Session Report, Honey Heist

 

Yirith Campaign Retrospective, Part B

Behind the Screen

Mistakes were made.

Spoilers for “Well of Frogs” are below.

Campaign Prep

I skimmed dozens of adventure modules. I read or reread plenty of fiction: (parts of) the first pair of Fafhrd and Grey Mouser White Wolf omnibuses; the first three Thieves’ World volumes; [listened to] The Hammer and the Blade; (part of) The Lies of Locke Lamora; (part of) Gentlemen of the Road; The Daughter’s War and Between Two Fires; all but one story in The Dying Earth; many Clark Ashton Smith short stories; a few Conan tales and “The Moon of Skulls”; a pair of sword and sorcery anthologies, from which Saunders’ “Gimmile’s Song,” Cook’s “Soldier of an Empire Unacquainted With Defeat,” and Pollack’s “The Red Guild” became an immediate source of borrowing for the campaign. I searched up some sword & sorcery playlists on Spotify and created streamlined versions that got rid of undesirable songs. I watched Conan the Barbarian (1982) again, of course, quite possibly for the tenth time.

An unfinished map of Yirith was made to accommodate the modules selected, with several lightly-described areas to allow space for future incorporations. Lots of toponyms were borrowed from Clark Ashton Smith, some via the world of Xoth, and some from Black Sword Hack. I included on the map the polities/regions of the Northern Raiders [“Reavers”], the Golden Archipelago, the Merchant League [“Hundred Taikuns”], the Eastern [“Northern”] Principalities, the Land of Black Pyramids [“Black Archipelago”], the Theocracy [“Caliphate”], the Dust Empire [defunct, ruled by the Mad Pharaoh], and the City of Thieves. Political leaders were given general titles, and for most, this was their only existing characteristic: “The Nizam”; “His Dread Majesty”; “The Readers.” A partial calendar was created, a “Year of the Fish, Moon of the Frog” model, and the set of moons (which maybe made the previous calendar nonsensical) were taken from Harth. An “innumerable” list of gods with generic names was added, including “Lord of the Wastes,” “Goddess of Oblivion,” and the “Frog God.” I did not develop these very deeply, either, hoping they would be malleable enough to fit into the pre-written modules, and flexible enough for player desires. The City of Thieves, intended to be the players’ (first?) base, was lightly developed, with 24 guilds (mostly criminal organizations). The city was an amalgam of (or, a series of plagiarisms from) Lankhmar, Camorr, Adrilankha, Well of Frogs’ Cassidium, Sanctuary, and Eversink. I wrote two (local and long-distance) 20-item rumor lists, mostly hooks or previews for different modules, with a dozen replacement rumors for each. I rewrote my 200-entry carousing list to be Yirith-specific, and changed the rewards to fit Black Sword Hack (since it doesn’t have traditional xp to be a reward). 

Session 0

The players (and the GM) were introduced to the system via character rolling. I had expanded and made world-specific the three PC birth circumstances lists, and added a random starting possession per origin. We did not roll up the Black Sword Hack world together; I’m of the camp that collaborative world creation ruins some of the suspension of disbelief, takes the player (me, at least) out of the game. (This was also partly because the results of the worldbuilding tables 8.4 are very uneven, for all the coolness contained within.) Still, we did roll the legendary weapons for the campaign. I planned to start dropping clues toward recovering (fighting against) them around level five for the PCs, but that was deferred for too late, and didn’t happen. The players were introduced to BSH pricing, and grumbled.

Session 1 

Players were set in media res as caravan guards for a merchant who had a secret destination in mind (using the PCs to help fight through some ape-men occupying a buried ancient temple, so that he might raise a snake godlet from the earth). A planned encounter took place to introduce both BSH fight mechanics, and Ty Pitre’s Nested Hit Dice. The fight was poorly designed in that the creature had a number of mezzes (three of the four PCs were stunned in some way in that first fight) and I didn’t do enough telegraphing of the monster’s different parts. None of the players were used to hp as anything other than a single pool. NPCs died but also finished the fight, their attacks rolled by the players with mezzed characters. I abandoned nested HD immediately after this, having stupidly not realized that the simplicity of BSH monsters was one of its best features.

The brief dungeon delve–the session was set up to be self-contained–paralyzed an incautious PC with a (randomly-rolled) curse. Two others caught diseases. Reasonably, though, the adventurers fled the snake godlet, meant to show that powerful forces were at work, and that they might encounter unbeatable monsters. I made an error in not making the villain of the session trackable in subsequent sessions.

Phase 1: City of Thieves (Sessions 2-6.5)

Nearly all the characters would continue to be beset by diseases, leading to the most momentous choice of the campaign: leaving the City. The persisting disease issue came about due to layers of poor dice luck: small chances of contraction actually happening, failed saves, failed cures, fighting a mummy. The sicknesses (rolled on tables) were less interesting in practice than they sounded in theory, but did help drive the action. The party delved repeatedly in the City sewers (drawn by rumors and NPC talk), based mostly on the material in “Well of Frogs.”

To make sure I didn’t put my own thumb on the scales during a moment of urgency (a character got poisoned, the PCs burgled a guild’s treasure room, and then left bodies in a public square during the escape), I wrote a small table to determine when upcoming events would be resolved:

1d6 hours til Saartu succumbs (one is almost over) [4, so 3 left]
1d6 hours til Literati stage attack [2] (4 thugs)

1d6 hours til Literati clean up (remove) ink treasure [1]

1d6 hours til Literati re-staff brothel [4]
1d6 hours til Barbers/Flesh-Tailors reach out [2] (5 thugs)

1d6 hours til Watch arrives in square [1], 5 soldiers

The players got drawn into organized crime by their actions, so I prepared “Lounge Temple of Asvraki,” “Grave Matters,” and “Temple of Lies” (two drug/cult fronts and a weird heist), but then the PCs left the city to save themselves from mummy rot and did not return. The hook that worked was the tale of a curative temple on an island, Brad Kerr’s “The Sunbathers.” A weather roll (the main rains of the monsoon arrived) altered that scenario substantially.

Mechanics and Mechanical Errors

I realized that in BSH hordes of low-HD creatures are extremely dangerous (with average abilities meaning players were hit about 50% of the time, even by weak creatures). I added the house rule (explicitly rejected in the BSH rulebook) that PCs with higher level than HD, also got a bonus to hit equal to the difference, although this was tricky to work in the VTT as a roll-under system, and sometimes I forgot to apply the modifier. 

I mixed up from time-to-time during play auto-degrades and roll-to-degrade for Doom dice, and forgot to have Doom rolls during fumbles. I also sometimes rolled what should have been player-facing dice. (27 years of rolling for monster attacks is a hard habit to break!) I altered rules about demon- and spirit-summoning and then reversed myself, but this didn’t really matter, since none of the continuing players had those backgrounds. Because of all the missing that had occured in combats, I buffed the character generation stats, which roughly meant +1 to each ability. I composed a 900-word email explaining the rules-changes and the math. Maybe that was why the second player left the campaign…. 

Downtime and Reputation

I used Gearing’s Reputation system (d20 for the City of Thieves, a new d20 for a region when the PCs left and hung around elsewhere, and a d10 for a subsequent village). The first table was about half-filled by the time the party left, and less-significant events were slowly greyed out.

City of Thieves Reputation

Carousing failures gave PCs a step bonus to the doom die, but the only failed carousing roll was by a player that dropped out. I was sloppy enforcing the BSH rule of two actions per downtime, and downtime was often not simple, as the sessions ended in a way that had no in-world break before the next action.

Missed Opportunities

The characters almost defeated a mummy at low level–the opportunity was there–but they ended up fleeing and missing out on grabbing a relic. Another pair of opportunities went wanting: a death-minstrel offered to produce commemorative doggerel if they were to die spectacularly, and gave them a sample (a hook to Hyena Child, set in the home city of one of the PCs), but survivors never returned to get his remembrance. I wrote a list of 24 romances, adventures, and treatises–just the titles–to serve as interesting library finds, hooks and helpful lore, but no libraries were investigated. One character tried a drug that led to a vision that was an obscure hook. I probably didn’t make the cults interesting, life-like, or deep enough to draw in the players.

Fronts

For a while I kept track between sessions of “off-screen” materials: the snake godlet’s movements, the freed mummy’s actions, the relative struggles of the crime-guilds, and the City of Thieves cults the players had interacted with (or been part of). This was done with a summed 2d6, with 6-8 being a status-quo type roll, and a 2 or 12 equalling great disaster or success, respectively, up to my interpretation. After it became evident that the party was straying further and further from this base, I grew lax in this recordkeeping/mini-game. Once the players became itinerants, I rolled for a few more new “off-screen” actors, but those were never revisited either.

Yirith: Campaign Retrospective, Part A

The Yirith: Age of Low Adventure campaign ran almost weekly from 9 August, 2025 through 21 March, 2026, concluding with the twenty-seventh session.

Campaign Goals

• So many good modules, and I bought ‘em. (Also, some not great ones.) Put ‘em in a sandbox, make a cool world like this. Let the players experience ‘em. 
• Play leaning into sword and sorcery, pushing myself to be a little more gonzo. Try a system that supports that. No elfs, dwarfs, dragons, or D&D humanoids.
• Succeed at the challenge of running an open-table sandbox, stitching together the modules.

