Fungal Door

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The riddle and the Door

Door and Chest unlocked

Orb of Echoes

Zerathis Responds

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Fungal Door

As Uptharr withdraws his sword from the now-motionless fungal abomination, the chamber falls eerily still, filled only with the heavy breathing of the Howlbears and the soft dripping sounds of decaying fungus. The air remains thick with spores, a choking reminder of their recent struggle.

"Awwww... where'd Big Lumpy and Big Hopper go!" Fizz exclaims, watching the Giant Toads vanish like swamp bubbles in the summer. "Oh! Right! Be right there, Ms. Azzy!" He dashes forward, quickly handing his signature Fizzy Antitoxin to Azalie and Hruna. "Now made with Zero Sugar!"

he says brightly, helping Hruna drink it down as he watches their reactions closely, prepared with a healing spell if needed.

She feels the fungal mass wrapping around her entire body. With a sickening, wet crack, the ooze collapses to the floor—dead, and already decaying. Azalie pushes off the wall, gasping for air, flailing her arms in an effort to tear the melted fungus from her body.

“Holy hell!” she yells, throwing her head back. “I NEED A BATH!”

“YUCK! YUCK! YUCK!” She freezes, feeling a warmth spread through her thigh. She knows that sensation. Looking down, she sees Fizzbum healing her. His antidotes work fast, and relief washes over her.

“Thanks, guys. I did not want to go down that way. Not a death I ever imagined.” She goes still for a moment, her thoughts turning to what kind of death might actually suit her—then she shakes it off.

Orin gently steadies Azalie with a hand on her shoulder. "Easy. You're still here," he murmurs comfortingly, then nods to Dorf and Hruna reassuringly. Muttering under his breath with mild frustration, he adds, "This would’ve gone faster if I’d ever bothered to learn fire magic. Too wild, I thought. Too messy. Maybe I was wrong."

Orin then raises his wand, whispering the Light cantrip. A gentle glow illuminates the chamber, casting pale, stark shadows along its fungal-encrusted walls. He sweeps the illumination methodically around, helping the others search for exits. Noticing Fizz nearby, he offers a respectful nod. "Your toads were well-timed. Good call." Then, quieter to himself, he adds, "Let’s not linger. This place feels like it wants a second round."

Mutt keeps his crossbow trained until satisfied the danger has truly passed, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as he sees Fizz and Dorf tending to Hruna and Azalie. He moves to assist Orin, scanning the illuminated walls with a sharp eye, careful not to disturb the still-active spores.

“Dorf,” Azalie calls softly, pointing toward Hruna, “there’s a lesser potion in her pocket.” Then she gestures to Orin, Mutt, and Fizz, "Can you check those runes? Uptharr, help me look for another way out?"

“Hey, did anyone see where I threw my dagger? I wasn’t even sure what I was stabbing.” She begins wading through the muck, searching for her weapon. When she looks up, she sees Dorf and Hruna.

Uptharr nods firmly, raising his lantern high as he moves carefully through the shadows, searching for any hidden exits. His boot catches momentarily on something submerged in fungal muck. Kneeling cautiously, he retrieves Azalie's slimy Jade dagger, holding it out to her with a slight smile.

"Azalie—your dagger, I believe. Let's be mindful of our gear; we'll need every advantage here."

"Thanks, Uptharr," Azalie breathes, wiping her dagger clean as she scans for Mellon. Seeing him safe, she murmurs quietly, "Any chance you know how to get out of here?"

She pauses, directing clearly, "Orin, Mutt, Fizz—can you check those runes? Uptharr, help me look for another way out?" She tries to communicate briefly with Mellon, "Any chance you know how to get out of here?" The bird merely tilts its head, chirping uncertainly—clearly without a useful answer.

Uptharr lifts his lantern, sweeping light methodically along the walls, alert and cautious. "If there's another way forward, we'd best find it quickly. This place will offer no quarter if we're caught unprepared."

Fizzbum, with Orin and Mutt's assistance, makes careful progress along the chamber walls. His sharp eyes quickly notice an unusual formation beneath thick fungal growth.

"Over here!" he calls excitedly, carefully clearing debris away. Beneath layers of moldy filth, the outline of a hidden wooden door emerges. Mold, slime, and twisted fungal growth cover the ancient wooden frame.

Embedded in the door is a circular opening—mold-covered and oozing, a sickly green slime spilling slowly from within. The hole is just large enough to reach inside, though the interior remains obscured. Strange fungal protrusions line the frame, and an unsettling human skull protrudes grotesquely from the mold-covered center.

"What do you suppose the hole is for?" Fizz asks nervously, carefully avoiding the drips of moldy slime.

