rope to fully bind the creature in the net. Now their little captive would be easier to carry. Gregor pounded it unconscious and then they gagged it.

One of the Olman from the Tiger Clan, named Ukha, would be their guide and he would show them the way to the oracle of which the old shaman had spoken.

The meandering trek was largely uneventful. They passed through a grove of large, three-petaled purple flowers which Elody wanted to examine closer but the others urged she leave them alone. Grüff, with his keen shifter senses and ranger's training, eventually realized that the group was being followed. Not from any creature walking along the ground but traversing from tree to tree. Spying it, he saw that it was one of the little furry gray-brown, monkey-raccoon creatures they'd seem a few times already. Armed with a spear and wearing a tiny backpack, the little critter followed, unaware of Grüff's doubling back.

At one point, the PCs spotted some sort of guard patrolling the "tall road," the long stone wall that stretched across the jungle landscape to the beach, where Bartholomew, Grüff  Elody, and Edrathior first washed ashore. Merely a silhouette, the figure rode a giant reptilian mount and crawled southward. Uhkta, meanwhile, led them to a break in the wall and stopped there. They could see a trail lead into the jungle. The Olman would go no further.

So they went on, and Grüff rejoined them. The furry creature was nowhere to be seen at this point.

As the jungle around them thickened, the road they walked left them little choice but to follow it. Before long, a large stone arch came into view, nearly forty feet high, forming a threshold in the road. Idly guarding it were two men, cultists like the ones the PCs had fought in Mora upon the ziggurat. Wearing ragged cloaks, bodies ritually scarred, and wielding both axes and javelins. One sat on the top of the arch nearly forty feet off the ground; the other crouched on the ground. An iron staff was planted in the ground, with an attached chain leading straight into the ground nearby, where a large section of freshly dug-up earth lay mounded.

Seeing no way around the arch or through the dense jungle, the PCs initiated a surprise fight. Grüff led off with a shot and the battle was quickly joined. Edrathior's magic yanked the cultist on the arch forward and down, hard to the ground. Gregor closed the distance and pounded on both men, while the cultists responded with screams of rage that magically endured and assaulted those nearby with waves of scathing. When one wrenched the iron staff out of the ground, the chain was loosed and this seemed to prompt the unseen beast beneath the ground to attack. Gregor grabbed the chain before it disappeared in the earth and with it managed to clothesline one of the cultists.

The monster burst from the earth with a spray of rock and dirt and a deep roar—a bullette! Called "land sharks" by those who know and rightly fear them, bulettes are large, heavily armored, and burrow through the ground as easily as through water.

Rising up between Elody and Penitence, the beast attacked. After sustaining a psychic retaliation from Edrathior, it turned on him. Despite its bulk and squat legs, the bulette was a remarkable jumper. It sprang upon the eladrin and bit into him. Before there was proper time to keep hitting on it, the land shark dove under the ground again. Moments later, the last of the cultists fell dead.

The PCs paused to look around for the bulette. They could feel it burrowing somewhere beneath them, but when it broke out again it was beyond the arch. It rose and turned toward them, seeming calmer. As if acting at the command of a master. Buletters are known for their ferocity and dangerous resistance to proper training. Yet this one, while obviously scarred and tortured into obedience, was calm.

And in that moment, a figure emerged from the shadow of the arch, bearing the prominent horns of a tiefling.

Episode #7: Smoke and Monsters

Diary of Gregorius Half-Orc the Cenobite

Conclusion of the First Day on the Isle

Having eaten, we took shelter in the cave, hoping to rest before travelling any farther. The tribesmen seemed reliable, but we decided someone should keep watch just the same. I had not so much as sat down when I was roused by a commotion from outside the tunnel entrance.

Outside, the shaman was pointing and directing the tribesmen about. They for their part passed back and forth, in and out of the jungle. Two brought to the mouth of the cave long staves and a stretched skin, and set about erecting a tent before us. Others brought firewood and pungent aromatic herbs. As I watched from the tunnel, the old shaman prepared a low fire within the tent, and laid thereon the herbs, in accord with some esoteric rite known only to him.

