As the rest of the heroes settled down to rest as best they could on the cold, marble floor of the white dome, Gurthmore paced near the great, bronze door behind the throne. He stopped, hefted his greataxe, and slid the bolt back. “I'm not tired,” the mul barbarian grunted, “and I need to kill something.” The gladiator looked back at his comrades. Khossus limped and sat gingerly on a marble step, and Gurthmore noticed that a number his wounds had grown puffy and turned the same sickly, yellow-green color as a fading bruise. The lingering effects of the venom on the medusas' arrows, no doubt. Toranda looked drawn and fatigued, and the tiefling clutched his temples and kept his eyes closed as if the strain had been too much. Arshaka was having trouble holding the obsidian pieces that formed his body together, and Chuka-Tet's antennae drooped. Jin was quiet and brooded near the marble dais.

“I want to kill more of these scaly bastards myself,” the warlock said, “but I'm tired. You are on your own with this one.” He looked at the door and shrugged. “But if you go down, be careful. I will sneak down and look for you if you don't come back in a couple of hours.”

Chuka-Tet clicked, “Yes, be careful. I do not want to have to be bringing you back from the dead again.” The thri-kreen druid pointed at the mul gladiator's abdomen and chided “Be sure to be keeping your guts on the inside this time, not the outside.”

Gurthmore let out a short, sharp laugh and stepped through the door. “Bar it behind me. I'll be back when my axe has tasted enough blood.”

“Just remember,” Khossus said with a grin, “three sharp knocks, followed by two, followed by one.” After the mul shot him a confused look, the human warrior just shook his head. “Okay, just knock then. And be careful.” Arshaka handed him a pair of magical fruits, and without words the obsidian bard wished him good luck.

With that, Gurthmore descended the steps beyond the door into the dark tunnels beyond, his great, bronze axe clutched in both hands. He moved silently down the dark passage, like a panther stalking its prey, unseen and unheard. The tunnel was smooth and worn, and it wound like a serpent through the darkness. Gurthmore passed through empty galleries and halls before locating another set of stairs that led down into the inky darkness. At the base of the stairs he found a long hall with tunnels that lead off to smaller chambers. The hall was lit by strange gems that glowed a sickly green hue. Columns lined the hall, flanking a shallow pool of dark, murky water. A ledge ran along the north and south walls, and several niches could be seen along the south wall, all shrouded in shadow. Serpentine designs were carved into the pillars and inlaid in the floor in tiles that were cracked and worn with age. As the mul gladiator crept ahead he spotted more of the loathsome, snake-headed, scaled humanoids hidden among the shadows. Two armed with longbows were perched on the ledge on the far end of the room, while one with a huge, curved sword slithered out on a thick tail rather than legs. To the rear of the hall, another snake-man with a hood like a cobra carrying a twisted rod stepped out of the shadows and hissed something to another in a raspy, sibilant voice, then moved out doors on the far end of the hall.

At that point, one of the snake-men armed with a bow hissed an alarm, and Gurthmore knew he had been seen. He charged out from behind one of the pillars, his axe biting deep into the chest of the snake-man with no legs as it slithered the length of the hall. He traded blows with the creature then dropped it with a fell swipe from his mighty axe. Arrows rained down on him, catching in the thick, hide armor he wore. One pierced his shoulder and the mul felt venom burn through his veins. Gritting his teeth and calling on the innate toughness that was a legacy of the half-breed's dwarf heritage, he ignored the wash of nausea and pain that threatened to overcome him. Gurthmore scrambled up on to the balcony between the pillars and charged one of the bow-wielding snake-men. The cobra-hooded snake man had stepped back through the doors, and it leveled its rod at Gurthmore. A phantom serpent shot forth from it like a glowing arrow, but the mul's axe swept it out of the air. The archer had drawn a bone scimitar and slashed wildly at the mul barbarian as his compatriot on the far side of the room continued to pelt him with arrows. Gurthmore felled the archer and the snake priest, shrugging off sword blows and venomous magic. He pursued the other snake-man archer, cutting him down as he tried to run. But before he could catch his breath, two more snake men struck. One leaped from the shadows, an envenomed morning star with bone spikes in one hand and a dagger in the other. A second legless snake man wielding a huge, curved sword slithered out of a tunnel beneath the balcony. After choking down one of the magic healing fruits, Gurthmore laid into both his his bronze execution axe. A brief melee followed. Gurthmore managed to lop off the head of the legless snake man, then sped across the murky pool to cut the other one down as it tried to flee.

Hurt and poisoned, Gurthmore slumped down by one of the pillars. The magical healing fruit had begun to work in earnest however, and he quickly felt his vitality return. He searched the venom priest and found a small jar of unguent, a scale scribed with a strange character, and a small, gold ring in the form of a coiled serpent clutching its tail in its mouth. Shrugging, he slipped the ring on one finger and grabbed the rest, including a set of gold bracers off each legless brute. Loot in hand, the mul crept out the door at the far end of the room. He followed in until it split in three directions. With what little tracking lore he had managed to pick up from Chuka-Tet, he saw that there was more traffic along the passage to the north. There were signs of struggle along that passage, and tufts of fur and spots of blood could be seen on the floor. Something had been drug off that way – more than once. Hoping to scout the area and possibly pick off a few stragglers or free a few prisoners, the mul barbarian moved forward quietly through the shadows.

The chamber ahead was lit by the same, strange gems he had seen elsewhere in the labyrinth. Gurthmore saw a number of tables set with strange chemicals, and others covered with stained, stone knives and leather bindings. A quick glimpse showed another chamber to the west filled with stone sarcophagi, and a final chamber to the north with a magic circle scribed into the floor. Brass braziers that flickered with eerie, green flame sat on either end of the main room. The chamber is not empty. A yuan-ti in bloodstained robes clutching a twisted, black staff slithered across the floor, hissing something at two other yuan-ti armed with bows and scimitars. They turned and headed down the corridor, and the second they stepped in front of the hidden mul, he struck. His axe slashed out in a wide arc, twice, and one fell gutted by the bronze blade. The other struggled to draw his scimitar and made a wild swing. The barbarian retaliated with a massive chop and split the snake-man's skull. He charged down the hall towards the laboratory, only to see a mummified yuan-ti shamble out of the room to the left, seemingly at the necromancer's command. A pair of spectral yuan-ti with hollow eyes emerged from a nearby wall, grasping the air silently but fervently.

Gurthmore shouldered the table at the center of the room over, throwing himself prone as he did so. The volatile chemicals exploded, setting the necromancer and his undead minions alight. As the spectral forms closed in on him, Gurthmore slashed at the mummified warrior. It swiped at and tried to bite the mul barbarian, but he was able to parry its blows as the specters' cold touch began to sap his vitality. The necromancer launched bolts of poisoned darkness at him, though the table offered him some cover against the yuan-ti's dark magic. Realizing his weapons had little effect on the specters and seeing them shy away from the eldritch, green flames, the gladiator shoved his axe into the burning brazier and set himself alight with jade flame. Though he burned, his fiery axe cut them down with little effort. He ran after the necromancer and brought him low with a single stroke. Finally snuffing out the eldritch fire, Gurthmore leaned up against a wall. He had consumed almost all the magic healing fruits and used the restorative magic of the scribed scale, but he was still alive. Finding naught but curious scrolls, Gurthmore gathered them up and headed back towards the passage to the white dome. His axe had drunk deep of yuan-ti blood and he needed to heal, lest his fading burns, poisoning, and wounds catch up with him. Still, the barbarian smiled as he moved swiftly and silently through the darkness. He had taken down a dozen foes through guile, stealth, and strength of arms. It had been a good day.