Here’s what I wrote to the invited: “The campaign should be somewhat variable in format session-to-session, with dungeon-crawls, city intrigue episodes, wilderness treks, and social encounters, depending on what the players or their avatars push for. Hopefully a decent set of stories emerges from this picaresque, with some continuity, without being overly troubled by foolish consistencies, as pulp-era authors seemingly weren't.”

Actual session types, approximately: vibe-setting, system-learning dungeon plunge (1 session); sewer-crawls & city intrigue (5); temple explorations & cult fights (6); hex-crawl (1); social explorations & negotiations (2.5); village defense & dungeon raids (4); surreal dungeon crawls (6.5).

Setting, Themes, & Vibes

My invitation included the following scene-setting: ‘Between the epochs of long ago, when the clouds screamed with Angelim and floated with Leviathan, the Caecilian Colossus strode the land with cities ‘neath its feet, and the Jade Empire of the Serpent-Men was cast into ruin, and before the Immortal City passed unto death, the Fourth Moon fell from the sky, and the Nameless God was Named, there was an age of Yirith yet undreamed of, an age of Low Adventure. … The theme will be sword & sorcery, familiar D&D world stuff for sure, but with an emphasis on sinister cults and jewel heists, frog gods and serpent men, thieves’ guilds and dark sorcery, Law and Chaos, mighty thews and unfathomable beasts, sweaty jungles and desolate wastes. … The particular “Appendix N” for this campaign includes: “Tower of the Elephant” and “Lean Times in Lankhmar”; Clark Ashton Smith with the solidity dialed up and Jack Vance with the goofiness dialed down; Orientalist oil paintings and Frank Frazzeta’s art; the first Conan film and some scenes from Bakshi’s fantasy animations; the Thieves’ World series and the introduction to Nifft the Lean; Gentlemen of the Road and Between Two Fires; the Hound & Arya’s fight for chickens and the violent bits of The Northman; Egil & Nix, Logen Ninefingers & Ferro Maljinn, and the black-tongued thief & Locke Lamora. I will probably straight up “borrow” many of the geographical and cultural names from these works, maybe even lift mini-plots wholesale if they seem good game-material.’

Major themes that actually played out: reptilian & amphibian threats, insect infestation, diseases & cures (& drug use), organized crime & cults, death, and eggs & pregnancies (& births). 

System

As my Advanced OSE Xyntillan campaign was ending, I polled players in my orbit. A number (none of whom had played it) were keen on Black Sword Hack, as was I. It seemed obvious for the setting.

House Rules

• Regular combats were too long (rough math is most beginning BSH characters do around two points of damage per attack, vs. monsters beginning with 5 hp, rising to 10 hp soon after, with not so many options for characters scaling up). So, I made hits more likely with inflated stats. I reduced the effectiveness of shields (gave enemies disadvantage on damage), so that they wouldn’t be a “must have.” Enemies rolled dice for damage, rather than dealing fixed amounts. 
• I rewrote several of the backgrounds to improve the desirability of some, although two of my players generated their backgrounds randomly. Some flavor was changed to fit Yirith. I speeded leveling by ruling experience gained through sessions survived (2 to make level 2, 5 to make level 3, &c.).
• I added a slot system for encumbrance, the number the average of STR and CON scores, plus six ready-slots including two hands, and the remaining “pack” requiring dig out time (equipped armor could be in the pack).

Numbers

The campaign stretched 33 weeks with 27 sessions held, including a session zero. 

There were probably 4 cancelled scheduled sessions, and a few weeks that I didn’t offer to host, mainly because of American holidays. The campaign was run online in Roll20 and Discord, as the players and GM are in greater Philadelphia, Toronto, Indiana and Iowa, North Carolina, and Australia. (Invites additionally went out to Virginians and a Milwaukeean.) 

Sixteen players were invited initially and six joined the campaign. One played 1 session (the first) and dropped out. One played 2 sessions, (1st & 3rd) and dropped out. The other four played 25, 17 (joined at 5th), 15, and 13 (dropped after 16th) sessions. The average attendance was 2.8 players per session. I didn’t hold a session if only one player could make it. Attendance after session 20 was 2.2 players per.

There were 9 PCs rolled; 3 were killed along the way. The lone TPK was one of the duo sessions. There was, however, also a TPU (total party unconsciousness), where three PCs went to 0 hp, and were captured by a cult (who very much did not want to kill them). One character at the conclusion of the campaign was fifth level, and the other three still in were fourth level (two replacement characters included).Those killed died at third or fourth level.

My Favorite Moments, Fiction-Wise

• Player reactions to the numerous eggs and pregnancies
• A PC drinking sewage from a goblet
• The creation of the Ink Knight (tripping a black boiling ink trap)
• A PC’s inner and outer bones (and the concern of the Grinding Nightmare’s request)
• The panicky murder of a harmless old woman
• The pledge to the meat-sphere
• The beach escape from the oblivion cult
• Dinner with a cannibal
• The long conversation with the ersatz Amazons
• The escape from the space-worm’s gut
• The snooty Orangutan’s disgust with goatsmilk drinking
• The nudities at Quiet Lake
• Rescuing the wrong woman
• Blasting apart the Bachelor with a firelance   

Modules Deployed (in order of play)

• Vault of Yigthrahotep (small portion deeply rewritten)
• Well of Frogs
• The Sunbathers
• Bad Myrmidon (rewritten substantially)
• Agon 2: Kryos
• Parallel Dungeons
• Quiet Lake (Reach of the Roach God)
• Lorn Song of the Bachelor
• Upper Heleng

Published Tables Used for World “Fill”

• &&&&&Treasure
• Harthbreaker
• Heavenly Bodies (art)
• Hyperborea (name lists)
• Kal-Arath Weather
• Lesser Key to the Celestial Legion
• Nocturnal Tables
• Swords of the Serpentine
• Tales of Argosa
• Thieves’ World (Chaosium)
• Weird North
• World of Xoth for Low Fantasy Gaming
• A Wicked Age
• Yoon-Suin

Modules partly worked up for play but unused

• Curse of the Maggot God
• Deluge at Drizzle Distillery
• Gardens of Ynn
• Grave Matters 
• Jewels of the Carnifex (altered)
• Lounge Temple of Asvraki (altered substantially)
• Spider God’s Bride (reduced substantially)
• Temple of Lies
• Tomb of the Bull King (reduced)

Modules Rumored (so at least a read-through on my part), unpursued by players

• Acid Metal Howl
• Agon: Soros & Ion
• Anthropophagi of Xambaala
• Battle for Carrion Vale
• Carcassay Titan Rat
• City of Tears
• City of Vultures
• Cloister of the Frog-God
• Darkness at Nekemte
• Forgotten Fane of the Coiled Goddess
• Grave Titan Harvest
• The Grotesques’ Grotto
• Hyena Child
• Isle of the Sea-King
• Lions of Tel-Arn
• Pestilence at Halith Varn
• Qelong
• Queen of the Black Coast (Hyborian Adventures)
• Rats of Ilthmar
• Red Prophet Rising
• Scourge of the Tikbalang
• Shadows of Forgotten Kings
• Song of the Beast Gods
• Spider God’s Temple (Reach of the Roach God)
• Stirring the Hornet’s Nest at Het Thamsya
• Temple of 1000 Swords
• Undying Sea

The first version--more were added

Play Report/Review: On the Hill

When one or two of my weekly sessions get cancelled (usually for attendance reasons) I get antsy, and I like to run (or join) a one-shot. In my experience, most "one"-shots are instead short-shots, so it's difficult to find a satisfying module to fill one evening, but no more, since open-table two- or three-shots scattered over weeks, if not months, is just not something I want to try. After purchasing a couple duds, I found the much more appealing (from a reading standpoint) "On the Hill." The adventure is a modern "twisted" re-imagining of B5 ("Horror on the Hill") deploying the Liminal Horror rules. Importantly, the module seemed finishable in three hours. Reader, it was (two-and-a-half, actually).

Liminal Horror (a Mark of the Odd type) is really good for these sorts of things, since the only explanations needed to TTRPG-familiars are roll-under, "hit protection" vs. hit points, slot dynamics and fallout, damage-only rolls, and ability score damage, a five-minute explanation tops. I used Cairn-style initiative and Critical Damage rather than Wounds because I forgot the Liminal Horror rules were different. I also forgot the best-damage-die-of-multi-attack rule during the boss fights (this really only mattered twice). The "Voidcrawl" procedure at the center of the adventure will be familiar to any GM that haunts the OSRsphere. (I don't love the neologism "Voidcrawl," but the module's usage makes more sense than the original game's.) Each exploration turn consumed by the players requires a d20 roll, which mostly then requires a subsequent roll if the result is Omen, Monster, Horror, or Clue. The "plot" is there's a haunted state park, and once the PCs enter, they must perform some tasks and defeat a pair of monsters to escape.

Preparation

Since I play online, the game had to be set up on the Roll20 platform that I use. The module as written would be very easy to play theater-of-the-mind on top of the player's map (a map of the park), and perhaps I should have done that, but I made a page for each of the eleven sites in the crawl, plus an "interstitial" page, for when encounters happened along a path. I added the rolling tables and monster statblock pages beyond the edge of some of the maps (out of player sight). The individual site pages were found-for-free or previously-purchased battlemaps that more or less fit the territory. I also made and uploaded tokens for the PCs, NPCs, and monsters. I filled in backgrounds and equipment for five character sheets; the players would get to roll their three stats and hp. I wrote a three-sentence explanation of character motivation.

