This is what was written on the wall in blood: “Their Minds Made Us Great, Their Flesh Makes Us Strong.” Following that cheerful piece of propaganda led us through the maze of crypt-chambers. We mostly avoided the beetle swarms.
Thus it was, pursued by insect hordes, we arrived at a chamber stocked with oil barrels placed atop a defensible ramp, and a band of mercenary thugs looking for a way through the maze. They were pretty surprised to see us coming out of the maze. Turns out these louts are from the Black Fist, that band of thieves that bought Portly Pete’s recipe for absolutely nothing. They were here to collect ingredients. Fortunately the recipe only called for one spellcaster’s ear (that I know of). Unfortunately, it called for the eye of a silver dragon. Somehow they were tipped off that the baby silver would be somewhere in the temple complex. Joy. Oh well, it gave the rest of the party an excuse to kill them. I just wanted to cut off their ears.
After the Fists ignite the oil and pour it down the ramp at us (both to screw us over, and defend against the chittering horde of beetles that was fast approaching), we work really hard to kill them. One of ‘em is a spellcaster (and therefore dangerous.) The others are just meat. I’m so pissed off at Fists that I sacrifice my favorite coat to cross the flaming oil. Sir Daniel slips and slops his way over the oil and eventually flash fries one of the Fists in it. Heh. Bards do it with style.
We kill a few Fists. They rise from the dead and start attacking indiscriminately. This unnerves the living Fists a bit. Me too, although not as much as them it seems. Pretty soon there’s only an idiot with a bow left. We get in his face and give him two choices: die, or tell us everything you know about the temple complex. He chose the latter. Go figure. It wasn’t really much of a bargain, but then the pitiful amount of information he was able to provide almost made it seem like we should have just offed him and gone our merry way.