1


            With the noise of the crowd fading behind them and the eternal rumble of the Glassworks' furnaces finally silenced, it was hard not to notice how dark and gloomy the lifeless corridors were, or to ignore the charnel stench coming from the glassworking hall. It was almost a relief to enter the narrow tunnel again. Then again, it wasn't all that much cheerier.
            It didn't take them long to reach the broken brick rubble that revealed the side tunnel. The tunnel beyond it curved on into the earth, the end hidden from view after a few paces. Somehow it held a sense of foreboding that mocked the silly rumors flying about town.
            Raising the torch held in his left hand, Hrolfr craned his muscular neck and peered into the gloom. His right hand reached down to the hilt of his broadsword, slowly pulling the large blade from its scabbard. Feeling the comfortable weight of steel in his hand, he started walking slowly but purposefully down the tunnel.
            Quickfoot followed behind Hrolfr, an arrow nocked on his bowstring, ready to draw and loose at a moment's notice. His long elf-ears twitched as he strained to hear any untoward sounds in the cramped tunnel. He moved softly, as was his habit, but knew that in the company of the others, it would not make much difference. Better to expect a trap or ambush around every corner. "I'll hold the torch if you want your shield," he whispered to Hrolfr.
            Bergi tried to find a balance between keeping a healthy pace and not making too much noise. Anticipation came with every footfall.
            Pressing onward, Bergi looked back from time to time to make sure no unseen horror took the Amismara away without her notice, keen though the group's senses were. In that regard, it was unfortunate that their foes weren't clockwork colossi. If they were, the paranoia that had seemed to set in might have served to catch the ticking sounds such things undoubtedly brought with them.
            The oppressive blackness grudgingly gave way to the light that Amismara carried through the claustrophobically low-ceilinged tunnel. It didn't help that time and direction were difficult to judge - or that every now and then, their passage brought dirt sifting down from above. The tunnel wound lazily for a relatively short distance, then took a turn to the right and curved to and fro for a while longer, finally revealing openings (again on their right) ahead in the dark.
            Before Hrolfr could even point this out to his friends, a nightmare coalesced from the darkness, flying at the ranger like some mad apparition. Pale and veined, its limbs bent in wrong directions and its face... by the gods, its face. Its eyes were red as blood marbles, it had no nose nor ears, but the real horror was its jaw - or at least, where its jaw should have been. Instead its face split into two tiny arms, miniature fingers beckoning as though inviting Hrolfr into its toothy maw.
            Talons black as night left red gashes across Hrolfr's face, and long streamers of slaver fell from its horrid mouth as the thing lashed the air with an obscene red tongue.
            "Dear gods, what is that thing?" Quickfoot gasped as the horror-maw tore into Hrolfr. He dropped his bow and arrow and drew the slim rapier at his side in one smooth motion as he tumbled forward, hoping that his agility would save him from the creature's claws and put him in a position to flank it with the doughty warrior. "Whatever this thing is, I don't believe it's a clockwork," he called back to Bergi with desperate bravado.
            With the astonishing grace his people were known for, Quickfoot neatly flipped over the apparition's slashing talons, stabbing it with his rapier as he flanked it with Hrolfr. It gargled a scream - whatever it was, it had felt the elf's blade.
            The bard stifled a scream. She again tried to think of any reference to the creatures she'd heard of in all of her years to make some sense of the thing attacking the ranger.
            Terrifying tales of ghouls and ghosts and monsters galore spun through her mind in queasy detail, not least the fate of those who had faced them. Bits of some seemed similar, but she couldn't recall any describing the finger-faced maw with its tiny, clenching hands.
            "Not a clockwork at all!" Bergi agreed with Quickfoot before summoning up a magical song, more focused on pitch and tempo than on words.
            Amismara stifled a shriek as the beast sprang into view. As the others tumbled and positioned for the fight, she leaned on strong legs to strike with her glaive around Hrolfr. The dangling, rainbow-colored feathers on her glaive were a sharp contrast to the horrid maw of the creature.
            This time the disgusting thing was ready, bouncing off the walls with its dog-bent-legs to avoid Amismara's bright glaive. There was chilling hatred in its eyes, and far too much cunning.
            Hrolfr backs at the sight of this horrific creature, but not for long. Holding his torch out in front of him (hopefully to keep the creature at bay), he looks for the right time to strike with his sword.
            His careful patience bore fruit. When he swung his heavy sword, it bit deep into the freakish thing's hide, drawing another bellow that echoed in the tunnel. It lunged at him, snapping that disgusting mouth open and closed, and for a moment while they grappled its tiny hands scraped tiny nails along his stubbled face, pulling insistently at his skin. Its breath smelled of carrion, and of death. Then it plunged its blackened talons through the chinks in his armor, as though it would rend the steel away. Its ropy dark-veined muscles bunched as it dug deeper, seeming to enjoy his pain.
            Quickfoot stabbed his blade once more into the creature's back, hoping against hope to finish it quickly, before it could do more harm to Hrolfr. "Die, you fiend," he whispered to himself in his native, Elven tongue. "Just die!"
            Bergi continued with her magical tune, unable to do much else with the lack of tactical positions available.
            Amismara felt a twinge of relief that it was Hrolfr bearing the pain of those talons. A wave of guilt and self-loathing rose up immediately, however, and it bore her forward for another stab with her glaive. "Kill it", she thought desperately. "Help Hrolfr by killing it."
            They managed to pry it off Hrolfr, and made it pay in kind for its mad gouging. The abberant creature from the dark opened its mouth, dark blood dribbling from it down its miniature clutching hands, and gargled what seemed almost sentient words, though they couldn't possibly be, not from such a mindlessly vicious monster. Even though it was badly wounded by their blades, it made no effort to retreat, instead flinging itself once again at Hrolfr. The proud Ulfen's blood spattered the wall as its talons slashed at his unarmored throat, but with sheer force he drove it back despite his wounds, ramming his longsword through its body.
            The pale beast slid from his sword with a long, rattling gasp, its dirty rag-clothing soaking up the blood pooling about its body. Even lying still, blood dark against its maggot-pale skin, it retained the kinks and twists of body that made it look so wrong.
            Their breathing was loud in the echoing tunnel, which they could all now see branched farther on as well as behind Quickfoot.

2


            Amismara immediately began to check Hrolfr's wounds, desperate to see if anything foul or unnatural had been transmitted by the creature's claws. Instinctively, she mumbled a tiny, singing prayer to Shelyn.
            Bergi lingered nearby, brow furrowed in concern, though she was relieved to be behind the cleric, and in a situation that didn't involve a cliff or suicidal charges. There was time to recover in this situation, thankfully.
            "Are you alright, Hrolfr?"
            Quickfoot slid the point of his rapier into the monster's eye and through to what he hoped was its brain, wanting to ensure it was dead before dropping to a crouch and listening intently for noises other than the party in the branching tunnels. His fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own went seeking over the monster's flesh, searching for valuables.
            Amismara stopped the worst of Hrolfr's bleeding as Quickfoot made sure the horrific monster was dead. She wasn't sure if Hrolfr had caught anything from its black talons, but trusted that Shelyn's grace upon him would stop any wound-fever they might engender.
            After the adrenaline surge was over, Hrolfr was noticeably shaken after his encounter with the mysterious monster. His usual, slightly reluctant attitude to having his wounds looked at was entirely absent, and he let Amismara do her job with no fuss at all.
            There was dead silence in the tunnels while Quickfoot listened for any reaction to their noisy battle. Searching the horrible thing's clammy skin and dirty rags achieved little but covering his hands with its blood. If it had anything valuable, it certainly hadn't brought it to the fight.
            The elf wiped the tacky blood from his hands onto the tunnel walls, remaining as silent as he could, inched up to the branch in the tunnel and looked around the corner, eyes wide for signs of trouble, or the creature's tracks.
            At the sight of Quickfoot's advance into the tunnel, Hrolfr grabbed his sword and moved slowly and quietly towards the branch, ready to provide assistance if needed.
            The elf's eyes were not as hindered by the lack of light as the humans' were, but he could make no sense of the scuffs and marks on the floor that would have been clear to Hrolfr. On the other hand, he could clearly see the cave in the dim light, and the scattering of items strewn across the ground within.
            The light grew as Hrolfr approached with his torch, and the Ulfen took note of the tracks on the floor. They all matched the bizarre long toes of the misshapen thing the party had killed. It seemed the cave was well-used, so far as Hrolfr could judge, but it was impossible to tell by how many, if there were any more of those horrible things. The tracks criscrossed all over; it seemed the thing had been here for some time... and the tracks led past him, farther down the tunnel.
            The bard approached Quickfoot as quietly as possible, wanting to see what he did, and to offer a lit ribbon and a message spell if the rogue was partial to scouting or bolting off.
            Hrolfr lowered his torch to better illuminate the cave floor, getting down on his haunches. He pointed first at the tracks on the floor, and then in the direction in which the footsteps led. "They've been here for some time, but the tracks are all on top of each other, so I can't say how many, but I'm pretty sure they come from down there ". At that, he carefully raised himself again, held the torch a little higher and approached the items on the cave floor, hoping they would share some more light on the situation.
            Quickfoot moved forward as well by Hrolfr's flickering torchlight. "Bergi" he whispered, "grab my bow? I dropped it back there." He examined the items on the cave floor, taking care to keep looking up and listen for sounds of more of the creatures as he tried to determine whether they were trash or treasure. The halfling immediately made her way back to retrieve the item in question, happy to be of use.
            With more light, a grisly story showed its remnants in the discarded items scattered across the floor of the cave. Fur shoes were carelessly tossed aside from a crumpled black leather tunic with bloodstains, but no obvious holes. A glinting pile proved to be a suit of banded mail, partially torn apart as though someone too large - or too misshapen - had tried to force it on. A many-pocketed backpack lay against the wall beside a lute that, when picked up, proved to be of exquisite workmanship despite a number of snapped strings and the dirt in the sounding chamber. A recurved longbow lay in the dust, unstrung and unused.
            There was no sign of the owners of the items, no tracks or even bloodstains to be seen. Whoever they had been, they were long gone.
            The still-nervous cleric searched her memories for any hint of the items. Had she seen this traveler before? "Bergi, Quickfoot", she whispered. "Did anybody from Sandpoint play a lute like this one?"
            Quickfoot looked at each of the items and tried to determine if he knew who they belonged to, and more importantly, if they were valuable. As he looked them over, he wonderd aloud, "I wonder if any of these things are magical."
            Neither Bergi nor Quickfoot knew anyone who had owned so beautiful an instrument (or any of the rest of the items), but then from time to time adventurers did pass through the town, on their way who knew where. There had always been rumors of smuggler's tunnels under Sandpoint, Bergi knew; perhaps some intrepid adventurers had heard the same and found the seaside entrance to these tunnels. Unluckily for them, it seemed. The amount of dust on the things suggested that it had been some time since their owners lost them.
            The painted lute and, oddly enough, the backpack were obviously (to Quickfoot's eye) the work of masters of their trade. Everything else, while a bit dirty and the worse for wear, seemed fixable.
            "They don't belong to anyone I know, and that says a lot, Amismara." Bergi announced in a whisper, scurrying back to Quickfoot with his bow.
            "Probably a group of adventurers what chased a tale some rings ago, finding this place by mistake and... well, getting eaten by that thing."
            Quickfoot scooped up the lute, the shoes, and the tunic and bow, then placed what fit into the new pack, quickly transferred his own belongings into it as well before shouldering the burden. "Should we bother with the armor?" he asked the others in a quiet voice. "Either way, let's press on quickly before more of those... things show up." He looked around warily, trepidation plain on his face, as he gratefully accepted his bow back from Bergi after cleaning off and sheathing his rapier. "Can you play this lute, or maybe this nice silver flute that Tsuto had? he asked Bergi. "They seem to have found their way here with us." he added with a grin.
            Reaching into the backpack, Quickfoot felt something disturbingly squishy and sticky touch his hand. Closer examination in the light revealed a small, slightly sticky sack jammed into the bottom of the backpack. Whatever it was filled with, it was somewhat soft and had a pungent odor.
            Bergi squatted down to examine the lute, and after a short inspection, she nodded.
            "Well, the lute I can use, though it needs some love. I wouldn't use Tsuto's flute, though. It would be a bit big for me, and... well... it was Tsuto's." The halfling cringed at the thought of putting her mouth to something the corrupted, malicious half-elf had made musical love to.
            "This thing could really help with performances. I think I'll nab it on the way out, though I do wonder if there's anything magical about."
            Having satisfied himself that the room contained no lurking horrors or immediate dangers, Hrolfr turned back to the main tunnel, torch held high. Slowly, he edged a bit further into the tunnel, just far enough to see the second intersection that he had seen out of the corner of his eye, just before entering the small cavern.
            The main tunnel continued its curving path through the earth into darkness; however, in the tunnel branch that Hrolfr peeped down, the rough earth appeared to give way to stone.
            Quickfoot scooped up the tunic, bow, and shoes, but left the armor and the lute behind. "Any of this stuff magical?" he asked Bergi, with a smile.
            "No idea, Quickfoot. It's a common spell for those of my profession, but I seem to be lacking it."
            Once Hrolfr headed out, Quickfoot followed speedily, preferring to stay close to the ranger.
            Where the earth gave way to stone, he took a moment to look around, get his bearings, and check for anything unusual.
            Quickfoot ventured out of the tunnel and into what appeared to be a chamber of dressed stone, though the wall leading to the tunnel had been torn down. Large mounds of rubble lay strewn across the floor, and there was a musty smell from all the dust. There was a door to the left, but nothing that struck Quickfoot as unusual, given the circumstances.
            A voice called out from back in the tunnels, somewhere in the darkness that lay unexplored. It echoed a bit much to tell what it said, but it sounded human.

3


            I'Daiin blinked in the dark, chuckling to himself at his ineptness. A great warrior you are, he thought, helpless in a cage to be slaughtered like a pig. They even gave me slop-water--by the Fire, or is it a privy?--a noseless worm could smell that bucket from a mile away; it clearly wasn't for humans to drink.
            His body ached in places from bites that had sickened him, and he hadn't eaten in a while--and his gear was gone and he couldn't reach anything of worth through the bars, and the creatures were no doubt coming back to torture him and eat him--but otherwise, he reflected, all was well. His unseen smile froze into a frown at the sound of distant crashing and battle; perhaps even the sounds of speech, though he couldn't tell.
            By the Lifebringer, he thought. "Hallo!" he called, hearing his somewhat parched voice ring down the corridor. Then he paused. If it was the monsters fighting amongst themselves, they would just come back, angrier than ever. Well, enough of greetings. He would sing his death-in-battle song--better to prepare if there were no rescuers. He cleared his throat, glanced bitterly at the invisible, undrinkable water, and began to chant, low but distinct in the clipped syllables of Shoanti. If they ram their spears into the cage, I will embrace death without fear, he thought, and then he thought of little but the song and the great Sun, blazing somewhere above him, which calls all warriors home eventually.
The Death-Song of I'Daiin
(from the Shoanti)

"Life-bringer, Light-blinder,
Let my blood boil as it is spilled.
Let me laugh in the face of my enemy,
Burn away all fear of non-existence.

May my blade slay many before I am cut down,
With thunder and fang, and bola a-spiked,
My war-cry will roll down the plateau
As surely my death-rattle will follow.

Life-bringer, take me to my quah as smoke,
Let me kneel at the feet of my ancestors,
May they judge me fit to join them,
In the hunting grounds beyond.

Sklar Quah na-Kaltesh!"

4


            The elf's ears perked up at the call from the darkness. "Did the rest of you hear that? Might be another of those creatures, but that sounded like speech, perhaps a man or a dwarf. Let's go find out."
            With the others in tow, Quickfoot ventured further into the tunnels, eager to see what new dangers and rewards lay hidden here, under the earth.
            The tunnel branched again; ahead, it appeared to end in a dead end, yet the sounds of singing were stronger in that direction. It was definitely the voice of a man.
            Peeking around the corner of the branch, Quickfoot found a surprise. Here, too, the raw tunnel gave way to a chamber of stone - and in the middle of it stood a figure. Made all of red marble, it was a statue of a strikingly beautiful, but at the same time monstrously enraged, woman. Her stony expression was twisted in fury. The marble was shaped into incredibly realistic flowing robes, and the woman's long hair was held back from her face by an intricate headdress of hooks and blades. In her left hand she carried a large book, its face inscribed with a seven-pointed star. Her right hand held a glittering ranseur of metal and ivory, crafted with such skill and beauty that it wouldn't have looked out of place in the hands of a king.
            Amismara felt herself wanting to rush towards the singing voice. The thought that someone might have been trapped in here brought up waves of compassion. But she quailed a bit at the site of the menacing statue. So much anger was in that face it seemed impossible for the expression to remain, notwithstanding the stone.
            She turned her eyes away and tried to be alert for other dangers.
            Barely able to see around the larger folk that made the way into the chamber first, the sound of the unknown prisoner's music caused the bard to twitch yet again, as if her body knew that her mind was, yet again, thinking about a rash behavior.
            When she was at last able to see the statue, the halfling wasn't all that perturbed. The thought of losing a friend or the sight of a slaughterhouse full of innocent workers could goad her fear despite racial defenses, but a statue was the least of her worries unless Quickfoot declared it trapped. The ranseur was beautiful, though...
            The halfling took in a deep breath.
            "Permission to do something idiotic?" she asked quietly.
            Despite the chain of logic, it had nothing to do with the ranseur.
            "Oooh," Quickfoot whispered. "She doesn't look friendly at all. I wonder what her name is, and why she's so angry. Anyone have a guess?"
            While he spoke, the elf ran his hands and eyes over the dead end of the tunnel, looking for a secret door, or other hidden point of egress. "I could swear that singing is coming from over here." he mumbled to himself as he searched.
            At Bergi's question he grins, and almost laughs aloud before checking himself. "Don't ask for my permission, I do idiotic things all the time, at least, that's what the sheriff says. But, if you're going to grab that pointy stick from her, try to get the book too, hey?" He pauses for a moment, "Or did you want me to have a look at her first? Maybe there's something sneaky about her," he says as he cocks his head. "Who would have put something like this down here in the first place? Tsuto? I never knew he was a sculptor, and if he could do a masterpiece like this, you'd think his father would have liked him a bit better..."
            "Tsuto is quite patient, but I just can't see him sculpting like this... though it is angry enough." Bergi conceded.
            "I would like it if you checked to see if there's a blade waiting to shoot out of her tresses, though."
            She looked down into the corridor again.
            "I want to return with music. I know it's stupid, but I want to let the human know we're here, for better or worse."
            As Quickfoot approached the dead end in the tunnel, it became apparent that it wasn't exactly a dead end, after all. Instead, there was a hole in the floor of the tunnel - an opening that could, perhaps, just be squeezed through by a man. Below was a small cell of stone, with bars along one side, beyond which lay darkness. The echoing singing was definitely coming from somewhere down there, somewhere close.
            The bard seemed less careful now, staying only a little ways behind the rogue so she wouldn't set off any traps that she assumed he was searching for, but the closer they got to the source of the sound, the more intense her expression became.
            "Don't know who you are, but we hear you-," she started singing, waiting for a rhythmic lull between his verses.
            "And we're going to be there soon!
            "It looks like luck has smiled upon you, like the grinning stars that mill about the moon.
            Your voice sounds tired, but you're our guide, so please don't stop just yet...,"

5


            I'Daiin became aware of an increasing light as he sang, to the point where he could make out an empty cell across the room from him. The light was indirect, and not strong enough to make out anything else.
            Quickfoot gave the others a wink and started squeezing into the hole in the floor of the tunnel. "Anyone have a rope?" he asked. "That would probably make it easier to climb back out of here... But don't worry, Bergi. I'll check out her royal angryness," he indicated the enraged statue, "when I get back." "Oh!" he exclaimed as he was halfway into the hole, "can you keep a light shining over here too?"
            The halfling nodded at Quickfoot before he went below and cast her spell of illumination on Hrolfr's shortsword, leaning over the opening and holding the weapon slightly below like a torch.
            "Though you know, Quickfoot, that I am rope-impaired. Heavy, heavy stuff." she whispered, lowering her head ever-so-slightly into the darkness like a curious monkey.

