Beneath the Dwarven Stronghold of Kovlar
In the aftermath of their clash with the Forge Spurned Dwarf, our intrepid adventurers made the decision to return to the stoic city of Kovlar to relay the news of their encounter. The Champ, their half-elf champion, found himself the butt of many a jest revolving around his ‘Lay on Hands’ ability. Despite the physical toll of the battle, their spirits remained high, laughter ringing out amongst them in the cool mountain air.
“Seems like you’ve got the magic touch, Champ,” Konekon, the kitsune gunslinger, quipped, his pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
The Champ merely rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were all just jealous.”
Seeking the aid of the Psychic Guild, the party indulged in the restorative services offered, healing their battle-worn bodies and lifting the Drained condition from the Champ. The city of Kovlar, with its warm hearths and bustling markets, provided a much-needed respite.
Galen Lightstep, the elf rogue and fighter, spent his days in the company of Fortuna, who expressed her gratitude for the return of her family heirloom with a warmth that matched the gleam of the precious artifact. Their time together was filled with shared stories and quiet moments, a welcome change from the chaos of their journey.
In the heart of Kovlar, Zotil, the gnome oracle, set up shop, offering fortune-telling services at a price even the most frugal of dwarves couldn’t resist. His quaint stall soon became a popular spot among the locals, his prophecies whispered in hushed tones throughout the city.
Meanwhile, Konekon took to crafting firearms of unparalleled craftsmanship – pieces that caught the discerning eyes of the dwarven populace. His reputation as a skilled gunsmith grew, her creations becoming sought-after commodities.
Once healed, restocked, and well-rested, the party regrouped, their bonds of friendship stronger than ever. They ventured once more into the den of the Forge Spurned, memories of their previous encounter fresh in their minds. The unfortunate dwarves they had freed from servitude served as a stark reminder of what they were fighting against, and they pressed on, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
With a shared nod of understanding, they descended further into the subterranean labyrinth beneath Kovlar.
The passage twisted and turned, leading them to an ominous door. Galen, with his rogue’s intuition, inspected it meticulously for traps while his ears picked up the unmistakable sound of steel clashing against steel. Training exercises, undoubtedly.
“We’re about to crash a party,” Galen informed the group in a low voice, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “And they’ve got swords.”
He eased open the door with a silence that only a shadow could match, whispering, “On my signal.” As he melted into the dimly lit room beyond, Zotil blinked, his voice echoing softly in the stone corridor, “What’s the signal?”
Their answer came moments later. Galen, moving like a wisp in the shadows, launched himself at a member of the Scarlet Triad, his sickle and light mace gliding through the air. His sickle cut a bloody swath across her back, and his mace sent her staggering forward. Her scream echoed through the chamber, and Konekon’s voice rang out from their previous position, “That’ll be the signal!”
The women of the Scarlet Triad were no mere victims though. Bald, tattooed, and deadly, they wielded their rapiers with a skill that spoke volumes of their training. Swift as vipers, the wounded woman and her partner maneuvered themselves into a flanking position against Galen. Yet, whether by chance or some unseen force, they failed to land their attacks.
The remaining Triad members, upon spotting the rest of the party advancing, opted for ranged attacks. Blow darts whistled through the air, aimed at the first figure to step through the door – The Champ. One dart managed to find a weak spot in his plate armor, but the resilient half-elf shrugged off the effects of the poison coursing through his veins. For now, at least.
The Scarlet Triad agents recoiled at the sight of the Champ and his crew, their confidence wavering. Galen, seizing the moment, lashed out with his blade and mace, landing another blow on the already wounded agent. The taste of impending victory was beginning to sweeten the air.
With a roar, Champ charged forward, a whirlwind of steel and fury. His bastard sword found its mark on an agent who had till then escaped injury, turning the tables in favor of his crew.
Meanwhile, Konekon steadied himself in the doorway, his weapon poised for action. The shot rang through the room, but the agile assassin managed to dodge it. Zotil took his turn, his voice echoing through the chamber as he weaved the incantation for Torturous Trauma. As he cast the spell, the air around him shimmered with a sickly green hue, a visual manifestation of the pain about to be inflicted. The targeted agent doubled over, her screams echoing off the stone walls.
“Can’t you aim for once?” Zotil called out to Konekon, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.
“I’m doing my best here!” Konekon shot back, his focus on reloading his weapon.
