(RoT-10) What manner of creature are you....

...with your beautiful golden hair?

After making their way through a myriad of traps, and fighting their way past multiple massive beasts, the party are in the library of Clan Melair, deep in Undermountain. They are still short three keys and they seem to be at a bit of a loss...

Starring, in order they sit around the table:

Rodin Halfbeard, (played by Lorne) the dwarven axeman, known around the room for his trend-setting hairstyles.
Venmir, (played by Brett) an elven clergyman, who once located some empathy, but it didn't last.
Nyvan, (played by Jason) an elven knight, but for how long?

Sigurd, (played by Iain) a travelling swordsman, the ever-mistrustful.

Nandrin the Naughty, (played by Hilton), the elven mage, who has given up begging.

and The DM, (played by Alex), who loves to comment in blue. And writes this blog. He's also a bit of a git and likes to make life difficult for his players.

The party is back to full strength, and deep in the dungeons of Undermountain, looking for the children of Blagothkus and Esclarella. 

The heroes stood in a huge library. Instead of scrolls and books, it was full of carved stone tablets, hundreds of years old. It was written in a script which seemed almost dwarven, but not quite - obviously an archaic script. Rodin spent quite a lot of time looking at tablets, but he couldn't work it out. The party decided to split up and look through the various levels in the library, to see if they could find some kind of secret they might have missed before.

Venmir found himself on the lowest level. As he checked a wall, he heard a faint click, repeating, coming from the the doorway they had entered from. He turned to face the doorway, fearfully retreating to the far wall. Nandrin ran down to meet Venmir, and hide behind him.

The sound got closer and closer, and then a strange figure walked through the doorway. Dwarf height, wearing the robes of a priest of Dumathoin, his hood covered his head entirely and he shuffled forward into the room. The clicking came from his staff, which he used as a walking aid.

After a long moment, he reached up and lifted back his hood. Instead of eyes, he had deep dark pits, but he kept his gaze locked onto Venmir's. his skin was a light gray in colour, but his clothes were clean - vestments of the Dumathoin priesthood.

"You have done well, thank you." his voice was deep and resonant, but it sounded old and frail at the same time.

Venmir and Nandrin were puzzled.

"Errr, hello. Who are you?" asked the cleric,

"I, am Bandaerl. High Priest of Dumathoin these last five hundred years. And you are?"

"What do you want?"

"I came here to thank you. What is your name?"

"Thank us for what?"

"My apologies, high priest!" said Sigurd as he got to the bottom of the stairs. He introduced himself.

"Ahh, how polite. Someone who can introduce himself." The others quickly followed with their names,

"We are looking for a key," said Sigurd, "to open the door to the prison."

"I have it. And you may use it." said the old dwarf, "and I want to take you to meet the King - he would like to thank you himself."

"Of course..." said Sigurd, and they followed the dwarf from the room.

The high Priest walked through the trapped tunnels, without hesitation, the traps not going off. They paused, but followed, and found the traps had been deactivated. He took them back to the previous room, then opened a secret door, leading them into a wonderfully decorated hallway. He tapped his cane on the floor and a doorway opened in one wall. Behind it was nothing but blackness and fetid air. He urged them all forward - and they all moved. Except Sigurd.

"What is this?" he asked, mistrustfully. 

"To meet the king, we must go down. Quickly now, we must all descend as one." said the old dwarf.

"No way!" said the swordsman, as he pulled out his blade.

"So untrusting." said the priest, ignoring the blade being waved about. "You can wait here. You are not welcome."

The others followed the priest, and found themselves in a wide room, and were soon joined by Bandaerl.He clicked his staff again, and the floor moved down, taking them into the depths, while Sigurd stood - and fumed...

---------------------------------

The floor came to a rest before a gilded archway. Beyond the archway was a sarcophagus bathed in a shaft of pure white light. Bandaerl stepped forward, and motioned for them to do the same. The mithral is perfectly polished, and King Melair’s likeness is carved so perfectly they almost believed he lay there on a bier only lightly coated in metal. 

A shimmering effect briefly clouded the glinting metal and the ephemeral figure of King Melair stood before them. Bandaerl bowed deeply, the king less so. The specter turned to the party and smiled.

“You are the valiants who helped protect the legacy of the Melairkyn. Were you not worthy, Dumathoin and our everloyal Bandaerl would not have brought you here. You have our thanks. You stand as friend and ally to me and my clan. Would any of you wish to become one of the clan Melairkyn?"

"Uh, ok!" said Nyvan, and he was quickly joined by Nandrin. Rodin and Venmir kept quiet, the latter shaking his head gently.

Melair smiled broadly and asked Nyvan to remove his armor, disarm, and kneel. 

“May Dumathoin always smile on you, for you return life to my clan. May Clangeddin always guard your back, for your service in battle does us proud. And may Moradin always gift you with good dwarf-sense and fierce dwarf-strength. Rise, and be known as Melairkyn!” 

