ROTR Session 8

Waning furnaces

Sunlight streamed through the high windows of the Glassworks, cutting through the lingering haze of heat and smoke. The Sentinels ascended from the basement, leaving behind the dark, yawning tunnel that led to deeper, unseen dangers. The air above was thick with the scent of molten glass, and the furnaces still roared, their fires consuming fuel with relentless intensity.
Ameiko moved ahead, her weary eyes scanning the familiar workspace until they landed on the large iron valve near the loading area. She lifted a bruised hand, wordlessly motioning toward it. Vannrik stepped forward, grasping the warm metal, and with a firm turn, the machinery groaned in protest. The inferno within the furnaces began to wane, their glow dulling as the heat receded. The factory, once alive with the rhythmic sounds of work and creation, now stood still and empty.
Stepping out into the streets of Sandpoint, the group was met with the full brightness of the late morning sun. The town bustled with life—merchants called to passersby, fishermen hauled in their morning catch, and children played near the market square, oblivious to the horrors that had festered just beneath their home. The contrast was stark, almost jarring, but none of the Sentinels had the heart to dwell on it.
As they approached the Rusty Dragon Inn, the scent of fresh bread and simmering stew drifted from its open windows, a reminder of simpler comforts. The door swung open, and before Ameiko could take another step, Bethana was upon her. The Halfling’s embrace was fierce, her small frame trembling with relief. When she finally pulled away, her teary eyes locked onto Jinx, and with a silent movement of her lips, she mouthed a heartfelt thank you.

For a brief moment, there was respite. They were safe. Ameiko was home.

But the weight of the journal in Rabie’s hands was a reminder that their work was far from over. Shalelu’s information had been clear—the Goblins gathered in the Nettlewood, a force preparing for something far worse than the previous raid. Yet Tsuto’s notes had revealed another threat, one lurking not in the forests beyond Sandpoint, but directly beneath it. A Quasit—Jinx had named it a demon—commanding strange creatures from the depths below.

The Sentinels exchanged glances, unspoken understanding passing between them.

Before they could turn their attention to the goblins amassing in the Nettlewood, they had to face what lay beneath their feet. Whatever dark forces stirred below Sandpoint, the Sentinels would uncover them—and put an end to them.

Preparations and Resolve

The Sentinels, Shalelu, Ameiko , and Bethana had found some solace in the Rusty Dragon’s kitchen. The air was thick with exhaustion, the scent of herbs and simmering broth doing little to soothe the weight of what they had just endured. After recounting the ordeal in the Glassworks to Bethana, a heavy silence settled over the room. It was Shalelu who finally broke it.
“You’re planning to go deeper under Sandpoint, right?” she asked softly, hesitating, as if working up to a confession.
Jinx gave her a curious look. The Sentinels would need all the help they could get. “We are going under Sandpoint, right? Or are you not coming this time?”
For a moment, Shalelu stood motionless. Even Vannrik paused in the act of stashing away the gear he wouldn’t be taking below. As Jinx’s words sank in, the uncertainty in her face faded. A realization settled over her—this was how it had to be. She straightened her posture, ignoring the dull ache at the back of her head.
“Of course.”
Jinx’s smile spread wide, deepening the pale creases in his face. “Good,” he said, clapping Vannrik hard on the shoulder. “Our friend here will patch you up in no time. No worries.”
Vannrik gave a nod of agreement.
Shalelu, already shifting into a tactical mindset, spoke again. “In the meantime, someone has to report to the guards about what happened in the Glassworks.” She placed a gentle hand on Ameiko’s shoulder. The innkeeper flinched slightly at first, but then managed a bittersweet smile.
“To all of the people who worked there,” Shalelu added softly.
The gnome straightened. “I can do it.”
“Tell them not to go into the deeper tunnels,” Shalelu continued. “We don’t know what’s down there yet. But from what Rabie told us, it’s dangerous.”
Jinx couldn’t agree more. Without another word, he set off on his task.

