Rise of the Runelords Session 19

All that glitters tries to kill you

Cletus stood knee-deep in brackish water, fingers slick with gold and the sting of salt. Gleaming coins danced in his palms—well-earned spoils, he figured, after facing down the infernal fires of Lamashtu. The cavern around him, once carefully carved with reverence, now lay broken and flooded. Riptide water spilled in through unseen cracks, swirling over remnants of once-magnificent sculptures and wall carvings—a ruined testament to a city that had drowned in its own opulence.
As Cletus reached for a treasure—an ornate helmet, clearly giant-sized and shining dully in the cavern light—it shifted.
Something was living inside it.
The Thassilonian relic had become a shell for a massive hermit crab, its alien limbs now bristling and hostile. Coins and gems slipped from Cletus' grasp, splashing into the water. Vannrik had moved in beside him, stoic as ever. But Jinx, Rabie, and the Sheriff were still in the tunnel behind them. The crustacean stirred again, aggressive, guarding its hoard from the intruding world.
From a crag above, the Sheriff’s voice cut through the chaos.
"Look out!" Belor bellowed as he vaulted down onto the cavern floor, splashing through the shallows. He rushed forward, bypassing both Vannrik and Cletus, eyes locked on the monster. He swore under his breath—he couldn’t reach anything but the creature’s reinforced flanks.
Vannrik remained composed. With barely a motion, he bent the very water surrounding them, commanding it to rise and freeze into the shape of a trident—a glistening weapon of elemental force. But even this show of control couldn't outmatch the creature’s natural armor. It sidestepped, making the weapon's point slide harmlessly aside.
Gold caught Jinx's eye as he reached the cave mouth—then his gaze sharpened. Trouble. Real trouble. The creature’s anatomy was a fortress unto itself.
"Let's see if I can find some weakness in you..." he muttered under his breath. But not from up here. With a determined splash, he joined the fray, water soaking his robes. Recognition flashed in his eyes.
"We can crack the shell!" Jinx called. "Bludgeon it!"
He discarded his current weapon and pulled a looted spear—a crude yet balanced polearm with a triangular metal tip and a reinforced butt end, perfect for battering rather than piercing.
Rabie followed, arm outstretched mid-incantation. His spell struck unseen, leeching strength from the beast. It shuddered under the weight of its own shell, staggering, the massive helmet shifting with its sluggish movements.
But it wasn’t down. With sudden, brutal force, it lashed at Vannrik—claws swinging, hooks tearing across his side. The kineticist twisted away just before they clamped shut. Blood swirled with gold in the churning water.
Cletus readied himself, eyes wide at the size of their opponent.
"That's a big fucking crab..." he muttered grimly. "But to hell with it."
Pinned against the western wall, the creature thrashed amid the growing circle of foes. Cletus looked toward the entrance. Andromeda hovered there, blade gleaming.
He raised his voice..
"Andromeda, do you think you can just hammer on it until it's destroyed?"
"I can try!" the holy sword answered with confident resonance.
Cletus reached within, strengthening their bond with a flicker of summoned magic. The sword sprang to life, gliding low over the water, darting beside Jinx and Rabie with deadly grace. The flat of her blade struck the helmet hard, a gong-like reverberation echoing off the stone walls.
It was enough.
Belor seized the moment, flanking the crab from the far side. He swept low, slicing at its spindly legs. The creature convulsed, water erupting around it in violent waves.
Vannrik gritted his teeth and reached into his pouch, fingers finding a healing solvent. As it soaked into the cuts on his arm, an icy sledgehammer formed in his grip. With one clean swing, he crushed the creature’s massive claw. The weapon shattered on impact—but the strike bought him a heartbeat to raise his shield.
Jinx edged in cautiously, scanning for any vulnerability. Nothing yet. No gaps. He downed a bitter elixir, and a thick, ginger-scented mist began to pour from his pores, clinging to the air like fog.
Rabie, chest heaving, stared hard into the creature’s eyes. His purple gaze bore deep into its eyestalks, but the beast was too distracted, too panicked.
Rabie didn’t hesitate. With the beast distracted, he traced swift symbols into the air, casting a spell typically used to induce uncontrollable laughter. Of course, the hermit crab wasn’t built for humor—but magic was flexible. The spell twisted itself, not into laughter, but into a mesmerized fixation. The beast’s alien mind latched onto something simple, something shiny—the reflections of treasure glinting across the cave walls. Its focus dulled. It still lashed out, still tried to defend its territory, but its reactions slowed, hypnotized by the dancing glimmers.
Its eyestalks locked onto the glint of Belor’s chainmail.
With a sudden snap, it lunged, grabbing the Sheriff in its massive claw. The crushing grip forced the air from his lungs in an instant. He writhed, booted feet kicking up spray, as the claw clamped tighter. His face darkened, blood rising fast to the surface. He was turning purple, eyes bulging. It didn’t take a lip-reader to know he was silently screaming for help.