During the king’s litany, the Nyvan was engulfed in a shaft of light and swiftly transformed into a dwarf, with soft golden silky hair, and a beard as soft as sunlight, prime for braiding. Rodin looked on, amazed. The others looked on, aghast. Nyvan leapt into the air, cheering and whooping.

"Now it's your turn!" said King Melair, looking at Nandrin.

"Erm...I've changed my mind, your highness. With Nyvan at the helm, I'm sure your clan will thrive!"

"Very well, elf." intoned King Melair.

"Nyvan Melairkyn, rise and give greeting to your King. I think it only fair you are suitably attired for your role as the new lord and leader of Clan Melair." and he waved a hand, and Nyvan found himself clothed in a fine mithril shirt. He picked up his sword and shield, and hefted them in his now more powerful grip.


The king turned to Rodin.


"And what manner of dwarf are you?" he asked, puzzled at Rodin's hairstyles.


"Well, I'm not a fucking city dwarf..." he mumbled in reply.


"Sorry, I missed that? Anyway. Your hair is not becoming a true son of Moradin. I will help where I can." and waved his hand in fron of Rodin's half-bearded face and head. With remarkable speed, Rodin found himself in possession of a full head of hair and a massive bushy beard - on both sides of his face. A tear rolled down his grizzled dwarven face and he bowed in gratitude.


"And now I must return. Remember, my child, the importance of your role in the return of my clan!" as he stared into Nyvan's eyes.

"For Clan Melairkyn, my king." said Nyvan, as the King faded away. The others stood around, amazed that Nandrin hadn't asked for any magical items.

"Follow me!" said Bandaerl and he lead them back up the lift. "You can come to my home and I will give you the next key."

They walked into the passageway, Nyvan hanging back in order to surprise Sigurd.

Sigurd looked somewhat furious as the others walked out. Nyvan strutted out last.

"Where is Nyvan, and what is that beast with the beautiful golden hair like an angel?" asked Sigurd.

"It's me!" shouted Nyvan. "I am now a dwarf, and the Lord of Clan Melairkyn!"

"Excellent. One less elf." said Sigurd, as he walked off.

Nyvan stood for a while, posing, before he followed the others through the doorway.

-----------------------------------

They followed Bandaerl back to his cavern home, where he gave them the key. He directed them to Johanna for the last key. He appeared somewhat sad as he sent the adventurer's forth, but they never noticed.

Johanna was waiting in her library. 

"Oh hello, boys. What have you been up to?" she asked.

When they explained they were there for the key, she immediately burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably. They all stood around, looking uncomfortable. A few minutes later, the sobbing continued unabated and eventually Sigurd put an awkward hand on her shoulder. 

"There, there." he patted her gently.

A little while later, she stopped crying and explained.

"Bandaerl has been my only companion and friend for the last 20 years. He is as sweet a dwarf as anyone could be. Well, for a lich." Sigurd gulped as he remembered how close he had been to tripping up the old fool after his humiliation outside the tomb.

"He had lived for 600 years, and he was waiting for the new son of Melairkyn to arrive. And once he had, " she said, looking at Nyvan, "then his time on this plane was over. He's dead now...." she burst into tears again.

After some time of rather weak consolation, the party convinced Johanna to accompany them, and to act as a recorder of Nyvan Melairkyn's chronicles, as he sought to rebuild the clan.

She gave them the key and they headed for the key chamber. 

The massive metal door opened before them as they inserted the keys. Behind it was a corridor leading off into the darkness...

-----------------------------

They found a series of corridors and portcullises before they opened up into the prison itself. One of the doors from the main room had a light underneath it. The characters burst through the doorway and found themselves in a prisoner's room. Behind a cage on the far side sat a man in a loincloth. His hair was long and he had a scraggly beard. His clothes born the runes of Sune, the goddess of Beauty, and his shield hung on the bars in front of him. The room stank of garlic, and bulbs of it hung from the bars.

“Quickly, someone grant me the courtesy of a dagger, and the rest of you go keep watch that the huntress does not trap us all here!” he cried.

"What? Who are you?" asked Sigurd.

"We don't have time for that! Give me a dagger. Now! Please! And keep watch - she'll be back!"

Venmir went and watched the doorway. Nandrin stepped forward and offered the man a dagger before Sigurd could stop him - and he tried. The man grabbed the dagger and started to trim away his beard and cut at his hair. The party were surprisingly patient and waited nearly an hour for the man to finish his job. By that time, he was clean-shaven and ready to talk.

He explained how he had been travelling the Undermountain to hone his skills and find some ugly monsters to smash, when he had been captured by a drow he knew onlu as the Huntress. He'd been stuck in the cave for months - and he wasn't sure she wasn't a vampire, so he kept the garlic there, just in case. The party offered to take him with, but he decided to stay in the cage. 

"Safer!" he said.

The party headed off in the direction suggested by the priest.

They found themselves in a long corridor. At the end was a landing, and atop the landing was an older man in black robes. He wore a black skullcap, carried a staff with a small skull mounted on it, and magic swirled about his fingertips as he started to cast a spell. The party ran down the hall, and Venmir's arrows arced across the corridor - slicing through an illusion! the party grumbled, and carried on their way after the mage disappeared.

