Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
Because you demanded it, loyal readers! Here begins the next chapter in our epic campaign! Join us once again, as we set off on the road to adventure with new friends, and perhaps some old faces! Settle back, relax, and prepare to enjoy the AGE OF WORMS!!
PROLOGUE
The trip to Waterdeep had been long and uncomfortable. Giovanni Vito, former heir to one of the richest merchant houses of Sembia, could not have foreseen that he would be forced to ride in the belly of a trading vessel along with unwashed commoners. Then he remembered the names hurled at him like red-hot daggers: Cursed…Fiend-thrall…Warlock. He remembered the disgrace on his family, and their rejection of his talent. He remembered the expulsion from the family manse as an apostate, wielder of an unholy power. He was only 16 years old at the time. The memories branded his soul, the pain from which still numbed him.
Giovanni could not explain where his power came from, or when he even became aware of its presence. What he could recall were the dreams, the nightmares he experienced from an early age. The images were elemental and gruesome, dominated by monsters with leathery bat-like wings, creatures with long claws dripping with the blood of their victims, or other visions too horrifying to have been created by his sleeping mind. Always in the distance, a lone figure stood. Humanoid in shape, the shadowy figure lurked, hands wreathed in the same eldritch energy that Giovanni was learning to summon and control. Could he be the shadowy figures in his dreams, or was it someone else, perhaps an ancestor that had damned him by making a pact with such dark forces? In either case, he was unable to discern whether the figure in the distance was the fiends’ ally, their enemy, or, more dreadfully, their leader.
Over the next four years, Giovanni stayed within the larger cities, his nose buried in books of dark lore. When questioned of his motives, the boy would simply respond that he was an investigator and researcher of the Occult. Studying dragons, arcanists, magical beasts, undead, and outsiders were his trade, or so he would claim. In reality, he was more concerned with learning about the darkness within himself. Whether his powers were in league with the wishes of some cruel deity or powerful outsider, or whether he was just some sort of arcane aberration were unknown to him. Given the proper research, Giovanni was going to answer the questions as to the origin of his powers, and he was going to learn to control those powers. His knowledge was growing, but the warlock was beginning to comprehend that the more he learned the less he truly understood.
The accommodations were far more suitable than the cozy cell prepared for him by the Grand Pasha of Calimport. As open-minded as the Calishites were to magic, spell-gifted beings such as Giovanni were treated with suspicion and cruelty. Beings of Djinn ancestry were widely accepted in Calimshan; beings with ties to the fiends of the lower planes were not so embraced. Fleeing in the night, Giovanni hastily accepted passage on a cargo ship headed north up the Sword Coast. It was with great hope that Giovanni traveled to Waterdeep. The City of Splendors was renowned as being a haven for the ‘differently abled’, and its vast libraries could possibly help the young warlock.
The boat rocked, shaking Giovanni from his reverie. The young man’s spectacles, unremarkable to those not able to detect the presence of magic, slipped to the edge of his nose. Annoyed, the warlock reset the glasses and returned to his reading. The book resting on his lap, titled simply “A Treatise on the Faezress and Effects on Underdark Travel”, had been spattered erratically by water dripping from the deck above, a fact that irritated Giovanni further. The book had been a waste of time, hardly worth even stealing from the Grand Pasha’s library. It was obvious that the author, some hack by the name of ‘Volo’, had no idea what he was talking about. He was more interested in talking about the inns and mead halls of Deep Shanatar than the nature of the Underdark’s protections against teleportation.
A loud splash was audible through the walls of the chamber. The crew had dropped anchor. The hatch leading to the outer deck swung open and light poured into the dark room. A burly sailor, complete with an eye patch, grunted into the hold. “Get out, you’s! Welcome to Waterdeep!” The other passengers around him began standing, stretching, collecting their meager belongings. Giovanni’s possessions were limited primarily to his clothing which, while of high quality, was dirty and stained from the travel. He knew that much of what he wore was of magical quality, but this was a fact that he tried to cover up or conceal. His tunic, scarf, glasses, and cloak were all magical. If the sailors aboard knew of their value there would be no way that they would have let him leave the boat fully clothed.
Giovanni stepped out on to the main deck of the galley. The sunlight burned his eyes for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his sight. The city was immense! He had been told that they would arrive in a place called the Dock Ward, but he had figured it to be a few piers. Waterdeep extended as far as his vision carried. A warlock could easily get lost in a place like this.
As he stepped off the gangplank and on to terra firma, Giovanni peered into his belt pouch. Eighteen lonely gold coins looked back up at him. This would not do. There was no way that a man could make it for long on such a pittance. Sighing and biting his lower lip, the warlock began to ponder his situation and a possible solution. As he did so, a single piece of parchment floated by on the wind and softly struck his lower leg. Giovanni reached down to swipe it off, but something about the paper caught his eye. Gripping it with both hands, he began to read.
“WANTED: Competitors willing to prove their mettle against foes in gladiatorial combat.” Interesting, thought Giovanni. The young warlock continued walking north as he read. Apparently, he had arrived in time for Waterdeep’s yearly gladiatorial competition, complete with substantial gold winnings and a prize called ‘The Champion’s Belt’. The prospects were most intriguing. There was the issue of finding a licensed team manager, but Giovanni figured that he might luck upon one of those.
As he walked north, the warlock began running scenarios through his mind regarding the Champion’s Belt tournament. It was obvious to him that due to his relatively famous family name, it might be best if he used an alias. Understanding the flair expected in the arena, this alias should be something simple yet striking. Grinning inwardly, Giovanni decided that the name would hint at the extra planar and chaotic nature of the power that he wielded. He would call himself “Havok”.
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Giovanni spent the next several days in the City of Splendors putting out feelers and letting it be generally known throughout the seedy Dock Ward that he was an aspiring competitor looking for a manager.
One evening, while seated alone in the taproom of the Splintered Stair inn, the young warlock’s attention was drawn from his open book for a quiet, clearing of a feminine throat. Glancing up, his breath momentarily caught in his chest at the sight of the woman standing over him. She was dressed in the manner of most of the inhabitants of Dock Ward; rough, worn clothing over boiled leathers, but her eyes were depthless and hypnotic. A small, gold ring pierced her full, lower lip. It took the young warlock a moment to notice that she was not alone. A handsome, though rather short fellow, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, stood behind her. He was dressed in a fine, blue robe, and polished knee-high boots. A well-made lute was slung over one shoulder.
“I understand that you are in need of a sponsor,” the woman began without preamble.
Giovanni took a moment to clear his throat before speaking. “Er…yes. That’s right. Please, won’t you sit down?” The woman pulled out a chair, and her companion joined her. “My name is Celeste,” she said, her piercing gaze never wavering. “I know that you call yourself Havok,” at this, a small smile creased her pretty mouth. “Allow me to introduce Ekaym Smallcask.” The short man nodded. “Ekaym,” Celeste continued, “is a merchant on an extended stay in Waterdeep. He has procured a manager’s license for the Champion’s Games, and he is recruiting fighters.” She turned expectantly to Ekaym. “Just so,” he said jovially, “It promises to be quite the spectacle, or so I’m told! Opportunites abound, both financially, and…romantically.” He winked knowingly at Giovanni. The warlock kept his expression carefully neutral. “What are your terms?” he asked. “Ah, a bottom-line man!” Ekaym laughed. “I like that! Well, the standard managerial fee is, ah…fifty percent of all winnings. In return, I shall provide you with sponsorship, contacts, should you care to place any wagers on the games, healing should you need it, and, of course…a team.”
Giovanni leaned back in his chair. Of course he would need to be part of a team. He hadn’t really given that aspect much consideration, but it only made sense. He pondered the situation for a few moments, then shrugged and extended his hand to Ekaym. “I agree.” “Excellent!” shouted Ekaym. “I’ll come round tomorrow evening at this same time to fetch you and introduce you to your new team mates.”
Celeste rose, and Ekaym followed her. As the strangely beautiful woman turned to leave, she spoke one last time to Giovanni. “If you acquit yourself well in the tournament, I may have need of your services again in the future.”
True to his word, Ekaym arrived the next evening, this time draped in a garish purple robe. A small coach waited outside the inn, and it carried the merchant and the warlock through Dock Ward, and past the Market in the City Ward. Throughout the ride, Ekaym chatted away amiably about his travels to exotic locals and trysts with an improbable number of exotic women. Giovanni feigned passing interest, but kept most of his attention on the bustling nightlife they passed on the streets of the City of Splendors.
The coach pulled up in front of another inn, appropriately named the Crooked House, since it seemed as if the entire building was a bit off tilt, its walls at odd angles, and none of its doors or windows quite square. Once inside, Ekaym tipped the barkeep, a jovial looking gnome, who then led the pair to a secluded back room. A fire crackled in the hearth of the cozy chamber, and seated around a long table was one of the motliest assortment of characters Giovanni had ever laid eyes on.
Ekaym gestured towards the group with a flourish. “Gentlemen…and lady,” he added with a wink towards a lovely elf maid, “allow me to introduce the final member of your team. I present…Havok!” Stony silence met the merchant from seven pairs of eyes, eight counting Giovanni. “Yes, well…” he continued, clearing his throat. “Havok, I give you, in no certain order of importance, Vladius,” here he indicated a young man dressed in plain brown robes, yet sporting a mane of flame, red hair, “Shay,” a dark-skinned fellow clad all in black, “Grubber,” a mountain of a man, gray of skin, and bald of pate. Unless Giovanni missed his guess, he was a goliath. “Grim,” Ekaym continued, indicating what the warlock at first took to be a dwarf, but on closer inspection, he saw that the armor clad thing had skin seemingly made of solid rock, “Storm,” the lovely elven woman, “and lastly, Civilars Hawk Veritas and Dwilt Riddick.” These last two appeared to be human, but Giovanni quickly determined that the one called Hawk was something more. His bronze hair and gold-flecked eyes identified him as celestial touched…aasimar. Even more striking, though, was the title Ekaym had identified them by, and also the uniforms they both wore. The men were civilars, officers in the city guard! Why on earth would they be competing as gladiators?
“So,” the red head Ekaym had named Vladius said, crossing his hands across his belly, “you’re the new meat. I suppose this pirate posing as a merchant is fleecing you for as much as he is the rest of us, while he profits from the sweat of our brow. We who are about to be screwed salute you.” He raised a flagon into the air.
“You do have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you…Pyro?” Ekaym said sarcastically. “No one is twisting your arm to be here. You’re a big boy. Now, since we have the formalities out of the way, we can get down to business.” The merchant motioned Giovanni to a seat beside Grim, while he himself conspicuously took the spot next to Storm.
“As you all know,” Ekaym began, “the Champion’s Games begin officially tomorrow night with the Champion’s Feast. This will be held at the Field of Triumph, beginning promptly at six sharp. Any team not present will be disqualified. The Feast is mostly a formality…an excuse really for the nobles, upper level clergy and merchants to size-up the competitors and makes odds for wagering. It’s also one of many opportunities for Prendergast Brokengulf, the host of the Games, to seize the spotlight for himself and brag about his glory days as a former gladiator himself. In any event, I strongly advise you to use the time to scrutinize the other teams. The Games proper will commence on the following morning with the first round of competition. There are twenty-four teams competing. On the first day, there will be six battles, each consisting of four teams in a free-for-all. The six winners of these matches will then have one day of rest. On the third day, there will be three battles of one team versus one team. The fourth day, two of the remaining teams will battle each other, while the remaining team will fight one of the beasts of the arena. Traditionally, this battle goes to the previous year’s champions, in this case Auric’s Warband. Finally, on the last day, the final two teams compete, no-holds-barred, for the Champion’s Belt.”
“You mentioned something earlier about team ranks…” Dwilt interrupted.
“Ah, yes…” Ekaym said, steepling his fingers. “A team’s initial rank determines the odds for or against them in the wagering. You are relative unknowns, so your initial ranking will probably be somewhere around three, the minimum being one, and the maximum being nine. Each time you win a match, your rank will increase. All of the other rules of the tournament will be explained to you in detail at the Feast, so, if there’s nothing else…? Good, then I’ll leave you all to get better acquainted with your new team mate. Until tomorrow.” With that, the young merchant rose, and left the room, swirling his cloak around him dramatically.
“What a little weasel.” Vladius snorted as the door closed.
“Yes, but he has a managers license,” Dwilt said, “and he got us into the games.”
“Then the criteria for getting a license must only be having a face and the intelligence of a kobold,” the red-head retorted, then turned towards Giovanni. “Now what about you? Are you just some flunky of Ekaym’s, or can you actually fight?”
Giovanni peered over the top of his glasses. “I can handle myself, but I don’t want to start by sniping at my own team mates. Ekaym was right…I’d like to know more about you all. Where do you hale from?”
“Here and there,” Vladius said, picking at his fingernails with a bread knife. “You know us gladiator types…always on the move.”
“You must pardon my friend,” the goliath called Grubber spoke up. “He tends to speak and act before he thinks.” This earned the goliath a withering glare from Vladius. “Vladius, Shay, Grim and I came to Waterdeep by way of Daggerford, but what Vladius says is also true. We have all been wayfarers at one time or another.”
“Obviously, Hawk and I are native Waterdavians,” Dwilt said, tapping his civilar insignia.
“Yes, about that,” Giovanni asked. “Why would officers of the guard be competing in a common gladiatorial competition?”
“In order to earn almost 50,000 gp in the guard, we would have to serve until I was around 300 years old,” Dwilt said with a smile. “There is nothing in the guard rulebook that says we can’t make a little money on the side.”
“Now, back to you,” Storm said, leaning suggestively across the table towards Giovanni. “Where are you from? You seem like an unlikely gladiator yourself…Havok.”
“My name is Giovanni,” the warlock replied, dropping his gaze. “I am also something of a wanderer. Suffice it to say that Waterdeep is the perfect place to lose one’s self in, and the games present a quick, if dangerous source of income.”
“Then we have more in common than you think,” Storm smiled. “I think you’ll fit in just fine.”
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The evening of the Champion’s Feast arrived, and Ekaym arranged for transport of his team to the Field of Triumph. When Giovanni first stepped into the luxuriously roomy coach, he was stunned at the appearance of his comrades-in-arms. Dwilt and Hawk, who the previous night had been decked out in masterwork armor, were dressed in rusted cast-offs and maggoty leathers. Dull, pitted swords hung at their belts. Vladius wore a moth-eaten robe with one sleeved pinned up as if he were missing an arm. Grubber had what appeared to be several open sores on his face and arms. Shay, the supposed scout of the group, was dressed in several loose-fitting pieces of plate mail! Finally, Storm’s beautiful face was covered in soot and dirt, her hair a matted rat’s nest, while Grim, the mineralized dwarven juggernaut, was all but engulfed in a huge, multi-colored caftan.
“Did I miss something?” Giovanni asked, his mouth gaping. “Is the Feast supposed to be a costume party?”
“Not at all,” Dwilt laughed. “We are merely attempting to stack the odds against us. The less imposing we appear, the more money we’ll win when we put a few well-placed wagers on ourselves. We even ‘convinced’ a priest of Kossuth to spread the word among the clergy that he had recently ministered to Grubber for a mysterious wasting disease.”
Grubber frowned. “Which was not entirely an untruth,” he grumbled. “I actually have just recovered from a cursed periapt I…found.”
Giovanni could tell the goliath was holding something back, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he nodded his approval. “Then I should blend in just fine,” he said, adjusting his spectacles, and patting the large tome in his shoulder bag.
__________________________________________________ ____
The Field of Triumph sat on a hillock overlooking the surrounding ward. Oval in shape, it had four gates, each overlooked by a pair of watchtowers. The arena itself was capable of seating over 18,000 spectators. Wardens manned each watchtower, greeting all arriving guests, dressed in blue cloaks with large clasps shaped like a bastard sword.
Numerous long banquet tables were arrayed in a circle around a central wooden stage in the middle of the field. Two great bonfires burned north of the seating areas, and scores of cooks, scullions and waiters were busy there with spits, grills and platters. Some two-hundred guests were already present shortly after sunset, with half again as many servants, cooks, musicians and other entertainers.
As Ekaym’s coach pulled up to the northwest gate, a warden greeted them. Ekaym presented his license and a clerk began recording the names of the team. “Now,” the clerk concluded, “what is the name of your group, and who is your group leader?” Immediately, Dwilt stepped forward. “I am the leader. I am Dwilt Riddick, and this,” he gestured towards the band, “is Impotent Rage!”
A warden escorted the gladiators to their table, and servants immediately flocked to provide a seemingly endless supply of food and drink. At exactly six, a hush fell over the gathering as a trumpet sounded from the north gate. There, a tanned, clean-shaven man, sporting a thick crew-cut and wearing a chain shirt with a pair of shortswords strapped at his waist strode across the field, trailed by six heavily armed men dressed in purple cloaks. Behind them walked a tall, heavily muscled man who appeared to be in his late fifties. Ancient scars creased his weathered face, and his grizzled, grey hair matched his small, penetrating eyes. He wore a gleaming breastplate with a buckler strapped to his left arm. A huge, bastard sword was strapped across his back. It was obvious that this was Prendergast Brokengulf, former champion of the Field of Triumph, now retired, having made a new career out of managing promising, up-and-coming gladiators, and having also created the Champion’s Games ten years ago. Flanking Brokengulf were two more men. The one on the right also wore a breastplate, and carried a large, steel shield. A greatsword rested between his broad shoulders. Around his waist was a red and black leather girdle topped with the representation of a haunted female face…the Champion’s Belt! The man on the left was balding, and dark-haired. He wore a high collared red cape fastened with a skull clasp over a green jerkin and pants.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause as Brokengulf and his retinue took their positions at the center table. “Thank you my friends,” the gladiator cried, raising his hands to silence his many fans. “You are too kind. Allow me to present to you one more deserving of your accolades.” He turned to the man seated to his right, “I give you the reigning defender of the Champion’s Games for the past two years…Auric!” At this, the throng cheered even more loudly, but it was Vladius’ murmured response that caught Giovanni’s attention, “Ah, so that’s what became of them. The rumors of their death were greatly exaggerated it would seem.”
As the tumult died down, an elderly man wearing the robes of a city magister took the stage. “I am Talabir Welik,” he announced, “judge and arbiter of these Games. I will now review the rules of engagement. First, all battles are to the death, but any gladiator has the option to surrender at any time. To do so, a competitor must drop his or her weapons, kneel and raise both hands in the air. Any gladiator who attacks a surrendering foe will be immediately disqualified and charged with assault. Likewise, any gladiator who surrenders and then attacks another gladiator is also immediately disqualified and faces the same charges. Second, gladiators with the capability of flight or levitation may do so up to a maximum height of forty feet. Attaining heights greater than this are grounds for disqualification. Burrowing into the arena floor is forbidden. Third, a match persists until one team is victorious, either through the death or the surrender of all opposing teams. Fourth, winning gladiators have no right to the spoils of the fallen. A defeated gladiator keeps his gear, or in the case of death, ownership reverts to his team or manager. Fifth, any tactic that endangers spectators is grounds for immediate disqualification and possible legal action. Finally, a disqualified gladiator must cease fighting at once and move to the edge of the field immediately. Failure to comply results in the disqualification of the entire team. Once a gladiator is disqualified, he may no longer take part in any remaining battles.” Welik then stepped down from the stage, and Brokengulf stood once more. “I hereby declare all gladiators Champions of the City of Splendors! Let the Feast begin!”
Once the formalities were over, the numerous nobles, merchants, clergy and other invited guests began to mingle among the gladiator teams, sizing up each one, assessing their strengths and weaknesses, all in an effort to gain some advantage in the wagering to come. Giovanni watched the proceedings with fascination, taking special notes of the actions of his own team mates. Dwilt, in particular, was making the rounds of the high-rollers, making outlandish claims to any who would listen. "Impotent Rage is the greatest adventuring troupe to emerge from Daggerford in a ten-day. We were credited with slaying Kruxar the Invincible, a rogue kobold who was notorious for rustling cattle and various other livestock. Also, we halted the rampage of Imarta the dreaded zombie -- who scared various children of the town. Oh . . . Imarta was a canny one! Her scare tactics only came in the dead of night -- with nary a witness to her passing. However, just to be sure, we exhumed her body and hacked it to tiny little bits -- thereby ending her horrific assaults." He would also go to great lengths to introduce the ridiculously dressed members of the team to interested patrons. "Meet Pyro the Lame, who lost an arm in a farming accident. But be ye warned! He overcompensates for this deficiency with furious . . . ANGER!" and, "Feast your eyes upon Grubber the Afflicted. His promiscuous lifestyle has lead to a variety of boils, blisters, and ulcers. Do not underestimate him, for his very touch promises slimy doom!" Before long, Giovanni had to move quickly away from his erstwhile leader to avoid breaking into howls of laughter and spoiling the whole effect. Yet somehow, against all odds, Dwilt’s plan seemed to be working. The young warlock overheard several guests declaring Impotent Rage a long shot at best, and hopelessly outclassed at worst.
As the evening wore on, Giovanni took note of several other interesting occurrences. At one point, a young woman dressed in stunning soiree attire approached Shay and Vladius. The trio seemed to know one another, as they immediately fell into an animated conversation. The woman kept looking towards Auric and his companion, and Shay and Vladius followed her gaze. After several minutes of this, Giovanni’s two team mates nodded to the woman, and then Shay produced a heavy looking purse from his cloak and handed it to her. She made the bag disappear with startling alacrity, especially considering the fact that her outfit had very few places to conceal anything.
Something else that caught Giovanni’s eye was the fact that Prendergast Brokengulf seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to the members of Impotent Rage, and that in turn, Ekaym appeared to be very interested in Brokengulf. The warlock filed all of these things away for consideration at a later date.
Finally, the Feast came to a close with a stunning fireworks display courtesy of Talabir Welik, after which the festival dancers fell dramatically to the ground and Brokengulf announced, “The Champion’s Games have begun!” At that point, the arena wardens began urging the guests towards the exits, while the gladiator teams were directed to a point near the northwest quadrant of the field. Over the course of the next hour, the teams were lowered by a cleverly concealed lift into the understructure of the arena. Giovanni and his companions eventually found themselves in a large hall showing signs of intense recent traffic. The ceiling was supported by a rectangular pillar, and by the shell of a circular stairwell. A wooden, life-sized statue of a muscular, half-naked man holding a spear and a horn lay in the southwest corner, where the lift terminated in an arcade. A heap of metal bars, hinges and locks sat along the north wall of the chamber, near a ten-foot wide, three-foot tall segment of a wooden frieze, decorated with the realistic carvings of fruits and a bull’s skull. From this chamber, the gladiators were led down a wide, curving hall to a large, irregular room which seemed to be a major junction. Many stairways and passages led in and out. One of these stairways led down to a level even further underground than the understructure, and terminated in an enormous cave resembling some sort of underground village. The cave walls were finely hewn and the floor was paved with smooth slabs of stone. Many artificial and natural pillars supported the relatively low ceiling fifteen feet above. Wooden doors on the cave’s walls lead to a circle of underground dwellings. A pair of similar doors on the north wall led to a kitchen and an infirmary. An underground stream ran in the middle of the cavern, crossed by a wooden bridge that led to a dining area with two long tables. The relatively fresh air, murals of famous gladiators on the walls and the soft illumination provided by amber-colored light globes hanging from the ceiling made the cavern a true marvel of underground architecture.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” one of the wardens called out as the last of the teams was led into the chamber, “welcome to the coenoby, your home while you remain competitors in the Games. Anything you wish will be provided for you, but you are forbidden from leaving this chamber unless escorted by a warden. Failure to comply will result in immediate disqualification. Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
When the chime sounding the dawn hour rang, Giovanni and the rest of Impotent Rage emerged from their quarters to find that most of the gladiators were gathered near the meal tables. A parchment had been posted on the wall there announcing the first round match-ups.
Dwilt’s team was slated to fight in the second slot. Their opponents were three other teams called Arcane Auriga, Badlands’ Revenge, and Sapphire Squad. Shortly, all the assembled teams separated once more and began scrutinizing their competition and muttering among themselves. Giovanni began looking through the crowd for their own challengers. Arcane Auriga was a team comprised of five elven women. Four of them were outfitted in studded leathers, while the fifth, slightly older woman, wore a breastplate. All carried well-made longbows and wore shortswords at their hips. Badlands’ Revenge consisted of a barbaric-looking human wearing rustic hide armor with a wooden shield slung over one shoulder. He gripped a spear in one hand, and a sling hung at his belt. He was barking orders in a strange tongue at three savage gnolls, all clad in studded leather and leaning on wickedly hooked halberds. Crouched at the man’s feet was a badger the size of a pony, with odd, bony knobs protruding through its fur. Sapphire squad was led by a rakish looking fellow in a gleaming chain shirt. He wore a turban atop his head, and his moustache and beard were well-oiled and pointed. A scimitar rested on his hip, and a composite longbow was slung over his shoulder. His companions were two men, similarly garbed, but wearing full chain mail and carrying heavy, steel shields. They too carried scimitars and composite bows. Three heavy warhorses were tethered near their dwelling.
It was the leader of Sapphire Squad that interested Giovanni the most. There was something strange about him…Then it struck the warlock. He wasn’t human after all. Giovanni’s years of research into his own mysterious lineage had given him a large storehouse of knowledge about outsiders…those from beyond his own plane of existence. This man was a janni…one of the least powerful members of elemental creatures known as djinn. This should prove very interesting. As he watched, the janni began swaggering towards the women of Arcane Auriga. As he reached them, he gave them a sweeping bow and a toothy smile. He spoke quietly to them for a moment, grinning all the time, until finally, the older of the women gave him a very deliberate, and equally obscene, hand gesture. The five of them then turned away. The janni looked momentarily abashed, but as his eyes fell upon Storm standing near the rest of her team mates, his smile magically appeared again.
“Good morning, fair lady,” he said, striding up and lifting Storm’s hand to his lips. “I assume you are the leader of this fine band of warriors. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Korush, major general of Sapphire Squad. I…”
“You ASS-ume much", Vladius interrupted, the crazed wizard dressed only in a loincloth this morning. "Why don’t you spare us all of your lip flapping and just tell us what in the Hells you want?”
“Ah…” Korush said, his smile never faltering, “I take it this is your advisor?” he still addressed Storm.
“I’ll tell you what you can take…!” Vladius began.
“Please,” Storm said, reclaiming her hand from Korush, and raising it to forestall Vladius, “What can we help you with?”
“Why, I only come to offer my well-wishes in the coming competition…and to offer a possible alliance between our two teams…at least until we are the only two left.”
At this point Dwilt spoke, “I am the leader of this team, Korush, and your regards are duly noted and returned. However, we have neither need nor want of an alliance. Let the best team win.”
For a moment anger flashed in Korush’ eyes, but it was quickly replaced by his charming smile. “Alas,” he said, “then when we next meet, I regret it shall be as enemies. Perhaps when all of this violence and bloodshed has past, my lady,” he turned to Storm once more, “you and I can become better acquainted.”
“Why don’t you go acquaint yourself with the horse your rode in on?” Vladius spat at Korush’ retreating back as he rejoined his own team.
________________________________________________
Two hours later, the victors of the first battle returned from the Field of Triumph. To no one’s real surprise, it was Auric’s Warband. As the reigning champion’s swaggered back into the coenoby, an arena warden called out, “Arcane Auriga! Badlands’ Revenge! Sapphire Squad! Impotent Rage!” The four teams quickly mustered around the warden, and began following him back upstairs towards the lift chamber. Giovanni noted with amusement the surprised looks on the faces of some of the other gladiators as they saw the radically different appearance of his own team this morning. Gone were the rags and cast-offs of the night before, replaced by gleaming mail and shining, deadly-looking weapons.
As the procession reached the lift, the elven women stepped on first, and began slowly ascending towards the arena, where the roar of the crowd could already be heard. Giovanni saw each of the women quickly quaff potions, and then the older woman cast two spells in rapid succession. As she completed the last one, several duplicate images appeared around her. The warlock looked at his comrades, and they all nodded. Immediately the buffing process began, with defensive spells flying, and protective potions imbibed. When they were done, Giovanni and Shay had rendered themselves invisible, while Vladius had first transformed Dwilt into the likeness of a troll, and then himself into a small, bat-winged imp-like creature…a mephit.
The next team to be taken up was Badland’s Revenge. Their leader also began casting spells, and to Giovanni’s surprise, he was using druidic magic! Giovanni’s own team was called next, and as the lift carried them upwards, the tumult of the spectators swelled. Arcane Auriga and Badlands’ Revenge had already positioned themselves at opposite corners of the field. Talabir Welik, his voice magically amplified, called out as the new team arrived. “I present Impotent Rage, slayers of kobolds, and bane of zombies everywhere!” At this, the fans howled with laughter. Talabir instructed the party to choose one of the remaining two corners. Dwilt chose the one on the southwest side of the arena, with Arcane Auriga occupying the southeast, and Badlands’ Revenge on the northwest. Last to arrive was Sapphire Squad, “noted for their prowess in mounted combat!” announced Welik.
Once all of the teams were in position, Welik retreated to the judge’s stand and called out, “On my mark…fight!” Four of the elven archers were a blur of motion before the referee’s voice had even faded. In a flash, one of the gnoll halberdiers went down in a hail of arrows. “And first blood goes to Arcane Auriga!” called Talabir Welik. The crowd went into a frenzy. Suddenly, Badlands’ savage leader drew a scroll from his belt and quickly unfurled it. This was exactly what Giovanni had been waiting for. Still lurking invisibly near his team mates, he had been watching all of the opposing spell casters, expecting one of them to lead off with magic right away. Just as the druid began reading the scroll, the warlock focused his dark energy and unleashed a thunderous blast directly into the man's chest. The druid reeled, his scroll evaporating into cinders. As Giovanni reappeared, his invisibility negated by his attack, the leader of Arcane Auriga nodded approvingly at him, and then fired her own volley of arrows, piercing the druid through the shoulder.
“That was pretty good, newbie,” Vladius laughed, flitting around in his altered form, “but let me show you how the big boys play!” A small, pea-sized ball of flame appeared in the mephit’s palm. Rearing back, he hurled it right into the middle of the elves. With a mushroom shaped explosion, a ball of fire erupted. In an instant it was gone, but three of the woman lay in smoking heaps on the ground. “Yeeeehaaa!” Vladius shouted, but Giovanni could not help but feel remorse as he saw the stricken look on the elder elf’s face. Before she and her remaining team mate could recover, Dwilt was among them, the troll-paladin whirling a great spiked chain around him like a dervish. The fourth archer was cut down, leaving only the leader standing.
At that moment, Korush leapt into the air from the back of his horse, and then hovered there, flying. Simultaneously, his body began to grow to twice its normal size, and he began weaving his scimitar in a blurring, deadly dance. As he prepared to charge, Storm conjured a ball of sizzling electricity in her hand, and launched it at the janni. When it struck him, it formed a flashing web of energy around his armor, immobilizing him. “Ride fools!” Korush cried to his men. “Run them down!” The two mercenaries spurred their mounts into a full charge, heading straight towards Impotent Rage, but as they reached mid-field, the feral badger companion of the druid rushed out to meet them. Without pausing, both riders slashed at the beast as they passed, dropping to the opposite sides of their saddles to avoid its vicious teeth.
As the two members of Sapphire Squad wheeled their horses about, a black-fletched arrow suddenly sprouted from the back of one of them as if by magic. No one except Giovanni, with his fiend-given ability to see-the-unseen, saw the still invisible Shay dart to the side of the arena, knocking a second shaft. Grubber took advantage of the rider’s momentary confusion, and he rushed onto the field, swinging his massive hammer and connecting solidly with the mercenary's shield arm, nearly dislocating the man’s shoulder in the process.
Giovanni visibly shook himself to get his attention back on his primary target. Already the druid was recovering, rage in his eyes as he glared at the warlock. The foolish man literally broke into an all out run as he began charging across the field. No sooner had he taken his first steps though, than the warlock met him head on with a second blast, this one louder and more massive than the first. Without a sound, the druid fell dead. For a moment, the two remaining gnolls just stared at their dead leader, then with a shrug, they looked at each other, snarled in agreement, and rushed into the midst of the melee at mid-field.
Meanwhile, Hawk had joined Grubber as the second mercenary spurred his horse into another charge. The civilar quickly side-stepped and plunged his sword into the animal’s flank. Instantly, a surge of energy flowed through the blade, and the horse went rigid. As the rider struggled to stay mounted, Hawk withdrew his sword and slashed at the mercenary. At that moment, both the gnolls and Grimm arrived, and a massive free-for-all ensued. The mercenary that Grubber had engaged spun his horse in circles, striking at any enemy in range. He managed to open a vicious wound in the shoulder of one of the gnolls, but in doing so, he exposed his back to Grimm. The mineralized dwarf, crouching behind his tower shield, landed two mighty blows with his sword, just as another of Shay’s black arrows pierced the man through the throat. His horse reared, and he fell lifeless to the ground. The remaining mercenary, still struggling to urge his mount into motion, fell easily to Grubber’s maul.
Korush’ electrical prison finally faded from his armor, and in an instant, the janni rendered himself invisible. Rage now overwhelmed any sense of honor that remained in him. His team had been decimated, and he was determined to get pay back. He soared silently across the stadium towards the unguarded Havok and Storm, confident that they would not detect his approach until it was far too late. Giovanni watched him every instant, waiting until the last possible moment to unleash hell once more. The eldritch blast blew through the janni’s chest, erupting from his back, and he crashed into the ground, returning to visibility as his life left him. The crowd was deathly silent, awe-stricken at what they were witnessing.
The leader of Arcane Auriga raised her bow defiantly towards Dwilt, but in two swift moves, the civilar-troll had ripped through one of her illusory images, and then snatched the bow from her grasp with his chain. “Dear lady,” the troll rumbled, “I do not wish to kill you. I beg your surrender.” For a moment she stood her ground, but then her gaze fell once more upon her fallen cousins and daughter, and tears filled her eyes. Raising her hands above her head, she kneeled before the paladin.
Hawk spun as the gnoll rushed in behind him. The creature’s halberd passed harmlessly to the right of the civilar, parried off of his shield. Hawk drove his blade into the halberdier’s gut twice, each time triggering a blast of electricity, cooking the monster from the inside out as it collapsed at his feet. Without missing a beat, he spun again, this time driving his sword through the spine of the badger and flash-frying it as well. Just then a shadow appeared above him as the last gnoll raised its halberd high above its head, preparing to bring it down on Hawk’s neck. Suddenly, the gnoll’s feet were ripped out from under it as Dwilt’s chain wrapped around its legs. As it rolled to its back, its halberd was torn from its hands by the other end of the civilar’s whirling links. “Surrender, or die,” Dwilt said simply. With a nervous, toothy grin, the gnoll raised its hands.
“The winners! Impotent Rage!” Talabir Welik’s voice boomed. The assembled crowd’s response was chaos. Never had they seen such a display of teamwork. As Ekaym stepped up to Brokengulf’s box to accept the trophy and payment on behalf of the team, Vladius did several loops around the arena, shouting to the crowd, “Are you not entertained!?”
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Later that night, the coenoby was noticeably quieter than the previous evening. Four other teams remained besides Auric’s Warband and Impotent Rage: Drunken Devilry, comprised of a pixie, a satyr, and a centaur; Varmint Patrol, a band of eight gnome warriors; Pitchblade, three dour-looking dwarven fighters; and the Crazy Eight, an unlikely team of eight kobold monks. Even the warden’s had departed at sunset, once more warning the gladiators not to leave the coenoby or face disqualification.
“I want to say again, well done,” Dwilt praised his team mates as they settled down in their quarters. “We’ve made it through the first round, and our plan is going smoothly. Now that the watch has been loosened on us, I say we use tonight to begin our exploration.”
Giovanni looked confused. What was he talking about? “Exploration?” he said aloud. “Of what? You heard the wardens. We’ll be kicked out if we leave without permission.”
Dwilt looked askance at the warlock, and then at the rest of the team. One by one they nodded to the civilar, and he in turn nodded to Grubber. The goliath sighed, “Perhaps we should have been straight with you from the beginning, my friend,” he began, “but we needed to test your mettle first, and let me say that you have proven yourself without doubt. You deserve to know everything. Sit back and take your ease…it is a long tale…”
Grubber’s tale began several months before in Daggerford, a town along the banks of the river Delimibyr some 120 miles southeast of Waterdeep. Up until two years ago, Daggerford was ruled by a hereditary duke, Pwyll “Greatshout” Daggerford. The town was located along the Tradeway where it crossed the great river, and so was a prosperous stop-over for travelers and merchant caravans. Then, in the year 1372 DR, the Duke of Daggerford, his sister, Lady Bronwyn, and his bastard brother, Lord Llewellyn Longhand, were all three poisoned…assassinated. The duchy was left without an heir. Soon thereafter, the Town Council met and elected Lanod Ondabar of Irieabor, the little-known brother of the well-respected Delfen “Yellowknife” Ondabar, as Governor-Mayor. Rumor had it that Lanod was a compromise candidate and lesser evil in lieu of a corrupt mine manager named Balabar Smenk. As Governor-General, Lanod quickly appointed an old crony, Cubbin, as sheriff and began selling political favors to the highest bidder. In less than two years, the once proud town of Daggerford became synonymous with vice and exploitation. Long-established businesses were sold, their owners forced out by “new investors” allied with Lanod and Cubbin.
The iron and silver mines of the nearby Forlorn Hills became the town’s new boom industry, with various mine managers vying for power. But the mines were not all that lay in the hills surrounding the town. Numerous tombs and burial cairns, remnants of a half-dozen long-dead cultures, pock-marked the area. In ages past, Daggerford boasted an export much more valuable than metal in the form of treasure liberated from these sites. However, those days were long past. The last cairn in the region coughed up its treasures decades ago, and few locals paid much mind anymore to stories of yet-undiscovered tombs and unplundered burial cairns. On occasion, a handful of treasure seekers would visit the town, but few returned to Waterdeep with anything more valuable than a wall rubbing or an ancient tool fragment.
Present day Daggerford was home to hundreds of laborers who spent weeks at a time underground, breathing recycled air pumped in via systems worth ten times their combined annual salary. The miners were the chattel of Daggerford, its seething, tainted blood, but they were also its foundation. Their weekly pay cycled back into the community via a gaggle of gambling dens, bordellos, ale halls and temples. Because of the demanding and dangerous work in the mines, most of the folk who came to Daggerford were there because they had nowhere else to turn, seeking an honest trade of hard labor for subsistence-level pay simply because the system allowed them no other option. Many were foreigners displaced from native lands by war or famine. Work in a Daggerford mine was the last honest step before utter destitution or crimes of desperation. For some, it was the first step in the opposite direction: a careful work assignment to ease the burden on debtor-filled prisons, one last chance to make it in civil society.
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It was this set of circumstances, in this particular community that led to the formation of the League. The first official member was a young man, barely more than a boy actually, named Gideon. Gideon was of unknown parentage, found abandoned on the steps of the temple of Tyr, which happened to be located in the local garrison of the Waterdavian Guard. The high priest of the temple, Valkus Dun, immediately recognized that there was something unique about the boy. This became obvious to all when Gideon sprouted a pair of large, white, feathery wings at puberty. Valkus took this as a sign that the lad had been touched, favored by Tyr himself, and he endeavored to teach Gideon the stern philosophy of the Even-handed One. Gideon took these teachings to heart, but he did not feel the calling of the clergy. Instead, he looked upon the suffering that surrounded him every day in Daggerford, and took it upon himself to do something about the corruption that was the source of the town’s rot.
Vladius was born the son of a Thayan merchant loyal more to the Temple of Kossuth than to the Order of the Red Wizards. Kossuth blessed the boy with a touch of fire, making him a genasi. While it was not apparent to any around Vladius of his nature, his elemental bloodline was recognized by one of the local Red Wizard zulkirs, who demanded that the ‘boy’ be given for formal training as a Red Wizard. Sadly, the merchant gave his son to the cruel tutelage of the wizards. Vladius learned of his mixed blood, and came to accept it, but when the opportunity arose he fled the academy as well as the depredations and evil of Red Wizardry. He could not return home, for that would surely mean the death of his family, so he chose to continue south, across the Sea of Fallen Stars, landing eventually in Daggerford. There, he found employment as a local prestidigitator at the Emporium, pleasing the masses (and separating them from their hard earned coin) with his minor spells and cantrips.
It was not long before Vladius came to know Gideon, whom he recognized to also have blood mixed with creatures from outside the Prime Material Plane. The two young men, having somewhat similar outlooks on law and stability, became fast friends and commonly spent their off-hours together dreaming of adventure and excitement. This friendship served as the starting point and foundation block for “The League”. In time, Vladius’ skill with magic brought him to the attention of Delfen Ondabar, and the mage offered him an apprenticeship, which the young wizard eagerly accepted, hoping to grow in skill and power so that he would never again have to fear enslavement.
Grubber was born in a small goliath tent city in the mountains of Chessenta. The goliaths, being very close to the earth and rock as well as of a balanced view on good/evil/law/chaos, were some of the more staunch followers of Grumbar the Earthfather. So it was with Grubber, and he became an apprentice to the high shaman of the tribe. Trouble beset Grubber when he and the tribal chieftain’s daughter fell in love, as it was strictly forbidden for Grumbar’s goliath clergy to marry. Their eyes were supposed to be kept solidly on the flock, not on personal interests. The affair between Grubber and his love was quickly exposed, and the young goliath was exiled for his dereliction to the needs of the tribe. Dejected and without other prospects, Grubber soon found himself in Daggerford as a miner, working for Balabar Smenk. His large size and great strength, as well as his skill with a hammer, made him well suited for his new position. At no time did the goliath explain his former role, keeping his magic and his prayers to himself, until one evening at the Emporium.
A fiery-looking young man with flaming red hair approached Grubber at his table. Vladius had been watching the giant for weeks, and knew that he could be the kind of muscle that he and Gideon needed in their gang. Learning that the goliath had some degree of divine spell casting only sweetened the deal. By the end of the conversation, Grubber had made himself a new friend and had committed himself to membership in a new adventuring group, should the opportunity ever arise. He welcomed the opportunity to better himself outside of the stale air of the mine, as well as bring some street justice to the local gangs.
