This report covers event that transpired via play-by-post after session 151 and until the beginning of the session 153.
Adventurers
| Character |
Race |
Class |
Description |
| Heran Marod |
Human |
Cleric level 4 |
Bearded, aging man with shaved head. Follower of Umannah, the Sun God, The Radiant Death. |
| Belegar Grimlisnev |
Dwarf |
Fighter level 3 / thief level 3 |
4’6”, 150 lbs; white hair; bronze eyes; pale blue skin tone; very hairy. Observant, dependable. |
| Dalkanarion |
Human |
Fighter level 6 |
A youthful specimen in full strength, full of purpose, bluster, and eagerness to prove himself. |
After the battle
Belegar felt a sudden jerk on his belt. Then heavy force pressed him down into the ground. He could taste a strong taste of iron his your mouth. Blood caked his beard and hair.
In a moment he realised there were multiple people pressing him down. In seconds his armour straps were cut, and he was stripped naked. Once Altanians realise he was alive, they pulled him up to his knees.
Still groggy from the beating, it was difficult for him to make sense of the surroundings. He saw two Altanians lifting naked Heran Marod. One of the Altanians picked up the Oathkeeper. In an instant he cried out in pain, as his hands burned, eyes popped out, and refuse escaped him. He dropped down dead, with the sword falling on him, cleaving him straight in half.
Remaining Altanians kicked unconscious Dalkanarion repeatedly, with a few of them stomping him brutally. Finally, they stripped him naked too, and then lifted him up. Altanian whom had remained in the light wrapped up the Oathkeeper, and then tied it to his back.
“Calves!” he roared, facing two youthful Altanians “Hunt down the fleeing coward—bring him home alive or do not return at all.” Then he turned to others, Brothers!” he announced “Mother will be happy with our gifts! We head home now!”
Although disoriented, Belegar realised they were in essence going back in the direction they arrived from. Their hands were not tied. In fact they were not restrained in any way. He was constantly kicked and dragged, urged to hurry up and follow the pace. Otherwise they threatened to de-limb him and turn him into a backpack.
Sunrise
Keeping up the pace with these mad-men, especially after nearly dying, was an arduous task for Belegar. They spent the night traveling along the hills. That was the easy part. Now they were going up. Barefeet. And one of the Altanians took a special pleasure in tripping Belegar up from time to time, just to see how much he can take. It was not a good day for Belegar.
Nightfall
Up and up and up and up and up. That was Belegar's day. Sun beating down mercilessly. That one Altanian picking up on him, time and time again. Dalkanarion proved to be heavy, so Altanians took rotations in carrying him. Heran was carried by a single Altanian. There was discussion mid-day about the value of carrying and old man to the Mother. She likes them young. What's the purpose of this old bastard then? But loud Altanian said everybody must be brought to the Mother.
Sudden outburst of roaring and yelling spooks Belegar. A vertical crevice in the hills, like a wound upon the rock, flanked by six dozen stakes driven into the ground, rotting head atop each.
They have arrived.
“Watch your step, Dwarf.” Belegar's bully grinned as he pushed him into the darkness.
Into Hell
Despite the circumstances, Belegar's keen dwarven senses kicked in. Not even thirty feet in, and it is thick, black darkness. Surprisingly little light comes through the crevice. Belegar could barely see the Altanians in front and behind him.
He did notice they grabbed a rope hanging from the cave wall to the right. Dwarf paid attention to the rope, counting. Every ten feet or so there was an iron ring, hammered into the cave wall, through which the rope passed.
From time to time other Altanians passed him. They all followed the rope. Belegar had a lapse, and got lost for a moment. He was confident they have been following the tunnel for at least an hour.
Heran opened his eyes to total darkness. He felt sick as he was poked in his belly by something sharp. His hands and legs were dangling down. The moment he showed signs of life he was dumped to the ground.
“Well, well, well, the old man is alive after all!” he heard a voice with heavy breath right in front of him. “Hold the rope and walk... Or let it go and die! What do I care! Hahahahahhahahha!” the man burst out laughing. Heran realise he was naked. Umannah did not answer his prayers.
