Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

Back in the abbey, Emmerson takes the scroll sent along by the bishop. It seems like a lifetime ago that he had sat in The Cat & The Fiddle, interrogating Oktav about the abbey. He waves the scroll toward Vonmora to get her attention.

"Vonmora, do you know how to perform the exorcism ritual of your people?"

"Aye," she nods. Deep black circles have appeared under her eyes, although her voice betrays none of her weariness.

"Lothian be praised," Emmerson murmurs. "It took all of us to cleanse this abbey. It took more from some than from others, to be sure. If ever there was proof that united faithful could accomplish great things, then this abbey is it. It should be dedicated to all our gods."

Vonmora reads through the scroll, nodding to herself.

"Let's do this," she nods.

"Emmerson, you stay here with Vonmora and Oktav," Tucker says, grabbing a lantern. "Emus and I can go poke around, make sure there's no surprises left here. We'll start with the dining hall, then go from there to the dormitory and the attic."

The pair departs, leaving the priests alone.

"Let's do this outside," Vonmora says, rerolling the scroll. "Do it in the cloisters, spread the blessing to as much of this place as possible. Grabbing her gear, and Bufer's discarded backpack, she leads the way.

The party spreads out through the abbey as darkness descends.

What Tucker and Emus mostly find are sad reminders of what was once here. Some of the sisters' goods have been rifled through, long ago, probably by other adventurers or by thieves before word of the haunting had spread. Other than ruined clothes and worm-eaten wooden bowls and the like, the search of the abbey turns up little.

Oktav finds an old oil lamp and sequesters himself in the library, sorting volumes by levels of decay and whether the books are safe to move. When asked, he indicates that he intends to bring the books back to Middleborough for restoration and cataloging prior to finding them a permanent home.

Seeing the light in the library, Tucker pokes his head in.

"Hey, Oktav. I just wanted to say that you did well out there today. I'm glad you came along with us." He starts to leave, then turns around. "Do you know what the bishop's plans for this place are? Start it up again? Burn it down? Anything?"

"I do not know what the bishop intends for the abbey. It technically still belongs to the Church of Lothian, even if there was a long period where it was unused."

Emmerson crosses the cloister, dry grass crunching beneath his feet as he approaches the library.

"Tucker, if I may interrupt. Brother Oktav, a word with you."

"Yes?" the acolyte asks, clearly impatient to get back to the books.

"About the book that started this," Emmerson says. "While it would be important evidence for his Excellency against the foul villain who sent it, I refuse to allow it to exist any longer. Would burning it get rid of it and its evil? Or is there a sanctioned way to proceed with its disposal?"

"Assuming the book really is the cause of all of this ... I do not know," Oktav shrugs. "No one ever trained me in the methods of destroying books. It does seem a shame not to record whatever ancient lore is in the book beforehand, though."

"That's the same kind of thinking that got the abbey in trouble in the first place," Tucker observes dryly.

"You don't know that, deputy," Oktav snaps. He too is obviously exhausted by the day's events. "And more importantly, the sisters were right: Things are being forgotten, more and more each year. And as the printing presses break down and those that remember how to repair them die of old age, the records we have of the past become more and more precious. Destroying a book of this age simply because it makes you nervous is something the sisters would have been violently opposed to doing. Their goal was to preserve knowledge against the coming darkness, not hasten the tide of ignorance."

It's obvious this is the sort of thing that he takes very seriously: His face is getting flushed and he's raising his voice more loudly than the adventurers have previously heard it.

"Very well, brother," Emmerson said. "I just suggested it because last time we were in this library you said the church didn't gather these books, it burned them instead."

"Well, all right. Unless you have another suggestion, we shall take it to his Excellency once the abbey has been sanctified once again. Master Potentloins and I have much to discuss with my lord bishop. In the meantime, the book stays in the abbess' room. No one touches it until the ritual is finished."

The prayer vigil goes all night. The adventurers other than the clerics eventually make a fire in the cloister and huddle around as they listen to the intertwining prayers.

As the night wears on, a crackling noise begins all around them, alarming everyone until they realize it's the black ivy snapping off the vines and crumbling into an ashy dust.

Sitting near the fire, Emus sighs, releasing a tension that he didn't even realize he still carried. Lying next to him, head on his paws, Skeeter also sighs, perhaps for the same reason.

