Middle World/Lakelands 1: Main Group

[Raven Crowking]

I am a bit behind on producing campaign logs for my own group, but I thought I'd share what exists with the ENWorld crew. Comments are welcome!

Campaign logs are all copyright (c) 2004 Daniel J. Bishop, except where otherwise noted. At one point, I did lift a creature's description from the S&S Creature Collection rather wholesale. Googling my name will turn up other fiction I've written, for places like iHero.net, Fables, Ideomancer, and Strange Horizons. Comments on those would be appreciated as well, and can be sent to ravencrowking@hotmail.com.

This is a homebrew world, so I'll start by posting background cosmology, then jump into the campaign logs. Each log represents one session, usually lasting about three-four hours of game play. Games are held at Golden City Comics on Tuesdays, starting between 3-4 pm and running until store closing at 7 pm. If you're ever in the Toronto area, drop by and watch! If you live in the area, you might be able to arrange to play. Because of the current volume of players, I have been half thinking of having two ongoing groups. There is also a PBEM game....again, interested parties should contact me at ravencrowking@hotmail.com.

Daniel

 

[Raven Crowking]

Cosmology

In the beginning, there was Chaos, void and without form. And in that Chaos dwelt the Elder Gods, who swam in nothingness, spinning and consuming light and matter in their endless insanity and evil. There were not days, nor years, nor eons, and Time before Time passed in an infinite unmarked crawl.

From whence the Great Titans came, or how, cannot be told, for it was unseen by mortal eyes and the Great Titans did not say. Yet it was they who first strove with the Elder Gods and brought Order to the Cosmos. They formed the Heavens for their dwelling, and the Hells, and consigned the Elder Gods to the Far Pit, and sealed them there with the Elder Sign. In that epic battle, the bones of the Great Titans mingled with the blood and ichors of the Elder Gods, becoming the Middle World upon which mortal creatures dwell. The formation of the Middle World is thought to have twisted the cosmos, creating the elemental and transitive planes.

In the early days of the Middle World, the air was thick with Spirits of various powers and abilities, too many for mortals to name. These Spirits brought forth mortal life in their diverse images, including the various races of Men and Elves, the beasts, and the Dark Folk. These were days of High Magic, when the Spirits communed with Men and taught them the secret language of the Cosmos. This is accounted the First Age of the Middle World: between the creation and the attention of the Great Titans. For when the Great Titans became aware of the Middle World, they sought to devour its creatures as sacrifices upon an altar.

The Spirits strove with the Great Titans for mastery, and cast the Great Titans down, binding them forever within the Earth. In this battle, new lands were raised, and old lands cast down. Nations were washed away, and much that was once known was lost. This was the Second Age, the Age of Chaos on Earth, when the Elder Signs were first weakened, and the servants of the Elder Gods again began to manifest from beyond the Far Pit.

Now two thirds of the Spirits sought to control the Heavens under the banner of their leader Mardan, and those who were powerful among them called themselves the Younger Gods. One third of the Spirits loved the world, and became entwined with it, and became the Faeries. Some of these also called themselves Gods, and became Lords of Beasts, or minor Lords of Oak and Wold, or Gods of Places and Events. Yet already the tendrils of the Elder Gods wormed their way into the hearts of some among the Younger Gods and the Faerie Lords, and they turned to evil. There was War in Heaven, and half the Celestial Host perished, and of those who remained half were banished to the deeps of the Hells, there to remain unless released, or until Time Itself should come to pass away. This was accounted the Third Age of the Middle World, and long it endured, while the Celestial Spirits turned from the mortal races, who in turn ceased to look toward the Celestial Spirits and instead worshipped the Faerie Lords.

Then the Middle World entered the Fourth Age, which is the current Age of the World. Now the Celestials have turned their eyes once more to mortal affairs, and seek to bring order and plenty to their mortal worshipers. Yet the Faerie Lords have grown strong, and not all wish order and growth for the mortal races. Though the Fallen Spirits are consigned to the Hells, still mortals may call them forth, and their powers may fuel agents in the Middle World, who seek the undoing of the Celestials. Finally, the Elder Gods still act from the shadows, malevolent, evil, and older than Time. Their threat lies in the spread of madness, and the shortsighted greed of those that came after them – mortals and Spirits alike. For if the Elder Gods prevail, all order shall turn to Chaos, and the Cosmos shall pass away.

 

[Raven Crowking]

First Session

The North Road Inn was a small inn near the North Gate of Long Archer. The North Gate was little used, save by woodsmen and lumber cutters, as well as the odd Lakashi or adventurer. As a result, the patrons of the North Road Inn were of the same type. The area around the North Gate was fairly poor, but few of the lower class locals patronized the North Road Inn itself.

Hrum leaned on the counter of the Inn’s tavern, nursing a small beer. Although he had been involved in several jobs for the Foresters – mostly guarding woodsman while they worked – he was currently unemployed. His last copper tick had just gone into a leathern jack, and would soon be nothing more than dregs.

As he tipped the last of the beer from the mug, the inn’s door opened and a well-dressed man entered with a manservant. They were dressed in livery of blue and green. “Landlord, a private room,” the man calls. He casts his eye around the inn. “And if any here be men of deeds, they would do well to come with me.”

Hrum shrugged. It was good timing. He stood, drained his cup, and followed the man. At the same time, a man in a dark hooded robe stood up and followed. A priest of Badur, perhaps, Hrum thought. He followed the Church of the Seven Good Gods himself. The Church had taken care of him since he was very young.

No sooner were they in the room than the man began to speak.

“For those who do not know me, I am Hubert Oarsman of the Guild of Shippers. I am a hard man to cross, but a good man to have for a friend. My family has done well in this village. But we were not always a family of merchants, and my eldest boy is an impetuous lad. Two weeks ago, he set out with a score of men-at-arms to seek his fortune in the Dragon’s Lair, and he has not returned. Go there. Bring back my Brand, living or dead, and I will pay you well. More, you will have my gratitude, and the gratitude of my kin. You may find that my friendship is worth more to you than gold.”

“I’ll do it,” the black-robed man said. “Where are these caves?”

Hrum admired the man’s confidence. “I’ll go, too.”

“They are caves, about three days north of here, too small to have ever held a worm, leastwise one of any size. But local lore would have a dragon there an age ago, its treasure still lost in the darkness. Make no mistake, there will be dangers. But a dragon will not be among their number. May I have your names?”

“I am called Locke,” the black-robed man said.

“And I am Hrum. Though orcish blood flows through my veins, I wish you to know that I am a man of honor.”

“Save my son, and that will prove your honor well enough. The moon will be full in six nights, and my heart fears that if Brand is not found before that moon rises, then all hope is in vain.”

The black-robed man, Locke, turned to Hrum. “Shall we leave tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Hrum agreed. As they turned to go, Hrum realized that he had just spent his last coin. He turned back toward Master Oarsman. “Um…I know we haven’t done anything yet, but I was wondering…it’s just that I don’t have any money, and I need a place to stay…”

Master Oarsman turned an appraising eye toward Hrum, and his features turned cold. “Now I understand what it is that you were seeking, Master Orc. Hermann, give him something for his trouble.” As the guildsman swept from the room, his manservant opened his purse and tossed Hrum a silver penny. It would not be enough for both a room and a meal.

“The clerics of Mellador keep places for such as you,” the manservant said.

The orcs were probably the worst of the wild humanoids dwelling near to Long Archer. Hrum was used to the sour looks his orcish parentage brought. It did not mean that he liked it. Hrum had guarded woodcutters against orcs in service of the Guild of Mercenaries, and none could say he refused to lay sword to any goblinoid when an honest man’s life was in danger. Hrum fumed silently, but he took the silver penny and left.

Luckily, he was well enough known at the North Road Inn. After Hrum bought the inn’s thick venison stew – served with huge slabs of brown peasant’s bread – he was able to barter work for a place to sleep by the common room fire.

“I couldn’t help but overhear.” The black-robed man, Locke, had approached the bar where Hrum was speaking to the innkeeper. “When I go adventuring, I prefer my companions to be well rested. I will pay for his room.”

In the morning, the pair left the North Gate along the trail into Weirwood the Great. The forest was cut back a good two bowlengths from the village wall, but once it started, it started thick. Overhanging boughs cut the light down to a green shadow, and areas of thick undergrowth reduced visibility. The northward trail was used by woodcutters, Hrum knew, so there were liable to be clear-cut areas and glens at least as far as the caverns they sought.

The first day passed rather uneventfully. It was pleasant enough land, rising and falling, alive with shallow streams and narrow rills. All they saw were birds and small animals – chipmunks and squirrels, the occasional rabbit. It was not until evening that Hrum realized that he hadn’t brought food. With the day work he’d done for the Guild of Mercenaries, food was provided when the woodcutters camped outside the village wall. Of course, the Guild of Mercenaries also took more than half of Hrum’s pay, as he was not a guild member, so the provided food was not as much of a bonus as it might seem. However, Hrum had not even considered packing food before now, and he thought back to the odd rabbit they had seen with hunger.

Luckily, Locke had brought enough food to get them to the cavern at least. “We are going to have to try hunting, though,” he said. “Or we won’t have food for the trip back.”

“It’ll be good to have something other than dry trail rations anyway.”

They ate silently for a while, listening to the crackling of their fire. Suddenly, they realized that there was a figure standing just at the edge of their firelight. It seemed tall and craggy in the shadows. An owl perched on the figure’s shoulder turned its full-moon eyes on them. The teeth of a badger near the figure’s feet gleamed.

They were unsure at first whether the figure they saw was a forest spirit or a man. “Who are you?” Locke asked.

“I am Desu Atram, of the Catfish Tribe,” the figure answered. As he stepped forward, they could see that he was human, though entwined with the natural world. A druid. He was also a Lakashi, one of the tribesmen who dwelled in the Lakelands. Some called them savages, and relations between city dwellers and Lakashi were not always peaceful. Still, the man seemed more curious than dangerous, and he had observed them quietly from the shadows without bringing them harm. “May I share your fire?”

Locke spread his hands to include them in the largesse of their camp. A memory floated up from somewhere. Sharing a fire and protection was common courtesy among travelers. Of course, it was not always well rewarded. Still, some spirits and fey could be bound from harm simply by offering them hospitality, and one never knew. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes.”

Shortly afterward, they were discussing Hubert Oarsman’s missing son, and the reason Hrum and Locke had entered the Weirwood. They were uncertain what dangers they might face. Since Desu seemed willing to aid them in their task, Hrum and Locke were equally willing to share what reward there was with him.

All seemed to be going well until the trio encountered a boar the following day. Boars were certainly not rare in the Weirwood, where they used their tusks to dig up grubs, acorns, and fungi. Boars were as large as most hounds. Their nasty tempers were legendary, and many a hunter had ended up treed by his quarry. Even wounded or dying, a boar can make a fatal attack. Caution when dealing with these animals is so deeply ingrained that even experienced hunters will use boar spears when hunting them – iron spears with a crossbar far up the shaft to prevent an impaled boar from simply driving the shaft through its body in order to charge the hunter.

Hrum, though, had never seen a boar spear. Perhaps he didn’t realize the danger the creature represented, or that it might not attack if they remained calm. He was leading when they spotted the boar, some ways ahead of them on the trail. It was clear that the boar had seen them as well, but it stood tensely, watching them with suspicion. With thoughts of succulent flesh foremost in his Hrum drew his sword to charge.

Instantly, the boar was upon them, tusks flashing. Desu’s badger companion, and early victim of the boar, was thrown into the air and trampled under its hooves. Although they fought valiantly, and gave the animal its death-wound, the boar’s fury was unabated until all lay bleeding on the forest floor. And there they would have died, had it not been for the kind heart of another.

Against hope, they awoke at twilight to the smell of roasting boar. Locke, who had awoken first, reported seeing a woman in shining silver mail. She had obviously bound their wounds and granted them divine healing. She was elven-fair, but taller than mortal men, with the face and lithe grace of the fair people. After rendering aid, she had mounted a great elk and ridden off down the forest path. They had not been given a proper chance to thank her.

“I shall commune with nature,” Desu said, “and see what I can do to heal us further. We can do no more this night.”

 

[Raven Crowking]

Second Session

The next morning, the scent of roasted boar brought another visitor to their camp. This time it was a dwarf with a large black raven perched on his shoulder. Locke had lost all memory of his life three years ago. Something had happened in Weirwood the Great – he knew not what – that left him wounded with no recall beyond his name. When the dwarf came toward the ashes of their fire, some brief recall fluttered just beyond Locke’s grasp. It was the raven, not the dwarf. Something to do with ravens. Then it was gone.

Before long, the dwarf was breaking fast with them on greasy strips of roast boar. Locke had met but a few dwarves in the time he could remember, but most of these were either taciturn or grumpy, and some few had had heard of – but never met – were greedy to the point of wickedness. By contrast, Darwin Ravenscroll was chatty and energetic, often spinning off into irrelevant swirls of speech as though he were fey-touched. He would occasionally croak bird-wise at his raven, although it clearly knew dwarf-speech.

