Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

Just as I expected, LB's portrayal of Irontooth is awesome-tastic

jonnytheshirt - Elevaren is an Eladrin, or a High-Elf, in more common words.

Thanks for the posts!

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Chapter 29


Droplets of acid splashed around Elevaren as another energy orb struck the branches around him. His pale skin already showed ugly red marks where an earlier blast had connected, but his perch high up in the tree’s branches offered considerable cover, and none of the acid from this attack struck him.

For now, he ignored the threat posed by the wyrmpriest, and focused his attention on Irontooth.

Jaron had kept a low profile thus far, safely out of reach of the melee combatants. He’d shot the kobold dragonshield that had treed Elevaren, firing an arrow into its back before it could recover from the warlock’s eldritch blast. He had lost sight of the wyrmpriest for a moment, then saw him in the trees on the far side of the stream. The kobold was throwing globes of acid at Elevaren, trying to knock him from his perch. Jaron fired an arrow at the kobold, but the shot went wildly high. Only a few arrows remained to rattle inside of his quiver, and as he reached for another, his attention was drawn to the furious drama playing out around Irontooth.

Mara was in serious shape, blood oozing out from under the drape of her armor. Devrem spoke another healing word, restoring some of her vitality, but the goblin undid his work a moment later, striking her again in the hip as she lunged forward to press the attack. Again the goblin struck at Beetle with his backswing, narrowly missing the fast-darting halfling. But Beetle’s own attack was spoiled, his dagger coming nowhere near the goblin’s vulnerable legs.

This time, however, Mara did not fall back or give ground. She pressed the goblin, stabbing him again as he cut at Beetle. This time her sword bit through his armor, and the goblin turned to finish her off for good. Steel rang on steel, and for a moment the axe was kept at bay. But as Mara shifted to attack again, Irontooth brought the haft of his weapon up in a blur, thrusting it into the fighter’s face. The blow smashed into the front of her helmet, crushing the noseguard, and Mara crumpled, unconscious.

Irontooth turned into another blast of radiant energy that sprayed from the tip of Devrem’s staff. The goblin, now bloodied, stepped forward in a rage. He yelled as Beetle stuck his dagger into the meat of his thigh, but even that painful wound seemed to barely faze him as he focused on the cleric. The deadly axe swept forward, and Devrem was struck hard, staggering as his ribs cracked under the force of the blow. He fell back, only his staff keeping him from joining Mara on the ground.

“Now you die!” Irontooth raged, lifting the axe to finish it.

“It is not my time,” Devrem said, clutching his side, and thrusting his staff into the goblin’s face. The sacred flame of the Raven Queen distracted him, but only for a moment.

A moment was all that the cleric’s companions needed.

Elevaren’s eldritch blast caught the goblin on the side of his head. Fey magic flashed in multicolored sparks, a bright counter to the primal silver energies that Devrem had hit him with a moment past. As he turned reflexively toward the threat, Jaron’s arrow caught him just under the rim of his helmet, slicing through the rest of his already-mangled ear. Blood spurted from the nasty wound, but still the goblin raised his axe, his rage going beyond any mere mortal pain.

But he wasn’t quite ready for Beetle stepping in low between his legs and thrusting his dagger straight... up under the drape of his hauberk.

A sick, strangled sound came from the goblin. The deadly axe, streaked with the blood of the adventurers, fell onto the rotting leaves that covered the ground. Irontooth thrust Beetle away with one hand, and grabbed Devrem’s staff with the other. Droplets of blood sprayed from his lips as he spoke. “Kalarel and Lord Orcus, prepare... my...”

He did not get a chance to finish as Jaron’s last arrow buried itself to the feathers in his left eye.

Awesomesauce LB! Great group dynamic already, and effective arcanists! (for now) ... I know, you get too much flak for that, but hey, we wouldn't even know about your 'thing' for arcanists if we didn't love your work and you know it! And you did make up for it some with the last act of Dungeon of Graves - btw, anyone who hasn't read that: DO!

Thanks for the props in your sig, Richard!

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Chapter 30


It was a subdued and quiet company that made the trek back to Winterhaven. For one thing, most of them still bore grievous wounds, and Devrem lacked the power to heal them further today. Healing depended on the energies of the recipient as much as it did the power of the gods, the priest explained.

