AERUNEDAR [the Definitive thread]

[Tom Cashel]

Episode VII: Serpents in Dark Water

Characters: Bronn Spellforger (shield dwarf male Wiz5); Caramip (gnome female Brd4); Corwyn Black (human male Ftr5); Daziel (human female Clr5–Selûne); Roman Gemlee (gold elf male Ftr4); Saeita Neví (wild elf female Mnk5); Van Dyksun (human male Rgr3/Rog2); Velm Trueforger (shield dwarf male Ftr4/Clr1–Clangeddin).

*Excerpted from Volume 3 of Aerunedar: The Rise, Fall and Reconquest of the City of Gold, by Jungoth Eddletarry of Waymoot, added to the library at Candlekeep in 1423 DR, the Year of the Thundering Hosts:

Chapter Seven: The Battle of Arglarllur Bridge.

If one must look back across the years to find the moment that defined what the Company of the Wolf (or Company of the Coin, if the villagers of Eveningstar are to be believed) would become, the curious student of Aerunedar’s tattered history should look no further than the 18th of Eleint, in the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR). On this day the members of Wolf Company were to rise above the petty squabbles that had plagued them, and face overwhelming odds. No name for the bridge upon which they made their stand could be more appropriate that Arglarllur.[&sup1]

After the bloody skirmish with the Scarlet Flame, the clash with Zhentarim wizard Faraugar “Leatherboots,” and the discovery of Hathos’ Drum and the dessicated corpse of Shieldcoil, Wolf Company found their food supplies running low. They foraged for mushrooms outside the Tombs and discussed their options.

But within the tombs, a strange discovery had been made: two goodly-sized boulders of rose quartz with hazy forms trapped at the center. Velm Trueforger and Corwyn Black set to work dismantling them, hoping that their contents would be akin to the gem that held Sir Temuel Khiv in the past month; in short, they once again hoped to resurrect the history of Aerunedar in the hope that it could aid them.[&sup2] It did.

The quartz yielded the gnomish bard Caramip, and the gold elf warrior Roman Gemlee, both of whom the attentive Reader will recall from previous episodes in this very History[&sup3]. For nearly two hundred years they had slumbered in Shieldcoil’s spellmade prisons, only now emerging to find Aerunedar long fallen. On the plus side, the longevity of their respective races insured that some of their family members still lived to welcome them home.

Their recollections served to correct a few legendary errors; in short, the Company of the Wolf came to understand that Hathos was no hero to the dwarves of Clan Darkfell–indeed, he had been exiled years earlier[4]–and that the mysterious “Flamecoil” trapped in the fungus forest’s tower was none other than Ruathgrym himself: the Corpsecoil.

Resolute that the bones of Shieldcoil should not be returned to “Flamecoil,” the Company set out for their appointment with destiny at the Arglarllur Bridge. It is known that they traveled close to, but not beside, the riverbank, due to the fears of Van Dyksun that the naga would return and pelt them with its Art. “In truth, it terrified me,” wrote young Van of the naga, “in my dreams and waking hours I often wished it dead. It [was] without a doubt the most frightening abomination I [had] encountered in my young life.”[5]

Before long Wolf Company found themselves surrounded by the ambulatory fungi of the forest: this time they came as a veritable mob of toadstools and mushrooms which encircled them stealthily and released a dusty cloud of spores. Most of the Company managed to hold their breath, but Caramip and Daziel did not: and so found themselves in mental rapport with the two-foot tall mushroom men.

“We mean you no harm,” said the voices in Cara’s mind. “We bid you welcome,” said the myconids, “battlers of the Consumer. Strugglers against the Despoiler.” Young Van Dyksun was quick to realize that they spoke of the black ooze, the horror that so easily devoured all fungus in its path, leaving clean stone in its wake.[6] Though their weapons were readied and all they needed was a single word to launch an attack, the Company managed to quell their bellicose urges and trust the mushroom men. ‘Twas a wise and lucky choice, for of all the underdark’s denizens, none are more peaceful and philosophical than the Myconids.

Before long they found themselves guests in the court of King Amanita, a toadstool who towered 20 feet above them, surrounded by the many Myconids whom he referred to as his children. “Welcome you are,” said the King, “partake of potables and comestibles as we talk.” Only the gnome Cara was happy to find squirming grubs on the menu, but the others were satisfied with edible fungus and a thick drink that Velm claimed “tasted just like mead.”[7]

In the course of their discussion with King Amanita, they were told of the Myconids’ long alliance with Glamerdrung and the dwarves of Clan Darkfell. Indeed, their tenantship of the Great Cavern predated the dwarves, but they were only too happy to share their domain with the others who arrived later.[8] In addition, it became clear that while Hathos had been exiled to the tower in the fungus forest before Aerunedar was invaded, he later managed to escape and trap Ruathgrym in his stead.[9]

The reverie was short-lived. An intruder approached. Myconids scattered in all directions, and after bestowing the boon of eight magic mushrooms upon the Company, King Amanita commanded them to flee.