Rounding the corner, they faced another corridor over 100 foot long. Another torch guttered weakly by the small set of stairs at the end of this corridor, and it lit the face and form of a different wizard! The blue-robed young woman had floorlength red hair, many rings on each hand, and she carried a jet-black quarterstaff in her hands. “So, my illusion didn’t warn you away, did it? Well, perhaps this will!” She raised her arms, held the staff high, and her voice lowered in incantation. They charged forward again, and once more were annoyed to find it was nothing but an illusion. They carried on.

As they rounded another corner, they saw another long corridor, with a huge hellhound standing atop the now-familiar small set of stairs. It roared and began stalking down the stairs to satisfy its hunger on the party!

"Ignore it!" shouted Sigurd, before charging forward, just in case. Rodin and Nyvan held back. Venmir and Nandrin prepared magics, but before they could do anything, the beast ran forward and spewed flames all over Sigurd, who disappeared from view for those behind him. Rodin and Nyvan got a fright, then charged forward. They arrived to find Sigurd singed and angry.

The beast was huge and it's claws and teeth slashed across the melee heroes, and they fought bravely - yet Nyvan was somewhat puzzled when one of his spells didn't work. After several seconds of furious combat, the creature reared back and breathed fire across them all. When the flames cleared, Sigurd and Nyvan lay on the floor. Rodin, Venmir and Nandrin piled the rest of their power into attacking the beast, and laid it low, just as both Sigurd and Nyvan were bathed in a soft glow of white light, and then they stood to their feet, almost unwounded.

There was a brief discussion about what had happened, but they couldn't work it out. They decided to carry on regardless. First, Nyvan started one of his legendary pep-talks, to encourage his companions to greater feats of strength in the name of heroism. He was mostly ignored (and due to all the smart-arse comments, no-one was allowed to take any bonuses from his use of paladin power!)

The next doorway lead to a huge room, and in it was a handful of ogres, guarding to huge cages in which were two large humanoids - but clearly children. They had found the cloud giant's children!

On the other side of the room stood a female drow hunter. She smiled as she languidly lifted her bow and notched a black-feathered arrow. The ogres charged the heroes.

Nyvan went for the Huntress. Rodin and Sigurd charged the ogre who was poking the children with a stick through the bars, while the rest of the ogres split up and attacked all the heroes bar Venmir. by the time Nyvan reached the Huntress, she had already slammed arrows into Venmir and Rodin. She dropped her bow and pulled out two wicked shortswords and smiled. Nyvan grinned his new dwarven grin and swung his blade - but his grin faded when his request for assistance from Corellian Larethian fell on deaf ears, and his paladin powers failed (someone suggested he pray to Moradin, Floradin and Boradin).

The ogres were tougher than they thought, leaving Nyvan facing the drow alone for several moments. While Nyvan had initially been confident, he found the drow to be a slippery opponent, not only moving between his sword-blows like a ghost, but also slamming her shortswords into him almost at will. 

An ogre fell. Rodin turned his attention on the locks on the cages, while the others watched him on confusion. Rodin shrugged, and spent several seconds hitting the locks while his compnaions fought the bad guys. When the locks were broken, he shouted, "Fight for your freedom!" but the giants ignored him and stayed in the cells. 

 He eventually turned, and the others were fighting the ogres still, apart from Nyvan, who had succumbed to the whirling blades of the drow and lay on the floor. Venmir and Nandrin sent their strongest magics at her, and she fled, leaving only a couple of ogres to fight the party. They were quickly dispatched - and the heroes stepped back - as Nyvan once more was bathed in a glow, then clambered unsteadily to his feet. He glanced down at his chest, then looked up at his companions, and smiled.

"You can't keep a good dwarf down!" (this was the DM's line!)

(RoT-9) It breathes lightning...

It fucking what?!

After finding their way down into the Undermountain, the heroes fought their way past a  myriad of creatures, even some servants of the mad mage Halaster, the party passed through Dumathoin's temple and took advice from the dwarven deity himself (which they took surprisingly calmly) and then met Johanna, a human wizard, who acts as some sort of chronicler for the Melairkyn dwarves.

Starring, in order they sit around the table:

Rodin Halfbeard, (played by Lorne) the dwarven axeman, and trend-setting city dwarf.
Venmir, (played by Brett) an elven clergyman, and new found man of empathy.
Nyvan, (played by Jason) an elven knight, sick of having his kills stolen.

Sigurd, (played by Iain) a travelling swordsman (absent this evening).

Nandrin the Naughty, (played by Hilton), the elven mage, and inadvertent doomer of them all.

and The DM, (played by Alex), who loves to comment in blue. And writes this blog. He's also a bit of a git and likes to make life difficult for his players.

Once more down to four (it's holiday season!) the party are ready to delve further into Undermountain. Having met the representation of a god hasn't phased our heroes - so I wonder what will....oh yes, I know what to give them!