For all his speech, they learned little about Ravenscroll as they broke fast, apart from the fact that he studied the arcane arts. Nonetheless, when Desu invited him to join their quest, all were swift to agree. After all, with additional help they were more likely to succeed, and by now they realized that they hadn’t even found out what reward they might be sharing. When a reward might be enough for four, or too little for one, what was the point in arguing about it?

Their most serious discussion over breakfast was on the subject of food and equipment. The boar’s meat would help, but would not last forever, and their defeat at its tusks had left them with injuries that Desu’s magic had been insufficient to fully heal. They considered splitting forces, sending some back to Long Archer to beg for aid. Desu was desirous of getting a donkey to carry the extra burdens they began to realize they needed. Indeed, the group as a whole began to succumb to despair, feeling themselves less than equal to the simplest of the Weirwood’s challenges.

Time spent in the Hidden Shrine of Badur had given Locke another perspective. The priests of the Bonewarden had taught him that life was a passage, and death nothing to be feared if life had been lived well. Locke himself would not be bound for gray Lymbo. Had it not been prophesied that he would only regain his lost memories once this life had ended?

“I think we should continue,” Locke said.

Darwin Ravenscroll chimed in his agreement. After all, the dwarf had not been part of the skirmish with the boar, and as a result was uninjured and whole. His raven familiar cawed harsh agreement.

Despair postponed, but not cancelled, the group rose from their breakfast and began to travel along the path. It was long after their noon-day meal when they came upon an ancient woman hobbling with a cane, her back bent nearly double with age and a heavy saddle basket of turnips she carried, full enough to give even a donkey pause. One of her arms was in a sling, and she was limping.

They could hear her muttering under breath, but could not tell what she said.

Locke hailed her.

“Do you need help?” Desu added.

The old woman looked up, and a snaggle-toothed smile brightened her lined face. “Bright Spirits,” she said. “Bright Spirits sent you to me! Save my Henry! The troll’s got him, just down the path” – she pointed back the way she’d come from – “If you don’t hurry, I fear Henry’ll be killed and et!”

At once the morning’s despair arose. “A troll?” Ravenscroll said. “I’m not fighting a troll!” He looked the way the old woman had pointed. It was the direction they were already headed, down the trail they were using. “There is no way that we can face a troll and survive.”

Desu sat upon a fallen log. Clearly he was recalling the badger he had befriended, and how easily they had all fallen when the boar had attacked.

“Nonetheless,” said Locke, loosening his greatsword in its scabbard. “I am going.” He took no more than a dozen steps before the dwarf turned his mind and hurried to catch up to him. Most fey-like and unusual for a dwarf. Locke wondered what it meant. A merry company of misfits, this group was. Once Locke and Ravenscroll had disappeared into the trees down the path, Hrum and Desu exchanged a look. Desu rose. Sighing heavily, they followed.

The ruined tower was no more than a hundred yards down the path, in a smallish clearing. Its base was perhaps thirty feet in diameter, and it had fallen past a height of fifteen feet or so, in a tumble of large stones. Most of these were scattered to the northeast. Where the door once allowed access, a ragged wound ten feet high had been smashed out of the stone. The growth of moss, weeds, and lichen showed that all this happened long ago – many of the jumbled stones were nearly hidden by deep green coatings of moss.

Tied to a stake in front of the tower ruin was a very miserable-looking donkey.

“This is old stonework,” muttered Ravenscroll, “as humans count the years, yet not so old that more would not be standing, had it been better crafted.” He began to walk toward the tower. The donkey seemed overjoyed to see him. Locke drew his greatsword and peered about cautiously. He had, after all, been warned about trolls. Stepping quietly on the spring grass, Locke edged around the glade until he could see some of what was hidden by the tower.

A giant humanoid, nearly ten feet tall, was engaged in building a cairn with some of the fallen tower stones. Not a troll, then. An ogre. Still dangerous, but not as dangerous as what they had feared. From the size of the cairn, whatever it was burying was about the size of the ogre itself. The ogre was wrapped in a bear’s hide, tied on with a rope. Its well-muscled arms were hairy and knotted with warts and muscle. What Locke could see of its face was bestial, with huge teeth and a bristling beard. At least the ogre favored one side as it worked, as though wounded. Thank Badur for small favors.

Hrum and Desu caught up to them and stepped into the clearing. Desu let the donkey free. It raced across the clearing, and cowered behind the half-orc warrior. As Desu returned to where the donkey and Hrum stood, they caught sight of the ogre. Hrum quickly strung his bow. Desu, however, saw that it was injured and, as Ravenscroll stepped through the ragged stone gap into the tower, Desu hailed the ogre.

“Forgive our intrusion,” he said. “Maybe we can help.”

The ogre turned its red-rimmed eyes toward Desu. Its face was twisted with grief and rage. It howled in anger.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Locke said. Suddenly prophecies didn’t seem so imperative. Recovering his lost life didn’t seem worth dying for at the moment. He stepped quickly away from Hrum and Desu as the ogre retrieved a huge greatclub from near where it was working. From within the tower, Ravenscroll gave a cry of pain. Hrum loosed an arrow. Again, the ogre roared with rage. The dwarf’s raven shot out of the tower in a flurry of panic.

Hrum fired arrow after arrow as the ogre advanced. Most found their mark. Locke and Desu moved swiftly away, leaving Hrum to face the ogre alone. “By the Seven Good Gods!” called Hrum. “Some help here!” He fired another arrow, and then dropped his bow in favor of his sword.

“Draw it this way,” Locke called. Desu prepared a sling stone. The raven fluttered between tower and the companions as Hrum hurried toward them. It almost wasn’t enough. With it’s great stride and reach, the ogre struck Hrum a glancing blow with its greatclub. Clearly, a solid blow would be lethal.

Another ogre, this one a stripling no taller than a tall man, stepped out of the tower. It was armed with an ornate trident. The raven redoubled its efforts, trying to draw its master’s friends into the tower. But now Hrum, Locke, and Desu stood together at last. Whether it was this or not, the ogres did not stand long. The young ogre was already greatly injured. Perhaps his father did not want to lose him. In any event, the fight had gone out of them, and they quickly fled into the forest.

Moments later, Desu followed the raven into the tower, where Darwin Ravenscroll lay injured close to death.

The tower walls were five feet thick, giving way to a space about twenty feet in diameter. A narrow stone stair wound counterclockwise around the inner wall, leading nowhere. Part of a wooden roof remained, giving shelter to a massive cot. Darwin lay crumpled near the side of the cot, bleeding from a vicious stab wound.

There were various pots and pans, bones, bags, and bits of rusty dented metal armor scattered about the tower in an untidy hodgepodge. Desu clattered through them quickly to the dwarf’s side. At least he was still breathing, but he was pale with blood loss. Despite the extent of Ravenscroll’s injuries, Desu was able to stabilize him without too much difficulty, staunching the wounds with sticky cobwebs and bloodmarrow.

By that time, they had all entered the ruined tower and looked around. Locke and Hrum began sorting through the ogres’ stolen loot. They set aside those items that might be useful in the Dragon’s Lair, such as a coil of hemp rope. Locke gave a small gasp of delight when he found a sack filled with tobacco. He immediately withdrew his pipe from his pouch.

By this time, they had a sour feeling about the identity of Henry. Desu took the donkey, which had stayed nearby, back down the trail.

When the donkey caught sight of the crone, he immediately set his hind legs and pulled at his traces, braying loudly. The old woman just laughed. “It’s only turnips, Henry,” she said, “and you know your burdens. You wouldn’t want Annabelle to get lonely.” The donkey struggled a minute more, then hung its head and submitted.

The old woman slung the saddle basket up onto the donkey’s back. Henry grunted as it settled.

“I was wondering if we could get some turnips,” Desu said.

The old woman looked at him without blinking. “My Henry’s well enough,” she said, “and you need repaying. I’ll give you your turnips, if you want them, but it seems hardly enough. I always repay my debts. Yon tower will give you a safe night’s rest, now that the landlord is away. When morning comes, look to the depths, and you’ll be rewarded sure enough. Only, wait ‘til dawn, mind. Does no good to be dredging up old ghosts.”

As she led the donkey away, a fog rose from the ground to meet her. The donkey cast one beseeching look over its shoulder, then plodded after her. For a moment, it seemed as if the turnips in the donkey’s saddle blanket had become a jumbled pile of tiny heads, though it must have been a trick of fog and shadow. Then the mist swallowed them, and they were gone.

Desu looked in the bag the crone had given him. The turnips seemed normal enough, so he made a stew of them with what remained of the boar’s meat, and they ate it that night. They camped in the ruined tower, so that they could look for the reward the old woman had mentioned in the morning. At twilight, Desu communed with the natural spirits of the glade – moss and grass and tree – but he didn’t have magic enough to heal them all, and despite his best efforts Ravenscroll remained stable but unconscious.

In the morning, it became obvious that the tower once had a stone floor beneath the accumulated soil and detritus. They discovered an ancient wooden trapdoor set with an iron ring. Though the iron was rusted, and the wood swollen and gray with age, the entire thing seemed sound enough – indeed, they must have unknowingly trusted their weight to it many times the night before.

Hrum gave a great heave and the trapdoor opened. Looking in, they saw that the trapdoor gave way to narrow wooden steps leading down into the darkness, slick with moisture. Hrum, Desu, and Locke crept down the stairs carefully. They were too narrow for anything more than single-file passage.

At the end of the stairs was a tiny damp chamber, once the cistern for the men stationed here when the tower was whole. The walls were covered with translucent slime, giving them an opalescent sheen in Desu’s torchlight. A small, slime-coated wooden chest sat close to the narrow well shaft, which led down into moist blackness.

After checking the slime with the torch to see if it would react – for there were dangerous slimes and oozes that seemed like nothing more than damp walls, they knew – they opened the chest. Within were an ornate helm and a soft leather bag containing what appeared to be colorful sling stones. Desu took the stones, and Hrum took the helm. Briefly checking the well, and deciding that it wasn’t of any serious interest, they climbed the stairs again.

They decided to make a litter to carry the dwarf, and continue on toward the Dragon’s Lair. Already they were feeling the press of time, remembering Master Oarsman’s fear that if his son were not found by the full moon, he’d not be found alive.

Luckily the caves were not far, so even with the extra burden – Desu wishing bitterly that they had kept the donkey – they arrived before noon.

The Dragon’s Lair had two visible entrances: a wide but low entrance right off the trail, and another, narrower entrance somewhat up the hill to the left. Clearly, if any dragon ever crawled into the earth here, it was a small dragon indeed.

They placed Darwin near the cave entrance under the trees, and then sat to make a mid-day meal. They had finished the boar-and-turnip stew when they broke fast, so they turned toward Locke, who had provided food on past occasions.

“Sorry,” Locke was forced to say. “I don’t have enough food for everyone.”

It soon became clear that the only one who had food in any quantity was the dwarf, whom they had spent the morning carrying and caring for. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” said Hrum.

“Don’t be so sure,” said Locke. Ravenscroll was flighty and might not mind, but dwarves had as solid a reputation as dragons for knowing what was theirs to the last copper penny.

Desu went into Darwin’s pack, under the raven’s disapproving eye and loud imprecations – again, Locke felt a tug of disassociated memory that refused to coaslese into something solid. He pulled out enough food for three. “We need it. And we’ve been carrying him all day,” he said. Then he added, quietly, “You realize that we might not have enough food to get back.”

“Perhaps not. But we’re here now, so let’s see what we can do.”

When they had finished eating, they ducked into the wider cave entrance. After only a few feet, the cave opened into a wide chamber. The uneven floor sloped gently downward to the east, and the ceiling rose like a dome to a height of over fifteen feet, allowing them to stand straight once more. A few narrow stalagmites, and a few more stalactites decorated the room. The floor was spattered with guano, which in turn gave a home to small roaches, crickets, centipedes, and other tiny vermin. They could clearly see daylight through the other entrance.

At the far side of the chamber, a narrow tunnel five feet in diameter burrowed at a moderate angle deeper into the earth. There was nowhere else Brand Oarsmen and his men-at-arms could have gone, if they had gone into the caves at all.

The passage was harder than they supposed. After some distance, a narrow passage opened from the ceiling of the passage they traveled down, but they decided to ignore it for the moment. They could hear the trickle of running water down below, and thought it might be better to see where the sound was coming from.

Because the passage was so narrow, Hrum went first, followed by Desu. Locke was bringing up the rear when something snagged him and pulled him up into the second passage in the ceiling. He yelled. Luckily, his sword was drawn, and he didn’t drop it.

Bracing his feet to slow the irresistable pull, he faced a nightmare creature like a gigantic crayfish holding onto the ceiling of the second passage. A nearly invisible filiament not unlike spiderweb emerged from its snout, and pulled Locke steadily toward it. It clacked two large claws in anticipation of fresh meat.

