It's time for the next Evils of Illmire session in Aldershot.
During the days that followed their last foray into the untamed and while our heroes recuperated, the funeral for stonemason Jorrid and his family was performed. Most of Illmire had gathered at the cemetery on that foggy morning to attend the sombre affair, as did our heroes; they noticed Mayor Zlatko among the quiet mourners while Father Rand gave his sermon. The priest gave no indication that he recognised our heroes despite their encounter with him. An indistinct hazy sun hung behind grey-white misty clouds as Rand lamented the demise of Jorrid and his family, also admonishing the townsfolk for their wayward ways that had brought a curse upon the town. Finally he loudly warned of further evil carried into Illmire by outside forces.
With the service concluded and accompanied by his congregation, Father Rand returned to the boarded-up temple.
Our heroes marched north, having decided to return to the mysterious structure they had spied in the fiery throat of Mount Slagmaw. Soon they were back in the now familiar foothills with its shallow gullies and trails, sporadically vegetated patches and small, dense copses. It was late morning when they crested a low grassy hill and spotted a band of dour looking individuals robed in black cutting eastwards through the wilds.
Our heroes recognized them as cultists and in return, the cultists had spotted our heroes. There was no hesitation, the two bands rushed each other, small volleys of arrows criss-crossed, peppering both sides as they closed for melee. Our heroes took some injuries during the clash but it went well for them. Of the eight cultists, seven had been dispatched while the last had been grappled and knocked senseless.
Our heroes dragged their prisoner to the nearest tree, manacling him there. A few sharp slaps followed and the cultist regained his wits. Despite his position of weakness, the cultist was belligerent and defiantly stared at them one-by-one as he delivered curses to each of them - sure signs of his fanaticism.
Cheery pushed one booted foot on to the cultist’s shoulder. Pressing him against the tree and our heroes proceeded to interrogate him. While the cultist was obstinate, constantly shouting threats at them and demanding to be released our heroes managed to get some information. They learned he was part of something called ‘The Nightmare Cult’ and the cultist admitted that his company was on route to the watchtower where they were active but also boasted that The Nightmare Cult were ‘everywhere’.
The cultist also told our heroes that he had ventured from the north west, indicating that the cult hideout was located somewhere in the swamps. He did not provide the exact route, saying there were secret ways known only to others. Our heroes asked the cultist what was happening in Illmire but he had no knowledge of this. Finally, our heroes asked if he knew anything of the fate of the stonemason and his family. The cultist was also ignorant of this. With their questioning done, Cheery quickly dispatched the cultist, his evil could not be allowed to persist. Our heroes hid the cultists’ remains in a thicket smothered ditch and pressed on.
The fight had left our heroes somewhat weakened, they decided to rest before reaching Mount Slagmaw. Some brief searching revealed a secluded spot amongst a small wooded stretch and our heroes settled in the shade for a couple of quiet hours while Brother Steve entered into meditation.
The respite did not last long though, unbeknown to most of our heroes - except somehow the meditating Brother Steve, a pair of zombies burst through disturbed greenery in a shambling charge at our heroes! The zombies were, fortunately, slow and clumsy and despite their surprise, our heroes managed to evade their attacks. Outnumbered, the zombies were soon dispatched. Once their interrupted rest was over, our heroes continued north.
Undulating verdant landscape, wooded hill and grassy vale fell away as our heroes closed on Mount Slagmaw, rising smoothly in its place was the stark rocky environment that ringed the volcano which grew steadily above the northern skyline during their approach. Sheets of newly formed grey-black basalt blanketed much of the ground here, rendering the region a lifeless void. Every footfall, scraped boot and jangling accoutrement seemed to reverb violently in the smothering silence. Slagmaw was for now, quiet. From the base it was a laborious if simple ascent to the rim.
Despite Mount Slagmaw’s inactivity, incandescent orange veins were visible from the rim, threading their way through coalesced patches of thin igneous skin that topped the lava pool while punishing heat still streamed out of the vent on stifling updrafts. There was a narrow path our heroes knew, that clung to the volcano’s inner wall and precariously descended through the wavering heat to what seemed like the frontage of an ancient, elaborately decorated building carved out of the very volcano and situated just above the surface of the scorching lava pool.
Upon cautiously taking the path, our heroes found themselves at a portico that receded into the rocky surface. It was voluminous, high ceilinged, empty and provided no relief from the crushing heat, walls were decorated by intricate bas-relief illustrations of dwarves battling dragons. The portico was featureless, save for a pair of columns and steel portcullis that barred the way east.
