Tomb if Annihilation: Wyfingrem Hulwir's Journal - Entry 34

My regular Dungeons & Dragons group is playing through Tomb of Annihilation and I am very excited to be doing so. For this campaign, I am playing a Fallen Aasimar Cleric of the Grave Domain named Wyfingrem. Her family are renowned among her people as Resurrectionists. With the world stricken by a Death Curse that has prevented resurrection, Wyfingrem and an odd assortment of adventurers, have answered the call from a mysterious benefactor to find the root cause of the curse and destroy it. Each day, Wyfingrem journals her experiences as a way to feel close to people, especially those closest to her heart.

Day ??? - I have long since lost track…

I peered into the dark, shimmering liquid within the scrying pool. Taking a moment to gather myself and to center my will and intentions, I focused my energies into the magicked waters. I urged the pool to reveal unto me what it could regarding this horror-filled cavern we had struggled every step of the way to survive. With the gods’ blessings, perhaps it would divulge some part of the secret behind the Death Curse so that we might understand how to manufacture its undoing.

In subjugation to my will, the waters began to ripple and then clear. Riddled with anticipation, I leaned in to more closely observe its revelations.

With a shriek, I fell back from the scrying table as a hulking figure lunged toward me, piercing the mystic barrier. It leaped from the table, landing on the cobbles of the cavern floor with a crash. Drawing itself to full height, we instantly knew what had come to assault us. It was another of the deadly metallic constructs that had stood guard along with the cursed dwarves in another area of this dungeon. We were wise – and lucky – to extricate ourselves from that skirmish, finding ourselves over-matched. All alone, the construct remained a dangerous and deadly challenge, but also all alone, it was one we felt we had the measure of.

Many of our party fell back in surprise at the construct’s arrival, but the goblin ranger Zilditch and I maintain our wits and prepare for battle. With a few arcane words, Zilditch’s weapon begins to crackle with energy and waves of lightning suddenly cascade from tip to hilt. I quickly offer a prayer of intention to the Gods of Life and Death, and they instantly reward my grace and fortitude by sending a battery of angels to surround and protect me. The angels immediately assault the construct, blasting it with radiant energies.

Dimo suddenly regains his wits and with a guttural cry, leaps into the fray, his mighty ax held high, and bashes the monster severely. The construct recoils from the blow but hastily recovers, delivering an equally wicked punch. While the two hulking figures jostle for position, I see Zilditch set himself to engage the construct but then he suddenly disappears.

With the guardian spirits protecting me, I disengage from the melee, giving our heaviest hitters more room to work, all the while imploring the gods-sent spirits to continue pummeling the construct with their radiance. As I back out of the room, I hear a commotion and a crash behind me down the hall. Looking back, I see Walter in a tangle of arms and legs with another figure.

The stranger quickly extricates himself from the bard and as he stands up his ebony skin is immediately recognizable. He is one of the wicked drow elves. I find I am not surprised, however, being the nature of this place and the nature of his people. He comes charging up the hallway toward me but before I can react to him, he is calling upon eldritch energies and firing. I brace myself to absorb the blow but to my surprise, the magic races past me and my companions, striking instead the metallic construct. The realization comes too late, unfortunately, and my guardians turn their assault upon the drow as well.

Back in the room with the scrying table, Dimo, Sir McManly, and, judging by the arcs of electricity crawling over the metallic figure, an invisible Zilditch and his lightning brand, maintain a relentless onslaught until the construct eventually crumbles into a random assortment of rusted wares.

With calamity now replaced by calm, my acolyte Toni and I begin channeling the blessings of the Gods of Life and Death into our companions, soothing their aches, and mending their wounds. It is during this time that the drow introduces himself to us as Al’Variean de Baptiste. He claims to be from Thay and has come to spy on the Red Wizards of Thay to gain better understanding of their activities and intentions. He speaks of them possessing some sort of teleportation device with which they can warp into this dungeon. The drow also accuses Walter of being one of the wizards of Thay, but we quickly convince him otherwise, assuring him that while Walter was with and at one time serving the wizards, he is not in league with them.

I take a moment to heal Al’Variean for the damage done by my guardians and offer my apologies as well. We begin discussing the Death Curse so that I might glean some information from him. Unfortunately, he has no useful knowledge but does purport to be with us in his disdain for it.

We decide to trust this stranger and allow him to join our fellowship. With that settled, I return to the scrying table to see if it has any new information to share, but I find only dark and choppy waters within.

Meanwhile, Sir McManly conducts a thorough examination of the room’s walls and discovers a secret door. Through it, we find a junction with a trio of options for us to consider. We know the door at the end of the northern pathway leads to the room with the original metallic construct we had faced, as well as the crazed dwarven warriors. We quickly dismiss following that route and consider the other two.

One leads down a spiraling staircase, but it is very dark where it leads, according to Zilditch after a quick investigation. Another door lies at the west end of the junction. Upon closer examination, it appears to bear carvings in the Chultan tongue. No one in our group is versed in Chultan, but we are blessed by the gods that Toni can call upon her innate abilities in order to decipher languages she either hears or touches.

Moving to the front of the group, she gently places her delicate fingers upon the strange lettering, tracing it with her fingertips as she concentrates. Stepping back with a look of satisfaction on her face, she announces to the group that the door reads, “Architect”.

We are all understandably wary of engaging with anything in this cavern of curses and therefore no one is readily volunteering to proceed through the door unprepared. As our group lacks anyone schooled in the subtle arts of thievery, I must call upon the Gods of Life and Death and ask that they bless me with the insight to hopefully recognize anything out of sorts upon or around the door. Finding nothing, I let the rest of the group know but also inform them I have no intention of opening or so much as touching the door.

Dimo boldly strides forward and thrusts the door open, revealing a room filled with the strange and the macabre.