In the confused seconds that followed, Locke could hear his companions trying to come to his aid. The reature was trying to rend him with its claws. At one point, Locke grunted as a sling bullet impacted his hindquarters, and he felt a tingle as some magic tried to work itself upon him. Sling bullets and arrows were far more likely to hit him than the creature. He gritted his teeth and resisted the spell. It disipated, but his companions were still trying dangerously to help him. Thus far, the creature had not hurt him much, but he was certain he could not last much longer.

In desperation, he swung his greatsword in as much of an arc as the tight tunnel would allow. Fate or his god guided the stroke, for it parted chitin and muscle, and the crayfish-thing fell heavily to the tunnel floor, its legs still solidly attached to the ceiling. Locke stabbed down between the creature’s eyes, slaying it utterly.

Gripping the sticky filament, he pulled hard, and managed to dislodge it.

“Let’s go back and check on Ravenscroll,” he said. “We’ll need all of our strength to assault these caves.”

 

[Raven Crowking]

Third Session

In the morning, the dwarf was well enough to be up and about. The Green that permeated the world brought many gifts, and one was that time healed wounds. Where the Green tangled with living, growing things spirits were formed. There were some shamans of the Lakashi who believed that even the Great Spirits – the Horned Lord and Mother Moon – were merely aspects of the Green, and that Death was the shadow the Green cast over the material world.

The Lakashi were matriarchal. Among the tribes, women hold the key positions of power, though some male druids, warriors, and shamans are held also in high esteem. It is rare to see a Lakashi man within the inner circle of the Tribal Council. Desu knew that this was not true among many other peoples, including those with whom he traveled. Yet it was often true within the Green. Among the fey, it was often the Queens who held the greatest power. Still, he had perhaps underestimated the lack of compassion that a male-dominated society could create.

In the Hooth Marshes, there was a tradition of autumn feasting, when neighboring tribes would invite each other to share in the bounty of the season. It was a mark of pride for the Hooth tribes to be able to provide more bounty than a guest could possibly eat – the remainder becoming another meal, or a sacrifice for spirits. It had been natural for Desu to believe that the dwarf would be willing to share what he had with his companions in need. After all, didn’t they share their skills at arms, and Desu the grace of the Green with his magic?

Yet when the dwarf awoke and discovered a portion of his food missing, he turned to Locke, demanding to know what became of it. Locke, rather than answering, deferred the question to the half-orc. Whether it was because of racial animosity or some deeper malaise, the dwarf did not even ask Hrum. Forgetting that he was no warrior, the dwarf charged the half-orc with his staff…but Hrum was not caught unaware, and he was far quicker. In a second, the half-orc’s sword was from its sheath, and the dwarf was once more in the abyss of injured unconsciousness.

Desu quickly rushed up to intervene. He placed himself between the half-orc and the fallen dwarf, preventing Hrum from finishing Darwin where he lay. “What are you doing?” Desu demanded. “We need him! And now I shall have to waste a valuable spell to knit his injuries.” He knelt beside the fallen dwarf and began to reach into the Green, feeling his way toward the necessary healing.

“I’m sorry,” Hrum murmured. “He just attacked me.”

Desu had a sinking feeling that some spirit of malevolence held sway over these two, and it would not end its mischief until one – or both – were dead. As the healed dwarf arose, he stood up. “I took your food,” Desu said, and the dwarf looked away.

When they had eaten a modest breakfast, and had prepared their gear, the four entered the caves once more. Where the taller three had to duck to enter the wider entrance, the dwarf had no difficulty. Again they came to the first chamber. The dwarf, who had not seen it before, looked about with interest, but the rest when directly to the narrow eastern passage. They decided who would go first, then descended. They went past the second passage in the ceiling, where Locke had been attacked, and continued down to the source of trickling water they could hear.

The passage ended in a dark watery expanse, some twenty feet wide, but narrowing to about half that after about twenty feet. The ceiling seemed to be about ten feet high. There was a constant noise of trickling and dripping water. The water itself was scummy, with an oily sheen, and Desu knew instinctively that it was not fit to drink. He could see signs of bat guano. This was an area disease spirits might well enjoy dwelling in.

The dwarf made a magical light upon a pebble, and had his raven carry it over the dark water. When the raven returned, they conferred briefly in the Dwarvish tongue, and Darwin told them that the ceiling was much higher than it appeared, a little farther on. Also, there was a passage eastward on the far side of the water.

Still Desu was not a good swimmer, and he distrusted the look of the water. After a brief discussion, they decided to go back up the passage, and try the narrow way they had passed – the way through the ceiling, where the crayfish-like creature has attacked Locke the day before. They were able to pull their way up into the ceiling passage without too much difficulty, but the way was tight. They came upon the remains of the crayfish-thing – normal-sized beetles and ants had already begun their work upon it – and beneath where it lay they found a dismembered human skeleton adhered to the floor, some of its bones still held together by stringy bits of desiccated flesh. The studded leather armor the body once wore was damaged beyond repair, but there was a serviceable short sword adhered to the floor with it. Try as he might, Hrum could not pull the sword free from where it was glued to the floor.

Beyond, the cave floor evened out somewhat, opening into a nodule some ten feet in diameter and seven feet high. Beyond that, there was a choice to go left or right. The left way was narrow and tight, about three feet high and four feet wide, damp, with a trickle of water running along a slick floor rising at an angle of about twenty degrees. The water spread out as it flowed to the right, where the passage opens out until it was about fifteen feet wide.

Hrum stepped out to look to the right. The passage sloped suddenly and steeply, and he lost his footing on the slick stone. His sword dropped with a clatter, waking some bats and sending them flying about. He slid into a wide chamber, where he managed to catch himself against an even steeper slope. He looked around at the chamber, and saw that it was some thirty-five feet across and twenty-five feet wide, but the area in front of him was a slick ledge maybe five or ten feet wide with a twenty-five degree slope. He could hear the steady trickle of water in a pool more than ten feet below. Hrum got shakily to his feet, trying to keep his balance.

The dwarf sent his raven up the other passage, but it ended in a cul-de-sac. He jogged down the passage quickly to check the raven’s report, and saw another camber, fifteen feet wide and twenty feet deep. The area was some fifteen feet high. Water had carved a sinkhole through the stone from the surface. The sinkhole formed a chimney leading out of the caves, entering the room near the far wall. It was the source of the trickling water in the area. Had they meant to exit the caves, it might have been a good find, but they would never find Brand Oarsman if they left now. He jogged back to tell the group the disappointing news.

When Desu tried to join Hrum in the slick-floored cavern, he lost his footing and went shooting over the edge. Bats, which had been roosting on the ceiling, flew around, disturbed, and chanced to put out the group’s torch. Luckily, however, they could not put out the magical light the dwarf’s raven was carrying. Desu slid and dropped fifteen feet into the brackish water with a huge splash that echoed loudly throughout the caverns. The water was deep enough that Desu took no injury from his fall, but as he struggled to make it to the surface, he took in water that he knew was not safe to drink. It was the least of his worries. Barely able to tread water, he broke to surface enough to gasp out a cry for help before the weight of his equipment pulled him under again.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Darwin Ravenscroll flung his bandolier to his companions and leaped into the water. He pulled Desu up, and brought him safely to the nearest shore. They discovered that this was the same shore they had looked at earlier, before trying the higher passages.

Locke gave Darwin’s bandolier to the dwarf’s raven, and the bird carried it down to its master, dropping the light-stone into the water, where the light would slowly diminish and go out. They swam across the calm, cool water, trusting to fate and their fortitude that none would become ill from the contaminants it contained. Darwin assisted Desu across. Archimedes, Desu’s owl companion, and the dwarf’s raven familiar flew.

The passage rose gently out of the water. They shook the foul water out of their cloaks the best they could, then sat and emptied their boots. The passage east was about ten feet in diameter. After about thirty feet, the passage split in a Y-shaped intersection. The way to the right descended sharply, but the way to the left seemed more or less level. They chose to try the left.

However, after only a short distance, the floor dropped suddenly away as a ten-foot diameter shaft interrupted their passage. The shaft extended into darkness both above and below the passage they had been traveling along, though they could see it continued beyond the ten-foot wide drop. The rock of the shaft was much smoother than the surrounding rock, so it seemed unlikely to offer an easy climb. They turned back, and tried the other passage.

That passage was very steep, but after climbing their way down for a bit, a large passage opened up to the left. The passage they were in continued to descend sharply into the earth. The other passage had a far gentler slope, although it was still descending. It varied between nine and fifteen feet in diameter. The ceiling was spiked with sharp stalactites, some thick as a dwarf’s torso and others thin as straw. Most of the stalagmites had been worn down to smooth nubs on the floor, which made it far easier to walk.

They had not gone far down the new passage when four crossbow bolts shot from the darkness ahead. Luckily, none were accurate enough to hit a truly solid blow. Two short reptilian humanoids with scaly skin the color of dark rust charged forward with spears as two more crossbow bolts flew from the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, something squealed.

“Kobolds,” someone muttered, and in the confusion it was hard to tell whom. The creatures hissed to each other in some variant of the Reptile Tongue, attacking in a coordinated fashion. But it wasn’t enough to save them from the swords of Locke and Hrum, who waded into combat with gusto. Before long, the two kobolds that had charged the group were dead, and arrows had felled those with crossbows farther on.

The group scavenged the crossbows and what bolts remained from the kobolds. Who knew when they might prove useful?

There were passages crossing the main corridor, both to the north and the south. Those passages to the north rose, while the ones to the south descended. The group ignored all of these, and continued along the wide passage they were already in. At least here the footing was good. Their wet things had begun to grow clammy, but the combat had warmed them a bit.

For a long way the party went on in silence, noting side passages to the left and right, but largely ignoring them. Then a long grayish-pink tentacle reached down from the ceiling, wrapped itself around Darwin, and drew him swiftly to the ceiling.

The animosity of that morning forgotten, Hrum immediately set arrow to bowstring and aimed upward. A large mass of gray and pink flesh nestled among the stalactites, clutching Darwin with two tentacles. The dwarf was again unconscious due to wounds. Hrum fired and his arrow found its mark, glancing off the creature’s central mass and drawing blood.

“A thousand pardons,” the creature said, rotating a many-fanged mouth toward the floor. It lowered Darwin gently among them with two tentacles. It was obvious that the creature’s grab had reopened old wounds. “I mistook you for one of those miserable hissers. Never attack anyone whose friends can fight back, that’s my motto.”

Desu knelt by the fallen dwarf, looking to see if he could stop his bleeding. It did not look like an easy task.

“Who are you?” Locke asked.

“No one important, really,” the thing replied. “Just an opportunist out for a meal, you understand, and I didn’t really look to see what was walking below. More instinct than anything else. I wouldn’t have touched you had I known you could fight back.”

Locke looked up at the creature. He could see nothing resembling eyes, with which it could have looked. Desu also looked up, curious despite himself.

“Do you know what’s down this way?” Desu asked.

“Keep going the way you are, and you’ll end up in the Borderlands. Nothing past there but hissers and mushrooms, if you understand me.”

Locke looked at Desu. “Do you think they would have gone that way?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we can ask Tentacle Guy.”

“You’re looking for someone?” the thing asked. “I imagine your friends have taken the other passage, the one the one that the spider-folk travel along.” It pointed toward a northward tunnel with one of its long tentacles. “Seems I’ve heard some screaming up that way not too long ago.”

“We might as well try it,” said Locke.

“Thank you,” said Desu.

“I’ve been a bit of a help, right? Well then, what about some reward?”

Desu looked up suspiciously. “What kind of a reward?”

“How about him?” The thing brushed the fallen dwarf lightly with a tentacle. “You don’t seem to care about him.”

Desu suddenly realized that Darwin Ravenscroll was still bleeding to death at his feet. He quickly knelt and finished binding his wounds, using pressure until the bleeding stopped.

“Do you like hisser meat?” Locke asked. “We killed four just down the tunnel. We’d be happy to let you have them.”

“You get a lot of hissers down here. I just caught one a few moments ago, before you people came along.” The thing sighed. “I was hoping for something sweeter. How about one of those flying things?”

With a start, Desu realized that the creature meant the raven and the owl. It had been helpful, and it did deserve some reward, but could he really deliver his animal companion to it? That would be an evil deed of the worst sort, and it would reverberate through the Green. Desu found himself wishing that his spirit quest had been successful, that some friendly spirit was there to advise him.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you my owl,” he said gently. He found himself truly feeling an attachment, and sympathy toward, this creature. “But we can bring you the hissers.”

They were ready to grab the kobold bodies for the creature when another thought crossed Desu’s mind. “I suppose we ought to leave someone here to guard the dwarf,” he said. “I’m not sure we should trust this creature completely.”

A few minutes later, the group was carrying their fallen companion into the north-leading passageway, and the creature was bringing the kobold bodies up to the corridor ceiling to eat.

The passage led to a cave some thirty feet in diameter, with other passages to the west and northeast. In the center of the room they saw a natural pit with steep, smooth walls, twenty feet in diameter and equally deep. Within they could see five men-at-arms, four living and one dead.

When they came into the chamber, the men shrank against the pit wall. Then one called out “Hrum my friend!” Hrum recognized the man as Cedric, one of the guild mercenaries he had served with. “Thank the Good Gods! We’re rescued.”