They followed the rope, traversing a natural cave tunnel of varying width. They passed through several open chambers. Belegar felt they were mostly going down, but not at a great slope. At one moment they descend down carved stairs, and then turn left, abandoning rope. Altanians lit up few tallow candles and proceeded on, with captives sandwiched between them. Dalkanarion was still unconscious.
From there they turned right and followed the winding tunnel going down and then up. They entered a cave where Altanians suddenly stopped. The loud one blew a horn, which nearly made Belegar's head explode. Then they turned left and followed another long tunnel.
“Who blows there?!”
“Bommos! Bringing gifts for the Mother!”
“She is resting now. Go away.”
“Move aside shroomsucker or I'll disembowel you!”
Short scuffle between the adventurers' captors and the other side resulted with the former badly beaten. Belegar dropped down on all four and snitched a dagger in the chaos. He hid it in his massive beard.
The fight took place in a cave with four exits. Losers—-and their captives—-were eventually thrown out, with Bommos and his gang sulking away. The retreat was chaotic and disorderly, but eventually Belegar realised they moved south-west from the cave, heading further down, down another long, long tunnel.
An hour or so later, and they could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Into depths
They approached the light and entered a cave system filled with smoke and people. It was damp and warm. One of the caves they passed was filled with long wooden shafts over smoking fires; skins of various animals and men hanging over, drying. In adjacent chamber skins were dipped into holes and cavities filled with foul smelling acid.
Everything smelt, nay reeked, of grease and body odour. Tallow candles illuminated many caves they traversed. All were packed with Altanians, mostly naked. Men, women, children. Most, but not all, had ritual scarring covering their extremities.
“I will add the dwarf's face and back to my jacket!” Belegar's friend announced to the cheering mass. “But I want it to be a face of terror! Fear! Fear for your life, dwarf!”
Adventurers were taken past several more chambers, and Belegar felt the direction was primarily eastwards. Then they were thrown into a chamber packed with emaciated Altanians, Alyrians, Antillians, and Thabrians.
They were not chained nor tied up in any way. There were no guards in this cave chamber. In general, neither Belegar nor Heran spotted any guard posts. Due to low light and tight caves it was impossible to count how many Altanians they passed. Could be several dozen, could be several hundred. They did not pass a single empty cave.
The chamber had two exits. An opening to the west, which adventurers had been brought from to, and a tunnel slopping downwards to the east.
No water nor food was given. The prisoners sucked and licked the crevices along the south wall, through which water seeped in little droplets.
Belegar tried to talk to some of the captives. He was interested to know where the tunnel slopping downwards to the east leads to and if there are prisoners that would be willing to fight against their captors.
Dwarf counted around thirty captives. Altanians and Thabrians were more than happy to fight, but they did not take Belegar seriously at all. “East tunnel leads to the play ground where the Bull God dwells.” they told him.
He also began working on a back up plan, should all else fail. He started acting even weaker than he was. This was a ploy to fool his bully, and then stab him at the most opportune moment. To maximise his final strike, he began smearing shit—his own and of others—onto the blade. “Best case I kill him, worst case I give him a massive infection.” the dwarf though to himself.
Heran prayed for Cure Light Wounds so he could heal his allies. He also prayed for Bless, to embolden captives to break out. He spent rest of his time ministering to the prisoners. “Umannah, give me strength in what may be my final hours to bring glory to your name and destroy these, the forces of Chaos, that would wipe away your Law from the lands of man.”
Over the next three days few new captives were thrown into the chamber. Several were taken, screaming and crying, back into the cave system. Altanians taking them often described in great detail the gruesome acts they were about to perform on them.
An old crone checked in on Dalkanarion daily. She would sniff around him and then leave. Six large tribesmen always accompanied her.
On the second day of their captivity, Heran managed to pray to Umannah. That did not go unnoticed and caused a great commotion. His Bless inspired three of the captives to attempt escape. They were promptly caught, skinned alive, and then boiled in an iron cauldron. Their screams intermingled with laughter and howling of the tribesmen.
Following, the same crone that checked in on Dalkanarion regularly, instructed Altanians on how to deal with the cleric. First they broke all of his fingers, one by one. Then they broke his wrists. Then elbows. Finally, they dislocated his shoulders. Finally finally, they dislocated his jaw. He could not speak, nor could he cast spells anymore. He was crippled for life.
