Acid and Uroloths
Session 18 August 2024
I make my way over to the tiny hut Jaf’ar has conjured for us, feeling the familiar warmth of the magic ward around us as I step inside. Malik, the dingo-headed champion who saved my life, joins us. We sit down, getting better acquainted with him now that the battle has subsided. There’s something lighthearted about Malik, despite everything he’s been through.
He shows us some of his magic—a flurry of colors and lights swirling in the air, almost like a performance. Malik is an entertainer at heart, it seems.
As the conversation progresses, Jaf’ar brings up something important—bringing Morph back. Malik listens, his sharp ears twitching slightly. He mentions he has a wish spell at his disposal, one of the most powerful magics there is. With that, he could bring Morph back from the dead. But it feels like a delicate matter, so we’re careful not to act rushedly.
We start talking more openly with Malik, exchanging stories. He explains how he was once from a tiny village, where he was unable to dance—either because of the restrictions of the town or something in his heart that felt unfulfilled. So he left, seeking freedom in the big city. But even there, something was missing. Eventually, he met some adventurers, and that’s how he ended up in Arcturia’s twisted grasp. When Jaf’ar asks what happened to him under her control, Malik hesitates, his carefree demeanor faltering. His body stiffens, and then suddenly, he’s crying, holding his head and neck, overwhelmed by the memories.
We don’t push him further. Jaf’ar instead tries to comfort him by introducing Mimi the Mimic—our strangely loyal, almost pet-like mimic. Malik seems nervous at first, his eyes darting between us and Mimi, but Jaf’ar assures him that Mimi is friendly. It takes a moment, but Malik relaxes.
Then, our conversation turns to Morph. With Patience and Morph both gone—Morph in a bag of holding and Patience who mysteriously disappeared—it feels like we’re at a crossroads. We start discussing how to handle Morph’s return and what to do with his belongings until then. We sift through his items, feeling conflicted. It’s awkward dividing the loot while he’s still dead, but we need to keep moving.
As we prepare for what comes next, I look over at Malik. “What are you going to do now?” I ask. “Do you want to stay with us?”
Malik doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he says with a firm nod. He grins, and despite everything, I feel a little lighter knowing we have his magic and spirit on our side.
We gather ourselves and press forward, resuming our hunt for Arcturia. The hallways feel eerily quiet as we move through them, the echoes of our footsteps bouncing off the stone walls. I’m still feeling heavy from my near-death experience, so Farryn offers to let me ride Grond with him. I accept, grateful for the break as I climb onto Grond’s back.
Eventually, we reach another door. Farryn listens closely, trying to detect any sound on the other side. When he hears nothing, he cautiously opens it. But instead of another hallway or chamber, we find ourselves facing a solid wall.
On that wall, there’s a rune—an intricate symbol etched into the stone. As the door opens fully, the rune begins to glow, crackling with energy.
I barely have time to react before it activates.
The rune explodes in a flash of blue light, and I feel a sudden surge of energy coursing through me. My limbs tingle, and I realize with a jolt that my arcane reserves have been replenished. Whatever that rune did, it worked in our favor. “Whoa,” I murmur, feeling the power thrumming beneath my skin. “I feel… better.”
Farryn, ever the cautious explorer, starts examining the wall more closely, trying to make sense of the runes and any hidden mechanisms. We continue walking, deeper into the dungeon, but suddenly the entire hallway begins to tremble. The stone beneath our feet shifts unnaturally—tilting up and down, jerking left and right. It feels like the walls themselves are trying to throw us off balance.
Farryn bangs his head against Grond as the hallway jerks violently. The impact echoes through the corridor, but Farryn grits his teeth and presses on. We all begin running as fast as we can, trying to escape this bizarre moving trap. I grip Grond tightly, clinging to him to keep from being thrown off.
Then, we reach a door.
I’m asked to open it, but the moment I stretch my hand toward the handle, my hand passes right through it. “It’s an illusion!” I shout back to the others, just before the unstable hallway catapults me forward. I’m thrown through the illusionary door with force, sent tumbling through the air. I crash hard onto the floor on the other side, groaning as I land.
