PrP: 3375 Cubic Feet of Terror
Like so many other times, it's the Guild of Explorer's that have brought you some employment. This particular time, on a rainy spring afternoon, the work leads you to the guildhouse of the Most Trusted Order of Plumbers and Sewer Workers, there to see Mordak Forgelighter, a higher up in the guild. The middle aged dwarf sits behind a well worn desk, polishing a pair of spectacles and going about various writs and work orders in front of him when you arrive. A calloused hand waves you inside. "Hurry along, then. No time to waste. Take a seat and we'll get down to business." He waves a hand to four old chairs that seem to have brought in especially for this purpose.
Achala balances carefully on a chair, squatting more than leaning, to be sure. He's wearing particularly worn-looking boots -- as one might, when considering an offer from the Order of Plumbers.
Craft is once more in his over-large cloak, it looking more like a repurposed tarp than anything meant to be worn, but it, along with the blacksmith's apron, keeps the water from his form. He looks at the wooden chair and hesitates, seeing who else actually takes a seat without compromising the chair's structural integrity.
Being blind sometimes (always) leads a person to rely wholly on other senses.
And just at the moment, Thistle is patting gingerly at the back of the offered chair, cloudy eyes half-lidded and an expression of slight anxiety hidden under the tousled mess of her snowy hair. Trying not to breathe too deeply. But she does sit, eventually, if only because she's been told that money is involved with this, and it's generally rude to do otherwise. She plops down, setting the fringe of her serape to flounce up, and coughs.
At the best of times, Egalrin are less-than-thrilled with the idea of moving deep beneath the earth; a sewer of questionable age and pedegree only makes that situation more markedly potent. Nasirri declines the chair, standing patiently behind the simple wooden feature. Bright feathers positively quiver in the moment, and faint breaths whistle along warm cere.
"They should give warning before such things," she murmurs, voice a burr as wings shift, sharp beak closing with a click. "Sewers....!"
Mordak takes a look at the four adventurers assembled before him, stroking his stereotypical beard. "Right then. The work I have is fairly simple. One of my best men, Rory Thistledown went missing three days ago. His last work sent him down to the sewers right here..." He pushes forward a map of the city sewers, stabbing a stubby finger toward a section below upscale housing and business sandwiched between the Academy of Sages and the Castle District. "I sent a few runners to poke around top side but they haven't found anything, and I can't spare any more men to look for him with the rainy season on us or else the storm drains will overflow and we'll be proper fucked, if you'll pardon my Elven."
Achala grunts once, as befits his heritage. "You got a copy of the map that we can follow when down there? Things can get hairy fast." A pause. "We going to be knee-deep or chest-deep down there?"
Thistle's eyes widen. She keeps her mouth shut, though, and manages to contain whatever epiphany has crossed her brain.
Craft continues to watch, impassively, his head turning to look at one thing or another, his expression as unreadable as always.
Nasirri keeps her own commentary to herself, for the moment. She refrains from reaching for the map, touching it, or... Indeed, anything that might leave mark of her presence. "And what was he doing in this place?" she finally asks, sharp eyes glancing askance.
The dwarf shrugs as he starts to pack a small pipe recovered from his desk. "Neckdeep for me, chest deep for you...There are sidewalks pretty wide to both sides in that area so you shouldn't have to get down in there that often unless you can't jump that well." A small splinter of wood is lit off a canle on his desk, used to spark the bowl. After two or three greedy pulls to start the ember and cloud the room in the scent of tobacco or pipeweed or whatever it is folks smoke on Tenebrae, he continues, handing off a work order to Nasirri to look over, "Well....ma'am (?)...A few of the drainage pipes around some of the businesses and apartments there were getting clogged periodically, but they'd always stop and then start back up for months. Damndest thing. So Rory took it on himself to figure out what hell was going on."
Achala nods slowly. "Right." He laces his fingers together, drapes them over a knee., and frowns. "Well, sooner we get down there, sooner we can find him." A pause. "Unless you got more to tell us."