Belegar crouched, a dense ball of shit and hair. Other captives gave him a wide berth. His dagger was ready. He was bidding his time. He would go down fighting.
Fourth day in Hell
Dalkanarion woke up in a dank, warm cave. There was a heavy smell of sweat, offal, and human waste. He was in cave with thirty or so other captives. Belegar, the dwarf, was the only one with some semblance of (accurate) feeling for passage of time. Heran was a disfigured atrocity, his arms mangled and twisted, his jaw locked to the side, making every sound coming from his sound like a pained moan.
Myrmidon was naked, without any possessions. There were no bonds his arms, nor legs. He was free to stretch and move. His attempts to reach out mentally to the Oathkeeper yielded no response. Several hours after he woke up, a hunched crone of dark red skin, accompanied by six bulky tribesmen, arrived.
“You are a big and strong boy, unlike scum over there.” she croaked whilst waving at other captives. “Eat, eat, you will need strength.” He was served a bucket of boiled meat, seven cucumbers, and four oranges. “Tell this old woman more about yourself, Dalkanarion. Tell it all...”
“I am from the north, good lady, but found their states and laws too stifling and self-serving. Too many lords and ladies, thees and thows, but always the downtrodden paying the price. I longed for fresh air and a new start. Where a man, armed with steel and courage, can forge his own destiny. A land that can start new and restore hope to the simple folk. My Lady of the Owl represents War, Justice, and Wisdom. In service, I strive to become Champion of the people.” Dalkanarion spoke whilst standing tall and proud.
He continued “It comes to my ear that distant northern lords, especially the pompous 'overlord,' seek to spread their influence into these lands, ever grasping beyond their reach. But what do they truly know of Altanis and its vitality? Only more tax revenue and military recruits. Tell your people to push back and throw them into the sea should they come armed! Already, in a night of blood and fire, the nefarious and evil lords and guild masters of Hara have been wiped. The cleansing has started. I accept your gracious offer of food. Knowing full well that other plates have been deprived to feed my belly. To be seen as champion, though, I must advise it should be shared amongst the starving.”
The crone's eyes widened and she let out a cackle at the mention of Hara. While talking, Dalkanarion assessed her guard. He also tried to ascertain if she was wearing his medallion of ESP or if he felt a mental tug on his mind.
The crone was naked, using a bent staff to prop herself. Numerous fetishes adorned her, mostly hanging around her saggy neck, but there were plenty of bracelets on her wrists and ankles. Her wrinkled skin was covered with layers and layers of scars.
Six tribesmen don't look dissimilar from men that easily defeated Dalkanarion. Four of them were wearing leather jerkins. All had belts, loincloths, hand axes, and daggers.
“But I know there are more than one way of proving oneself a champion amongst different peoples. Let us honour the gods under their gaze from moon and stars. Light a blaze to illuminate the heavens so that all those above may watch. And give me your finest champion to fight in noble combat after much feasting and dancing. Since primordial times, this is how man proves himself. Let blood honour the almighty, and struggle of man versus man them. Would you, crone, follow such a champion into a new age?”
“Big words from a big man!” she laughed, as did her entourage. “Eat, eat, and you will get your wish. Then we will see if you are a strong as a Bull or just full of big words.”
“Do you gaze into the flames old witch? Do they whisper to you? I have been into the den of vilest evil and gazed into utter darkness. Wicked sorcery descends upon these lands from the mountains of the west, from a sorcerous stronghold within, driving down a howling band of humanoids and brigands. This I know. Would you stand against blasphemous magics and slavering hobgoblins?”
“Others come and go, but Altanians are forever. Bore me no more!” she spit rancid phlegm at Dalkanarion.
“I relish the opportunity for Owl to shred Bull old crone, as has been done before.” Dalkanarion retorted “Yes dirt-crawler, forever hiding in their holes naked, wretched, filthy. Daring not to wander free under the heavens, hiding ashamed of their wretchedness in the eyes of the gods. No dreams, no hope, no change. Forever cursed in their dark tunnels.” He stood stolidly, allowing the spit to hit him. “Now crawl away woman and leave me to rest.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” the crone cackled as Dalkanarion hurled his words at her. “You and your ink will soon be trampled by the Bull God himself!” They left you, cackling.