As Vannrik tended to Shalelu’s wounds, he distributed healing elixirs among the Sentinels. Between his herbalism and the restorative magic at his disposal, most of their injuries had begun to fade. He also took time to inspect the gear recovered from Tsuto and the Glassworks, setting aside the more enigmatic items for Rabie to examine.
The first was a small clay pot taken from Tsuto. Rabie studied the thick, frothy liquid inside and recognized it as Bravo’s Brew—a beer-like concoction that bolstered courage and staved off fear. Next, a vial of translucent oil caught his attention. The scent was unmistakable—Oil of Potency, capable of temporarily enhancing weapons and armor. Finally, he turned his focus to the long cloth wraps taken from Tsuto. The linen was padded and embroidered with faint arcane markings. As he traced his fingers along the fabric, he recognized runes of potency woven into the design.
At Jinx’s request, they had also taken Tsuto’s handwraps, suspecting an enchantment. Rabie confirmed their magic, though their full potential remained uncertain.
Meanwhile, Vannrik approached Ameiko with a sheathed wakizashi.
“This was your father’s,” he said, offering the blade. “I think you should have it.”
Ameiko hesitated before accepting the sword. She ran a hand along the lacquered scabbard before unsheathing it, revealing the keen, foreign steel of her homeland. The blade gleamed even in the dim kitchen light.
“This is how they make swords in Tian-Xia,” she murmured, admiration in her voice. Then, after a pause, she sighed. “It’s a shame I’ve never been. Now, I have nothing that ties me to Sandpoint, so… who knows? Maybe one day.”
She slid the sword back into its sheath.

  In just under an hour, Jinx returned, his task completed. With Vannrik’s healing skills, the wounded had recovered enough to stand strong.
A brief discussion arose—should they sell some of their gear and resupply before heading below? Or did the situation demand urgency?
The Sentinels shared a look.
They had lingered long enough.

Now was the time to act.

 

The Guardroom

With Shalelu in tow, the Sentinels left the guards behind, still occupied with gathering the bodies. As they departed, Rabie cast one last glance toward the Glassworks’ working room. A guardsman was carefully chipping away the hardened glass encasing Lonjiku’s lifeless face. The stillness had returned to the basement, but the gaping hole in the wall remained, its darkness yawning ominously before them.
Ghurab’s mottled light pierced the shadows, illuminating the path ahead. The tunnel stretched long and winding, the air growing cooler as they descended. Jinx and Rabie exchanged knowing looks, recalling the old rumors of smuggler tunnels beneath Sandpoint. This had to be one of them.
They walked for nearly a mile before encountering what appeared to be a dead end. But Rabie, his keen eyes sweeping the rough stone, spotted a hidden passage concealed behind a cleverly shaped rock. Beyond lay the remnants of an abandoned goblin camp, long since deserted.
Further in, they reached a side tunnel. A fresh, salty breeze drifted from its natural progression, though the path ahead bore signs of recent disturbance. The entrance had once been sealed by a brick wall—now shattered, its remnants scattered across the floor.
This was the path the Sentinels took, each step forward bringing them closer to danger.
By now, their formation was second nature. Vannrik Rimewarden led, shield raised, his aquatic aura shimmering around him. Shalelu followed, ever watchful for enemies. Rabie maintained his protective spells, while Jinx, his third eye open, scanned for traces of magic.
The air grew heavier.