Grim hailed from Citadel Adbar, one of the largest and most influential dwarven strongholds on Toril. Like many dwarves, he was trained in the art of martial warfare, and was skilled with any blade that you put in his hands. He was training in the Temple of Gorm Gulthyn, dwarven god of protection and defense, to be a church templar when he was approached by one of the priests with an opportunity. He was offered the chance to undergo the Rite of Stone whereby his essence would be mixed with that of a minor earth elemental. The end result would be that the dwarf would be forever changed, his flesh transformed to that of living stone. He would be more powerful and well protected than any average dwarf, but in repayment for the gift he would have to serve one of the dwarf nobles on the surface for one year. The noble, a merchant by trade named Derval Ironeater, was a master smith located in the town of Daggerford. His brother, Derwin, managed a mine in the town as well. The vein on which the mine had been placed ran true with pure metal, and could be fashioned by dwarf artisans. The trade between the miners was critical to the craftsman of Adbar, and as such the noble’s protection was of utmost importance. Thus the reason that Gorm’s clergy had been contacted.
Grim’s time with the noble was pleasant, with little to report. Just the rocky dwarf’s presence was commonly enough to end problems before they were started, and Derval came to see Grim not only as a bodyguard but as sort of a spiritual advisor. The year of servitude came and went, and Grim elected to remain on an interim basis. This was partly due to the Derval’s fair treatment and their friendship, but was mostly due to outside contacts that Grim had made. Through Derval, Grim had become familiar with the local Governor-Mayor as well as Derwin.
Grim also befriended several locals, including a winged freak follower of Tyr, who told him that he and his wizard buddy were putting together a new adventuring party. The prospects sounded very, very interesting as well as potentially lucrative.
Shay had been on the run. Those damnable Shadow Lords were after him. It was not without deep consideration that he had been selected for the Rite of Shadow Walking, but then he subsequently decided that he was too ‘moral’ to follow through with the guild master’s orders. Those orders had been to assassinate a local merchant’s five year old son in order to apply pressure to the man. That was enough to convince Shay to get the hell out of Turmish. But where would he go? Where would be so remote that he would never be found? The only place so large that a person could disappear…Waterdeep.
Waterdeep was far away, but was outside the long reach of the Shadow Lords. He wasn’t worth that much trouble to the nefarious group of thieves and assassins…was he? Stowing away on a series of merchant caravans, Shay found himself in Daggerford, a town bustling with sheep to fleece. The rogue decided that it would be the perfect place to get lost in…the Shadow Lords would never find him in that wretched mud hole.
For a time, Shay made a living on petty theft, and lived at the Daggerford Inn, a converted warehouse that was home to nearly a hundred pitiful indigents. During his stay there, Shay met Gideon, who on occasion would minister to the poor and pathetic. Gideon, sensing skill and good in Shay, offered him a chance at redemption…and adventure!
At first, the League was more of a concept, an ideal if you will, than an actual entity. The stated purpose of Gideon and his friends was to ultimately rid Daggerford of corruption by starting at a grassroots level. They imagined themselves to be vigilantes of a sort…foiling mugging attempts, helping little old ladies cross the street…that kind of thing. In truth, they spent most of their time at the Happy Cow, a seedy tavern that held dog fighting competitions each night. Here they discussed their grand plans and how they might accomplish them, but came no closer to acting on those plans.
Everything changed the night three strangers from Waterdeep appeared in town. They were so-called adventurers, come to explore the ancient ruins in the hills and claim the hidden riches there. The citizens of Daggerford were used to this sort of thing, but this trio, two men named Auric and Khellek (the very same that now comprised Auric’s Warband in the Champion’s Games) and a woman named Tirra, were not dissuaded by the locals assurances that all of the cairns and tombs had been tapped out. They were determined that one such, known locally as the Stirgenest, still had secrets to reveal.
Word and rumor traveled fast in Daggerford, and the members of the League soon got wind of this new venture. This gave Gideon an idea. Having spent his entire life in Daggerford, he knew of another tomb, know to the local youth as the Whispering Cairn. A teenager had stumbled across it near an abandoned iron mine some ten years ago, and since then, adolescents had been daring each other on occasion to step inside to prove their bravery. Occasionally, when the wind was just right, haunting, almost magical tones were said to emerge from the depths of the forlorn tomb. Gideon related all of this to his companions, telling them that if there was reason to believe that even one cairn might yet hold hidden secrets, then the Whispering Cairn might be the one.
Eager for a chance at real adventure, the companions set out for the location, which lay a half-day's walk from Daggerford. The Whispering Cairn did indeed have mysteries yet to reveal, and it wasn’t long before the young members of the League found themselves facing true, life-threatening danger. Within the ancient halls, they discovered several deadly traps, and also living inhabitants, such as a wolf pack, and swarms of carnivorous beetles. The artwork, statuary and carvings of the tomb seemed to indicate that it belonged to a member of some long-forgotten race of tall, hairless humanoids called the Wind Dukes of Calim.
Eventually, the group made their way past the maze of traps to a room spanned by a single wooden beam, which served as a bridge across a sea of iron balls. As they crossed the beam, more iron balls were fired at them from hidden holes in the walls. Ultimately, the young adventurers were able to avoid the deadly barrage and defeat a grick which lurked in the spheres below them, only to encounter the ghost of a boy named Alastor Land. The ghost briefly possessed Grim, and then related to the others that he had stumbled across the cairn thirty years before, having run away from home, only to die in this very room. Since that time, he had been cursed to haunt the chamber until someone would agree to take his bones back to his family’s farm and bury them with his family. In exchange for this, he offered to open an impassable door, which he said led to a glorious chamber full of riches.
The group agreed, and unearthed the boy’s bones. They took them to the farmstead Alastor had described, to find it abandoned and decrepit. Furthermore, the graves of the boy’s family had been recently dug up, and no trace of the bodies remained. Further search of the farm brought the team face-to-face with a wounded owlbear that had taken up residence in the farmhouse. After killing the beast, they discovered evidence of a recent fight, including an intact human arm. This arm bore a tattoo which Grubber recognized as one used by a gang of toughs that worked for Balabar Smenk. This gang was led by an albino half-orc named Kullen, and it was common knowledge that he and his boys frequented the Happy Cow.
That night, the League confronted Kullen and his gang at the tavern. At first, the brute denied knowing anything, but a subtle threat to turn him in for grave robbing to the Cult of the Ascended Lovers, a local sect that venerated Kelemvor and Mystra and warded the town’s burial sites, convinced him to come clean. He told them that Smenk had ordered them to assist an associate of his by the name of Filge who had recently moved into an abandoned observatory at the edge of town. Filge’s only request had been for the gang to procure for him corpses, which Kullen and his lads had taken from the old Land farm precisely to avoid any entanglements with the CoAL.
The obvious next step for the League was to investigate the observatory. Once inside, they found the skeletons of the Lands almost immediately…they were animated and armed with crossbows! Filge, it seemed, was a necromancer. All throughout the building the party encountered animate corpses and evidence of past murders. Finally, they cornered Filge himself, and after a pitched battle, they managed to beat him into submission. He revealed that he and Smenk were old acquaintances, and that Smenk had contacted him to come to Daggerford from Waterdeep to help him out of a jam. It seemed that Smenk had been involved in a business deal with Derwin Ironeater, the dwarven manager of the Ironeater Mine. At some point, Derwin had taken Smenk into a hidden part of the mines, which, according to Smenk, was crawling with awful beasts in hooded robes. They were part of a cult which called themselves the Ebon Triad, and they said they were preparing for something called the Age of Worms. They mentioned the dead walking in the Forlorn Hills and the Lizard Marsh. Smenk knew that he’d gotten in over his head, so he had written to Filge, hoping that his knowledge of necromancy would be of use. Filge had actually heard of the Age of Worms. It was known as the Waiting Age, an era of catastrophe. Scholars of apocalyptic visions claimed that its advent would signal an interminable period of suffering in which the cosmic scales would shift disastrously towards evil and light would fade from the land. Filge also knew something of the Ebon Triad, but only what Smenk had told him. Apparently they worshiped the so-called Dead Three, Bane Bhaal and Myrkul, although technically, only two were really dead. Smenk had also stolen from the mine a jar containing a strange, green worm. Filge said it came from a powerful undead creature known as a Spawn of Kyuss. Kyuss was a being rumored to have existed a thousand years ago in a place called Skullgorge. Known as ‘the Harbinger of the Age of Worms,’ he was said to have created dozens of new undead breeds and amassed a legion of creatures bound to his will. It was also said that an undead dragon had stood at his side, acting as the general of his forces.
Reluctantly, the adventurers released Filge, after exacting from him a promise to leave Daggerford and never return. They gathered the remains of Alastor’s family and returned them to their graves, burying Alastor’s bones along side them. From there, they went back to the Whispering Cairn, and this time the doorway to the hidden part of the tomb was now open, just as Alastor had promised. Beyond, they did indeed find a magnificent chamber, consisting of a central pit ringed by stone walkways, and containing a huge pillar of air in its midst. No sooner had they entered the room, than two creatures which looked like ancient suits of ceramic armor, each wielding a pair of longswords, flew from the pillar and attacked them. The battle was harrowing, but in the end the guardians were defeated, crumbling into dust as the magic that sustained them dispersed.
Beyond the chamber, the League discovered the final resting place of a Wind Duke named Zosiel. Interred with his remains were a silver diadem, a pair of long, slightly curved black horns with red tips, and a strange adamantine loop of metal attached to a long handle. Bas-reliefs on the wall of the tomb showed a Wind Duke facing a cloaked creature with horns identical to the ones in the sarcophagus. The creature was wielding the adamantine loop to control a sphere of absolute blackness, which was shown touching the Wind Duke, and destroying him.
The no-longer naïve adventurers took their spoils, and their new-found knowledge and returned to Daggerford. Vladius suggested they approach his master, Delfen Ondabar, with the information they had discovered and seek his advice. This they did, and the old mage was delighted to see the ancient artifacts. He told the group that the Wind Dukes had been a race of djinni generals of the Calim Empire in what was now Calimshan. Their ancient foes were the armies of Memnonnar, led by the great efreet general Memnon in service to Kossuth, the elemental Lord of Fire. The Era of Skyfire ended thousands of years ago in the destruction of both genie-led empires and the creation of the Calim Desert. The Scepter of Calim was a symbol of the djinn’s sovereignty in the lands south of what was now the River Agis, until it was shattered by the elven High Mages of Keltormir. It was now known as the Shattered Scepter of Calim. It was rumored that the djinni buried their dead in the cold, unclaimed lands of northern Faerun, putting them far beyond the grasp of Memnon’s tomb-raiding legions. Delfen also knew that the strange metal loop was called a Talisman of the Sphere, used to control Spheres of Annihilation, which were holes in the continuity of the multiverse, destroying anything they touched. After the Era of Skyfire, it was rumored that the Wind Dukes scattered the Spheres to the corners of the planes.
Far more disturbing to Delfen was the information the adventurers had wrung out of Filge. Delfen himself had recently unearthed increasing evidence of strange, undead creatures infested with tiny green worms stalking the Forlorn Hills. If what half Filge said was true, Daggerford could be in great danger. At his urging, the League decided to investigate the matter further, starting with the Ironeater Mine.
Before the League had a chance to begin their investigation of Ironeater’s mine, a message was received by Gideon from none-other-than Balabar Smenk. The missive requested a meeting with the League, and implied subtle threats against both Valkus Dun, and Melinde, a paladin of Tyr whom Gideon had been raised with, and who was like a sister to him. Reluctantly, the meeting with Smenk was arranged. The mine manager was quite forthcoming with the young adventurers, relating to them that he was terrified of the cultists, and that he had been pressured and blackmailed into aiding them. He told of finding the severed head of one of his trusted assistants in his bed recently, a clear message of what would befall him if he betrayed the cult. Smenk argued that, though his businesses practices might be somewhat suspect, he was, after all, just that…a business man, while the cultists were mad men who posed a far greater threat to Daggerford.
The members of the League agreed to Smenk’s proposal, even though they had planned all along to investigate the mine any way. Grim knew that Derwin Ironeater’s mine was well guarded by hired henchmen, and that the group would not be able to just waltz in. Shay and Vladius took it upon themselves to begin visiting some of the dives frequented by the Ironeater miners. It wasn’t long before they found a couple of disgruntled souls. After a few drinks, and promises that Derwin Ironeater would get his, the miners agreed to create a diversion so that the members of the League could sneak into the mine.
This distraction came in the form of setting fire to several store houses in the main compound in the middle of the night. While the guards responded to the disaster, the adventurers made their way into the main mine shaft. It wasn’t long before they found a boarded-up, apparently unused passageway, which led to an elevator descending even deeper into the earth.
At the bottom of the shaft, they found themselves in a vast, domed hall. One end was filled with a dark pool, while the other end bore three locked doors. The northern door bore banners with the symbol of Myrkul, and the eastern door bore the symbol of Bane. The western door was unmarked. Immediately, the band was set upon by a pair of tieflings, abyssal-blooded creatures who wore tabards bearing the symbol of Bane. Easily defeating the guards, the League decided to investigate the door bearing that dark god’s symbol first. Beyond, they found a complex populated by undead skeletons, crazed fanatics (some of them recognizable as locals from Daggerford), and more tieflings. Ultimately, they faced, and killed a powerful priest of Bane named Theldrick and several of his minions. Among Theldrick’s belongings, they discovered two pieces of parchment. The first was addressed to Theldrick by an unknown writer. It spoke of Kyuss, and told of him being a herald for some sort of Overgod. It made mention that “the three sundered faiths shall be made whole,” and stated that the worm-ridden undead in the Forlorn Hills needed to be captured to provide answers for shepherding in the Age of Worms so that the Overgod might live. There was also an odd description of something called the Ebon Aspect, which “stirs within the pool, but still is not ready to emerge.” Lastly, it made clear the fact that Smenk had become a liability and had to be eliminated, and that agents should be sent to the Lizard Marsh to find some secret that could be found among the lizardfolk there. The second missive was even more cryptic, obviously written by Theldrick, but referring to someone called the Faceless One, and another called Grallak Kur. This second individual was identified as being some sort of seer from the Underdark, who was having visions of worms, and some greater power behind them.
Finding no further information among the Banites, the League returned to the dark cathedral, and this time entered the unmarked door. Beyond, they found themselves in a series of natural caves infested with grimlocks, strange humanoids from the Underdark who lacked eyes. A running battle with these savages eventually brought the adventurers to their chieftain. During the fierce battle, the League members were stunned to see first a naked human man, and then a nude drow woman emerge, battered and beaten, from the caves of the grimlocks. The two newcomers aided the struggling adventurers, the human using a gleaming sword, and the drow using magic. After the chieftain and his warriors were dispatched, the former prisoners told their tales. The human was Hawk Veritas, a civilar of the Waterdavian Guard, dispatched to the garrison at Daggerford. He had been waylaid by what he assumed were bandits on the road, and though he fought well, he had been overwhelmed. When he had awoken, he found himself in the clutches of the grimlocks. The drow woman said her name was simply Storm (“Drow?” Giovanni interrupted at this point, staring at the elven woman across from him. “Yes,” Storm replied, removing a comb from her hair and instantly transforming into a black-skinned, white-haired drow elf.) She claimed to be a renegade from Menzoberranzan, who had been fleeing her kinsmen with two companions when they were ambushed by grimlocks. Her companions had been killed outright, but she had been kept alive as entertainment for the chief. It was she that had delivered the killing blow to the brute. Hawk and Storm decided to journey on with their saviors further into the grimlock caves, and they soon came upon one last band of them. These all bore tattoos of the dead god Bhaal carved into their chests. Their leader was a priest, Grallak Kur as it turned out, who had a pair of beholder eyes sewn into his eye sockets. Kur and his barbarians were killed in a largely one-sided fight, and the party removed another scroll from the priest’s corpse. The words it contained were rambling and disjointed, but basically stated that a great power was growing in the pool in the Dark Cathedral, and that this power would serve the Ebon Triad as a champion. It went on to say that with the return of Kyuss, the Age of Worms was finally at hand.
Guessing at what lay behind door number three, the League returned to the Dark Cathedral, more wary than ever now of the black pool at its center, and proceeded through the portal marked with the symbol of Myrkul, Lord of the Dead. A literal labyrinth greeted them as they entered the lair of the Deathbringers. The twists, dead-ends and switch-backs were a perfect set-up for an ambush, and it wasn’t long before several groups of bird-headed kenku assassins and sorcerers began hit-and-run strikes against the League and their new allies. Eventually, the adventurers killed their assailants to the last man, and found their way through the maze to the inner sanctum of Myrkulites. Here they faced several arcane acolytes of the Death Lord, and were further hindered by bizarre energies which put some of them in a hypnotic trance, and also by animate pillars with grasping hands that would grapple and hold them as they tried to pass. Finally, they met the Faceless One himself, a man dressed in green robes and a leather mask set with iron studs, leaving only his eyes visible. His hands were covered with mystical tattoos. He proved to be a fearsome opponent, with a superior knowledge of the Weave, but in the end it was a matter of numbers versus power, and the League was victorious once again.
Having defeated all three arms of the Ebon Triad, they beleaguered group returned one last time to the Dark Cathedral, only to find the elevator had been smashed beyond repair, and the black pool stirring. From it emerged a creature that appeared to be a bizarre amalgamation of aspects of all three dark gods represented by the Triad. It attacked immediately, fighting with a savage fury that nearly overwhelmed the already taxed League members. However, teamwork and expert tactics kept them alive, and the Ebon Aspect was destroyed.
With Gideon’s flight capability, the group was able to reach the top of the elevator shaft, only to find the mine abandoned. They had spent two days in the depths of the mineshaft, and in that time it seemed that Ironeater had departed. The gates were locked and a sign there proclaimed the mine closed until further notice. When they arrived back in town (having left Storm at an abandoned mine office they had converted to a headquarters near the Whispering Cairn), they heard rumors that there had been a tragic accident at the mine, a fire which killed most of the employees. Derwin Ironeater had left town shortly after, offering no word, even to his brother, of his destination. While most of the members of the League went to report what they had found to Delfen Ondabar, Grim felt he had to go to his friend Derval and tell him the truth about his brother. Derval, however, would hear none of it. In anger, he dismissed Grim from his service. Grim mourned the loss of his friend, but realized now that fate had set him upon a different path.
Delfen was again very interested in the news his young pupil brought him, and even more dismayed to hear of both Smenk’s and Derwin Ironeater’s involvement. He felt that Daggerford might no longer be a safe haven for the League, since obviously the influence of the Ebon Triad might spread even further. He recommended that the band leave town for awhile, and he suggested a destination. An acquaintance of his, a magister of Waterdeep named Marzena, who was currently assigned to Cromm’s Hold, a small barony on the edge of the Lizardmarsh, had recently reported her own findings of strange green worms in her vicinity. Delfen wanted the group to go to Marzena and tell her their own discoveries, hoping that she might be able to shed more light on the situation. Before they departed however, the League paid a last visit to Balabar Smenk. Gideon informed him that his troubles had been dealt with, and that as far as he was concerned, they were done with each other. He warned Smenk of dire consequences should the man ever threaten his loved ones again.
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The League set out for Cromm’s Hold the next day. Civilar Veritas had reported in to the Daggerford garrison, and notified the commander, Sherlen Spearslayer, of all that had befallen him and what he had discovered beneath the Ironeater mine. He told Spearslayer that he intended to continue the investigation by journeying to Cromm’s Hold. Spearslayer agreed that this would be the wise choice, and granted him leave. Storm, on the other hand, simply had no other allies or alternatives, and so she agreed to throw in her lot with the League.
The journey along the verge of the Lizardmarsh took several days, and was marred by a middle of the night attack by none other than Kullen and his gang. Smenk had apparently sent them to ‘tie up any loose ends.’ The League showed them no mercy, and once they had been dealt with, the reluctant heroes vowed to pay Smenk back in full when they returned to Daggerford.
Upon arrival at Cromm’s Hold, they found it under siege by a small army of several dozen lizardfolk, all of them wearing baldrics of red-brown pelts, and sporting a red, eye-like tattoo circling their left eyes. Several of them were trying to scale the upper battlements, while another contingent hammered at the main door. A handful of the keep’s defenders were trying to repel both sets of invaders, but their efforts seemed to be futile, as more lizardfolk surrounded the hold, waiting to move up if any of their fellows should fall. The adventurers wasted no time in their intervention, with Vladius hurling fireballs with great effect, while Shay stepped between shadows to arrive on the battlements to aid the soldiers. The others provided support where needed, and it wasn’t long before the lizardfolk were in full retreat.
When the League entered the keep, they found only Baroness Piann Cromm and thirteen soldiers still lived. The baroness told her saviors that the lizardfolk first attacked two days ago without warning. They were able to breach the main door with their first assault, but were beaten back. However, when they left they took three soldiers with them into the Marsh, as well as the hold’s magister, Marzena. Piann had no idea why the lizardfolk attacked, or their reasons for taking prisoners. By their tattoos and baldrics, she identified them as members of the Redeye tribe, once one of the more peaceful tribes in the area. However, according to reports, their leader, a shaman named Redeye, was slain a decade or so ago by a party of adventurers, only to return as a lich. Since then, Redeye had supposedly transformed his followers into a brutal band of raiders.
Gideon told the baroness of their purpose for coming to Cromm’s Hold, and offered the services of the League in retrieving Marzena and the missing soldiers if possible. Once they had offered what aid they could to the wounded, the company set off on the trail of the lizardfolk into the Lizardmarsh. Shay was able to track the raiders with relative ease, and after a day’s hard march through the swamp, they arrived at an incredibly ancient grove of mangaroo trees. Within was the lair of the Redeye tribe. No sooner had the band entered the cave-like lair beneath the trees, than they were set upon by hordes of lizardfolk, aided by harpies and one particularly brutal lizardfolk male, with black scales and acidic breath.
At one point, the party entered a chamber in which stood a lone, stooped lizardman wearing necklaces and bracelets of animal’s teeth. A large snake coiled near his feet. Instead of attacking, however, he spoke of a truce in broken common. He called himself Hishka, and said that he was the tribe’s shaman. He begged the members of the League to hear him out, and told them that he disagreed with the aggressive direction in which Redeye was leading the tribe. He said that Redeye was once a divine champion of Semuanya, and was generally tolerant of other races and willing to negotiate with humans. Then, ten years ago, he was gravely wounded while leading a hunting party through the Marsh. When he returned to the tribe, he was changed. He appeared more draconic, and was certainly more violent. He claimed that Talos, the god of destruction, had spared him, and he carried a shield bearing the standard of the Destroyer. Under his leadership, the tribe began an aggressive series of raids against human settlements. Two years ago, a strange blight of ravenous green worms ate through entire clutches of lizardfolk hatchlings in tribes throughout the Lizardmarsh. With an entire generation wiped out, many tribes fell to desperation and depravity. Others were forced to take shelter and wait for new warriors to come of age. During this time, the Redeye tribe received a visitor…a black dragon female named Ilthane. She told Redeye that the magisters of Waterdeep were responsible for the plague of worms, and urged him to lead his tribe to war. In return, she offered to guard the tribe’s latest egg clutch, and even left one her own eggs as a sign of good faith. Hishka was suspicious of Ilthane and her motives, and felt that Redeye’s war would lead only to the tribe’s ruin. The offer he now made to the League was for them to slay Redeye, allowing him to take control of the tribe and convince them to cease their reign of terror.
Gideon and his band cautiously agreed, and Hishka told them where to find Redeye and the prisoners he’d taken. When they reached Redeye’s throne room, they found the king surrounded by two dozen of his finest warriors. Battle was joined again, with Redeye claiming first blood by mortally wounding Shay with a hurled trident, followed by a gout of corrosive acid from his mouth. The tide soon turned, however, and ultimately Redeye was defeated. Hishka was true to his word, and ordered his people to stop all hostilities against the League. Still, he required one more service of the heroes. Since his tribe was already crippled by the loss of their hatchlings, and now further so by the death toll accumulated by the League, the shaman intended to take his remaining warriors and travel to other tribes to recruit new fighters and females of breeding age. This would mean leaving the current clutch of eggs unguarded, however. Once more, Gideon acquiesced, and Hishka showed him to the egg chamber. Its water-covered floor was filled with hundreds of tiny, pale leathery eggs. In the midst of them stood a halfling-sized black egg. Also in the room were a squad of eight kobolds, black of skin, with a long fin running like a crest from their heads down their backs. Hishka first informed the adventurers that these creatures were left by Ilthane as guardians, but that he did not trust them. Then he told the kobolds that the League had been hired by him to assist in guarding the eggs, after which he took his leave.
Hawk’s first action was to subtly scan the room for the presence of evil. He found it immediately in the kobolds, but was surprised to find the black egg not only radiating evil, but radiating hundreds of individual auras. Hawk relayed this message to Gideon, who flew out over the water to investigate the egg. Immediately, the kobolds attacked, and almost as quickly were dispatched. Gideon then dragged the egg from the water and onto dry land, but careful inspection gave no further information. The group decided to wait for Hishka’s return before taking any more actions. In the meantime, they were able to speak with Marzena and tell her of their reasons for seeking her out. She was interested in hearing the full story, and was grateful for her rescue.
When Hishka returned, Gideon told him of what had occurred with the kobolds, and what they had discovered about the egg. The shaman gave his permission to open the egg, and when Grim did so, hundreds of writhing green worms spilled out onto the sandy floor, only to shrivel up and die moments later. If the egg had hatched within the pool, the horrible parasites would surely have attacked the hatchlings. Hishka thanked the League profusely, and promised his tribe would engage in no further hostilities against the humans.
The League and their charges made their way back to Cromm’s Hold, only to find the soldiers and the baroness in a panic. Guilt ridden, they told the group how, over a year ago, their former magister had gone on an exploration mission into the swamp, but had returned changed. He seemed to have contracted some sort of wasting disease, which soon claimed his life. However, he rose again minutes later, with writhing, green worms pouring from his mouth, eyes and nose. Horrified, but unable to bring themselves to slay their former comrade, the soldiers had locked the creature in a cellar storeroom. Even Marzena was not aware of this. When the lizardfolk attacked, they had apparently weakened the lock on the door to the room, and soon after the League had departed, the thing had broken free. It had since dragged two other soldiers downstairs with it, and somehow transformed them as well. The party wasted no time in descending to the sublevel of the hold, and there they came face-to-face with their first spawns of Kyuss. The creatures were truly horrific, causing even Grim’s stout heart to quail. When they attacked, they did so by plucking bloated worms from their own flesh and flinging them at the adventurers. One fireball later, the undead were destroyed (along with most of the basement of the hold). The worms had begun burrowing into the flesh of their victims as soon as they made contact, but Grubber was quickly able to kill the vermin with a magical removal of disease.
Now that Cromm’s Hold was truly secure, the company prepared to take their leave. Marzena agreed to accompany them, but to Waterdeep rather than back to Daggerford. She said that she had no more information about the worms and their hosts than Delfen had already provided. However, she knew of a man in Waterdeep that was a friend to both she and Delfen. He was a sage and scholar of some note by the name of Dagsumn. If anyone could properly investigate all of these occurrences and make sense of them, he could.
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The journey to Waterdeep was blissfully uneventful. Upon arrival there, Marzena and Hawk separated from the rest of the group to report in at the barracks of the guard. Marzena gave directions to Dagsumn's home, and so the others made their way across the vast metropolis. There were many celebrations and parades going on throughout the City of Splendors, as it seemed that some event called the Champion’s Games was due to occur in the next couple of weeks.
Dagsumn and his wife Karyss greeted the adventurers cordially, and Dagsumn in particular was intrigued when he learned that Delfen had referred them to him. He listened with interest as they told their tale and showed him the artifacts they had recovered so far, including the pickled green worm from Filge’s, Zosiel’s diadem, the pair of demon horns and the talisman of the sphere. He told them that it would take him some time to fully research the information and asked them to leave the objects with him for the next ten-day. In the meantime, he recommended an inn to them known as the Crooked Stair, located in a section of the City Ward known as the Midnight Muddle, and run by a gnome friend of his named Tarquin Shortstone XXVI.
There was still the matter of Shay. The group had brought their friend’s body with them under the effects of a Gentle Repose spell, hoping to lay him to rest with honor and respect in Waterdeep. However, when Hawk found them again, he told them that the garrison commander was eager to meet them, and was very grateful for their assistance, not only in saving Cromm’s Hold, but also in rescuing Marzena. The company had also brought along a dispatch from Hishka suing for peace between his people and Waterdeep, and this too earned the League members high praise from the commander. He rewarded them by calling upon his contacts within the church of Tyr to restore Shay to life. Grumpy, but none the worse for ware, the rogue/scout gratefully greeted his companions.
The young adventurers allowed themselves to relax and enjoy the sights and sounds of the city over the next several days. Shay took to frequenting some of the more ‘colorful’ areas of town in the late evening. On one such evening, as the group gathered in the common room of the Crooked Stair, Shay took his leave as usual, only to return a few minutes later, walk up to Tarquin, and stab him in the chest. The room immediately became a mob scene. Shay tried to slip out the door in the chaos, but his friends pursued him and were forced to subdue him into unconsciousness. Grubber, in the mean time, ministered to Tarquin, keeping him from death. When the city watch arrived, they demanded that the party turn Shay over to their custody, despite the group’s vehement protest that their friend was not acting at all normally, and they suspected he was ensorcelled. Nevertheless, he was arrested and hauled away.
Later that night, Shay walked back into the common room. Needless to say, this created another uproar, but Gideon assured Tarquin that he was safe, and Shay himself seemed to have no idea what was going on, and certainly had no recollection of having stabbed anyone. The following day, the entire group trooped down to the city jail and presented Shay to the watch as irrefutable proof that if they indeed had him in custody, how could he now be standing before them? The watch commander informed them that, as it so happened, their had been a prisoner transfer request during the night to transport Shay to the dungeons beneath Castle Waterdeep, and during the transfer, Shay had escaped. He thanked the civic-minded heroes for recapturing him, and Shay was promptly arrested once again.
Furious, the adventurers protested, only to be told that a magister would hear the case the following day. Hawk insisted on being allowed to stay at the jail overnight with Shay to ensure he didn’t ‘escape’ again. That night, a detail from Castle Waterdeep arrived, once more requesting a prisoner transfer. Hawk wanted to accompany them, but was ordered not to. He returned to the inn and informed his companions what had transpired. The next morning, the group went to the castle dungeons, only to be told that no such transfer had been ordered nor had taken place. When Hawk examined the log, he found no evidence of Shay having been brought to the complex.
At this point, Hawk left to find Marzena and tell her what about the strange events. Meanwhile, Gideon and Grubber hit upon an idea to cast a spell allowing them to locate specifically Shay’s distinctive rapier. The spell pointed them towards Dock Ward, and once there, specifically to an abandoned warehouse called Sodden Hold. They had left word for Hawk where to find them, and it was at this point that he rejoined them, bringing with him another civilar that he introduced as Dwilt Riddick. Marzena had been very concerned about what had happened to Shay, and she suspected the watch might be compromised. She knew Dwilt personally, and knew that he had an impeccable reputation, and so had sent him to investigate.
Inside the warehouse, the company was attacked almost immediately by what appeared to be living crates, but which actually turned out to be shape-shifting creatures called mimics. After defeating these creatures, Grubber determined that the trail led still deeper into the hold. They soon came upon a cell block, in which they found an unconscious Shay as well as a young noble named Tryssia Lanngolyn, a magister named Gattel Watam, who seemed to have lost his mind, and two members of the watch named Martal and Regim. Shay was revived, and had little memory of his captivity. Tryssia was released and escorted to the street by Dwilt. Watam seemed beyond help, and so was left temporarily locked in his cell for safekeeping. As for Martal and Regim, while the group was assisting the other prisoners, the two watchmen produced swords from beneath the straw in their cell, opened the door effortlessly, and attacked! The party managed to kill them, but not before they almost slew Shay a second time. To the amazement of all, upon their deaths, the two watchmen transformed into gray-skinned, white eyed creatures. Vladius had heard of these types of beings before, but had never personally encountered doppelgangers until now. This explained much. If doppelgangers were in the city, they could have infiltrated all levels of government.
Dwilt and Hawk now insisted that they press on into the hold to see if there were more of the creatures hidden there. They came upon a, water-filled shaft that seemed to go deep underground. With Grubber conferring the ability to breath water upon all of the group, they set off into the under level. They found themselves in a vast underwater chamber, occupied by a gigantic octopus. They defeated the monster, and then swam to the top of the chamber, where they found a mechanism to drain it of water. Exiting the room, they were assailed by more doppelgangers, this time in their natural form. After dispatching this group, they began exploring the warren of underground chambers.
At one point, they found a room with documents detailing numerous noble families and government institutions that had been corrupted. Later, they entered a chamber and beheld and astounding sight! Seated and bound were likenesses of each one of them, excluding Dwilt! Immediately suspecting a trap, the League members attacked their doubles, and their twins responded by bursting their bonds and retaliating…all except Hawk’s double. Oddly enough, Hawk attacked his own double mercilessly, even after the others had been slain and revealed as doppelgangers. The other party members tried to stop him, suspicious of his actions, only to have him turn on them. Forced to kill him, they were stunned to find that Hawk was a doppelganger! The real Hawk was the one tied to the chair! He said that he had been captured almost a week ago, and had been held here ever since, all along thinking those around him were truly his friends and had been captured as well. How deep did this corruption go?
Proceeding on, the companions made their way through a maze of mirrors, attacked hit-and-run by doppelgangers all along. Finally, they came to a sort of throne room, which contained a stranger apparatus comprised of a table with straps, tubes and pipes coming out of it. The throne was occupied by Delfen Ondabar! He greeted the heroes as friends, but by this time they were unwilling to listen to more lies. They attacked, and the wizard retaliated. His magical skill certainly matched that of Ondabar, but it was only a matter of time before he was defeated. Not surprisingly, upon his death, he too reverted to doppelganger form, but did not appear the same as the others. Vladius knew him to be a greater doppelganger, one who was capable of actually absorbing the identities of those he mimicked, although his guise as Delfen seemed to be just that, a cosmetic façade, for when he had begun hurling spells, his appearance had changed to that of an older human.
A search of the doppelgangers chambers turned a host of forged and original documents detailing Waterdeep treaties, merchant dealings, and religious papers. In addition, there was a missive bearing the message: “I have a task for you, thrall. Meet me at the sewer junction beneath Brian’s forge and I will give you the details. There are some troublesome small minds that must be removed.” It was signed with some sort of symbol made to look like a spiraling tentacle (identical to one tattooed on the greater doppelganger’s forehead). So, it seemed someone else had ordered the doppelgangers to assassinate the members of the League, but whom and why? It seemed that the answers might be found at the forge of Brian the Swordmaster, a well-known craftsman in the city.
On the return trip to the surface, however, the League found that the water chamber was occupied again. A previously hidden door was now open on the opposite side of the room, and standing in the passage beyond it were a pair of drow males armed with crossbows, and a horrible looking creature dressed in robes, with a bulbous head and four tentacles where its mouth should be. An illithid! Immediately, a blast of mental power surged from the mind-flayer, stunning several members of the group. The illithid then withdrew, but the drow took up the assault. After a short, but hectic battle, the drow were killed but no sign of the illithid remained, nevertheless it seemed the mastermind behind the mystery had been revealed.
The group immediately sought out Marzena, and turned over to her all of the information they had discovered, telling her of their intent to now follow the trail into the sewers beneath the city streets. They made their way to Brian’s forge, and there, Hawk and Dwilt had several watchmen cordon off the block while the League descended into the sewers. Over a period of two to three hours, the company searched the sewer tunnels, and eventually found an older, disused section which led into a series of natural caves. Here they encountered more drow thralls, including a priestess of the Spider Queen (much to Storm’s horror). Deeper and deeper they journeyed, fighting many horrific aberrations along the way, including a naga and a pair of octopoid creatures which were capable of scaling walls and whose gaze dulled the reflexes of any who met it. Beyond one massive pair of double doors they encountered a marble statue of a brain, which had the power to dominate the minds of those in its vicinity. This they destroyed, and found a laboratory beyond it, with a short corridor leading to a balcony overlooking a cavernous cathedral. Here they found the mind-flayer once more, hovering over a large pool filled with swimming, tadpole like creatures. The illithid had another pair of the octopoid creatures with him, and the battle was joined in earnest.
Grubber detailed the struggle in full for Giovanni, telling of how the illithid was by far the most puissant opponent they had thus far encountered. He was a sorcerer, and used his spells and mental abilities to devastating effect. It was here that Gideon fell. He made a suicidal charge at the mind-flayer, attempting to draw its attention away from Dwilt and Grimm. The illithid electrocuted the aasimar with a point-blank lightning bolt fired into his chest. His death was not in vain, as his companions did indeed capitalize on the opportunity, and eventually brought the vile sorcerer, and his octopins down.
A search of the illithid’s chambers turned up a ledger. It detailed the creature’s recent business transactions in rare and dangerous items with patrons throughout Waterdeep. The most recent transaction listed a payment for the sale of an ancient relic listed as the Apostolic Scrolls. It took place between the illithid and one Prendergast Brokengulf! In addition, there was a notation that Brokengulf had also paid the mind-flayer to assassinate the members of the League!
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Within a few days of their return from the illithid’s abode, the party was contacted by Dagsumn. He invited them to dinner, saying that he had the information they had requested. Of the relics from the Wind Dukes, he could only say that they were not directly related to the Age of Worms, but all of the other clues pointed to the involvement of a minor deity of the creation and mastery of undead called Kyuss. The worm-infested undead were the most notorious (and, he noted, least powerful) of Kyuss’ spawn, and their increasing presence in the region indicated that the cult was becoming more powerful. The cult had traditionally been small, but the evidence provided suggested that the Ebon Triad was now involving itself with the cult. Tales of the Age of Worms were ancient, Dagsumn said, and it was often known by other names such as the End Times, the Dark Age and the Eternal Ruin. It was an ancient set of prophecies that spoke of a transformation of the world, of a time when life would give way to something else. These prophecies were recorded in certain rare texts such as the Book of Vile Darkness, the Libris Mortis, the Necronomicon and the Apostolic Scrolls. At this point, Dwilt interrupted, telling Dagsumn of what they had discovered in the sewers, and especially the illithid’s reference to the Apostolic Scrolls and Brokengulf. Dagsumn’s face darkened at this news. He told them that the scrolls were reputed to have been penned by Kyuss himself and detailed the creation of a horrible undead creature known as the ulgurstasta, which was in turn capable of consuming the living and regurgitating them as undead.
Dagsumn suggested that the League investigate Brokengulf further, but cautioned that he was a very powerful man in the city, with powerful allies, and they could not simply confront him without hard evidence (the word of a mind-flayer notwithstanding). It was at this point that the idea to infiltrate the Champion’s Games was born. Dagsumn arranged a meeting between the adventurers and Celeste, who in turn introduced them to Ekaym Smallcask…
Giovanni’s Journal Entry – Night 2 of the Champion’s Belt Games, Date Unknown
This has to have been one of the strangest, however most eventful, days that I can recall. Our team’s victory on the sands of the arena was quite flawless. Prior to the combat, I was under the impression that my eldritch powers would be of paramount importance during this first round, and that I would use my teammates as protective fodder. However, on the battlefield it immediately became quite apparent that these so-called ‘bumpkins’ are much, much, more than they seem. The synergy and teamwork that the group utilizes is beyond impressive and far in advance of their professed 'exploits' against blind kobolds and fake zombies.
From studying the group I have ascertained their general tactics. They attempt to funnel all combats through the dwarf, whose superior defensive capabilities allow him to act as a stoplog or floodwall of sorts, breaking the tide of their enemies’ advance. Behind him the goliath and aasimar will generally emerge, dealing withering damage to their now-halted adversaries. Dwilt’s role seems to be more in support, tripping and disarming as well as defending the front rank. That one won’t shut up, constantly barking commands at the other team members; it is obvious that his orders have a palpable effect, and I have to admit that I find his words to be uplifting.
Behind this wall of armor, shields, and deadly weaponry the support group is protected. Fire balls and lightning bolts are indiscriminate killers, but it appears that Pyro and Storm know how to use them discriminately. The dark rogue continually rains death from range with his arrows, but he seems to be unsatisfied unless he closes to melee where he can strike a telling blow with his rapier. I would hope that he would have the discretion to not go toe-to-toe with an enemy too far out of his class; thus far the stories I have heard speak to the contrary.
As far as their personalities are concerned, it is apparent that the group looks to Dwilt for guidance and leadership. Based on their stories it was clear that the aasimar Gideon once held this role, but with his death Dwilt has somewhat less than begrudgingly assumed command. Even Civilar Veritas seems to bow to the other officer’s decisions. Something else that I have quickly noted is that there is a discernibly intense rivalry between Pyro and the goliath cleric, Grubber. It seems that this rivalry is rooted in the goliath’s moral beliefs and Pyro’s rejection of any such code of behavior. Also, Pyro believes that the goliath’s actions do not follow his professed beliefs; thus far, I have seen no evidence to support or contradict this claim but the genasi pokes, prods, and jibes constantly. It is funny to hear Pyro rail on about the goliath’s vow to his patron, Grumbar, that will not allow him to take flight except under the most dire of circumstances. That belief seems very odd, and could be potentially debilitating in the future.
Which leads me to their claims of the impending Age of Worms. The story they have told me is far too long to detail in one night of writing. Suffice to say, I am intrigued by the mysteries that they are chasing. This Age of Worms that they speak of may be nothing more than the ramblings of some insane heretical priests…or insane heretical 'bumpkin' adventurers for that matter. However, if they speak truth, there may be something much deeper and sinister going on. For whatever reason I have gained their trust, and they have let me in to their little secret. It could be that they see nothing more than the utility that can be afforded them by my magical capabilities. How they will react if they are to learn the dark nature of these abilities remains to be seen.
As a group, we also made upwards of 1,000 gold coins in winning that fight, and I haven’t seen that kind of money since I left the manor house. If nothing else, I could use the company…and the protection that this large group can offer.
Giovanni sat in silence, staring at his hands and contemplating all that he had just heard. He felt hollow inside. He had arrived in Waterdeep thinking that he was worldly, that he had seen fantastic things and places. Now he realized just how naïve he had been…and selfish. He had been motivated by monetary gain…greed, to enter this tournament. But these people…the things that they had been through, and were still going through. He had heard the word ‘hero’ thrown about lightly all his life, but he had never understood the true meaning of the word until now.
“So what do you think?” Vladius asked. “Are you with us, or are we gonna have to kill you?”
Giovanni looked up and smiled faintly. To think, just a few hours ago he had thought the man an arrogant, pompous ass. Now he knew for a fact that he was an arrogant, pompous ass…but his heart was in the right place.
“I’m with you, if you’ll have me,” he said simply.
“It’s settled then,” Dwilt said, offering his hand, which Giovanni gripped eagerly, “You’re one of us. Welcome to the League.”
”I’ll brand you with our tattoo later,” Vladius smirked.
“What’s our next move, leader man?” Shay said to Dwilt from a shadow-shrouded corner.