The heroes stood in the forge of the god Dumathoin, having collected the prizes he left for them. They checked their hastily scrawled maps of the area. They crossed the corridor to check the room opposite. 

Inside was a bed, a large mirror, an altar and dwarven-sized golden throne. The party spent quite some time deciding what to do - and despite Nandrin's repeated attempts to get Rodin to sit on the throne, he refused. Rodin felt that their agreement not to do anything inappropriate included sitting on thrones. Nandrin's morales, as ever, were somewhat more fluid.

They checked both rooms leading from this one. One was a closet of some sort, which Nandrin felt strangely attracted to. There was a series of chests, which they decided to leave alone, after several more minutes of intense debate.

They headed north, past the library and found their way to a shrine. In front of the altar were 8 kneeling pads. One of them was well-used and clean, the others dusty. Nandrin found two small silver amulets underneath. They represented old gods, from before the Time of Troubles. In the priory next door, they found a chest - and in it was clothing, the sort of which would be suitable for a priest, or supplicant. Johanna, who must have been following unseen, expressed amazement - the chest had been empty for the entire time she had been down here - and now it was full of clothes, candles, a crystal ball and various other implements for the worship of Dumathoin. As ever, the party were suitably unimpressed.

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" asked the mage.

"We're looking for children!" announced Rodin.

"Err...."

"He means babies. We're looking for babies." interrupted Venmir.

"That makes it so much clearer." replied Johanna. 

"No! Giant babies." said Nandrin, seeing where this was going.

Johanna took a step back.

"Madam," said Nyvan, "we are on a quest to save some Cloud Giant children that were kidnapped. The search has lead us here."

"Ah, right. That seems markedly less weird."

In the end, however, they decided to question Johanna further. Only this time, they went into more details. She explained how she had been an adventurer like them - and at the start of the adventures, her and her party of 8 had fallen through a portal, finding themselves in the Undermountain. She was the last alive - and to the heroes' surprise, they heard she had journeyed here as a teenager - and she was clearly middle-aged. As they spoke about history, they realised she was around 40 years old - meaning she had been down here for more than twenty years. She seemed nonplussed, but the heroes were somewhat aghast (well the players were - the PCs are all long-lived!).

"Do you know where the children might be?"

"There is an old prison on this level. I was kept in it many years ago when my companions and I were caught by the drow. Sadly, the door to exit the prison is one-way only, unless you have the three keys - and I know not where they are to found." and she confirmed that the door to the prison was where they had first appeared in the Undermountain.

They decided to move back towards where they had entered the temple. They found a large set of double-doors, leading to some sort of trophy room, or museum. It was filled to the brim with statues and displays, the light from never-ending torches on the walls glinting from suits of armour so beautiful that Rodin was almost reduced to tears. They somehow managed to control their greed and refrained from taking any of the weapons or armour-pieces that surrounded them. 

They moved further into the dungeon.

They walked down a wide set of stairs - and at the bottom found an octagonal room with portcullis across three of the walls. There was one door. The portcullis to the south had been smashed outwards - as if by magic, or some massive beast - and the other two were shut. As ever, the party decided that the most appropriate path would be to follow the one which didn't involve magic or massive beasts. They found a room which at first puzzled them greatly. Eventually, after taking a swig of embalming fluid from a bottle, Rodin realised they were in a preparation room for the dead. 

That left them with only one way further.

They stepped through the ruined portcullis. Behind it was a long set of stairs. Only a few steps down were the dead bodies of a number of dwarves....no, no dwarves, grey dwarves. Duergar. Rodin took a moment to explain their origin to Nandrin, who had never heard of them before. He didn't seem too concerned. The bodies had been burnt and had deep slashes through their armour and bodies. The party continued, whistling cheerfully in the darkness.

They approached the bottom of the steps - and then a beast moved out into the light below them. Easily 25 foot long, not including it's tail, it was like a dragon, only it had eight stubby legs, and a long prehensile tail which it flipped from one side to another. It glared up at the party hungrily and Rodin and Nyvan charged down the stairs to attack it. 

It opened its mouth and a sheet of lightning leapt forth. It was a behir!

"It fucking what?!" cried out Rodin, as the lightning slammed into him, pushing back into the steps. Nyvan stumbled.

"Errr... maybe this wasn't such a good idea, fellas!" exclaimed the elven paladin. 

Venmir and Nandrin, hanging back, didn't seem so concerned. They fired arrow and magic respectively, but the creature charged up the stairs without a worry, biting and slashing at Rodin and Nyvan, who both suffered grievous wounds. Nyvan had the creature's tail wrap around him, lifting him into the air as he stabbed and slashed at it. Rodin chopped at it's torso, and the others sent arrow after arrow, and magics unbound, through the air. The creature continued it's assault, and lifted Nyvan towards it's huge maw. Nyvan struggled furiously, but it was to no avail. He was lifted inexorably towards the foot long teeth which ground against one another, inches from his face, when Rodin let out a mighty roar and slammed his axe once, then again, into the creature's chest - and with a mighty wrench, dragged the blade out, bringing with it a large chunk of the behir's heart. Nyvan dropped to his feet and casually sheathed his blade.