Andromeda saw her opening.
With a sweeping, fluid motion, the holy blade skimmed low over the flooded floor, slashing through the crab’s clustered legs. A sharp crack echoed as limbs snapped beneath her force. The creature tumbled, its bulky shell slamming sideways into the cavern floor. Its softer underside now lay exposed. Belor dangled from its claw, his body limp, his armor grinding with every breathless second.
Andromeda didn’t wait. She spun out from beneath the beast, blade ready once again but there was no space. Vannrik was already atop the crab’s carapace. The kineticist straddled it like a battlefield siege weapon, both hands clutching the manifested sledgehammer of hardened frost.
With every grunt, he brought the hammer down, and every strike was met with a crack like ice splitting under pressure. Chitin split. Bits of shell flew.
Jinx, still adjusting to the blindness of his third eye, let his remaining vision scan the chaos. Information flickered into his mind with clinical precision. Five pereopods. One major claw. One minor. Despite the turmoil, his new perception granted insight. Numbers aligned. Patterns emerged. The real challenge was finding a way to make them matter.
Beside him, Rabie raised his voice in anger.
"Leave him alone!" the witch shouted, his voice low and rough.
With a flick of his wrist and a spiraling somatic flourish, Rabie conjured a bolt of flickering, violet energy, half-real, half-dream, phasing in and out of visibility. It cracked through the humid air and slammed into the hermit crab’s center with explosive force. The blow rattled the creature, rocking its heavy shell and nearly toppling what little balance remained. Overhead, Ghurab cawed with sharp satisfaction, its ragged wings flaring like black sails.
But the beast wasn't finished.
Wounded and cornered, it retaliated instinctively—its grip on Belor grew tighter still, and it pulled itself deeper into its golden helmet, its one remaining sanctuary. A fortress within a fortress.
Andromeda rose once more, water cascading off her blade. Her voice rang out like a war trumpet:
"You can crawl away all you want..!" she declared. "Let’s ring that shell!"
The sword began to hum, the divine energy building within its edge until the entire weapon thrummed with holy resonance. The sound grew, thick and suffocating. A reverberating pulse shook the cavern. Then, like a choir’s final crescendo, the blade released its full force. A thunderous BOOM cracked through the inside of the helmet, the vibrations ricocheting through the metal and into the crab’s soft inner flesh. The soundwave didn’t just rattle it—it liquefied its organs. The chitinous plates bulged, then shattered from within as black ichor burst through the cracks like ink in water. Its legs kicked once, twice—then twitched into stillness.
Slowly, its claw slackened.
Belor dropped like a ragdoll into the sloshing water, gasping and choking, finally able to breathe.

The logistics of wealth

Vannrik knelt beside the Sheriff, pulling him gently to his feet. Belor’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving from the crushing blow he'd endured.
"I thought I was done for," the Sheriff whispered hoarsely.
Without wasting time, Vannrik called on his healing magic. A swirl of elemental water surged up around Belor’s body, glowing softly as it worked. Audible pops and cracks echoed through the cavern as bones realigned and tendons stitched back together. The Sheriff groaned under the pressure, then sighed as the pain dulled.
"Are you okay?" Rabie asked, his voice quiet but concerned.
Belor gave a slow, grateful nod to Vannrik, then turned his weary gaze to Rabie.
"Thank you." He drew in a breath. "I’ll live." Another sigh followed, tinged with resignation. "I guess I’ll live."
He knelt, scooping up a handful of gold coins, their surfaces slick with cave water. They shimmered in the dim light as he let them spill through his fingers. "I hope this was worth it," he muttered.
"It’s a lot of gold," Jinx replied, eyeing the treasure with no small amount of awe. "So I guess it was worth it."
With the creature slain and danger passed, Cletus took a long moment to appreciate their surroundings. Ancient carvings and sculpted grandeur half-submerged beneath water and rubble… and everywhere, gold. His excitement was palpable.
"Gold, Andromeda. Have you ever seen this much gold in your life?"
"That gold could be used to rebuild Sandpoint," Andromeda reminded him sternly.
Cletus offered her a toothy, exaggerated smile.
"Yes, exactly what I was thinking."
Even Vannrik’s practical demeanor wavered before the lure of wealth.
"Well, if we spend the gold in Sandpoint, then it’s good for their economy. So we should do that."
"Good plan," Jinx agreed quickly, already imagining the implications.
Andromeda drifted toward the Sheriff, her radiant blade form casting light like a beacon.
"Poor man, I think he is in need of more healing." She hovered, pausing for a beat. "Cletus?" Her tone sharpened. The tiefling hesitated. "CLETUS?"
"All right," Cletus grumbled, rolling his eyes as he raised his hands and began the spell. "There you go, Sheriff."
"Thank you, Cletus," Belor said earnestly.
"Don’t thank me. Thank… which goddess was it again, Andromeda?" Cletus replied, voice thick with sarcasm.
