Night march

"I knew I could count on you to fulfill your obligations," Constantine says. "Very good then. We depart in ten minutes. You all will be guarding the supply wagon."

The bodies of Dogberry, Bauer, and Flavius are loaded into the prisoner's wagon with the rest. The horses, calmed by Varel, are untethered and harnessed to their respective wagons. The stormclouds scatter, exposing the moon. The four wyvern-riders can be seen circling overhead.

"March!" Constantine orders. And you do.

Aftermath

Laurie slowly comes to as Varel administers her healing magicks, opening her eyes to find her and Mercurio standing above her. Although most of the damage to her skull has been undone, her head is throbbing and she remains a bit confused. The last thing she could remember was climbing into the wagon... there were bodies... a caged gnome..?

It is only after she has healed Laurie that Varel realizes just how much danger she has placed herself in, having used magic openly while surrounded by Imperial soldiers. Fortunately, they did not seem to see what happened, their view being blocked by the wagon; moreover, they clearly had other matters on their minds.

Dogberry and Bauer were slain, as was Stephane Flavius. The soldiers were lucky indeed that casualties in this attack were not greater, but this fact brought them little comfort in the wake of their losses. With stoic silence, they hefted the bodies of their fallen comrades and carried them toward the wagon to place them among the rest of the fallen. All told, nine lives had been lost in what was supposed to be a routine transport.

Captain Constantine had no time for grief. He approached the wyvern-riders as they landed. "Words cannot express my gratitude," he said, bowing, his helm in his hands. "Had you not appeared when you did, I shudder to think how many more of us may have met our end."

One of the wyvern-riders dismounted and bowed in kind. "Our duty requires no thanks. My name is Lothario Ein, Commander of His Excellency's Winged Corps in Freybourne, and I am the leader of these riders. You have my sincere condolences on the loss of your men. I am sorry we did not arrive soon enough to prevent their deaths."

Constantine introduced himself and said, "Such is our duty. They died on their feet in service to His Excellency. They knew the odds and still they fought. They were good men, and I personally will make certain that their families are told of their honorable sacrifice."

"Where to are you traveling, Captain?" Commander Ein asked.

"To the Imperial Road," Constantine answered, "whereupon we are scheduled to rendezvous with reinforcements as we convey our cargo to His Excellency's capital."

"You are not that far, then," Ein said. "Please allow us to accompany you the rest of the way."

Constantine bowed again. "It is not necessary, Commander, but your presence would be most appreciated. This is the second time that we have been waylaid by Elvish Stormraiders."

Ein nodded. "Then tend to your men, good Captain. We will maintain our vigil from above and make certain that you are not troubled again by these terrorists." He mounted his wyvern, saluted, and took to the sky, with the other three riders following suit.

Constantine gathered his remaining men. "We will honor our departed brothers another time," he said, "when we may do so properly. The Winged Corps has volunteered to cover the remainder of our journey to the Imperial Road, so we shall press on tonight so as not to keep them from their regular duties for too long."

Even though they were exhausted, the remaining soldiers did not object; indeed, they seemed almost relieved that their minds would be occupied by a forced march rather than the bloody, chaotic nightmares that sleep would invariably bring.

"I believe we have enough support to make the remainder of our journey in safety," Constantine told the adventurers. "Remain with us to the Imperial Road or depart now, you may do as you wish."

The sky opens

Threatening, voluminous clouds gathered overhead. The wind gusted. The horses whinnied and stamped nervously even before the first thunder rolled across the firmament.

“Maybe it’s just a summer storm,” Dogberry offered optimistically as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. “Maybe it don’t mean nothin’?”

“Maybe,” Captain Constantine mused, scanning the threatening sky. “All the same, assume defensive positions.”

The grassy plain offered no cover from either the elements or enemies. Hastily, the horses were tethered firmly to stakes while the wagons were brought together and circled by His Excellency’s soldiers and the adventurers. The temperature plunged, and then the rain came down in earnest: hard, relentless; leaking through every open joint in armor, soaking through every layer of leather and cloth, sticking to the skin and squishing inside boots.

For hours, nothing happened. Night fell while the rain continued to pour. The long, cheerless vigil was maintained as feet and fingers grew numb and muscles stiffened. Any sign of fatigue, any lapse in vigilance, any remark of levity or complaint was met with a swift rebuke by the Captain to “Shut up and stay sharp!”

Lightning crashed uncomfortably close, perhaps a mile away, followed almost immediately by a deafening crack of thunder so powerful you could feel the vibrations pound through your body.

And then, through the dark and gloom, there was light. It started as a cold, whitish glow, barely visible in the distance, but intensified in brightness as its source drew closer.

Constantine cursed. “Here they come!” He said, “Prepare yourselves!”

