A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014

6x01

A stale breeze wafted up from behind the group, hot and stinky like the breath of a drunkard, carrying the stench of sweat and blood and smoke to the balcony on which they now stood. Dead derro littered the floor of the dining hall below.

“Stay there,” Kormick whispered. He pressed one finger to his lips and held his other hand out toward the crowd of dwarves, in the universal signal for “stop right there and do not move a muscle if you know what is good for you, in the name of all that is holy and sensible.”

They stopped, mostly. Corani pushed her way through, axes up. Savina hastened to her side, whispering “you are needed here, to protect your family.” Corani stopped.

<i>Expedient,</i> thought Kormick, and scouted ahead. The hallway terminated with a room to their left, and he peeked in.

As he sneaked back silently to report, Twiggy whispered to him. “You’re really good at that.”

“When you’re smuggling smokes, booze, and Handmaidens in and out of a magic academy at age 14, you learn some stealth,” he whispered. Twiggy smirked.

“So?” whispered Tavi, “what’s in there?”

Kormick explained in hushed tones. More of that electrical moss. Several cobwebs, thick enough to obscure the view, running from floor to ceiling in the far left corner of the room. Three derro, gathered around a web with something inside. Dark stairs descending from the back of the room, and some sort of natural crevice in the right hand side, leading to who-knows-where.

“What would make a spider web of that size?” Mena inquired.

“Well, naturally, that would be a giant . . . ooh.” Kormick clenched his jaw. She already knew the answer to that one, didn’t she.

But there was no use standing about. Tavi raised his sword. Twiggy pulled her new goggles down over her glasses. Kormick signaled to the slave, who sneaked up to the door with him and slid it open silently. They shared a look, nodded, and fired. One. Two. Kormick’s crossbow bolts sunk into one of the derro, and a rock from Arden’s sling sunk into the top of one of the webs. It stuck there, caught in the web. The hit derro screamed. The other derro raised their axes. The fight was on. But where is the giant spider? Kormick thought.

As the hit derro pulled Kormick’s crossbow bolts out of its arm, Twiggy cast from the doorway. An orb of force warped the air, whizzing past Arden’s head and careening off the already-injured derro, which stumbled as Tavi charged in, slicing a gash in its chest. Blood dripped down its armor and it gurgled a yell up toward the ceiling behind Tavi.

Tavi wheeled around. “The ceiling!” He pointed with his sword at the only corner of the room that had been invisible from the doorway. There was a derro clinging to the ceiling. Not just clinging: skittering forward, rearing back . . . and then it VOMITED, covering Tavi and Mena in web-like goo and spraying the rest of the room in splotchy webs. “Eew!” screamed Savina, as she tried to move in toward the action, her hair caught in the sticky net.

The room’s green cast became brighter as Tavi’s sword lit up and exploded in green flame. It burned Tavi—but it also burned the webs, and he was free. “We can burn them!” he yelled, and let loose another burst of green flame. The derro screeched as flames seared their flesh and shriveled the webs around them.

“Tavi! Behind you!” Mena was struggling in the webs, as one of the derro climbed up the wall behind Tavi, in a flanking position with the more-injured one. It’s not a giant spider, thought Kormick, it’s whole group of Ketkath derro-spider hybrid freaks of nature. He heard a satisfying CRACK as his hammer connected with one of their legs. That’s just wrong.

The spider-thing on the ceiling reared back to spit at Kormick . . . and THWACK. Kormick heard it before he saw it – a stone had flown from the slave’s sling right between the spider-thing’s eyes. The creature didn't fall, but it hesitated, obviously hurt. Kormick made a mental note to lay off the slave jokes.

The creature on the wall pulled an axe out of its belt and struck viciously, leaving a gash in Tavi’s arm. “Tavi, you need help over there?” Twiggy yelled, from near the doorway. She was barely visible through the thick webs, but she was raising her arms to cast.

“Nope, got it,” Tavi said, and a cyclone of red flame exploded from his sword as he swung with a vicious backhand. Like roasting from the inside, Kormick thought, as the blade and fire together sliced into derro-spider flesh. The walls behind them sparked as Tavi’s fire hit the glowing moss. But suddenly the creature on the wall in front of Tavi reared back and spit its sticky web, and Tavi was pinned to the wall, exposed and defenseless against the poison axe of the creature’s still-standing ally.

