In the Plaza

You stand in the muddy plaza looking at the entrance to the tower. Passersby avoid this space. The unfortunates whose shopfronts once faced the plaza have boarded up those entrances and have broken other doorways into alleys that do not directly open onto the accursed ground beneath the red tower.

A light rain falls on your heads. It is Obrast, the first month of mud.

What desperation drives you to consider delving into the dead wizard's tower?

Just before Zama's question, Azif's eyes fall on the ivory hilt of a long, slightly curved dagger that his smaller, somewhat crooked-bodied companion wears in a dirty white waist-sash. The blade of the dagger is unnaturally bright - Azif's knowledge of arcane lore tells him that is starmetal, precious as gold. The hilt is even more interesting: those are necromantic runes, intended to ... then Zama's voice snaps his attention away from the beautiful and far-too-expensive knife worn by the degenerate.

As Arius examines the high round arch of the door frame, standing tippy toe to do so, he feels a painful pricking in his finger tips. There is devilish power retained in the claw marks that are scratched into the red stone blocks. Perhaps a pass phrase needs to be spoken to keep that power back when entering?

Zama notes the tower is square, about twenty paces tall and about ten paces to a side. It stands surely upright, still in good repair. The windows are shuttered with red plates.

Azif sees no other footprints in the mud. The surrounding buildings are boarded shut. People truly do seem to avoid this place.

It's not possible to actually read the runes from this distance; Azif would need to hold the dagger in his hands.

As Zama plots on whom to throw before the rampaging elephant of embarrassment, she notices her principal hireling, Lothkwa, has arrived. He is a tall Azimban man of indeterminate age who is dressed in appropriate Susrahn robes and wears the brass diadem befitting a senior personal servant. He carries the traditional spear-staff for which his people are well known.

Grinning broadly, Lothkwa shakes his spear toward the group. "Good morning friends!" he exclaims, oblivious to the slowly increasing rainfall. His sandals squelch loudly in the mud as he approaches.

"ah, yes," responds Lothkwa. "The passphrase is a sequence of gestures. I hope that I recall correctly! Here, watch." and he carefully touches the door frame at seven points.

There is a faint crackling noise. Lothkwa gently manipulates the lever of the door. It opens inward into darkness.

"Lady Zama," adds the senior servant, "you were wise to avoid the mountain oysters at that questionable restaurant last night. I am glad that I heeded your words. The others did not and they are not well this morning. Regrettably they will not be joining us!"

Although it is dim due to the heavy shutters at the windows, a little damp and musty due to the rainy season, and completely bare of furnishings due to the depredations of the wastrel apprentices ... The large square high ceiling room that occupies apparently the whole ground floor of the tower does not seem dangerous.

There is a straight stone staircase descending at the middle of the floor. It is surrounded by chest high bronze banisters with a locked gate. To the right of the entrance, another stone staircase ascends along the wall to a dark opening in the ceiling about fifteen feet up. The ceiling itself is unremarkable wooden beans and the undersides of the floor boards above. There is a massive hook, above the central basement stair, where a candelabra might have dangled in the past. The room is generally dull red in color owing to the headsized stone blocks of its construction and the scuffed ochre paint on the wooden floor.

Lothkwa nods and smiles politely. He steps to the door, standing facing out into the plaza.

Orloth ascends, the torch flame scorching the stone wall. There is a slight draft on the stairs, which have no banister. Ikhtanabu liked to live dangerously maybe.

As Orloth's head reaches the opening in the floor above, the torchlight reveals to him a solid-looking door at the top of the stairs. The door is painted in an umber hue.

At the basement gate ...

... Arius cannot restrain the yelp of pain as the lock that he is examining suddenly produces a plethora of needles, which pierce his hands! It is a painful moment as he wrests his bleeding fingers free of the spikes. The lock, released from his grasp, clatters against the frame of the gate. Blood oozes down his hands.

Orloth confronts the umber door. It looks like it should swing away from the stairs. It is closed by a dulled brass lever and latch. The end of the lever that Orloth can see is shaped like a small hand with its fingers spread wide. The hand has six clawed fingers.

Azif finishes with Arius' hands. The ooze of blood is stanched and the pain fades.

Orloth hears nothing. The flickering torchlight makes it seem like the little brass hand flexes as he leans toward the door.

As the iron touches the brass, the hand twitches upward. With a small clank, the latch lifts. The door swings a few inches away from Orloth.

Downstairs, Lothkwa says "I smell deviltry above."

Indeed, an indeterminate odor of foulness wafts to the ranger through the crack of the door. The weasel chitters and squirms in its bag.

The room beyond the door has shutters at the windows, as below. The torchlight from behind and below Azif does not reveal what lies within. The odor, however, is a deathly stench. Azif gulps back against his rebellious stomach.

The stench of the room makes Orloth gag and Chancy squeals.

The torch reveals a large rectangular table, which appears to be made of pale blue glass about two inches thick. The table is a convenient height for a worktop or dining. The corners of the table are upheld byThe table occupies most of this room. At either side of the room the umber-daubed walls are close, with three doors at each side that probably lead to cells that were occupied by the apprentices. At the far end is a ladder leading up.

The torch also uncovers the source of the stench.

As Arius enters the grisly scene, the pale blue glass table flickers with an ephemeral inner glow. Instantly, a rich repast appears atop the rectangular slab of glass: a princely brunch. Eggs, both scrambled and boiled; various fruits; glistening sausages; flat bread and loaf bread. Delicious odors mingle with the stench of death.

The table sits there. When Azif bolts out the door, the plates and food just vanish.