Despite their bickering, the battle raged on. The wounded Triad agent launched a series of feints and attacks at Galen, each one missing its mark. Her partner, however, managed to snap manacles onto Galen’s wrists, taking advantage of his distraction.
Changing their tactics, the Triad members with blowguns attempted to incapacitate the Champ by casting Hideous Laughter. As they chanted, a swirl of bright yellow energy surrounded them, reflecting the joyous laughter they were trying to induce. However, the Champ simply laughed back, the spell having no effect on him.
Galen, though bound, proved to be as agile as ever. He maneuvered himself behind the most injured agent, his movements causing her to stumble. Seizing the opportunity, he struck twice more, his attacks relentless.
Konekon, still struggling with his aim, moved in for another shot. However, his foot slipped, causing his bullet to go wide. His curse echoed in the chamber, a testament to his frustration. But there was no giving up, not when they were so close to victory.
With a mighty bellow, Champ summoned the divine power coursing through his veins. His sword swept down, smiting the Scarlet Triad member before him with a force that seemed to shake the very air.
Almost simultaneously, Zotil’s eyes sparked with an inner light as he cast Divine Lance, adding to the onslaught against the Triad agent.
Suddenly, the focus of the blowgun-wielding agents shifted from the Champ to Konekon. Two darts flew through the air, both finding their mark on the Kitsune. A gasp escaped Konekon’s lips as the poison began to spread, causing writhing pain and a numbing sensation in his extremities.
“Konekon!” Zotil called out, his eyes wide with concern.
“I’m… I’m fine,” Konekon gritted out, his voice strained with effort.
Amidst the chaos, the Triad agent facing Champ saw her opportunity. Using a clever feint, she tricked Champ into moving in one direction, then struck true in another. The low blow caught Champ off guard, causing his vision to blur momentarily.
The severely injured Triad agent managed to stem her bleeding and drew manacles, only for Galen to tumble past her defenses. His blades whirled in a deadly dance, striking twice and ending her life.
Fuelled by the pain coursing through his veins, Konekon took aim and shot one of the dart throwers. Champ, still reeling from the earlier blow, retaliated with another divine smite, gravely injuring the same agent. Zotil’s spellcasting continued unabated, a macabre Blood Feast inflicting more damage on the Triad members. One of them, enraged, retaliated against Zotil, managing to land two hits and causing Zotil to stagger back.
The dart throwers turned their attention to Galen, but only one dart found its mark. However, the poison seemed to have no effect on the agile fighter. With a swift tumble, Galen moved past one of the dart throwers, his blade and mace landing with a force that left her sprawled on the ground.
Konekon, meanwhile, struggled to open an antidote vial, his fingers trembling from the poison’s effects. After a moment of struggle, he managed to swallow the antidote, the relief washing over him almost instantly. His body was still wracked with pain, but the deadly progression of the poison had been halted.
With a battle cry, Champ launched himself at the near-death Triad agent, his sword finding its mark with lethal precision. The agent crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Without missing a beat, Champ moved to flank with Galen, landing a solid blow on one of the dart-wielding agents that Galen had previously wounded.
Zotil, meanwhile, rushed to Konekon’s side, his hands glowing with healing magic. “Hold on, Konekon,” he murmured, channeling the healing energy into the Kitsune.
One of the dart-wielding agents, seeing her comrade fall, turned tail to run, firing a parting shot at Galen. As she retreated, she yelled out a warning, her voice echoing in the chamber.
“Damn you all!” she spat, her eyes filled with rage and fear.
Her companion, now flanked and desperate, lashed out at Champ, but her attack missed its mark. However, a quick draw of her rapier landed a critical hit, catching Champ off guard.
Galen, ever the relentless fighter, struck at the escaping agent, knocking her down. However, his follow-up attack missed its mark. Konekon, shaking off the lingering effects of the poison, took aim and fired, his bullet hitting the agent with a force that left her stunned. With a swift movement, Konekon reloaded his weapon as he ran, ignoring the searing pain from the poison.
Champ, embodying his namesake, smote the stunned agent with divine wrath, ending her life. Zotil continued his spellcasting, invoking Torturous Trauma on the last standing agent. She cried out as the spell took hold, fatigue and shock evident in her stance.
Seeing her chance, she turned to run, but Galen was hot on her heels. The manacles on his wrists hindered him, costing him precious seconds. Yet, he managed to land a strike, causing her to stumble and bleed.