A spell from Twiggy had confused the spider-thing on the ceiling—it had swatted at the air and skittered to the other side of the room—but now it was rearing back again, ready to let loose another shower of web-like goo. “That’s disgusting!” yelled Savina, and she pushed past Kormick until she was almost directly underneath the spider-thing. Didn’t we talk about not doing that? Kormick thought—as Savina raised her arms and cried out to Alirria. Sacred flame descended, searing the spider-thing and burning away several webs. But Savina couldn’t retreat as well as she could attack: the creature spat again, trapping Savina in a gooey mess, and then lunged forward to BITE the girl. Its fangs sunk into her shoulder. “Poison!” yelled Savina, squirming and writhing against the webs that pinned her to the floor.

Kormick felt a rush of fraternal compassion and frustration for Savina. She was caught in the webs, flailing with her staff, her face twisted from the pain of the poisoned gash on her side. Blood flowed from her wound, and she could not reach to staunch it. It had taken a lot of faith— and a lot of stupidity, but mostly a lot of faith—for her to rush to the front of the fight like that.

He raised his hammers to swing again. But the spider thing reared back and spit again, covering Kormick’s face and arms with webbing—and then, just as it had with Savina, it LUNGED, digging its teeth into Kormick’s shoulder. Poison burned into the wound. He couldn’t move. “You,” he said, pointing at Savina as she hung, trapped, beside him—“hang in there, kid.”

On the other side of the room, Tavi was also taking a beating. Two derro-things—one standing, the other clinging to the wall— were swinging at him with axes, and connecting. He was weak with poison. Frankly, the webs pinning him to the wall seemed to be the only things holding him up. His sword hit stone as often as it hit derro.

Then Mena’s voice rang out as she freed herself from the webs and struck out at the back of the standing derro. “Come on, Tavi, you trained for this!” Tavi’s eyes grew determined, his sword ignited, and he began burning away the webs that held him to the wall. It’s amazing what you can train for, Kormick thought.

Kormick and Savina remained trapped, menaced by a spider-thing on the ceiling, but the slave was—ironically—still free. Arden dove through an impossibly narrow gap in the webs surrounding Kormick, somersaulted as she landed, and came up right behind the creature. STAB. It staggered and fell, and Arden stepped back, her hand covered in its blood. “Where did you learn—” Kormick began.

“Dodging the whip, Justicar,” she replied. And flashed a grim smile.

Okay, if the slave is making slave jokes now, then I'm still making slave jokes.

“Tavi!” Savina broke free and rushed forward to heal Tavi, and then raised her arms again. “Alirria!” A burst of sacred flame erupted from the ceiling, scorching the standing derro-thing that had been attacking him. It fell in a heap on the floor, and Tavi cut through the webs with renewed strength.

The last remaining derro-creature clung to the wall with the panicked look of a debtor about to run out the back door when the crew came to collect. But there was no outlet. SLICE. Tavi’s blade found a home in its neck and it fell, landing with a dull THUD in a thick tangle of webbing.

And the room was, finally, quiet.

“Jan, are you hurt?” Savina asked, softly. Kormick had freed himself from the webs, but still could barely move.

“Actually, yes.”

Savina laid her gentle hands on his shoulders, and Kormick felt the warmth of her healing. “Thanks.” He lit the torch from his pack and began burning the webs that now filled most of the room, gathering pouches and amulets from the dead derro as he passed. He handed the pouch of residuum to Twiggy and the potions to Savina. “More healing,” Savina explained, and handed one to Mena, who quietly passed it to Arden. Kormick didn’t stop her.

“Fire is cleansing,” Tavi said, as he watched the webs shrivel and burn.

Mena looked at the back of her hand, marred by burn scars. “Don’t care for fire.” She paused. “Then again, I don’t care for killing, and I don’t care for dungeons. Yet here we are.” She moved a derro body, to inspect it . . . but discovered that the tangle of webs it had landed on was more than it seemed. There was a body tangled among the webs. She pulled the webs away from the body. It was a dwarf. A male dwarf, with salt-and-pepper hair. Once strong, but now gaunt. Its face was twisted in a rictus of terror.

Corani gasped from behind the group, then pushed forward through them to approach the body. “No! Kartan!” Her husband, now dead from some derro horror.