The celestial blade didn’t dignify him with a response.
"I will do a prayer to Iomedae when I catch my breath," the Sheriff offered diplomatically.
"Now there is a good man," Andromeda said, the light from her form pulsing warmly in approval.
A hollow clang interrupted the moment.
Jinx was standing inside the massive helmet, dwarfed by its size. The gnome rapped on the inner shell, the sound ringing through the cavern.
"Do we chop this up in pieces?" he asked, running his fingers along its interior, half-measuring, half-musing.
The others were already knee-deep in the flooded chamber, fishing up coins and precious stones, their reflections dancing on the ceiling like shifting stars. The ancient engravings stared silently down—worn but unmistakable: a vast mountain city, carved directly into the peak, the summit shaped into the visage of a stern, watching face.
Rabie stood still, the imposing figure made him feel small. It was odd to him, the city of gold was a myth in Varisian legend. As far as he heard it was never named, but Jinx knew to it to Thassilonian history. "Xin Shalast," he murmured.
The name lingered in the air, as heavy as the treasure around them. The fabled city of gold. A legend, dismissed by scholars and madmen alike. And yet here, in this ancient ruin, it was named, even depicted.
Cletus followed the witch’s gaze, a greedy grin curling across his lips.
"Is that place real?"
"It’s just a legend," Rabie said—but his voice lacked the conviction of someone who truly believed that.
"But all of THIS treasure seems real enough," Cletus said, lowering a cluster of gems into a sack with reverence. "All of these drawings might lead us to an even greater city of gold. So... how likely do you think this city really exists?"
Vannrik stepped forward, still weighing a ruby in his palm.
"Well, this gold is real. I, for one, am really intrigued by it, at the very least."
Cletus hefted one of the heavy sacks, testing its weight.
"With the amount of gold that’s here..." he said, his eyes gleaming, "we could build a whole new Sandpoint."
Jinx stood transfixed before the massive golden helmet, its curves gleaming like the sun caught in metal.
"Imagine the creature that wore this helmet," he breathed, wonder thick in his voice.
The comment made Cletus pause mid-step, his brow furrowing.
"You think it was worn for real?" he asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea. "It must’ve belonged to some sort of troll… ogre… or giant."
Vannrik crossed his arms as he eyed the relic.
"I thought it was part of a statue or something. Who makes a helmet out of solid gold?" He shook his head. "I’m no blacksmith, but I know that’s a terrible choice for armor."
Jinx grinned, tilting his head.
"Depends on what you mean by ‘poor,’" he quipped.
Vannrik opened his mouth to reply but was waved off with a smug flick of the gnome’s hand.
"How do we get it out of here? It’s far too heavy to carry," Andromeda asked, her voice echoing faintly in the chamber.
"In pieces," Jinx suggested flatly.
"That would be a shame. Perhaps there’s a spell?" Cletus turned to Rabie with a hopeful glance.
Rabie and Jinx leaned in, examining the artifact with greater scrutiny. The faceguard shimmered with solid gold, but the rest of the helmet appeared gold-plated—functional, not just ornamental. Despite its impracticality, it was undeniably priceless.
"As Cletus said, fit for a giant," Rabie muttered, stroking his singed beard, a lingering souvenir from Nualia’s fire. "I speak their language, by the way."
"How come?" Cletus asked, genuinely intrigued. "You’re not a… I wouldn’t say…" He trailed off awkwardly.
The gnome raised an eyebrow.
"Are you talking about my height?" Cletus burst into laughter.
"Why? Am I the first one to try?"
"You might be the last one," Jinx replied, deadpan.
"He’s feisty as a giant," Cletus chuckled, recovering. "But seriously—how did you come to speak their tongue?"
Jinx’s eyes drifted back to the helmet, his voice thoughtful.
"I speak many languages. I like studying. There’s a man in Sandpoint who knows a great deal about ancient tongues."
"So you’ve never met a giant?" Cletus asked, a sly grin creeping in.
Jinx’s voice dropped into a low, faux-growl.
"Are you trying to be funny again?" But the smirk on his face betrayed the tease.
A brief silence followed, broken by Vannrik with a half-smile.
"Well, aren’t we all giants compared to you?"
Jinx winked.
"It was too tempting, the way you said it," Vannrik admitted.
"I’m fond of small jokes. Don’t worry—I can handle it," Jinx replied with a grin.
Just then, Belor stepped forward and knocked on the helmet. The hollow thud reverberated through the chamber like a distant drum. He glanced up toward the broken stone stairway leading back to the surface.
"It’s going to be a lot of work, but we could roll it up the stairs, through the old building," he proposed.
Cletus let out a dramatic sigh, slumping slightly at the thought.
"Can’t we just find someone? Doesn’t magic solve all our problems? Or at least the heavy ones?"
"It’s not my first solution," Belor said with a shrug, "but it’s possible."
"I’d break my back pushing that thing," Cletus grumbled.
