5/5/2015 @ 1700 PDT - It Begins

Posted on Behalf of Sythus

Rewards: 900 xp, 475 gp.

SHEET

Teros(Gryphyx)
Grant(shadowsharp)
Oscar(Hobbad)
Kitiara(crimsoncadaver)
Ilena(leary)
Dekhaan (GM-Sythus)

It was the kind of bar that wasn’t built on a business plan, but rather on a love for alcohol. It had started without a name, but it’s patrons dubbed it the Leaky Spigot. Arno, the barkeep, unwittingly drank away most of his profits himself, but catered to a specific clientele. The normal crowd could only be described as ‘alcoholics on a budget’. Tonight was different though, it was early, and there were adventurers in the house. Sometimes this happened, the Golden Plow would be too busy, and he’d get the overflow. He never understood what made the plow so special, Duade was kind of an ass, and their stew couldn’t match his mother’s secret recipe. He made it every other day, in her memory.

One of the men, who called himself Grant was Arno’s favorite type of customer. He drank a lot, and kept to himself. Arno decided he’d give Grant a free drink, maybe even a shot of the rye he had stashed under the bar. A man, Oscar and a woman, Kitiara, dangerous by the look of ‘em both sat talking to a grim faced man named Teros. The whole lot of them looked like they had something to hide, and Arno prayed silently that no trouble would come to light in the Spigot. The final patron was an old woman named Ilena, who came in for the stew. She reminded him of his mum, and stirred the ladle around a few times extra making sure to get some nice soft chunks of meat. He liked old people, even if they did usually tip like shit, because they were quiet enough. He felt uneasy about this group, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on it, though. Adventurers can also be trouble, he justified.

Tonight would be a good night. He didn’t think this crowd would give his daughter any guff, as she hauled the drinks around. Even if they did, he had the old shortsword his dad’s unit had brought him, after the man had perished in the war. As Arno was counting his blessings, a scream pierced the clapboard walls from the alleyway neighboring the Spigot.

It watched them all, and waited.

Ambrose was keeping fit in his old age, mostly out of necessity. He hauled trash, and made a killing doing it. The things some people threw away boggled his mind, and if he couldn’t use them himself, he got a few coins out of it. He always said, if you pick through turds long enough, you’re bound to find a peanut. His wife hated when he said that, then again, she seemed to hate anything he said. Well, the feeling is mutual, he thought to himself as he lifted pieces of a broken door from the pile of refuse. The smell hit him before he realized what he had uncovered. There had been traces of a foul odor before, but lifting the broken door caused the wretched stink to hit him like a hammer.

He staggered back, screaming, transfixed by the woman’s cold dead eyes. It took him a moment to notice she’d been disemboweled, just like the other one. He’d seen the first one from down the alley way. The dogs had dragged it out from beneath crawlspace. This one was up close and personal. In a moment there were people, and thankfully they were adventurers. His heart was beating so fast, it barely registered when they asked him about his findings. He answered a bit nervously, worried they might consider him as the guilty party, even if it was absurd. The cleric with a keen eye, Teros, was quick to note bits of placenta in the cavity where her womb had been. Despite the rats having gotten at her, he judged she wasn’t there any longer than a few days. There had to be more clues, and when he began to look around, he heard the ravenous chewing sounds from within a nearby empty barrel.

It watched them all, and waited.

Joddy had just caught one of the fattest rats he had ever seen. He wasn’t sure if eating it was okay though, because it had chewed on the dead lady. He decided it would be okay as long as he didn’t eat the guts. It was easy to justify, because it had been almost four hours since he had his last rat and he was starving. He cooked it on a fat stub of a candle and hummed a happy tune. Something didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t place his finger on it. Maybe it was wrong to eat a rat, that ate a person. He’d have to make sure nobody found out, and it wasn’t like he was going to eat the stomach. That part had all the bits of people in it, and as long as he didn’t eat the stomach, he couldn’t eat no people.

His rat was pretty warm, and just about ready to eat when the mean old man came into the alleyway. He remembered the bottle the old man threw at him last time for trying to put the trash back in place. It wrecked his good rat spots when the old man took away all their hiding places. He scurried inside the old cask he slept in, and pulled the lid down before the mean old man saw him. If nobody saw him, nobody would throw anything at him. He’s pretty sure the half orc that hid the lady in the pile would have killed him if he’d been seen. Joddy had dug his way into the pile when the half orc put the woman there, and he got a good look at the black tree tattoo on his right hand as it caressed the woman’s cheek.

Joddy peered out of the peep hole in the barrel, after the old man screamed. Old man is afraid of dead ladies, Joddy thought as his stomach rumbled. There was a lot of people running to the alley soon. Joddy heard them talking, asking about the lady. The old man talked about his job taking the garbage. Joddy thought that was the dumbest job ever, because when the garbage was gone, there were less rats to eat. That reminded him, he had a tasty rat that was cooked good enough right now, and it was only getting colder.

