[written by Phil, player of Bartholomew Pettibone, who embarked on a solo expedition into the Necropolis not long since. This is his account, worth 100 xp per level to Bart]
From the Journals of Bartholomew Pettibone, of the House Pettibone
A Purveyor of Enchanting Sorcery
10 November 2021
Time Well Spent
I have had a special oar commissioned. The wood has been well aged, is strong, heavy in weight, but light in aspect. It is not a galley oar, but a smaller version – more akin to what would be used on a punt. The oar was taken to a skilled artist and I requested that it be gaily colored, with designs showing various denizens of the deep waters – ahko, gellikites, mer-people, seaweeds entwining the shaft, and numerous of the flavorful specimens of fish caught by the locals and presented as dishes fit for members of the Great Houses.
On a brisk but clear morning I laid the oar over my shoulder, exited the city through the Mourner's Gate, and made my way toward the Necropolis along the Pallbearer's Way. Along the path I was joined by one of the Poor Brothers, who made mention that he knew of Sesel and the Survivors – and wondered if I might be associated with those hearty and well-met barbarians. I acknowledged that I was indeed a good friend of Sesel's, and traveled often with the Survivors. We talked of small things and he ultimately taught me the particulars of prayers and sacrifices offered at the altars within the Necropolis. He especially noted that the oar I carried was a good omen, and that it was good too see that not everyone was abandoning the old traditions.
Near the Necropolis the fine gentleman bid me goodbye, and after I gifted him a small number of dinars as a tip for bringing me safely to my destination, he took his leave. I stood alone, in the quiet, at the entrance to the valley of death.
The cenotaph stood to my left, to the west, and it was to that maze of crypts that I made my haste. With a lantern lit, I stepped inside, and following familiar paths I made my way to a circular crypt chamber, containing a rather large altar, almost buried under a rotting hillock of numerous broken oars. I placed candles near the altar, and lit torches within several nearby sconces, providing ample light for what came next. Finding a leverage point, and murmuring prayers for my good friends Najm and Arngier (to be blessed with an abundance of tasty fish), to Sesel (that his river-boat would bring him much pleasure), to our company and the Darkwing (that it might bring us prosperity), and to Bob (that his spirit never fade), I snapped the oar in half, and placed the pieces upon the altar.
With my duties completed, I turned to the western wall of this chamber, located a door I knew to be hidden among the crypt niches, opened it, stepped into a darkened tunnel, and closed the door behind me. I must say, the crypts are quiet – and very dark. The smell of old decay, and the dust of ages, assaulted my nose. As I moved along the hallways toward my destination I placed lit torches in wall sconces, to both light my way back out (if I needed a quick escape), and to provide ambient light throughout the tunnels. I'm not sure why it is that we always tend to scrabble about in the darkness, instead of lighting more torches.
As I neared my destination I began to hear a chittering noise, growing louder, approaching my location from the direction I had been moving. Stepping farther into darker shadows, I pulled out a vial of garum and prepared to toss it down. My plan was (if necessary) to break the vial of garum on the floor in the hopes of providing a stink to cover my trail, and to run! However, as the chittering became more discernable, I recognized it as Klackon. And indeed, a small group of Klackons became visible as they approached through the lit hallway – all chittering and clicking and clacking at each other.
At an opportune moment, I stepped into the light and called out a friendly “Hello!” They answered in their idiom, but I recognized it as a normal (certainly not hostile) greeting. I mentioned that I had been down in the catacombs previously, had spoken with their leader, Z'nor, and was under the impression that their group (the M'nor) were leaving the catacombs to work with Sesel at his Iqta. This stirred up quite the excitement, and they insisted that I travel with them, back to the safety of their lair. I intended to defy their request, but thought better of it, and ultimately accompanied them. I surmised that my destination could wait, after all it wasn't going anywhere, and what harm could there be in helping further the good-will between the M'nor and the Survivors?
Unfortunately when I was presented to Z'nor, their initial reaction was that I was a crypt-thief, and it took much to convince her not to turn me over to the Poor Brothers. In fact, I mentioned that the Poor Brothers had actually been my guides to this place, and were pleased that I was here making sacrifices and paying homage to the dead – and the living. Z'nor finally believed my intentions were legitimate, and after learning that I was a compatriot of the Survivor's, I was treated to fungal treats and sour beverages. Z'nor confirmed that the M'nor were in the process of departing the Necropolis in favor of living and working among Sesel's new Iqta. She also made it clear that our recent escapades behind the Green Doors had sparked a serious anger from one known as Ta'Keon.
She explained that Ta'Keon was the master of the “tools” (the grey men of small stature), and that his ire toward us was unfathomable. She described his appearance as similar to the “tools”, yet larger – that he had a third eye, and often rode astride a large black beetle. He was likely to come before us as a friend, and he would use his masterful skills of subterfuge and manipulation to enter into our good graces, before utterly destroying us. I thanked Z'nor for her information, and promised to pass it on to my comrades. Before I made my leave, I asked for a small boon – to be allowed to cast a spell of clairvoyance upon Z'nor, so that I might be able to learn what it was like to see through the eyes of a Klackon. She agreed, after some steep haggling, and what I found was most enlightening.
After departing the M'nor, I made the long, quiet trudge back toward my destination. I had asked the M'nor to guide me safely back, but they refused, using the excuse of needing to pack. Ah well, it was better to not have them asking me more questions, or worse, deciding to stay with me to help in my “research”.
I attained my destination, a hidden tomb, without mishap, and set up torches and my lantern in such a way as to provide enough light for my work. As there was much to do, and I was unsure of how long it might take, I set up a cold-camp within this hidden tomb. Since I expected I might be here for quite some time, knowing that I was safely sequestered, and likely hidden from discovery, would be paramount. Once I was certain that I would not be disturbed, I began my “research” in earnest.
And here, my dear readers, I must end my recitation. To be clear, I spent more time than expected within the catacombs – almost two full weeks! But I have expanded my maps by a small amount, learned much concerning Hamdi (and his exploits), Altayra (his beloved), and others who have been laid to rest (and who dwell) in these dark places. My return to Bob, behind the Green Doors, was uneventful, and once there I informed my comrades about the threat of Ta'Keon. However, concerning my “research” – that remains undisclosed.
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