Their flight was for naught. The pursuer caught up to them in the forest farther on, and they found it was none other that Ruathgrym’s golem, whom he called Corpus. No one ever accused the Corpsecoil of being especially creative. In any case, the shambling hulk of sewn-together appendages and flesh angled directly toward Van Dyksun and set in to clubbing the young ranger with its powerful arms, desperate to retrieve the bag which held Shieldcoil’s dry bones.

The battle was short and decisive, with the Wolf Company’s victory mostly attributable to the sure and powerful strikes of Steelwind, the blade wielded by Roman Gemlee.

Further along the river, Wolf Company found themselves at the foot of the Great Pillar of Iolar, which is carved into the titanic likeness of Aerunedar's first king, holding aloft the ceiling of the great cavern. With spells of levitation, Bronn made his way upward to inspect the pillar. The inside seemed to be hollow, and within he could hear voices arguing in Undercommon over whether to explore the ruins or bide their time. Though their names seemed to be "Nimira" and "Snurrevin," the actual identity of the mysterious debaters would remain a mystery, as Bronn decided to descend to the Company once more.

Now the Company made haste toward the bridge. On the way they met the mysterious prisoner of the Scarlet Flame, who now identified herself as Zandris Winter, daughter of Lady Tessaril Winter of Eveningstar. The details of this conversation, sadly, are lost to history. Both Van Dyksun and Velm Trueforger make passing mention of it in their respective journals, and the traveling spellbook of Bronn Spellforger which survives at Candlekeep notes, “Winter family: Traitors!!!” in the Spellforger’s customarily trenchant style.[10]

In any case, the Company of the Wolf came to Arglarllur Bridge expecting a row, and they were not disappointed.

Reconnaissance by Saeita Neví revealed that there were indeed more troglodytes waiting atop the far gatehouse, and that the portcullis–formerly open–was now securely closed. They advanced slowly, cloaked and nervous.

As they came within range, the trogs sprang up and sent down a hail of javelins. The shaman who led them loosed a spell that halted Corwyn Black in his tracks. And sticky webs burst over the group, trapping Daziel and Roman securely while forcing the rest of the party forward: it was clear now that they were trapped. Daziel called upon the Power of Selûne–a sword of moonlight that sprung from her hand–and used it to cut her way free.

At the shaman’s command, the troglodytes blew long sounding notes on chitinous horns–tones that carried off into the darkness of the cavern.

Things went from bad to worse: the naga rose out of the river to throw spells onto the bridge-bound Wolf Company, and although Bronn Spellforger entangled the gatehouse with answering webs of his own, it was apparent to all that they were in dire straits.

It was Saeita Neví who led the climb onto the gatehouse under the hail of javelins and spells, and Van Dyksun and Bronn Spellforger who followed. Cara and Roman’s climbing attempts landed them in the dark water of the river, where the naga dove in to attack the helpless pair.

Atop the gatehouse, Van wondered desperately what his sword could do to help. “I wanted it to have some effect on these lizards,” wrote Van, “and I wondered what the runes along the blade meant, and for a moment my mind just focused on the sword. ‘What is your wish?’ said a metallic voice in my head. And of course I just wanted that foul naga to be dead. ‘WISH,’ it told me, and so I said out loud, ‘I wish the naga was dead.’ If only I'd said 'Nightscale.'”[11]

In the river, as Roman was about to be pulled under, there came a flare of light. The singed and dead coils of the naga floated to the surface and slid downstream–dead.

Bronn loosed a stroke of lightning that slew all troglodytes except for the shaman, whom Daziel killed with a well-placed crossbow bolt from below. Though they were sorely wounded, the tide had begun to turn.

Velm and Corwyn took up positions on either side of the portcullis, weapons ready, as Bronn yelled from above in his best Draconic imitation, “We are raising the gate! Forward and attack!” The ruse worked. The throng of troglodytes waiting to rush through and stamp out remaining resistance found only the axe of Velm and Corwyn’s hammer, and they were dispatched with brutal speed.

Silence fell.

Daziel moved forward to heal Corwyn, and Bronn leaned out over the battlements to yell, “Everyone into the tower!” Everything slowed as a serpentine neck covered with black scales, a skull-like reptilian head festooned with spurs and spikes of bone, rose up out of the river and loosed a smoking blast of acid from its maw over Corwyn, Daziel and Velm. It was Nightscale herself, answering the summons of the horns.

"Run!" shouted Bronn. All fled into the tower. From the vantage point of a second-story arrow slit, Saeita warned them that reinforcements were approaching from the direction of the ruins: ten more troglodytes led by a hideous snake-man.

Though they readied themselves to meet the onslaught, the Company was unprepared for the breath of Nightscale. The wyrm landed atop the gatehouse and spewed acid into the tower again and again, as below the door burst open in splinters and admitted the serpentine phalanx.

But the serpents' mistake was to mount the staircase en masse. Bronn Spellforger’s voice formed the bass syllables of a mystical incantation, and a deep thrumming rose in the stairs, followed by a sharp cracking of rock. The stairs fell inward in a cloud of dust, and all but one of the troglodytes were slain instantly. Only the abomination–an eight-foot tall snake wielding a falchion in one of its scaly human arms–remained to fight them.