Orin crouches beside another mass of fungal growth, clearing away debris with Mutt's assistance.

"Wait—there's something else." Beneath the decay and growth, he finds an ancient chest, covered in mold. Its lid sealed and locked with a rusted iron latch and marked with faded runes. A tarnished brass plaque bears an engraving that Orin carefully wipes clean enough to read:

"Only when you feed me that which I devour, Will I grant you that which you desire. Sharp as daggers, yet without any teeth, Feed me correctly, to see what's beneath."

Mutt leans closer, staring at the cryptic words. "Great. A creepy riddle chest," he mutters. "Just what we needed."

Door Description :

An old, mold-encrusted door, set deeply within the fungal mass, oozing green slime from a circular hole at its center. The hole is just large enough for someone to carefully insert their hand.

Mold-Encrusted Chest

Partially obscured beneath thick layers of rotting fungus and matted, slimy growth, an old chest sits silently in the corner of the room. Its once-polished surface is now warped by time, covered with blotchy patches of mold and strange symbols.

At the center of the latch, there is a small slot, no bigger than a finger, instead of a keyhole.

What do you do?

Current Time: 6:58AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Encounter

Corruption Level: Increasing rapidly

The Riddle and the Door

Azalie crouches beside the mold-covered chest, flipping open her thieves’ tools with a soft click.

“Glad I still have these,” she says, holding them up with a small smile. “So… who’s feeling lucky?” Leaning closer, her smile fades as she eyes the small, finger-sized hole in the latch suspiciously.

“I hate riddles,” she mutters softly. “And there’s no way I’m sticking my finger in that. What if it’s a mimic? Or some kind of trap?”

Dorf, standing protectively near Hruna, crosses his arms with a skeptical grunt.

“Sounds like bait to me. Only a fool sticks a finger into somethin' like that.”

Azalie nods firmly. “Exactly. Which is why we test it first.” She carefully twirls a small piece of her hair, gently inserting it into the hole. The mold around the opening shifts subtly, then puffs harmlessly, rejecting the strand.

Fizzbum briefly eyes the chest, bouncing a flame in his palm. “Only thing I can think of that a chest would eat would be rust! Or maybe disease. That devours, right?” With a shrug, he turns his attention decisively toward the slimy door. “I'll let you figger that out, friends! I’m gonna work on this door.”

Cautiously approaching the slime-covered hole, Fizz blows the flame gently inside, illuminating its slimy tunnel. The glow reveals a small lever deep inside, obscured beneath thick fungal growth. "Hey! There's a slimy lever in here!" he announces cheerfully, watching as the slime extinguishes his flame moments later.

Mutt, arms folded thoughtfully, places a steadying hand on Azalie’s shoulder. “Before we do anything hasty, let’s get some more information. I'd like to know what kind of magic we're dealing with here.”

Stepping back, he patiently begins a quiet ritual, carefully weaving arcane symbols in the air.

As Mutt chants softly, Orin turns toward the chest’s brass plaque, murmuring thoughtfully.

“‘That which I devour…’ Perhaps knowledge. A scroll? Mold certainly devours parchment—and I suppose that's sharp, in its own way.” He frowns slightly, unsure. “We also have the shards of Chardalyn—sharp but no teeth. If it feeds on corruption, perhaps that's what it desires.”

Mutt’s ritual finishes, his eyes shimmering briefly with blue magic. Scanning the room carefully, he reveals what he sees clearly to the group: “The chest radiates transmutation magic—specifically from that lock mechanism. The door has faint abjuration magic around the opening. No illusions or signs of a mimic, thankfully.”

Azalie watches Mutt, momentarily mesmerized by the soft glow around his eyes, then suddenly speaks up, thoughtful. “Don’t chests eat treasure? They hoard gold, keeping it all to themselves.” She pats her pockets lightly, then gestures toward the door. “What if someone has to stick a hand in that slimy hole, while someone else interacts with this chest?”

She frowns at the thought but still feels oddly drawn to the chest’s mysterious puzzle.

Uptharr, quiet but vigilant, raises his lantern high, carefully observing the mold and fungus-covered walls around them. “Careful, everyone. Let’s not trigger anything recklessly. These traps will offer no second chances.”

Mutt nods cautiously, summoning his translucent mage hand with a gesture. He turns to Orin and motions towards the faint runes around the door’s hole. “Orin—do you recognize any of these runes? Perhaps that could help.”

Hruna steadies herself, nodding supportively toward Azalie and Mutt. “Yer bein’ wise tae move slowly. We've seen enough surprises already.”

