Chapter 56
The adventurers leave The Gilded Glyph, everyone with a satisfied smile from well-spent gold coins. Their newly acquired magical gear infuses them with confidence to face the unknown perils of a foreign plane. Having traveled through various regions of Elsemar, they’re accustomed to adapting to unknown cultures and behaviors. Fortunately, arcane and clerical magic is widely accepted in these lands, allowing them a freedom none of them have experienced before.
Continuing through the city of Neverwinter, they make their way to the ironically named Neverdeath Graveyard. Two guards stand at the gate as they approach and Gven comments, “Keeping things in or out?”
“A wee bit o’ both, ye might say. How might we ‘elp ya?” Eyeing the group closer, “Aldo, ye don’t look like ye need much in da way o’ help.”
Dolor moves to the front. “We’re looking for some folks who went inside and never made it back out. Any thoughts on where they might be or where we might start looking?”
The other guard points to a large mausoleum up a small hill and not too far from the gate. “That one there has been of particular interest lately. Can’t tell ya who’s gone in or what they were about, but we’ve seen fewer come out than went in.”
Dolor nods his gratitude and the group enters the Neverdeath Graveyard. The ground is covered with dead grass and weeds. There are barely any headstones and the ones they see are tilted or broken with most of the engravings worn beyond legibility. Off in the distance, they can see a short stone wall that separates the cemetery. It’s waist-high for a human and beyond it are large, elaborately decorated headstones and mausoleums, most with fresh flowers laid on or arond them in remembrance of those who have passed on. They must have entered through the gate to the pauper’s graveyard, with the stone wall protecting the deceased nobles of Neverwinter from the less fortunate, even in death.
The mausoleum that the guard pointed them towards turns out to be a squat, unassuming granite block with metal double doors that are a few steps lower than the ground. A rusty chain hangs from the door handles, but it’s broken in one spot and failing at its task to prevent intruders. Above the door, they can make out two words chiseled into the stone: Hallix Mausoleum.
Bilwin opens the doors and they swing easily, although noisily, with a loud creaking sound. Entering the darkness, the dwarf sees footprints in the dust and dirt covering the floor. They lead towards the back of the room where stairs descend into darkness. On each side of the room are three stone coffins. Dolor notices the dust is disturbed around the coffins and their lids, as though they’ve recently been opened.
Curious, Grindlefoot walks from one coffin to the next, knocking on them with his staff, trying to see if they’re empty. The thumps reverberate through the room and beyond, down into the unexplored crypt. Dolor has moved closer to the back stairway, “They know we’re here now.”
The halfling farmer gives Dolor a sheepish look, “But I didn’t throw any rocks.”
Soon, shuffling and moans come from the darkness of the stairs, obviously ascending towards the group. “Ready yourselves,” says the tiefling as he draws Gleaming Blade.
Mond counts five undead humanoids shuffling up the stairs before a sheet of flames bursts forth from his extended hands, singing the one in front.
The dwarven cleric raises his favorite tankard in the air, “Who’s drinking? I have beer for everyone!” and casts Turn Undead. The ascending wights slow to a stop, unable to move closer to Bilwin.
Attempting to gain advantage for his friends, Grindlefoot leaps to the top of a sarcophagus and casts Faerie Fire. Four of the wights are suddenly illuminated with violet light, leaving the one closest to Dolor unaffected.
With the advantage gained from the halfling’s spell, Gven attacks one of them with Tempest Edge. Swinging the greatsword twice, she cuts off one of the creature’s hands and leaves a deep gash in its arm. It reacts with its long sword, swinging widely and missing the half-orc.
The other four wights are still consumed by Bilwin’s spell, attempting to flee from his presence back down the stairs into the darkness. As they try to escape, Mond hurls an egg-sized spark of fire at one, stopping it in its place and singing its right side. It turns and closes the distance to the half-elven sorcerer, stabbing wildly with its sword and missing.
Alongside Mond, Dolor stabs Gleaming Blade almost completely through the wight’s shoulder. Twisting the blade violently as he pulls it from the undead creature, Dolor causes even more damage to the wound.
Three of the wights continue to evade Bilwin’s presence, returning down the staircase, while the other two remain to fight.
