Gatecrashing again
The rain thundered down, drenching our questionable heroes. Zander had sheltered them, and encouraged them to return to the Asylum. That morning, he introduced them to Jex the Agile, a student of Zander’s.
Two guards flanked the door this time. They certainly had not taken the previous intrusion lightly. Another approach was needed. Jex led the party to the rear of the building, a cliff topped by a fence. After several failed attempts to climb the steep bank, Gallidad cast a spell upon Tak, who doubled in height and lifted the party to the fence.
The back door was quickly taken care of by Ned, and the party rushed inside to be met by two Ghouls. Tak, still enlarged, charged in, fists flying, with the other members behind him backing him up. Stumpy the Cleric of Pelor put his power of Turning to good use. He held forth his holy symbol, and channeled positive energy towards the ghouls and frighted off the pair. They escaped out the front door, alerting the two guards outside something was astray. They entered the fray, replacing their cowardly allies.
After the battle was over, Jex, Stumpy and Liadra investigated the unopened door on the first level. Jex bypassed the trapped door, and revealed the library within. Upon the table lay an open journal the cover inscribed with the name ‘Gormand’, the last entry written six days earlier:
It has been several days since Nigel Blackheart passed away. Some of the healers tell me they hear strange sounds coming from the catacombs. I fear that Nigel’s spirit may be resting uneasily.
A shout from outside stopped further investigation. Ned had spotted one of the ghouls had returned, through the burnt-out window and was making for downstairs! The group gave chase, Tak hurling himself down the stairs.
A massive ogre, with pallid, taught skin was waiting at the bottom. He was dressed in black pants, a torn, stained white shirt, and a bowtie. His arms were covered in what could only be the remnants of a waistcoat, The arm raised, and belted the half-orc a solid blow across the head. The ghoul that had run downstairs and alerted the ogre darted to his side, and let loose with its own attack… Poisoned jaws opened, and the head drew back…
Time slowed as the ghouls bite travelled inoxerably towards Tak’s throat.
But those jaws had not taken into account Lady Luck.
The ogre’s follow-up punch slid through the air, towards the side of Tak’s head. His fist went past the drooling jaws, his wrist… The eyes of the ghoul widened, it could see what would happen, but was helpless to do a thing.
The bite was deep, the poison strong. Suddenly, the ogre stopped, mid-punch. The worst possible mistake, at the worst possible time. Stumpy let loose, mace flying. Tak’s fists rained blunt destruction. Liadra descended the stairs, and after a moment of confusion, fired her wand into the undead statue.
Soon enough, the paralysis wore off, and the ogre collapsed in a pulverised heap.
The victors did not have time to thank the Gods for their luck, for a group of figures appeared down a dark passageway. Behind them, in the blackness, was an even darker outline, and inky shape towering over its henchmen.
A voice, dry as the bones of the dead, as intrusive as a suppository, hissed words of dread at them:
“Impressive. But do you really think you will leave here alive?”