The Howlbears find themselves clearly facing two intertwined puzzles:

• Chest Puzzle: Something specific must go into the hole, something meaningful—likely involving treasure, a personal sacrifice, or something else they have yet to determine clearly.

• Door Puzzle: Someone must reach inside the slimy hole and pull the clearly visible lever. Abjuration magic suggests a protective mechanism—perhaps safe enough, but certainly unpleasant.

The choice is theirs, but caution hangs heavy in the air.

Decision Points Clearly Outlined for Players:

• What do you feed the chest’s puzzle?

• Who will risk reaching inside the slimy door hole to activate the hidden lever, or will you use a spell?

Current Time: 7:18AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Encounter

Corruption Level: Increasing rapidly

Door and Chest unlocked

Mutt finishes his incantation and scans the room.

"Abjuration magic protects the door. That hole on the chest is radiating Transmutation magic," he announces, folding his arms warily. He turns to Orin, gesturing towards the opening in the door. "Do you recognize any of these runes?"

As Orin inspects them, his mind reaches for knowledge, but the runes feel strangely obscure, ancient and purposefully vague. He can discern only basic elements—they seem protective, placed there to ward against corruption or unwanted entry—but their exact intent eludes him.

Azalie's brow furrows, eyeing the chest suspiciously. "Glad I still have these," she says, flipping open her thieves’ tools with a soft click. She leans in closely, studying the small hole. Her expression darkens. "I hate riddles, and there’s no way I’m sticking my finger in that."

Azalie, still fixated on the chest, mutters aloud, "What if one of us has to stick a hand in that," she points at the dripping door, "while the other sticks a finger in here?" Her voice betrays both curiosity and apprehension.

Dorf crosses his arms, looking grim. "Sounds like bait to me. Only a fool sticks a finger into something like that."

Azalie nods in agreement, then mutters thoughtfully, "Exactly. Which is why we test it first." She carefully plucks a strand of hair and places it into the hole—nothing happens.

Fizzbum strokes his beard thoughtfully, turning his attention to the strange door. "Only thing I can think of that a chest would eat would be rust! Or maybe a disease," he suggests. "I'll let you figger that out, friends! I'm gonna work on this door!"

Fizz strokes his mustache and beard to clear the spores as he studies the hole in the door, trying to memorize exactly where the lever was inside. Coming up with an idea, Fizz fishes the thorny vine out of pocket and begins to talk to it. "I think we might just be able to do this Spike! You think maybe you can get a grip on that lever and give it a tug for me?" Quietly gazing at the vine for a minute, Fizz finally seems to get the answer he likes, and with a fierce nod of determination. "All right Spike! Let's do this!"

Fizz hums a gentle tune to the vine, and it quickly becomes a ropy tendril that creeps into the hole in the door. Setting down the now heavy end of the vine, Fizz peers after it, guides it to the lever, and once it wraps it securely, commands the vine to give it a gentle tug.

(Cantrip Thorn Whip)

Spike, the thorny vine, slithers expertly into the slimy opening, guided by Fizz’s encouragement. It grips the lever firmly, coils around it, and tugs sharply. A satisfying click echoes from inside the door, followed by a heavy groan of ancient stone and wood. Slowly, the door swings inward, slime dripping from its edges as it reveals the darkness of a hallway beyond. As you peer through the hallway, you can see that it appears to open into a larger chamber beyond. (Map Updated).

Mutt shakes his head vigorously, protesting, "Gods, I hate riddles. Just tell us what you want, you dumb chest!" He instinctively summons his mage hand, letting it float nearby, prepared for trouble.

Orin kneels beside the chest, contemplating aloud, "‘That which I devour…’ could mean knowledge. A scroll, maybe? This mold would devour parchment. Perhaps a shard of Chardalyn—but that might corrupt it further." His eyes flicker with uncertainty as he opens his spellbook, thumbing gently through its worn pages.

Suddenly, with a look of determination, Azalie breathes deeply, raising her left pinky finger. Before anyone can object, she boldly inserts her finger into the small, worn hole in the chest.

A tense, breathless silence grips the room. Immediately, she feels a cool pressure tighten gently around her finger, followed by a quick, sharp prick. Startled, she pulls her hand back expecting blood—but finds only a tiny, neat puncture, already fading.

A deep hum resonates within the chest, and the runes glow faintly green. With a creaking sound, the chest slowly opens.

Inside, the Howlbears see a softly glowing gemstone etched with intricate runes, pulsing rhythmically. Beside it lies a small pouch with a skull emblem, filled containing 5 rusty coins and two intact vials containing softly bubbling, faintly luminescent liquid. (TREASURE ADDED)

Azalie exhales sharply, relieved to find herself unharmed. It seems the chest only required a tiny offering—a drop of blood—to grant them its treasures.

