== Moonday, Erastus 7, 4708; Sandpoint; after noon ==

The Scribbler, which is what our loquacious friend called himself, appeared to have shrugged off Trask’s fireball and began to chant.

Perhaps half a dozen large, dog like creatures appeared around us, with deep black coats that seemed to meld into the shadows cast by our torches. Their teeth, it easy enough to see, were long and razor sharp. They let out a series of unearthly howls and attacked the party.

Rigel found herself down on the floor, beneath one of the slavering beasts, and called out for help. I cast Magic Circle Against Evil, which afforded some measure of defense against the dog fiends. Rarallo launched a volley of magic missiles at one, Nolin seriously crippled another, and Avia eviscerated a third, which vanished with a greasy “pop”.

We looked like we had the dog beasts well in hand when the Scribbler called out, “Now, my fiends, it is time, wait no longer!”

A barghest (a canine looking daemon) appeared between us and the door through which we entered, and two massive devils appeared to the west.

As bad as things looked, the situation was not yet dire. For one, the protection spell I had cast prevented the newly summoned creatures from approaching us, and for another, the dog like creatures were quickly dispatched by our fighters and magic users.

Sabin and Trask began to attack the barghest behind us, with Kane providing healing support, while the rest of us turned our attentions to the pair of disturbingly large devils squatting between us and the Scribbler.

But by now the devils were no longer passive bystanders to the battle. One of them cast a spell (I assume Chaos Hammer), which left Nolin, Trask and Rigel confused and stunned. I frantically tried to think of a spell that would counter the effects, but at the same time the gravity in the entire area where our team was standing reversed.

Avia appeared to have no trouble with this, and she gracefully performed a pirouette, turning head to foot as she slowly fell toward the ceiling.

The rest of us fared more poorly, with the most acrobatic of the group (Rigel and Kane) managing to land on their feet while the everyone else just dropped, landing hard.

Healing was called for, and as soon as we were able both Kane and I sent waves of positive energy about us, healing those injured by the fall.

Sabin continued to hack away at the barghest, which had fallen with us (but did not benefit from our healing efforts), eventually killing it.

Nolin was out of the fight entirely, laying in a heap on the ceiling with a blank look on his face. Likewise Rigel was of no use, and appeared to keep sticking herself with a rapier. Trask appeared to pass through moments of lucid thought, but just as often he appeared to be angry at Rarallo, who had fallen near him and was (at least in Trask’s mind) the cause of his current misfortune. Mercifully Trask’s anger was expressed by fits of slapping feebly at Rarallo, who returned the favor until putting some distance between himself and his ineffectual nemesis.

We had managed to orient ourselves on the ceiling for combat, and even sent a spell or two loose on the devils before us, but lightening appeared to have little affect on these bloated fellows, much to Rarallo’s chagrin, and with the reverse gravity in effect we had to move cautiously if we were to engage them.

Fortunately the devils were not aware that we were in a zone protected from evil, and when one of them tried to teleport among us to engage in melee, it found itself instead shunted off to one side, dumped on its head, and stunned for a round.

Avia and Sabin, who were standing next to it as it appeared, began to viciously hack at it, and black otherworldly blood splashed about the place.

The other devil remained out of reach, eventually dispelling my area of protection from evil, but too late to save its companion.

I cast Airwalk on Avia who marched out of the anti-gravity area toward the remaining devil, while Sabin, who had cast Fly on himself earlier, followed, pulling me with him.

The Scribbler was still somewhere in that direction as well, making cat calls about the fight,

“Now remember, my pet, don’t harm them such that I can’t use their bodies to create more undead minions!”

“While somewhat impressive, this conflict is nothing compared to what was done at Runeforge!”

Runeforge again! I called out for him to explain himself, but he simply tutted, “You had your chance to talk.”

By now Avia, Sabin and I had reached the devil, and the Scribbler fell silent after that, perhaps having read the writing on the wall — figuratively speaking, since having actually written all of the writing on the walls, he was already familiar with his own ranting.

Avia and Sabin began to slice and dice the devil, while Rarallo and Trask, who was no longer confused, launched magic missiles at it, and Rigel peppered it with arrows.

Sensing its imminent demise, the devil cried out to Avia, “Obviously you are a person of great power and prowess. You have but to stay your hand and I will grant you a wish.”

Avia made some sort of derisive snort as I cast Holy Smite, killing the devil.

We now had some time to take in our surroundings, as we looked about for the Scribbler.

This great room had one time been a cathedral to Lamashtu. A great image of a three eyed jackal was carved into the floor, which softly glowed a rusty red light. Six alcoves lined the walls, three on a side, each with its own statue of a jackal headed pregnant woman, with khukris clutched to their chests.

At the western end, a dais, where once an altar stood, was partially buried under the ceiling’s collapse.