“Yeah, well, my energy feels pretty damned depleted right about now,” Mara had replied, grimacing as Elevaren had helped her tie off the bandage that covered the gash in her hip. Devrem had said that none of their wounds were life-threatening, at least for the time it would take them to get back to Winterford.

They had considered resting up in the kobold lair, but none of them had ultimately been that enthusiastic about the idea in the end. For one thing, the kobold wyrmpriest had escaped; obviously its dedication to Irontooth had been rather less than total. Or maybe its gods had whispered to it which way the battle would end, and it had decided not to be around when that happened.

In any case, the fact that the priest was still out there somewhere, along with the few other kobolds that had escaped, helped make their decision.

“They’ve been scared off for now,” Mara had said. “But if we give them enough time to think about it, they might recover enough of their courage to try their luck again.”

“Or they may bring help,” Jaron had pointed out. Before the raid they would have thought that unlikely, but that was before Devrem had found the scroll in Irontooth’s pouch.

The message had been from Kalarel, and while it had been addressed to Irontooth, each of them felt it had really been written for them.

My spy in Winterhaven suggests we keep an eye out for visitors to the area. It probably does not matter; in just a few more days, I’ll completely open the rift. Then Winterhaven’s people will serve as food for all those Lord Orcus sends to do my bidding.

Irontooth had said something similar to them, but to see the words in print upon the parchment, written in a smooth and confident hand, somehow made them more threatening.

They’d also found a key on the goblin’s corpse, which had opened a chest in the rear of the kobold caves. The chest had contained a quantity of gold, which those least injured were now carrying in their packs, and a suit of fine chainmail of dwarven make. Devrem had claimed that, and now wore it under his black robes.

The afternoon had deepened, the sun already starting to set. It would be dark by the time they reached the walls of Winterhaven. After a while, Mara spoke. “So. Orcus. You knew they were here, priest.”

“I came to this region because of reports of an Orcus-cult in the area, yes,” Devrem said, without looking back. He had taken to walking in the lead, as though following an invisible tether that led back to town. The others had to hasten to keep up with him, which in their condition, was not easy.

“We didn’t come here to join a cause,” Mara said. Elevaren started to say something, but the fighter raised her hand to forestall him.

At that, Devrem did stop, and turned to face them. “I did not ask you to. Each of you will have to decide what you will do, what you must do. I can tell you this; if the cult of Orcus succeeds in accomplishing what is has come here to do, then the entire Nentir Vale will fall under a shadow so deep that it may spread to cover the entire world.”

And with that, he turned and walked on.

Chapter 31


The mood in the common room of Wrafton’s Inn was far more subdued than it had been during their last visit, Jaron thought. Since their return from the kobold lair yesterday, word had spread about their adventures, and the people of Winterhaven were nervous. Apparently Devrem had not felt the need to moderate his comments about the dire nature of the threat, as Jaron heard the cleric’s name mentioned several times as he made his way through the knots of people gathered around the tables in the inn.

He finally made his way to the booth in the back of the room, set into the deep niche between the door to the kitchen and the thick side wall of the inn. Mara and Elevaren were already there, and to his surprise, so was Beetle. His cousin looked up and flashed him a grin as he came up to the booth.

Mara and Elevaren were apparently in the middle of an argument, and didn’t notice him at first.

“I’m saying that this is a fool’s errand,” Mara was saying. “How do we know we can trust this priest, anyway? The followers of the Death Queen have a sinister reputation.”

“I do not sense any duplicity in him,” Elevaren replied. “And in any case, you cannot deny that we would all be dead, had it not been for his intervention.”

“Intervention that we could have used before we set out, if you ask me. If he’d told us what he knew...”

“We did not tell anyone of our interest in the bandits, only that we were seeking out our missing friend,” Elevaren persisted. “Hello, Jaron,” he added, turning to greet the halfling. Mara looked at him with a sour look, as if blaming him for the course of the argument.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“No, please, join us,” the eladrin said. “What we’re talking about concerns you and your cousin, after all.”

“Do you mean the threat to the vale that Devrem spoke of?” Jaron asked, taking the empty seat next to Mara. The fighter shifted to make more room, but only slightly.

Elevaren’s look was canny. “Yes, that too.” Jaron looked at Beetle, wondering how much his cousin had told them. He’d mentioned his brother, but only briefly, before.

Mara was more blunt. “Are you going to go with the black priest, when he goes to this ‘Keep on the Shadowfell’?”