“I overheard some of the other teams talking last night,” Dwilt replied. “There’s a rumor about Brokengulf beating back a pack of ghouls years ago that used to lair in some old underground ruins south of this room called the Titan’s House. They say he plugged the entrance to their warren with a stone seal in a pool there, but no one has ever tried to open it to verify this. I suggest we start there.”
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Later that night, after the other teams had retired, the eight companions slipped from their quarters, and out of the coenoby. A long, natural tunnel led to a huge cave which resembled the coenoby, but was in a state of century-old abandonment. It looked as if a surface structure once stood there, a cluster of stone houses that were buried under a million tons of rubble long ago. Within the labyrinth of ceiling-high sections of ruined walls, the only remarkable feature was the idol that gave the cave its name, a ten-foot high, alabaster statue of a powerful giant armed with a mattock. The cave floor sloped down to the south where a ten-foot deep pool of water was located. A large stone plug was visible near the bottom at the eastern end.
Dwilt ordered his team to spread out around the vast chamber and look for anything which might appear out of the ordinary, as if it might not belong there. Grim took it upon himself to wade into the pool, his stony flesh carrying him straight to the bottom like an anchor. His dwarven sense of stone-cunning told him that there was nothing natural about the plug, and that it hadn’t been there for very long…certainly no more than ten years. He also noted that it wasn’t going to be an easy task to remove it.
An hour or so passed as the group searched the Titan’s House from top to bottom, and came up with nothing. “This is a dead-end, unless we want to work on dislodging that plug,” Dwilt said in resignation.
“That won’t be happening without a crane and hoist, or without a lot of noise and pounding,” Grimm observed.
“Maybe this is too obvious,” Giovanni said, almost to himself. “It would be a convenient coincidence for us to ‘overhear’ a tale of Brokengulf plugging up some secret tunnel. Maybe, since he obviously knows who you are, and probably why you’re here in the first place, it was a ploy to throw you off track.”
Dwilt thought for a moment, “Well, it’s certain we’re not going any further down here tonight,” he said. “What harm can it do to check out some place less conspicious? I say we make a trip upstairs.”
They retraced their steps back to the coenoby, and then down another tunnel on the opposite side, which emerged into a wide, ring-like corridor that was a mirror image to the main corridor in the level above. Like that corridor, there were spiral staircases spaced at intervals along the hall, but they were blocked by locked iron gates.
“What do you think?” Dwilt asked Shay as he examined one of the locks.
“Child’s play,” the rogue responded in a distracted voice. Reaching into a pocket of his cloak, he produced a set of elaborate-looking lock picks, and set to work. Within a matter of seconds, the hasp clicked open, and Shay stepped back with a bow and a flourish. Grim stepped forward, and pulled back the gate. It opened with an alarmingly loud shriek of rusted metal.
“Damn it!” Dwilt cursed, looking quickly around for any signs that the wardens had been alerted.
“There’s no help for it,” Shay said. “This is probably the first time it’s been opened in decades.”
Quickly, the company slipped up the stairs, only to find the top similarly blocked. Shay made even faster work of the second lock, and the group held their collective breath as Grim tried to open the gate as quietly as possible. It was no use, and this time as the squeal of metal on metal faded, they heard voices in the distance. “Did you hear that?” “Come on!” Shortly, they heard booted feet approaching.
“Gather round me, quickly!” Storm hissed as she stepped into the hallway. The others obeyed without hesitation, trusting their team mate, thought they had no idea what she had planned. The drow mage began muttering under her breath, moving her fingers in complex gestures. With a final word, each member of the team saw all the others wink out of sight. “There,” Storm whispered. “We are hidden from view, but you must all stay near to me. Each of you reach out and grab one another. We must move together.”
“Not good enough,” Giovanni’s voice said. “They might still bump into us, or hear us move. Stay here.”
Not waiting for approval, Giovanni called upon his innate magic to first render himself invisible by his own power, and then to briefly step between dimensions to travel several yards down the corridor, opposite the hall from where the wardens were approaching. As the four guards appeared in the main passage, the warlock stamped his boots loudly on the stone, and then began running away from the rest of his group. “That way!” the wardens shouted, and started after the sound of running feet. Giovanni waited until he had led them far enough from his friends, and then silently stepped between dimensions again, rejoining the group.
“That takes care of that,” he laughed quietly.
“Not bad…” he heard Vladius say. “You might just prove better than useless after all.”
Stealthily, the group moved down the hall from which the wardens had originally come, passing first through a mess hall, and then a guard room. Beyond this, they entered a second, smaller circular passageway which had three other corridors branching off of it from each compass point. The western passage led to some sort of workshop. From the one to the north came the growl of a large feline and several porcine grunts. Six identical cells opened off the hall, each closed by a metal gate. To the south, two smaller passages branched off the main hall, but there were also three padlocked doors of iron-reinforced wood, each with a small barred window set into it. It was here that the group chose to investigate first.
Peering into the first two doors, Shay saw what appeared to be empty cells. Behind the third, however, he saw a figure curled in a corner on the far side. He whispered to his companions what he had found.
“I’ll go,” Giovanni volunteered, and once more he dimension doored, this time appearing inside the cell, next to the prisoner. He could see that the bearded figure was human, but couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. Cautiously, he nudged the man with the toe of his boot. Instantly, the man jerked up right, staring around wild-eyed and terrified. It was at this point that the warlock realized he was still invisible, and for all the prisoner knew, he had just been touched by a ghost. Giovanni quickly reappeared outside the door.
“He’s alive,” he reported, “but I’m afraid I’ve probably scared him senseless.”
“Take me in,” Dwilt said.
“You’ll be visible,” Storm reminded him.
“I know,” the civilar replied, “but we need information, and he certainly won’t trust me if he can’t see me.”
Giovanni grasped Dwilt’s arm and transported the two of them back into the cell. The prisoner’s eyes widened even further as he saw the armored form of the civilar simply appear before him.
“Peace,” Dwilt said, holding up his empty hands to show he was unarmed. “My name is Dwilt Riddick. I mean you no harm.” The man stared blankly at him, uncomprehending.
“Do you understand me?” Dwilt said, squatting down to bring himself to eye level with the prisoner. The man stared at him another moment, then slapped his hand against his ears. Dwilt understood. He was deaf. The civilar took one finger and began writing in the heavy dust on the floor. ‘Dwilt,’ he wrote first, and then pointed at himself. ‘Help you,’ he wrote next. The prisoner looked at the writing, and then at Dwilt, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. He pointed to his mouth, and shook his head. Mute as well, Dwilt sighed silently. Then the man began drawing in the dust himself. As Dwilt watched, he made several squiggly lines, side by side, and then leaped to his feet, and ran to the cell door, sticking his hand between the bars and pointing towards the cell across the hall. Dwilt stared at the lines for a moment. Then, horror filled comprehension dawned on him. Worms. The man had drawn worms on the cell floor. He stood up quickly and strode to the door. “Open it,” he said. He heard, but could not see Shay open the lock and swing open the door. “Havok,” Dwilt said. “Let him see you, and then take him back to the coenoby. We’ll meet you there.” Giovanni willed himself back into the visible spectrum, and the prisoner recoiled reflexively. Quickly, Dwilt knelt to the floor again. ‘Safe,’ he wrote, and pointed to the warlock. The man nodded cautiously. Giovanni stepped to him, took his hand, and vanished.
The others retraced their steps quickly and as quietly as possible back downstairs and to the coenoby. They found Giovanni and the frightened prisoner safely in their quarters.
“Grubber,” Dwilt said, turning to the goliath, “can you do anything for him?”
“Possibly,” the priest rumbled. Holding up his hands to show he meant no harm, he approached the man and laid his hands gently on both of his ears. Chanting in a voice that sounded like the grinding of stones, he prayed to Grumbar. When he was done, he removed his hands. “Can you hear me?” he asked the prisoner. “Can you tell me about the worms?” he asked. At that, the man covered his face, and flung himself to the floor, curling into a ball. Grubber knelt next to him for a moment, studying him closely, and then stood.
“I’m afraid being deaf and mute is the least of his problems,” he sighed. “He’s also insane.”
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Grubber realized that the prisoner’s mental affliction was beyond his ability to mend, but he knew of a spell that might work. The next morning, as the servants came in to the coenoby to serve breakfast, he sent word to Ekaym thru a runner, requesting that the merchant purchase a scroll bearing the spell from one of the local churches.
Once again, the other teams were gathered around the postings for the day’s matches. The first competition was to be between Auric’s Warband and Drunken Devilry. Impotent Rage would compete in the second match against the dwarves of Pitch Blade, and the final match would be Crazy Eight versus the Varmint Patrol. As soon as the members of Pitchblade read the bracket, the three brothers glared murderously at their opponents, and as the morning wore on, they made a show of whetting their blades, and decorating their faces with war paint.
When the first match ended, Auric and Khellek were once more victorious, returning to the coenoby with a swagger and a smirk for the four remaining teams. “Pitch Blade! Impotent Rage!” called the warden, and the two teams moved to follow him. At this point, the dwarves, Drusfan, Pharbol and Garlok by name, began shouting loudly at the members of Impotent Rage in dwarvish, and making obscene gestures.
“What are they saying?” Vladius asked Grim.
“Oh…just something about your mother…and a donkey…and the garrison,” the mineral warrior replied. “Don’t take it personally.”
As Pitch Blade stepped onto the elevator, each dwarf began uncorking flasks and upending them, tossing the empty bottles back down at their rivals. When the lift returned, Vladius immediately cast an incantation around Shay, and the shadow walker faded from view. Havok also rendered himself invisible. Dwilt quaffed a potion of his own, and instantaneously grew to twice his normal size. Vladius was again in the form of a mephit, as was his wont when he expected trouble.
As the team reached the level of the arena, the crowd was already in a frenzy. Talabir Welik stepped to the podium in the front of Brokengulf’s box. “My lords and ladies, welcome to the second match in the quarter-final round of the Champion’s Games! First I present to you, straight from the Storm Horn Mountains, the savage swordplay of Pitch Blade!” The arena rumbled with the stamping of feet and roar of approval. Talabir waited for the crowd to settle, and then resumed, “Their opponents, our local yokels-made-good from Daggerford, the caged fury that is Impotent Rage!” This time the crowd surged to their feet, the thunderous accolades deafening. Apparently, the underdog team had made quite the impression the previous day. “On my mark...,” Talabir raised his hand, and then brought it down in a chopping motion, “Fight!”
In a flash, the three dwarves pushed themselves off from the wall behind them, and, to the amazement of the gathered spectators, took flight, drawing their bastardswords as they closed, their blades igniting in flames.
“Uh-oh,” Vladius muttered, as he hovered over Dwilt’s shoulder, “they might be smarter than they look…which isn’t saying much. Hang on for a second, and I’ll put you on even ground.” As the wizard began weaving his magic, Dwilt felt his feet leave the ground, the power of flight responding to his will. Just as Pharbol passed above his head, the giant civilar leaped leapt into the air, wrapping his chain around the dwarf’s weapon, and jerking it out of his hands to land in the dust at Grubber’s feet. The dwarf’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then widened further in pain as a black-fletched arrow from Shay’s unseen bow lodged in his belly just beneath his breastplate.
Garlok flew over Grubber’s head, but as he passed, the priest flung out his hand, rumbling a prayer as he did so. Garlok suddenly felt himself drifting towards the ground, the magical flight that his potion had given him abruptly dispelled. Just as Grubber finished his incantation, he saw Pharbol diving towards him. The goliath just had time to bring his maul up and club the raging dwarf as he landed.
While Dwilt was occupied with Pharbol, Drusfan used the opportunity to bypass the giant warrior, and charge straight towards the now unprotected Vladius. However, so focused on his tiny prey was he that he failed to see Hawk rushing to intercept him at the end-point of his charge. As the dwarf prepared to strike, the civilar smashed the flat of his sword against his skull. Simultaneously, a burst of electricity from the blade jolted the barbarian, leaving him momentarily stunned and twitching. Moving as quickly as his rocky form would allow, Grim closed to his incapacitated kinsman and slashed at him with his axe, leaving a gaping wound in the flesh of his thigh.
Although now grounded, Garlok was no less determined to reach his foes. Screaming in incoherent fury, he lunged towards Hawk, and the civilar tried to pivot and bring his shield to bear, but the sheer fury and power of the dwarf’s charge all but bowled him over. Garlok hacked at him, his flaming blade slicing into Hawk’s sword arm. Though the steel burned like fire, the flames of the blade did no harm themselves to the celestial-tainted skin of the aasimar.
Pharbol snarled, ignoring the pain of the arrow protruding from his gut, and dove for the ground, sweeping up his blade as he did so, However, as he attempted to regain altitude, Dwilt’s chain entangled his feet, dropping him to the arena floor in a heap. With an almost casual flick of his wrist, Dwilt then snapped the opposite end of his chain at the dwarf’s sword once more, again tearing it from Pharbol’s grasp. Howling in rage, the barbarian rolled and scrabbled for the weapon, but before he could reach it, Grubber stamped one massive foot down upon it, and then cuffed the dwarf with the butt-end of his mallet, just as Dwilt’s chain lashed across the dwarf’s forehead, spilling blood into his eyes and temporarily blinding him.
Drusfan still stood rigid and immobile. The magic of Hawk’s blade had left him all but helpless, a fact which Vladius was more than happy to take advantage of. Taking careful aim with one finger at the dwarf, from barely five feet away, the mephit mage blasted a volley of streaking magical missiles into the barbarian’s face. As if by magic themselves, two of Shay’s arrows materialized between Drusfan's shoulder blades. A gurgling grunt of pain was all the dwarf could manage.
As Garlok raised his sword to strike at Hawk again, the paladin brought the edge of his shield up directly beneath the dwarf’s chin. Garlok’s head rocked back, throwing him off balance, and Hawk followed through, smashing the pommel of his own blade into the dwarf’s skull. Another blast of energy surged from the sword, and Garlok’s eyes glazed over, just like his brother’s. Suddenly, a corona of eldritch light flared around the stunned dwarf, and he sagged to his knees as Havok materialized behind him, his hands glowing with power.
“All together now!” Vladius shouted to Grim as the mineral warrior raised his axe to finish Drusfan once-and-for-all. As the blade fell, another barrage of missiles from Pyro nearly exploded the dwarf’s head, and he collapsed without a sound.
Pharbol bit at Grubber’s feet, still struggling to rearm his weapon. Just then, a beam of green energy struck the dwarf, and he felt his strength leave him. He struggled to stand, looking in confusion at the elf woman who had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Before he had a chance to register more than this, the breath was driven from him as Grubber drove the head of his hammer into his midsection. As he doubled over, the damnable chain of the civilar behind him entangled his feet again, and he toppled to the ground. Fortunately, he landed right beside his sword this time, and the oaf of a goliath was no longer standing on it. Grabbing it triumphantly, he rolled to his stomach, intending to slice Grubber across both Achilles tendons, but three rapid slaps from the free end of Dwilt’s chain demanded his more immediate attention. As he rolled again to ward off the giant warrior behind him, Grubber’s hammer dropped one final time on the base of his skull, snapping his neck like tinder.
Only Garlok remained, but in his stunned state he was far from a viable threat. Hawk intended to subdue him into unconsciousness, thereby ending the match without further bloodshed, but his teammates seemed unwilling to show even that small bit of mercy. In a flurry of axe blows, eldritch blasts, magic missiles, and hurled electrical orbs, the dwarf’s days as a gladiator were ended.
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The applause and screams of the spectators seemed to threaten the very foundation of the Field of Triumph as they roared the name of their victors: “Impotent…Rage! Impotent…Rage!” Only one face among them showed no sign of elation or joy…Prendergast Brokengulf.
As the thunder of the crowd died to a dull roar, Dwilt stepped into the center of arena.
“My fellow Waterdhavians!” he cried, and the crowd answered with enthusiasm. “As team leader of Impotent Rage, I think I speak for all of us when we thank you for your respect and enthusiasm.” The civilar waited patiently as the tumult swelled once more. “But I would be remiss,” he continued, “if I were not to acknowledge a true hero among us here today…our host, Lord Prendergast Brokengulf!” At this, the throng became deafening, stamping their feet and shouting the veteran gladiator’s name over and over. With visible reluctance, Brokengulf rose to his feet with a forced smile on his face, and waved perfunctorily to the crowd.
“Why, only just yesterday,” Dwilt resumed his monologue, “I learned that over a decade ago Lord Brokengulf almost single-handedly beat back a horde of ghouls, and sealed them in their lair for all eternity! Surely we owe an unpayable debt of gratitude to such a man…one who would never think of letting the undead walk our fair streets and threaten our women and children!” The audience cheered and cheered at Dwilt’s words. The civilar bowed deeply before Brokengulf’s box, noting with satisfaction the look of pure, murderous hatred the gladiator leveled at him.
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Later in the coenoby, the team took their meal in silence in the common area, noting that the kobolds of Crazy Eight rounded out the semi-final teams. The team mates couldn’t help but suppress a snicker at the unlikely gladiators, as they were sure to be their competition in the next day’s bracket. Traditionally in the finals, the previous year’s champions would fight a beast of some sort, while the other two teams faced each other. This meant that Auric and Khellek would fight what essentially would be an exhibition match in the morning, almost assuring their place in the finals.
Just then, a beaming Ekaym walked into the coenoby, carrying a silver trophy depicting a dwarven gladiator, and a large sack of clinking coins.
“Well done again, lads!” he cried, holding up the trophy. He then frowned slightly at the replica of the dwarf. “Ironic, no? Well, it suits you boys…and lady…nonetheless. Stirring speech, by the way Dwilt.” The talkative merchant seated himself at their table, chattering away about the match and its high points while he parceled out the winnings. “Say,” he said after a brief brake from his ramblings, looking around conspiratorially, “do you think we could go someplace a bit more…private?” Vladius looked immediately skeptical, but Dwilt shrugged and rose to lead the group to one of the empty quarters. Not their own, Giovanni thought to himself, seeing as how they had an escaped prisoner as a guest at the moment.
As soon as everyone had seated themselves around the walls of the small enclosure, Ekaym pushed the door closed, then deliberately locked it. Turning towards his team, his face was transformed. Oh, it still had all the same features, but the foppish frivolity was gone, replaced with a seriousness, and underlying sadness that caught the entire band momentarily off guard.
“My friends,” he began with a deep sigh, “I am not whom you believe me to be. I have not been entirely…forthcoming with you.”
“Big surprise there,” Vladius muttered before Grubber elbowed him silent.
My true name is Lord Urtos Phylund II.” Dwilt and Hawk both knew of House Phylund, long known for training and procuring fierce monsters. “My father,” Urtos continued, “was Lord Urtos I. He was the director of the Field of Triumph until his death ten years ago, during a tragic accident while he was transporting an owlbear to the arena. Two months prior to his death, I met with an unfortunate accident myself. While out hunting at our family lodge in the Ardeep forest, my companions and I ran afoul of a large pack of wolves. I was sorely injured, and it took me over two months to recover. When I finally returned to Waterdeep, it was to the news of my father’s death, and to discover that my step-mother, Lady Aridarye, presuming me dead, had been named steward of my House until her young son, my half-brother, could come of age. My dear step-mother was not exactly overwhelmed with relief to see me alive, as I once more took control of my House’s affairs. Seven years ago, Lady Aridarye married a close friend of my fathers, and also of mine…Lord Prendergast Brokengulf. Of this I will say no more, except that is no secret that three years ago, my former step-mother began having an affair with a local gladiator named Auric. Now, none of this really concerns me, as I have always suspected Aridarye of being an opportunist and a user, moving from one relationship to the next as it suits her purposes. However, I have recently discovered that the body of my father has gone missing from our family vault. I have always been suspicious of the circumstances surrounding my father’s death. He was an expert beast handler, and for him to die at the claws of one of his animals is a bitter irony. I have long suspected Aridarye’s hand in his death, but have never been able to prove anything. I have my own reasons for suspecting that there may be some clue as to the true cause of my father’s death here beneath the Field of Triumph. My…complicated relationship with Aridarye and Prendergast prevents my direct investigation here, as you can imagine. So it was that I came up with the idea to gather together my own team of gladiators, in the hope of infiltrating the arena sub-levels to search for anything related to my father’s murder, or the whereabouts of his remains. I realize an undertaking such as this is not without risk, and so I offer you all of the winnings you have thus far accumulated, and may yet accumulate, in exchange for your services.” Here Urtos paused, his eyes cautious.
Silence pervaded the room for several long moments, and then Dwilt stood, shooting a warning look at Vladius as the mage started to open his mouth.
“We have our own reasons for conducting an investigation into the arena and Lord Brokengulf,” he said to Urtos, “as you have no doubt suspected. Why else would two civilars of the Guard be competing incognito in a gladiatorial competition? We accept your offer, and will see what our search turns up. Hear me on this, though. If any of the trails lead to your friend Brokengulf, we will not hesitate to bring him down, personal ally or not. Do not try to interfere.”
“Agreed,” Urtos said after a moment, and briskly shook hands with the civilar. “Ah yes,” he snapped his fingers, reaching into his cloak and drawing out a leather tube. “The scroll you asked for Grubber, though none of you seem gravely injured. Is this just for insurance?”
“Not exactly,” Grubber replied, accepting the scroll case. “Come with us, and we will share a secret of our own with you.”
They made their way across the coenoby to the team’s personal quarters, and stepped quickly inside. The prisoner still cowered in the corner, just as they had left him. Dwilt had given him stern instructions to remain inside, warning the man that if he was seen by any one, his life would surely be forfeit.
“Who is this?” Urtos asked, eyeing the filthy man skeptically.
“That is what we hope to soon find out,” Grubber said, crouching beside the prisoner and unfurling the scroll. He began reading in a sing-song chant, and slowly, a lambent glow surrounded his hands. As his words faded, the writing on the scroll likewise vanished, leaving the parchment blank. Grubber reached out gently towards the prisoner, laying his glowing hands on either side of the man’s head. Instantly, the look of terror and confusion left the prisoner, and his eyes lost their glazed appearance.
“What…what did you do?” he asked, awestricken.
“Merely healed your fractured mind,” Grubber said kindly. “Now, can you tell us who you are, and what you know about the worms?”
Involuntarily, the man shuddered, but he did not cower this time. “My name is Anele. I have been a beggar on these streets since I was a child…never harming nobody. Then, no more than a tenday past, two watchmen snatched me up for no reason…no reason! I thought I was being arrested for panhandling, but they’ve never bothered me before. They locked me up down here without explaining nothing. There was another fella in the cell across from me. He tried to talk to me, but I showed him I was deaf. Still, he seemed nice enough. Then one night, I heard the strangest sound in the hallway outside my cell. It sounded like hoof beats…like a horse or something. When I got up to look, I saw him…a devil he was! He was flabby, and cruel looking. Looked sort of like a man in the face, but he had hooves instead of feet. Hooves I tell you! And wings…big, black, leathery ones…like a bat. Horns was growing out of his head. He opened the door to that other fella’s cell, and went inside. That’s when he did it. He pulled this horrible looking green worm out of a bottle and put it on the fella’s face. I could tell the man was screaming the whole time, even though I couldn’t hear him. The worm…ate its way into his face. Pretty soon he keeled over. Dead as a door nail, but then…he got up again! Only he wasn’t moving right…kind of jerky and twitchy. And the worms…oh gods the worms! They were everywhere! Crawling out of his eyes, and his mouth.” Anele broke down into sobs as the horrible memory returned to him.
“What happened then,” Grubber asked gently. “Where did they go?”
“Back down the hall,” Anele said, getting hold of himself. They turned down a little short hall and disappeared. I haven’t seen them come back out since.”
Urtos’ face had gone pale during Anele’s tale, and now he gaped at Dwilt. “What is he talking about?” the Lord asked. “Is he mad?”
“Not anymore,” Dwilt said calmly, “I told you…we have our own reasons for investigating here. There is much more going on than you can possibly imagine. Stay away from here, Urtos. We will be in touch with you when we are able. For now, if you could take Anele from here and see to his safety. Storm will shroud him for you so that you can leave unnoticed.”
Storm stepped up to Anele and cast a brisk spell. Anele faded from sight, and Storm instructed him to hold Urtos’ cloak and not to let go until the spell wore off.
“May the gods be with you,” Urtos said as he left the chamber, casting one last worried glance at the team he had assembled…and quite possibly, doomed.
__________________________________________________ __
Evening came to the quiet coenoby, and the wardens once more departed, but not before warning the three remaining teams again not to wander from the area, especially since there was an escaped prisoner on the loose who was considered armed and dangerous.
As the midnight hour came and went, the League members crept from their quarters, and retraced their steps from the previous night. Though the saying goes that ‘lightning never strikes twice,’ that adage apparently did not hold true for the intrepid explorers. Try as they might to muffle it, the squealing of the long-disused upper stairway gate gave away their position a second time. This time, the shouting of the wardens was more urgent. They were already on heightened alert, with a prisoner having escaped right under their noses less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“We can’t avoid them this time,” Dwilt whispered hurriedly, “take up defensive positions! Hawk, try and stall them!” Havok and Shay quickly faded from view, while Grubber, Grim, Storm and Vladius flattened themselves against a wall. As the warden’s drew nearer, Hawk stepped into the hallway before them, silently stretching out his senses for the presence of evil and finding none.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” one of the wardens shouted. “You know you’re not allowed to be out of the coenoby! You could be disqualified!”
Hawk had no weapon in his hands. He raised both of them to punctuate the fact. “I beg your pardon, gentleman, but Lord Prendergast himself gave me his leave to explore a bit…sort of a reward for a job well done.”
The wardens regarded each other for a moment, and then turned back to glare at the civilar. “We happen to know for a fact that what you say is patently untrue,” the leader replied. “Now, we offer you just this one chance to return to the coenoby, or we will expel you from the tournament.”
“Time for talk is over!” shouted the diminutive mephit that flitted out from behind the paladin. “Show time!” With a word and a gesture, the wizard created a thick, oily layer of grease on the floor directly beneath the feet of three of the four wardens. All three immediately stumbled and crashed to the ground.
“I apologize in advance,” Hawk said as he rushed the remaining warden with his shield upraised, “but you are working for evil, knowingly or not, and we cannot allow you to interfere with us.” He slammed into the warden, rocking the man back several steps, right into the grease pit, and in short order, he had joined his comrades on the floor. Simultaneously, Havok appeared behind the four downed guards with Dwilt in tow, having dimension walked to flank them. The wardens tried to rise and defend themselves, but they were hopelessly over-matched and out classed. In less than a minute, they all lay unconscious.
“So what do we do with them?” Grubber asked as they stood over the subdued wardens.
“Obviously, we kill them,” Vladius said, with no hint of sarcasm in his voice, only deadly earnest. “They work for a man who wants us dead, and who is trying to summon an undead monstrosity that may be capable of destroying this whole city! Plus, they’ve seen us and can identify us. Case closed.”
“I won’t be a party to that,” Grubber said, folding his arms across his chest. “These men are simply hirelings for the arena. They have no part in Prendergast’s schemes that we know of. It would be murder.”
“Are you insane?” Vladius asked incredulously, “How many other people have you ‘murdered’ since we got involved in this whole affair? What about that whole tribe of lizardfolk? Didn’t I just personally witness you today smash in the skull of a dwarf or two in that arena? What part did they play in all this? Did they deserve to die?”
Grubber looked uncomfortable, his gaze falling to his feet. “That was different,” he said quietly, “There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Oh really??” Vladius pressed, “By all means, please explain them to me. I’d love to hear your moral justification of murder for money.”
“Enough!” Dwilt said, stepping between the feuding pair. “We are not going to kill these men. That’s final!” he glared at Vladius as the mephit opened his mouth again, then promptly snapped it shut. “We’ll tie them, gag them, and lock them in the cell block for now. We can decide their ultimate fate later.”
__________________________________________________ ___________
A short time later, Shay secured the lock on the same cell that had held Anele with its four new occupants. The group then moved up the main hall to the smaller branch that Anele had indicated in his tale. It was a short passage, only ten feet long, with a stout wooden door at its end. Beyond the door lay a small cellar containing several barrels and hundreds of glass bottles on shelving. The air was thick with the smell of vinegar. There was no obvious way out. Shay stepped cautiously into the room, peering closely at the walls and the shelves. He moved to the back wall and began running his hands over its surface. Finally, he carefully removed a specific bottle from the rack to his left, and the section of wall slid back, revealing a dark stairwell leading down. “I would say we have our clue,” he said.
Grimm took the lead descending the stair, which curved to the right after reaching a small landing. No sooner had the dwarf stepped on the landing, than an explosion of black energy engulfed him. He staggered forward, and nearly fell down the second set of stairs, but for Hawk reaching out to grab him. “A slaying ward,” Grubber said from further up the stairs. “He was lucky,” he indicated Grim, “it was meant to kill.” Shaking himself out of his daze, Grim continued down the stair, arriving at another door at their base.
Pushing it open, the mineral warrior saw a square room which contained three plain, wooden coffins. Two lay along the south wall, while the third had been placed in the north part of the room. Several empty sacks were piled near the third coffin. Standing near the center of the room were three corpses with green, slithering words protruding from their eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Kyuss Spawn! Grim started to lift his axe, preparing to strike, but then a wave of paralyzing fear and nausea knotted his gut. He could not explain it. All that he knew was that he had to get away…now! Turning back into the stairwell, he began shoving his comrades aside, barreling his way up the stairs. Grubber saw the panic in his eyes, and knew that it was the magic of the spawn that affected him. As the mineral warrior approached, the goliath braced himself, and shoved his hands against Grim’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.
Shay, who was right behind Grim, also felt the fear seize him. He knew instinctively that only death awaited him in that room. Death, and undeath. He quickly followed in Grim’s path, and when the dwarf was stopped by Grubber, the wily rogue darted between the legs of both of them, coming up behind the goliath into the wine cellar. As he bolted towards the door, he was suddenly shocked to find himself face down on the floor as Storm stuck out her foot to trip him as he darted by.
Hawk couldn’t worry about his fleeing comrades at the moment. The spawn were still there, unthreatened. Rushing into the room, he charged the nearest of the horrors, and rammed his sword into its chest, unleashing a burst of holy energy as he did so. If the creature felt pain, it didn’t show it. It simply plucked a fat, wriggling worm from its mouth and reached out towards Hawk’s face. Instantly, the room erupted into fire. As the heat and light faded, Hawk saw that all that remained of the spawn were three greasy spots on the floor. “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder to the hovering mephit in the doorway.
Grubber chanted his prayer quickly, letting his energy flow through his hands and into Grim. For a moment, the fear gripped the dwarf even tighter, but then his mind cleared of its panicky fog, and he felt his face flush in shame. “That’s twice those bastards have gotten to me,” he said. “Never again…this I vow.”
Back in the wine cellar, Storm had shut the door to prevent Shay’s escape. The rogue rolled to his feet, and backed into a shadowy corner. His shadow walker ritual had gifted him with the ability to use shadows as dimensional doorways, and he prepared to do just that to escape these lunatics who couldn’t see their own deaths approaching. However, just as he began to focus his energies, Grubber rushed him, cuffing him across the forehead with his mallet. As Shay’s vision exploded into stars, Dwilt and Hawk were on him, punching him repeatedly until he lapsed into unconsciousness. Once he was out, Grubber pulled a potion flask from his pouch, an elixir that would remove the magical fear effect, which he had purchased after their last encounter with Kyuss Spawn. Opening Shay’s mouth, he forced it down the rogue’s throat.
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“What were those…thing?” Giovanni asked as Grubber tended Shay’s external bruises (his bruised ego would have to heal on its own).
“Those were Kyuss Spawn,” Hawk said, as he looked into the coffins, making sure they held no other nasty surprises. “The same things we met in the lower level of Cromm’s Hold.”
Giovanni shuddered. “I know how you described them, but…”
“Yeah, kind of makes you want to bring your lunch up,” Vladius offered. “Don’t worry about it kid. They die just fine.”
Just then, Hawk came to a halt in his search around the chamber. He stood in an archway leading east. After about fifteen feet, it branched north, but twenty feet beyond that it ended at a door. It was there that Hawk was looking. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.
“What?” Dwilt replied, stepping beside him. “Do you detect something?”
Hawk nodded. “Behind that door…nine of them. Three are more powerful than the others.” Dwilt knew exactly what he was talking about. The paladin was sensing evil. Not only could he detect its presence, but he could also discern how many creatures were present, and how strongly evil they were. The most powerful radiations tended to come from undead, priests, and outsiders, beings from other planes.
“Form up team,” Dwilt commanded. Without hesitation, the group organized themselves with Grim in front, followed by Dwilt, then Hawk, Grubber, Shay, Storm, Vladius and Giovanni. They moved carefully down the hall, towards the door.
Grim glanced over his shoulder at Dwilt. When the civilar nodded, the burly dwarf raised one hobnailed boot and kicked in the door. The air that rushed out of the large chamber beyond was particularly noisome. The northern wall of the room was almost completely covered by the remains of a wooden bookshelf whose contents had long ago crumbled to dust. The southern portion of the chamber was occupied by dusty pieces of ancient, ruined machinery that may once have comprised sets of semi-automated combat dummies. A set of double-doors stood closed in the room’s north wall. Standing about the large room, all facing the door which Grim had just smashed, were six more spawn. Among them, however, were three other creatures that looked like gaunt, nearly skeletal corpses, their rib cages filled with horrid, writhing viscera. Their tongues, which protruded obscenely from their mouths, were long, cartilaginous and clawed!
“Mohrgs!” Grubber shouted as he glimpsed the horrific-looking undead.
“I don’t care what they are,” Vladius replied, “as long as they’re not fire proof. Incoming!” Reflexively, Grim crouched low behind his tower shield as a massive explosion ripped through the chamber. Even so-protected, the flames from the powerful fireball still scorched even his thick hide. Peering over the top of his shield, he saw that their opponents were far worse off than he. Five of the spawn had been consumed by the blast, and the one remaining looked like a burned out torch. The mohrgs, though clearly damaged, still looked more than capable of putting up a fight. All three of the creatures rushed Grim, but since he had essentially created a bottle-neck in the doorway, they couldn’t all reach him at once. Nevertheless, one of them managed to rake its filthy, snake-like tongue across his face. For a split-second, felt every muscle in his body seize up, but just as quickly the sensation passed.
“Beware their tongues!” Grubber called from further down the hallway, “They can paralyze you!”
“Thanks for the warning,” Grim muttered.
From her position in the middle of the party, Storm could just make out the mohrg facing Grim. “Duck!” she shouted to Shay, Dwilt and Hawk, who obliged without question. From her palm came a scorching ray of pure flame, which passed harmlessly over Grim’s head and struck the walking corpse full in the chest. As it recoiled, Dwilt snaked his chain between Grim’s legs, coiling around one ankle of the mohrg, and jerked. With a guttural cry, the monstrosity fell to the ground at Grim’s feet. Grim didn’t waste the opportunity, and hammered his axe into the mohrg’s animate viscera.
Hawk was frustrated. Though Grim’s position effectively protected the rest of the group, it prevented him from entering the melee. He tried to peer over the heads of those in front of him to see if any new enemies had entered the room. It was then that he noticed the last spawn. It had shambled over to the far doors, and opened one of them.
“Havok!” Hawk shouted, “Get me in there…now!” He then turned and shouldered his way past Grubber, Shay and Storm. He couldn’t see the warlock, as he had rendered himself invisible once more, but he felt Giovanni’s hand seize his, and the next thing he knew he was standing right beside the Kyuss Spawn.
Vladius cursed. Now that Hawk and Giovanni were in the room, he couldn’t hurl his more destructive spells. Well, he could, but that might result in hurt feelings, and all sorts of whining, so instead, he drew a slender wand from his robe and with a word, sent a burst of missiles of energy down the hall. Amazingly, the bolts deftly dodged and weaved around everyone in front of him, and struck unerringly the mohrg he had aimed at. At that moment, the mohrg had been trying to stand, but Dwilt flicked his chain again, sending it sprawling back to the floor, at which time Grim followed up with a second chop, cracking several of its rotting ribs in the process.
The other two mohrg’s, however, had not failed to notice Hawk’s sudden appearance behind them. Rotting sinew creaked as they turned their heads to regard the civilar, and then as one, they charged. Hawk turned, shield raised just as the horrid tongues of the creatures struck like snakes. Showing surprising intelligence, the mohrgs moved to flank the paladin, stepping between him and the spawn. As Hawk watched, unable to intervene, the thing shambled into a darkened hallway beyond the door.
__________________________________________________ ____
Bozal Zahol stood before the altar, deep in meditation over the large scroll unfurled atop it, its writing bathed in a sickly green light. It was almost time. Soon the Apostle would awaken, and the ritual would be complete. Even now, he could feel the ulgurstasta stirring, its mind reaching out to him, giving him just the barest hint of the unfathomable dark secrets it harbored.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled explosion from the training hall. With a curse, he withdrew his attention from the scroll and the Apostle. He had been expecting this. Those so-called adventurers had finally arrived. He had warned Brokengulf that they would be trouble, but the old fool had been certain that Ilserv and his doppelgangers could handle them. Bozal had not been so confident. Theldrick was no weakling, and yet this band of bumpkins from a backwater town had managed to defeat him as well as the other Triad leaders, not to mention the Ebon Aspect. No, these were not typical treasure hunters, and they had been making Brokengulf look like a fool by defeating team after team in the Games. So now they were on his doorstep. Well, he had not come this far, brought the faithful of Kyuss so close to the Age of Worms, just to be thwarted on the eve of his apotheosis. Even before his spawn minion burst in to needlessly warn him of intruders, he began uttering his prayers.
__________________________________________________
Hawk pivoted and whirled like a dervish, trying to outmaneuver the mohrgs. He slashed at the leg of one, cutting through several layers of decaying muscle. Suddenly, he saw Havok appear out of thin air as his invisibility spell ended with the blast that erupted out of his hand and down the hall where the spawn had vanished. In a brilliant flash of light, Giovanni saw the spawn illuminated for the briefest of instants, standing in an open doorway, before his eldritch blast obliterated it entirely.
The mohrg before Grim struggled to its feet one last time before a second missile volley from Vladius caused its skeletal head to explode. Dwilt and Grim wasted no time rushing past the still falling corpse and closing to aid Hawk. Both warriors struck simultaneously, Grim’s axe and Dwilt’s chain each knocking the legs out from under a mohrg, and sending them both to the ground. Hawk stabbed his sword through the sternum of the nearest one, and it began to crumble to dust as it died a second time. He then bashed the last mohrg with his shield as it began to rise, and followed up with a thrust from his blade through its chin and straight up into its rotten brain. Before it could recover, Dwilt slashed three quick strokes, each one shattering an exposed vertebra, and it followed its brethren into eternal rest.
“Come on!” Grim shouted as he started down the hall in the direction the spawn had gone. “It’s bringing others!” As he skidded to a halt at the open door at the end of the hall, his eyes went wide at what he beheld on the other side. Two braziers in the northeast and southeast corners lit the rectangular room. A simple altar of stone sat in the middle of the east wall, facing a large set of stone double doors to the west. On the altar was a scroll, which glowed with an unnatural green light. A writhing green beam of light emanated from the scroll to strike the doors, bathing them in the same green glow. Standing in front of the altar was what at first appeared to be a middle-aged man with a flaccid and misshapen figure. However, his goat-like hooves, large leathery wings, and vestigial horns labeled him as something else entirely. He wore chain mail armor and carried a wooden shield. At his side was slung a gleaming, wooden club.
Grim never hesitated. Roaring a challenge, he rushed into the chamber, but as soon as he did, he noticed the total absence of sound. He couldn’t even hear his own voice as he shouted. Nevertheless, he let his momentum carry him forward, raising his axe to cleave into the demonic figure. However, when he was still a dozen feet away, he ran up against what seemed to be a solid barrier, though one he could not see.
Grubber approached the door next and saw Grim’s dilemma. Something about the situation struck him as familiar. And then he had it. The fiendish looking man was a priest, and he had raised a powerful abjuration about himself…an anti-life shell! It would hedge out any mortal creature, preventing it from touching his person…unless Grubber could do something about it. The goliath noted that he could not hear Grim’s shouting, though the dwarf was clearly doing so. If he stepped into the chamber, he would not be able to form the words for his prayer, so he began his incantation outside the room, conjuring a dispelling field around the evil priest, hoping to bring down the anti-life shell, and whatever other defensive spells he may have in effect.
Before Grim could register the fact that the barrier had vanished, Hawk rushed past him, but as the paladin drew near Bozal, the priest uttered words unheard by no one but himself, bathing his hand in black light. He reached out gently, right for the paladin’s heart. With a silent cry of dismay, Hawk leaped back, batting the fiend’s hand aside with his shield, and then burying his sword to the hilt in the priest’s chest, unleashing a surge of holy energy as he did so. As Bozal staggered back, blood spurting from his wound, Dwilt sprang to Hawk’s side, snapping his chain around the fiend’s leg, tripping him and mentally sending a stunning blast down the length of the weapon. As Bozal jittered and jerked on the floor, Grim stood over him, and then brought his axe down upon his neck.
ROUND THREE (OR HOW TO KILL A FROGHEMOTH IN THIRTY SECONDS OR LESS)
‘That must be it,’ Giovanni thought, for he could not speak aloud in the magically silenced room. ‘The Apostolic Scrolls.’ Carefully avoiding the writhing green beam, he walked around the back side of the altar, gazing at the scroll, but studiously avoiding reading any of the words. Who knew what even glancing at those powerfully evil verses might unleash? He could not, however, keep himself from summoning up his innate ability to detect magic. Instantly, a stabbing pain went through his head as the overwhelming aura of the scrolls bombarded him. Struggling to clear his mind, he tried to unravel the multiple auras that he sensed and focus on one at a time.
The first, and least powerful, dweomer that he noted was an unhallowing effect that permeated the chamber. It must be the source of the silence in the room. Probably placed by the priest they had just slain. Next, the green energy field that surrounded the scroll was some sort of temporal stasis. While it lasted, the scroll could not be touched or tampered with in any way. Most likely a defense mechanism of the item itself to allow the ritual to be completed without interference. Finally, the scroll itself radiated a supremely powerful aura of necromancy and evil.
Stepping out of the room, he motioned his team mates to him and told them of his observations.
“It’s certainly beyond my ability to deal with,” Vladius said. “And I doubt a simple dispelling field will affect it.” He looked meaningfully at Grubber.
“What if we destroy the altar itself?” Giovanni asked. “Would the scroll fall and disrupt the effect?”
Vladius shrugged and Grubber shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Giovanni said, and then he stepped to the doorway, pointed one finger towards the altar and proceeded to send blast after blast of eldritch energy into it. Piece by piece he blew the stone block apart, until nothing was left but rubble. Floating above the rubble, the scroll was untouched.
