The Knights of the Golden Cross

Having decided that their future with the Church of Lothian was becoming increasingly uncertain, the adventurers turned their attention to another possible ally: the Knights of the Golden Cross. Their destination was Oldtown, and getting there was an adventure in itself. 

They travelled up the impressive Emperor's Road, climbing the great ramp that led from Midtown to the higher plateau upon which Oldtown stood. Behind and above it all, the Spire dominated the skyline, an ever-present reminder that Ptolus was a city built in layers, each one seemingly more important (and more heavily guarded) than the last. 

At each tier the company encountered guards who demanded documentation before allowing them to proceed, while the Nobles' Quarter above required invitations or work permits. Fortunately, the Curators had accumulated enough official-looking paperwork to make their passage possible without having to explain exactly how often they had recently been responsible for explosions, undead outbreaks and the destruction of criminal enterprises.

After asking directions, they located the official residence of the Knights of the Golden Cross: a somewhat dilapidated manor and tower standing against the northern wall of Oldtown. It was immediately apparent that nobody was living there. The place was locked, quiet and neglected, giving the impression of an organisation that had survived for centuries but was not exactly swimming in resources. They were directed instead to the home of Kaira Swanwing, the leader of the Knights. 

Before long the adventurers found themselves standing outside a modest but beautifully maintained house near the centre of Oldtown, surrounded by other equally respectable homes. This was a very different sort of place from the crumbling manor. The company was greeted by the household staff and shown into a waiting room overlooking an atrium. There, among the furnishings, were numerous caged birds. Some sang sweetly, some chirped incessantly, and at least a few seemed to have learned enough words to make their opinions known. The noise gave the house an oddly lively character as refreshments were brought and the adventurers waited for their host.

Kaira Swanwing eventually entered and introduced herself, asking the obvious question: what did they want? To Lúthien, the answer was immediately more complicated than it might have been for the others. Kaira was an elf, but there was something about her that struck him as strangely familiar. To his eyes she appeared almost like an Eldar elf, a connection to an older world that made him look twice. She was dressed in a beautiful flowing gown and wore around her neck the traditional medallion of the Knights of the Golden Cross, a golden cross with four broad, splayed ends. 

Kaira listened to the adventurers' story and was pleased to hear that they wished to assist the order. She was happy to give them a chance, but rather than immediately send them against some great evil, she offered them something much more mundane: a haunted house in Midtown, not far from the Ghostly Minstrel. It was, she warned them, apparently a minor problem. But Kaira also understood Ptolus well enough to know that nothing was ever truly minor.

The company accepted the assignment and returned to Midtown, where they quickly located the troublesome property. The supposed haunting turned out to be rather less supernatural than expected. The house was occupied by goblins, frightened, bedraggled goblins who had taken to pretending to be ghosts in order to keep the people of the city away. They were terrified of being discovered by an angry mob, but they were even more frightened of whatever was lurking in the sewers beneath the house. 

The deception was finally exposed when Torvax used Mage Hand to pull away a bedsheet, revealing a goblin hiding behind it while holding a stick that was being used to wave another sheet around the room. It was, perhaps, one of the least convincing haunting mechanisms ever encountered by the adventurers. Then Torvax asked a simple question. “Are you friends with Bigbad?”

The goblin stared at him, apparently astonished that these strangers knew the name. Eventually he admitted that they were. Torvax explained that Bigbad and the other goblins were safe, and that the corrupted pool in their cavern had been cleansed. The goblin, who introduced himself as Nachos, was delighted. The goblins wanted to return home, but there was a problem: the route through the sewers was occupied by something nasty. Something that ate goblins. Naturally, the adventurers agreed to investigate.

Nachos led them through a trapdoor in the basement and into the sewers, guiding them to a door beyond which he was unwilling to go. Hoot Hoot flew ahead to scout, while the adventurers cautiously entered the passage. Their route soon brought them to something that was very definitely not a normal sewer feature. The stone corridor ended at a recessed pool nearly ten feet across, filled with silvery, iridescent liquid that churned and boiled despite there being no visible source of movement. Around its edge the stone had become blackened glass, jagged and twisted, with smoky tendrils climbing the walls almost to the ceiling. Scorch marks covered the surrounding stone, while two wide wooden boards had been laid across the pit as an improvised bridge. Torvax recognised it immediately as a Pit of Insanity.