Jaron looked at Beetle, but his cousin had dropped below the level of the table. He hoped that his cousin was above pickpocketing from their friends. Or maybe it would be better for them if he did, and was caught. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, that’s where we are as well,” Mara said, turning back toward Elevaren.

Not sure what to say to that, Jaron changed the subject. “Oh, I see you got a bow.”

Mara glanced at the unstrung longbow propped up against the far wall of the booth. “Yes. The priest at least was forthcoming with the gold. He gave up claim to his share, in exchange for the dwarven mail he took. Though I suspect that was probably worth more than all the gold in that chest.”

“He earned it fairly,” Elevaren said.

“What about you?” Mara asked. “Did you fare well with your new wealth?”

“I bought a few things. New gear to replace that I lost on the way here, mostly.” He didn’t add that he’d finally tracked down Callen, and given him a sack full of gold to help him replace his wagon. The merchant had been considerably grateful, and promised to take a letter back to Fairhollow with him when he left Winterhaven.

“Mara gave me some new knives,” Beetle said, jumping back up into view, hanging onto the lip of the table and dangling out over the edge. Jaron looked at her in surprise.

“Yeah, well, you seem to keep wanting to throw the one you had,” the fighter said. “Only a fool goes into a fight without a hold-out.”

“He’s here,” Elevaren said, nodding slightly toward the door.

The companions looked up to see Devrem crossing the room toward them. Beetle slid smoothly back into his seat. The priest had no difficulty getting through the crowd; a path opened up before him as though by magic. The light of the lamps gleamed on the small silver clasp that held his cloak, forming the outline of a raven’s head.

“Good day to you,” the priest said.

“Hey, Devrem!” Beetle said. “You wanna see me juggle three knives?”

“Perhaps later, little one,” the cleric said. “I have come to tell you that I plan on setting out on the morrow.”

“Alone?” Mara asked.

The cleric’s jaw tightened. “If need be.”

“Then Lord Padraig refused your request for aid?”

Devrem shrugged. “He is but a small man; he does not see the larger picture. He was happy to hear of the defeat of the bandits; to him the immediate threat is the only one that matters. I hope that he does not have to learn the consequences of his error the hard way.”

“Winterhaven has limited resources,” Elevaren said. “It could be that Lord Padraig understands the threat, but must plan for all eventualities.”

“A diplomatic way of putting it. But if this Kalarel is as close as he suggested in his letter to opening a rift to the Shadowfell, he must be stopped, whatever the cost.”

“You seem intent on selling your life cheaply,” Mara said.

“Death comes to us all. As mortals, we can only choose how we die.”

“Perhaps I am not quite so eager,” Mara said.

“As I said before, we must all choose for ourselves,” Devrem said. A hint of anger crossed his features, and he started to turn away. “I will go with you,” Jaron said, quietly.

The cleric turned back. “Your aid will be most welcome, ranger.”

“Me too!” Beetle said.

“Beetle, no,” Jaron began, but the younger halfling stood up, leaning over the table. “I go too! I choose how we die, like he say!”

Devrem had the grace to look a bit abashed. “I will leave you to take counsel,” he said. “I will be at the gate at sunrise. Bring supplies for a journey of a few days.” Without a further farewell, he turned and left.

Since Mara fights with two weapons, the following article should prove interesting:

Ampersand: Fun with Pigs and Other Stories
(Scroll down to Tempest Fighter build)

Lazybones said:

Thanks for the props in your sig, Richard!
* * * * * ...
At that, Devrem did stop, and turned to face them. “I did not ask you to. Each of you will have to decide what you will do, what you must do. I can tell you this; if the cult of Orcus succeeds in accomplishing what is has come here to do, then the entire Nentir Vale will fall under a shadow so deep that it may spread to cover the entire world.”...

Click to expand...

You are most welcome, and to quote OotS: "Dunh Dunh DUNNNNNH!"

Baduin said:

Since Mara fights with two weapons, the following article should prove interesting:

Click to expand...

Thanks for the link! When I first saw the PH, I knew that they were setting up all of the missing archetypes (like the two-weaponed fighter) for the inevitable supplements. I don't currently intend to buy any more 4e books, but I will certainly swap out some of those feats when I next revisit Mara's build.

Given the realities of my workload of late, I'm switching to a M-W-F update schedule for the near future.

