Sepulchre of Slop: Entanglements

Another maniacal Monday, mortals—& the Samhain adventure continues! On our noble quest to sabotage the LLM cult: Buddug Thrice-Sighted, the Ickle Puck, & myself had just discovered a passage down to a lower level, one we suspected may finally lead us to the weak & failing heart of this foul…SEPULCHRE OF SLOP.

Missed the first three installments? Find them right here!

Buddug Thrice-Sighted’s long & low belch echoed throughout the sterile cavern, as she finished the last of our rations. The Ickle Puck & I both tried to persuade her to leave some for our escape, but our humble wits combined were no match for her violent musculature & her Sword of Slaying.

“Work fast,” whispered the Puck to me.

“Escape faster,” I agreed.

We stood at a forked path, unsure of which road to take. The lower tunnels, eerier e’en than the eerie passages above, sat as rotting catacombs to the cult’s prior incarnations. We passed room after room of worthless tokens, paper coins, & piles of strange masks for something called a “Meta-Verse.”

Older, these catacombs, than the foul Sepulchre that had been built atop Buddug’s village. That meant the cult’s rot lurked long beneath their feet, before they realized how truly evil it could be. How long?, I asked myself. How deep ran the roots of this LLM cult?

Ten years? Twenty? Was this cult truly something new, or only a new expression of an older strain of villainy? Forty years hence, in this same place, a cult sprang up around junk bonds—a strange concept, wherein one’s garbage might be used as a form of credit. Eventually, chamber pots became worth their weight in gold, before it all came crashing down…a strange time, though far less devastating than this newest iteration. Nobody burnt down any villages for their junk, nobody drained entire lakes to pretend rags were jewels.

I wondered, idly, whether any of those old junk bond dealers played any role in this LLM cult…Ah-ha!

I pulled out my Pamphlet of Convenient Cantrips, scanned down the lines, & located a spell I use mainly at Renaissance faires: Locate Water Closet. It will find anything that may reasonably & intentionally serve as a restroom. I crushed a small sapphire worth less than five copper pieces, spake the magic word—Ygoddago—& waited a moment for a trail of silver sparks to guide me.

“There, down the right fork. Chamber pots lay that way,” I said, cheerfully.

Down this path, we passed smaller & smaller rooms: one of chamber pots with million-guilder bonds attached…then margarine bonds, a century old…all the way back to a room full of rotting tulip bulbs, & a small closet with a pile of Heavenly indulgences. At the end, a massive cavern, full of the strange crystals where the homunculi grew, & with an enormous skull in the centre.

“This must be it,” Buddug yipped, voice sounding dangerously close to hopeful.

"Aye, the main ritual chamber. If we ruin this room, destroy the crystals & skulls & befoul any magickal circles, we shall render this entire complex worthless.”

The Ickle Puck tossed me the sabo-satchel. “Wizard work fast.”

I nodded, knelt down, & began mixing reagents, as my compatriots examined the chamber.

Moments later, I heard shouting, & clanging, & wretched guttural moaning! Whipping about, I saw a disgusting monster, with many faces—shifting moment to moment, as if it had no fixed features, but the visages of a hundred powerful mortals all at once. Its writhing tentacles squeezed tightly around my comrades! I drew my wand—

—when Buddug Thrice-Sighted bit deeply into the tentacle gripping her hair, & the Ickle Puck began tearing into the beast’s flesh with his bare hands. Boldly, bravely, they sought to buy me time to complete our mission.

“Work faster,” I muttered to myself, steadying my hands as I filled the flask that would end these horrors…

My Samhain adventure concludes in next Monday’s missive! & ye may find all the installments right here.

Thank ye for reading, mortals! & thank ye to all the generous mortals who can & do support our works here with coin!

I shall write ye Wednesday with news of this week’s especial Samhain episode—’til then, be safe, be well, & hand me that fuse, will ye…?

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Writer, Wizard, Sabomancer