"Just leave it to the strong ones," Jinx said, patting him on the leg.
Vannrik, meanwhile, had turned his attention to the scattered treasure and something among it that gleamed differently. He bent down, brow furrowing.
"There’s a runestone here. Anyone recognize the rune?"
Jinx perked up immediately, excitement flaring in his eyes.
"That’s a very nice rune. You can engrave it into armor—it helps deflect attacks. Just like the one we saw at the Feathered Serpent. It’s rare. Very valuable."
"I’m very interested," Vannrik said, kneeling beside it.
"And I believe Vannrik deserves it," Andromeda declared, drifting closer. "Always so brave at the front. Just look at him—covered in bruises, the poor boy."
"Yeah, his pretty face ain’t so pretty anymore," Jinx jabbed with a teasing glint in his eye.
  The Sentinels took the chance to catch their breath, bandaging wounds and steadying themselves. Jinx, meanwhile, found himself oddly fascinated—he could count the scattered gems and coins with just a glance, the numbers arranging themselves cleanly in his mind. This new vision of his wasn’t just visual—it was mathematical.
Through the far end of the chamber, a submerged tunnel led toward the Varisian Gulf. The currents were beginning to stir, gentle for now, but sure to grow stronger soon.
Cletus muttered an incantation and scanned the room, his fingers tingling with detection magic.
“What’s this? It’s a bit weak but I can feel the whole chamber resonating,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. The aura was faint, like an echo trapped in stone. Ancient… and decaying.
“It’s ancient,” Cletus added. “That’s probably why it’s so weak. It’s slowly dying out. Can’t you feel it, Rabie?”
Rabie simply shook his head. Jinx instinctively reached for a spell of his own, then stopped—he couldn’t cast it anymore. That power had been stripped away.
They wrestled with the helmet, dragging it slowly toward the water’s edge. It scraped and groaned with each inch gained, a heavy burden. Before long, Cletus threw up his hands in exasperation, hands on his hips.
“Well, I’m going to head upstairs and find someone, or something who has an idea on how to get this 300 pound helmet to the surface.”
Vannrik turned toward Jinx, clearly reconsidering a previous idea.
“Does anyone know if breaking it apart would make it lose it’s value?”
Cletus paused mid-step, turned back, and shrugged.
“Well, know it’s not just gold, but also an ancient artifact. So, I would guess it is easily worth double its gold value to the right collector. There’s bound to be a museum in Magnimar that is willing to pay for it.”
The idea clearly energized him—he practically skipped his way back into the crypt, heading for the L-shaped hallway to the north.
Andromeda watched him disappear into the shadows before calling out, her voice carrying something warmer than usual.
“You know, Cletus. I hesitate to say it. But I am glad that you didn’t join Nualia’s demonic call after all. I know that you’re only here because you can’t carry that helmet yourself. But I also know that you care about those people in Sandpoint.”
But Cletus had already turned his focus elsewhere.
Something had caught his eye—a carving on the eastern wall. It was the circular relief of a towering stack of gold coins, tens of thousands high, rising from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Each coin was etched with sharp, rune-like markings. Something about it felt off.
He leaned closer, lifted his lantern. Two thin slits interrupted the sculpture—like missing pieces in an otherwise perfect pattern. The lines weren’t worn or cracked. No, this wasn’t time or decay. This was intentional.
“I should know better,” he muttered to himself. Still, he pulled two gold coins from his pouch and slid them into the slits.
A deep grinding rumbled through the stone. The column began to move—descending slowly, layer by layer—until it vanished into the floor, revealing a hidden staircase below.
“What’s this? A reward for me?” the tiefling grinned, eyes gleaming as he stepped boldly into the dark.
Beyond the secret door lay a long hallway, eerily symmetrical, with double doors set into each of its four walls. The silence here was total—Cletus could no longer hear the strain of his companions struggling with the helmet behind him. Alone now, and unable to resist the tug of curiosity—or greed—he moved to the eastern doors and pushed them open.
A chill crept up his spine.
Inside, three low tables occupied the center of the room. Their surfaces were cluttered with disturbing instruments: saws, knives with grotesquely long blades, and other tools whose purposes were too alien to guess. Near the southernmost table lay a grim scattering of bones—too many to be a single skeleton, too few to make two.
Cletus sifted through the items, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t make heads or tails of most of it. Frustrated, he muttered aloud,
“Fine,” he groaned to himself. “I’ll go get the others.”
By the time he returned, the others had succeeded in hauling the massive golden helmet up to the base of the stairs. They were drenched in sweat, hunched and panting from the exertion.
“So, how are you all feeling?” Cletus asked, his voice a teasing blend of sarcasm and triumph. “How is your back, Sheriff?”
“We’re going to get there,” Belor replied through clenched teeth.
“Just in case that you want to try something else, I found another hallway. Another pile of bones and more loot!” the tiefling announced with mock cheer, though irritation crackled beneath it. “I don’t know what any of it means, but I believe I saw a key of some kind. And I thought, you know what? It’s the right time to come back and get my friends, I know you’ll want to share in what I found.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Jinx said calmly.