“We’d best move on,” Dwilt said. “Perhaps we’ll find something that will give us a clue to deactivate this thing.” Nodding their agreement, the group formed up once more. The most obvious place to start seemed to be the doors through which the green beam passed. They had witnessed the fiendish priest walk through the beam without ill effect, but that didn’t mean just anyone could. Grim motioned the others behind him, and taking a deep breath, he stepped to the doors, reached through the beam and grasped the handles. Nothing happened. Letting his breath out, he pulled open the doors. Beyond was a twenty-five foot long, ten foot wide corridor. A large portal of stone, covered with the obscene depiction of an orgy of dead, worm-ridden corpses blocked the passage. In the middle of the macabre mass, a carving of the horrible skull of Kyuss uttered a silent scream of triumph.
The first thing the group noticed was that the silencing effect of the altar chamber did not extend to this hall. However, the green beam continued down the passage to strike the second set of doors, bathing them in emerald light. Cautiously, they approached the portals. Shay stepped in front of the others and carefully studied the entire surface of the doors, being equally careful not to touch them.
“If they’re trapped,” he said after a moment, “I can’t see the mechanism.”
“The same magic field persists here as in the other room,” Giovanni observed.
“Well, it didn’t harm us the first time,” Dwilt shrugged. He reached for the doors, only this time, his hand encountered a spongy, invisible barrier inches away from the handles. Instantly, a blast of black energy surged up his arm and through his entire body. He staggered back, clutching his cold, numb hand. He glared coldly at Shay.
“Hey,” the rogue said, holding up his hands, “I said I couldn’t see it. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
“Well, we obviously aren’t going any further this way,” Dwilt said, still cradling his injured arm. “Let’s try the other door.”
They returned to the altar chamber, and crossed to the single door on the far side. On the other side was a short passage ending at a second door, and beyond this they found what appeared to be a bed chamber. A central pillar of green marble carved in the likeness of a segmented worm supported the ceiling. The room was dimly lit by a single incense burner that shed a sweet, fruity aroma. The chamber was lined with woolen tapestries depicting coiling green worms, and contained a bed, an armchair, and a cupboard. Near the bed were a small nightstand and an ornate, elongated trunk.
Before any one entered the room, Giovanni stepped to the fore, and opened his senses again for the presence of magic. Immediately, his attention was drawn to the trunk. Magic radiated from it and from within it.
“Shay,” he called over his shoulder. “Got another job for you.”
“Make sure you get it right this time,” Vladius jeered, after which he found himself on the receiving end of a particularly obscene gesture which could get a person dismembered in Calimport.
Shay crouched before the trunk. It appeared to be made of darkwood and bound with steel. A steel plaque representing a screaming skull infested by worms was nailed to the lid. The side panels were painted in tones of black and green with a cycle of apocalyptic images running around it like a frieze. The images were divided into two horizontal strips, underground and aboveground, by a cutaway of the earth’s crust. Underground, the horrible figure of a man made of worms lay imprisoned in a huge, stone monolith. The figure had been represented in perspective on each of the trunk’s four sides. Huge, green worms writhed in the surrounding caverns’ crust to invade the aboveground part of the paintings, where a sickly, green light illuminated a blasted landscape. There, the writhing worms towered over a population of monstrous undead and naked, terrified victims.
“Charming,” Shay muttered. He examined the entire trunk with a skilled eye, and there, just around the locking mechanism, he saw it…the faintest of glimmers, that to a trained professional such as himself, indicated the presence of a magical trap.
“Definitely,” he said to the others.
“Well, we’ve got the key ring that we took off goat-boy back there,” Grim said, twirling the ring around on one finger. “You’d think he’d have a way to bypass his own trap.”
“Be my guest,” Shay said, backing away to a safe distance. Grim scowled and strode purposefully up to the trunk, where he knelt and inserted what he hoped was the correct key. Turning it, he heard a satisfying click. “Hah!” he shouted, and lifted the lid. At that moment, he felt a searing pain in his hand where it touched the lid, and then he cried out as he jerked his hand back. Something beneath his skin was…writhing. Suddenly, a sickly, green worm burst from the back of his hand and dropped wetly to the floor where it hissed and bubbled into a noisome pool of goo.
“At least you got it open,” Shay shrugged, not quite meeting the withering stare of the mineral warrior.
The trunk contained several wondrous magical items, as well as gold and gems, but nothing pertaining to the scroll. A thorough search of the room likewise turned up nothing helpful. A single door led west from the room.
________________________________________________
Thrakerzog brooded within the large urn that served him as a resting place. He had heard the tell-tale sounds of combat several minutes ago, coming from the direction of the shrine. Bozal Zahol was probably under attack, and in need of his assistance, but he would be damned if he was going to trouble himself to assist the half-breed (technically, being a demon, Thrakerzog was damned anyway, but that was beside the point). The priest had summoned him in order to strike a bargain, but in hindsight, the demon felt that he had gotten the short end of the deal. Bozal had asked him to ‘domesticate’ the oozes that dwelled in the sewers, and to guard the shrine as a whole. Well, strictly speaking, Bozal’s exact words had been, “stand guard in this room,” and it was in this room that Thrakerzog intended to remain. As he chuckled silently to himself though, imagining Bozal’s current predicament, he heard the door on the other side of the curtain open, and saw a distinctly dwarf-like shape peering around the corner.
__________________________________________________ _
Peering into the room, Grim beheld a bare chamber lit by a brazier in the northwest corner. A green and black checkered curtain hung from a steel bar fixed near the ceiling, concealing the southern part of the room. Cautiously, Grim pulled back one edge of the curtain…and abruptly wished he had not. A six-foot tall black earthenware urn stood near the middle of the south wall. The south wall itself was completely filled with a mosaic of tiny green tiles depicting the horrible skull of Kyuss. Suddenly, from out of the urn emerged a shivering, shapeless blob of phosphorescent green corruption surrounded by a cracked, leathery coating which constantly oozed, secreted, hardened, and split open again. Dark, swollen eye globules dotted the surface of the thing. As Grim recoiled in disgust, a blast of frigidly cold air erupted from the mass, blistering both his stony hide, and Hawk, who stood directly behind him in the corridor outside the room.
Reacting with the experience of years of military training, Dwilt and Hawk surged into the room without even knowing what it was they faced. No sooner had they crossed the threshold, than another wave of cold emanated from the thing in the urn, only this time it began to solidify into a wall of ice which would trap them on one side, and the rest of the team on the other. However, as the ice wall began rising towards the ceiling, Grim shoved the head of his axe directly across its sagital plane, causing the entire structure to collapse into a harmless pile of snow.
At that moment both Grubber and Giovanni entered the room, Grubber by charging directly in, and Giovanni by invisibly dimension-walking. Simultaneously, their eyes fell upon the visage of Kyuss on the wall behind the urn, and something within their minds snapped. An overwhelming sensation of hopelessness, panic, and impending doom swept over them. For a moment, Grubber stood wide-eyed and rooted to the spot. Not so Havok, who stepped between dimensions again, and was gone.
Thrakerzog was irritated that his attempt to split the intruders up didn’t work, but it didn’t really matter. Now the alkilith had four of them in his sights, and he unleashed a second arctic blast directly at them.
Grim was in trouble. He had now taken two direct hits from the creature’s magic, and he knew he would not live through a third. He needed to regroup, perhaps have Grubber use his healing powers, but as he turned towards the priest, he saw the goliath fleeing at full speed back the way they had just come.
“Get out of there!” Vladius shouted from his position still within the bedchamber of the priest. He had witnessed his team getting mowed down by some spell-slinging being, and now Grubber was in full retreat. As Grim heeded his warning, Pyro slapped one hand on the mineral warrior's shoulder, uttering an arcane word as he did so. Instantly, a troll stood where Grim had just been. The transformation process immediately healed some of the dwarf’s injuries, and, the wizard hoped, fortified him enough to go back into battle.
Dwilt and Hawk also took Pyro’s advice and retreated towards the bedchamber, knowing that the wizard was about to launch one of his signature fireballs. Before he had a chance, however, the oozing mass appeared in the hallway behind the paladins, moving amazingly fast for something so ungainly. A third conical blast of cold roared down the corridor, enveloping Grim, Hawk, Vladius and Storm. Dwilt dove around a corner at the last second, avoiding the brunt of the blast. As the cloud of ice cleared, Storm collapsed to the floor. Whether she was alive or dead, Dwilt couldn’t tell.
Shay had also avoided the frigid blast, and now he stepped to the open doorway, and launched a volley of arrows at the advancing blob. One by one, the arrows bounced harmlessly off the creature’s hide. “Oh crap,” the rogue whispered, and then leaped for cover as a tiny bead of flame went sailing over his head. The fireball exploded behind the demon, filling the corridor, but as the flames subsided, the creature looked only mildly scorched.
Hawk couldn’t tell whether Storm was alive either, but he had no intention of leaving her directly in the path of the monster. He ran to her side, and laid one hand on her forehead, channeling the healing energy granted him by Torm. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the sorceress draw a great gasping breath and open her eyes, but his elation turned to pain as a bolt of black energy struck him, chilling him all the way to his soul. “Run!” he shouted at the drow as he whirled to meet his attacker.
Storm didn’t need to be told twice. Hawk had snatched her from the jaws of death, but she was far from whole. One more blast like that would kill her. She bolted from the chamber, back towards the shrine, with Shay right on her heels.
“This is way out of my league,” the rogue said apologetically, but Storm understood completely. She was afraid it might be out of all of their leagues.
“Still alive, eh?” Vladius shouted defiantly at the still advancing demon. “Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough the first time!” Chanting again, he called a second flaming ball to his hand, and hurled it at the alkilith. In answer, the demon filled the bedchamber with a nauseating, greasy black miasma. As the cloud clung to their them, Grim and Dwilt felt their skin burn, but Hawk was seared to his core. Instinctively, he knew the effect to be one of pure unholy energy, which his celestial heritage made him uniquely susceptible to. In spite of himself, he screamed in agony. Dimly, he heard Dwilt and Grim shouting, and when he finally regained control of himself, he saw why. Vladius lay unmoving on the floor. With a sinking feeling, the civilar saw that the mage had assumed his normal form, his mephit shape gone. Such a thing would not have happened if he were merely unconscious. Pyro was dead.
With a cry of defiance, Hawk rose to his feet and charged the demon. “By Torm’s holy might, I smite thee!” he shouted. “Back to the pit, spawn of evil!” He drove his blade deep into the undulating mass, calling upon his god’s anger to channel holy power into the fiend. Thrakerzog wailed an inhuman cry as pain wracked his body. So blinding was the agony, that he could not concentrate to focus his magic. Instead he struck out blindly with four pseudopods, hammering at the paladin with rage. Hawk felt the blows connect solidly, but here his ancestry served him well. His thick skin barely registered the concussive impacts, and the acid which the beast secreted was like water to his celestial hide.
“It’s a demon,” Dwilt wheezed to Grim as they watched Hawk make his stand. “Only holy power can truly affect it. Hold out your blade!” Grim obliged, though he had no idea what the civilar had in mind. Dwilt drew a vial of oil from his belt, and poured the liquid directly on Grim’s axe. There was a brief flash, and then the axe began to glow with a pure white light. “Now,” Dwilt told the troll/dwarf, “it’s payback time.”
Thrakerzog knew he could not fight this aasimar hand-to-hand, and he recognized the holy nature of the blade the troll approaching him now wielded. He had to buy time. Once more he summoned the unholy blight, drowning the three warriors in its darkness. He felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw the chain-wielding human double over and begin heaving up his last meal.
Hawk knew he was done for. The second unholy surge burned even more than the first. He was being roasted alive from the inside out. If he didn’t use his healing power to tend himself, he would not live to continue the fight. He staggered back as Grim approached. “Go my friend,” the troll/dwarf rumbled. “I’ll hold it here.” The mineral warrior didn’t wait to see if the civilar obeyed or not. He simply turned and stalked towards the alkilith, death walking. The blob began to slither away from him, but not quickly enough. With an inarticulate cry, Grim raised his axe, and buried it to the haft in the sickening green goo.
Thrakerzog screamed again. Curse Bozal Zahol for abandoning him! If the priest still lived, the demon fully intended on altering their agreement. For now, he called upon his innate magic once more and teleported himself away from the troll, reappearing unseen in the concealed corridor beyond his room which led to the lair of Bozal’s human ally. There, he allowed himself a moment’s respite, and then smiled evilly. Closing his eye globules in concentration, he willed his body to change shape. Slowly, his viscous form turned to gas.
Hawk saw the demon vanish, but his knowledge of magic was limited. It may have fled, but it may just as easily be lurking invisibly in the corridor, preparing to attack again. Quickly, he lifted Vladius’ cooling body, and carried him from the room. Behind him, Dwilt struggled to regain control of his bodily functions while Grim scanned the hallway cautiously, looking for any sign of their enemy.
What Grim saw was a thick, noxious, yellow-green cloud begin seeping into the room containing the urn from under the north wall. Slowly, the cloud expanded and began moving towards him. He began backing up, but soon the vapor had filled the corridor and half of the bedchamber. He began gasping and choking as it filled his lungs, and Dwilt was no better off than he. He felt his strength begin to ebb and he knew that if he stayed in the cloud much longer, he would soon be incapable of moving at all. Rushing to Dwilt’s side, he draped the civilar’s arm around his shoulder and the pair limped from the chamber, rejoining their remaining team mates in the silent shrine. Storm and Shay were already on the other side, and Hawk motioned Grim and Dwilt to come too. Behind them, the cloud began flowing out of Bozal’s chambers and towards the shrine.
The team reached the training room, and still the cloud pursued them. “We can’t stay!” Hawk shouted. “We have to make for the upper levels!” Together, they ran from the room, back through the coffin storage chamber, and up the stairs to the wine cellar, closing the secret doors behind them.
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Grubber and Giovanni did not stop running until they had returned to the coenoby and their quarters. Even then, they spent several moments cowering in a corner. When the terror finally loosened its grip from their hearts, they said nothing to one another, merely looking shame-facedly at their feet. Though obviously ensorcelled, and forced to flee against their wills, the fact remained that they had abandoned their friends.
“Let’s go,” Giovanni said finally, and Grubber simply nodded.
They began making their way back to the upper ring as quickly as possible, but by the time they arrived at the cell block, they saw their team mates approaching. Grubber immediately noticed that several of them looked badly injured, and Vladius... ‘Oh no!’ the goliath thought as he rushed to take the wizard from Hawk’s arms. He realized immediately that Pyro was dead. He bowed his head as he listened to Dwilt tell the tale of what had transpired. Storm sniffled quietly in the background. At last Grubber raised his head when Dwilt had finished. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” he began, “especially in light of the constant, nasty jibes I’ve had to tolerate from the arrogant, little bastard, but Grumbar help me, I think I can bring him back.” The others stared at him blankly.
“Are you serious?” Dwilt asked finally. “How? You said it was beyond you when Shay died.”
“I know,” the priest nodded, “and at the time it was, but all that we have seen and done has drawn me closer in my faith to Grumbar. He has granted me the power. Give me until tomorrow when I can perform my morning devotional, and you will see. For now, however, it seems we have a more pressing concern.”
The guards. That was what Grubber meant. There was still the matter of the four wardens they had locked in one of the cells. What was to be done with them? If simply left there, they would be discovered the next day and would readily identify their assailants, insuring at the very least the disqualification of Impotent Rage, if not their outright arrest.
Ultimately, Dwilt came up with a plan. When the wardens awoke in their cell, they were still bound and gagged. Standing over them were the leader of Impotent Rage, the one called Dwilt, and another of the warriors, Hawk. They seemed to be involved in some sort of disagreement.
“And I say they have to die,” Dwilt shouted, gesturing towards the wide-eyed wardens. “They’ve seen our faces, for one thing, and we know they are accomplices of Brokengulf. They have aided him in filling the catacombs beneath the arena with undead, not to mention that demon we fought. If they were on trial by the magisters, they would be found guilty and executed.”
Hawk shook his head vehemently. “I think you’re wrong. These men are unwitting pawns. How could any decent person stand by and watch the evil that Brokengulf has summoned unleashed upon their own city and people? They should be released.”
“Released?” Dwilt said in disbelief. “Why? So they can run to Brokengulf first chance they get and warn him that we are on to him? So that he can push his plan forward to destroy Waterdeep?”
“They would be fools to go to him,” Hawk argued. “If he knew that they had any idea what he was up to, he would kill them just to silence them and leave no loose ends.” Dwilt seemed to consider this as he glared at the bound men, who by now were sweating profusely. One, it seemed, had even soiled himself.
“Well?” Dwilt snarled, ripping the gag from one man’s mouth. “What’s it to be? Do we strangle you right here and now, and dump your bodies in the cistern below, or do we cut you loose on your word that you will leave Waterdeep and tell no one what you have seen or heard?”
The man’s mouth worked in silence for a moment, before he finally managed to stammer, “We…we…I mean to say…yes! Anything you say! We swear it! No one will hear a word from our lips!” Dwilt appeared to debate a moment longer, then he spat and turned away, motioning to Shay.
“Cut them loose.” The rogue kneeled behind each of the men, cutting their bonds, but whispering to them as he did so, “I have friends among the Shadow Thieves. Believe me on your life that if you break your vow, you will not live to see the sun rise.” The men staggered quickly to their feet and rushed en masse for the door, then bolted down the hall.
“Do you think they’ll talk?” Hawk asked.
“Maybe,” Dwilt said, “but not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. By the time they work up the nerve to cross us, this business will be concluded, one way or another.”
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Morning found Grubber deep in prayer beside Vladius’ cold body. The others stood back, their attention riveted on the priest. Finally, the goliath finished his chant, and then crushed a large gem with his maul, sprinkling the dust over the wizard’s corpse. Suddenly, Vladius’ chest heaved, and his eyes flew open. He scrabbled to grab the front of Grubber’s tunic. “You lying son-of-a-harpy!” he screamed. “You said you were guiding me to Celestia, where forty vestal virgins awaited my personal attention!”
Grubber shrugged, “I figured you wouldn’t come back if I just told you we needed you for the next match. Welcome home!”
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When the team emerged from their quarters, they saw Auric and Khellek striding angrily away from the posting board. The reigning champions scowled darkly at the group as he passed.
When they read the board themselves, they understood the reason for Auric’s ire. It seemed that his team was to face the Crazy Eight in the semi-final round, and Impotent Rage would be facing a creature known as Madtooth. Traditionally, the previous year’s champions would not fight another team in the third round, almost insuring their place in the finals. This was most unusual.
“What do you make of the night shift just up and vanishing?” a voice said from behind them. A pair of Wardens stood a short distance away. “Dunno,” one of them replied, “maybe they were afraid of what would happen to them for letting that prisoner get away. Maybe they figured they should skip town while they could.”
“Maybe,” the other shrugged. “Anyway, I wish it was them and not us having to deal with old Madtooth today. It’s been a royal pain in the arse trying to keep his cage so cold. I’ll be glad when this is over, and they send the brute back to the Spine. Frost salamanders! Hah! You can keep’em.” The men then seemed to take notice of the party’s attention on them, and they lowered their voices and moved away.
“Interesting conversation,” Giovanni said to no one in particular.
“Awfully convenient for us to ‘overhear’ that,” Vladius sneered.
“Very,” Dwilt agreed. “I think Brokengulf’s up to his old tricks again.”
“Yeah,” Vladius said, “for all we know Madtooth’s a red dragon.”
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Later that morning, Auric and Khellek returned victorious from their match, but they didn’t seem very pleased with their victory. Their glares spoke volumes about their feelings concerning Impotent Rage’s placement in the semis.
“Impotent Rage!” the warden called, and the team followed him upstairs to the lift. As the platform rose, Vladius assumed his standard mephit form while Dwilt quaffed a potion, enlarging himself to twice his normal size, and Shay and Havok both rendered themselves invisible. Upon reaching the arena, the air seemed electric with expectation. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” Talabir called out. “Once again it is my privilege to introduce the terrors of Daggerford…Impotent Rage!” The crowd roared their approval, stamping their feet and applauding. The floor of the arena, however, was otherwise empty. There was no sign of Madtooth.
“I beg your apologies, my lords and ladies,” Talabir shouted from the podium. “It would appear that our beast-wranglers are having a bit of trouble with Madtooth, but rest assured, he is on his way.”
Minutes ticked by and the crowd became increasingly restless. Vladius cursed as several of his preparatory defensive spells expired. Finally, just as it seemed the audience might be on the verge of riot, the eastern gates to the arena opened, and a team of a dozen soldiers dragging a massive iron cube on an oversized chariot entered. The sides of the cage bore the word ‘Madtooth’ in bright, red letters clenched in the massive jaws of some huge monster. Brackish water sloshed and leaked from under the cage.
“I told you,” muttered Pyro.
The wagon’s progress was slow as the guards dragged the massive cage to the center of the arena. The spectacle seemed to drive the crowd wild, and in moments they began chanting, “MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH! MADTOOTH!” The guards stopped some fifty feet away from Impotent Rage, each one taking hold of different ropes attached to strategic pins and clasps in the cage’s sides. Each guard then retreated to a distance of perhaps one-hundred feet, each holding a rope in his hands.
The crowd became momentarily silent again as Talabir spoke, “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for! Watch in fear as these brave gladiators pit their skills against the eternal hunger of the worst the jungles of Chult have to offer! I give you…MADTOOTH THE HUNGRY!” With this final cry, the guards each tugged on their ropes, and the walls of the cage unfolded and fell away.
The monster was huge, and bizarre. Vaguely frog-like in shape, it had four writhing tentacles in place of front legs. Its head was mostly mouth, and its mouth mostly teeth. A retractable stalk protruded from the front of its head, at the end of which stared three bulbous eyes. The massive thing was dark green save for its belly, which was pale. A powerful tongue tipped with barbs lolled wetly from its mouth.
“That sure as Hell isn’t any frost salamander I’ve ever heard of,” Vladius muttered.
“Doesn’t matter,” he heard Havok say from somewhere nearby. “I’m betting it will still fry nicely, and I’m sort of partial to frog’s legs.” With that, a massive blast of eldritch energy erupted from right beside the wizard, as the warlock suddenly appeared in the aftermath of his attack. The bolt struck Madtooth a direct hit in the chest, but the beast didn’t slow. One giant hop brought it within ten feet of the group…and that’s where it stopped. Dwilt’s chain lashed out, slashing the froghemoth across the face, and a surge of stunning energy jolted down the weapon and into the creature. Instantly, it froze, immobile.
“He’s all yours gents…and lady,” Dwilt said, bowing to Storm.
Just like that, in a flurry of fire, lightning and flashing steel, the battle was over. Madtooth the hungry would never return to Chult. The crowd was stunned, but it wasn’t long before the familiar chant of “IMPOTENT RAGE!” began to shake the stadium. As Talabir Welik struggled to make himself heard over the tumult, the members of the League turned their eyes as one to the box of Prendergast Brokengulf. For several seconds, shock and discomfort were plainly visible on his face.
It was the last night of the Champion’s Games and the coenoby was a tomb. Auric and Khellek had retreated to their quarters, offering no word of congratulations or good luck to the members of Impotent Rage. For their own part, the League had larger concerns.
“We have to go back down tonight,” Dwilt said. “It’s our last chance. We know Brokengulf has something planned, and it’s probably going to come off tomorrow. That demon is probably guarding the information that we need,and we are going to have to face it again.”
“Are you crazy?” Vladius shouted. “After the butt-whipping it handed to us last night…oh, and let’s not forget, one of us, who shall remain nameless, ended up DEAD!”
“Maybe we should have left you that way,” Grubber muttered under his breath.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Dwilt continued calmly. “Either we are here to put an end to this, or we’re not. It’s all or nothing.” He looked around for any further dissent, and when none came, he nodded. “This is our plan. We make our way back to the shrine, trying to avoid any further entanglements with the wardens this time, and check out the scrolls once again. Maybe there’s something we missed. If we get nothing, then we move on to the demon…and we don’t stop this time.”
Miraculously, they made it past the wardens without drawing their attention. Perhaps the shift that night made a conscious decision NOT to investigate anything untoward, noting what had happened when their predecessors became too curious. The team arrived in the coffin storage area, and had begun heading towards the training room, when Dwilt held up one hand.
“Wait a second. Where does this lead?” He indicated a small side passage that branched from the hall between the coffin room and the training area. “Why didn’t we notice this before?”
“Um…we were too busy running too or from a fight,” Vladius offered, “or dieing…”
“Well, let’s not overlook the obvious then,” Dwilt said. “Come on.”
The narrow passage led due north for twenty or thirty feet before turning sharply left and ending at a plain, wooden door. After Shay had ascertained that it was safe to open, Grim led the way. The north part of the small room on the other side was occupied by a piece of ancient machinery built of stone and metal, yet it seemed not to have been in use for centuries. The structure was connected to the northeast wall by a small pipe. Storm eagerly pushed past her team mates to get a better view of the apparatus. Her eyes lit up as she examined it from multiple angles. “Very intriguing,” she said to herself.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“It is a water pump, once magical, unless I miss my guess. It looks to have been capable of siphoning enormous quantities of water at one time. I would think that pipe connects to the well.”
“How do you know all this?” Vladius asked. “I thought you studied magic, not engineering.”
“We drow are long lived, my young friend,” she smiled. “Such longevity can at times become tedious, and when a drow, like myself, is not inclined to engage in the murder and mayhem of house politics, other pursuits must be found. Tinkering with machines was a hobby of mine.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re an alchemist as well,” Vladius said, shaking his head.
“As it just so happens…” Storm began, but Dwilt interrupted her.
“Fascinating as this conversation is, you said something about a well.”
“Ah, yes,” Storm replied. “Obviously the pump must have a well in which to siphon the water. It should be at the other end of this pipe.”
Dwilt looked appraisingly at the conduit before turning to Vladius, “I think it’s just large enough for you to fit.”
“What? Me?” the mephit shrieked. “And why would I want to go into a smelly, narrow pipe, all by myself, to find Kossuth knows what at the other end.”
“You’re the only one small enough to fit,” Dwilt observed. “Besides, we’ll tie a rope to you and haul you back if you run into any problems.”
“How reassuring,” Vladius spat.
Nevertheless, a few minutes later the wizard was scurrying along the pipe, muttering and cursing to himself all the way. As he rounded one final bend in the tube, he spied a familiar green light coming from up ahead. Advancing cautiously, he approached the end of the conduit. Peering out he beheld a huge, vaulted chamber, dimly illuminated by an emerald glow. There, a colossal, disgusting behemoth, similar to a gigantic, yellowish grub lay on a heap of rubble, bones and rotting foulness. The creature seemed immersed in a magical slumber, and its horrid body pulsated with an abominable, ever-increasing power. Shambling around the perimeter of the chamber was a ragged corpse dressed in rotting noble raiment.
“Holy crap!” Pyro hissed to himself, before backing quickly and quietly back down the pipe.
“Umm…I think we’ve got trouble,” he said as he emerged from the conduit, and then proceeded to tell his team mates what he’d found. “And,” he continued, “it seems like that same force field or whatever it is, seals off the room from this access as well. Oh, and by the way, I think I found Urtos’ dad.”
“Then the scrolls have to be the answer,” Havok stated. “We have to find a way to get rid of that stasis field.”
The group retraced their steps to the altar of Kyuss and the Apostolic Scrolls. Along the way, they noticed a conspicuous absence of bodies, dead or undead. The spawn, the mohrgs, even Bozal Zahol…all gone. There was not even a trace of blood. In the altar room itself, nothing else had changed. The scrolls still floated in mid-air, the arcing beam of emerald energy connecting them to the doors across the room, which had been shut once again. The zone of unnatural silence still permeated the chamber.
Pyro, Grubber, Storm, and Havok wracked their collective arcane knowledge for ways to overcome the temporal stasis. Dispelling fields failed, but did succeed in removing the unhallow effect, and thus the silence, from the chamber. An attempt to encase the scrolls in a resilient force bubble also had no effect. Grubber, at one point, even attempted to call upon the power of Grumbar that allowed him to strike fear into, or even to destroy undead, against the unholy doors which bore Kyuss’ visage. He was rewarded for his attempt by a backlash of negative energy, and decided not to try again.
Ultimately realizing that any ability to affect the scrolls was apparently beyond them, Havok approached the glowing parchments.
“What are you doing?” Dwilt called after him.
“I have one last idea,” Havok replied distractedly. As he stood over the scrolls, he closed his eyes, blinding himself to their words. Then, calming his breathing, and reaching deep into his subconscious, he allowed just a fraction of his true heritage to come to the surface. Instantly, he felt rage, hatred, and the need for murderous violence. Glaring at his team mates, he had to physically restrain himself from melting each of them into slag. Focusing, he looked upon the words of the Apostolic Scrolls. They were scribed in the language of the Abyss, and were clear to him. He realized that it would take hours, if not days, to decipher the entire text, but the underlying purpose of the scrolls was revealed to him: they provided the means to conduct a ritual which would summon a so-called ‘Apostle of Kyuss’ so that it could perform a mass sacrifice in honor of its master. With a great effort of will, Havok closed his eyes again, and centered himself, relaxing his breathing once more. When he looked up, it was simply his friends that he saw.
“Grim,” he said as he walked away from the altar. “Where are we now in relation to the arena?”
The dwarf looked around him, sniffing the air. “I’d say we’re almost directly under it.”
“That would make sense,” Giovanni nodded. “I read a little of the scrolls. Goat-boy summoned the ulgurstasta, the ‘Apostle of Kyuss.’ He needs it to perform a sacrifice…a massive sacrifice. Don’t you see? Its chamber is right under the arena! He and Brokengulf mean to release it there at the height of the games…when thousands of spectators will be present!”
“Oh…” Dwilt said, “oh my…he wouldn’t? Can you stop it Giovanni? Did it tell you how to stop it?”
The warlock shook his head.
“Then there is no point in worrying about what we can’t control,” Dwilt said. “Let’s worry about what we can. First, we’re dealing with that demon. It might be guarding something that will give us some answers.”
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Thrakerzog nursed his wounds, cursing Bozal Zahol’s name. That wretch of a half-breed had managed to get himself killed, leaving the alkilith with no way to heal the injuries inflicted upon him by those damnable adventurers. Despite that, the demon smiled. Bozal and his minions had made a fine feast for his ‘pets.’ Thrakerzog would make sure and look the priest up once he managed to return to the Abyss. Perhaps he’d been reborn as a lemure, and Thrakerzog could keep him as a pet.
He was just allowing himself a moment to savor that vision when he heard a clangor of metal coming from the direction of Bozal’s bedroom, where he’d left two of his thralls to guard against the return of the interlopers. It would appear they were back for more…
__________________________________________________ ____
When Grim had cautiously opened the door to the priest’s quarters, the first thing he saw where the two large globs, which looked like giant wads of yellow snot, pooled on the floor…and they were moving. They undulated towards him, pseudopods extruding hungrily from their bodies.
“Ochre jellies!” he called behind him to his companions, “I’ve seen’em before in the mines! Nasty buggers…and they secret some kind of acid.”
Havok, still in the altar room, peered down the hall and saw one of the jellies advancing on Grim. Pointing one finger, he sent a thin beam of eldritch energy in a surgical strike past his friends in front of him, striking the ooze and leaving a black scar on its amorphous hide.
“How do ya like that, beastie?” Grim shouted, as he stepped into the room and cleaved the jelly with his axe. Shockingly, his axe went all the way through the ooze, splitting it in two. “Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said wonderingly. But then his surprise turned to disgust as he realized that now both halves of the jelly where coming towards him and he was now under attack by three oozes. “Didn’t know they could do that,” he said.
Pyro, who could now see the jellies himself, and knew of them from one of Ondabar’s books, shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even I knew that,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t hit them with anything that slices or dices. Arrows are fine, but otherwise this whole place is going to literally be crawling with these things.”
Shay unslung his bow at Pyro’s reassurance about arrows. Drawing to his cheek, he fired a shaft directly into one of the jellies near Grim. The arrow sank into the blob and just quivered there. “ I thought you said arrows worked,” he said, turning to Pyro. The wizard shrugged, “Well, at least it didn’t split it again. Let’s try this.” Pulling out a thin wand, he spoke a word and loosed a volley of magic missiles at one of the smaller oozes. It dissolved gratifyingly into a harmless pool of goo.
At that moment Grim saw two more jellies enter the bedchamber from the direction of the room where they had first encountered the alkilith. “We’ve got more incoming!” he shouted.
“I’ve got’em,” Storm called from the hallway behind him, and with a few arcane words, she hurled a fireball into the chamber, immolating all of the fine furnishings, and obliterating one of the new oozes as it entered. Unfortunately, Grimm had still been standing at the entrance to the room, and got caught in the fringe of the blast. His stony hide smoked, but he was little more than singed. “Thanks…I think,” he grumbled. “I’ll keep’em bottled up in the room,” he continued, moving to completely block the door so that the oozes could not get past him. “Keep up the assault…just leave me out of it!”
Havok blasted one of the other oozes from behind the dwarf, and Pyro and Storm each fired volleys of magic missiles, destroying a second jelly as Hawk moved up to reinforce the mineral warrior. There were now only two of the ochre jellies remaining, and both were still in the corridor between the bedchamber and the alkilith’s room. Grimm rushed across the bedroom to keep them from progressing any further, and it was then that he saw it…the same roiling, yellow-green cloud that had pursued them last night. It was filling the hallway behind the advancing jellies, coming right towards him. “It’s coming!” he warned the others. “Fall back!” As he heeded his own advice, Pyro flitted up behind him.
“Not just yet,” the mephit said. “If the cloudkill is here, then the demon must be somewhere behind it. I’m going to try to kill three blobs with one stone, so to speak.” Chanting, he then lobbed a fireball right into the middle of the cloudkill. It detonated, scorching the ochre jellies. Just for a fraction of a second, Pyro almost thought that he saw the cloud itself recoil. Probably just his imagination. What was not his imagination was the blast of cold and ice the came out of the cloud next, engulfing him and Grim.
Luckily, Pyro had found himself just on the edge of the cone-shaped blast, though his hands and feet still felt numb to the bone. Grim, however, caught the brunt of it. The dwarf didn’t look good at all. “Get out of here!” the mephit shouted at him. “If you get yourself killed, there is no way I’m hauling your half-ton carcass out. I’m right behind you. I’m gonna give it one more try first, though.” Grim nodded reluctantly, knowing that the wizard was right. He stumbled out of the room, past Hawk, as Pyro unleashed another fiery blast. The jellies looked worse for wear, but still they advanced, the deadly cloud right behind them.
“That’s it,” he said to Hawk as he darted out of the room. “We’ve got to regroup.” Hawk waited until he was clear, then slammed the door closed on the jellies, retreated back to the altar chamber, and closed that door as well.
Grubber was already tending Grim’s wounds, reading a powerful healing abjuration from a scroll. The others took up defensive positions, focusing on the door, knowing it was only a matter of moments before their opponents began battering their way through.
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Thrakerzog was actually enjoying himself. Although the pathetic little wizard’s spells had actually managed to singe him a bit, it was going to be worth it to see their faces as he suffocated the life out of them. They thought themselves safely locked behind closed doors. He simply loved dashing the hopes of little people. He concentrated…and teleported.
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Out of thin air, the fuming vapors of the cloudkill suddenly filled the entire altar chamber, enveloping the whole team in its deadly coils. Instantly, each of them felt the life literally draining out of them, like a leech sucking blood. Storm, in a panic, simply ran. Blinded and stumbling, she managed to lurch out of the edge of the cloud and into the training room. Pyro flew the other way, ending up in the hall leading to the ulgurstasta’s abode. Dwilt, Grubber and Havok also managed to find their way to temporary safety, following Storm.
Giovanni knew something was wrong, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. How could a spell move like that…almost as if it were intelligent. Wait…that was it! Raising his hand, he sent his most powerful blast of eldritch might into the cloud, but it simply flashed on the edge of the mists, not penetrating deeper. Still, he knew he was right. “It’s the cloud!” he shouted. “The demon is the cloud! Attack the mists…now!”
Still within the mist wall, Grim heard Havok’s shout. It sounded useless, but he couldn’t see any better option. With a grunt of effort, he began swinging randomly at the fumes around him, not feeling solid impact anywhere he struck. Shay began firing into the mist as well, aiming upwards so as not to accidentally hit any of his team mates. He heard his arrows strike the stone ceiling and snap, but saw no other effect from his attack.
Pyro heard Havok’s shout as well, and he had a good idea that the warlock was actually on to something. The wizard had one more fireball left…a big one, but if he simply hurled it blindly into the room, he might hit his friends. He reached a decision quickly. It was a risk he would have to take. Otherwise, they were dead anyway.
The blast ripped through the altar chamber, hurling Grim and Hawk against the walls with its force. Shay, his reflexes almost supernatural, somersaulted into the hall leading to the training area, avoiding the searing flames. From within the cloud, they all heard an inhuman howl of pain. Havok was right. The cloud was alive!
Hawk smiled grimly. If it could feel pain, then it could die. He summoned every ounce of holy power that Torm would grant him, focusing it into his blade. With a cry, he jabbed the sword straight up, feeling it meet resistance, and seeing a vivid flash of pure, white energy. With a muffled whoomph, the cloud collapsed on itself, leaving the oozing, yet clearly dead form of the alkilith lying in the center of the chamber.
Hawk knew the fight wasn’t quite over. There was still the matter of the ochre jellies. He rushed to the door across the room, putting his ear to it, listening for tell-tale sounds. Suddenly, from beneath the door, a pseudopod swiped at his leg. Dancing back a pace, he thrust open the door. Both jellies were right on the other side. Bringing his shield arm back, he smashed the convex surface of it straight into the ooze, splattering it into harmless glop. As the last one surged forward, two scorching rays of fire flashed over his shoulder, burning it to a smoking stain. Hawk turned and saw Storm behind him, guilt in her eyes at her previous fear. He nodded in thanks, patting her on the shoulder.
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A thorough search of the alkilith’s room turned up exactly nothing. It was empty save for the urn, the curtain, and the mosaic image of Kyuss. Still, Shay managed to pry two gem stones from the eye-sockets of the skeletal visage. “No since letting them go to waste,” he said, slipping them into his belt pouch.
A short hallway lead from the room and ended at a small, wooden door. “Maybe we’ll find what we need beyond,” Dwilt sighed, growing ever more pessimistic about their chances of destroying the scrolls. Indeed, what they discovered on the other side of the door was simply Bozal Zahol’s personal privy.
“What now?” Vladius laughed, “Looks like our search has literally turned up Jack and crap…and Jack just left.”
“Now we have no choice left to us but the truth,” Giovanni said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vladius asked. “That we’re screwed?”
“No,” the warlock said, a hard look coming into his eyes. “It means we tell the truth. To Auric and Khellek…and anyone who’ll listen. We need help in this…all we can get.
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When Khellek opened the door to his quarters, still bleary-eyed from sleep, the last thing he expected to see was the entire team of Impotent Rage standing outside.
“The competition is not until morning,” the wizard said dryly. “Planning on ambushing us in our sleep? Not very sporting, is it?”
“We need to talk,” Giovanni said. “It’s important, and though you probably won’t believe us, thousands of lives are at stake.”
Thirty minutes later, Khellek was still standing in the open doorway, Auric behind him now. They were both staring dumbfounded at the clearly insane man in front of them.
“I must say,” the wizard finally began, “I am, for once, speechless. This has to be the most blatant, and stupid, display of gamesmanship that I have ever witnessed. You actually expect us to believe that Prendergast Brokengulf, an icon in this city, is in league with some secret cult of, whom did you say? Kyuss? That he has conspired to have you assassinated, and has managed to summon some undead behemoth, that in turn is planning on turning the entire spectatorship of the arena into undead as well…and you are the only ones who have caught on to this? The Lords, or the Grey Hand Enforcers, or Blackstaff himself are all clueless, yet you geniuses figured all this out for yourselves. Oh, and now you want us to accompany you out of the coenoby, which we are restricted from leaving, to see ‘proof’ of this. How convenient. Do you think we are fools? Is this the best you could come up with to have us disqualified? Do you lack that much confidence in your ability to win fairly tomorrow?”
Giovanni endured the rant. “Are you finished?” he asked
“Is there anything more to say?” Khellek glared, “Or may we go back to bed now?”
“It’s fine that you don’t believe us,” the warlock continued, “but at least grant us this. Tomorrow, after the match begins, we give our word not to attack you with lethal force in the opening minutes, if you do the same. Then, when the ulgurstasta appears, which it will, you give your word to aid us against it. If it does not appear, then we will all lay down our weapons and surrender, declaring you and Auric the champions. What do you have to lose?”
Khellek and Auric stared a moment longer. “You truly are insane,” the wizard shook his head, “but if it is your wish to throw away your chance at victory, farbeit for us to stand in your way. You have our word, but be assured, if you violate your oath, we will kill you to a man, surrender or not.” With that, he slammed the door.
“Well that went well,” Vladius said.
“We had no choice,” Dwilt said. “Giovanni was right. I’m going a step further. I’m taking Grubber with me, tonight, and we are leaving the arena…disqualifying ourselves. We’re going to Dagsumn to tell him what is happening. Maybe he can use his contacts in the city to help us tomorrow. If not, we will be in the stands in the morning. Good luck my friends…to all of us.”
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At noon the following day, a warden entered the coenoby for the last time. “Auric’s Warband!” he called. “Impotent Rage! You are summoned!” The teams gathered their gear and followed the warden up the familiar hall to the lift chamber. Neither Khellek nor Auric even glanced at the opposing team. Once they reached the lift, both teams began their preparatory magics. Khellek and Auric both quaffed potions, and then Khellek created several mirror images of himself which moved about him in a confusing pattern. Pyro transformed Storm into a troll, at her request, to better increase her endurance for the coming battle. Both Shay and Havok faded from view, per their routine, and as usual, Pyro assumed mephit form.
The arena stands were filled almost to capacity as the two teams took their positions. At least ten-thousand strong, they roared their approval for the champions and the challengers. Talabir Welik took the podium, and that was when Havok noticed that Prendergast Brokengulf was not in his usual spot in the VIP box. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. More disturbing, Dwilt and Grubber were not visible either, yet it was a large arena. They could be anywhere.
“Welcome, one and all, to the final match of the Champion’s Games!” Welik shouted. “Without further preamble, I introduce to you our reigning champions Auric’s Warband and the Stoneworks!” Thunderous applause greeted the introduction, and a portcullis lifted directly behind Auric and Khellek, revealing three large stone statues of burly warriors. At a word from Khellek, all three lumbered forward, taking up positions in front of the wizard and Auric.
