End of the path

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Blocked by Stone

Backtrack to the first Chamber

Through the Center door

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Blocked by Stone

Orin crouches near the remains of the cloaked revenant, staring at the blackened spellbook still pulsing faintly among the ash. He doesn’t touch it. Not yet.

His eyes flick to the faint outline where the figure’s body once stood. The heat here is gone, but it lingers in his mind. The fire waiting above. The way it threatened to ignite the whole room if they had continued to cast... He glances toward the others; Fizz bent over the stone seam with hopeful curiosity, Dorf eyeing his new sword, Mutt checking for traps with his usual sharp eye. All of them burned, battered... but alive.

He brushes soot from the edge of his grimoire, the outer cover scorched where he’d raised it like a shield. The runes on the cover of the iron-bound spellbook shimmer like embers that refuse to die.

"I'd like to study this further. Understand what forces this poor creature had mastered that brought them to this end. Maybe there will be a hint as to what bound them to this place..."

He carefully wraps the tome in a tattered cloth and stows it away for inspection when they are safely away from here.

The battle-scorched chamber hangs in silence, the scent of burnt flesh and ash still thick in the air. Where the Flamebound Revenants once stood, only blackened piles of soot remain—fragile shapes already collapsing under their own weight. The only remnants of their long-forgotten duty lie among the ash: a warped but still-burning crossbow, two flame-touched swords now dormant, and a charred spellbook wrapped reverently by Orin.

The walls still bear scars of the trap. Flame vents line the stone like rows of jagged mouths. You know now: any magic here risks triggering them again.

Fizz sits quietly, fingers gently breaking off the scorched ends of his beard and eyebrows and looks around at his companions sorting the loot left behind.

"Well... that didn't go quite as I expected. I was hoping they'd just take the water and let us go!" Fizz shares a tired smile with the group, hoping there's not hard feelings for his first two spells activating the fire trap that burned them all. Looking at the swords and spellbook, Fizz is not really drawn to any of it, but he does take a pinch of the Revenant ash and adds it to his pouch of soil, closing it gently and reverently with a pat. "I hope you find peace now. We all deserve peace in the end."

Coming to a decision, and hopping to his feet, Fizz heads over to the smooth door at the end of the room.

Fizz fiddles with the edges of his burned beard as he kneels near the smooth, sealed door at the southern end of the room. His fingers trace the edges, brushing for seams, latches—anything. But there’s no keyhole, no handle, no obvious means of opening it from this side. It is stone. It is final.

Mutt walks through the chamber, inspecting the piles of grey ash that were once men. He kicks the nearest pile, scattering it idly before shaking his head and looking the group over. They were battered and singed, but overall they seemed to be ok.

“Is everyone ok? Do we need to stop for a bit or are we ready to move?”

Mutt looks at the sealed stone door and frowns.

“Would it kill them to put a normal handle on doors around here?”

Mutt joins Fizz in the search, scanning the chamber for hidden switches or magical runes. His eyes are sharp. His instincts, sharper. But even he finds nothing. This isn’t a puzzle to be solved—it’s a wall to be breached or a path to be retraced.

Dorf checks on Hruna, then straps the flame-blade to his belt with a grunt. Uptharr, silent and soot-streaked, settles to a knee in the corner and begins to pray, his voice soft and low. Hruna curls beside him, her face resting near Dorf’s boot, soot still clinging to her cheek.

Azalie watches the final burden fall. She truly hopes they have found peace.

Her eyes sweep the chamber, scanning for anything useful—then a thought breaks through.

“Uh, Mutt?” She tilts her head toward him. “What’re the chances this chamber actually wants a replacement?”

The words leave her lips, and a cold shudder runs down her spine.

Her mind drifts to her favorite indulgence.

“…ah…” Steam rising, water gently lapping. A tub. An elf. A faint melody in the distance.

“…Oh, it’s Mutt. He’s playing one of my favorites…” she murmurs to Mellon, her voice soft. She doesn’t mind the bird seeing her in the tub. He doesn’t know what scars are.

Her toe emerges, swirling the water. She hums along to the tune that fills her ears. Then—a knock at the door.

Normally, she’d leap into action. But this is different. She is different now.

The door creaks open, snapping her back to reality. Scents. Warmth. Wet skin. That tingling sensation as the air shifts.

“I want to go to town.” Azalie’s voice is tight, on edge. “You want to know how I’m doing, Mutt? Well, I’m not doing great, that’s for sure.”

She paces—left, then right—her legs stiff, her upper lip even stiffer.