“Would you kindly leave the helmet here and come with me?” Cletus urged. “I mean, I love sneaking into treasure rooms but there is power in numbers. People who understand these treasure’s better, people who are better at disabling traps than I am. I wouldn’t feel comfortable on my own.”
“Yeah, we remember what happened to Jacob earlier today. Wandering around here alone is not wise,” Vannrik added grimly.
Jinx gave Rabie a look, who nodded.
“We should check it out.”

An address from the past

Back in the strange room, they examined the surgical instruments. Each was masterfully crafted—likely worth a small fortune on their own. But what caught their eyes wasn’t a tool at all.
Resting on the eastern table was a bizarre, seven-pointed object of silver and gold. One side bristled with blades and nodules, the other bore a thin, curved handle. Not far from it, two more runestones were buried under clutter—one designed to reinforce armor, another to enhance a weapon’s edge.
Jinx reached for a small vial, quickly identifying it as an elixir of life. Then he turned, squinting toward the double doors to the south. Made of solid stone, they had no visible handles—only a shallow indentation in the shape of a seven-pointed star, peppered with hollows and thin slits.
It didn’t take long for Jinx to piece it together.
“The runelord of these lands. Was his name... Karzoug? What was he associated with? Wasn’t it greed?” Cletus asked, snapping his fingers as the thought struck.
“Yes, it was,” Jinx confirmed without hesitation.
“That must be why two gold pieces were the price of opening the secret door,” the tiefling mused aloud. “Strange fellow.”
“What do we do now?” Belor asked, glancing around.
“We open the other doors,” Cletus replied with a nod to the northern wall. “Come on, Vannrik. Open up.”
Vannrik stepped forward and shoved the doors open.
  The room inside was stark, its only feature an upraised dais supporting a grand marble throne. On either side stood statues of a stern man wielding both book and glaive. But the throne was not empty.
A ghostly image flickered upon it—an echo of the man in the statues. He gestured as if addressing a great crowd, his hands adorned with hooked rings. His mouth moved, shaping words, but they were garbled, unfamiliar.
Jinx leaned forward, eyes narrowing. He recognized the language.
Thassilonian.
“No secret is safe from me,” Cletus chuckled, already casting a spell that would let him understand the speech without speaking it himself.
“That is not how you are meant to use the power of the gods, Cletus,” Andromeda scolded.
Despite the message’s distortion, Jinx translated what he could aloud:
“...is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you...”
He groaned.
“The rest is too distorted to translate.”
Still, his eyes gleamed with awe. This wasn’t just a message—it was history alive.
“So this spell is showing us Karzoug then? And he was at war with the Runelord of Wrath, right? So that must be this guy Alaznist then.”
“Alaznist was a woman, but yes,” Jinx corrected with a touch of pride. He theorized aloud—this must be some kind of projection spell, lingering for millennia. A last transmission before the fall of Thassilon. Before Earthfall.
“What do you think he means with ‘Take my final work to your graves’?” Cletus asked, glancing around uneasily.
But the answer, like so many truths of the ancients, seemed lost.
Jinx reached out, hand passing through the projection. It shimmered and distorted.
“Why don’t you sit in the chair?” Cletus teased.
So Jinx did. Karzoug’s image continued to speak, caught in its eternal loop, despite sharing its space with the gnome.
“Well, mighty Runelord Jinx, what have you learned?” Cletus asked.
“The projection was not cast from here,” Jinx said, frowning. “So the Runelord was not here when the earth was shattered. Which probably means he...”
“...died in another place,” Cletus offered.
“Maybe he didn’t die,” Jinx countered. “Maybe he got preserved. Like a mummy, but in a magical sense.”
“Come on, it was thousands of years ago. You said so yourself,” Cletus said skeptically.
“Yes, but I also still feel the presence of his spell, which is able to reach us,” Jinx said, eyes narrowing.
“If he can send his message over here, why don’t you send a message back?” Cletus grinned. “Ask him how he’s doing?”
Jinx’s expression turned fierce.
“I wish I could, but Nualia took my...” The gnome marched toward him, voice rising. “Look at my eye. I can’t see anymore. I can’t cast spells anymore. I cannot do anything anymore. I couldn’t even find a way to hit that fucking crab!”
A hush fell over the group. The frustration was raw and real.
“There isn’t much more that I can do, other than tell you what I know. But it would be interesting if his remains were preserved somewhere.”
“I know a certain wizard who would be very happy to hear about what we learned here,” Cletus said, offering a smile—an attempt at reconciliation.
It didn’t last.
“Perhaps she could give us an even better explanation of what this means than even Jinx can.”
Jinx held up a hand to cut him off.
“Don’t underestimate my knowledge. Lyrie probably can’t even read Thassilonian.”
