Its all in the Cards.

As Couth pushes open the hidden door, the party steps into a chilling scene. The haunting echoes of the halted chanting linger in the air as they enter the forty-foot-square chamber. The walls, made of smooth masonry, amplify every sound, creating an eerie ambiance. Stout stone pillars rise to support the ceiling, casting long shadows that dance in the dim light. A breach in the west wall reveals a cavernous darkness piled with decay—rotten flesh, human bones, and a noxious amalgamation of garbage and putrid debris. The stench of death and decay permeates the air, adding to the palpable sense of dread that hangs over this sinister chamber.

Murky water stagnates across most of the chamber's floor, its surface reflecting the faint glimmer of torchlight. Ascending stairs lead to dry stone ledges that line the perimeter of the room, serving as silent witnesses to the grim spectacle below. At the room's center, a set of stairs rises to an octagonal dais, its elevation above the water lending it an imposing presence. Rusty chains hang from the ceiling, their shackles swaying ominously over a stone altar positioned atop the dais.

The altar itself is a macabre sight, adorned with grotesque carvings of grasping ghouls that seem to writhe in the flickering light. Its surface is marred by dried blood, a grim testament to the dark rituals that have transpired here.

Still holding the watch from the recently amputated skeleton, Briar creeps into the next space with trepidation. At the smell of the now unsealed horror, she covers her mouth and nose with her free hand and lets forth a gurgle of nausea. She looks nervously across to the central stage, half expecting to see remains of the smallest victim of this place’s corruption.

Ashtar entered the chamber, whatever misgiving he'd had for entering this cursed house now gone. This looked to be it, whatever source of evil ran this house afoul, it came from here. Eerie as it was, he wasn't certain what they needed to do here.

"Now what? We destroy the altar?"

"Where are the cultists?" Eye of the Storm asked, worried. Had they missed a chamber?

Unsure of what to do, Ashtar walked up to the portcullis, and cranked it open from this side. Just in case they needed a quick getaway.

"I can't think of anything else. I shall go examine the altar."

Taking a hint from Ashtar, Briar lifts a hand to stop him from stepping down. "Maybe we don’t disturb the water?" she suggests. "Not just yet…" Absinthe wings carry her in an arc around the alter space, drifting over the chamber at a tentative angle.

Ashtar paused in his tracks, eyeing the fairy with concern. She was so tiny, and he'd rather take any hit that came instead of having them land on her, but he trusted her and nodded.

Eye of the Storm heads to the corner, looking all around to see where the voices might come from, including the ceiling..

The water, standing at a depth of 2 feet, reflects the unsettling scene above its surface. Rising above the water are the ledges and central dais, each elevated 5 feet from the chamber floor, creating an ominous hierarchy within the room. The vaulted ceiling looms at an impressive height of 16 feet, emphasizing the grandeur of the space while casting deep shadows across the stone pillars and walls.

The chains, each measuring 8 feet in length, hang menacingly from the ceiling, their rusted links a stark contrast against the dimly lit surroundings. These chains, once used to shackle prisoners, now sway silently, bearing the weight of the chamber's grim history. The cruel practices of the cultists are evident in the purpose of these chains—to suspend victims above the altar, where they met their gruesome fate.

The stone altar itself stands as a focal point of the room's malevolence, adorned with ghastly carvings and stained with the dried remnants of blood spilled in sacrificial rituals. Atop the altar rests an ancient ritual knife, its blade imbued with the echoes of past horrors.

The room is otherwise still and dead quiet. The air is full of energy and anticipation. It is as if the room is waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the Ritual to begin...

Eyeing the alter dubiously, Alyria slowly makes her way around the room and to the place of remains and carnage to see if anything stands out before she contemplates what that dagger could mean.

Survey complete, the little fairy lands on the elevated platform on the far side of the room. She stoops for a piece of rubble, aiming to find a pebble-sized piece of anything she can use to test the water. She eyes the group with the debris lifted and poised to overhand toss it forward. Only after making eye contact and getting an affirming nod from everyone will she give the stone a toss into the water below to break the surface and see what might wake from the disturbance.

Alyria glances over the gruesome pile of gore, her face twisting in revulsion. The heap is a grotesque amalgamation of gnawed humanoid bones, torn clothing, rotten meat, and possible fecal matter, with a stench that assaults the senses. It seems to be just a large, rotten refuse pile, devoid of anything important.

A stone plunks into the water, the sound echoing eerily around the chamber. Ripples spread out across the murky surface, then slowly fade away. The party waits in tense silence, breaths held, but nothing stirs. The chamber remains oppressively quiet, the foreboding atmosphere unchanged.

The fairy shrugs and lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Okay, based on how every corridor we’ve come through lately has gone, no one can say they didn’t expect something to happen when the water got broken." She waves an indifferent hand to Ashtar, indicating he move as he sees fit. "So now what do we do?"