6


            The dim light disappeared, then grew again as I'Daiin saw a figure drop into the cell across the dark room from out of nowhere. However, with his eyes more adjusted to the darkness, he could also see movement in the very faint light, something or -things moving toward the intruder from his left.
            I'Daiin broke off the song at the sight of whatever or whoever it was with a light. Clearly not a monster, he reasoned. "If you're a friend, beware whatever approaches you from my left," he boomed in lightly accented Taldan. "And be you foe, to the Hells with you and your cohort." He drew into an unarmed fighting stance and resumed singing.
            Then they lurched into the light Bergi had provided, coalescing from darkness and nightmares. While they had the same feral aspect as the last horror the group had found here, in the catacombs beneath the town... somehow these had managed to wriggle into ill-fitting boiled leather, each suit slightly different from the other and studded with bits of metal. More appallingly, they carried ranseurs, giving lie to the impression the last had given of being unthinking beasts. Slaver drooled from their horrid split faces as they thrust their weapons into Quickfoot's cell. While he was able to twist away from one, the other pierced him - but at the same time, their attacks rattled the door to the cell, which swung slightly open. The cell wasn't locked!
            "Hrolfr, Bergi, Amismara... help!" Quickfoot cried as the polearm punched into his flesh. "There are two more of those horrible things down here, and these ones have great big stickers!" The elf could not seem to stop talking as he drew his rapier and moved into combat, certain that flight would only lead to his certain demise.
            "Hoi, you miserable beasts, have a drink!" I'Daiin shouted. The putrid bucket of liquid in his hands, he hefted its contents as deftly as possible at one of the monsters, doing his best not to hit his would-be rescuer or rescuers.
            The filthy water splashed all over the misshapen monster, who whirled to snarl at I'Daiin - and a few moments later, the Shoanti was very, very glad that he hadn't given in and drunk the foul stuff. The creature _folded in on itself_ with a horrible noise, twisting and writhing in a sickening manner within its armor. Then it sprang back outward, now with a third leg jutting out of its thigh at an awkward angle. The thing bellowed, though whether it was from pain or rage was unknown.
            I'Daiin gripped the bucket, ready to wield it as a makeshift weapon or shield. I've fought with worse, he mused laconically.
            Amismara grimaced at Quickfoot's scream of pain. Behind both Bergi and Hrolfr, she couldn't see or reach the hole. "Hurry! Help him!" she urged, craning to see past the others.
            Sheathing his sword, Hrolfr dropped the rope he had quietly been preparing against the time when Quickfoot wanted to climb back up again, and squeezed through the narrow opening. As soon as he was able, he bellowed a loud battlecry and rushed towards the monsters, mashing his torch into the face of the nearest one befying his sword for a powerful swing.
            The flood of light was bright as sunlight to I'Daiin's eyes as the bearded stranger dropped down into his prison with a torch. It revealed a rickety-looking wooden platform with stairs leading up to it, and a walkway disappearing into the dark at the other end of the room. The strange three-legged beast reared back, dropping its ranseur even though Hrolfr didn't actually strike it.
            Bergi gave Amismara a puzzled glance despite her fear, as if to ask whether or not the cleric would be joining the others below.
            "The rope, do we need the-Oh, bassicks and blocks..."
            Amismara gave Bergi a nod in passing as she did her best to leap quickly down the hole without landing on Hrolfr and Quickfoot. She let out small cry of despair at the two creatures, but she look for an opportunity to attack nonetheless.
            The erratic movements of the abomination she targeted were enough to save it from the head of her blue-glowing glaive.
            Noting the lack of places to tie the rope down, Bergi did the only thing she was able to from her position, though the continued cries below disturbed her. She lifted her voice again, but this time imbued it with magic.
            The unchanged monster backed up and managed to catch Quickfoot against the bars of a cell in this underground prison - a scratch compared to what it could have been thanks to the elf's quick reflexes. Hrolfr, however, suffered a nasty bite from the three-legged thing's sickening jaws. Even as the monster's teeth ripped loose from his flesh, he was overcome by a sudden surge of wrath - memories, the current situation, his companions, his family, it didn't matter - all his thoughts were tinged with an uncontrollable fury. The two monsters grinned obscenely at him, their nostril slits pulsing as they sniffed the air.
            The elf bounded forward, despite the pain of his wounds, between the two walking horrors to flank the one that had injured Hrolfr. Inspired by Bergi's song, he stabbed at the creature with is rapier, hoping to find a weak spot where he could do the most damage. The light mace on his belt swung freely, and he called out to the prisoner, "Arm yourself friend! Maybe you can help from behind those bars!"
            Whether through skill or pure dumb luck, Quickfoot twisted around the two monsters without so much as another scratch and plunged his rapier into the three-legged thing's back. It roared and swung at him, but now it was flanked between Quickfoot and Hrolfr, and its clumsy leg prevented it from spinning quickly enough to ward them both off.
            I'Daiin grinned savagely in the dark. "Be received, stranger. I shall let myself out." He drew upon the focused fury of his battle trance and gripped the bars closest to the latch of his cell, veins standing out of his corded muscles as he literally bent them to his will. As he wrested the tortured metal, growling like a beast, his blood pounded hot in his limbs, eager to slay the creatures that had imprisoned him. With a tortured squall the bars of his cell slowly bent to his strength and will; he forced them apart with sheer brawn, leaving an opening wide enough for him to squeeze out of.
            Hrolfr gave in to the rage, screaming Ulfen obscenities at the two abominations. Charging at the nearest abomination, he struck at it with a powerful underhand blow. The longsword sliced a runnel in the monster's hide, but the overwhelming anger Hrolfr felt weakened his blow so that the blade didn't drive deeper. Behind him, Amismara was having trouble getting at the horrid thing with Hrolfr in the way.
            Determined to get into the fight, Bergi counts on her small size to make her way past Hrolfr without disturbing him in his battle frenzy to harass the opponent who didn't have an extra appendage protruding outwards, as the others had the mangled one well surrounded.
            "Can't let you gang up on anyone, now!"
            Squeezing through the hole in the ground was no trouble for Bergi - she barely had to squeeze at all. The drop to the ground was a bit more hair-raising, especially with Amismara just below her, but she timed it carefully and made it down without landing on the cleric.
            Her first view of the battlefield was of wildly twisting shadows as Hrolfr and Amismara fought with their light sources - and from those shadows, a familiar-looking nightmare. With deft grace she danced between flailing limbs and weapons unscathed, and with great courage she attacked the nightmare vision that was still holding a ranseur. Still singing, she slashed at it with Hrolfr's shortsword, but the Ulfen blade was made for larger hands, and was hard to control properly. The disgusting monster fended her off easily, dropping its ranseur as the other had, to fight with its black talons and wriggling jaws.
            Insultingly, it didn't turn those talons on her, instead lashing out at Quickfoot. It caught him with its talons, but he managed to wrest free before it could stuff him into its dripping maw. It barked those word-noises that their previously encountered foe had as well, its tiny jaw-fingers twitching and grasping at the air.
            Again, Hrolfr proved to be the unlucky one, as he suffered a sudden rush from the three-legged abomination that left him swaying on his feet, more bite and claw wounds running with fresh blood, and still that sickening fury in his veins.
            "Ouch!" yelped the elf as the creature's talons drew ragged, shallow gashes against his tender flesh. "No more of that!" He dodged nimbly to the side, clearing the way for the berzerk strength of the Shoanti, but keeping the wounded monstrosity flanked with Bergi's aid. Once more, his rapier flashed, darting towards a weak spot in the creature's armor.
            The Shoanti burst from his cell after bending it open, unconcerned by small cuts from scraping through the tortured door frame. Howling, his pupils enlarged from the gloom in his rolling white eyes, he moved past Quickfoot at an uncanny speed and bodily threw the creature threatening Hrolfr deeper into the prison. "Sklar Quah!" he shouted, his muscles bristling.
            Twisting through the fight unscathed was no easy thing, as I'Daiin felt on his own skin as the monster in the corner lashed out at him, drawing blood. Still, it was a satisfying feeling to shove the horrid monster back away from his badly wounded rescuer.
            Now Amismara was starting to get angry! She was getting sick of the sight of her friends' blood, and she wanted the bleeding to stop. She called out "Shelyn keep thee, Hrolfr!" and placed a now-glowing hand on the ranger's back.
            Strength and vigor flowed back into the staggered Ulfen warrior, though the rage in his blood remained.
            "Agreed," Bergi thrummed musically, trying again to aid her companion by annoying the monster with her apparently awkward lunges while continuing her song. If this kept up, she worried she would have to sacrifice another stick of butter. Being a halfling, the vaporization of food seemed like a crime if not used to maximum effect.
            The evil beast actually turned its back on her, ignoring her sword-waving and her song to go after Quickfoot (and, perhaps by coincidence, get out of the corner it was in). Its companion with three legs showed considerably less intelligence by diving back into their midst despite its deep wounds, throwing itself at I'Daiin with a gurgling roar and clamping its revolting jaws about his arm. As its tiny jaw-fingers scratched feebly at his skin, I'Daiin felt his rage increase exponentially, making it hard for him to concentrate for the sheer shaking fury of it.
            The elf stabbed once more at his injured for, trusting in Bergi's song, aid and tactical position to help him end the creature's miserable excuse for a life.
            With a roar of inarticulate choler, the Shoanti pummeled at his monstrous foe, raining blows on its misshapen face with his bare fists, the unnatural rage making him less accurate than usual.
            With Quickfoot distracting the thing with his jabbing rapier, I'Daiin was able to get in a series of punches that cold-cocked the vile creature, continuing to punch for several seconds after it had gone down.
            His health regained, Hrolfr raised his sword as if to strike the creature before him, only to swing his torch at the foul spawn instead.
            The feint worked, and the monster gurgled its horrible word-sounds at him as it batted at the searing flames, turning to run. Amismara stepped up behind Hrolfr, but couldn't quite manage to strike the monster past the enraged Ulfen warrior.
            Bergi tumbled nimbly past the nightmare beast and into I'Daiin's cell, turning to jab at the monster once more. It wanted none of it, however, and ran for the dark side of the room. It tried to slip away as best it could, but in his fury, Hrolfr dealt it such a blow with his sword that blood sprayed in an arc around it, spattering his companions. In that moment of pain it faltered, and Amismara cut it down with her glaive, the light dimming as blood covered the weapon's head.
            Sword clattering to the floor, Hrolfr grabbed one of the cell bars with his now empty hand, knuckles whitening. Eyes intent and bloodshot, his breath fast and shallow, he stood in silence for a while, trying to contain this sudden rage.

7


            Quickfoot looked on in astonishment as the others made short work of the second creature, his grin quickly replacing the look of worried concentration he had worn during the battle. He slipped the tip of his rapier into an eye of each creature, doing his best to make sure that they were dead for certain before retrieving his mace from the ground and looping it back onto his belt. He then wiped off his rapier and sheathed it before taking his bow back out and looking eagerly at the former prisoner. "Thanks for the warning! But how in the name of the evening star did you end up down here? I'm Quickfoot, by the way. What's your name?"
            "Be received, Quickfoot of the elves," I'Daiin managed through his haze of sickening wrath-intoxication and fatigue. "I am I'Daiin, of the Kaltesh Sklar-Quah." He fought back a cough. "I have no full name, to my great dishonor. As for my story, it is simple. I have left my tribe as penance for my arrogance, and have been hunting the great beasts below the Plateau. I came to this place when tracking fell beasts, and they then tracked me and did bite me until I was overwhelmed. Why they did not kill me, I cannot say, but if that bucket of slop effected changes in one of them, perhaps I was to be transformed by it." He steadied himself, not revealing his sickness readily. "I have a life-debt to you all, strangers. My sword--if I can find it in this place--goes with yours."
            "You sure you're up to finding it, Master Shoanti?" asked the halfling, sheathing her weapon to look around the room, letting her eyes alight on Hrolfr with concern. He didn't look very good, but at least Amismara was close.
            "Seemed to do well enough without a blade, though. Hey, Quickfoot, you didn't get hit too hard, did you...? Sorry, I wasn't that much help."
            Bergi bit her tongue to resist asking if I'Daiin had known Andok or Gronk, as this particular Shoanti didn't seem on good terms with his people from what he'd said.
            "How long have the monsters left you down here? Have you been able to eat anything? Drink? Sleep? Just asking, because either you've a unique voice, or you're a little hoarse."
            The halfling appeared to search her belt for something. "Oh... my name is Bergi, by the way. Nice to meet you. Ah! There it is," Bergi remarked, having found what she was looking for. She produced her small waterskin and held it aloft to I'Daiin. "I know there's not a whole lot, but you can have what I brought."
            "'Nice'...well, yes. Taldane, a language of some vagueness and subtlety. Bergi, well met. I've been in that cage for several days, two if I reckon correctly. Not as bad of a thirst as three days in an emberstorm, but not something I prefer." I'Daiin took the waterskin thankfully, then scanned the room wearily for his items. He took a step and staggered, shaking his head ruefully and slapping his limbs at the rage poison in his veins.
            Amismara watched intently as Quickfoot dispatched the wounded creatures. She had to make sure they were dead before should could tend to her friends and the stranger. Drawn by his kind and thankful words, Amismara smiled slightly, able to put her fear and anger behind her somewhat.
            "I am Amismara, follower of Shelyn. Your strength and bravery are welcome, I'Daiin. We are investigating a threat to the village of Sandpoint, one we feel either originates in these tunnels, or is connected to them somehow. We will do what we can to help you." With that, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder and, dipping her head slightly, intoned a prayer. Again, the rainbow-tinted lights swirled around them all faint, but gently tangible.
            "Tsham---!" hissed I'Daiin at Amismara's touch, flinching and biting off his words. He turned to Amismara, a mixture of the remnants of rage sickness from the creatures, and his own ingrained mistrust, still swimming in his facial expressions.
            After a moment, he settled. "Please understand. In my land, for many years, if a Chelaxian were to raise their hand to a Shoanti, it would be to kill, not heal." He shrugged and gave a rocky grin. "It would be rude for me to dismiss your aid, and I'm not certain you're Chelish besides. I am further in your debt, A-mi-sma-ra." He pronounced the syllables carefully and clipped.
            "Of course, if you betray me to Cheliax at a later date, I can always kill you then." He gave a dry chuckle at his guileless plan.
            Amismara had to respect the simplicity of the threat. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she responded with a tired laugh. "No reason to get ahead of ourselves. But I am more Varisian, despite my looks, and have no allegiance to Cheliax in any case." "Good thing, I think. I like my freedom just the way it is! That being said, Amismara is a very kind person, so best wear the sleeves and not threaten to kill her, joke or no." Bergi immediately adds, crossing her arms to accentuate the point. "I did not threaten her, Bergi, merely made a promise based on a contingency that seems unlikely. Shoanti only threaten when they are ready to fight," said I'Daiin with a laugh. He inspected his items, wrinkling his nose at the faint scent of the creatures, and slung his weaponry and meager equipment about his strapping frame with spare, practiced motions. His eyes slid over Amismara's figure with a modicum of restraint. "It does appear, in this light, that you are not as pale as the average devil-worshipping rule-stickler that comes to harry my people. Suffice it to say your looks do not displease," he concluded with a flick of an eyebrow.
            It took several minutes for the two warriors' dizzying rage to pass, but in the end it did, first for Hrolfr, and a few minutes later for I'Daiin.
            Having gotten a grip on himself, Hrolfr's old self returned. He straightened out and looked at the former prisoner. "Hail I'Daiin, I am Hrolfr, called the Rover. We have been looking into a goblin infestation in the town above us, and that search brought us here. There is devilry afoot in these tunnels, as you yourself have experienced." As if to underscore his statement, he kicked one of the monstrous cadavers lightly with the outside of his boot.
            "We welcome another sword. The Shoanti are fierce warriors, and I will gladly fight beside you as long as we keep any threats to ourselves". The last bit was followed by a semi-scowl, shortly followed by a grin. "Now lets root out whatever sorcery that has posessed this place.

8


            In the meantime the party had explored the dark reaches of the room, finding a pack with the contents unceremoniously dumped out beside a pyramid of crumbling skulls lying on the floor, no doubt the heads of the skeletons that lay in several of the cells. I'Daiin was able to identify his things mixed with what looked like a few items of noble's clothes.
            The halfling picked up the noble's clothing to examine it, confused. If a noble had gone missing down there... wouldn't someone have made an enormous stink about them going missing? Tracked them down? Adding to Bergi's confusion, there had been no disappearances of any nobles she had heard of in town. On examining the clothes, she found she didn't recognize the fashion; the dusty silk doublet in her hands was dyed purple and inlaid with gold string. The buttons were green stones fastened with a loop of purple silk, and the short sleeves were frilled at the ends. The high black boots were of some rich leather, decorated with a dozen small red gemstones and tarnished silver buckles.
            Noticing that her companions continued to limp and wince, she called the group together for a quick prayer. "Our friendship shall save us, and give us power", she said to the others, her eyes closed reverently. The multicolored veils of light rose again, briefly, as Amismara concentrated on her goddess.
            "Thank you, Amismara!" Bergi chimed. "Oh, and Shelyn, respectively."
            "Now, fearsome Bergi, do you recognize those soiled fineries? They aren't mine--I haven't seized a kingdom yet." I'Daiin said.
            "They don't belong to anyone I know of. No nobles have vanished recently. Actually, I've never seen anyone dress in anything like these! Think it's safe to assume they're anyone's prize now... maybe we should pick these up on the way out?"
            Bergi folded the garments she could and laid them on the ground before cracking her tiny knuckles. "So, are we fit to carry on, heroes of Sandpoint? Think that's a 'yes' from Hrolfr, but I wouldn't jam scripts into the rest of you. 'Specially Master Shoanti, what with the days of imprisonment. We can point you back the way we came if you need to get yours packa-Oh, I mean recuperate."
            The Shoanti frowned, unsure if he had been insulted by the halfling or not. "I am well enough," he growled. "Hrolfr the Rover, well met. Let us clear this place of sorcery, then, and give unnatural things the gift of death."
            The stairs up to the platform above were awfully rickety, swaying and sending down drizzles of dust when anyone set foot on them. Still, with much creaking and swaying, they held as the party climbed them.
            Amismara squinted a bit, trying to calculated directions and distances as she looked at the door on the south side of the platform. "This should lead to that awful statue, I think," she said, and opened the door to check. "Let's stay up on this platform. It looks like we can stay away from anything in those cells."
            "Maybe we should check out the rest of the cells. What if there are other prisoners, too weak to move or make a sound? Or treasure?" Quickfoot said.
            The prison proved to hold a number of skeletons locked in their cells, their bones brittle - and a lone man lying crumpled on the floor. Outside his cell, there was a litter of pamphlets, as well as a very small pile of possessions dumped out beside a backpack.
            I'Daiin grunted and nodded at the skeletons. "At least they died, rather than have something worse occur to them."
            "Mister...?" Bergi called out, approaching the bars to examine what might have been another corpse. Though it did come to her mind to question how many times those creatures had been out of the glassworks to have two recent prisoners in the basement depths, that would be a question that could lose importance if the heroes of Sandpoint cleared the entire structure out.
            The Shoanti squinted at the prone prisoner. "I don't recall hearing anyone else. He is breathing, though."
            The halfling looked at I'Daiin with wide eyes as she came upon a thought. "Do you think you could do that thing again? With the bars? I know Quickfoot can jackalsnip the tumblers just fine, but, if we flag 'im promptly-,"
            Sheorin jumps to his feet, instantly striking a fighting stance. "You got the drop on me the first time," he shouts as he dances back and forth, brandishing his fists. "But I'm ready for you now. A master of the sublime foot-fist technique doesn't go down without a..." He trails off and lowers his guard as he sees who is on the other side of his cell. "Who are you?"
            Amismara, who had been bending over to examine the prone man, jumped back with with a yelp of surprise. "Oh, sweet Lady of Love! You scared the..." As she calmed down and regained her composure gave a sigh and looked at the man.
            "I am Amismara, priestess of Shelyn. We are here to help those in need and prevent evil from befalling the town of Sandpoint above. We can free you if you pose no threat to us or to the good people of this village."
            "Or, we came down here like a great blundering bounder looking for monsters and found far too many of them," said I'Daiin with a grunting laugh. "I am I'Daiin of the Sklar Quah, and have known these fair folk for the time it takes a leaf to burn, but am indebted to them and have fought beside them."
            He turned to the halfling. "I called upon the might of the Life-bringer to do that," he said quietly. "It would be disrespectful to do again."
            "Alright. I won't ask anymore," Bergi whispered.
            "My name is Sheorin and I didn't even know there was a village up above," Sheorin says as he walks up to the bars of his cell. "I was headed towards the coast, and I ran into some goblins, I think." He frowns and rubs at the back of his head. "Someone hit me in the back of the head, and when I came to, I was in here. I tried breaking down these bars with a Most Auspicious Thundering Fist technique, but it didn't work."
            Crestfallen, he holds up his hands- the knuckles are all bruised and abraded. "There must be something in this place that's dampening my kiye."
            "Ouch!" The halfling interjected, perhaps involuntarily.
            Maybe it was the bars!
            "Are you okay otherwise, though? The village is literally a padding up, and all your stuff is right here, right?"
            Bergi knelt down to retrieve the strange man's pack, eyes flickering over leaflets momentarily as she tried to find food and water to hand over while Quickfoot worked on the lock, forgetting the stereotype of the halfling filcher entirely as she did so.
            Amismara did her best to stay out of Quickfoot's way as she examined Sheorin's wounds more closely. Healing him as much as she could, she took his hands in hers and gave him a friendly smile. "We'll figure out what's blocking your ki soon enough. But let's get you out of there first."
            Sheorin shrugged. "I'm fine, really. It's just a bump on the head. But I'll feel even better when I get outta this cage." He gave the bars a vehement shake.
            The elf shook his head with barely contained mirth. "Never get behind a lock you can't get in front of my friend. The name's Llanothen, by the way, though everyone calls me Quickfoot. I'll have you out of there in two beats of a sprite's wings, just don't rattle the bars too much." He took out the fine tools so recently relieved from Tsuto's possession and set to work on the lock, taking his time and working carefully until he could hear the satisfying click of the lock.
            "Oh, and my name is Bergi." the bard added. "-and I think that just leaves Hrolfr for introductions."
            Hrolfr, who has been quietly observing the room, turns back to the group. "Hrolfr, called the Rover by some. We need to keep moving....are there any more prisoners here that you know of?"
            Sheorin shook his head. "I've only ever seen those weird looking things prowling around." He use his hands to mime fangs on either side of his mouth.