Still praying, Emmerson watches the ivy wither. It works like a balm, taking his aches away.

Dawn comes and Emmerson and Vonmora are still at it, their voices growing hoarse and exhausted after the excitement and terrors of the past 24 hours. The dwarf's stomach rumbles loudly, but she sneers at the suggestion that she take a break and let Emmerson fill in for her.

After spending most of the night in the courtyard, there is almost no patch of earth that Skeeter has not yet marked as his territory. Apparently, he'd been holding it until after the ivy crumbled.

Emus is dozing lightly when Tucker nudges him.

"Hey, look at that." He gestures toward one of the rooftops.

"A bird," Emus says noncommittally, not sure if he's supposed to be seeing something else.

"Yeah, a bird. Life's coming back."

The dwarf considers this a moment, working a tangle out of his beard.

"Hopefully not evil this time."

Both Emmerson and Vonmora are badly sunburned by the time they're done, close to sundown. Emus and Tucker have repeatedly been sent out to bring back water and food, but even so, the clerics' voices are almost gone after 24 hours of exhorting their gods.

But there can be no question now: The abbey feels different, all of them can sense it. For the first time, Tucker finds himself truly relaxed inside its walls.

"Praise Lothian the Lightbringer, Garl Glittergold the Watchful Protector, Yurrabbos the Runecarver, Hanseath the Bearded One, Estanna the Hearthtender, Bahamut the Platinum Dragon. Almighty gods of Praemal, we thank you for listening to our prayer and granting us this boon," Emmerson concludes, his voice almost inaudible. He bows his head and nods at the others.

It is done.

A short time later, Emmerson emerges from the abbess' quarters, carry a bundle in an old woolen blanket. Returning to the darkening cloister, he drops the blanket and the Book of Ascendant Night near the campfire the others have been nursing.

Oktav brings his oil lamp from the library, where his sorting is all but complete, and puts it down on the blanket beside the book. He would open the tome, but a warning look from Emus scares him off.

"I'm not sure if this is going to work, but bear with me for a while. I'm going to read the book out loud and the ritual's effect should provide a translation of sorts. This may help to determine if this book should be destroyed or taken to the bishop."

Using Judgment to turn the pages, Emmerson flips through the book, past a title page and woodcut to the meat of the book.

Emmerson looks at the book and read aloud. Everyone hears both him speaking in Westron but also finding themselves understanding what he's saying:

"The Book of Night Ascendant

"From beyond the horizon, they watched as all was formed, and they found it vile. The creators formed the land with cold hands and hung the sky with no joy. Everything is pale and wretched and must be destroyed to make way for something better.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"But when they stepped forward to free all who live, they were betrayed, and found all doors locked against them, while their jealous children laughed, full of hatred and envy.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"So now, they wait, sleeping beneath,'" and here Emmerson says a word that does not translate into Imperial, "'as the faithful prepare for their joyous escape.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"Like a river breaking through the winter ice in spring, all shall be a riot of change and release. Blood accompanies death but it also accompanies every birth and blood shall herald the death of the old ways and the birth of the new.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"They are waking. Look to the sky!"

As Emmerson finishes the page, he realizes that he feels dizzy.

"You're bleeding!" Oktav gasps, and indeed, blood is gushing from the paladin's nose. But as those assembled look around, they realize that he's not the only one: Everyone who has heard the translated book has blood pouring from their nose, which looks black and slick in the dim evening light.

"Well," Emmerson says as the dizziness overcomes him, "That was incredibly stupid. Forgive my stupidity, friends."

He slams the book shut and bundles it as tightly as he can within the worn blanket.

"We are done here. I shall put this wretched thing in the forsaken pit where it was for the night. Brother Oktav, are you done cataloguing the books? We need to ride tomorrow at first light to Middleborough and ask his Excellency to destroy this once and for all."

Oktav starts to nod and then reacts violently at the suggestion the book will be destroyed.

"We can't destroy it! What if it's telling the truth about some imminent disaster?"

"Who the hell will be able to read it?" Emmerson snaps, exhausted and pushed to his breaking point. "One page! One and we're bleeding! Look no further than what happened here if you dare to read more than what I did."

"I've had enough of this place," Emus says, wiping the blood from his lips. "Let's go."