  From a passage ahead, they heard a faint shuffling. Vannrik crept forward, peering around the corner.
A grotesque abomination lurked within.
Its head was elongated, lacking a proper nose—only two slits marked its twisted face. Bulging red eyes, devoid of eyebrows, gleamed with unnatural hunger. Its lower jaw split at the chin into writhing pedipalps, each ending in tiny three-fingered hands eager to feed morsels into its gaping maw. In its clawed grip, it clutched a ranseur, its twisted form made even more menacing by the cruel weapon it wielded.
Without hesitation, it lunged at Vannrik.
The Sentinels braced for battle against the most unnatural creature they had ever encountered.
But then, the monster did hesitate. Its gaze fell upon Rabie’s glowing violet eyes, and something strange flickered across its grotesque features—not revulsion, as the witch had come to expect, but fascination.
Rabie’s expression twisted in disgust. He could hardly fathom what kind of horrors lurked beneath his home. Anger surged through him, and with a flick of his wrist, dark tendrils lashed out, tightening around the creature’s pale, sickly flesh. Yet, despite the magic constricting it, the monster did not falter.
Rabie withdrew his hand, an unnatural itch crawling along his fingers.
From the back, Jinx called out impatiently. “What do you see? Move.”
The gnome took position beside his Varisian friend, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Are you what they call a demon? You’ve not seen anything demonic yet.”
As if in response, Misery, the cindersnake coiled in Jinx’s sleeve, let out a quiet hiss. But the creature paid no mind.
Jinx pressed his lips together and drew a card from his Harrow deck. The Stars shone fortune upon Vannrik.
The moment passed. The creature snarled, rage overtaking its hesitation. With unnatural speed, it barreled forward, ignoring its weapon.
Vannrik barely had time to react before the abomination crashed into him, slamming his shield downward with terrifying force. Then, its ghastly, divided maw clamped onto his shoulder.
Layers of jagged teeth pierced through his clothing, sinking deep into his flesh.
A sickening wave of emotion crashed over Vannrik.
Guilt.
Shame.
Revulsion.
Self-loathing.
His stomach twisted into a knot as visions flooded his mind—acts of cruelty, unspeakable atrocities. A beheading. The light fading from helpless eyes. None of it real. None of it his. And yet, the horror clung to him, as tangible as the monster’s fangs in his flesh.
The abomination writhed in ecstasy, relishing his suffering.
Shalelu moved swiftly, stepping back to line up a clean shot. She loosed an arrow. It struck true, embedding deep into the creature’s abdomen. The thing let out a gurgling shriek.
Vannrik staggered, staring at his quivering hands. He knew the visions were false, but the hollowness remained. No amount of reassurance could mend the damage.
But perhaps killing the creature could.
Summoning his strength, he shaped his watery aura into an icy spear and thrust it forward. Yet, his mind wavered. The beast’s three-pronged ranseur intercepted the attack with ease, sending shards of ice scattering against the tunnel walls.
Rabie, watching the horrors unfold, found an unsettling inspiration in them. These nightmares were not unlike his own. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned, a connection to be made.
He twisted his magic.
The creature slowed, its movements sluggish—its mind drowning in the nightmares Rabie conjured. “Sandpoint is a dream,” the witch murmured, his voice laced with malice. “And you’re not part of it.”
The monster swayed, entranced.
Rabie absently scratched at his hand, his fingers brushing against the ring on his finger. He reached out again, attempting to assault the creature’s mind. But something was off. A distraction, an interference. The spell faltered.
Jinx, sensing an opportunity, wove his own magic into the fray. He had learned to wrangle fate—to designate the fated position of objects. A nearby rock, mere debris moments ago, suddenly stirred. Then, with violent force, it launched itself at the creature’s skull.
The abomination reeled, whipping its head around in search of a foe that wasn’t there.
Jinx smirked and extended his magic, bestowing the Star card’s fortune onto Rabie.
The monster took a step back, hesitating.
Then, it turned.
Its hideous face twisted with renewed wrath.
With a vicious snarl, it repositioned itself, maximizing the reach of its ranseur. The thrust came deceptively quick—slipping past Vannrik’s shield and icy spear.
The blade plunged into his side.
Vannrik gasped as pain flared through him. The creature withdrew its weapon, blood coating its length.
Then, its pedipalps wriggled greedily. It slurped Vannrik’s blood through its grotesque appendages and shivered in ecstasy.
But its indulgence gave Vannrik just enough time to raise his shield, deflecting a second strike.
Shalelu seized the moment. She stepped in closer, drew another arrow—THWANG.
The shaft buried itself deep in the monster’s belly.
A shriek. A howl.
Vannrik gritted his teeth. His spear melted into water as he clutched his wound. New icicles formed in midair, but his vision blurred, his body weakened. The shards scattered harmlessly behind the creature. He was spent—physically and mentally. All he could do was brace behind his shield.
Rabie’s nails dug into his palm, drawing blood.
“Not this time,” he growled under his breath, his bloodshot eyes locked onto the beast.
He reached out, severing the unnatural bond between himself and the creature. Warping it. Corrupting it.
Dark tendrils lashed forward, wrapping around the abomination. Where they touched, its bloated, pale skin withered and rotted.
The creature shrieked.
Its cries faded into weak, gurgling gasps.
Then, at last, it crumpled to the ground.
Limp.
Wilted.

