Umber

The party gains a cleric, nearly loses Bane to the curse of a psionic fungus and, in a classic case of saving the world only to potentially damn it, completes a ritual returning the all-powerful Keraptis to life and confronts…a newborn infant. (sab)

In which the party finds four of the most powerful weapons known to Greyhawk, only to destroy three of them to prevent every inhabitant in the world from being reduced to (1) drooling idiots, or (2) dueling False Kerapti.

“Damn, that hurts!” Psydney snarls as she wrenches the ice shard free from her flesh and hurls it to the ground. “Aye, truly this is a blade of unnatural power,” responds Hadrack as he warily watches the shard melt.

Kuhlefaran looks glum and frustrated. “I’d rather have that pain, tenfold, that to have stood around dazed as the battle went past. And not once, but twice! I have waited years for the chance to bring down the false Kerapti only to be unable to act. Never in my career have I failed my patron so.” She stares up at the ceiling, where gobbets of fungus and slime still rain from the ceiling. “But that is selfish of me. Three of the False Ones are dead, and we now possess all of the Four. All that is left is to summon the True Keraptis!” Her musings are interrupted as Hadrack, ever on the lookout, silently points out into the mists of the cavern.

An odd sight confronts them. A small group of purple and gray Myconids dance and twirl their way through the fungal garden, telepathically singing “a-wing-a-wep-a a-WING-a-wep-a a-wing-a-wep-a a-WING-a-wep-a…”, caps bobbing in time with the music. Seeing the party, they change direction, their chaotic motion slowly revealing itself to be a complex but organized pattern. They address them telepathically with a single voice. Whether it is just one speaking, all, or something in between, the adventurers cannot tell. “The mutant has been destroyed, and we thank you. His body and the body of his puppets now feed the life of this place. And so the cycle is complete. We have few possessions and less knowledge of life outside this place, so we have little to offer you except our thanks. But we have heard that your kind treasure trinkets not useful to such as we. Take this as a small token of our regard, and no little awe.” This last is said with their attention apparently focused on the now-huge Magnus.

One of the Myconids sets down a gem the size of a halfling’s head. It is pinkish, with a heart-shaped purple-red flaw in its center. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but the heart appears to beat faintly as Bane turn it in his hands. With a simultaneous nod, the Myconids turn and leave the way they came, their song slowly fading as they recede, spinning through the garden.

“And now we must complete our mission,” says Kuhlefaran. “Surely Nightfear, as foolish as he may be, has guessed that something has occurred. The explosion must have shaken the entire mountain. He knows that we possess at least two of the Four, and will demand their return. You have entered his stronghold; you know how difficult fighting our way through his traps and minions would be. No, we must at least press on to the heart of the Fane. I am certain that Nightfear has not yet discovered the secrets of the access shaft as Jake has done. Hopefully, we will find a place therein to rest and recuperate, and possibly dismiss at least the death wish, that evil gift of the dying Mossmutter, which threatens to consume our mage.” She sighs. “Bane. This journey has been difficult for you, I fear. May the rest of our path be short and easy.”

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