Others captives stared at Dalkanarion. Few of them began squaring up. Fighter knew that look very well. The look of a hungry animal ready to pounce. Four of them took a few steps towards him.
Dalkanarion look menacingly at them and growled “Advance further and there will be a reckoning...” He motioned towards Heran “Did YOU do this to him fools?”
Two of the four rushed forward. Dalkanarion lunged at them like a wild animal, knocking them both out cold in two rounds. Then he took the food given to him, and squashed it as soft as he could. His plan was to feed it to Heran, however possible.
Cleric's psyche and consciousness, now fully retreated into mind fortress, shielding him from great physical trauma, prayed to Umannah. He dedicated the pain he felt to his God.
Heran could see nothing but fire in his mind's eye. He felt nothing but fire. His flesh melted. His pain washed away. He became warm and serene.
“Burn my body with your divine light and blind the unbelieving Altanians. Umannah I beseech you! Make my body a weapon to drive out this vile corruption.”
Nothing happened immediately, but the warm sensation did not go away. Heran felt presence of something great, but that greatness was not aware of him—yet.
And thus, Heran's psyche dwelt in this presence, meditating.
Dalkanarion, having defeated the two assailants with great ease, encouraged others to back down, too starved to put up a fight.
Heran lied on his back, propped against the cave wall. He was catatonic and unresponsive. Drool dripped down his broken jaw. His mangled arms were bent and crooked. As Dalkanarion approached him, he felt increased warmth—Heran himself was emanating heat, much more than one would expect from a man, even if he was feverish.
Myrmidon knelt next to his broken friend and squeezed orange juice into his gaping mouth.
“Your words are lost on them, Dalkanarion.” a youthful but skinny man addressed him. The face did not look familiar.
“Name's Ecteri, Higman's bastard. I doubt you remember me, but I know of you and your friends. Well, to be fair, everyone in Hara knows of you. My father deals with adventurers quite often. Or, I guess, used to deal now that his establishment burned down to the ground. He is a jeweller. I pleaded with him many times to allow me to follow his trade. It was all for naught. SO I set out to make a name for myself in Ahyf. Gods did not smile upon me, Dalkanarion, and I ended up here, destined to become nothing but a clothing article. How horrible. But your words are not lost on me. Do we stand a chance to live? Is there hope? Or was all that just bravado of a doomed man?”
“Doomed, lad? Oh no. As long as we breathe there is always hope, by Athena. Stand fast and we will find a glimmer of a chance at some point. Just be prepared to follow orders when called upon. Round up any trustworthy folk and huddle together for a council of war. Tell me, also, where this downward passage and stairs lead? Is it guarded? Have you heard or smelt anything from there? Any light?” Dalkanarion spoke whilst chewing on boiled meet and slowly feeding it to Heran, who was completely unable to chew or swallow. Then he turned to the brown ball of hair “Belegar, how fare you my friend?”
“I am unsure where they lead to. That is where they take strong men like you. It is completely unguarded and I haven't seen anyone return. What I do know is that tribesmen get very excited when someone goes there.” Ecteri replied.
Belegar shared everything he learned since being captured.
Another day in Hell
Heran was still warm. In fact, he radiated even more heat, palpable at ten feet radius. Belegar reeked really bad. That dagger was caked proper. He was careful not to nick himself on it.
Sometime during the day tribesmen took three of the skinniest captives. They were taken into the caves. They screamed for hours as Altanians turned them into leather.
“If we ever make it out, I’m coming back to burn this place down.” Dalkanarion muttered to himself.
A loud bull roar echoed from the unguarded path leading down.
Heran meditated. He was nothing but charred bones in a whirlwind of fire. The roaring of flames were now nothing but background noise. There was no pain, only serenity. A titanic, planet-sized, eye formed out of flames and gazes into his being.
The gaze was unflinching; its attention constant. It was all encompassing. Everything rumbled and shook as flamed dance around Heran, forming sounds that he could make sense of.
“You call unto me in great pain, desiring death and destruction upon those surrounding you, Heran Marod.
Chaos confounds, corrupts, and cannibalises in a moment of weakness.
Would you not rather bring people salvation and clarity?
Or you wish nothing but Radiant Death to them?
Speak, and your wish shall be granted.”