Konekon moved into the stairwell, taking aim once more. His bullet found its mark, ending the last agent’s life. As the dust settled, Konekon finally shook off the effects of the poison, his body trembling with the exertion.
As the dust settled and their heartbeats slowed, Galen looked down at his wrists, now free from the manacles.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned to the rest of the group.
“You know,” he started, rubbing his wrists for dramatic effect, “if she’d just asked nicely, I might have said yes.” A round of laughter echoed through the room, the tension from the battle dissipating.
Champ, leaning against a wall and catching his breath, shot a playful grin at Zotil. “Hey Zotil, next time you want to cast Torturous Trauma, aim it at the enemy, not us!” he teased, earning another round of laughter.
Zotil rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shooting a mock glare at Champ. “I’ll remember that next time you need healing, Champ.”
Konekon, still recovering from the poison, leaned on his gun and chuckled. “You guys are a mess,” he said, shaking his head. “Galen getting all flustered over a pair of handcuffs, Zotil casting spells like he’s at a birthday party, and Champ… well, being Champ.”
The laughter that followed was a welcome relief after the intense battle, serving as a reminder of the bond they shared. Despite their teasing and poking fun at each other, there was no denying the camaraderie and understanding between them.
With the echoes of their prior battle still ringing in their ears, the band of adventurers ascended from the charred remnants of a room marked by a central fire pit.
Their path led them to the austere shrine of Droskar, its offering box as barren as the hearts of the Scarlet Triad members who had once occupied the space.
Champ let out a low, mocking laugh. With a piece of chalk procured from his pocket, he defaced the solemn shrine with a crude drawing. His companions watched with amusement and mild shock as the chalk traced an unseemly phallic symbol on the holy site.
“Champ!” Galen chided, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. “Show some respect.”
Champ just grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think Droskar will understand,” he retorted, stowing away his shield and gripping his sword with both hands, ready for what lay ahead.
Their journey continued through a door within the shrine, revealing a stark barracks adorned with four empty beds. The sight of the abandoned quarters was a sobering reminder of the adversaries they had already overcome, and those yet to be faced.
A second door on the eastern wall beckoned them forth. Galen, ever alert, paused, his hand resting lightly on the door handle. His eyes narrowed as he listened intently, his adventurer’s instincts flaring.
“There are more women behind this door,” he whispered to his companions. “Sounds like a common room… They’re enjoying a meal.”
A shared look of determination passed between the adventurers. The Scarlet Triad may have been enjoying their meal now, but the party was determined to ensure it would be their last in the lair. With a collective nod, they readied themselves, preparing to face whatever lay beyond the door.
Galen was the first to act, his hand reaching for the door handle with practiced ease.
As the door swung open, the Scarlet Triad members within stilled, their merriment cut short by the intrusion. But Galen was quicker. His twin blades whirled as he struck one of them, a woman, twice in quick succession. Her shriek of pain was drowned out by the clash of steel.
From behind, Konekon fired his arquebus, but the bullet struck the wall instead. Champ, however, moved with surprising speed for his size. His sword came down hard on the woman Galen had wounded, and then again, ending her cries once and for all.
The remaining Triad members, roused into action, drew their rapiers. One lunged at Galen, missing him by a hair’s breadth, while another managed to land a solid blow on Champ, drawing blood. The last, a woman with a blowgun, took aim and scored a hit on Champ who, despite his strength, wavered under the poison’s effect.
Suddenly, the sound of another door opening echoed through the room. Two more Triad members emerged from the northeast, one pounding on a northern door in a clear call for reinforcements.
Zotil, seeing the escalating situation, released a Spirit Blast, which hit the enemies squarely. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a shimmering shield of energy appeared around him.
The northern door burst open to reveal an alchemist, Zuferian, who quickly retreated. But Galen was on her tail, tumbling into the room after her and striking her with a swift double slice. “Should’ve thrown the bomb, lady,” he jabbed, his voice laced with contempt.
Outside, Konekon took another shot with his arquebus, this time hitting one of the women in the doorway. Champ, despite the poison coursing through his veins, managed to land a hit on a wounded Triad member. She stumbled but remained standing, spitting venomous curses at them and pledging her allegiance to the Scarlet cause.
The battle raged on, the air filled with the harsh clang of weapons and the heated vows of the Triad members.