He was too immersed in his feast to notice until the lid had come off of the barrel. His first thought that they were gonna take his rat. His second concern was for his own life, and then he focused on that one. If he wasn’t living, tasty rats didn’t mean a thing.

It turned out that they just wanted to know about the half-orc and the lady. Joddy told them everything, and about the black tattoo of the tree on the hand of the man. He didn’t say half-orc, because he remembered an argument that his mama had with a half-orc, and she said orcs and goblins was cousins, and needed to look out for each other. He said ‘man with a black tattoo’ because that was good enough to get them to go away. As they were talking, Joddy decided he was gonna take a couple coins from the man who did most of the talking. Before he could get close, the man pointed a long spear at him and said, “Back in the barrel with you!” and Joddy decided he was happy with his life, his rat, and a nice barrel to keep dry in.

Joddy listened from within the barrel, as the old man told the adventurers of a man he knew who had a black tree tattoo. Joddy gnawed on his rat, as the mean old man gave the adventurers directions to where the man with the tattoo hung out.

It watched, and was amused by the tiny goblin child. It regretted having to wait.


Coultier was waiting for a girl. Maybe they’d take this one, they’d given him twenty gold for the last one they ‘hired’, and turned down three others since. They told him to keep looking, that the women needed to be special. They wouldn’t explain that, but instead just told him to bring more women. The guy he always talked to at the warehouse was pretty creepy. Always told him to come at dark, and told him not to bring a light. This coming in the dark bullshit hadn’t been explained to him in the original deal. All the man had told him was he’d need to get a tattoo, for recognition, and bring girls buy. The better the girl, the better the gold. He was baffled. Sometimes they’d pay him 10 gold for a plain jane, and turn away a real looker. The payment seemed so random, but that didn’t matter in the end. If he just brought more girls by. He’d always been good at talking to girls, and a lot of folks jumped at the chance of honest work here in the slums. Recruiting for this warehouse didn’t seem very above the board, but he gave them all the pitch he was told to say. Easy work, the pay was great, and the boss was easy to work with. He knew that something was off, it was all just too good to be true, but if he just kept doing this for another month or two he’d be able to afford a place, and propose to Mariella.

The girl should’ve been here by now. He heard footsteps around the corner, and popped out to meet her. Only it was a group of adventurers. This wasn’t good, there was nothing back here for them. The smithy was closed this time of night, and the old chair factory had been shut down for years. Maybe they were lost. As they looked him over, he knew this wasn’t going to turn out well. He’d just tell them about the job, and he’d be fine, right? The tattoo kinda felt itchy, like when he first got it. He didn’t like this damn thing, and he didn’t like the way the adventurers were approaching. He ducked back into the alley, and hid in the darkness beside a crate.

He closed his eyes, for a moment, praying, hoping to come out of this unscathed. The damn tattoo was itching even worse than when he’d gotten it. Maybe he’d just kill these adventurers. Yeah, he should kill them. Killing was the only way to hide it all. Kill? Why had his mind jumped to killing. He’d only gotten the blades for the job. He barely knew how to use them. He came to his senses, no, he couldn’t stand against 5 adventurers alone. He could only kill one or two at best, then die himself for the… He was a bit confused, who was he dying for? This wasn’t right at all. He opened his eyes, and the adventurers were almost on him.

I’m a dead man, he thought, but I might as well take a few with me. His hands tightened around the pommels of his dagger, and shortsword as the adventurers closed in. The asked him a few questions about a dead girl, and a baby, and when he spoke, or rather, the words came from his mouth, they sounded hollow, and far away. Those weren’t his words, he needed to tell them he was innocent of all this. The problem was, he couldn’t move his body. He screamed silently within his own mind, as his body, outside of his own control lunged at the woman. A feeling inside him told him that women are prime targets. Violence against a woman affects people more, and there is more shock value. Wait, he never hit anybody, let alone a woman. The tattoo felt like it was going to burn a hole through his hand. Everything around him happened in slow motion. The man in the armor had been waiting for him to move, and stuck him good. A little voice inside his head told him it was time to do his part. Tell them, yes, tell them everything.

As Coultier sang like a canary about taking the girls to the warehouse for gold, he had the grim realization that sweat was pouring out of every pore in his body. The tattoo had gone cold, but that cold was spreading fast, and drawing the warmth right out of him. “It doesn’t matter, I’m a goner” he said in resignation, “I’m dead no matter what I do.” They were all looking at his arm, and he stole a glance as the tree tattoo seemed to be growing in size. The dark oak branched out, spreading along his veins. He was transfixed, the words of the adventurers sounding muffled, and incoherent. He stared at the ever growing tree, until his hand was no longer there. A blade, maybe a halberd, whooshed through the air severing his arm. Coultier felt relief as the tattoo was severed from his body, but a different kind of coldness filled him now. He fell to the ground, and his blood was spurting from the stump where he once had an arm. Was that man taking his cloak? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter for me anymore, he pondered as he slipped into the darkness.

