Knocking on the Doors of Chaos
Tzeentch was the name of the chaos god honored horribly behind the doors visited the week before. There was sufficient warning from the Marais and others, but the party opted to push forth to combat its unknown entities. Prepared, standing before the horrid carnation depicted on the doors, Pritchard knocked open the double doors.
An altar stood in a circular pit, with stairs dropping down. The charmed gnoll friend of Pritchard was coaxed forward, finding a chalice upon the stone face. Grabbing it, he turned away from a massive bird-like demon coalescing from thin air. He lasted not much longer.
Battling the Altar Demon
The party approached the greusome doors. The two massive bronze panels spanned the width of the ancient hallway, the sprawling face engraved with a mind bending tableau of men, women, beasts and demons in all manner of horrible and depraved acts. Death, mutation, and worse were represented in a gut turning level of detail which reinforced the notion that this releif was built from scenes witnessed by the artist. Casting nervous glances between each other, the party arranged around the door, the warriors Martin and Hanna in front, with the Company's magic users and bowmen ringed in a second rank.
Pritchard Hood strode forward, his icy gaze locked on the door, his indignant rage at the chaos restrained within causing his body to quake and twitch. Pausing, the devout sorcerer turned to the group, locking eyes with each member as he gave a moving soliloquy on the companionship built from devotion to law, and the inevitable downfall of the forces of chaos. Many of the party members were moved, some were shaken, one was crying, all were super pumped to kick some ass. Finishing the speech with his hand held high overhead, the witch hunter intoned the mystic syllables of the knock spell, bursting the arcane seal on the door, and revealing a massive chamber inside.
Robert Hazart's dancing lights illuminated the vast chamber, an non-euclidian gridwork of odd angles and warped tiles, bounded by dusty tapestries…
The battle with the demon proved the most difficult single fight in the Company's history. Fortunately none of the party were lost, but the voyage looked dicey for some time. The Vrock snapped the magic sword Bazilien out of Martin's hand, using it in one of its many limbs in counterstrike. A valiant Richard Loubeau ran to the front ranks to give the fighter the use of Silverstrike. Hannah was able to fend off blows with Adironne's Guardian.
After nicks and scratches sent foul ichor pouring down the demon's side, it belched a sphere of darkness around the main entrance. Hannah, not about to let the company's best sword vanish with the beast, raced in after him, where combat continued near the unhallowed altar. Just before finally becoming vanquished, the beast found Robert Hazart exposed and nearly rended the magic-user to pieces. But at last it was destroyed - on this plane, at least - and sent away from its vile chamber of Tzeentch, boiling away to nothingness save a blackened heart.
The Vestibule of Shadows
The party found one hidden door to lower levels but nearly, if not for good luck, missed the other. This lead into the priestly vestibule they had been expected. Empty pegs and cubby holes were not promising, but a massive armoire was. Martin opened it.
A massive, tentacled shadow attacked! Its tendrils loomed from the recesses, billowing out like cushions of darkness. They stung into the fighter, sapping his strength horribly, while Hanna tried to manage some blows. Eventually the party defeated it, but not before smashing the antique chifferobe with errant blows. The shadow departed, leaving a dozen staffs, robes, necklaces with medalions, and an ornate ivory-encrusted dagger and a gold tiara.
As the party murmured over how to strap these things together to haul them to the surface, in the other room Pritchard Hood was attacked!
Out of the darkness came the rotted visage of an old friend. Farkas, the ghoul, had returned. Stunned at the sight, the magic-user did not react fast enough and was quickly paralyzed. Robert, who had eye-shot of the deed, shouted for help.
The necrotic belly of their old friend, the fat gourmet, still hungered. Instead of defending himself, the ghoul settled to rend and tear at the stricken man. Only by a slender, bone-white hair did the party pry the beastly undead off, with the Hazart scion delivering the telling blow, gibbing the head and jaws, which had devoured many a delictible in the past, all over the hall of chaos. As if he had a psychic bond, Goldfinch remained in the vestibule and mourned.
Losses & Loot
1842 xp per character?
1753 gp per character?