“Before I introduce their challengers,” Welik continued, “I must first announce that Dwilt Riddick and Colossus have been disqualified.” His proclamation was met with loud boos and jeers. “Yet here they are, the dark horse team from Daggerford, which has shocked and awed us with their prowess during these games! Impotent Rage!” It was difficult to say who received the greater accolades, the champions or their opponents. Anticipation surged through the Field of Triumph. “On my word!” Welik raised his hand, then dropped it, “Fight!”
Auric took flight, obviously enabled by one of the many potions he’d consumed. As he rose into the air, he tossed his shield away from him, where it hovered, following his every move. He drew his greatsword from its sheath, facing Impotent Rage. Khellek also took flight, conjuring up a shining shield of force before him as he soared. One by one, the members of Impotent Rage began fanning out, Hawk advancing to the fore. Ponderously, the three stone golems also began marching forward.
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Standing before the Apostolic Scroll, Prendergast Brokengulf shook with barely contained fury. Bozal Zahol was dead. He had to be. That was the only explanation for his absence. The veteran gladiator had come seeking his erstwhile ally the previous night, to confirm the days plans, only to find him missing, with obvious signs of a massive struggle, and his alkilith pawn dead. It was them again. Always them! First, they had killed Theldrick, Bozal Zahol’s associate in Daggerford. Bozal had demanded their deaths for that affront, and so Prendergast had contacted the illithid Ilserv, and contracted with the creature to assassinate the interlopers, not knowing if they had any clue as to his own involvement with the Ebon Triad, but not willing to take any chances.
Prendergast had originally become involved with Zahol through his wife, Aridarye…that bitch! It was she who had seduced him into arranging the death of her first husband, Lord Urtos I, his friend. Then, when his own feelings of guilt and his advancing age spilled over into their bedchamber, she had introduced him to the fiendish priest, who spoke of secret rituals and potent prayers which, if offered to his mysterious god, could halt the aging process. Initially, when the priest could offer no proof of his claims, nor would he name his patron, Prendergast had him escorted from his villa, but not before Zahol had given him a magical token with which to contact him should he change his mind.
Exactly one year later, Prendergast did just that. He had discovered that the slut Aridarye was cheating on him with a young gladiator named Auric, exactly as she had cheated on her first husband with him. She had coldly informed Prendergast that he was no longer welcome in her bed, saying that he was too old to satisfy her, and had rejected her efforts to find a way to keep him young. Still consumed with guilt over his betrayal of Urtos, and now morbidly depressed over Aridarye’s rejection, he had convinced Zahol to return to Waterdeep. He spent many long hours with the priest, learning more about Kyuss and his dark promises. He began funneling money, at Zahol’s behest, back to the secret cell of the Ebon Triad in Daggerford. He and Zahol secretly plotted to prepare the ritual which would mark Prendergast as a favorite of Kyuss, so that he might escape death and decay. Such an unholy miracle required a massive sacrifice performed by one of the Apostles of Kyuss, the ‘blood of a champion,’ and the bones of a victim murdered by the would-be favorite of Kyuss. To meet the last requirement, Prendergast had the corpse of Urtos I stolen from House Phylund’s family tomb and gave it over to Zahol.
Unbelievably, Ilserv and his doppelgangers had failed to kill the upstarts from Daggerford, and Prendergast was convinced that they now knew of his involvement with the cult. Miraculously, they had signed up for the Games, undoubtedly to get closer to him, but it was he who would use the Games to destroy them…or so he had thought. They had defeated the premier team that he had sent against them…Pitchblade. They had killed Madtooth, which he had arranged for them to fight instead of Auric’s band, and now they had apparently murdered Bozal Zahol. They had not managed to undo the ritual though. He smiled grimly as he looked down at the still glowing scrolls. They were all against him. All of them! He knew the gladiators schemed and plotted, waiting eagerly for his demise so one of them could replace him as the younger, more handsome director of the Field of Triumph. Auric in particular wanted to take his place, and it was he who would suffer the most. It was his blood which would anoint the Apostle during the final match.
Brokengulf then raised the black rod he had procured and touched it to the energy field surrounding the scrolls. Instantly it vanished, and the scrolls dropped to the floor. “Now go,” he whispered. “Go to the champions you seek.”
__________________________________________________ _____
A rumble shook the arena. At first the crowd thought that some destructive magic had been conjured by one of the battling wizards, but then the center of the arena floor heaved, sending a geyser of dirt and rubble into the air.
“Destruction of the arena floor is not allowed!” Talabir Welik shouted. “That is a disqualifying offense!” The words had barely left his mouth, however, when the ulgurstasta appeared. It looked like a massive pale-yellow maggot. Twin rows of dozens of pulpy, rudimentary legs tipped with bony spurs lined its underbelly. Its head was studded with dozens of humanoid eyes, below which drooled a maw filled with hooked teeth. Millions of distended pores that continuously weeped a foul-smelling mucous covered its body. It radiated a cloying stink of rotting flowers and sour milk. Protruding from the pores were forty-foot long, hair-thin tendrils, which whipped about in a frenzy, lashing at the nearby members of Impotent Rage, as well as the stone golems.
The audience was shocked into stunned silence, not sure if this was part of the competition or not. At that moment, Havok appeared in the midst of the crowd. “Flee for your lives!” he shouted, and the moment broke. Screams of panic were deafening, and a mob scene of panic ensued.
Auric couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They had actually been telling the truth. All of it was true…and Brokengulf was behind it. For a moment, the face of Aridarye Brokengulf flashed in his mind, and he briefly wondered if his secret lover’s hand was involved in any of this. Then his focus returned, and he was once again what he had always been at his core…a warrior…a gladiator. Bellowing a war cry, he flew towards the behemoth in front of him, but he got no closer than twenty feet from it, when it’s massive maw snatched him from the air.
Pyro had already begun casting his spell when Auric charged, and he could not pull it back. With a massive concussion, a huge fireball erupted around both the ulgurstasta and Auric.
Shay was afraid. He had seen many bizarre and evil things in his short time with the League, had even faced death. But this…this was so far beyond his capabilities that he could not even fathom where to begin. Acting on pure instinct, he fired a single arrow at the monstrosity, and then ran for arena wall, which he nimbly scaled into the stands.
Khellek was horrified. Not only had those idiots been right, but now Auric was caught, and might be killed at any moment. Khellek was not a man who made friends easily. He belonged to an organization known as the Seekers, a less-than scrupulous group of archaeologists and adventurers who sought out knowledge regardless of the cost. He had initially joined up with Auric and Tirra simply because they suited his needs at the time, but now he honestly considered the man to be more than just a resource. Drawing a wand from his robes, he pointed it at the ulgurstasta and sent a pair of scorching beams of flame at it, simultaneously ordering his golems to attack without mercy.
Storm flew into the stands to join Havok. “Were you prepared for this?” she asked, indicating not only the ulgurstasta, but also the panicking crowd.
“No,” Havok answered honestly, “but what choice did we have? This is our hand, and we must play it till the end.” Raising his palm, he unleashed his magic at the great worm before him, only to see the beam vanish as soon as it struck the creature’s hide.
As one, the stone golems struck. Wading through the whipping tendrils as if they didn’t exist, the three constructs surged towards the ulgurstasta, hammering at its bloated body with their massive fists, sending great gouts of ichor splashing over them. The undead worm roared its rage, but instead of turning on the golems, it instead faced towards Hawk and Grim, with Shay standing just above them in the lower tier of the stands. It’s great body heaved in a lurching spasm, and from its maw spewed a vile cone of steaming, acidic stomach contents. Shay managed to leap backwards to safety at the last moment, but Grim and Hawk could not. As the horrid liquid touched their skin, it didn’t burn. Instead, a cold like the hand of death seeped into their pores, and they felt numbing weakness overcome them. Auric too was caught in the brunt of the blast, trapped as he was in the creature’s mouth. Instantly, his struggles ceased, and he went limp. Even more appalling than the stew which the ulgurstasta regurgitated, what appeared to be nine corpses also spilled to the ground around Hawk and Grim. However, no sooner had they hit the dirt, than they lurched to their feet. Seven of them were skeletal, with one of those draped in ragged, decaying noble garb, but the other two corpses were unquestionably Kyuss spawn, green worms spilling from their eye sockets and mouths.
Almost as an afterthought, the ulgurstasta dropped Auric at the feet of the spawn. Almost gently, each of them reached down to touch the gladiator’s exposed flesh, and where their hands met his skin, a black imprint was left behind.
Pyro hurled another fireball at the ulgurstasta, at the same time that Khellek unleashed another pair of scorching rays. Both spells simply dissipated upon contact with the brute.
Slowly peering over the wall behind which he hid, Shay’s eyes grew wider at the horror he was witnessing. Steeling his resolve, he knocked another pair of arrows and let fly.
Hawk was surrounded. Skeletal corpses ringed him, separating him from both Grim and Auric. Meanwhile, the ripping tendrils protruding from the ulgurstasta continued to lash at his skin. He needed to clear some room, and fast. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, sending out a mental summons into the ether. ‘Alice,’ he cried, ‘my need is great! Heed my call!’ Suddenly, a thunderous trumpeting filled the air, and materializing just beyond the ring of skeletons was an elephant of truly monstrous proportions…Big Alice. Knowing her master’s will instinctively, she lowered her head, leveling her massive tusks, and charged, trampling a pair of the skeletons under her tree-trunk feet, and batting one of the spawn aside like a rag-doll. With a gesture, holding forth his shield emblazoned with Torm’s symbol, Hawk cried out, “In Torm’s name, I destroy and rebuke thee!” The remaining skeletons crumbled to dust at his feet, while the second spawn quailed from him, turning and fleeing towards the opposite end of the arena.
The crowd surging around Havok and Storm was getting out of control. In moments they would be overwhelmed. Quickly, the warlock stepped between dimensions to a relatively clear spot, while the sorceress took to the air once more, conjuring an orb of concentrated acid in her hand and hurling it at the ulgurstasta, only to see it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s grotesque hide.
The golems continued to pound on the ulgurstasta, the damage they were inflicting obviously taking its toll. Ponderously, the behemoth turned on them, seizing one of them in its jaws and swallowing it whole. As soon as its attention was turned from him, Hawk charged forward, but the creature moved with the speed of a striking cobra. Whipping around, it lunged at the civilar, sinking its fangs into his chest and back, and lifting him bodily from the ground. As he screamed in agony, Alice looked up from where she has just finished impaling the spawn which had fled, unusual intelligence, and fear showing in her eyes.
“Hawk! No!” Havok cried, and summoning all his power to him, he loosed an awesome amount of energy at the ulgurstasta, blowing its bloated form into a hundred pieces.
Excerpts from the journal of Giovanni Vito, aka 'Havok'
7th of Mirtul, 1373
…With the destruction of the Apostle of Kyuss, the panic in the crowd began to fade away. Slowly, inexorably, that panic transformed into elation. Before long the throngs that had borne witness to my comrades’ great victory began roaring and shouting. “IMPOTENT RAGE! IMPOTENT RAGE! IMPOTENT RAGE!” The chant continued for several minutes before Talabir Welik was able to get the crowd under control. The old magister made his way down to the arena floor and gathered up all of the combatants, Khellek included. The coliseum patrons stared at the small congress in the center of the arena, quietly awaiting the judge’s announcement with impatient anticipation. You could have heard a pin drop in the sands at that moment.
Welik inquired as to what in the Nine Hells had just happened, and we obliged him with our knowledge of the creature, how it came to be here, and (most importantly) who was behind the monster’s summoning. At that point, the unimaginable happened. Khellek, previously so filled with arrogance and skepticism, told Welik that the crowd needed a champion to be named…and he relinquished any claim to such a title! Despite our promise to him the night before, the wizard demanded that Welik award us with the Champion’s Belt. Upon the announcement, the crowd exploded into a cacaphonic uproar. Pyro, in his air mephit form, grabbed the belt from Welik and flew around the arena with his fists pumping, whipping the crowd into an even deeper frenzy.
At this point, I couldn’t help but notice that two of my teammates were not enjoying the party…Grim and Hawk. The two of them leaned over the hole from which the giant maggot had erupted, peering into its incubation chamber thirty feet below. I will never forget the paladin’s cool determination and his confident words as he looked down.
“No one threatens my town and gets away with it.”
I teleported the three of us into the chambers below. It was our hope to find Prendergast and catch him red-handed, but in this we had no luck. The fiend had escaped. However, as far as I was concerned, not all was lost. As we passed through the doors into Bozal’s sanctuary, I was filled with glee when I saw the remnant Apostolic Scrolls laying on the floor of the chamber. The magic had been spent from the artifact, but I knew the lore contained within would be of immense value.
When the two warriors and I returned to the arena sands, the crowd was beginning to file out, making their way into the streets to proclaim the might of our intrepid little band. I was shocked to learn that Pyro and Shay had agreed to Khellek to pay for half of the cost to return Auric’s soul from Ysgard, and that they would see to it that Grubber perform the ritual himself. I would never have guessed the two of them to be philanthropists, but I guess that you can’t judge a book by its cover…or the first dozen chapters in Pyro’s case.
Sad news came to us later in the day. Grubber and Dwilt had returned from their Dagsumn’s tower, only to report that they had found the old sage and his wife murdered in their bed. Making matters even more gruesome, they had been decapitated and their heads stolen! This, I assume, was to prevent using divination magic to speak with the dead or possibly to prevent raising the dead. Shay quickly returned with Dwilt and Hawk to the scene of the crime. After a thorough search, the rogue had located a stack of letters and notes to be delivered to the group’s patron back in Daggerford. The first letter in the bundle seemed to have been written with an urgent hand, and demanded that Aundabar forward the information on to the two sage's old ‘master’. The letter's ending trailed off, as though the writing had been suddenly interrupted.
Most conspicuously, under Dagsumn’s bed Shay located a small silver pin. The pin was that of a stylized bastard sword, which he quickly recognized to be the symbol of Prendergast Brokengulf’s guard. While this may be a real clue, it seems to be all too convenient. I am skeptical of the validity and I believe that it could be an attempt at a set-up. I have been wrong before…
-----------------------------
9th of Mirtul, 1373
Today, a formal parade and celebration were held in dedication of the Champion’s Belt winners. Not only did they award us with the belt and the finals prize money, but we were offered a position with the Grey Hand Enforcers themselves! While none of us accepted, it was still a thrill to be considered for such an honor. The Grey Hands command great respect and immense authority, but their duties and responsibilities to the city of Waterdeep are a bit too constricting for wandering souls such as ourselves.
At the same ceremony, we were also witness to the promotion of Civilar Hawk and Civilar Dwilt, both to the rank of Senior Civilar. When the Senior epaulettes were placed on Hawk’s shoulders, the aasimar beamed with pride. For so long, this paladin of Helm had waited for such a moment. This pride however, was not shared with Civilar Dwilt. We learned later in the evening that after the ceremony Dwilt not only rejected the promotion, but he turned in his tabard and resigned from his post. Simply, the man explained to us that the City Guard had become too corrupt, and he had no desire to continue in the charade. Hawk understood and genuinely respected Dwilt’s decision, but the aasimar was not about to give up hope in the institution to which he had already given so much.
Speaking with Talabir Welik at the ceremony, we learned what we had already had feared: Prendergast Brokengulf is missing, and no one in the city has been able to locate him. Considering the vast conventional, not to mention magical, resources available to the local magisters, I truly find that hard to believe. There just might be something to Dwilt’s accusations. Either they are hiding him, or they are conveniently letting him get away.
Upon breaking for the evening, I returned to my room and continued in my study of the Apostolic Scrolls. The lore contained within was amazing. Absolutely insane and terrifying, but amazing none the less. The scrolls, written in dark Abyssal, contain a long and complex litany filled with horrific annelidic imagery and descriptions. It was in this reading that I have come to understand the meaning of the Age of Worms, and I am more frightened of the possibilities more than ever before…
--------------------------------
12th of Mirtul, 1373
I write this entry in the middle of the night. Since reading the Apostolic Scrolls, I have found that my nightmares have been increasing in their intensity. More than once I have awoken screaming, trying to shake off hundreds of imaginary worms. Once, I almost released a burst of eldritch power in my sleep, but I awoke in just enough time to control it. The disturbance has gotten so bad that other patrons have been complaining and the innkeeper has threatened to throw me out on the street if it persists. That...is the least of my concerns. What could this mean? I have always believed that my dreams were in some way linked to my dark magic, but is it possible that my powers are somehow linked with the coming Age of Worms? Am I some kind of unwilling thrall to Kyuss?
Whatever the case, I believe that it is not happenstance that I have encountered these adventurers and their ever-expanding quest. Tymora has guided me here and I must follow this path if I am to learn the truth, regardless of how dangerous that path may be. Once they have completed spending their hard-earned prize money on new equipment, my former teammates are planning to leave Waterdeep to return to Daggerford so that they might take counsel from their patron Aundabar. Maybe they won’t mind if I tag along. I think that I have proven myself somewhat useful to them, so it’s possible that they won’t question my motives. Besides, they might be the only people on the Sword Coast that I actually trust…
Daggerford. The members of the League stood on a bluff overlooking the walled town with mixed emotions. For Grubber, Shay, Vladius and Grim it was a homecoming of sorts, albeit a bitter-sweet one. When they had left the village weeks ago (which now seemed like years), they had thought themselves wise, experienced. They had been taught the depths of their naïveté with a vengeance. Smoldering vendettas against the likes of Balabar Smenk now seemed petty and juvenile. The man was a light weight. Gideon had been with them then as well. He dreamed of going to Waterdeep and seeing all that the City of Splendors had to offer, perhaps to return a hero and make his father proud. Now, he would never return at all.
For Hawk and Storm, the town brought back painful memories. The short experience they had with the denizens of Daggerford was one of captivity, torture, and degradation. To Hawk, it was a matter of honor that he return and set things right, but for Storm, the town was no better than Menzoberranzan, with its cut-throat politics and back-stabbing, hollow promises.
Dwilt and Giovanni had no knowledge of the town, save what their companions had told them. Their expectations had not been high, and they were not disappointed. Dwilt knew that Hawk wanted to take on the corruption and put the garrison firmly in charge, but the former civilar was certain that their purpose was higher. Daggerford was insignificant…a means to an end, and he wouldn’t look back once he’d wiped its mud off his boots.
“Something’s wrong,” Vladius said as they surveyed the landscape.
“How can you tell?” Dwilt asked. “The whole place reeks like an open sewer.”
“Yeah, but this sewer was my home,” Vladius replied, “and I know its layout like the back of my hand. Something’s…missing.”
Grubber nodded, his eyes widening, “The Emporium! It’s gone!”
Vladius’ eyes fixed on the spot the goliath indicated, and then quickly scanned the area around it. “That’s not all,” he said quietly. “Ondabar’s tower is gone as well.”
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As the group rode into town, every eye noted their passing, some with fear, others with hope, and still others with contempt and loathing. The adventurers paid them no heed. Their attention was fixed firmly ahead, on the town square and the scene of devastation there. Zalamandra’s Emporium, once a fixture of Daggerford’s night-life and home to every sort of vice imaginable, as well as the region’s most amazing display of side-show freaks and entertainers, was simply not there. It had been completely leveled into a pile of unrecognizable rubble. In fact, every building along that side of the town square was either partially crushed or in some instances, melted. Sections of the ground were scarred and barren, including a large black swath in the middle of the square. Of Delfen Ondabar’s tower, not one stone was intact.
“What happened here?” Grubber wondered aloud as he surveyed the devastation.
“I don’t know,” Dwilt said, “but I think we’re about to find out.” He nodded his head towards a group of soldiers, wearing tabards bearing the insignia of the Waterdhavian guard, who were approaching the team from the far side of the square. As the soldiers approached, several of them showed startled recognition as they saw the faces of Grubber, Shay, Vladius and Grim. Then, their eyes widened even more as they noted the badge of office worn by Senior Civilar Hawk.
“Sir!” the ranking non-com said, saluting smartly. The other soldiers stumbled in their attempt to follow suit.
“Who’s in charge here soldier?” Hawk snapped.
“Sir…er…” the man stammered, “that would be you, sir.”
“Where is Civilar Spearslayer?” Hawk demanded.
“Dead sir,” the soldier replied. “Killed in the attack. We thought you were her replacement.”
“Attack?” Hawk asked. “What attack? What’s your name, armsman? Tell me exactly what happened here, from the beginning.”
“Sir, my name is Pyle, sir!” the soldier came to attention, saluting again. “Three days ago, sir, the town was attacked…by a dragon. It was a monstrous, black devil, thirty-foot long if it was an inch! The first thing it did was blast the wizard’s tower, then it moved on from there. Once it reached the square, it started snatching up the wounded, threatening to kill them all if we didn’t tell it where Master Ondabar was. It’d killed at least a dozen by the time Civilar Spearslayer arrived with a squad, accompanied by High Justice Valkus Dun. The dragon barely gave them notice, sir. It just burned the skin from their bones where they stood with its breath. Acid it was, green and noisome.”
Grubber blanched at the news of Dun’s death, but perhaps it was a blessing, saving the old man from grief at the news of Gideon’s death.
“Why was it looking for Ondabar?” Hawk asked.
“No one knows sir,” Pyle answered. “But we had to tell it where to find him, sir. We didn’t have no choice! It was gonna level the whole town!”
“Calm down, soldier,” Hawk ordered. “So you’re saying Ondabar wasn’t here during the attack? Where was he?”
“That old tomb, sir,” Pyle said. “The one your friends there found.”
“The Whispering Cairn?” Vladius asked. “What was he doing up there?”
“Don’t know that either,” said Pyle, “but it was pretty common knowledge that he’d been spending a lot of time up their lately. Sir…” he asked cautiously, “are you going after it? The dragon I mean?”
“It would appear that way, son,” Hawk sighed. “Until I return, you’re in command, Civilar Pyle.”
“Yes sir!” Pyle clicked his heels together and snapped off another salute. Vladius shook his head. Better to leave Smenk in charge.
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“It has to be Ilthane,” Hawk said as the group made their way along the winding trail leading up into the Forlorn Hills. “What other black dragon do we know?”
“But why would she be after Ondabar?” Grubber asked. “He wasn’t with us when we invaded the Red Eye tribe.”
“Quite possibly she traced our connection back to him,” Hawk said. “Wouldn’t be a very hard trail to follow. After all, someone killed Dagsumn when they found out about his ties to us. Being associated with us doesn’t seem to be the healthiest thing at the moment.”
The team passed the burned-out remains of an old mine office, and Vladius called a brief halt.
“Used to be our old hide-out,” he said, nodding to the ruins. “That is until old Smenk decided we were too much of a liability and decided he didn’t want any loose ends around. Anyway, the Whispering Cairn just about a mile or so ahead. We’d better prepare ourselves.”
The others nodded their agreement, and set about their preparations. Knowing what he did about the nature of black dragons, Grubber thought it wise to use his prayers to grant the entire team some degree of protection from acid. Vladius, meanwhile, polymorphed himself into an avoral, a bird-like outsider capable of flight. Once they were all ready, they continued on.
The entrance to the Whispering Cairn was just like those who had been there before remembered it, a wide, monolith-lined portal partially obscured by underbrush and boulders, although much of the underbrush appeared to have been recently burned away. Cautiously, they dismounted and approached the opening, eyes peeled and ears tuned for any sign of Ilthane.
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Ilthane watched the approach of the newcomers with interest. After three days of waiting for the wizard to emerge from his bolt-hole, she was growing bored. When her contacts in Starmantle had informed her of the demise of the Ebon Triad cult in Daggerford, and asked her to track down those responsible and their mentor Ondabar, she had jumped at the chance. In fact, she had already planned on dealing with the interlopers for interfering with her plans for the Red Eye tribe. The gold and magic promised to her by the Triad agents were almost an afterthought.
She had had little trouble in ‘convincing’ the people of Daggerford to tell her of Ondabar’s whereabouts. It was her intention to deal with the wizard first, and then move on to his underlings. She had come to this tomb and lay in wait for him at nightfall, ambushing him when he’d emerged. She had managed to gravely injure him, but the wily mage had escaped at the last back inside the cairn, and now she’d been forced to wait here for him to come back out, which he would surely have to do or starve to death.
Yet now, it appeared that her wait was to be interrupted by a pleasant diversion. How convenient for Ondabar’s lackeys to simply present themselves to her, for who else would come to this desolate place in such force, if not the wizard’s friends seeking to rescue their mentor?
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A low rush of wind was the only warning the League had of the dragon’s approach. From behind a low, wooded hill she swept in, opening her mouth and spewing forth a noxious, green stream of liquid, engulfing Grim, Storm and Havok in the blast. The dragon grinned evilly, anticipating seeing three steaming pools of goo when the air cleared. Her expression rapidly turned to one of confusion, and then anger when she instead saw her quarry still standing, and relatively unscathed. “Dragotha take you!” she screamed, “The wizard is mine!”
Havok didn’t waste time trading threats with the dragon. He’d been waiting for her to show herself, and now he unleashed the full fury of his eldritch blast. Ilthane shrieked as the mystical energy scorched her hide, leaving great, raw rents in her flesh. Before she could react, however, the air around her erupted with more magic, first in a roaring ball of fire, and then in a sizzling sphere of electricity.
Right on the heels of the attacks by Havok, Pyro and Storm, Hawk and Grim charged the dragon head-on, Hawk nimbly avoiding her snapping jaws as he closed in. As she coiled her neck for another strike, the civilar drove his sword into her throat, willing its holy power to surge through its blade.
With horrifying quickness, Ilthane found herself on the defensive…and losing. Two warriors now flanked her, while the accursed spell-weavers thought themselves safely at distance where they could strike at her at their leisure. She would have to dissuade them of that illusion. Leaping into the air like a cat, she soared over the heads of the warriors, landing between Storm and Havok. The drow quickly began to retreat, but Ilthane struck at her like a cobra, her razor-sharp teeth opening ghastly tears in the sorceress’ back. The dragon then turned towards Havok, meaning to take out both of the arcanists simultaneously, but as her gaze fell on the warlock, she knew she’d been a split-second too late. His hand glowed with crackling green energy, and he leveled it at her point-blank. The last thing Ilthane saw in this life was the image of crawling worms.
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Giovanni stood over the fallen dragon, many thoughts going through his mind. Foremost was the name she had called out…Dragotha. He’d come across that name in his reading of the Apostolic Scrolls. Dragotha had been the general of Kyuss’ armies, and he’d also been a dragon…an undead dragon. Second to that thought, but no less important, was the fact that when he’d dealt the killing blow to the dragon, his energy blast was not the red he was accustomed to, but deep, emerald green…
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The entrance to the Whispering Cairn was much as Grim, Grubber, Vladius and Shay remembered it. Natural light dimly illuminated a long hallway extending north into darkness. A faint breeze brought with it sibilant whispers that sounded almost like sighing breath.
The walls bore horizontal bands of deceptively simple geometric patterns at waist level. In places, the bands revealed startling detail, but in others the walls looked as though they had been hacked apart with weapons, or eroded by the rigors of time. Flakes of ancient paint, brilliant purple and a dull mustard hue, still clung to the walls in places, hinting at what must once have been a riot of color. A thin coat of dust coated the floor.
Just inside the darkened tomb, the hallway branched into shallow alcoves to the east and west. Here, the walls bore the most significant damage. Dozens of clumsy etchings marred the beautiful, ancient masonry like graffiti on a city wall.
One thing had definitely changed though. When the original League had come here, a branching passage to the east had been completely blocked off by an apparent collapse. Now, however, the passage stood open, its walls scarred and dented. At the end of the tunnel stood a glossy black surface with a raised sphere in the center, like the boss in the center of a shield. The surface resembled a heavily lacquered door.
“That certainly wasn’t here before,” Vladius said, now once more in his more familiar mephit form.
“It’s a portal,” Giovanni stated. “A conduit linking one place to another.”
“It’s evil,” Hawk said flatly. “I can sense it. Strong…it reeks of it.”
“Do you think Ondabar went through there?” Grubber asked dubiously. “Shouldn’t we check the other parts of the tomb first?”
“We’ve seen everything in this place, top to bottom,” Vladius said, “and Delfen did too, once we told him about it. Plus, Ironeater’s miners have been here removing all of those iron balls. This is the only thing that’s new. It has to be where he went.”
“It’s decided then,” Dwilt said. “It’s as likely a place to start as any.”
The group arranged themselves behind Grim, who approached the glistening black portal with trepidation. Reaching out one hand to touch the surface, he found that is was viscous rather than solid, like mud. Drawing his hand back out, he found it clean and unharmed.
“Well,” he shrugged, “no better way to find out than to just get to it.” The dwarf then stepped forward, his body slowly submerging into the substance of the portal. To his team mates behind him, it appeared as if Grim was stepping through quicksand. Half his body was already through, yet it seem a slow transit. To Grim, however, it was something else entirely. As his face broke the surface of the portal, he found himself looking into a twilit nothingness…but he was not alone. Standing directly before him, blocking any further progress, was an emaciated creature, with glowing red eyes, and a lolling, barbed tongue. Wicked, filthy claws tipped its fingers and toes, and it reeked of death and decay. Before Grim could fully register what he was seeing, the thing launched itself at him.
The other members of the League saw Grim suddenly begin to thrash and flail, still half-in and half-out of the portal.
“He’s under attack!” Havok shouted, and blindly he fired a blast of eldritch heat into the blackness that surrounded the dwarf. Hawk rushed to the dwarf’s side, struggling to pull his friend free of the black morass. At that moment, what appeared to be claws made of pure darkness reached out of the conduit, and slashed the civilar, raking his throat and sending a great gout of blood spraying the corridor wall. Staggering back, he collapsed against Grubber, blood still poring out of him. Trying to remain calm, Grubber closed his hands over the wound and began a quick prayer. As energy flowed from him into the civilar, the arterial spray slowed and died, the wound closing, but leaving an ugly scar behind.
Pyro needed a clear target. Closing his eyes and touching them with the tips of two fingers, he began chanting a spell. When he had finished, and opened his eyes, the portal seemed as clear as glass. The Blindsight allowed him to see what was hidden, and now he could make out the ghoulish creature with which Grim struggled. Suddenly, the creature grabbed the dwarf in a bear-hug embrace, and began raking at his stony hide with its claws.
“Havok, I see it!” Pyro cried. Before the warlock could protest, the wizard pressed both of his thumbs into Havok’s eyes, and uttered his spell again. Instantly, Havok saw what Grim and Pyro saw. Without hesitation, he fired a second eldritch blast at the monster, just as Grim flexed his prodigious biceps and broke free of the ghoul’s hold.
“Dwilt,” Havok shouted, “aim low. It’s right in front of Grim. Trip it!” The paladin didn’t doubt what his team mate was telling him. He whipped his chain forward into the darkness and felt it connect with something solid. He pulled mightily, felt a momentary resistance, and then the chain went slack.
Grim grinned with satisfaction as the creature sprawled on its back in front of him. Instantly, it tried to rise, but the mineral warrior hooked his axe behind its ankles, and sent it tumbling to the ground once more. Snarling, the fiend began reaching for his legs, trying to bring him to the ground with it. The dwarf jabbed the top of his axe at its face, rocking its head back, and pushing it momentarily away from him. Still the thing would not relent. It sprang to its feet, but this time when Grim tried to trip it, the creature instead snatched the shaft of his axe and pulled it towards him. Momentarily, the dwarf was off balance, and the ghoul kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first to the ground before it. In an instant it was on him, wrapping its arms around him from behind, and digging in its claws and teeth.
Pyro saw it all. Grim was in trouble. He needed an edge. The mephit/mage quickly darted towards the prone legs of the dwarf, and reached out to touch him, mouthing the words to another spell all the while. In a flash, the dwarf transformed. Now, lying on the ground was no longer the mineral warrior, but instead the massive form of a troll!
“Hah!” Grim shouted. “Now we’ll see who can wrestle!” Dropping his axe, he rolled to his back and brought his own claws to bear, tearing into the fiend’s flesh as it continued to flail at him.
“Now for my next trick,” Pyro said. Another spell left his lips, and at its completion, the troll/Grim became covered in a thick layer of grease. Within the portal, Grim slipped free of his opponent, reversing its grip and pulling it to the ground with him. The pair rolled about in a whirling ball of teeth and claws, ripping and tearing at one another with savage ferocity. Finally, with a shriek of rage, the ghoul broke free from Grim’s grasp and surged to its feet, standing over the prone dwarf. As it raised its claws to rend its prey again, a bolt of green energy speared it through the heart, and it dissolved into nothingness with a final, wailing cry.
As Grubber tended Grim’s wounds, Dwilt stepped to the portal, and then turned back to his team mates. “I’ll go first this time. Each of you follow me as quickly as possible. There’s no telling what’s on the other side of this thing.”
The former civilar then stepped into the black morass and disappeared. Upon emerging on the other side, Dwilt found himself in a sharply sloped hallway filled with rushing, screaming wind and smoke. Small, hollow projections lining the walls seemed to be making the noise, but it was obvious that air inside the passage was being pushed out at an unusual rate. Dwilt could not hear a thing over the howling wind, and the tiny particles of grit being blown into his eyes severely limited his visibility. Suddenly, a mass of darks smoke moved against the wind, shifting shape as it came closer. Cloudlike, roiling, it abruptly exploded into a demonic creature of smoke and wind, with large, bat wings, clawed tendrils, and a biting maw. Dwilt reeled back against a nearby wall as the thing slashed at him, swinging his chain blindly to ward off the fiend.
Just then, the portal began to ripple as Grim stepped through. No sooner had the dwarf completed the transition, than a second smoke demon appeared, catching the mineral warrior off-guard and putting him immediately on the defensive. Dwilt and Grim hacked and struck wildly at the creatures, the momentum of their melee carrying them further down the hall. The portal shimmered again, and Grubber appeared, only to be immediately assaulted by a third creature.
One by one the members of the League continued to cross over via the portal, oblivious to the life-or-death struggle their comrades waged on the other side. Each in turn was attacked as soon as they stepped free of the portal. Only Storm and Shay still remained in the Whispering Cairn, and at least ten of the hideous creatures now swarmed about the others. At one point Pyro found himself caught between two of the fiends…belkers he thought, evil creatures native to the Plane of Air. From what little he knew of them, they were reclusive by nature, having little interest in the affairs of others. He could not imagine what so many were doing in a single place. Perhaps the Wind Dukes used them as tomb guardians? Whatever the case, they certainly were not about to be reasoned with. To make matters worse, as Pyro prepared to bring his magic to bear against them, he found the words to his spells ripped from his lips by the scathing winds. Still in mephit form, he struggled to put some distance between himself and his attackers, but they were too fast. The wizard knew that if he didn’t think of something quickly, he was not going to last long. Finally, concentrating with all his will, he managed to scream out one arcane word, and vanished as the Teleportation spell took him. Only at the last moment did he even consider that he didn’t actually know how far away the Whispering Cairn was. Though it seemed like the portal had only transported them a few feet from their prior position, Pyro knew the distance was probably vast. His spell was only capable of transporting him nine-hundred miles. If the cairn was further than that, this was going to be a one-way trip.
Shay waited impatiently as Storm finally stepped through the portal. It was about time. He was sick of waiting, and eager to get out of the creepy tomb. However, just as he was reaching out to enter the portal himself, a very familiar looking mephit appeared out of thin air behind him, looking battered and bloody.
“Stop!” Pyro wheezed. “We’re under attack on the other side. I barely escaped with my life.”
“Where are the others?” Shay asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Still there,” Pyro said, “fighting off a swarm of elementals.”
“But not you,” Shay said accusingly. “Here you are, safe and sound, while our friends may be dieing as we speak.” The rogue shook his head in disgust, and then turned towards the portal again. “And they call me craven.”
Just as Pyro had warned, battle raged around Shay as he passed through the conduit. Immediately to his right, Storm was being assailed by a large, demonic looking creature. The others seemed to be holding their own, and several of the monsters lay unmoving on the floor of the passage. Shay immediately drew his rapier, and began stabbing at Storm’s attacker. As the belker turned towards its new opponent, Storm did the only thing she could, since she could not focus enough to cast her spells. She drew out her crossbow, loaded it, and began firing.
The melee dragged on for several long minutes, but ultimately, the belkers were killed to a creature, and the League members took a moment to catch their breath and regroup. Storm was the most badly wounded, and Hawk laid his hands gently on her injuries, holy energy flowing from him and healing the worst of her hurts. After a few moments, a much hailer-looking Pyro poked his head back through the portal.
“All clear?” the mephit shouted into the howling wind. Abruptly, his words were choked off as Grim seized him by the throat and yanked him through.
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The wind-filled passageway ended after about fifty feet, and the chamber beyond it was blissfully quiet. The tall room looked like some sort of temple. Carved stone pillars reached up to the ceiling in elegant lines, but strange clusters of spikes stuck up from the floor in two distinct areas, like barricades. Near sets of doors to the north, south and east stood carved stone images of tall, elongated humanoid forms. A series of small openings, each about one inch in diameter, festooned the walls between these forms. Beneath the openings were small basins, each about the size of an apple. Strange undulations made the doors and nearby walls seem more like a curtain than a level surface. Twisting runes wound over the walls. The floor was carved with channels, as if to transport water, but nothing now flowed there.
Cautiously, Shay held up one hand, motioning for the others to wait. He had a feeling for these sorts of things, and at that moment, it was warning him of danger. Slowly, he stepped into the temple, looking warily at the spiky barricade to his right. Kneeling down in front of it, he began running his fingers lightly over the flagstones. Ah…there it was, just as he suspected…a pressure sensitive stone. Unfortunately, even the minute amount of pressure he had placed on it by touching it caused the trigger to depress. Instantly, a blast of hurricane-like wind struck the rogue, hurling him against the barbed spikes of the barrier, ripping a hundred tiny gashes into his skin. Just as quickly as it started, the wind vanished, and Shay dropped painfully to the floor.
“Watch your step here,” he moaned. “It’s a trap.”
Grubber tended Shay’s wounds, and the rogue resolved to venture into the chamber a second time, only this time, Grim accompanied him, ready to seize the skinny human and drag him out of harm’s way if necessary. Slowly, the pair made their way around the perimeter of the large hall. Shay found two more pressure plates on opposite sides of the second barricade, but managed to avoid triggering both, though it was beyond even his skill to disarm the traps. Before each set of doors in the room was another trap of sorts. When triggered (as Shay found out unintentionally), the small basins lining the walls near the door would generate a plume of white fog-like vapor, which would then run up along and meld with the bas-relief carvings on the wall, generating a fluid image. The first one was of a regal-appearing Wind Duke engaged in battle against multiple creatures of chaos. Unfortunately, the vapors themselves were poisonous. Shay managed to avoid their effects by Grim’s timely intervention. The dwarf’s own sturdy constitution seemed to render him immune to the gas. Two other images were displayed around the other doors: one of the same Wind Duke forming some sort of alliance with a large, armored behemoth, and the other of the Wind Duke holding a large square seal in one hand, and a long rod or staff in the other, as if displaying them to the viewer.
Shay informed the rest of his team mates where it was safe to walk within the chamber, and they crossed to the doors directly across from them, in the east wall. Beyond was a short passage terminating at another set of double-doors, with identical sets in the walls to the right and left. The eastern and southern doors proved to be false, opening only onto blank walls. On the other side of the northern doors, however, was a long hall containing twin sets of pillars leading to another set of double doors at the far end. The columns were made of marble blocks shaped like drums. Not all of them had aged quite the same, and their colors ranged from gray to white to tan.
Vladius, Giovanni and Storm remained in the temple chamber while the others stood in the hall outside the columned chamber. Once again, Grim and Shay were elected to scout ahead, with Grim walking down the right hand side of the hall, and Shay taking the left. No sooner had the mineral warrior stepped into the room, than a rumbling sounded from the pillar next to him, and the entire structure collapsed towards him. Grim quickly raised his tower shield above his head, deflecting most of the falling rubble. Across the room, he heard another of the pillars collapse and saw Shay duck and roll deftly out of the way of the debris.
“This whole place is a death trap,” the dwarf muttered as he brushed dust off his armor.
“Everything ok down there?” Pyro called as he peered down the darkened corridor.
“Just Shay and Grim having a little fun!” Dwilt answered.
“That’s exactly the reason I stay back here, where it’s safe,” the wizard said quietly to Storm and Havok.
At that moment, a flicker of movement caught the corner of Pyro’s vision. As he turned towards it, he saw of mass of shadows directly behind him seem to roil and churn of their own volition. Materializing out of the darkness was one of the biggest spiders he’d ever seen! Before the wizard could do more than gasp, the huge arachnid had seized him in one of its fore claws.
Grubber and Dwilt turned towards the sounds of the shouting coming from the temple chamber.
“Time to stop fooling around in there,” he barked at Shay and Grim, who had just extricated himself from yet another rubble pile of a collapsed column. “We’ve got company!”
The two then charged back towards their comrades, Grubber in the lead. When the goliath saw the spider, he didn’t even break stride, instead raising his hammer, and lunging ahead. At the last moment, the spider scuttled to one side with amazing agility, and Grubber’s maul struck only stone. For his part, Dwilt had the insane idea that he might be able to trip the arachnid. Whirling his chain above his head, he snapped it around one of the spider’s legs, and pulled with all his might. He might as well have been trying to pull a Tarasque. The spider pulled back, almost gently, yet Dwilt was yanked off his feet, falling prone at the monster’s feet.
Storm quickly moved away from the spider’s impressive reach. Pragmatic she may have been, but never cowardly. Chanting as she moved, she conjured a viscous orb of green acid in her hand, and hurled it at the arachnid. The creature shrieked as the caustic fluid ate into its carapace.
Havok knew that if he did not act, Pyro was as good as dead. Grim and Hawk were on the way, but they wouldn’t make it in time if the spider simply decided to decapitate the wizard. In desperation, the warlock darted forward and grabbed Pyro’s flailing hand. Closing his eyes, he pictured the hallway outside the columned room, and when he opened them again, he and the mage stood side by side, safely away from the melee.
“Seems I might owe you one,” Pyro rasped.
“One?” Havok laughed, “You apparently haven’t been keeping count. We’ll discuss my retainer later.”
By this time, Grim and Hawk had reached the chamber, and both of them immediately rushed the spider. However, as Hawk got within reach, he was abruptly snatched into the air by a massive claw. Grim kept going, brutally ripping at the monster’s hide with his axe. The spider hissed and spat, dropping Hawk to the floor as it backed away from its attacker. The civilar rolled to his feet, and he and the dwarf closed the distance with the arachnid, pressing their advantage. Abruptly, darkness swirled around the beast, and as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.
Dwilt climbed painfully to his feet. “If your friend Ondabar came through here,” he said to Vladius, “he must be an archmage. I fear we may not like what we find when we finally discover his location.”