Play Report

Generally speaking, a nice success. Two players showed, but two 'maybes' did not. I reduced monster damage by a die on the fly and made monster morale matter (B/X triggers plus CTRL check). The players were very suspicious of the opening NPC encounter (for good, but also for meta-reasoning), but plunged into the haunted park, anyway (also for meta-reasons), now with a secondary objective (rescue). 

The players, when informed of the Voidcrawl procedure (each action--move, search, interactions--will trigger the clock roll) decided to head straight for the monastery along the most direct path to spend the night (the PCs' initial goal). The first roll on moving down the path was a monster event. In fact, about half the Voidcrawl rolls were Monster events (20% chance on each roll). The first attacking creatures--fairyland sprites, essentially--proved very unexpected to the players. They debated briefly about trying to leave the park, which was impossible at this point in the adventure.

The second Voidcrawl roll triggered the first Doom event, which is just meant to be spooky, and doesn't provide any foreshadowing. The players met an NPC and got information (some dubious, some good) in the third area they entered, their interactions leading her to leave. They searched the area and received an Omen roll, which was both nice foreshadowing, and probably my best improvisation of the night. 

The attempt to reach the fourth area resulted in the "Twisted Forest" result, where the PCs make no progress. The next Voidcrawl roll resulted in another Monster, which I held off until a slightly more dramatic moment, rather than just meeting on the path. The party met their third NPC, a man in need of rescue, and were deeply suspicious of him, especially when the monster attacked during the rescue. They gained a little more information, including vaguely about a secret area not on the park map, received a magic item, and lost time (a second Doom advancement roll, also just spooky). The following transit involved another Monster roll and other actions added three different Horrors. The characters deployed their magic item, but didn't fully understand how it worked (mostly beneficial), and wouldn't use it again. The next roll brought forth the realization of the Omen, so one of the PCs grew antlers from her own head.

The next area achieved was the place where they would combat the first NPC they had met outside the park, the "sub-boss." With some luck, and the new Fallout from the Omen (antler weapon) the PCs defeated the evil man, and the subsequent Monsters that showed when they searched the area. They moved on to the final space, and in a very quick battle versus the module boss (antler vs. antler), who forced two critical damage saves (failed and success with only 25% chance) and got his head blown off by a maximum damage roll to almost certainly avoid a TPK. The rifle-user had a 50% chance of being killed outright during the next turn, or a 20% or less odds critical damage save to win. One of the players commented: "Wildly cinematic. My heart was actually racing." 

The Great

The park map for the players is pretty much the ideal player handout, and the digital handout comes with the purchase. The partial information therein helps speed along choices. Nearly all of the Clues, Monsters, Horrors, and Omens/Fallout are eerie and overlap in interesting ways to get the players' minds agitated with the horror. Some of them are good foreshadowing, too. Each area is written up concisely and clearly, the information matching the players' possible choices of action, making each location very easy to run.

Adjustments I'd Make

The players' map and the GM's map both look very much alike, so it might be easy to accidentally give the players the wrong one (which basically has two secret areas on it, is all). I might add the player map to the module pdf itself, too. The legend "party area" (on the players' map) doesn't make sense in the context of the recently-claimed-by-the-state park, since it's become a swamp. I realize why the starting creek route doesn't have path from the road (to preserve the bubble that traps the players), but it doesn't make a lot of sense from a realism perspective. This is the one instance where playing from the map might be less useful--undermining the confusion of the players if they take the stream back south from the orange trailhead and end up at the blue trailhead. 

The map's structure is also not quite conducive to players exploring it all, if they don't attempt to leave early. Why visit the western-most areas of the Lowland Loop, if the destination is the monastery, which it almost certainly is? If I run it again, the Old Timer at the beginning will be certain to claim "Sophia" was lost near the pond. I might also set up rumor tables, with vague implications about the potential monsters, as well as reasons to take each of the trails.

The opening encounter (which takes place prior to the map numbers) is a bit buried in the text. It's also set up in a way that might derail entering the park: the players might volunteer to help drive the injured woman to the hospital, or call an ambulance. I don't think the Old Timer should call himself that if the players know about the backstory on page three "At the center of these [indescribably horrible] stories [about the park] was a man, now called only the Old Timer." The centerpiece of the adventure--an abandoned monastery in the wilderness--doesn't quite seem to fit the American state park system; I presume it is a holdover from the original B5 module. "Ending the Adventure" is on page 3 with the beginning, which partly makes sense, but was a less helpful location in the text after the ultimate encounter (page fourteen). The Flail of the Penitent seems unlikely to be found/used unless this is an ongoing campaign session.

For all the good parts of the Voidcrawl, getting to the end of the Doom clock seems very unlikely. It seems like sessions might average around twenty rolls, and it is only a 1 in 20 chance, with 5 steps. My session which had 15 rolls (one every 10 minutes) produced 2 Dooms (5% chance each), 2 Omens (5%), 3 Twisted Forest [15%], 4 Monsters [20%], 3 Horrors [20%], 0 Clues [15%], 1 Free [15%], and 0 Reprieves [5%]. I think if (when) I run the scenario again, I might expand chances for Doom, Omen, and Clues, at the expense of Twisted Forest (the most boring/frustrating result after the first time), Monsters, and Free.

I'm excited to see how different a second session with different players might turn out.

The Bachelor

The fifth phase of Yirith: Age of Low Adventure

Sessions 22-26

SPOILERS for "Lorn Song of the Bachelor." 10,000 words.

(You might want to compare IsaacIsAfraid's concurrent play reports.)

Session 22: "Sounding Out the Gleaming Fins"

The next morning, a day’s row upriver, Dungan could not smell anything, even though the riverbank stank for everyone else. He could feel his body, though. Salome remarked that she had heard river eels were delicious, and hoped to snare some for one of the day’s meals. Monkeys screamed, birds chittered, insects swarmed. One of the children sobbed. 

On the second and third days, Dungan was blind. He could smell the rot, hear the jangal cacophony, feel his muscles pull the oars, and taste how the last of Jinta’s gruel was spoiling, but he could not see. It was especially alarming, then, on the third day of the journey, when Salome reported that a boat was trailing them, and gaining. A large boat with many oars and a single sail.

The vessel was almost certainly run by the Hundred Taikuns, the merchant league that dominated the Inner Sea, and reportedly had warehouses in all of the Seven Cities. Dungan, with relative accuracy, blamed them for the destruction of his people’s ways. Salome knew them to be dangerous for independent operators like herself, and had no love for them either. The choice was made to hide the canoes in the mangroves around a bend, and let the company ship pass. 

From between the mangroves the refugees from Quiet Lake watched the Taikuns’ ship pass by. It had a dozen oars and rowers, and another dozen men with staves topped by pottery, smoke issuing forth from the bulbs, even in the light rain. One of the men aimed this device toward the far shore at a passel of monkeys in the canopy, and a flash, and thunder rolled across the water. One of the monkeys fell from the branches and the others scattered, shrieking. The soldier who had fired the weapon laughed. 

“THEY ARE TRAVELING TO GLEAMING FINS TO GET THE DREAMING AGARU,” Musun said, more noisy than any would have wished.

“Incense-mongers,” growled Salome.

On the fourth day, Dungan felt better. The light rain continued and he was happy to feel it on his skin, see the grey clouds, taste the smoked fish. When Musun told them they were close to the village, the rowers in the three canoes all felt a lift and increased their efforts. The pros and cons of tattoos and skirmish paints were discussed.

“No, really, I feel great now,” Dungan claimed.

“Terminal lucidity,” Salome quipped. 

“We should probably warn the village about the roach situation.”

“And get these Quiet Lakers set up with a home.”

The conversation was cut short by the appearance of a corpse in the river, drifting downstream toward the flotilla. A human, face down and waterlogged seemed to be aimed right at them. Salome grabbed an oar and skillfully used it to flip the body. 

What had seemed to be a corpse spoke as its head came out of the water. “Where am I?” it exclaimed, garbled, water bubbling out of its throat. Somebody shrieked because a fish with whiskers was clamped on the groin of the body. Salome, who had wanted to pull the corpse aboard, swung the paddle hard onto the fish, splattering blood and water everywhere. It opened its mouth, full of hooked teeth, exposing a ruin between the man’s legs, and tried to bite the oar. Salome yanked the paddle back, and the wounded fish dove beneath the water.

“I guess I was hungry,” Salome excused her actions.

“Is that one of the jangal leeches everyone is talking about? Anyway, probably good we didn’t pull that into the boat,” Dungan responded.

“Who would do such a thing? Let’s be more discerning about the fish we catch,” Salome said.

“We wouldn’t want to get catfished.”

The river took a sharp bend to the left. High above was a pointy rock, jutting out over the water. Musun told them she had heard male singers up there on one of her journeys. 

The river bowed back toward the right, making a wide lagoon up ahead. A few huts on stilts marked the curve, a pair of boats tied up, muscular men, wiry and stout, loafing on the piers. Strangely, a rock monument jutted from the center of the waterway, and it was revealed to be crudely but accurately carved into the head of a snarling eel. Salome raised her eyebrows. The men seemed to be expecting something, staring at the Quiet Lake flotilla, but the party just rowed on by. Musun noted they would see the Gleaming Fins’ village any minute now.