Nasirri listens for a moment, sighing a long, whistling breath as she dips her head once. "I see," she replies, eyes glittering sharply. Feathers rouse along her neck, the golden avian taking effort to smooth them as she steps back. "We will find this missing person. Swiftly, I pray."
"Some creature, perhaps," Craft suggests, metallic voice contemplative. He looks to the others, and checks the pockets of his apron.
Thistle rises from her chair. "We should go," she says, bouncing a little on her toes like someone convincing themselves to jump from a high rock into icy water. "v'Sooner in, v'sooner out! We will find your man, van brink him back for-- er." She pauses. "Probably a bath."
Mordak nods, "Right then. I'll arrange payment through the Guild and if you happen to find anything worth keeping down there, it's all yours. Here's the map. I'll have one of my men take you to a grate you can all fit through and get you some sunrods and the like. Gasses get pretty stout in some parts, don't want to bring a whole tunnel down on your heads."
After a short while to gather your equipment and make peace with the fact you're going down into a sewer, you all meet up at an alley near the Castle District, with a guildworker waiting to hand off a bag of sunrods and some perfume soaked bandanas to wrap around your faces, nice guy that he is. He also unlocked the grate which has an old rusty ladder that leads down to the sewers. And even with the rags, you learn than noblemen's shit does, in fact, stink. But thankfully, this seems to be a well built and maintained part of the sewer system. There are 5 foot ledges on either side of the river of rainwater and sewage that flows out to the ocean, with occasional wooden plank walkways to get from one side to the other without having to go down into the muck. You search and wander for several hours with little to no discovery other than some six legged buck-teethed mutant rats living down here. But then you finally see it.
Investigating an older portion of the area, you find a branch-off tunnel at a T-intersection that goes 10 feet in before abruptly stopping at a row of iron bars that run vertically over the ledges and the waterway. Sitting next to the bars is a small metal box with a handle on the top and a leather knapsack.
Achala is perfume-wrapped -- have fun explaining that later -- and baring steel. Eyes glow in the darkness as he's content to operate with or without glow-rods. The box-and-knapsack give him pause, though. He trades his sword to his left hand and unlimbers a javelin. Something to poke with.
Craft, for obvious reasons, doesn't seem to bothered by the sewers, moving as quickly as he ever does (not particularly) through the sewers, slowing down only for the wooden planks, giving each one serious consideration, testing it, before he continues. The golem, it seems, does not trust wood as a construction medium. As Achala goes to poke at the knapsack, Craft quickly surveys the area, looking for any sign of the missing man, rather than merely his belongings.
GAME: Craft rolls perception: (12)+3: 15
Thistle sloshes along behind Achala. Once the eye-watering combined stink of perfume and fecal materials wears off somewhat and the little northerner can make her way along again without bumping into pipes and walls and other people on a constant basis, she seems to cheer up somewhat. She coughs again as the group comes to pause near the ladder, craning her head towards the nearest person with a lightsource. "Have we found him?" She asks.
In her own turn, Nasirri follows behind the great warforged, wings tightly drawn up behind her as she takes even, measured steps on the old wood. "Stay close upon the wood," she murmurs to the others. "I would not wish to see you fall into the refuse below." It is a small blessing that Egalrin have so precious little sense of taste; it makes the journey markedly more bearable, as bright eyes gleam in the darkness.
The half-orc hooks the knapsack and manages to lift it up, before it shakes free and begins undulating wildly, just before a handful of roaches the size of a deck of cards come spilling out out of the top, along with what appears to a roach-gnawed halfling lunch of pickles, a raw onion, a wineskin full of brandy, and a Dagwood-style sandwich, several days old. But the flap of the knapsack is monogrammed with the letters 'RT' in fancy script.
Thistle listens to the splatter-plop of roaches falling and scowls.