As the snake-thing let out a dying hiss and collapsed in a bloody coil, yet another blast of acidic breath plumed into the tower. This time Daziel folded to the floor. Corwyn staggered back, terribly wounded. Enraged and screaming, “By Clangeddin’s furious axes!” Velm rushed out onto the battlements to face Nightscale.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Velm later wrote in his journal, “I was terribly injured and exhausted. But when I saw Daziel fall, the idea that this wyrm thought of us as her playthings just filled me with such wrath as I have never felt before. I wanted to bury my axe in her skull.”[12]

Cara had crept to the roof of the tower on stealthy gnome feet, to see for herself what had become of the dragon. As she peeked her head out, she saw the beast from behind, perched on the battlements like a cat about to pounce, its black serpentine tail twitching back and forth in almost feline anticipation. She gasped to see that it was nearly forty feet long, from head to the tip of its tail. And before she could call out, Nightscale plunged downward.

“At first I was surprised to see nothing when I emerged,” wrote Velm. “And as I realized my mistake, the shadow covered me, and doom descended. It was, without a doubt, the luckiest moment of my life. That wyrm had me dead to rights. But I felt her hot stinking breath on my neck as her jaws snapped shut on air; I felt a terrible wind as her claws swept past my back; and then I was slapped silly by the buffeting of her black wings. It was all I could do to disengage and stagger back into the tower. ‘Don’t go out there,’ I warned.”[13]

Bronn looked out in time to see the wyrm soaring away, doing a wingover into the darkness. He ran out onto the battlements and shouted into the shadowy deeps, “This isn’t over!!”

But for one, it was. Corwyn and Saeita stood up slowly from Daziel's unmoving, acid-scarred form. "She's dead," said Corwyn, and a tear slipped from his eye.

Notes:

1. From the Dethek, lit. “Butcher River.” Sometimes translated as “River of Slaughters.”
2. See A History of Starwater Gorge, by Ummatin Tencloak.
3. See Volume Two, The Fall of the City of Gold, pp. 789-825.
4. Ibid., pp.221-365.
5. Dyksun, Van. The Woodland Journal of Van Dyksun, p. 62.
6. Ibid., p. 70.
7. Trueforger, Velm. My Story, p. 24.
8. See Volume One, The Rise of the City of Gold, pp. 14-23.
9. See Volume Two, The Fall of the City of Gold, pp. 445, 523-545.
10. Spellforger, Bronn. Bronn’s Book of War, p. 73.
11. Dyksun, Van. The Woodland Journal of Van Dyksun, p. 63.
12. Trueforger, Velm. My Story, p. 35.
13. Ibid.

 

[Tom Cashel]

Episode VIII: The Trials of Enthandas

Characters: Bronn Spellforger (shield dwarf male Wiz5); Caramip Murnig (gnome female Brd4); Roman Gemalee (gold elf male Ftr4); Saeita Neví (wild elf female Mnk5); Van Dyksun (human male Rgr4/Rog1); Velm Trueforger (shield dwarf male Ftr4/Clr1–Clangeddin).

NIGHTSCALE:

The puling cry of the maggot reaches my ears: This isn’t over!

You may be assured that it is not, insect. The chill subterranean air lofts beneath my wings as I swing back toward the crumbling towers at the far end of the bridge.

There: the tiny gnome ducks into the staircase as I approach, a dark shape in shadows, a doom floating on air, a spectre of death personified. These fools do not realize what easy prey they are. When will Zandris show herself?

I land atop the bridge, breathing downward, showering the worm (a dwarf who fancies himself a wizard—what a joke!) with scouring acid. His magic protects him—for now—and he ducks to safety.

I hear them within, shouting that they must flee. I smell the fear sweat, hear the moans of absolute terror…they are mine.

ZANDRIS WINTER:

Ah, Nightscale...she is beautiful…spurs of bone and glistening black scales.

Nightscale, coiled atop the far tower, striking the fear of the serpent into these heretics who style themselves “Wolf Company.” They will be slaves of Yss-Fara, fodder for Ooltugula’s experiments, prey of the Coil, food for Meerschaulk the Coiled God.

“Give us the skull!” I shout. The time is at hand, for me to take what we have desired for so long…the srtifact spoken of in the ancient riddles of Clan Darkfell: Hathos’ Skull. “I know you have the remains of the Exile…you brought them from behind the waterfall. Surrender them and you shall live. It is all you need to do, really quite an easy thing.” I use the Voice of the Serpent, but it fails to persuade.

One of them—the cowardly fighter called Corwyn Black—tries to flee. I change him into an asp with a wave of my hand. Crawl on your belly in the dust, as you deserve. Tempus cannot help you now.

They pour out of the tower like ants from a sinking log. They run away toward the ruins of Aerunedar.

And I hear the sound of our Lord approaching, he whose veins hold the blood of dragons, the beat of the drums and the chant of the troglodytes: Yss-fara, Yss-fara, Yss-fara…

“The skull of Hathos,” I insist. “Give it to me and your lives will be spared…for now.”