Seeing how effective it was the first time, Mond casts Burning Hands at the wight standing in front of him. Flames cover the top half of its body and turn it to a crisp before it falls to the floor.
“Now’s your chance, my lovely!” Pulling his new battle axe from his back, Bilwin takes a lengthy swing at the creature in front of Gven, severing even more of the arm where Gven removed its hand. An ethereal beer stein appears, floating next to the dwarf and attacks the wight with a forceful blast, damaging its other shoulder.
Standing on top of the sarcophagus, Grindlefoot casts Shillelagh on his staff and takes a running leap at the lone attacker. With a smack, poke, and hefty swing of his magically enhanced weapon, the halfling turns the wight into bits and pieces.
Bilwin yells, “I’ll keep them away while you investigate the sar-kay-oh-ef-uh-guy!” The dwarf descends the stairs quickly, although carefully, using the Turn Undead spell to keep the wights moving away from the party.
“What did he say?”
With a quizzical look, Dolor answers Grindlefoot’s question. “I think he spelled out sarcophagus, incorrectly mind you, so they wouldn’t know what we’re investigating.”
Opening one of the coffins, they find it empty. After knocking on the others, they decide that they’re hollow and empty before deciding to follow Bilwin down the stairway.
The stairs end after ten steps, revealing a room enveloped in darkness that is thirty feet on each side. They see three more caskets on the far wall, two on the wall to their left, and one to their right. Dolor sees Bilwin exit the room through a tunnel on the west wall, to their right, that appears to be the result of a cave-in.
Passing through the short tunnel, they come to a larger room. Immediately to their left, in the southeast corner of the room, are loose rocks and stones, further evidence of instability and a cave-in. Directly across from them, on the west wall, is a short set of stairs that lead up to a platform and closed door. Painted on the door is a very large eye, peering at them in judgment. Another cave-in tunnel leaves the room from the southern wall, adjacent to the debris in the southeast corner. On the northern wall, to their right, are three closed doors. The one in the middle has a rusty chain and padlock keeping it closed.
The three remaining wights are shuffling around at the base of the stairway to the door with the painted eye as Bilwin approaches them slowly.
While they’re not very fast to begin with, Mond decides to slow down the wights even further, shortening this fray as much as possible. A moment later, a flame-like radiance descends on one of the creatures and Bilwin quietly voices a ‘thank you’ to Hanseath.
Still weilding his shillelagh’d staff, Grindlefoot launches into the air, lands in a somersalt, rises with a kick to the wight’s knee cap, and ends with a flourishing smack of his weapon. The undead creature wobbles, shaken by Bilwin’s cantrip and the halfling’s aggressive attack.
Targeting one of the unscathed wights, Gven stabs it in the shoulder and in a singularly smooth motion, pulls Tempest Edge free while turning her body in a full circle, using the momentum to come full circle and completely cleave the head from its body.
“Don’t get up.”
The two remaining wights swing their swords at Gven and Grindlefoot, both miss widely. Dolor approaches one from its side, wielding Gleaming Blade with familiarity and accuracy, slicing through its left arm—unfortunately, not the one holding its sword.
Still unhurt, Mond raises one hand and sprays poison at the two undead attackers, but they aren’t affected.
Battle axe in both of his hands, Bilwin grunts loudly as he swings it towards the closest wight. It connects with the creature’s leg, carving out a large chunk of undead meat.
Grindlefoot twirls his staff above his head, taps it on the floor twice, swings it fully around his body, and then gives a small poke at the wight in front of Bilwin. It grimaces mildly.
Slightly winded from the effort to decapitate one of their comrades, Gven stabs the wight in front of her, further maiming it. In response, the undead creature reaches out with its long sword and slashes her hand, just beneath her coat’s protection. It’s a small cut, but enough that she senses her overall health slighlty drained by the necrotic nature of the injury.
Dolor raises his arm and points at the wight who injured Gven. A chime rings in the room and the creature seems to crumble in upon itself, suddenly decaying from the necrotic damage, but still standing.
Mond witnesses Dolor’s spell and follows it with a Fire Bolt. The creature bursts into flame and crumbles to the floor in ashes.
With only one undead opponent remaining, Bilwin swings his axe and barely misses. Grindlefoot spins in with his staff, adding to the creature’s damaged state.