The stillness returned to the tunnel.

Rabie could not contain a hideous smile as he watched Jinx kneel beside the fallen creature. The gnome's keen eyes studied its grotesque form, searching for familiar signs. But the more he examined it, the clearer it became—this was no demon. Its anatomy was wrong. Twisted. Altered.
Fleshwarped.
Jinx’s mind raced, piecing together half-remembered folk tales and historical accounts. The sensation was exhilarating—uncovering something long lost to time.
Meanwhile, Vannrik let out a tired sigh before slumping against the tunnel wall, his body heavy with exhaustion. He grimaced as he inspected his wounds. “Do you guys mind if we take a quick break?” he muttered, the sting of his injuries sharp as ever.
Jinx, though deep in thought, was still present enough to respond. “Fine with me. You’re not looking so good, Vannrik.”
The kineticist wasted no time, retrieving his herbal remedies and calling forth his healing waters.
Rabie settled beside Jinx, peering at the corpse with a curious glint in his violet eyes. He had read about demons before, but something about this creature unsettled him. “I don’t think it’s a demon,” he mused aloud.
“That’s because it’s not,” Jinx replied, his voice carrying the weight of revelation. “I think it’s a Sinspawn. They have ties to the ancient history of these lands—something about the Runelords, Thassilon’s old rulers. If I’m right, they represent one of the seven sins.”
Vannrik looked up from where he was applying a salve to his side, his expression darkening. “Do you think we’ll encounter one for each sin?”
The thought sat uncomfortably in his gut.
“I sure hope not,” Jinx said, though his tone lacked conviction. “But things aren’t looking too promising for us.” Still, despite the looming danger, a grin clung to Jinx’s face. This was a discovery unlike any other. An underground ruin, so close to the Old Light. A place untouched, hidden—even from Brodert Quink! The possibilities sent a thrill through him.
While the others rested, Shalelu had not once taken her eyes off the tunnel’s entrance. Ever watchful, she kept her bow in hand, ensuring they would not be caught off guard. But when she noticed Vannrik securing the last of his medicines, she finally spoke.
“Take all the time you need,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But when you’re ready, we should go. I don’t want to linger here any longer than necessary.”
Vannrik stretched, testing his body for any lingering weakness. “I just have to make sure I can survive the next fight too.”
Shalelu glanced at him, her sharp eyes softening with concern. “Are you okay, Vannrik?”
The Jadwiga nodded. “I patched it up fine.”
A small smile touched the elf’s lips. “You’re a fine healer.”
“Thanks,” Vannrik replied, stepping toward the fallen creature. With a firm grip, he wrenched the Ranseur from its lifeless grasp. If nothing else, he would take something from this fight—something worth the trouble.