The elder wife, Sertani, strode forward and looked down at the body, putting her hand on Corani’s shoulder. “We must find Thurran,” she said, softly. “He is the head of the Rockminder clan, now.”

Corani knelt down beside the body with effort, brushing a limp strand of hair back from the once-proud forehead, peeling away a cobweb. Then she looked up at Kormick. “He was a sculptor.”

Savina was looking at Kormick.

Everyone was looking at Kormick.

“Oh,” Kormick said. “Right. Um, rites.” He pulled out his little text and flipped through it, as dwarves filed into the room. Sertani pulled the three-year-old to the front of the group. The kid looked up at Kormick. Kormick kept flipping pages. Where is that section with the rites . . .

And he looked at Savina, her eyes bright with hope, and he looked down at the kid, his eyes wide with expectation, and he stopped flipping pages. He closed the book, and said what came into his head. About honor. Bravery. Then…craftsmanship. Singlemindedness of purpose. Devoting oneself to family. Doing what is necessary. Dedicating one’s life to a single, certain, goal.

Savina translated.

At the end, there was a little tear in Sertani’s eye.

There was a little tear in Kormick’s eye, too.

As they silently built a cairn over Kartan’s body, Kormick considered the experience of performing rites for what felt like the first time. Hm. Religion can be comforting, he thought, touching the spot on his shoulder where Savina had healed him. Not just a tool for establishing authority. It felt new. Strange. More comfortable than he would expect.

The three-year old placed the last stone atop his father’s grave.

Too much work kept me from reading for a while, but I came back to find this:

Ilex said:

The longer we're in this horrible place, Mena thought, self-control is going to become an increasing rare and precious resource. Dungeons are a terrible terrible idea. Whoever thought that trapping heavily armed and nervous people in a confined space with only one way out would be a clever little challenge should be dropped down to whatever man-eating plants are populating the basement.

Click to expand...

Hilarious!

Thanks, Rughat -- we have Jenber to thank for that line of Mena's.

Naturally, when she said "whoever" she meant Ehkt. Naturally. Ehkt and his little challenges.

ellinor said:

Thanks, Rughat -- we have Jenber to thank for that line of Mena's.

Naturally, when she said "whoever" she meant Ehkt. Naturally. Ehkt and his little challenges.

Click to expand...

Yes. Ehkt. That was it.

Jenber said:

Yes. Ehkt. That was it.

Click to expand...

Do not taunt the happy fun GM...

Fajitas said:

Do not taunt the happy fun GM...

Click to expand...

Ehkt it is, then.

6x02

This room is disgusting, Acorn thought, loudly.

Twiggy agreed. This whole place is disgusting. It felt like days had passed since the group had descended into the derro warren. In reality, it had probably been less than an hour. But so much had happened. The fire, the smoke, the children, the webs…and now the Dwarven man—Corani’s husband—the one person in the world who might be able to tell them where the Spring was—was dead. So much death…no. For once in your life, she told herself, don’t think. It hurt to think. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it didn’t hurt to do. Twiggy shoved her thoughts into the back of her mind, raised her goggles, and tried to wipe her glasses clean on the arm of her ash-stained dress.

“Chalk up one for the good guys,” said Kormick. “Although it would have been nice to have your flaming ball of death back there.”

Kormick’s gallows humor made Twiggy feel herself again. “And what did you say you did during your years at the Sorcerers Academy?”

It has been a long day for all of us,” Mena cut in, “but it is far from over. We must keep moving.” She surveyed the two exits available to them: the dark stairway descending in front of them and the long crevice in the wall to their side.

“We know what the stairway holds,” said Kormick. “Undoubtedly, further chambers of carnage and ill-kept death. What we need to know is what’s down that crevice. Arden, why don’t you—”

He paused and turned to Twiggy. “Young lady, perhaps you could send your mouse, as you did earlier?”

I heard that, thought Acorn, and I don’t understand why Arden can’t do it. He was about to ask her to. I know it. She’s a slave. That’s what slaves do. Things that people like us shouldn’t have to—

Come on, now, Acorn, Twiggy thought in response, you know how I feel about that. But this is no time to talk about the ethics of slave ownership. Arden has been injured many times today, and clearly she has a problem with small spaces. You can do this. You can be brave. I know you can.

Acorn paused for a long time. You promise you’ll be here when I get back?