The shaman gestured for us to come out and join him. With some suspicion, my companions and I did as he asked. We sat around the smoldering herbs; a fragrant plume wound its way through the air and rose out of the tent. From among his ritual accouterments he produced a long, carved smoking pipe. He tamped down a pinch of some nameless herbs, lit the pipe, took a draught of the smoke, and offered the pipe to us. Ecaris, Edrathior, and I partook. Ever suspicious Grüff did not, nor did Elody and Penitence. As we watched, the smoke thickened and formed shapes before us.

The shaman spoke, and I understood his meaning as plain as day. Though the words themselves remained foreign, I understood what he was attempting to communicate. Judging by their faces, those who had not shared the piped did not.

The shaman told us how one month ago, the people had noticed a disturbance among the beasts of the isle. 

1 month ago: "Animals began to act strange. Upset. Angry." The smoke formed animal shapes. Monkeys, birds, snakes, capybaras. Even some of the behemoths.

3 weeks ago: "The people from from Tanaroa came to inquire. They were seeing the same disturbances. New beasts began to appear. Brightly-colored reptiles, most smaller than behemoths but more vicious. Demons? Sharks congregated around the beaches in larger numbers than usual." The smoke depicted spiny, fanged monstrosities.

2 weeks ago: "Tanaroa went silent. Messengers were sent out. They did not return." The smoke shows men and women walking outward, then fading away.

Three weeks ago, foreign invaders had arrived, accompanied by a tribe of cannibals from “beyond the wall.” The old man called them “traitors to the Olman.” The "Olman" seem to be the name the tribesmen give themselves. The foreigners and their servants destroyed Mora, killing many of its people. Those they did not kill they enslaved. The shaman said these villains led the people away, probably toward Tanaroa.

3 days ago: “Then they came. Enemies. Foreigners to the Isle. Like you, but not like you. They came from the north, from the direction of Tanaroa. Cruel men and women wearing strange garments and with savage beasts as pets. They acted like spirit shamans but they served spirits from beyond death, not animal spirits of the world. They came with cannibals from beyond the Wall, traitors to the Olman. They destroyed Mora and demanded surrender from our people. Those who raised weapons were struck down—including the Chieftain. The weak were shackled and taken away, presumably to Tanaroa.” The smoke showed violence. Monsters and men took shape and struck villagers down.

The shaman said these invaders were led by two twins, that these twins conducted some vile ritual atop the ziggurat in the center of Mora. What this ritual had been exactly, he seemed not to know. But it "changed the sky."

“The invaders were led by two leaders. Twins who argued and even fought. But together they enacted a terrible ritual upon the ziggurat. It summoned the storms and changed the sky. Then they left. Now the jungle is patrolled by the invaders.”

The shapes in the fog dispersed, and we were back in the tent of the shaman. We asked him if he knew any more. He did not, but knew of an oracle not far to the west. He said this oracle might have information for us. I explained to my companions what he had said. We will speak to this oracle, but first we must rest.

“There is one who can say more. A place where a Truth Seeker ["oracle"?] resides. In an temple erected by the gods. A place the Olman visit but never stay, where only brave warriors are permitted to pass if they can survive. The temple can be found by following the 'tall road’ from the sea. It is not far, a half day’s journey.

*          *          *

Edrathior may be many things, but let it never be said a liar is one of them. It began while we rested in the cavern. We felt something amiss, and gazed at the shaft down which we had earlier climbed. The rope hanging there swung gently, though no wind nor draft blew to disturb it. I said then, “Pull it up and let whatever’s down there stay down there.” My companions must have thought I jested, for we soon descended to investigate. 

We confirmed something was very much amiss. Across the chasm, into the chamber rolled the same gray mist we had seen issuing from the top of the ziggurat earlier today. The imp-thing that had bitten Ecaris mere hours ago scampered out of the mist, and against our better judgment we advanced.

We drove the imp off easily enough; it fled as soon as we engaged. We pursued, needing to know what deviltry was afoot but apprehensive that we might find out. The mist dispersed as we stepped into the tomb. There, to nobody’s surprise, stood the three cadavers. Attacking as cadavers generally do not.