The Welcoming Hall

Upon further inspection, the tunnel the Sinspawn had guarded turned out to be a dead end. But roughly twenty-five feet farther down the original smuggler’s tunnel, they discovered another side passage branching off to the right.
Cautiously, they peeked inside—no monsters this time. The passage stretched further into the earth before opening into a limestone chamber. Large mounds of rubble lay strewn across the floor, remnants of a time long past.
As Vannrik waited for the others to catch up, he took a closer look at the debris. Much of it seemed to be the shattered remains of urns and pottery—once used for food storage, now nothing but dust and broken shards. Against the northern wall stood an old stone door, its surface worn by age.
"Guys, there's a door here," the Jadwiga announced.
Jinx chuckled. “We all know what you can do with doors, so it’s all yours.”
Fortunately, this one was unlocked, sparing Vannrik the need to employ his trusty crowbar.
The door swung open, revealing a narrow hallway carved from solid rock. The passage bent left, then right, before splitting—one short corridor led to an open chamber, while another veered deeper into the underground complex.
Vannrik took point, leading the group into the open chamber.
At the center of the room stood a striking red marble statue of a woman—beautiful, yet terrifying in her monstrous fury. Her flowing robes and elaborate headdress of hooks and blades only accentuated her wrathful presence. In one hand, she clutched a massive tome, its cover adorned with a seven-pointed star. In the other, she held a gleaming metal-and-ivory ranseur.
A gaping hole in the western wall led back to the original smuggler’s tunnel. To the east, a hallway ascended gradually, disappearing into darkness. And to the north, another heavy stone door stood waiting.
Vannrik turned to his magically inclined companions. “Does that weapon appear to be magical?”
Jinx shook his head, though he found it difficult to tear his gaze from the magnificent weapon. He studied the statue from head to toe, the gears in his mind turning. “I think this is one of the Runelords, but I can’t be sure…”
He hesitated, reluctant to share his growing suspicion—that this was Alaznist, the last Runelord of Wrath. If he could compare the statue to a particular shard of pottery in Brodert Quink’s collection, he might be able to confirm it. But for now, it was only a theory.
Vannrik, meanwhile, examined the statue with a different intent, scanning for traps. Once he was satisfied that it held no hidden dangers, he carefully lifted the ranseur from the statue’s grasp.
With the weapon in hand, he turned to the northern door. His eyes met his companions’, silently confirming their readiness.
Then, with a firm push, he opened the heavy stone portal.
 

