(Cydra) The Final City

At this point, what are the gods / temples present? Presumably, Galador is not an option.

Bad fumble on Max's part, there.

Unfortunately, that wasn't a fumble at all! Mad Max's player said he was going to charge whoever threw the rotten fruit, killed the farmer in one blow, and then immediately said, "I cut down whoever is next to him"... and boom, suddenly, Max is a criminal. He probably could have gotten away with the farmer, but killing the kid touched off the riot and blew things out of control.

The deities in Fandelose are an interesting mix that is a sampling of the old cosmopolitan mix of hundreds or thousands of gods integrated into the Sword Empire. The gods present in Fandelose definitely make an incomplete pantheon, with huge gaps. Here you go- the first list is gods worshiped by at least a hundred or so people, the others are lesser worshiped but still have a presence in the city. There are actually the remains of several different faiths here (the Sun, the Sword Cult, one or two gods from the pantheons of Gorel, Pesh, etc).

There are definitely some oddities in there, like the Sea Queen, whose faiths might wither away in time (no sea access!), while there are other, huge missing portfolio areas (e.g. there's no god of love) that might eventually be claimed by the existing gods.

DEITY --- PRIMARY SYMBOLS --- PRIMARY PORTFOLIO
Garnet --- Silver rose --- Family, multiple births, siblings
Hamel --- A house, gear or door --- Civilization, walls, cities
Han Zo --- A stalk of rice --- Agriculture, farming, rice
Holthro --- A bloody-knuckled fist --- Violence, rage, revenge
Lester --- The four elements --- Adventure, heroes, heedlessness
Morlo --- A crutch, old man or beggar --- The downtrodden, beggars, the aged, slaves
The Sword Cult --- A greatsword --- Personal achievement, skill, the Sword Empire
Vandreu --- A black sword & shield --- Victory against overwhelming odds, righteousness, vindication; the Townsaver

DEITY --- PRIMARY SYMBOLS --- PRIMARY PORTFOLIO
Aresh --- Hands steepled together Hope, faith
Boccob --- An eye and/or book Knowledge, learning, magic
Dramos --- Two clasped hands Honesty, the law, teamwork
Empeth --- A coin or merchant's scale Trade, merchants, money, greed, thieves
Eschatonism --- Sunset, an hourglass with all its sand in the bottomThe end of the world
Froth --- A phallus in the mouth of a skull --- Necrophilia, rape, perversion, cowardice
Galore --- A saddled horse or yoked cow --- Domesticated animals
Malford --- A displacer beast --- Trickery, revisionism
Maltar --- A crimson eye --- Assassins, plotting, clever escapes
Na'Rat --- A black obelisk --- Chaos, change, upheaval, lost lore; the Chaos-Bringer
Olesh Perr --- A paintbrush or carving knife --- Craftsmanship, art, creativity
The Sea Queen --- The sea, a wave, water --- The sea in all its aspects
The Sun --- The sun --- The sun, day, summer, light
Tade --- A hammer and anvil --- Creation, the forge, improvements in technology

Oh, on the topic of religions, I forgot to mention- Eschatonism sort of overlaps other faiths. One might be a worshiper of Malford who believes the end has come, for instance.

The Iron Patriot shoves his face up as close to Yarrfurr's as he can, though the gnoll is over two feet taller than him, and shakes a finger. He berates the gnoll in a loud, incomprehensible voice.

“Is he giving him a warning?” Morsado whispers to Hungus, who shrugs, as mystified as everyone else. Yarrfurr looks at Dzedz for guidance.

“Uh, that's right,” he says. “You better listen to the Iron Patriot!”

***

Yarrfurr leads them to the north out of Red Bank. He explains that the Hacker's hideout is about a day and a half away from the little village.

“Don't try anything funny,” Carl Hungus warns him, “or you'll regret it.”

“Yeah,” Dzedz adds, “remember what the Iron Patriot said!”

Yarrfurr seems cowed, but he's a gnoll; by nature, he is bound to be treacherous, cunning, and cruel. The party keeps their eyes peeled for any sign that he is leading them into a trap. But by the time they bed down for the night, the party has ascended through several ridges of hills, and the land is becoming rougher and higher. Brightly-colored lichens cling to rocks, and small wiry plants clutch the thin soil like desperate fingers. Birdsong is constant, though as they ascend, the types of birds gradually change. Small lizards and scorpions scuttle from the group's path. Several times during the day, they spy goats bounding away, and twice griffons soar through the air within a few thousand feet of them. At one point, they pass a large ruined water storage tank, and another time a toppled monument is visible on a neighboring hill, but otherwise, the day is uneventful.

Hungus shackles Yarrfurr to a low branch on a sturdy oak at the edge of their campsite for the night. “I wouldn't run away,” the gnoll protests.

“You definitely won't,” Hungus agrees.

The party sets watches, declining Yarrfurr's offer to help. The night passes uneventfully, though the night is full of the sounds of nocturnal animals. Bats wheel through the sky, black silhouettes against the stars. The hooting of an owl sounds intermittently through the night; the distant scream of some kind of big cat is followed by the sounds of a brief struggle. But nothing disturbs the group.

Yarrfurr is, indeed, still there in the morning, leaning uncomfortably against the tree, arm suspended by the shackle. Morsado prods him awake and wordlessly gives him a strip of dried meat and a hunk of bread from his rations.

The Iron Patriot shakes his head and speaks again, uttering a long string of grumbling words that nobody can quite make out.

***

Early in the afternoon, Yarrfurr tells the party that they are approaching the hideout. “It's on the next hilltop over the ridge. But the Hacker probably has sentries watching for trouble. Last I knew, he was working with orcs, but I haven't seen him lately. Not for the last couple of weeks.” He looks hopeful. “Can I go, now?”

Dzedz shakes his head. “Not just yet. You're gonna help us take him.”

“That wasn't part of the deal!”

“Yeah, well, it is now.”

Iron Patriot yells at length in the gnolls face.

“That's right!” says Morsado.

***

The Hacker does indeed have sentries out on patrol. A group of six orcs stumbles upon the party as they advance, and there is a swift, furious skirmish. The engagement quickly turns in the favor of the party, and two of the orcs try to flee. Dzedz slays one with a flame bolt, but the other darts into the brush. The others delay the party just long enough for him to make good his escape.

Yarrfurr curses. “They'll know we're coming now for sure.”

“And they'll know that you're guiding us,” Morsado points out in his raspy voice. “Now you've got nothing to lose by helping us take them out. In fact, if you do, it may help you preserve your reputation!”

Yarrfurr stares at him for a moment, nonplussed, then sighs. “This way.”

***

Iron Patriot is a gibbering lunatic in battle, becoming even harder to understand. He seems to be triggered by strange things, perhaps certain words or creatures.

“I'm starting to suspect he doesn't understand himself, either,” Rorin mutters to himself after the second group of orcs is dispatched. He squats down and begins cutting the dead orc's belly open.

Iron Patriot stares at him and says something. He sounds disgusted.

“That's why they call him the Butcher of Fandelose,” Carl Hungus says.

They have attained the hilltop, fought their way through another half dozen orcs. But once again, the Hacker isn't there.

“I swear, this was his place a few weeks ago,” Yarrfurr exclaims.