Achala checks the pack, squinting down at it. "Yeah, this was his. We found his backpack, at least." He checks to see if there's anything else in the backpack. A glance over at Craft. "What do you make of that thing?" He narratives for Thistle. "There's a box with handles, and bars."
Craft steps towards the items, only a moment's inspection turned on the metal box, focusing the lion's share of his attention, instead, to the bars. He leads with his hammer, the adamantine instrument as tough as he ever was, and likely to withstand any surprises. He stomps a few roaches on the path, paying them little attention.
Nasirri gazes in curiosity, silent as insects fall to earth, scurry away. "Is it something of importance?" she asks, eyes searching. Lithe hands remain beneath either sleeve, clasped tightly as she gazes after Craft.
Thistle steps closer, reaching out with one hand till her fingertips encounter the knapsack. A roach skitters over her bare arm and she shakes it off in annoyyance. "I see," she says, picking out the remains of the sandwich with a remarkable lack of squeamishness. "...It... is very fortunate that this is not -him-, at least." she says as the bread and slimy ham falls through her fingers. "But why would he be leavink his thinks here? Did somethink maybe grab him from above?"
The metal box with a little bit of further inspection is a tool box, containing a few wrenches, hammers, straps, and the like. The iron bars are thick, but old, though they appear to be maintained better than anything else metal in this sewer as there is no rust on them. Though, any resistance under the blows of an adamantine hammer would be brief, at best. The spaces between the bars are fairly wide. Wide enough for a smaller race like a halfling or gnome to slide through easily and a small humanoid to slide through with a little skill or luck.
Achala frowns, "It looks like it was left," to Thistle. He eyes the bars, looks to Craft. "Would you like to deal with these?"
Craft considers, and looks back to his companions. "It is his lunch, and tools, these bars, however, don't have any rust on them." He turns back to the gate, considering it carefully, for the moment involved in trying to figure out if there's some trick to the very real bars having no rust while in the middle of the sewer. He looks back to the others, and nods, readying a swing, adamantine warhammer gripped tightly in both hands. "I believe he was taken through, they would have fit through the bars. We, however, will not." He swings, aiming for one of the bars.
GAME: Craft rolls knowledge/arcana: (10)+8: 18 GAME: Craft rolls knowledge/engineering: (8)+11: 19
Nasirri gives the craftsman space to work, curving her head away to avoid the splatter of metal and fragments. Bright eyes narrow at the sound of metal striking metal, tensing as she draws, holds a sharp breath.
You paged Craft with 'You notice there are no scrape or abrasion marks like the rust wasn't filed or scraped off. Looks more like a chemical reaction, like acid or some sort of other method.'
Thistle steps back sharply Achala steps back, as well, clearing some space.
It's short, but loud and violent. The first bar bends down straight to the ground with 2-3 good swings, while the second breaks off entirely on the second swing against it, sending the iron bar into the river of sewage with a SPLOOSH. Just at the edge of your vision you can see the now opened up tunnel goes on for another 30 feet before it hits a T-Intersection itself.
"Who knows about the methods of the guild?" Craft wonders, stepping through the gap, his paranoia causing him to quickly slip into his usual role as wall of metal. He fishes into his apron pocket, pulling out his artificed torch, which springs to life with the touch of a button. "Do they often use chemicals with which to clean?" he asks.
GAME: Craft casts light.
"I hope so," Thistle replies earnestly, waiting for her turn to go through. "It is -very- messy down here, van chemicals are good for cleanink horribleness from other thinks."
"I cannot say," Nasirri replies, jerking back as iron bars sail into the river of sludge. "I would not think that such is done; is not the meddlings of alchemy the sole place of magi and artificers to bear?" She peers around the great Wall of Steel that is Craft, staring off into the newly-lit darkness. "It would be strange that a guild uses such things."
Achala shakes his head. "I've not seen such things with regularity." He starts forwards, holding the javelin in one hand, still. Just in case. "Left or right?" He leans out and peers out to see where they go.