9


            Taking the walkway above the prison was even more hair-raising than climbing the stairs, as the walkway swayed and shook with each step. Moving carefully, they used it to enter a hallway at the end of the prison, a hallway that led to a horrifying discovery.
            The room contained several torture implements, though their style seemed strange and archaic. In one corner sat a spherical cage with spikes protruding inward from its iron bars; in another stood a star-shaped wooden frame, its surface studded with hooks. The center of the room was dominated by a long table covered with leather straps and a number of cranks that seemed designed to rotate and swivel.
            Dust covered everything, the metal rusted and the wood dry as a bone. Two doors led from the room, one ahead of them, another to their right.
            I'Daiin silently inspected the torture devices, wrinkling his nose and scowling in distaste. Hands on his sword, he made sure not to touch anything as he looked for anything that had been moved or used recently. It was hard to say if such had happened recently, for the dust was scuffed here and there, but nothing seemed obviously out of place.
            The bard, for her part, didn't feel very inclined to look at the various torture devices due to the rather uncomfortable burning sensation they instilled in the back of her throat, but instead approached the door ahead, looking to Quickfoot quickly to see if he'd noticed anything wrong with it.
            Sword in his right hand, torch in his left, Hrolf motioned at the door directly in front of him. "Someone open this door, I'll stand ready over here".
            Bergi opened the creaky door, revealing a long flight of stairs descending into darkness. Faint moaning could be heard from below, bringing to mind injured people after some battle.
            The bard once again drew her weapon, recasting her spell of light before looking back to everyone else. Her fingers drummed on the awkwardly-thick pommel as she maintained a familiar twitch. Bergi would give her larger friends a little while to react, but if there was someone hurt down here, like I'Daiin, but worse, leaving them to rot wasn't an option.
            Amismara noted Bergi's discomfort, and she, too acted quickly. She reset the light on her glaive and whispered to the others "I'll guard this landing if you all want to scout down a bit." She nodded toward the door in the south wall to show she had it covered.
            Quickfoot checked the stairs for traps and hazards before waving the hardier members of the group forward. He gripped his bow with a nervous smile and whispered "Let me check if it's clear." He checked each step as quietly as possible before clearing the way.
            Hrolfr, sword held at the ready, torch carried high overhead, followed cautiously in Quickfoot's footsteps. I'Daiin bowed to the halfling and stepped ahead to follow Quickfoot.
            No traps sprang shut on Quickfoot as he ghosted down the stairs, stepping into a large room that only his sharp elven eyes could make out the end of beyond the dim light of the torch Hrolfr held. The ceiling arched twenty feet high, and the floor was strewn with wood - not ramshackle furniture or rubbish, but planks nailed together and lying flat on the floor. The moans Bergi had responded to seemed to be coming from beneath them.
            His breath clouded the strangely cold air as something charged him from his right.
            Sheorin's cracks his knuckles as he peers down the stairs, waiting for word from his new companions. "Everything alright down there?" he hollers. "Did you find anyone else?"
            "Quickfoot!" Hrolfr's realization of his comrade's ambush coincided with the creature's charge. Although the poisonous fury from the hellspawn they had slain earlier no longer coursed through his veins, the Northern battle-lust was still there. He ran towards the opening (and the monster that had pushed Quickfoot left of the door), setting he shoulder to forcibly knock the monster as far into the room as he could.
            Hrolfr shoved the thing back, and they all got their first good look at it. At first the monster appeared to be a goblin, though bigger by far than any goblin they had ever seen before. However, it wielded weapons in _three_ twisted arms, and its intent was clearly not friendly.
            "Not someone so much as someTHING!" Bergi called up, as she, too, streaked down the stairs.
            Bergi attempted to dance past the strange goblin-thing and away in order to let I'Daiin in, but three arms were harder to take account of than two, and its longsword scored a bloody gash in the halfling's flesh as she moved aside. A hand axe and a dagger were still clutched in its other hands; it definitely looked like a good candidate for a greasing.
            Grimacing from the unanticipated slash, the bard sized up the foe and noticed the sheer amount of weapons in its possession. Just getting rid of one of them didn't seem as viable an option as trying to trip the creature altogether.
            "Come on, then," she muttered, pulling a hunk of butter out of her spell component pouch. "Fall over."
            Again, she went through with singing a high note and blasting the butter into oblivion, hoping the creature would find footing hard to come by.
            The butter scattered over the floor, resulting in the goblin-thing looking considerably less threatening as it did a rapid-fire dance to stay upright on the greasy stone. It was a futile effort, and the monster crashed to the floor.
            It struggled to right itself, suffering a slash from Hrolfr's sword for its inattention, and managed to scramble between Bergi and the Ulfen ranger. Why it had chosen so dangerous a position became clear a moment later when it made a horrible, phlegmy gargling noise, and vomited a steam of blood over Hrolfr and Quickfoot. Hrolfr got the worst of it, while Quickfoot was able to duck behind him, shielded by the large man. The blood burned Hrolfr's exposed skin horribly and ate right through the cloth of his clothing. And the smell - it was so revolting that it was all they could do to keep their gorge down.
            With a cry, the Shoanti lunged down the remaining steps to bring his greatsword against whatever threatened Quickfoot.
            The elf quickly backed away from whatever horrible monstrosity the depths had vomited up at him this time and sent an arrow at it for good measure before dropping his bow and drawing his rapier. "Whatever it is, it's cold!" he cried as his teeth chattered in the frosty air. The arrow clattered against the far wall as the goblin-thing ducked.
            I'Daiin stabbed at the monster from his less than ideal vantage point at the bottom of the stairs and around the corner. "Get away from Bergi, you fiend!" he snarled. The monster tried to duck back behind the cover of the stone, but it was too slow - I'Daiin carved a great gash in its hide, and it made a gargling, groaning roar of pain that misted in the cold air.
            "Hey, I could be wrong," Sheorin said to Amismara. "But I think I heard somebody shouting down there. I'll go take a look."
            Sheorin trotted down the stairs to join the others in the new chamber. "Everything alright?" He asked as he approached. "It sounded like- Whoah! What the heck is that?"
            Any answer was delayed as Sheorin stepped squarely into Bergi's butter. He did a passable impression of the goblin-thing's dance before his feet slid out from under him.
            The cleric's teeth clenched as she heard combat erupt below. She paused for a moment, unsure if she should clog the narrow stairs. But the strange retching sound and Quickfoot's exclamation made her move. She scurried down the stairs as fast as she could.
            Taking advantage of I'Daiin's sudden attack, Hrolfr raises his arm do deliver a powerful downward strike, striking at the creature's neck. Hrolfr's slash gashed the goblin-thing in the meaty part of its shoulder, narrowly missing its neck. It gargled phlegm again, its dark red blood spraying the cold stone of the wall.
            Cornered, and partly by her own doing, Bergi held the lit shortsword out and tried to at least provide Hrolfr some assistance by whacking at the creature with minimal coordination. Briefly, she wondered if her greasing had been more a liability than a help. They certainly didn't help with the disgusting memory of watching the creature vomit, all those slippery sounds...
            "Why bother with all those arms if you're just going to split a phram all over 'em, you gastricly challenged spitlouse?!"
            As if it only now realized that it was flanked, it flailed its arms dangerously at Hrolfr and Bergi as it tried to slip away. Hrolfr and I'Daiin (and the prone Sheorin) were held at bay by the thing's forest of weapons, but it didn't pay sufficient attention to Bergi, and she stabbed it as it passed her by. It howled in outrage, but limped around the greasy patch of floor to confront the party from the center of the room. <"Kroovs!"> it managed to snarl, drooling a bit and beating its chest with the dagger in its tiny third hand.
            "Abomination, this is the end!" I'Daiin skirted the patch of grease and the monk therein, passing by Hrolfr and Quickfoot in turn to lance at the monster again.
            The elf shook his head as he slid forward, carefully skirting the wooden planks on the floor. "If you'd gone the other way around, we could have flanked him," he quipped to I'Daiin before he poked at the gobstrosity with his rapier. "Next time, try to think strategically, then I'll stab him in the sweetmeats!"
            "Abomination, this is the end!" I'Daiin skirted the patch of grease and the monk therein, passing by Hrolfr and Quickfoot in turn to lance at the monster again.
            The elf shook his head as he slid forward, carefully skirting the wooden planks on the floor. "If you'd gone the other way around, we could have flanked him," he quipped to I'Daiin before he poked at the gobstrosity with his rapier. "Next time, try to think strategically, then I'll stab him in the sweetmeats!"
            Mortified that his first display of prowess in front of his new friends resulted falling on his arse, Sheorin kip-upped back onto his feet, reached back and launched his right fist at the twisted creature.
            "Keeee-YAH!" he shrieked.
            Sheorin managed to regain his feet, and even move, though slowly and carefully, across the magically slick surface of the floor. Somehow the heavily bleeding monster managed to evade his powerful punch - perhaps it was a slight slip on the grease that did it.
            As the others began to surround the wounded...thing, Amismara quickly scanned her friends for signs of unusual effects from the strange creature. "What is that thing?" she thought with disgust as she advanced with her glaive.
            The monster roared, chunks of thick green phlegm spraying from its mouth as it whirled to try to face both its attackers at once. It sank to its knees with a plaintive, "Kroovs," as Amismara strode forward with her glaive, skirting the greasy spot... and the planks under her feet gave way. She flung herself to the side, but too late, and her glowing glaive fell far below her with a clatter as she clung to the side of the cold pit with her fingertips, slowly slipping...
            In the depths of the pit, twenty feet below Amismara, an emaciated man slowly raised his head to look at her. He reached for her with bony fingers, his eyes dead in the eerie bluish light. A drawn-out moan drifted up to her, but the man didn't speak.
            "For what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry about the grease. It was supposed to stop this mutant goblin more than anyone here!" Bergi cried.
            "You did good." Hrolfr said, meeting Bergi mid-way on his way towards the south wall. Seeing his friends predicament, Hrolfr quickly gets on his knees by the pit and drops his sword on the ground, grabbing Amismara's hand before she falls any further. His grip saved Amismara from a nasty fall, and he slowly began to pull her from the pit.
            "Amismara!" Bergi dispelled the greasy slick on the ground, face burning with shame for the destruction left in its wake. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry!"
            Her voice rose in a clear, sweet song that echoed in the large, cold chamber, and her touch invigorated the Ulfen ranger, washing away the pain of his wounds and mending his flesh.
            As she peered over the edge at the man groaning below, she realized it wasn't truly a man, or at least, not anymore. The lifeless eyes that met hers belonged to nothing living.
            Across the room, the goblin-thing refused to die, opening its mouth and making those disgusting horking sounds again. A moment later, another gush of bloody, slimy vomit spewed at I'Daiin, and though he twisted away from the worst of it, the foul mess still spattered him, burning his skin and reeking so badly that he promptly emptied his stomach.
            "How many prisoners are down here? You, beast. Do you speak Taldan? Speak to us and we will spare you." I'Daiin leveled his sword menacingly, ready to strike if the creature tried to make a move.
            In answer the thing lifted its sword laboriously - but between I'Daiin, Sheorin and Quickfoot, the monster was quickly put down. Its blood steamed in the chill air.
            He spared a split second look towards Hrolfr. "Is she safe, Rover? We should uncover all of these pits; they may hold more surprises."
            "Aye, she is" Hrolfr said as he hauled Amismara up for the last few feet of the pit.
            The cleric clung to Hrolfr tightly and did her best to get out of the pit. "Don't apologize because I can't walk on rotted wood, Bergi", she said, some of the panic ebbing away.
            Grunting with the effort to climb, she flicked her eyes towards the downed creature. "What does 'Kroovs'" mean?"
            With Amismara safe, the party was free to uncover the rest of the pits, as I'Daiin had suggested. Shining their torch down into them revealed that each held a groaning dead man or woman, who reached towards them as though for succor.
            With a grim but sorrowful face, Hrolfr looked down the last of the living dead in the pit. "Svartigaldr!" he muttered under his breath while reaching for his bow. Silently, he handed his torch to Bergi, took the first arrow from his quiver. "Desna, watch over these souls on their journey beyond [thok], keep them safe on their twilight path [thok], and welcome them in the realm beyond [thok]. Desna, watch over,,,,"
            By the time he had shot five of them, he had to admit to himself that it was doing no good. With only nine arrows left (he had missed one shot when the last woman had lurched to the side unexpectedly), he peered down into the shaft with the last dead woman he had shot. She shuffled about, face and arms upraised to the light, seemingly incognizant of the two arrows that pierced her head and body.
            They were in for a shock as the goblin-thing also stirred, a groan coming from it as well.
            "It's still alive?" Quickfoot gasped in horror as he quickly buried his rapier in the three-armed goblin's throat. "I don't like this place. It has the look of something permanent, and old. This has been here for a long time. Who would keep people in these pits like this, even if they are dead people..." The elf kept his blade ready to stab the goblin again if it moved so much as a muscle. "Do the people in those pits look like townsfolk? Does anyone recognize them? Do they have anything valuable on them?"
            "Get some fire on that thing!" Amismara shouted with alarm. "Maybe that will keep it down."
            "I--" the Shoanti began, but could not finish, dropping to his knees and convulsing with dry heaves, his skin still burning from the goblin-thing's bile.
            Amismara stepped over to the collapsed Shoanti and helped as she could. She paid special attention the foul substance on his skin. "Come, let's get you cleaned off."
            The goblin-thing lay still again when Quickfoot was done.
            Just approaching I'Daiin was enough to ascertain that his sickness was to do with the hot, sticky vomit that had spattered him. It reeked so badly, Amismara felt her gorge rise as well. Fortunately, the smell seemed to be dissipating quickly in the cold air.
            Pulling herself back up, Amismara gathered around the group and sung a quiet prayer. Again, the diaphanous, rainbow-hued veils raised around the group.
            Only Bergi's wounds were so greivous that she wasn't healed fully by Amismara's prayer, but even so, the biting depth of them was knit. Looking down into the closest of the two pits, bits of flesh had sloughed from the bare bones of the dead, removing what semblance of life they had possessed and making them a mockery of the living.
            The Shoanti rose woozily. "I'd give anything...for some clean ash and a rag..." He took a shuddering breath.
            After examining all the holes with the others, Bergi sheathed the northern shortsword and approached I'Daiin, as well as anyone else covered in the wretched bile of the creature to cast a quick spell through humming and motions, causing the disgusting spew to slough off. Once finished with that, the bard her brows and spoke, looking at the fallen monstrosity.
            "I think... I think this was a goblin, once. I believe Shalelu's note mentioned one with a name similar to 'Kroovs'. Kor-v-s-something."
            Looking sideways, she added,"-none of the unquiet dead are any I recognize, either. Who knows how long they've been down here? However, Amismara, we're going to need to get your glaive."
            The cleric looked sadly down the pit towards her lost weapon. "Yes, I guess so." She sighed and raised a hand. With a quick intake of breath, her fingers jerked slightly and a small arc of electricity leaped down towards the shambling undead.
            Amismara's first try arced off to the side, missing the undead woman. Her second did better; for a moment the woman jerked upright, her hands clenching into fists as she jumped a little. Her listless hair smoked a bit as she resumed her low-moaning reach for freedom.
            Sheorin peered over the edge of the pit containing both a zombie and Amismara's glaive, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was calculating something.
            "I can get your weapon," he said. "I'll use a Most Glorious Falling Star Axe Kick to slay the creature, er, re-slay the creature, then it's just a matter of jumping back out of the hole with glaive in hand. Nothin' to it."
            He grinned broadly.
            Seeing everyone else occupied with retrieving Amismara's glaive, Quickfoot thought it would be an excellent time to search the corpse of the fallen goblin-thing.
            The goblin-thing carried nothing of value other than the weapons it bore. Those, however, were of surprising quality to be in the hands of what, if Bergi's surmise was true, had once been a goblin. No junkyard scraps were these; the handaxe and the longsword were clearly the work of a master of their craft, and even the dagger he pried from the small third hand of the creature was, at the very least, plated in silver.
            Quickfoot jumped up to shoot at the shambling man, but like Amismara, he missed his first shot.
            After trying his bow, the rogue tucked the silver dagger into his belt and brought the other weapons to the members of the group. "Fine work on this sword and axe," he commented. "Might be good to use."
            Sheorin pressed one fist into the open palm of his other hand and made an odd, keening sound.
            "wuuuuuaaAAAH"
            Then, he leapt up and into the pit, attempting to smash the zombie's skull in with the heel of his foot.
            "Kamen-a-yay-HAH!"
            Seeing Sheorin's lightning attach, Hrolfr's incredulous look replaced by one of surprise and panic. Silently grabbing the proffered sword from Quickfoot, he moves quickly towards the edge of the pit, fearing the worst.
            Sheorin smashed into the living dead man, bowling them both over but fortunately avoiding Amismara's glaive. He could feel the impact of the dead man's skull all the way up his leg. He made it back to his feet marginally faster than the zombie, his ankle throbbing, only to find that while he appeared to have staved the top of the man's skull in, the man himself wasn't letting that bother him. With eyes bugging out from the suddenly increased pressure behind them, he reached for Sheorin...
            Sheorin shook his head vigorously to clear it after his plummeting attack. Seeing the corpse shambling towards him, he squared his shoulders and raised his, the fingers curled into claws.
            "Talons of the Tiger Hawk!" he shouted. "Yah KAI-EEE!"
            The cleric of Shelyn stared open-mouthed down at Sheorin and the zombie. "Uh...", she said, blinking. "Well, I suppose that's a plan." She again raised her hand and shot an arc of electricity at the creature, trying to miss the monk.
            "Foolhardy---!" I'Daiin bit back a curse. "Who has rope? I can pull Sheorin out, and the glaive, but a rope makes it that much easier. And then we drop fire on these creatures!" He turned to Amismara. "What is the lightning magicks that you throw? How many of them do you have?" He drew a flask of oil to complete his question.
            "More like exciting, I'd say!" Quickfoot casually tucked one of his old daggers into Hrolfr's pack.He looked quizzically at the flask in I'Daiin's hand. "Wouldn't that burn uh, what was his name again? Shorin? Sheron? Sheorin? Yes, Sheorin!" he finished, looking particularly pleased with himself. "Anyway, scoot over, would you? I'd like to get a look at this fight."
            Bergi bit the inside of her cheeks at the mention of the plan to burn the creatures down below, and appeared frustrated when rope appeared to be an integral part of fixing a situation. However, feeling there wasn't much she could do, she simply raised her voice again to inspire feats of courage.
            "First burn the thing, then retrieve the glaive," growled the barbarian. "Alternately--first retrieve our unarmed fighter and the glaive, then burn the thing. The Dark Unliving will never know the fire of life; best to send the shell of what's left to burning."
            That being said, the Shoanti grunted and moved up to the lip of the pit to watch the melee, squinting slightly. "Five coppers that he will need our aid, Quickfoot."
            The elf pondered the offer for a moment. "Best? Well, yes, when they're caught in pits, it's probably best, or at least easiest to burn them. But, unfortunately, this particular pit has a screaming hand fighter in it. Personally, I'd rather he didn't use those hands on us, so maybe hold off on burning him? Or not, as you like it. I bet you could burn one of the other walking corpses though. There are plenty of them around... Oh, and a silver says he doesn't need our help to kill the undead, but he does need it to get out of the pit."
            Amismara's lightning zipped past Sheorin's head, making his hair stand up. The dead man's hair also stood briefly as the electricity crackled around him. Then he closed on Sheorin, trying to grab him in the close pit. Sheorin responded with a series of punches that would have laid a normal man low. The dead man ignored the beating, reaching out to embrace Sheorin. Thus, Sheorin was left supporting the sagging body when the life finally escaped it. At least there was no smell of rot; the body was surprisingly well-preserved and lifelike.
            Then the light from Amismara's glaive went out.
            Quickfoot looked over at I'Daiin and grinned. "Pay up. Maybe if he raised up Amismara's glaive, we could pull him out by it." He then looked over the pit and called down to Sheorin, "Sorry! I think we're fresh out of rope!"
            I'Daiin snorted. "Do you find me blind, deaf and unaware of magicking, elf? Bergi was chanting something, and Amismara shot lightning at the unlife. That counts as assistance. Five coppers, thief! ...does no one carry rope?"
            "Thief? I've never stolen a thing in my life! Just a bit of borrowing, here and there. As for Bergi and Amismara, the chanting and lightning bits happened before Sheorin jumped in, therefore, they are not assistance! As for the rope, I think we left it in the cell when we came down and rescued you." Quickfoot handed over the five copper and shrugged. "Easy come, easy go. So, how are we going to get this weaponless warrior out of that pit?"
            "Are you not able to retrieve the rope, Quickfoot? We can go back there and get it. It would be a shame to leave such a useful item in this place. Alternately, I can climb down there and give him and the glaive a boost up the wall," said I'Daiin, stowing his coppers away.
            "Well," the elf demurred, drawing out the word to an almost intolerable degree, "it's not actually my rope. I'll go get it though, if someone will give me some light." He turned and looked at Bergi expectantly.
            "Of course," Bergi obliged, lighting a ribbon with her free hand, which found its way to Quickfoot. Following this, she handed Hrolfr back his torch.
            Amismara sighed. "I'll go get the rope. This is my fault anyway." She pulled her dagger and imbued it with a soft, rainbow-tinged glow. "I'll be right back."
            Had Amismara not gone off like a shot, Bergi would have followed. Her brows furrowed in concern. "I have a message spell for this sort of thing, I..., oh, potscum." The halfling peered down the pit and waved at Sheorin briefly before moving to the stairway's edge.
            "Come on, Amismara, don't take too long," she whispered in the general direction of the cleric, listening intently for the sounds of combat and slavering jaws above.