The doors at the opposite end of the columned hall were another dead-end, as was the northern door in the temple chamber. The southern door, however, led to a long hallway, which bisected another about thirty feet down. The intersection was lit by six flickering orange and yellow lanterns, which floated around a central statue of grey stone. The statue depicted an androgynous Wind Duke wearing robes that seemed to be stirred by a breeze. The figure may have been a symbol of justice or war, for it held a glittering sword outstretched in one hand and carried a balance in the other.
Once more, the team had formed up behind Grim, and he began leading the way down the corridor. He had gone no more than ten paces, when a deafening burst of sound swept through the passage.
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Antyress Redpike, the Earl of Coalchester, was bored…bored beyond imagining. He had spent nearly a century in this room, staring at the same four walls with nothing to do for entertainment, and no one to talk to save for Smoughed and Scrisped, who were not the best conversationalists. The salamander’s clan had been bound by ancient elemental vows ages ago to serve the Wind Dukes as tomb guardians, and Antyress’ tenure was only half over. Bored, he thought again. Bored, bored, bored. That was when he heard the triggering of the Dictum.
“The Word of Law,” he said almost in disbelief. How long had it been since tomb raiders had actually entered this place? Certainly not during his time here. Well, well, he thought gleefully, clapping his hands, a diversion after all!
“Smoughed, Scrisped,” he said to the towering elementals. “Go and greet our guests. Tell them I would like to speak with them.”
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Grim, Shay, Dwilt, Grubber, and Vladius were still reeling from the effects of the Dictum. The spell had rendered them all deaf, and slowed their reaction time to the point where it was an effort just to move. At that moment, a towering, walking column of flame appeared at the intersection, peering around the corner at the League. Storm, still in the temple room, saw it first, recognized the fire elemental for what it was. Thinking quickly, she created a storm of ice and sleet around the creature, and its hide began to hiss and steam where the hail stones struck it.
Hawk had not been affected by the Dictum, and he wasted no time in moving past his afflicted friends, straight towards the elemental while it was distracted by the ice storm. Unsure if mere weapons of steel would affect such a creature, he nevertheless plunged his sword into the flaming behemoth, unleashing a surge of electricity through the blade as he did so. To his surprise and satisfaction, the elemental reeled and roared in pain.
Grubber, though deaf, was not affected by the slowing effect of the Dictum, due to his Grumbar-granted power to always move unhindered as long as his feet touched the earth. Rushing to Hawk’s aid, he suddenly found himself flat on his back as his feet slipped on a slick spot on the floor. As he struggled to regain his feet, the elemental smashed one of its tree-trunk sized arms down upon him. When the flaming appendage struck him, the goliath was horrified to see that his clothes caught fire!
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This was no good, Redpike hissed in frustration. He had wanted to talk with these intruders, toy with them a bit before it came to blows. Ah, but with these adventurer types it was always sword first, words later. So be it then. “Kill them all,” he ordered the elementals in their native tongue. Then acting on his own instructions, he summoned a small, flaming ball into his right hand, and tossed it into the intersection.
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The fireball erupted like an inferno around Hawk, Grubber and Grim, scorching their skin and hair. Havok, seeing the danger his friends were in, sent a pulsating green blast of eldritch energy at the fire elemental, momentarily turning its flaming form from crimson to emerald.
Just then, a second fire elemental appeared in the hallway, stepping past its cohort and blocking off the other side of the intersection. Hawk swung at the creature as it passed, but it countered with a hammer-blow of its own, setting the civilar’s cloak and tabard aflame.
Pyro cursed the luck they were having. Not only did they have to face not one, but two huge fire elementals, but they had to do it deafened and with their main fighting force crippled. Quickly, the wizard began calling to mind the words of a spell, but he found that in his deafened state, he had trouble correctly pronouncing the delicate inflections. Luckily, he was close enough, and the Force Ball he lobbed into the intersection erupted with very satisfying results as the first elemental went down.
Grubber attempted to regain his feet once again, but again he was struck, this time by the second elemental. As the goliath collapsed to the floor this time, he did not rise again. Grim glanced over at his friend and saw his chest moving. The priest yet lived…for the moment. However, as a second fireball engulfed the hallway, it was clear to the mineral warrior that his friend was beyond any hope of aid.
Havok couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Grubber was down, probably dead. Grim and Dwilt were all but incapacitated. Whoever was controlling the elementals had them right where he wanted them. Once more the warlock unleashed his eldritch fire. Behind him, Storm lobbed a crackling sphere of electricity. Both energies struck the elemental simultaneously, sending green lightning cascading through its body.
The elemental thrashed and swatted at the fire which surged through it. Enraged, it lashed out at Hawk. The civilar batted aside its first blow, but on the next strike, the behemoth seized him in a powerful fiery grip, lifting him bodily from the floor. In vain Hawk struggled to break free of the grapple, all the while with Grim hammering at the elemental from below. Suddenly, another blast of green fire blasted a hole through the elemental’s head, and it collapsed to the floor in a smoldering pile of ash.
“See to those burns,” Grim said to the civilar as he stumbled past, still deaf and disoriented, but committed to confronting the master of the elementals. As he rounded the corner, he saw his foe. The being had a muscular humanoid upper body with a hawkish face. Its lower body, however, was serpentine from the waist down and was covered in red and black scales. Flame-shaped spines sprouted from its back, arms and head, and a glowing, red-hot iron spear was gripped in its hands.
“You must flee,” the creature said. “I am the Earl of Coalchester, and I am compelled by foul magic to kill you. Leave now and I shall not follow. I can’t be held responsible for what might happen should you stay.”
“You want to see compelled,” Pyro snapped as he flitted to a position just above Grim’s shoulder. “Watch me compel you to turn into a cockroach!” As the wizard hurled the magic towards the salamander, Redpike actually flinched, but as the spell passed harmlessly around him, he grinned even broader.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he smirked. With a casual wave of his hand, the Earl of Coalchester conjured up a roaring wall of red flames catching Shay, Grim and Havok directly in its eruption. Dwilt, Storm and Hawk were caught on the other side of the fire wall, but the heat from it still scalded them, even from a distance twenty feet away.
“Two can play that game!” Pyro snarled, and flapping back several feet from the wall, he sent a helical cone of ice through the flames, where it snuffed out a large hole in the wall, and continued on to strike the salamander. Redpike howled as the ice burned his sensitive skin like the fire he wielded.
Enraged, the Earl slithered out of his chambers and into the hall, closing rapidly on the tomb robbers. Before Pyro could fly to the ceiling and out of harm’s way, the massive spear wielded by the salamander pierced him through the abdomen. In desperation, the mephit/wizard conjured a grease spell on the longspear, hoping to make the elemental lose his grip. Redpike merely laughed however, then lunged forward with his pike, impaling Pyro against the wall. When he withdrew the spear from the mage’s limp form, Pyro slid bonelessly to the floor, assuming his natural form as he went.
Suddenly, a length of spiked chain wrapped around Redpike’s spear shaft, and jerked at it, trying to rip it from his grasp. The salamander cursed, pulling the weapon back into his grip. Dwilt’s eyes went wide as the spear head rushed towards him, piercing him three times in the chest. Then everything went dark as a vicious slap from Redpike’s tail sent the paladin to the ground.
Hawk’s eyes went as cold as death. Shield up, and sword in hand he stalked towards the Earl. Redpike’s grinning jaw went slack as he saw the determination in the civilar. Quickly, he conjured another fire wall, sealing over the hole the wizard had made in the previous one, but to his utter amazement, the human walked right through, ignoring his pain, though it was obvious his skin had been blistered.
“From Hell’s gate I stab at thee!” Hawk hissed, and then he charged, driving his blade deep into Redpike’s gut, calling upon the divine might of Torm to smite his enemy. Again and again he struck until finally the Earl's spear slipped from his nerveless fingers as his guardianship finally came to and end.
Grim, Hawk, Shay, Giovanni and Storm stood in a loose circle, staring mutely at the tableau before them. Three…almost half their number…lay dead at their feet. It had happened so fast, a matter of moments really. True, the salamander and his elementals also perished, but at what cost, and for what purpose. They were no closer to finding Ondabar than they had been before…further really, for the effort would be more difficult and dangerous without the invaluable aid and companionship of their fallen friends.
“We need to regroup,” Hawk finally spoke. The others looked at him, but did not disagree. “We’re spent for now. If we continue on in our current condition, none of us will leave this place alive. That won’t help us or Ondabar…nor will it honor our fallen. Bring them.”
Silently, Grim bent and lifted Grubber easily across his shoulders. Giovanni and Shay carried Vladius, and Hawk cradled Dwilt, his brother-in-arms, on his final journey.
They retraced their steps through the temple and the howling passage beyond to the black portal. One by one they passed through, emerging once more inside the Whispering Cairn. When they stepped outside the tomb, the sun was still shining. Barely an hour had passed since they’d entered, yet it seemed like a lifetime. The corpse of Ilthane lay where she fell. As the others strapped their dead to their horses, Giovanni walked deliberately over to the dragon. Kneeling, he produced a thin beam of green energy from his finger, and began slicing through the wyrm’s neck with it. Within a few moments, he had beheaded the beast. Tying a length of rope around the dragon’s head, he attached the other end to his saddle horn, mounted his horse, and set out after his companions, dragging his gruesome trophy along behind.
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Drasek Dundragon rode along the mountain trail, deep in his own thoughts. He had only just arrived in Daggerford this morning, but already he had more questions than answers. His superiors in Baldur’s Gate had sent him to the frontier town after receiving word of a necromancer operating in the area. The church of Kelemvor took such rumors very seriously, and when a representative from the Cult of the Ascended Lovers in Daggerford had come to the temple in Baldur’s Gate, the clergy had acted in, what was for the typical bureaucracy, a more or less timely fashion. They had dispatched Drasek as an official Inquisitor into the matter. However, upon his arrival in the village, he had found it partially destroyed, by a dragon attack of all things. When he had questioned the local constable, a singularly unhelpful man named Cubbin, he had been directed to the garrison. The so-called garrison commander was a pimply-faced adolescent named Pyle. He had given Drasek the details of the attack, and then told him of a band of local adventurers who had gone in search of the dragon. Curious though he was about the wyrm, it was not his primary reason for coming to the fly speck town. He inquired about the necromancer, and Pyle informed him that indeed such an individual had taken up residence in an old, abandoned observatory some two months back. However, that worthy had been dealt with by the same band of adventurers. The ‘commander’ then informed him that there had been some sightings recently of ‘walking corpses’ in the nearby hills…again, the hills into which the adventurers had gone. So, it seemed if Drasek wanted any real answers, he was going to have to go in search of this band. He only hoped they had already dealt with the dragon, or this was going to be a one-way trip.
As he rounded a sharp bend in the trail, Drasek came to an abrupt halt. Ahead on the path, coming his way, was a mounted band. One was a dwarf, though he appeared much bulkier than any dwarf Drasek had ever met. Three appeared to be human, though one was darker of skin, like a Calishite. The last was an elven woman, though Drasek knew immediately that she wore an illusion about her. Concentrating on her face, he saw through the veil, noting with surprise that she was a drow! Immediately, he concentrated again, trying to sense an aura of evil about any of the group, finding none. Three pack horses trailed behind the group, with wrapped bundles across their saddles which looked suspiciously like bodies. One of the humans had a rope tied to his saddle pommel and its other end was attached to a severed dragon head! This then must be the group he was seeking, though it seemed they had met with misfortune in their quest.
Hawk drew the company up short as he spotted the rider on the trail below them. The man was dressed in gleaming mail and wore a dark cloak draped over his shoulders. A large hammer was strapped to his back, and he bore a shield on his left arm. Squinting his eyes at the insignia emblazoned on the shield, Hawk knew it to be that of Kelemvor, protector of the dead. The only Kelemvorites in these parts were the cultists who kept the Daggerford Boneyard, and they usually went about in green robes, chanting to themselves. This fellow certainly wasn’t one of them.
“Well met,” Drasek said, raising is right hand palm-up. “You appear to be in need of assistance.”
“Who are you?” Hawk asked, suspicion in his voice.
Drasek could see that the man wore the insignia of an officer of Waterdeep, and that he also bore a symbol of Torm. A man of honor then. “I am Drasek Dundragon,” he replied, “Inquisitor of the church of Kelemvor in Baldur’s Gate. I am seeking a group of individuals known as the League.”
“You’ve found them,” Hawk said. “What is it that you want from us?”
“I was sent to investigate claims of a necromancer operating in this area. I was informed that your group was responsible for removing his presence. I was also informed that you might have knowledge about increased sightings of undead of late. As you may know, Kelemvor considers the undead an abomination, and dictates their destruction whenever found.”
Hawk nodded. “You are speaking of the necromancer Filge. My colleagues did indeed remove his threat some months back, before I joined them. The undead you mention are another story entirely…a long one not meant for the road. As you can see, three of our number have fallen. We came in search of an ally and mentor who was investigating an ancient cairn nearby. It seems a dragon of our acquaintance was also looking for him. The dragon we dealt with,” he gestured towards the grisly trophy. “However, once we entered the cairn, we found a previously unexplored section that we believe our friend was searching. The tomb, it would seem, is not as abandoned as we thought. Ancient guardians still remain, and it was one of these, an elemental lord from the Plane of Fire, that laid our team mates low. We defeated him, but at great cost. We are returning now to Daggerford to put our friends to rest…or at least two of them.”
“Two?” Drasek asked. “I thought you said three fell.”
“So they did, but we have all made our wishes known to one another should we fall in battle. Dwilt Riddick, and the wizard Vladius were very clear that should they depart this world, the wished their souls be allowed to travel on. The priest, Grubber, however had received a premonition from his god Grumbar, that his work in this life was far from finished. It is he that we wish to return to the living.”
“Then you do need my help,” Drasek said. “I can oversee the interment of the two, and the third…I can restore him. Kelemvor teaches that those who depart before their time should be allowed to come again to this life. I will accompany you to Daggerford and speak with my fellows in the Cult of the Ascended Lovers.”
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The rag-tag band entered Daggerford at noon and proceeded directly to the center of town, where repairs were already underway on the ruined businesses and dwellings there. All work came to an abrupt stop, however, when the League and Drasek entered the commons. Several garrison soldiers were present, overseeing security for the construction crews, and among them was Pyle. As the commander hustled over, Giovanni hefted Ilthane’s head and tossed it at the soldier’s feet.
“Mount it on a pike on the town wall,” the warlock said. “It was won at much cost.” By this time, quite a crowd was gathering around the adventurers, and many gasps met the sight of the remains of the dragon.
“Sir,” Pyle stammered, saluting Hawk, “what are your orders?”
The civilar looked down at him. “My orders stand, commander. We have unfinished business at the Whispering Cairn, but first, we have friends to bury.”
Abruptly, Hawk spurred his mount and he and his fellows started out of the square, towards the Boneyard on the edge of town. Pyle rushed over to the other gaping soldiers, ordering them to mount up, and then hurrying to assume an honor-guard position at the head of the procession. Many towns’ folk trailed behind in silence.
When the make-shift funeral parade reached the Boneyard, they were greeted at the iron gates by one of the green-robed cultist. She nodded silently to Drasek, and then looked at the cloth-bound bodies.
“Acolyte,” Drasek addressed her, “we have duties to attend. These men died with honor, and so will be sent to our Lord with all rites and rituals…save one. The goliath priest called Grubber shall be returned from the underworld by me. It is not yet his time.”
The acolyte nodded again, and then led the procession deep into the Boneyard and to a large mausoleum.
Dwilt and Vladius were laid in their final resting place. The garrison soldiers lifted their swords in salute. Dwilt was dressed in his old uniform, and Pyle had one of his men bring a Waterdhavian banner from the fort, and this was draped over the former-civilar. Once the words were spoken, and the mausoleum sealed, Drasek had the acolytes place Grubber’s body before it, and in front of all those gathered, he performed the sacred ritual that would return the dead to life. When Grubber drew breath and sat up, all of the spectators gasped in awe, and many holy warding signs were made upon breast and brow.
“I know you,” Grubber said as he looked upon his savior.
“Yes,” Drasek replied. When a soul was returned from the after-life, it knew exactly who had called it.
“You have my thanks,” the goliath said, bowing. He then looked at the mausoleum and at those of his friends that remained. Understanding showed in his eyes, and deep sadness.
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Later that evening, the group gathered at the Blackstone Inn, and Hawk gave to Drasek their long tale, leaving out no detail. It was late into the night by the time he was done.
“This is much to digest,” Drasek said finally. “It answers many questions, but reveals so many more. This Age of Worms you speak of bodes ill for not just this small town, but indeed for all of Faerun. My duty is clear. If you will have me, I will join your crusade to crush this undead menace before it can take root and fester in our world.”
The members of the League welcomed the inquisitor eagerly, and then retired for the night, for in the morning, it was their intent to return once more to the Whispering Cairn.
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The League stood once more at the intersection where they had faced the Earl of Coalchester. They had searched the salamander noble’s quarters, and uncovered several valuable treasures, including a wand capable of rendering others invisible, and four decanters of valuable Scarlet Ambrosia, an efreeti brandy. The door directly to the south led to yet another dead end, leaving only the passage and door to the west to be investigated.
The doors led to a large, two-tiered hall, which shone with purple light from four chandeliers. A large, black sphere hung between them. The chandeliers seemed to be sculpted with small humanoid figures in silvery metal. A second-floor gallery with arches and spiral-striped pillars ran the length of the hallway to a second set of large double doors. The black, tile floor seemed to absorb the light from the chandeliers, and even sound in the chamber was muted and dull. Two more sets of doors stood in the north and south walls of the upper gallery.
The team elected to ignore the main floor for the moment, instead moving up the stairs to the northern gallery. They approached the doors there, and once Shay had assured them the portals were safe, they ventured through. Beyond was a small but well-appointed room with a delicately arched ceiling. The walls were painted with garden scenes featuring two Wind Duke lovers. The center of the room contained a large urn with a dark, red glaze and gold decorations. Six, small boxes, each carved of some black substance bound with corroded metal, lined the back wall. Chairs sat in each corner.
Shay moved cautiously to the urn, running his hand lightly over its surface, and the seal which held the cap on. Finally, convinced there was no trap, he grasped the lid and removed it. Instantly, a blue-black beam of energy lanced out at him, barely missing him as he somersaulted backwards. Rolling to his feet, he grinned sheepishly at his team mates.
“Allow me,” Giovanni said dryly, and he called upon his innate magic to create a dispelling field around the urn, negating the deadly trap. Shay then peered inside the vessel, and saw it filled with fine ashes.
“It’s a burial chamber,” he said. “These boxes here must contain the wealth the Wind Dukes buried with the dead,” he continued eagerly. Rubbing his hands together, he bent to examine the first box, then pulled out his lock-picks and quickly undid the latch. Inside was a set of three clay tablets carved with strange glyphs.
“What do you make of these?” he asked, holding them out. Grubber came over, taking one of the tablets and examining it closely.
“The language looks familiar, but I’m not sure…” He then began a brief prayer, asking Grumbar to grant him comprehension. When he looked at the tablets again, their words were clear.
“They’re love poems,” he said sadly. “It would seem a beloved mate was laid to rest here.”
“How romantic,” Grim said sarcastically. “What’s in the other boxes Shay? Anything useful?”
Drasek had been watching all of this unfold with increasing unease. Finally, he spoke up.
“Just a moment. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Grim stared at him blankly. “Looking for treasure, something that might help us on our quest. What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re robbing a tomb,” the inquisitor said flatly. “I was led to believe you were in this place looking for your mentor. He obviously is not in this room. You yourselves said these Wind Dukes were not creatures of evil, but rather champions of Law. What right do you have to plunder their burial place?”
Grim drew himself up, and began stalking towards Drasek, “And just what gives you the right to think you can come in here barking orders at us? We just met you yesterday.”
“Yes,” Drasek replied, unruffled by the dwarf’s intimidation attempt, “and I did you a great service by returning your companion to you.”
“A service we paid for!” Grim said, his voice rising. “We didn’t ask you to come with us. You invited yourself. This is our team, and if you don’t like the way we do things, you can go back to where you came from!”
“I may do just that,” the paladin said coldly, “but I won’t allow you to desecrate this place.”
Grim growled low in his throat, his hand going to the handle of his axe. At that moment, Hawk stepped between the two.
“Calm down, both of you,” the civilar said. “Grim, he’s right. It’s wrong for us to take these things. How would you feel if your family’s tomb were desecrated?”
Grim’s mouth dropped open, “Hawk, you know what we’re up against here! We can use every tool we can find, even if it means selling it in order to buy something we CAN use! You’re going to let this yahoo come in and start dictating his rules and morals on us?”
Hawk placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The ends do not justify the means. We are no better than our enemies if we stoop to this level.” Behind him, Grubber nodded, but Giovanni and Shay remained silent, a furtive look passing between them. Storm also held her peace.
Grim considered for a moment longer, then “Fine…but only because you say Hawk, not because of this do-gooder.” He hooked a thumb at Drasek. “Looks like we’re done here. Let’s go.” He shouldered past the paladins, and out the door. One by one the others followed, but Shay was the last. Wistfully, he looked over his shoulder at the chamber, then narrowed his eyes and nodded silently to himself.
The doors on the southern gallery led to a wide, downward sloping passage, which traveled due south for several yards, before abruptly turning east. The hall was pitch-black.
“Curse this darkness,” Grubber grumbled. “It’s high time we shed some light in this forsaken place.” With a word, the goliath suddenly lit up like a small sun, shedding celestial brilliance all about him.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit much,” Shay said, shading his eyes, which burned from the glare even behind his darkened goggles.
“Perhaps,” the priest replied, “but not only will this light our path, but should we meet any more outsiders with evil intent, or undead, the light will burn the flesh from their bones, given enough time.”
The group rounded the corner, and saw that the passageway continued on another ninety feet or more before opening into a large chamber. From the light of Grubber’s beacon, they could see that the room had small columns around its edges which partially concealed carvings on the walls. Pale, white light glowed from two large, wheel-shaped chandeliers, casting overlapping shadows throughout the room. Blue metal double doors stood at the top of a flight of stairs opposite the main entrance, guarded by two warrior figures with raised double-swords. A single doorway rested in the south wall, and a second pair of double doors lay to the north, both also guarded by warrior statues. Crouched in the middle of the chamber, shielding its multiple eyes from the blinding light of Grubber’s spell, was the same, huge spider that had attacked them in the temple chamber above.
“You’re not gettin’ away this time!” Grim shouted, and with a roar he tore down the entire length of the hallway at a dead run.
“Grim no!” Hawk shouted after him, but to no avail. The burly mineral warrior surged into the room, but the spider stepped to meet him. Reaching out one massive fore-limb, it gently caressed the dwarf’s arm, and then shadows swirled around the two of them. When the darkness had cleared, only Grim remained, yet somehow the dwarf knew he had been lucky. He had felt a strange pull in the center of his chest, and a moment of disorientation, as if reality was warping around him.
“Fool!” Hawk said as he and the others entered the chamber. “We don’t know what this creature is or what it’s capable of. We’ve already lost two down here, do you want to make it three?”
“Aye, aye cap’n!” Grim saluted, then turned away grumbling.
The chamber itself, though richly carved, held nothing of any help in determining which way Ondabar had gone, if indeed he had even made it this far. Purely by random determination, the group chose the southern, smaller door to investigate first.
A small room beyond contained two suits of dusty, archaic armor, resting in front of a small shrine, apparently long abandoned. A weapon stand before the armor lay empty except for flakes of rust. Behind the armor, the altar was loaded with dusty offerings from years past. Two statues of regal Wind Dukes sat in small nooks above the shrine, and a door was painted on the wall to the right.
__________________________________________________ ______
Zifforian and Triffiel sensed life, something they had not sensed in centuries. They had once been Wind Dukes themselves, servitors who were assigned to watch over the tomb, an honorable post, if a dull one. They were supposed to have been relieved from their duty after two decades, but when that relief never came, they found the tomb had been sealed and warded. The accepted their fate stoically, spending centuries watching over the site, but eventually time and age drove them both mad, and into a lingering death. Now the wraiths still watched the tomb, but in their insanity, they failed to grasp the nature of that task. Recently, something was stolen while their attention was elsewhere, and the wraiths were obsessed with its return. The foot soldiers could not be allowed any further theft of the tomb’s treasures, but now it seemed as if they had returned for just that reason.
__________________________________________________ ____
Grim and Hawk had only just entered the room, when two large, black cloaked figures simply stepped out of the walls on either side of them. The wraiths flowed towards them, the walls behind them partly visible through their semi-transparent forms. One of them reached out, almost caressingly and placed its ghostly hand on Hawk’s chest. Instantly the civilar felt blinding pain and debilitating weakness overcome him. He felt as if his very soul were being drawn from him. At the same time, the wraith seemed to swell with vitality.
Grim swung his axe at his own assailant, watching in horror as the blade simply passed through the apparition. At that moment, blinding light filled the room, and the wraiths recoiled from it, shrieking in pain. The celestial light from Grubber burned them, but it also infuriated them even more. Grubber seized the moment to step behind Hawk and lay his hands on the civilar. He recognized the soul-draining effect for what it was, and he uttered a prayer that would counter it, restoring Hawk’s essence.
Drasek also recognized the undead dread wraiths, and he knew that sunlight was their bane. Calling out his own prayer, he unleashed a focused beam of searing light at one of the creatures, only to see it pass harmlessly thru the wraith.
“My thanks,” Hawk said quickly to Grubber, and then he launched himself at the quailing spirits. As he did so, he called out to Torm, “Here my cry, my Lord and smite down my opponents with your vengeance!” He plunged his blade into the nearest wraith, and felt solid resistance as it sank in. A flash of holy fire pulsed from the sword, and the apparition wailed in inhuman agony.
Still Grubber’s light seared and burned the wraiths. As one, they flew from the corner they had retreated two, flashing past Grim and Hawk and stepping through the walls into the larger chamber beyond, both moving unerringly towards Grubber. The celestial light had to be extinguished. One of them raked a clawed hand across the goliath’s chest, and though Grubber knew what to expect, the reality of the sensation almost buckled his knees where he stood.
“Now!” Havok cried as the wraiths appeared among them. “Let them have it!” In unison, he, Storm and Shay unleashed their attacks, the warlock with an emerald blast, the sorceress with streaking magic missiles, and the rogue with three well-placed arrows. Only Storm’s missile barrage seemed to have any effect at all. The nearest wraith hissed as the force-projectiles hammered into it.
Grim and Hawk followed the wraiths out of the small shrine and rushed to put themselves between the haunts and Grubber. Each continued to swing at the cursed creatures, most of their blows ineffective, but on occasion, as a portion of a wraith solidly materialized from the ethereal, connecting solidly.
Drasek held up his shield, Kelemvor’s symbol blazing. “By the Lord of the Dead, I command you back to the underworld from whence you came!” the inquisitor shouted, but to no avail. The wraith’s ignored his edict, attacking first at Shay as he struggled to knock another arrow. The rogue quickly fell backwards, rolling to his feet some distance away to put his safely out of reach of the spooks. The wraiths ignored the retreating rogue, intent only on Grubber, flowing around Grim and Hawk to reach him, and again touching him with their life-draining claws.
Grubber knew that, well-intentioned though they might be, the two warriors were not going to be able to save him if the wraiths were intent on his death. Stepping away from the apparitions, he called a prayer to his lips, and from the palm of his hand came a spray of diamond-like shards, comprised of pure holy energy. As the nearest wraith reached for him, it caught the full impact of the blast and shattered into a thousand motes of shadow.
Grubber’s victory was short-lived as the second wraith swarmed after him. Grim, Drasek and Hawk continued to try and interpose themselves, but the creature was implacable. Its desire to douse the cursed light was all-consuming. Again and again Storm hurled magic missiles at it, shearing off bits of shadow-stuff with each volley. The three warriors continued to slash at, but on occasion, it would bat aside one of them, restoring its own un-life as it siphoned off their energy, and periodically, it would strike out at Grubber. The priest felt himself weakening. He quickly cast a prayer that would give him the endurance of a bear, temporarily shoring up his flagging life-force. Just as he did so, however, the wraith hammered him with both fists, and his legs collapsed beneath him. It leaned over, its cowled face lowering to his own, preparing to suck the last dregs of his life from him. Suddenly, Hawk and Grim were there. Shouting and slashing they drove the wraith back as Drasek knelt beside the fallen priest and used a prayer of restoration to bring him back from the brink. Together, Grim and Hawk drove their blades against the undead horror, while at the same time a final blast from Storm destroyed the creature once and for all.
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“I despair of ever finding him,” Grubber said, hanging his head between his knees as he slowly recovered from the wraiths’ assault. “How could even a wizard of Ondabar’s standing have survived this nightmare?”
“Until we find evidence of his destruction,” Hawk said calmly, “we owe it to him to keep searching.”
Finding nothing of assistance in the small shrine the wraiths guarded, the group crossed the larger chamber to the double doors to the north. The sight which greeted them on the other side momentarily shocked them into silence. To say it was incongruous was an understatement. A river surged through the tomb, its red water as bright as blood. A stone bridge crossed the water, but its pilings were undermined by centuries of erosion, and the arches seemed to be barely holding. In several places, the bridge tilted dangerously to one side. On the far side of the river was what appeared to be a fortified gatehouse, dimly visible and secured by an enormous rusted gate, which was at least fifteen-feet tall, and just as wide.
“Does anyone disagree with me when I say we avoid that bridge?” Giovanni asked rhetorically. “I can get us across, but we’ll have to go in turns. Grim, Hawk, Grubber, grab hold of me.” The three complied, and in an eye-blink they vanished, only to appear on the far shore of the river. Just as Giovanni turned to signal to Shay, Storm and Drasek that they were ok, the ground around him exploded. Surging up from the churned earth were two large creatures with wide bodies made of a pebbly, stone-like material. They had large, powerful mouths atop their heads, with three long arms, tipped with sharp talons, symmetrically positioned around their torsos. Between the arms were large, stone-lidded eyes. At their bases were three thick, short legs, each directly beneath an eye.
One of them immediately struck at Hawk, locking its massive jaws around his thigh. Though caught off guard, the civilar’s military training immediately took over. Shield in one hand, and sword in the other, he stabbed at the odd creature, unleashing an electrical jolt through his blade as it struck. The creature bled a thick, viscous ichor, but the electrical surge seemed to short-out, simply sparking and smoking across the monster’s rocky hide.
“So much for taking the safe approach,” Shay said. Knocking an arrow, he took careful aim and fired a shaft straight through one of the eyes of the creature attacking Hawk. Beside the rogue, Storm conjured an orb of crackling lightning to her hand and hurled it. The electrical ball struck the monster, but like Hawk’s sword, the shock seemed to have no effect.
Havok was a man who knew his limitations, and front-line fighting was one of them. Concentrating again, he willed himself back across the river, and in a moment he was standing with Shay, Storm and Drasek. He also knew his strengths, and distance fighting was his forte. He loosed an eldritch blast in a green burst at Hawk’s assailant, and was satisfied to see the creature recoil in pain from the civilar.
Meanwhile, Grim had his own problems. The second creature was hammering relentlessly at his shield, keeping him on the defensive. Suddenly, an image of Dwilt came to the mineral warrior’s mind, and he had an idea. Snaking his axe under his shield, he used the head of it to snag the creature’s foremost leg, and then pulled, hoping to trip up the ungainly beast. It looked as if, once down, it would be like a turtle unable to right itself. However, he underestimated the stability that the creature’s tripod-like stance gave it. Not only did his attempt fail, but the beast jerked its leg back, pulling the dwarf off-balance and sending him sprawling. As he tried to regain his feet, the monster sank its teeth into his shoulder.
Grubber unstrapped his maul and drove it into the body of Hawk’s opponent. He was just winding up for another blow, when the ground erupted again, and two more of the behemoth’s appeared, completely surrounding the trio. In a flurry of claws and teeth, all four pressed their attack, ripping and tearing at all of the harried warriors.
“I don’t have a clear shot!” Storm cried, knowing she couldn’t bring her most destructive magic to bear while her companions were trapped in the midst of the beasts.
“Remember that Grubber imbued us with fire protection,” Havok reminded her as he launched another eldritch blast. “He feared we might encounter more elementals, though it seems now that some sort of earth protection would have been in order.”
Storm nodded, beginning her spell as Shay continued to pepper the monsters with arrows.
Hawk was taking the worst of the assault. Even his battle-honed skill could not protect him from all sides at once. He reached for his belt pouch, uncorked a flask there, and upended it. Immediately, his body felt lighter than air, and he took flight, hoping to gain some altitude and a brief respite. However, as he rose, all four of the creatures struck at him, pulling him back to the earth, where he landed in a crumpled heap, unmoving. At that moment, Storm’s fireball exploded into the melee. As Havok had said, Grim and Grubber appeared to suffer no ill effect…but neither did the creatures.
Grubber raised his shield above his head to protect him from the teeth and claws all around him, as he knelt beside Hawk. It was obvious that the civilar was dead, but Grubber also sensed that his soul had not yet departed. He only had a moment to act. Calling on Grumbar, he spoke a prayer which would prevent the soul from leaving, returning life to Hawk, but leaving him unconscious. He had just managed to complete the spell when the attacks from the monsters broke through his defenses, battering him to the ground, engulfing him in the blackness as consciousness left him.
Grim was alone. All about him, the beasts roared and struck. His tower shield afforded him a greater measure of protection than his companions, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually, they would overcome him. He saw, across the river, Drasek leap into the air, flying towards him. He only hoped the goody-two-shoes wouldn’t be too late.
“Hold still…perfect!” Shay cried as he fired another arrow, this one impaling the same beast he had partially blinded before. With a shriek, the monster collapsed. “Only three to one odds now,” he said in satisfaction. “Any takers?”
“My money’s on the dwarf,” Havok said as his emerald blast seared into another of the beasts.
“As is mine,” Storm replied, hurling a lighting ball this time, intentionally placing it so that Grim was outside the blast radius. This time, the electrical burst seemed to have some effect, and another of the monsters fell.
The deadly dance continued. Drasek closed to join the fray, but he had no sooner arrived than one of the remaining beasts sliced across his abdomen, nearly disemboweling him. The inquisitor was forced to temporarily retreat to heal his grievous wound. Still Grim fought on. He managed to hold his own, giving as good as he got, supported by artillery from Shay, Havok and Storm. After a moment, Drasek rejoined him, and the battle raged on.
“I have an idea,” Storm said, breathless from the work of expending so much magical energy. Reaching out to Shay, she uttered a spell, and the rogue faded from view.
“Strike at will,” the sorceress said to her unseen comrade. “The magic I wove will not fail just because you are on the offensive.”
Shay smiled. Concealment was his ally. With it, he could pick his target spots with uncanny precision. He set one foot on the bridge, just to lessen his margin of error as much as possible, but as he did so, the slippery stone caused him to lose his footing, and he tumbled over the side. However, as he fell, a ring that he wore on his left hand flared to life, slowing his descent to the gentle glide of a feather. Shay smiled again. Always prepared, that was his motto. As he landed gently on the sand, he sighted carefully, and loosed two arrows at one of the beasts, sinking them deep into the soft area just beneath its eyes. Just as his arrows struck, a green blast from Havok felled the creature with finality.
With only one attacker left, Drasek dove quickly to the ground, landing beside Grubber and laying his hands upon the priest, willing Kelemvor’s life-giving energy into the goliath. Grubber’s rasping breathing slowed and calmed, but he remained unconscious. Drasek thought he was safer that way for the moment. Just as he stood to assist Grim, the remaining beast struck him a fearsome blow, knocking him from his feet and sending him tumbling down the river embankment.
“Gotcha!” Shay shouted as the fully exposed flank of the creature was now in his view. Three shots he loosed, and each struck in the center of one of the monsters’ eyes. All three went dark, and with a groan, the behemoth tumbled into the river.
The campfire popped and crackled behind Hawk as he walked to the mouth of the Whispering Cairn for at least the twentieth time during his watch. Once again, the group had been forced to retreat from the tomb so that Storm and Grubber could replenish their spells, and others, including himself, could heal from the constant challenges they had encountered since entering the accursed place. Even the usually unflappable civilar was beginning to think they were on a fool’s errand. Already they had lost two of their number and been forced to retreat twice. How could Ondabar, wounded from his battle with Ilthane, have survived all alone? Still, honor demanded that they continue looking until they found him, or found credible evidence of his death.
Hawk peered out into the night, his eyes seeing in the pitch darkness as if it were bright moonlight due to his celestial bloodline. For a moment, his wool-gathering distracted him from the figure walking deliberately up the trail towards the cairn. When he did notice it, he came alert instantly, sword in hand and shield up. He shouted once over his shoulder where Shay, who shared his watch, came up from his crouch by the fire and began rousing the others.
The intruder did not appear troubled by this. In fact, he did not even slow his pace until he was within but a few paces of the civilar.
“Hello the camp,” he said. He appeared human, but to say he was unattractive would be to say Halaster Blackcloak was slightly unbalanced. The man was absolutely revolting, with his bulbous nose, sloping brow, warty skin and sparse fringe of hair on his otherwise bald pate. And he smelled. An odor which combined the worst of onions, stale fish, body odor and unwashed feet washed over Hawk in a nauseating wave.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Hawk asked for the second time in as many days, grimacing as he tried to breathe through his mouth.
“You can call me Faust,” the man said, “though I’ve gone by other names, so I have. What I want is to join up with you, simple as that.”
Hawk couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter. “Really? And what makes you think we have need of one such as yourself, a perfect stranger who simply walks foolishly into an armed camp?”
“Oh I know who you are,” Faust said. “And I know what you’ve done. I was at the Champion’s Games in Waterdeep…” He let the sentence hang, heavy with unspoken implications.
Hawk’s eyes narrowed, his suspicions rising. Reflexively he reached out with his senses, seeking the aura of evil about the man, but finding none. Still, he did not trust the stranger. “What of it?” he asked.
Faust shrugged, “Just this. I know of the Age of Worms, and the godling Kyuss. Let’s just say I have a vested interest in preventing such a thing from coming to pass.”
By this time the others had gathered behind Hawk and were staring daggers at the strange little man.
“I sense no deceit or evil intent about you,” Hawk said at length, “but why should we trust you? What do you know?”
“Probably not much more than you’ve already discerned,” Faust replied. “I know of the prophecies foretelling the dark times. I know of the spawn of Kyuss who walk the surface in increasing numbers. I know you need all the help you can get, and they don’t call me Holocaust for nothing.”
“I thought you said your name was Faust,” Hawk said.
“Among others,” Faust replied.
“Wait here then Faust, or Holocaust, or whatever you call yourself,” the civilar said sarcastically, “I must confer with my team mates.”
After several minutes, the League returned to find the ugly, little man waiting patiently. “What you say is true,” Hawk began. “We do need allies. All of us are here for our own reasons and have our own motives. We will not question yours too deeply…for now. Know this though…we do not suffer fools lightly, and traitors not at all. If you cannot pull your own weight, then we have no use for you, and if its your plan to manipulate us, you do so at your peril. Consider yourself warned.”
Faust nodded, “I understand. Now, what’ve you lot got to eat? I’m starving!”
By dawn of the next morning, the League had already reentered the tomb and returned to the large chamber where they had faced the shadow-walking spider and the dread wraiths. Of the spider, there was no sign. They knew what lay behind two of the three sets of doors exiting the room, and as a group, it was decided to bypass the bridge leading across the river of blood for the moment, and to investigate the final pair of doors instead…the easternmost, which were forged of blue steel. Again, Grubber glowed like a small sun, and upon entering the tomb, Faust had somehow transformed himself into a small dragonet with butterfly wings, and he flitted along behind the main group, taking in every detail, but saying nothing.
Beyond the door lay a large antechamber. A small statue of an armored Wind Duke, his left hand resting on a sword, his right held up to shield his eyes, stood at the far wall as part of a small shrine. The statue seemed to be made of gold, with sparkling blue gems for eyes. A beam of bright light shone onto the figure from above. The walls were carved with bas-reliefs of Wind Duke servants bowing, and soldiers saluting. An elaborate carpet covered the floor, but it was badly worn and the colors were faded, with only small patches of the complete pattern remaining.
The group gave the apparently empty room a cursory exam. Grim stared greedily at the statue, noting its excellent craftsmanship and obvious value, but then his eyes narrowed as he glared at Drasek.
“Better leave this be,” the dwarf sneered. “Wouldn’t want to be accused of thievery or vandalism.”
Drasek simply nodded, not dignifying the jibe with a response.
A single door led from the antechamber, and Grim pushed it open despite Shay’s protests of possible traps.
“Bah!” the dwarf said. “We’ve wasted enough time already. I’m weary of all this creeping about. I say bring whatever may be.”
His words died on his lips, however, as he beheld what lay in the room beyond the door. It was full of flickering, bluish light and a breeze that smelled like thunderstorms. The floor sloped down toward the center from all directions, like a funnel. At the bottom crackled a sparkling globe of lightning. A metallic spike protruded down from a stone block in the ceiling, touching the very tip of the globe’s upper curve. Inside the globe floated a human figure…a man with a long, dark beard wearing torn and stained red robes. Delfen Ondabar.
Storm and Grubber peered over Grim’s broad shoulders at the tableau.
“It’s another Temporal Stasis,” Grubber said with disgust.
“But something else as well,” Storm added distractedly. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but we need to be extremely cautious.”
“Bah!” Grim spat again. “I’ve told you I’m fed up with sneaking. We’ve got to get him out of there, so instead of discussing it in a committee, let’s just try the direct approach.”
Without waiting for approval, the mineral warrior started down the sloped floor of the chamber. Instantly, a sizzling bolt of electricity arced from the tip of the metal spike towards him, lighting him up like a beacon. Quickly, the dwarf backed out of the room, his armor smoking and his beard standing on end like a porcupine.
“Don’t…say….a word…” he growled as Storm and Grubber smirked.
“Allow me,” Grubber said, rubbing his hands together. “As it so happens, I am prepared for just such an eventuality.” Raising his face to the sky, he began chanting, and slowly a glimmering blue field formed over the team, settling gently over them and then disappearing. Each of them felt a tingle through their skin, and the hairs on their arms stand on end.
“There,” Grubber said. “I have imbued us all with a measure of resistance to electricity. We should be safe now.”
“You go first,” Grim muttered.
One by one the team entered the chamber, Grubber leading. As each stepped into the room, the spike sent energy bolts at all of them…to no effect. As Grubber had promised, they were protected. Yet even so, they could find no way to penetrate the sphere which surrounded Ondabar. Drasek and Havok even tried multiple Dispelling fields, with not even a flicker in the energy field. It was like the green beam which had protected the Apostolic Scrolls.