"Like acid," Thistle goes on, mostly to herself. "One time, Lucavin van I were fightink this giant... horrible squelchink /think/, van it spat acid at us." She moseys after the others. "It was very good at cleanink all sorts of gunk van rust van whatever else was in v'way off of everythink."
"My point exactly," Craft remarks to Thistle. "Those bars had no rust, and it was not scraped off." He looks at the intersection, first down one way, then the other. "Be very careful moving forward," he says, sticking his hammer out in front of him, beyond even the light as he looks for signs of the same odd cleanliness.
GAME: Craft rolls perception: (1)+3: 4 You paged Craft with 'Looks normal to you! :D' Craft pages: I figured :p
GAME: Nasirri rolls Perception: (4)+9: 13 GAME: Thistle rolls perception: (15)+2: 17
Thistle's heavy serape slaps noisily against the back of one leg as the little barbarian climbs up over a piece of rubble on her way in through the now-open passage-- only to pause. Stock-still, she frowns, then turns her head sharply 'round, setting her cloud-white hair to whip about her face. "Something's behind!"
The left tunnel goes on for about sixty feet before it hangs a 90 degree turn to the right, going on for another twenty. It then opens up into a large 30' wide, 20' high room, festooned with drainage pipes in the ceiling and upper walls from all angles, sewage, rain runoff, and other nastiness dripping down from the pipes and into the pool that feeds the waterway that runs down the middle of the tunnel. There's nothing here...at all, save for some scraps of of nails and other detritus, all gleamy and shiny. But Thistle's warning brings the attention toward the rear and those in the back can see a grisly halfling sized skeleton floating above the waterway, slowly flying forward as it bobs up and down.
Achala rolls initiative: Roll: 16 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 19 Craft rolls initiative: Roll: 18 + Bonus: 1 = Total: 19 You roll initiative for The Monster: Roll: 7 + Bonus: -4 = Total: 3 Thistle rolls initiative: Roll: 5 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 8 Nasirri rolls initiative: Roll: 12 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 15 Thistle's inititave total changed to '19'. Nasirri's inititave total changed to '7'.
Current Initiative Order ====
19 Achala
19 Thistle
19 Craft
7 Nasirri
3 The
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Achala turns back, and mutters a loud curse. He slings his javelin back into its carrying case across his back, and then changes hands on his sword. He holds it at a low guard, at the corner, and checks his footing.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+8: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Thistle rolls weapon1: (9)+10: 19
"HrrraaaAAAAGH!" Thistle leaps nimbly over the metal box and charges toward the vague shape of the squelching, splattering thing. With a flash, a pair of machetes appear as if by magic from under her mantle in either hand and one goes slicing into the creature. Acids gush out over the blade as she cuts into it, cleaning all the various bits of grime and patina that'd collected during the winter away till it shines like polished steel.
Craft shifts his light to the pocket of his apron, it still managing to shed some light, but blocked by his body. He grips his hammer tightly, moving in, hustling across a wooden board to get into melee with the cube. "Be careful," he calls out to Thistle, ready to strike as soon as he closes the distance.
GAME: Nasirri casts Magic Weapon.
With the descent of the monster behind, Nasirri presses back against the wall as the Mighty Metal Man strides past. With Thistle already rushing away, the Egalrin sighs, uttering a whispered murmur, a touch... A shimmer of enchantment, to give the hammer a brightening strength. "Take care thyself," she adds, wings still tightly back. "Beofre its hunger takes all!"
GAME: Thistle rolls reflex: (5)+4: 9 GAME: Thistle rolls fort: (20)+7: 27 GAME: Marek rolls 1d6: (1): 1
Despite getting sliced open, the gelatinous ooze slowly moves forward, it's massive jelly-like bulk enveloping the barbarian. But despite sharing a small 1 room apartment with a halfling skeleton, she seems to be moving around just fine, struggling in the viscera of the monster.
