[Returning to the Burning Witch tavern after the most recent expedition into the Complex just outside the city-state of Orm, Scamandros and company lay out their loot to be divided amongst themselves upon a table. Like Scamandros, Fergus and Fancy appear unharmed; while Thea and the dwarf Feeble Finn both seem to have suffered prodigious nosebleeds (and earbleeds?). Of the four hirelings, Terk has one arm thoroughly wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak, while Kiddo and the others all seem as unscathed as the first three of the company.
Before the hirelings split, Scamandros produces a bottle of dark berry wine from his person, purchased some time ago when the merchant Bartamus Fludge came through town, and he also counts out 12 gold pieces from his purse.]
Hold up, comrades! Take this bottle of wine and this gold and split it up amongst yourselves for your valiant services today--and know that with future successes like this, the bonuses will only be greater. My thanks to all of you, and I'm sure that I speak for all in the company today. Now go, eat, and be merry!
Now, my adventuring fellows, my suggestion is that we take what we suspect to be enchanted to my compatriots at the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun to be identified. Our library of tomes in Old Imperialish (Phasmo's specialty) and Gnomish treatises (my own particular), combined with Crannoc's nose for dweomers will have every property properly understood in a trice, and for a pittance to boot!
And Finn--you may retain what you will of the equipment I purchased as you wish, or return it; I would simply ask that you pay me the coin that I used to purchase anything you keep, while anything returned will expunge the relevant debt to me. But count the arrows as free; oft have I heard the refrain from archers, "Love not thy ammunition." Altogether, I spent fifty-eight gold, not counting the arrows. (I can provide an itemized receipt if needed)
[And turning away from the wrangling over remaining particulars, Scamandros spots sometime-companion Betina the Blind among the other patrons of the tavern.]
O! Betina! Share a pint with me, won't you? I've just returned from the Complex. I'll tell our tale, if you regale me with the particulars of the white altar. (I'm sorry I missed that expedition, I got caught up in the mixing of alchemical reagents and completely lost track of time!)
--Friend proprietor! Bring us a pitcher of chestnut ale won't you? Here's four gold, I hope that covers it. (and I'm sorry I've forgotten your name, I'm sure I'll remember it next I'm in)--
So! I have vague ambitions to seek the rumored "Yeast Fields" within the Complex for the brewing of alchemical potions, but my companions seemed more interested in "reconnaissance in force" (and hopefully a bit of dis-covered recompense), and we opted to seek the rumored elevator. But we were sidetracked by a rumor of a recent expedition in the northwest of level one, and of certain places left unexplored therein.
Thence, therefore, did we march, past the staked-heads west of the Pit, and around through the secret door and under the great arch. Several paths lay before us at the next juncture, and we elected for the nearer doors.
The first door we opened led to others; the next revealed disappointment in an old storage room. But to our horror, Thea pointed out a translucent flowing amoeboid come through the door in pursuit! It descended on Finn, congealing around his head and extracting the fluids of his braincase most terribly. Fortunately, he was able to cast it off with his hands, and I darted in to strike its nucleus just right such that it "popped" and dis-integrated.
Relieved of that horror, we turned to the next door, and behind it found an octagonal room containing a singular chest. Certainly treasure was secreted within! But wary as ever, we held back from our enthusiasm, and Fancy the Bard gave his touching-pole to--Termin, I think was the name? A hireling of his, anyway--to prod open the lid. Well, that he managed to do, but not without the mishap foreseen! A dart was cast forth, and delivered what must have been a fine dose of poison to the poor man. He had to sit down and put head between his knees until his heart stopped "pattering", as he said (meanwhile, we were elated to find within the chest a reasonable amount of electrum coins).
Continuing to open the many doors before us, we next discovered a storage chamber, already looked-through by the three occupants, caught in the act of tapping on the walls in seek of secret doors. They attempted to mislead us by declaring a "musical" interest, but Fancy showed them real music, and two of the three became entranced. They revealed themselves as servants of the Sorcerer-King Valtropis, seeking certain treasures told to them by the Gnomes to be hid within that reach of the Complex. The armor we recovered (over there) is theirs; alas, they forced our hands, and we had to slay them, rather than remain cordial! Fergus' understanding of the dweomers of sleep proved his worth in this clinch of conflict.
Well, the walls didn't hold any secrets; I can't decide if the Gnomes gave poor information, or if the Vat-Spawn only poorly understood their intelligence? Regardless, we continued our investigations.
The next room contained nothing but alcoves and a dusty recliner, but two other floating amoeboids came on after us while investigating. Fortunately our combined arms proved their match, and they too were soon "popped" (I should not neglect to mention the bravery of our hirelings here, who were the ones to deliver the final blows to both horrors; I think Glys killed one all alone with her crossbow). Fancy, digging through his knowledge of lore declared the amoeboids were "metroids", whatever that may mean, but also suggested that we just call them "suck clouds" given their proclivities.
My astute observations and fine deductive mind next allowed us ingress through a certain wall formerly assumed to be true, but now found to contain a secret door. The first door within proved merely a closet; but our hirelings, set to guard, called out from the corridor, and filing out from our investigations, we discerned a fleshy tentacular horror squelching toward us from the darkness. This too fell before our arms, and I will not feign modesty that it was my own magic missile that dealt the killing blow (though Fergus did call out for it in the final act).
The last that we explored was another room, containing only a corpse, dressed in one of the finest shirts of mail that I have ever seen. Indeed, it is there upon the table, being wrangled over by my comrades! Fain, of course, were we to remove the armor from a dead man, and remand it to one of our own who would more happily use it ... but none of us wished exactly to be the hand that took from the dead. Terk was volunteered, much to his chagrin (as perhaps you saw).
He went as ordered, and returned after but a moment, and something was crawling in his arm, under the skin. The horror of it almost paralyzed. Fergus suggested cutting it out with a dagger; Finn suggested hacking the arm off entire with a falchion. Fancy blanched at both (as did Terk), but could not immediately recall whatever lore he was clearly seeking behind his eyes.
So! Terk we grasped, all of us, and held him down without analgesic, and Fergus applied his dagger in imitation of a surgeon.
To no avail! Blood poured, and the man howled, but the thing still writhed in his arm.
But, "Fire!" Fancy suddenly declared, and he lit a torch, and while continued to hold poor Terk down, Fancy applied the brand to the flesh, and forth came the grub, terrified like a tick from the flame, and Fergus cut it atwain with his knife.
Seeing all this, a light did we see in Thea's eye, and she muttered something to herself about, "The silent death," and went to the corpse. I know not what she did, for I was engaged with Kiddo consoling poor Terk and wrapping his arm; but when we returned to the corpse to retrieve its armor, Thea did declared it free of the wretched grubs, and lo! nothing further untoward occurred when handling it.
Well! Such are the deeds as we have just accomplished them. But I think I missed any true retelling of your own adventure to seek out the white altar. How is it that you came by your new unlooked for power of touch? And I think, also, that I have missed word of some of your other adventures, if you have any wish to expound on deeds of daring-do!
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