At lord tenderborn’s request, the party began its descent into the earthen maw that formed beneath the wreckage of the highhouse of tandus quint. the pace was slow as each member anchors themselves to root and rock, straining to extract breath from the heavy air. as darkness deepens and the last light from the surface fades out, collectively your mind wondered how emberfast’s assailants even navigated this rootwork? the hand/eye coordination alone should have prevented their ascent and they wouldn’t have been able to arrive in waves, but rather single file. as if heard by the gods themselves, you found your questions answered when, not five feet in front of you, a slightly transparent ghoul gripped and clawed its way to the surface with deft precision. its mouth gaped as it twisted its head towards you and screamed in silence.
it’s the scent that gives them away. when arms length from the undead, you can smell it, but here, dank earth was all that filled your lungs. as the creatures spidered their way towards you, their eyes spoke with an ancient intelligence… and an equally ancient hatred. past them, you realized the roots seem to repeat themselves in almost a visual echo, each more faint then the last. bathed in a storm of howling winds, the roots eventually gave way to a endless spiral of caverns and in one of these nooks, a giant dark-iron citadel could be seen. carved of basalt, the profane monument sat, sided by a pitch black river which wound its way around the base, only to spill upwards into the sky. as your vision continued to clear, the creatures clambered to block your sight and lock their pale eyes to yours. again, they screamed in utter silence, only then to begin mouthing maddening words as the tattered flesh attached to their face flapped in the wind.
you noted when two of the creatures established a flanking position towards your back, but as they approached, you breathed a sigh of relief when one of them lunged towards syracen and passed through, bestowing no more than a slight chill. confused and furious by the lack of corporeal contact, the creatures then adjusted their position to nowhere. gripping the root tightly, one of the creatures reached for her backpack and howled as it’s fingers drifted through the leather.
once more the undead muttered words in a language unheard, before growing frustrated at the void of space that separated your physical location. with a final hiss, they turned and continued their ascent to the surface; their ascent, to emberfast.
fearful of what she might find, nowhere drew back the flap to her backpack and examined the fell touched belongings. as the smell of charred leather wafted through the air, she could see the tendershard crucible has begun to weep blood, while the barrel and flashpan of riko’s flintlock pistol had begun to smolder and char the inside of her pack.