GAME: Marek damaged Thistle for 1 points. 55 remaining. GAME: Achala rolls 1d20+15: (10)+15: 25 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (1)+6: 7 GAME: Achala rolls 1d8+12: (2)+12: 14 GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+8+2: (4)+8+2: 14
Achala snarls an invocation to Kor, and goes tearing down the sewer walkway. Sword goes up to his shoulder, second hand goes to his hilt. He ducks under a waving pseudopod as he strikes, a diagonal slash ripping open its surface. Nails, copper, and goo all slops out of the hole.
GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+1: (20)+8+1: 29 GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+5: (7)+5: 12
Thistle lets out a startled yelp as the burning matter swallows her up and she finds herself floating in it's viscous innards. The yell escapes-- but only just as a bubble that slowly, slowly drifts up through the goo and pops somewhere over her head. The northerner closes her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut before any of the stuff can go down her throat or further blind her, and occupies herself with kicking and thrashing, slowly knocking part of the spine of the skeleton next to her into disparate vertebrae and struggling to free herself, machetes first, from the creature.
GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d6+2: (5)+2: 7
Craft grips his hammer tightly swinging with all his might. On something with discernible anatomy, the blow would rip the thing apart, instead, it just drives Craft's hammer so deep into the cube, with such force, that poor Rory's legs get shattered. The cube fairs slightly better, however, just losing more of itself, cleaning Craft's hammer and hands in the process.
Nasirri stands to let the others by; as the others swarm into battle, the Egalrin moves up to the corner of the ledge, staring for a heartbeat at the mass of gelatinous... Something, hovering there. "Try to free Thistle," she adds, voice a vibrating chirr fromt eh walls. Hand rising, extending-- a beam fo warm light ignites from her palm, lashing out in a searing burst of radiance,blazing a scorching path along the beast's side.
GAME: Achala rolls 1d20+14: (1)+14: 15 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+1: (20)+8+1: 29 GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+5: (4)+5: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 1d6: (3): 3 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 3 points. 38 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Thistle for 3 points. 52 remaining. GAME: Thistle rolls fort: (6)+7: 13 GAME: Achala rolls fort: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Marek damaged Achala for 3 points. 50 remaining. GAME: Marek rolls 3d6: (9): 9
The gelatinous cube, being brainless and hungry, continues to surge forward another fifteen feet, it's toxins finally stopping the struggles of Thistle while it envelops the half-orc and the war golem as well, digesting them slowly, though the war golem smashes off a large portion of a psuedopod reaching for him before it engulfs the machine completely.
GAME: Achala rolls 1d20+11: (2)+11: 13
Achala gets off just a choked-off swing that hits with nothing but flat, then struggles while holding his breath. Oh, it burns. It burns!
GAME: Craft rolls 1d20+7: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Nasirri casts Spiritual Weapon. GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d20+6: (14)+6: 20 GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d8+1: (8)+1: 9
Craft has been in this situation before, but is much better prepared this time. He pulls his upper body out of the cube, looking down at it, magicite eyes burning brightly as he watches Thistle's struggling stop, and Achala struggle in vain. Uneffected by the tingling paralysis, he's got the least to fear from this beast's innards.
GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d8+1: (8)+1: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 1d6: (2): 2 GAME: Achala rolls fort: (5)+7: 12 GAME: Marek damaged Achala for 2 points. 48 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 2 points. 36 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Thistle for 2 points. 50 remaining.
The massive pile of ooze lurches forward at double pace, having grabbed up all the tangible targets in it's path so far. The weapon of force summoned by Nasirri is attempted to be engulfed, but it simply destroys a bit more of the cube as it swings on the inside, passing through the creature. Heavily wounded and struggling to maintain it's shape, it now looms just a few feet away from the Egalrin, the half-orc inside joining Thistle in immobility.
