The webs rhat appear at the wave if Kos' fingers hakt the rolling rocks long enough for him (and the rest of the party, if they choose) to escape the dead-end cavern. To tbe south lies the familiar home of the now-dead imber hilks, to the east, another space as yet unexplored. From the umbker hulks' space are tunneks to the south and east, also as yet unseen.
(This boios down to West, South or East, with the latter two involving backtracking theough one room)
(Sparhawk ushers the others to leave the area): "Back out of here, no need to be here or fight these things." As he leaves, he takes several mighty swings with the Huge Maul he has acquired to create a partial cave in to block the rock things from advancing once the web goes down.
The strike lands like thunder against his side. Stone fists, impossibly fast for their size, catch Gharzun mid-step—slamming into the gap between shoulder and breastplate. Bone bruises beneath the blow, and pain blooms cold across his ribs.
“Ghh—mark that one,” he growls through clenched teeth, his stance staggering for just a heartbeat before he plants his shield and rights himself.
The world sharpens. Sparhawk’s voice cuts through the din. Kos is already casting—threads of conjured webbing snapping into place across the cavern in a sticky lattice that halts the animated boulders in their advance.
Gharzun gives one final glance to the shifting stone forms, watching as Sparhawk's maul crashes into the wall with calculated intent.
“Tactical withdrawal acknowledged.”
He pivots on his heel, shield up and hammer trailing slightly behind him to cover the rear as he follows the others from the chamber. Each step is precise despite the pain burning in his side—wounded or not, he would not show weakness in retreat.
As he glances towards the umber hulk den, Gharzun’s voice is low but audible to those nearby.
“East, west, or deeper still—makes no difference if we're guessing blind. That model is our key. We return to it.”
Once safely away from the rock creatures, "Here Gharzun, drink this, it will lessen the pain from some of your injuries and speed your recovery."
Kosileg produces a small elixir and hands it to Gharzun. It heals for 17 hp and grants 15 temp hp.
"Where should we try next, West?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Gharzun halts as the group regroups in the safer chamber. The pain in his side radiates with every breath beneath the armor’s plates, but he remains upright, unmoved—until Kosileg speaks.
He turns slightly, eyeing the offered elixir with a steady gaze. After a short pause, he nods once and accepts it without ceremony.
“You have my thanks, Kosileg. Precision and preparation—your kind of magic may lack flash, but I’ve seen its discipline.”
He drinks the potion in one practiced motion, already feeling the warmth of restoration knitting the worst of the damage together and replacing the ache with steady resolve. He exhales slowly, then adjusts his shield and warhammer with renewed control.
At the mention of direction, Gharzun turns toward the exit and narrows his eyes in thought.
“West remains unexplored. East may simply circle back to what we’ve already passed. West gives us the greatest unknown—but also the greatest chance.”
He looks to Sparhawk, then Tess, weighing each of their reactions before giving a single firm nod.
“Unless someone objects, we go west. Whatever path opens the way to the central chamber—it's still waiting.”
"Indeed, west makes sense, although I believe we will have to go to various chambers to unlock the entrance into the main one. When it comes to combat, we have established our goals are the same. To find the cause of the rift. Thus, some fights, although can be won, should be avoided, such as one against rocks. Our ability to conserve our resources if crucial in this place. Perhaps Tess can also provide some healing for any whom need it?"
Sparhawk pulls out a sheet of paper: "I copied this before we found you Gharzun. It was on a set of ornate doors 20 foot tall doors."
Each set of doors is 10 feet wide and 20 feet tall. The script around the edges of the doors is a mixture of Abyssal writing and arcane sigils of Iggwilv's design. The bronze scrolls are inscribed with the following warning:
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
<sorry, I've been busy. This ine isnt totally random since theres some backtracking, but it sounds like we decided in west. So, weat it is.>
Unusual fungi and lichen cover this irregular cavern. The growths are limned in auras of blue and pink light. Many-faceted crystals grow around the periphery, reflecting the light in scintillating patterns.
"One thing is for sure, we've got to see wonderful sights and places on our adventures!"
Kos looks around at all the crystalline formations within the cave walls.
"Let me know if you find a loose or single crystal, I wouldn't mind getting a sample."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
A flash of red light fades to reveal a seemingly endless obsidian hall. Rows of decorative columns hoist a flat, mirrorlike ceiling high above. The columns are carved in the likeness of two alluring yet imposing devils whose eyes seem to follow you. Ruddy light filters into the room from somewhere beyond the pillars, and the air is dry and oppressively hot.