The settlement seemed huge after Quiet Lake’s miniscule affair. Dozens of canoes and some larger boats, including the Taikuns’ craft, were tied up to docks and pilings. A long house stood at the top of the hill over dozens and dozens of huts. Small stupas poked out here and there, and sturdy log buildings stood at the far end, where the company ship was.

“So let's warn the chief about the roach situation…”

“...and see if our refugees can make a home here.”

As they tied up, the refugees noticed pilings were carved into scales, fairly recently. A stooped man with knobby hands, sweating even through the drizzle made his way toward them. Like everybody else they could see, he had gills tattooed on his neck. On his sun-browned belly, there appeared to be flaming flowers inked. Dungan approached with all the politeness he could presume.

The man’s name turned out to be Liga si Liga, and he was a pepper farmer. Surprisingly, the old fellow had known Ran wa Ran and was saddened to hear of her death, as well as surprised that walking, talking roaches had played a role in her demise. The farmer told the exiles that they might build their own homes from the bush at the edge of the village here. There was some discussion over Salome and Dugnan’s roles as spice merchants, with Liga si Liga being disappointed that he hadn’t found a new buyer for his crop in the two. Their resources were too limited at the moment. Dugnan asked about the Bachelor, and the peasant said that the crocodile was so cruel that it had buried victims’ remains in pebbles on the riverbank. The chief, though, he had gotten away from the monster … at great cost.

The pair moved toward the chief’s longhouse, assured that they might gain audience. The residence was staffed with half-a-dozen guards outside, blades at their sides, long blowguns in hand. The tattoos on their chests were menacing, sharp: teeth, horns, spikes. They agreed to bring Vartu si Vartu to the front, warned of his fearsomeness.

It was unclear if the heavyset man that showed up had tattoos, for virtually his entire exposed skin was covered in silver paint; equally remarkable was the fact that his left arm was a stump (silvered over). A single servant accompanied the chief, holding an umbrella in one hand and having the other (silvery one) free to dip into a slung pot of paint for reapplication when the chief got smeared.

“WHO ARE YOU, AND WHY DO YOU ENTER MY VILLAGE, HUH?”

Dungan launched into a spiel about the roach threat, but Vartu si Vartu interrupted him. He yelled about the danger of the Bachelor being much worse than some insects, HUH. His two visitors were certainly not brave enough to attack this beast like him, WHO DID THEY THINK THEY WERE TRYING TO SHOW HIM UP, HUH? His belligerence continued, unabated, for some while, before Salome got the nerve up to ask for permission of the Quiet Lakers to settle.

“We… uh, they are but humble refugees.”

“WILL THEY WORK, HUH? WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

“Um … yes, uh merchants, we are–”

“ARE YOU WORSE THAN THE TAIKUNS’ MEN? WHAT DO YOU BRING TO SELL, HUH?”

“We came to buy … his majesty’s friendship. We want to help your village…”

This gave the chief pause, even though logically pursued, the whole idea might not make that much sense. He pointed to his servant where he had sweated off some silver, and the man dutifully reapplied the paint. 

“THEY ARE CONFUSING ME, QAT! HOW WILL YOU HELP?”

“The crocodile.”

“YOU ARE GOING TO KILL THIS BEAST, SOMETHING VARTU SI VARTU, THE MIGHTIEST CHIEF FOR FIVE DAYS’ TRAVEL, COULD NOT DO?! HE TOOK MY ARM! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

“We have slain monsters–”

“CENTURIES OLD?!”

“Hundreds of … days old. Look, they were tool-users, these roaches … made their own weapons, here look.”

“THAT LOOKS LIKE A SINGLE TOOTH OF THE BACHELOR! HE HAS THOUSANDS!”

“They speak, the roaches, work together, walk on two feet–there are thousands of them, they are a threat … and we killed many. But there are many, many eggs. Which we were unable to destroy. Unfortunately.”

Eventually it was agreed that the adventurer-merchants were allowed to delve into the monkey ruins, where the Bachelor might live. They were told again that no one returns from the rubble of the ancient empire. Dungan was obsequeious once again as they departed the chief’s audience, thanking him for the few small rights that they had gained in Gleaming Fins’ territory.

“Do you smell coffee?’

Dungan breathed in deeply, happy to have his nostrils working. The two wanderers found themselves at a coffee house with two other customers. A muscular older woman wearing a chartreuse skirt covered with a riotous pattern of locusts drank solemnly from a cup. Ink demons cavorted among the criss-crossed patterns that covered her sagging breasts. A middle-aged man with a big nose and a twelve-winged eagle on his chest, tail expanded on his belly pot, was the other occupant. 

The duo spoke with the grim-faced woman, Liga wa Liga, whose eyes were sunken and watery. She wondered aloud why foreign merchants would offer to buy her coffee, but soon was taking an order for a skirt with silver zig-zags, which she said would be perfect with Salome’s complexion. The price was forty coins.

“But it may take a while. I have not woven in a while. A harvest dancer has not possessed my body since my son was taken.”

“The Bachelor?!”

“He was foolish enough to sail to the Old Ruins.”

“Is that where the Bachelor strikes?”

“He strikes anywhere. You are mortals, right? Then don’t go to the ruin.”

“As far as I know … but I have not died yet, so I may be immortal,” Salome said.

“Somehow … I feel like I have come back from death twice,” Dungan spoke, staring at nothing.

“What about this dreaming incense … maybe we could see whether we will die or not in the remains of the Monkey Empire.”

“Well it just so happens that I can sniff that out,” came a raspy voice from behind them.

The man had been eavesdropping. Mira si Mira was his name, and he sold what he harvested deep in the forest at a pittance, he told them. The company was really the only buyer in the area. The party quickly arranged a down payment so that he would harvest them some of the dreaming Agaru. He took the money and ordered the biggest meal on the menu.

“Do you know anything about the Monkey Empire’s ruins … like treasures within?” Dungan was getting worried about their growing debts.

“Oh, it’s loaded with ancient treasure. But. Don’t take any of the monkeys’ trinkets.”

“Why?”

“They cut off their own paws, tied them to strings … and when people got wrapped up in these contraptions, they just disappeared. Never came back. Fucking monkeys.”

“Wait, is that an action or a profanity?”

“A profane utterance. And another thing, people are stupid these days–they allow monkey people to become monks in the Valley of Shrines, not five days’ buffalo ride from here.”

Now that their bellies were full and their pockets were nearly empty, Dugnan and Salome made their way to the edge of the village, where Lura, Musun, and the others were setting up crude lean-tos. During the construction, they regretted having left Iba and her axe-arm back at Quiet Lake. 

* * *

Thunder woke them. Clouds brooded in the sky. Dugnan could not feel the rainfall that was leaking through the leaf roof. They decided to visit the “Auntie” they had heard about, as she might know something about curing the sorcerer’s roach malady. 

A thin, shimmering curtain covered the door to the midwife’s hut, and the sound of recurring whacks came from inside. A tiny woman, as wrinkly as they’d ever seen, crouched next to a cutting board while green fireflies illuminated her work from above. She brought her cleaver down hard, creating another slice of eel to go with the pile she had already created.

“Hi, um, hello,” stuttered Salome, “I was wondering if you were in the business of cures.”

“You’re impotent?!” the woman shrieked, “I didn’t know that was possible!”

“I’m not impotent, it’s my friend who–”

“It’s a coin per dose, it’ll be back to working as normal in a day or two.” She slid one eel slice toward Dungan.

“I’m not impotent, either. I have a caught a disease from a roach. A big roach. Can you cure it?”

Auntie admitted that perhaps the herbalists at the stupas of the Great Mother might have the right concoctions. These oozy eel slices were painkillers, though. Salome bought five and wrapped them in a cloth. The midwife groused about the chief, and answered their questions about the Old Ruins.

“There is death there–it is where the Bachelor lives. Don’t expect to come out of there with your mind whole.”

“I’m not sure mine is whole even now.”

“We’re not sure we’re powerful enough, but we want to go there.”

“Woman! Do you agree to let this man talk for you?! Are you his wife?”

“No, just friends.”

“Ah, working on it. Anyway, I heard a foreigner made a down payment on a wedding skirt,” she winked, barely noticeable through all the wrinkles. “Would be a shame to get lost in the Ruins so close to the nuptials.”

“We shall make a trail to find our way out.”

Auntie laughed. The fireflies above her head arranged themselves in the Monkey constellation. “If you find yourself impotent on your wedding day, you know who to see, ha!”

At the temple, Dugnan ate three crickets, as he was told they “might” heal him, a bug-on-bug remedy. He couldn’t feel the insects crunching between his teeth, but he could certainly hear and taste them. Horrid flavor. He promised donations, should he recover anything from the ruins. Salome received a pod of poisonous beans, with the instructions not to feed them to anything that wasn’t evil. 

As they walked toward the company compound, a crust began to grow on Dungan’s body. He couldn’t feel it, but it was a bit harder to walk. It was not a cure. 

A warehouse, a bunkhouse, an office, and a shisha den comprised the Hundred Taikuns’ outpost here. Non-natives (but Naruan speakers, just a different dialect) stood guard with firelances, and seemed surprisingly welcoming to the two armed individuals that approached. A dizzying smoke issued from the den.