“I believe you,” Hungus replies. “These guys are definitely the Hacker's type, and he's a half-orc himself. I know he has worked with orcs before. So my guess is that he's just not here right now.” He turns to the others. “I say we wait and see if he comes back.”

“It's getting a little late to head back anyway,” Dzedz responds. “And there's already a camp made up here.” True enough; though the hideout is primitive, merely tents and a series of large lean-tos for a combination of shelter from the elements and camouflage, there is a large stock of firewood near a large firepit edged with large stones. There are already large stones and chunks of wood, suitable for use as seats, around the firepit.

So the party settles in, staying alert but preparing to spend a night at the Hacker's hideout. And, as Hungus guessed, the Hacker returns home that evening, his own coterie of orcs with him.

The party hits them hard, and several of the orcs fall before they even know what is hitting them. The last thing they had expected was to be attacked from within their own camp. But the Hacker recovers his wits quickly and leads a charge against the party.

“I hate orcs,” Dzedz Orcslayer shouts, hammering the Hacker and two of his lackeys with a shattering pulse. One of the orcs is blown from his feet by the power of the magic. Iron Patriot, Carl Hungus, and Yarrfurr counter the orcish charge with a charge of their own, and the two groups smash into one another. Arrows whizz past, striking several orcs, and Rorin chortles as one collapses. Morsado hurls insults and taunts, demoralizing the Hacker.

It doesn't take the party long to take out the orcs, but the Hacker is a tougher customer. He weathers a series of blows from Hungus and the Patriot, returning the favor with surprising strength and accuracy. He does his best, but alone, he is no match for the party.

Then Hungus crushes the Hacker's chest with a blow from his maul, and the fight is abruptly over.

***

Yarrfurr claims that the Hacker's treasure is the treasure he said he would lead the party to. While it's not a huge amount of loot, there are 6 platinum pieces in the mix, and the total worth is just over 90 gold pieces. Since the gnoll was so helpful in the fight, the party decides not to quibble. They let him go, not without misgivings. Once his shackles are removed, he runs away, vanishing into the hills.

The Iron Patriot seems disinterested in the loot, so the party splits what they have amongst the rest of the group. Then they return to Red Bank.

***

When they reach the small village, it is abuzz with distress. Very quickly, the party hears what happened.

Someone's heart was, quite literally, stolen. Ripped from her chest.

“That sounds strangely familiar,” Rorin says. “Remember that flying deer thing that we saw? That ripped out the heart of that gnoll and flew off with it?”

The Iron Patriot speaks wildly, gesturing for emphasis.

“Let's go see that old guy, the village elder,” suggests Morsado.

“Pursadin,” Rorin says.

When they see the old man, his eyes are bloodshot from grief. “What's worse,” he tells them, “this isn't the first time this has happened. This is the seventh person we've lost this way in the last six months.”

The party draws out the details. The killings have all happened outside the village proper, on the hills surrounding it. “Foolish young lovers,” Pursadin laments.

The Iron Patriot makes a rousing speech to Pursadin that nobody can understand. It takes him several minutes, and when he finishes, the elder nods gravely and says, “Thank you for your service.”

“Did you understand him?” asks Morsado.

Pursadin shrugs. “I may not understand his words, but I understand his heart. He is our greatest protector, and he wishes to protect us.”

The Patriot speaks again, decisively.

“Listen,” says Hungus, “I have a plan.”

***

It's a classic. They bait the trap with a volunteer- a matronly woman named Matilda, who sits with Rorin on Lover's Hill, feigning a romantic embrace. Meanwhile, the rest of them lurk in the bushes and trees nearby, waiting for anything to take the bait.

Matilda and Rorin are far enough from everyone else that the others don't hear her as she attempts to seduce the young ranger.

But nothing else comes of that night.

***

Iron Patriot waggles his finger warningly at Rorin as everyone settles in to sleep the day away. It was a long, fruitless night, and it gets cold waiting motionless in the bushes.

“We'll try again tonight,” Dzedz says. “We just have to be persistent.”

Morsado turns to Matilda. “Are you sure you're willing to keep doing this? You are risking your life.”

“It's for my people,” she answers. “If I can help stop this monster from killing more of them, I have to. Besides, you are the ones who are really at risk. You're the ones actually trying to slay it.”

“It's what we do,” Hungus declares.

***

That night, they do indeed try again. And this time, they have better luck.

An hour past midnight, the thing arrives, swooping in almost silently to attack Matilda. But Rorin is prepared. His bow is hidden in the grass. When the deer-headed winged monster swoops into view, he snatches it up and looses an arrow in a blur of motion.

The creature shrieks.

The rest of the party reveals themselves in a flurry of ranged attacks, including a flame bolt that illuminates Dzedz's location.

The monster slaps the air with its wings and seems to leap upward, banking and flying away. “Get it!” cries Rorin, loosing another few arrows, but it escapes into the darkness.

“Damn!” Hungus steps out of the woods and pulls his maul. “Is it coming back?”

The party waits, but- no, it isn't coming back. At least, not yet.

***

They discuss trying again the next night.

Dzedz opines, “It's too smart. It knows we're after it now. It's not going to come back.”

Morsado shrugs. “Maybe not. But think about this: it's only taking the hearts. Why? It must need them for something.” He spreads his hands. “And where else is it going to get hearts? Fandelose?”

“Besides, what's our alternative?” Carl Hungus drums his fingers on Matilda's table. “Give up and go back to Fandelose? Then it comes back and we aren't here to help?”

“We can at least try for a few nights,” Dzedz says.

***

That evening, as they are preparing to set out, a dirty figure with leaves in his hair and beard walks into town. He has the characteristic horns of a tiefling, and when Morsado sees him, he does a double take. “Uncle Stranger?”

The dirty tiefling stops and peers at him. “Morsado? Little Morsado? Is that you?”

“Stranger Danger!” cries Morsado, and the two embrace. “Uncle Stranger! I haven't seen you in years!”

“Yeah, I've been, uh, exploring my mind in the wilderness.” The tiefling's eyes come unfocused for a moment before resuming eye contact with his nephew.

“Guys, this is my Uncle Stranger Danger the Ranger.”

There is a flurry of introductions. It turns out that Uncle Stranger has been another of Red Bank's defenders, though more of a scout and watcher than a warrior.

“But I'm ready to take up arms to save our hearts,” he adds.

“Well,” Morsado grates, “in a couple of hours, we're going to head out to a trap we're setting, if you want to come in case we lure the monster in again.”

“A couple of hours, you say? There's still time! All right, I'll be back.” With that, he turns and lopes off into the woods, only to return about half an hour later with a bag full of psychedelic mushrooms, which he tries to press on everyone.

“We're maybe fighting a nasty monster tonight,” says Dzedz. “Maybe another time.”

By way of reply, Uncle Stranger eats a few more mushrooms.

***

Though his reasoning was sound, Dzedz's prediction is incorrect. Where he went wrong was in assuming the monster's response.

It knows they are hunting it, now- but instead of biding its time, when it returns, it brings friends.

Three of the frightful bird-deer creatures swoop in this time, and when the party springs their 'trap,' it's really halfway toward falling into the monsters' trap. Nonmagical weapons barely hurt them, and nobody has a magic weapon. With three of the monsters to deal with, the adventurers have their hands full.

They can't properly guard Matilda.

She cowers behind a large boulder, but one of the winged monsters disengages from the party and leap-flies over the rock. A moment later, the party hears her dying wail, and sees the monster ascend into the sky, a dripping heart held in its teeth.