We fought, the dwarf and the knight striking at Ecaris and me with withered fists. The elf was the worst; her entrails crawled forth from her body, grasping and coiling. They were stronger than they looked, but not as strong as I. I broke free and ducked between the three corpses. I struck the dwarf in the back of the head and he, or it, crumbled to the floor. The elf moved to grapple Ecaris, and that was when things got strange. Edrathior at the far end of the room called up another bolt of magic, wound up, swung, and whiffed. Thunder filled the room. All of us, living and dead alike, were hurled through the air and to the floor. After we regained our feet, the melee resumed with gusto. We overcame the undead without undue hardship.

Once we were safe, we searched the area for signs of further danger. I peered out the window, suspecting the enemy had approached by sea. As far as I could tell they had not. While we are on this isle, we’d do well to cremate any more cadavers we find. I will discuss this matter with my companions. I will also speak to Elody of this matter; perhaps she can intercede with whatever god reigns here, and influence them to leave us unmolested by the living dead. Or perhaps Penitence is the one with further knowledge of the dead that do not rest.

It was then that discovered the imp-thing again, attempting to escape on the other side of the chasm. But before we could stop it, a small net was thrown over it by something else as small as it. Whatever cast the net fled back up the rope, leaving the gray imp bound before us.

Captain's Journal: Discovery of the Isle

From the journal of an unnamed captain

Three weeks ago I set out from Specularem on a mission of grave importance: to bear the dying Prince Davin to the Thanegioth Archipeligo, where it was said an enchantress dwelt with the power to break that foul warlock’s curse. Aye, this sounds like something out of a children's tale. Believe me, it has only become more so since. Suffice it to say, my mission is not what it once was. Now it is to survive and see that this message is delivered so others will know the dangers of this place.

I will begin again: A great storm—the likes of which I'd never known—plagued my voyage. When the gale finally ended we found ourselves blown south, and countless days off course, floating adrift in warm equatorial waters. Our destination remained the same, but I knew my ship would never survive the crossing or the return, not without re-provisioning and modest repairs. We made east by southeast, hoping that dry land would not be far.

On the third day, by Avandra's grace, our prayers were answered. A chain of islands unmarked on any chart appeared in the horizon to the west—the same direction we'd been sailing from. Perhaps these were the pirate isles of which I had been warned, but their sudden appearance unnerved me. We made sail for the closest isle and within a small bay we encountered a modest village of thatched huts.

The natives were friendly and primitive, and certainly wary of us. After some persuasion, they were willing to trade food and supplies for weapons and tools of steel. Unfortunately, lumber to repair my ship was not to be found. With the aid of my mage's ritual of Tongues, we inquired about the surrounding islands, but the village chieftain—chieftainess?—seemed determined to warn me off their exploration.

We bade our host farewell and we explored the other islands and their settlements, spying strange sights and crumbling fortifications and statues long abandoned. Some villages were friendly, but others were hostile and the natives attacked on sight. I daresay we found plentiful evidence of cannibalism among the latter and I lost good men to their attacks. We skirted the coastlines of several islands, sailing north by west until we reached a vast isle that spanned the horizon, crowned by a central plateau shrouded in fog and surrounded by a lush jungle that ran to steep cliffs in all directions. Our approach was from the southeast, where a lowland peninsula reached out to divide the nearby waters. We skipped the smaller islands nearby and made straight for it. The peninsula was cut off from the main island by a neck of land and as we sailed nearer, I was shocked to discover the latter was warded off from the former by a massive wall of stone.

I personally led the shore party, so excited was I by this hint of civilization. We went well armed and prepared for anything. After we hiked the distance to the edifice, we discovered that the near side of the great wall sheltered yet another village of primitive natives. I studied the wall, which was indeed man-made and quite impressive—undoubtedly the work of hundreds, if not thousands of men. These natives were especially friendly. They told us their settlement was called Tanaroa. However, the name they gave to the vast island that was their home intrigued me more—the 'Isle of Dread.'