The other three were named Anlaf, Garmund, and Douglas. Soon the group had pulled them out of the pit, using rope scavenged from the ogre’s tower, and Cedric was telling them what had happened.

“Just a job for us, right? Young Master Oarsman snoop around for a bit, look for a bit of coin or whatnot. Do a bit of fighting, maybe. But young Oarsman, he brings along this girl, and that’s where the trouble begins. She keeps talking about this really big treasure. Little risk, big reward. How do you say no, right?”

Cedric looked around, as though waiting for response. When there was none, he met each of their eyes in turn, and continued. He addressed himself to Hrum.

“So, no sooner do we get to the Lair when we lose one of the lads. Pop! Old Bill is being reeled up into another passage by some kinda giant crayfish, and he’s dead before we know it. But we knew there’d be risks, and there’s naught we can do for Billy, so we hope to recover his body on the way out for his widow and son. But we keep going. A couple of kobolds stick their noses out, but we fix them all right. We’re thinking we’re home free. Got this idea of the big treasure in our minds, see?”

Hrum nodded. He gestured for Cedric to go on.

“Then suddenly there’s these guys in black robes, and that bitch Kara is on their side. Some of us got knocked into this pit in the scuffle. Johan there broke his neck, I reckon, but the rest of us are in pretty good shape, I suppose. But these black robes – they were talking about Mellythese and sacrifice and full moons…and some of them didn’t seem rightly human.”

“I’m surprised you’re not afraid of me, then,” Locke said. He was dressed in a black hooded robe himself.

“These folks didn’t seem right, you have to understand,” Cedric said. “And their robes…they weren’t like your Badurite robes. They were…inhuman.”

“Did you see which way they went?” Desu asked.

“I’m not certain, but I think they came from there,” one of the men, Douglas, said, pointing toward the northeastern passage.

“Will you come with us?”

“Strength in numbers,” said Anlaf, “but I’m for going home if it comes to a vote.”

“Not me,” said Cedric. “I’ve got friends they took. I’d be for saving them, if it can be done.”

“We still need to carry the dwarf,” Desu said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave your friend behind for now. We’ll come back and get him later, if we can.” He briefly considered giving the dead human to the tentacled creature as a reward – to the druids, one creature was a worthy as another, and among the Lakashi the dead were dead, and held no special significance – but he realized that his companions would not see it that way.

They walked down the northeast passage, and were pleased that it provided a fairly level way. After a while they saw a steady red light ahead, like a malignant, unblinking eye – but it turned out to be the abdominal organ of a large beetle. Like many of the verminous creatures that hide from the Sun’s eye, the beetle was hungry and seeking prey. Even so, it was no match for the small band of adventurers. When it lay dead, Desu cut its still-glowing abdominal organ free. It was not unlike the light-giving organ of a firefly. Desu lifted it up, so that he could use it as a torch.

The passage came to another Y-shaped intersection. The way to the right began a very sharp descent, of almost fifty degrees. The way to the left rose gently. However, the left-hand way was shrouded with thick cobwebs that fluttered as though with a faint breeze.

“It doesn’t appear as though the left way has been used in some time,” Desu noted. “Perhaps we should try the right.”

“It will be difficult while carrying this dwarf,” Anlaf pointed out. “We could always turn around and leave, while we still may.”

The others ignored him, and began the arduous descent to the right.

 

[Raven Crowking]

Fourth Session

Darwin Ravenscroll awoke. The pain of his many wounds was gone, leaving only a dull ache. Blinking, he sat up and looked around him.

He was in a roughly shaped cavern, dimly lit by torchlight and the abdominal gland of a fire beetle. The center of the floor was dominated by a twenty-foot deep sinkhole some twenty feet across. His companions were there, all seemingly unharmed, and with them were four human men Darwin didn’t recognize. Darwin realized that Desu, who knelt nearby, must have healed him magically.

“Who are these people?” Darwin asked.

Desu told him of how they had rescued these men-at-arms: Anlaf, Cedric, Garmund, and Douglas. Desu went on to tell Darwin how they had carried his wounded body, exploring further. When they had come to a Y-shaped intersection, they had taken the right passage, which led downward into the earth. Yet that passage had ultimately proved too difficult for them, so they returned to the chamber where they had rescued the men-at-arms. The body they had left behind to attend to later had disappeared (Desu suspected that the tentacled creature they had met earlier had taken it to eat). They intended now to try the left-hand way, for if the elder Oarsman’s fears proved true, there was now very little time remaining to rescue his son.

When Darwin was ready, the group followed the northeast passage out of the chamber. Desu pointed out the carapace of the fire beetle, whose abdominal organ he was using to help light their way. After a time, the passage came to a Y-shaped intersection. There, the way to the right began a very sharp descent, of almost fifty degrees. The way to the left rose gently. That way was shrouded with thick cobwebs that fluttered as though with a faint breeze.

“I would like to try the right-hand way,” said Darwin, for Desu had told him of a carved fountain, with writing that might be in Dwarven script, that they had found in the tunnels that way.

“Later,” Desu said. “We must conserve our strength for what lies ahead. And our time grows short.”

“Very well,” Darwin said, pushing past the webs into the ten-foot diameter passage, Locke close behind him. It was difficult to see far down the passage, choked as it was with old cobwebs. Dusty bones and dried carcasses lay along the floor, or were caught up in the webs, though none of them seemed recent. Looking at the bones, Darwin saw that humanoid bones were among them – some almost certainly kobold, and others human. As he paused to look, he could hear faint chanting from somewhere ahead.

Darwin pushed confidently down the corridor, but the old webs hid a pit. Both he and Locke fell in, dropping ten feet. Once they were out of the pit on the far side, the remainder of the party carefully walked around its edges. The entire group continued, now more cautiously.

As they traveled the winding, web-shrouded passage, the sound of chanting grew louder. After about fifty feet, the passage opened into a huge cavern, so vast that their torchlight would have been insufficient to light it, had torches not been mounted in the walls to provide a feeble light around the periphery.

Before them was a ledge that ran around the outer rim of the cavern, some ten feet over the bowl-shaped cave floor proper. The cave floor was dominated by a great stinking chasm, filled with an odor like acid and sulfur. Darwin could sense that a great evil lurked within that noisome pit. He could see by the looks on his companions’ faces that they also sensed the menace that hid in the pit’s black depths.

Around the pit were a half dozen people wearing black and scarlet robes, facing the pit. They were chanting in a language of hisses and clicks. To Darwin’s left, the ledge ran to another cave opening, which had been covered by a locked iron grate. Much closer, to Darwin’s right, the ledge ran into another cave room.

In all, the chamber was over one hundred feet across, with a ceiling that disappeared into darkness.

As the party stood for a moment, taking in this evil sight, Darwin became aware of another presence. In the shadowy light of the cavern’s far side, a large creature had appeared. It looked like a bloated white spider, nearly nine feet in diameter, but its head was feminine and humanoid, and its forward hands looked almost like human arms.

The creature spoke to the cultists in the same hissing, clicking language, clearly urging them on, though Darwin could not understand what she was saying. Her eyes glowed with a facetted red light, and even from where he stood Darwin could see that her face was twisted with wicked glee.

As they watched in horror, the spider-thing went up the ledge and came back with a bound human prisoner – presumably from the other side of the same chamber Darwin could see locked with an iron grate. The spider-thing brought her prisoner to the edge of the pit, and, as they watched, prepared to consign him to the depths.

“Brand!” said Desu.

Locke quickly leaped into action, setting the men-at-arms in a line to fire crossbows down at the cultists while he, Desu, Darwin, and Hrum followed the ledge into the chamber to the right.

As the first crossbow bolts sprayed among the cultists, the spider-like abomination let her captive go. The man ran to the east.

There, the northern wall bulged outward, making a chamber some thirty feet in diameter and twenty feet high. The area was strewn with rough sleeping pallets, and contained an open barrel half-filled with water. There were several clay chamber pots in there, some partially full. Where these would be emptied was a mystery, as it seemed unlikely that the cultists would dump their excrement down the chasm in their cavern temple.

The group passed quickly through, into the next chamber. Like the previous room, the wall bulged outward to make a space some thirty or forty feet in diameter. Within this room were several boxes and crates, a barrel containing several javelins, and a jumbled pile of swords and studded leather armor.

As the party began to move through the room, a creature leaped from a web-like hammock strung on the ceiling, some forty feet overhead. It landed near Hrum, attacking with its four spidery arms. As part of the group moved onward, Hrum traded blows with the creature. It was humanoid, with stringy black hair and faceted red eyes. Spider-like mandibles jutted from its mouth. Desu pulled out his sling to aid his half-orc companion.

Pausing along the ledge before the next chamber, Locke and Darwin looked down into the chamber of the pit, natural temple of the dread spider-goddess Mellythese. The men-at-arms had been successful, killing several of the cultists, but others were escaping, coming up at the edge of the ledge from the eastern end of the room. It seemed as though the large spider-thing would escape, so Darwin sent his familiar, Blackwing, to attack and harass her.

This proved ill, as the abomination swatted the raven away with one fell claw, knocking it wounded to the cavern floor.

Darwin cried out in concern, then leapt off the ledge to the cavern floor. Summoning his arcane lore, he cast a simple cantrip to scoop his wounded familiar away from the spider-thing. Blackwing floated through the air toward Darwin as though by an invisible hand. Darwin rushed forward to stabilize his familiar, ignoring the danger from the spider-thing and her cultists.

Locke and Desu rushed through the next web-padded chamber, but dagger-wielding cultists engaged them, slowing them from coming to Darwin’s aid. Hrum, having defeated, with Desu, the spidery humanoid, leaped off the ledge, following Darwin’s footsteps, ready to defend him with his life if need be.

Another four-armed, spider-like humanoid crawled off the northern wall, this one clearly a female despite her black hooded robes. It closed quickly with Darwin. Faced by these horrors, it was clear that Darwin would have been quickly slain, had it not been for Hrum. Hrum waded in with his greatsword, doing little damage at first, but giving Darwin a chance to retreat. Luckily, Locke and Desu finished with the last of the cultists, and Desu was able to send Archimedes, his owl companion, to distract the spider-thing as well as sending magical spellstones at the creature with his sling. That, combined with the might of Locke and Hrum’s swords, might have turned the day, had they been all the party needed to face.

Out of the chasm crawled a wave of darkness, and in that darkness came a bloated black spider the size of a horse. It was covered with stiff, coarse hair that seemed almost spine-like. Its many eyes were red, and glowed like fire. Its fangs dripped with thick greenish poison like puss, and its claws were of scarlet and ebony horn. It radiated a palpable aura of evil that choked the air like venom. As it came, darkness washed over the cavern, killing the light.

Daunted, the party tried to fall back, even as Darwin countered the fiendish spider’s darkness with magical light, but the spider’s web fell over the group, and Hrum was trapped. Unable to move, but still able to fight, Hrum traded blows with the fiend, risking its infernal claws and poisonous ichor. The men-at-arms leaped off the western ledge to come to their aid. And, miraculously, they beat back their foes. Hrum’s blade lashed out. With a hideous screech, the infernal spider fell back into blackness.

This was more than enough for the spider-thing and the female spider-like humanoid. As they attempted to flee, Desu continued to send sling bullets after the bloated abomination that clearly led the temple. The humanoid struck down Darwin and escaped, skittering up the cavern walls. Later, Darwin learned what had happened next.

The spider-thing, lost and alone, began to sing, even as it moved away and Locke moved around the chasm to cut off its retreat. Enthralled by the song, as though by a spell, Desu suddenly found himself believing that the spider-thing was his friend. At its beckoning, Desu picked up Darwin’s body and brought it to the spider-thing.

As the spell ended, the spider-thing picked up Darwin’s unconscious body and threatened to kill him unless the group gave their word to let her escape. Seeing that there was no other way to save Darwin, the group agreed. The creature carried Darwin near to the ledge, then dropped him and fled.

The floor sloped up to the ledge on the eastern side of the cavern, allowing easier access between ledge and cavern floor. Here, there was a narrow passage leading out of the temple to the east. It was in that direction that the captive had fled. A lump of old stalagmite there was polished through use over the ages, and stained with blood.

As Desu healed Darwin, Hrum freed himself from the webs entrapping him. Together, the group went up the eastern slope. They noted that the air near the eastern passage seemed fresher – perhaps it led outside?

While the rest of the group performed a cursory search for treasure in the caverns, Darwin explored the passage to the east.

The passage was only five feet wide where it began, but after about twenty feet it widened. The passage showed signs of common usage, and the air ahead was definitely sweeter than the air Darwin had left behind. Sixty feet up the passage Darwin discovered the body of the sacrificial victim. Although he had escaped the clutches of the spider-thing, he had not escaped the caverns. His throat had been cut.

Darwin came sadly back into the cavern temple.

“I am afraid that our mission has failed,” he said, “for the man we were sent to rescue is dead.”

“We can at least rescue the others,” said Desu. “Perhaps there will yet be some reward for our efforts.”

