Attronarch's Athenaeum

Adventurers

Character	Race	Class	Description
Ainsley	Human	Ranger level 1	An older gentleman with a groomed moustache and a wooden pipe in his mouth, covered in dark green cloak.
Ambros	Human	Cleric level 7	Follower of Aniu, Lord of Time.
Balarus	Human	Fighter level 4	An ex-woodsman, quite a crack shot with his bow.
Ivor	Human	Cleric level 1	A young, soft-spoken worshipper of Umannah with thick black beard.
Tam o' Shanter	Human	Cleric level 4	A boisterous wine-lover of Losborst on a Great Crusade of the Grape.
Tarkus the Promising	Human	Cleric level 5	Follower of Bachontoi, God of Red Wisdom.
Thorinda Bung	Human	Monk level 4	She has blonde hair done up in a tight pony tail and wears light, loose suit.
Volkard	Human	Ranger level 1	Bushy hobo from the wilderness.

Flowerbloom 17th, Waterday

“Which way?”

“Let's explore a bit more before burning everything down to the ground.”

“But we must find a way to use the flute without getting hurt!”

“Hey, why don't we wrap it in rags, and try so?”

“That would never work!”

“🎜”

“I cannot believe it!”

The stone slab slid upwards, revealing once more the chamber with dozen vats. Ambros the Blower did not get hurt, for the barbs did not puncture his flesh through the rags.

Party of eleven adventurers proceeded west, blew the flute once more, and were rejoiced to see a spiral staircase leading down. Balarus, the mightiest of them all, took the lead.

He stopped at the landing and observed quietly and attentively.

Soft violet light illuminated the spacious chamber before him. The hall was ninety feet wide and fifty feet long. The light shone through the massive window on the west wall. A bloody trail led from the corridor in the centre of south wall to the corridor in the middle of the east wall. Two doors were on the north side, each close to the corner. Between them a large framed painting of a woman hung.

Massive, forty feet long and ten feet wide, pale green table dominated the hall. It was full, more like an altar than a regular table, and very hard, marble-like. Eight chairs were on the each long side, and no chairs were on the shorter side.

Adventurers fanned out, investigating.

The window, twenty feet wide and tall, and merely one feet deep, opened up on a bewildering vista. A marshland stretching all the way until the horizon. A dim purple sun, its surface roiling and bubbling, pulsing the violet light. Six armed crocodiles loitering and gnawing upon each other.

“Yes, let's take a step back from there, yes?”

Two of three doors had a musical note on them. One in the north-west corner did not. Those were plain wooden doors.

The blood trail led to a t-shaped junction. There the blood pooled, with more splotches leading further north. There were doors to both left and right. Listening to north doors revealed bone-crunching sounds beyond. On the other hand, a joyful tune could be heard from the south doors.

“Hagatha the Wise.” the plaque at the lower side of the frame read. It was a painting of a middle aged woman. She had long dark hair with slivers of grey, slightly unkempt and scraggly; and a small hooked nose. One half of her face is covered with warts and boils, while the other is most plain, healthy skin.

Volkard tried to finagle an arrowhead behind the frame, but it did not budge. The picture was perfectly flush along the wall. Moreover, the wood did not seem to give in under the sharpness of steel.

Tam the Charming praised Hagatha, piling up compliments. He pleaded for help and guidance from the Wise Mistress. He swore that he had seen the portrait fashion him a smile. Thus, in obeisance he threw a wineskin on the table—his divine tribute, for he is a Curate of Losborst, the God of Wine, on a Holy Quest to recover the Divine Grape.

Within minutes the wooden door swung open. Balarus, whom had be watching guard, bow ready, was not surprised. But he had not shot the well dressed skeleton that came out. It had a tight navy blue robe, tied with a garish yellow sash.

“Welcome, welcome! Oh, how rude of us, please excuse me! I shall prepare the table at once!” the skeleton proceeded to remove the wine skin. It passed Volkard, whom tried to take a look at the chamber before it closed. “Please be seated so we can serve you. Only the finest dishes for our esteemed visitors.”