She spins toward Dorf and Hruna, jabbing a finger in their direction. “At least they have each other!” Her hands fly to her chest. “I need—I really need some… some… some—”

The tears come, sudden and unrestrained, like a child’s tantrum cracking through a woman’s armor.

She cries, then stiffens. Wipes snot and tears from her face with a dirty arm. A sharp inhale. A long, tired sigh.

“…Okay. I’m good. Let’s go back for a short rest.” Azalie straightens, dusts off her knees. Her expression lifts; there’s a hint of cheer.

She’s accepted her position.—for now.

Azalie stands apart, her expression unreadable until she speaks. What she shares—her story, her pain, her strange hope—settles over the party like a second warmth. The fire that took so much cannot reach her there. Not in that memory. Not in that truth.

(Not reposting Azalie's flavor post, you can read her reply for her backstory flavor in the previous blog)

And when she lies down at last, with Mellon perched nearby and her bedroll soft beneath her, the fire’s light doesn’t look so cruel anymore.

For now, the room holds.

The Party takes a short rest

You can roll hit dice if you wish to recover some HP

Fizzbum - you can recover a spell slot if you would like.

Dorf and Azalie attune to their flame blades.

Mutt attunes to his new crossbow.

Orin stows the Spellbook in his things.

The southern door remains sealed—impassable without force, magic, or ingenuity. But back the way you came, the twisting corridor returns to the main entrance hall. Whatever direction you choose, the flame vents remain... watching.

What do you do?

You can attempt to break the stone door or find a way past it, or you can return the way you came.

See map on server

Current Time: 10:41AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Exploration

Corruption Level: Rising slowly.

Backtrack to the First Chamber

The party enjoys their rest, as they tend to their burns and wounds.

Azalie watches the firelight flicker against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the Howlbears. She’s not quite sure how they ended up here tonight, only that they did. And that they’re warm. That’s more than she could say for most of her life.

She shifts, watching Dorf and Mutt pass a waterskin back and forth like it’s some prized vintage, their food laid out across a damp cloth, nearly gone. The soft sound of dripping water echoes from deeper in the cave.

For a long while, no one speaks. Then Azalie does.

“A long time ago, I was a different elf.”

Her voice is quiet, steady. Not demanding attention—simply deserving it. She begins to tell the story of a younger version of herself: a child taken, a life stolen too early. Her words paint pictures of a cold master, of escape at seventeen, of wandering without belonging. The elves never took her in. The surface world didn’t fit. She was alone—until she wasn’t.

A Drow named Briza found her. Fierce. Silent. Mysterious. Dangerous. But also, impossibly, kind.

“She gave me a bath,” Azalie says, and the words hit harder than any battle cry. It wasn’t cleansing—it was rebirth. In those quiet, ritual moments, she learned she was real. Worthy. Alive.

Briza vanished in time, but the lesson stayed. That someone who had once been reduced to nothing could reclaim her name, her body, her story.

Azalie finishes the tale with a soft smile and a glance around the fire.

“Now I have us. The Howlbears. My brothers. My confidantes. My family. And maybe… if the world’s kind, maybe something more.” She tilts her head, smiling that small, signature smile. “I hope we keep traveling together. Don’t get lost in the stone.” With that, she curls into her bedroll—her voice quieter now, just for herself. “And I could really use a bath right about now.”

The silence afterward isn’t awkward. It’s reverent.

Mutt stands in silence as Azalie relates her story of her former master and the dark days in her past. His heart aches as she relates her abduction, her suffering, her escape, and her years of loneliness. He knows that even when Azalie had Briza around, that doesn't mean she wasn't feeling desperately alone. He often felt the same way even when Hagog was taking care of and protecting him. He ached to ease Azalie's pain because he knew what it felt like. He was familiar with it. Felt it still, at times.

He slowly walks over to Azalie and places a gently hand on her should before bringing her into a comforting hug. He holds her for several moments before pulling back and placing a gentle hand on her cheek.

"Gods, Azalie. I had no idea...", Mutt struggles to find the words. Nothing he can say can take away her pain in this moment, and this charred chamber probably wasn't the best place to go through it anyhow. He looks into her eyes and smiles a warm, teasing smile. He decides to deflect and take the edge off the moment. They'll unpack all of this later. If there was a later. Mutt pauses for dramatic effect.

"…I had no idea just how old you are. I mean, had I known, I would have been giving you the senior discount ticket rate for my shows." Mutt winks playfully at the elf. "What was it like when you were younger? Did you ride dinosaurs or were horses around way back then?" Mutt steps back and claps Azalie on the side of the arm with a huge smile. "Don't worry, I'osi (grandmother). We're your family now and I have no plans to leave your side."