“Come get it,” says a wavering voice from within. It sounds like the young white-haired ranger, Van Dyksun.

“No tricks,” I say.

A canvas sack, bones rattling within, is tossed to me. I look inside.

I smile. It is the skull.

“Await us at the ziggurat,” I tell Nightscale, and she flies away toward the monument. I gaze in the direction of the fleeing Wolf Company. The fools—they will find nothing but death in those ruins.

***
An Excerpt from Bronn’s Spellbook of War

Eleint 18

The war continues. Today I faced down a black dragon and survived. I won’t go into detail about our disaster at the gatehouse after our tremendous victory on the Arglarllur bridge, but once that dragon landed and her dragonfear took the
weak-willed of us (note: research developing anti-dragonfear spell) and Zandris Winter showed her ugly face and demanded “Hathos’ Skull” (Winter family: Traitors!!!), we decided that retreat was our best option.

Luckily I was protected from the dragon’s breath by the Art, and I was able to take gaseous form. Floating away to join the others, I was surprised to see Van Dyksun, our ranger, cleverly giving Winter the bag of the Shieldcoil’s bones! What a wonderful ruse! Only later did I discover that his cleverness was unintentional (fairly typical for my band).

Still, I would love to be there when she tries to use his "skull" to get through the traps at Moradin’s Fane. Hah!

But I was dismayed that the idiot warrior of Tempus was turned into a snake, only minutes after Daziel fell. I certainly won’t miss either of them much, but they were good soldiers. They fought on till the end: and beyond, since it was Daziel’s ghost who led us to the safety of Haela Brightaxe’s shrine. I will rest now and prepare spells soon. (Note: could Combust be used against the dragon? I would love to see it burn. Check Hawksbreath’s notes under Flaming Sphere for possible insights.)

Eleint 19

After resting, we were attacked by a huge umber hulk. Luckily, our battle was aided by a svirfneblin (calling himself Hnaef), who has now joined my party–which is better than another dwarf, I suppose. Truth told, my cousin’s scorn is about all I can handle now. Tomorrow, we move.

Eleint 20

Van Dyksun is dead. Rended by a troll. Before I could consider grieving, his ghostly visage appeared. Aerunedar lets no one escape, even the dead. Mystra give me strength to continue the fight! (note: the Troll’s regenerative capabilities were very impressive, a lesser version may be possible under the necromantic sphere. Research later). We’ve decided to stay here for three nights and two days–until everyone regains their strength.

Eleint 24

Today we made for the Lunar Speculum. First, we battled hideous beasts with human bodies and snakes attached to their heads. Shatterfloor was effective against them, but the ranger’s ghost helped us greatly. Roman’s nimble battle tactic of springing, attacking, and springing back angered Velm, who was left alone to face the enemies’ attacks. Heh. Velm’s love for battle won’t let him stay angry for long.

We passed Iolar’s huge statue, and found a way in through the foot. We must investigate that later. One day, there may be a statue of me in its place. Mystra knows what the war will bring?

The Lunar Speculum. I admire the powerful magics used here to attempt to destroy the moon goddess’ power. A gigantic crater scars the land, leaving only the ruined temple at its center–hanging in midair, a strong yet invisible foundation of godly Power holding it aloft. (note: good design for my own stronghold!) It was lit by a strange light standing at its center. We climbed a rope and grapnel into the temple nave.

Inside, a shaft of moonlight shone down from the Speculum itself onto this section of the temple floor. Trusting in his goddess, Van Dyksun stepped through. The rest of us followed.

We were transported to a large chamber stewn with the bodies of goblins, serpent-like creatures, and even an illithid! (Note: I took a small sample from the illithid corpse for later study. I don’t think the others noticed.) As expected in Aerunedar, there was another ghost there. (I’m beginning to hate this place). He is the Seneschal–the ghost of the High Priest of the Speculum. It was he who destroyed these creatures who tried to enter the
chambers beyond (which made me look twice at the ghostly visage of our ranger!).

He invited us to try to get Enthandas (the ring that Daziel spoke of) within, but there would be seven tests to pass. He also told us some history of this place, and of Shelmroun–the other ring that was taken by servants of the Coil. (Note: these rings appear to be powerful artifacts to Selune. Avoid the temptation to put them on).

Our first challenge was a triple path leading to three doors (Earth, Stars, and Moon) inscribed with the following:

Choose ye a path, all lead to the goal,
but heed ye three warnings that ye are now told:
Follow the foot’s path and be saved by sky’s breath.
Take the shining path with night’s arsenal at hand.
Walk the way of the Goddess and face the storm’s tongue.

We decided that the earth’s path would involve us flying or require a whirlwind, the moon’s path would involve lightning, and the star’s path would involve light. Light seemed the best choice, which lead us into a room of seven celestial balls of light which were easily dispatched with our magic weapons. (Note: A darkness spell would have been useful here. Consider learning Blacklight spell at next opportunity). Sadly, the door locked behind us, and after passing the next room, a huge stone slab blocked our way. Forward was our only path.