The prisons under Sandpoint

The Sentinels entered a vast chamber that had once served as a prison, its purpose evident from the twenty cells lining the perimeter. A rickety wooden platform loomed overhead, with twin staircases descending to the prison floor ten feet below. A narrow five-foot-wide walkway extended from the northern edge of the platform, leading toward a passageway to the east.
Vannrik's keen eyes caught movement—two shapes on the walkway, locked in a guttural, snarling exchange. As soon as the door creaked open, the creatures snapped to attention. Their sunken eyes fixated on the intruders.
With an eerie, distorted howl, they brandished their polearms and surged forward. In the narrow space, they jostled against each other in their desperate bid to reach the first victim. The nearest lunged at Vannrik before he had fully registered the scene. Only by yanking the great stone door toward himself did he manage to deflect the monster’s first savage strike. It bellowed in frustration, its twin maws splitting wide.
Behind him, Shalelu rose onto the balls of her feet, bow at the ready. With practiced precision, she loosed an arrow over the Jadwiga’s shoulder. The shaft found its mark, piercing through the Sinspawn’s open jaws and lodging deep in its throat. The creature staggered, claws twitching, before collapsing in a growing pool of dark blood.
Vannrik steadied himself, eyes locked on the remaining foe. The creature snarled and charged, its feet pounding the wooden walkway. As it reached the entry point, the kineticist raised his arms. A jagged chunk of ice materialized in the air, forming from the surrounding moisture. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the frozen projectile hurtling forward.
The ice missile slammed into the Sinspawn’s chest. It flailed wildly, clawed hands scrambling for purchase on the walkway’s edge—but it was too late. The impact sent it careening backward, plummeting to the stone floor below with a sickening thud.
Rabie remained just beyond the threshold, eyes locked on the descending staircase. He was ready.
Jinx, still lingering near the statue in the previous chamber, sensed the battle unfolding. He extended a hand, channeling his magic. His voice took on an eerie cadence as he wove an illusion into the creature’s mind—an image of himself as Alaznist’s chosen successor.
But the Sinspawn was undeterred. It shook off the mental assault, claws tightening around its ranseur as it scrambled to its feet. With a guttural roar, it bolted for the stairs, intent on rejoining the fight.
Shalelu, determined to end the threat before it reached them, darted forward, eyes blazing with purpose. She loosed another arrow, aided by the fortune woven into Jinx’s harrow magic. The projectile struck true, embedding deep between the creature’s shoulder and neck. But she was now dangerously exposed.
Vannrik leapt forward to intercept, channeling his kinetic aura into jagged ice shards. He unleashed a flurry of frozen projectiles, but the Sinspawn ducked low, the shards shattering harmlessly against the prison floor. Planting his feet, Vannrik braced for the inevitable clash.
Sensing the shift in battle, the Sinspawn adjusted its approach. Rather than lunging for Shalelu, it used its lower position to its advanta. With a powerful twist of its muscular arms, it hooked its ranseur under Vannrik’s shield and between his legs. With a savage heave, it wrenched the weapon sideways—sweeping the kineticist off his feet.
Vannrik hit the ground hard, the breath forced from his lungs. The Sinspawn pounced, driving the bladed tip of its ranseur toward its fallen prey. The jagged edges bit into flesh near the still-healing wound on his side. Snarling, the creature twisted the weapon, sending fresh waves of pain through Vannrik’s body.
From the doorway, Rabie saw the dire turn of events. He stepped into the room, extending his hand—his own blood still fresh from his self imposed scratching. He reached out with his magic, attempting to twist the lingering void energy in the prison. But something distracted him at the last moment, and the spell fizzled.
Jinx rushed in, picking up where Rabie had failed. Channeling the same spell, he directed its full force at the Sinspawn. The creature’s skin tightened and shriveled, as though the very essence were being drained from it. Yet it fought on, unrelenting, blood-streaked and feral.
Arrows rained down on the monster, but from its prone position, it twisted and ducked, evading the projectiles with unnatural agility.
Vannrik clenched his jaw against the pain, twisting his knee beneath him. He tried to rise, but the Sinspawn seized the opportunity. With a guttural snarl, it drove its ranseur deep into his gut, the three-pronged blade sinking into flesh. A wet, choking sound escaped Vannrik’s lips as he coughed up blood.
The Sinspawn twisted the weapon.
Agony threatened to consume him. But the Jadwiga refused to fall.
Gripping the embedded weapon with one hand, he let out a defiant roar. With the other, he conjured jagged spikes of ice from the moisture in the air. He clenched his fist—and the frozen projectiles shot forward in a deadly barrage.
One spike struck the Sinspawn’s lower jaw, shattering it with a sickening crunch. The others buried deep into its torso, impaling it like a grotesque pincushion. The creature let out a strangled, gurgling cry as it staggered backward.
It tumbled down the stairs, its ranseur clattering from its grasp, before coming to a motionless stop.
Silence.
Vannrik took a shaky breath. He placed a hand over his torn flesh, focusing his kinetic energy. Water coalesced beneath his palm, glowing softly as it soaked into his wounds. Slowly, his torn body began to knit itself back together.

  Once assured of his healing's success, the kineticist let out a few mumbled curses in Skald, the language of his people. He exhaled sharply, glancing up just as Shalelu ascended the stairs, having gone down to the prison floor to retrieve her discarded arrows.
"Nice shot on the first one," Vannrik commended.
"Thank you," Shalelu replied, casting a quick glance at the sturdy Jadwiga’s wounds. "I should have taken a lesson from Tsuto and brought a shortbow underground. But yes, it was a good shot. Yours with the spikes was as well. Also, thank you for standing between me and that thing."
Vannrik shook his head with a strained chuckle. "No problem, it’s my job." The exertion made his wounds throb, and he knew he would need to tap into his brewed medicines before long.
Meanwhile, Rabie took a cursory look through the prison cells. Aside from dry, brittle skeletons, there was little of note.
Jinx, however, remained fixated on the two fallen Sinspawn. Their grotesque forms, identical to the previous creature they had encountered, wielded the same weapon as Alaznist. And their presence here—in what was once Bakrakhan—only confirmed his suspicions.
They, too, were bound to the sin of Wrath.  