The party continued forward.

They found themselves in another octagonal room - there were doors in every wall. On the far side, a grey dwarf stood in a doorway. He laughed at the heroes.

"You're too late! The treasure is ours! Hahaha!" he laughed as he ducked through the doorway and slammed it behind him.

The party looked on, dismayed at being locked out.

"I wouldn't worry too much." said a voice behind them.

They all leapt into the air. Johanna stood behind them.

"Sorry," she said, "but I heard your battle with the beast back there, and thought I should come and check on you."

"Why shouldn't we worry?" asked Venmir.

"This is the way to the Tomb of the King. There are, however, a series of fake tombs, which are nothing but traps. He has gone the wrong way." explained the mage. She pointed off to one side. "That leads to the tomb."

"Excellent news!" said Venmir, and they walked through the door on the left, chuckling at the duergar heading for his doom. Unknowingly. 

Behind the door was a pile of broken and dead ogre bodies - only recently dead. Behind the stack of dead was a long corridor, with a mix of blue and white tiles, each five foot wide. Spread out along the corridor were a series of ogre bodies, pierced in multiple places, one of them was even pinned against the wall by a great spear.

After several minutes of testing, checking and even being stabbed by a huge spear, the heroes found themselves at the far end of the corridor, somewhat relieved.

The door at the end of the corridor was smashed open. Behind it was room decorated with murals showing King Melair finding Mount Melairbode (now Mount Waterdeep), digging for gems or fighting duergar. A secret door lay open against the far wall, propped open against the body of another ogre. It lay across the remains of a large gold dwarven statue, shattered. Another six ogres, together with a hill giant all lay around the room, along with another destroyed statue.

They stepped gingerly through the door way, to find another passageway which had a tiled floor like the passageway before, except this one turned away at a difficult to decipher angle. They picked their way along the floor, finding the path easy by the series of dead bodies on the floor - all slashed away at waist height to a dwarf. The passageway had ogres, hill giants, ettins and, after several hundred feet, a young white dragon which had been decapitated. The party stopped and looked ahead in despair.

The last thirty feet of the corridor was clear.


Nandrin had a plan. Using his magic, he flew across to the door opposite and put a rope through the ring-pull on the door. and flew back with the rope. This end of the rope they attached to the dragon's head, and then they dragged it across the floor, watching as blades flung themselves out of the walls and floor, and after about 20 feet, they smashed the skull to pieces and destroyed the rope. 

Rodin and Nyvan were both convinced they knew the way across the hallways safely. the other two were not sure (secret rolls for the win!).

"I bow to the superior knowledge of Nyvan!" said Rodin (in a stunning display of self-preservation and power-gaming - for which he lost the use of his inspiration token - one of our house rules).

Nyvan tucked his shield under his groin, to protect his elven jewels, and waddled as fast as he could across the corridor. To his, and everyone else's, surprise, he was unharmed and the others followed him through.

The room beyond was huge. It was a library, filled with tablets, tomes and scrolls. There was multiple levels, and each was filled with knowledge. It was, however, being destroyed. A frost giant stood across the other side of the room, pulling down the tablets and scrolls, smashing them on the ground. They could hear another voice, but could not see any other from where they were. After briefly formulating a plan, Nyvan and Rodin ran around the side of the room, hidden by one of the upper levels. Rodin, however, lacked subtlety, and he tripped over a book, making more noise than he should have. the giant spun around, and battle was joined. From across the room, Venmir and Nandrin sent magics and arrows, but after watching the giant trade blows with their companions, they were dismayed to see a hill giant drop down in front of them, only yards away. The creature smashed at them with his club.

Fortunately, the giants were both injured from the trip through the trap tunnel, and the combat was fairly swift. Much to the disgust of the fighter and paladin, before they could get back to the casters to save them. There was a fair bit of gloating and finger-pointing. 

They quickly checked the room. There were no other exits.

What next?

(CoC-2) The Sanatorium

After running for what seemed like an eternity, the investigators eventually arrived back at the cliffs overlooking the docks where they had landed nearly 24 hours earlier.  In the distance they could barely make out a plume of smoke rising from the sea.

“Is that our boat?”

It was, roughly 300 yards out to see and on fire.  The investigators hurried down to the docks to find Ebenezer’s frail body lying face down on the timber structure.  His head apparently caved in with a heavy object.

“I wonder if the missing axe from the maintenance shed did that?” they wondered.

Reginald, no stranger to dead bodies after his time in Africa, searched Ebenezer’s lifeless corpse, finding a small wooden amulet on a leather strap, which he pocketed.

They decided to head back to the mansion as the sun was setting and a thick fog seemed to be rolling in off the sea. 

It was then that they decided that the sedation of the patients was a priority and that they should also make sure all of the patients were secured safely in their own rooms.  Starting in the basement they visited the room of Allen Harding.  He was still lying on his bed where they had left him the night before.  On entering the room Mike thought he saw a figure looking into the room through the barred, basement window. 