GAME: Marek rolls 3d6: (6): 6 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1-1: (12)+8+-1: 19 GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+4: (1)+4: 5
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20-2: (14)+-2: 12
With both of his fleshy comrades paralyzed, Craft's focus goes from 'rescue' to 'kill the thing before they drown.' Hammer held high in one hand, he brings it down, hard, still waist deep in the cube, banging on it's wall. The viscera flows out over him, leaving his armor sparkling clean, and his tarp even worse for wear. He will likely be wanting a new blacksmith's apron.
GAME: Craft rolls reflex: (9)+2: 11 GAME: Nasirri rolls 4d4: (10): 10 GAME: Nasirri casts Burning Hands. GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d20+6: (11)+6: 17 GAME: Nasirri rolls 1d8+1: (2)+1: 3 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 10 points. 26 remaining.
Nasirri's gleaming blade flashes, dances, weaves in sharp slices and burning arcs, hot bolts to slice and sear and rend! And the stroke of grace, as the Egalrin steps forward, drawing a breath... Both hands joining together to unleash a searing storm of flame. The corruscating burst swarms over the glistening cube, and flowign viscera do little but add fuel to the fire....
Nasirri stands back as the barrage takes its toll-- the monster falls, and she exhales with a shiver of long, long breath.
Achala stands there, breastplate clean, sword glittering and gripped in a paralytic death grip. Slowly, the goop falls away, and he's there, looking raw and painfully scrubbed.
As the cube collapses around him, Craft is deposited in, perhaps, the least pleasant place, finding himself dunked into the sewage. So much for clean. When he climbs out from the filth, his cloak and apron are partially digested, burned, and covered in things best not mentioned. He turns his attention to his comrades, and seeing them in no risk of drowning, he reaches into (or rather, through the contents of) his apron pocket to pull out a metallic disk, which he places on the most damaged part of himself, letting it work it's repairing magic.
Thistle lies where the splashing goop spilled her, fortunately up on the walkway. Gasping, and not doing much else just right away.
Nasirri is not without her own assistance to offer in such situations. Though unable to "magic away" acids and clinging ugliness to cleanness, she does teh ebst she may... Summoning water in small doses, to aid in washihg the worst of the acids away. "And now," she remarks after a few minutes, glancing primly at Thistle. "I hope you have learned that screaming and charging does not always work out for the best, mmm?"
GAME: Craft casts Repair Light Damage. GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+2: (7)+2: 9 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for -9 points. 35 remaining.
"That one was larger than I remember them," Craft remarks, trying to remove the worst of the grime from himself as the little metal disk sprouts a dozen tiny tools, skittering over his body like a spider, repairing the damage to metal and stone and wood, doing what would be possibly an hour's worth of repair in the space of a few moments.
"I--" Thistle gasps, sputtering. Then halts. And rolls over, promptly emptying her poor burned system of the acid she swallowed while paralized like a fish in the goop. After a moment, she sits back up and blinks owlishly at nothing. "...I taste -horrible-." She tells Nasirri.
"And when we return to the city," the Egalrin promptly replies, "I promise that we shall do our best to make you taste better. Or, at the least, to cover the poorer tastes. I am told that some among the Sith'Maka have brought something called "pillared sugar" to the city...."
Once you clean and heal yourselves up as best as possible, you finish your search for Rory after gathering up as many bones of his as you can, along with his wedding ring. The cube had several interesting bits of metal in it, as well as some it had sloughed off in the other tunnel, which was identical to the left in the drainage chambers. The best guess as the result of this was this creature was living here getting easy meals from the runoff from the drain pipes that led to drains in several inns, restaraunts, and well to do homes, as well as a potion laboratory, perhaps explaining the prodigious size it had grown to. That size allowed it to clog up several pipes once it was tall enough to reach them. But you gather your treasures, whatever the roll happens to be once I submit this, and hand Rory off to be laid to rest, confident that Alexandria is now down one more monster and a hot bath soon awaits you.