Our heroes approached and examined it. The grille had seen better days. Once it may have been burnished, now it was scarred black and buckled thanks no doubt to the infernal temperatures it had endured. It was hot to the touch and could not be lifted our heroes discovered Peering through it; another chamber could be seen ahead and craning their necks, they barely managed to make out a lever on the portcullis’ other side.
For a short time our heroes futilely attempted to fling a loop of rope over the lever. They stopped though when they spotted a dullish red glow swim across the walls of the chamber beyond the portcullis followed by movement. Our heroes watched as four weird entities came into view. Composed of pulsating, shifting blobs of gleaming lava, they were geared in impossibly smooth iridescent black armour. Vaguely discernable bulbous appendages clutched blackened weapons as they advanced through the chamber on amorphous legs. Shortish and stout, they perhaps had the proportion of dwarves. As our heroes continued watching, the four lava dwarves, seemingly unaware of them, glided out of view.
Our heroes were taken aback, such enemies were beyond them they admitted bitterly! Retrieving their rope and retreating from the portcullis, the heat lessened as they made the walk back up the narrow path and out of Mount Slagmaw. Without delay they began the slog down the volcano's slope and halfway to the bottom, traversing the basalt incline, more lava dwarves came into view! Luck was with our heroes though, they were not spotted and managed to scramble away without mishap.
Mount Slagmaw with its dismal hanging pall of smoke shrank away into the deepening afternoon horizon behind our heroes as they followed a southwesterly heading. While they marched on, the landscape flattened out and flora began to spring up, becoming more and more readily abundant. For a while, tall wild grass dotted with shrubs and bushes stretched out ahead of them before thinning out and merging into marshy terrain.
Late afternoon was upon our heroes as they encountered the edge of an expanse of wetland that stretched to the horizon and was only interrupted by a few barely prominent low patches of exposed land. A rippling golden reflection of the setting sun glimmered off the gently undulating reaches of murky waters. Our heroes could see for several miles into the flat, almost featureless terrain. Among irregular floating bunches of water plants, clumps of swaying reeds loomed above the water and dense low foliage clung to the sandy rises and banks. Waterfowl could be seen flocking into a tumbling murmuration silhouetted against the reddening sky and infuriating swarms of insects buzzed about. To the far off north, they spied the vaguely visible peaks of a mountain range fading into a distant blue-grey haze.
Our heroes splashed on through the dull marshwater. It soon went from ankle deep to mid-calf deep and they found themselves having to slog onwards. Soft silty earth tugged persistently at their every footstep, almost promising to suck them in. The cultist had said secret ways through the marshland existed, pressing on, they decided to search the wetland.
The search did not last long; unseen by our heroes, except for Berto to whom they seemed to materialise from the very ground, a band of mantismen inexplicable appeared - and attacked! It was a short but furious battle, our heroes had a small advantage in numbers and the fight went their way. Even so, Berto took a vicious injury from a mantisman bite, grievous enough that she almost met her end. With the altercation over, Berto was revived. Following that, they undertook a brief search of the area, no signs of where they may have emerged from was apparent to our heroes.
The western horizon was swallowing a seemingly giant sun as our heroes readied themselves to move on, The decision was made to return to Illmire, it would be quite the march though and they had to walk into the late hours. Our heroes hiked through the gecko fens. Darkening day had brought a stillness to the marshy wilderland, amplifying every noise made as they doggedly navigated the now gloomy uneven waterways. The arch of night soon wheeled into view above while uncountable constellations awakened in a clear sky, guiding our heroes through the inky vistas.
A while passed and the fens dried up, revealing an grassy landscape ahead. That too faded, giving way to cultivated tracts of farmland. They were close, our heroes realised, and soon found themselves cutting through shadowy moonlit wheat fields. Some specks of light marked out the town and not long later, dim palisades came into view. Before reaching the town limits however, Berto and Wensley with their improved vision caught sight of a militia patrol in the darkness, on the far side of Illmire. The scruffy patrol looked to be heading along The King’s Highway, in the direction of the circus. It was likely a band of disguised bandits up to some kind of no good. It was late though and our heroes avoided the patrol, then made for Illmire.
Looking about as they walked into town, windows throughout Illmire were now dimmed, a sure sign the residents had retired for the night. It was a good opportunity to again search the stonemason’s house our heroes surmised.
Ensuring they were unobserved, they arrived at the house, our heroes could see that no one had barricaded or repaired the door yet and they crept indoors. The interior was shrouded in gloom and was as they’d left it; refuse and trash strewn across the floor seemed even more dismal in the shadow of night. Cupboards were open, their contents emptied on to the detritus while chairs and furniture was toppled or broken, the house’s only table had also been tipped over. Cautiously, our heroes sifted through the cluttered mess, disturbing as little as possible in the pursuit of finding something secret but it was to no avail. Nothing was found and they returned to The Inn of the Weary Wagoner.
