Short crew again this adventure. Where the heck all is Ylil?!? Not a word. Just disappeared. Better bring me a souvenir from Whereversville. Or at least a really good story. Anyway, Wilson is always good company, he came along; his lumberjacking skills are not really useful in the dungeons below the city but he can hold a lantern as well as anyone.
We heard a rumor about an underground sea where a witch lives on an island who is willing to barter for magical items. Sounds sketchy to me. Anyway, that dwarf of few words came along, Gallbladder Stoneblockage, and a new friend: an elf named Everclear MistySomeThingOrOther. She was nice enough and paid her own way but clearly had never adventured below the city before, if anywhere. She was good company but tired more quickly than the rest of us and returned to the surface before we were quite done.
We ran into a small band of goblins that were, for a lack of a better term, not unfriendly. We then travelled on to the area where all the temple ruins are and inspected one we hadn’t been inside before. The best way to describe it would be to call it a temple of Hedonism. There were several statues, and some kind of motto on the wall that none of us could read, and some fountains running with funky shimmering water. Not long after discovering that, we discovered those poor gnomes! It was awful, probably the worst thing I had ever seen! Their tiny little bodies shredded and strewn about like so much dirty laundry, all done by one evil shrew. Well we dispatched of that creature, and rescued Plumperstiltskin, he was lucky to have found a place to hide from the slaughter. We helped carry those tiny gnome corpses back to Gnomelandvilletown. They were so grateful for our reverence and respect in their time of grief that they thanked us with a quite valuable garnet gem.
We left the gnomes to mourn and returned to the temple ruins. In the temple to Hedonism, in the back end of a hallway, we discovered a guarded entrance to the lower level. Going down we found a few empty, but obviously recently occupied, apartments and some barred doors, but we left when we heard what sounded like distant tribal drums and muffled grunting, although the grunting could easily have just been the dwarf, he grunts a lot.
Journal of Tod P. Quasit for February 23
Three "meat" tacos at the Wicked Drum. I thought they smelled a bit funky. So very very ill. Can't move. Going to die.
Where was Jibber when I needed him? A riverboat overnight retreat for troubled and disturbed youths with speech impediments? That sounds completely made up. Hope it was worth it. I'm leaving a note blaming him for my murder.