Kavaki was still shaken, having narrowly been skewered by the trap in the last room. When he got his hands upon the f!#$% goblin that stole his pack… no, he needed to remain calm. Loosing his head would do him no good now.
Barakas gave Kavaki a gentle nudge in the small of the back with his hammer, urging him further along the narrow stairwell leading deeper and deeper underground. Both were badly injured and in need of some serious rest. They had lost their sun rod in the last chamber of this dungeon, leaving the rest of their perilous descent in smothering darkness.
Barakas stumbled, the fever filth already beginning to spread through his body, weakening him. He could hear the rush of blood in his head, pounding. Or was that something else? A dull roar could be heard echoing along the passage now. The two exchanged glances before realizing they could not see each other and continued on their slow trek.
Kavaki grabbed a hold of Barakas’ armor, stopping dead in his tracks, his body tense. They had turned a corner along the stairwell and faint light as though from a fire could be seen at the bottom. Kavaki crept ahead, silent as a whisper for such a large man. He peered around the portal and waited for Barakas to join him.
The air changed at the bottom of the passage. Humid, the smell of water hung damply about, cooling the tired adventurers.
Six goblins, all armed, stood about in the room. A small waterfall poured from an alcove above the scene, sending a river cascading through the middle of the room. One of the goblins hovered over a large raised alter, using a large and frightening knife to hack and hew upon it. Small bonfires provided illumination for her sinister work. They were all chattering something. Barakas wished he hadn’t skipped over goblin dialects when learning about ancient cultures. Most of the chatter was in unison, rising and falling as if apart of some ritual. The one upon the alter would speak first and the others would answer.
Kavaki saw his pack upturned and the contents strewn about. Feeling his blood begin to boil again, he motioned to Barakas that he was going in.
With a shout, he leaped from the passage and crane kicked the first goblin he encountered, his fists a flurry as he pummeled him. Barakas was not far behind, charging in swinging his hammer at any foe that dared to draw near.
The goblin upon the alter stopped her chanting to observe these interlopers. With a word she sent a darkened cloud to cover her allies, firing bolts of strange energy into the fray. Barakas and Kavaki held fast against this primal magic, their training in the Inquisition had given them little exposure to true magical power, and now they cowed before it. A stinging bolt struck Barakas and he fell, mortally wounded and near death.
Though not without a fight! He smashed the hammer upon the ground, inscribing a warding rune giving Kavaki a chance.
Four of the six lay strewn about, slain. All that remained was a cowering archer and the hex mistress. Kavaki leaped from Barakas side and prepared to unleased his attack upon her. With a wave of her hand, Kavaki fell to the ground, his wounds far more grievous than he could cope with. The last thing he saw as he lay dying was the curious grin of the hexer goblin.
The hex witch watched as the life slowly left their bodies. She motioned for the last of her clan to come to her. He had been the curious one, bringing her the pack from the sleeping interlopers above. She soothed his fears with motherly coos before slitting his throat with he knife and pouring his blood upon the stone alter upon which she stood. His blood filled the runes she had carved into the stone, fueling her ritual. Raising her arms she cried out; “He, the Lord of the Twenty-Three eyes, eater of the dead, ruler of the no-place, servant of the nonexistant, awaits the return of the unfleshed. And we, the servants of the serpantine limbs shall hasten the coming with the eyes of our daughters and the entrails of our sons.”
The flaming pyres were extinguished a sudden powerful gust of wind leaving the hexer in complete darkness. The last words she uttered as her own life was ripped from her small fragile frame; “All hail the Unconquered Sun.”