Lair of the Lamb session seven:

Sorry, I've got no head

[Found, scrawled on the back of a ragged map of some underground complex. Artistic and archeological value of the text questionable.]

The party crept on through the crypt,
The Temple's nooses on them slipped,
The lamb was dead, a priestess gone,
Into the pink retired blood dripped.

When suddn'ly Kurt Hammer,
he saw it like a vision:
Spake a mummied head unto him,
"Pray Correct this Juxt'position!"

Now through many rooms the party puzzled
(And for some moons as well)
Just what that word might mean
And how just they might tell

Which key to use, upon this lock
Which 'rangement of the limb-piles
Might be a neat solution
That gives them loot real simp-iles

(And also, there's a weapon
A neat machine of war
Giant crossbow, once a relic
Might just fire once more)

But afore they tried scant two layouts
(Bods assembl'd within? bods piled without?)
An ethereal clock gave out a chime
Quoth the Underworld: you're outta time

Now the Ghoulies marched in two by two
It's Gerdith! (and Melina too) Clad in plate, an awful sight
With halberds in their claws held tight

They smell their prey, they see their light
The torch in Tom's hand burning bright

They'll charge on in, give 'em all a fright
Peas'nts shan't put up much fight

Now Battie's whet their appetite
They'll dine well on the rest tonight

The Dead:

The Living:

The Sleepy:

Gwyn runs a hand over the body of the ballista. Her fingers trace engraved letters spelling out 'Conroy'.
She never got to fire one of these back in the army, though she'd watched it done. The closest she got was firing a crossbow. The principles are similar, though a crossbow is to this thing what a hound is to an ox.
Someone cares about Conroy. There are signs of wear on the ballista, but it's freshly polished, all its bolts tightened and rust-free, its spring-string healthy. Not a hint of rot. Maybe it's been kept dry, or maybe the owner has been able to make replacements, from whatever sinew they've been able to get their hands on down here - Gwyn stops running her hand over the spring-strings, trying not to think about where they might've gotten the sinew. In any case, the Ballista is taut and ready to fire, though there's only one bolt. "Little Gerdith", it's called, named in tiny letters painted in dry blood.
(She does not know that Gerdith the larger named it after herself.)

Conroy's well set-up to hit something coming through the crypt, pointing west through the doorway into the rows of sarcophagi. There's a door north, too, through which lies the unknown. But hopefully, sunlight. They know the halberdier-ghouls will return here soon enough, angry; they blocked the far door to the crypts with a sarcophagus lid that should slow down the abominations and make some noise to let them know they're coming.

Her eyes glance up as her party-mates come jogging into the room, chased by the distant booming scrape of stone on stone, hissing that They're coming, the ghouls are coming, get ready, is it ready to fire? Ok, Rubend, you stand by the door, Kurt, you stay in the middle-area with DAVOK, Tom, you're holding the torch, stand in the back with the light, get ready -

Gwyn abides the rush of hurried chaos that has intruded into her chamber. She can't speak common, and Gerdith and Conroy don't have hands to sign, but she likes to think that they understand some of her intent as she gently places the bolt into the guiding channel and wraps a finger around the trigger. Hello, Little Gerdith. Nice to meet you. Are you ready to go on an adventure?

And then, to her left, a huge dark-grey worm like a half-foot-diameter hosepipe slithers out of the wall, deforming the stone like mud.

At its tip, where a face might go, there's nothing but a small hole from which a conical light shines forth. The searchlight slides around the room before zeroing in on Tom, waggling back and forth to follow the torch in his hand. It slithers out, happening to slightly crush Lenny - who was crouching right in front of that spot on the wall - beneath its coils. It rears up, head still pointing at the torch, and pulses.

In a snap of intuition, Tom throws the torch at the worm, sending mad shadows careening across the room. Halfway through the trajectory, the worm completes its writhing dance, and the torch explodes.
Luckily, it's up in midair and the explosion is small, so it doesn't burn anyone, though the great flash of light blinds half of those present, their eyes unaccustomed to such brilliance after so long in the Then, the light of the explosion bends strangely, and flows into the worm's tip as if being inhaled.
The room is plunged into pitch darkness. Nobody can see a thing, except for the worm, which is very gently glowing.
It turns to leave, starting to sink back into the wall it came from as Lenny blindly tries to wriggle out from under it.

The clatter of metal on stone approaches. The Ghouls are coming, and they don't need light to know where you are.

The frontliners - Milo, Rubend, and some others, near the door, positioned to leave a clear line of fire for the Ballista, blink the afterimages out of their eyes.
Kurt Hammer, behind them, adjusts DAVOK on his back. He is ready to call wake his master. Gwyn squints in the dark. She's still ready to fire, but without being able to see the enemy, she knows she's little chance of a hit. She only has one shot. Marika starts blindly stumbling for the north door, seeking to save herself.