"Tucker, if I may trouble you," Emmerson says, as the others prepare to leave. "Could you procure two mounts for Oktav and myself for tomorrow morning? I aim to spend the night here, and take the book to his Excellency in the morning. I have no intention of taking the book near Maidensbridge, so if we could meet you half a mile from town an hour past first light, I'd be much obliged."

"I'll see what I can do; we're still pulling horses out of the orchards from when those nitwits burned down the stables. But Oktav's got the horse he rode in on, so it shouldn't be too bad." Tucker hefts his backpack up with a grunt. "Besides, I'm sure it's been quiet at town while we were gone."

"Thank you, friend." Emmerson shakes Tucker's hand and watches the deputy, Emus and Vonmora depart.

Oktav, glaring at Emmerson, helps the paladin move the Book of Ascendant Night back inside the building.

The pair spend an uneventful night in the abbey, with Oktav proving that, whatever else time has done to the building, its beds are still comfortable enough, as he drops into a deep sleep and snores the sleep of the truly exhausted.

The day before, Hazel had carried Bufer as Flower carried Hazel's gear on the way back to Maidensbridge. The shadows were growing long, and even if the abbey no longer posed a danger to them, Hazel is well aware that there are others in the woods with them as they travel.

Mindful of her companion's shorter stature and Bufer's ill-health -- though truthfully he seems unaware of any jostling on the journey -- Hazel kept her pace just shy of a run. Her lantern brightened the path, but not enough that she'd risk tripping on a tree root and dropping her friend.

"Last thing he needs is another knock on the head," she muttered. She scanned the woods around them, but suspected the forest creatures are intelligent enough to stay out of the light.

Despite that, though, she couldn't shake the prickle down her spine that told her something was watching them.

"Best keep Dinky close, Flower," she warned, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Something's keeping pace with us, I think. Could be an animal, but ... any chance it's kin of yours?"

"If you mean 'kobold,'" Flower answered, "I haven't seen any of my 'kin' in over a decade."

Finally, lungs and arms and legs aching, Hazel and Flower stumbled back into town, an unconscious Bufer carried in the ranger's arms. He had not woken along the journey, even when his bearer stumbled over tree roots in the dark, but now had begun to moan and twitch violently, as though in the grips of a nightmare he could not wake from.

Hazel had expected a chilly reception for her kobold companion when they arrived in Maidensbridge, but it was not quite the one they ended up receiving:

"The constable's looking for you," Fibber said, staring slack-jawed in front of his family's shop. "Both of you."

Hazel covered her surprise with a withering glance at the teen before carefully checking Bufer, wincing when his twitching foot struck her still-healing wounds.

"You all right, Bufer? Can you hear me?" She watched his face for any sign of understanding, but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

Finally, she turned back to Fibber.

"Constable will have to wait unless he's spending time with Heath Leach. Bufer needs a healer, not a lawman." She paused, her eyebrows drawn together. "And why's he be looking for me anyways? And how does he know Flower?"

"Mister Leach is ... with him," Fibber said vaguely.

Baffled, but clearly getting nothing more useful from Fibber, Hazel set out for Constable Bridger's tower, Flower following closely behind.

It is the 4th day of Rain, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age.

A cool wet wind blows through Blackberry Ridge, and the shrubs rattle against the wooden barricade outside. But overhead, the storm clouds are blowing quickly across the sky to the west. There will be no rain here today or tomorrow.

Inside the Dented Coin, Gerda Schenker brings the four strangers plates of bratwurst and mushy carrots, setting them on the table with a thump, and casting a dubious eye over the group. It doesn't take much to tell that Renraw, Tock, Kat and Ragglus are running low on funds: The extravagant spending of their first days in town is a distant memory and the four are down to one meal a day.

She leaves the table with a derisive snort, murmuring a quiet word to the tavern's bouncer, who seats himself on a stool by the door, watching to make sure that they don't attempt to slip away without paying their tab.

"Pitcher of wine," Katadid looks meaningfully toward Renraw as he pokes unenthusiastically at the still-pink bratwurst. "Two silver."

"Maybe we should hit the stables," Ragglus sneers. "I hear they're serving grass. Tastier than this, I wager. Remind me why I decided to follow y'all, instead of going home to introduce Scim to his innards?"

"The blackberries?" Kat offers. His answer is interrupted by a violent cough that has followed him since their battle with the Moss River. He contains himself and taps his fork against the table, starting with one corner and moving to the next, reaching over his companions to hit each corner.