I Promise. 100%

Acorn was gone for a long time. A very long time.

Eventually, though, he returned, with a report. The crevice led for a very long way down a gentle slope. The ground was uneven. At the end, there seemed to be another room, with derro voices in it. They didn’t hear me, though, I’m positive, Acorn thought. I was very quiet.

Just then, they heard a faint noise. Not from the crevice, though—from down the stairs. A voice, maybe, or something breaking. Then quiet.

They snuck down, Arden and Tavi in the lead, Kormick just behind them. The others followed.

The dwarves and Rose hung back in the stairway, within earshot. Gulst, the three-year-old, clung to his mother’s leg. Rose patted his head reassuringly, but her face told a story of sorrow and consternation.

The stairway opened up into a large room—a workspace of sorts. Tables lined the walls, strewn with candles, feathers, herbs, and other arcane accoutrements.

If I didn’t know any better, Twiggy thought, [/i]I’d say someone had set up a telep---[/i] She turned around. On the wall behind her was a large circle, ringed in what appeared to be heavily corrupted Dwarven lettering. Oh.

Just then, something appeared in the middle of the room. Twiggy couldn’t quite tell what it was. A derro, perhaps, wearing sorcerer’s robes? WHOOSH. Twiggy felt her mind become cloudy, and saw Mena fall to one knee, clutching her head.

As Twiggy struggled to shake herself to her senses, she saw Savina rush in to heal Mena. Arden tumbled into the fray, stabbing the derro sorcerer with her shortsword. And Ordren—the dwarf who had been so badly injured—ran past her and charged the thing, scratching and BITING it on the leg. In her mental fog, the whole scene seemed . . . not quite real.

(DM’S NOTE: That’d be Ordren’s Daily Power—a re-skinned version of the Ranger’s Hunter’s Bear Trap wherein he flings himself at someone, wraps himself around their leg, and proceeds to bite at their kneecaps.)

Out of the corner of Twiggy’s eye, something moved. Was it Tavi? Kormick? A derro? All three? In her fog, she couldn’t be sure. Then a THUNK. AUGGH! A derro voice cried out in anguish.

###

While the women contended with the sorcerer, Tavi joined Kormick in confronting a derro who'd rushed in from another door. Or, rather, Tavi stood back and watched Kormick pound the derro with his warhammers. Knees. Gut. With every blow, the derro let out a gurgle of pain. Kormick’s movements seemed almost meditative. I’ve been training in combat precision for my entire life, Tavi thought, but what this guy does . . . it’s really quite beautiful.

But Tavi didn’t have much time to admire Kormick’s skill. A second opponent ran into the room, his jaw determined, his hands flaming with sorcerous fire. He bobbed and weaved like a boxer, and took a swing at Tavi. It connected, and burned. The fight was on.

###

Twiggy looked up at the teleport circle on the wall as the fog cleared from her mind. There was a wavering on the surface, almost as if she was looking into water. It wasn’t her imagination. We have to do something about that, she thought. Or we’re leaving the door open for our death.

Twiggy had done quite a bit of research on teleport circles, before setting out on this journey. But those circles were different. They were organized, ordered, with the elegance of magic learned at the Academy. Not the crude chaos of the derro. And anyway, back in Pol Henna, Tavi had done most of the work of setting up the circle.

Not most of the work, Twiggy told herself, just some of it. And I had to correct something. And since then, I’ve controlled my power in a way I never thought possible. She thought back to the flaming sphere in the entry way. I can do this.

Twiggy looked around. The other women were stalking the sorcerer, who flitted in and out of sight—invisibility spells, she thought. The men were engaged with two particularly vicious derro in the corner. Don't think about those things, Twiggy told herself. [/i]One problem at a time.[/i]

"Mena! Savina, Arden!" she called, and pointed to the teleport circle on the wall. "We have to shut this thing down. Now!"

"Tell us how," said Mena.

Right. Twiggy tuned out the clanging and yelling of the men’s fighting, and concentrated. She thought about which parts of a teleport circle were the parts that made it work. This circle looked different from the ones she knew, but some things were similar . . . “Mena!” she yelled, pointing at one of the runes. “THERE!” Mena swung her flail at the rune. The stone chipped. The surface of the circle wavered, but stayed watery.