The hall is 60 feet wide and has 30-foot-high ceilings, but it is infinitely long and unbearably hot. The hall constitutes an area of extreme heat
Beneath each of you is a faintly glowing pentacle of green metal inlaid in the stone floor. A 10-foot-diameter, 20-foot-tall cylinder of magical force surrounds each pentacle, confining a creature within its bounds. Skeletons of creatures that never escaped the magical prisons dot the pentacles along the infinite hall
A glaive is propped against a column near one of the pentacles.
Looking up, you notice the mirrored ceiling reflects the image of the glowing fungal cavern you entered moments before.
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Gharzun listens in silence as Sparhawk reads from the sheet, absorbing each cursed line like a soldier studying an enemy’s creed. At the mention of Iggwilv, his brow creases—not from clarity, but from a vague unease.
“Words meant to ward the greedy or test the wise. But they’re words written to be ignored.”
He does not press further. He knows the pattern of such warnings: spoken long after the damage is done.
When the group enters the fungal cavern, Gharzun scans the softly glowing terrain and refrains from touching anything. Light this soft has no place in stone so deep.
“If it pulses, don’t trust it.”
At Kosileg’s request, he gestures briefly toward the crystalline wall.
“If you must take a sample, do it fast. No idea what that light feeds—or what it draws.”
The world shifts before he can finish the thought. Crimson light blooms, and suddenly the air is dry as bone and hot enough to peel flesh from steel.
Gharzun doesn’t panic. He reacts—feet planted wide, shield up, scanning the infinite hall, the mirrored ceiling, and the burning pentacle beneath his boots. The sensation of magical force caging him in is unmistakable.
He looks to the skeletal remains near other circles and speaks with even control.
“This is not punishment. This is ritual containment. Purpose-built. Efficient.”
His eyes flick to the glaive near one of the columns, but he does not move. Not yet.
“These aren't restraints to hold prisoners. They’re warnings. Something died trying to escape. Many times.”
OOC to DM:
Intelligence check for the obsidian hall and its features: 6
Gharzun’s gaze rises to the mirrored ceiling above, reflecting the fungal chamber. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak of escape or illusion. The heat gnaws at the edges of his patience, but his discipline holds.
“Whatever this is... it’s no simple illusion. But I don’t see the pattern. Not yet.”
(For DragonDenn: Sparhawk has an Aura of protection: Any friend within 10 feet of the paladin gains +4 to all saves. )
"We might choose to move through this "Demonic Plane" or go another way, unless it be an illusion. However, I'm feeling confident we will be attacked here. Do not step on any of those pentragrams. That glaive there, could be useful or could be a temptation and a cursed weapon."
Sparhawk says loudly: "I am Sparhawk, a knight of the Pandion order and worshiper of Marduk. We have no quarrel with you, but should you choose to attack us, I will use all of my god given powers to smite you from this place forever. Allow us to pass or face my wrath."
Gharzun assumes the carved likenesses of a male and female face are meant to represent a pair of important individuals, perhaos a duo working in tandem, but fails to recognize them or place names to the faces.
<just to clarify, you all saw a flash and appeared here trapped on a pentacle, each separated from the others. It is unclear how far apart they are and this area is not on a map, so let's say within range for aura's sake. There are no other creatures in this hall, only remains. "A creature" above is a rules explanation, noting that you, the PCs are trapped.>
When the temperature is at or above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, a creature exposed to the heat and without access to drinkable water must succeed on a Constitution saving throw at the end of each hour or gain one level of exhaustion. The DC is 5 for the first hour and increases by 1 for each additional hour.
Creatures wearing medium or heavy armor, or who are clad in heavy clothing, have disadvantage on the saving throw. Creatures with resistance or immunity to fire damage automatically succeed on the saving throw, as do creatures naturally adapted to hot climates.
Sparhawk, noting the water like substance of the ceiling, carefully aims his crossbow at an area not near a companion and fires to see what happens to the bolt.
Sparhawk takes aim at the ceiling and releases an arrow, which strikes the wallnof force surrounding him, halting its flight instantly, after which it clatters to the floor.
He picks up the ammunition and examines it. Finding it stillnservicesbke, shaft unbent, head firmly fastened, he aims steight up (a dangerous gambit) and lets it fly. As the arrow touches the ceiling surface, it ripples the mirror like a droplet hitting still water, and then the shaft vanishes upward. An instant later, a pink-glowing mushroom seen in the ceiling above is struck by the projectile, which remains protruding from its cap, but he doesnt notice it at one: it is behind Sparhawk on the opposite side of the grotto.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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The webs rhat appear at the wave if Kos' fingers hakt the rolling rocks long enough for him (and the rest of the party, if they choose) to escape the dead-end cavern. To tbe south lies the familiar home of the now-dead imber hilks, to the east, another space as yet unexplored. From the umbker hulks' space are tunneks to the south and east, also as yet unseen.
