Adventure 3 -- Deactivate the Marxstaff Portal

Cohor slept much more soundly. He had been right, sleeping during the day provided much more warmth than sleeping in the night. He even threw open the shuttered window in the inn's room to let the warm sunlight spill in. Shame he still requires sleep. He got out of bed, stepping over the dead dwarf he pulled from the bed two nights prior, and looked at himself in the washbasin mirror. He was a horrid sight; no wonder the paladin of Tyr and looters attacked him on sight, assuming he was the cause of Marxstaff's Curse. The skin on his face was thin, seemingly fragile like wet paper. The right side of his upper lip was torn, like a river stemming from his cheekbone, the canyon it formed in his skin slowly widening until it emptied into his mouth. How am I supposed to cover that with makeup? He thought. His right eye was another problem, his iris was gone, covered with a murky white film. His long, ratted, twisted white hair... the fatal scar line on his neck, the missing skin around his ankle, covered by his boot. He thought again. At least my ankle will be easy to conceal. He used the pitcher to fill the basin and washed his face with a discarded towel. The effects of the sea on his skin caused it to stretch, as if the salt from the water stripped it of all color and nutrients.
 
He fumbles through his pack, pulling out the blonde wig and makeup box the Halfling had given him atop Carris Hill. He used some scissors he had found to cut his hair, and put on the long, blonde wig. Wow. That did a number. Then looked to the box of makeup. But I have no idea how to do that... I might have to find someone who values coin above fear to train me... He opens the container and attempts to mask his pale, dead facial features.
 
The dead man raised his eyebrows at himself in the mirror. He does look noticeably less dead. His cheeks hold some color. His lips not pruny and white. His golden hair stealing some attention from his milky eye. He throws on his chain shirt, shoulders his pack, which has grown incredibly heavy, and heads for hamlet's water well.
 
He arrives. A feeling of darkness emanating from the well's dark maw. He checks the rope and pulley system used to haul out water.
 
Deciding that it should be able to hold his weight, Cohor reeled the bucket up with the well's crank. He removed the bucket, tied his heavy pack to the rope, and lowered it. Once he was confident that it had reached the bottom, he engaged the crank's locking mechanism and worked his way down the rope.
 
Some of his instinctive athleticism kicks in; his hands grip the rope hard, holding his weight, and he's able to gradually descend into the darkness. Soon, he splashes into the water at the bottom of the well, sinking to his waist. He unties his pack, holding it over his head, and wades in the darkness.
 
He finds a spot some 40 feet away where the ground appears to rise out of the water. As he pushes forward, something grabs around his knee.
 
That something appeared to be a meaty, clawed hand. Before it collapsed, like a snapping maw, Cohor was able to pull his leg away. Then the underwater creature stood. A great, ugly thing. A smell burned his nostrils, though din, like most of his other senses. It gnashed forward at Cohor with its toothy mouth, spittle spraying through the air.
 
Cohor slips out of the way of the fiend's bite, his pack splashing in the deep water. Something fell from the ceiling, onto his shoulder, about the size of an arm. A human head with violent eyes where it's rounded insect, wormy-head should have been. The larva creature sent shivers down Cohor's spine, more so than the bear-like creature in front of him. He shook the man-larva off his shoulder, equipping his sword and shield, then lunges towards dretch.
 
His blade bites into the dretch's arm, drawing thick gray blood. The creature roars in anger, swiping at Cohor, who ducks underneath the club. Another mouthful of teeth snap at him, but Cohor catches its face with his shield. The man-worm swam through the water like a snake, trying to bite at his Cohor's waist. With sharp teeth. Damn thing of nightmares. Cohor growls in his mind.
 
The dretch slaps Cohor's next attack away effortlessly, roaring and swiping with its wounded arm. Cohor sidesteps the strike, placing himself out of immediate harm of another sharp-toothed bite. The worm-man sunk his teeth around of the metal links, pulling at it like a dog fighting for a toy.
 
The grip of Cohor’s sword is growing slippery and wet, making it difficult to handle the sword properly. He misses again. And then a great stench wafts from the bear-creature, filling the area with a brown, fog-like cloud. The larva man makes strange noises, as if gagging. Cohor lashes out again, before retreating away from the thick, pungent air.
 
The dretch sprints at Cohor through the water. An interesting sight. It vaults itself forward with its massive arms more than moving with its little legs. Water splashes everywhere. It catches Cohor, it's cloud settling over Cohor once again.
 
The larva-man uses its action to catch up to Cohor.
 
The pungent smell returns to Cohor's nostrils. It appears to be following this creature. Cohor's blade finally purchases the monster's stomach. This, unfortunately, sent it into a crushing rage. It bit his arm, sending a dull, crushing pain to his brain. Cohor was able to swing his shield around, taking a solid clubbing from its claw. The worm man again bites at Cohor's boot, tugging like a small, terribly ugly puppy.
 