Azalie blinks at Mutt in stunned silence. The warmth from his hug still lingers on her skin, but his words settle like frost.

“Old?” she echoes, one brow rising slowly like the drawing of a bowstring. “Did you just call me old, Mutt?”

Her tone isn’t angry—yet—but it carries a sharp, disbelief, as if she can’t decide whether to laugh or punch him.

She steps back half a pace, crossing her arms. “For the record, 200 is barely out of adolescence for an elf. If I were half-elven like you, I might be counting gray hairs. But I’m not. I’m in my prime. Sharp ears, sharper blades. No rocking chair in sight.”

Azalie tilts her head and smirks, though her eyes are still assessing. “Besides, you were doing so well just moments ago. Touching heart, gentle hug, aching empathy… And then you went and tried to enroll me in the senior citizen’s bard club.”

Her hand grazes his shoulder in a mock-pitying pat. “It’s a good thing I like you, Mutt. Otherwise, I might have introduced you to just how fast these ancient legs can still kick ass.”

“Next time… maybe just stick to the hug.”

Mutt turns to the stone door. "Now then, how do we go about getting this thing open? Have we even checked to see if it just opens?" Mutt walks over to the stone door and tries pushing, lifting, or otherwise opening the door. The Door appears to open upward, and the mechanism likely is on the other side. Fizz, also inspecting the door looks up at Mutt,

"No handle, no latch. Nothing that even looks like a seam," he mutters, stepping back and rubbing his singed eyebrows.

Dorf tries pushing with a grunt, then shrugs. "I'm not wasting my axe on a wall. If this is a dead end, we go back."

Azalie nods firmly. “I say let’s go back the way we came.” Azalie points toward their previous entry point. “There was another passage, and hopefully there isn’t an ice chamber like this one.” She’s had enough of the cold for a lifetime.

She gets up and dusts herself off, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. Drawing attention to her age or the sting of Mutt’s words—isn’t something she’s willing to entertain.

Orin looks toward the sealed stone door. “I agree with Azalie. If there’s a way through there,” he murmurs, “it’s beyond what we’ve got the time or energy to work out. The corridor behind us had three paths. Left led here. I suggest we try the center one next and see if we can close out that loop.”

There’s a murmur of agreement—Orin quietly wraps the spellbook, Uptharr offers a prayer of thanks to Tyr, and Hruna leans on Dorf, saying nothing, but grateful to move.

Together, the Howlbears retrace their steps, weaving back through the echoing corridor where haunting whispers still linger like ghosts of memory. Fizz hums nervously as they pass through the fungal chamber, careful to avoid the slick growth along the floor. The tunnel bends again, and they find themselves at the threshold of the main chamber.

To their immense relief, the door still stands ajar—held open by a single brick they had placed there when they left.

Uptharr breathes out. “That stone just saved our lives.”

“If it had shut,” Orin adds grimly, “we’d still be trapped in that furnace.”

Before them now, the central chamber yawns open, its three strange doors still intact.

** You can reread the blog here, if you want a refresher on what happened when Uptharr originally checked each door " - Pit of Maleficience, Long rest in the ancient ruin.

• The left door: the one they just exited, still propped open.

• The center door: etched with glowing violet runes and lined with the petrified shapes of half-transformed adventurers. The air beyond is still, but something deeper moves… unseen.

• The right door: sealed once again, but they all remember the cold whispering voices that drifted from within. Sorrow. Regret. Torment.

Three doors. Two paths remain.

What will the Howlbears do?

ACTION REQUIRED: Everyone please bring Hunger and Thirst into compliance to avoid any penalties.

Hunger < 24 hours

Thirst < 12 hours

Current Time: 11:11AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Exploration

Corruption Level: Rising slowly.

Through the center door

“I hate to say it,” he mutters, “but I think you’re right. I just don’t see a way through here. Center path works.”

He shoulders his pack, pulling up a strip of cloth to cover his nose in anticipation of the fungal chamber ahead. As he passes Azalie, he places a hand on her shoulder and offers a cheeky wink.

“Come on, I’osi. Let us know if you need help getting back down the corridor, eh?”

The word lands with a little too much weight.

Azalie keeps pace beside him, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes flicker with something sharper. “I’osi,” she repeats under her breath, testing the word. It tastes of memory—and irritation.

