Session 18

The party heeded the voices request. Identifying itself as Thozmolim, the dwarf, he guided them to a small fissure in the Western side of the cavern wall. The fissure was a bit too small to comfortably fit through and reeked of Troglodyte. Illiaph sent his familiar down to explore, but after a mile, he came back with nothing to report. The passageway was long and winding. Thozmolim's voice explained that he had been captured by a Trog chieftain named Laogzod and would soon be eaten. The trogs had captured him and forced him to reveal several passageways to the surface after one of his minions infected Laogzods mate. When they took him captive his minions went feral and now attack anything that moves. Somewhere in this cave are his experimental ghasts, results of his digging into quarantined zones. Without his hammer, they are uncontrolable and a danger to everyone.

Olahorn put his foot down at the thought of squeezing into an even tighter cavern.


Bishop Olahorn Milani

"Idon't rightly care what any mysterious voice says! It's probobly a trap anyway. Nothing down here is friendly and I'd rather we not get mixed up on any rediculous tromp through reeking caves. We have a mission to accomplish here! Findle is counting on us!"

He nervously wiped his head an neck with an overly perfumed hankerchief. Inquistor Grundta Steelbraid sided with him.

Inquisitor Grundta Steelbraid

"What's wrong Dael?" She said in a taunting voice. "Are you woried that these beasts will stalk us like we're simple beasts? Let them come! They will break upon me like waves on the Windwall cliffs!"

The party looked at eachother sarcastically and voted to save Thozmolim.

The fissure was tight and slick with rancid troglodyte grease. At multiple times, the party was forced to squirm and crawl through the filth as they followed Illiaphs imp. The roar of a waterfall greeted them as the crack opened up into the side of a small leather hut. The shrill screech of troglodytes was barely heared over the noise. Shed skin and half chewed bones littered the hut, as did clay jars, baskets and stone weapons, generally considered too advanced for trogs to have created.

The party filed out of the crevice one at a time, attempting to move as quietly as possible. Grundta was last out, and while her skills as a warrior were formidable, she lost her footing on a particularly greasy patch and crashed to the ground. Her shield slipped from her grip and skated noisily throught the leather flap of the hut.

The party fell silent for a moment.


The leather flap bristled as Rilken's sword, Roar, flashed through it and the curious trogs skull in one swing. The bisected trog splayed out into the cave as the party rushed forth right into the center of some profane religious ceremony. That trog was one of 20 armed with stone spears and leather armour. Hanging from stalactites were dozens of bone and iron cages, one of which held a particularly hopeful looking Dwarf.

A large and gristly looking troglodyte, dressed in chitinous plates and sporting a spiked tortoise shell raised a pitted warhammer into the air and snapped some directions as the troglodytes washed over the party. Fireballs flew from Laogzod and Shalazar, scattering trog soldiers and seriously injuring the party. Three armour clad duregar withdraw from the chiefs side proclaiming the accession festival a "complete cockup" and flee into the dark of the city.

From around another hut, a massive reptile slitherd into view. His eyes were covered by a type of leather helm which was quickly scratched off at the command of Laogzod. The party shielded their eyes as their natural adventurer instinct told them that this was a basilisk; all but Grundta who inadvertently caught the beasts gaze. Her Inquisitor meditation failed her as the stench of troglodyte overpowered her senses. Her fate wassealed as she is turned to stone. Olahorn apparently panicked and cast fear on several members of the party.

The battle with the sorcerous Laogzod was long and exhausting, but the party managed to pull through and defeat the trog chieftain.

Thozmolim was stable but unconscious, having been stabbed repeatedly by Laozods sacrificial dagger. Looking around, the party discovered that they were in a flooded district of a much larger city. What new horrors await them in Magh Kuldohr, city of the roaring mad?

EXP and Journal