These places were created by raw Chaos, where reality itself became unstable and matter could be randomly transformed. Stone could become glass, metal or impossible ice. Objects could lose their familiar shapes and colours. Strange vapours and inexplicable substances might appear without warning. Living creatures could become twisted versions of themselves. Torvax made the danger very clear: cross quickly, do not fall in, and above all, do not touch the Chaos.

The company did exactly that. They crossed the planks as quickly and carefully as possible, grateful that nobody managed to discover what happened when someone accidentally stepped off the bridge. Beyond the pool they passed through a doorway whose brass frame hung uselessly from a broken hinge, old shards of glass scattered across the floor. The passage opened into a barren chamber of ancient cream-coloured stone. Dust and grime covered almost everything, but closer examination revealed that the dirt had been disturbed recently. Two iron doors stood on opposite sides of the room, while the corridor continued onward.

There were tracks in the dust. Some belonged to goblins. Others appeared humanoid, but with unmistakably clawed feet.

The adventurers chose the eastern door first. Lúthien put his shoulder to it and, with a wrench, forced it open. Beyond was another corridor leading into a remarkable chamber containing what could only be an ancient orrery. A gigantic construction of brass, copper and worm-eaten wood dominated the room. Great metal hoops surrounded a central sphere, while pulleys, cranks and levers protruded from the mechanism in an arrangement that was almost completely incomprehensible. Whatever this machine had once done, it had clearly been built by people who understood things far beyond the adventurers' current ability to repair them.

Tempting though it was, the company decided not to investigate. They went west instead. The western iron door opened into a maze of corridors lined with cell doors. Grime covered the floors, and the air felt stale and ancient. Then they found the body of a goblin lying farther down the passage.

Nachos, it seemed, had not told them the whole truth. The goblins had clearly explored these ruins before. Whether Nachos had simply been too frightened to admit it or had conveniently forgotten that part of the story was unclear. What was certain was that the goblins had discovered something down here, and it had killed at least one of them.

As the adventurers explored farther into the maze, something even stranger began to happen. Their bodies started to react to the atmosphere around them. A bloody sheen appeared on their skin. Blood began to seep from eyes, noses and mouths before vaporising into the air around them. Then the corpse moved. The dead goblin was violently thrown aside and a desiccated Bloodwight rose from the floor. It lurched towards the adventurers. Then another cell opened. Then another.

Soon the corridors were filling with the dry, undead forms of creatures that had apparently been waiting in their cells for centuries, or perhaps something had awakened them. Worse still, the Bloodwights seemed to feed upon the blood hanging in the air. As the adventurers suffered from their strange Bloodsheen ability, the creatures began to look healthier. Their desiccated flesh reddened. Their bodies seemed to fill out. The more the company bled, the stronger the undead became.

The battle quickly became a desperate rear-guard action. Torvax once again proved the value of Flaming Sphere, using the burning magical barrier to restrict the undead advance while steadily wearing them down. Lúthien fought where he could, his enchanted sword striking at the creatures as the others attempted to keep them away. Bragman and Flint worked from safer positions where possible, attacking whenever an opportunity presented itself. But the Bloodsheen was taking its toll, particularly on Torvax and Lúthien, who suffered badly against the creatures' unnatural power.

There was little glory in the fight. It was painful, exhausting and frightening, and the adventurers soon realised that pressing farther into the maze was simply asking to be overwhelmed. They fell back toward the main chamber, buying themselves enough time to bind their wounds and catch their breath.

Even so, their brief reconnaissance had not been entirely fruitless. They had found evidence of the goblins' previous exploration, ancient chambers and a mysterious orrery whose purpose remained unknown. More importantly, they had discovered that the ruins beneath Midtown were far older, and far more dangerous, than anyone had suggested.

Kaira Swanwing had called the haunted house a minor problem. The adventurers were beginning to suspect that this was simply how the Knights of the Golden Cross described problems in Ptolus. And somewhere beyond those ancient corridors, behind the strange machinery and the Pit of Insanity, something had been waiting for them in the dark.