Dorf lets out a relieved grunt, nudging Hruna gently. She nods back, impressed by Azalie’s bravery. Uptharr quietly steps forward, peering into the chest cautiously, lantern casting long, flickering shadows around the room.

Bravely done, Azalie. Let’s collect these items carefully."

Fizzbum beams proudly at Spike, gently coiling the loyal vine back into his pocket. Mutt, visibly relieved, dismisses his mage hand, giving Azalie an appreciative nod.

The way forward lies open through the slime-covered doorway, a short hallway beckoning toward a larger chamber beyond. The lingering spores and foul odor remind the group not to linger.

Decision Point:

• Who takes the items from the chest?

  • Green Gemstone

  • Skull pouch with 5 rusty coins

  • 2 potions (greater healing)

• How does the party proceed down the newly opened hallway?

• What precautions do they take before moving into the next chamber?

Current Time: 7:28AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Encounter

Corruption Level: Increasing rapidly

Orb of Echoes

She withdraws her finger and turns to Fizz, holding it up with mock solemnity. A tiny dot of blood marks the pad.

“Think it poisoned me again, Fizz?” she asks, half-joking, half-serious. She never thought such a small wound could make her stomach twist.

“Great job, team,” she says with a satisfied nod, already rummaging through the newly revealed loot. She starts tossing the items casually into the air with a grin.

“One potion for Dorf. One for Orin. And this super shiny stone…” She holds it up, inspecting the glittering surface before tossing it Fizz’s way. “That’s definitely a Fizz thing.”

She flicks a bag of coins toward Mutt. “Here, you hold onto these. Never know when we’ll find a coin-shaped slot,” she adds with a chuckle.

Then, her tone shifts—more focused, more certain. “I think we should press forward. Going back’s not an option. Who’s going first?” She narrows her eyes, already scanning the path ahead. “Let me check for traps.”

Fizz claps his hands excitedly as Azalie safely opens the chest.

"Well done Miss Azzy! Way to use your Pinky and the Brain!" he cheers, scooping up a potion to replenish his supplies.

With a cheerful hum, he cautiously makes his way toward the now-opened doorway, peeking carefully into the dimly glowing chamber ahead.

As Fizz approaches the entry,

Uptharr swiftly moves to join him, sword drawn and lantern held high.

"Careful now, my friend," he warns softly, eyes scanning the shadows with practiced vigilance. "We've seen enough nasty surprises in this cursed place already."

Fizz peers carefully into the room beyond, eyes adjusting to the faint, violet luminescence cast by the familiar runes. At the room’s center stands an ornate stone pedestal, waist-high and intricately carved with abstract, swirling designs reminiscent of countless staring eyes—a haunting tribute to the ancient Beholder who created this place. Resting atop the pedestal, a smooth, polished crystal orb reflects the soft, pulsating glow of the runes, its surface gently rippling as though touched by unseen fingers. Four shadowy pillars occupy each corner, silent sentinels guarding whatever secrets this chamber holds.

Mutt watches Azalie with quiet apprehension as she confidently distributes the treasure, catching the small pouch of coins she tosses his way. Still stunned by her successful—if impulsive—solution, he shakes his head with disbelief.

"I cannot believe that worked," he mutters, shooting her a wary but relieved glance. "Uh, nicely done, Az. Best we keep moving. I'll scout ahead."

Stepping lightly, Mutt follows closely behind Fizz, his eyes darting along the walls and floors, searching for hidden dangers. Despite his careful inspection, nothing emerges as threatening.

Azalie gestures confidently, ushering Orin, Dorf, and Hruna to follow. "I'll cover the rear,"

she says quietly, twin daggers poised and ready, her eyes trained not only on the passage ahead but above, below, and behind—alert for anything unnatural.

Dorf stays close to Hruna, nodding appreciatively as Azalie passes him the potion, tucking it carefully into his belt. Hruna, gripping her shortsword tightly, murmurs quietly,

"Just stay close, Dorf. I dinnae like the feel o' this place... these walls whisper."

Orin pauses briefly beside the chest, his spellbook still clutched tightly. He quickly pockets the offered potion, casting a final, thoughtful glance at the magical chest.

"Well played, Azalie. Bold moves sometimes pay off," he remarks with a cautious smile, before falling into step with the others.

As the entire party enters the chamber, an unsettling hush descends. Their footsteps echo unnaturally, the sound bouncing softly back at them in distorted, fragmented whispers—as if someone else is walking beside them, unseen and barely audible. The orb atop the pedestal pulses gently, as though inviting them closer.