Renraw quickly but precisely slices his brat, oblivious to the conversation around him.

"I still can't believe these papers. This name the Kujau woman gave me: It's utterly unpronounceable! Who's going to believe I am who I say I am if I say it a different way every time?" He jabs a slice of meat into his mouth and chews vigorously. "No, it will never do. When we get to Freeport, I'm choosing another."

"Viouesoeri Krieger," Kat says, pointing to himself. "It's ... well ... "

"Exactly right, Leach," Renraw says, pointing his fork at Kat. "Yours at least has some interesting diphthongs in there! Would it have killed her to sneak me an extra vowel or two?"

Ragglus' mood starts to dip further south, seemingly caught in a staring contest with the bouncer at the door. Without knowing it, he begins to compulsively crack his knuckles at a slow pace.

"What we need is some money, real money," Renraw says as he scoops some errant carrots onto his fork with his finger. "I shudder to think what might happen should someone tell our antsy friend Chaplin here he's to wash the dishes. What's gotten into you, Chaplin? Didn't you have your morning movement today?"

"Yeah," Ragglus replies, taking his eyes off of the doorman briefly to toss a sideways glance to the wizard. "You're eating it."

Renraw chokes a moment before he manages an awkward grin.

"Not far from the truth, I fear. Still, I'm glad to eat. Energy to think our way out of this mess, you know. How are you doing in that regard, Chandler? How best to Freeport, in your opinion? And how to make us some traveling money first?"

"Carter," Tock reminds Renraw, chewing a bratwurst. "We're sorry about your name but pick a pronunciation and stick with it. We all need to stay in character. Who knows who might be in the employ of the baron. He's a Lothianite, remember, and tricky. So for now remember I'm Dargus Carter.

"But you're right, we need some spending money. Man cannot live on ... whatever this is ... alone. Viouesoeri, did you hear anything about making some money?"

The door of the Dented Coin bangs open, the wind grabbing it away from the young man pushing it from the outside. The guard looks a little sheepish and closes it again, blushing under the scowl of the bouncer.

Looking around the room, he spots the group from Midwood and comes over to them.

"You're the ... " His face screws up as he thinks of the right word. "Delvers? Adventurers? Bailiff Schultheis sent me to find you. Well, after you finish your grub, anyway."

"Finish up, Viouesoeri, my old friend," Tock says, slapping Katadid on the back. "You need nourishment to perform your sorcery, as I do to perform my archery. Just a moment, lad. Dargus Carter and his Gentlemen Delvers will be at your service in a second."

Kat nods and begins to mush his carrots into an orange pile before shoveling it into his mouth between coughs. Renraw leans in and whispers something to Tock.

"W-what are we being found for?" Katadid asks. He starts once he realizes he said it out loud. He turns to the young man and awkwardly gestures to him for any help he could provide to this question.

"Er, are you finished then? I believe the bailiff, she wants to talk to you about the burglaries and all."

"The burglaries and all" appears to be a well-known subject with everyone but the group from Maidensbridge: The few people gathered in the Dented Coin all grumble and nod their heads at this.

"Burglars, aye?" Tock says, face concerned. "Foul miscreants, doomed souls, or worse! I cannot abide by a thief, or my name not be Dargus Carter. Come, boys, we've got good to do."

Renraw jabs his fork into what's left of his sausage and throws it into his bag. He watches Ragglus stand and turn away from the table and then does the same with what's on his plate.

The deputy leads the Gentlemen Delvers out of the Dented Coin across the muddy square in the center of town. A cool wind is blowing across Blackberry Ridge, threatening to steal hats from heads and whipping up cloaks.

The group turns not toward Blackberry Hall, but toward the ancient smooth stone of St. Thessina's of the Plains. The door of the small church, smooth and shiny with age, bangs in the wind, and a young priestess runs forward to catch it before it can hammer the wall once more. She smiles a tight-lipped smile at the group and gestures for them to head inside.

It takes a moment for everyone's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the chapel, with its dark wood pews and somber tapestry behind the altar. Even the altar cloth, with its gold thread picking out the ankh-crucifix of Lothian is dim in the gray light coming in from the doorway and the few flickering candles.

A man in his 50s, broad-shouldered and with dark hair combed back severely, stands by the altar, listening to a young woman in the first pew speaking quietly.