“Arden! Savina! The feathers!” Savina and Arden rushed to the wall, tearing feathers apart in an eerie reversal of their roles at the teleport center in Pol Henna. Twiggy joined them, extinguishing candles and pulling at stones.

The surface of the wall began to move and ripple, as if something were pushing it out. “Mena! Again!” Mena swung, and chipped another rune.

A long, sinewy tendril pushed through the surface. It was massive, extending, waving, pushing forward . . .It was a nightmare, like nothing Twiggy had ever even dreamed of before . . .

Twiggy lunged forward and swung her robe at a small cluster of candles just out of reach. They wobbled, flickered, and fell, extinguished.

FOOSH.

And suddenly, Twiggy was staring at a blank wall. She stood, shaking, staring.

###

Tavi rolled against the wall, beating out the flames from his tunic. He had done a lot of damage to the derro—blood was oozing from the creature’s arms and head where Tavi’s blade had smashed it against the wall—but Tavi had taken his share of hurt, and the derro just wasn’t going down.

Kormick was burned, too, and was none too happy about it. “Why! Won’t! You! Die!” he yelled, shoving his foot against the derro’s chest and pounding it with his warhammers. It slumped, finally, unconscious.

As Tavi sheathed his sword, he wondered: Why haven’t the others been helping us?

He turned to see them all staring at the center of the room. There was nothing there. They were staring into empty space.

“The sorcerer,” Twiggy explained. “He’s gone invisible.”

They felt around for what seemed an eternity, stabbing at air, casting at nothing.

Then suddenly the sorcerer appeared for an instant, cast a spell, and ran toward a hallway that extended out from the corner of the room. Twiggy staggered, grabbing her head.

“Running only makes us angry, you know,” Mena called after him. Her armor whispered behind her. …Angry, angry, angry.

There was a shuffling sound near the doorway.

“Or as we say in Dar Und,” Kormick announced, “it only means you’ll die tired.” He fired his crossbow. SHUNK. The sorcerer appeared, slumped against the doorway, unconscious.

###

“Arden, see what’s down there,” Kormick said, pointing down the hallway.

I don't understand why the mouse can't do it, Arden thought, walking to the door. Oh well. It's amazing what can start to seem comfortingly familiar, especially now that I've finally recovered a little –

She peeked around the corner.

BAM! A piece of crockery hit her on the head.

Interesting - disarming the teleport circle looked like a skill challenge. Was it? I've been reading how Piratecat has been working those in his 4th Ed game. How did you folks do this one in game? The core skill challenge mechanics struck me as a little flat, but this sounded quite intense. Did it work as well at the table?

Thanks, Rughat -- yes, this was a skill challenge, and yes, it was very intense at the table. Skill challenges have often been very intense for us, in fact. I will let Fajitas speak more to the skill challenge mechanic he's been using (which varies slightly different from the core skill challenge mechanic in the DMG, and I believe our experiments in the area may have served as the source material for some of what Piratecat has been doing), but I will say that as a player I've found that skill challenges have integrated fantastically into the game, upping tension for various tasks, forcing us to work together, making us think about what we're good at and how we can make those things work to our advantage. I credit Fajitas' creativity and quick thinking for picking good skill challenges and integrating them into the experience. For example, this skill challenge was integrated into the combat that was going on simultaneously, so that for a round, a PC could choose between participating in the skill challenge or fighting, which upped the drama even more. In addition to the challenges he plans, there are times when we'll try to do something offbeat, and he'll pull out the success/failure pebbles and say "sounds like a skill challenge to me!" which is excellent.

And now back to our regularly scheduled dungeon...

6x03

CRASH.

Kormick knew the sound of breaking crockery when he heard it. That was breaking crockery.

Sure enough, as the slave backed away from the corner, there was a trickle of blood mixed with some unknown dark liquid dripping down her temple, mingling with the red of her hair. Tavi was the next to peek around the corner, and—BAM—the same thing happened to him.

“I’m sick of this.” Komick nearly spat the words as he strode into the room. “Seriously—“ he threw down the unconscious derro sorcerer whom he had been dragging by the collar —“I’m sick of this.”

Kormick found himself in a small cave, supported by columns. Tables crowded the room, covered with bottles, vials, boxes, jars . . . sorcery stuff, he supposed. A large fireplace covered much of the opposite wall.

A piece of crockery whizzed by his ear. “Shtay back, derro shcum!” It was a female voice, speaking dwarven, no less vitriolic for being slurred with inebriation.