The next room led into a large stone table with two ornate chairs. On the far wall were three paintings. Carved into the top of the table was the following:

I often have leaves, though I’m not a tree,
Sharp knives all around, I never do flee,
For though I’m often surrounded, I never feel fear,
And a good turn in time, makes treasure appear.

We decided that turning the table would bring us one item from one painting. We voted and chose to get the scroll–which was maddeningly blank! (Only later did I discover it was a moonscroll with the power to be scribed with spells and reused over and over again.)

The next room was huge with a large statue of a griffin upon a stone pedestal. Inlaid upon the pedestal in silver letters is the verse:

Relaxed I sit upon my perch
Till suddenly I give a lurch
And off I speed on wing-tips three
Before my prey can think to flee.
I make its flesh and tendons part
And claw my way into its heart.

Now only kin can set me free
So strike the cube with one of me.

We deduced that an arrow needed to be shot at the "cube," but where was it? Only the ghostly ranger could find the keystone in the ceiling, which solved this riddle. We were granted some magic arrows inside the griffin’s mouth. Good, we will need them.

The next area was disturbing. After feeling uneasy, we deduced this was an area of dead magic. My spells would be useless here. My wits and my blade would have to do. A long plinth of stone stood in the midst of bubbling mud. As soon as we set foot on the bridge, a huge slab of granite began sliding down at the other end of the bridge. We ran for it–only to be dragged into the mud by sticky tentacles. Eventually, it was Van’s ghostly telekinetic powers that dragged us from the mud (note: this spell may be useful when I reach the fifth circle of spells). And strength granted to my cousin from Clangeddin kept the door open long enough for most of us to get through. Sadly, my cousin and Hnaef were left behind.

The next door had no latch, lock or handle and it bore the following riddle:

Housed in crumbling temple, unseen by the eye,
Eternal and breathless, never to die.
It is said that I’m lost if your life’s goal is greed,
Treasures that you hoarde–I will never need.

It was the quiet, fearful bard who spoke the true answer: "your soul," which opened the portal. Perhaps she will make a good soldier after all.

We still had the seventh challenge left, and the last room opened into a treasure vault filled with tall stone shelves holding many tomes, small coffers, scrolls, potion vials, and other items. At the end of the room, was another moonlight portal. The items would do us well in the upcoming war, but the ranger felt that greed was the final test. He moved to investigate the moonlight beam and disappeared. The fearful bard soon followed, leaving the two elves and myself in the room. With our "conscience" gone, we decided to investigate the items.

Roman went first to look at the magical bracers. I remembered my uncle telling me how elves can strip the magic from items just by touching them. Hogwash, but what if the ranger was right? As Roman touched the bracers, a low keening cry rose from the elf’s chest, and I feared some fell magic might be slaying him. When Roman’s shout reached a crescendo (I was fumbling for spell components) it turned into a cry of glee. "These bracers are excellent!" Roman shouted. All was well and we swept the room clean of its treasure.

We joined the others in first room with the Seneschal. Luckily one of the scrolls we found was for raising the dead, and the Seneschal himself performed the spell on our ranger, who proceeded to give me a tongue lashing for my "greed." (Funny how useful he was when he was dead).

We also found a scroll with powerful arcane magics, which we were forced to use to rescue Velm and Hnaef from within the chambers. It could not be helped.

The items we found were touched by Selune herself and radiate power–the gods are powerful beings deserving of our respect. Although the ranger is a fool, he has a good heart and is certainly skillful. This describes most of the others in my band. The ranger and my cousin sought Aerunedar at the will of their deities, Saeita seeks only physical perfection, Caramip seems to want to flee from here as quickly as possible, and Roman seeks glory and riches.

We must free Aerunedar from this curse. This place holds the secrets of dwarven magic. Ages past, dwarven battle prowess worked side by side with arcane and divine magics. With Mystra’s help, this age will live again.

Lady Mystra, thank you for granting me access to the Weave. But the more knowledge I gain, and the more power I accumulate, the clearer the mysteries of the Weave become to me, and the closer I get to my goal. I regret that I was forced to leave behind the dwarven gods when I left Thunderstone. But I had no choice. I know that one day, there will exist a dwarven god of magic on the pantheon of the dwarven gods–and his name will be Bronn. (Note: consider changing name once godhood is achieved).

Now–we rest in the stone cavern guarded by the Seneschal. There is still one Trial awaiting us, the seventh, and the Seneschal says it is different for everyone. Indeed–I say bring it, and I will lay low whatever is brought.

(Thanks to "Bronn" for supplying his journal...)

 

[Tom Cashel]

Episode IX: Crown of Fire

Characters: Bronn Spellforger (shield dwarf male Wiz6); Caramip Murnig (gnome female Brd5); Roman Gemalee (gold elf male Ftr5); Saeita Neví (wild elf female Mnk6); Van Dyksun (human male Rgr4/Rog2); Velm Trueforger (shield dwarf male Ftr4/Clr2–Clangeddin).