“There was a reward to return Oarsman’s son, either living or dead,” said Locke. “I would rather have returned him alive. Either way, we must free what captives we can.”

They went up the eastern slope, traversing the northern ledge a chamber some forty feet across, barred on both sides by a locked iron grate. At first, the people imprisoned within cringed, but when they realized that their deliverance was at hand, they quickly crowded near the grate. It proved too hard to pull open.

“That spider-thing had the key,” Desu said. “We should never have let her escape.”

“Hold on,” said Locke. Rummaging through his backpack, he found the crowbar he’d taken from the ogre’s loot in the ruined tower, days ago. With the crowbar, the group was able to quickly pry open the grating, releasing the prisoners. They were overjoyed to learn that Brand Oarsman was among the captives – it had not been he who was to be sacrificed first.

After that, things moved quickly. In addition to Brand, seven men-at-arms remained. Their armor and swords had been found in the cavern earlier, so they could be quickly rearmed. So armed, the party moved through the eastern passage. Hrum was the least hurt, and went first.

It was soon apparent what had happened to the escaped prisoner – Hrum walked into a razor-thin strand of webbing strung across the passage at neck height. Luckily, he was able to pull back before he was sliced too deeply. Clearly, the man-at-arms who had escaped had not been so lucky.

“I wonder why it didn’t get me,” pondered Darwin. “Perhaps, this time, my height was to my advantage!”

They cut the webline and went on. After another fifty feet or so, they came to a jag in the passageway that blocked visibility. Rounding it, they could see the sky through a thin veil of vines some thirty feet ahead. Once more as they moved forward, Hrum felt a razor-thin line cut into his throat. This time, he was barely able to stop before the cut became lethal.

Darwin raised his blade and ran out into the sunlight, determined to cut any lines that remained. They had rescued Brand Oarsmen, and brought him safely from the Dragon’s Lair. And they had survived.

* * * * *

They camped outside the vine-shrouded entrance to the caves, resting and healing. With the crates of food that they had found in the temple area, everyone was soon well fed and healed. Eventually, Desu, Darwin, Hrum and Locke went back into the caves.

As they examined the temple again, they saw that some objects had been removed from the web-lined side cave. Obviously, they had missed some treasure.

Desu took one of the cultist’s bodies to feed to the tentacled thing, but they were unable to find it. In the end, Desu left the body where the creature had been encountered before, hoping that it would find and accept the gift.

“I liked that tentacled thing,” he said.

At last they went back to the Y-shaped intersection, and Darwin was able to explore the right-hand side with his friends. After about thirty feet of sharp descent, the passage narrowed into a V of stone. The floor was only a couple of feet wide, requiring the group to travel in single file to continue. They could hear running water somewhere below.

The difficult passage emerged onto a spot of more level ground, almost a grotto, where small pink stalactites grew down from the ceiling, with growths of whitish stone flowers among them. Water trickled out of the right hand wall, forming a sort of small puddle before seeping back down into the rock. The water came from the mouth of a figure carved into the stone – elflike, but with ram’s horns. Below the figure, blurred somewhat from the cumulative effects of water erosion, were Sylvan words written in dwarven runes:

Taste of this
And drink full well
For by good will
This Water fell.

They bent to drink. The cold water had a stony, metallic taste to it, but it also was tingly and strangely refreshing.

“I have a feeling,” said Locke, “that this water would have healed us, had we still been injured.” He bent to fill his waterskin, and the others did the same.

Darwin went to look at the passage beyond, but the cavern dropped farther than his rope would reach, and at last he gave up on exploring further.

“Come,” said Desu. “It is time to return to Long Archer.”

* * * * *

They stopped that night at the ruined tower where they had fought the ogres. Darwin walked up the ruined stairway as far as he dared, and looked out upon Weirwood the Great. They then went and examined the cairn the ogre had been building. They uncovered a female ogre, who had been beaten to death by something – or someone – of great strength. The group recovered the ogress.

That night, three of the men-at-arms, who had been standing watch, disappeared without noise or trace.

Spooked, they moved quickly on.

* * * * *

Back in Long Archer, Hubert Oarsman gladly received the group, and his son. He invited them to dine in his home, and apologized for doubting the worth of the half-orc. “For you have brought back my son,” he said, “and I was a fool to doubt you.” To each he gave forty pieces of gold, with an extra one hundred coins to split among them for returning Brand Oarsman alive.

“I don’t need anything more,” Desu said.

“Nonsense!” the elder Oarsman exclaimed. “If I could give you more, I would gladly do it, to have my son returned to me! You have my undying gratitude.”

“Actually,” said Darwin, “I was wondering what it would cost us to buy a ship from you.” He had heard rumors of the ruined tower of Amoreth the Arcane, down the Selwyn River, in Selby-by-the-Water. A great desire to find the lost magic of the long-departed wizard had arisen in him.

Little did he know that he would never reach Selby-by-the-Water alive, and that – once there – his body would never leave.

 

[Raven Crowking]

Fifth Session

Hubert Oarsman looked across the table at Darwin. “I assume that you’re not asking about a rowboat.”

“No. Not a rowboat.”

“Well, then, even a modest ship is well beyond the means of most. The cost of timber alone…but that is neither here nor over the moon, is it? If I judge you aright, you’re not looking to buy a ship so much as to do some traveling, eh? Well, then, you are in luck, for I have a friend who is taking passengers to Selby-by-the-Waves, and I feel certain that he’d do me the favor of including a few of my friends for free. And if not for free, I feel honor bound to pay for your passage. After all, you restored my son to me!”

“Excellent,” Darwin began, but Hubert raised a hand.

“What’s more,” he continued, “I will write you a letter of introduction to Mistress Erin Guildwood, a shipwright of my acquaintance down river. While she’ll not grant you a ship for free – my influence doesn’t extend that far! – she’ll make certain that you’re not overcharged for passage to wherever you would go next. What say you? Is that fair enough?”

“More than fair,” said Hrum.

“At the docks seek the berth of the Lady Griswald. Her Captain is called John Younger – a good man, and a personal friend. He’ll be expecting you before the ship leaves at noon tomorrow. I’ll have your letter of introduction ready for you by then, and you can pick it up on the way to the docks.”

After dinner, the group retired to an inn, where most of them drank throughout the night. The next morning, with several of the party hung over from the excesses of the night before, they made their way to the docks in search of their ship.

The Lady Griswald was a keelboat. Keelboats were a common sight along the Selwyn River, because they were relatively cheap and reliable. The ship was large, with a crew of six. It had a ballista mounted on its fore and a pilots deck on the aft, where it was steered by rudder.

They quickly made the acquaintance of two other travelers that had booked passage upon the ship: Ahern Atwood, a half-elven ranger, who, like Locke, preferred to keep his face in shadow, and Krog Zando, a hugely muscled half-orc who soon became known to them as Krog the Hungry due to his voluminous appetite.

The Lady Griswald left at noon. The sailors lay on the oars, and the Lady Griswald moved downstream. For a long time the coastline sailed by. Woodcutters and small homesteads could be seen along either bank, leaving many areas clear-cut – either grown into fields or left bare. Eventually, though, Weirwood the Great closed on the river, and the trees often came down to the bank. Some of the taller and straighter of these were branded with marks like large arrowheads, showing that the Lord of Long Archer had marked them for use as masts, and cutting them without permission carried dire penalty.

Good smells began rising from the galley. As twilight grew thick, the Captain called the rowers to a rest. As the sailors began lining up for bowls of rich stew – served with huge slabs of bread – Desu heard a soft splash close to the side of the boat.

Looking over the edge, he saw a half-dozen creatures frolicking and cavorting like dolphins in the nighttime waters. They appeared to be lithe, beautiful beings, vaguely feminine, surrounded by soft, jewel-colored auras of ruby, emerald, and sapphire. They traced glowing paths just beneath the water as they circled the hull of the Lady Griswald.

Deciding that they were unlikely to be hostile, Desu joined the line and received a bowl of stew. Krog the Hungry was already on his second bowl, and had a third and more bread before he was finished.

Desu told his companions what he had seen while they ate. When they were done, Krog and Locke joined him at the rail to watch the beautiful creatures. The creatures appeared to be equally fascinated by Desu and his companions – occasionally one rose from the water to stare upward with wide, luminous eyes.

“Aye, river nymphs they call them, though some say river witches,” said Captain Younger, who had joined them at the rail. “They appear at sunset and away at dawn. Tales say they can become infatuated with a sailor, and follow his boat night after night, seeking him out. They’re harmless enough most of the time, though they can cause mischief and little pranks. They’ve been known to warn captains of danger, or to put themselves between a ship and something dangerous in the water, so many view them to be good luck.”

“For all their beauty, though, the river witches have a strange and dark aspect to their nature,” added Jack Fresh, one of the sailors on the Lady Griswald “Each month, when the new moon falls, they grow strange and fey. They still circle riverboats, but their eyes are no longer awestruck and childlike. Their gaze calls to sailors with music only they can hear, luring them off the boat and into the water. Those that answer the call join the nymphs in a dance beneath the waters, and their drowned bodies are found at dawn. So beware, you, and be glad there’s a moon flying above us!”

After the ship drifted for two hours, it became too dark to see the water well. Captain John Younger called for the anchor, and the Lady Griswald came to a halt, rocking softly against the current. The river nymphs continued to cavort around the ship, trailing lines of pale light in the water.

The Captain came up to where the adventurers watched the river nymphs by the ship’s rail. “Go ahead and get some rest,” he said. “We have lookouts posted, and these men have sailed the Selwyn before. If we sight a dragon, you’ll be the first to know.”

* * * * *

The next day started early, with the sailors breaking fast and making the Lady Griswald ready to sail. By 8:00 the oarsmen were in their places, and the ship was underway. Krog Zando, sorry to have missed the meal, went in search of a hunk of last night’s bread.

“There are some apples remaining,” one of the sailors told Krog. Quickly, Krog’s companions descended upon the apples, leaving only two, which Darwin Ravenscroll grabbed. Krog looked around for more apples, but there were none.

“One for me, and one for my raven!” Darwin said.

“Ravens don’t eat apples,” Desu noted.

Darwin shrugged and ate them both.

“Don’t worry,” the sailor told Krog. “Soon enough, the noonday meal will come.”

Krog strode angrily toward the back rail of the ship.

The noonday sun had been waning for a couple of hours when the Lady Griswald approached the exposed corner of a ruined building on the southern bank. The building appeared buried, except for the exposed corner. That corner has been broken into, perhaps with picks, leaving a ragged gap through which an explorer could easily fit. An exposed worn pillar made of weather-beaten granite leaned out toward the river, almost as though inviting one to tie a boat to it.

“What is that place?” asked Desu.

“That?” the Captain replied. “That place has a dark reputation already. The river or a storm exposed it a couple of years back, and of course there were some that would try their hand at exploring it. It is said the be dark and haunted, though I have heard at least one tale wherein a handful of jewels was found – such tales are not always true.”

“What do you think?” asked Hrum. “Should we explore it?”

“If you wish to try your hand, we will wait for you. Master Oarsmen says you saved his son from the clutches of a spider-demon, so perhaps you could do as well as any. You can take the ship’s boat, if you like, while we wait here.”

“No,” said Darwin. “We are making for Selby-by-the-Water. We shall let nothing distract us!”

“Very well,” said the Captain, and they sailed on.

Two miles later, the Lady Griswald came across a place where a river entered the Selwyn from the north. A logjam stretched across the river, the mass of logs tight at least as far as the next bend. Several foresters with iron gaffs were hopping from log to log, trying to get them moving again.

Hrum noticed a pair of Lakashi drawing their birchbark canoe toward the north shore, so that they could portage around the blockage. He pointed them out to Desu, who waved, but the Lakashi did not seem to notice them.

While the Lady Griswald was not too large to portage with a great deal of effort, the benefit of doing so was questionable, so the Captain called a halt. The sailors made use of the unexpected rest stop, bringing out a squeezebox and a portion of rum. Krog dropped a line into the water and began fishing.

As it grew dark, the logjam was broken up. The Captain had the anchor pulled up, and called for minimal oars. The Lady Griswald moved slowly through the logs – several sailors using oars to push stray logs away from the ship. Once past the logs, the Captain let the ship drift for two hours, and then called the ship to lower anchor.

Before dinner could be made, sailors were posted along the back of the ship, to push off logs as they drifted past the ship in the night. There was a rotation of extra lookouts hours as the foresters drifted by, their lanterns reflected on the dark water.

“Lo the ship!” one of the foresters called out softly, and one of the sailors called back “Mellador watch you!”

From the ship’s galley, the smell of fresh fish was rising.

* * * * *

Again, the crew of the Lady Griswald was up early, and the ship was under way by 8:00 AM. Krog woke to breakfast with the crew, and was soon trolling, his fishing line cutting the water behind the ship. Desu awoke, and began looking along the banks for animals that he might befriend.

In the early afternoon, the forward lookout saw a doe drinking from near the south bank.

“A purse of silver to the man who can bring her down!” the Captain called.