Uptharr lifts his lantern higher, casting dim, shifting shadows across the smooth, black stone walls. He frowns deeply, his voice calm yet wary, breaking the eerie silence, "Be wary, my friends. This room holds secrets—ancient and likely dangerous. That orb… it feels like it's waiting for us."

Suddenly, the air around the pedestal shimmers faintly, coalescing into the translucent figure of an elderly Githzerai—his body robed in worn, spectral garments, his eyes calm yet piercing with otherworldly wisdom. His voice drifts softly through the chamber, gentle but firm.

"Greetings, travelers. Long have I guarded this Orb of Echoes. I am Zerathis, bound here by the will of Malefex the Infinite. Do not fear—I mean you no harm. Only those who pass the Orb's test may continue deeper into this place. Approach, if you wish to know more."

He gestures slowly toward the softly pulsing crystal orb, stepping back slightly, his ghostly form patiently awaiting the party’s response.

What do you do?

Current Time: 7:38AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Encounter

Corruption Level: Increasing rapidly

Zerathis Responds

As the Howlbears enter the chamber, the silence deepens unnaturally. Their footsteps echo faintly off the polished stone, but the sounds come back fractured, delayed—like someone else walks beside them in perfect mimicry, always a half-step behind.

At the center of the room, the Orb of Echoes pulses gently atop its pedestal, casting ripples of violet light across the walls. The ghostly figure of Zerathis waits in stillness, his form wavering like a candle flame in shadow.

Azalie halts mid-step, eyes narrowing. “A spirit?” she murmurs, uncertain. Mellon lands quietly on her shoulder, feathers ruffled, his small form tense.

“No dagger can pierce an apparition,” she mutters, and slides her blade back into its sheath. Her gaze sharpens with curiosity as she steps closer, keeping just behind Mutt and Orin.

“I have some questions,” she says, rocking her head side to side. “You said you’re bound here—was that by choice, or by force? How long have you been guarding the orb? Who—what—is Malefax, really? What makes him infinite? Does he still hold power?”

The questions come in a quick flurry, each word brushing against the stale air of the chamber. She pauses, catches herself, and chuckles softly. “Oops. Got a little excited.”

She glances at the orb, then toward the others. “What can you tell us about this Orb of… uh—what did you call it again?” She nods at Mutt. “He’s the guy you want to talk to. I’m just here for the snacks.”

Zerathis tilts his head toward her, unmoved by the barrage. When he speaks, his voice slides beneath the surface of the silence, not louder than a whisper, but carrying with it a weight of centuries.

“I am what remains of a Githzerai—once a seeker of the mind, now a shade bound by thought. I was a scholar—one who sought the inner layers of the mind. When Malefax died, I was made into memory, bound not by choice, but by his design. I do not pass. I persist.”

He gestures toward the orb, his translucent hand never quite touching it.

“Malefax was once a Beholder, yes—but also a tyrant of will. He fragmented his consciousness, seeded echoes of himself across time and thought. To be infinite, he believed, was to never end… to be remembered in function, even if destroyed in form. The Orb of Echoes is one such echo.”

Zerathis turns back to Azalie and nods faintly. “You ask if he holds power still. That is not the question to fear. The true question is whether his power holds you.”

A silence follows. Then—

“Hey,” Dorf speaks up, stepping forward beside Hruna. He crosses his arms, his eyes wary but steady. “What happens if we fail the test?”

Zerathis turns toward him slowly. “The orb tests not your strength, but your truth. If you fail…” his voice dims, “…you lose what matters. Your name. Your purpose. A bond. A memory. The test does not kill—but it may take something you cannot reclaim.”

A faint breeze curls through the chamber though no wind should exist. The orb pulses again—faintly brighter.

Uptharr steps beside Fizz, still holding his lantern high. His expression is grim, his voice low and steady.

“I do not like riddles woven in fate,” he says. “But I do know this: we are stronger as one than as any lone piece of memory. If this test is to be faced, then we do it together.”

Behind him, Orin studies the orb and the ghost with a frown. He racks his mind for anything about the name Malefax or Zerathis, or the Orb of Echoes itself—but nothing concrete surfaces. The names feel unfamiliar. Ancient. Whatever knowledge of them may have existed has long since been devoured by time. (History check: 9)

The room stills. The orb waits.

What do the Howlbears do next?

Current Time: 7:43AM

Date: Ninthday, 29, Alturiak, 1742

Temperature: 49°

Current Phase: Encounter

Corruption Level: Holding Steady

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