The History of the Selûnite Order
Vol. 12, From Bane to Boon

CHAPTER ONE: Bane at Midnight

IN the decades leading up to the Year of Wild Magic (DR 1372), Faerun believed it had seen the last of Bane, the tyrannical ruler who ascended to the heavens to become a greater God, only to die in the Avatar Crises. Unfortunately, Bane had prepared for the possibility of deicide. A half-demon called Iyachtu Xvim, suspected of being his blood, actually carried the seed of his rebirth. Bane’s followers, branded heretics for not having a deity, reorganized their cult around a few charismatic leaders and waited for Bane’s prophesized return.

In preparation for this event, Banites began gathering together lost artifacts of great power. So much had been lost between the troubled times, the war between the gods, and the reworking of the Weave that these artifacts were often unguarded (if known) or lost to memory. While the deities had ceased their battle in heaven, they continued to struggle on this plane through their clerics and other followers.

The cultists of Bane tended to be humans, seduced by tales of wealth and power conjured for them by an inner circle of semi-powerful prophets. Most of the followers tended to be down on their luck warriors, who favored the full black armor and large meals offered them by these corrupt priests. One of these followers was a Red Wizard of Thay named Kizzaf, who sought a way free from the rigid structure of the Thayan trading enclave near Eveningstar in Cormyr. She had a particular ability for comprehending ancient languages, and in her research stumbled across a reference to the Moonweb, lost to our order nearly 1300 years ago.

The Moonweb consisted of four silver rings: Amglaer, Enthandas, Shelmroun, and Tilithar. They were given to our order by the Shards, servitors of the Goddess, in the dark years after the fall of Netheril, to provide hope to our people in that dire time. Like the Goddess herself, the Moonweb shone out like a shaft of light in the darkness, illuminating the truth and enabling our order to continue when most had lost their way. Yet, at some point, the rings were separated, and, like the moon when it is only a quarter-full, the rings’ power waned. Around 616 DR (by all accounts), two of the rings were unwittingly brought together when Selunite clergy met to plan the future of the faith at Manystreams. That night, Selûne appeared in the dreams of all those assembled, reminding them of the glory of the Moonweb, bidding them to restore the full moon to its ascendancy. It is from a scroll of this time that we learned the names of the individual rings, although the scribe mentioned that there were no other clues that Selûne could give to aid the faithful in their search.

The female Red Wizard, either through her study of ancient books unearthed near Eveningstar or through bribery or other nefarious means, discovered what had until the Year of Wild Magic had been secret lore of our faith. One or two of the rings had been hidden in Aerunedar by the Moonmistress of the Lunar Speculum, after our order had aided the silver wyrm Glamerdrung in the binding of a great evil (see Vol. 6, To Enter the Darkest Night, A Little Moon Must Fall). Ever since Hathos’ curse, and the fall of Aerunedar, our order had organized and funded several expeditions to recover the artifacts that had been stored at the Lunar Speculum. Unfortunately, none of these expeditions succeeded (See Vol. 9, The Troubled Years, and Vol. 10, Waxing and Waning).

In the Year of the Bow (DR 1354), the High Priestess of Selûne at Immersea had a nightmare on the night of the full moon. She saw an evil power of terrible proportions rising in the northern deserts. She saw whole villages, even the city of Tilverton, swept from the face of Toril. And she saw the four silver rings of the Moonweb, glowing white hot, and a black mailed fist about to clench around them. The symbolism was unmistakable, she said. The fist of Bane threatened to hold the Moonweb.

The Selunite order knew that this was a test that they could not fail. The time had come for Aerunedar to give up its secrets, but we had never been poorer or weaker. We were in need of a champion.

A young woman of our order, who received her first blessing from Selûne the night of the high priestess’ dream, was chosen to scout Eveningstar and bring back word of the Banite presence there. She was also to report if the entrance to Aerunedar was known to the surrounding people. She was given what preparation we could, although the years had made even our order’s memory of such a place seem like a myth rather than a reality. Daziel left for Eveningstar with a hired warrior of Tempus in Midwinter of the Year of the Unstrung Harp (DR 1371). She was never seen again by anyone of our order.

CHAPTER TWO: A Moony, Moony Lad

Dyk Gransun and his wife, Maura, were simple folk of Waymoot. In the Winter of the Year of the Bow (DR 1354) they were expecting the birth of their first child. What they didn’t expect was the orc attack on the night before the full moon that sent the small village scrambling to find their weapons. While wandering bards and merchants had brought news of orc attacks, Waymoot had been spared much of the Cormyrian war, and certainly hadn’t expected such a daring raid in strongly guarded human territory. The courageous villagers, some of whom had fought in previous wars, were able to protect their village from the marauders, but several lives were lost in the battle and many were wounded. One of these was Maura Gransun, whose arm was nearly severed from her body by a rusty poleaxe. Before she was found early that morning, she had already lost much blood. Dyk stayed at her side throughout the next day, waiting for the healer to arrive. He arrived too late, but the midwife didn’t. Before she died, Maura gave birth to her only son, Van Dyksun, as Selûne rose high overhead.

