The party was quick to dismantle the dark-mantles. No reward but the chattering laughter of one out of his gourd. Signs of what darkness, loneliness, lack of personal hygiene, and a disgust for all things sentient mixed with a single low level paranoid spell caster meant magical spoils for the adventurers. Somewhere between, “the mooner will fly!” and “watch for snakes”, everybody’s loathsome snake, Horgus, escaped. It was not long as his stumble in the dark deemed to much for the lecherous merchant, reluctant to comply. Anevia once more expressed her concern to return top side with everyone, including Horgus.
A tremor in the ground sent the press further into the dark. Their next encounter provided a tense moment. The mongrel-men stood their ground for a round as it was deliberated friend from foe. The group ended up assisting the new friends with saving a life (one of the few good things accomplished since their decent). The mongrel-men lead the group back to their tribe by taking an indirect route leading down a corridor with streaming walls of blood. The sign proved only to dim the hopes or increase urgency. Aravashnail was enthralled at the opportunity to document these morlocks although any word said came out as a slight more than inquisitiveness. The Enforcer put him in his place. After a skip across a ravine and a dull encounter with a spore, the group discovered something sinister with the supposed dead crusaders; they were secretly cultist. Pieces started to showing there was something more to the siege of the city.
Neathholm proved to be a collage of whatever trash and disused material could be cobbled together at the end of a underground cistern. The mongrel-men were equally bits of this and that. Their leader, a rat man of healthy proportions, welcomed them for saving one of their own. His aid was soon delivered as the adventurers explained their need to make it above ground. The chief was dourer at this news but knew it was time to defend what they had as a home. The party took rest, refuge and readied themselves for the morning.
The assault on the lair was all heart and no brain. No sooner had the party broke down the front door, they split up as each encounter drew them further into the complex. Nommed on by an oversized lizard, corrupted by sultry cultist, shot through with deadly arrows, nearly dead they regrouped, shot up, and headed once more unto the breach. The supposed leader, Hosilla, prepared for one last battle but not the dwarven cannon that was shot through the door. In small cyclones of destruction, the group eliminated the body guards only to have Hosilla vanish and apparently slip out. Never mind that, the magic of a locked strong box was no match for Anevia’s tools… the fifth time around. Their discovery of demon correspondence and a strange sword only complicated their mission once they reached above. A little fishing ensued followed by their first foul encounter with Dretches, the scum of demons. Still savage, cruel, and simply stupid, the demons summoned their spawn for reinforcements while emminating clouds and other demon tricks. Having quite enough, members of the party exercised extreme discretion in decorating the walls and fellow team members with vats of blood and demon entrails. Savagery behind them, the heroes step up into a new day in Kenabres. A great and dreadful day.
1400 each or what ever gets to level… 3