“No!” said Desu. He pulled out his sling, and Ahern strung his bow, intent upon startling the doe enough that it would spring away. However, before they could succeed two arrows struck the mark – Locke’s, which grazed the deer’s flank, and that of another sailor, Red Carl, which brought the animal down and earned him the purse.

The Captain sent the ship’s boat. “It looks like venison will be served this night,” he said.

In the late afternoon, the Lady Griswald entered Turtle Lake. Turtle Lake was a small lake for the Lakelands. It was shaped like an eye, maybe five miles wide at its widest point and twenty miles long end to end. The lake was fairly shallow, and weedy along its southern shore.

The adventurers could see where the lake got its name – several normal-sized turtles floated just under the surface of the water, their heads extended above it. As the ship approached, they submerged.

As it began to grow dark, the oars were raised and the ship drifted through Turtle Lake.

“I wonder if we’ll see those dolphins again,” said Krog.

“They weren’t dolphins,” Desu said. “They were river nymphs.”

After a time, fires could be seen on the north shore, and music and laughter could be easily heard. Captain Younger called the sailors back to the oars, and brought he ship toward the encampment on the shore. Soon, wagons and tents could be seen strewn across the beach. Small figures were dancing gracefully near the fire, to the sounds of violins, fiddles, tambourines, and drums.

It was an encampment of more than two dozen halflings, a wandering folk half as high as humans, with something occult in their nature. The halflings were known for their musicians and their fortunetellers, for curses laid and undone, and strange pacts with otherworldly creatures. They had several large fires going, and by each one an ever-changing group of brightly dressed halflings played instruments or danced.

Two halflings, a male and female, practiced acrobatics while another female ate fire, blowing small jets of flame from her mouth. Older halflings of both sexes watched, laughed, ate, drank, and smoked from pipes or hand-rolled cigars.
The Lady Griswald dropped anchor. The Captain called for the ship’s boat to be made ready, and the sailors drew straws to see who would have to remain onboard. Left-Handed Geoff frowned as he drew the short straw.

“Could be worse,” laughed the others. “It could be a city full of beautiful elven women.”

The ship’s boat was readied, and the sailors began to ferry across passengers and crew. The halflings welcomed them warmly, sharing the heat of their fire and their spirits. It was still cold at night, before the Ides of Burgeoning. The waxing moon shone brightly upon the sandy beach.

“Have you any beer?” asked Krog.

“No, but we have brandy,” said an attractive halfling woman. She handed Krog a bottle. Krog poured it into the dregs of beer he carried in his wineskin, swished it, and drank.

“Not too bad,” he said.

Another halfling handed Hrum a bottle. Hrum raised it to his nostrils, sniffing it suspiciously.

“Here! Give it to me!” said Darwin. The dwarf reached up, trying to grab the bottle from the half-orc’s hand, but he missed his mark as Hrum raised the bottle beyond his reach. Hrum moved to backhand Darwin for his impudence, but something orcish arose in him, and his hand moved instead to his sword. Swift as a striking serpent, Hrum struck. He had, perhaps, intended only to wound Darwin, to repay him for incessant provocations, but anger lent strength to his hand. Hrum’s sword struck Darwin sharply, breaking his neck and slicing through muscle. As Darwin’s body fell, his head tumbled aloft, coming to rest in the sand.

Desu ran to Darwin’s head and held it aloft. “Alas!” he cried. “Darwin, my friend!”

The music faltered. The encampment stood in shocked silence.

Hrum lowered his sword. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…”

Captain John Younger came at Hrum, drawing his sword as he ran.

“Surrender to the King’s Justice!”

Hrum instantly raised his weapon, and the two of them faced each other in the fire- and moonlight. Ahern moved towards Darwin’s body, as though to despoil it, but Desu held him back. The five sailors who had come ashore drew daggers to come to their Captain’s aid.

“I surrender,” said Hrum, lowering his blade.

“Then drop your sword.”

Hrum raised his sword, ready to fight. “No.”

From around the encampment, the halflings drew in, forming a semi-circle around the antagonists. Most were unarmed, but some had short spears or blades. An old halfling woman, wreathed in smoke, stood ready with her pipe and staff.

“How dare you bring this to the House of Rom-Untar!” said an older halfling man, dressed in bright colors and gold jewelry.

“I’m sorry…”

“Drop your sword!”

Hrum looked around him, uncertain which of his former allies would come to his aid if it came to a fight. Ahern seemed willing, but Locke and Desu were against him. Krog Zando looked on eagerly, waiting for the bloodshed to begin – but it was Hrum that Krog watched, and there would be no help from that quarter.

Hrum’s blood struggled within him. He had, all his life, professed to worship the Seven Good Gods. Priests of the Church had raised him. Yet there was orcish blood in his veins, too, and to that part of him mercy had no meaning, and there was no law save the law of the strong.

He had tried to live as a man, but he could die as an orc. He could let his blade sing, taking as many of his foes with him as he could before he fell. That was a death befitting his grandfather’s people. Certainly, no true orc would submit while blood yet flowed within his veins.

And, there was always some chance that he might get away.

But if he escaped, what would he be escaping to? A life in the wilderness, hunted and despised? Or could he find his grandfather’s people, and if he found them, would they accept him? Could he live the remainder of his life as an orc?

Before, he had struck in anger, not meaning to actually slay Darwin. If he fought now, he would be turning his back on the Seven Good Gods, knowingly and willingly.

“I surrender,” Hrum said, and he dropped his sword.

Captain Younger quickly moved forward, and had Hrum bound. Hrum submitted, head held low, murmuring apologies. He ordered Hrum brought back to the ship, to be held in the ship‘s hold, and for Darwin’s body to be taken as well. He began to apologize to the halfling leader, for having brought violence to his camp.

“Can’t we at least take his stuff?” Krog asked.

Captain Younger looked at the adventurers. With the exception of Desu, they all seemed eager to despoil the body of their fallen comrade. “That isn’t for me to decide,” he said, and then turned from them in disgust. “Red Carl, but a guard on the body as well, and don’t let our guests into the hold.”

The Captain recalled the crew and his passengers to the ship. They drew up the anchor, moving away from the encampment before stopping for the night.

In the morning, Captain Younger had Hrum brought before him.

“As there is none other here to dispense the King’s Justice, the duty falls to me,” he said. “Hrum, you are charged with the murder of Darwin Ravenscroll. How plead you?”

“Guilty.”

“Have you nothing to say in your defense?”

“Nothing,” said Hrum. Then he seemed to reconsider. “Only this,” he added. “I overreacted. He had been goading me, time and again, through word and deed, for as long as I have known him. Maybe it was because I am a half-orc. I do not know. But I did not intend to kill him.”

“You drew your sword, and cut off his head.”

“I know. And I am sorry. I am ready to accept what punishment must follow.”

Captain Younger paused to consider. It was obvious that Hrum’s contrition was honest. “I am also sorry,” he said, “but my duty is clear. You are to be hanged by the neck until dead. May the gods have mercy upon your soul.”

Hrum didn’t struggle as they made the ship’s boat ready. They placed a plaque with the word “MURDERER” about his neck. They rowed to the southern shore near the eastern end of Turtle Lake. Hrum didn’t struggle as the noose was placed around his neck, or pulled taut around the stout branch of an old oak tree near the water’s edge. When they kicked the support out from beneath his feet, Hrum went quietly into death.

The Captain got back into the ship’s boat, and it was rowed slowly back towards the Lady Griswald. Hrum’s onetime companions stood on the deck as the anchor was raised and oar was set to water, watching as Hrum’s hanging body disappeared around the curve of the river.

Krog went back to looking for dolphins.

 

[Raven Crowking]

Note

Thus ended the first arc of the Lakelands campaign. And, at this moment, it's as much as I have written. The next story "arc" sees the group membership change a number of times due to attrition, as they decide what they are next going to do.

Daniel

 

[Raven Crowking]

Sixth Session


It took three more days of sailing to reach Selby-by-the-Water. While there were no major encounters along the way, the Captain and crew had turned decidedly cool toward the group of adventurers. As though responding to the mood, the sky darkened and clouds gathered. Still, it did not rain. The air seemed laden with expectation.

At last, the Lady Griswald sailed out of Weirwood the Great. Farmhouses became more frequent, and then began to cluster as the ship approached Selby-by-the-Water. It was spring, and the sun still set early, so the heavy chain had already been pulled across the river mouth when the Lady Griswald arrived. The Captain called for the anchor, and prepared for the adventurers’ last night aboard his ship. Looking over the rail, Ahern could see, by that point, several other ships ready to enter Selby-by-the-Water when the chain was set free at dawn.

Fat raindrops began to fall as the ship settled.

Selby-by-the-Water had once been much larger than it was now, for more than half of the town lay beneath Lake Elidyr. Locals called this area “Selby-beneath-the-Waves.” What remained was still a bustling town, but folk avoided the ruined areas at night, including the docksides where Selby-beneath-the-Waves could still be seen.

Selby-by-the-Water had been founded long ago to protect a deepwater harbor on Lake Elidyr. A great wall surrounded the town proper from Weirwood the Great, but farms and small businesses arose outside of the old village wall. There were now several wooden partial walls and watchtowers that protected these areas. Selby had grown in a radial pattern from the harbor, with several canals cutting through the central village.

Forty-seven years ago, Selby-by-the-Water was wracked by tremors, and more than half the town was destroyed. The tower of Amoreth the Arcane collapsed in smoke and fire. Underground explosions damaged buildings. Whole sections of the town subsided, and were covered by the lake. Amoreth the Arcane was never seen again – some thought he had died in some dangerous experiment, but others thought that he fled the disaster he had caused. In the aftermath, the sewers and undercity of Selby-by-the-Water had been broken and partly submerged, with new entrances appearing and old ones becoming lost. Entry into the Wizard’s Tower was forbidden upon pain of death – it was this tower that Darwin Ravenscroll had once hoped to explore.

It rained throughout the night.

In the morning, the rain had settled into a light drizzle. The Lady Griswald sailed into town, and Ahern had his first glimpse of Selby-by-the-Water. Springtime had swollen both river and lake, turning several of Selby’s streets into canals, along which brightly colored boats were being poled. In the docks, ships were berthing, or preparing to leave. Large cranes lifted crates from throughout the Lakelands. Most of the dockworkers were human, but some were creatures that the Beast Lords had blessed with sentience and human form. Ahern heard his companions draw breath in wonder at several oxmen hauling barrels onto one boat. One of the people powering a crane was a hugely muscled humanoid bear.

Throughout the port area, hawkers were calling out wares with loud voices. Most seemed to be selling food items of various sorts, or draughts of ale. Others were calling advertisements for various inns of common houses: The Mermaid’s Rest, The Lady of the Lake, The House of Yellow Sashes. Beggars were numerous, many of them old and crippled.

Many of the buildings in the dock area were warehouses and unnamed pubs, or shops related to travel by ship. Being so close to the Selwyn River and Lake Elidyr, the area seemed to have been hit hard by the disaster almost fifty years ago. Many of the buildings were crumbling, and several had fallen into ruin. The odd spire from a submerged building had been worked into the new piers, but Ahern could see a cluster of buildings in the middle of the river, their top floors rising above the waterline. Strange leathery-winged reptiles the size of pigeons or gulls infested the town – many of these roosted among the half-submerged ruins. Others pulled fish from the water, or squabbled over garbage on the shore.

“What are those?” Desu asked one of the sailors.

“Them?” the man replied. “Leatherwings. They’re harmless.”

A rowboat painted in the green-and-yellow of the Harbormaster’s Office came out to meet the Lady Griswald and bring her into a docking berth. Shortly thereafter, a solidly built fellow wearing Harbormaster’s colors requested permission to board the ship, inspect the cargo, and access docking fees.

His request was, of course, granted. As he climbed aboard, Captain John Younger greeted him, and pulled him aside. They spoke quietly together for a few minutes. Ahern tried to hear what they were saying, but could not. Soon enough it was all too obvious. The harbor official turned to where the adventurers stood huddled, ready to disembark.

“Your captain has informed me of the…ah…unfortunate circumstances, shall we say?…of your journey. If you’ll wait for me to inspect the cargo, I’ll escort you to the Magistrate’s Office, where you can sort out your late comrade’s effects.”

It took more than a few minutes for the Harbor Clerk to assess the cargo and assign fees to the Captain. During that time, the rain had become a steady downpour, and then ceased altogether.

“Watch,” said Locke. “They’re going to keep Darwin’s things for themselves.”

“I fear you are right,” said Desu.

Ahern just frowned. He hadn’t known Darwin Ravenscroll long, but he still felt more entitled to his recent companion’s goods than the Magistrates of this town would be.

The Harbor Clerk charged each of them a silver penny for landing fee, with an additional penny for both Archimedes and Darkwing. “You may leave your…ah…friend…aboard ship for the moment,” the official said. “I’ve asked the Captain to bring his effects, however, which you may…ah…verify if you wish. To make sure he’s kept nothing for himself, so to speak.”