As the group approaches, the woman stands and turns. Although the priest is deferential to her, she's young and has a face and body that make her look younger still. But for all that she looks like a child, she has the confidence of leadership, and she steps forward to greet the group halfway, holding out one hand.

"Thank you for joining us. I am Bailiff Arabelle Schultheis."

"A most honorable pleasure, madam Bailiff," Tock bows just deeply enough. "I am Dargus Carter, and these are my Gentlemen Delvers. If there is any service that we, or I in particular, can provide, nothing will stop us from it."

"I am glad to hear it."

The bailiff gestures for everyone to be seated.

"The constable here," she waves a hand toward the priest standing nearby, who glowers as a result, "Has been confronted with a mystery for some months now, and I suggested we ask the Delvers in our midst to try a new approach to solving the mystery."

"I am High Priest Manfred Richter and the constable of Blackberry Ridge, and have been for many years," the priest says, moving to stand behind the altar, although he does not touch it. "Earlier this year, residents began to find their homes burglarized at night, with small, portable goods stolen from them.

"The problem we faced, however, is that at night, the village is barricaded and guards are posted at the gate. There is simply no way in after dark for anyone who would be interested in such minor items.

"We naturally suspected someone in town, and have spent months attempting to catch the culprit in the act, with no success."

"Until," the bailiff breaks in quietly, "We almost caught the thief in the act last week. He was in my very home, and my staff chased him from the house when they heard him knock over my father's suit of armor. The town was dark, and we did not get a good look at him as he fled through the gates of Schultheis House, but we chased him into the center of town ... where he jumped down the well, riding the bucket all the way down."

The constable makes a noise, sucking his lower lip.

"Naturally, we stationed guards outside the well, waiting for the thief to come back up," he says. "We dropped lit torches down, and lowered lanterns on ropes. There are no signs of the thief. We need someone to go down into the well and find the thief and recover the stolen goods."

"We do not have enough deputies to risk them on this endeavor," the bailiff says quietly. "We are too close to Kem to allow any of our deputies to go down into the well. Should they not return, we would be defenseless against the things that sometimes come north.

"So, will you do it?" the bailiff asks, her blue eyes worried.

Tock barely affords the constable a mere glance, focusing only on the lady.

"My good madam bailiff, I cannot fathom a request from a lady of your honor and fairness that I would refuse. Of course we shall come to your aid! Are we not the Gentlemen Delvers? Am I not Dargus Carter? And are you not ... you?"

Kat appears to have not heard any of the conversation at all: His mouth moves silently as he tries to decipher the faded and ancient symbols covering the walls of the church and his fingers ran along their soft edges, but to little avail, as they had been long worn to useless nubs.

"What has he stolen?" Kat asks suddenly from the corner, startling those unfamiliar with him and his peculiar mannerisms. "And is he a he, or an it? Quite nimble to ride a bucket down a well shaft, anyway."

"Or desperate," sneers the constable.

"We don't know the sex of the thief," the bailiff says mildly, watching Kat examine the worn writing in Old Prustan on the walls. "It was too dark, so we simply assumed. And lots of little things have been stolen, precious things, like coins, jewelry, silver candlesticks. Things that could be carried away easily and sold easier still, I imagine."

Katadid mutters to himself, turning this all over in his mind.

"Gentlemen Delvers get paid, right?" Ragglus asks Renraw in hushed tones.

The wizard rolls his eyes and tries to ignore Ragglus, although he had touched on a subject of immediate importance.

"Might I inquire as to the method and amount of compensation for services rendered, madam bailiff?" Renraw asks, adopting his least abrasive grin. "Would that we could survive on the spiritual returns of good deeds alone. I assume we aren't to be rewarded upon completion of the task with our fill of blackberries, tantalizing as the prospect may be."

"Ah, m'lady, please forgive the forwardness of my sage," Tock interjects, flushing. "His wisdom is great, but so is his pragmatism. It's a good thing I keep him around, though, as we'd starve if I took every job offered by an attractive woman without payment."

Bailiff Schultheis looks down at her hand, thinking, then back up at Renraw.

"We can afford 100 gold thrones each," she says. "After, that is, the stolen goods are returned. The amount stolen thus far is less than that; I am offering this amount to bring this problem to an end. If there are items you discover in the well that no one here claims, they are yours as well.

"Do we have an agreement?"

"Madam Bailiff, your generosity merely adds to your other charms," Tock says, smiling broadly. "We are agreed."

