The Imprisoned Cleric
escaping the cathedral of orcus

After ensuring that Mogrash was alright, the party warily searched the room for a new way out, since they surely couldn't leave the way they came.  The horrible treant abomination loomed over them in all the wicked splendor of a childs nightmare, and unwelcomely refreshed their memories of the battle the day prior.  Feeling relatively rested and not much worse for the wear, they split up to search the large cathedral room.  Xanin was adamant about the rubble around the foot of a staircase in the southwestern corner, but there was no moving it to fit past.  Stiorrie, although disgusted by the sacrilege of necromantic magic distorting the beauty of nature, was nonetheless also very intrigued by the now frozen monstrosity and spent several moments enraptured by it's hideous form.  Cruian, oblivious to her whims, spotted a mostly unobscured window and made to climb the treant to get a better hold on the ledge.  Mogrash walked over to the gigantic pipe organ, and hovered his hand above the keys for a moment. 

"You know, I bet this is a switch, or a secret door panel.  These dungeons are always filled with ridiculous ways-" Mogrash mused, and was immediately cut off by Xanin urging him not to press anything. 

"Mogrash, no!"  His warning came a second too late, as his dragon sized claw came down on the keyboard, emitting a thunderous and earthshaking C for several second.  Everyone chided him in unison, and then waited, stock still for a moment, before being relatively sure that they hadn't brought imminent doom onto themselves . . . for now.  

Mogrash wandered meekly over to the tree and watched Cruian climbing from the ground, ready to catch the old man should he lose his footing.  After carefully judging the vines that carpeted the wall of the vast room, he hopped over and quickly found purchase in the window. 

"Hey, this window leads out.  Follow my lead," he shouted down to everyone, who by this time had gathered by Stiorrie at the base of the defunct behemoth.   Stiorries eyes caught a glint of something shiny lodged deep in the center of the treants trunk, but quickly dismissed it as not worth her time and followed up the wall behind Xanin and Mogrash.  The party found themselves in a hallway overlooking the room, and in retrospect, they could now imagine what it must have once looked like, when the glory and splendor of Corellon had not yet been purged of this beautiful cathedral.  Now, underbrush and twisted dead trees huddled in every corner, barbed vines wrapped around every wall and organ, smothering the windows and nearly blocking all the light.  It was a sad sight, perhaps saddest in Stiorries heart, for she had seen naught of her beloved feywild in weeks, and this brought only bad omens for her.

The hallway snaked around itself and let out into a smallish room, about 30 feet square, with several statues and small altars whose unuse was evident.  Mogrash, ever curious, walked towards and reached out for one of the statues, but thought better of it, remembering the last time he attempted to investigate something of this nature.  As luck would have it, Cruian bested him at his own game, by making a straight line for the opposite door and finding it locked fast with a magic charm of some type.  It reacted by alarming the stone guardians at the edges of the room that Mogrash had been keen on ignoring.  

(to be completed)


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