“I’ve had enough.” Irritated about receiving the decaying wound, Gven surges forward with Tempest Edge. In two short, quick strokes the last wight is reduced to pieces on the floor.
With no further opponents, the group takes in the room. Curious about the painted Eye at the top of the short stairway, Bilwin approaches the door and slowly opens it. Peering beyond, he sees another short set of stairs that end at a closed door.
Of the three doors on the northern wall, Dolor fixates on the middle one with the chain and padlock. The rogue attempts to pick the lock, but it’s stubbornly rusty and unyielding to his finessed skills.
“Move away for moment, will you?” A bolt of fire shoots from Mond’s hand at the padlock, melting it into its liquid state. “Now try it,” the sorcerer says with a grin.
Removing the chain and padlock from the middle door, Dolor opens it to find a hallway that extends for 20 feet and ends at a small room. Therein lies a single sarcophagus with the lid removed. A small tuft of dark hair is barely visible above the coffin’s edge.
Having heard Mond’s fire bolt spell, Bilwin rejoins the group as they enter the northern hallway and make their way into the room. “Look, there’s a human sleeping in the sar-kay-oh-ef-uh-guy.” A few seconds later, the battle axe in his hand begins to glow and he holds it up higher, causing the woman to stir awake.
Surprised at waking up to a dwarf holding a glowing battle axe over her, “What? How? Wait, who are you?”
“Lord Neverember sent us to find some folks in the graveyard. Are you one of them? Want some beer?”
“I’m Sarcelle Malinosh and no, thank you, I do not want any beer. But could you kindly spare a sip or two of fresh water? I’ve been forcefully kidnapped, stripped of my magic, robbed of my pride, and I’m parched.”
The dainty woman rises from the sarcophagus, dressed in plain but functional attire, with mildly chaotic dark brown hair that seems to move in every direction at the same time, and striking hazel eyes. She recounts her tale to the group, how she was kidnapped by the cultists who worship a creature that believes it can become a god, or at least god-like. Before she was held hostage in the depths below Neverdeath Graveyard, she used to visit other planes, for research purposes only, of course. Upon her return from the most recent visit, she discovered that she had lost her sorcerous powers. Her innate magic was just…gone.
As the group walks the sorceress to the gates at the edge of the graveyard, Gven notices that she appears especially troubled, beyond the trials she experienced and shared with them. “You’re safe now and I’m certain Lord Neverember will offer you safety. Yet, you still seem troubled. Is there anything else you’d like to share? Anything that might help us find the others?”
She stops mid-step, pausing to look off in the distance and then directly at Gven. “When I was held hostage in that tiny, cold room, sleeping in a coffin, I had a vision. At first, I thought it was only a dream, but its vividness remains with me, even now, as no dream does—or should. And the fear, the fear is still palpable. It rips through my body like a river of burning oil, searing it from the inside out.”
“Can you tell us what you saw? It might be useful,” Gven says softly as she lays a hand gently on the small-statured woman’s shoulder.
“A skeletal figure, wearing a dark cloak with glowing symbols that constantly shifted. I couldn’t make them out or understand them. It was standing on a hilltop or a platform above everything—and everyone—in a place I didn’t recognize. There was a storm raging around him, electric or, more likely, magical in nature, with winds blowing in every direction, whipping its cape to and fro. Its arms were raised and it spoke a gutteral language I didn’t understand, but the chanting and rhythmic nature were obviously spells, or maybe prayers to some evil deity. It frightened me to the core of my soul.”
She turns to face Gven directly, with her penetrating hazel eyes. “It was Vecna.”
The group has learned the secret of Sarcelle Malinosh, that she had a vision of Vecna’s ritual.
They resume their walk to the gates and Gven continues to comfort the sorceress, hand on her upper back, providing a sense of safety and security. The guards assure the adventurers that they’ll help Sarcelle find her way to Lord Neverember’s mansion. They part ways, wishing her well.
Walking back to the Hallix Mausoleum to pick up their search for the other victims, Grindlefoot asks Bilwin, “Why do you keep saying sar-kay-oh-ef-uh-guy?”
“That’s a long story, my fine friend, deserving of a warm fire, full cask of beer, and playful audience!”