Second Ptolus Campaign Journal, #41
Still the 23rd of Year’s End
We take heavy losses from the ghoul spellcasters and giant undead creature before the battle below Oldtown ends. We’re only just able to catch our breath when we come face to face with a grave earth elemental — or a spawn of hell, if you ask Sir Othun of the Keepers of the Veil. Dispatching it, we race down a hall to a large chamber with a sizable patch of freshly turned earth and a horrid-looking gaunt fellow with a scythe tilling it. “I am Sepac, eldest of all ghouls,” it says. “It is time to harvest you.”
Charnoth takes that as a personal challenge. He races toward his foe, but skeletal hands and claws reach up out of the earth and begin scratching at him. We all join him in the room, but our attacks seem to affect Sepac not at all — at first. And though he mocks us, he goes down just like all the rest of the ghouls. “I was old even before your grandfather’s time,” he chortles at me, “and it will take more than you to bring me down.” Luckily, there are more here than just me. The quicker they mock, the harder they fall.
In no time at all, the ghoul spellcasters make themselves known once more by lobbing another fireball in our midst. We give chase: straight into the heart of this foul temple of the Forsaken. A menacing ceremonial archway made of bone and lined with skulls stands here. Stationed around it are Forsaken humans, ghouls, and strange disembodied black capes. Oh yeah, and a shigmaa.
The Forsaken begin to howl, a ceremonial ululation of some sort that unnerves us but fortifies them, unnatural creatures that they are. We slice through two of them easily, and the remainder regard us with a little more respect. “No more innocent victims will meet their end in your foul pits!” I cry. (These are Forsaken — they have foul pits, right? I’m better with monsters than I am with cults…)
Sir Othun fortifies our courage in the face of a powerful magical fear effect, and we fan out in this nasty temple. A warrior in black armor heads back to a pit (See? I knew it!), raises his arms, and calls out, “Shigmaa Urasta, come forth! You are needed!” The wraiths in black capes begin fluttering their fabric over the well expectantly.
While Calista casts mighty spells of sonic power at the remaining Forsaken, I use the companion spirit spell granted us by Linus’ presence to turn invisible and sneak around to the other side of the well. But before I can get there, an ominous rumbling from the pit reaches its climax. What emerges is a horrible gigantic undead monstrosity with six legs, a twisted body, and a mutated head. Shigmaa Urasta may be the worst thing I have ever seen. If this is what chaos does to a person, I want no part of it.
“You see, fool, the Forsaken are always able to come back,” the black armored warrior spits at Sir Othun. But our intrepid paladin friend remains undaunted. “And we will always be here to stop you,” he declares, slaying the cretin. Meanwhile, the last Forsaken urges Charnoth to throw himself into the pit.”Make it easy on yourself,” she says. In response, Charnoth slays her in a single attack. Meanwhile, Barbatos fends off the last of the wraiths, and Diethan battles the last ghoul spellcaster.
That leaves only the shigmaa, a monster the size of a house. Sir Othun, Charnoth, and I charge up to attack her, our blades sinking deep into her putrid innards. Calista slings spells at her, supported with the healing of the Keepers of the Veil cleric Thogmun Bleakmine. Urasta’s mouth drools bile and maggots; looking up into her maw one can see only void.
You wonder why I got such a good look down her throat? It was when she almost swallowed my head. But somehow, I managed to push her off me for a moment. Invoking the names of all my Charad titan ancestors that I can think of, I continue the attack. Valiant Charnoth falls at my side, and Sir Othun calls upon his last reserves of strength.
Urasta’s horrid shrieks at the spells of Barbatos and Calista ring in my ears. Then an explosion deep within the creature spews pus and offal all over us. The shigmaa’s carcass slithers back down into the pit, dead at last.
Diethan comes rushing in to inform us that there’s another ceremonial temple room just like this one at the end of a hallway nearby — not welcome news, let me tell you. Thogmun and Archinemus manage to heal Charnoth, and we all lick our wounds and ponder our next move.
I know I will have nightmares about Shigmaa Urasta for a long time to come.
Session LXXIX – Still the 23rd of Yearsend
We heal up and search the bodies of the fallen Forsaken foes. From what Diethan tells us, there are more areas to search. But before we can even fully collect ourselves, a band of skeletons and the last ghoul sorcerer charge in to do battle. Even Mhavas came back, pretending to be on our side — but we knew better. Still, seeing his old friend did not make Sir Othun any happier by the time the battle ended.
We explore down a hallway where Diethan fought the ghoul spellcaster, past an embalming room into a temple. We know it’s a temple on account of the altar spattered with fresh blood, but it seems quiet. However, through the embalming room we arrive at an iron door, which we bust through (well, Diethan tried knocking, to no avail). We’ve stumbled upon a prison full of hapless abductees guarded by two human Forsaken in bone armor, plus a ghoul and a number of other undead. The fire of freedom burns brightly in me as I slash at these jailors. We make quick work of them and manage to unlock the prison cells. The five prisoners are humans and an elf. “They wanted live sacrifices to their gods,” they said, “the Sisters of Death, Heiran and Nareis.” All the prisoners were grabbed out of their own houses, and they look much abused.
One prisoner is a cobbler who appears to be evil, according to the paladin. He claims to be innocent, but we’re worried about more spies. Plus, he seems to know something about the temple of Maleskari. He said he heard it in the Old Goose tavern, but that’s a lie. Diethan, out of patience with the proceedings, shoots the guy and kills him. Well, there’s a blow for the power of freedom…
Of course, the other prisoners are terrified now, but we give them food and water and try to calm them down. Meanwhile, Diethan notices a tattoo of a mailed fist clutching a black ribbon above the word “Restlare” on the dead evil cobbler. Curious.
In a room adjoining the prison we come upon a coffin all chained up. Again, curious. Why would they try to prevent a vampire from getting out if they love undead so? Perhaps it was a good creature they’d locked up in there. But no, Diethan’s sword Insight, when asked, tells him that it is evil. So (with a few misgivings) we decide to leave it there. Perhaps the Keepers of the Veil can neutralize it at some future point.
Charnoth escorts the surviving prisoners back up to the surface while we finish exploring this wretched place. We discover some bedchambers, which we toss. The last one contains a couple unusual undead (the skeleton of a minotaur and a werewolf, it seems) and two powerful-looking armored warriors. It turns out they are Shigmaa Cynric himself and his aide, Barabbas (who appears to have had the skin flayed off him, and then reapplied to his form). When we evince disdain for the threat he presents (at least compared to Shigmaa Urasta, he angrily shouts, “I was the one who brought her back!”)
These powerful foes manage to take down our stalwart ally Sir Othun, but Barbatos batters them with fireballs and Barabbas goes down. Suddenly, a unicorn appears over Othun’s body to take him to a safe temple. He asks if we want to come with him — but how can we retreat to safety when Cynric remains alive? A bleeding Diethan says, “Friend unicorn, I grant you this boon if you help us — if you spear Cynric!” and he holds out a small carved wooden unicorn head. Where’d he get that? I wonder.
“Where did you get that?” asks the unicorn. “Keep this, friend of the unicorns, you may need it sometime.” And with that, he spears our foe, wounding him gravely. A couple more hits and a shot from Archinemus’ demon gun ends his miserable life.
“Two shigmaas,” sighs Barbatos. “And it’s not even suppertime.”