“That may be something we need to hit it up after we take down the Bachelor.”

“Soldier, can we partake of the hookah in there? I may need to calm my nerves right now.”

They were allowed in, and Salome was willing to trade her coin for tokes. As she settled into the cushions, she noticed everything getting sharper in focus. Poor Dugnan couldn’t feel his skin and here her senses were growing keener. Why, she could no doubt hit targets at a distance. If she only had such a weapon. She decided to look into acquiring a blowgun.

Back outside, they watched through a window the chief officer of the company count with his abacus. He was from some distant land, and the first two fingernails on his counting hand had been replaced with or were covered over by jade. 

“You think we’ll ever be that cool someday?”

“No.”

“You know, we could join the company, but I don’t particularly like them.”

“Maybe take them down from the inside?”

“I dunno about that.”

Still high, Salome spent the rest of the day listening, watching, telling stories. She heard people warn about the kingfishers. “Those are the Bachelor’s eyes. He’s always watching.” She learned that when the chief fought the Bachelor, earthquakes had shaken the village. She was informed that the company was trying to use local customs to justify seizing pepper farms. Everyone agreed that the Taikuns had made the village poorer. This informant whispered that many Gleaming Fins had begun to worship the crocodile, and hoped he would eat the company’s ships and men.

The foreigners brought in the curious and desperate. Hearing that the adventurers were headed to the Old Ruin, a knobby-kneed shamaness named Oppu wa Oppu volunteered her assistance. It seemed like she glowed from her star and crescent tattoos. A glaring man, his eyes as intense as the owl tattoo on his chest, offered his spear to an expedition. His name was Wat si Wat and he spoke in a monotone, barely exposing his filed teeth, bragging about how he did not fear the river, or anything in it.

The next morning Dungan could not hear. He could feel the sweltering heat, though, and that his skin was no longer encrusted. Amazingly, shortly after they’d finished their breakfast, Mira si Mira returned with the dreaming agaru. They paid him, nearly emptying their personal treasury, enclosed themselves in a heavy leaf shelter, and burned the incense. The visions that overtook them were intense.

Salome smelled rainy wind, was underground, but the color of her vision was inverted dark things were light and objects normally light, dark she stumbled over pebbles on the floor, heard a woman sobbing for a key she looked at her own dress, changed radically, heard monkeys screaming and cavorting and  blood was running down her arm, found herself walking through a doorway that was a yawning crocodile mouth and led into a pale lake where kingfishers circled in a white sky which filled her vision which then evaporated.

Dugnan breathed in the aroma of cloves, felt that he was inside a fine longhouse, silvered fixtures inside he stepped and felt the floor crunch under his feet–a smashed-skull carpet the corners of the room held two impossibly tall stacks of teeth, just teeth it smelled of meat here, and his stomach grumbled even though he saw the mummified remains of a pair of people lay between the toothy columns, a man and woman with a kingfisher atop them, opening its beak, though Dungan could not hear any noise shadows cast from above flickered across his vision, and then he came to.

“Even though we’ve been warned against it a dozen times, I think we must go to the monkey ruins,” Dugnan said.

Salome assented, even though her partner could not hear what she said.

Map of Gleaming Fins Village and Environs

Session 23: “In the Belly of the Old Ruins”

“I forgot to tell you,” Salome said, to deaf ears, “I smoked some more last night, and I got this great map … leads to treasure … only cost me two coins!”

Suroga looked up from his leaf mattress, where he was still recuperating from some illness, probably not roach-related, “That sounds like a good deal.”

Dungan, when he figured out what was going on, garbled, “At that price it’s got to be legitimate.”

The illustration was a quick sketch which showed the line of the river and a mark many hours’ journey upstream. The boneyard. “Perfectly safe,” Salome recalled the man saying. 

They were purchasing supplies in the Gleaming Fins’ village for the expedition to the Old Ruin. Wat si Wat, with ready spear and glaring as ever, showed up in a sopping sarong, reminding them of his lack of fear of the river. Suroga noted that he was unafraid of the water as well. Dungan admired his own work of mounting the magical bird skull on his staff, after he’d scraped a bit of rotted matter off the point. 

While shopping some of the party overheard that the chief had been upriver long after dark. He didn’t hear this, but Dungan was just thinking about how he didn’t trust Vartu si Vartu’s story about his arm loss. Near the temple of the harvest dancer, two armed monks were clubbing down a man with scale tattoos covering his arms. Oppu wa Oppu confided that she believed worshipping the Bachelor was a sacrilege. A shovel was purchased at great cost. The hearty rice balls for travel were also expensive.

Word got around about the planned expedition. Auntie Sati wa Sati sent a child to bid the party to kill the giant crocodile. Strangely enough, a detachment from the Hundred Taikuns’ company, speaking in Coinish, requested the same. These men offered a firelance as a gift. The adventurers agreed with the theory that the Bachelor must truly be disrupting their trade on the river. A short questioning of the soldiers indicated that nature was the main foe in the region, that the Gleaming Fins weren't a threat. The foreigners also provided the information that the Bachelor might be mistaken for a log, but once the crocodile took a victim in his mouth, he would depart.

The crew of five, crammed into a single canoe, rowed past the pepper fields planted just upstream of the village. Beyond that, they saw a small canoe drawn to shore, and a pair of men digging at a mound along the riverbank. When those two saw the party’s boat making its way toward them, they fled into the jangal. 

The new shovel and the curiosity pulled the party to the mound, which seemed to be mostly pebbles heaped in a pile longer than a man’s body. After sharing that they had no compunctions about grave-robbing, they continued the excavation that the previous thieves had started. They unearthed a body so badly mauled they weren’t sure of the sex of the victim. Meat and limb had been excised. A tightly tied pouch, however, still remained around the corpse’s waist, which proved to hold some white powder turned into paste by water. Their first treasure!

The party re-launched their own canoe back into the water, and before long came around a bend in the river where the tree roots reached like massive claws into the river. Dipping into the water at that point was a walking skeleton, that from its tusks and size looked like an elephant. Soon, only its skull broke the surface as it crossed. It seemed to have no malice toward the boat … so far.

At precisely the same time, Salome exclaimed, “What is this sorcery?!” and Dungan mumbled, “That is a magic I’d like to learn.” Suroga, too, was disturbed by the witchcraft, but he felt ill in the boat and said nothing. “To make skelephants?!” Salome asked, appalled, but deaf Dungan did not hear her, and stated in awe, “It would be so fearsome walking alongside you.” The half-debate ended as the monstrosity emerged on the far bank, pursuing whatever ends it might have in the forest there.

As the boaters drew their eyes back to the task at hand, their rowing brought them clear of the claw-root trees. Now in their line of sight was a peak with what looked like a large cave near the top, the “eye” that a villager had told them meant that the cavemouth to the Old Ruins was close. Stalagmites rose now out of the river, with no paired stalactites above them. A cave–constructed, not natural–was now in sight, an arch which appeared to have its own stalactites plunging toward the water that flowed underneath. These were no natural formations, but rather sculptures worn by the elements, carvings of monkeys frozen mid-dive.

The adventurers floated the canoe beneath, to a landing inside the cave. Here a far less weathered stone simian statue held out a tray, as if to welcome their arrival. In the tray were two bricks, only they didn’t look like their rectangles had been cast from mud, but rather smoothed from stone, with corners slightly worn. 

“You think we should make an offering? Maybe my roach dagger?”

Salome gestured that food would be more practical. Still, Dungan placed the chitinous weapon on the platform. Nothing changed, but he could feel a soft, warm breeze, almost like breath, emerging from a passage at the back of the cave. He said a little prayer of protection to the monkey gods.

The walls of the entry passage were carved in deep relief, tableaus of monkeys fighting and fornicating. The hall split into four passageways. To the immediate right, stained tiles, many broken, covered the walls. To the left was a cold and dark stone hole. The central passages issued forth the warm air and chittering. One of them held thick, hissing steam.

The party chose cold and dark, as they hadn’t much else to go on. It was a long curved passage, descending slightly. It ended in a pool with a sharp tangle of roots dropping from the ceiling as if to drink, which reminded Dungan of the trees where the skelephant was first seen. Perhaps a smell in the area touched the recesses of the sorcerer's mind, and he recalled his first fishing trip as a boy, where he had contributed to the haul that covered the deck in flopping silver noodlefish. A blur suddenly marked the air around his head, and he frowned. He would never, for so long as he lived, remember that happy moment again. 

Salome didn’t really notice. She was prodding the shallow pool. It was definitely no sex water. She cupped a handful and supped. It tasted like the river smelled. “Refill your waterskins, boys.” Wat glared; this was not deep enough for quality water, and he couldn’t wade up to his waist. The party, finding nothing compelling, retreated to take the opposite path.

The tiled hall came to an end after another substantial hike. Something up ahead was reflecting their torchlight and Oppu’s glowing tattoos. But there was also a pair of tiny lights, bobbing like the glowing insects of the jangal, the ones people sometimes used as fishbait. As they got close, the two zipped toward Dungan, and began orbiting his head. He basked in the glory. Indeed they looked like the bugs that had floated above Auntie Sati wa Sati. 

Six pieces of very smooth furniture boxes lined the walls. They reminded Suroga of the lockers where the Inklings had found the strange white armor later melted by the acid tunnel. He looked down at his bare feet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to explain that to these newcomers.