Of the crew of the Lady Griswald, only Captain Younger went with the group. His disposition seemed to have improved since making port, and Ahern realized that he might have been expecting further trouble from Locke and the others – or maybe just Krog, who was large, stupid, and a half-orc. Since he had sentenced Hrum, also a half-orc, to death by hanging, the Captain might have expected Krog to become embittered sooner or later.

Disembarking the ship, they were led to the Magistrate’s Office. Along the way, several beggars accosted them, asking for small change. As his companions were giving away coppers, Ahern decided to do the same, though he only had nine coins to give. The serpent that shows its colors doesn’t live to strike.

The Magistrate’s Office closest to the river was three stories high. It was probably once an imposing building, but it suffered heavy damage when part of the town collapsed. Now, its granite façade had shifted, and many of the decorations – once images of aquatic life and the administration of justice – had broken free. One corner of the building stood in water, making it difficult to enter.

Inside, a musty, moldering smell haunted the building, like parchment left to rot. Guards moved forward to take the group’s arms and armor – the Captain gave Darwin’s effects into their keeping, and also relinquished his short sword.

It was a long wait. Ahern was wishing for a mid-day meal when they were at last ushered into the River Court of the Magistrate’s Office. The Magistrate, dressed in a black robe with yellow trim, and a powdered wig symbolizing age and wisdom, sat behind a desk on a dais. There were four guards here, plus the two who had escorted them in, but they seemed more bored than alert. A smattering of witnesses sat in the gallery – local citizens, presumably, with an interest in these cases, or barristers in training.

They were rather surprised to see a gnome dressed cavalier-style in crimson among those in the gallery. Gnomes were rarely seen in human towns – that one sat here spoke for Selby’s cosmopolitan nature. The gnome seemed interested in them as well – another oddity.

There was a smooth, hard wooden plank along the front of the Court where supplicants were supposed to kneel. Indeed, as the group was urged forward, the black-and-yellow clad bailiff smote his oaken staff upon the floor – creating a hollow, ringing sound – and called “Ye supplicants before the Honorable Lord Magistrate Ottomus Frederickson, kneel and be heard!”

Captain Younger immediately went forward and knelt. The others followed his lead.

“Who is the plaintiff?” the Magistrate asked. “And what is the nature of the complaint?”

The bailiff leaned forward, and briefly explained what had happened in the Halfling encampment, and after. From what Ahern could hear, it sounded roughly accurate.

At last, the Magistrate looked up and said, “From what I understand, we are here to resolve the King’s Justice upon the half-orc…Hrum, was it? Yes…and determine the disposition of the effects of the dwarf, Ravenscroll. It is my understanding that the half-orc killed the dwarf. The half-orc was then tried by Captain John Younger, pled guilty, and was hanged for murder. Are these essentially the facts?”

“Yes,” Locke said. The party nodded or voiced agreement.

“Is there any here who claims to be next-of-kin to the half-orc?” He glanced at Krog, who looked blankly ahead. “Is there any here who would challenge that Captain Younger acted with the King’s Justice when he put the half-orc to death? Be it noted that the half-orc himself did not contest Captain Younger’s finding of guilt.”

“No, he was guilty,” Locke said.

“The Court hereby considers the matter of the half-orc set to rest. We must now consider the matter of the dwarf’s effects. I note that there are none here who are dwarves, so I must ask if any here know of any living relative of Darwin Ravenscroll?”

They did not.

“Is there a will among the effects of the dwarf?” There was not. “Does any here know a will to be in existence, and can produce such a will?” They did not. “Does any here lay claim to the effects of Darwin Ravenscroll, in whole or in part, and upon what basis is such a claim laid?”

Ahern was not the least ready to lay a claim, but he was not the loudest either. “We just want his stuff,” Locke said, though he couldn’t bring an argument to bear as to why he should get it. Krog especially had difficulty understanding why Darwin’s stuff just didn’t become theirs automatically – and Krog was a new to the adventuring party as Ahern!

“Friendship is not a sufficient basis, without a Last Will and Testament, to lay claim to the effects of the deceased,” the Magistrate explained. “However, it may be that your Adventuring Company is licensed or has a Charter within a town, city, village, or other community which falls under the Treaty of Brentkirk. Is this the case?”

“No.”

“There is a fee of five pieces of silver for private burial in the Dry Catacombs. Is there any here willing to pay this fee for the dwarf?”

“I will,” Locke said immediately, and did.

“It is the decree of this Court that the effects of Darwin Ravenscroll shall be held by this Court for a period of fourteen days, pending the production of a will, an heir, or another such circumstance under which disposition of said effects can be better addressed. After this period, said effects will be remanded by the State.”

The Magistrate fixed them with a sharp look. “Welcome to Selby-by-the-Water, young sirs,” he said. “But let me warn you of a few things you should keep in mind. We have had our fill of problems caused by those that would delve into the earth, or uncover the secrets of the Gods for their own use. Any spellcasting performed upon a person who has not given express consent will result in immediate and severe punishment. You may have heard of the Tower of Amoreth the Arcane. It seems to draw adventurers from near and far, many of whom you will see hanging off spikes around the Tower’s perimeter. Don’t let me see your faces joining them. Even attempting to enter the Tower is punishable by death…and I guarantee you that we do not take that place lightly. If you attempt it, you will be caught. That place has caused enough sorrow already. Don’t let it add to your own grief.”

The bailiff motioned for them to rise. There was a side door, bypassing the waiting area, through which the petitioners were ushered. They were reunited with their arms and armor in a damp little room whose floor had a sheen of water over it.

“I am sorry for the pain this day has caused you,” said Captain Younger. “I’ll have Darwin’s remains sent to the house of Lobelia Black, the Bleak House, to be prepared for the catacombs.”

As they were leaving, they noticed that the dashing gnome had followed them out, and was trying to gain their attention. Ahern was interested to see why the gnome had followed them, but Locke was having none of it. He stormed back toward the dockyards, where the hawkers had been crying out the names of inns, and found The Mermaid’s Rest. The others had to struggle to keep up with him.

“I don’t like this town,” Desu said.

Locke paid for a room – which included a salt charge he didn’t understand, and didn’t seem to care about – and they trooped upstairs.

“Alright,” Locke said, “we’re going to sit down and draw up wills right now.”

*****

As Locke and Desu left the room, a halfling stepped out of the shadows. Locke stepped back and challenged him.

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

“I am Marlo Shortshield. I followed you from the courthouse. I thought, if you wanted your friend’s things, maybe we could work out a deal. I could steal them for you.”

Locke shook his head, and started down the stairs toward the tavern.

“Then let me at least try to outdrink you.”

“I find that unlikely, considering your size,” Locke said, but they went down to the tavern room together. Locke saw Krog sitting alone, eating. “I’ll tell you what…why don’t you try to outdrink him?”

Marlo tried, but ended up retching upon the straw-covered floor, much to the amusement of the bar. Krog was bought a drink on the house – hero for a moment – but the barkeep told him, “Wait until Forent shows up. He’ll give you a contest.”

Desu went to the innkeeper to buy his own room. As had Locke, he was charged a salt surcharge. “What is that?” he asked.

“It’s for a little bag of salt, to put a circle of it around your bed,” the innkeeper explained. “Since the accident nigh on fifty years back, there’ve been a lot of ghosts loose in Selby at night. The salt is to keep inn wights away…the ghosts of children who miss their parents.”

“I see,” said Desu.

“Can I get a bag of salt, too?” asked Krog.

*****

Later, Ahern went back down to the tavern. He was surprised to see the gnome still there, playing an ornate guitar. He paused briefly to chat.

“My name is Nift,” the gnome said, sweeping his hat off in a grand bow. “I found your case interesting. You see, I, too, long to experience the thrills of adventuring, and would like to join your group.”

“You’ll have to meet the others,” Ahern said, “but I don’t see why not.”

While they sat talking, the door burst open, and a huge humanoid bull thrust his horn-heavy head into the bar with a roar. “Forent!” the innkeeper cried happily, “here’s a lad who thinks he can outdrink you!”

“You think you can outdrink me, do you?” roared the oxman, leaning down toward the seated Krog. His breath smelt like old hay.

Krog, looking up blearily – for he was heavy in his cups – said, “Are you meat?”

“What?!?” The oxman balled a huge fist.

“What he meant was, pleased to meet you,” said Locke smoothly, stepping up. “Let me buy you a drink.”

The oxman snorted, still angry, but mollified somewhat. “The idea that sot could outdrink me….”

“Well, you’ll probably win, but I’ll try it,” Locke said.

“Ha! I like you!” Forent crushed Locke in a strong hug, half-leaning his huge bulk upon the man. “You’re on!”

They began to drink grog. Betting began, mostly favoring Forent. Locke matched Forent drink for drink, until eventually the oxman was unable to hold it any longer. As he sank to the floor, he shook his massive head. “I never thought I’d be outdrunk by a human.”

“Nor did I,” said Locke. “Nor did I.”

Nift played and sang in the background. When his tune was one the room knew, drunken sailors joined in, thumping their wooden cups on the tables. The Mermaid’s Rest was having an excellent night, and the innkeeper smiled.

*****

The next morning, the group split up to attend to personal business within the town. Locke crossed the river and found a better class of inn for their evenings. Nift busked on a street corner with his guitar. Krog got a job hauling freight onto ships. Desu went down to the harbor, where the great green-grey Harbor Stones jutted out of the ground – this was still a druidic sacred site, though nestled within the town itself. Nearby was the Stone Otter Shrine, where the Lakashi Otter Tribe ancestor, Stone Otter, was said to have been buried.

Near the Harbor Stones, an old halfling woman approached Desu, her face wrinkled like an apple left too long in the sun. “We keep our minds to the big gods,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the Stones, “but it is the little gods who cluster around us and drive our fortunes. Old gods, forgotten gods. But Old Hetty, she knows the gods well. Come, cross my palm with silver, and let me tell you your fortune.”

“Please,” Desu said, giving her a silver coin.

She leads him into a brightly colored tent in the market, and bid him to sit upon a heap of cushions near a small, battered table. There were many strange things hanging in the tent, including bits of twig bundled to look like little dangling men, bunches of shells and herbs, and preserved wings or claws. The old halfling lit incense in several burners, and sweet perfumed smoke coiled into the room. She sat opposite Desu. She pulled a deck of old ivory cards out of a velvet bag and placed them on the table’s chipped black lacquer surface. “Now, cut the deck,” she said.

When Desu had cut the cards, she drew the first one. “This is what lies behind you,” she said, revealing the Labyrinth of Oak Leaves. “A great maze that may lead to riches, within a natural setting or a forest. A recent adventure, perhaps. This is what crosses you…” She drew another card. “The Knight of Swords, reversed. A man, a warrior. Perhaps someone close to you…because the card is reversed, he does not cross you, but supports you. Finally, let us see what lies in your near future.” The last card was the Four of Swords. “A difficult battle is ahead. Perhaps your friend, the warrior, will help you in this.”

In the docks, Krog glanced down as he carried a heavy barrel onto a keelboat. The sky was clear, and the sunlight penetrated to the bottom of the shallows. He could see the ruins of buildings below the surface. Suddenly, to his surprise, he realized that he could see sheep down there, grazing on weeds and algae. He nearly dropped the barrel he was carrying.

As soon as he could, Krog asked one of the townsmen if he could fish there. “Oh, aye,” the man replied. “But if ye wish to do it professionally, ye’ll need to join the Fisherman’s Union, and get a license.”

“Where can I find it?”

Meanwhile, Marlo Shortshield had gone into the River Market to practice his pick pocketing. He had gained a few coins, a pair of dice, a key. He had also gained a few small, black dried snakes, about four inches long each, the use of which he was unsure. Were they some type of food? He hardly wanted to find out!

Locke ran into Desu just as the druid had befriended a pigeon-sized leatherwing. The small flying reptile hung off his clothing, and nuzzled up to him for warmth. Desu rubbed its head softly.

“Ah, Desu,” said Locke, sighting his friend. “The weather is fine! I am thinking that we should begin planning what to do next.”

“Would you like to have your fortune told?”

******

Marlo crouched in an alley, hiding from the Watch. It was the second time that day he had been forced to run from guardsmen; perhaps it was nearing time to quit for the evening. Selby-by-the-Water had a rather nasty gaol system – if you were found guilty of a serious crime, you might be placed in stocks overnight (meaning that night spirits might get you) or, worse, sent to the Pit. The Pit was an open-air gaol, guarded to prevent escapes, but once you were dropped into the stinking waist-deep water, you were on your own until your sentence was complete. Other prisoners, vermin, and – it was rumored – undead creeping up from the sewers could turn a week’s sentence into death quickly enough. Even if you survived the Pit, the diseases bred there might kill you once you were free.

He waited until he was certain that the alarm had gone down. He started to get up, to head back to the Last Candle Inn, where Locke had arranged lodgings.

Suddenly, he was pinned by a naked man. The man had appeared out of nowhere. Stronger than the halfling, he pressed close. Marlo could tell that the man wasn’t quite human – his eyes were large and angled oddly, and his ears were slightly pointed. There was a fey, feral quality about him.

“Friend of Keye?” the man hissed, close enough to Marlo’s face that he could taste the man’s breath.