"Yes," Katadid says, his mumbling clarifying into a list of supplies. "Torches, a healer's kit, in case. Preparations needed, spells ..."

"What?" the constable asks, a bit huffily and startling Kat.

"What my learned friend Krieger means is we are currently ill-equipped to make our way down well shafts," Tock offers hastily. "Our previous exploration of the many old goblin caves in Goblin Falls, while successful, of course, exhausted our supplies. The donation of torches would be most helpful. I understand the need to be careful, however, as I am certain they simply ignite being in your presence, dear lady."

"Perhaps an advance?" Renraw offers, grinning. "If you give us the money now, we can ... buy supplies. Plenty of time to tromp down the well tomorrow, after we-"

"Today is fine," Kat stammers. "Just maybe enough to just to give us light and a kit ... for, um, injuries."

"Or we could have just taken the money and left, you moron," Renraw grumbles, inaudible to everyone but Ragglus, who snorts derisively.

An hour later, the Gentlemen Delvers are equipped with their gear, and are standing next to the well. The bailiff, constable and a large group of curious residents stand nearby, watching.

A wet wind has sprung up, and it causes the shaft of the well to whistle as it blows across its open top. A thick rope, knotted every few feet, dangles from the crossbeam above the well, with the regular bucket and chain removed and sitting beside the well, allowing an easier descent into the depths.

"Good luck to you, then," Constable Richter says, a wry half-grin on his face as he stands, arms crossed expectantly.

The group stares at each other, uncomfortable as a few expectant coughs emit from the impatient crowd.

"So," Renraw begins, rubbing his hands in front of him while breaking the silence, "A round of Stone, Scroll, Sword to determine who takes the first bold step? Or drop, as it were?"

The sound of metal scraping on stone interrupts them as Ragglus hoists his large armored frame over the edge of the well, giving the rope a safety tug before pushing out to hang. The crossbeam gives a small groan in protest, but holds.

"Play for second," he growls, using the knots in the rope to begin his descent.

Kat shivers in the wind. He watches Ragglus's head dip beneath the well's edge for a moment, then reaches over and grabs Renraw's staff, eliciting a protest. Kat jerks the leather cap off the staff, the tip of it igniting with spectral flames in response. The townspeople take a few steps back and mutter.

"Lea- " Renraw trails off. "How dare you?"

"He needs light," Kat says simply. He loops the staff through his belt so that the burning end remains level with his back. The magical flame tickles Kat's neck as he moves one leg over the edge.

"Viouesoeri!" Tock begins and Kat looks up.

"I shall be careful, Dargus," he says.

"Anything about this well we should know?" Kat asks the constable.

"It's a well. There's water at the bottom."

The 10-foot diameter well shaft is constructed of fitted masonry stones. The stones are covered in moss and small weeds, but looking carefully, Ragglus can see numerous handholds cut into the side of the well, descending the 80 feet to the water below.

"Madam Bailiff," Tock says, reaching out to take the bailiff's hand. "I fear I must now take temporary leave of you. Worry not, as thoughts of you will keep me warm in this dank well."

Renraw smiles uncomfortably as he watches Tock descend lower and lower, trying to think of any means possible to delay his own descent.

"Anything noteworthy among your pilfered items to keep an eye out for, good citizens? Constable? Madam bailiff?"

"Bring up whatever you find," Bailiff Schultheis. "We'll use the bucket if need be."

"Right." Renraw swings his other leg over the side of the well and grabs the rope.

The Gentlemen Delvers find themselves swaying on the line, one above another, above the black water of the well. Above, the constable leans on his elbows, watching the activity below.

"Uh, just water below?" Katadid calls down, his thin arms already beginning to burn from the strain.

Ragglus puts up a finger more polite than the one he normally uses for signaling and shushes the wizard. The big man continues down the rope, pausing every few feet.

The others wait, listening to the sound of the creaking from the crossbeam above and the wind whistling across the open top of the well. In the dark water below, something splashes, perhaps a large frog or fish.

Ragglus notices that the plant growth around the handholds gets dramatically thicker below where he currently dangles. He looks up once again. Past the other two, he can make out Renraw above them straining to keep an eye on his precious staff. With an amused half-snort, he silently motions for Kat to climb down closer. He uses his free hand to direct the glowing end of Renraw's staff down as far down as Kat can reach, giving him a clearer view of the wall of the well.