“Oh no!” cries Dzedz. “Not Matilda!” He tries to slay the monster with a volley of magic missiles, but it keeps going.

The other two press the party hard, but they manage to take the monsters down after a significant amount of work. Since Morsado and Hungus can both heal, even when Uncle Stranger drops, the fight doesn't grow too dire.

But Matilda...

After it's over, the party stands over the matron's corpse. “She gave her life for her community,” Morsado sighs.

“We need to track those things to their lair,” Uncle Stranger says, “and kill them.”

Next Time: The party attempts to do just that!

Rorin frowns. “Tracking flying creatures isn't easy.”

“Are you good at tracking?” asks Morsado.

“No,” Rorin admits.

“What kind of ranger isn't good at tracking? Uncle Stranger, what about you?”

“I'm an urban ranger,” Rorin protests.

“Yes!” Uncle Stranger stuffs a handful of mushrooms in his mouth and starts tracking. “I am amazing at tracking.” Yet his eyes seem strangely unfocused. “I'm the very best tracker! This way!”

“Hold on,” Hungus says. “Maybe we should wait until you have a little light.”

“Of course!” Stranger Danger chortles. “You are very wise!” With that, he plops down on his back in the grass to stare at the stars.

***

One might think that tracking a group of flying creatures would be impossible, and that isn't far from correct. But it isn't completely true. Even flying creatures leave signs- droppings, for instance. Feathers.

“Blood drops,” Uncle Stranger continues. “From the heart. And its own wounds. Look here!”

Though nobody but Morsado is quite sure they trust Uncle Stranger's tracking- and even Morsado has strong misgivings- the rest of the party follows the mushroom-addled tiefling. There's nothing that anyone else can detect that he is following; perhaps the mushroom visions he sees guide him. Either way, he leads them consistently up hill, going ever further into the hills, heading toward the mountains in the north.

That night, Dzedz and Hungus join Uncle Stranger in his fungus-induced reverie. Morsado just shakes his head. What if those deer-birds come back?

But the night passes uneventfully, except for the wheeling of the stars and the pulsing of the ground beneath the hallucinators.

***

Whether or not Uncle Stranger is really following anything, late the next afternoon, the party spies one of the deer-birds flying overhead. It spots them, too, and banks sharply, winging back in the direction from which it came.

“You see?” Uncle Stranger exclaims. “I told you we were heading the right way!” He gobbles up some more mushrooms.

The party hurries in the direction that the creature fled, eventually reaching a flattened hilltop with several large nests in it. In and around the nests are four more of the deer-birds.

Rorin looses an arrow and cries out, “Get 'em!”

The ensuing battle is quick and deadly. The party focuses its attacks, and almost immediately bring down one of the monsters. Meanwhile Dzedz blasts several others at once with his magic. When the deer-birds begin to fight back, Hungus and Uncle Stranger form a line and prevent them from reaching Dzedz and Morsado.

But it's hard to block flying creatures with an open sky to maneuver in. One of them launches itself over their heads and charges at Rorin. Its razor-sharp antlers stab into the ranger's chest, and he is forced to drop his bow and pull out his rapier. A back-and-forth follows, with Rorin jabbing at the monster and then seeking to parry its horns.

Meanwhile, a second deer-bird falls after being smacked around by Hungus, scorched by Dzedz, and caught in Morsado's cloud of daggers. The three of them turn to the fourth monster.

At the same time, the one that is dancing with Rorin catches him with a terrific jab of its antlers. His belly rips open, and the monster rips its way through most of his chest. With a shriek, the young man falls, bleeding, to the ground.

Uncle Stranger manages to stab the other deer-bird hard enough to leave it bleeding from the neck. It shakes its head, and a blow from Hungus' maul connects. Even though it resists the nonmagical damage, it collapses in a heap.

Together, the party finishes off the last of the monsters, and then Hungus checks on Rorin, fearing the worst. But he is still alive, albeit barely! Carl Hungus lays hands upon him, and the worst of his wounds close up.

Rorin groans and opens his eyes. “Did we win?” He clambers to his feet, looking around at the bodies lying about. “We won.”

“We won,” Dzedz confirms.

“Then I'd better get to work.” The Butcher of Fandelose draws a dagger.

***

Carl Hungus' powers are growing. He can hear the Lady of Dragons whispering to him when he sleeps; he can sense her eyes watching him with increasing interest as he becomes more powerful. She grants him ever greater abilities, ever mightier spells. He can ask for more as he proves himself more worthy.

He has grown worthy enough to ask for something truly marvelous.

The next morning, Carl Hungus sits in prayer, uttering invocations while he makes the sacred signs.

“What's he doing?” Uncle Stranger whispers.

“I'm not sure,” Morsado replies.

Ten minutes later, they are answered when a burst of smoke and brimstone appears. When it dissipates, a fiendish giant goat stands, awaiting its master.

“Scrote!” cries Hungus. “You are Scrote M'Goat!”

“Bah,” Scrote says disdainfully, sounding nothing like a goat.

***

Just off the far side of the hill from the nest, the party spies a marble monument. A 6' high statue of a gnome stands atop a plinth, arms akimbo, before the entrance. Obviously larger than life, the gnome stands proudly, wearing an antiquated captain's military dress uniform with a shortsword at his side. The statue was once painted in lifelike hues, but only flecks now remain. The plinth bears a plaque of soft greenstone, but the writing on it has eroded and is hard to read.

The party examines the writing carefully and manages to make it out. It says: “Here lies the tomb of Captain Perx. Faithful, steadfast, loyal, with steady hand and clever mind, a good friend to the people of his city and a good soldier to his emperor. 1977 to 2293 S.C. May his eternal rest be peaceful.”

Rorin recognizes the name. Perx was a soldier of note, well-known for his kindness, loyalty and intelligence.

The door itself has twelve iron spikes hammered into the ground at its base to keep it shut. Someone has scratched “Beware the dead” in the surface of the door itself.

“Interesting,” Dzedz mutters.

“I don't really like the dead,” Carl Hungus says. Then he turns at a strange, excited noise from Scrote.

Uncle Stranger is acting in a very improper activities with Scrote. “Hey!” Hungus shouts.

“No, he likes it,” Stranger Danger the Ranger claims.

Scrote looks at Hungus and winks. “Bah,” he says, but in a sexy tone.

Everyone stares at Uncle Stranger and Scrote M'Goat.

Then looks away.

Consenting adults and all that. Fiendish giant goat or not.

***

The party heads back to Red Bank, intending to return when properly rested and re-equipped (Rorin is nearly out of arrows). But once they are there, Uncle Stranger vanishes into the woods.

“I'm not really all that interested in looting the grave of a military hero,” Dzedz says.

That leaves Hungus and Rorin; but they are joined by Iron Patriot and a local halfling named Big John, to whom Iron Patriot seems to have some sort of strange attachment. He treats him with obvious affection, sometimes mussing his hair when rambling incomprehensibly at him.

***

The group removes the spikes from the door and pushes their way inside, though Scrote has to stay behind. Just beyond the door is a hall that opens onto a room, dusty but intact. It has an arched ceiling 10' high and two rows of pillars of pink marble. The walls are painted with images of Perx and his men fighting goblin and kobolds; laughing and celebrating; gambling, drinking and gaming; studying and learning; and helping construct what pcs from Fandelose recognize as Bronze Park. The back wall, where the Bronze Park images are, also contains a strange contraption.