As we spent time with the Tanaroans that day, we learned that the massive wall that separated their peninsula from the rest of the island was built by ancients whom they called "the gods." According to the villages, these gods built a city atop the island's central plateau. The pervasive fogs surrounding those highlands prevented my spyglass from confirming this claim; only a direct inspection would suffice. But as I learned more about their culture and traditions, I began to increasingly suspect that these "gods" of which they spoke were their ancestors, a people who possessed a more advanced culture than anything in evidence now. The Tanaroans—and, it seemed, all the peaceful natives we’ve encountered—seem to be divided up into four distinct clans: Ape Clan, Tiger Clan, Boar Clan, and Sea Turtle Clan.

On the second day, a ferocious roar awoke us. My men and I ran to the wall, attempting to see what made the sound. At this, the Tanaroan moved to stop us from getting close, their hysterical jabbering included talk of great beasts that could devour a man whole. They spoke of a curse upon the ruins and the jungle beyond the wall, placed there by the gods—their wall held back the worst of it.

They warned that only a large and well-armed party should ever go beyond the great wall, where the villagers venture from time to time for supplies and food. While dubious, I could not doubt the ferocity of the creature that made that cry, or the sheer size of the beast we glimpsed from afar. If these were not dragons, they must surely be their wingless cousins. Given the poor state of my men, I could not in good conscience risk their lives by venturing beyond.

I ordered them back to the ship and we bade farewell to the Tanaroans, granting their matriarch such gifts as I could spare to win her future good will. Next time I shall return with an expedition worthy of the endeavor of exploring this land. Before departing, however, I was determined to sail around the Isle and its rocky coastline, making as detailed markings of its features as I could. The work was painstaking, made more difficult by a suddenly rising fog that seemed to pour from the plateau into the surrounding jungle at dusk.

Our task nearly complete, we sailed past a cove on the north side of the island, where I confess I was shocked to spy the wreck of a sailing ship of foreign design in the shoals. From its broken hull emerged a prow carved in the likeness of a snarling wyvern. I noted that the dilapidated rigging was decades out of date. My curiosity got the best of me and I ordered the men to lower anchor and, despite their misgivings, I told the crew we were staying the night. In the morning we would attempt to salvage the wreck.

I wish I had never ordered the stay, as the events of the next few hours haunt me still. The ragged creature we found lurking inside the wreck must have been an elf once, but bore little resemblance to the fair folk of Alfheim that I have known. He was a tortured soul, and when he spoke my name—as if he knew who I was—it chilled me to the core.

Episodes #5 and #6: Sarcophagi

Diary of Gregorius Half-Orc the Cenobite

Continuation of the First Day on the Isle

The passage was cold. The old shaman in the death’s head mask—the one who called himself "Uja Zem"—led us down into the earth; I was struck for a moment by the sensation that we trespassed upon a tomb. It was then we heard a thunderous crash from the jungle outside. I wheeled about to ask my companions if they’d heard what I had. The looks Ecaris and Edrathior gave me said they had. We slowly made our way back outside. None of us could yet see just what was tearing its way through the jungle. The tribesmen outside, standing guard over their kinsmen’s graves, readied their weapons. We might have taken shelter in the cave, but our would-be friends stood ready to fight. Had we left them to face whatever rough beast slouched forth alone, they wouldn’t be our friends for long. So we waited.

It’s been said the period of waiting before battle separates the bold from the craven. After all, even a coward may become brave if he be taken unawares and not have the time to contort himself with fear. I took those few moments to survey our impromptu order of battle: Ecaris and I in the first rank, Edrathior in the rear, the tribesmen on the right flank shouldering their macuahuitls (a name later given to these obsidian-toothed weapons). I saw that Bartholomew was not with us, and realized we had left him alone with the old shaman. There was no time to worry though, for then the behemoth broke through the trees.