“Look! There is someone outside!”

The investigators split in two and each pair circled around the house in different directions.  Mike and Horatio reached the outside window first and after a thorough search of the grounds found no sign of any disturbance.  Even standing back and looking at the roof Horatio saw nothing.

Suddenly, like before Mike noticed someone.  This time inside the building, at the window above Allen Harding’s room. 

“Look! There is someone inside!”

Again, the investigators ran inside to Blanche’s room.  With the same result as before, nothing.

Putting Mike’s visions down to paranoia, the group decided to carry on with their inspections of the rooms, to see if any of the patients had seen or heard anything. 

Henry Barber the Third was the only patient who’d heard anything.

“All I heard was you imbeciles storming around like children, do you mind, I’m trying to sleep!”

“Well go to sleep then!” Spat Reginald.  In obvious need of a drink.

The group where then startled to hear shrieks and screams coming from the room of Cecilia Rudolph down the hall.  Running to her room and taking a look through the hatch they could see her sitting on the ground holding her head in her hands screaming.

“It’s under the bed! Please help! It’s coming for me!”

Showing no fear Reginald and Colorado entered the room, cautiously looking under the bed they saw nothing.  Reginald even lifted the bed up, propping it against the wall, but there was nothing there.

It was then that the investigators decided to start administering sedatives to the patients. 

Blanche had finished making dinner for the patients and guests and suggested that the investigators should start serving the food to the patients in their rooms.  While Mike decided against the meal of meatloaf and potatoes, instead opting for an apple sandwich.

Reginald decided it would be good time to go and retrieve his hip-flask from Leonard Hawkins.  Checking through the hatch that Leonard was still lying on the ground where Mike had planted him earlier.  He entered the maniacs’ room.

“OK Leonard, where is my flask?” 

“Leave me alone” Whimpered Leonard

“Give me my flask now dammit!” fumed Reginald, poking at Leonard with his foot, trying to roll him over.

Suddenly without notice Leonard lashed and grabbed Reginald’s supporting leg, pulling him to the ground.

“Get off me you cur!” screamed Reginald, aiming a kick at Leonard's head, at the same time upholstering his pistol.

A brief struggle ensued, quickly ending with Reginald striking Leonard on the side of his with this firearm, causing Leonard to slink away whimpering.

“I warned you!”  Spat Reginald, searching Leonard and his room for his hip flask, without any luck.

“Bah!” he exclaimed as the others ran into the room to see what the commotion was about.

With all the excitement dying down the group decided it was time to call it a night. 

Mike, having read numerous spy novels in his spare time decided that maybe covering the main entry points of the mansion with flour might point them in the direction of whoever was carrying out these murders.

They also decided that they would all sleep in the same room, keeping a guard at 2 hour intervals.  It was an uneventful, if nerve wracking night, the weather outside doing it’s best to add to the atmosphere.

DAY 3

On waking, the investigators decided to go and see if Mike’s plan had been successful. 

They quickly noticed large, booted footprints leading from one of the external doors down towards the ground floor patient’s room and back again numerous times.  The group followed the footprints to the room of Cecilia Rudolph. 

Shocked to find the door standing wide open, even more shocked to find the room uninhabited.  The only things out of place, a blood stain on the wall and Reginald’s hip-flask on the floor.

“Oh” said Reginald, “That’s unfortunate. It’s empty”

Following drops of blood on the floor the investigators headed back towards the lobby where the majority of the footprints where found, almost bumping headlong into Blanche.

“Who the hell left all this flour on the floor?” She screamed. “And look, someone’s been walking through it!” 

Fearing further backlash, the investigators rushed past her and out into the rear garden of the mansion.  Following distinct footprints left in the wet grass that seemed to head towards the gravel path that circled the island.

“It looks like its heading back towards that stone table”

Fearing the worst, the investigators quickly headed towards the stone altar they had found the day before.  In the distance they could see a dark shape lying on top of the table.

“You better stay here Mike” warned Horatio.

“Don’t want you flipping out on us again” laughed Reginald.

Both Reginald and Horatio managed to keep their nerve although the site at the altar rock was a disturbing one.

Lying haphazardly strewn across the rock was the disemboweled and mutilated body of Cecilia Rudolph, her legs seemingly missing and two large seagulls feasting on what was left of her small intestine.

“What a shame” remarked Horatio, as they both walked back to their companions, leaving the body for the wildlife to devour.

“We should start searching the woods” said Colorado, brandishing his pistol.  “Let us spread out and search each wooded area on the island.”

The group started searching the nearest forested area about 50 yards from the stone along the eastern side of the island.  After about 30 minutes or so they came across a makeshift camp among the pine trees.

“Someone has been living out here, probably our murderer” they all blurted out at once.

They decided to move to the central wooded area and start a similar search pattern there.

Before they could do that however, Colorado and Horatio noticed a large plume of black smoke rising up from the vicinity of the sanatorium.