By the south western most alcove was an enormous crack that had opened as part of the cataclysmic events that had caused the collapse. A thick fog lingered here, as it did at all of the other entrances and exits to this room.

The entire chamber glowed with an aura of an abjuration effect.

I cast True Seeing, in case the Scribbler was standing invisible nearby, but saw no sight of him. However, I did see a door magically disguised to look just like the wall. After pointing to the exact location of the door, the others were able to see it as well, but Rigel found that it was magically locked.

We used a wand of Knock to unlock the door, and were disappointed to find nothing but a fissure leading to the north, which shortly dead ended.

Rarallo took the form of an air elemental and blew the fog out from the crack to the southwest, as the rest of us followed. The crack lead to a natural tunnel that turned back eastward and opened onto a larger cavern, which was partially separated into three chambers, fashioned like large kennels.

Blood and entrails squished the floor, and as we entered we heard more howling, and soon more of the shadowy dog like creatures appeared around us.

Trask heard the howling and fled back into the cathedral, where we could here him running off with a fading wail. The rest of us stood fast, and Avia began to hack at the monsters as they closed in on her.

I was standing in a small fissure to the south, when a dog appeared out of the shadows and knocked me down. I am not cut out for combat, and so I cast a Protection of Evil spell, effectively blocking any attacks from that direction, and forcing the creatures over to Avia, Nolin and Sabin.

Trask regained his composure and returned to us, and moments later all of the canines had been killed.

More blood and gore lined the floor here, and scattered about were the armor and weapons from the six Sandpoint guardsmen who came down just a few days before.

The kennel walls were covered in writing, which I took the time to read, as I had done in the other chambers. Most of it was of the same sort of ramblings and lunatic rants as before, but in the southern chamber, near another fog filled crack leading west, I found something completely different:

On frozen mountain Xin awaits, His regal voice the yawning gates. Keys turn twice in Sihedron, Occulted Runeforge waits within.

A clue, no doubt, but what does it mean?

Is Xin the name of a mountain? We already know from our reading in the monastic library that Xin-Shalast was a great capital city of the runelords, and that “Xin” was a prefix often associated with Thasselonian sites.

This reminded me of the time when my cousin Menkat and I hired on with a party to find the lost lair of “Tark the Bastard”, a local legend among the people of the foothills of the Kodar Mountains. Tark was a half orc magic user from a generation ago who commanded a squad of potent adventurers that scoured the lands for treasure and magic artifacts. Some claimed he was just a glorified rogue, stealing from whoever proved to be an easy target; while others claimed he brought justice to this corner of the Storval Plateau, freeing the common folk from the tyrannical overlords who controlled the region.

Old Tark and his band were active for many years, and rumor circulated that his hideout was brimming with an amazing amount of treasure. When Tark and his party simply vanished from the region without a trace, people began searching for his loot.

No one was sure about the location of Tark’s stronghold, but a rogue named Pipper had found an old map of the area with a bit of rhyme scribbled on it, which was said to have been written by Tark himself. Pipper put together a squad of various talents, into which Menkat and I had hired in.

The rhyme on the map led us to a small cairn at the head of a valley, buried at the bottom of which was a flat stone tablet with another rhyme. This led us to a small cave on the Karzaron river, where carved into the wall was yet another rhyming riddle, which when solved revelaed the whereabouts of Tark’s hideout.

And so, after weeks of searching and research, and scrabbling about the scrubby and inhospitable lands, fighting off brigands, animals, thirst and hunger, we arrived at our destination. The entrance was located, traps disabled, a band of kobolds defeated, and we finally entered Tark’s long lost lair.

Bones, rusted weapons and armor, and dust were all we found. Almost all. Engraved upon the backrest of a stone throne carved in the native rock, in the same hand that had left the clues that lead us here, was Tark’s final message to any who might find their way here.

A word of advice among the bold,
Who make a living seeking gold.

Or magic, gems or items of wonder,
To horde in secret gathering plunder.

But then one day old age must come,
And all thy minions must keep mum.

To divvy all the precious loot,
Or chivvy them and give the boot.

For treasure split is treasure lost,
And this you may find too steep a cost.

A little arsenic will see it done,
Though arse thyself ye have become.

But now old Tark, his fortune made,
Has gone to Korsovo to get laid.

Menkat and I laughed all the way home. We could afford to. We were simply hired hands who had been paid a flat rate. But Pipper and his friends were in it for shares.

Anyway, the Scribbler’s bit of near nonesense may require a return trip to the monastic library for further research, but for now we still have the Scribbler himself to deal with.

A pair of grand, if not blasphemous, double doors we have left unopened behind, for I feel that our true goal down here lies beyond the fog filled crack before us.

Rarallo is preparing once again to assume an air elemental form and blow the way clear so we may proceed.