A cool typically foggy dawn announced the arrival of the next morning as Illmire roused itself. Night had passed without event leaving our heroes rested and ready to go Prior discussion meant they had decided to explore the region beyond the logger’s camp. Our heroes left Illmire and skirted the wooded perimeter that ringed the camp, opting to follow the lake’s edge.. A wispy mist lingered across the waters, they saw as they turned south, threading their way through the gap between lake and forest. For an hour they marched until something caught their.attention.
Someway from the lake was a grass topped incline amongst a copse of birches and blanketed in tall verdure, a brisk breeze had swept off the choppy waters and jostled the foliage aside, revealing a black shape behind. Our heroes went over and pushing through the greenery, found themselves at a cave mouth, they could see it descended gently into darkness. The passageway was rocky, uneven and almost immediately led to a small unlit cave. In their lamplight, our heroes could see numerous cots, a cold campfire and small sacks of possibly foodstuff. There was no time to react. From a cave’s deep shadows leapt a black robed figure, brandishing a small blade he lunged at Brother Steve, slashing him. Four against one were not good odds the cultist decided: He turned and ran for daylight. Wensley was quick to react though and loosed a shaft at the fleeing cultist, felling him with a strike to the vitals.
The cave was searched, on the dead cultist they found a dagger of noteworthy quality and pocketed it. Among the cave trappings they found a buckskin pouch brimmed with gold and a mysterious phial. Wensley identified it as a potion to assuage fear. There was little else of anything of value there, nor were they any hidden ways or secret tunnels.
Pushing on, our heroes continued south. Quickly leaving the lake’s sprawling, sky-roofed vista behind to be consumed by forest, they soon found themselves deep in a stretch of shady and spacious woodland. Midday sunlight had been reduced to a leafy green incandescent patchwork radiance through the swaying canopy occasionally punctuated by silvery sunrays blazing through gaps in the coverage. Progress was slow. A sea of verdant ferns dotted with islands of wild thicket carpeted the uneven terrain, obscuring exposed roots and treacherous dips. Our heroes had to pick their steps as they traversed a pathless landscape.
It was early afternoon when our heroes noticed the forest growing denser, as the trees drew in, the gloom ahead seemed to brighten to a weird reddish tint. Then the realisation struck them that this was no gloom. Gone was the fern and thicket carpet. In its place a vast tangle of stout, thorny vines which had grown somehow in immense quantity. Lavished in countless small red-petalled flowers which lent them their peculiar red hue, vines snaked and contorted between trees, wrapping tightly round trunks, intertwining with lower branches, extending east-west beyond sight and deeper into the forest. It was a barrier our heroes could see no way through or around. Instead they turned their attention northwest.
Trees slowly thinned out somewhat as our heroes marched, as did the low foliage, afternoon sky opened up and they occasionally encountered clearings or lush glades. It was quiet here, birdsong was distant and elusive, mischievous breezes murmured through heavy branches. The way became less flat with abrupt rises and falls. There were at times, our heroes noticed, small groupings of worked stone among the greenery. Mossy and overgrown, evidence of settlements or buildings long forgotten to time and ruin. Curiosity piqued, our heroes spent some time searching these areas. Among the thick wild grasses and abundant bushes there were further signs of ancient settlement spread throughout the region but for the most part there was nothing to be found. One spot though, caught their interest. The hill was low, somewhat depressed for its size, but even so, it rose distinctly above its surroundings.
It was a gentle climb to the lightly forested crest and there, our heroes continued searching. Quickly they found what amounted to a small earthy bowl-like indentation in a diminutive clearing; at its centre was an opening that led downwards. There were dirt covered steps leading down the passageway. Late afternoon was upon our heroes as they prepared their lanterns and began the descent.
The soft yellow-orange glow revealed a stone lined passage of worked granite, subsidence in the ceiling meant lines of compacted earth had been exposed, grime and dirt coated the descending steps which had an indescribable peculiarity underfoot.
The steps ended in a squarish chamber of flagstone and brick, again, the ceiling above sagged to expose the compacted earth above. Alarmingly, one wall was covered in skulls that seemed to nod and grin at them inanely in the wavering lantern light while a further number of skulls were scattered or smashed across the chamber. There were, our heroes could see, four ways out of the chamber, one included a closed door.
The hours were passing, our heroes realised, they preferred not be caught here in the hours of night just yet and decided to return at another time. It was a long slog back to Illmire. The day was late upon our heroes’ return to the surface, tall tree tops stifled the orange sunlight and shadows lengthened, shrouding the forest in a subdued miasma of dimness. Our heroes hastily departed, the return was unhindered and again under a starry night, they arrived at Illmire safely.