She lifts her dagger, catching a glimpse of herself in its mirrored steel. Her reflection isn’t old. Not by elven standards. Scars, sure. But her face is fierce. Proud. Alive. Still, the sting lingers—not because it came from Dorf or Uptharr, but because it came from Mutt. Someone who should’ve known better.

She doesn’t dwell on it long.

“Mutt?” Her voice is honeyed but edged in steel. “Call me old again, and I’ll be happy to prove otherwise.”

He chuckles—barely has time to draw a breath—before she moves. In a blur of motion, Azalie spins, sweeps his legs out, and flips him hard onto his back. The sound of Mutt hitting the stone echoes off the walls with a satisfying thud.

Before he can react, Azalie is astride him, knees pinning his hips, her dagger sheathed and forgotten. Her face is close—too close. Her breath grazes his cheek. Her hair brushes his jaw.

“Mutt,” she purrs, voice like velvet wrapping around a blade, “I’m very fond of you. But I’m more fond of myself. Don’t let your youth blind your judgment.”

Her smirk dares him to respond. He can’t.

She dismounts in a single fluid motion and offers him a hand. Still dazed, he accepts—and as she pulls him up, she punctuates the moment with a sharp slap on the ass.

“Next time, you’re on top.”

And then she’s striding toward the corridor like nothing happened at all.

Behind them, Dorf and Hruna exchange wide-eyed glances. Fizzbum blinks, half a ration still sticking out of his mouth. Uptharr lets out a thunderous laugh.

“By Tyr’s beard, the poor lad’s lucky to be breathing,” the paladin booms, still chuckling as he moves to follow.

Fizz takes notice for the first time, as Azalie and Mutt exchange their banter in the chamber and down the hall. Fizz wonders how long that's been going on? and thinks back to whether or not he'd ever felt the same. There really were no gnomes in the forest where he grew up, and once his parents got to town he found there was only an occasional gnomish merchant or tinker that would visit from time to time.

His blue skin hadn't set in until he'd spent almost 5 years in the swamp, so any interest he had drawn was for his flaming red hair, and ability to do magic at such a young age. Noone took notice of a small, young druid Gnome, so he had spent more time in the swamp than in town. Once he got into the swamp, he found great contentment in the plants and animals of his new home, and he truly did not feel lonely or sad about the lack of companionship. Maybe someday, if he found a nice blond-haired gnome that liked plants as much as.....)

"Oh Look! we're back at the doors!" Fizz stops mid thought to exclaim.

Orin simply smirks and shakes his head. “Let’s try the center door,” he says, deadpan. “Only way out is through.”

The group makes their way back through the twisting passageways—fungal rot and sour air thick around them—until they emerge once again into the first chamber. The brick is still wedged where they left it, holding the left door open.

“Good call,” Uptharr mutters, retrieving the brick and planting it at the base of the center door’s track instead. “We’d have been sealed in otherwise.”

Fizz, Listening to the party's suggestion of the middle door makes sense and Fizz agrees to try that one. "I always like the middle path. It's usually so full of choices! I am a bit low on spells however, so we should either rest up a bit, or be very careful as we explore the Middledoorpathie!"

Uptharr takes the brick from the left door that the party just came through, and as he opens the center door, he places the brick in the door jam to hold this path open

The stone groans as it opens, revealing a narrow passage pulsing with violet rune light. And then—statues.

The hallway beyond is lined with petrified statues. They depict adventurers mid-charge. Creatures mid-roar. All of them frozen in terror, locked in some unseen torment.

As the Howlbears step carefully into the dark hallway beyond the center chamber, the air grows unnervingly still. Their boots echo faintly on the stone floor, which is cracked and scarred in places—most notably where faint grooves suggest something heavy has been dragged across the ground. Again and again. From both ends of the hall.

The passage is narrow, no more than ten feet wide, and lined with the haunting, silent sentinels.

The corridor ends in a fork, branching into two short hallways—one veering left, the other right. At the end of each stands a massive stone door. Both doors are nearly identical: thick, ancient slabs with no handles or hinges.

Instead, a circular crank is set into the center of each, clearly designed to be rotated along a smooth track to open the way inward.

Azalie’s smile is back, just a little. “Perfect,” she murmurs.

At the far end of the corridor, The hallway splits to the left and right.

Each ending in a stone door. Both doors look similar.

Actions:

Decide which of the two doors you want to open. Both look the same as far as having the circular crank.

Make skill checks if you wish to inspect the doors or statues more closely.

Players may now post their reactions before entering the next chamber.

Current Time: 11:26AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Exploration

Corruption Level: Rising slowly.

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