The group all rushed back to the sanatorium expecting to find the building ablaze.  Instead it seemed it was the maintenance shed that was burning and the flames seemed to be spreading to the generator shed.

“With all that fuel in there I was expecting a larger explosion” thought Colorado Smith out loud.

He was not to be disappointed as a massive ball of flame exploded into the air as the generator succumbed to the flames.

“Ah there we go”

Looking around the immediate area the investigators noticed what seemed to be wheelchair tracks heading into the now flame-engulfed maintenance shed. They quickly ran back inside the building and came face to face with Blanche who was just heading outside to see that the commotion was.

“What the heck have you boys gone and done now?”

“Have you seen anyone come through here Blanche?” countered Reginald.

“Just the Colonel and Charles”

“Who the hell is Charles?” queried the group in unison.

“You know, Charles, the orderly who looks after us?  Big, friendly, giant of a man.  He usually takes the Colonel out for a walk if the weather is permitting”

“He has a room in the basement”

Searching the room the investigators didn’t find anything of interest, just a wardrobe full of clothes that they obviously missed on their first search of the mansion.

The investigators decided to start questioning the other patients in the basement to see what they could find out about this mysterious Charles.

They started with the cross dressing Henry Barber.  All four standing around the hatch on his door, Reginald started the questioning.

“Where is Charles?” he began.

“I’m not telling you” was the reply.

“Look, we’re all trying to be civil here” piped up Horatio.

“OK, I’ll tell the handsome one” replied Barber

“Go on then” said Reginald, moving closer to the hatch.

“Not you pointdexter” spat Barber “The rugged one”

“Oh, OK then” mutter Mike stepping forward sheepishly.

“Not you either, you fucking meathead!” Barber’s husky voice belying his feminine garb.

“Him”

Colorado’s eyes dropped when he realised Henry Barber was staring directly at him.

“I’ll tell him anything he wants to know.  Come closer, I won’t bite”

Colorado edged millimetres closer to the door while his companions backed off.

“Come on, come closer”

Urged by his comrades, Colorado moved closer to the hatch until he could feel Henry’s warm breath on his cheek.

“Wh...wh...where is Charles?” he stammered.

“Right here you cunt!” and with that Henry rammed a previously concealed blade between the bars in the hatch, catching Colorado on the side of his face and neck leaving a gaping wound. 

Grasping his face Colorado fell to his knees as Henry tried feebly to lash out through the bars with his knife, dropping it outside the cell in the process.

Mike quickly moved to slam the hatch shut, seconds later, the door trembled on its hinges as Henry Barber threw all his weight against it, hammering on it like a madman.  Then, as quickly as it had started, the banging ended abruptly with a muffled thud.

Looking back through the hatch Reginald could see that Henry must have tried to ram the door with his head, leaving himself unconscious with a wicked gash across his forehead.

Mike offered to suture Colorado’s wound, an offer kindly refused when it was pointed out that Mike’s hands had not stopped shaking since he first found Nurse Ames’ body almost two days prior.

The investigators then realised that they needed to regroup and try come to a conclusion about what was happening around them.  They remembered that there was still a safe in the office upstairs that they had not been able to crack yet.  And there was also mention of a manuscript in some notes they had found on Dr Brewer’s desk that might be able to shed some light on proceedings.

The investigators turned Dr Brewer’s room and office upside down and it was under one of the drawers in his dresser that Mike found the combination to the safe.  The group quickly opened Brewer’s safe and inside it they found the Castro Manuscript and some of the doctor’s notes on both Harding and Darlene.

The manuscript told the story of “The Ones Who Wait” otherworldly creations, who in the times of the Pharaohs had threatened to end the existence of all leaving beings on the planet. 

These plans where thwarted though by a High Priestess of Bast named Annephis.  Who, with the use of spells, magical wards and tokens had driven the abominations into the Nile, destroying them.

Dr Brewer’s notes mentioned that sometimes Darlene, in her hypnotic state would channel Annephis and show signs of possibly even being a reincarnation of the Priestess. 

Allen Harding’s notes portrayed him as a deranged alcoholic and drug abuser who at times under hypnotherapy would describe large, unbelievable creatures that could destroy humanity if left to gain strength unhindered.

Using these notes, the investigators decided the next course of action would be to try and contact Annephis through Darlene.  The notes giving exact details of the sedatives and drugs required to bring on a hypnotic state.

The group found Darlene in the dining room, quickly administering the concoction they waited for any kind of change in her demeanour.  After a few minutes of discussion they realised Darlene had at least two other personalities.  One, a mild mannered woman who couldn’t remember why she was in the sanatorium. The other, an overbearing, upper class, trophy wife from New York.

Feeling that they weren’t getting anywhere Horatio mentioned the name Annephis.  Suddenly as if a switch had been flicked Darlene’s demeanour changed.  Gone was the snobbery, replaced with a strong, emotionless visage, eyes darkening, a slight gleam in her eyes.