The room just beyond was floored by a wooden parquet, worn, but not ruined. Mirrors that had reflected the party lights lined the walls and back of the chamber. Most notable, however, were the six be-runed brass cages suspended from the ceiling. The furthest held a man-sized creature that adjusted itself within the confines. It seemed to be composed entirely of human hands: fists, palms, fingers. A single long finger dangled from between its legs. Dungan put his own hands behind his body.

“What would a body made of hands want more than anything else?”

“I think hugging seems like a bad idea.”

“We don’t know where those hands have been.”

“Maybe there’s a feet woman in the next room.”

The adventurers retreated, not wanting to get too close to the thing. There seemed to be no exit beyond it. They chose the steam tunnel next. It smelled like farts and sounded like birds. The steam puffed from tongue-like spouts along the sides.

Suddenly, the noise of squawking and screeching got much louder, and the clouds roiled apart as an entire flock of kingfishers hurtled through the tunnel. The adventurers threw themselves to the cave floor, and covered their heads. Still, several pecked at Salome’s earrings before they fluttered on, leaving the woman’s earlobes bleeding.

“We probably need to be on our guard here.”

“You think?”

After order had been restored, the party gathered themselves and moved to the end of the steamy portion of the tunnel. As the passage carried on, it was coated with a luminescent growth that seemed plant-like. But a spur to the right led to a chamber. Chills ran up Salome’s neck, even as the blood dripped from her ears in the hot, wet air, for it was sort of the room she had seen in her vision.

There was, however, only one archway exiting the side of the cavity, rather than three as she had mystically seen. Crocodiles, mouths agape, were carved into the doorway. The party cautiously edged into the cave, discovering an additional exit on the far side. The sound of waves lapping and an ominous clicking came from the archway, as did a discomfiting breeze.

Peering through the shapes showed an impossible sight. There seemed to be no ceiling, maybe even a starless sky on the other side of the doorway. A lake edged by a mesh of reeds and a crumbled stone dock also featured a small island with a structure, somehow visible in the distance. The party stepped through.

Smallish albino crocodiles clung to the walls, the source of clicking, the source of danger as they began gnashing their teeth and moving closer. The adventurers fled back through the archway, which seemed to impede the creatures.

“We should throw food to them.”

“Those rice balls were very expensive!”

“Can you click-talk to them?”

“Do you think I am a croc-whisperer?!”

“We should have pet them gently.”

Regarding the reptiles as an impasse, the fortune-seekers chose the nearby tunnel to push on. Again they were confronted with a split, tripartite this time. Ahead, logged steps led upwards and a cold wind blew; to the left, stone steps carved for inhuman legs; to the right, a quiet hole. The party chose the latter, and within a few paces, were lifted off their feet to float onward. 

The adventurers found they could pull themselves by their hands against the “current” along the rough rock walls, so they let themselves go. After a long ride, the float ended. Forms could be seen moving and heard groaning ahead. Suroga argued that they might be humans to rescue, if the party wanted to be heroes. When they got close, the figures had white eyes and a ragged appearance and moved to harm the party. Dungan weakened one with virtually no effort, but one of his fireflies winked out, leaving only a single insect in orbit around his head. Suroga got viciously clawed, but the party managed to bring the other two down before further damage was done.

The now-corpses wore the threadbare straps of backpacks and carried pouches which held strange tokens of odd metal bearing an unfamiliar script. Some more of these small disks were squirreled in wall pockets in the dead end, as was a crude diagram that looked like a map. A lever also jutted from the stone there. Pulling it reversed the “flow” of the float. With ease, the group rode back to the juncture.

Recovered Map

Wet noises now came from the steps, and it was reasoned that since every path would contain a horror, the splats should be approached. A wet living corpse shuffled up the steps toward the party, squelching, and was no great challenge, although Salome slipped on the rocks when she moved to hurt it. Dozens more of the odd tokens were recovered amidst the stalactites at yet another dead end.

Exhausted from their rowing, fighting, and spelunking, The adventurers clawed their way slowly back through the floating spur, against the current. There they rested, presumably safer than almost anywhere else they had been. In the morning, Dugnan was awakened by sounds, to his great relief. He bit into his vinegared riceball breakfast and tasted nothing.

Mapped Exploration

Session 24: "Pebbles vs. Teeth"

Suroga, Salome, and Dungan awoke in the glow of Dungan’s “firefly” and Oppu wa Oppu’s runes in the stalactited dead end of the “easy river,” with the flow going away, deep inside the Old Ruins. Wat si Wat glared on his watch, as always, spear pointed down the tunnel. The group gathered themselves and set off floating along the air tide, a long journey to the tunnel crossroads.

The bodies of the milky-eyed cave-folk they had sent drifting in this direction were not, as would be expected, deposited at the end of the transit. There was, however, a development to their left, the original path through which the party had come. Small, smooth rocks and pebbles were scattered everywhere, as were a host of dead kingfishers. Birds without heads and wings, killed fairly recently, were scattered across the passageway floor. It looked as though the stones were what had brought them down. Suroga had always thought of kingfishers as benevolent birds, but was told here that they were the eyes of the Bachelor. Wat and Oppu regarded the killing of kingfishers as dangerous.

A cold wind whistled down the logged steps in the rightward passage. Silence reigned on the stony steps in the tunnel ahead. Dugnan recommended a return past the killed flock, as Salome’s dream had indicated three different arches in the chamber beyond. His suspicions proved correct, for now the doorway’s relief depicted cavorting monkeys.

Beyond was a long narrow rectangle, with faded streamers hung from the ceiling. An astounding amount of merchandise lay piled and scattered amidst tables and booths: close by was footwear of all kinds and bags of all sorts. At the far end of the room, which was dimly lit, a curious figure stood, moving slightly above a table.

“Didn’t you have a dream of a woman looking for a key, Salome?” Dungan asked, glad to hear his own voice.

The figure was not a woman, however, but shifted position in a very odd fashion. It did not seem to move like an ordinary biped as it searched through the detritus in the distance. Salome entered the room and got closer to the creature. It seemed to be composed of stones and pebbles.

“A gravel golem!” Salome hissed to the others, behind her.

“Maybe it was the rocks that killed the birds.”

“I wonder if there are enough gloves here to give as a gift to the hand monster.”

Suroga was searching for replacement boots–he had been nearly two weeks without his. Among the hundreds of sandals and shoes, most of them somewhat chewed, he found an undamaged pair that fit. In pulling them from the pile, the Jurka uncovered a bit of intact cloth that turned out to be a sarong with an interlocking dolphin-and-wave pattern. It seemed remarkably new, unlike most of the footwear.

Dungan was sifting through cracked spears and broken blades. He found one serviceable blow-pipe, which, when he lifted, dropped something out of the low end. This object appeared to be a water-worn oval lump of waxy material. The thing smelled like fresh spices and was greasy to the touch, which the sorcerer felt as he stuffed it into a pocket.

Salome was afraid to search intensively, as the gravel monster had paused for a moment, as though it had sensed her presence. Besides, she was standing among a bunch of soiled loin-cloths and dhotis. Everyone retreated from the room.

Dungan looked at the map the party had found. It appeared to reflect their journeys underground and there was a long spur toward the back of the complex. They headed there, up the windy, wooden steps. The air smelled of rain and the tunnel emerged alongside a cliff in the open, the logs continuing and being virtually the entire path, curving around what seemed to be a mountain. There was no railing, and the drop was hundreds of feet.

The sky above was filled with a layer of grey clouds. Smaller puffs floated on the same level as the party. Water ran down the cliffs, here and there. Far below, a large pond or small lake could be seen, a village along one side. Forms moved among the buildings.

One of the small clouds scooted to envelope Dungan. Bizarrely, two small tubes of leather floated within, with a triangular piece hovering below the pair. The vapor crackled and boomed with small sparks of lightning around the adventurer, but it caused him no pain. When Salome emerged, another cloud did the same. Inside this one, two pairs of cylinders hung high and low above and below the triangular piece. More electricity flashed and fizzled. Nervous, she stepped out of the cloud.

Wat si Wat glared to the valley below. The scene was not the river system they had entered the ruins from. The spearman recommended going down the cliff to immerse in the pond. Static, flowing, it didn’t matter: he apparently liked to be waist-deep in liquid. The others looked at the cliffs, the rain and water flowing down, and their limited supplies of rope. They preferred to follow the path around the mountain.

The log platform ended as the path plunged back into the rock face. Almost immediately, the stone that comprised the walls, ceiling, and floor turned to dark glass. It was odd to walk on, but not slippery. Before long, four figures were illuminated standing in the tunnel: glass monkeys in heroic poses wielding weapons. 

These simians of a bygone era were inspected. There seemed to be no cracks or hinges on the statues. As the adventurers moved past, suddenly Suroga stumbled, like he’d felt something hit the back of his ankle. He looked at his new/old boots. He got up, and everyone began moving down the path before Wat yelled out and whirled around. Something had hit him in the back of the head. Two of the statues were in different positions. Fucking monkeys. He was pretty sure a good soak would cure the bruise, and gestured back along the path.

The others, however, desired to press on. The glass path curled for a long way, and ended in a point. Dungan peered into the tip, saw something wedged. He pulled the object out–a pebble with runes. This had to be magic.