“My Lord, Father of the Light that is my life. My body is ruined, and I have seen the evil of these barbarian Altanians. To be the tinder to the flame that drives Chaos from these lands has been my aspiration since I have discovered the truth of your glory. I know that all men's lives are passing, that our candles' fires are quickly extinguished. Let me be that tinder. If my fire must go out, let it shine bright in its last moments and consume those who are agents of Chaos. Let my death safeguard my companions from this place of evil. Destroy the barbarians.”
Dalkanarion knelt next to the cleric. He whispered words of encouragement and gratitude into his ear. He also promised revenge. Then he and Belegar tried to rouse captives to join them in a daring escape downwards.
“Stand tall all of you. Now is the time to be reckoned, and measure the steel of your spirit. Whatever life is left in us, it’s worth spending it as free as possible or fighting for that freedom. I refuse to simply wait here for the inevitable sacrifice. I choose to fight on my terms, whatever may come, and die like a man rather than a cowering sheep. We have an advantage of initiative and numbers. Some may perish, but that might purchase the freedom of others. I’ll put my own body first in the line. Who will join me?!? For Athena Protectress!”
Dalkanarion's words fell on deaf ears. Ecteri slowly stood up “I'll join you. But if we are captured again, then please break my neck, for those who flee suffer horrible fates.”
Belegar had a shit-caked dagger, Dalkanarion and Ecteri each had a rock. The rocks lit up, providing torch-like illumination. They thanked Heran for his gift.
The trio descended, sneaking past a chamber filled with tribesmen, and then continued deeper down, following the tunnel. Half an hour later they emerged into a cave with two exits. North exit led straight and then turned west. South exit opened up into a Y shaped junction, with tunnel splitting south-west and south-east.
They headed north, turned west and reached a four way junction. North had a broad bend before turning west. South was a dead end with three flayed corpses. East opened up in a larger cave.
Dalkanarion pulled out three iron spikes from the corpses. They were caked with blood and gore. Belegar heard loud footsteps coming from the cavern to the east.
Heavy thuds suddenly stopped. The trio went north, turned west, and followed the tunnel for some fifty feet before it turns north-east. They were now at a junction with four exits.
North-east tunnel went thirty feet and then turned north.
North-west led into a tunnel running from north-east to south-west.
South-east was the direction they came from.
South-west was a dead-end after twenty feet. There was an upside down human corpse, cleaved almost in half vertically. It was hanging by ankles nailed into the cave wall. Maggots and flies festered in its rotting flesh.
Party goes northwest, then turns northeast, reaching a Y-shaped split.
North-west was a dead-end with a hewn alcove. Inside the alcove was a basket, filled to the brim with copper pieces, reflecting the adventurers' light.
North-east opened up into a cave with exit to the north. They heard a feeble cry “help... help... I am stuck...” coming from that direction.
The moved slowly and cautiously in that direction, into the cave and further north. It was a narrow passageway, some three feet wide. It opened up in a wide cave, some thirty feet long and fifteen feet deep. The ceiling was roundish, some twenty feet above. Air was a bit fresher.
“Please... over here... get me out... I am stuck...”
It took Dalkanarion a moment to realise it was a sword speaking to them! Not mentally, but out loud. The blade was stuck in the wall at the west end of the cave. Steel hilt adorned with emeralds was jutting out.
Dalkanarion tried reaching out mentally. There was no response. He attempted to pull the sword out.
“Thank you–oh, what a strong grip!”
Dalkanarion heaved and pulled, but the sword remained stuck!
“You have mighty thews, it must've been a fluke! Oh, please try again!” the sword cries out, exasperated.
He pulled and pulled and pulled, but no movement!
“Try to push yourself against the rock! Use your whole body, not just arms! Please!”
Dalkanarion's muscles almost bursting, he finally pulled out the sword, sending him flying on his ass.
“Wow, amazing!” the sword quipped “I hope my blade hasn't dulled so much to be useless! Thank you mighty warrior! What is your name?”
Belegar heard heavy footsteps and laboured breathing approaching from south. Peeking through narrow tunnel he could see into the cave they came through.
A large, red-skinned man with bull's head and large, two-handed axe, entered. He stared in Belegar's direction.
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Illustration by MLord.