* * * * *

Chapter 32


Wooden blades danced in a violent storm in the clearing near the mountain cabin. Mara and Torvan dodged and weaved, their boots stamping up small puffs of snow as they sparred. Each carried a wooden sword in each hand, which moved in blurs of motion as they stabbed, slashed, and parried.

Finally, Torvan overextended himself on a lunge, and the young woman darted under his reach, slapping the shorter of her two weapons up into his wrist. One of his weapons went flying. He spun around and swung his other sword in a blinding arc toward her neck, but she dropped into a crouch, and as the weapon sliced over her head, she laid the points of both of her weapons against Torvan’s groin.

“Yield?” she asked, with a hint of a smile.

“I suppose I’d better, if I want to be able to walk home,” he growled. He walked over to where his first sword had fallen, grimacing slightly as he bent to pick it up. He had turned his body to shield it from Mara, but she did not miss it.

“Are you all right, uncle?”

“Fine, fine. Just an old body letting me know that it’s displeased.”

“We keep returning to the two-sword style. Why do you give that so much emphasis? In your books, most of the references are to the large two-hander, or to the sword-and-shield style.”

Torvan clacked his wooden swords together to clear the clinging snow off the one that had fallen. “Bah. Most fighters you meet will tell you that the two-sword style is for the self-styled ‘rangers’, or court duelists who play for touches with weapons that would break if you parried them with a real blade. But it’s all about speed, girl. You’ve gotten stronger, but you’d never be able to hold up against a man my size with a heavy blade. And as for the shield... well, I’ve taught you how to use one... what’s the answer to your question?”

“Speed, and visibility,” she said. “The off-hand blade gives you the option of parrying, but also of a counter from a direction that the foe doesn’t expect.”

He nodded. “Good. It’s getting late, why don’t you...”

But he trailed off and turned suddenly in the direction of the trail that led down off the mountain. Mara heard it too, a clip of hooves on the rough soil of the path; multiple horses, by the sound.

Torvan moved quickly to the log where his sword rested. “Get back to the cabin,” he told Mara.

“But uncle...”

“Do it. Get the other swords.”

He kept his weapon in hand, but did not draw as he walked over to the cabin, taking up a position facing the trail.

The riders came into view. There were four of them, the last leading a fifth horse, equipped with a riding saddle instead of a pack saddle. All four were humans, broad-shouldered men in their twenties and thirties. They were all clad in armor ranging from breastplates of boiled leather to heavier shirts of dense chain links, and each carried an assortment of weapons.

They reined in their horses as they spotted Torvan, spreading out to form a line facing him. Their horses snorted, sending out plumes of white mist in the cold air.

“Torvan Lendoran?” asked one of the men, a lean fellow clad in chainmail and a blue tabard bearing the mark of a rearing bear.

“Aye, that’s me,” Torvan said. He held his sword easy at his side, but his body seemed like a coiled spring, ready to move.

“My name is Gael Hallas,” the man said. “Lord Bregan Zelos sends us with word that Dal Durga’s raiders are on the march. They have already struck two frontier villages, and Lord Zelos is creating a force to stop them before they can swing south into richer lands.”

“I am no longer in the Lord’s service,” Torvan said.

Gael’s mouth tightened in obvious disapproval. “The entire region is at risk, man. Lord Zelos said to give this to you.” He drew out a small, tightly wrapped parchment from a pouch at his belt, and handed it to Torvan. Torvan took his time, breaking the seal with his thumb, then unrolling the scroll to scan it, keeping his sword held easily in the crook of his arm.

Mara had emerged from the cabin, a pair of sheathed swords held together in her hands. She remained on the porch, watching the riders warily.

Torvan finished his reading. “All right,” he said. “Give me five minutes to get my things together. Wait here.”

He walked back toward the cabin. “Uncle?”

“I’m sorry, girl; I have obligations that predate your arrival into my life. I have to go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. You’ll remain here. I don’t want my cabin to end up as the winter den for some bear, or a pack of goblins. It’s just a band of raiders; I’ll be back soon enough.”

“But...”

“Don’t question me, girl,” he said gruffly, pushing past her and disappearing into the cabin.

The riders watched her. The one on the end of the line smiled at her, but there was something in his eyes that send a cold chill down the back of her neck. He smirked, and whispered something to his companion; both men laughed. She wanted to go inside after Torvan, but she forced herself to remain standing there, a frozen look of cool calm set on her features.