Adventurers were, rightfully, very suspicious of this offer. But Tam took a seat, then stood up, and then took a seat again.

“I am not cursed!”

Well mannered skeleton was back, beckoning everyone to take a seat so it could serve them. Its manners were impeccable, its charm disarming, and its genuine and generous answers welcomed.

“Sir, will you not take a seat too?” it asked a hairy bunch of flesh standing in the corner. “No, I am but a lowly slave. I stand aside.” Volkard answered.

“Ah, just like myself! What a good slave you are! So obedient! Would you like to come with me to the servant's quarters once we are done serving our Masters? We could stand in darkness together!” the skeleton offered.

“Yes, I would love that.” Volkard confirmed.

By now there were two skeletal servants, both equally polite.

“We serve only the freshest and finest ingredients. Our chef prepares everything locally. On the today's menu we have baby back-ribs, heart-devoire, oculemon, and manling dumplings.”

The skeleton went around the table, asking for everyone's name and their order.

“I'd like a soup. What would you recommend?”

“Oculemon then! Very refreshing!”

“What is it made of?”

“It is an eyeball soup.”

“Yeah, I'll have that.” Ainsley confirmed. Thorinda took the same order.

“I think I will go with cheese and grapes.” Balarus ordered.

“Just grapes, please.” Ambros asked.

“Ribs, what are those?”

“Baby back-ribs? Ribs carved out of babies, of course! Fresh, butchered this morning!”

“Babies? Where do you get all the babies, if I may ask?” Ainsley interjected.

“Of course, our patrons deserve to know where we harvest our ingredients. From farm to table is our motto. Ingredient traceability is very important to our Mistress Hagatha. We mostly procure orphans. Some of the babies are home-grown, but that takes too long.”

“And who is selling you all these children?”

“Slavers, opportunists, giantkin. It is trivial really. Our supply chains are faultless.”

Tam, and Ivor decided to go with ribs.

Ivor claimed to be fasting.

“We will take your order to the chef. Please make yourself comfortable. We will be back with you shortly!”

The servants excused themselves and left east, and then turned south.

“Guys, you don't have to do this with me! I just sat down, didn't expect you all to follow as well!” Tam shared in alarm.

“Hey. Be cool.” Ainsley replied, coolly.

When the skeletons returned, Ainsley asked a lot of questions about the spire and its denizens. The wisest among adventurers took notes.

“What is this level of service?!” Thorinda threw a fit. “Where is bread? What are we supposed to do until main dishes are done?!”

“Oh, woe! We are unworthy of serving you! We shall prepare fresh snacks for you immediately!” the skeletons ran eastwards and south.

“Guys, what the fuck are we doing?” Tam was still alarmed.

No conclusion was reached by the time the servants returned with two platters of freshly severed ears.

Adventurers sat in silence, sour smiles on their faces, and gazed upon the platters on the table.

“Is something wrong? I see nobody has tasted any of the ears yet! I vouch with my unlife, these have been collected within a day, cut off in the most painful manner to ensure suffering. Please, help yourself! Would you like us, unworthy servants, to feed you?”

“Oh no, no, thank you...” Tam hunched over, took one ear, and slid it down his sleeve.

“WHAT IS THIS???” Thordina motioned whilst raising her voice. “RAW EARS?! I WANT THEM FRIED!”

“Fried? What do you mean? I am sorry my Lady, would you like me to take you to the chef so you can tell him your wishes directly? I am afraid I will make another mistake!”

“No, no, that will not be needed. BUT WHERE IS THE WINE?!”

One of the servants went back to the dark room it came from. Thorinda and Volkard followed right behind. It was a truly dark chamber, with curtains hiding what is inside. Thorinda looked around, and it seemed like curtains are in fact portioning the room into smaller sections. She pulled one open. A massive skeleton was sat down, squatting. It looked in her direction. She pulled the curtain back.

