Chapter 62
As Bilwin and Gven look across the pit of embedded weapons, a humanoid figure emerges from behind the stone sarcophagus on the far dais. It moves purposely with its head turned towards the two intruders. Where two eyes should be are dark pits, from the slender torso extend long and distended arms that flop around its body. It seems to have been startled by their entrance, even as it continues to move towards the front of its coffin.
“Why do we open doors? That was a bad idea! We’re injured and could have used a short rest before fighting another of these lonely sorrowsworn. Remind me next time, take a short rest before opening a door.”
Bilwin whispers a prayer to Hanseath, asking the dwarven god of carousing, brewing, and singing to bless his friends during the troubling moments ahead. Looking around the room, the dwarf confirms that there are no other doors and decides to cast the cantrip, Sacred Flame, at the creature. Ethereal flames appear in the air above its head and quickly descend, causing it to screech in anger and pain.
Dolor enters the room in time to see the radiant flames descend upon the sorrowsworn. Making gestures with his left hand, a beam of energy explodes towards the monster, hitting it squarely in the chest and pushing it back against its coffin. Still sore from their previous encounter, the rogue actively hides to avoid being the target of its retaliation.
Entering the room behind the tiefling, Gven notes the pit of sharp weapons and distance separating them from their foe. The barbarian grabs a javelin strapped to her back and launches it into the air, watching it arc across the space and plummet into the creature’s shoulder. It screeches in pain and anger at the continued assault.
Moving around Gven, still on the western wall’s platform, Mond moves his hands in specific motions that Bilwin recognizes. Fragments of fire erupt from the sorcerer’s hands towards the sorrowsworn, who manages to move to safety behind the casket just as the bolt slams against the coffin. Only its head, shoulders, and three arms are visible.
Grindlefoot turns to Gven. “If you’re willing, this spell will help you traverse difficult terrain like those pointy things sticking out of the floor.” The barbarian agrees to the spell, although she doesn’t feel any differently after its done.
Bilwin looks at the halfling druid, “And this is the first time you thought to use freedom of movement? Seems like it could have been useful, oh, MANY times before this!”
“I was a spider! Do you want to fuck yarn or do you want this?”
Mond shakes his head and says under his breath, “That escalated quickly.”
The creature steps to the side of the coffin and slings one of its arms wide. The arm extends across the pit, barely missing the dwarf’s leg. No sooner has that arm retracted then another shoots out at Mond, also narrowly missing the sorcerer. Letting out another screech in frustration, the creature moves back behind its coffin for some protection.
With only the creature’s head and shoulders visible, Bilwin hurls a bolt of light that strikes the same shoulder as Gven’s javelin. To his companions, “The next attack has advantage!” An ethereal beer stein appears floating in the air next to the dwarf, but it seems confused and doesn’t attack.
Relying on his rogue-like agility, Dolor decides to brave the pit of weapons. Although moving as carefully as possible, he reaches the halfway point with several cuts and slices and blood flowing from the many wounds. Shaking his head in frustration, the tiefling suddenly turns into a silvery mist and then reappears in front of the creature holding Gleaming Blade. He thrusts the sword deep into the monster’s mid-section, twisting it as he pulls it out, causing as much damage as possible. Before it can react to the surprise attack, the rogue hides.
Inspired by Dolor’s surprise attack and counting on Grindlefoot’s Freedom of Movement spell, Gven invokes her rage and dashes into the dangerous sunken floor. The others watch as her body seems to slide through the sharp weapons unscathed, until she reaches halfway and loses the spell’s enhancements. “Fuck this shit. I’m so damned tired.” With a large step to create momentum, she leaps for all she’s worth and clears the remaining distance to the dais. Bloodied from that last step through the embedded weaponry, she lands on the dais on the other side of the creature from Dolor.
From the platform by the door they entered, Mond casts Tasha’s Mind Whip, causing the monster to writhe in psychic pain.