Her uncle returned quickly, well short of the allotted five minutes. In addition to his sword, he carried a short-handled axe balanced for throwing, and an unstrung longbow thrust through the straps of a bulging travel pack. He wore under his furs a breastplate of dull iron, one strap still dangling unfastened. Mara stepped in front of him and attended to the strap.

“I don’t want to stay here alone,” she said, under her breath so that only she could hear.

“Life rarely gives us what we want,” he said. “I will be back.”

And with that, he left.

Chapter 33


Wood chips flew in a flurry as steel moved in a blur around the slab of firewood that had been jammed into a crevice of the stone wall. Mara danced around the improvised target, her blades spinning in unison, forming a pattern of weaving death. It was almost too dark to see, but her feet moved effortlessly over the cracked tiles of the yard, and every blow hit with precision, the swords rebounding off the wood and falling back into the pattern she wove.

A figure came into the yard. He waited until Mara broke off her exercises, and lowered the blades.

“Those aren’t your swords,” Elevaren said.

“I didn’t want to dull them. The smith was good enough to lend me the use of some old swords that wanted for edges, to practice with.” She hefted the two weapons. “A bit heavier than what I’m used to.” She walked over to the gate in the wall, where she’d laid her scabbarded swords, and a towel that she used to wipe the sweat from her neck. She was clad only in a sleeveless tunic belted over loose cotton trousers, and had to be cold. But then again, she’d lived in the mountains, Elevaren remembered.

“What did you decide?” the eladrin asked.

She did not immediately respond. Tossing the dirty towel back onto the top of the fence, she reached down and picked up a burden wrapped in leather lying under her swords.

“There’s something about that cleric that... I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

“I admit I do not have much experience with the followers of the Raven Queen,” the eladrin said.

“Nor I. In fact, the only one I can ever remember meeting is an old crone, who looked almost like Death herself. But there’s something familiar about him, I just can’t quite place it.” She had unwrapped her bundle as they spoke, revealing a longsword in a worn leather scabbard. She offered it to Elevaren.

“I’m not a soldier,” the warlock said.

“I know that you know how to use this,” Mara said. “I’m not saying that we won’t be relying on your magic, but we could get into close quarters again, and that staff of yours just isn’t going to cut it. No pun intended.”

The eladrin hesitated for a moment longer, then accepted the sword. “Besides, this way I have a backup if something happens to my primary,” Mara said, taking up her own weapons.

“So we’re going to the keep?” Elevaren asked.

“Did you ever really doubt it?” the fighter asked, striding past him toward the back door of the inn.

Jaron woke up to found Beetle sitting on the narrow frame of their room’s tiny window, looking down at him. It was still early, the clouded glass just starting to brighten with the light of the approaching dawn. He could just hear a faint thwacking noise that sounded like someone chopping wood; it seemed to be coming from somewhere outside. Apparently some townsman had decided to get a very early start on the day.

He lit the lamp and quickly got dressed. Beetle was already clad in his leather vest and long-sleeved coat; his new daggers were tucked into his belt. He watched Jaron’s preparations with an almost scary intensity, but the ranger had gotten used to his cousin’s odd mannerisms and paid him no heed.

“You know, you should go home. With Cullen. I bet that everybody’s forgotten about what happened with Dale’s bull. And I’m sure that Wanda misses you.”

“Go with you, fight bad guys.”

Jaron turned to him. “You don’t belong here, Beetle. This world... this world, out here, it just doesn’t understand you.”

Beetle grinned. “Jayse understand.”

Jaron nodded. “Sometimes I wonder,” he said under his breath. He shook his head, yielding the point. He grabbed his already-packed bag and double-checked the provisions inside. He picked up his bow and quiver, and dug out the package he’d wrapped up and stashed among the bedding at the foot of his bed. Beetle watched with interest as he unwrapped the packet.

“I got these for you,” he said. “The smith was able to make them pretty quick, given how small they are.”

Beetle jumped down and sprang over to Jaron’s side, where he examined his new prize. It was a compact leather bandolier, holding six tiny knives. Beetle drew one out, and flipped it over and over in his hands.

“You may need to practice a bit before...”

But Beetle whipped up one of the throwing knives, which stuck into the low supporting beam for the roof near the door. Jaron sighed and grabbed the chair, hoping that he could reach high enough to recover the weapon. When he got close enough to see the spot where the knife had struck, however, he started in surprise.

A big spider, its bulbous torso maybe a finger’s length across, twitched against the knotted wood of the beam, its body pierced right through the center by Beetle’s knife.