Unfortunately for young Van, losing his mother wasn’t the only difficulty of his youth. Due either to the poison in his mother’s blood at his birth or the shock her system had taken, from birth his hair was a shocking white, as striking as a moonbeam. His green eyes and pale skin also were attributed to the circumstances of his birth. Yet Dyk Gransun harbored other suspicions. For the most part, Dyk was kind to the boy, and trained him in the ways of the wood. On the occasions that Dyk drank, though, he would look at the boy (white hair, fair skin, green eyes) and then at himself (dark hair, dark skin, brown eyes) and remember his wife (also dark), and wonder. If Dyk was less than affectionate in these times, no villagers said anything about it, but the boy learned quickly to avoid his father and would often sleep in the boughs of a tree when his father had once again taken to the drink.

The children of the village weren’t much better to the strange looking boy and engaged in those small cruelties that children are known for. Van was alternatively known as ghostboy, moon baby, whitey, and Van Dykmoon. A sensitive child, he retreated to the only refuge that he knew—the King’s Forest surrounding Waymoot. From his father’s instruction and the fact that he had no other pastimes, Van learned the ways of the animals, how to track them and how to kill them. Along with his wood knowledge, he became such an accomplished ranger that he was allowed to join older men from the village to hunt orcs during the Ghazneth War. Of course, he had a particular grievance against the orcs, which likely aided his arrows in flying true.

Dyk Gransun forced his son to select a patron deity before allowing him to join the hunt—no son of his was going to be disposed of by the Lord of the Dead because he had failed to choose a faith. Van, remembering the slights of his youth and also the benefit that the moon’s light gave him when hunting at night, chose Selûne. Rather than ridicule his choice as he had suspected they would, his father and the village elders merely nodded their agreement.

Following the attainment of his majority, Van asked for his father’s permission to leave Waymoot. The old man had seen the adventurous spirit grow in the boy and didn’t even attempt to sway his decision. Instead, he presented Van with a fine dagger, a wedding gift that he and Maura had received, yet never been able to identify the giver. The masterly crafted weapon, old yet still as sharp as the day it was forged, had a strange design on the hilt that resembled four quarter moons.

CHAPTER THREE: Well Met at Shieldmeet

Van joined a merchant caravan heading to Eveningstar as a scout (due to the increasing number of orc raiding parties). There he met a taciturn shield dwarf named Velm Trueforger, on a mission to bring his wayward cousin Bronn (known as Spellforger, a name given to him in jest by has family, but one that he embraced). Their Clanmaster at Thunderstone had decreed Bronn criminal and traitor for continuing to use the Clan name after being cast out, and Velm was determined to uphold the family honor. Van, looking for any reason not to return to Waymoot, invited himself to join up with Velm. No one knows exactly why Velm accepted his assistance, no more than anyone knows why everyone loves a puppy. Young humans must seem that way to the older races at times.

In Eveningstar, Velm cornered Bronn at the Lonesome Tankard on the night of Shieldmeet, where Bronn sat in the company of Enina Meliamne, a moon elf Druid and Saeita Neví, a wild elf monk. Bronn nonchalantly dismissed Velm’s contentions of taking him back to Thunderstone and instead invited Velm to drink more ale. Thus began the legendary Company of the Changing Name.

The first act of this group garnered them their first name. Kizzaf, the renegade Red Wizard of Thay, had used the festivities of Shieldmeet to kidnap two local boys and sell them to slavers (to further fund her research activities). The new group of companions quickly rescued the lads and brought the Thayan slavers back to Eveningstar for justice, to be greeted with the name The Company of the Coin by the grateful mother of one of the boys.

The local Thayan leader, Fezarch Hinnar, hired the group to locate and bring back Kizzaf, who had vanished from the enclave, giving them a simple clue to go on. The Nameless Company tracked her down to an abandoned cave beyond the eastern end of town, where they captured her and killed her companion, a priest in black mail wielding a wicked mace. The company also discovered Daziel and her warrior companion, Corwyn Black, captured while still on their way to Eveningstar.

Returning to town with their captive, the unchartered company was arrested by the Purple Dragons and taken before Lady Tessaril Winter, who agreed to grant them a charter and forgive them their trespasses as long as they would assist her in dealing with a demon imp infestation in Starwater Gorge. While most of the company were in favor of this generous offer, both Bronn and Daziel were reluctant, for different reasons: Daziel wished to resume her original mission, yet felt somewhat indebted to this motley crew who rescued her from captivity; Bronn, however, had uncovered news leading to the entrance to Aerunedar, legendary dwarven home of gold. Both realized that they need assistance before engaging in their separate interests, and they agreed to go along with the company.

By this time the Company had taken its’ second name, the Company of the Wolf, in honor of the animal companion of Enina Meliamne. (Later, Bronn Spellforger would christen his toad familiar ‘Wolf’ in his typical sarcastic way of showing the others what he thought of their need to achieve renown.) During the first tenday of Eleasias in the Year of Wild Magic, the company engaged in rooting out what became known as the Haunted Halls of Starwater Gorge. The important things for Selûnites to remember from this time are the restoration of the Tempus paladin, Temuel Khiv, missing since the Year of the Prowling Naga (DR 1176); the defeat of the ersatz Corpsecoil, Ruathgrym (a clever imitation designed by the Corpsecoil to keep the undead hand of Rivior from seeking him out); and the final defeat of Kizzaf, who had escaped from captivity at the Thayan Enclave with the assistance of her Banite allies. During this last battle, the “Claw of Bane” managed to kill Temuel Khiv, but the company persevered over their enemies. (Khiv was later restored to life at the Temple of Lathander, and rededicated his services to that patron. For more information about Khiv, and his background, see the companion volume, History of Allied Orders, vol. 17.)