It watched, and waited. The man had served well.


They approached the warehouse that the greasy man with the black tree tattoo had described to them. This was the place, an old brick building that had probably seen better days more than a century ago. Teros looked for a back way in, but soon discovered that all the other points of entry had been bricked up. The newer bricks contrasted easily enough to see that someone had covered up every window and door save for the front.

Oscar had a plan. He donned the cloak he had liberated from the shady man in the alley, and covered his hands to hide the fact he lacked a tattoo. He knocked, and moments later, after a lot of barking, a small slot in the door opened to some muttering. “Who the fuck are you?” asked the man behind the door. Oscar explained he had brought a girl, and needed the coin badly. The man hesitated to answer, then replied, “Go away.”. Something had tipped off the man behind the door, so Oscar pleaded, “C’mon, just give her a look over, she’s good.” and with that, the man behind the door crept closer to the eye slot. Kitiara seized the opportunity to jam her Kukri through the gap. The man howled and drew away from the door as she pulled back a blood covered kukri.

The party rushed from their spots outside of view, and Grant gave the door a mighty kick sending it flying open. Three men, and two dogs stood in a small entry way among the rows of crates. As the party filed in, the smell of mold permeated the air. A short scuffle ensued, during which the party noticed that all three men were nearly, if not completely identical. Two of the men fell first, and the third ran screaming into the warehouse. “Adventurers are coming! To arms, to arms!” he screamed as he disappeared around a corner. The party finished off the two dogs, and gave chase. The rows of crates seemed to have been rearranged to create a series of corridors. The party moved at the first turn, following the man who had fled into the warehouse. They were slowed down by a guard dog, and the man fled further into the depths of the twisting maze. Meanwhile Grant guarded first intersection, and clearly heard noises to the west. The party finished off the dog, and returned to his location. Peering around a corner, Ilena saw a curtain hanging loosely between a gap in the crates. A quick blast of frost was enough to blast the curtain open, revealing one of the lookalikes. Grant seized the opportunity and rushed forward setting off a tripwire. Two arrows launched out of holes in a nearby crate. One struck Ilena, and the other bounced harmlessly off of Grant’s armor. The party rushed forward and quickly dispatched two more of the lookalikes.

A quick search revealed a room full of bedrolls, and an empty corridor that had fallen into disuse. After a few moments, the party was ready to pursue the man who had fled into the darkened maze. Oddly enough, they found him dead, with a black wooden javelin piercing his heart in a small corridor with another curtain leading south to another “room” formed from an arrangement of boxes. Double doors lead into a brick-walled room to the north. Ilena blasted the other curtain open with another bolt of frost, revealing an empty sleeping chamber. A circle painted in blood decorated the floor of the otherwise spartan chamber. Soon the party flung open the doors, and were met by a charge from two of the lookalikes waiting within. Teros quickly stabbed both with his long spear as they approached, disrupting their momentum. Before a sickly looking blackened oak tree stood a gaunt tiefling in tattered robes. Meanwhile, Oscar spread various blessings throughout the party, while Ilena fired a salvo of magic missiles into the tiefling. He hissed out a curse in infernal, and pointed a near-skeletal finger at Ilena. She soon found that she had been overcome by a hunger like no other, as if she had not eaten for days. Through excellent teamwork, the party dispatched the remaining lookalikes, and set in on the tiefling. He provided little resistance in the end.

Closer examination revealed that the leaves hung limply from the tree’s branches, and the roots had been saturated with blood. Ilena stated that it was in fact no natural tree, but instead hypothesized that mayhaps be from an outside plane, likely based in negative energy, or shadow. With that revelation Teros withdrew a flask of holy water, and tossed it at the tree. It burned like acid upon contact, causing considerable damage to the trunk. A blast of harmful positive energy from Oscar had a similar effect. With a second flask of holy water, the twisted black oak tree was done for. Teros searched the downed tiefling, and striped him of his personal effects, along with a key. A quick interrogation revealed simply that the girls were ‘below’, and the man then clammed up. The interrogations were cut short by a faint scream from below, and Teros drove his longspear through the back of the foul cultist’s head.

It watched, and was pleased at the party’s progress.