10


            Holding the blade in front of her, Amismara moved quickly up the stairs, back the way they'd come. She shivered as she passed back through the torture chamber, and didn't feel much better as she reached the raised, wooden walkway. But she kept moving, as steadily as she could. Reaching the main platform, she went through the southern door, peering carefully around.
            Her eyes landed again on the statue of the angry woman with her impressive ranseur. "I suppose I could take that instead", she thought for a moment, but another look at the statue made her give up that idea. "I wonder if that's what I look like when I'm angry", came an thought, unbidden.
            Shaking it away, she crept around the corner to where Bergi had tied off the rope above the hole. She placed her dagger in her teeth and gathered up the rope as quickly as she could, starting to feel the length of time she'd been away from her friends.
            With the rope bundled under one arm, she pulled the dagger from between her teeth and used its light to retrace her steps.
            Passing the statue for the third time proved to be a test of will. "Stop looking at me, you bitch!" she thought so hard it almost came out in words. Fear was starting to take hold and that was making her angry.
            She began running on the wooden boards, cursing the noise but unwilling to slow down. It was a relief to reach the torture chamber, and she let out a long-held breath as the stairway came into view, letting herself savor the irony for just a moment.
            She slowed somewhat as she descended the stairs, but she very much wanted to feel the presence of others around her once more.
            There was something nerve-wracking about this place - not just being alone with the threat of somethings out to get her somewhere in the dark, but something about the place itself. It felt like being watched by unfriendly eyes. Once, Amismara thought she heard some quiet scuff from behind her, but when she whirled to look, there was nothing there. It was a relief when Amismara saw the torchlight of her friends once more, even if it was accompanied by the low moans of the dead in that chill, echoing chamber.

11


            Before long, they had tied Amismara's glaive to the rope and hauled it up to her, none the worse for wear. Then the rope was lowered again for Sheorin, whose ankle hurt a bit but who was otherwise similarly unscathed.
            The barbarian nodded and squinted with approval at Amismara's bravery, and shook his head with a smile at Sheorin. "Onward," he said simply.
            "I don't like leaving so much unexplored behind us," the elf replied with a sour look. "I say we go back, and make sure there are no more of those grabby-mouths waiting to sneak up on us from behind."
            The cleric's shoulders slumped a bit at the thought of going all the way back to the statue. But Quickfoot was basically right. "How about we go back up to the torture room and then take the southern door. That might connect to to the hallway with the statue. That way we can retrace and explore..." "And get out of here sooner", she added under her breath.
            "Sounds good to me!" Bergi chimed in, either oblivious to or attempting to chase off Amismara's discomfort with forced enthusiasm. Not having lost anyone in the past 16 hours did wonders for one's morale, regardless, though the shadow of the previous day's tragedy likely still nipped at the heels of those who witnessed it.
            "Quickfoot, are you leading again?" the bard asked, stretching and doing her best to ignore the perpetual moaning of the undead.
            "So," Sheorin said in a not-quite-a-whisper as he hopped on one foot while he shook the kink out the other ankle, "In all the hustle and bustle, I never asked- what're you all doing down here?"
            "Goblins have been menacing the town, and we're trying to figure out why. We've learned of a larger conspiracy involving some humans, and while chasing one we found these tunnels. We want to make sure these tunnels don't represent a threat to the town and to see if they hold more clues about the goblin threat."
            "Well, it's going to hold a threat for our lovely Sandpoint no matter what if we don't clear the place out due to sheer panic and vigilante action. Somehow, the townsfolk seem to be under the impression that there's an army of demons down here. Or clockworks. Or clockwork demons." The bard didn't give any hints as to whom excited the rumor mill, but laughed quietly. "Mostly, though, we've just been fighting the drooling mouthy things. I want to call them Mr. Bities... Wait, do you think those are the 'freaks' Tsuto mentioned?"
            "I hope so...I don't want to think that there is anything even-more-freakish down here." Amismara regretted saying this as soon as the words had passed her lips. She made a slight, conciliatory gesture of luck to the colorful religious decorations on her glaive's wooden shaft.
            "He mentioned a 'quasit' as well, whatever that is, so we should keep an eye out." With that Amismara formed up and got ready to head back up the stairs.
            The Shoanti shrugged his massive shoulders at Sheorin. "I heard tales of monsters, a devil even, and came to town...or rather, swam across the harbor and went for a moonlight stroll upon the beach. I found a hole, met the Bities..." He gave a half scowl, half smirk at Bergi, "...and wound up in a cell. In any case," he said to the group, "it matters little the order in which we find and slay these things. They stink of unnatural magicks."
            I'Daiin fell behind Quickfoot, sword held in usual readiness.
            While it still held the coolness of underground places, the air seemed warm compared to the icebox of the pit room. Opening the creaky door they had originally passed on their way through the torture room, they found a total mess. The crumbling remnants of several chairs, scraps of parchment and a long table cluttered the floor of the room. In the far wall there were three stone doors, each bearing a strange symbol that resembled a seven-pointed star.
            Before leaving the zombie pits, Quickfoot passed the handaxe over to I'Daiin. "Hold this, will you, it'll fetch a pretty penny for us." Once relieved of his burden, he examined the new chamber. "Three doors?" The elf hissed under his breath, "I wonder which I should pick..." As quietly as possible, he padded forward to check each door, and listen as best he could. He stayed wary for traps, and tried to determine which, if any, of the doors were locked.
            There was nothing to be heard from behind the doors. Carefully trying their handles, he found they were all locked. Nothing horrible happened to him to punish his temerity for trying the doors.
            "That Kroov-thing was pretty freakish," Sheorin said as he cocked a thumb back over his shoulder, in the direction of the chamber they just left. "I wonder if the goblins who jumped me have anything to do with what's going around here. I think some of them were carrying a big bundle... maybe?" He rubbed the back of his head. "I dunno, things before I woke up in the cell are still a little hazy."
            "Oh, I am filled to the ears with those gobbies up and taking the heart and soul of Sandpoint...! If they kidnapped someone else, I swear...! It's bad enough that they stole Father Tobyn's remains, but they also tried to take my best friend not but yesterday..." The halfling bit her lower lip, stopping herself from mentioning all of the murder.
            "It would seem that the truly freakish thing is that these monsters grow more monstrous--extra limbs, extra size--when exposed to something. A liquid, perhaps other forms of delivery as well. Perhaps Kroov, if that was its name, was a goblin once. What the plan behind these transformations is, though, is yet obscured to us. Sheorin, was this bundle moving as if alive? And I've seen that seven pointed star down here before. Bah!" The Shoanti finished his low-voiced musings and glanced at the elven rogue. "Ho, Quickfoot! Will you unlock a door for us, or shall I break it open? All this darkness and unnatural mystery makes my sword restless for blood." I'Daiin took a moment to peer at the mess and the star, searching for clues, though he knew naught of what he would be seeking.
            "Quickfoot, unlock the door, Quickfoot, climb down the dark hole, everything is a rush around here!" The elf winked at I'Daiin before putting the masterwork handaxe into his hand. "Carry that for me, will you? It's slowing me down." Without another word, he carefully checked the door to his right for traps, then went to work on the lock with his fine, new picks.
            When Quickfoot got the door open, what waited was a grisly sight: a skeleton slumped out onto the floor, as though its owner had died still leaving the scratches there were on the inside of the door. It could have been a man or woman, but for the third arm that sprouted awkwardly from one side of it. Its hollow eye sockets stared reproachfully at Quickfoot, as though blaming him for its fate.
            From behind Quickfoot, Amismara could only see a bit of the skeleton, but it made her gasp nonetheless. She moved to peer over the elf's shoulder, seeing if she could judge the skeleton's race or age.
            "The skeleton's been dead for some time. That means that whatever is causing these deformations has been around for a long while as well. It's not something new."
            I'Daiin had no sooner stowed the axe, grinning or growling at Quickfoot, when he found himself grabbing at his greatclub instead. "The best way to investigate skeletons is if they are in pieces," he said, "Bonestorms." His final word was delivered with some finality.
            "Does.. does the word 'bonestorm' mean something that doesn't translate well?" the bard asked, just loudly enough for the barbarian to hear, keeping some distance between herself and the newly-opened chamber after watching reactions.
            Sheorin shrugged. "I dunno," he said to Bergi. "Maybe it's a regional thing?" As he looked at the misshapen skeleton he remarked, "And nobody in town knew anything about this place?"
            "Not as such, no. At least, no one not in league with these tragedies, I think..." Bergi replied.
            The Shoanti kept his club in place above the not-very-threatening pile of bones. "Ah, the Riddle of the Crypts. Why indeed is the land pockmarked with donjons full of monsters who do not emerge to ravage the countryside? My people say it's due to the fact that the Cheliaxians on the surface are worse," he said with a grim chuckle, then frowned. "Darker whispers, spoken in riddles, hint of patient plans underground, and connected tunnels, and of a land beneath. Ah! And speaking of darker things, yes, bonestorms. They are a nasty whirlwind of unlife, consisting of the bones of those who died in unhallowed ground." I'Daiin made an obscure gesture, possibly religious.
            "This is why when a person dies in the Kaltesh-Sklar, we burn them down to ash, grind their bones, and drink a mug of their remains mixed with aurochs blood and milk, before spitting it on the ground. Ha! I jest. That would be disgusting--of course we don't spit it out."
            Unable to come up with a proper comeback (or anything at all, for that matter), the halfling stared at the shoanti whilst trying to hide the wave of nausea that came up with the thought of drinking the remains of a loved one in a disgusting puree.
            While the others pondered over what to do with the skeleton, Quickfoot shrugged and walked into the cell, he poked through the bones, looking for anything of value, or even interest within the cell. Once his search was complete, he moved on to the other two cells, first checking for traps, or noises within, then unlocking the doors and examining the contents.
            I'Daiin carefully but firmly removed the skull of the skeleton from its cervical vertebrae with his club, then assisted Quickfoot in a search of the place.
            Quickfoot and I'Daiin found nothing of interest amid the remains apart from the unusual bones themselves. There weren't even any scraps of cloth to poke through, and the hair and withered flesh on the bones crumbled at a touch.
            Opening the other doors revealed similar results: badly deformed skeletons, one with an enormous and grotesquely misshapen skull, the last with a ribcage that went all the way down to its pelvis - a pelvis with stunted leg bones strewn below its strangely flat girth. There was no smell of rot around any of the remains, but then, there hadn't been around the pit-dwellers, either.
            Maybe it was the accusatory staring eye sockets of the skeletons, but the group felt uneasy, as though they were being watched by some malign intelligence.
            The cleric of Shelyn began to look over her shoulder more often, and generally seemed to be getting jumpier.
            "Let's head back to the statue, and take the hallway east from there. That way we won't be leaving too much behind us. And we'll be closer to the exit."
            She shuffled out of the small, strange room and back through the torture chamber. She made room so they could line up again and continue their exploration.
            They crossed the rickety walkway over the prison one at a time to avoid having the whole thing collapse, as it threatened to do at every step. The heavy sense of foreboding did not lessen as they left the torture chamber behind.

12


            The passage behind the furious red marble statue proved to be a long corridor with stairs leading up to short landings every few feet. It ended in a door.
            The unease building, Bergi began to sing quietly, at ease as long as she continued.
"Where there's a path and a void,
don't cease because you're paranoid,
Golarion will still be here when you step again.
Your feet don't miss a single plot,
Even those you're foiling,
In this place that time forgot,
We must press ahead...,"
            "This is much bigger than we first thought" Hrolfr said with a serious face. "I will go and inform the Sheriff. Be careful". He picks up his bow and sword, and leaves back the way he came.
            "Farewell for now, Hrolfr the Rover. Tell the townsfolk to bring plenty of torches, and their own water," said the Shoanti with a low laugh. He hummed an abbreviated version of Bergi's tune, two octaves lower, and then made an almost civilized gesture to Quickfoot. "If you would honor us with a check of the door, Master Quickfoot."
            Not realizing that this was a permanent errand, Bergi gave a quick wave. "Careful on your way out, Hrolfr!"
            "Thanks, thanks for helping to free me," Sheorin added. "We'll meet again when we get topside."
            The cleric placed a hand on Hrolf's shoulder in a sign of caring friendship. "Keep your eyes open on the way back. And tell Ameiko to have a nice dinner waiting for us!" She gave the Ulfen a quick peck on the cheek for luck, and then turned to provide light to Quickfoot.
            Quickfoot found nothing untoward, and let I'Daiin pass him. I'Daiin passed through the door to find a circular stone pool, lined with skulls, in which clear water rippled. The ripples made the reflected torchlight wiggle along the walls and ceiling, where something large flapped and fluttered in the shadows. It looked like some kind of hairy ball with bat-wings, far too large to be a little Varisian bat.
            Quickfoot checks for traps, but when he sees the bat creature he pulls out his bow and sends an arrow into it without hesitation.
            The thing made a horrible noise when the arrow hit, a hollow, hissing croak that raised the hairs on the back of their necks. Bergi pushed her way into the chamber to get a look at the thing, her mind working furiously.
            Bergi holds out Hrolfr's shortsword as threateningly as possible while trying to figure out what this new foe was, in order to know what else would have to be done.
            Seeing the long tendrils that dangled from the flapping thing let things click into place in her mind. She had heard one tale of such a thing, a horrific tale she had suffered nightmares of after hearing it. In the story, this _vargouille_ was a night visitor from the dark places outside the world as they knew it, a hellish bodiless head doomed to fly in endless rage across the skies - capable of sharing its awful fate with a single kiss.
            "Vargouille! Don't let it kiss you, it'll make you like it!" the bard yelled, pushing further inwards to allow her allies to enter, and hopefully eliminate the wretched creature.
            Sheorin squeezed past Amismara and flung a razor-sharp shuriken at the floating head.
            The thing flapped away from the attack with surprising agility. A better look at it revealed it to be merely a head with wings, as Bergi had remembered, albeit with tentacles in place of most of its hair. Its face was twisted with fury, and it distended its jaw to let out the most blood-chilling scream they had ever heard. So awful was the sound that it froze all the men in place, only Bergi and Amismara retaining the will to move.
            "By the spheres, between you and Mrs. Scarnetti, I don't know whose scream is worse!" the insult seemed to calm the halfling down in the face of peril. Well, that, and it rang with elements of truth. A few days prior, the name would have been Lord Kaijitsu, but now, that was just in poor taste.
            "Keep a count of your digits, guys!" Grimacing at her lack of offensive magic, Bergi reluctantly dropped Hrolfr's sword to pull out her shortbow and place an arrow into place.
            The vargouille was watching her now, its mouth opening and closing as though to work the kinks out from having distended it so far. When she shot at it, it simply tucked in its wings and dropped a few feet, avoiding the arrow, before resuming its fluttering path around the ceiling.
            Cringing at the awful scream, Amismara watched with horror as her compatriots froze. She pushed up the stairs, past Quickfoot and I'dain and into the room. While holding her glaive as best she could in the tiny space, she barked a short command. An arc of electricity crackled towards the flapping head.
            The lightning that sprang from her hand crackled against the stone inches from the head, which turned its hateful eyes on her for a moment before dropping down onto Sheorin, neatly avoiding Amismara's glaive. Its tentacles slid around his face and neck as it pressed its withered lips to his. That horror proved too much, and Sheorin was able to break free of his paralysis to shake the foul thing off. It flapped above his head, hissing.
            Unable to see what exactly had just occurred behind Amismara, Bergi made a sharp inhalation and loaded her bow again, though she waited to line up a decent shot on the horrible vargouille.
            Her arrow flew true, sticking out of the thing's head like a pin in a cushion. It growled something in a language that sent chills up her spine, baring pointed teeth at her.
            Fueled by revulsion, Sheorin flexed his legs, then exploded upward, extending a fist at the creature above him with a wordless cry of fury.
            The vargouille flapped frantically to avoid Sheorin's powerful strike and Amismara's glaive. Suddenly it flew at Bergi, its jaws distended again in a terrible gape. She was able to deflect it by swinging her bow at it, and it flitted around her like an insane bat, hissing spine-crawling words she couldn't understand.
            Bergi bared her teeth at the creature like some sort of crazed pup, hissing. However, she knew better than to try to hit it with the bow _now_. She took a small step away from it, granting her allies the chance to engage while she started to sing.
            Quickfoot silently cheered on his teammates while the horrific scream echoed in his ears. "Oh gods" he thought, "get me out of this one, please!" Bergi's clear voice lifted their spirits and gave them courage in the face of the flying horror.
            Sheorin advanced on the flying menace and lashed out with a roundhouse kick, hoping to knock it out of the air.
            He connected so hard that he bounced the head off the stone wall, and it fluttered desperately to stay airborne, seeming momentarily disoriented as it spat out a number of teeth.
            "Ha!", Amismara barked in happy appreciation at Sheorin's blow. She shuffled her feet slightly to leverage another swing of her glaive against the flapping menace.
            With careful timing, her glaive caught one of the vargouille's wings, and it fell to the floor, twitching feebly.
            It still took a minute for Quickfoot and I'Daiin to recover from that awful shriek, but eventually they found themselves able to move once more.
            The Shoanti brought an open hand to his chest and extended it outwards in solemn thanks to Amismara, Bergi and Sheorin. After a moment, he laughed. "At this rate, I'll have to become a tailor. I'll try not to be useless in the next fight." He looked at the fallen creature. "What was that abomination? Is it unlife?"
            "I sure hope it's un-alive," Sheorin said as he nudged the creature with his foot.
            The cleric accepted I'Daiin's thanks with a friendly smile. "I'm sure your turn to shine will come. Mine was a lucky strike, to be sure."
            She prodded the lifeless head/bat with her toe. "I'm not sure what it is. But I am happy it's dead."
            The bard hadn't quite gotten into the festive after the creature was felled. Granted, she had let a few claps fly in applause for her more combat-oriented companions, but now she kept looking from the vargouille to Sheorin, eyebrows creased in concern.
            "It's... well, it's not from this world. More akin to a demon, I think, than a zombie, but.. all the same... Sheorin... did it contact you with its lips? Did it kiss you?"
            "If it is un-alive, let's hope it stays that way!" the elf added with a cautious chuckle. Quickfoot then checked the door in the circular room for traps and locks. When he was satisfied that it was safe to proceed, he fitted a new arrow to his bow and waved Sheorin and I'Daiin forward. "By all means, be useful," he prompted with a grin.
            The barbarian stalked into the room, scanning the floor, walls, and darkness above. Torchlight glinted on his sword and thews.
            He was quickly forced to give way to Quickfoot again, as the door opened on another flight of stairs leading up to yet another door. Quickfoot found no traps guarding it, and so the party opened it to find a circular stair heading upwards into darkness.
            "Wow," Sheorin said as he peeked out, and up, from the door. "This place just keeps going and going."
            "I am inclined, no pun intended, to continue to explore this level," said I'Daiin. "What say you?" And if we seek secrets, he thought, they are usually buried deep below, not above.
            "I agree," the elf whispered. "No sense leaving something unexplored behind us. "I prefer to do the sneaking, and not be snuck up upon."
            Quickfoot lead the group back towards the hateful statue, and hissed a warning before they draw too near. "I wouldn't touch it. Looks dangerous." However, never one to take his own advice, the young rogue spent quite a bit of time examining the statue, the polearm it gripped, and the surrounding room. Not until he was satisfied that it held no secrets did he lead the others to the unexplored passageway. Arrow nocked, and bow at the ready.
            Quickfoot's examinations revealed nothing new about the statue; it stood in exquisitely carved red marble, the metal-and-ivory ranseur gripped in one hand a work of art in itself. Touching the polearm made it give just a little, the statue's hand not quite gripping it so hard that it was impossible to move. The statue's furious eyes seemed to follow them as they moved about the room, but surely that was a trick of the light.
            The others waited patiently, though Bergi's stomach growled, Sheorin's hair itched abominably and Amismara was forced to keep re-iterating her prayer for light periodically. Despite all this, at least nothing crawled out of the shadows to vex them.
            Bergi had been relatively quiet since the end of the last fight, eyes flitting to Sheorin in concern approximately every fifteen seconds. Initially, she thought she was overreacting; the idea that something kissing you could doom you to fly around as a freakish carnivore seemed impossible, but.. had it even kissed him in that time she could one inform someone else that they faced a horrible, transformative death?
            Her musings were punctuated by the growling of her greedy stomach. "Oh, come now..." she whispered, glaring at her gut before reestablishing her customary glance at Sheorin. Steeling herself, she tugged at his trousers and just asked the nagging question at the back of her mind.
            "Master Sheorin, did that thing... Well, did it... kiss you?"
            Sheorin was more taken aback by Bergi addressing him as "master" than by the substance of her question.
            "Well, it did get its mouth on me, but then I could move again and tear it off." He shrugged. "I've never been kissed before, by anyone, so I don't know if that counts or not."
            The barbarian's face split in a feral grin. "Sheorin, 'tis better to kiss the lips of the living."
            "Indeed... If you feel wrong, Sheorin," the bard said quietly, not using the honorific a second time. "-that would be because it touched you with its lips. Though, I'll admit to not being the authority on kisses, either. Maybe it didn't take. That would be the best case scenario."