(This boios down to West, South or East, with the latter two involving backtracking theough one room)
(Sparhawk ushers the others to leave the area): "Back out of here, no need to be here or fight these things."
As he leaves, he takes several mighty swings with the Huge Maul he has acquired to create a partial cave in to block the rock things from advancing once the web goes down.
The strike lands like thunder against his side. Stone fists, impossibly fast for their size, catch Gharzun mid-step—slamming into the gap between shoulder and breastplate. Bone bruises beneath the blow, and pain blooms cold across his ribs.
“Ghh—mark that one,” he growls through clenched teeth, his stance staggering for just a heartbeat before he plants his shield and rights himself.
The world sharpens. Sparhawk’s voice cuts through the din. Kos is already casting—threads of conjured webbing snapping into place across the cavern in a sticky lattice that halts the animated boulders in their advance.
Gharzun gives one final glance to the shifting stone forms, watching as Sparhawk's maul crashes into the wall with calculated intent.
“Tactical withdrawal acknowledged.”
He pivots on his heel, shield up and hammer trailing slightly behind him to cover the rear as he follows the others from the chamber. Each step is precise despite the pain burning in his side—wounded or not, he would not show weakness in retreat.
As he glances towards the umber hulk den, Gharzun’s voice is low but audible to those nearby.
“East, west, or deeper still—makes no difference if we're guessing blind. That model is our key. We return to it.”
Once safely away from the rock creatures, "Here Gharzun, drink this, it will lessen the pain from some of your injuries and speed your recovery."
Kosileg produces a small elixir and hands it to Gharzun. It heals for 17 hp and grants 15 temp hp.
"Where should we try next, West?"
Gharzun halts as the group regroups in the safer chamber. The pain in his side radiates with every breath beneath the armor’s plates, but he remains upright, unmoved—until Kosileg speaks.
He turns slightly, eyeing the offered elixir with a steady gaze. After a short pause, he nods once and accepts it without ceremony.
“You have my thanks, Kosileg. Precision and preparation—your kind of magic may lack flash, but I’ve seen its discipline.”
He drinks the potion in one practiced motion, already feeling the warmth of restoration knitting the worst of the damage together and replacing the ache with steady resolve. He exhales slowly, then adjusts his shield and warhammer with renewed control.
At the mention of direction, Gharzun turns toward the exit and narrows his eyes in thought.
“West remains unexplored. East may simply circle back to what we’ve already passed. West gives us the greatest unknown—but also the greatest chance.”
He looks to Sparhawk, then Tess, weighing each of their reactions before giving a single firm nod.
“Unless someone objects, we go west. Whatever path opens the way to the central chamber—it's still waiting.”
"Indeed, west makes sense, although I believe we will have to go to various chambers to unlock the entrance into the main one. When it comes to combat, we have established our goals are the same. To find the cause of the rift. Thus, some fights, although can be won, should be avoided, such as one against rocks. Our ability to conserve our resources if crucial in this place. Perhaps Tess can also provide some healing for any whom need it?"
Sparhawk pulls out a sheet of paper: "I copied this before we found you Gharzun. It was on a set of ornate doors 20 foot tall doors."
Each set of doors is 10 feet wide and 20 feet tall. The script around the edges of the doors is a mixture of Abyssal writing and arcane sigils of Iggwilv's design. The bronze scrolls are inscribed with the following warning:
~Iggwilv's treasure rests within,
Her curse on any who disturbs it.
Seek no further to steal it or
To free the one prisoned here,
For a fate worse than death is
Sure to come to fools who
Violate this sacred place~
<sorry, I've been busy. This ine isnt totally random since theres some backtracking, but it sounds like we decided in west. So, weat it is.>
Unusual fungi and lichen cover this irregular cavern. The growths are limned in auras of blue and pink light. Many-faceted crystals grow around the periphery, reflecting the light in scintillating patterns.
2
"One thing is for sure, we've got to see wonderful sights and places on our adventures!"
Kos looks around at all the crystalline formations within the cave walls.
"Let me know if you find a loose or single crystal, I wouldn't mind getting a sample."
A flash of red light fades to reveal a seemingly endless obsidian hall. Rows of decorative columns hoist a flat, mirrorlike ceiling high above. The columns are carved in the likeness of two alluring yet imposing devils whose eyes seem to follow you. Ruddy light filters into the room from somewhere beyond the pillars, and the air is dry and oppressively hot.
The hall is 60 feet wide and has 30-foot-high ceilings, but it is infinitely long and unbearably hot. The hall constitutes an area of extreme heat
Beneath each of you is a faintly glowing pentacle of green metal inlaid in the stone floor. A 10-foot-diameter, 20-foot-tall cylinder of magical force surrounds each pentacle, confining a creature within its bounds. Skeletons of creatures that never escaped the magical prisons dot the pentacles along the infinite hall
A glaive is propped against a column near one of the pentacles.