Azik spent his days preparing meals for the women. His only company was the snake. It was the endbringer druid’s pet, He hated the man, mostly for his connection to the master. Azik toiled away, preparing the high protein mash that he spent his days feeding to the comatose women. The last three were about ready to pop. He’d have to take them out through the city again, to the man who took them. Of course, nobody knew that the man who took the bodies was dead. Azik had snapped his neck like a twig the last time they had met. The man had asked Azik a bunch of questions about his parents during earlier exchanges, but the last time he asked to cast a spell. Azik didn’t like the man’s accusations after having been studied with the magic. Azik wasn’t a ghoul, ghouls were undead. A ghoul had attacked his mother when she was pregnant. The man tried to explain his comment, but Azik had him in a headlock as he stammered about some kind of eldritch ancestry. He snapped the man’s neck like a twig, and left him lay right there in the house. He was still glad for what he’d done, but it left Azik with the simple problem of what to do with the bodies. He found a crawlspace under an abandon building that looked like a good spot to stash the first girl, but when he returned the body wasn’t there. He’d lucked out that nobody had been watching the place. The master had chosen Rook’s slums well, even after discovery, the body warranted no extra attention. He meant to stash the next one somewhere better, but he’d been away too long. The druid would become suspicious, so pressed for time, he buried her within a heap of trash. It looked like the pile had been there for a while, so it’d give him a few days until he could return. He had left thinking that he would return in a few days with the next one, and dispose of them both then.

Azik didn’t understand why their bellies swelled so fast, but he knew it had something to do with the ritual when a new girl was brought in. An elder endbringer would come to perform the ritual. It was always the same man, an older tiefling, but not a prick like the one who sat vigil by the oak. He always complimented Azik on doing a good job with the women. The snake squirmed upon his shoulder, reminding Azik that he was always under the watchful eye of the druid. Hissing, it nudged him on the ear. Once, twice, and then a third time. Three. He walked over to the well, and lowered the viper down to the surface of the water. It glided away almost effortlessly, and Azik snuffed the three torches that had been lighting the chamber. There were only eight women remaining, so he’d have to work quickly. He darted from bed to bed, whispering goodbyes to each, then tearing out their throats with a savage bite. He didn’t make all his rounds before the adventurer’s made their way the stairs. The master would be displeased if he failed. He wasn’t supposed to say goodbye, but he had grown to know these women. In their catatonic state, they never shared, but he had spent many hours talking to them all. He couldn’t just send them off without a goodbye. There were three left when the adventurers box him in, he had just kissed the one he’d called Kate’s throat goodbye in time to turn and face them.

In a moment he was surrounded, and he screamed, growing angry, “You shouldn’t be here! The Master will be angry!” as he felt his fingernails elongating. He’d kill them all, and the Master would be so proud. He stepped forward and drew his nails down Grant’s armor, accomplishing nothing. It was then that Teros stabbed him good in the side. He’d kill that rotten fucker for poking him. The man in armor would have to wait. His nails ripped into Teros’ skin, and something primal, deep inside his subconscious caused him to begin salivating. Another strike almost hit him, this time from Grant’s glaive. He’d have to finish this damn spearman, he thought to himself as Teros stepped back, and stabbed him once more. Azik lunged at Teros once more, rending him savagely with his sharp, yellowed fingernails. This time as Grant attacked with the glaive, it found its mark, and landed a powerful strike. Oscar. who had been sharing blessings throughout the battle, made his way closer to a heavily injured Teros, while Teros narrowly missed his target with the spear. This afforded Azik one more slash of the claws against Teros, which was just a bit too much for Teros to take, and he fell unconscious. Thankfully, Oscar was in position to bring his morningstar down on the orc’s skull, knocking the injured brute unconscious mere seconds after Teros had fallen. As Oscar tended to his fallen companion, Grant stepped in and lopped off the half-orc’s head with a powerful coup de grace with the glaive.

With the last member of the sect slain, the adventurers were able to examine their surroundings a bit more thoroughly. They found an area dedicated to food preparation, and a well for water, and washing linens. Of the eight girls, five had been slain by the crazed half-orc, leaving three catatonic women heavy with child. Ilena made her way to the food, still ravenous from the spell’s effect, and gorged on some grains and jerky. It did nothing to sate her hunger, though her belly did feel full. Oscar tended to his companion, and dispatched Grant to retrieve some guards.

After a few hours, Grant returned with three of Rook’s guards. They immediately began questioning the party, while one examined the grisly scene. As Teros called them out for their inattention to the slums, the guard was quick to steer that conversation towards payment for having eliminated this apparent threat to the city. The three women were carefully taken to a nearby fertility temple, to be examined by the clergy. The warehouse was roped off as the adventurer’s took their leave.


It watched all of this, and was pleased. The half-orc, though devout, had thrown a wrench into the works when he slayed the apprentice necromancer, making the farm far less productive. Each mother could only withstand the process once, so out of each his army grew by two. The baby would develop quickly, mature, receive the mark, and serve him, and the mother would have gone back with the fledgling necromancer, and joined the ranks of the undead. That was, before the idiot half orc had killed the inquisitive fool. It hated being made to wait. Things needed a push, and though it was risky, it threw caution to the wind, and moving all the pieces into play.