The gnome sighed, his brow furrowed with concern. "But, where is she? We have to look into that." Lyrie, the elusive archaeologist, had apparently never come back for her notes…
Cletus turned sharply to Belor and gestured. "Sheriff, did you see a Garundi woman? Dressed as a scholar? With a cat?"
Belor rubbed his chin, clearly confused. "We have a scholar from Garund or Jalmeray in Sandpoint. She has a library."
Cletus leaned in. "Does she have a cat?"
The sheriff shook his head firmly. "No, and she wouldn’t be here. Trust me."
Cletus exhaled, shoulders slumping. "Then no one knows where Lyrie has gone." He paused, then added, "Nothing to do but explore the last door, I guess."
"The one with the conveniently shaped starhole." Vannrik remarked dryly.
"And luckily we have a conveniently shaped starkey!" the tiefling replied with a flicker of excitement.

Malfeshnekor

They gathered before the southern door. Jinx stood poised, new blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. Vannrik raised his shield, alert. "I don’t trust this." Jinx murmured under his breath. Behind them, Belor and the other Sentinels held close, forming a cautious line.
With deliberate care, Vannrik pressed the seven-pointed star into the carved indentation. The door responded at once. A series of heavy internal mechanisms groaned and shifted behind the stone. Then, with a push, the massive slab slowly opened, revealing the chamber beyond.
Heat spilled out.
The room radiated an ancient, suffocating warmth. At its heart blazed a great firepit, its flame seemingly eternal—untouched by time. In each corner, countless candles burned. They gave no warmth, yet they bathed the space in a strange, steady glow.
The Sentinels fanned out silently, encircling the pit, eyes scanning for threats.
"Cletus, anybody? Can you feel any magic here?" Jinx called, voice low. Rabie stared into the flames, mesmerized—the heat tugging at memories of Chopper’s pyre. Andromeda tensed, her stance rigid. Vannrik’s instincts flared—gooseflesh rising on the back of his neck.
Then it came: a breath.
Ragged, deliberate. Not from any of them.
A voice followed, spilling out from one shadowed corner in the long-dead language of ancient Thassilon.
"Are you here to release me from my bounds? Or to release me from my hunger?"
None needed a translation to feel its weight. The voice carried the tension of a drawn bowstring, trembling under strain, eager to snap.
"Andromeda, did you hear that?" Cletus asked sharply—but by then, every eye was already on the darkness from where the voice had come.
"It asked if we are releasing it from it’s bounds or releasing it from it’s hunger."
Then the voice returned—deeper now, more guttural—switching to Chthonian, the Abyssal tongue.
"Are you here to release me from my bounds? Or to release me from my HUNGER?"
Without hesitation, Cletus stepped forward and answered in the same demonic language. "We’re friends! We didn’t bring food but we are all ears about releasing."
But the entity was not appeased.
Cletus’s words weren’t an answer—they were a delay. And the fragile wall between peace and peril shattered in a heartbeat.
The dam had broken.
And then came chaos.
The spell of invisibility burst apart in curling puffs of smoke—revealing a towering, feral monstrosity, all claws and teeth. What stood before them was a grotesque fusion of giant wolf and goblinoid, its massive form snapping into reality with a guttural growl.
Without warning, it lunged. A wicked set of claws sank deep into Vannrik’s arm, yanking him forward toward a snarling, almost goblin-like face. Then came the jaws—wide, filled with jagged, green-spittle-dripping fangs—clamping down on Jadwiga’s shoulder with brutal force.
The creature’s beady eyes flared wide in a moment of primal satisfaction.
But it wasn’t just the searing pain of torn flesh that racked Vannrik—it was the acidic burn of venom, already racing through his bloodstream. The beast loosed a triumphant roar, equal parts ecstasy and rage, shaking the chamber walls.
Jinx dashed past Cletus, eyes wide with recognition. He knew what they were facing—this wasn’t just some beast. It was a greater Barghest. Malfeshnekor. A creature born of the Pit, raised in the howling Abyss.
"It is weak against holy powers, Cletus!" the gnome shouted urgently.
"Say no more! It doesn’t matter that it just made friends with Cletus, I’ll smite it!" Andromeda called out, answering for the tiefling before he could.
But Jinx wasn’t about to take chances. He kept his distance—too close, and the Barghest might devour him whole. With practiced speed, he switched to his bow.
Andromeda darted in, blades flashing, while Cletus tried to hold the beast’s attention, shouting in Chthonian: "I told you we didn’t bring any food with us!"
Yet even with her divine fury, Andromeda’s strikes were deflected—the Barghest's agility was shocking for something so massive. It parried with monstrous ease, fangs snapping.
Vannrik saw his moment—he began the complex weaving of his arms, calling forth the ocean’s healing grace. But a glimmer in the Barghest’s eye warned he’d been noticed. Too late.
A claw lashed out, slashing across his chest. Pain exploded through him.