13


            There was no sound at the first opening Quickfoot listened at, and he ceded his position to allow I'Daiin to lead them onward.
            They made their way down a long passage, the dressed stone echoing at every footfall and their shadows dancing crazily in Amismara's bluish light. There was a bend at the end of the passage, and here it widened into what appeared to have once been a small shrine, for to their left steps led up to a platform of gray stone, atop which stood an altar, little more than a jagged block of black marble with a shallow concavity on top of it. The basin it formed was filled with filthy water.
            Beyond this discovery, double-doors stood closed, their ornate handles looking disapprovingly upon the intruders.
            The bard narrowed her eyes at the ruined shrine, trying to see if she could see to whom it had been dedicated.
            A horrible feeling sucked at the bottom of her stomach. The rough block of black marble, the filthy water atop it... she had heard whispers of such a thing before, in a story of twisted terror overheard from the acolytes at the old temple, back before it had burned to the ground. The Mother of Monsters, they had named the goddess of such an altar.
            Lamashtu.
            The feeling of being watched was nearly unbearable, knowing that.
            Amismara, too, looked at the shrine, a sense of fear and revulsion rising in her. Turning to the others she whispered, "Whatever you do, don't touch that water on the altar! I shudder to think of how it has been tainted."
            The barbarian barked a short laugh. "You don't have to tell me twice, priestess. That's that slop they tried to feed me; it appears to be a recipe for growing unwanted limbs. Or wanted, by these freaks, perhaps. How was it tainted? Clearly some demon uses this place as a privy." He grinned at his crude joke, then caught a glimpse of Bergi's shocked expression and grew serious. "Bergi. You know something."
            The bard nodded slowly, taking a subconscious step away from the altar. "Lamashtu. This shrine is to Lamashtu... By Desna, I doubt it's simply demon droppings in there..." She glances meaningfully to Amismara. "The journal should have warned us, but to see this, here... Who in their right mind worships the Mother of Monsters, anyway?! Don't mention the bities, they don't count." She whispered harshly. "We've got the eyes of the fiend for us. I would pad on."
            "I know next to nothing of this Lamashtu, but consider this a bargain struck: she creates the monsters, and we slay them. I find it a fair deal." He nodded at Quickfoot. "If you would be so kind as to check the door."
            Quickfoot examined the door for a moment then shrugged. "I don't see anything. Still, better safe then sorry."
            After a long and thorough search, Quickfoot stood aside. "If there is a trap here, I cannot find it. After you, I'Daiin." He fit arrow to bowstring once again, and stepped back to allow for a clear shot once the door was opened.
            Amismara took a quick look over her shoulder back the way they came before she, too, made ready for the door to open.
            The doors creaked open quite easily, allowing the bluish wash of light from Amismara's glaive to dimly light a cavernous, vaulted room. Stone doors stood to either side of the main entrance, but beyond that, the walls were carved with strange, spiky runes. The light reflected faintly off a large pool in the center of the huge hall; a ring of polished human skulls balanced on stone spikes were arranged in a circle around the center of it. Like the icy room that held the pits of living dead, the hall was deathly cold.
            The sound of wings flapping in the darkness set them on alert even before a thin, angry voice echoed in the huge room. None of them could understand the words it spoke, but the rage in its tone came through clearly enough.
            The humanoid skulls elicited a sharp gasp from Bergi, and the angry shrieking had her searching for the source, likely to no avail. "Quasit, I assume?!" she called out. "It might be invisible... I don't suppose anyone has anything to counteract that?"
            The bard moved into the chilled chamber and adopted a defensive stance. "We won't let you threaten Sandpoint!" she shouted into the darkness.
            Quickfoot's ears twitched and his eyes darted about the room, searching for an enemy to strike. The combination of flapping wings and disembodied voice sent a chill down his spine, and he held his shot, waiting for a clear target.
            The voice ceased its scolding at Bergi's outburst. Squinting through the darkness, Quickfoot's sharp elven eyes quickly grew accustomed to the gloom, revealing two staircases on either side of a raised area. What lay atop it was anyone's guess (though there did seem to be a faint orange glow there), but he caught movement from the corner of his eye - something tiny and winged, flitting about the vaulted ceiling. Then something larger moved, fluttering like a bat from one wall where it had perched. It was small, no larger than the cats behind the Sandpoint Theater, and hard to see in the darkness, practically a shadow itself.
            He took the shot.
            The little creature slipped into a shadow thrown by the arches holding up the ceiling, and Quickfoot's arrow clattered against the wall. A low chant began from the shadowed area the small thing had entered. When it ended, however, nothing appeared to happen.
            The barbarian slid into the room, sword ready, scanning for any signs of movement, and also anything small and plentiful that could be thrown into the air, like dirt or gravel.
            Something may have been moving above in the darkness ahead, but I'Daiin's human eyes could not make it out. When he turned his gaze downwards, he found that, like most of this underground complex, the floor was dusty but free of actual dirt or rubble.
            Frustrated with the lack of light, the halfling enchanted Hrolfr's shortsword with a brief melody and stared at the stairway with disdain. Cautiously, she moved towards the stairwell to the right, just past I'Daiin, to illuminate bits of what was occurring above.
            Her glowing sword revealed a curious creature flapping above them - if her eyes didn't deceive her, it was wearing a fine, if doll-sized, black dress, and a tiny silver tiara. The clothing was in sharp contrast to the exceedingly ugly little creature wearing it, who sported long claws and horns in addition to a scaly-looking hide. The quasit, if that was what it was, had a black disc hanging on its back below its beating wings, and clutched a dagger as small as the quasit was.
            Sheorin followed behind Bergi, holding a shuriken in each hand. As soon as he saw the beast, he flung one of the metal darts with the snap of an arm.
            Cursing as his shot missed, Quickfoot hustled around I'Daiin's left side to the foot of the stairs. He fired again, beseeching Ketephys with a mumbled prayer for accuracy.
            The quasit flapped away from Sheorin's shuriken - and right into the path of Quickfoot's arrow. It squealed as it was struck right through the chest, but a moment later it drew out the arrow, broke it and let the pieces drop. So precise a shot would have been serious for any man struck, but the quasit did not seem terribly inconvenienced.
            Following the curses and shouts, Amismara moved into the room, getting close to the pool. Reaching towards the balcony, she loosed an arc of crackling electricity.
            The lightning went wide as the quasit swooped over the balcony to where the orange glow was coming from. It screeched something in that unfamiliar tongue, brandishing its tiny dagger. Then it slashed its own wrist, letting a gout of black blood fall into whatever was steaming and glowing up there. The glow diminished noticeably, and Sheorin and Amismara saw the quasit's face contort with what looked like worry as it hung in the air, wings churning.
            The barbarian paused to grin at Bergi, then entered his battle trance with a wordless howl and charged the beast, swinging his greatsword to attack it.
            Running up the curving stairs two and three at a time, he found that the balcony held another pool, this one smaller and triangular. What boiled within it, sending steam into the cold air, wasn't water - it looked more like molten metal, but translucent, glowing orange as it bubbled.
            The battle was starting in earnest, now that Amismara and Sheorin had joined the fray. It made sense, therefore, to lift her voice for what she hoped would be the last time of the day.
            Quickfoot licked his lips nervously and thought "I skewered it, and it didn't seem to do a damned thing, but there's no way I could reach it from down here, may as well shoot again."
            He drew fletching back to his ear once more and grimaced before firing again. "Isn't there dome way to drag it down to our level?" he asked the rest of the group in a nervous shout.
            With Bergi's uplifting song in his ears, Quickfoot struck the quasit again, and it scolded him in that strange language as it jerked the new arrow out of its side. Then it simply winked out of sight.
            However, the party had other problems to worry about. Or rather, one problem - one of the freakish monsters that they had encountered before rose from the steaming, roiling orange pool before I'Daiin. It waved a grotesquely long, red tongue at him, as though tasting the air, before it rushed him.
            The Shoanti was hard-put to keep the flailing, snapping hug-faced monster at bay, but somehow he did it, even when its long talons ripped several links of his chain shirt away.
            I'Daiin turned to the newly emerged creature with a baleful grin of glee. "-Moh-!" he shouted in Shoanti, and hacked at it with his greatsword, heedless of the damage to his armor, and completely ignoring the vanished quasit.
            His mighty blow nearly hewed off the creature's arm at the elbow, but it shifted at the last instant and took his greatsword in the side instead. It rattled something in what the group realized was the same language as the quasit, though the words were slurred by its strange mouth.
            The bard kept her performance going, eyes frantically searching for the missing quasit. She readied herself to strike at the creature if it appeared near her, though she doubted it would be so foolish.
            Quickfoot kept his bow in hand, searching vainly for the vanished quasit, until the brutish horror emerged from the pool. "Oh, that's not good," he murmured to himself before he advanced up the stairs, drawing his rapier as he went. He jumped nimbly around the back of the pool to place himself at the creature's back, effectively flanking it with I'Daiin.
            Amismara couldn't share I'Daiin's enthusiasm. Revulsion at the creature quickly turned into a burning anger. How could such a monster exist? "Shelyn, Source of Love and Friendship! Bless these companions in their time of need!" she cried, climbing the stairs, trying to keep her growing rage in check.
            The slobbering monstrosity was unable to get past I'Daiin's furiously whirling blade of defense, but high above, that cracked and creaky voice began to chant...
            I'Daiin paid no heed to hidden chantings, hammering blow after blow at the freakish abomination so fast that it couldn't ward them all off. He shredded its arms and slashed its body and legs to the point where it looked on the verge of bloody collapse. It's tiny jaw-hands grasped at I'Daiin weakly. It staggered back a few paces before a final cut gashed its chest open, and it fell to the floor twitching.
            The Shoanti howled in triumph. "You-die-next," he said through blood-spattered lips to the air above him.
            The halfling continued her song, but she seemed ready for a fireball to come out of nowhere, again bolstering her defenses.
            With the abomination down, Quickfoot focused his ears on the chanting, attempting to locate where it came from. He fired an arrow in what he hoped was the right direction, but it clattered against the wall.
            The cleric wasn't sure if I'Daiin's blows had killed the creature, or merely disabled it. She reached around the Shoanti to hack at the motionless form with her glaive, her face red with anger.
            The railing of the stairs made her task difficult, but she hacked at the corpse until it was a red ruin. Just as she was fairly certain she had done the job, the air darkened and _twisted_ somehow above the body - and suddenly a horror of melted flesh appeared before them. It reached out for both Quickfoot and I'Daiin, a groan of pain and despair emanating from it. They easily avoided its grasp, and it continued to melt before their eyes, ropes of flesh giving way to new flesh and melting back into its body as it tried to strike them. The chanting continued unabated, the hoarse and creaky voice intoning words of magic far overhead somewhere.
            I'Daiin hacked at the new creature's oozing features with sheer delight. "More to kill!" he exclaimed.
            His powerful slashes struck home, but while some bled a blackish-red ichor, others simply melted together again, closing as soon as his greatsword was free of its sagging flesh. The monster moaned, reaching for its tormentor.
            The halfling didn't share I'Daiin's sentiment of glee; she was more concerned with the appearance of this new creature. She sized it up and tried to make more connections with things she had heard. If there was a particular point to hit it or a reason to fear for the vanguard, she wanted to know what it was.
            The elf retrieved his rapier and slid into a flanking position with I'Daiin before slashing at the melted monstrosity. "We've got to get to the Quasit!" he called out to the others. "Does anyone have a waterskin or something similar? Maybe we could splash it and spot the water dripping off of it?"
            Like I'Daiin's experience, the punctures he dealt the creature simply closed again, the flesh splitting and dripping over itself in a disgusting way. It ignored him now, scratching I'Daiin with its thick, yellow nails, but they had no effect on I'Daiin's tough skin.
            The chanting from above rose to a crescendo, and again the air seemed to warp as a creature fell into the world. A stink of brimstone hung in the air as a huge dog darted forward to savage Quickfoot's leg. Its eyes were black pits and its dark fur was smoking as though it had been in a fire. Menace and malice seemed to ooze from its pores. Quickfoot managed to keep his feet, tearing free of the thing's jaws.
            Sharp words sounded from above, and I'Daiin found that he couldn't move, frozen with his greatsword raised.
            The halfling's eyes glinted with recognition of both the new creatures, and there was a tinge of confusion within. _A devil summoned by a demon...?_
            She stopped her performance to bellow advice, hoping that she was making a decent decision. "That's a lemure! It's not going to hurt proper unless you hit it with silver or blessed weaponry! The dog is also from a lower plane! Don't use fire, and Quickfoot, you already seem to be on this, but don't let it trip you, either!"
            She knelt down by the clearer, not-glowing or Mr. Bitey-producing water and used it to fill her skein, grateful that her party depended more on the lightning arcs of Amismara's faith than flingers of flame. She glanced back to Sheorin and cocked her head in the direction of the platform. Yes, it was getting crowded in the area, but there was little to be done down below. Unless, of course, one had a bucket with which to better serve Quickfoot's apt suggestion.
            Another look at the battle above had her nearly drop her waterskein \. I'Daiin was shock still-a development which surely boded poorly.
            Sheorin bit his lip, dismayed by the appearance of all these new monsters. At Bergi's prompting, he dashed across the chamber and up the stairs to face the hound-creature and give Quickfoot some respite.
            The monk's sudden appearance on the stairwell filled Quickfoot with hope. He shifted position, flanking the hell-dog with his ally before striking out with his rapier, hoping to skewer the creature with an opportune strike. "Stay strong!" he called over his shoulder to I'Daain, wondering if the suddenly motionless Shoanti could even hear him.
            The fiendish creature was abominably hard to strike, twisting out of the way of Quickfoot's rapier even with Sheorin menacing it from behind. Meanwhile, Amismara tried to distract the lemure in vain; her strikes simply caused cuts that immediately closed again, while the monster clumsily struck out at I'Daiin. But then its form wavered, as though seen through a summer haze. Abruptly it shrank in on itself and vanished, with only a lingering groan.
            The hellhound found that Quickfoot was equally hard to catch hold of; it snapped at him, darting in to attack, but was foiled by the elf's lightning-quick rapier. In the echoing space above him, the quasit popped into view as it intoned strange words, pointing at Quickfoot, but whatever it was meant to do, Quickfoot felt no different. The little monster's scratchy voice was furious as it flew in circles above him.
            The halfling tried to make her way up the side of the stairwell which contained Amismara and I'Daiin with her now-full waterskein.
            Keeping her eye on the fluttering quasit, Bergi bravely slipped past Amismara, I'Daiin and the Mr.Bitey lying in a pool of dark blood on the balcony, edging around the boiling triangular pool of thick, translucent orange liquid to get as close to her quarry as possible.
            Hoping that Quickfoot's attack distracted the beast, Sheorin launched one of his own. First he aimed a knee at the dog's ribs and followed up with an elbow smashing down on the top of its skull.
            The crunch of dislocating and breaking bones signalled the end for the hell-beast; it dropped like it had been hit by a hammer.
            With the hell beast fallen before Sheorin's thundering fists, Quickfoot rapidly reassessed the situation and moved past the hand fighter to the base of the stairs. He dropped his rapier and readied his bow once more, drawing a bead on the Quasit and waiting for the telltale signs of spellcasting before loosing an arrow at it.
            As Bergi came up from below, Amismara squeezed past I'Daiin onto the balcony proper. She brought her glaive back into position, prepared to both defend her paralyzed Shoanti companion.
            Hissing and jabbering in that strange language, the flying imp winked out of view. The sound of flapping wings echoed through the cathedral-like hall as it flew somewhere. Amismara thought the sound was quite close.
            Everything seemed to happen at once when the quasit dropped out of thin air onto I'Daiin's shoulder and jammed its claws into his throat, digging for an artery with one hand while clutching its dagger with the other. It hissed as it unexpectedly failed to penetrate his tough skin. The hellhound disappeared with a faint pop. Bergi darted forward and doused the quasit and I'Daiin with water. Quickfoot skewered the creature with an arrow. Amismara stepped back and nearly took I'Daiin's head off as she lopped at the quasit, which tucked itself behind his head with a squawk.
            And I'Daiin felt control of his body return to him in a sudden rush.
            Grimacing with both concentration and chagrin, Amismara grunted a quick "Sorry!" to I'Daiin as he began moving again. She choked up on her glaive slightly, however, clearly signaling her intention of slashing at the quasit once again.
            "Tshamek mor dequah!" hissed I'Daiin, reaching out to grapple the quasit with his renewed, yet diminished mobility, his steely arms shaking slightly.
            "Ah-a! Good news, Master Shoanti, you're alive!" The bard called out, perhaps unnecessarily. She'd half expected his neck to pop off before she could squirt the quasit.
            "Sheorin, _now_ it's a better target! I'd say to gogogogo while you have the chance and whack it!"
            Bergi took a step back and started to sing. She couldn't hurt the creature, anyway.
            "Grab the little hell-spawn!" Quickfoot yelled in encouragement as he scooped up his rapier. "Don't let it get away!"
            He made his way around the fountain, staying close to the action above, then to the stairs below I'Daiin, moving as fast as he could.
            Dropping his sword, I'Daiin managed to grab the squirming, hissing, clawing, biting creature and pull it over his head, though it sank its teeth into his hand and writhed like a cat headed for a bath. Amismara swiped at the little monster with her glaive as Quickfoot came running up behind I'Daiin, but was unable to hit the quasit without also striking I'Daiin, and pulled short at the very last moment.
            The screeching quasit went invisible, making it look as though I'Daiin was holding an ornery, invisible, melting piece of ice; water droplets flew everywhere as it desperately flapped and thrashed.
            I'Daiin struggled with the invisible imp, trying to force it to the floor, but it thrashed and scratched so much that he suddenly lost his grip on it, and it slipped free with a slither of scales against his palms.
            "Be very still I'Daiin," Sheorin called out as he dashed across the platform. "I don't want to hit you instead."
            As he neared the struggling man and his invisible burden, he raised an open hand high, and as he reached striking distance, brought it down on what he hoped was the creature. Unfortunately, his hand only smacked down onto the stone of the floor.
            With Sheorin standing where the quasit had been, Quickfoot was unable to move past I'Daiin.
            "Pin it!" he hissed, his eyes wide and white with battle lust. "Let's see what color its blood is!"
            Amismara snarled in angry agreement with Quickfoot's vicious comment, even while a part of her recoiled at her own display of rage. She whitened her knuckles on her glaive and struck at the quasit as it wriggled free.
            Stepping back to make room, she stabbed her glaive down - and hit something. But with a jerk it wrenched free of her weapon, flapping upward desperately. There was no blood on the floor - only the thin smear on Amismara's glaive suggested she had struck the quasit at all.
            Hateful noises sounded from somewhere above, and I'Daiin felt his exhaustion seem to deepen - but only for a moment. He shook it off, and his strength returned to him.
            The party turned to find the quasit up near the ceiling again, flying around seemingly without injury and making what were probably obscene gestures where it came from.
            "This isn't working," growled I'Daiin as he loaded a sling and lobbed a stone at the flying demon, more weakly than he would have normally. "It's healing, and it will whittle us down with its magicks while our cuts and nicks increase. We need a net. Sun's Teeth, I should have brought bolas..."
            "I agree! Let's retreat to the door. I have a plan." With that Amismara hustled down the stairs as fast as her strong, dancer's legs would take her.
            The elf hissed in frustration as the quasit wormed its way out of I'Daiin's grasp.
            "Well, I'm glad someone does! I have no idea what to do with this thing!"
            Quickfoot headed back down the steps, just ahead of Amismara and out the door.
            "And I should have packed rope. Mind you, I have a bow, but I can hardly penetrate canvas on a target..." The halfling quit her performance and made a parting squirt from her waterskin at the creature before backing away.
            Sheorin gritted his teeth in frustration as the invisible creature eluded all of the party's attacks.
            With a short puff of breath, he blew a few errant strands of hair out of his eyes, then followed Amismara and the others.
            I'Daiin's shot cracked into the flying menace, but this only seemed to make it angrier. It scolded them as they retreated, throwing its wicked knife after Amismara. The tiny blade gave the Shelynite a gash, then flew back up to land in the quasit's outstretched hand. As the last of them exited the hall, the little monster vanished from sight once more.
            As the last of the group exited, Quickfoot slammed the door shut, and braced against it, hoping that there were no other exits, despite the two doors in the room. "So" he asked Amismara with a crazed smile, "what's the plan?"
            Amismara caught her breath and looked disapprovingly at her new knife wound. "Well, it's not so much as a plan as a belief that a plan does, in fact, exist", she said with a wan smile. "We just have to find it."
            "Shelyn teaches that all creatures have weaknesses, usually tied in some important way to their strengths. These weaknesses are why friendship and love make us stronger, and thus why relationships are so important in our lives."
            She continued. "Anyway, the point here is that this 'quasit', whatever it is, must have some weaknesses. If we can find out what those are, we can exploit them for victory."
            She turned to Bergi. "Bergi, I take it that you didn't know the weaknesses of this quasit like you did about the hell hound and the lemure. Is there anyone in Sandpoint who might know about quasits? If so, perhaps we can go back and learn from them?"
            "You're thinking like a hunter now," said I'Daiin to the lithe cleric with a wolfish grin. "I know next to naught about the beast in terms of lore, but this is what I saw: It flies. It vanishes. It is small. It relies on its voice, and uses magicks to summon allies and hinder us. It is small. Ah, cinders, I said that one." He paused to regroup his thoughts. "So. Hinder its flight as it hinders us--with a net or rope or lassoo. Splash it with something--oil, earth, dust--so that it may be seen. Prevent it from casting spells--well, that is not my area of expertise. I tend to stick swords into things that cast spells." He chuckled softly as if revisiting a fond memory.
            The elf pondered for a moment and then frowned and shrugged. "Well, we have cloaks, don't we? Maybe we could wet them for weight and use them as nets against the quasit. There are other ways to turn the tide in our favor too. My parents used some magic in their stage show, and my mother would become invisible sometimes. She told me that if I ever needed to find someone who was invisible, I should throw some flour or dust around, let it stick to them, so I could see where they were..."
            The elf thought for another moment, and then grinned. "There was that room, outside the three cells with all the smashed furniture. We might be able to gather up enough grit from in there to make a useable powder to throw into the air. And the statue of that horrid woman with the ranseur. I bet I'Daiin could reach the quasit with it and give it a good smacking!"
            Quickfoot looked to the others, hopeful, but unsure how well his thoughts would be received.
            "It still has to breath, right?" Sheorin added. "If we bundled it up tight in a cloak or something, we could just hold it underneath that pool until drowns."
            "We don't know that, Sheorin... and we'd have to grab it, first. Something that seems hard. I like most of these ideas, mind, but I don't think we should bring the angry lady statue in here. Too much back showing for the porters... And, Amismara, to answer your question, we could ask Father Zantus, or that old sagey fellow Master Quink. Sabyl Sorn has a library at the temple of Irori, but... most can't get in there if you're not another ascetic of that god. There's a book store we could visit, if we thought we had time, and the headmaster of the Turandarok Academy used to be an adventurer. Maybe he'd have a quick solution, too... Though I doubt any could be as simple and cheap as the flour trick mentioned earlier."
            She stared at the now-closed door nervously. "Is the cut bad, Amismara? I still have a spell in me, but the music is pretty much gone. I'm afraid I'm of little more use today, but to leave that little kneemuncher behind would be a problem for us anklebiters, to say the least!"
            "I have no idea if it breathes or not" Quickfoot replied, pursing his lips. "It definitely speaks, but it's some kind of demon or devil. Who knows what it needs to do?" He shakes his head wearily, and with some concern. "Hopefully it's trapped in that room right now, but if not, it could be anywhere. It could even be heading up to town. I still think we should try to fight it. Just get the polearm, spear trident thing from the statue, not the whole statue. Then maybe I'Daiin can reach high enough to hit it. I know I hurt it a few times with my bow. It can heal some hurts, but I bet our Shoanti friend could really do some damage to it. I just don't think turning our backs on it is a good idea. We came down here to protect the town. If we come back up with something worse on our heels, we've only added to the problem. Let's gather up what we can, and maybe give ourselves a few moments to rest and recuperate, then try again."
            Amismara gave a grateful smile and placed a hand on Quickfoot's shoulder. "Your concern for the town is both admirable and appreciated. As is your resilience. I wish I had your confidence, but I do not. I feel our best course is to retreat. The quasit could have entered the town before now, and has not. Perhaps it is bound here, or it prefers to guard that 'shrine' or the foul vat is used to bring forth the..." she paused turning to Bergi for confirmation. "...Mr. Bitey."
            The halfling grew a proud smile at the cleric's adoption of her title for the beast.
            "Regardless, we should take our opportunity to find out what will actually defeat the creature and acquire that. Guessing about what might work is too dangerous. And I've seen too much death already."
            Her mind turned briefly back to Andok, and she drew a deep breath. She recovered and smiled again at Quickfoot.
            "However, I do not wish my disagreement to overshadow how grateful I am over your bravery and your help to the town. Please know this. Perhaps if you could jam or otherwise disable this door until we're able to return?"
            "If a few of us stay here to make sure it isn't opened, maybe the rest could find something heavy to bring here! Of course, if Hrolfr comes back down, maybe we could just have him sit in the way!" The bard laughs briefly, trying to lighten the mood after watching Amismara go quiet.
            Quickfoot bowed his head and slumped his shoulders. "You're right of course," he told Amismara. "I just hate to admit defeat," he adds with a wry grin. "But still, it could have come up at any time, just like you said, and it didn't. Hopefully, we can shut it in, and come back a bit better prepared. And hopefully there won't be an army of Mr. Biteys waiting for us," he adds with a wink for Bergi.
            He squares his shoulders, and stands up straighter. "No sense in wasting time then. I'll see what if anything I can do to disable the door latch. Meanwhile, if someone would be kind enough to find something we could fashion into chocks, like they use to keep wagons from rolling when they unload them, it would probably help. That room near the cells with all the busted furniture might be the answer there too." He grins a bit more, now that there is a plan. "I'm still grabbing that ranseur from the statue though. It looked valuable."
            "So, we head up to town, rest and refit ourselves, and I guess find some way to make peace with Mr. Vinder, or hope that the Boutique has everything we need."
            "I shall stay," said the barbarian with a slight huff of pride. "Hrolfr was but a finger or two on me in height, and I am young yet." He crossed his bulky arms for emphasis.
            "Leave me some torches and oil, and I'll keep anything at bay while you go." His eyes narrowed as if looking through the walls of the donjon, already anticipating hidden enemies to cut down.
            "You promise you'll pad it if you need to? You've already been down here so long, and if a bunch of Biteys assail you, by yourself you're staring up a diabolist's nostrils..."
            The halfling's eyes linger on I'Daiin, the ghost shared with Amismara flickering in her expression. "I would offer to stay with you, but if anyone is going to be able to help procure things in town, it would probably have to be me. Tell you what, though. I can turn on a heel and come back with some victuals before it's time to turn in for the night, if you stay."