Before the party can advance, half a dozen skeletons come clacking out of the shadows from where they lurked behind the pillars. There is a brief battle; though they are outnumbered, the party contains several stalwart warriors, and Big John proves adept with his fists. The skeletons' resistance to slashing and piercing damage doesn't much help against this particular group!

Afterward, the party examines the contraption, which proves to be a series of brass wheels within wheels, forming five concentric circles. Each wheel can be spun separately, each turning separately, while above the contraption is a small brass arrow pointing at the wheels and a large blue button. Each wheel is marked with the letters of the Common alphabet, although slightly antiquated versions of several of them.

Experimentation reveals that touching one of the wheels causes a clear chime to sound through the area, and a clear voice speaks a riddle. Each ring provides a different riddle.

The first is: I feed on death. Choose wisely, and I shall feed you. Choose poorly and sicken and die.

“That's a mushroom,” says Rorin immediately.

Dzedz nods. “Sure, but what do we do with it?”

The second riddle is: I have a face, but no eyes. I speak to you, yet have no mouth. I have leaves, but no roots nor bark.

The third: Of no use to one; yet absolute bliss to two. The small boy gets it for nothing. The young man has to lie for it. The old man has to buy it.

The fourth: You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year; when the last one is gone, your life disappears.

The fifth: A barrel of rainwater weighs twenty pounds. What must you add to make it weigh fifteen?

“Hmm,” says Rorin.

They fiddle with the wheels at length. “It has to be a five letter word,” Dzedz declares. “It can't be mushroom.”

While the others mess around with the wheels, Rorin pokes around the rest of the room. “Hey,” he calls after a few moments, “I found something. There's some kind of mechanism here.” He stands at one of the pillars.

Hungus hurries over to try to trick it open, since he is proficient with thieves' tools. After a few minutes, he scowls. “I don't think this will open unless we solve the riddles.”

“Maybe there's another way.” Rorin pulls out his sword and sets to work, prying at the mechanism. It takes over an hour, and he ends up bending his blade, but he finally pries it open, revealing a 5' diameter shaft with a ladder that descends about 20' to the middle of another chamber.

This room is 30' square, with a 10' high ceiling. The air is filled with a foul charnel odor. Old moldy tapestries hang on the walls, two per wall, flanking the three exit doors and a polished steel statue of the Sword Emperor, which dominates the west wall.

As the adventurers descend, four stinking, animate corpses rush out at them from hiding places behind the tapestries. The tomb robbers are caught off guard; the ghouls paralyze Rorin before they can respond.

Iron Patriot roars and lays about him with his maul. He gibbers words that nobody can understand. Hungus finishes off one, then another, wounded ghoul. In moments, the adventurers stand triumphant, and Rorin is beginning to twitch again.

“That wasn't so bad,” Big John says.

The tapestries are too moldy for anyone to discern what was once depicted on them. The statue of the Sword Emperor shows him in an aggressive posture, weapon raised, face fierce.

The first of the two flanking doors leads to a chamber that contains only a dry basin. The second has another contraption with concentric metal rings, similar to the one above, but without the lettering, only a colored marking. Carl Hungus suggests that it's a way to re-open the shaft from below, without having to consider the riddles.

Neither of those two chambers has any other exits. The third door out of the room with the statue leads to a 15' wide, 15' long entry passage with an 8' high ceiling, leading to a 30' x 30' main chamber with a 12' high ceiling. When the Iron Patriot enters the chamber- he is at the point of the party's formation- four man-sized elegant bronze lanterns, hanging from thick chains, flare to life with a warm yellow glow, and the temperature changes from the typical cool of an underground area to a pleasant, summery warmth. The room's main feature is obvious: a clear sarcophagus containing the skeletal remains of a gnome dressed in rotten finery, with a number of bejeweled items on his person, a short sword at his side and a book on his chest.

The party moves very carefully, expecting traps, expecting the corpse to animate- expecting some danger. But there isn't any. They have made their way to the true tomb of Perx, and when they manage to prise open the sarcophagus, they find themselves with a considerable amount of loot, including spell scrolls of grease, blur and hypnotic pattern.

More important, they take Perx's sword, a rapier, which Rorin claims. It is clearly a special weapon, but they have no way to identify it at the moment.*

Next Time: The Iron Patriot goes to Fandelose!


*The Sword of Perx is a unique magical weapon that requires attunement. It grants a +2 bonus to initiative if it's in hand when initiative is rolled and granting its wielding proficiency in Intelligence saving throws. However, when in combat with kobolds or goblins (not other goblinoids), it also gains a +1 bonus to attacks and damage and a +1d6 bonus to critical severity. Rorin learns all that some time later.

The Iron Patriot is profoundly uncomfortable in the city.

The crowds remind him of masses of soldiers fighting for their lives, dying. There are far too many people, and there is far too much smoke. The clamor reminds of him dimly-remembered events in the trauma that have made him who he is.

Why has he come here?

He glances at the companions with whom he is walking. Fundamentally, the reason he has just entered Fandelose is this: they cannot comprehend him, and on the trip back through the hills, he couldn't orient himself toward Red Bank. Now he wants to go home as quickly as possible.

Yet the Iron Patriot feels unable to leave the group for a single reason: Big John, whom the Iron Patriot has mistaken for a child. For as much as the Iron Patriot is the defender of Red Bank, he is also the defender of children. And if ever he has seen a child in need of a good example and some firm guidance, it is Big John.

Thus, as the party heads through the Lower District, when a young tough approaches the group to try to sell them drugs, the Iron Patriot steps up with a waggling finger and a ranted message that nobody quite catches.

But the thug catches Iron Patriot's tone, and summons a rag-tag collection of gangsters to his side.

Iron Patriot warns them. He gives a long, incomprehensible speech.

“Look,” says Hungus, “we don't want any trouble. Our friend is just a little bit excitable.” Dzedz and Roran exchange a glance. “Why don't you just move aside, and we'll be on our way.”

One of the young toughs says, “I think they should pay a penalty.”

There is a general chorus of agreement.

“No, I don't think so,” Dzedz retorts.

And the Iron Patriot has had enough. He rushes forward. The thugs pull out clubs and surround him. “Damn it!” swears Hungus, drawing out his maul and striding toward the group.

The clash is relatively brief. Once they realize that they're facing real trouble, the gang scatters. Hungus casts a couple of cure wounds spells, and the party moves on.

***

Sipping his bean juice, Dzedz asks, “What now?”

The Iron Patriot ejaculates mangled words nobody can make out.

“I think we should go back to the megadungeon,” Carl Hungus says. “We can go back to that big shaft we found and go down on ropes.”

“You mean the one with the gnolls?”

“Yeah. The gnoll hole.” Hungus grins, inordinately pleased with himself.

***

The Iron Patriot would just as soon go home. He isn't needed here. He tags along, haranguing his compatriots. When the group sets out for the dungeon, he waggles his finger at Big John. Crestfallen, the halfling stays behind. Dzedz, Roran, Iron Patriot, and Hungus form the expedition.

The group again takes the smooth round passage bored by a thoqqua into the gibberling level, and again are soon beset by large numbers of the little hairy monsters.