He grins as he spots a strange shadow cast by the flickering magical flames. A narrow gap in the wall of the well reveals a secret door left barely ajar.

Ragglus snaps his fingers at those dangling above him and then points at the secret door. Slipping his dagger out into his free hand, he puts the blade to door and attempts to open it further.

As best as he can manage, Kat orients the lit end of Renraw's staff to better illuminate the doorway and beyond.

The secret door opens with a groan, revealing a rough stone passageway that looks like a natural tunnel that has been widened and finished -- slightly -- by a stone carver at some point in the past.

Putting his dagger in his teeth, Ragglus slips off the rope and into the tunnel. Kat follows, as do the others. Renraw snatches back his staff angrily.

"You doddering fool," Renraw whispers harshly, his knuckles going white as he clutches the staff. "Did it ever occur to you that anyone pursuing us might be looking for someone bearing a staff exactly like this?"

Equipping his shield, Ragglus turns and glares at the wizards.

"Shhhh!"

The passageway is dusty and damp, but not abandoned: There is a scuffed path through the damp and rat droppings dot the sides of the tunnel.

Renraw lowers his staff to the ground inspects the path before the group.

The footprints unfortunately aren't clear: Something, or several things have gone back and forth across this damp path numerous times, just leaving streaks in the wet dust.

Renraw sighs heavily, then stands back up and jabs Ragglus in the back with the butt of his staff.

"Well, Chaplain? Move on. We'll support you as best we can, but we're counting on you to scotch this scrounger, after all. You in front, Chandler in the back with his arrows, and young Katadid and I betwixt you both."

Resisting the urge to introduce the wizard to an intimate view of his gauntleted fist, Ragglus starts forward cautiously.

The damp and cramped tunnel continues about 40 feet before widening on the left and sloping downward into a cave. The tunnel continues on past, winding past a stalagmite, forming the right wall of the cave.

The cavern is at least 20 feet wide, and extends to the southwest another 40 feet or so. The air is damp and the group can hear the constant patter of dripping water. The uneven floor slopes gently to the south, covered by several large stalagmites, rotting timbers and rubble.

As the party approaches the stalagmite, Kat runs his finger across it and licks it.

With room to swing a dead gnome, as he thinks it's said, Ragglus puts away his dagger and draws his longsword.

Kat bends down to examine the debris for clues as to what it may have been originally, and how they may have ended up in the cave in the first place.

Tock darts his eyes around, bow drawn and ready.

As Ragglus enters, rubble sliding under his feet, forcing him to move carefully, the light is shined more fully into the room and he sees that some of the timbers are, in fact, desiccated small animals wrapped in some sort of pale fabric.

By the magical torchlight, the group can see something that appears to be made out of silver reflecting between several of the stalagmites.

He looks up to the group and holds his hand out, palm down. He extends his fingers and bends them down, wiggling them menacingly. He then brings his hand up to his face and pushes two fingers down into a phantom object, making sucking sounds.

When he looks up from his pantomime, Ragulus is staring at him, Renraw's eyebrow is raised, and Tock is simply shaking his head and sighing.

"Um," Kat says quietly. "Spider. Big. Maybe."

"My mother would have been deathly afraid of giant spiders," Renraw whispers, pointing the light in the direction Kat scans. "And I imagine they don't much appreciate having their legs plucked off one by one. But more importantly ..."

His voice trails off and he slowly, carefully, walks toward the glinting silver, taking the light with him.

Katadid tenses as he watches Renraw move hungrily toward the silver.

"But, it's BAIT," he hisses. He looks up toward Ragglus and back toward Tock helplessly.

Renraw halts in his tracks, profound disappointment washing over his face.

"Of course it's bait!" he snaps. "You think I'm not aware of that? I-I'm being self-sacrificing! You know how I can be!"

Fairly certain Renraw has never previously used the words "self" and "sacrificing" together in a sentence to describe himself, Ragglus decides to trail the wizard into the cave. He keeps more than a few steps behind, not wishing to steal any of Renraw's newly acquired boldness.

Renraw sees Ragglus moving forward and then quickly ducks behind him, urging him onward.

"I'm right behind you!"

"Keep your light up, at least," the fighter says with a sigh, his own giant shadow looming before them as Renraw cowers behind him. The wizard finally re-extends the staff overhead, and Ragglus continues forward to investigate the silver glint, shield at the ready.

