Xymox, still trailing silently along the wall, finally drops to the floor with a soft thud, cloak settling around him like twilight. The newly opened door offers no respite—only deeper rot, cloying heat, and the hiss of foul alchemy left too long to fester.
He takes a breath—and immediately regrets it.
“By all the forgotten gods of fermentation… this room smells like regret distilled into a liquid.”
He surveys the two furnaces, the bubbling cauldrons, and the bins of ruined grain with an expression of both distaste and intrigue. His gaze lingers on the open casks of foul water, and the sconces casting their weary light across the refuse.
“If this is the heart of the operation, then someone’s been brewing evil with meticulous craftsmanship—and a complete absence of shame.”
He follows Kragen and Chadwick into the next corridor, boots slipping occasionally on moisture-slicked stone, until they reach the flooded chamber.
The scene opens like a fevered brewer’s nightmare: a narrow room half-submerged in tainted ale, the air thick with mold, pressure, and design. Pipes and valves loom above like skeletal ribs. Barrels float—not just marked, but etched with glyphs.
Xymox slows.
“This... this is no accident, me thinks."
He squints at the floating sigils, naming them aloud as if reading lines from a cursed poem:
“Fire. Grain. Earth. Stone. Wind. Spirit. Water. Herbs. Iron. Gold. Minerals... and Death.”
His voice softens on the last word. A thoughtful pause.
“This is ritual. Or worse—ingredient. Someone's brewed more than beer here. They've brewed intent. These symbols… they’re aspects. Elements, perhaps. Domains.”
He gestures toward the half-submerged door, the lock just visible at the waterline.
“Whatever’s behind that door was meant to be sealed—kept wet, weighted, and watched. And if those barrels are a key, then we’re either one step away from stopping this curse... or stepping directly into its final phase.”
He glances at Chadwick and Kragen, then murmurs:
“Be ready. I have a feeling we’re past ale and into alchemy. If this is a ritual space, breaking it improperly might turn the whole brewery into a tomb.”
Starker:”I am sorry I was so ineffectual during our last encounter. I was concerned that those liquid-laden constructs might be immune to fire, and so refrained from using my most practiced, most puissant, spells. Now that I think of it though, a human body when cremated and the vapors collected via cooled glass pipes is found to be made of roughly seven parts in ten of water, and my fire spells work wonders on humans. Something to ponder …
”Now, I wonder what I can make of this odd collection of barrels and even odder collection of labels.”
Starker:” Grain, Fire, Water, and Herbs are all, I think, involved in the brewing process. Am I right? Are there others? Perhaps they designate barrels we could use to transit this poxed pond?”
Do the barrels just bob up and down or do they rearrange themselves by a Brownian (aka drunkard’s walk) process?
Do the barrels named make a path from our side of the room to the door? (I expect not, that at least 5 would be required.)
Kragen takes a step forward and uses his eagle eyes to inspect the pond and barrels the. Looks towards to door to see any details that can not be discerned from afar.
then takes the fet wardens glance from his back and measures the depth of the filthy beer pool.
Starker:”While it is true that I can likely unlock the door magically, the act would carry a real cost in terms of my ability to contribute to any further battle before I rest. Perhaps one of you might be able to attempt to open it mechanically using skill, knowledge, wit, and dexterity.”
Starker:”While it is true that I can likely unlock the door magically, the act would carry a real cost in terms of my ability to contribute to any further battle before I rest. Perhaps one of you might be able to attempt to open it mechanically using skill, knowledge, wit, and dexterity.”
During the talk of rest and opening doors Trolkarl will step back unsheathing Darkbane and begin a short rite calling on the power of the blade.
You can perform an esoteric rite for 1 minute. At the end of it, you regain expended Pact Magic spell slots but no more than a number equal to half your maximum (round up). Once you use this feature, you can’t do so again until you finish a Long Rest.
Kragen reaches down and attempts to open the door using the handle. Assuming the door appears to open out of the room and not in, would be challenging based on the volume of nastiness pressing against the door.
If the handle does not move because it's locked, he gestures for Xymox to attempt his craft.
Xymox exhales slowly, pulling his tools away from the stubborn, rust-slicked lock with a soft click of finality—one that did not signal success. He stares at it for a beat, then looks back to the group.
> “Well… it seems the lock and I are not on speaking terms.”
He slips the tools back into his belt with practiced ease, his tone wry but unbothered.
> “It’s a competent mechanism—waterlogged, corroded, and far too pleased with itself.”
He gives a small shrug.
> “Anyone feel like knocking it open the old-fashioned way? Or perhaps our warlock friend would like to have a word with it—magically.”