Dzedz comments, “They must breed really fast. It seems like no matter how many we kill, there are just as many when we come back.”

“Maybe we just need to try harder,” Roran says wryly.

***

Shortly before they reach the gnoll-hole (as they are now officially calling it), the party runs into another adventurer- a dwarf named Krank Cleigier. He hails them as he stomps toward them.

“Hello,” says Dzedz after the group and Krank introduce themselves. “I take it you're down here looking for loot?”

“Yes, but I haven't been having much luck. These little hairy guys don't carry anything, at least not as far as I've seen. And they're easy to kill one-on-one, but they run in large groups...”

“That's why we should run in large groups.” Dzedz grins. “Why don't you join us? Even shares.”

“Even shares,” Krank replies, nodding.

***

The gnoll-hole is 50' deep, and once again it is guarded by gnolls at the bottom. The party pushes through, then out into another chamber with more gnolls.

Then into another chamber with more gnolls.

It rapidly becomes apparent that this level is controlled by gnolls (assuming that the gnolls themselves aren't the lackeys of something more powerful). The party pushes several rooms deep, finding some treasure, but then more groups of gnoll warriors start to arrive, responding to the sounds of fighting.

The party is forced to retreat.

By the time they reach the shaft, they are in a full route. Hungus and Krank are badly wounded, and neither Dzedz nor Roran are without a scratch or two. Roran is forced to make a bold stand, stabbing with the Sword of Perx and holding the doorway while his wounded friends pull themselves up the rope that they left dangling down the gnoll-hole before finally breaking and running himself. He gets away, suffering a few more stabs and cuts to the legs as he scrambles up.

“They're climbing after him!” Dzedz calls.

“Not to worry!” Hungus pulls out a dagger, and as soon as Roran makes it to the top of the shaft, he saws through the rope. The gnoll falls, landing with a crunch. “Ha!” the dragonborn chortles.

“Don't gloat,” Roran warns. “Let's get out of here!”

As if to confirm the ranger's concerns, an arrow whizzes past Hungus' face. “Right,” he says.

The party returns to the city.

The Iron Patriot has had enough. He leaves alone, following the trail to Red Bank. He can only hope that kid Big John comes back to him; he could really use a father figure.

***

The beer is flowing in the Fandelose Brewery. The party had some success in their last expedition, and nobody spends money like adventurers flush with success. And nothing breeds a thirst for more adventure like a successful expedition that brings back riches.

Inspired by the rounds purchased by Carl Hungus, Dzedz, and Krank, a none-too-bright fellow named Charly asks to join them on their next adventure. “Sure, why not?” Hungus cries drunkenly.

Morsado and Uncle Stranger walk in, spot Hungus and Dzedz, and come over to join the group. Soon they're all deep in their cups. Even so, Hungus deflects when Uncle Stranger asks after Scrote.

“There are goblins raiding travelers between here and Red Bank,” says Uncle Stranger. “You guys interested in helping me to drive 'em off?”

“Sure, Uncle!” Morsado grins at him and takes another deep drink, wiping foam from his beard.

“Why not?” Dzedz shrugs. “It's a good cause.”

“And they probably have some treasure,” Hungus says, “especially if they've been getting it from travelers!”

***

The goblins aren't hard to find; the party simply travels between Fandelose and Red Bank, back and forth, for several nights.

The goblins, accompanied by worgs, come at them from out of the darkness. They come more than once over the next few nights, but each time the party slays some and drives the others off.

On the third day, they meet a pair of travelers who have also had trouble with the goblins. One of them, a fellow named David, is a young scion of one of the local noble houses, House daVoi. He is out sowing his metaphorical oats. In short, he is an adventurer.

“What about you, friend?” Hungus asks the other man.

“I am Johann, and I am here to preach the word of the God-Bomb!” the other man proclaims. “Have you been touched by its power? The God-Bomb touches us all, friend!”

“Uh, that's nice,” Hungus says, nonplussed.

David daVoi shrugs. “I don't know, cousin.”

***

There are more dangers in the area than goblins. Griffons circle overhead, but don't approach. Instead, trouble comes from below. Huge burrowing insects erupt from the ground, spitting acid.

“The God-Bomb take you!” shrieks Johann, and radiant power blasts one of them. The other members of the group begin to reconsider their opinion of the fanatic.

The party squashes the bugs. Later, when a hungry bear attacks them in camp, Johann again proves his usefulness.

But the goblins!

***

The goblins, it turns out, are led by something else: a barghest, a terrible fiend from the lower planes that can shift between the form of a goblin, that of a dark wolf, and a sort of hybrid form. The party learns this when they take a goblin prisoner after yet another attempted raid on them.

That's not all they learn, either. It turns out that not all the local goblins are aligned with this barghest. The ones who are now wear the sign of the Iron Butterfly, but many others are members of the White Tongue tribe, who do not support the strange new idolotrous religion that the barghest is pushing.

“You tell us where the barghest's lair is,” says Johann, “and we will cleanse it from this plane! It will feel the wrath of the GOD BOMB!!!” He is shouting by the end of his statement.

Hungus adds, “Better yet, we'll let you live!”

“Will you release me?”

“Sure!”

The goblin nods. “I'll point it out tonight. You will be able to see it once it's dark.”

Indeed, when night falls, the goblin gestures at a nearby peak. “There. You see?”

Peering carefully, Hungus shakes his head. “There's nothing there.”

But Johann has sharp eyes. “There's a light up there. It's hidden, but I can see it. It's a sign! GOD-BOMB!”

Next Time: Our heroes enter the barghest's lair!

The Final City is a pressure cooker. Since long before the disastrous protest at which Mad Max unleashed his fury upon a young lad, the pressure has been building, but that particular moment won't be forgotten. Yes, the Army of Argos managed to shove the lid back on and hold it closed, but Mad Max's actions have certainly turned up the heat.

In the Upper District, groups of farmers meet, some openly, some in secret. People rant and cry over their losses, but the murder of a child is unforgiveable. Demands for Max's head are sent to the Citadel, vanishing into the military decision-making apparatus with no reply.

Elsewhere, in the hills outside of the city to the west, a large number of members of the Oaken Circle meet. The Oaken Circle is what remains of the druidic order that has long existed in parallel to civilized society, hiding in plain sight. The Oaken Circle's sympathies lie far closer to the farmers than to the army and the authorities in Fandelose, and they discuss what they can do to aid the farmers' plight. Their discussions will continue for months as they debate a proposal brought by one of their less forgiving heirophants- to attack where the city is weakest, its food supply.

“But the farmers are our allies,” another druid protests. “If there are food shortages, they'll be the ones to suffer deprivation first. And if the Argos discovers that they intentionally sabotaged the crops, they'll be made to suffer.”

But the one who proposed the idea shakes her head. “I've developed a spell for just this purpose,” she declares. “A spell that will both protect the farmers and harm the city.”

“You Shadow Circlers are all the same,” sneers a goliath. “You just want to see the city fall.”

“Is it wrong to wish to see even humanity return to its natural state? Is nature not what we all swear to uphold?”

“It could be argued,” says another druid, this one a centaur, “that the city is the natural state of humans.”