It was a massive beast, bucking like a bronco, bearing the shell of a tortoise, spines of a dragon, and legs of a rhinoceros. (Translator’s Note: The diarist here uses the archaism rhinoceros, being an imaginary beast with a horn growing from its snout, clearly inspired by travellers’ distorted accounts of the unicorn.) It bellowed, in its eyes neither the intellect of man, nor the hunger of beast, but only blind, insensate rage. We stood our ground. It charged straight at me. Mere yards away, it flung itself about, with an agility belying its great bulk, and swung its tail. I bobbed just beneath it, and slid in to punch the behemoth’s underbelly. Ecaris took a similar course, and we were both overturned and dropped on our heads for our efforts.

Upon regaining our feet, we tried to divert the galloping brute from our more fragile companions and from the burial grounds of our new allies. Bucking and flailing as it did, the behemoth was able to hold his ground against assault from all sides. Finally as the poor beast collapsed under the weight of blood loss and spent rage, one of the tribesmen sprung forward and struck it with his macuahuitl.

With the beast slain, we inspected the corpse. The beast had obviously been ill or poisoned; black effluvia issued from its eyes and its snout. On its neck was a wound, inflicted by some type of spear or arrow. We suspected this to be the source of whatever had driven the behemoth mad.

The old man and the turtle woman led us back into the cavern. At the end of the tunnel, they pointed to a square opening in the floor. A rope ran down into the dark. The turtle woman pointed down the shaft, indicating we were to descend. I looked down the shaft; the floor was some twenty feet below. I could leap back up if things went awry, so I slid down first. I found myself in a cavern. To the west was a rope-and-wood-plank bridge over a natural cleft. I could hear the tide moving in and out of that cleft. I could see the details of the cavern plain as day in the faint light available, though the humans might have trouble. I called up to my companions and they descended.

The rope bridge was in a state of some disrepair, though it held up as we crossed one by one. On the other side of the cleft, we found another chamber of worked stone. Nearest us was a chest pressed against the wall. Inside the chamber three stone sarcophagi stood upright against the walls. My companions and I discussed the best course of action. Bartholomew made a beeline for the chest. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the turtle woman had descended the rope, and stood across the bridge, looking at us expectantly. We beckoned her to join us on the other side. She did with some reluctance—though with apprehension or reverence for this place, I could not say.

By this time, Edrathior had told us there was powerful magic radiating from the farthest sarcophagus; Bartholomew had extracted whatever wealth the chest had held. Of interest was a scroll case. The scroll inside appeared, at a glance, to be a record of some kind. I tucked the case into my sash, resolving to read it later. Concerned we might be ambushed by more of the undead, we decided it would be prudent to crack open the sarcophagi and check inside.

The first sarcophagus contained the remains of a one-legged dwarf, wearing mail of Rockhome make. Those more schooled in arms and armor than I stated the suit bore the designs of 50 years previous. The turtle woman gazed at the mummy inquisitively. I decided this was the time to try and communicate. I pointed to the unfortunate in the sarcophagus, and said “Rockhome,” repeated “Rockhome” and waved my hand in the direction of the sea. She appeared to understand, and intoned “Mora” indicating herself.

The second contained the corpse of a human knight of Thyatis, apparently of the same order as Ecaris, though my companion claimed no knowledge of any Thyatian expedition to this place—wherever this place was. Ecaris took one of the unfortunate knight’s gauntlets to return to his family.

The three of us again took up position before the last sarcophagus. Upon opening it, we found naught but the mummy of an elvish woman, draped in rich silks. She had a ring upon one wizened finger; Edrathior said this was the source of the magic he’d sensed, and not the deceased herself.

It was then I elected to open the scroll case; inside were a map and what appeared to be a journal entry or memorandum. The map depicted a large island surrounds by several smaller ones. A few dots, likely towns or villages, were labeled. One was “Mora,” whence the Turtle Woman indicated she had come. The journal indicated the writer had set out from Specularum, three weeks prior to the writing, to bear one Prince Davin to the Thanegioth Archipelago. He, like us, was blown off course by a great storm. He and his crew put ashore on the first isle they came to, trading with the natives for food and supplies. He wrote that the village’s chieftain or “chieftainess?” tried to warn him off exploring the other isles. This would not surprise me, though I am puzzled by the writer’s puzzlement.

