Meet 16, Adv B4, 11/15/17 - Youth Group

And it was bound to happen – TPK for the youth group. And it was at an area that I wouldn’t have expected them to wipe at (expected it to be Zargon). Came down to treating the NPC’s as deaf dumb and unmotivated – a recipe for disaster.

So it was with a heavy heart that we drew B4 to a close and in the next week or two, the youths will add one more to their table and roll up an AD&D character for their next campaign.

Write up follows:

Feeling the horror at Safir’s sudden passing and very unsure about the still active pressure plate, Vulkan cast levitation on himself and then one by one, ferried the party over the plate and through the crushing walls. We stopped at the door and spent a few minutes listening – hearing the occasion mournful yelling interspersed with constant muttering.

We debated on blasting in, looking for Kellis and Sharon, is Darius close by, hitting the room with a sleep spell. Eventually it was narrowed down to just carefully opening the chamber and peering in – making a decision AFTER we knew what was going on. Delsin took point and the door opened – revealing a very sizable chamber. There were 10 Cyndicians sitting in a circle amidst cushions, pillows, and blankets. They were wearing fanciful monster masks and were occasionally yelling as if in despairing fear now and again. Outside of glancing at the group – they didn’t move. There was a door on the north wall and one on the south wall.

We discussed it and decided to enter. Once inside we tried to talk to the Cyndicians, but for the most part, they ignored the group. One of them did get up when we were making some threatening comments, walk over to the party, stare intently at Vulkan (who had made the comments) and yelled softly in his face before heading back to the circle. At this point the Cyndician’s then all got up, congregated in the center, yelled together, and then went back to sit down, just in different positions.

Alright. Leaving them alone!

We went to the north door and listened, hearing some music, shuffling movement, and some gentle rhythmic conversation beyond. At best, we could tell more than half a dozen people in there. Before we were to make a decision, we wanted to check out the south door next.

On peering in there, we could see it was some gambling hall – poker tables, roulette wheels, etc. Maybe 12 Cyndicians in here wearing colorful animal masks playing and having a good time. However, Delsin gave a grimace as Demetrius was shouting in Delsin’s mind that across that busy room was a secret door that would lead to Darius’ private chamber. This close…t..h..i..s.. close.

We closed the door and discussed tactics on how to cross the gambling room and avoid any problem with the locals. It was here that Vulkan came up with the idea of a disguise. “We should kill three of these guys in here, like those three, and take their robes and masks.”

The moaning, muttering, and mournful wails stopped as the group of 10 Cyndicians all as one stared at the group. Then one by one, they bent down and moved the cushions aside, lifting up axes, swords, and even a couple of crossbows. Vulkan tried to levitate – but the ceiling was only 12’ tall so he didn’t have far to go. And he was shot – critically in the chest and then shot again in the stomach. He slumped over, still floating in the air while Mark and Delsin drew up lines to repel the other 8 Cyndicians who began to assault the party. There was talk of getting the hell out of here and now.

And then the north and south doors opened, and 20 more plus Cyndicians entered the chamber, also armed with swords, axes, and more crossbows. They descended on the group like a living wall, 30 of them grunting and spitting as they plied axe, sword, and quarrel against us.

Even though Vulkan wasn’t responding, a few of the Cyndicians continued to hack as his dead floating body, actually severing his leg in the wild frenzy. Mark fell next, the cleric struggling to head left and make his way to the door, cut down on three sides until he was gasping on a sword in his throat. And then it was Delsin. The Sword of Delsin swept back and forth, hewing at the Cyndicians as he tried desperately to get away, but first he was hit in the leg, then the back, the chest, the head, the arm, and finally one too many blows and the fighter fell over curled about a sword sticking out of his kidneys.

As he faded he could hear a commanding voice coming in saying something about “there’ll be no more talk of prophecy and those from outside. Hack these up and add them to the food. Send the bones down to Zargon to feed upon.” And then he faded away, Demetrius spirit sobbing the last this he heard as it muttered over and over. So close. So close.

So close.