They will not resolve their debate for months. When the moot breaks up, one particular member wild shapes into a swift and wings away, descending in the hills just outside a strangely landscaped area. Giant ants rush all about, working to create a monoculture garden to encourage the growth of giant aphids for their nectar production. Here is the lair of a druid who did not attend the moot- one who is no longer welcome among his fellows. One who has turned from his own kind, firmly and with purpose; one who was once of the Shadow Circle, but who found satisfaction in a different way.

This is the lair of the Ant-Man.

***

The journey to and up the mountain with the flame upon it takes several more days. Along the way, the group has to fight off several natural predators- a bear, an owlbear, a flock of blood hawks. As they draw closer, they encounter a group of goblins led by a hobgoblin warlord. After a brief, fierce clash, the party puts them to the sword.

“We're getting closer, cuz,” David daVoi says.

But as they come closer, they become more obvious to the goblins of the Iron Butterfly. From their vantage point above, the tribe can see them coming. And so the attacks become more frequent, with a group of worgs rushing out of the trees at them.

Not long afterward, they stumble upon the remains of a campsite, but upon examination, it is too clean and well-tended to have been used by goblins. In addition, there is only one set of footprints in the camp, and they are larger than those a goblin would leave.

Several hours later, the party catches several goblins secreted in the brush, spying on them, and ensures that they can't report back.

“It's a sign!” Johann shrieks. “A sign from the GOD-BOMB!! Here, so far from home, so close to danger, we are shown that this place is for us, for our kind!” He rants on for several minutes- long and loud enough, in fact, to draw the camp's former occupant out.

It is Sarec, who has been idly mulling over the idea of changing the spelling of his name.

“Hey there, Hungus! It's been a while!”

“What are you doing so far from the city by yourself?”

“I'm out adventuring. I'm not a fan of the city, really. I've been hunting goblins.”

“You should be careful, cousin,” David daVoi says. “It's dangerous out here.”

“I'm not worried. I'm an outlander. We're used to this stuff.”

“You realize that most of the outlanders around here have died off due to monsters, right?” Hungus shrugs. “I'm just saying.”

“I'm not worried,” Sarec (perhaps Sarek, in the future?) repeats. “I'm a bad ass with my haliburt.” It takes the others a moment to realize that he's referring to his halberd. “If they even come too close to me, I'll smack 'em!”

“One of these days,” Hungus sighs, “you're going to end up eaten by griffons.”

“No way!” Sarec grins. “I'll be the one eating griffon steaks!”

***

Sarec isn't the only friendly face our heroes meet on their way up the mountain. When they break for an extended lunch, the Iron Patriot catches up to them from behind. He, as usual, is trying to protect his home, Red Bank, from the perennial threats surrounding it. When he enters the party's camp, he exclaims in a happy tone, then speaks at length, not that anyone can understand him.

Nonetheless, David daVoi answers him: “Welcome aboard, cuz!”

***

Thus reinforced, the party cuts their way up the mountain, hewing through wave after wave of goblin assault. Some come with worgs, but the number of goblin-wolves is rapidly depleted.

Soon our heroes face the sole surviving worg- an immense, old, grizzled bastard, ridden by the barghest itself, though the fiend's identity is not apparent until our heroes find their weapons barely able to hurt it.

“The God-Bomb take you!” screams Johann, calling down the wrath of his deity in a burst of radiant power.

The barghest and its worg ally are much tougher than any of the goblins the party has fought before. They have the last five goblins of the Iron Butterfly tribe with them, along with the worg mother's five young (but still fully-grown) brood. Yet Krank, Hungus, daVoi, and Sarek form a line that keeps the mass of enemies back from Johann and Dzedz, who hurl spell after spell at the barghest.

The goblins fall first, but then the barghest manages to run David daVoi through with his spear. The noble scion collapses, blood spraying everywhere.

“No you don't!” Hungus cries. He strikes and unleashes a smite, driving the barghest back.

Then it changes, its body flowing into a new form- a hybrid goblin-worg, all snarling teeth and slashing claws. It leaps onto Hungus, and the two struggle.

Johann leaps forward to daVoi's bleeding body. “It's not too late for you, brother!” the fanatic shouts, eyes blazing. “The power of the GOD-BOMB can still save you!!!” He presses his hands on daVoi's wounds, and they knit shut. David daVoi's eyes snap open, and he staggers to his feet.

A worg rushes at him, but Sarek cuts it down before it can reach him.

Dzedz fires off a shattering pulse, damaging most of the remaining enemies and throwing the big worg from its feet. “Now!” he shouts. “Get it!”

Though Hungus is still too busy dueling the barghest, the other warriors do as Dzedz asks. Krank finishes the large worg with an overhand blow of his axe. The remaining worgs, seeing their mother die, break and flee.

The adventurers let them go, finally free to place all their attention on the barghest itself.

Snapping, snarling, the monster backs up slowly as the warriors of civilization press it. Sarek's halbert hacks into its chest; Johann hits it with a sacred flame; daVoi rushes to flank it with Hungus.

Dzedz calls out, “You're done, monster!” He blasts it with a volley of magic missiles, but it still won't fall. It rips open daVoi's wounds, sending him spinning back to the ground.

With a growl, Hungus says, “Feel the power of my Queen!” He roars and swings, unleashing the last of his power in the mightiest smite he can.

The monster wobbles, but remains standing.

The Iron Patriot gives a cry, screams incomprehensibly, and attacks, laying into the barghest with all his might. Making confusing noises, the dwarven defender of Red Bank puts his all into it. Flecks of foam fly from his mouth. And finally, a punishing blow from his maul connects with the fiend's head, and the barghest falls at last. In only moments, its corpse begins to give off foul vapors, and in less than ten minutes, all that is left of it is a stinking, greasy stain and some rancid, rapidly-softening bones and hair.

***

Once more, the Iron Patriot finds himself in the wrong place.

After looting the treasure from the Iron Butterfly goblins' lair, the party returned to the city. Somehow, Iron Patriot missed the turn to Red Bank again- and here he is, back in the damned city. He complains to the others, but they just don't understand him.

At least he can look for Big John while he's here.

***

All that money is addictive. These adventurers, far from heroes when they began, have at least acted heroically. They have aided the most helpless people in the area, the folk of Red Bank; they have driven away a fiend from the Lower Planes; and they have come out wealthy for their efforts.

“The next step past wealthy,” Hungus points out to the others, “is downright rich! We've gotta keep doing this stuff.”

“We already killed the goblins,” Sarek says. “What next?”

Dzedz and Hungus exchange a glance.

“Let's go back to the gnoll-hole,” suggests the wizard.

“Yes!” cries Hungus. “Megadungeon!”

The party keeps drinking. The brewery, while not a tavern per se, has become one of their favorite haunts. It is also rapidly becoming infamous for the adventurers who come and buy rounds for everyone. Business is good.

“I want to buy a house!” Hungus declares.

But that's easier said than done. After all, if someone in the city sells their house- where would they live? There is only one answer: outside the walls. And living outside the walls is very, very dangerous. Only the boldest or more desperate do so, and most of them are picked off by one threat or another after a few years. The houses that cluster near the walls just outside the city are safest, but even they suffer the depradations of the local wildlife. Griffon attacks, while not common, are far from rare. Owlbears, giant insects, and other things periodically hunt the alleys in the dark of night, and the careless frequently go missing.

Far easier, the group will eventually find, is locating a house for rent.

Next Time: Our heroes head down the gnoll-hole to the Laughing Level!