They found several villages—including Mora and Tanaroa—all on the same southeastern peninsula. Just north of Tanaroa, a great wall separated the inhabited peninsula from the rest of the island. The Tanaroans allegedly referred the this isle, upon which they dwelt as “the Isle of Dread.” After departing Tanaroa, the writer decided he would navigate around the north end of the island. There he and his men found a wrecked sailing ship, bearing a figurehead in the shape of a wyvern. His curiosity having gotten the better of him, he dropped anchor and set about exploring the wreck. Aboard the derelict they found some creature, the author writing only: it “must have once been an elf,” and it spoke his name, as if it knew who he was. The account ended abruptly. I wondered if the thing he’d encountered were kin to the one I had fought on the beach.

At any rate, with a map of the Isle in hand, and some better idea of just what we had stumbled into, we stepped outside and shared a meal of fruits and coconuts with our new companions. After this meal, we are to plan our next moves.

Episode #4: Cultists and Natives

There was to be no parley. The figure atop the ziggurat waited, while the other figures drew back and appeared again with bows in hand. As the PCs came closer, they loosed their arrows and a battle had begun.

The leader was a cloaked figure, human, ritually scarred. Carrying a wooden staff, he wielded magic that blasted the earth and sent the PCs reeling. The others were more direct, wielding bows and outlandish, wicked-looking weapons: large, flattened wooden clubs with jagged, obsidian teeth embedded around its frame. As heavy as a greatsword, and at least as deadly. (These would later be called macuahuitls.) With livid scars like war paint, these humans didn't look like natives of the island. They wore leather armor, studded with strange ornaments and bits of metal, much of it piecemeal. And they seemed to relish the fight, though they didn't have the advantage of numbers. One of them was female, and though strategically smarter than her comrades, she didn't shirk from the violence, either.

Near the cloaked leader, a large cauldron atop the ziggurat was still fuming black smoke, and through this screen he used his magic. But the power of the PCs was greater:  While Ecaris and Gregor waded in as quickly as they could with blade and fist, Elody and Penitence followed with divine spells. Gruff hung back, loosing arrows back at the bowmen. The tide turned when Edrathior used his sorcerous magic to yank the cloaked leader and one of his henchman down from the upper tiers of the pyramid.

The PCs made short work of their foes, but before the battle ended, a small gray-skinned creature crawled from the black cauldron and leapt upon Ecaris's back. A tiny demon of some kind that moved with the ease of a monkey, it tore and bit at him, weakening him with its teeth as much with its foul presence. Eventually, the creature turned invisible and fled. Gruff managed to spot its tracks, which led due north off into the jungle, but tracking it through the lush vegetation seemed impossible.

Meanwhile, Bartholomew spotted a swiftly-moving fog coming in from the nearby beach. Hiding out, he was the first to encounter four humans whose sparse clothing and weapons associated them with the slain villagers. Two were darker skinned, with tiger-like war paint marking their bodies. The other two were paler skinned, a woman and an old man. The woman carried a tortoise shell for a shield, while the old man carried a scythe-club made of bone and a grisly headdress fashioned of humanoid skulls. Three had javelins and carried the same obsidian-toothed weapons the cultists had been using.

Barthlomew, assuming these newcomers to be enemies and wanting to get the drop on them—or acting on other motive—emerged from his hiding place and attacked the elder with his dagger. The natives turned and fought back, but not before blows were exchanged and blood was shed. Elody came onto the scene and broke up the fight, furious and upset, and the violence abruptly ended. The other PCs soon arrived, outnumbering the natives.

The natives didn't speak the Common tongue, so diplomacy was an awkward, pantomimed affair. The natives were especially wary of Penitence for her horns and tail, and for Gruff, who refused to put away his bow. But some sort of truce was reached and the leader—he called himself "Uja Zem"—convinced the PCs to follow them somewhere eastward, following the shoreline. Gruff followed from a distance, bow still ready.

A short while later, they reached a hidden cave in an unassuming clearing, where two more tiger-striped natives stood guard over four burial mounds and the body of another of their dead. The others headed in, but Gruff and Penitence opted to stay outside.