The adventurers did an about-face, and trudged back toward the statues. Salome hugged one, and although it didn’t look like it moved, she felt a squirm. Dungan placed his palm against a statue’s hand, and something similar occurred. Suroga unshouldered his saz, and performed the classic ballad “This Monkey’s Gone To Heaven,” strumming especially hard when he got to the part about the sky. Still, someone was whacked as the group trooped past. The rearguard turned and walked backwards, keeping their eyes on the statues, and the party wasn’t molested again. 

Wat si Wat once more pitched the water and village far below, a couple clouds got close and crackled, but the party kept going, aimed for one of the two early passages they had skipped. They were derailed, however, when they arrived in the chamber of the arch, for its sculpture had a third motif: weeping women.

The space beyond was the smallest yet. A few short, leafless trees stood behind benches arrayed around a huge pile of pebbles and gravel. A brass hatch was set into the ceiling, just above the peak of the rocks. If flung open suddenly and a hand reached out, grabbed a stone, and disappeared. The trapdoor slammed shut.

The party moved into the room, next to the rock pile, and the hatch opened again. An elegant, elderly woman was staring down from a lighted cottage. Her mouth opened ever so slightly, seemingly in surprise. The smell of something cooking issued forth.

“Do come up,” she said, in Naruan, which Suroga did not understand, “It won’t matter, but who are we without manners? Would you like some stew?”

It was a bit awkward getting up into the home, but the party did so. The lady, Inna wa Inna, wore a flawlessly-patterned shawl with reptilian scales as a motif. Next to her stood a loom, a bubbling cauldron, and a large basket of smoothed pebbles. A door led to some sort of outside, a skylight in the thatch let in sun (it seemed), and two figures composed completely of gravel apparently stood at guard.

After some discussion with Suroga, who required interpretation every step of the way, the flavor of stew was asked. Catfish it was, and the Jurka spoke, “Ah, bottom feeders, which some people think unclean…” He noticed that Wat si Wat had shifted to his high-intensity glare when the woman had named the soup, so he did not continue his thought aloud to be translated. I think catfish are delicious. 

Suroga sucked down the chowder and it was indeed tasty. Salome kept admiring the woman and her outfit, her slender and calloused fingers, and a new opinion arose within her heart that made her blush. Dungan could taste nothing, of course. Oppu ate and Wat did not.

“You are currently living, yes? Could I ask of you a favor? Would you kill my husband?”

“Your husband is…?”

“Vung si Vung. The Bachelor. He has become bestial within and without. They killed us … long ago …”

“So he’s the crocodile?”

“But he’s here as well … inside himself … inside the Ruin. They were jealous of his invulnerability, took me and … He had failed to appease the spirits of the river … and they killed us. He will probably kill you … you are not strong enough … and you will be here dead, like the rest of us. I will place pebbles atop your bodies on the riverbank.”

“But he is in here? Where?”

“In the Head. He is guarded by two golems of teeth. He is very strong himself.”

“I saw a vision of a room with flickering shadows, crushed bone carpeting the floor, and stacks of teeth. How do we get there?”

“Through the third Stomach, with the lake. You must go through the stupa on the island. But its door is locked and I know not where the key is.”

Salome had envisioned a weeping woman searching for a key when she took the dreaming agaru. “Was your pebble golem looking through the clothes for this?” Inna wa Inna nodded.

“Is there anyone who might know the key’s location?”

“Sikkukurut might. The kingfisher queen. But you shouldn’t trust her?”

“Where is she?”

“In the Lungs.”

“Does your husband have any weaknesses?”

“Physically, no … but he enjoys flattery and cruelty.”

“I’m sorry to keep pestering you with questions, but the monkeys that built this place, they left a statue holding a tray at the entrance–”

“Do not take their magic. They are but chicaneries and tricks … Fucking monkeys. We are lucky their Empire fell.”

But they are so like us humans, Salome thought.

“I apologize, but do you have any idea about how to rid oneself of a roach malady?”

“Have you bathed? Most illnesses are linked to filth. I sense you carry a magic stone … that will command one of my golems. You may take it. When you finish … with Vung si Vung … I would just ask that you bury our remains with the proper rituals.”

The party agreed to this stipulation, and took control of a pebble golem, which they named “Dwayne.” They were told that exiting through the door would lead them to the two tooth golems that Vung si Vung left to guard her. They chose to exit through the hatch, to return to the Belly. “I think the key is probably down near the pond,” Wat si Wat declared, but the adventurers chose to enter the passage with the luminescent growths instead, despite the clicking echoing from its depths.

The noises were made by the four small albino crocodiles lurking on the ceiling and walls. More alarmingly, beneath the reptiles stood two bipeds composed entirely of teeth. 

“If only we had some sugar!”

The party’s weapons would scatter a few teeth as they swung them through the molar and fang masses, but it was slow work. Salome was enveloped by what seemed like a hundred bites at once, and Dungan was nearly gnawed to death. “Stop eating us!” Salome screamed. At the sorcerer’s command, Dwayne hurled his own self at the foes, hurting them with throne rubble, yet diminishing his own body. Suroga stood strong, bashing back the gnashing masses again and again. Finally a crocodile fell, its body putrefying immediately, and then a tooth golem collapsed, followed by the other. After an exclamation of dismay in Naruan, the three surviving white crocodiles fled back into the illuminated tunnel. The party had no desire to chase.

Unsure of their safety, they retreated to the Belly chamber, the weeping women’s arch still in effect.  Wat si Wat stared and glared down the back tunnel, presumably still desirous of a good soak. “I wonder if the ‘Lungs’ and the ‘Head,’ those … designations are useful?” Suroga asked. Salome and Dungan attended to their wounds and Oppu wa Oppu to her rituals. Nothing more came to eat them … yet, at least.

Session 25: “Bachelor, Your Reign Has Ended!”

After fortifying themselves, the adventurers–Dungan and Salome only, for Suroga had somehow slipped away in this dream-like place–decided to try to proceed through the misty tunnel, after lighting the fire lance lent by the company man. Wat si Wat again argued that they head toward the pond in the interior valley to find the key to Vung si Vung’s headspace, since things tend to move downhill. Dungan and Salome disagreed, deciding to search the other unexplored passage not far from the entrance, on the other side of the fog. Oppu wa Oppu and Dwayne remained silent on the issue.

The misty, hissing passage had a new inhabitant. What looked like crustaceans with translucent whorled shells now clung to the walls, dark gobs moving inside them. Touching them seemed to draw blood from the prodder’s body. The party ran through the tunnel, not exactly escaping unscathed, but mostly so. The branch beyond sussurated warm air across the adventurers’ faces. A shaft at the end of this passage dropped straight down, all tangled wires and broken boards, some catastrophic mess at the bottom. The sound of numerous birds’ chitters issued from the pit, a low roar not unlike the swifts’ cave over Quiet Lake.

Clambering down found a floor crawling with guano-eating insects–no roaches at least–and an arched hall where the kingfishers roosted, eyes glittering on the ceiling like hundreds of jewels. A large, misty orange form–it seemed to take a human-sized kingfisher’s shape–”flapped” down to greet–or castigate–the newcomers.

“Stupid humans. Hahahahahaha. You are trapped here. Funny funny. Take off your shinies!”

“But I like my shinies!” Salome replied.

This was Sikkukurut, with staccato speech and a shrill laugh. She complained of her boredom in the place, and the party inquired how they might help her, hoping to receive something. Tricks! Treats! She said, and Dungan performed shenanigans that only embarrassed all involved. When Salome pantsed him, however, the kingfisher godlet cackled uproariously. Wat si Wat’s expression changed to mortification, and he clutched his own trousers.

When told that blood-pockets were delicious, the party retrieved them for the bird-creature’s gullet. She told them that the key they sought might be down in the cloaca–the pond beneath the tail. Wat si Wat’s glare grew a little more intense, and the faintest trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Where shit goes,” Sikkukurat chuckled. As if to demonstrate, she sprayed pink excrement onto the insect carpet writhing beneath her.. 

“Do you have any advice?”

“Do not take monkeys’ offerings! Hahahahah. Get out through poo hole. If you come back, bring funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“Once Vung si Vung, took all teeth out of crocodile!”

Without too much delay, the adventurers learned how to pilot the clouds along the mountainside down to the pond village. The place was full of fully-dressed, if water-logged, zombies, who shuffled amid crudely built huts. Wat si Wat moved to hug one–his dead brother, swallowed by the Bachelor some time ago. The clear leader of the motley settlement wore the type of clothes Salome remembered from her youth, a sailor’s uniform. She, Grimkin San Mor, asked what the party might offer, and whether they might join her family, down here. The party asked her for the key to Vung si Vung’s stupa. 

She agreed to give the adventurers the key if they would bring Vung si Vung’s unconscious body to her village. They must also promise to kill Inna wa Inna for her, for the lady made catfish soup. The party stated that they would do so in order to get the key. Grimkin talked wistfully about the river above, in some distant time before the Bachelor. The party took her for a long-ago riparian pirate.

“If you are killed,” Grimkin said, “You may join us here, in the cloaca.”

On the journey back, via cloud and tunnel, Wat si Wat suggested burning down the hut of Inna wa Inna. The belly remained opened onto the woman’s pebble pile. 

“We aren’t going to kill her.”

“There’s no point in weakening ourselves before we take on the Bachelor.”