This is not a city of heroes. Not now; not yet. The Heroes of Fandelose have had their day, and those days are past. They are dead, or old and retired, or just retired. A new crop may rise, and it may happen soon, but for now, the city's champions are less heroes and more adventurers.

But villains- ah, villains. Fandelose is full of villains.

Some are hidden in plain view, preaching to the city's poorest and most disenfranchised citizens, spreading the word of their foul god. Others keep their faces turned away from the public at all times, fearing the shining of the light of discovery on their unsavory activities. Some work invisibly within the organizations that the city must trust to protect it, undermining it from within.

But there are others who are more blatant, whose faces adorn wanted posters. Others such as Pa'ash Svenko, tiefling warlock, known devil-worshiper, known bandit, wanted for murder, arson, robbery, destruction of property. Surely, if he were resident within the city, such a famous villain would be turned in to the authorities in no more than a few days. At the very least, someone would tip off the White Battlet as to where to find him. The price on his head would be too high to resist.

Instead, such a villain, one who depended on raiding the civilized folk for both his own sick satisfaction and to ensure he and his lackeys can live in comfort, might choose a relatively safer place to live. Somewhere, perhaps, that offered an opportunity to cow and lord over weaker creatures, a place to set oneself up on top of a social hierarchy.

That's right. Pa'ash Svenko lives in the megadungeon.

And- oh, yes. Cast back your mind. Do you remember Mileen? Mileen, the missing colleague of Lazarus, for whom Dzedz was supposed to look so long ago?

Whoops.

***

This time, the party includes Carl Hungus, David daVoi, Johann, Dzedz, Sarek, and the Iron Patriot. As they descend into the dungeon, the distressed dwarf complains incoherently, clearly telling them something very important to him.

They follow the thoqqua hole to the gibberling level, then fight their way through a pair of giant spiders en route to the gnoll hole.

“Hey,” says Dzedz, “didn't we leave ropes here before?”

Indeed they did, but there is no sign of them now.

“It was probably the gnolls,” Sarek says.

The party drops new ropes and descends into another battle with the gnolls. They fight their way through, press forward into another area with gnolls and their pet hyenas.

The party doesn't recognize the danger they are facing until it is almost too late.

Among the enemy is a ghoul. It paralyzes David daVoi and Sarek, almost turning the tide against our protagonists before a raving Johann can call upon the power of the God-Bomb to turn the ghoul.

They press further into the gnolls' area. Hideous laughter echoes down the halls, coming from hyenas, both normal and giant, and gnolls alike. There are enemies closing in from everywhere, from every direction.

The party intercepts one group of gnolls, puts them to the sword. To their surprise, they find that the gnolls are transporting a pair of prisoners: a scared-looking halfling named Tommy and an elf named Keymaepa.

“This is awkward,” says Sarek. “I mean, we don't want to leave you on your own here, but we're kind of in the middle of something here, and we haven't found much treasure yet.”

Dzedz asks, “Do you have any useful skills?”

The elf smiles. “I am a warlock.”

“And I'm a druid,” the halfling answers. “And I'm pretty sure that these gnolls you just slew have our gear.”

“I wouldn't mind the opportunity to get a little revenge while we're here,” Kaymaepa adds.

“That settles it!” Sarek smiles at them. “You can come with us!”

“Equal shares for all,” Dzedz says.

***

The party, swollen with their two newest members, advances further. The gnolls' areas tend to be ill-kept, messy, with garbage and waste often left lying in plain view. The party finds their meat larder, which hangs with both humanoid corpses and several sides of cattle.

Solemnly, Kaymaepa touches one of the dead humans. “This was one of our adventuring companions.”

“I'm sorry,” says Sarek.

Further on, they cut through half a dozen guards in a foyer outside a well-appointed lair. Here they meet a much more dangerous gnoll than most they have met, dressed all in red plate armor, along with his four personal guards. Clearly, he is some kind of leader- but with such a large party, he and his guards have no chance. David daVoi finishes the gnoll captain off, slicing his throat.

“Too bad that armor is so big,” Hungus remarks. “You guys could use some plate armor.” He nods to Sarek and Johann.

The party takes stock of itself. A few of them are a little banged up, and most of their healing has been expended by now, but Dzedz still has several powerful spells available, and Hungus has one or two tricks left up his sleeve. They decide to keep going.

The next door they open leads to a large chamber, within which is a hydra.

Tommy slams the door shut, and David daVoi throws his weight against it. “I don't think we want to fight that!” the halfling exclaims.

But they may not have the choice. The door explodes outward and one of the hydra's heads smashes it to pieces.

“Why not?” shouts Sarek, leaping forward into the room and slashing with his halberd.

“The God-Bomb will protect us!” shrieks Johann, hitting the hydra with a sacred flame

David daVoi shrugs and leaps to stand with Sarek. Hungus hangs back for a few moments, but finally rushes to the front as well. Tommy uses his last spell slot to coat the hydra in faerie fire, while Keymaepa unleashes eldritch blasts at it.

The hydra is very dangerous, but as long as it is confronted by many targets, it seems that its heads are not very good at working together. Each snaps at whoever is closest to that head. And slowly, the party cuts it to pieces, finally finishing it with a flame bolt from Dzedz. The fight leaves the front line warriors all wounded, but only daVoi is knocked unconcscious. Tommy quickly scrambles forward to stabilize him.

***

Everyone agrees that it's time to withdraw. Carting daVoi's unconscious form, they retreat back through the gnoll level toward the gnoll hole.

Halfway there, they are ambushed by a pack of hyenas. They cut the beasts down.

“There!” Dzedz points just ahead. “The ropes! That's the gnoll hole!”

They hustle forward but are intercepted by a trio of gnolls that barrels into them from a side passage. Hungus smashes one down, Sarek cuts the second one in half, and Johann's holy power eliminates the third.

Tommy and Keymaepa scramble up the ropes, followed by Hungus. At the same time, Sarek quickly ties a harness around daVoi at the end of the ropes. Hungus hoists their unconscious ally aloft, his arms bulging with the effort. When he's done, he unties daVoi and drops the rope back down for Sarek. He and Dzedz climb up.

“What do you think? Should we leave the ropes again?” asks Hungus.

Dzedz shrugs. “We might as well. We got enough loot to replace them, that's for sure.”

“Someone somewhere is going to be collecting quite a pile of rope,” comments Sarek.

***

The party returns to the thoqqua hole and exits the dungeon via it. Once outside, the party parts ways. Hungus, daVoi, and Johann sleep in the Black Gorge, intent on re-entering the megeadungeon the next morning, while the others return to Fandelose.

“If you guys ever want to join up for an adventure with us,” Hungus tells Tommy and Keymaepa before they split up, “we hang out at the brewery a lot.”

The next morning, after using up their healing to ensure everyone is in good shape, Hungus, Johann, and a revived David daVoi head back in.

***

They make it to, and down, the gnoll hole without any trouble. There are no guards at the bottom.

“We must have depleted their numbers pretty severely,” Hungus remarks.

They explore. The level is large, densely packed, with many rooms and numerous passageways. They find a sleeping ogre and back away, leaving it alone. Before long, they find a stairway down.

“The God-Bomb will protect us!” Johann asserts.

They descend, passing into a large chamber. And it is there that disaster strikes.

Lurking in the shadows, a huge monstrous spider covered in bristles that drip acid senses the three of them. As they take in their surroundings, its scuttles forward with in silence, and before they are even aware of it, it sprays a cone of caustic acid all over them.

