Singed Wings of Glory - The Old Temple session writeup 17/09

Back in the Three Headed Ettin, Menace unenthusiastically nibbles at the roasted half-chicken in front of him. His trip to Daring Heights, to make connections and gather information, and the deal with Milo for showcase dwarven craft had gone well, and he looked forward to marketing these goods in all the places that the dwarf would be horrified if he ever found out; but somehow the memory of a scheme well executed, and the prospect of profits did not tickle him the way he had expected it to. So many things on his mind lately, so many plans in motion, so many loose ends left untied… The stress was palpable, like dead air, oppressively heavy, before the cleansing storm.

I am still here, you know.

Then the expedition to the old temple in the Feythorn: Gegrun, the powerful half-orc that he had only recently met and enticed to join him in his schemes in Port Ffirst under false pretences, had talked of an old temple he had heard tale of on his way from the Sunset Spine mountains that required cleansing of “bad peepul”. Eager to seal the deal with his newest associate, Menace had eagerly jumped at the chance to demonstrate his influence among the local low-lives and discovered its location deep in the enchanted forest to the south east. Reunited at last with his trusted second Arkadius, and together with Gegrun, Wil, and the newly arrived wizard Kinnead and the bard Kade, they had set out to liberate the temple of any danger and treasure that might be hidden there.

But instead of providing a welcome distraction, the trip had been a bumbling road trip barely held together by the promise of more breakfast fried chicken wings upon their return (though without Coll’s famous pepper sauce – Gegrun had drained the entire jar in a few swift gulps on his way out the Ettin). Crashing through the forest, they had stumbled over Meryl, a firbolg druid who after having sold them “mushrooms” and “sage” of questionable provenance (he fully planned to sell those off as “exotic pipeweed” and “dried chanterelles” to the next credulous fool he ran into) had given them further directions. They found the temple – a literal hole in the ground.

The interior proved to be rich in historically significant wall paintings of what appeared to be snake people (“Yuan-Ti” as the wizard Kinnead had informed them with a rather smug smile), scriptures and cobwebs, but poor in valuables – it was a tomb rather than the expected treasure trove. The very basement had concealed an unpleasant surprise in the form of an arcane horror: a writhing, roaring, giant creature of bone that caused the ancient walls to tremble with its rage. If it had not been for Gegrun’s mighty swing and the wizard’s judicious use of magic (and, Menace maintained, his own mastery of tactics), the expedition might have met its unceremonious end as just the newest layer of smears on the ancient stonework.

Rummaging through the rubble, they had indeed made a number of interesting finds, he had to admit. Kade had discovered a strange bronze cube, seemingly constructed of 9 by 9 constituent, interlocking but movable cubes; Wil had picked up a staff in the shape of a snake, and a large ruby that Menace had advised him to deliver to the council of Daring, which he had heard offered a sizable reward for stones of such size and quality (“why did you not find this gem yourself? Fool! Fool!”); and Kinnead had discovered an ancient tome, bound in what must have been flayed human skin… Menace had helped to unlock the tome, though the memory gave him a shiver. “The Book of Dreams and Nightmares” the translation read. Something about it spelled trouble… He made a mental note to keep tabs on what happened to it. Menace himself had scooped up a number of ancient scrolls that he hoped once translated would prove valuable at least (“all these languages learned, and yet none proved useful: one more in a long line of disappointments”), along with a number of minor trinkets. All in all, it could have been worse – but that was far below Menace’s ambitions.

You know I can help you.

“Leave me alone!” he hisses, garnering a confused look from a passing waitress. Anger and frustration swell up in him again, and he tears into the chicken as if it were an enemy that needed total and utter annihilation.

You should not repress your urges. It is clearly not healthy.

He pushes the plate away from him, clattering, rolling on the floor.

Something would have to give. And soon.

You know you want to…