“Oh, don't mind it!” the servant said, fetching a bottle from the wine rack. “It is just an ogre bouncer skeleton. In case we get unruly guests. And you are not unruly guests, are you not?”

“No, no, we are not.”

Thorinda and Volkard left the chamber; the former also set herself down.

“Psst. We have to get out of here!” Tam was at the edge, ready to explode.

The servants finally served the orders. The plates were bloody. The grapes were washed in tears. The cheese was a foul, frothing, abomination. The eyeball soup was clear and salty, with nerves attached to the eyes still twitching.

“Finally, the grand finale is here! Enjoy your dishes. We stand at your service!”

Ainsley stood up.

“Listen, we are grateful, but we must leave now. I am a Ranger, and a person of Law. I give you my word we will return.”

“Law? You give your word... You will keep your word?”

“Yes.”

“These are good people, not evil...” the skeleton grabbed its head, nearly taking it off. “Get them! Get them!!!” it began screaming. The other skeleton went into panic as well.

“THESE ARE GOOD MEN! CATCH THEM! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Adventurers darted from the chairs towards the south door.

“Blow the flute Ambros, blow it!”

“I don't have it! It is not with me! Somebody else has it!”

The north-west doors swung open, and an ogre skeleton strolled in.

“THERE! BREAK THEIR BONES! CATCH THEM! THEY ARE NOT EVIL!!!”

“BLOW THE FUCKING FLUTE! BLOW IT!”

“Here! Here it is!”

“🎜”

Adventurers sprinted across the round chamber, down the tongue-stairs, and into the wilderness.

It took them three days to return to Ironburg. They were haunted by their experience; their sleep was poor, and their rangers had trouble finding appropriate crossings. They had to flee and hide from hill giant marauders. But they approached Ironburg on the noon of Sweetrain 1st, Airday.

Two leagues before it they parted with Ambros, whom had been exiled from kingdom of Hara. The lama of Aniu took a long path towards the Old Crus, whom had been housing him begrudgingly.

“Something isn't right...” Tarkus the Promising, blessed with the Red Wisdom of his god, observed commotion in Ironburg. It was night, the thorp was small, but usually quiet around this time.

But he could hear the pissed off, guttural voice of Rupert Ironwill. Second in command, power, and authority after baron Sig. Apparently the Curate of Tyr was unhappy about something, again.

He stormed out of the longhouse, accompanied by three dozen armed men, and marched out of the thorp. Tarkus, and few other adventurers joined them.

“Where are we heading?”

“To that old guy, you know, the weird wizard?”

“Oh. And why?”

“Ambros is hiding there. We are going to kill him!”

“Oh.”

It was midnight when the mob arrive at the foot of Old Crus's tower. A simple, non-imposing tower.

“OPEN THE DOORS!” Ironwill roared as he banged on the heavy oaken gates.

“OPEN THEM! WE KNOW AMBROS IS INSIDE!”

Tarkus tried to reason with the man, warning him that if he wishes to get something out of someone he probably should not come banging on their doors while they are sleeping.

Rupert politely requested Tarkus to stay out of it.

“CRUS! OPEN THE DOORS! WE ARE HERE FOR AMBROS!”

“OPEN THEM OR WE BREAK THEM”

Tarkus tried again, pointing out that there has been no defensive measures deployed against him and his man, surely a sign of benevolence. He implored him to come back when in better mood.

Rupert politely requested Tarkus to stay out of it.

“WHAT?!” The doors creaked open as Crus poked his head out.

“WHAT?! FUCK OFF BEFORE I FIREBALL YOU ALL!” he croaked in his usual drawn-out way.

“ONE MORE SOUND AND I WILL BLAST YOU FIRST!” and with those parting words the doors closed shut after

Ironwill retreated, all red in face. His men were half way back to Ironburg before he turned around.

“Did I not warn you? Did I not attempt to impart some of the Red Wisdom upon you.”

Ironwill was as red as the deity Tarkus worships.

What will become of Ambros?

Discuss at Dragonsfoot forum.

#Wilderlands #SessionReport

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