All three of them shriek in pain. But Johann is quite literally half-dissolved. The cleric's God Bomb does not protect them after all.

Hungus curses and strikes back, unleashing a mighty smite, but the spider monster shrugs it off. DaVoi's jab also hits, but barely hurts it.

The two flee, retreating up the stairs. The spider lets them go, content to slurp up Johann's remains. Hungus has only a meager amount of healing ability left; he uses it now, but both he and daVoi are still wounded.

David daVoi shakes his head. “This may have been a bad idea, cuz. I think we need to get out of here.”

He's right. But as they move through the gnoll zone, they are intercepted by half a dozen gnolls and a giant hyena.

The two of them freeze.

“Drop your weapons,” growls one of the gnolls in Common.

They have no choice.

***

In chains, stripped to their loincloths, they are cast before a tiefling who sits upon a large chair. “I am Pa'ash Svenko,” he says, sneering at them. “You are now my prisoners.” He looks them over.

“This one had fancy armor,” one of the gnolls says, pointing at Hungus. Pa'ash glances at the platinum-chased armor that Hungus has invested some of his treasure in.

Pa'ash smirks. “Good. We shall see. If your lives are worth enough, we shall keep you for ransom. If not...”

daVoi says, "I'm a noble."

***

Now before we switch our focus for a bit, it's time to talk about the elephant in the room- or, perhaps, the room in the elephant. If an elephant is a house. Which is to say, we're talking about the aforementioned rental house.

Now, to be perfectly frank, neither my notes nor my memory recall exactly when it is that Hungus, David daVoi, Dzedz, Mad Max, and the rest (but primarily Hungus) managed to rent the house on Banker Street, but it seems likely that it was before this point in our ongoing tale, so let's talk about it.

The fact that there are no other places to live other than the city makes anyone who owns property within the walls extremely reluctant to part with it. After all, once you do, your options are limited to either renting a room or apartment, building a new place outside of Fandelose proper, or living on the streets. So someone giving up their home for a quick pay out is simply not a thing anymore.

On the other hand, there are times when homeowners die. If there is no clear heir, the city seizes the property, which is subsequently either awarded as a reward for service or repurposed for the good of the city, such as by being converted into an apartment building.

All of this means that the adventures' attempts to buy property in the city had proven fruitless. Stymied, Hungus instead hit upon the idea of renting an empty house in the Bronze District. And as it turned out, there was such a place available for a steep price at #14 Banker Street, located literally right across the street from the Fandelose Brewery. For obvious reasons, this seemed like an ideal location, and the place was fairly large, with several buildings, two storeys, a large basement, and a sturdy roof- all important considerations. Hungus secured an arrangement with the owner, although their relationship would sour over time as the house became less reputable, notorious for hosting constant parties full of violent adventurers, and as Hungus repeatedly violated the agreement's "no modifications to the house" clause. Also, the small herd of goats atop the roof, often loudly and publicly violated by Scrote, made any nod toward discretion impossible.

Many times, Hungus or Mad Max or another of the people who invested in the house would come home and find it filled to bursting with disreputable adventurers drinking their booze and eating their food. Often, when a group went out on an expedition, they would leave a note for their friends, telling them where the group had gone. "We're in the gnoll hole." "Heading to Red Bank." "East of town, in the woods, looking for owlbears." Whatever. It made it easy for different adventurers to find each other, to join forces, or sometimes, to prey on each others' successes or failures.

This was the start of Fandelose's Adventurers' Guild, started inadvertently and mostly by rumor, and which mostly consisted of bandits raiding or extorting travelers going to and from Red Bank- a problem that would plague the area for years.

What was that about switching focus?

Some two weeks earlier, Kevan the Sharp plays a witty song in the Wall Café. He has the crowd captivated. They hang on his every word, swaying with the rhythm of his rhymes. His tunes are sharp and quick, his lyrics dramatic and clever, his wit evident. Among the crowd, a woman draws almost as much attention as he does- his sister, Lavendoula. Part of the reason for the eyes on her is her sheer charisma, but there is more: there is a story about her. An angel descended, called her by name, gave her an instant legend then and there before she had even done anything. It happened in the city, in the middle of the day, in front of witnesses. There is something special about her.

The place is crowded. Groups of people are forced to share tables with strangers in order to accommodate the mass of folks in the place. The aroma of bean juice fills the air, mixed with the sweat of the dancers and the smell of pipe smoke. At Lavendoula’s table, an expressionless young human male dressed in a gi in the style of the Pan Lung School is wrist wrestling with a cold-eyed tiefling woman wearing the sha shi of the Manticore Monastery. Beside the woman, a bony human man in a midnight robe tries not to roll his eyes at their antics. He is her friend; the Pan Lung monk is her rival.

Sitting languidly, smiling prettily, a dark-haired human woman with a whip coiled at her side sips her coffee. Through long eyelashes, she watches for a pocket to pick. She’s pretty sure that it’s not going to be one of the people she is sitting with that produces a big payoff. Monks? Pah. Not likely. And the grim-looking fellow has the air of a spellcaster about him. Best to be safe. She glances to her left, where a bored-looking elf sporting a green mohawk sits before an empty cup. “What did you say your name was?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” he sniffs, “but it’s Praxis.”

“I’m Danielle,” the woman replies. She wants to add, Queen of Thieves, but she knows just how pretentious that would be at this point.

“I am Edward,” the robed man intones. “My friend here is Verena.”

“Call me V,” the tiefling growls as the two monks, score evened up, disengage their wrists.

“And I am Hajime,” says the Pan Lung monk.

Lavendoula introduces herself as Kevan’s set ends, and adds, “This is my brother, Kevan,” as the bard joins the table. The two half-elves look strikingly alike.

“I see you’ve found some… company, sister,” Kevan says, looking the group over with a dubious eye.

“Hey, everyone has to sit somewhere, “ Danielle replies with a grin.

“Speaking of which…” a new voice says, and a small hand lands on Danielle’s arm. “Hi, Danielle!”

“Oh, hi, Shelby!”

The newcomer is a halfling woman, brown haired and slender, with large eyes and long fingers. She is one of Danielle’s friends, and better still, a fellow member of the Smoke Fades, the city’s thieves’ guild. “Mind if I join you? I’ll buy a round of bean juice.”

The group gladly accepts Shelby’s generous offer. (Bean juice costs a full guinea a cup; it’s a fairly extravagant expense.) Danielle eyes her curiously. “You must have had a bit of luck recently.”

“Sure did!” Shelby grins at her. “Do you know about Marble Hall?”

Edward says, “The megadungeon?”

“The same. I just got back from a trip in. We had some pretty good luck. I mean, yeah, we had to fight some orcs, but we managed to pull through without any losses. And we got some decent loot.”

“How much?” Danielle asks.

“Plenty.”

Shelby sits with the group for only a few minutes, then heads off “to take care of some errands” (which Danielle mentally translates into pay the guild its cut). After she leaves, the group begins to talk about the megadungeon. While not all are motivated by the prospects of wealth, each of them does see one or more reasons to go in- be it treasure, knowledge, money to help the orphans, to slay monsters to protect the city, or simple hatred of orcs.

Thus forms another party of adventurers, agreeing to meet on the morrow to head in to Marble Hall.