Grindlefoot concentrates for a moment, and a pale beam of moonlight suddenly shines on the creature, who is engulfed in ghostly flames. It howls in agony at the radiant damage, the sound piercing and unsettling.
With Gven and Dolor flanking it, the creature lets out an ear-piercing screech that brings both of them to their knees in psychic agony. During the half-orc’s moment of weakness, the sorrowsworn lashes out with one of its clawed arms, but it flies above Gven’s head, barely missing.
Knowing what works for him, Bilwin casts guiding bolt again. Because the creature is in melee combat with Dolor and Gven, it’s moved out from behind the coffin, giving the dwarf a larger target. The bolt of energy slams into the monster’s side, turning it slightly and causing it to lean off balance.
Dolor sees his advantage and strikes with Gleaming Blade, thrusting it into the creature’s stomach with enough force that it pushes all the way in to the hilt. While still defending itself, the creature seems to have lost its enthusiasm for the fight.
Bleeding from the weapons in the pit and tired from their previous battle, Gven whispers loud enough for Dolor to hear, “Fuck this, we’re done.” Pushing up from her kneeling position, she uses the momentum to swing Tempest Edge with enough force to cut the creature in half. As its torso slumps to the ground, the half-orc stumbles momentarily before catching her balance.
With their foe vanquished, Dolor searches the sarcophagus for any hint of information that might help them find the crevice of dusk. The outside is elaborately carved with symbols that he doesn’t recognize. The tiefling looks to Gven for assistance with the coffin’s lid. Working together, they slide it to the side and let it clatter to the stone floor.
“I think we found our way back to Neverwinter.”
Peering inside the sarcophagus, Dolor sees a shimmering liquid covering the bottom with a faint structure in the distance. Looking at the platform by the door and then Gven, “But how do we get them over here?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
Still consumed by her rage, the barbarian picks up the coffin’s lid with both hands and lifts it above her head. With an “ooomph,” she throws it down on top of the weapons in the pit. The knives and swords shatter at the weight of the stone lid. Stepping into the recessed area, Gven lifts the lid above her head and throws it down on another section of the deadly weapons, pulverizing them. She does this over and over until she’s cleared a path from the door to the sarcophagus.
With newfound respect for the half-orc, Elden quietly comments to Mond, “I don’t like her when she’s angry.”
Reaching the coffin, Elden confirms that it’s a stable crevice of dusk. Before anyone can pose a question, the elf shrugs, “Fuck you all,” and jumps in, vanishing.
As the rest follow Elden’s lead, Mond holds out a piece of paper. “Look, I made a map of the Dolindar’s tomb.” Seeing that everyone has left him he climbs into the coffin, “At least Gustaf will appreciate this.”
Once everyone is through the crevice and safely in the Neverwinter Graveyard, Elden tells them how he was abducted by the cultists.
“Honestly, they didn’t say anything or make demands, they just grabbed me from the university grounds. I was walking along, minding my own business, when a sack was pushed over my head, my arms pulled behind my back and tied, and I was led off to that crypt they used for sacrifices. I have no idea why they picked me!”
Walking through the graveyard towards the main gate, the predawn sun begins to light the area and they see two guards at the entrance. “Lord Neverwinter told us to expect you. Please return to his manor.”
Reaching Lord Neverwinter’s estate, the nobleman brings them into an elaborately decorated room with an open casket. Inside is a woman with brown hair and unremarkable features, wearing a flowing black dress and fitted bodice. Her eyes are closed, as though she’s only resting.
“I see that you rescued Elden. Thank you for that. Alas, Indrina was not so fortunate. We discovered her body in a cell inside the cultist’s tomb.” Lowering his head in mourning, “My mother was beloved by all and will be missed.”
Turning to Gven, “As we were preparing for the visitation today, one of my servants noticed this envelope lying on her chest. Curiously, it’s addressed to you.”
Taking the letter from Lord Neverwinter, Gven unfolds it to read, “You move faster than we expected, but we cannot leave you to your own devices.”
The half-orc recognizes the handwriting. “Apparently, my brother is keeping tabs on us across the planes.”