Entering into the temple proper, the group is met with a message in a language they cannot properly read or parse, but can intuitively understand. Venturing further in through a grand hall they come to a cracked stone door, the opening of which nearly costs Toro a head. In awe, the group finds itself facing a temple with an ambient yellow light, with no obvious source.
Further in they travel. And further, and further, and further, and further. Until they’ve well and truly traveled farther than should be physically possible. Exhausting all natural means of investigating the source of the enchantment, Torinn finally casts Detect Magic to find that… there is no magic. Or rather, none that he can detect. It’s clear that Mana is at play here, magic from the elusive “Warrens”.
Emon recalls the sensory and self “expansion” he felt when he used the stone, and he intuitively connects the possibility that use of the warren stone could avail him in this warren-cursed hall. (Again, my bad, guys.)
Again, Emon experiences the dispersion of “self” to his surrounding area, and finds again he’s able to see and feel around him. It takes a force of spirit he is not accustomed to using, and while he’s able to will the enchantment away, there is a cost. He is psychically nauseous for several minutes. Worryingly, this is considerably longer than the mere moments of dizziness at his last failed attempt to control the magic of this strange other plane. What does that mean?
Inside was a large room like a church, but empty of any pews or chairs. Two doors on either side, and a dais with an open arch at the far end. Attempting to split up and explore, Torinn trips on his own feet and either shits himself or yells or barks depending on whom you ask. In any case, it attracts the attention of a Third Dream member who calls out for Kemed. Toro slam fuckin’ dunks the impression of Kemed having heard him yell in pain before death once upon a time.
The cultist comes out to be suplexed into the awaiting caltrops Emon had lain on the ground. Tragically, this kills the cultist.
The party attempts to venture inside, but Emon is quite unfortunate when he runs into the chest of one of the cultists coming around the corner. And interrupting the card game currently in progress between a third cultist, and a proper assassin from Emon’s old guild.
They do dispatch of the three, with some elaborate and intriguing but ultimately fruitless maneuvering by the assassin in the grip of Toro.
In the chest/dresser room they find dozens of robes, and trinkets belonging to the cultists, as well as a locked chest containing
10 bottle(s) of common wine (2 gp)
1 set of navigator’s tools (25 gp)
12 gallon(s) of ale (2.4 gp) (immediately consumed by Toro)
The assassin also had
17g 8s 7c
3 ass pois vials
Anyway, past that is another hall, as tall (25ft) as the rest of the sunken temple, depcting woad-tattooed figures in stances resembling the lettering before. Again, baffling but somehow comprehensible. More like remembering than understanding. Their dances, in concert with the background, tell a tale of a great calamity that befell a peaceful, pastoral society demanding a call to arms and the raising of a particular group to combat the fel influence on their people. The story ends there. The tone is quite somber.
Further past is an enormous chamber, taller than everything else so far, with a number of pillars arrayed in a circle around a downward spiraling staircase. Littering the floor are straw beds and cots, and in one a sleeping cultist. Whom they ambush for answers, and knock unconscious. He tells them the rest of the cultists can be found below. The go to descend when Torinn falls unconscious, again taken by visions. He’s caught by Toro when we fade to black.
To be continued next week…