“Maybe you can practice later,” Jaron said, reaching up and wrenching the knife free.

Chapter 34


“There was a battle here,” Jaron said, crouched low in the muddy dirt of the road.

“Good place for an ambush,” Mara confirmed, scanning the forested rise to their left, and the bend in the road up ahead that could have concealed just about anything.

“How long?” Devrem asked.

Jaron paused, examining the signs. “Nine, ten days, maybe a little more.”

“Good eyes,” Elevaren commented. “The elements should have obscured any evidence in that time.”

“The signs are faint,” the halfling said, “But I think that people died here.”

“That’s right around the time that your brother was killed, wasn’t it?” the warlock asked, his voice sympathetic.

“I thought he was found further south, near the King’s Road?” Mara asked.

“Perhaps that is what we were meant to believe,” Devrem said. “Come, we’re losing time lingering here.”

“It’s not a waste if we learn about what we’re up against,” Mara countered. She had already chafed against the cleric’s leadership of their company, and a simmering tension had arisen between the two humans.

“We already know what we’re up against,” Devrem said. “Whatever minions Kalarel has accumulated, they must be defeated. The cleric must be stopped before he can complete his ritual.”

They could see the keep clearly now, the outline of the ruined walls just visible over the trees ahead of them. The road continued to meander as it ascended the rise, and soon they were all breathing hard from the effort of the climb. But it was still well short of noon as they finally emerged from the trees to see the dramatic remains of the legendary fortress spread out in rubble before them. While some of the keep’s walls remained mostly intact, one look was enough to indicate that the entire interior was collapsed wreckage.

“Keep a close eye out,” Mara said. “Anything at all could be hidden in that debris.” Jaron moved out ahead, moving silently and cautiously over the packed earth. The others followed, moving with deliberation.

“There is a... shadow, over this place,” Elevaren said.

“The story of the keep is a sad one,” Devrem said.

“Nothing grows here,” Elevaren noted. The others, looking around, saw that he was right; no weeds broke out among the rubble, not so much as a stray sprig of grass. It was as though a dead zone had settled around the keep. Even the sounds of the insects and birds that had followed them up the trail had faded away, leaving a preternatural quiet that was almost eerie.

“The portal to the Shadowfell was opened nearly two hundred years ago,” Devrem explained. That was in the days when Nerath was still a force in the world, and its soldiers responded, destroying the undead armies that came through the gate, sealing the rift, and building this fortress to ward it.”

“What happened?” Mara asked, interested despite herself, although she did not take her eyes from the ruins as Jaron continued probing along the outer wall. There was a breach up ahead, where the old gatehouse might have once stood by the look of it, and the halfling led them in that direction.

“With Nerath’s fall, the place fell into decline,” Devrem said. It was about eighty years ago when it finally came to an end. A consecrated warrior of noble line named Sir Keegan was master of the fortress in those days. One night he went mad, slaying his wife and children, and then setting upon his captains, one by one.”

“Gods,” Mara breathed.

“The garrison was finally roused, and they were able to drive Keegan into the dungeons under the keep. They say that when he came to his senses, he took his own life. Since that day, the keep has been seen as cursed, and it has lain abandoned.”

“Understandable,” Elevaren said.

Jaron signaled from up ahead. The others came forward to join him, and could see that a narrow path had been cleared through the rubble. The halfling pointed to where the tread of booted feet was visible in the dirt. Up ahead, the remnants of a wall overshadowed a dark opening. Moving closer, the adventurers could see that a stone staircase led down into the hill under the keep.

“Bad smell,” Beetle said. Mara jumped slightly; the halfling had suddenly appeared right beside her. His coat was covered in stone dust, indicating that he’d conducted some explorations of his own through the ruins.

“Stay close, Beetle,” Jaron warned, moving to the top of the stairs. “There’s light down below,” he said to the others, keeping his voice low.

“There will almost certainly be guards,” Devrem responded.

“Stay back a bit,” the ranger said. With Beetle a few paces behind him, he started warily down the stairs, hugging the wall, blending into the shadows within a few steps. Within a few seconds, both halflings had vanished from view from above.

Mara gave them a count of ten, then moved forward. The darkness of the stairs seemed cold, malevolent, like a gaping maw waiting to swallow her.

The fighter shivered. She drew her swords, grasping the hilts tightly. Then, with the cleric and warlock flanking her, she started down.