After a time, Grim grew bored and distracted with the spellcasters’ failed attempts at trying to breach the sphere. He wandered to the far side of the chamber to an archway. Beyond was a short flight of stairs leading to a sheer drop-off. Rungs descended the wall down into darkness.
“ I wonder where this leads…” the dwarf mused, and then shrugging, he lowered himself over the side.
“Um…” the dragon/Faust said into the silence of the room, “I think your dwarf friend is leaving. Is that a good idea?”
Hawk looked around abruptly and saw the top of Grim’s head disappearing below the lip of the pit. Swearing roundly, he started towards the stairs. When he reached the drop-off he could see that Grim was almost at the bottom of the shaft, forty feet below.
“Grim!” the civilar called. “What in the name of the Seven Heavens do you think you’re doing?”
“Exploring!” the dwarf called up. The floor directly below him sparkled with an intricate pattern of scarlet tiles the created a swirling mosaic. “Pretty,” Grim said. Two hallways extended away from the base of the ladder, one leading east, and one northeast. Grim stepped onto the floor, glancing down both halls and noting that they seemed to be dead-ends. “Odd,” he said, but just then he heard a ‘click’ and felt one of the tiles under his foot begin to sink into the floor. “Uh-oh.”
Hawk heard a rumbling sound from directly above him. Looking up, he saw a large, iron door slowly descending from the ceiling. He could see that if it closed all the way, it would seal off the pit from the room containing Ondabar.
“Great,” he muttered, “Just what we needed. Come on!” he shouted to his companions. “It looks like Grim’s chosen our path for us!” Quickly, the civilar began climbing down the rungs. The others followed, ducking under the closing door, and climbing after Hawk…all but Faust and Storm. The former simply flitted to the bottom of the shaft and hovered above Grim’s shoulder, while the latter stepped off ledge and floated slowly downward, the words to a Feather Fall spell on her lips.
“Was this your plan all along?” Faust asked Grim. “Devilishly clever if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” the dwarf snorted, and began stalking down the eastern passage.
Grubber was the last one down. The others had followed Grim, and the goliath was preparing to do the same when he heard the iron door slam shut above him. A second later, he heard the sound of stone grinding on stone coming from both passages. This was followed by a rushing roar from the northeast…
As Grim stood with his hands on his hips staring at the blank wall before him, it suddenly slid up into the ceiling. He found himself standing on the edge of a thirty-foot diameter pit. The red river plummeted over its edge off to his left. Above, a vast cavern arched upward into darkness and Grim could just make out a short set of stairs on the far side of the pit which ended at another blank wall.
“Guys, we’ve got trouble!” Grubber shouted down the hall to his companions. A wall of water was rushing down the northeast passage directly towards him. All eyes turned towards him for a moment, and then back towards Grim. The dwarf shrugged. “Only one way to go.” Reaching into a belt pouch, he withdrew a flask and chugged its contents. He then leaped into the air and hovered over the plunging waterfall. Drasek followed suit, quaffing his own Fly potion. Shay and Giovanni simultaneously Dimension Doored across the chasm to the relative safety of the steps on the far side.
“That just leaves you three and me,” Faust laughed, indicating Storm, Hawk and Grubber.
“In case you’ve all forgotten,” Grubber frowned. “I can’t fly! Grumbar forbids it!”
“Then you and your friends had best grab hold of me,” Faust replied. Grubber eyed the dragonet dubiously, and then the fast approaching flood waters. Making a snap decision, he quickly turned towards the water and uttered a prayer, at the end of which a solid wall of iron appeared to block the northeast hall. Grubber could hear the water roaring on the other side, but otherwise the wall seemed to be holding. Nodding in satisfaction, he walked calmly to where Hawk and Storm already had their hands placed on Faust’s back. Joining them, he was suddenly whisked through the Astral plane and back, to find himself and the others standing with Giovanni and Shay.
“Now what,” Grubber asked no one in particular, though he stared coldly at Grim. “We’re trapped here.”
“What about that door?” Storm asked, pointing towards the blank wall.
“What door?” the goliath said, staring intently at the bare stone.
“This one,” the drow said in exasperation, and she stepped in front of Grubber and placed one finger-tip against the stone. To the goliath’s amazement, the wall began sliding aside, revealing a short passage and a room beyond. The chamber was watched over by six statues of Wind Duke nobles, three against the east and west walls. The central statue to the east stood before a stone door. The statues all had cupped hands in front of them, and floating on a cushion of air above their hands were intricate carvings of strange buildings and towers. The statue before the door held no such carving. The air in the room was cold, and moved in faint whispers. A passageway to the north opened into a large room lined with red ice, sheets of which extended along the floor of the near chamber. Three large humanoid statues of red ice could be seen in the gloom of the northern room, their frozen, scarlet surfaces scribed with smoking white runes.
As the others looked with curiosity at the strange sight, Drasek noticed something amiss. The air around the statue before the eastern door appeared to shimmer, and to the inquisitor’s trained eye, a veil of illusion dropped away, revealing a metallic construct of some sort, dressed in gleaming mail and a red robe.
“Ware the statue!” he shouted. “All is not as it appears!” Immediately, the construct dropped its disguise and turned towards the intruders. Grim charged into the room, swinging his axe in a great arc, but the creature deftly avoided the blow, and then reached for a lever on the wall which had been concealed behind it. As it pulled the lever, two iron portcullises dropped, one across the southern hall, and one across the northern. Grim was now trapped with the thing, his allies stuck beyond the bars.
Without missing a beat, Hawk strapped his shield securely to his arm, and then began hammering it again and again against the portcullis. Grim appreciated the effort, but he knew he was going to be on his own in the mean time. However, help came from an unlooked for source. The little dragonet that was Faust opened his mouth and out came a sizzling current of fiery energy. It struck the construct unerringly, and began melting its metal frame. Furthermore, the flames did not cease. Faust kept his mouth open, and the current continued unabated. Faust recognized the creature as a kolyarut, an inevitable, which was to say, a construct formed for a specific purpose, in this case to ensure the enforcement of a binding agreement. The Wind Dukes must have placed it here as part of a bargain to guard their resting place. Unlike golems, inevitables were not mindless. On the contrary, they were quite intelligent, if single-minded in their purpose. They were also master tacticians.
As if to prove that point, the kolyarut stepped away from Grim and opened its palm towards Faust. A ray of black energy lanced out towards the dragonet/psion but at the last moment, Hawk hurled himself into the path of the beam an took the full brunt of its life-draining effect. For a moment, the civilar sagged against the bars, his face pale and drawn, but then, with a visible force of will, he pushed himself upright again and resumed his assault on the portcullis.
With the inevitable’s attention shifted from him, Grim rushed forward, chopping at the construct’s shoulder with his axe. The heavy blade ricocheted off the creature’s metallic hide, denting it, but not damaging it significantly. At that moment, Grim heard a great crash behind him. Incredibly, Hawk had managed to smash three of the bars, allowing enough room for Grubber and Drasek to squeeze through. The goliath quickly moved to Grim’s side, while the inquisitor made as if to flank the kolyarut, but the creature’s reflexes were cat-fast. It spun as Drasek passed, striking his chin with the palm of its hand. As metal struck flesh, Drasek felt his heart skip a beat, and weakness overcame him. At the same time, some of the damage inflicted on the inevitable by Faust’s energy current began to repair itself. Quickly, Drasek tried to step away, swinging his maul blindly as he went, and missing the construct completely. However, the kolyarut followed directly in his footsteps striking him twice more, each time draining off more of his life force, and adding to its own.
As the inevitable moved past Grim, the dwarf swung with all the force in his body. The axe buried itself into the creature’s thigh, and yet Grim continued his swing, sweeping the construct’s leg off the ground, and leaving the it flat on its back. No sooner had the kolyarut hit the ground, than it vanished. Still watching from outside the bars, Storm knew the creature was still there. It had just rendered itself invisible. She called out to Grubber, who immediately responded by conjuring up an Invisibility Purge field, showing the inevitable to have gained its feet and moved behind Grim.
“Duck!” Faust shouted, and Grim complied without question. The psion opened his mouth again, and a missile of pure energy struck the kolyarut directly in the chest, exploding it into several hundred clockwork pieces.
The door that the inevitable seemed to be guarding led to a room that contained absolutely nothing. It looked as if it may have been intended for use as a private tomb, but the occupant never arrived.
The team crossed the room containing the five remaining Wind Duke statues, and entered the red ice-laden hall beyond. Before Grim had taken more than half a dozen steps, the nearest ice sculpture sprang to life, swinging one massive fist at the dwarf. Instinctively, Grim ducked beneath the blow, coming up slashing with his axe. Large chunks of the thing flew in all directions, but it didn’t seem to be slowing down. To make matters worse, the other two sculptures further down the hall had also animated, and were closing in.
As luck would have it, Faust had also heard of these creatures. Ice golems, simple constructs without the mental skills of an inevitable, but more than compensating with sheer brute force. Luckily for him, their icy nature made them particularly susceptible to fire. With a thought, the psion manifested an energy ball of pure fire, engulfing the first golem, and the one closest behind it. Storm, though not as knowledgeable about the nature of the creatures as Faust, nevertheless was a quick study. Seeing the effect of Faust’s power, she cast a more mundane Fireball in the same proximity as Faust’s, completely destroying the first golem, and severely damaging the second.
Hawk, still under the effects of his Fly potion, zoomed past Grim towards the second golem. Unfortunately, his momentum carried him slightly past the creature, which promptly smashed one frozen fist into the civilar, sending him careening into the nearby wall. The golem then drew itself up to its full height, flexing its arms and sending a blinding, piercing spray of ice shards into the paladin.
Meanwhile, the third golem lumbered past Hawk, ignoring him completely, even when the civilar struck out at it as it passed. It moved to within a few paces of Grim, Grubber and Drasek, and then it too released a spray of ice. Wiping at his eyes furiously, Grim lunged forward, smashing his axe into the golem’s body, tearing off great hunks of ice. Grubber joined him in his attack, his maul dismantling the creature even further. But then, a scorching ray of fire pierced the construct’s head, sending great gouts of steam into the air, and melting the golem into a puddle of slush.
Storm fired a second ray at the remaining golem, damaging it, but not to the extent of her first assault. The golem lurched back several steps, only to find itself surrounded by Grim, Hawk and Drasek. It managed to strike a glancing blow at the civilar, but then a combined strike by all three warriors consigned it to the fate of its brethren.
A single door led from the end of the long, icy hall. The room beyond had a low ceiling, only eight feet in height, and was caked with ice as well. The air was even colder than the other chamber. Where a floor should have been, there was nothing more than a slowly churning pool of almost liquid snow and slush. Grim tentatively reached out to touch the pool, and then drew his hand back quickly, mist rising from his rocky flesh.
“Cold,” he said.
“Duh,” said Shay, shaking his head. “If you ever actually have need of a scout again, you will let me know, won’t you?”
Grim shot him a withering glare before turning to Hawk. “Well, we’ve reached a dead-end. What now?”
Hawk rubbed his chin for a moment. “We have two options,” he said finally. “Head back to that gatehouse we saw on the other side of the river, or follow the waterfall down that pit. Personally, I vote for the devil we know. We should check the gatehouse first. Maybe there will be something or someone there that can tell us how to free Ondabar.”
Ultimately, it was decided that Grim, Drasek and Hawk, all three of whom were still capable of flight, would follow the river upstream, away from the falls, until they reached the chamber where the gatehouse was located. The others agreed to stay put in the ice halls to await their return.
The trio made their way up the river, a simple enough task since the tunnels ceiling remained at least ten feet above the rushing water. After a time, they saw the opening ahead that lead to the gatehouse, but just before that, the river branched off into a narrower tributary to the east, and this in turn branched again to the northeast. Hawk motioned for the others to follow him, and then headed down the side-stream, anxious to be sure they did not miss any hidden details.
The eastern branch turned out to be a dead-end, the temperature dropping precipitously, and the walls of the tunnel becoming ice-coated. The three back-tracked to the northeast spur, only to find it dead-ended as well. As they turned to retrace their flight, the waters beneath them began to churn even more violently. Suddenly, the crimson tide erupted into three large, amorphous, bloody looking columns. Tendrils snaked out of the columns towards the trio, and strange, moaning faces seemed to appear and disappear in the viscous surface of the things.
“Grab me!” Drasek shouted, and when his companions had complied, he opened a dimensional portal back to where the rest of the team waited.
“Can you believe they actually fell for it?” Shay asked for at least the tenth time in the past ten minutes.
“Our story was perfectly plausible,” Giovanni replied, again for at least the tenth time. “You and I stay behind to make sure there are no other ‘visitors’ to this supposedly ‘forgotten’ cairn. After all, we’ve had two in as many days. Fortunately for us, they came to help, but we all know that not everyone in Daggerford has our best interests at heart, heroes or not. So what if we decide to cut our watch a little short? Who’s to be the wiser? By the time we finish our ‘business,’ we should be right on schedule to rendezvous with them.”
“Yeah, but that might be a problem,” Shay said. “They didn’t say where they’d be.”
“They said they would avoid the gatehouse and try the blue metal doors,” Giovanni answered. “This is our team we’re talking about, remember? Subtlety is not their strong suit. They should leave behind a trail a blind man could follow.”
Shay nodded. They had been over all this before, but he was getting antsy to be on their way. “Do you think it’s safe to go now?”
Giovanni was reminded of a small child on a long trip, ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’ He sighed, “Yes, it should be ok. We’ve given them enough of a head start. Let’s go.”
The warlock pulled a clear, crystal wand from his belt and tapped Shay once with it, then himself, rendering them both invisible. The pair then made their way back to the portal and crossed over, Giovanni leading. Cautiously, and careful to avoid any of the traps they’d previously located, they back-tracked to the silent gallery and the courtesan’s tomb beyond. This had been their plan all along, to remove the valuables there and determine if they would be of any immediate use to the group, or if they would be of monetary worth later. Grim had been right, they both agreed, like it or not, they were trying to save the world, and sometimes the ends justified the means, despite what a certain pair of do-gooders might believe.
Working quickly, they removed the contents from each of the six boxes, retrieving the thin, gold wand they had discovered previously, the clay tablets bearing the love poems, a set of silk gowns, which crumbled to dust when they touched them, leaving behind the pearls and turquoise embroidered into them, and finally, a matching platinum necklace, ring and earrings. When they’d finished, they picked up the trail of their comrades and started down the long passage which led to the temple chamber.
They had gone no more than half the length of the hall, when Havok heard Shay draw a sharp breath beside him. He turned, the enhanced vision that was his birthright allowing him to see the invisible form of the rogue, and saw that Shay had his bow out and an arrow knocked. Before the warlock could stop him, the rogue had fired, instantly ending his concealing invisibility. Havok jerked his head around to see just what Shay was shooting at, and his eyes went wide in shock. It was the shadow spider. It was crouched not sixty feet from them, blocking the entrance to the temple.
“Shay, you fool!” he hissed. “We could have snuck past it!”
“No, it heard us,” Shay said, shaking his head in panic. “I know it did! What do we do?”
Before Havok could answer, he saw familiar shadows engulf the spider, and to his horror, deposit it directly in front of them!
“Hold on!” Havok yelled as he saw Shay start to backpedal away. The warlock seized the rogue by the hand and whisked them both through the astral plane to the spot he had envisioned in his mind’s eye back on the Prime…the small chamber where the League had earlier fought the dread wraiths.
“That was close,” Havok gasped.
“You’re telling me,” Shay stammered, his eyes still showing mostly white. “What now? That thing’s still out there.”
“Do you still have a Fly potion?” Havok asked. When Shay nodded, he continued, “Good. When we leave this room, you need to make directly for the ceiling of the temple. We need to get above the spider. Then we can rain hell down upon it and it won’t be able to touch us.”
“Good plan,” Shay nodded enthusiastically, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, than shadows boiled in the corners of the room and the massive bulk of the arachnid materialized again, nearly filling the entire chamber.
“Havok!” Shay screamed, the spider’s mandibles less than a foot from his face. Once more Giovanni grabbed the rogue’s hand and dimension-walked back into the temple.
“Now Shay!” he cried. Shay scrabbled in his belt pouch and drew out a potion flask. Bobbling it in his trembling hands, he finally managed to uncork it and gulp it down. He then leaped into the air, positioning himself in the exact center of the room at ceiling height. Havok remained invisible, and he moved to a dark corner, waiting for the spider to show itself.
Moment’s later it did, appearing on the ceiling not five feet from Shay. Reflexively, the rogue somersaulted backwards, knocking another arrow as he went and firing. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the spider’s carapace, and then the behemoth was scuttling towards him. It’s snapping fore claws lashed out at Shay, tearing into his flesh and then seizing him, shaking him like a rag-doll. In moments, he lost consciousness, dangling limply in the spider’s grasp.
Havok watched, horror-struck at the lightning fast manner in which the creature had dispatched Shay. The warlock knew what would come next: the spider would now travel to the Plane of Shadow, taking Shay to its larder to kill at its leisure. Havok concentrated, focusing his power, waiting for just the right moment. Then, just as the shadows began to gather, he unleashed his fury, a green spike of energy lancing out and blasting the arachnid, nearly dislodging it from its perch on the ceiling. The jolt was enough to cause the spider to lose focus, failing in its attempt to enter the Shadow Plane. However, it quickly recovered its composure, and called the shadows to it once more. Again, Havok struck, refusing to allow the monster to escape to its lair. Great gouts of blood and ichor now spurted from the horrific wounds in the spider’s carapace. Then, slowly, the spider held Shay out in front of it with one claw, clasping a second one around the rogue’s neck, but not applying pressure. The threat was implicit.
“Cease your attack, human,” the spider hissed.
“Release him, or die where you hang!” Havok cried back, now fully visible in the wake of his assault.
“If you continue your onslaught, I will kill him now,” the spider responded. “You may slay me, but your friend will die in the bargain. Perhaps we can come to an…understanding.”
“What are babbling about fiend?” Havok shouted. “You have attacked us repeatedly, without provocation. Now you speak of parley?”
“I am called Flycatcher,” the spider said calmly, “and it is you who entered my lair, not I yours. You and your friends are the second such group of invaders I have encountered in recent days. That is the nature of the bargain I now offer.”
“You mean the wizard?” Havok asked. “Ondabar?”
“I know of no wizard, human,” Flycatcher replied. “No, it is the Marquis of the River that I refer to. He who has tormented me and despoiled my home. Here is my offer: bring me the head of the Marquis, and I shall return your friend to you…relatively unharmed.”
Havok laughed. “You expect me to trust you to keep him safe while I play assassin for you? I won’t leave here without him.”
“Hardly an assassin,” Flycatcher said. “The Marquis is a creature of evil…one of undeath. His departure from this world would be a boon. As for your friend, am I to simply return him to you and trust you will hold up your end of the agreement?”
“Then we are at an impasse,” Havok shrugged. “What do you suggest?”
“Offer me something of equal value that I may hold in trust until you fulfill our arrangement, and I will give him to you now.”
Havok pondered his dilemma. Flycatcher left him with little choice. No doubt he could slay the spider, but Shay’s life would surely be forfeit. But what did he have to offer that would be worth Shay’s life? Suddenly, it came to him.
“I do have one thing,” he said, reaching inside his cloak and drawing forth the Talisman of the Sphere. “It is a minor artifact, capable of controlling an even more powerful one. If you have dwelt here in the tombs of the Wind Dukes, surely you have heard of such?”
Flycatcher’s many eyes gleamed as he focused on the wire loop. “Indeed I have,” he whispered. “I agree to your terms. Lay the Talisman on the floor.” Havok walked slowly to the center of the chamber and complied. Cautiously, Flycatcher crawled down the wall and placed Shay’s body on the ground, snatching up the Talisman simultaneously.
“You will find the Marquis in a chamber far below this tomb. Follow the River of Blood. Bring me his head!” Abruptly, shadows whirled around the spider, and in an instant, he was gone.
Shay blinked in confusion as Giovanni healed the last of his wounds with the curative wand he kept in his belt for just such emergencies.
“What happened?” the rogue mumbled.
“You almost got yourself killed…again!” the warlock snapped. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re the most craven coward I’ve ever met, or the bravest fool! Either way, I’m not going to let you take me with you on your death quest. Now come on, we’ve got to find the others.” He turned on his heel and started towards the blue metal doors. Bewildered, Shay climbed to his feet and followed.
They found the room containing the golden Wind Duke statue as undisturbed as when the League had passed through well over an hour before. Giovanni only gave the sculpture a passing glance as he headed for the far door. “Check this,” he ordered, and Shay, a hurt look on his face, hurried to comply.
“All clear,” the rogue said quietly, and Giovanni pushed open the portal. Beyond, he beheld the same tableau Grim had stumbled upon earlier: Ondabar, encased in the crackling sphere of electricity, injured, but not clearly dead nor alive. The only exit from the chamber seemed to be blocked by a large, iron door.
“Surely they must have seen this,” the warlock said, musing aloud to himself. “Why would they just leave him?” Obviously there was some danger here that he could not see. His companions must have tried to free the wizard and fallen prey to whatever trap was laid for them, then been forced to flee. He pondered the situation a moment longer, then reached a decision.
“I’m going to try and dispel that field from here,” he said over his shoulder to Shay. “This may take awhile.”
For a time, Shay watched his friend as he hurled blast after blast of magic into the far chamber, apparently to no visible effect. Soon, the rogue’s attention wandered, fixing upon the only other thing in the room…the statue. Looking at Giovanni to make sure he wasn’t looking, Shay nonchalantly wandered over to the sculpture. It was an exquisite work or art, solid gold, unless he missed his guess. Briefly, he contemplated simply tipping the entire thing over into his magical sack. It was capable of holding fifteen-hundred pounds, but then he realized that the thing must way twice that much. Then, he noticed its eyes…sapphires the size of his fist, each of them. With one last glance at Giovanni, he pulled one of his daggers and set to work.
“Got it!” Giovanni cried as the shimmering energy field flickered and died, dropping Ondabar unceremoniously to the floor.
“Me too!” Shay shouted, and the warlock turned. The rogue held up two huge gems, smiling from ear to ear. Suddenly, from the walls on three sides, three of the carved warrior reliefs stepped physically into the room, holding great marble swords in their huge hands.
“Not again,” Havok moaned, rolling his eyes. “Run!” he shouted. Heeding his own advice, he darted into the chamber where Ondabar lay, seizing the unconscious wizard by the wrist. Shay was right on his heels, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by the carvings as he rolled between them. Havok held out his other hand, and Shay grabbed it. The warlock focused on the iron door across the chamber, mentally gauging the distance. Then, in the blink of an eye, he stepped between dimensions again, reappearing with his two passengers just on the other side…overlooking a forty-foot deep pit! He could see the bottom of the shaft, and the tunnel leading east from it. To the northeast was an iron wall, fused to the stone.
“Hang on,” he said to Shay, and then he quickly transported them to the bottom of the pit. Now he could clearly see the opening at the far end of the tunnel, and he could hear the roar of the falls beyond. He and Shay carried Ondabar between them, and made their way to the far end of the passage. Just as they were gazing out over the chasm and the churning falls, Grim, Drasek and Hawk appeared out of thin air on the far side.
“So you gave the Talisman to the spider??” Hawk asked, becoming more and more incredulous as Giovanni’s story unfolded.
“Yes, I told you I didn’t have any other choice!” the young warlock said defensively.
“And so now you have to go and assassinate some marquis that you’ve never met?” Hawk pressed.
“An UNDEAD marquis!” Giovanni said in exasperation.
Hawk shook his head. “I knew it was a mistake leaving you two alone back there.”
“A mistake?” Giovanni shouted, “How can you say that? Was it not we who found the way to free Ondabar where the rest of you failed?”
The civilar glanced over to where Grubber was tending the last of the wizard’s wounds.
“I suppose,” Hawk agreed reluctantly. “But this means that instead of leaving now that we have what we came for, instead we have to go even deeper into this death trap.”
“Leaving?? Why on earth would you do that?” Ondabar was now standing over the pair, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“What do you mean?” asked Hawk. “We came here to rescue you. You’re safe now. We can go.”
The wizard shook his head, “No, no. Don’t you see? Do you even know where we are?”
“Somewhere below the Whispering Cairn,” Hawk answered.
Ondabar rolled his eyes, “Ah, if only Vladius were here. He would understand. But alas, that boy always was the impetuous one. Never interested in the defensive magic, no. With him it was always, ‘When am I going to learn Fireball? When am I going to learn Fireball?’ I warned him, ‘Vladius,’ I said, ‘remember the old saying…he who lives by the Fireball, dies by the Fireball.’ Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the tomb! You are only half right. We WERE in the Whispering Cairn, but the magic of the portal has taken us hundreds of miles from there. This is the tomb of Icosiol. You’ve heard of him?”
Hawk shook his head.
“Icosiol,” Ondabar explained, “was one of the greatest generals of the Wind Duke army, one of the seven so-called Wandering Dukes, champions of Law who forged a powerful artifact called the Scepter of Calim, and used it to end the war against the armies of Memnonnar. That defeat shattered the scepter, transforming it into what is known today as the Shattered Scepter of Calim. That is why I came here! The Wind Dukes had a habit of burying their weapons with their dead in the months after their victory. Not to honor the dead as much as to store these weapons in a safe place, so that should the Memnonnar rise again, the weapons would be available. I believe that something powerful indeed is hidden somewhere in this tomb, and if what you’ve told me is true about your adventures in Waterdeep, and Dagsumn’s unfortunate demise, I believe that this weapon can help us in the dark times to come.”
“Are you saying that a fragment of the Shattered Scepter might be here?” Giovanni asked, stunned at the prospect.
Ondabar shrugged. “If it is, then you must find it. It could be invaluable to you in the coming struggle.”
“Us?” the warlock asked. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with us?”
Ondabar shook his head. “The news that you have brought to me of the destruction of my home grieves me greatly. I must return there to see if any of my research may be salvaged. Also, in light of what Dagsumn stated in his letter, it may also be time to try and contact my one-time master, Malchor Harpell.”
Giovanni blinked. He had of course heard of the arch-mage, a powerful member of a powerful family of wizards who all-but-ruled the small town of Longsaddle.
“So,” Ondabar concluded. “I of course offer you thanks for my life, and I advise you caution in the continuation of your exploration. I will be most intrigued at your findings. Goodbye my youthful heroes. You have made an old man feel young again.” With that, he uttered two short spells, allowing him to fly, and then rendering him invisible, and was gone.
Grubber scowled as all of his companions flitted through the air above him, each under the effects of one sort of Fly spell or another.
“What about me?” he grumbled. “You know of my Oath.” Grumbar, Lord of the Earth frowned on any mode of travel which caused one’s feet to leave the life-giving soil or unchanging rock. Therefore, flying, and even travel by boat, was forbidden among his clergy except under the most dire of circumstances.
“Well,” Storm laughed, “you don’t think Grumbar would consider falling the same as flying, do you?”
“Very funny,” Grubber said, gazing over the lip of the seemingly bottomless pit into which the river of blood flowed, and down which his companions seemed intent on going.
“I’m serious!” the drow said. “Catch!” She tossed a small silver ring at him. He caught it deftly, and looked at it skeptically, certain it wouldn’t fit past the first knuckle. However, before his eyes, it seemed to expand, until it slipped easily on his finger.
“Now what?” he asked dubiously.
“Now…you jump!” Storm giggled. “You have faith, don’t you? Surely Grumbar wouldn’t let you die by smashing into the ground?”
Grubber’s scowl deepened. Mustering his resolve, he stepped off the edge of the pit…and began floating gently down, like a feather on a breeze.
The party followed the falling river down its tortuous path into the bowels of the earth. After sixty feet or so, the shaft narrowed from some to thirty feet to no more than twenty. Here the spray of the falls filled the air with a fine mist. Beyond the narrows, the shaft widened again and straightened for about a hundred feet. It was at the bottom of this second portion that Grubber beheld his greatest fear. The river was emptying into a lake!
Hawk and Grim had flown down ahead of the rest of the group, looking for just such a hazard. They saw the lake as well, and were just turning to rejoin the team, when Grim noticed a side tunnel entering the main shaft that they had overlooked on the way down. Floating in the mouth of this tunnel were two figures dressed head-to-toe in ceramic armor. Each one had a pair of longswords strapped across its back, and held a loaded crossbow in its hands. As Grim opened his mouth to shout a warning to Hawk, the first figure fired, its bolt burying itself in the civilar’s shoulder.
Havok saw the two flying warriors as well, some thirty feet below him. As he watched, Grim closed on their position, but the burly warrior was slowed in his movement by his own bulk. The warlock had recently learned of a new aspect to his innate abilities, and he felt that there was no better time than the present to try it. A sickly green burst of energy surged from his hand, striking the first armored figure and leaving it in a cloud of noxious vapor, before arcing towards the second. This one, however, moved with an uncanny speed, slipping beneath the ray with a grace belied by its encumbered form.
Meanwhile, Hawk saw a greater danger. Though Grubber was falling at a relatively slow speed that would cause him no harm upon impact, when his dense body hit the lake it would sink like a proverbial rock. The civilar soared upwards, pulling a flask from his belt which contained an elixir capable of conveying the ability to breath water upon its imbiber, and holding it out towards the falling goliath.
“Take it!” he shouted as Grubber drew near. As the priest fell past him, he reached out with one meaty hand and seized the flask, upending it as he plummeted. Above him, Drasek spoke the words to a powerful prayer, causing his body to enlarge as he was filled with the righteous might of Torm. The inquisitor then dove towards the surface of the lake, prepared to retrieve the goliath should the blood-red liquid of the lake prove more harmful than mere water.
Just as Grim reached the two flying warriors, both of them cork-screwed around and beneath him, one of them firing a parting shot at Havok, but managing to only hit one of the illusory images the warlock had just finished conjuring about himself. Grim recognized the beings as they passed. They were wind warriors, the elementally animated suits of armor he and his original team mates had first met in the Wind Duke Zosiel’s tomb inside the Whispering Cairn. As he watched, the pair zipped past him to take up a position at the lip of the lake, where its waters overflowed and continued to fall into the depths of the pit.
Havok unleashed a second chained noxious blast at the retreating wind warriors, striking both this time, but failing to achieve his desired effect of nauseating them to the point of defenselessness. Above him, Shay sipped from a potion flask, and instantly turned invisible, though Havok could still see him as he darted down to a position below the wind warriors. Hawk and Grim, meanwhile, both closed on the elementals from above. Drasek joined them, managing to strike one of the elementals a glancing blow before both of them, turned and dove into the black depths of the chasm, rapidly disappearing from view.
It was at that moment that Grubber struck the surface of the lake…and sank straight to the bottom, which fortunately was only twenty-five feet. Once there, able to breathe comfortably, he began slowly walking up the gradual incline towards the surface.
“That’s not the last we’ve seen of them, I’ll wager,” Drasek said as he joined Hawk and the others. The civilar nodded. It seemed that the Wind Dukes meant only for those who were truly determined and driven to discover their secrets.
Once Grubber had extricated himself from the lake, he stepped off into the void once more, and the descent into the depths continued.
Some hundred or more feet below the lake, the falls again accumulated, but this time only in a shallow basin before flowing onward, down a series of projections, creating even more mists in their cascade. It was here that the wind warriors made their final stand.
This time the pair was widely separated. They were apparently capable of learning from their mistakes, and they did not mean to be caught by Havok’s chain again. Before any of the team could do more than note their position, Faust darted ahead, flitting right up to the nearest warrior, and then darting back and forth in front of it, as if daring it to strike.
“What does he think he’s doing?” Drasek hissed.
“Drawing their fire,” Hawk answered, impressed by the temerity of the psion. “Let’s take advantage of the opportunity.”
The wind warrior never hesitated. Dropping its crossbow, it drew both swords in a single blurred action, striking like lightning at the dragonet. Both blows connected solidly, but to the amazement of his team mates, Faust only seemed grazed by the blows.
“Is that the best you can do?” he taunted his silent foe
Grim charged towards the second wind warrior as it drew a bead on Faust with its crossbow. However, as the dwarf closed, the elemental tossed its crossbow casually aside and drew its own blades, clanging them together in front of it. As it did so, a wave of pure sound struck Grim in the chest, momentarily stalling his charge. The wind warrior flowed forward, swords raised for a devastating strike, but at that moment, a spear-like bolt from Havok drove the creature back several feet. This was followed by an arrow from the darkness, fired by the now visible Shay. The shaft pierced the slit in the elemental’s helm and stuck there, quivering. The wind warrior staggered, stumbling through the air towards Grim, and landing a glancing blow against his stony hide. As it struck, the warrior began to crumble before Grim’s eyes, becoming dust in a matter of seconds, from its armor to its blades.
Hawk rushed to aid Faust, flying past the dragon/psion and plunging his sword into the mailed chest of the wind warrior. As he struck, he unleashed an burst of electricity through the sword, which flashed from every chink in the elemental’s armor. Withdrawing the blade, he spun, catching the warrior again with a back-handed chop.
As the melee continued, Grubber fell helplessly past all the combatants. He bumped against one of the sloping walls of the shaft, and scrabbled to gain a hand-hold. The water-slicked surface, however, allowed no purchase, and the goliath tumbled down the slope and disappeared into the darkness of the pit.
The remaining wind warrior clashed its own swords together, sending a sonic blast slamming into Hawk and Faust. As the pair reeled, a second blast from Havok hammered the elemental. Incredibly, the creature clutched at its midsection, and doubled over, silently retching. Havok had no idea how a creature with no discernable digestive tract could become nauseated, but he did not question his good fortune. As the wind warrior continued to heave, three arrows from Shay pierced its breast plate, and it too crumbled to dust.
The team began to regroup, preparing to follow Grubber’s plunge, but at that moment, four more wind warriors ascended from the pit, blocking their path. As one, Grim, Hawk and Drasek closed the distance to the elementals, bottle-necking them in the shaft so that they would have no opportunity to spread out and attack from all sides. Grim struck at the nearest warrior, his axe gouging deeply into its archaic armor.
While it was true that the three heroes had indeed stopped the forward progress of the warriors, it was equally true the elementals had them like-wise trapped. Moving in unison, the four warriors slammed their swords together, sending wave after wave of sonic force to buffet Grim, Hawk and Drasek.
Grubber’s fall into darkness seemed timeless, but he could still hear the echoes of battle above him. Soon, however, he began to see a dim glow of light from below him. The red waterfall crashed into a pool of jagged rocks in a large cave at the bottom of the shaft. An outlet of slow-moving water gurgled away to the south. The cavern beyond was large and wet, longer along its north-south axis, and roughly fifty feet across east to west. A pale, greenish-yellow light reflected off the river and walls downstream. The same light flickered and refracted off tiny crystals in the roof above, almost giving the cave the feel of being open to the night sky. As Grubber descended, he could see three figures standing by the side of the pool, staring up at him.
The mid-air battle raged on. The front-line fighters held their position, despite being repeatedly battered by the wind warriors’ sonic onslaught. Shay lent missile support, placing his shots with uncanny accuracy. Artillery was provided by Havok, Storm and Faust, in the form of eldritch blasts, lightning bolts, and elemental energy currents. No League member wavered, but one-by-one the wind warriors fell, succumbing to the strength of blows and firepower. Finally, the last one disintegrated, and without hesitating to savor their victory, the League sped onward, knowing they had to find Grubber before it was too late.
As Grubber came to a gentle landing in the pool, he noticed that the trio have moved farther away as he had come closer. Even now, one of them was shielding his eyes from the blinding light of the goliath’s Celestial Brilliance. In that light, however, Grubber saw that two of the three weren’t even remotely human. In fact, they were mohrgs! The third creature wore fine clothes, though they were the genteel, rotted garments of a generation ago. His skin was sallow, almost parchment-like in texture, and his taloned fingers, black, split tongue and cruel hooked teeth betrayed his distinct lack of humanity. He held a lantern in one hand, and its eerie green glow was the only other source of illumination in the cavern.
“A bit hard on the eyes, wouldn’t you say my good man?” the creature said in cultured tones. “Do you mind covering it up so that we can have a good look at you?”
Grubber was confused. Politics and diplomacy were not his strong suit. At least two of the beings were clearly undead, yet the third seemed intelligent, and they did not appear to offer any immediate threat. Still, all of his senses screamed for him to be on his guard for treachery, and yet, he was alone. Perhaps he could stall them until his team mates arrived.
“I will put it away,” he replied, tossing his cloak over his holy symbol, which was the source of the heavenly light. “I warn you though,” he continued. “Stay where you are. Come no closer.” The creature, and Grubber now thought there was something familiar about him, spread his empty hands.
“You must pardon the appearance of my companions,” he said. “They are but thralls and will not act without my leave. By the sounds I heard earlier, I assume you’re not alone.” He looked up towards the high ceiling. “It’s quiet now. I trust your friends are safe.” A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
At that moment, a small dragonet flitted into the chamber, making lazy circles in the air as it descended to hover above Grubber’s shoulder. The goliath breathed a sigh of relief as the rest of the League appeared, flying quickly down to join him in the pool.
“Ah, here they are now!” the creature said, clapping his hands.
“What is the meaning of this?” Drasek shouted, his eyes fixing on the mohrgs, an abomination in the eyes of Kelemvor. He hefted his maul as he took a step forward, Hawk right beside him, raising his sword defensively.
“No so fast gentlemen,” the creature said, taking a step back. “I mean you no harm, but if threatened, I shall be forced to defend myself.”
“Who…or what…are you?” Giovanni asked, stepping in front of the two crusaders.
“I can at least tell you what he is,” Faust said. “He is a true ghoul. They are a race of evolved undead. There is rumored to be an entire kingdom of them somewhere in the Underdark.
“What a perceptive familiar you have,” the ghoul said smiling. “I am, in fact, Moreto, the Marquis of Ravenstone.” He sketched a formal bow. “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Your executioners!” growled Drasek. Giovanni shot him a warning look.
“My friend is a bit…overzealous,” the warlock said, turning back to Moreto. “You said you are a marquis. Are you perhaps the Marquis of the River?”
Moreto looked confused. “I’ve never carried such a title. Where did you hear it?”
“Have you ever heard of a creature called Flycatcher,” Faust interjected, and he too received a withering glare from Giovanni.
“Ah, it becomes clear now,” Moreto laughed. “Did that old, crazed arachnid send you? Did he instruct you to kill me?”
“How do you know this?” Giovanni demanded.
“Because he is as predictable as he is evil,” Moreto said. “Did you know that his is the epitome of wickedness?” he addressed Drasek and Hawk.
“I made no such bargain,” Drasek sneered. “One form of evil is much like another. I’ll see you and the spider destroyed before the day is done!”
“And what of you?” Moreto asked, turning again to Giovanni. “Was it you that Flycatcher bargained with? They you must be a reasonable man. Allow me to make you a counter offer.”
“Why are we listening to this filth?” Drasek shouted. “His very existence is abhorrent!”
“I did not choose to be what I am,” Moreto said reasonably. “I was born who I am. So judge me if you must, but at least hear me out first.”
“Drasek, please,” Giovanni implored. “Stay your hand a moment more.” The inquisitor scowled, but did not advance any further. “What is your offer?” Giovanni then asked the ghoul.
“I knew we could be civilized,” Moreto smiled. “As I said, Flycatcher is evil, and treacherous. No doubt he somehow blackmailed you into this agreement. My offer is simply this, kill Flycatcher in my stead, allow me to go on my way unmolested, and I will offer you that which the spider seeks.”
Giovanni looked perplexed. “But what he seeks is your head.”
Moreto laughed again. “No, what he seeks is what I took from him, the Seal of Law. With it, you will be able to find, and safely enter, Icosiol’s tomb. You see, I am merely an explorer, and fascinating as this place is, I’ve seen enough of crypts and tombs to last many lifetimes. No, I seek greater mysteries, those which only the endless possibilities of the surface world can offer.”
“If you think for one minute that we are going to turn you loose on the world above, you are even more crazed than Flycatcher!” Drasek spat.
“Drasek,” Giovanni said urgently, “listen to what he is saying! He is offering us the key to Icosiol’s tomb! This is what we need! It’s our very reason for still being down here!”
The inquisitor squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at the warlock. “The ends never justify the means. Compromise your own soul if you will, but I will not deal with this monster any further. I will put an end to him now!” He turned and began moving across the pool once more. Giovanni looked imploringly at Hawk.
“My friend,” the civilar said, “you cannot ask this of us. Drasek is right. You risk your immortal soul.” He then turned his back on the warlock and joined Drasek. To Giovanni’s disbelief, Grim moved to stand with them. The dwarf merely shrugged as the warlock gaped at him.
“My soul’s no concern of the holy-rollers, but I’ve got no stomach for such as them,” he indicated Moreto and his companions.
Moreto sighed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to come to this,” he implored. “I will state again that I mean you no harm, but if you force my hand, you will leave me no choice.”
“It’s your funeral,” Drasek said coldly, “again.”
At a gesture from Moreto, the mohrgs surged into motion, closing the distance between themselves and the party in several quick strides. The first rushed at Drasek, and the second at Hawk, their lolling, repulsive tongues lashing out at the warriors. For the briefest of moments, the civilar and the inquisitor both felt their limbs seize and go rigid, but the sensation quickly passed. At that moment, a roaring bolt of lightning arced from Moreto’s hand, striking Grim. The electricity crackled around the dwarf, but the effects of Grubber’s protective spell still lingered, and Grim merely smiled. Moreto darted quickly towards the back of the cave.
Hawk raised his sword high above his head, then brought it down in a curving slash, opening the protruding entrails of the mohrg in front of him with a blinding flash of holy energy. The mohrg staggered, and Grim drove his axe into its bony sternum. Drasek raised his holy symbol between him and his own opponent, and began shouting, “In Kelemvor’s name you stand accused! You are guilty of murder most foul! You first raped, then slew your own sister, while your parents slept in the next room! This after you committed a slew of other assaults on the women of your town! When your parents awoke and confronted you, you murdered them with your bare hands! You were put to the torch for your crimes, but the depths of your depravity bought you this lingering half-life! Now, you will answer for your sins!” The mohrg quailed before the litany of its past deeds, and a blast of golden light surged from the upraised scales of Kelemvor, flaying the flesh from the creature’s bones.
At that moment, Faust darted from behind Grubber and flew directly towards Moreto. The ghoul reached for the sword slung over his shoulder, but the dragonet came to a halt several feet away, and then turned his back on the ghoul, facing his own team mates.
“I told you all before,” the psion shouted, “I care only about seeing that the Age of Worms never comes to pass! If this creature can assist us in that endeavor, then he you threaten him at your own peril!”