Looking up, you notice the mirrored ceiling reflects the image of the glowing fungal cavern you entered moments before.
(Does anyone wish to make a knowledge check?)
(17 wisdom roll for Sparhawk)
”careful in this place my friends.”
(9 intelligence roll for Koselig)
"also take a moment to enjoy it all."
Gharzun listens in silence as Sparhawk reads from the sheet, absorbing each cursed line like a soldier studying an enemy’s creed. At the mention of Iggwilv, his brow creases—not from clarity, but from a vague unease.
“Words meant to ward the greedy or test the wise. But they’re words written to be ignored.”
He does not press further. He knows the pattern of such warnings: spoken long after the damage is done.
When the group enters the fungal cavern, Gharzun scans the softly glowing terrain and refrains from touching anything. Light this soft has no place in stone so deep.
“If it pulses, don’t trust it.”
At Kosileg’s request, he gestures briefly toward the crystalline wall.
“If you must take a sample, do it fast. No idea what that light feeds—or what it draws.”
The world shifts before he can finish the thought. Crimson light blooms, and suddenly the air is dry as bone and hot enough to peel flesh from steel.
Gharzun doesn’t panic. He reacts—feet planted wide, shield up, scanning the infinite hall, the mirrored ceiling, and the burning pentacle beneath his boots. The sensation of magical force caging him in is unmistakable.
He looks to the skeletal remains near other circles and speaks with even control.
“This is not punishment. This is ritual containment. Purpose-built. Efficient.”
His eyes flick to the glaive near one of the columns, but he does not move. Not yet.
“These aren't restraints to hold prisoners. They’re warnings. Something died trying to escape. Many times.”
OOC to DM:
Gharzun’s gaze rises to the mirrored ceiling above, reflecting the fungal chamber. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak of escape or illusion. The heat gnaws at the edges of his patience, but his discipline holds.
“Whatever this is... it’s no simple illusion. But I don’t see the pattern. Not yet.”
(For DragonDenn: Sparhawk has an Aura of protection: Any friend within 10 feet of the paladin gains +4 to all saves. )
"We might choose to move through this "Demonic Plane" or go another way, unless it be an illusion. However, I'm feeling confident we will be attacked here. Do not step on any of those pentragrams. That glaive there, could be useful or could be a temptation and a cursed weapon."
Sparhawk says loudly: "I am Sparhawk, a knight of the Pandion order and worshiper of Marduk. We have no quarrel with you, but should you choose to attack us, I will use all of my god given powers to smite you from this place forever. Allow us to pass or face my wrath."
<I'll call it perception, and looking at the ceiling>
Sparhawk notices faint ripples in its surface, like that of a pool.
Examining the pantacle beneath him, Kos notices smudges along the metal, suggesting someone traced the shape in the past.
Does he dare trace the shape himself?
Gharzun assumes the carved likenesses of a male and female face are meant to represent a pair of important individuals, perhaos a duo working in tandem, but fails to recognize them or place names to the faces.
<just to clarify, you all saw a flash and appeared here trapped on a pentacle, each separated from the others. It is unclear how far apart they are and this area is not on a map, so let's say within range for aura's sake. There are no other creatures in this hall, only remains. "A creature" above is a rules explanation, noting that you, the PCs are trapped.>
Also note:
extreme heat (not really important for an hour)
When the temperature is at or above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, a creature exposed to the heat and without access to drinkable water must succeed on a Constitution saving throw at the end of each hour or gain one level of exhaustion. The DC is 5 for the first hour and increases by 1 for each additional hour.
Creatures wearing medium or heavy armor, or who are clad in heavy clothing, have disadvantage on the saving throw. Creatures with resistance or immunity to fire damage automatically succeed on the saving throw, as do creatures naturally adapted to hot climates.
Kos noticing the tracing: "hmmm… it looks as though someone has traced this shape with their fingertips."
<Anyone want to try it?>
Sparhawk, noting the water like substance of the ceiling, carefully aims his crossbow at an area not near a companion and fires to see what happens to the bolt.
Sparhawk takes aim at the ceiling and releases an arrow, which strikes the wallnof force surrounding him, halting its flight instantly, after which it clatters to the floor.
He picks up the ammunition and examines it. Finding it stillnservicesbke, shaft unbent, head firmly fastened, he aims steight up (a dangerous gambit) and lets it fly. As the arrow touches the ceiling surface, it ripples the mirror like a droplet hitting still water, and then the shaft vanishes upward. An instant later, a pink-glowing mushroom seen in the ceiling above is struck by the projectile, which remains protruding from its cap, but he doesnt notice it at one: it is behind Sparhawk on the opposite side of the grotto.