The next chamber was much like those they had already encountered: cream-coloured stone, ancient and dusty, with iron doors leading away in several directions. One of the doors had been firmly sealed, not by any sophisticated magical mechanism, but by the rather more practical expedient of hammering half a dozen pitons into the floor.
Scattered around the chamber were seven large nest-like mounds made from refuse and debris. A closer examination revealed the remnants of broken laboratory equipment, mixed with ripped-out pages that had apparently been pressed into service as bedding. Whatever creatures had been living here had clearly made themselves at home. Fortunately, the nests were empty.
The company continued east and discovered what had once been a library. Three low stone shelves stretched across the room, but they had long since been emptied. Dozens of books lay scattered across the floor, covered in dust and mud. Torvax's hopes immediately rose. An ancient underground library in a magical complex? Perhaps there might be a spellbook hidden among the remains, or at least some forgotten treatise on magical subjects.
Sadly, his excitement was short-lived. Every book had been stripped of its pages. All that remained were the covers. The missing pages, presumably, had gone into the nests in the previous chamber. Torvax was left contemplating the depressing possibility that several centuries of magical scholarship had ultimately been reduced to goblin bedding.
The sealed door was left for later, and the party instead travelled north. After another sixty feet they reached a broken section of wall. Someone (or something) had hacked a crude passage straight through it, leaving rubble scattered across the floor. The adventurers suspected the goblins had broken through from their side, and the construction of the wall made the discovery even more interesting.
Unlike the surrounding masonry, it appeared to be a form of concrete, perhaps created by magic rather than conventional construction. Beyond the breach lay yet another ancient cream-stone chamber, almost identical to the others. This time, however, the northern exit was guarded by a pair of imposing double doors made from bluish steel. These, the adventurers realised, marked the beginning of what was known as Ghul's Labyrinth. In the corner of the room sat a massive heap of debris, but the company decided to leave it alone and investigate the eastern door instead.
After some considerable protest from the ancient ironwork, Lúthien finally persuaded the door to open with a combination of strength and determination. A short corridor ended at another iron door, which required rather more crowbar work before it surrendered. Beyond was a room containing a deep stone well. Magic revealed that something lay at the bottom, radiating a supernatural presence. The well was around fifty feet deep, and naturally there was only one sensible response to discovering something mysterious at the bottom of a dark underground well.
Bragman volunteered to go down.
The halfling was lowered into the darkness head first, while the others searched the dusty shelves and kept watch over the chamber above. It was at precisely this moment that things began to go wrong. Flint, guarding the main chamber, was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea. Something felt terribly wrong. Then came the familiar sensation of his blood being drawn from his body. The Bloodwights were coming.
Somehow, some of the creatures the party had believed dead had survived the previous encounter and recovered. Now they were returning for another attempt at draining the adventurers of their blood. Flint managed to resist the worst of the Bloodsheen, and the party immediately sprang into action. Fortunately for them, Torvax won the initiative. He summoned his ever-reliable Flaming Sphere and placed it directly between the approaching undead and the party's position. The Bloodwights were forced to squeeze through a narrow opening to reach them, giving the adventurers exactly what they needed: time.
The result was rather one-sided. The undead were burned, stabbed and otherwise dispatched before they could properly reach the company. Once the threat had passed, Bragman was lowered into the well again to retrieve the magical object at its bottom. He returned carrying a strange black cube, but the moment he brought it into the chamber everyone knew that they had found something dangerous. Necromantic energy pulsed from the object, and almost immediately the party felt the effects. Saving throws were required, including one from Bragman himself. This time the halfling was not so fortunate. Those who failed began bleeding heavily from their eyes and noses, a grim reminder of what the Bloodwights had done to them.
The adventurers stood around the cube and debated what to do. For once, the answer was obvious. They put it back. The black cube was left at the bottom of the well, where it could remain undisturbed until they could consult the Knights of the Golden Cross. There was no point in carrying an object saturated with necromantic power around Ptolus merely because they had managed to find it. The company had learned, slowly and painfully, that not every treasure needed to be immediately stuffed into someone's backpack.
After resting once more, they turned their attention west. There they discovered a series of corridors thick with cobwebs. The webs were so extensive that the passage looked as though it had been abandoned for centuries. The adventurers cautiously entered, and were immediately attacked by enormous spiders, great tarantula-like creatures swarming through the darkness. Fortunately, Torvax had Flaming Sphere. Again.
The spell proved devastatingly effective, filling the corridors with flame and clearing paths through the webs. Burning Hands added further destruction, while Flint's rapier and Lúthien's sword dealt with anything that managed to survive the fire. Bragman joined the fight with his characteristic two-weapon fury. Before long, the spiders were dead and the corridors were blazing with the remains of their webs.
Once the smoke cleared, the company searched the ruins. Among the ashes they discovered a chest. Inside were some old, badly faded love letters -probably the remnants of some long-forgotten romance -and a remarkable cherry-red box. Within that box lay a perfectly preserved manuscript entitled Observations of Alchemical Reductions and the Deductions Thereof by Master Alchemist Tirnet Kal.
Torvax was understandably rather more interested in this than the love letters. He also realised that the cherry-red container was no ordinary box. It was a Stasis Box, a magical device capable of preserving whatever was placed inside it. The manuscript had survived centuries of decay because it had effectively been removed from the passage of time. At last, Torvax had found an ancient magical text that hadn't been turned into bedding.
With the labyrinth becoming increasingly dangerous, the adventurers decided that discretion was once again the better part of valour. They retreated and returned to the Knights of the Golden Cross to seek advice about the black cube, the labyrinth and, most urgently, the Pit of Insanity they had crossed earlier.
Their proximity to the Pit had already begun to take its toll. That evening, two members of the party failed their saving throws against Chaos. The effects were immediate and disturbing. Torvax's body turned purple, a rather dramatic demonstration of why Kaira Swanwing had repeatedly warned them that even brief exposure to the Pit could be dangerous. The corruption might not always be immediately lethal, but it was unpredictable, and nobody knew what form the next mutation might take.
Fortunately, Bragman's formidable halfling constitution once again came to the rescue. Despite having spent considerable time near the Chaos, he resisted its corrupting influence entirely.
Kaira was concerned. She agreed to arrange for an ally to place a protective ward upon the adventurers before they ventured farther into the labyrinth. She would also consider what might be done about the Pit itself. For the moment, however, the party was advised to stay away from it. The adventurers took her advice. Mostly.
They rested, recovered and, because adventurers apparently cannot survive an extended period without spending money, went shopping. Lúthien finally had enough gold to repair his battered plate armour. After all the punishment he had taken beneath Ptolus, it was probably about time. Once the repairs were complete, the paladin emerged considerably more heavily protected than before.
Somewhere beneath Ptolus, the monsters were undoubtedly sharpening their claws. They had better sharpen them well. Because Lúthien was now very, very difficult to hit.
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