14


            Quickfoot was able to remove the ornate ranseur from the statue's grasp with a little tugging, and for a wonder it didn't come alive to rebuke them all, though its expression suggested that the woman it had been carved to resemble certainly would have liked it to.
            Leaving I'Daiin to face the creepy silence of the catacombs alone, with only his bullseye lantern to keep the darkness at bay, the rest of the party gathered the loot they had found and followed the winding tunnel back to the Glassworks and out, to find a town hunkered down in expectation of disaster. Though it was only late afternoon, many shops were closed, and even the town market, which was usually a jolly affair, was now peopled only by traders from Magnimar and Riddleport, with none of the locals present any longer.
            Even the Rusty Dragon was nowhere near as full as usual, and without Ameiko manning the bar, the servers were looking mighty antsy. The bartender, Borem, hurried over to the party when he saw them. "Did you get rid of the demon worshippers? What about the army of ogres they say is heading for Sandpoint?" He wrung his dish towel in his hands worriedly. "Oh, and Hrolfr left a message for you. He said he's moving on, too. You're not planning on leaving, are you?"
            "No, not at least until we're sure the town is safe." Amismara thought she might put the power of rumor to work. "We've killed almost all the monsters. There's one more that's hiding from us, and we've got to get a special tool to kill it."
            She did her best to sound convincing, but felt her hands were trembling a bit. She ordered an ale, hoping to both wet her mouth and to enjoy the mild intoxication of a drink.
            Borem ushered the party over to the bar, through a taproom that seemed empty without the usual press of people, though there were tables taken here and there. He filled mugs of ale for all of them, lingering near Amismara solicitously to see if she needed anything else.
            "Hrolfr left?" Bergi asked, her face flashing with disappointment. "I thought he was just going to... nevermind..." She shook her head as she watched Amismara's shaking hands. "That pretty much sums it up, though. We're back for a quick rest. I guess Hrolfr's leave may make it easier to patch things up with Master Vinder... Oh, and we did pick up a couple of new friends, so to speak!?
            She motioned to Sheorin. "This is Sheorin, and there's another Shoanti we found named I'Daiin, but he'd not here right now. You're not losing defenders, so don't worry!"
            The bartender nodded solemnly to Sheorin. "I don't know you, stranger, but if the Heroes say you're one of them, you're welcome here, and your money is no good. Ameiko would want it that way."
            "And of course there's me" Quickfoot added. "I don't know how you could forget. But never fear, I'll make sure all your valuables are safe and protected!" he adds with a winning smile. "First though, we've got to figure out what to do about that little flying nasty. Nets, flour, something that hurts Quasits..." He pauses for a moment, then looked hopefully at the bartender. "Borem, if you wanted to find out some strange bit of book learning here in town, who would you ask?"
            Borem stroked his stubbly beard. "Well, when you say books, I think of old Chask Haladan. Can't say if The Curious Goblin's open, what with the scare and all; people are hunkering down, you know? But if you're short on cash, it probably don't matter. Books are pricey things. They say Miss Sorn has quite a library she lets you look in for free - but only if you're a follower of Irori, like her. I heard she let someone else in once, but whew! That lad could talk the gold outta a moneylender! You might be better off asking Gandethus at the Academy. There aren't hardly anything but orphans left at the Academy now that the ogres are coming to kill us."
            At the second mention of ogres coming for Sandpoint, the bard shot a quick look at Quickfoot. How much time did he have to shoot this stuff into the air? "Well, you heard Borem. I say we split up, though we'd never do that below. One of us could go after the lead on the bitey pool, another on the Quasit, and the last on buying, selling, and grovelling at Vinder's feet duty. I would suggest that Amismara talks to the mistress of the House of Blue stones or Brodert Quink whilst Quickfoot sees the headmaster of the orphanage... and I'd take Master Sheorin with me to buy, sell, and do the aforementioned grovelling. He can see the town that way, and I can borrow his arms to carry goods.... Does that sound good?"
            The halfling glanced at the barkeep. "When all this is done, I think I'll be needing two meals (one being of larger portions, mind), to bring to the one we left in the glassworks."
            Once reassured that the "cultists" in the glassworks were dealt with and their friend was in no danger, Borem promised to see that two meals were prepared.
            Amismara nodded in assent to Bergi's plan and quickly made off. The thought of I'dain down in that hole made her feet move quickly.
            "I'll head to the Turandrok Academy, but first, who says there are ogres coming?" the elf asked Borem.
            "People are talking about it," Borem said in a low voice, leaning close on the bar. "I hear lots of things tending bar. Why? D'you know something different?"
            "I know lots of things!" Quickfoot replied with a falsely naive smile. "Not much about ogres though. I'll tell you what," he added, leaning in close with a conspiratorial air. "I don't think this town has seen the last of its troubles. Maybe we should form a militia, set watches, train with spears and bows, that sort of thing. Or we could let the ogres turn us into porridge, I guess." With that, he waved and made his way to the Turandrok Academy, whistling a jaunty, out of tune melody.

15


            Bergi and Sheorin went through the sad, half-empty market with its nervous looking traders to the General Store. Like many other shops, its door was closed, with a sign hung confirming this on the door handle.
            The halfling sighed. "Oh, dear... His intentions were good, but I fear he has squished the town's livelihood underfoot... Sheorin, Sandpoint isn't usually like this."
            She stopped and stared at the general store's closed door dejectedly. "And the man who lives here is not known for his forgiveness. Hrolfr had a run-in with his daughter. I'm here to smooth things over, but should things get bad, I'm going to ask that you help me out of any proverbial or literal fires, okay? I won't initiate any violence, though, and I can't imagine.... well. Even if we can't buy or sell today, this has to be done. If we can't get flour here, we'll go to the baker's."
            With that, the young woman stepped forward and rapped at the door, her body language already submissive.
            It took a few minutes, but finally the door was jerked open by Vinder himself, a billy club in one hand. The burly middle-aged man squinted at Sheorin in perplexity before looking down to find Bergi on the doorstep. His eyes hardened, but he didn't shut the door.
            "So? You've been hanging about with bad company, miss Kauflebaum. Is this another one of them? Well, you can just tell him and the rest of them that they aren't welcome here. Besides which, we're closed."
            "Your disdain is understandable, Master Vinder, but Hrolfr has left, and I work to help Sandpoint, not to insinuate myself into a conspiracy. I have made an effort to quell rumor, if that is what has spurred this, but I tried to swat a bush already on fire."
            She keeps only brief eye contact before looking back down to the ground, keeping in mind that wild animals do not often brook the gaze of an omega. "I apologize on his behalf, and on the behalf of those who travel with me whose logic is convoluted. When possible, I will minimize the damage they might cause. However, Amismara has yet to have done anything to displease you, and without access to your goods in the near future, our lives could be in danger. Rope, flour, torches... these are the lifeblood of those who venture beneath, and I respect you as being someone who wouldn't condemn someone to die simply because of childish, churlish mistakes." She lowered her head. "Currently, I can tell you with all honesty what has happened thus far without embellishment. I can also tell you that without access to netting or flour, a threat we, sans Hrolfr, now face, may yet overtake us."
            She motioned to Sheorin.
            "The one with me is only with us due to an elongated imprisonment beneath the glassworks. I wished to show him Sandpoint's charm... Sadly, that isn't happening due to a reign of fear. His name is Sheorin. I do not know if he will stay." Bergi allowed her eyes to wander up in appraisal of how her words had been received thus far.
            "Thrown out the Rover, have you?" Vinder huffed, crossing his arms. "Good riddance to him, I say. But he's not the only troublemaker in your group of so-called Heroes. Your elf is little better." Squatting, he poked a finger at Bergi. "You tell Quickfoot he can come and apologise for himself instead of sending nice girls like you to do it for him. If I believe he's in earnest, then we can talk business." Vinder rose again, frowning at the two on the porch. He jerked his head toward the half-empty town marketplace. "Otherwise you can do your business every time Market Day rolls around, if we all live that long."
            The bard stores her wincing and guilting over the fact she didn't defend Hrolfr's honor later. Vinder was too stubborn for that to work. As for his disdain of Quickfoot... it couldn't have been just for rumormongering that he was upset.... right? She'd hit a dead end, but at least she didn't have to worried about being punted like she might have to if she stood in front of Hurricane Scarnetti.
            Besides, the elf had great intentions! He only lied to keep the other townspeople safe! How was she supposed to communicate that to Vinder without first admitting Quickfoot had lied to begin with?!
            "I'll try to get him here. Sorry to bother you." the halfling bowed, realizing repairing damaged things took time (and even more when you didn't know exactly to what extent they'd been destroyed).
            "You're a good girl, Miss Kauflebaum," Vinder called after her. "You come from honest people. I'll still do business with your parents - and with you, once you're out of bad company." He eyed Sheorin suspiciously, then disappeared back into his shop.
            While they were walking back through the market, Sheorin cleared his throat. "Look, I hate to do this, but... I'd really rather not ever set foot down there again. What's going on down there is a little over my weirdness limit. Dead people moving around, flying whatsits... and ever since we were down there, I've been shedding like crazy." He dusted off his shoulder, which sent a bit of blond hair flying. "I think I'll be heading for the city, try my luck there. I hope you understand."
            The halfling stood, transfixed on the hair falling to the ground, studying the sheer amount of it with horror. Seconds passed uncomfortably, but not due to Bergi's dislike of the idea of the monk leaving, persay.
            "...Sheorin...." she began, lower lip quivering until she bit down on it. "...you..."
            She looked down, furrowing her eyebrows as if to make a quick decision. The mulling took a while on account of her inability to do so. Not being of a mind to put him out of his misery before he turned, the halfling grabbed Sheorin's hand and plotted the quickest route to Sandpoint Cathedral in her head.
            "There's not much time or choice. You've got to come with me to see Father Zantus." With that, she took off to see said priest, to whom she breathlessly explained the situation.
            Sheorin was as horrified as Father Zantus at Bergi's explanation. "I have no way to cure you here," Father Zantus said, throwing open a window so that sunlight flooded the room. "You must make all haste to Magnimar, and speak to the clerics at the temple there - and by the gods, stay in the sunlight for as long as you can! You don't have long, Sheorin, so go now!"
            "I have no horse!" Sheorin said, pacing like a caged beast. "How will I get there in time?!"
            Bergi was not at all calm, either, running her fingers into her temples to keep herself from hypervetilating. The chance of him turning even if he left right away gave way to the lingering danger of infecting others.
            "I... I don't know, either! Maybe... How much does a horse even cost, anyway?! I would offer my pony, but I don't think she'd get you there in time!"
            "Didn't Andok have a horse?" Father Zantus asked. Sheorin leaped on the question. "Is that someone you know? Bergi, please tell him to let me have it! Come tell the stablemaster I need it right away!" Sheorin took off at a run for the Goblin Squash Stables, towing Bergi behind him so fast her feet nearly didn't touch the ground.
            "Andok... he won't be able to be asked because he's dead, Sheorin! I'd thought his cousin had taken the horse to help transport him... but if that is the kebab, then...!" She struggled to get a foot on the ground. "-I will try to convince the stable master to let you use the beast! I can't... GAH!" Bergi nearly lost her balance on a loose pebble. "I can't imagine he'll say no! Andok was a good man, and he'd want to save a life, I'd think, even if he's not with us anymore, but do you know where to go in Magnimar once you get there?!"
            Once at the stable, Bergi made a desperate case of the situation and explained the situation as briefly as she could(only that Sheorin was dying and not turning into a horrible monster) while begging that the monk be able to use Andok's ownerless horse.
            Bergi was right - Gronk had taken Andok's horse, leaving Sheorin in more of a panic than ever. But Daviren Hosk, seeing their plight, simply gave Sheorin one of his horses. "If Bergi vouches for you, it's all right with me. Just try to bring her back, eh?" Sheorin was too distracted to thank Hosk much, and went tearing out of the stables at full speed on his new horse, leaving a scattering of blond hair behind.

16


            The House of Blue Stones lay just beside the Glassworks; it was an unassuming if reasonably large structure. Knocking on the door quickly brought a woman with short red hair out to regard Amismara. Closing the door to the House after her, she said, "You're the cleric, aren't you? Amismara Ronai? My name is Sabyl Sorn." She held a hand out to shake. "I wasn't expecting to see any of you after what happened to Andok. I was very sorry to hear of that," she said earnestly. "What can I help you with, Ms. Ronai?"
            Amismara did her best to remember and follow the customs appropriate to such a place. "I thank you for your kindness", she began. "We have encountered a strange monster in a cavern below Sandpoint. Well, several, actually, but only one a certain one of a certain type has survived. We're looking for advice on how to defeat it."
            Amismara went on to describe the quasit as best she could, giving special attention to the creature's ability to heal its wounds. She finished awkwardly. She wasn't ready, emotionally, to discuss Andok, but felt guilty that he wasn't the sole topic of conversation. Amismara hoped Sabyl somehow understood, and waited patiently for any help that might be offered.
            Sorn nodded as Amismara described the quasit, her head tilted to the side. "I see. I don't know what to tell you about its healing powers. Creatures from other planes of being are sometimes harmed by weapons forged of cold iron, or so I recall reading. Or was that only creatures of the First World? Perhaps you could find some at Savah's Armory, or have Das Korvut forge you some. In any case, I wish you the best of luck." She turned to re-enter the House.
            "Thank you!" she said, bowing, as she moved off to Savah's Armory. "Buying should take less time than forging", she thought to herself.
            She slowed her steps as she approached the front door of the shop, trying to take a mental inventory of her companions weaponry. "Hmmm...what would each need..."
            Savah was pleased to see Amismara, though the cleric had to wait for the shopkeeper to finish serving a line of customers who seemed to want to arm themselves to the teeth before the town was invaded (everyone seemed to have their own ideas about who or what would do the invading). Few seemed particularly proficient with the weapons they selected, and Savah even tried to dissuade a few of them from their purchases, but to no avail.
            Together, Savah and Amismara managed to dig up a couple of items of cold-forged iron: ten iron-tipped arrows and a longsword engraved with images of satyrs and fairies dancing up and down its length. Savah was still willing to extend the Heroes a 20% discount on what stock she had left, but was reluctant to part with anything before being paid the lower price.
            "It's not that I don't trust you," Savah said apologetically, her short red hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She kept her voice low, her head close to Amismara's as she glanced at the other customers. "It's just a bad policy. I have expenses to meet, too, and a lot of friends in town who'd feel bad if I let anyone, even you Heroes, go ahead and take stock that they had to pay for. I just can't afford to let anyone arm themselves at my expense, even if it's just for a short while." She shrugged, looking back at Amismara without moving away. "Part politics, I guess."
            Amismara nodded in understanding. She paused a moment over the lovely engraving on the longsword, noting its craftsmanship. She thanked Shelyn for such lovely work, and took it as a sign that her goddess was striving to help their cause. Lifting her eyes again, she smiled wanly at Savah. "We will pay."