And Alec consults his Rankings of probable outcomes, adjusts them, and finds that the party's odds of survival - and his personal odds of survival - have dipped beneath a threshold. Conditions now obtain that once did not. He doesn't need to see any more (ha, ha) to know that it's time to spend vast desparate sums to survive, like a lizard shedding its tail that it may see another day.

He mentally taps into the third eye on his brow, the divine boon granted to him by the God Behind the Throne when it transformed his arm. It whispered to him, as he was Changed -just a few hours ago - in words that were not words, that he could See Anywhere, in any direction no matter how far, so long as he specified it. Once, and then nevermore. He could spy into the deepest ocean, or into a King's palace. He could see what the world looked like from the heavens, as legend says men did before the Age of Fire and madness, if he so chose. He could look upon the far face of the sun.

He spares no more thoughts for what could have been, and tells the tiny fragment of divinity in his mind to show him HERE AND NOW.
It obliges, and he Sees.

He sees the room in which they stand as if from outside, as if from Outside, from above and below and some strange angle that doesn't make sense. He sees Lenny pulling himself free of the Worm's coils as it leaves them behind; he sees Gwyn, finger on the trigger, and Tom and Marika trying to get to the north door, and Kes, still asleep, slung over Tom's shoulder, eyelids twitching; and he sees Kurt Hammer, and the great misshapen head he bears on his shoulders, and he cannot avert his eyes from the sight for he is not seeing with eyes; and he sees Milo and Rubend and Gwyn's friend all stood, weapons out, at the eastern door, shivering but holding fast even in their blindness; and some Ranking of priorities in him quakes as he sees two things that once were human bear down upon them.

The Ghouls run on all fours, Halberds squeezed under one arm. He sees them race to the doorway, racing through the doorway, rising up on two feet and hefting their halberds to strike, sees the gore on their mouths - Battie - and their dilated eyes, sees their clammy skin rich with a parody of life, sees the firing arc of the ballista, sees the lines converge, and sees himself, light streaming from his forehead, shouting

"GWYN! FIRE!!"

He sees recognition in Gerdith's eyes, and fear.

Gwyn follows orders. There is a great TWANG as catches snap loose, and in an explosion of motion the great spring-strings snap forward. The bolt hits one of the Ghouls - and, by some terrible misfortune, it does not kill her. It catches her in the side, denting her armour and hurting her badly, but she keeps coming, as does her fellow.

Their halberds flash out. Professional. Hungry. Melina's slices deep into Rubend's thigh, the heft of the polearm chipping bone. He collapses to the floor in agony, leg crippled. Gerdith swings, too, but between her dented armour and her quarry's desparate dodging, she doesn't manage more than to nick them.

Gwyn's friend pretends to be a spellcaster Casting, using the cloak and staff taken from the crypts. She pulls it off well enough, which makes the Ghouls preferentially target her. Everyone knows that the wizards cannot cast if you disable his hands.

Kurt Hammer intuits that the battle has not necessarily developed in DAVOK's favour. He doesn't think of it in such fancy terms as Alec, but he's also willing to play his cards.

"MASTER! MASTER DAVOK! WAKE UP! WE'RE IN DANGER!"

Two eyes the size of oranges open.

INTERMISSION: LANTERN WORM

LANTERN WORM
LANTERN WORM
DOESN'T MATTER HOW MUCH YOU SQUIRM

THAT'S A NICE
LIGHT YOU'VE GOT
I'LL EAT IT
THANKS A LOT

SO LOOOOOONG,
I'VE BEEN THE LANTERN WORM

END OF INTERMISSION

Alec sees DAVOK's open his eyes. He looks down at Kurt, carrying him, looks around at the Ghouls, looks -
Looks directly at Alec's Scry viewpoint, SOMEHOW -

"I SEE YOU THERE!"

Then it looks away again, at Melina, the as-of-yet unharmed ghoul.

She instantly bursts into flame. The room is lit, and she lets out a ragged scream before her throat becomes incapable of making noise. Her armour chars and blackens, its straps twisting and burning, snapping, her halberd flies from her hands, and in an instant what remains of her collapses to the floor.

Gerdith wounded, turns tail and flees, on all fours.

"WAKE ME FOR THIS SORT OF NONSENSE AGAIN", grunts DAVOK to his slave, "AND I'LL BITE YOUR BALLS OFF".

He looks at Alec's scry-sight again, and Alec cannot avert his eyes as he is not seeing with eyes; and then, with a grunt, the demon is asleep again.

The light fades from Alec's brow, and his third eye closes.

Milo was bored. The rest were spending interminable minutes trying to rearrange the body parts in the crypts. Seven sarcophagi, seven staves and cloaks and torsos and sets of arms and legs - but only four heads. What could it mean? Theories abounded, and time swam away.

Milo lit a candle and wandered ahead, and found three mummified heads in a makeshift theatre. Bearing the King, the Jester, and a prostitute, he returned.