Studies into Fleshwarping

The Sentinels made their way across the wooden walkway, which, despite its appearance, proved to be far sturdier than expected. As they moved eastward, the walkway curved, revealing a short hallway that led into the next chamber.
Inside, they found several ancient relics—twisted remnants of what appeared to be torture implements. Their function and design seemed archaic, foreign even. In one corner sat a spherical iron cage, its bars lined with inward-facing spikes. Nearby stood a star-shaped wooden frame, its surface bristling with hooks. At the center of the room lay a long table fitted with leather straps and a series of cranks, seemingly designed to rotate and swivel in unknown configurations.
To the east, another stone door loomed, its construction mirroring those they had already encountered. To the south, a smaller wooden door stood, its presence raising questions.
Vannrik addressed his companions. “What do you think? East or south?”
Rabie eyed the wooden door. “Let’s check the side chamber first. It seems to be part of this room.”
The others agreed.
Inside, the crumbling remnants of a long table and several chairs cluttered the floor. Along the southern wall stood three stone doors, each bearing a familiar seven-pointed star.
Rabie scanned the chamber, recognizing its former purpose. “This was once a study,” he observed.
Among the rubble, fragments of books and scrolls lay scattered, their pages filled with spiky, unfamiliar writing. Most were too damaged to decipher, but one scroll remained mostly intact.
Jinx’s sharp eyes lit up as he recognized the distinct script. “That’s Thassilonian,” he murmured, confirming yet another link to the lost empire. Excited, he stretched onto the tips of his toes, barely reaching Rabie’s shoulder as he tapped it eagerly. “Show that to me, please, my friend.”
Rabie chuckled at the sight of the eager gnome. “Sure.”
As Jinx unrolled the scroll, he found no traditional writing—only runes and magical diagrams. He squinted, deciphering its purpose. A spell scroll, one that had miraculously survived the ages.
With Jinx engrossed in study and Vannrik still nursing his wounds, they agreed to take a moment to rest. Vannrik revitalized his healing balm, tending to his injuries, while Jinx puzzled over the scroll’s cryptic symbols. Shalelu, ever vigilant, kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, ensuring no unseen threats lurked beyond the torture chamber or the ruined study.
Eventually, Jinx let out a triumphant hum. He realized the spell stored within the scroll is a floating flame spell. It conjures a ball of fire that the caster can direct at will.
Shalelu, restless, shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not used to spending this much time underground,” she admitted, her voice laced with unease.
Rabie, overhearing her, offered a small nod. “Neither are we. But it’s best to be cautious.”
The elf found it difficult to agree but said nothing.
Their gazes turned toward the three doors engraved with the seven-pointed star. With care, they opened them one by one, revealing horrors from a time long past.
Each chamber contained a single skeleton—deformed, twisted mockeries of humanity. One bore three brittle arms. Another’s skull had grown to an unnatural size. The third had an elongated ribcage stretching down to its pelvis, the remains of stunted leg bones scattered beneath its flattened torso.
Rabie recognises that these creatures were the subjects of vile fleshwarping experiments.
Shalelu’s expression twisted in revulsion. “The elves of the Mierani Forest were in these lands when the Thassilonians arrived. I’ve heard stories about the cruelty of men, but I always assumed they were exaggerated. This… this is horrible.”
A heavy silence fell over the group as they absorbed the implications of what they had uncovered.
Vannrik furrowed his brow, thinking aloud. “These ruins are older than Sandpoint, right?”
Rabie nodded. “Most likely from the time they built the Old Light.”
The Jadwiga’s frown deepened. “So they just happened to build the town right on top of them?” He had learned long ago not to believe in coincidences.
Rabie offered an explanation. “My people are usually nomadic. For years, we have traveled the land, but the ruins of Varisia often became resting places, places to make camp. The history of the land deserves reverence. Over time, some of those camps grew into settlements—Magnimar at the ruined bridge, Riddleport by the giant arch, and more. I doubt the original settlers of Sandpoint had any idea what lay beneath.”
Jinx couldn’t help himself. His passion for ancient history burned too brightly to remain silent. “These ruins must have been built between five and ten thousand years ago. The time of Thassilon is not recent history.” His excitement was evident in every word.
Rabie glanced toward the stone door leading east. “I don’t think skeletons can help us. Let’s continue.”