“Is my nose still okay?” I mutter, feeling my face. I wince as my fingers brush over a few scrapes, but nothing is broken. I’m just banged up and bruised. “Well, that could have gone better.”
Jaf’ar sends his Manny through the other doors, only to find that they’re all illusions as well. It’s another trick, another layer of deception from this labyrinth. This place is designed to disorient and confuse us at every turn.
As we push further, we come across a mural—an intricate, almost lifelike image embedded into the stone wall. The mural depicts Hallaster, the mad mage himself, staring out at us with his signature wild eyes. Malik examines the mural, and his fingers trace along the lines of the image. It’s not just a piece of art—it’s a puzzle.
I shudder, remembering a similar puzzle from my past. It had cost me dearly—my entire savings stolen by a shifty dwarf after I’d solved it. I take a step back, shaking my head. “I’m not touching that thing,” I say firmly. “I’ve had enough puzzles for one lifetime.”
Malik, however, is undeterred. He studies the mural with an intense focus, moving his hands along the facial contours of Hallaster depicted on the wall. Slowly, a pattern begins to emerge, and as Malik manipulates the pieces of the puzzle, the wall begins to hum softly. A faint light glows from behind the mural, spreading through the cracks like veins of arcane energy.
“Be careful,” I warn, though Malik seems to have everything under control. The puzzle’s lines and symbols shift into place, and the wall lights up once again.
The mural collapses with a burst of blue energy, washing over us in a wave of arcane light. I feel its power settle into me—a curious warmth lingering just beneath my skin. It’s not the usual spell or boost, but something more tangible, more protective. We can each reduce damage by 10d6 once in the next 24 hours. This power could be the difference between life and death in this cursed dungeon.
We press on, entering a new hallway, and standing before us, we see Hallaster once again. His maniacal grin is wide, his eyes glowing with chaotic delight. “Well, well,” he croons, clapping his hands together. “Many have perished at the hands of that puzzle, but not you! I knew you’d make it through! That’s why I chose you!” His pride is unsettling, but Farryn instinctively moves closer to me, keeping Grond between us and the mad mage.
Hallaster soon fades away, and we continue our journey through another ominous door. This time, we find ourselves standing before a glass floor with a strange, bubbling green liquid beneath it. The liquid churns ominously, brewing something foul beneath our feet. Beneath the glass, we see some kind of roller system—an unsettling contraption waiting to be triggered.
Farryn takes action first. He throws his dwarven thrower at the glass, the impact causing a visible crack to spiderweb across the surface. But the mechanism doesn’t activate. Jaf’ar tries to tinker with it, hoping to loosen or disable it, but his efforts are met with resistance. The system seems more complex than anticipated.
Undeterred, Farryn pulls out a chime and points it toward a specific section of the room, hoping to unlock something hidden. A soft hum fills the air, and we feel a shift. The mechanism clicks into place, but nothing else happens—yet. Sensing something still amiss, Farryn hurls his thrower again, shattering more glass. Jaf’ar, flying above the glass in the middle of the room, casts knock on one of the mechanisms, echoing the noise through the chamber as another piece unlocks.
Then, with a final push, the remaining glass gives way before Jaf’ar can disarm the last mechanism. With a sickening crash, the entire floor collapses, sending shards of glass and bubbling acid spilling into the room. The acidic liquid surges up, swallowing the floor whole, leaving nothing solid to stand on.
That’s when we see it—an Ultroloth.
It emerges above the green liquid. Before we can react, Jaf’ar suddenly plummets downward. He crashes into the acid, his body searing with burns as the liquid consumes him.
“NOOO!” I scream as my heart races. The room grows hotter by the second, the air thick with heat and tension. The Ultroloth is relentless, and just when we think it can’t get any worse, three more of them appear, summoned from the shadows.
The heat is unbearable. My skin tingles with burns as the hallway is set on fire for a couple of seconds by one of the Uroloths. Grond moves to shield me, absorbing much of the heat, and I send a silent prayer of thanks.
But then—another Ultroloth appears, this one behind me, having been summoned by its vile kin. Holy smokes, this is bad—really bad.
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