Galen found himself face to face with Zuferian, the alchemist.
A blonde human woman of average height, she wore goggles that gave her an air of eccentricity, reminiscent of a gnome inventor. A mace hung at her side, and potions of various colors swung from her belt, clinking together with every move she made.
Meanwhile, Champ found himself in a dangerous position, flanked by two members of the Scarlet Triad. Their rapiers danced in the dim light as they launched a series of debilitating strikes. The first attack missed, but the second found its mark, cutting through Champ’s defenses. An assassin slipped into place, her blade sinking into Champ’s flesh, dropping him to the ground.
From the corner of his eye, Galen saw a dart whizzing towards him, but it veered off course at the last moment, hitting the stone wall behind him. Zotil, seeing Champ on the ground, rushed forward, his hands glowing with healing energy. As he laid his hands on Champ, the half-elf’s eyes fluttered open, life returning to his body.
Zuferian, seizing her chance, tried to shove Galen, but lost her footing and tumbled to the ground. She managed to swing her mace from her prone position, hitting Galen. However, Galen retaliated swiftly, his blade finding its mark with a critical hit. “Should’ve stayed down, lady,” he taunted.
Outside, Konekon took careful aim and fired, his bullet striking one of the Triad women squarely. He then conjured foxfire, attempting to stun and slow her, but the magic fizzled out.
Champ, back on his feet, placed a hand on his chest, calling upon his divine power to heal himself. With renewed vigor, he grabbed his sword and swung at his attacker, but the blade swung wide, missing its mark. Suddenly, he staggered, the poison taking a stronger hold on him.
Through it all, the harsh curses of the Triad members filled the air, their vows to the Scarlet cause echoing ominously. But the party stood firm, their determination burning brighter than ever.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Champ taunted, gritting his teeth against the pain.
An enemy turned her attention to Zotil, her blade nearly landing a devastating blow. But Konekon, with his keen eyes and steady hand, fired his gun. The bullet struck the enemy’s sword, knocking it off course and reducing the strike to a mere scratch.
“Nice shot, Konekon!” Zotil called out, his voice filled with gratitude.
Zotil’s blood vendetta was triggered, as the enemy struck again, pulling a grimace from the gnome oracle. Ignoring the pain, Zotil channeled healing energy into Champ, bringing him back from the brink once more. With renewed vigor, he swung his staff, hitting his attacker squarely.
Meanwhile, Galen was locked in combat with Zuferian. The alchemist managed to stand despite her injuries, only to be hit by Galen’s blade. She retaliated with her mace, landing a critical hit, but her next attack missed. Flames licked at her clothes, and blood seeped from her numerous wounds.
Galen attempted to trip her, but she managed to keep her footing. Undeterred, Galen followed up with a double slice, both of his blades finding their mark. Zuferian swayed, badly injured.
As the battle raged on, the room echoed with the clashing of weapons, the harsh curses of the Triad members, and the determined vows of the party.
Konekon’s gun roared again, the bullet hitting one of the Scarlet Triad members square in the chest. She grunted in pain but remained standing.
Champ, surrounded by enemies, surveyed the situation, his sword ready. He swung at his assailants, landing a solid hit. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, but he gritted his teeth and fought it off with sheer willpower.
Despite being flanked, Champ managed to fend off most of the attacks. Even when one of the Triad members landed a critical blow, Champ stood his ground.
Zotil, seeing Champ’s plight, channeled healing energy into the half-elf once more. Then, swinging his staff, he managed to hit one of the attackers.
Meanwhile, Zuferian took a step back and drank a potion, her wounds healing almost instantly. With a wicked grin, she tossed a bomb at Galen, covering him in acid. Galen winced but retaliated, his blade finding its mark.
The sound of gunfire echoed in the room as Konekon fired again, hitting another Triad member. Despite the injury, she continued to fight.
Champ, still surrounded, swung his sword again, missing with one strike but landing the other. He could feel the poison weakening, his body slowly fighting it off.
Suddenly, one of the Triad members managed to land a critical hit on Champ, but the rest of their attacks missed. Another member lashed out at Konekon, but her blow went wide.
From the corner of the room, Zotil cast a Shadow Blast, the dark energy hitting every enemy in the room.
Zuferian, her gaze locked onto Galen, attacked with her mace, landing a hit. In an attempt to shove Galen, she lost her footing and fell, but managed to strike Galen from the ground. Galen, thrown off balance, slipped and fell as well.