After the dretch's onslaught, Cohor presses forward. It raises a hand to slap away his blade, but Cohor separates it from its wrist. It lets out a howl of pain, which is cut short as the blade again enters its stomach, this time deep. Cohor twists hard and slicing up. The intense amount of organ damage caused the bear-like creature to collapse almost immediately. The worm man continued to tug. It cleverly avoided the point of Cohor's longsword, quick for such a strange creature.
 
As it tugged on his left boot, Cohor stepped on it with his right. It tried to squirm away. The blade lopped it in half, worm and worm-human-head parts writhing on the ground until it died. Grumbling, Cohor waded back into the water to get his now drenched, thankfully buoyant pack, heading to the other side of the well cavern.
 
After a brief rest, Cohor picked up his pack. He noticed an opening over by the dead dretch while he was resting, but decided to wait for that brown fog to dissipate. He could tell it was trying to affect him in some way, and he didn't want to find out what would have happened had it succeeded.
 
He slowly crept towards the passageway and peered down it. The cavern extended some 60 feet, a green, pulsing light bathing the southern wall, hinting at an opening on the northern wall.
 
Two lumbering figures shambled about between that northern cavern and Cohor.
 
Cohor pulled back once he saw the creatures, took a deep breath, pulled out a javelin, spun into the corridor and hurled his weapon. The javelin cut through the air and stuck into the creature's shoulder, causing it to release a surprised snarl. Cohor unsheathed his blade, running to finish off the javelined beast.
 
The blade whooshes in a side arc, lopping off the first creature's arm before biting deep into it's side. It puffed into a cloud of reeking vapor. It burned his eyes. That led to an opening for the other fiend, which clubbed Cohor's chest, throwing him against the wall. It took a blow from Cohor's blade, retaliating again in rage.
 
Catching the second strike with his shield, Cohor riposted with a jab, pushing his blade deep into its chest. Transforming into the same noxious cloud, leaving behind no remains.
 
This new life is so strange... Cohor thinks, as he realizes that he isn't winded, not even breathing hard. He collects his javelin from the floor and his pack (which he had shirked before this whole passage escapade) from the well room, then walked the remaining 40 feet. Again, he peeked around the opening to see if he could locate anything inside.
 
As Cohor peeked around the corner, his eyes locked with one of four giant beetles, each with an abdomen glowing.
 
The beetles rush him. One manages to sink its mandibles into his thigh. He responds by using his hand to call upon his well of divine energy.
 
The creatures snap at him viciously, but Cohor's blade wards most of them off. They have him pushed up against a wall. One makes a snap, which Cohor steps away from, giving an opening to drive his blade, point first, into its strange head. It quivers then dies.
 
The remaining three press hard. Another scores a crunching snap on his leg. His blade slides along the hard exoskeleton of the one he tried to kill.
 
Another sickening crunch as another beetle finds purchase. Cohor is feeling the darkness encroach on the borders of his vision. He reaches out to Kelemvor in his thoughts. Don't let me go this way... A thought of approval in return, and Cohor feels the power inside him grow.
 
Cohor casts Cure Wounds! (1/2 spell slots remaining)
 
Another onslaught of snapping mandibles. Another useless blade strike.
 
One of the beetles leapt towards Cohor, its mandibles snapping dangerously close to his neck. He was able to push it off with his shield, causing it to fall atop another beetle who was charging for an opening. Thankfully, the one he had thrown off him tumbled on its back, exposing its soft underside. Cohor ended its vicious little life.
 
The injured beetle turns to run, likely due to its wounds and the death of its mates.
 
Attack of Opportunity.
 
Cohor finds hope as he battles the single remaining bug. The other, thankfully, is skittering away as fast as it can.
 
After a vicious minute of intensity and snapping, bladelike mandibles, Cohor drove his blade through the third beetle. Bathed in green light humming from their abdomens, Cohor slides his back against the passage wall, uncomfortable with the thoughts of being torn to bits by beetles racing through his head.
 
Some moments later, Cohor shook himself out of his dead, motionless stare. He had been entranced by the swirling green light given off by the beetles' abdomen. He pushed himself onto his feet with a wince, shouldered his pack with a bigger one, and pushed himself down the corridor where the final beetle had retreated.
 
This passage is long, running at a steady decline. Cohor keeps his eyes peeled, but there's no green light in sight. No more scissor-like mouths trying to sever his leg. He shakes his head at the thought and presses on. Eventually, another light paints a cavern wall, this time violet. The tunnel reaches over 10 feet tall in places; maybe that beetle retreated into some burrowed hole somewhere? Cohor dropped his pack and crept closer to the violet light, javelin ready.
 
The dead paladin comes up to the hole in the passage wall producing the violet light. As he turns his gaze into the next room, he sees another one of those bear-like creatures, accompanied by one of the types of monsters that turn to smoke when they die. In the center of this circular chamber appears to be a portal of some kind, its surface a mixture of liquid and gas, churning in various hues of violet and purple. Cohor steps into the violet light and hurls his javelin at the bear-thing, then turns and runs back up the corridor, hoping to find a rock to hide behind.
 
Scrambling up the corridor, Cohor pulls out another javelin and hides behind a rock.
 