Panic clawed at his senses. He stumbled backward toward the door, trying to find the safety to heal. The wounds began to close slowly, but the venom was spreading faster—hot and wild through his veins.
With trembling hands, he fumbled in his pack, desperate for a healing potion.
"Vannrik, get behind me!" Belor’s voice cut through the chaos. The sheriff strode in with defiance, planting himself between Vannrik and the monstrous threat.
"Rabie, is this the thing?" he shouted over his shoulder, swinging his sword low. The blade grazed the creature’s hindleg—more like a beast’s paw than the unsettlingly humanoid forelimbs it bore.
Belor didn’t press the attack. He knew better. Instead, he raised his shield, bracing for the blow that would surely follow.
"Yes, it is!" Rabie declared, voice steady despite the storm of fear swirling in his gut. This was no ordinary fiend—it was a nightmare born from Varisian folktales, now made flesh. He locked eyes with Malfeshnekor, but the beast didn’t flinch. "You will die in this prison."
With a swift gesture, Rabie summoned a spell—his fingers weaving through the air, casting confusion into the Barghest’s twisted mind. The arcane influence burrowed deep. Malfeshnekor’s snarls grew sluggish, its eyes unfocused, drool cascading from its chin. The gleam of cunning dulled in its monstrous gaze.
Rabie’s confidence surged as he saw the spell take root. Overhead, Ghurab joined in triumph, the raven cawing wildly as it wheeled through the chamber.
Stripped of reason, the creature lost all sense of strategy. Hunger and fury drove it now. It lunged at Belor with reckless abandon.
The sheriff braced himself, raising his shield—but the impact shattered it into splinters. Malfeshnekor’s claws ripped through chainmail like parchment. Its jaws found flesh.
Belor screamed.
Jinx’s eyes went wide as he watched the sheriff torn apart before him. For a heartbeat, he froze. Then instinct kicked in—he uncorked his signature brew and vanished into a cloud of sharp, ginger-scented mist.
Empowered by Cletus’ spell, Andromeda closed in. Holy energy surged within her as she struck true, driving her blade into Malfeshnekor’s flank. The wound hissed, divine fire scorching the fiend’s corrupted flesh.
The Barghest howled—wounded, furious, and ravenous. Anticipating a brutal reprisal, Cletus quickly cast a protective enchantment over Andromeda.
Vannrik whispered a prayer under his breath and pressed forward, navigating the chaos. He knelt beside Belor, applying the healing waters and herbal salves with steady, practiced hands. The sheriff, though broken and bloodied, retreated enough for Vannrik to work—slowing the poison’s spread, knitting torn flesh.
Belor’s breathing was ragged, but the bleeding had stopped. The venom still surged through him, however. He took one glance at his fellow Sentinels. Then, knowing this could be his end, he gripped his sword in both hands and roared: "By blood and bone, I stand with my Quah!"
He charged.
Steel flashed. His blade cut through the Barghest’s matted fur, carving new wounds as he fought with the fury of his ancestors. The monster howled again—and for a moment, its eyes cleared. Focus returned.
Rabie never took his eyes off the fiend. He conjured tendrils of dark energy, shadows writhing from his palms. But this time, they failed to bind the Barghest. Malfeshnekor was too consumed—too enraged.
It turned its full attention on Belor. With a bloodcurdling shriek, it pounced, knocking the sheriff to the stone floor. "Curse you agents of Karzoug!" it bellowed in Chthonian, sinking its teeth deep into Belor’s side, tearing free chunks of flesh. "My imprisonment will end!"
With a savage heave, it hurled Belor’s limp form into the wall. The sheriff’s body crumpled in a heap.
But the battle wasn’t over. An arrow from Jinx’s bow pierced Malfeshnekor’s flank as it turned toward Andromeda. She stood tall, her blade gleaming, unwavering.
Seizing the distraction, Vannrik hurled a longspear laced with frost magic. It struck just beside Jinx’s arrow, ice spreading across the creature’s hide. The Barghest snarled in agony.
Rabie raced to Belor’s side, uncorking a found healing potion and pouring it into the sheriff’s mouth. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, glowing with violet fury. "Your actions are futile!" he spat at the beast.
Malfeshnekor’s rampage slowed. Panic was creeping in. It was still bound here—still trapped.
Andromeda advanced, silent and resolute. She didn’t need to declare her purpose. Her every motion screamed it. With Belor down, she was the monster’s next target.
They clashed. Steel against claw. A brutal, elegant dance of death.
Then she ducked low—rolled beneath the beast’s bulk—and drove her blade up, straight through its belly. She erupted from Malfeshnekor’s back, slick with blood and divine vengeance.
The Barghest staggered, gurgled a final growl... and fell.
Blood gushed freely from the gaping wound. The nightmare was over.
Cletus knelt beside the crumpled sheriff, divine energy pulsing through his hands as he cast a healing spell. Belor stirred almost immediately, wounds sealing with unnatural speed.