Koruvus

The door to the east opened into a narrow hallway that led into a frigid chamber. The vaulted ceiling arched twenty feet overhead, while the floor was littered with eleven wooden lids, haphazardly strewn over equally spaced pits. From the depths of these holes, strange shuffling sounds echoed, punctuated by the occasional low moan.
In the corner of the room stood a grotesque figure—a bloated Goblin with a twisted third arm protruding from its hunched back. The mutant wielded a hatchet, a dagger, and a flaming sword, each gripped in a different hand. A wicked grin split its scarred face as it yapped in the guttural tongue of its kind.
"Koruvus will do good! Mistress will be proud."
Vannrik reacted swiftly, steadying himself against the unsettling chorus of moans rising from below. A watery crossbow formed above the Jadwiga as he locked eyes on the advancing goblin. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow as he took careful aim. With a wet crack, a jagged icicle launched from his kinetic aura, slamming into Koruvus’ unnatural third arm. The impact threw the goblin off balance, and as he stumbled back, one clawed foot landed on a brittle wooden lid.
CRACK.
The weakened cover splintered beneath him, and with a shriek of surprise, Koruvus plunged into the pit. The moaning from below surged into a frenzy, now joined by the goblin’s frantic screams.
Jinx, unwilling to risk the unstable floor, remained near the entrance. His sharp eyes stayed locked on the hole, his fingers idly shuffling his harrow deck. If the goblin managed to crawl out, he would be ready.
Rabie inched toward the pit’s edge, peering down. The goblin’s flaming sword flickered in the gloom, illuminating a nightmarish sight: Koruvus thrashing wildly as a rotting corpse clawed at him from below.
"Stay down," Rabie commanded, his voice laced with arcane power. He wove a spell, trying to lull the goblin into a drowsy stupor—an easier path to his demise.
Koruvus growled in defiance, shaking off the witch’s influence. With a desperate shove, he wrenched himself free from the zombie’s grasp, leaving his dagger behind to free a hand for climbing.
Shalelu maneuvered between the scattered wooden planks, raising her bow as she lined up her shot. The goblin was halfway up the pit’s wall when she released. The arrow whistled through the air—only to miss its mark, clattering into the depths below.
Vannrik struggled to find stable footing near the pit. He raised his hand, forming a cluster of jagged icicles before launching them at the ascending goblin. One struck true, burying itself in Koruvus’ shoulder, but the goblin clung stubbornly to the rough stone, refusing to fall.
Jinx decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He carefully navigated the room’s deadly floor, circling around the edge while shuffling his harrow deck. When he reached the pit and finally saw the climbing goblin, he drew a card and smirked.
"Oh, it's gonna be bad luck for you today."
The Crows card—a harbinger of misfortune.
Rabie loomed over the edge, meeting Koruvus’ terrified gaze with his piercing violet eyes.
"You have no place in this world."
Faced with a choice between the gnashing undead below or the merciless witch above, Koruvus gritted his teeth and climbed. His survival instinct overpowered his fear.
But Rabie would not tolerate defiance. He reached into the ambient void energies seeping through the chamber, twisting them against the goblin. The grotesque mutations that once empowered Koruvus withered, his bloated form shriveling under the spell’s touch.
Yet still, he endured.
With a final, desperate heave, Koruvus hauled himself to the surface. Spittle flew from his jagged maw as he roared, swinging wildly at the nearest target—Jinx.
The gnome sidestepped effortlessly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
Koruvus roared again, this time lunging, his flaming sword poised to strike.
THUNK.
An arrow buried itself in his temple mid-leap. His momentum died instantly, and his limp body collapsed at Jinx’s feet, his burning weapon clattering against the cold stone.