“Grimkin said we must,” Wat protested.

“She’s been nothing but nice.”

“She fed us stew!”

“She did not feed me that evil stew. She should die.”

“She’s already dead. She just wants to … to be buried.”

They negotiated passage with the three surviving albino crocodiles, who shared with the party the sentiment that they desired no more exchanges of pain. An impressive brass representation, obviously of the woman beyond, decorated the door at the conclusion of the passageway. The portal opened into a rustic scene inside a cave, with light somehow, the pleasant odor of fish stew, a waterfall, and Inna wa Inna’s hut, where she continued to weave textiles and smooth pebbles. 

The party rested in the comfort of Inna wa Inna’s sanctuary. Wat slept in the pool of the water fountain. Dungan could no longer smell the stew when he awoke. Salome appliedn her paints. After the rest, they proceeded back to the belly, but it was still opened into the loop back to where they had just come from. The pebble. They returned Dwayne and his controlling stone to his “mother,” and then the belly changed. Now the arch led through monkeys to the piles of merchandise. No gravel golem searched through the goods this time. 

The adventurers located a man-catcher inside among the junk, an amazingly lucky find, perhaps just the tool they needed to retrieve Vung si Vung for Grimkin. Salome found an intact mirror among the broken things, and frowned at her make-up. How to return to the proper belly, though? Ah, her ears had been bleeding the first time through, pecked by the kingfishers. She scratched herself in the outer chamber, and the arch transformed to be crocodilian in relief. The interior night sky loomed over the temple island and the lake. The clicking crocodiles were no worry now.

The rotted boat got them to the shrine’s island. The brass key got them through the stupa door. The passageway inside got them to the longhouse room.

Dungan had seen this place. The crushed bone “carpet,” the teeth golems, the desiccated meat on the dais between them. Shadows had moved above in his agaru vision, and he glanced at the rafters. A bestial man moved there on all fours.

>BLAM<

Salome had pulled the release on the fire-lance, and now one of the golems was in flames, its many molars blackening, many others scattered across the floor. Both began displacing themselves in the weird way that particulate constructs “walked” (a shame that Dwayne wasn’t here for this). Dungan stepped onto the sharp, skeletal floor.

>BLAM<

Now both golems were reduced and burning, but came forward implacably.

“Fuck the gods!” Salome belowed and fired again, breaking the first target to bits. Maybe this was her calling.

The beast-man, whose open mouth showed teeth filed like Wat si Wat’s, and was surely Vung si Vung, ran down the ladder head first. Dungan had been waiting for this moment. He called his mightiest curse, and the firefly that had been faithfully orbiting him beelined toward the Bachelor’s ancestor, its germ. Vung si Vung fell from the ladder, and crumpled into a ball on the shards of bones.

>BLAM<

The second golem was down, the room filled with smoke, and the fire lance’s pot still had fuel! Salome lowered the bulb toward their foe.

“Grimkin say bring back alive!” Wat held the mancatcher poised outward.

>BLAM<

The lower half of Vung si Vung’s face vanished and reappeared as a spray on the wall. Everything shook. An earthquake! Now?!

“Your reign is over, Bachelor!”

Who could even tell who screamed that in the chaos, smoke, and flame. The room was on fire. Dungan scooped up the human remains. Everyone ran for the ladder. Up they went, squeezing into a cave with two glass windows. Smoke poured in through the trapdoor. 

Dungan hastily searched the floor, finding a cracked spyglass against the wall. The windows looked out over the river they knew. They smashed at one until they could get out. Dungan peered through the spyglass at the valley, but could see nothing. However, he heard the river flowing, monkeys howling, the jangal birds squawking. 

The party crawled out onto the moutaintop they had seen from their canoe, when they had been below. The ridge in front of them, the one that created the bend in the river, had collapsed. The forest there was on fire, and the river was flooding into the fissure.

Session 26: "After All, We Are Merchants"

Dungan scanned the river beneath them, spotting the boneyard miles in the distance. He held up the spyglass and listened, hearing something heavy moving in the vicinity, but seeing nothing, since the device was cracked. Salome checked the bend of the river, which was changing shape behind the smoke of the fires, coming a little bit nearer, hundreds of feet below. The forest was wet, though, and surely wouldn’t burn for long. She spotted a canoe coming downriver toward the catastrophe, something silver reflecting in the back of the boat. Wat si Wat suggested getting down to the river quickly, for a good soak. Oppu wa Oppu reminded them that they must perform the burial rituals for the remains on the banks. Water and detritus swirled around the former entrance to the ruins; they idly wondered whether Suroga had survived the catastrophe.

By the time the party started making their way down the slope, the canoe had rounded the bend and beached itself on the near shore, next to what looked like a weed-wrapped white log, almost as long as the boat. The men had debarked and seemed to be writhing on the sand and rocks, howling in sorrow, as was the funereal custom here. The chief of the Gleaming Fins, Vartu si Vartu gnashed and wailed loudest of them all. The party watched this ritual around the Bachelor’s corpse from a distance, and eventually the men rose to all fours, digging pebbles through their legs like dogs, to bury the dead crocodile.

When the Gleaming Fins had finished their mound, they boarded the canoe and set off toward the village. The party came cautiously to the riverbank. Some debris had washed up from the ruins, bottles of what turned out to be lamp oil, and a fish-eaten corpse in a dark sarong floated by in the water. Salome snagged the skirt, which proved to have a purple pattern like veins woven into the fabric. The wrap was strangely undamaged.

Wat si Wat decided he would head back into the ruins’ flooded mouth, to return to his brother. Salome gave him her earrings, so that he might explain he had beaten the company, if needed. Oppu wa Oppu had already begun the rituals over the remains. The ceremony involved many pebbles and took hours. After it was done, the party could smell the putrefaction wafting from the mound built by the chieftain’s men, except for Dungan, whose curse was fortunate, in this case.

The three began their long walk along the shore back to the village. Kingfishers watched them from the trees, and when they started laughing, Salome ignited the pot on her firelance and turned it into mist and feathers with the blast.

“Filthy things.”

* * *

The streets of the village were largely empty, as the chief had declared a period of morning. Even the bugs seemed less noisy. The soldiers at the trading company’s outpost demanded the return of the lent firelance, and Salome obliged. The party learned that the Vartu si Vartu had worshipped the Bachelor, saw the monster as a means to power, and Dungan was pretty smug about his prior evaluation of the chief.

“Is he a good chieftain?”

“Is there any such thing?”

“Once in a while …”

“There is no good chief for a woman.”

Oppu wa Oppu returned to her temple. The party found Liga wa Liga, the weaver. She chastised them for stealing the sarong off the dead woman, but Dungan argued that she’d already been desecrated by fish and reptile. She told them the skirt was good to make soup if one was starving. The other they had recovered, the one decorated with dolphins, would make salt water if draped over a pot. Liga wa Liga also had finished Salome’s silver wrap. It would function as mail, yet without the heaviness of the armor. There was agreement that these were sweet prizes indeed. 

“What do we do now?”

“Well, we are, after all, merchants…”

“We could go back to our merchant ways.”

“Plus, that chief won’t want us around … if he finds out we killed the Bachelor.”

It was the evening, so they decided to sleep on their decision. They bedded down near Musun, Lura, and baby Ika. Unfortunately, Dungan woke up blind.

They visited the temple of the Thirteen Spirits, whose priests also recommended a true cleanse to relieve Dungan’s affliction. There just so happened to be another foreigner at the temple. He was an envoy from the Southern Kingdom, and spoke of a potential cure for the roach malady, available in the Valley of Shrines. The emissary said that the distillery there produced a gold sparkling liquid, magicked, purified and aged, only from the freshest rainwater. The only problem was that a storm had parked itself above the place–maybe the adventurers could retrieve the purification apparatus. Surely there would be no complications in seeking a cure.

Dungan tried to conceal his blindness. Salome agreed that the duo might be interested in this task. They learned there were two paths to take, the longer, safer journey by water buffalo, from a landing further up the river. Or, the Valley of Shrines might be reached on foot at the bend where the ruins had collapsed. Savage forest-folk would lead travelers across the much quicker route through the dangerous jangal.

“Let’s do the shorter.”

Dungan cleared his throat, “Tomorrow. We still have that map to the boneyard … and its alleged treasure.”

“We don’t need to go to the boneyard. ‘Tis a silly place.”

Luckily, Dugnan could see again the next morning. They said their good-byes to the survivors of Quiet Lake and the roaches. Hopefully, those things had not spread to the Valley of Shrines. The envoy was willing to drop the adventurers at the bend in the river, after extracting a promise that they would meet him at the distillery.

A girl called out from the trees, after they’d disembarked, asking if the travelers needed a guide. She had vines wrapped around her arms like bracelets, and whistled, poorly. When she wasn’t whistling, she talked nonstop. She introduced her dog, “My father.” A dog with a beard and mustache stared at Salome and Dungan with liquid eyes. It moved ahead when they got close to pet it. 

“This way, this way! Where are you going? Where did you come from? How did you get those scars?”

Salome, Dungan, the girl, and the dog walked through a dale with limestone flanks, mottled with blue. Snails the size of humans, like the ones Munta had trained as beasts of burden, oozed across the ridges. A snake curled around a branch overhead. The dog led them deeper in. The sound the insects made was enormous.