She turned to face Reginald.  “You! You are warded are you not?” her accent unrecognisable.  “Show it to me”

Reginald withdrew the small wooden charm he had removed from Ebenezer’s body holding it out to Darlene.

“You are all in great danger, The Ones Who Wait are near and they mean to destroy everything.  That fool Harding meddled with things he didn’t understand.  You will need to act quickly if you wish for your civilization to survive.”

The group looked at each other alarmed.

“What do you we have to do?  How can we stop this thing” asked Reginald, the amulet gripped tightly in his hand.

“The beast’s power is great, it has received many sacrifices, and soon it will be powerful enough to leave this island.  You must burn it.  There is no other way!”  Darlene’s eyes closed and she slumped back in her chair, her face drained of colour.

The group quickly decided to round up all of the flammable material they could get their hands on.  Colorado and Mike went to the kitchen and started gathering up all of the gas lamps they could carry.  Horatio and Reginald searched the laundry room for any flammable clothing or linen.

While searching the laundry, Reginald thought he heard a noise behind him.  Turning, he came face to face with a terrible sight.

Standing the in the doorway to the laundry was Charles Johnson, at over six foot tall and brandishing a large bloodied woodsman’s axe the former orderly resembled something from a nightmare.  His previously white coat streaked with blood and dirt, his eyes bloodshot and lifeless.

Without a sound, he lunged at Reginald, intent on hammering him with the handle of the axe.  Instead, he tripped over the outstretched legs of the maid Melba only just managing to keep his feet.  With a yell, Reginald rolled back on his heels, drawing his service pistol in one swift movement.

Alarmed by the yell, Horatio turned in time to see the mountainous form of Charles Johnson stumbling off balance towards him.  In a flash, he un-holstered his pistol and fired a round straight into Johnson’s chest.  A shot that would have ended any normal man didn’t even seem to faze the deranged maniac.

Lurching forward Johnson rammed the shaft of the axe straight into the jaw of the former air force ace, knocking him off his feet onto his back, causing Horatio to nearly bite through his own tongue, as he felt two of his teeth dislodge in his mouth.

Reginald, quick to recover, fired his pistol at point blank range into the side of the marauding maniac.  Astounded to find a shot, which obviously punctured his targets lung and exited through his ribcage having no effect at all.

Without flinching Charles Johnson wrapped his massive hands around the neck of the fallen Scotsman with such pressure that the blood vessels in Horatio’s eyes started to burst.

Colorado, alerted by the gunfire and sounds of struggle ran through the foyer, and down the corridor could see enough of the melee to warrant firing a shot from his trusty .45 at the exposed back of the maniac currently wringing the life out of his friend. 

The round, narrowly missing Horatio’s flailing leg, slammed into the back of its intended target, just as Reginald calmly pressed the barrel of his pistol to the side of Charles Johnson’s head, blowing the lunatics brains out all over the laundry floor.

The maniac’s 300 pound body slumping on top of the stricken Horatio.

“Gif this fuffen thing offo me” he spluttered through broken teeth.

“OKAY, OKAY, calm down” replied Reginald, struggling to role the obliterated corpse off of his companion.

“Let’s get moving, we are running out of daylight” shouted Mike from down the corridor, he had stopped during all the commotion to light a gas lamp.

The group quickly gathered up all of the gas lamps and flammable material and headed towards the lighthouse.  The sun was setting when they arrived and they quickly set about soaking towels and clothing in the oil from the lamps.  Spreading the oil soaked rags around the base of the wooden support pillars on the ground floor of the lighthouse.

It was then that the closed trapdoor at the back of the room burst downwards under the pressure of the large, roiling mass that was now pouring through it. 

Of all the investigators it was Reginald who reacted the quickest to the shape slowing filling the room.  Lighting a match, he coolly flicked it towards the nearest pile of soaked rags.  Only to the entire groups dismay to find the match extinguish in mid-air landing on the ground in front of him with a very faint sizzle.

“BURN IT” was the cry.

The mass of oily, red light flecked evil surrounded Reginald, intent on destroying him like it had so many others.  But, much to the surprise of everyone it stopped in its tracks and recoiled from the wooden amulet Reginald was now wearing around his neck.

Without hesitating Horatio and Colorado lit their matches and successfully set their bundles of oil soaked rags alight.  Mike though, was still coming to grips with what he was seeing and so he hesitated.  A tendril shot out of the mass as quick as a flash and caught him on the shoulder, burning through his clothes and searing his flesh.  The blow spun him around so he was facing the exit of the lighthouse.

“RUN” he screamed as all of the investigators barrelled out of the single narrow door, narrowly missing a mini stampede.

From behind them they could hear horrible hissing, squealing and popping sounds as the flames engulfed the lighthouse.

They didn’t bother to look back and kept running until they came to the dock.  Badly beaten, burned and exhausted they slumped down onto the wooden deck. 

Around 30 minutes later, they spotted a light out in the ocean which slowly came closer.  It was the Coast Guard; they had spotted the flames from the burning shed earlier in the day and had come to investigate.

It seems “The Ones Who Wait” would have to wait a little longer.