The air in the room tensed as Konekon’s fingers, steady and sure, coiled around the cold trigger of his firearm. His gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, never strayed from his chosen target among the Scarlet Triad members. Years of honing his craft carved an unshakeable steadiness into his stance. With a heart-thumping blast, he fired. The bullet whistled through the chaotic battleground, unerringly finding its mark.
Almost in the same breath, Konekon summoned his arcane might. A brilliant burst of foxfire erupted, scorching the enemy with its ethereal flame. Across the melee, Champ, the half-elf warrior, was a whirlwind of motion. His strength, bolstered by Zotil’s healing magic, surged through his veins like a raging river. He lunged, his sword a silver streak in the dim light, and cut down one of the Triad members with a swift, decisive strike.
His momentum unabated, he spun and his attention snapped to Zuferian. His blade, now slick with the lifeblood of his enemy, crunched into her side, drawing a pained hiss from the alchemist. “Your end is near, Zuferian,” Champ growled, his voice a low rumble echoing over the clash of steel. His sword danced in his hands, parrying the frenzied attacks of two other Triad members with the grace of a seasoned duelist.
A third assailant lunged at Konekon, her blade singing through the air with lethal intent.
But her attack was futile, the blade cutting through empty space as it missed the gunslinger by a hair’s breadth.
Zotil’s voice rose above the din of battle, his words weaving an intricate tapestry of divine incantation. His hands, bathed in a soft, otherworldly glow, moved with practiced ease. From the epicenter of his prayer, a lance of pure light erupted, searing through the air and impaling one of the Triad members with unerring accuracy.
Zuferian, her form wavering from the onslaught, regained her footing. With a savage snarl, she swung her mace at Champ. Her first strike swept through the air, finding nothing but emptiness. The second followed suit, only to slice through the tension-filled atmosphere. Galen, his skin still sizzling from the acid, sprung to his feet like a cat. His blade sliced across Zuferian, leaving a crimson trail in its wake.
Konekon, his every move a testament to his battle-hardened experience, advanced into the room. His gun roared, the bullet tearing through the air and piercing the flesh of a Triad member. Champ, his body a patchwork of bloody wounds, lashed out at Zuferian once more, his defiance burning bright.
Yet the situation seemed almost hopeless. Champ was hemmed in on all sides, his body bearing the brunt of the relentless assault. He fell, his body succumbing to the brutal onslaught. Zotil, witnessing Champ’s dire predicament, stepped forward, his hands weaving a healing spell that coaxed Champ back from the precipice of death.
In a desperate, adrenaline-fueled swing, Galen finally brought down Zuferian. As a Triad member lunged at the fallen Champ, Konekon fired, his bullet knocking the attacker’s blade away in a shower of sparks.
Champ collapsed again, his life force flickering like a dying candle. But Zotil was there, casting Breath of Life, pulling Champ back from the cold grip of death.
The tide of the battle shifted. Galen healed himself and Champ, while Konekon, in a flash of arcane energy, teleported to their side. His gun barked out once more, this time expelling a bullet imbued with freezing acid into one of the Triad members. Champ, drawing on reserves he didn’t know he had, staggered to his feet, slipping out of the enemies’ reach.
Galen, his blade slick with the lifeblood of his foes, cut down another member of the Triad.
He moved like a shadow, his every step a dance of death, as he closed in on an untouched enemy. As one of the remaining assailants set their sights on Zotil, Champ sprang into action, his sword meeting the enemy’s in a shower of sparks.
The final act of this deadly play was drawing near. Konekon, with the precision of a hawk, sent a bullet whistling through the air, embedding itself into the flesh of one of the final Triad members. Champ, his strength waning but spirit unbroken, dispatched another. Zotil, his voice a low chant, summoned a Divine Lance that found its mark in the last enemy. A follow-up strike from his staff rattled the foe, but it was Galen who had the honor of the coup de grâce, his blade ending the encounter with a swift, decisive blow.
Their chests heaved, each breath a sweet testament to their survival. They moved towards the eastern door, peering through its ancient woodwork. The Undead City of Sagarok spread out before them, a grim panorama under a leaden sky. Their journey was far from its end, the path ahead fraught with unknown perils. But for now, they reveled in their victory, their hearts echoing with the triumphant rhythm of survival.