The rest of the team stared in stunned silence for a moment. It was Drasek who spoke first, “Then you have made your position clear. So be it.” He raised his hammer as Grubber hurled a spray of sparkling diamonds at the mohrgs. Simultaneously, Hawk, a hard, closed look in his eyes, struck at the mohrg before him again, separating its skull-like head from its body.
“Thank you my friend,” Moreto said quietly from behind Faust. “I promise I will not kill your friends, unless no other choice is left me.” He then uttered several arcane words, and a wave of null-magic swept over Grim, Hawk, and Drasek, stripping away several of their magical wards, including Hawk’s and Drasek’s ability to fly, and Grim’s energy resistance.
Grim and Drasek never hesitated. They continued their assault of the cowed mohrg cringing before the inquisitor. Shay added his support, shooting a final arrow through the mohrg’s skull.
“What is your choice?” Faust said to Moreto. “Stand or flee?”
“Take me from this place,” the ghoul said quickly, “and the Seal is yours!”
The psion landed on Moreto’s shoulder, and in an eye-blink, they were gone.
One heartbeat later, Moreto and Faust appeared in the narrow corridor overlooking the beginning of the falls.
“I am in your debt,” Moreto said.
“Yes, you are,” Faust agreed, “and now it’s time to pay that debt. The Seal please.”
Moreto smiled, then drew from his cloak a disc of crystal about a foot in diameter, carved from a single large quartz and polished to a glossy finish. One side was engraved with three runes.
“You must speak these runes before you touch it,” Moreto instructed. “They are Skyfire, Calim, and Icosiol. If you do not, then they wrath of the Wind Dukes will descend upon you.”
Faust nodded, and quickly spoke the words before taking the Seal.
“What will you do now?” he asked Moreto.
“Now I would ask one final favor of you,” the ghoul said. “Show me the way out of this tomb. I wish to see the surface.”
“What is it exactly that you are looking for?” Faust asked.
“Knowledge,” Moreto said simply. “My studies have revealed to me rumor of an ancient dragon lord known as Dragotha. He died centuries ago, but it is said that he held the secrets to incalculable storehouses of ancient lore. It is this that I seek.”
Faust shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. “I’ll show you the way,” he said. “Then we are done with each other.” Gripping the ghoul’s shoulder once more, he again transported them through the Astral Plane, appearing this time before the portal to the Whispering Cairn.
“Step through,” he said, “and the follow the tunnel to the outside.” Without waiting for a reply, the psion vanished again.
Moreto looked at the portal, testing it cautiously before pushing through. As he stepped clear, he turned to inspect the magical transport more closely. A knowing, thoroughly wicked smile creased his ancient face…
“So you came back, traitor?” Drasek said coldly as the dragonet form of Faust reappeared a safe distance away from the group. It had been no more than a minute since his departure with Moreto. The jeweled eyes of the pseudo-dragon showed no hint of emotion.
“I have betrayed no one,” the psion said. “I did what had to be done…what you could not do. You will thank me one day, if you live through this.”
Drasek frowned, and turned to Giovanni. “And you!” he shouted. “You didn’t lift a finger to stop him! Twice now you have made bargains with the spawn of the Abyss! How will you now honor your original deal and retrieve that which you so freely traded?”
“For Shay’s life!” the warlock said defensively. “Flycatcher left me little choice. I had to promise him whatever it took for him to release Shay to me. I never intended to blindly assassinate any one without first knowing something about that individual. When I had the chance to actually speak to Moreto, I knew I could not simply kill him in cold-blood, especially since he had something of value to offer us in turn.”
“Cold-blood?!” Drasek laughed. “Doesn’t a creature have to have a beating heart to have blood at all, cold or warm? This is a walking corpse you’re speaking of with such admiration, an abomination, evil!”
“You keep throwing that word around as if it is so simply defined,” Faust interjected. “If you are so dead-set of removing evil from the world, why don’t you start with Daggerford? The town is full of evil, self-serving, back-stabbing individuals? Why, this Balabar Smenk your team mates told me of sounds like ten-times the monster that you accuse Moreto of being.”
“That’s different,” Drasek fumed. “Mortals can choose their actions, and thus they are capable of redemption. The undead are inherently corrupted.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Faust shrugged.
“Did you find out where the Seal is located,” Giovanni interrupted.
“Yes, he gave it to me,” the psion replied.
“So he had it on him the whole time?!” Drasek cried. “You see! We should have just destroyed him and taken it from him!”
“Ah, but then you would not have known the safe way to handle it, as Moreto instructed me.” Faust answered. “Had you simply taken it, you would have brought down the wrath of the Wind Dukes upon you.”
“Better that than to sell your soul,” the inquisitor snapped.
“Look my friend,” Grubber said, placing one large hand on Drasek’s shoulder, “Grumbar teaches that the more the world changes, the more it stays the same. Ultimately, time will bear out the boon or bane of Faust’s decision. He acted for the greater good.”
“And unleashed an undead horror into the world,” Drasek said, shrugging off the Goliath’s hand.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Grim put in, “but I have to agree with goldilocks there. I’m all for seeing our mission thru to the end, no matter what we have to do to get there, but making deals with the undead is asking for trouble. They’re treacherous. Can’t trust’em.”
“This is pointless,” Faust said in exasperation. “What’s done is done. I have brought you the Seal, but first, Giovanni, I would speak with you alone.”
“Of course,” Drasek said, waving one hand. “What can you expect from two who are morally bankrupt? Go ahead, scheme some more!”
Giovanni cast a hurt look at the inquisitor before shaking his head and following Faust, who had moved to a distant part of the cavern. The psion began speaking without preamble as the warlock approached.
“I’ll only ask you this once. If I feel that you are not being truthful with me, I will leave now and take the Seal with me. Contrary to what Drasek thinks, I actually believe in being open and honest in all of my dealings…some may say brutally so.”
“What is it that you want to know?” Giovanni asked suspiciously.
“What were you and Shay really doing all that time while you were left alone? You managed to find yourself an awful lot of trouble for a pair who was supposed to be on a simple watch detail.”
Giovanni shrugged. “Simple,” he said. “We were cleaning out the courtesan’s tomb of the treasure Drasek had us leave behind. We cannot afford to be overly moralistic about the resources we have at our disposal to complete our goal, as I’ve just stated.”
The psion nodded. “Good. I appreciate your honesty. Now, I would also appreciate you giving me one-third of what you took for my own personal use. I assure you, my motives are not entirely selfish.”
Giovanni stared for a moment, then nodded once. “Done. No questions asked.”
Faust produced the Seal and instructed the warlock in its safe use. “Now,” he said when he had finished his tutorial, “just to show that I’m not a completely heartless bastard, I’m going to return to Daggerford and keep my eye out for Moreto to insure that he doesn’t cause any trouble. I will hopefully meet you all back there no later than tomorrow. If you’re not there, I’ll come looking for you. If you’re not here, I’ll assume the worst.” With that, once again, he vanished.
“I think our best bet is to start with the gatehouse.” Giovanni said, addressing the team after he had showed them all the Seal and taught them the words to safely use it. Drasek stubbornly refused to meet his gaze and Hawk looked troubled, but it was Shay who voiced his disagreement.
“It seems to me,” he began thoughtfully, “that the last time we met those wind warriors, they were guarding Zosiel’s true tomb. Now we meet them again, this time in the bowels of the earth, nowhere near the tomb we’ve been exploring. Don’t you think it’s reasonable to assume that they might have been put there to act as guards as well? Could it be that the entrance to Icosiol’s tomb is hidden somewhere in the shaft? Perhaps the Seal can lead us to it.”
Giovanni looked thoughtful. The rogue had an excellent point. They had to make their way back up the shaft anyway, they might as well look as they went.
“Since we can still fly, Shay, why don’t the two of us go first?” the warlock asked. “If we find anything, we’ll come back for the rest of you.”
“I’m going too,” Grim sad matter-of-factly, and he gave Giovanni a knowing look. It was clear he didn’t trust the warlock and the rogue to their own devices.
“You can’t fly,” Giovanni pointed out. Moreto had seen to that.
“Landlubber there can fix that,” the dwarf said, hooking a thumb at Grubber. The goliath looked momentarily taken aback, but then he nodded his head.
“Yes, I can do that, but how did you know I had prayed for the Aspect of the Celestial this morning.”
“I make it my business to know what might keep me alive,” Grim said cryptically. Grubber shrugged and began his incantation. When he finished, a pair of white, feathery wings sprouted from the dwarf’s back.
The trio took to the air, circling slowly back up the shaft, looking at all the walls carefully, Giovanni all-the-while holding aloft the Seal. They found nothing. Frustrated, they returned to their companions and told them of their efforts. Hawk looked pensive for a moment.
“It’s called the Seal of Law, correct?” the civilar asked finally. Giovanni nodded. “We also know that the Wind Dukes were beings of rigid laws. It would stand to reason then that perhaps the Seal might best be used by one who also follows a similar code.” Giovanni looked insulted at the implication of the paladin’s words, but logically he could not argue the point.
“I can make you fly again,” he said, passing the Seal to the civilar. Unfurling a scroll, he read it, after which it dissolved into ash. “Let’s go.” The four of them took to the air once more.
Drasek watched them go, anger still plain on his face. Without a word to Storm and Grubber, he walked to the far wall of the cavern, and seated himself cross-legged, resting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes. Softly he began to chant, his voice growing stronger by the second. He called out, not only across the chamber, but across the Planes themselves, his prayer seeking out another who walked the Path of the Exalted…a herald of Kelemvor.
‘What is it that you ask of me, Holy Warrior?’ Drasek heard the Celestial’s voice plainly in his mind as if the speaker were directly in front of him.
‘I cry your pardon, my Lord for this intrusion, but I have come to a cross-road on my journey, and I fear I lack the wisdom to choose the proper path.’
‘I know of your crisis,’ the herald said, ‘and our Lord Kelemvor regrets your sorrow. Yet these are His words that I convey to you: the apocalypse that is the Age of Worms is the greatest threat that your world, and perhaps many others, has faced in millennia. It cannot be allowed to come to pass. There are others who strive against it as do you and your companions, but the greatest opportunity for success lies with you. Your companions’ hearts are true, and their intentions pure, yet their actions place them at great peril. They risk becoming exactly that which they seek to destroy. You must show them the way and be their guide on this perilous journey. Our Lord has foreseen it to be so.’
A smile crossed Drasek’s face, and his soul was at peace. ‘I thank your for your guidance.’ As swiftly as it came, the contact was broken. The inquisitor rose and returned to his friends, his mission now crystal-clear in his head.
Hawk had reached the point in the shaft where they had encountered the second group of wind warriors, and there, clearly outlined by a softly glowing white light, was a hidden doorway behind the cascading falls.
“We’ve found it,” he said to his companions. They returned to the others. Storm wove a spell around Grubber enabling him to climb walls like a spider, and Grim then transported first Drasek, then the sorceress to the point Hawk had indicated, while Grubber followed close behind.
Beyond the secret doorway lay a narrow flight of carved, stone stairs winding steadily upwards. At the top of the stairs was a small cave, the walls and floor of which obviously been partly finished by stoneworkers. More impressive by far were the massive, fifty-foot tall doors on the far side of the cave. These dull, black doors were carved with both gigantic and tiny runes, some at eye level and others much larger. The metal of the doors seemed pristine and freshly forged.
Giovanni moved up closer to the massive portals, and peered intently at the runes. He pulled another scroll from his belt, and read aloud the spell inscribed there. As the parchment disintegrated, he looked at the runes again, this time nodding his head in comprehension.
“This language is that of the Wind Dukes,” he said over his shoulder. “Most of it seems to be a litany of curses against the forces of Chaos, but there is one prominent phrase here, over the handles. It reads, ‘Dare not enter the tomb of Icosiol, Lord of Calim, Wandering Duke and Bearer of the Scepter of Calim. His righteous peace and glorious memory are best left forever sleeping.’” When he’d finished, the warlock blinked his eyes once, reflexively shifting his gaze into a different spectrum, one where lines of magic were perceptible to him. Immediately he beheld two powerful spells woven into the doors.
“Be careful here,” he said to no one in particular. “These curses may be more than just words.”
Hawk stepped forward, and held the Seal before him. Instantly, he felt a sensation of weightlessness come over him, and in his mind words of fire appeared: Calim, Icosiol, and Skyfire…the runes inscribed on the Seal. Without hesitation, he spoke the words aloud. As the final syllable left his lips, the mighty portals swung soundlessly open.
The chamber revealed on the other side contained seven stone columns, each slightly taller than the next, rising slowly from the entrance to a small platform at the far end of the chamber before a second set of enormous doors. No floor was visible. In its place was a pit filled at a depth eighty-feet below the doorway with glowing blue fog. Swirling patterns of wind and lightning danced and howled along the walls and ceiling, filling the room with a tumultuous roar. Each of the seven columns appeared slightly different. The closest column’s top was level with the ground in the entry way. The next column was two-feet higher. The third rose up to the ceiling, forty-feet above. The fourth was three feet higher than the second one, but rotated slowly in place. The fifth column’s upper surface seemed to be covered with a thick layer of what looked like tar, and was about one-foot higher than the last. The sixth column was two-feet higher than the previous one, but was made of a lighter colored stone. A larger column, nearly twice the diameter of the others, stood to the left of the main row.
Hawk never wavered. Taking to the air, he landed lightly atop the first column, and peered down into the mist below. There, he saw the vapors begin to swirl, forming themselves into a small vortex, which became steadily larger as he watched. Soon, the whirlwind reached his level, and before he knew what was happening, it surged towards him, lifting him into its swirling midst, buffeting him about like a rag-doll.
“It’s another elemental!” Havok cried. “We have to get him out of there!” Shay quickly walked forward, holding out his empty hands.
“We come in peace,” he pleaded to the cyclone.
“Step aside, fool!” Havok shouted, elbowing him out of the way. He raised his own empty hand, and fired a blast of noxious, green energy into the whirlwind. Simultaneously, Grubber and Grim charged forward, each swinging their weapon at the huge elemental, but the creature proved to be as swift as the wind it was formed from, and moved back from the doorway, then dropped like a stone back into the mists, taking Hawk with it. Gripping his axe in both hands, Grim spreads his wings, and leaped into the void, disappearing into the fog before anyone could stop him.
Drasek was momentarily stunned by what he’d just witnessed. Just like that, Hawk was gone. As the inquisitor moved towards the edge of the pit with the others, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The third column, the one which rose to the ceiling, was illusory, or at least the part that rose to the roof was. The real column was almost level with its predecessor. Drasek didn’t know what the significance of this was, and he didn’t have time to give it further thought. He noticed the others were all engaged in preparatory actions. Storm had cast a Fly spell upon herself, and then one of Invisibility. Grubber was moving towards one of the inside walls, preparing to start climbing along it. Shay upended a flask, and then he too disappeared from sight. Havok was pulling another scroll from his belt, and came to stand beside the crusader.
“If you want, I can make you fly as well.”
Drasek looked at him, and then nodded. It was obvious they had to go after Hawk, no matter what was waiting for them below.
Hawk could barely make out his surroundings. Everywhere he looked was wind and fog. The vortex buffeted him constantly, and he couldn’t think. Desperately, he called out the words on the Seal, but nothing happened. He gripped his sword tightly, and swung blindly at the bludgeoning winds, to no avail. As his body became steadily more battered and bruised, he struggled to concentrate on his Torm-given ability to heal his own wounds, but the cyclonic winds ripped away his focus, and his powers failed him.
Grubber seemed in an endless free-fall. Already he had flown down almost four-hundred feet by his dwarven reckoning, when finally below him, he saw the whirling mass of the elemental, and Hawk’s broken form within it. At that moment, a second vortex began forming above him, and before he could take evasive action, he was sucked into its maw, trapped as effectively as Hawk.
Grubber reached out for the chamber wall, and felt his fingers grip its surface like the arachnid Storm’s spell mimicked. The moment he did so, however, a shaft of lightning tore through him, and a hurricane-force blast of wind howled around him, threatening to wrench him from his perch. Only the goliath’s bulk and strength held him to the wall, but he quickly backed away to the doorway before another of the deadly blasts hit him.
Storm didn’t stop to think before she acted. She knew that if she did, she would be paralyzed with fear and indecision. She leaped from the lip of the doorway, and followed Grim’s path down into the mists. She could only pray to Elistrae that her kinship with the storms that were her namesake would allow her to assist her companions. She flew deeper and deeper into the fog until she saw a vortex below her. To her surprise, inside it was trapped not Hawk, but Grim. Then she saw the second cyclone, and Hawk within. Thinking quickly, she cast the first spell that came to her mind…a Thunderclap. The impact reverberated within the mists, slamming into the elementals, and unfortunately their captives as well. Storm had hoped that the sound wave would stun the cyclones, but alas she failed to perceive that nature of elementals, and their natural immunity to such things. Alas too for Hawk, since he was not. The sonic boom left him dazed and limp, completely at the mercy of the destructive winds.
“We have to reach the far side,” Havok said to Grubber, indicating the small platform across the chamber. “Those doors might be the key to ending this assault.” Grubber nodded and started towards the inner wall again, this time speaking the words from the Seal before he touched them. It didn’t help. Again the wind and lightning struck at him, but this time he pressed on, crawling as rapidly as he could along the wall and to the platform on the far side. For his part, Giovanni wondered if the columns had something to do with the solution. He leaped to the first column, then quickly Dimension Doored to the second.
Drasek and Shay were the last to leave the ledge, but neither hesitated, not even the normally reserved rogue. Since Drasek could not see the invisible Shay, his path diverged from the rogues once they entered the mist. Consequently, Shay first encountered Hawk’s captor. He continued past the elemental, even deeper into the pit, until he reached the tapering end of the cyclone. Drasek, in turn, came upon the second elemental and Storm simultaneously.
“Beware!” the sorceress warned. “There is another near at hand!”
Drasek could hear the roaring wind of the second elemental, but could not see it through the fog. He began moving in the direction of the sound, but before he could close the distance, the cyclone that had trapped Grim flowed over him, engulfing his as well.
Slowly, Hawk returned to his senses, but found his situation unchanged. He was still being slammed in all directions by the whirlwind. Again, and again he swung his sword about him, unleashing surges of lightning as he did so. He could not tell if his blows had any effect, but he thought he detected a slight decrease in the force of the winds. At that moment, Storm appeared out of the mist, flying straight towards him! What was she thinking? he wondered. It was suicide coming so close in, and no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than the elemental lunged for her, sucking her into its maw.
Havok balanced atop the second column, watching Grubber’s progress. Once the goliath made the far ledge, he quickly set about healing his wounds. Havok’s gaze shifted between the goliath and the mists below. Even through the howling winds, he could hear muffled explosions echoing up from the depths. In that moment, he was decided.
“I’ll be back,” he called to the goliath, and then he flung himself off the column and down into the maelstrom.
The two elementals were now side by side, and their prisoners could all see each other as they waged their personal battles. Drasek and Grim struck out at random with their weapons, feeling the vortex shuttered, but seeming no closer to freeing themselves. For her part, Storm only concentrated on one thing…reaching Hawk. Focusing all of her concentration, she flew against the cyclonic winds, finally reaching the civilar. She reached for him, concentrated again, and spoke the words to a spell, though Hawk could not hear the words. The results, however, were instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, both sorceress and civilar vanished.
Grubber was astonished a moment later when Hawk and Storm appeared on the narrow ledge beside him.
“He needs help,” Storm said, supporting the barely conscious paladin. Grubber nodded and helped Hawk to sit against the wall. He then began the business of ministering to the civilar’s injuries.
Shay did not see Storm’s dramatic rescue of Hawk. He assumed the civilar was still trapped, and so he began stabbing at the base of the cyclone, and then darting quickly away once the elemental saw his now visible form and whirled towards him.
Havok finally reached the top of the swirling elementals and saw Drasek and Grim’s predicament. Deliberately, he moved even closer, waiting for the tornado to approach. When it did, he willingly went into its embrace. Drasek and Grim merely gaped at him…until he leveled a tremendous eldritch blast from inside the elemental. Instantly, the whirlwind dissipated, flinging the trio in all directions as the elemental assumed its natural form, that of a smaller, but no less formidable looking cyclone. This one had two burning blue eyes, and they smoldered with rage.
Hawk struggled to his feet against Grubber’s protests.
“I’m fine,” the civilar said. “I’ve got to get back down there. The others are in trouble. Storm, make me invisible.” The sorceress didn’t question him. Once her spell was cast, Hawk stepped to the edge, looked at the long drop below, and fell forward. This time, however, he did not fly, but instead let himself free-fall. He needed speed, and he knew the pit to be at least four-hundred feet deep. He felt sure he would be able to pull out of the fall before he hit bottom. This was his last conscious thought as, moments later, the floor suddenly loomed up at him.
Havok and Grim streaked towards the elemental from opposite directions. As the warlock launched another noxious eldritch blast, Grim hacked into the ethereal substance of the creature. In response, a pseudopod-like appendage swung out from the elemental, smashing into Havok, momentarily addling him. He quickly recovered, but knew he would not survive another such attack. Quickly, the warlock Dimension Doored several dozen feet up into the mist, leaving behind an illusory image of himself. Still enraged, the elemental struck again at the image, dissipating it as its pseudopod passed through.
Drasek headed back towards the elemental as well, but as he passed the second one, still in whirlwind form, the massive creature struck out at him, sucking him inside, trapping him once again. The creature then struck downwards at Shay, who continued to harry it with his hit-and-run tactics. This time the elemental connected, driving the rogue to the floor, but Shay continued to roll and tumble with the momentum of the blow, avoiding the cyclone’s vicious suction.
Storm followed Hawk down into the mists, but the invisible, free-falling civilar outdistanced her easily, and so she was not aware of the paladin’s fate. She came upon the smaller elemental still battling Grim, its larger brethren nearby with Drasek suspended inside. Quickly, the sorceress conjured a large ball of flame into her hand, and hurled it between the two elementals. It detonated with a deafening explosion, its flames engulfing both of the creatures, and Drasek as well. Storm regretted the injury caused to her companion, but she knew that if the elementals were not destroyed, they were all as good as dead anyway.
Drasek weathered the blast, but he knew he was gravely injured. If the elemental’s buffeting continued, he would be battered to death in a matter of moments. He inhaled deeply, centering his mind, and calling on Torm’s power to deliver him. In a rush, he was instantly teleported to the relative safety of the platform high above. Once again, Grubber contributed what he could to his friends…his power to heal.
Grim was alone. Storm hovered somewhere above him, but the dwarf was now trapped between the two maddened elementals. Abruptly, the second one abandoned its cyclonic form, and now both faced him in their natural state. As he tried to maneuver from between the two, the first struck out at him, hitting him like a charging rhino. Fortunately, the mineral warrior’s thick hide absorbed the brunt of the blow. Suddenly, a lance of green energy struck from out of nowhere, slicing through the second elemental. It exploded in a cloud of green gas. Concealed in the fog, Havok smiled. The warlock had used his magic to give him one True Strike, negating the concealment afforded the elementals by the mist. He had used the opportunity to strike what he hoped was a telling blow, and had been rewarded beyond his expectations.
Shay tumbled abruptly to a stop as he rolled into something lying on the floor of the pit. Tentatively reaching out one hand, he quickly recoiled as he felt something wet and sticky. Yet he also felt the cold touch of metal armor. It was a body. An armored one. Could it be one of his companions? He couldn’t see the figure, though the warmth of its skin told him there was at least still a spark of life there. Hastily, the rogue fumbled in his belt pouch for one of his healing elixirs. Feeling blindly, he tried to locate the mouth of the person, but was unsure if he was successful when he upended the potion.
Grim and his foe traded blow after blow, clashing like titans. Havok could hear the conflict, but he dared approach no closer for fear of becoming a casualty of the melee. Blindly he launched another eldritch spear, not knowing that he had in fact hit his mark. Simultaneously, Storm lobbed an orb of lightning at the elemental, illuminating it as it collapsed in on itself and vanished from sight.
Shay felt the life leave his unknown companion, and hung his head in defeat. He still did not know which of his friends he had just lost, but he knew he could not leave his team mate. Pulling out his magical bag, which contained a large extra-dimensional space, he slowly worked until he had placed the body inside, and then he took to the air.
When the team regrouped in the entry hall, they realized that it was Hawk who had been lost. The paladin was dead, and though Grubber knew that he could retrieve the civilar’s soul, a black pall still hung over the party. They were battered, bloodied and exhausted. Though they stood on the threshold of their goal, they knew they could go no further this day. As they scanned the room for other imminent threats, Drasek noted a second illusion in the chamber, this one a false section of ceiling forty-feet above the larger pillar. He pointed it out to his companions, and though it was unanimously agreed upon that they must rest, it was decided that they would do so within the relative safety of the stairwell.
Faust stared at the ruined portal, and smiled ruefully.
“That sneaky bastard,” he said, shaking his head. In the time between when he had left Moreto and returned the Seal to the others, the true ghoul had apparently smashed the doorway from the other side, trapping the League in Icosiol’s tomb…wherever that happened to be. The psion shrugged, and sat down on the floor of the corridor with his back to the wall. He should go and warn the others, but his mental abilities were exhausted, and he wasn’t about to go traipsing through this death trap defenseless. No, he would be better off staying put, meditating for a few hours, and then trying to get some rest. The others would have no choice but to come this way if they decided to leave.
Several hours later, he awoke with a start. He was usually not one to dream, but he had just had a particularly nasty one. In it he had seen a handsome man with dark, shoulder-length hair, dressed in the garb of a nobleman. He had stood at the head of a large banquet table, crowded with many guests of equal noble bearing, but his team mates were also present. The table had been set with a sumptuous feast, with a large, covered tray bearing the main course. With a flourish, the nobleman had removed the lid, and there, trussed and cooked, complete with an apple in his mouth, was Faust. The psion wasn’t sure what the dream meant, if anything, and he didn’t dwell on it. He supposed exhaustion was playing tricks on his already spent psyche.
Faust stood, gathered his belongings, and began making his way back into the tomb on foot, rather than by dimensional travel. His companions had not come upon him during the night, and so must still be on their search…unless they were dead. He remembered Giovanni had mentioned something about a gatehouse located off the temple chamber where they had encountered the spider. That was as good a place to start as any. As he walked, he focused an image in his mind, and between one step and the next, his body morphed into that of a grey render. The vicious creature’s form was far stronger and more hardy than his natural form, and he didn’t care to take any chances while he was alone.
Flycatcher was dozing lightly, when a slight noise brought him to full wakefulness. What had it been? The scrape of a claw on stone? The shadow spider retreated further into the shadows and peered down the long hallway which led to the upper levels. There, lumbering down the passage with no attempt at stealth, was a hulking, grey-skinned creature, with a large, fang-filled maw, six insectile eyes, and long arms tipped with claws that dragged the ground. In an instant Flycatcher had wreathed himself in shadows and closed the sixty feet between the creature and himself.
“I know not what manner of beast you are,” the spider spoke in common as he loomed over the creature, “and you may have a mind as primitive as your body, but if you comprehend my words, heed them now. I offer you one chance to turn and leave my abode.”
The thing’s six eyes blinked in unison and it cocked its head quizzically, much like a hound will do when it is confused. However, Flycatcher was very observant, and he caught just the barest hint of a smile on the creature’s drooling lips.
Faust knew his bluff had been called when the spider suddenly lunged for him. Stepping back quickly, the psion manifested a current of fiery energy from the middle of his brow. The beam struck the arachnid in the thorax, and though it reeled in pain, it come steadily on, its huge bulk squeezed in the narrow passage. It’s claws snapped at the air as Faust shuffled back again. Then, it surged towards him, claws wide as if to embrace him. Faust darted forward, locking his massive jaws onto Flycatcher’s arm. The spider squealed in pain again, its body still being scorched by the energy current. Frantically, Flycatcher flailed at the render, seizing Faust with two of his claws and lifting the psion off the ground so he could rip at him with his mandibles. Struggling to maintain his concentration despite the ferocity of the attack, Faust continued to poor his mental energy into the current, melting large holes in Flycatcher’s body. Again and again the shadow spider tore at him, but his attacks became weaker, until finally, he dropped the render to the floor and curled into a crisped ball. Faust breathed heavily, finally letting the energy current subside. He looked down at his injuries, decided they were not life-threatening, and stepped past the spider, continuing down the corridor.
“Did not know who you were screwing with,” he muttered to himself.
Reaching the temple chamber, Faust considered his options. The doors to his left would lead him to the gatehouse, but the blue, steel doors in front of him would take him eventually back to the falls. However, Giovanni had told him about the golems that had been released in the room before he and Shay fled. Faust wondered if they were still there. Cautiously, he moved up the short flight of stairs to the door, and cracked it open. Immediately, three pairs of stone eyes turned towards him as the golems moved towards the door. Quickly, the psion slammed the door shut, and hurried back down the stairs, and towards the doors on the opposite side of the room. He heaved a sigh of relief when it did not appear that the golems were following.
When he opened the second set of doors he saw the unstable looking rock bridge which spanned the river of blood. The gatehouse stood silent and apparently empty on the far side, the bodies of the slain xorns lying on the beach in front of it. Not willing to risk the bridge, Faust Dimension-doored to the gates. The entrance was made of flaking, rusting iron, with hinges on the other side and a series of glyphs and protective amulets inset in the iron. Some of the amulets looked almost like feathers, while others seemed more like mill wheels or perhaps latches or levers. The thick rust made it difficult to say what the engravings really were meant to be. Some of them seemed to be smudged with black dirt or ashes. In any event, it did not appear that the doors had been recently opened. Faust surmised that his friends did not come this way after all. Willing his body to morph once more, he returned to the form of a pseudo-dragon, and Dimension-doored back to the cave where they had encountered Moreto. He would start his search from there.
Hawk rubbed his bleary eyes as the fuzzy image above him coalesced into the stony visage of Grubber.
“Not you again,” the civilar groaned.
“Retrieving your soul is becoming something of a habit,” the goliath said good-naturedly. “Have a care, though. Even Kelemvor’s patience can be tested.”
As Grubber helped Hawk to a sitting position, and began healing his body now that his soul was intact, the others quickly brought the paladin up to speed on their current situation. Hawk glanced up at the point in the ceiling that Drasek had identified as false, though to him, it appeared as solid as the rest of the stone around it.
“Our plan is as simple as it is dangerous,” Giovanni added. “First, I recommend you allow Drasek to hold the Seal. Then, I will Dimension Door with him, Grubber and Grim to the top of that large column, directly beneath the hole. From there, I will transport the four of us just inside the hole, and hope that location is a stable one. As quickly as I am able, I’ll return for you, Storm and Shay.”
Hawk agreed the plan was dicey, at best, but their options were limited. Enabling all of them to fly again would expend resources, and even then, they could only enter the hole one-by-one, which could be potentially suicidal. He had to agree that the warlock’s plan seemed best.
The team prepared themselves, with the spellcasters, both divine and arcane, layering one defensive dweomer after another on themselves and the warriors. When all was ready, Havok joined hands with Drasek, Grim and Grubber, and then stepped into the Astral Plane.
They were coming. Augerric could sense it. The oculus demon had heard and witnessed most of the trespassers’ battle with the guardians the day before. He also knew they had encamped just beyond the entrance to the Rising Path, fools that they were. Had he not been bound by his Oath to the tomb he would have swept down upon them in the night and slaughtered them at his leisure. Instead, he was forced to bide his time, making his own preparations for when they felt bold enough to come to him. That time was now.
The chamber was modestly sized, but had a very high, vaulted ceiling, nearly sixty feet at its apex. The room was lit by elongated metal lanterns that glowed with the colors of the rainbow. A white, marble sarcophagus floated in the air at the far end of the room, ten feet off the floor. The sarcophagus bottom was carved with an image of a sleeping Wind Duke, two swords resting on his chest and a winged helmet at his feet.
The walls of the chamber were carved to depict a funeral procession that wound up in a spiral, showing Wind Dukes, djinni, air elementals and other elemental servants of Law in mourning as they attended the body of a fallen general. After the first spiral, the upper sections showed the general’s ascension into a primal vortex of wind and thunder. Many-eyed abominations, frog-like humanoids, and tentacled demons were trampled beneath his feet as he rose into a golden doorway at the end of the fresco.
Havok and his three companions barely had time to register the quiet grandeur of the room, as disaster struck as soon as they appeared. Unfortunately, the hole in the ceiling of the ante-chamber below opened into a small alcove in this upper room. The warlock had not anticipated this when he shifted the group here from the column below, and Grim and Grubber both rematerialized inside a solid wall! Instantaneously, they were shunted completely across the chamber, where they stood momentarily stunned before a raised dais. As if this weren’t enough, Havok’s ability to ‘see the unseen’ revealed the creature that stood, cloaked in invisibility, upon that dais, directly above his friends. Some obscure wisp of planar knowledge in the back of Havok’s mind named the fiend: an oculus demon. It stood roughly six feet in height, but sported a large pair of bat-like wings which made it look even more imposing. The most shocking thing about it were the literally hundreds of eyes that blinked in unison, and covered its entire body, from the tips of its horns, to the bottoms of its feet. A wickedly hooked sword was clutched in both its taloned hands, and a multitude of identical images of the demon danced about it…a spell-like effect that Havok was well acquainted with.
Though he longed to stay and defend his friends, Havok knew that he could be of most use by bringing in reinforcements. Darting towards the hole in the floor, he shouted over his shoulder, “Behind you, on the dais! It’s a demon! Bless your weapon, if you can, and use cold iron if you have it!” Then he dropped through the floor, trusting in the Feather Fall ring he had borrowed from Grubber to slow his fall. However, no sooner had he begun his descent, than he was battered by a blast of lightning from the maelstrom raging across the ceiling of the antechamber. Fortunately, Grubber had once more protected the team from electricity, and he weathered the worst of the damage. Slowly, he drifted towards the top of the large column below.
Augerric smiled at the futile warning the human had given his companions. Much good would it do them. The demon’s augmented sight showed his every magical dweomer the pitiful mortals had cloaked themselves in. The goliath in particular was heavily draped in magic, and the robe of Celestial Brilliance he wore annoyed Augerric. With a thought, he dropped a dispelling field over the brute, smirking as charm after charm winked out, but unfortunately not the damnable light. As he struck with his spell, he became instantly visible, but before the dumbfounded creatures could do more than gape open-mouthed, three of his eyes fired lancing beams of black light at each of them. Augerric began to laugh as the pathetic goliath began to heave and retch.
As Havok landed atop the column, he instantly transported himself to stand beside Hawk, Shay and Storm.
“We’ve got trouble.”
Grim shook off the draining, nauseating effects of the eye-bolt, and deliberately pulled a flask from his pouch, while at the same time drawing out an axe he had found long ago, and kept purely for aesthetic reasons. One didn’t come across cold iron that often. Working quickly, he emptied the contents of the flask onto the blade of the axe, and began rubbing the oil into the metal.
Augerric paid little heed to the dwarf. It was the human on the far side of the room that now captured his attention. Obviously this one had at least a modicum of intelligence, and had recognized the nature of the demon’s eye beams, for he was placing another dweomer upon himself, one that warded him from the effects of negative energy. No matter. He would deal with that shortly. For the moment, he would content himself with harrying the two nearby who remained susceptible to his powers. Twice more he blasted the goliath, smiling again when he saw the look of abject fear that came into the doomed mortal’s eyes. Just for good measure, he shot the dwarf as well, then, willing himself invisibly once more, he glided silently across the room to stand right next to the human.
Grubber felt panic overwhelm him. He had to leave this place now or he would surely die. He was convinced of it. Shoving Grim aside, he took off at a full run across the chamber, reaching the hole in a few strides. Not hesitating, he dropped through, plummeting towards the column forty feet below, lightning blasting him as he fell.
“Trouble you say?” Shay said, raising one eyebrow as he watched the goliath tumble from the ceiling, wreathed in electricity, and fall prone atop the column.
“Exactly,” Havok answered. “Let’s go.” They grasped hands, and vanished, reappearing next to the fallen Grubber.
Drasek knew they were in trouble. Already their initial strike force had been cut in half, and they couldn’t even see their enemy. Quickly, he began another prayer, one which would purge all invisibility effects within thirty feet of him. He was shocked and stunned to see the demon revealed not two feet from him. Grim saw the demon as well, and he hurled himself across the chamber, raising his blessed weapon and slashing at the fiend, but was rewarded only by one of the multiple images of the creature winking out of existence.
Augerric ignored the dwarf. Instead, he dropped a second dispelling field over the human, watching hungrily as his defenses began to collapse, including his Death Ward. Immediately, the demon blasted the inquisitor with three eye bolts, chuckling as the man clutched his abdomen and doubled over.
As swiftly as it came, Grubber’s terror departed, leaving behind a feeling of deep shame. Rising to his feet, he joined hands with the other three atop the column as they were whisked into the tomb.
“Two can play that game, pit-spawn!” Drasek gasped between heaving. He chanted a prayer that sounded more like a curse and dropped his own dispelling field over the demon. To his satisfaction, all of the illusory images vanished.
Grim’s opportunity was at hand. With only one target to deal with, he swung his axe with all his might, slamming it into the demon’s flank. Augerric howled as the cold iron, blessed axe bit into his flesh and burned like acid. Enraged, the fiend focused his ire first on the inquisitor who had made him an easy target. Slashing with his unholy weapon, he gashed Drasek’s armor, slicing deep between his ribs. The paladin felt one of his lungs collapse, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Three blasts from the demon’s unblinking eyes hammered him into unconsciousness, and he sagged to the floor.
As Drasek dropped, Hawk stepped in to fill his space, “Shay, help Drasek!” the civilar called, parrying a blow from the demon at the same time. As the momentum of Augerric’s strike momentarily over-balanced the fiend, Hawk slipped his own blade past, calling on Helm’s wrath to smite his foe, while at the same time unleashing a surge of holy power. Augerric reeled from the blow, but was abruptly thrown forward again as a blast of eldritch power from Havok buffeted him from behind. Again Grim picked the perfect moment to strike, sweeping his axe low this time, tangling Augerric’s feet, and putting the demon flat on his back. Before Augerric could raise his blade to defend himself, the mineral warrior struck in two swift chops, his weapon opening horrific gashes in the demon’s vulnerable hide.
Augerric was still furious, but he was also starting to feel a glimmer of something unfamiliar…fear. The dwarf, goliath, and aasimar stood above him on three sides. He was surrounded and on the ground. He had to regain his feet and heal his wounds. Reflexively, he lashed out at the dwarf with three of his eye bolts, and was rewarded with the sounds of the hated little creature vomiting. Quickly, he heaved himself to his feet, but as he did so, the goliath and the aasimar struck. Their blows were largely ineffective due to the unholy fortitude that was his birthright, but little by little his life’s blood was being drained from him. Again the aasimar struck, but then Augerric quickly stepped behind the goliath, placing the brute between himself and his other assailants. Concentrating, he summoned his magic, then reached out to touch the goliath, siphoning life force out of him much as a vampire would. The demon’s wounds began to close.
Shay knelt beside the fallen form of Drasek. Quickly, he poured a healing elixir into the inquisitor’s slack mouth. Drasek coughed and sputtered, opening his eyes as the potion took effect. He sat up hurriedly, assessing the situation around him. “My thanks Shay,” he said, patting the rogue on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.” Just as the demon began draining Grubber’s life energy, Drasek began his own spell. At its completion, an ephemeral hammer of pure white light, flashed into existence, and drove into Augerric’s chest, forcing the demon away from the goliath. As he staggered back, Grim shoved past Grubber, lowering his shoulder and bowling the fiend completely over again. The demon half raised one arm in a feeble attempt to ward off the dwarf, but Grim’s axe cleaved through Augerric’s limb, and into his skull.
Shay pulled a coil of rope from his pack, and spoke a word. Of its own volition, the rope began snaking upwards, wrapping around the floating sarcophagus, and knotting off. Quickly, the rogue scaled the rope and perched atop the marble casket. The carving on the top depicted the same image on the underside, but its hands were empty, and protruded out of the top, seemingly carved as if to hold something. Shay relayed his findings to the others, and then relinquished his position to Drasek. The inquisitor drew out the Seal once more, and placed it within the Wind Duke’s hands.
Instantly, the sarcophagus sank slowly to the floor, at which time the top faded away, leaving the Seal suspended in mid-air. Within was dust and bone fragments, the remains of the Wind Duke general, Icosiol. However, four items rested among the debris. Two were swords, one a short sword of mithral, its pommel a single huge star sapphire that glittered with electrical energy, and the other a long sword, its hilt set with six pale sapphires the size of grapes. A heavy platinum ring lay along side the swords, set with four, large, pale blue sapphires and carved with crisp runes of Law. Finally, what appeared to be the sundered haft of a weapon, some fifteen inches in length, and jagged at one end, lay near the foot of the sarcophagus. Giovanni’s sense of magic told him that all of the items were powerful, but the weapon fragment was potent beyond measure. Reverently, Drasek removed each of the items, wrapping them carefully in his cloak before stowing them. As he did so, a momentary rush of anger and jealousy swept over the group, but it was quickly replaced by a feeling of peace and welcome. Drasek knew that Icosiol himself had blessed them, and gifted them with these relics from the past, to use in whatever way they saw fit in their coming trials. Atop Grubber’s brow, the diadem of the Wind Duke Zosiel flared brightly, and the goliath felt its power increase, imbuing him with even greater wisdom and insight.
“Well,” Drasek said as the team stood just inside the hidden passage overlooking the falling river of blood, “our search is over, and we can finally leave this place and its spirits in peace.”
“Not yet,” Giovanni said, his tone dark. “There is still the matter of Flycatcher. He has the Talisman, and I’m not leaving here without it, nor without repaying him in full.”
“What do you suggest?” Hawk asked. “Did he instruct you were to find him?”
“No,” the warlock answered, “but I imagine he’ll be somewhere near the temple. However, I would prefer that we start at the gatehouse. It may be that his lair is within, and if so, we can take reclaim the Talisman.”
All were in agreement, and while Drasek would transport himself, Hawk, Shay, Grubber and Storm, Giovanni and Grim would follow behind by flight via the wings that Grubber’s Celestial Aspect prayer granted them.
It was during this return flight that the warlock and the dwarf came upon Faust.
“I’ve been looking for you,” the psion said without preamble.
“Why?” Giovanni asked. “I thought you were going to watch over Moreto. Why are you back so soon?”
“It would seem,” Faust began, “that our paladins’ intuitions were correct, though I would never tell them so, and that Moreto was not entirely trust worthy. You see…he sort of…destroyed to Portal.”
Grim cursed roundly. “I told ya! We should’a killed him when we had the chance!”
“Yes, well, you know what they say about hindsight and all that,” the psion said unperturbed.