"You’re very good at hacking, Sheriff," Cletus said with a grin. "But you’re also very good at taking a beating."
The sheriff coughed, groaned, and instinctively scrambled backward—away from the motionless, bleeding bulk of the Barghest. His retreat scattered several candles before he halted, wide-eyed.
"We did it," he whispered, barely able to believe the words as they left his lips. "We actually did it."
"Yeah, we did," Rabie and Vannrik replied in unison, the hard edge of pride unmistakable in their voices.
"In large part thanks to you," Vannrik added with a reassuring nod.
"And Rabie’s spell," Jinx chimed in, shining a favorable light on the witch.
  The chamber fell quiet except for the slow, dying breath of the Barghest as blood pooled and hissed upon reaching the firepit. The battle was over, but its echoes lingered in their minds.
Cletus wrinkled his nose as he studied the corpse. "I can’t believe one of my ancestors would have dealt with a demon," he muttered. "Look how repugnant it is. Doesn’t look anything like me at all."
Rabie joined him, standing over the fallen monster with a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.
Across the room, Jinx's sharp eyes caught sight of a silver coffer resting among the shelves of trinkets. He reached for it, curiosity flaring. Inside lay a gold ring, gleaming with seven runes etched around its band. Even stripped of his spellcasting, Jinx knew exactly what it was—the ring granted the bearer an endless supply of shielding magic.
He turned to Rabie. "So," the tiefling said, "The Runelord locked up a demon in here. It said in both Thassilonian and the tongue of demons that it was bound here."
Jinx gave a solemn nod.
"And didn’t Nualia say that she came here to free the beast?" Belor interjected. "This is the one that they call Malfeshnekor, right?"
"But why this one?" Jinx asked, his brow furrowed.
"The first four Barghests were adopted into Lamashtu’s care," Rabie explained. "They serve her ever since she freed them from Asomedeus’ kennels. They are important in Lamashtu’s religion. That must be why."
Yet doubt clung to Cletus like smoke. "I wish we could figure out why that monster was locked up in this room."
Vannrik, pale and still rattled, murmured softly, "Maybe it was guarding something." He scanned the chamber as the others continued their search. But no ancient artifact or forgotten passage revealed itself—only claw marks dug into the ancient stone, the lingering rage of a creature caged for centuries.
"Is this it?" Belor asked, scanning the walls. "I don’t see any other passages."
The Sentinels didn’t either.

  They gathered the flickering candles and the coffer, leaving Malfeshnekor’s broken body behind. The firepit continued to crackle, just as it had for ages uncounted.
Outside, sunlight pierced the gloom as the Sentinels emerged from Thistletop. With Jason, Julia, and the remaining guards, they carefully rolled the massive helmet across the shaky bridge. It creaked under the weight, but held—barely. Vannrik guided the caged horse with the same care he gave to his wounded comrades.
Swords in hand, the guards hacked their way through the thick tangle of the northern Nettlewood, clearing a path through the wilds. The fallen branches would serve well to construct a sled for the helmet. In time, they regrouped with the rest of the Sandpoint soldiers—battered, bruised, but mercifully alive.
Their numbers: five dozen strong. Their reward: wealth, scars, and memories that would never fade.
And yet... a heavy silence haunted their victory.
  As they made their way down the road toward Sandpoint, Vannrik focused on his wounds, applying the soothing balm of the ocean over each ache and bruise. But as he glanced toward Jinx, a chill gripped his heart—some wounds, he realized, could never be healed.

Jinx had abandoned his scorched robes in the ruins. Now he wore goblin scraps, choosing the least offensive to his nose. The transformation left him disoriented—once a sorcerer and seer, now armed with weapons he had yet to master. And Belor’s stern gaze made clear the sheriff suspected further discord among the Sentinels.

Rabie rode quietly, a storm of thoughts within. His secrets had risen to the surface. His heroic deeds did not erase his past. And Belor, silent and ever-watchful, hadn’t let him out of sight since.

But Cletus? He wore a wide, shameless grin. They had lived. Triumphed. And the treasures of Thistletop had proven more than enough. He’d proven himself to Andromeda, too. Sandpoint would be grateful, and the tiefling would relish in that gratefulness to the fullest extent.

As Sandpoint's rooftops appeared in the distance, Rabie heard hooves quicken. The sheriff rode up beside him, voice low and gravelly.
"This is how we are going to do it," Sheriff Belor Hemlock said. His face remained hard, but the shadows under his eyes betrayed deep sorrow. "We will get to towns and we will report to Mayor Deverin about our mission in Thistletop."
He exhaled, as though bracing himself. "Then I will join you in getting all your affairs in order. We will not sully this day for the people of Sandpoint. We will smile, we will be polite. Come nightfall, I will guide you to the Garrison. You will spend the night there. And when we are ready, we will ride for Magnimar to determine your guilt."

Rabie didn’t speak. He simply nodded—accepting the weight of the road ahead.