Sennel the Great mopped his brow, sweat clung to his nose then dived into the pool lapping at his feet. The a corrupt smell rose from the dead, their life blood gave of a metallic scent as it ran away a river in lands of dust, motes pulled in then spinning away, boatmen on a voyage that begun with an end. Nearby Errol turned over a body with the toe of his boot, the Tiefling hop, stepped, and then shuffled towards the alter. His face a pendulum arcing from bemused to anger, each change revealing a glint of canine, the visage of incidental savagery suited the mood.
As he surveyed another pile of bodies he wondered if these creatures wept for their fallen? More rainfall in the Queens domain. He doubted it. He broke from thought, the others were looking to him, clearly what value these creatures gave to the world could be weighed in there belt pouch, and now relieved of it the question was what now. Denasdra’s gaze was weighing scales.
Surely there was another passage down from these high halls? Perhaps it would be worth searching it out, though taking the fight to the rabble that Organ Grinder commanded had its appeal.
He stood, to lead isn’t always to command. Sometimes it is merely to be followed, he had made his choice. Wiping his sword and sheathing it he made his way towards the doorway they had, only moments ago, used to ambush their pursuers. Noticing the movement the Tiefling looked up from the handful of dust he had been examining and scurried after him, the Ranger not far behind.
Denasdra stood for a moment longer surveying the room, the stench of death growing stronger by the second, as the broken bodies of these filthy beasts ceased controlling bowls and bladders. From under the ogre, barely visible amongst the tattered rags that remained of its clothing and armour, protruded a pack that seemed to have gone unnoticed by his companions. Wrenching it free, he cut it open rather then fiddling with the now excrement smeared ties. Inside it lay a set of leather armour made from the skin of some great serpent, which, from the way that the pooled blood at bottom of the bag ran off it, appeared to have some significant magical properties. Grinning at his good fortune and at the ineptitude of the others, he made his way after them.
The Dwarven hall was immense. Rows of a dozen enormous, elegantly carved stone pillar held up a roof easily 40 feet high. Denasdra smirked to himself, it never failed to amuse him the way that such short, ugly creatures insisted on building massive, beautiful structures.
The floor was strewn with pages and pages from ripped, torn and scattered ledgers which had once stood neatly piled, recording the great traffic of goods through what was clearly once a significant warehouse. The fall of the Mines though had left them open to the pillaging of the Goblins, that was all too evident.
Then they unlocked the door with a retarded riddle that a clearly retarded dwarf made, what a cheap bastard, also save or die? Who does that? Sennel the Great, leader of the party that consisted of a ranger that was a liability, a wizard that hated him, and a warlock that he couldn’t get sense out of, decided that no danger was going to befall his party so he walked into a trapped room. He had beefed his reflex but had to make a straight saving throw, and was killed by the CHEAPEST dwarves ever, what a bunch of cheap lameo’s with stupid tan lines. He joined his queen in his throne by her side, and will not look favourably upon whatever cheap dwarven asshole built that ridiculous trap. Go and fort yourself.
The wizard laughed at his misfortune, realising subconciously that Sennel gladly died to protect him, and looking at the shambles of the party that was left he was the best friend he would ever have. The warlock mourned for the loss of the half-elf, who was truly a devoted instrument of The Great Night, and built a cairn of stones as a monument to his sacrifice. The ranger had no feelings or character reactions at all, because the downie that roleplays him prefers to spend his time accusing others of metagaming.
After defeating the chamber guardians, The Great Night attempted to open another of the ancient dwarven safes, if only to feel as though Sennel’s death had not been in vain. However they could make nothing of this new riddle, and this time the hobolock, perhaps subconsciously unwilling to let another comrade tempt fate for mere treasure, was unable to open the locked door.
With defeat in their hearts, the party then started off from the chamber through the main doors, determined to find a way down and exact their revenge on Organ Grinder (or maybe the dwarf SOB’s who built this place…). Before too long, they found their path blocked by a room covered in thick spider webs with dark shadows flitting across the roof. The ranger quickly informed the party that these were “big spiders, real big…” but was unable to provide any further information, and considering the badly bruised and beaten state of the party, they decided to seek rest in one of the many side chambers before dealing with this predicament.
Maybe it was the voices in his head, maybe the fact that they had so recently lost a comrade, but either way the hobolock was sure this place was out to get him. Also he doesn’t trust the “ranger”. So as the others were searching out a “safe” resting place, he kept watch on the web covered room and soon saw what he realised was an ettercap, along with a huge spider, checking out The Great Night’s tracks. It was time to leave this place….
After a restless, paranoid ‘sleep’, The Great Night rose to find fresh tracks around the corridors and the hobolock quickly hustled the party away from the spider room and back to the main chamber while constantly keeping his eyes strained on the retreating darkness. There were also fresh tracks in the chamber, and the party soon decided to try their luck spelunking down the only other exit – a collapsed stairwell. Perhaps motivated by the fear of those following (real or imagined), the party made great time and was entering a large opening when an ungodly aberration was spotted feeding on the floor…