He gestures toward Trolkarl, then adds, almost as an afterthought:
> “I’ll be nearby. In case it explodes.”
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Xymox, still trailing silently along the wall, finally drops to the floor with a soft thud, cloak settling around him like twilight. The newly opened door offers no respite—only deeper rot, cloying heat, and the hiss of foul alchemy left too long to fester.
He takes a breath—and immediately regrets it.
He surveys the two furnaces, the bubbling cauldrons, and the bins of ruined grain with an expression of both distaste and intrigue. His gaze lingers on the open casks of foul water, and the sconces casting their weary light across the refuse.
He follows Kragen and Chadwick into the next corridor, boots slipping occasionally on moisture-slicked stone, until they reach the flooded chamber.
The scene opens like a fevered brewer’s nightmare: a narrow room half-submerged in tainted ale, the air thick with mold, pressure, and design. Pipes and valves loom above like skeletal ribs. Barrels float—not just marked, but etched with glyphs.
Xymox slows.
He squints at the floating sigils, naming them aloud as if reading lines from a cursed poem:
His voice softens on the last word. A thoughtful pause.
He gestures toward the half-submerged door, the lock just visible at the waterline.
He glances at Chadwick and Kragen, then murmurs:
A beat.
Starker:”I am sorry I was so ineffectual during our last encounter. I was concerned that those liquid-laden constructs might be immune to fire, and so refrained from using my most practiced, most puissant, spells. Now that I think of it though, a human body when cremated and the vapors collected via cooled glass pipes is found to be made of roughly seven parts in ten of water, and my fire spells work wonders on humans. Something to ponder …
”Now, I wonder what I can make of this odd collection of barrels and even odder collection of labels.”
arcana roll = 15
The barrels continue to gently bob about the chamber below. Floating about in the foul liquor of the Toxic Brew.
Starker:”I can not glean any arcane significance to the barrels of their labels.“
Starker:” Grain, Fire, Water, and Herbs are all, I think, involved in the brewing process. Am I right? Are there others? Perhaps they designate barrels we could use to transit this poxed pond?”
Do the barrels just bob up and down or do they rearrange themselves by a Brownian (aka drunkard’s walk) process?
Do the barrels named make a path from our side of the room to the door? (I expect not, that at least 5 would be required.)
Kragen takes a step forward and uses his eagle eyes to inspect the pond and barrels the. Looks towards to door to see any details that can not be discerned from afar.
then takes the fet wardens glance from his back and measures the depth of the filthy beer pool.
The barrels bob about in a random fashion. No clear path is present across the room using the barrels.
Kragen tests the depth and finds it to be about 3’ deep.
Have we already taken a short test today?
Yes. And returned to find traps reset, doors locked, and dead bodies removed.
Which was not very friendly!
Kragen will awkwardly step on the north wall of the pool room and spider walk all the way to the east wall with the door. Attempt to inspect it.
investigation = nat 20
The door is a wooden door reinforced with iron bands. It is closed. There is a lock and handle.
Starker:”While it is true that I can likely unlock the door magically, the act would carry a real cost in terms of my ability to contribute to any further battle before I rest. Perhaps one of you might be able to attempt to open it mechanically using skill, knowledge, wit, and dexterity.”
Unfortunately Mage Starker, I have none of those!
During the talk of rest and opening doors Trolkarl will step back unsheathing Darkbane and begin a short rite calling on the power of the blade.
You can perform an esoteric rite for 1 minute. At the end of it, you regain expended Pact Magic spell slots but no more than a number equal to half your maximum (round up). Once you use this feature, you can’t do so again until you finish a Long Rest.
Xymox glances toward the half-submerged door, then to the group.
He steps forward calmly, rolling his shoulders.
Kragen reaches down and attempts to open the door using the handle. Assuming the door appears to open out of the room and not in, would be challenging based on the volume of nastiness pressing against the door.
If the handle does not move because it's locked, he gestures for Xymox to attempt his craft.
"Master Bard."
The door opens into the room. It is locked.
Xymox is unsuccessful at opening the lock.
??? It does or doesn’t open
Xymox exhales slowly, pulling his tools away from the stubborn, rust-slicked lock with a soft click of finality—one that did not signal success. He stares at it for a beat, then looks back to the group.
> “Well… it seems the lock and I are not on speaking terms.”
He slips the tools back into his belt with practiced ease, his tone wry but unbothered.
> “It’s a competent mechanism—waterlogged, corroded, and far too pleased with itself.”
He gives a small shrug.
> “Anyone feel like knocking it open the old-fashioned way? Or perhaps our warlock friend would like to have a word with it—magically.”
He gestures toward Trolkarl, then adds, almost as an afterthought:
> “I’ll be nearby. In case it explodes.”