Sacrificial and Observation Room (EL1)
The adventurers enter the cave and look around them. In front of them is
a wide open space with something on the floor. One or more of the
adventurers may step forward cautiously to peer at the floor more
closely. This is what they will see: An ancient star symbol is carved into
the stone floor and it is half-obscured by something dark and
sticky-looking. Blood. Huge amounts of blood, dried in some places, slick
and fresh in others. And against the wall are shackles from poor, pathetic
prisoners who sat chained, awaiting their fate: cult sacrifice. To the right
there are a few steps going down to several rows of benches; a theatre
for spectators to watch the gruesome acts of violence. In one corner, on
a bench, sits an old man in a robe. A cultist, murmuring to himself. He's
spent so many years in the dungeons, never seeing the light of day, and
partaking in so much human sacrifice that he's driven himself mad. He
alternates between chanting and conversation, talking to someone who
is clearly in his imagination.
The air barely stirs in this chamber of horrors. By Elizsophie
The adventurers enter the cave and look around them. In front of them is
a wide open space with something on the floor. One or more of the
adventurers may step forward cautiously to peer at the floor more
closely. This is what they will see: An ancient star symbol is carved into
the stone floor and it is half-obscured by something dark and
sticky-looking. Blood. Huge amounts of blood, dried in some places, slick
and fresh in others. And against the wall are shackles from poor, pathetic
prisoners who sat chained, awaiting their fate: cult sacrifice. To the right
there are a few steps going down to several rows of benches; a theatre
for spectators to watch the gruesome acts of violence. In one corner, on
a bench, sits an old man in a robe. A cultist, murmuring to himself. He's
spent so many years in the dungeons, never seeing the light of day, and
partaking in so much human sacrifice that he's driven himself mad. He
alternates between chanting and conversation, talking to someone who
is clearly in his imagination.
The air barely stirs in this chamber of horrors. By Elizsophie