In the flickering light of the magical torch-staff, for a fraction of a second, it looks like the debris moving is just a trick of the light. But before Ragglus can have time to even consider this, the debris near the silver dagger is thrown back, revealing itself to be the top of a crude trapdoor.

A furry gray spider the size of a table at The Cat & The Fiddle bursts out, leaping at him with a screaming hiss.

The beast slams against Ragglus' shield, its fangs making two thick gouges in the wood, but cannot reach his face and it drops back, tensing for another spring.

Renraw leaps back into Kat as the spider attacks. As Renraw spins around, he sees Tock unsheathing his bow to aim for a shot past the crowd, and he saw Katadid looking at Renraw, shaking his head ruefully.

Spinning back around and hopping to the side like a crazed marionette, Renraw quickly holds his staff out in front of him, preparing to strike if necessary.

Ragglus maneuvers sideways so as to give Tock and the wizards a profile view of himself and the spider. With a grunt, he swings at the enormous spider, but it twitches down, beneath the blade, springing back up as the longsword sweeps past it in a long arc.

The beast squeals in surprise as Kat fires a sling stone that bounces off one of the creature's black eyes.

Renraw steps forward, swinging his staff at the spider with a grunt, but meets empty air just as Ragglus had: The beast has already recovered from its shock at being struck by the sling stone.

At the back of the room, an arrow snaps against stone in the darkness, having flown wide from Tock's bow.

With a squeal of rage and hunger, the spider leaps forward, plunging its two thick fangs into Ragglus' shoulder, the twin sacs at the base of its fangs pumping furiously, flooding his body with the beast's poison.

Renraw squeaks as he suddenly realizes that he's in the middle of close combat with a giant spider and withdraws, keeping his eyes glued on the arachnid for any sudden movements.

"Well then," Kat mutters, watching Ragglus struggle under the creature. He sets down his sling and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small pouch. Opening the pouch, he pours sand into his palm and rubs his hands together muttering an incantation.

The spider slows for a moment, but then, with a motion like it's tearing through a web, it keeps coming, leaping on Ragglus once more. But this time its fangs fail to penetrate his armor, and it slips back, hissing in rage.

Sparing a glance over to Kat, Ragglus can't help but notice that the wizard is no longer casting, leaving him to deduce that whatever spell he was preparing to use, it either failed or he gave up.

Tock's arrow goes wide, bouncing off the stone floor and then splashing somewhere in the darkness beyond the glow of the magical torchlight.

The poison continues to pump through Ragglus' system, but it no longer weakens him; adrenaline seems to burn the rest of it from his body. But his sword thrust at the beast is easily dodged by the spider, leaving everyone in a standoff.

"Its legs! Pull the legs out!" Renraw shouts helpfully.

Ragglus leaps forward, stabbing with his sword, the spider pulling back and avoiding the blade. The arrow flying from Tock's bow flies past as well. But the spider is hit by a small whirling sling stone once more with a wet sound.

The spider leaps on Ragglus again, but it cannot get its fangs through his armor quite so well, and he shrugs off the venom injected into the wound.

As Katadid places another stone into his sling, he finds himself soothed by the repetition of it all. Stone. Spin. Throw. Stone. Spin. Throw. A beatific smile crosses his face and the meaning of the events drop away before him, and he sees them only as tableau.

The spider pounces onto Ragglus, its fangs biting deeply, but it doesn't pump enough venom into his veins to have any effect for the moment.

He shoves it off with his shield, but reeling in pain, his sword doesn't even scratch the beast.

Katadid's sling stone pings off the rock ceiling, plopping into unseen water on the ricochet. But a moment later, Tock's arrow thuds into the beast's body, and it squeals in pain.

"Chaplain!" Renraw screams. "Gods damn it! Making me waste my magics on this ..."

The wizard pulls out his own handful of dust, raises it in the air, lowers his head, and then lets the dust fall through his fingers, all muttering softly.

"AND NOW, WRETCHED VARMINT: SOMNOLENCE!"

Before it can attack again, the spider slumps to the ground, unconscious, sand trickling down its head.

Renraw angrily tromps over to the prone arachnid and smashes it it with his staff.

The quarterstaff sinks into the spider's head, going all the way through to the stone cave floor below. A yellow goo leaks out of the spider's head and a tremor ripples through its body. Then it lays still, dead.