17


            Across the way from the General Store, Quickfoot lugged his unusual burden to the front door of the Turandarok Academy. Children watched from the many windows, pointing and chatting excitedly as he approached.
            "Stop!" a voice challenged him as he entered the building. A child of about ten years stood in front of him, folding his arms. A small gaggle of children stood behind the boy, and a few more hung over the banisters of the stairs leading up, looking on with interest. "What's your business here? The Academy is closed," the boy told Quickfoot loftily.
            "My business?" Quickfoot replied with wide eyes. "Why, don't you know me? I'm the king of the orphans!" He set his burden down with an easy grin, then ran and turned a vaulting handstand over the boy, landing in a crouch, to speak to him at eye level. "I've got secret business to discuss with the headmaster, and loot from the goblins I've slain," he added in a low whisper. "Is he here? Can I speak with him?"
            The children gasped and laughed, and the boy who had challenged Quickfoot looked impressed, though he was trying not to show it. "You can see him, I guess... since you're an orphan, and you're one of the Heroes," he said magnanimously. "What are you going to talk to him about? Is it about the dragon in the Glassworks? I heard there were people trying to free it, an' that's why the furnaces are still smoking. Did you throw them in the furnaces?"
            "Headmaster Gandethus has a dragon, too," a little girl piped up. "And the Sandpoint Devil lives in his room!"
            "Don't be stupid," another child said disparagingly. "The Sandpoint Devil doesn't live in his room. I heard it lives on the Devil's Platter."
            "It does so!" the little girl insisted, stomping her foot. "And if you're bad, the Headmaster will let it eat you! So you better be nice, Billay!"
            The older boy pointed at the weapons in Quickfoot's pile. "I'll tell you where the Headmaster is if you'll let me have one of those!" A chorus of "me too's" rose as the children came over to poke at the items the elf had brought. The boy raised his voice over them. "Just me, 'cause I'm old enough!"
            The elf stroked his chin, as though considering whether to give the children the weapons or not. "I don't know" he said with a shake of his head. "The Heroes might need these for dragon slaying. That's why I've brought them here, so Headmaster Gandethus can tell me if any of them might be good against dragons. I'll tell you what though" he added with a sly grin. "If you can help me carry them to the Headmaster, I might be able to make you honorary Heroes, with all the rights and privileges that entails!"
            "Whoa!" That properly impressed them all, and there was a scramble as the children struggled to pick the "best" items to carry. The older boy proudly hefted the longsword on his shoulder, and beamed at Quickfoot. "He's down in his lair, but you better look out! I heard there's a lost goblin tribe living down there too, and I bet they'll be mad you killed all the other goblins!" This idea didn't appear to affect the children's cheer at all, and they marched down the stairs with Quickfoot, chattering gleefully. It was quite a procession; the ranseur whacked against other children and the walls, the children swung their weapons about hazardously, and the little girl proudly wore the noble's tunic and fur shoes as she brought up the rear.
            When they came to an old oak door, the children quieted, speaking only in whispers as they set down Quickfoot's things in a pile. "He's been in there all day, ever since the teachers went home," the boy told Quickfoot. "You'd better make us Heroes now, just in case you don't come out again!"
            The elf gathered up the loot once more into an awkward bundle, after checking to make sure everything was there and retrieving one of the fur shoes from the girl with a kindly admonishment. "Straighten up!" He told them all. Once they stood at attention he asked them in his most serious tone of voice "Do you solemnly swear to protect Sandpoint from its enemies, obey the directions of the Heroes, Sheriff Hemlock, Headmaster Gandethus, play pranks on Venn Vinder whenever possible, and eat all your vegetables? If so, bow to me, and be honorary Heroes!" Quickfoot bowed fully at the waist, one arm outstretched and grinned at those who returned the gesture. "Now scoot, that's an order!"
            The children all bowed (even the little girl, who had looked decidedly uncertain that eating all her vegetables was a real requirement for a Hero), and then scampered off. Fading cries of, "I'm going to be Amismara when I grow up!", "I'm Hrolfr the Rover! Rrrr, this is my sword!" and "I'm Quickfoot fighting dragons!" echoed down the stairs.
            Once the children were gone, he rapped swiftly on the Headmaster's door.
            After a few moments the door creaked open on its own, revealing a short, dark hallway with light coming from around the corner at the end. The walls were covered with strange masks, idols and fetishes that seemed to glower at him in the dim light. As Quickfoot stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him, and a long shadow appeared on the wall at the end of the hall.
            "I certainly hope whoever is out there isn't a naughty boy coming to bother me," a voice growled. "I might have to feed him to the dragon!" The shadow bobbed and shrank, revealing itself in short order to be attached to Gandethus. The Headmaster was wiping his hands on a dishtowel, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Quickfoot with his arms full of weapons.
            "Well, I suppose I can hear you out before feeding you to the dragon," he grunted with a small smile. "Finally come to gain some book learning, have you? Surely you haven't come to slay my little pets with all that."
            "Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone's called me naughty" Quickfoot grinned to the Headmaster and offered a hand in greeting. "Llanothen Teladrathil, at your service. What pets might those be? Anyway, most know me as Quickfoot. Sorry to disturb you, I'm sure you have your hands full, but I was hoping to pick your brain of some of that book learning. I suppose I should start at the beginning. We battled goblins in the Glassworks, and found caverns below it, leading to a strange complex. There was a statue of a hateful looking woman, and these abominations with huge mouths and tiny arms and hands that reached out of their faces. Also a mutant goblin thing, and a zombie in a pit and all sorts of other things. We were able to dispatch them thanks to good luck and quick blades, but eventually we came across this tiny flying demon thing. Amismara and Bergi called it a Quasit. I tell you true, I put an arrow straight into that things gizzard, and it plucked the arrow out, and the wound healed before my very eyes. That was right before it turned invisible. It did that a lot... Anyway, I was hoping maybe you could tell me how we can hurt it, and I thought maybe some of these weapons we recovered below could hold the key. I've always heard stories of magic weapons recovered out of ancient tombs and such, and my mother always told me you need magic to fight magic, and I guess I was hoping that some of these blades might fit the bill. They seem nice enough for it. Or, maybe there's something about these things in my mother's diary. She knew all sorts of strange things, although I just can't seem to read half of the writing. Anyway, we rescued a Shoanti down there, and he's holding the door, and waiting for us. We've got to get back down there, and quick, to dispatch that thing. I just couldn't live with myself if it got out amongst the townsfolk."
            Quickfoot looked hopefully to Gandethus, though he felt half a fool spilling the tale to the Headmaster.
            Gandethus blinked at being told this strange story. "Maybe we should sit down together," he said mildly, tossing the dish towel back the way he came. "Let's head up to my office. You can bring your arsenal. I'm surprised you made it past the guards," he chuckled.
            They headed back up from the basement, entering a small but neat office with room for two chairs, a bookshelf and a desk. Once they were settled, with Quickfoot beside his pile of loot and Gandethus puffing on a pipe, the Headmaster encouraged Quickfoot to tell his tale again, with more detail. When the elf finished, Gandethus leaned back, regarding the him and his pile of goods. He finished leafing through Quickfoot's mother's diary and closed it, handing it back to the rogue.
            "So, what you mean to say is that you don't have the means to have these things examined by Master Voon down at The Feathered Serpent." He sighed. "I suppose I can tell you what's touched with magic and what isn't, but if you're looking for more than that, you'll really have to ask Master Voon. At least, you will if you're in the hurry you say you are. My books of magic are packed away, along with the rest of my old life." He winked. "Of course, there are a few tricks I always have at hand. Here, let's have a look at that..."
            A few minutes later, Quickfoot knew that quasits could be harmed by blessed or cold iron weapons, that their claws were poisonous, and that the goblin-thing's longsword was touched by some form of magic... and that his mother's diary was filled with spells. Gandethus proved interested in the ornate ranseur, and offered to buy it should the party wish to part with it.
            Quickfoot thanked the Headmaster and asked him to name his price on the ornate ranseur. Quickfoot is so pleased by Headmaster Gandethus offer for the ornate ranseur, that he accepts it on the spot. Quickfoot sensed that the Headmaster was a bit startled that Quickfoot didn't haggle over the price, but the man was happy enough to take the ornate weapon down into the basement, returning after a short time with a pouch heavy with clinking coins.
            "Use them in good health," Gandethus said with a smile as he handed them over.
            "My thanks for the counsel, and the suggestion to visit Master Voon. Hopefully, we will meet again soon."
            Quickfoot left the Academy and looked over the other items, mentally guessing at their values and hoping it would be enough to purchase cold iron weapons and other provisions. He then makes his way over to Savah's, where he cheerfully pays on the spot for the cold iron sword and arrows, before politely asking how long it would take to produce more cold iron weapons.
            Savah bit her lip in thought. "You'd really have to ask Das Korvut, though I don't blame you for not wanting to! Cold iron isn't really that common out here, though. It'd probably take a few weeks to get some raw iron shipped in. You just missed Amismara asking about the same thing. What do you need all that cold iron for?" she asked curiously.
            "Weeks! Oh, I can't wait that long. We'll just have to make due with the sword and arrows then." What Savah asked what he needed the cold iron for, Quickfoot winked and grinned. "Secret Hero business. I'll let you know when everything's settled."
            When that business is concluded, he gathers up Amismara with the new weapons, cleans out the lute, and the leather tunic, and takes it to the Sandpoint Boutique. He produces the lute, the flute, the tunic, the fur shoes, and the nobleman's shirt and boots and asks the proprietress if she is interested in purchasing any of the items therein.
            The Boutique wasn't closed, luckily. Hayliss Korvaski, like Savah, was doing a brisk trade in weapons. After examining Quickfoot's wares, she allowed as how she might be willing to buy some of them, though they didn't appear Varisian in nature. She laughed outright at the prices he wanted for them, though. "Abadar save me! You'll have me out on the street, Quickfoot!"
            After a brief but intense bit of haggling, Korvaski quoted a figure much lower than what Quickfoot had judged. She was willing to pay quite a bit for the fancy noble's clothes and fur shoes, but turned away the tunic. "That's reinforced, see? Here, and here. I know you wouldn't think so to look at it, but this is armor, not clothing. Not really what I sell. Maybe Savah would be interested." Fine though the instruments were, she wasn't willing to give more than a hundred gold coins for the both of them.
            The elf hemmed and hawed at the low offer, but with Amismara dragging at his elbow, and I'Daiin waiting below, he decided that urgency was best. "This is some way to treat a Hero!" he added in mock petulance. "Will you hold on to the tunic anyway? We need to get back below. Maybe someone will make an offer on it! I'll be back to pick it up if not." He accepted Hayliss's offer and took the clinking coins.
            Amismara was getting impatient with the haggling, but was striving not to rush and thus fuel the town's sense of panic. But she tugged on Quickfoot's sleeve and asked him to hurry up. "I think I just saw Bergi go into the stables with Sheorin. Let's go join them."
            When they left, she whispered, "We need a plan for tonight. I think we should rejoin I'daiin, rest until morning, and then attack with our new weapons."

18


            The Shoanti warrior alternated squatting on his thewed haunches and stalking the raised steps outside the quasit's lair like a caged beast. At quick and regular intervals, his eyes would dart to the door presumably containing the demonic creature, then to the hallway where the gruesomely jawed rage-beasts could appear at any moment. Almost unconsciously, his lips mouthed prayers to the Sun above and the ashes of his ancestors. At intervals he stopped and applied the burning brand or the point of his sword to his muscled arm or abdomen as if testing them. What would have injured a lesser person gave no mark to his tanned skin. Life-bringer, Light-giver, he mentally chanted.
            Occasionally, slow scraping noises would come from the double doors they had blocked, accompanying the sense of being watched that oppressed the desecrated shrine room. Time passed slowly in the flickering light of his lantern; eventually, he knew, he must sleep.

19


            It took a bit more time for the group to run around fetching the last things they needed, since they couldn't go to Vinder's and most other places were closed, but in the end they got most of it and headed back down into the dark.
            Quickfoot recounted what he had learned about Quasits from headmaster Gandethus, paying particular attention to their vulnerability to cold iron and blessed weapons. He also informed the group of the magical nature of the longsword recovered from the three-armed goblin they had encountered in the cold room with the pit zombie, and opined that the fine axe that the creature had borne, currently in I'Daiin's possession, might be similarly enchanted.
            He also told Bergi, Amismara and I'Daiin of his good fortune in selling many of the goods they had recovered, and split the gold into four equal parts. He also gave his estimate as to the value of the sack of gold dust, while allowing that he had been mistaken about such things before.
            He also showed them the cold iron longsword, which he gave to I'Daiin, and the cold iron arrows, which he kept for himself. He gave throwing nets to Amismara and Bergi, and fine meals for all. Finally, he showed them the ten, single pound sacks of flour he had procured, saying "If we throw these into the air, we should be able to spot that little devil much more easily. Just don't light any fires, flour is extremely flammable."
            "I'm happy you were able to have so much luck, Quickfoot. I... I had rather less. Master Vinder won't sell to us unless you apologize to him. Not sure about what, specifically, but he was adamant."
            She took the sack and added it to her backpack, puffing as she stood back up to test the weight. "Hopefully we get to use this right away; my arms are a bit stubby and this is heavy."
            Her eyes clouded over for a moment as her thoughts went back to the balding Sheorin, but she shook her head furiously, moving to transport some of the meals below. "Tomorrow, then... Another day of this. Maybe we can get more done without a single casualty."
            "Apologize? To Vinder? And he didn't say what for..." Quickfoot looked genuinely puzzled, and wondered if he had unknowingly borrowed anything of the shopkeep's. "Although, he did treat me with kindness, letting me borrow against my parents' possessions for money to live on. I suppose I should be nicer to the old goat." Looking resolved, he squared his shoulders. "First thing's first. Let's take care of that little devil, and explore the rest of the temple, and then I can try to patch things up with Master Venn. Amismara, did you learn anything else about Quasits at the Temple of Blue Stones?"
            Turning to I'Daiin, Quickfoot smiled broadly. "It's good to see you made it through all right. What say we rest and regain our strength, then try again? I can keep watch."
            "No, not more than I've already shared. Magic, cold iron...I think we're ready. Except for some rest", she added wearily.
            The barbarian swung the longsword around experimentally, testing its point against his palm approvingly. "I know naught of these denizens of Sandpoint you speak of, but this blade is keen and well balanced. With nets and powder and these weapons, we may fare better yet."
            The cleric found some hope in the barbarian's words, and gave a weak smile. "Well, you'll enjoy meeting the people of Sandpoint. We'll have a small ceremony to honor our success, and I think they'll be willing to join us." With that, she took her watch and eventually grabbed some sleep.

20


            The night passed with nothing more alarming than the sound of scraping against the door and the general unease they all felt. After a cold breakfast, the party prepared themselves to re-enter the great hall.
            Quickfoot checked over the nets and prepared the individual bags of flour to open easily for when the time came to use them. If anyone in the party had a whetstone, he begged to borrow it and sharpen the cold iron arrows in the quiver on his back and the cold iron longsword that he hung on his belt in the place usually occupied by his rapier. He left that slender blade in the hallway, unwilling to bear its extra weight.
            "When we're in there, don't just start throwing sacks of flour all willy-nilly. Let's see if we can spot the Whoosit, then give it a flour coating. Bergi, do you think you can be in charge of the flour, or will it interrupt your performance? And who wants to throw the nets? Bergi, this net is smaller sized, and should work well for you. Any thoughts before we head in there?"
            "I can be in charge of the flour; I'll still be able to sing, but I'll be a bit anviled down. As for the net, it's perfect." Bergi said.
            With comportment that showed her disappointment at the absence of Hrolfr, the bard got to her feet, stowing her needle and thread after making a quick repair to a fraying knee on her trousers.
            The halfling tapped her feet and appeared to be in deep thought. "Amismara, did you take anything to understand it? I just think it might be easier to goad it if we could know what it wants. Otherwise, no, there's naught but a strand left in my corner."
            The cleric shook her head. "No, I was too concern about protecting us." She looked away slightly. If truth be told, she'd been more than a little focused on killing the thing, and she wondered now if the victory would cure any of the hurt and anger she'd felt over the last several days. She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts as Bergi continued.
            Bergi placed a hand on her left hip. "Let's hurry this up so our Shoanti friend can see the sun again."
            The aforementioned Shoanti grunted. "A few more days of this sunless hell won't matter to me, Bergi. I am willing to be the bait for the whatsit--kvasit--whatever it is. The trick is to get it to want to attack directly, rather than summon a beastie or catch us with a spell. Suggestions? A fetching trinket waved in the air? Kvasit food? Ah, it probably summons food and drink, the little wretch." He spat as if to indicate that provender not obtained by hunting was dishonorable.
            "I will try to compel it through magic, although many creatures can resist such things. Otherwise, I'm afraid we'll have to rely on luck and Quickfoot's arrows. If nothing else, I'll close the doors behind us to prevent its escape." With that, Amismara began some prayers and gentle magic. She bound the group together under the protection of Shelyn.