The two fiendthings bellow in rage and come barreling out of the circular cavern. They're looking right at Cohor as he peeks above his rock. He curses. He still has time, however. They're still 20 feet or so away.
 
Cohor's second javelin misses. He scrambles further up the passage, keeping his distance from the monsters, pulling a second javelin from case at his side.
 
The second javelin catches the dretch in the chest, and it bleats out in pain. Cohor makes one final push up the corridor, nearing the entrance where he fought the beetles, green light pulsing in the distance.
 
Cohor knew they were gaining on him. He could hear their panting breath and thudding foot/hand falls as they raced toward him on all fours. He pulled out his longsword as he ran, listening, feeling for the right moment. Then, he planted hard, turning, anchoring his blade against his chest as he crouched. The dretch's full moment met the sharp point of Cohor's sword. Its flesh sinking the blade's full length, down to the crossguard. With a heave, Cohor ripped the blade free and shoved the creature off of him, relieved it made no movements stand.
 
The other creature hacked at Cohor with its talons, but the dead man, in his glorious golden wig, was able to drop below the strike and hack off its leg (which disappeared into a cloud of smoke). As it fell, Cohor punctured its chest, and it erupted in rancid smoke.
 
Hesitantly approaching the dretch, Cohor looked for any signs of life. He removed its head, just to be sure, before recovering his two javelins pincushioning it. Several moments of searching later, he recovered his third javelin, then dove into the cavern with the violet portal. Inside, he found several maimed corpses. Rusted, old gear and coins betrayed their identity as adventurers who appear to have found this place some time ago.
 
The portal was about 7 feet in diameter, semicircling out of the ground. Its frame appeared to be chipped out of obsidian, with several gemstones, all violet (like the amethyst on the effigy above town) pulsing with dim light. Cohor used the tip of a javelin to pry out the gems. When he did, something odd happened. The gemstone light gathered more light, becoming more intense, while the portal's light dampened. When he removed the fourth and final gem, the portal winked out of existence. Cohor shoved the gems into his pockets, along with masterless coins, and returned to his pack. He worked his way back to the well room, tied his pack to the rope, and climbed up. It's nighttime. He thanked the stars he wasn't sleeping uncomfortable and cold right now. He then cranked his pack out of the well.
 
“Gotcha.” A dagger presses up to Cohor's back and he clenches his jaw. He tries to inch his hand towards his sword, sheathed on his hip. The person clicks his tongue. “Uh, uh, uh. Hands up, you delightful dead fool.”
 
It dawns on him. The degrading halfling from Carris Hill. He relaxes, but keeps his hands up. “I've done what you requested. I've purged Marxstaff of its curses. The effigy wasn't the only thing wrecking havoc in this poor town.”
 
“So you have! Shame. I didn't think you would make it. I don't like being wrong.” The dagger eases off Cohor's back. Cohor snarls and whips around, trying to grab at the little man. He turns and... he's not there.
 
A voice comes from behind. His voice. “Now, now. Let's play nice. I'm not here to kill you. Just to ridicule you.” Cohor turns. The halfling his leaning, arms folded, atop the well cobbled wall against the beam supporting the little roof. His hood is up; only his mouth is visible in the darkness. “And...” He holds up a finger, when anger starts to boil onto Cohor's face. The anger pauses a moment. “You have done very well. I do believe that Marxstaff shall be safe, so long as you don't return those little gems back into their devious home. You don't want to go back there. Not alone, at least. Demons and devils, fiends abound!” He laughs. “But nonetheless! Your next goal. Before you can be dubbed kingslayer, you must grow in power. One of the quickest ways to do that, my dear dead friend, is through ties with others. And in order to build ties with others, you need to not appear...” He gestures at Cohor. At all of him. “...dead. Your wig is quite marvelous, by the way.” He adds, offhandedly.
 
“I tried.” Cohor rasps. “I do not know how to use these items of paste and color! Much less how to restore a dead man's face with them.”
 
“I know, dear deadface. I knnoooowww! What you need is a woman's touch. A little bit of tenderness and grace.” He sways back and forth as if he were a school girl, swaying with the hems of her skirt pinched between his fingers.
 
Cohor looks at him flatly. “And how am I supposed to find a woman that doesn't shriek the moment she sees me? And these items don't belong to commonfolk. Merchant-wives are likely the lowest in the caste to have skills with such things. Hmm?” His eyebrow raised, a fierce, milky-eyed look.
 
He scowls. Cutting his part of acting a little girl short, as if Cohor squashed all of his fun. “You save one, idiot. Talea Savannah. Daughter to the great storyteller, Andwin Savannah. The Burlap Boys kidnapped her this morning. Here's a map.” A puff, and the rolled-up map appears out of thin air, falling into Cohor's hand. He looks at it.
 
“This morning?! How would you--” Cohor looks up. The halfling was gone. “Burn you, how did you know?!”
 
Cohor unrolls the map. Everything is unfamiliar except for the bay and Marxstaff. Strange... A dashed line runs to the east, following a river into a forest, where the destination is marked with an X. Something popped, a pouch of coins fell out of thin air and clinked onto the ground.
 
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