Session Report 100

General Summary

It had been awhile since the Muskrats had the opportunity to restock their wares. Mordak’s carriage provided a rare opportunity for the Muskrats to cash in on their ill gotten wares. Dami and Tazmeth busied themselves pulling every single healing potion possible off the shelves. They must have taken 30 but the shelves stayed fully stocked. In Cambio’s absence, Itzal and Dami banded together to purchase Counter Saval new mail and new gauntlets. Perhaps the finely wrought plate he donned would better protect his recently restored soul. Mordak cackled as his magical carriage sprang away into the abyss and the Muskrats wondered whether a handful of healing potions would be enough to protect them from the horrors that certainly lay in wait.
The Muskrats trudged deeper into the bowels of the Wrath-Spike. Did they know where they were going? No. But somehow, they were certain they were headed in the correct direction. Any doubts were put to rest when the Muskrats came across several slain fiends, each felled by what appeared to be a single stroke. Dami, in particular, was intrigued by the degree of strength necessary to hew a bearded devil in two with such ease.
Finally, the Muskrats were stopped. Not by enemies, or magic, but a wall – gigantic stone wall rose above the lava and blocked their path. On closer inspection, the door had a matrix of buttons. Dami called out that they should press every button at the same time! If so, she argued, they couldn’t press the wrong one. Despite the appeal of Dami’s suggestion, Itzal neglected to do so, for he was not an idiot. What followed was perhaps the most egregious display of luck that this campaign (this WHAT?!) had ever witnessed. Of the 9 possible options, each the Muskrats clicked was correct. The wall swung inwards, revealing itself to be a door. As they passed, Itzal could feel a feint aura of magic. He surmised that a single false choice would have subjected the entire chamber to waves of necrotic energy.
Soon, the Muskrats came to a hanging bridge, suspended hundreds of feet above coursing lava. They could hear shouting from across the bridge–House Vassa! They could not quite make out what the patriarchs were arguing about so Tazmeth, ever a stealthy one, crept under the bridge and ran to eavesdrop. It turns out that both Kalakis and Zorran were bound by blood magic, which manifested in collars that slowly tightened around their throats, certain to kill them soon. The Muskrats revealed themselves and after a brief but harsh conversation between Zeyia and Tazmeth, the last members of House Vassa agreed to trust the Muskrats to remove the collars. It was a relatively straightforward magic. However, were Itzal’s magic to fail, the consequences would be disastrous, as their souls would combust, sending a devastating pulse of magical energy through the chamber. Itzal believed its intensity would be similar to that of the meteor swarm that Tritemeus had brought down upon them many years prior.
The Muskrats removed themselves to the safety of a pocket dimension as Itzal and Zorron stood along on the opposite side of the bridge. A swift hand gesture and the collar fell broken. The Muskrats let out a sigh of relief. One down. Crisis averted. A few murmured words and Kilakas’ collar fell to the ground as well. The ease with which the Vassas were freed made a mockery of the danger inherent in their predicament. Tazmeth and Zeya discussed what plans the two had for the future. Tazmeth strongly urged Zeya to rebuild the monastery and become the new master. Zeya profusely rejected this suggestion. She refused to betray Master Linil's will nor did she wish to imprison herself in a monstery after gaining freedom such a short time ago. The complicated story between the two only continued to grow. Perhaps showing growth (or, perhaps, weakness?), the Muskrats and House Vassa parted ways without any bloodshed. Were Kilakas and Zorron serious in beginning their lives anew now that they were free from the pact that bound their family for generations? Only time would tell. But for now, they left to sift through the wreckage of Wulkan for anything that remained. Their role in the Muskrat’s story seemed to be at its end.
Tazmeth discovered a secret passage way that, upon exploration, seemed to be strewn with the bodies of fiends who had been killed similar to those in the earlier chambers. The Muskrats were on the right track. They approached the rough terrain with an undue amount of caution. One might even say that they made the trek more complicated that it had any right to be for adventurers with their degree of experience. Finally, they arrived at the base of the chamber. Only a door, barred from the inside, stood in their path.
Dami huffed and puffed and simply was unable to blow the door down. In fact, she was not able to chop it down either. What devilry was in place that such a powerful fiend was unable to push through a simple wooden door? Her eyes grew red and she tried once more. The door gave way. What stood in the way of the mighty Dami–powerful magic? An artifact? Nay! A mere immovable rod! There was no time for embarrassment. The surviving Commandments stood at the end of the hall and the mighty Anathema hovered above them.
Anathema slowly turned to face the party. She demanded they explain their presence, casting them as conspirators, allies of the fiends and traitors. She revealed her allegiance to the Achiavelli–long they polluted her mind, feeding her visions of the dangers posed by Mizanorous and the Oubliette. Now, they filled her mind with visions of the Muskrats stealing her revenge. She turned to the Muskrats, her once contorted face falling into an unsettling calm, and snarled to her lieutenants, “Kill them.” She turned her back and began to walk away.
Suddenly, the air grew still. A faint, solemn note pierced the air. Itzal reached out to the Weave but found that it did not answer. Had Mystra forsaken him? The infinite strands he had become so familiar were naught. Only a single weak strand remainder, quivering. A second later, the horn’s note ceased and a flash blinded him as the weave sprang into place, reformed. Itzal recalled something he had read many, many years ago–of the Godslayer and his three horns. One to awaken it, one to control it, and one to put it back to rest. Tritemeus had been misled by the Achiavelli. The nameless artifact in the Oubliette was none other than the Horn of Awakening and its sounding had awoken the Godslayer. The Achiavelli’s plans had been set into motion.
But that would have to wait. Before the Muskrats, Sir Eer stepped forward, his black blade glistening. His skin began to shift, growing diamond white, glistening in the torchlight. Could the Muskrats reckon with the strongest of the Commandments?

Report Date

02 Oct 2023