21


            When I'Daiin swung open the double doors Quickfoot had rejiggered to open again, the quasit was perched on the railing at the dim far end of the cathedral-like room, brooding over its bubbling orange pool. It turned to regard them as they came inside, not repeating its furious diatribe of the day before. The light of their lantern glinted on its tiny tiara, and it spread its wings as though to take flight.
            "There it is!" Quickfoot cried out, amazed but grateful to be able to see the tiny demon. "And it's wearing a tiara?" For a brief instance, cognitive dissonance swept over him as he assimilated the information into his world view, but the moment passed as quickly as it came, and he sang out for the fallen, and those who had fled, "Let's kill it!" He drew back his bow, pointed fletching to pointed ear, and loosed the arrow, it's cold iron tip dull and ugly.
            The arrow skewered the tiny figure, knocking it from its perch in a flutter of its black silk gown and causing a small bird to take flight from its shoulder. The bird flew up into the shadows of the buttresses and was lost from view.
            With a wordless howl, the Shoanti sprang at the tiny demon, his sword extended to attack. The Varisian cleric moved into the room, but readied to close the door as her comrades entered, and keep the quasit trapped.
            I'Daiin struck down at the quasit a moment before it vanished from view with an angry shriek, arrow and all.
            The halfling dragged herself and her gear into the room with no small amount of effort, starting her song as she went. She rather wished Hrolfr had come along to bark orders, but it wasn't to say the group was at any more of a disadvantage than before. This time they had the element of equipment... though the bard couldn't help letting her eyes wander to the shadows, certain more Mr. Biteys would appear.
            "Come on Bergi!" Quickfoot called out in a rough harmony to the bard's song. "Let's tag and bag her! I've got the flour, bring the net!" The elf hastened up to I'Daiin, loosening the bag of flour as he went.
            Amismara swung the doors closed with a heavy thump, leaving the quasit trapped inside with them.
            She turned from the large doors and scanned the room. She noticed that the door to the left was ever so slightly ajar. "Check in there", she shouted, point to the door with her glaive. She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the quasit, readying a spell she hoped would help.
            "Watch for it," I'Daiin barked. Sword at the ready, the barbarian moved to the door, intending to swing it open, moving with the opening door to keep himself in cover--barbarians, it seemed, were not completely reckless.
            A sibilant whisper echoed in the cavernous room, its origin impossible to place. The words seemed somehow evil, making their flesh crawl.
            The last time this happened, it had ended in the summoning of another monster. If only Bergi could contain the grease and place it before the door without risking the livelihood of others, she'd have utilized said spell. Being that it was unreasonable, the bard continued to raise her voice and prepared to throw the net at the quasit if she saw it appear.
            Quickfoot dropped his bow, and dipped both hands into his sack of flour, flinging the powder in a wide arc as he made his best effort to locate the chanting voice. He quickly dipped low and scooped up his bow again, hoping that the creature could not strike at him while it chanted out its spell.
            As the flour settled in a light dusting over the floor, it became apparent that the monster wasn't next to Quickfoot.
            "Quit your hiding, fiend!" I'Daiin spat, flinging flour in front of him.
            Somehow, I'Daiin managed to make the tossing of flour look threatening; it remained to be seen whether his threatening display had any effect. The flour drifted through the air closeby, falling like a thin dusting of snow on the stone floor, but it revealed no quasit.
            Those evil-sounding words reached a crescendo, and the air itself twisted beside I'Daiin, vomiting out a familiar pile of sliding, melting flesh in a breath of brimstone. It reached for the Shoanti with a despairing groan, deceptively fast despite its constantly oozing body, and managed to leave a long scratch in I'Daiin's tough hide.
            Then a sharp, barked command from above resulted in the door he stood by being ripped open all the way by the Mr.Bitey within. True to its name, it opened wide its grotesque split jaws and bit I'Daiin, though he pulled free before it could do much damage. He felt a pulse of rage, unbidden, but managed to fight it down.
            The trap sprung, the quasit continued to chant in its grating voice from somewhere above. "Somewhere" simply wasn't going to validate Bergi tossing her net, however. The halfling knew that the creature would have to show itself eventually, but was torn in knowing whether or not to prepare her maneuver or rush to I'Daiin's aid.
            The latter won out, and Bergi approached the summoned monster from the side after shoving her net in her belt.
            As Bergi moved into position, Quickfoot hustled down the stairs, drawing the cold-iron longsword as he went. He dipped low into a crouch before bounding to flank the lemure with I'Daiin, meaning to thrust his new blade into the creature's melted, diabolic flesh.
            The lemure didn't come close to striking the agile elf as he slipped into a flanking position, the morbid skull-ringed fountain at his back.
            Amismara dashed forward and plunged her glaive deep into the lemure's formless body, but when she dragged it out again, its flesh reluctantly sliding off the polearm, only the very tip was coated in its blood.
            The frenzy of Shoanti battle-trance glittering in his eyes, I'Daiin hacked at the creature of a deeper, fouler rage that had just bit him, wielding his magical longsword as if it were a much lighter blade in a smaller being's hands. "Blood for blood, and more!" he shouted, heedless of the devil just behind him.
            The blood he drew from the grotesque monster forced it back, and it spoke to him - he was sure it was speaking, now - in unintelligible words that dripped with hate. Still, it was unable to distract I'Daiin from the fleshy thing at his back, which scrabbled at his armor in vain and was kicked away with a low moan.
            The air twisted again, and in a belch of yellow smoke a black hound suddenly surged forth, its hide scorched and smoking. It leapt at Amismara, bowling her over and savaging her.
            Just then, I'Daiin felt his limbs begin to stiffen, just as they had the last time he had fought. With a tremendous effort of will, he managed to shake himself out of it, just in time for Mr.Bitey to tear into him, taking full advantage of his momentary disorientation. This time, the sick rage he had felt the beginnings of the last time he was bitten exploded in his heart full force, and it was all he could do not to lose himself to it entirely.
            The halfling whipped her head around at the noise and let out a loud, panicked cry of "AMISMARA!" She honestly hadn't expected the quasit to summon the beast right there, of all places.
            She stared, horrified at the beast atop the aforementioned cleric, unsure of what to do. She settled for pulling out Hrolfr's sword and using an urgent set of hums to try to coax Amismara's body into wakefulness.
            Amismara's blood stopped spurting immediately, and the hellhound turned to snarl at Bergi as she drew her sword. It snapped at her, but she bopped its muzzle away with the hilt as she drew the blade.
            Quickfoot thrusts his sword at the lemure's drooping flesh, hoping to hit a vital spot. Quickfoot's blade, like Amismara's glaive, dug deep into the sticky pile of flesh, but only the tip seemed to have connected with anything vital. The lemure moaned dramatically turning to face its tormentor.
            Amismara did her best to scramble to her feet and protect herself from the onslaught of foes. Her mental list-making came out as shouted commands. "Bitey, then hound, then fleshy!" she barked, tasting the blood in her mouth. The hellhound whirled on her as she scrambled away, but a few jabs of her glaive was enough to keep it at bay as she regained her feet.
            Slavering with wrath, I'Daiin hacked at the rage-beast with a distinct lack of care. "Die! DIE!" he howled. If he noticed the harm and healing visited upon Amismara, he gave no sign of it. In his fury he didn't have the patience to time his blows, and as a result, none of them were serious enough to significantly injure the monster.
            The lemure continued to scratch and claw at I'Daiin, but it couldn't gain purchase against the Shoanti warrior any more than the scorched dog could gain any ground on Amismara now that she was standing again.
            Enraged by the failure of her last spell, the quasit popped into view high above the fountain, screeching something in her scratchy voice and pointing at I'Daiin with her dagger. A coruscating ray stabbed into I'Daiin, and he felt his strength falter - but not enough to weaken his defense. His wild swings kept Mr. Bitey at bay.
            The halfling nodded in acquiescence to Amismara, unwillingly taking her eyes off of the cleric to move up to and attack Mr. Bitey. As the quasit appeared overhead, Amismara shouted out. "Quickfoot! Shoot it! I'daiin! Get ready, I'm going to try to bring it down."
            The elf wasted no time, but at Amismara's prompting, ducked and rolled past the lemure to the base of the stairs, attempting to hide behind the bannister before he sent another arrow tipped in cold iron winging toward the quasit.
            The bizarre little creature screamed in shock when the arrow punched into it, losing a few wingbeats before catching itself. It pulled the arrow out with agonizing effort, dark blood staining its black silk gown.
            Amismara had to keep from shouting victoriously at the quasit's pain. She forced her anger and frustration into a small packet of sound that she shot up to creature. "Fall!" she commanded, her voice amplified by divine magic.
            The hellhound took advantage of her distraction to try to sink its teeth in her leg, but she kicked it in the face and stepped back out of the way.
            Above, the quasit seemed to forget how to fly, its wings flapping uselessly out of tandem. With a shriek it fell down into the skull-lined pool below.
            "Get the master!" shouted the barbarian, wheeling to strike at the lemure, eager to attack the downed quasit.
            Surprised at I'Daiin's fury being suddenly turned on it, the lemure was too slow to stop the Shoanti's mighty blow. Its body and its moan dissipated into nothing as I'Daiin drew back his longsword.
            The hellhound ducked Amismara's glaive and sprang at her, knocking her down again with its teeth at her throat. Her weapon clattered against the cold stone floor as her eyes rolled back and the world slipped away.
            The quasit splashed about in the chilly pool, slowly swimming to the outer edge and pulling herself onto the lip. Soaked and bedraggled, she coughed and spat a quantity of water onto the floor, a bit the worse for wear after her unintended belly flop from the vaulted ceiling.
            Mr. Bitey raked I'Daiin across the back while the lemure vanished, grinning its profane grin at him as its long tongue licked out to sample his blood. He shoved it off before it could bite him, but that didn't appear to worry it. It spoke in a horrible, rattling voice, though what it said was anyone's guess.
            Again, the bard dropped everything in an attempt to rush to Amismara's rescue. She knew her job was to net the quasit, but watching one's comrade bleed out was not what she joined the heroes of Sandpoint for.
            She ignored Mr. Bitey the way he ignored her, weaving her way back to the fallen cleric to cast yet another spell.
            Slipping along the wall while the hellhound was distracted, Bergi kept a close eye on it as she began to sing. It seemed that even in the darkness of unconsciousness her hope-filled song reached Amismara, for again the cleric's eyes fluttered open, her terrible wound knitting rapidly.
            Young Llanothen spared a pained glance for Amismara and murmured a hushed prayer for her safety before recovering his cold iron longsword and rushing to confront the tiny demon. As he neared the quasit, he dropped his bow and dipped his left hand into the pouch of flour at his belt, hoping to get another chance to mark the creature.
            Groping for her glaive, Amismara warily kept an eye on the hellhound's every move, prepared to roll aside if it lunged again.
            "Now, you miserable biting cur, we shall resume our dance," muttered the barbarian through bloodied lips. With his fading strength, he struck out at the spawn of rage with his sword.
            Abruptly the tide seemed to turn in their favor, as I'Daiin spilled the freakish monster's guts. At the same time, the hellhound leapt for Amismara, only to dissipate in mid-leap, leaving only the phantom sensation of teeth closing around her throat, and the smell of brimstone.
            The quasit looked up at Quickfoot bearing down on her, and vanished just as he arrived, his unfamiliar sword too long and heavy to make the quick jabs he was accustomed to. The water dripping on the cold stone floor, however, suggested that it was still there.
            Bergi turned her attention to the dripping invisible quasit once it became clear that Amismara wasn't going to be immediately consumed by something wicked and canine. She pulled the net back out of her belt after dropping the sword in her hands and tossed it at where she believed the creature to be.
            She was unfamiliar with throwing nets, and didn't have time to get very close - but through some miracle, the net settled over the invisible quasit's body like a lacework ghost, revealing that the creature was no longer lying on the floor. It screamed - a shrill, angry sound - and moved under the net, not thrashing, but doing something.
            Seeing Bergi's net settle over the thrashing demon, Quickfoot grinned mercilessly and skipped back a step, letting the flour and longsword drop from his hands as he scooped up his bow and sent another arrow tipped in cold iron at the infernal pest.
            The arrow vanished and the quasit squealed, a good indicator that Quickfoot had hit his mark. Meanwhile, I'Daiin hacked the head off Mr. Bitey, who would bite no more. Hot rage surged through the Shoanti, blurring his vision and eating at his self-control.
            Back by the entrance, Amismara pulled herself to her feet, using her glaive for balance. Struggling to her feet, she felt her spirits rise as the abomination fell to I'Daiin and Quickfoot's arrow hit the quasit. She rushed over to help with the net holding the quasit. A worried voice in the back of her head screamed, "Watch out for the Shoanti!".
            However, the quasit wasn't out of the picture yet. Abruptly, something sliced the net open, and the creature wriggled out, letting the ruined net fall flat on the floor. Startled, Amismara tried to take a swing at it with her glaive, but the long weapon couldn't be held at the right angle so close - and she could no longer see what she was swinging at.
            There was a grunt of pain from the creature, and then Quickfoot's bloody iron-tipped arrow dropped onto the floor.
            Bergi dashed forward and flung her entire sack of flour at the pile of netting. An explosion of flour coated everyone within ten feet - including the quasit, which had been knocked over by the hit.
            Quickfoot delayed a moment, hoping that Amismara or I'Daiin might move into position to provide him with a flanking maneouver. He then crouched and sprung back up, with a reversed grip on the cold-iron blade. He slashed forward with a wicked arc, hopeful for a flanking presence as he sought to gash the quasit.
            Quickfoot delayed a moment, hoping that Amismara or I'Daiin might move into position to provide him with a flanking maneouver.
            The Shoanti lunged around Quickfoot, his powerful legs bringing him to Bergi's side, surrounding the quasit. His eyes glittered at the little demon.
            The cleric understood Quickfoot's plan just in time. She shuffled over the wet, flour-white floor and menaced the creature her glaive. When she saw an opening, she swung.
            I'Daiin and Amismara swung at the same time, and caught the little creature while it was flailing on its back. Amismara's glaive bounced off a wing without seeming to do any harm, while I'Daiin's sword whacked into the quasit's body - it bounced off as well, but the quasit appeared to have felt the blow, curling into a wheezing ball.
            Quickfoot then crouched and sprung back up, with a reversed grip on the cold-iron blade. He slashed forward with a wicked arc, hopeful for a flanking presence as he sought to gash the quasit.
            Quickfoot's sword pierced the little monster's body, and it shrieked in real pain. Desperate, it seemed to be winding up to do something - leaving itself open to another attack from the party. Blows rained down on the quasit, cutting and smashing it against the floor. Amismara ran it through with her glaive, shaking its body off her weapon in a drizzle of blood.
            In the end, the the battered and floured tiny creature lay still on the floor.
            "That was awful!" Bergi said, covered from top to toes in flour. She wiped at her face and turned large, worried eyes on Amismara. "I was so worried about you, with that horrible dog tearing into you!" The halfling gave Amismara (or at least, her legs) a hug.
            The elf carefully placed the point of his sword into the fallen quasit's eye and leaned forward, driving the blade into its brain by strength of arm and weight of body in the same motion. "I think it's dead..." he sighed, clearly affected by the thrill and stress of the battle. Looking over the others, his eyes stopped on I'Daiin and Amismara, clearly seeing the gashes and bites that covered their flesh for the first time. "You are injured my friends, and badly. Let's see to your wounds."
            Amismara watched Quickfoot's work with pleasure, but also with a bit of doubt. She gave the quasit's body a long, long look before turning back to her friends.
            "Amismara first," grunted the Shoanti. "If she dies, we all do. There are always more Shoanti--didn't you mention a revolving cast, Bergi?" I'Daiin smiled, then winced slightly--evidence of some grievous hurt. Nevertheless, he made the effort to bend down and touch his hand to his chest, then to the sunken sternum of the dead quasit. "You were a worthy opponent, Tshamiti tshemek. May your shade move onward; alternately or perhaps at the same time, to hell with you."
            The young cleric stepped over quickly to help prevent I'Daiin's fall. She was amazed to see the respect he gave the creature, and a bit ashamed that she was still feeling mostly anger and hatred for the fiend. But she recovered as best she could, and turned her shame into a supplication to Shelyn. After ensuring the quasit was dead, she called upon the goddess's multi-hued healing grace.
            As the healing warmth of Shelyn subsided, Amismara felt much better. She comforted I'Daiin as best she could has his symptoms faded, but then turned back to this large, mysterious room.
            "We should search this room, and especially figure out that strange, glowing pool that the quasit was using. And then we should make sure nothing else lives down in these caverns."
            Quickfoot busied himself checking over the mangled remains of the Quasit, curious as to what sort of personal effects such a creature might have, and hopeful that its tiara might be somewhat valuable.
            At Amismara's suggestion, he checked the doors in the room for locks and traps before opening them, curious as to what was behind but steered clear of the cold fountain and the bubbling pool, wary of what unknown effects they might have.
            The quasit, no longer invisible in death, appeared to be wearing a fine silk gown, womewhat the worse for wear now. A tiny tiara lay by its (her?) head, and Quickfoot pried a dagger that looked like a sword compared to her size from her cold, dead hands. Quickfoot couldn't help but notice its resemblance to the longsword he held; the dull sheen of the metal was the same. A small jackal-head symbol of carved obsidian was taken from her and identified by Amismara: a symbol of Lamashtu, the Mother of Monsters. The quasit did not appear to have been carrying much else; in truth, the tiny thing might not have been able to fly had she borne much more.
            None of the doors in the room were locked, nor did they have any apparent traps; opening them revealed the ruins of what once may have been garderobes for those who used this strange, cathedral-like hall. More strangely, there did not appear to be any way into or out of the room other than the double-doors they had so effectively barred.
            "Where did that Mr.Bitey come from?" Bergi asked uneasily, looking over at the perverse wreck of a monster that I'Daiin had dealt with.
            The elf tucked the quasit's dagger into his boot with an easy grin. "You can never have too many daggers," he added with a serious look to Bergi as he stuffed the tiara, silk gown, and unholy symbol into one of the empty flour sacks. He then stalked through the room once more, checking under the stairs, and dragging the cold-iron longsword through the cold fountain and bubbling pool to make sure their depths hid no further treasures or surprises. He was careful to avoid letting the waters of either touch his person. He also examined the stones of fountain and pool for hidden compartments, and dug through the garderobes, looking for anything else of value. When he was completely satisfied that there was nothing else of value or interest in the room, and the others were ready, he lead them into the rest of the dungeon, first exploring the passage beyond the one that had lead to this room, and then exploring the hallway beyond the pit that held the zombie.
            A bit miffed at having been ignored, Bergi merely watched with her arms crossed as Quickfoot searched the room.
            The bubbling lava-like fountain, for all that it steamed and boiled, sent a chill up Quickfoot's longsword that he could feel in the grip. However, no treasure unearthed itself during his search.
            The corridor beyond the one that had led to the underground 'cathedral' ended in a room they had spied from the tunnel they had entered the buried complex in. The original purpose of the room was unclear, but large piles of rubble lay strewn over the floor, no doubt from the wall that had been torn down to reveal the tunnel beyond. A search of the mess revealed a lot of it to be broken urns and other pottery that had once held food stores, long since crumbled to dust.

22


            Beyond the cold room where the corpses moaned in their pits, a corridor led to a stairwell leading down, now blocked by collapsed masonry and earth. And beyond that... a door.
            After Quickfoot checked to make sure that it held no traps, the party pushed the door open to find an exceedingly strange, small room. It was a perfect sphere, plated in sheets of strange red metal that unnervingly rippled every once in a while with silent black electricity, which seemed to coalesce into strange runes, or even words, far too often for the effect to be chance. Several objects floated lazily within, spinning slowly: a ragged book, a scroll, a bottle of wine, a dead raven surrounded by a halo of writhing maggots, and a twisted iron wand with a forked tip.
            I'Daiin, true to his nature, drew his sword at the unnaturally floating objects, lips drawn back in a silent snarl. "Magicks. Always twisting the true world." He glanced at Bergi. "The bubbling pool was probably a source of...bities. We won't know now. Ho, Master Quickfoot! Shall we go fishing? I don't fancy setting foot in that room--we'd probably wind up spinning like a living bonestorm till we rotted and join those maggots--but perhaps we can pull those things to us for inspection. Minus the raven, unless you're hungry. Ha!"
            "Twisting?" Quickfoot replied quizzically, "Well, I don't know about that. I like to think that Magick makes the world a bit more exciting personally. Just look at all this stuff. Who knows what it does!?" he adds excitedly. "Although, I'll pass on the maggots, thanks."
            After prestadigitating her flower off with a few notes, Bergi's head shot up to regard the raven closely from behind the barbarian.
            "Why anyone would want to eat that is a profound mystery, indeed." she chimed. "I'd be willing to fish a bit, mind... but I'm just as curious to find out what would happen if I entered... Maybe I'd turn into a book or something! That might be nice, but I'm no gnome... not going to to that just for the sake of doing it. Still, maybe with a rope around my waist, I could grab those things and Master Shoanti could pull me back?"
            "Oh Bergi, I knew we could count on you. Yes yes, let's tie a rope around your waist, and I'Daiin can hold onto the other end and make sure you don't go floating off. And here, you can use my unstrung bowstave to stay off the walls. But, first, let's make sure you won't get turned into a newt or anything." With that said, and without further ado, Quickfoot pulled the fallen quasit's unholy symbol from its floury container and gently lobbed it into the room, curious to see if it fell or floated, and hopeful that he had given it enough force to eventually touch one of the red metal walls with their sinister, black lightning.
            As expected, the jackal-head floated, drifting lazily past the other items to bump against the far wall. A wave of black lightning coursed over it, but it seemed to have no effect on the unholy symbol of Lamashtu.
            Thus encouraged, the flour-and-blood-coated adventurers tied a rope to Bergi and gently tossed her into the room as well. Like everything else, she floated, and was easily able to gather the items (avoiding the rotting raven and its satellites) spinning in space with the help of Quickfoot's bow. A few tugs of the rope later, she was back outside the strange, spherical room. The party examined their loot in the blue glow of Amismara's light, the moans of the dead drifting from the cold pit-chamber behind them.
            The tattered book, penned in brown in a language none of them knew on pale, finely tanned leather pages, bore page after page of sinister-seeming runes around woodcuts illustrations of horrendous monsters attacking people. The wine - Ambrose Edge - turned out to be from Magnimar, old if the date on its label was correct. Amismara was able to identify the scroll as bearing a spell that caused the caster's hands to become engulfed in flames, and the wand as one that would jolt those it touched with its forked tines with electricity.
            "That was actually more fun than I'd hoarded upon. I'm not a newt, either... still...," Bergi shuddered belatedly. "It was gross at the same time, seeing those maggots."
            Quickfoot smiles helpfully at Bergi. "Well, at least you didn't have to touch them" he adds as he accepts his bowstave back and restrings it. "Well, unless there's anything else, should we go up and tell the townsfolk that there won't be any demons from hell coming up from under the Glassworks for the foreseeable future? Although, I wonder, do we need to do something about those pools in the temple room? They looked like the sort of thing you don't want to leave lying around for anyone to stumble into."
            "The liquid needs to be drained or blocked up--and that is a task for artisans and engineers, not us," said the hulking barbarian. He turned to glance at the way they had come. "However, no one should come down here until we have eliminated the Bities and anything else that lies in wait. Bergi--what is that book of beasts?" I'Daiin's eyes glittered in their sockets at the prospect of new creatures to hunt.
            Bergi took a good look at the book she'd only grabbed in passing and winced. After a few more moments, Bergi slammed the book shut.
            "This has to do with Lamashtu worship. Maybe it's profane, maybe not, but associated with Lamashtu? Yes." She sighed. "Going to turn that in to Father Zantus, too, if you don't mind overmuch. Anyway... about the pool thingey... what do we do?"
            Taking their loot, they headed back into the passages that would lead them to Sandpoint.

The Second Cycle