Frightened, and unsure what to say, Marlo said “Yes!”

“Tell Keye that we are coming,” the man said.

“Okay…okay….”

The naked man released Marlo, bounding off down the alleyway. He ran toward the wall and began pulling himself up. Whether it was a trick of the light or something else, the naked man quickly disappeared.

Marlo climbed warily to his feet. As soon as he was able, he dashed out of the alley and back toward the inn. Better to take his chances with the Watch than with that…half-elf? He wasn’t sure, but he was certain that he didn’t like it, whatever it was!

*****

Old Hetty sat across from Locke, and asked him to cut the oracular Deck of Fate. “This is what lies in the past,” she said, turning the first card. “The Labyrinth of Swords, reversed. A battle, in which you were perhaps wounded? I see that I am correct. And this is what crosses you, the Labyrinth of Oak Leaves…you are conflicted, yes? Lost? The Labyrinth is the great maze, which may lead to riches if you are lucky…this is the forest perhaps, or wandering. Finally, this card lies in your near future. The Seven of Oak Leaves. Good fortune is coming your way, a fortune that will meet you in the forest, or in some similar natural place. That is all the cards show.”

 

[Raven Crowking]

Seventh Session


That night, Desu left Selby-by-the-Water alone. The moon was waning, but it was still the night before the half moon, and there was more than adequate light. When Desu had been younger, he had gone on a vision quest. His first vision quest had failed; he hoped that this one would be more successful. If his companions waited, they could decide what to do when he returned.

For most of the group, time ran swiftly by. Ahern wove rope in the inn. Krog worked as a fisherman, making occasional forays to catch one of the sheep he’d seen in the river. Nift busked in marketplace and taproom, turning music into silver as his master had taught him.

The three days around the vernal equinox were Spring Carnival, and the inns began to fill up with guests from out-of-town. Nift found himself joined by jugglers and dancing bears in the places he was accustomed to playing. Fire-breathers and acrobats from the East played to throngs in the High Market. Puppeteers played out legendary scenes, and guilds put on plays – histories, comedies, and tragedies, many with religious themes. People went about with masks, and parades both planned and unplanned thronged the streets.

During this time, Krog the Hungry searched for a halfling card-reader to tell his fortune. Krog’s card reading went thus: The card that represented his recent past was the Tower of Swords, representing great danger or shaky foundations in a martial matter. The card that crossed him in the present was the Knight of Wands, reversed. A man versed in arcane lore, but as it was reversed, a man who was only little versed in the occult or whose work against Krog was only incidental. The final card, representing the near future was the Seven of Orbs reversed, a small sum of money coming his way.

Marlo Shortshield visited the Shadow House, where he made enquiries about Keye.

According to what Marlo could discover, Keye had been an evil wizard who had come to Selby-by-the-Water almost a decade ago. He had slain quite a few people, and terrorized the locals with his skulks – humanoids that could camouflage themselves so as to appear nearly invisible. Eventually, a warrior, a wizard, and a priest had come to Selby-by-the-Water in pursuit of Keye. One of these people was Keye’s twin, Locke. Keye fled west into Weirwood the Great, and the trio left in pursuit of him. Nothing more of Keye could they say, save that they believed (and hoped) that he was dead.

Marlo Shortshield returned to the inn and told Locke about the naked man in the alley. He then told Locke what he had learned at the Shadow House. “I feel that the name Keye may have something to do with you, Locke,” he said. Marlo then convinced Locke to stand watch for him while he picked the pockets of a few travelers. Whether due to bad luck or inexperience, Locke was soon arrested…though a barrister was able to sort out the matter before Locke even saw the inside of a Magistrate’s Office.

Nift found female companionship with a gnome who was in the town for the Carnival. From conversations around Selby, he learned that a group of adventurers had slain a giant ghost on a hill south of Selby, toward Rookhaven, called the Green Howe. There was an underground passage into the Howe, but the adventurers fled from another ghost they saw therein.

On the equinox itself, Marlo Shortshield decided to explore the sewers on his own. Not telling anyone what he was doing, Marlo located a sewer grate that he could unlock. Beyond the manhole cover was a tight stone tube descending a little more than twelve feet into the sewer tunnel. Marlo quickly scrambled down the iron rungs set into the stone, closing the manhole cover above him.

He found himself in an X-shaped intersection made of tunnels are roughly six feet square, with a two-foot wide channel carved into the center of the floor. With the spring flooding, though, the channel overflowed, so that Marlo stood in a stream of waste flowing slowly southward, both to the east and to the west. The smell was overpowering. The flow westward seemed stronger, and Marlo followed it in that direction. Loose debris and rotting waste floated along the top of the water. Vents to the surface, occurring on an average every thirty feet, provided dim light and some scant relief.

Not far from the intersection, Marlo found a stone door in the sewer tunnel wall. It was locked, but Marlo pulled out his lock picks. After a few seconds, he heard a faint click as the lock’s tumblers fell into place. He opened the thick stone door, revealing a twelve-foot square room containing sewer workers’ gear. Several sets of man-sized hip waders hung from pegs along the walls, as well as sewer workers’ masks. Marlo stole a mask – it greatly reduced the stench!

As he made to exit the room, he noticed a group of small discs, milky white with flecks of red, floating down along the top of the sewage. They were moving faster than the rest of the filth, so Marlo stepped back into the room and closed the door. He didn’t know what the things were, and had a natural caution. He waited long enough for the discs to pass, and then opened the door again. The things seemed to be gone. He headed back the way he had come.

Going to the southeast, Marlo found a dry secondary tunnel. It was only about three feet in diameter, but as a halfling Marlo was fairly short, and could walk nearly upright in it. There were fewer vents here, and smaller ones, making the entire area gloomier than the main tunnels had been. Creeping down the shadowy passage, Marlo found his curiosity getting the better of his caution.

Seeing a darker shadow ahead, Marlo peered forward. He realized it was a body, though whether dead or alive he could not tell. “Hello?” he called. “Who’s there? Do you need help?” The body shifted a little. So, whoever it was still lived. Still, there was no answer.

Marlo came closer. Having waded through sewage and still wearing the sewer worker’s mask, he didn’t notice the awful stench of the thing that waited for him down the tunnel. At last, he drew close enough to see that the body, though it was moving, was animated with a dark parody of life. It was crusted with filth.

The tunnel was low, and the undead creature was as tall as a man. It wouldn’t have been able to stand and run. There was a chance that Marlo could have escaped. Instead, he drew his sword and pressed forward.

That duel in the darkness was grim, and short. The low tunnel gave Marlo an advantage. He could dance out of the thing’s reach as it tried to claw and bite him. He stabbed again and again, severing unliving muscle with each stroke. The creature was weakening. If he could keep up the dance for a few seconds longer…half a minute at most…it would be done.

The unliving thing reached out one long arm, its drool-covered claw scraping Marlo’s cheek. Marlo could feel a cold numbness spreading through him. He felt another claw rake along his ribs, drawing him into the creature’s hideous once-human maw. Its teeth sank into his neck, and he knew no more.

Marlo Shortshield had not told anyone where he was going, and the group of adventurers did not know him well. When Desu returned from his vision quest, having secured the goodwill of a horse spirit, they held a council to determine what their next course should be.

“Keye went west,” Locke noted. “Perhaps he went to the ruined building we saw on the Selwyn River?”

“I could do some looking around,” Nift offered. The group agreed to give Nift a week to research, until the new moon on the 30th of Burgeoning. Then they would hire a ship to take them back upriver to the ruins.

To settle his curiosity, Desu eventually went to the river to see the sheep Krog had said could be seen there. They were indeed there, no less real than the quarter lamb Krog had eaten the evening before. There had been some discussion as to what these sheep were – Nift had claimed that some people said they had seen shepherds beneath the water as well. Krog had thought they were ghost sheep.

Desu found some grass growing not far from the docks and went back. He reached into himself, feeling his connection to the Green and to all living things. Through that connection, he befriended one of the sheep, drawing it from the water. It looked much like the sheep he had seen on the surface, but looking within its mouth he could see that it had something not unlike gills within the flesh of its throat. Unwilling to take the aquatic sheep with him – how could he care for it? – he released it, and, with good will toward the Lakashi druid, the sheep slipped underwater again.

By working his way through mounds of old and moldering paperwork, Nift finally discovered the manifest of the ship that had brought Keye to Selby-by-the-Water. It had been the Moonraker, captained by Roderick Gryphon and registered to the Cloven Isles in Lake Esmire. Other than this, there was little to find, for the Harbormaster’s Office didn’t keep organized files.

On the final day of Burgeoning, they hired the River Princess, captained by Mariel Slower, to take them to Long Archer. Because of the speed of the Selwyn River, it was necessary to pull the ship along with donkey drivers that followed the shore on either side. On the fourth day, they came to Turtle Lake, which took a day to cross, and on the eighth day, in the early afternoon, they reached the ruins they sought. This was the exposed corner of an otherwise-buried ruined building on the southern bank. They paid half fee for the ride back to Selby-by-the-Water, and Ahern went with the River Princess to ensure its return in three day’s time.

They took the ship’s boat to the shore, offloaded, and waved the ship off. Then they examined the area. They were surprised to discover three large, well-hidden birchbark canoes.

The buried building seemed to have been made from close-fitted masonry, without benefit or mortar or cement. Nonetheless, the people who made it had skill in such things, for it had long endured, even buried beneath the forest. A small part of a corroded bronze door was visible, but it would take much work to uncover it for use. In the exposed corner, part of the ceiling had been broken into, making for a much easier entrance.

Looking down, they saw that there was a fair jump to the bottom. They tied a rope to an exposed, worn granite pillar outside the ruined building, and climbed down. Krog led the way.

They came down into a dimly lit chamber, about thirty feet from east to west, and perhaps twenty feet north to south. Beyond this area, to the south, a stairway as wide as the antechamber itself descended into the ground. To the north they saw a pair of great cast bronze double doors ten feet wide – they opened outward, and so were blocked by earth. The doors had images of stylized wolves standing in relief upon them. Similar images were carved into the walls. In the years since the ceiling was breached, loam and leaves have fallen into this place.

The only light came in through the hole in the ceiling. They lit torches, and descended the stairs.

The stairs descended ten feet at a 45-degree angle, coming out into a larger room. The end of the stairs must have been near the water table, for the bottom two stairs were covered in water.

The stairs opened out into a room some fifty feet wide, going farther than their torch could show. A row of five-foot wide pillars, shaped something like dark trees, lined the walls on either side. There was a ten-foot space between each pillar, and a five-foot space between the pillars and the walls. The walls themselves were carved with images of prowling wolves, which seemed to flicker and move in the torchlight. The whole are was covered with murky, brackish water to a depth of about a foot, making footing treacherous.

They moved cautiously into the room. When they were thirty feet in, they could see that more stairs went down in a flight fifty feet wide. However, the building fell completely below the water table there. After little more than five feet, the far stairs were completely submerged.

Krog paused for a second. “Locke and Keye!” he said. “I get it!”

They had gone about forty feet from the first stair when four tenebrous wolves stepped from the shadows behind them, blocking off the exit to the room. At the same time, four shadowy skeletons appeared, blocking the way to the south.

As the group readied their weapons, Desu reached into the Green, trying to find something that would respond to his call and hold the wolves fast. The only trees there, though, were carven pillars that slept the sleep of stone. Nift began playing to inspire their courage. Krog fell back toward the wolves as Locke confronted the skeletons.

Their opponents stepped in and out of shadows as though they were phantoms, or not real, the sharp lines of their substance blurred like coal drawings smudged by a careless thumb. The wolves tore into Krog, pulling him down. Locke could feel his greatsword connect, but it seemed to do little to his dark foe; he could see no sign of hurt. Risking himself, Desu stepped in to heal Krog magically.

“Friends, we cannot prevail here,” he said.

Nift stopped playing. The sure-footed gnome skittered toward the northern stairs, dodging dark blades and snapping jaws to gain the first steps. Once he was on the stairs, the wolves paid him no more heed.

“Get to the stairs!” he called out. Then he scrambled up the stairs, first to reach the rope and, beyond it, the clean air.

Nift’s companions found the way harder, for the water-covered floor was slick, and their opponents supernaturally swift. Locke fell once and scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from a score of wounds.

At least, as they retreated, the skeletons ceased their attack. However, as first Desu then Locke gained the stairs, the wolves turned all of their attention to Krog, who was quickly pulled down again. As the druid and fighter looked on in dismay, the shadowy wolves savaged Krog, spattering blood and flesh on pillars and walls.

“I had no more healing to give,” Desu said.

Locke placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We can do no more here. Let us leave while we still can.”

Later they went back into the ruin. Though they could see neither wolves nor skeletons – and did not believe they would appear until they had gone far enough into the pillared hall – they were cautious. The wolves did not return. They gathered what they could find of Krog and bore him from that place. By the shores of the Selwyn River, they raised a cairn of loose stones and buried him beneath it.

And so that place robbed them of its first victim. Little did they know that, within a short time, they would raise another cairn beside that of Krog the Hungry.