Stephane Flavius struggled to control his shaking hands as he etched a complex pictogram into the mud with his dagger. In one circle, he laid a feather; in the second, a braid of horsehair. He took a deep breath and shouted : “Ortus Porrus!” as he clapped his hands together and brought them forcefully down in the center of the sigil. The strange design blazed to life with green fire as some embryonic amalgam of horse and eagle began to take form in the third circle, swelling into a mature hippogriff within a matter of seconds. “Defend!” He commanded the creature, which screeched in dumb acquiescence, and he immediately began preparing another spell.

The light was much closer now. With it came a droning sound, like a swarm of beetles, and the smell of ozone, as two distinct white orbs approached with terrifying speed.

Constantine touched a clear jewel on his bracer and spoke into it urgently. “Freybourne Command, this is Thorndike Constantine, Captain of His Excellency’s 84th Infantry Division. We’re one full day’s travel on the road north of Midhamlet transporting supplies and a prisoner. We have two Stormraiders bearing down fast! Requesting immediate airborne support!”

No sooner had he finished speaking then…

The orbs paused for the briefest of moments, hovering perhaps a hundred feet away, allowing you a clear glimpse of the Elves. They were crouched atop discs of blinding white light, their lithe bodies covered by dazzling armor, brilliant lances in their hands. The rain evaporated off of them, shrouding them in mist. Their faces possessed unspeakable beauty, and their eyes gleamed with unthinkable ruthlessness.

Ever onward

The first night passes uneventfully. The second day's march takes the caravan over the Siannan River and across flat plainland, and the group stops and makes camp about a day's march south of the village of Midhamlet. The Captain projects another day and a half of travel beyond this little town before arriving at the Imperial Road.

So far the journey has been unexceptional, almost boring. The same marching order and watch routines are maintained. Another night passes without incident, though some things may begin to foment questions in the minds of the adventurers.

First, the smell of decaying bodies has started to waft from the lead wagon which is understood to be carrying the heretofore unidentified prisoner. Second, you notice that no effort is made to tend to the needs of this individual; you never see him or her being fed, nor given water, nor brought forth for fresh air or to relieve him- or herself. And the prisoner, whoever he or she may be, never makes a peep in protest of this rather inhospitable treatment.

The caravan arrives in Midhamlet in the afternoon, somewhat earlier than expected. The adventurers are permitted one hour to mill about the village and procure whatever supplies they may need before setting out once again, making camp in the plains north of here when night falls.

Marching orders

The hour passes almost too quickly before the party assembles once more outside the Stumbling Squirrel.

Their supplies restocked, their wounds dressed, their stomachs and canteens full, the soldiers assume their stations in the caravan. There are two wagons, each drawn by a team of two horses. You notice that both wagons are covered with a tarpaulin of oiled canvas to protect and obscure their respective cargoes, and then each of you is assigned a position to guard.

"Onward!" The captain barks. "Move out!"

And you do.

Greater Kauhedl

[Whew! Sadly, I don't have a lot more of the map fleshed out beyond this. Being something of a collaborative venture, if anyone else would like to be a "cartographer" and assist with expanding the known geography of Tyritrius, just let me know and I'll share the rest of what I have so that you may add to it! To divide and diversify the effort, I think it would be really interesting if, like, one person wanted to detail the land to the north, another the west, and if someone else took the south. Any takers? Anyone?]

Reunion at the Stumbling Squirrel

To summarize: After drying off and having their wounds tended to by Varel, Orthos and Laurie traveled to Corcoran to reunite the child (whose name, they discovered, was Clementine) with her family, whereupon they learned that Bill’s son was “eated up” by a large snake. Meanwhile, the group at the hut was reunited with Womblie, who had followed them subsequent to his victory over the “yuan-ti.”

In the morning, they invited Varel to accompany them to Freybourne for delivery of the blue metallic cube to Lord Virgis “Deviltamer” Grimrune at the College of High Summoning, planning to meet up with Laurie along the way, as she had stayed the night in Corcoran.

Hobart accompanied Laurie to inform Bill of the sad news regarding his son. As one would expect, the man was distraught beyond reason, and he cursed the adventurers for failing in their promise.

Laurie was picking at her breakfast at the Stumbling Squirrel when she was rejoined by her companions, minus Womblie and Varel (and Wolfie, of course), who waited on the outskirts of town. As they talked and briefed one another on recent developments, some commotion could be heard outside.

In strode a small contingent of four Imperial Soldiers, followed by Bill. “There they are,” he said. “That one there” (he indicated Mercurio) “said ‘e was among ‘Is Excellency’s finest.”

“Thank you,” their captain said. “You may go. In fact, all patrons are excused while we speak with these adventurers.” The tavern quickly emptied, leaving the party alone with the soldiers.

