Lagartha was at full health. We verified that a knock cast on the door caused it to open for 1 minute, after which it closed again, requiring another knock. We also verified that it was locked from the inside, as well. This door lead into a small circular room that seemed to be a study of some sort. Kyril detected magic somewhere along the northern wall. Shelves on the southern wall held gruesome statuettes of horrifying creatures, none magical, all horrifying. One held down a note with Nalfeshnee scribbled on it.

Seamus and Menka applied some healing magic and prayers to Cathal and Lycovyne. Warm and bound in wrinkly skin, one book we found was certainly Cultes des Gules. The second book remained unidentified. Lycovyne was definitely not a definite. Menka began to pray for 3 hours to receive the spells cure blindness, remove curse and procure hooker.

The session began with the party traveling, with Harald Markgaard, Agnar, Arndt, Ninax, Scarlett and the wayward rangeress Largatha, daughter of Harald, as well as a host of mounted men-at-arms from Markheim, traveling through the thawing, ice, snow, mud and debris-strewn melting mountain passes. Winter-like weather still clung to the area, though a hint of Spring was in the air.

We sold some extraneous gear and cleaned house a bit. Gonchar and Cathal visited the keep armorer and got their plate mail repaired.

Anticipating 10 days on the road (5 to the Tomb under the cliff and 5 back) we purchased horses, feed and iron rations for around 278 pieces of gold.

Note: this session opens up in room F in the map on pg. 330.

Having dispatched the vrock and their succubus hussy, we remained in the 30x30 room that wasn’t as blisteringly hot as the larger chamber. The party could feel oppressive heat emanating from the open door into the fire-room to the south. The current room was fetid with the reek of dead and dispatched succubus and dead vrock, along with now-dead sylphs and nymphs scattered around the room, where they had fallen from the dissipated energy cases which had melted away after opening.

Having made it past the disintegration ray^[1], we paused for a bit by the bars in the wall to catch our breath. The psychic and physical darkness weighed heavily upon us. Seamus was the only one not bitten by the chill air.

The party emerged from the tomb of the Twice-Crowned into a bowl-shaped, wooded area which clears near the entry to the tomb - the party is stinking, tired, bloodied and bandaged. Two of the party are carrying bags of holding which are overflowing with coinage - luckily, the coins dropping into the dirt all seem to be coppers.

We spoke at length with Teos at the bar. He was loquacious in his gratitude and willingly answered our questions.

Creel’s tower was less than a day’s ride from the Horne’d Lamb. The good barkeep told the party that to simply touch the walls of Creel’s tower was … dangerous. Creel himself is a good man and had long held commerce and communication with the Inn as well as the surrounding area. Creel’s wife had died of some unspecified malady - perhaps plague, all sudden-like, and while Creel was out - and the man had not been the same since. Creel had turned to the dark arts of necromancy in an effort to bring his beautiful wife back to life. Teos had nothing but praise for Illyssa.

The room at (A) was well-maintained and well used. Creel had kept it clean, well swept. Some carpeting covered the floor. It contained bookshelves on the west wall, upon which many books sat. Shelves also hung on the northern wall, glass jars filled with clear liquids and various implements lining them. A sitting area containing a small desk with quill and ink sat in the southeastern corner. A reading chair lay on its side with a spilled bottle of wine on the floor next to it, the red wine staining a throw rug in this area. Crumpled paper was strewn about around the knocked-over chair.

The One Room Session (Almost)#

When the chiming ended, the carvings on the walls cease their infernal undulations. The footsteps we heard outside the room became louder and suddenly 4 subhumans dressed in archaic scale mail broke through the door - three carrying odd, curved battleaxes, one wielding a glistening, dripping dagger. The subhumans launched into the room among us while a creature, human-sized but like a large octopi, ambulating with a sickening undulating gait on its tentacles, glaring eyes in its large head, stayed in the doorway. The creature began to wave its tentacles and the familiar reality distortion field filled the room. The cleric failed his save vs. spell and was incapacitated and disoriented. The rest of the party made their save.