“We are no derro,” Mena’s voice called back. Mena’s armor snarled as bottles caromed off her shield and smashed against the floor. Mena stepped beside Kormick and put her foot on the body of the still-unconscious derro sorcerer. “But we have one here with us. Do you want to kill it, or should I?”

Kormick blinked in surprise. That may be the single sexiest thing I have ever seen, he thought.

The crockery stopped. “Whozzat?” asked the voice.

“I am Dame Filomena of the Defiers of the Wind. We are here to help you.”

“Liar,” the dwaven woman replied, “Lying shcum.”

“I speak the truth,” Mena said. “I swear it.”

“Your oath meansh nothing,” the voice snarled. “No honor.”

“I swear,” Mena sighed, “on my ancestors.”

"Yeah? Who're they?" the voice demanded.

Mena paused, exasperation showing clearly on her face. “I swear on the di Rossini family of Pol Henna.”

After a long moment, the voice replied. “Fine,” it said, “throw me the derro shcum.”

Mena heaved the body over the pile of boxes, and Kormick heard more crashing as pieces of crockery smashed, mostly against the floor, some against the derro body. Kormick envied the ease of the dwarf’s revenge, but imagined that she wasn’t doing much damage, not in her state. “Are you all right back there—?“ he began.

“Zirkai!” The voice of Sertani, the eldest wife of the late Rockminder, rang out from behind him as Rose and the dwarves entered the room. “Zirkai, that’s enough!” Sertani marched past Kormick and reached behind the boxes.

She emerged holding the collar of a dwarven woman—pregnant, although less so than Corani, and perhaps a few years older—unsteady with intoxication.

“About time you found me,” slurred Zirkai.

###

That’s twice, Mena thought, twice in this gods-forsaken hellhole that I have been made to think of my family. Twice I have had to invoke them in some twisted parody of “honor.” Her mind swam with anger. Mena did not think about her family. Ever.

Mena looked down at the unconscious derro that Zirkai had been battering and listened, numbly, as the others toured the room, picking up useful items. Two healing potions. A large pouch of processed residuum. Two alchemical recipes. A potion of sacrifice. A cloak of the chirurgeon. A pair of bracers that could be used to emit flame. A shield that would prevent the user from being pushed or pulled.

In the back of Mena’s hearing, the reunion—no, shouting match—between the dwarven women continued. A story emerged: Zirkai had been separated from the others and drugged to prevent her from doing injury to herself (or, equally likely, to others). The last sister-wife had been carted off to points unknown, as had the eldest son and Mertal, the cook.

At Mertal’s name, the still-suffering Ordren slumped in sympathetic pain. “So we have no idea where they are”? he implored.

“What do you think I just shaid?” Zirkai shot back.

The dwarves’ voices were filled with rancor and recrimination. It was, Mena supposed, their version of family. It only made things worse.

No evil is ever defeated without a price, Mena thought. Her stomach churned in anger as she thought back to the derro woman’s question. “Do you have children?” she had asked. Visions of her own childhood pushed their way into her mind. No evil is ever defeated without a price, and the Twilight Lurker never lets anyone off cheaply. She quietly lifted the body of the unconscious derro and quietly carried it into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I will not pay that price for nothing.

Mena slapped the derro’s face and ordered it awake with quiet malice. “We need information,” she said, “and you need to tell it to us. Now.” The Defier’s armor purred, malevolently.

The derro trembled in fear as its eyes fluttered open, and it turned its head away.

Mena put one hand on each side of the derro’s head and stared into its eyes. “I have done things in this hellhole that I would prefer not to have done.” She continued to stare, letting her words sink in. “Although it gives me no pleasure,” she continued, “I will not hesitate to do them again.”

A pool of urine formed under the derro’s body.

“I would like to know where the dwarven prisoners are,” Mena cooed. “I would like to know without any fuss or trouble.”

The derro prisoner trembled in fear. “Children in nursery. Two in cages. One in kitchen. Two on lower levels.”

Mena nodded and continued, speaking as if to a young child. “What is waiting for us on the lower levels?”

“Many. More each day. Lurx. Our clan expand.”

Our clan. Blood swam before Mena’s eyes. “And what is waiting for us in the kitchen?” she whispered. “I like details.”