Directly across the room, seated at a desk, is what looks to be a corpse wearing a copper mask. Behind it hung upon the wall are multiple anatomical drawings. Around its neck hangs an amulet. Crawling all about the floor of the room are multiple severed hands, employing their phalanges as limbs to scurry hither and yon. They do not seem to pay us any mind. Quite the opposite, however, in the corner, locked within a filthy cage, a bird seemingly made of bones squawks incessantly as it pelts us with insults.

Suddenly the masked figure at the desk addresses us, introducing himself as Withers, the Architect of this massive maze understatedly referred to as a tomb. Toni begins an incantation meant to harm or destroy the undead figure, but Withers implores her to stop. Wary and appalled by this abomination as I am, I see the value in using its knowledge of this place to aid me in my holy quest. As the architect of the tomb that is believed to hold the key to the Death Curse, surely he has information that could be useful. I also implore Toni to stay her hand while I interrogate the foul creature.

I tell him of my mission and while I ask him pointedly what he knows about the curse, he politely apologizes for his lack of knowledge, stating he merely designs, builds, and maintains the copious traps strewn throughout the tomb. Withers expresses a great deal of interest in all things Chultan, from its culture to politics and more, asking us many questions while simultaneously deflecting my own. I then ask if he might provide us with a detailed map of all the traps in the tomb so that we might safely navigate it in search of the Death Curse’s source. When he refuses, I use my telepathic link to Toni to give her permission to do our gods’ righteous bidding.

Toni unleashes a wave of godly power and instantly all the severed hands disintegrate into small piles of acrid-smelling ash. Withers, however, seems unphased and with a gesture calls up a wall of fire that races outward from the desk, through the door, and down the hall.

I manage to avoid most of the damage from the searing flames thanks to a timely warning from my acolyte, but many of my companions are not so fortunate. Before anyone can engage with Withers, however, his body recoils in agony from some unseen and unheard voice, and then simply blips out of existence. Al’Variean then speaks a few words of magic, and the wall of fire disappears.

With Withers gone and no imminent sign of threat, we begin tossing the room, looking for notes, maps, letters – anything that can assist us with either dispelling the Death Curse or avoiding the deadly machinations the fiend had built to ensure our untimely demise. Dimo finds a great deal of interest in the skeletal bird and decides to pocket it.

Despite our search, which is largely fruitless, I maintain a prayer on my tongue, ready to invoke it should Withers reappear, and Sir McManly, ever my protector, remains near my side, ready to defend me should it be necessary.

Only moments pass before we hear a commotion coming from the hallway. Alas, the crazed dwarves and the other metallic construct we had tangled with once before must have been roused by the din of dueling with Withers, and they have now come to investigate.

The drow is hacked with ax and pierced by arrow while Zilditch too is fired upon by multiple arrows, some striking true. Dimo rushes in to assault the aggressors while Zilditch falls back and begins making his bow sing with deadly intent.

Being careful to avoid being struck as well, I repeatedly step into the hallways and call upon the glorious bells of the heavens to ring true. Many of the dwarves are affected by the thunderous toll but one more so than the other, and he is quickly felled by Zilditch.

The Dwarves continue to fall in, savagely hacking at Dimo but he is possessed with a strong fighting spirit. Battling like a cornered beast, he blocks many of the attacks, stoically absorbs those he cannot, and returns serve with his mighty ax, chopping away at the manic dwarves.

Toni imbues Dimo with healing magic bestowed upon her by our gods. For good measure, I offer forth my praise and unyielding will to be the embodiment of their truths, and in return, they grant me a massive aura of healing power that soaks into my friends.

Seeing our friends becoming overwhelmed by the monsters, Sir McManly leaves my side, transforming into a cloud of mist that then shoots out of the room and down the hall. Amidst all the enemies, the cloud of mist quickly reforms into Sir McManly’s corporeal form, and he instantly begins to beat upon the construct. He then drops his ax, grabs the metal monster, and tries to wrestle it over to the staircase in hopes of pitching the construct down the stairs.

Without abandon and desperate to turn the tide of battle, Zilditch calls upon shower after shower of thorns, hitting friend and foe alike.

At that moment, Withers blinks into existence and calls up another blazing wall of fire. Once again, I manage to avoid most of the damage, but my concentration slips, and I lose my aura of healing energy. Undeterred, however, and with the knowledge that the Gods of Life and Death shall protect and empower me for as long as I serve them well, I quickly call upon them to grant me another healing aura, and then renew my support of the party.

Dimo at last cuts down the final dwarven aggressor, clearing the way for Zilditch to charge after Withers with his crackling lightning saber. Sir McManly also sees the opportunity before them and breaks off his struggle with the construct. As he charges down the hall toward Withers, he summons his ax to his hand and attacks.

Now free of McManly’s grasp, however, the construct turns its attention on Walter. With a savage stomp, he crushes the bard’s ankle and then delivers an explosive blow to the man’s head.

Withers recognizes he is in a precarious situation, and so he moves to once again disappear, but not before he warns McManly that he will die and then his soul will belong to Acererak. This time when he disappears, however, we notice he touches his amulet as if activating some power within it. Something to remember should we encounter this abomination again, to be sure. And there will also be no parlay next time. The Gods of Life and Death demand it.

With Withers gone and the dwarves dead, we quickly set upon the construct, beating on it until it collapses into a pile of worthless rusted metal objects.

While we are victorious, the cost has been great. Our fighters are severely wounded and in need of much of my gods’ healing graces. At the same time, I and all the casters in our group have exhausted much of our strength. It is decided, with little to no debate, that we must heal up, rest up, and renew our search thereafter.

May the Gods of Life and Death continue to protect us, guide us, and grant us wisdom.

 All my love…