The captain pulled up a chair and sat down beside them. “His Excelleny’s finest? I dare say, I think not. Surely you are aware of the penalties for posing as Imperial personnel?”

Rain

Lifeline

[For the sake of expediency, I’ll summarize the exit from the lower cavern.]

Orthos listens for enemies. Hearing none, he carefully climbs up the tunnel and peeks over the edge of the hole. Satisfied that there is no danger, he secures one end of the rope to the grappling hook, still wedged tightly between two stalagmites. He tugs on the rope a few times to signal that the party is clear to ascend.

Mercurio comes up first, the child wrapped in his cloak and nestled firmly against his chest. Laurie follows closely behind.

Salbadore is next. He cannot carry the box and climb at the same time, so he ties a large loop at the bottom of the rope and uses it as a kind of seat. He assists with his legs as his companions pull him and the mysterious cube up from above. Mayna flies behind him.

Varel fashions the rope into a harness around Wolfie, who is hoisted up next. When he is safely extracted, the rope drops down the tunnel again and she begins her climb, with the flesh golem following last.

Just as the party begins to wonder aloud regarding the whereabouts of Nibben, he emerges quietly from the passageway behind the shrine. The poor gnome is pale and drenched in sweat, his hair turned white!

The cube

As soon as Salbadore touches the cube, a very large and very loud mouth appears on its surface.

“BEWARE, THIEF! THIS BOX AND ITS CONTENTS ARE THE SOLE PROPERTY OF LORD VIRGIS GRIMRUNE, ARCH-SUMMONER, DEVIL-TAMER, AND HEADMASTER OF THE FREYBOURNE COLLEGE OF HIGH CONJURATION! UTTER ANNIHILATION AWAITS ANY OTHERS WHO DARE TO OPEN IT!”

The powerful voice reverberates throughout the cavern even as the mouth vanishes.

As its echoes die, you can all hear something shifting in the darkness. Something big…

Nibben's nightmare

It wasn’t that Nibben didn’t care that his human companions were facing perhaps the greatest threat that they had ever encountered. No, he was just terribly curious about what lay beyond the shrine. Besides, he told himself, he was on a Very Important Mission, and it was possible that what he sought had been taken there.

So, while the humans battled for their lives, he had slipped through the passageway. He crept stealthily along the wall, wary of traps or an ambush. But there was nothing; he was all alone in that place.

The passage led downward at a rather steep angle. Though gnomes were descended from dwarves, he did not feel at all at home in the subterranean darkness. His discomfort steadily grew as he plunged deeper, approaching claustrophobia. Every instinct in his body compelled him to turn back, yet he willed himself onward, fueled by the passion of discovery universal to his people.

He had traveled hundreds of yards, perhaps even a thousand yards, before he arrived at a precipice overlooking a vista so dreadful that his nightmares would never let him forget the sight.

In a cavern stretching for miles, he beheld there a city under the ground, a panorama of “vast angles and stone surfaces, too great to belong to anything right and proper for this world, and impious with horrible images and disturbing hieroglyphs.”

In the dim light of a thousand braziers, he could see countless serpentine shapes slithering, swarming, convulsing; glistening wetly in the throes of some loathsome, orgiastic rite. It was impossible to say if they were copulating with or cannibalizing one another, or some unfathomable combination of the two.

They came in a variety of unctuous forms; any combination of man and snake the most degenerate imagination could conjure was represented a hundredfold. Some, like the creature he encountered earlier, resembled monstrous snakes with humanlike torsos and arms. Others looked like gargantuan serpents with multiple heads. Still others appeared mostly human except for the presence of scales where skin should have been, or two writhing snakes in place of arms. Perhaps most disturbingly, many of them appeared indistinguishable from normal humans at all!

And then, with one sibilant voice, the city erupted in song as the ritual reached its climax:

Arissen ælmihtig nædre, langung fore ofssniðan!
Cuman forð, lætan sse firass ondrædan!
Anforlætan mildheortness,
Anforlætan forgifeness!
Arissen, ond lætan sse engeln bifian!
Cuman forð, ond macian eall burgssteden gedreossan!
Brengan adl! Brengan hungor!
Brengan orlege! Brengan forðencan!
Brengan fyrhtu! Brengan hell!

Nibben’s heart pounded, his head throbbed. His breath came in shallow, pained gasps. Overcome with horror and disgust and despair, he collapsed to his knees and vomited uncontrollably.

A little bit nearer to hell

Splat!!!

The impact of Varel and Wolfie's landing is softened by a thick, gooey layer of guano that has accumulated on the floor of the cavern. The smell down here is indescribably foul: a potent airborne brew of ammonia, stale feces, and carrion.

There is plenty of illumination from the Light spell, but Varel's spectacles were lost at some point in the fall. Without them, she can't make out very much. Perhaps they landed somewhere nearby?