Unhatched eggs of an ancient race.

"It appears this place has been untouched for centuries," you declare while laying a palm upon the aged wooden door that looms before you, "but if I remember correctly, these cults often keep hidden tunnels to the surface," you add and give the door a push. It groans in protest, but the rusted iron hinges refuse to budge. Before you can ask Helen to pick the lock, Beatrice buries her greataxe in the heavy door with a deep, thunderous crunch. Startled, you hop back and clasp a hand to the dagger at your belt before regaining your composure. The blond amazon tears the weapon free and swings it down again, sundering the feeble hinges. The door whines as it topples inward before dropping to the temple's sea-green, marble floor with a thud. Steady, you think to yourself. Exhaling, you cast the brutish bandit a small scowl.

"What? Everyone else got to help out already," Beatrice chuckles, slinging her axe up onto one shoulder. In the pale light of the drift globe, you admire the sheen of her taut, muscled form. Her wet top clings to her heaving chest with each breath, water coursing between her cantaloupe-sized breasts. You open your mouth to speak, but Helen darts up to the remaining door and crouches low as she peers into the dark hall beyond. You are quickly losing control of these bandits, and you clear your throat, one hand resting atop the grimoire chained to your belt.

"Tread carefully, my dears, Dagon does not idly welcome strangers into his house. Follow my lead or find yourselves an early grave," you say with authority, straightening your back. Even if Dagon's power no longer lingers, the ominous warning seems to work. Beatrice grips her axe, teeth bared with excitement; Helen flips one of her daggers, anxious eyes on you; Rosaria cradles her crossbow, trigger-finger flexing.

In an anti-climactic turn of events, the four of you enter the dusty, crumbling temple with no resistance. Helen scans the floor for traps with the aid of the driftglobe, and Rosaria eyes the ceiling after your run-in with the Lumoworms. Yet here in the dark silence nothing bars your path. Your attention, however, is on the towering statue at the rear of the hall. Though it stands dimly-lit, the gaping, toothy maw and many tentacles of Dagon loom above your party; hewn from a familiar stone. Deep onyx. Rare to the mortal plane, but extremely common in the Abyss. Long-term exposure to the stuff leads to demonic corruption, twisting the minds and flesh of mortals. Perhaps that was the ultimate fate of those who once worshipped this antiquated artifact. Rosaria lowers her crossbow and lets out a soft whistle.

"Damn, that thing is massive!" the brunette marskman shouts under her breath. The other two now turn and gaze upon the intimidating idol, but you've already moved on to a sight even more concerning. At the foot of the statue's pedestal sat a shallow basin of the same stone, and you recognize the strange, blue-green orbs piled neatly at its center. Eggs. You cannot discern their type without a proper investigation, but you suspect they belong to some manner of piscine demon.

"I'm gonna guess that's the Dagon fella." Beatrice mumbles, darting a glance over her broad shoulder every few seconds.

"Lord Mendax, what are those things?" Helen chirps as she scoots up beside you. Leaning forward, her hands rest atop the onyx basin's lip. She shows no reaction, but your keen senses detect a spark of demonic magic at the moment she touches the stone. Could its power remain after so many years undisturbed? If so, what other power remained in this stagnant shrine to Grevakhnu's enemy? Before getting completely lost in your thoughts, Rosaria steps up and puts a hand on her hip and looks to you, clearly waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Eggs, no doubt," you speak with vague honesty. At that, Beatrice hefts up her axe, ready to smash. However, you raise your own hand and give her a dismissive wave. "Not so fast, my dear," you add. This was a rare opportunity. On the one hand, Grevakhnu has always loathed Dagon. Yet on the other hand, Grevakhnu reveres all manner of monstrous new life. To destroy these eggs would certainly anger Dagon, but you cannot be certain how Grevakhnu would react to seeing unhatched demons denied a chance to be born. Your fingertips drum against the spine of your grimoire in thought...