“Pets.” The derro could not control its voice. “Pets pets pets pets pets.”

“Do they have big teeth?”

“Yes.”

“So do I.” She slit its throat and turned away.

###

A healing potion and the effects of Savina’s new cloak had bolstered Arden’s strength considerably, but it hadn’t made the derro hellhole any more palatable.

“Two places left,” said Tavi, with surprisingly good cheer, “the kitchen and the lower levels.” The gentleman glanced from Ordren’s pleading eyes to Sertani’s determined scowl.

Neither sounded appetizing to Arden. Both were further underground. Both meant more time in this place. But she had no choice.

“Back to the crevice,” announced Tavi.

As they climbed into the crevice, Arden felt her chest tighten with the terror that seemed to come with all small, dark spaces. But one of the dwarven children looked up at her, reaching its hand out to touch her cloak with the tight grip of its young fingers. Its face positively glowed with gratitude. There is some good I can do here, Arden thought. If I’m not killed first.

As they walked, the Justicar made conversation. “So, how does this work? How many wives can one dwarf have?”

Signor Octavian, whose family apparently had considerable experience with dwarven trade, explained: Dwarven women frequently ran the family’s business concerns, and a successful dwarven man would marry as many women as needed to run the business and raise the family.

“You could never run a crew that way,” Kormick chuckled. “No man can serve two masters.”

Arden trudged behind Savina, letting the familiar rhythm of resignation move her feet as the rough-hewn passage descended into the bowels of the earth. After a long time, Arden noticed a narrower branch heading upward and away. She pointed it out. The Signor’s hummingbird flitted about eagerly, darting in and out of the tunnel.

“Acorn says the lower levels are ahead,” Twiggy reminded them, referring to her mouse’s earlier reconnaissance mission. They continued walking. Walking.

The passage opened into an irregular chamber, a small natural cave that had been hewn wider by hand. Stalactites shimmered above, reflecting the green glow of electrical moss growing on the walls. Three derro stared down another passage on the other side of the room, their backs to the party.

The Justicar stopped and signaled silently to Arden, who looked back at the group. Savina, Mena, and Rose were busy keeping the dwarves together. Arden understood – they’d have to handle this by themselves. The Justicar looked at Tavi, who looked at Twiggy. Twiggy cast. A bolt of force streaked past the derro. Arden released her sling, striking one in the head. Before it could even yelp, Kormick’s crossbow bolt pierced through its neck. Then Tavi charged in, slicing through the reminaing two. They had barely made a sound.

“Like a well-oiled machine,” said Tavi, grinning.

The corridor continued, sloping further down. There were sounds ahead: derro voices; a far-off trickling sound; clanging. The crack of a whip.

It was all too familiar to Arden.

She braced herself and peeked into the room. Before her was a very large natural cavern, lit by green moss on the ceiling and a few dim torches lining the walls. There were large piles of . . . smashed furniture, perhaps, and heaps of dirt, rocks, and other scree along the back walls. A number of derro were standing around, idly holding axes and whips.

But Arden wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at several dwarves who were chained in the rear of the room, breaking rocks with anemic-looking picks. They were mostly old, but one was young—virtually a child, Arden thought.

It was all too familiar. The cold rage that flared through all her veins was familiar, too. But one thing was new: This time, I'm armed.

Looking closer, she saw that there was a human on the chain gang, a slight woman with sovereign features and a tattoo on her face, hauling a bucket of scree. Arden watched the woman's eyeline and picked her moment, raising a finger at precisely the right instant to catch the woman's attention. As soon as the woman saw her, Arden raised the finger all the way to her lips: Be quiet. Be ready.

The woman palmed a couple of rocks and slid them into the folds of her torn clothing. Arden could have cheered.

She backed away from the room and described what she'd seen to the gentlefolk. Tavi looked for himself.

"A lot of derro in that room," he commented. "I'd like to know if anything else is lurking down here first. Let's keep going." Mena nodded and Kormick prepared to lead the way on down the corridor.

"Signor," Arden said, and swallowed hard. "With respect, will we come back and help these people?" She was addressing a gentleperson directly. She was not to address a gentleperson directly. She was not to ask a gentleperson for anything. She…

“Yes,” he replied, absentmindedly.

Arden’s voice shook as she spoke again. “Signor Octavian, do I have your word that we will help these people?”

“Yes.”