It is no surprise that a company of such strange companions, joined by ill-luck and sometimes with ill-will, fought among themselves as much as they fought their enemies in their early days. The stress on several members was strong: Daziel had uncovered her worst fears, evidence of the Banite presence right here on the doorstep to Aerunedar; Bronn was afraid that Velm would one day remember his early purpose, and act before Bronn was able to show Velm the true importance of his studies; and the entire group, who had promised to root out the kobold influence in the area, instead were looked on with certain suspicion in town following a raid that ended with the death of a prominent townsman, Deltar Tummarlin. Worse yet for Velm, his uncle Dorn Trueforger, the Hammer of Moradin, arrived in Eveningstar, working on reestablishing contact with Aerunedar himself, and exiled both dwarves (one for his criminal ways, the other for aiding a criminal).

Good luck often comes from bad, though. Dorn's arrival forced Bronn to reveal more about his knowledge of Aerunedar to the company, and his sentence of exile would prove to be a boon rather than a hindrance as Hathos’ curse prevented any dwarf with a clan to enter the city.

It wasn’t until Eleint 10 that the Company finally entered Aerunedar, and the loss of time to the Banites nearly proved disastrous. A Zhentarim wizard, nicknamed Leatherboots by Van because of his clear tracks, had entered the mithril mines before them. In the broken city itself, they encountered a race of troglodytes who worshipped a lord called Yss-Fara, as well as a naga who lived in the underground river the separated the city proper from the rest of the cavern. They also discovered Flamecoil, one of the four wizards responsible for bringing about the downfall of Aerunedar, now a lich who dwelt in Hathos’ tower.

Other documents reveal the hurried nature of the party in their race against time to remove Hathos’ curse (and obtain the sacred relics left behind) from Aerunedar. One battle had to be fought against the Company of the Scarlet Flame, who had been hired by the Thayans to obtain certain items from Aerunedar, followed quickly by another encounter with Leatherboots. Flamecoil was revealed to actually be the Corpsecoil himself (trapped in Hathos’ tower by a clever trick of the dwarven bard), who needed the bones of his lover, Shieldcoil, to escape his prison.

Here they rescued two additional prisoners of the Coil’s ingenious gem prisons, Caramip, a gnomish bard, and Roman Gemmalee, an elven fighter. And finally, when the Company of the Wolf thought they had managed to gain some breathing room, they met their greatest enemy up until then: Zandris Winter, the daughter of Lady Tessaril Winter, and her black dragon companion, Nightscale. It was Nightscale whose searing acid breath took the life of Selûne’s loyal daughter, Daziel, while Zandris shapechanged Daziel’s warrior companion, Corwyn, into a viper. The only reason the Company of the Wolf survived was due to a last minute bargain made by Van Dyksun— Zandris wanted Hathos’ skull, and Van had a bag of bones which he offered to her. Little did either of them realize the trick that was being played. For one, the bones were those of the Shieldcoil, not Hathos (whose bones had been laid to rest by the newly dedicated cleric of Clangeddin, Velm). Nor was what Zandris wanted really a skull, but a dwarven skul, or traditional drum.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Battle of the Lunar Speculum

Severely weakened by their encounter with Nightscale, the party sought refuge in the ruined city. Walking through the empty avenues, they were amazed to find the ghostly figure of Daziel pointing them towards a trap door, leading to a shrine where they could rest and recover.

It was here that Van Dyksun made his fatal mistake. Still young and naïve, although quickly learning the ways of diplomacy and secrecy, Van knew that the party was getting low on rations. A hunter and gatherer, he left the safety of the shrine to seek what food he could in the rubble, similar to the mushrooms they had gathered earlier to sustain themselves. What he didn’t expect was that he wouldn’t be the only hunter about, nor that what the others hunted would be him. Caught by a troll, the young ranger attempted a ruse, to offer to lead the troll to a spot where he could find dwarves for his supper. The troll took advantage of the offer, but upon arriving at the trap door, proceeded to eat the poor ranger first as an appetizer. Van’s cries brought the others of the Company to his aid, but it was too late. By the time they arrived, he had already been devoured, his mangled hand in the maw of the troll.

Having lost three companions in the space of 24 hours, the remaining company paused long enough to fully recuperate, making sure that no others went off alone. When they did emerge once again into the ruined city, they discovered the ghost of Van Dyksun lingering in the spot where he had died. (Ironically, he who had been ridiculed for his ghostlike appearance had finally become one.) Hathos’ curse had prevented him from fully joining the ranks of the dead, just like Daziel before him, yet his hold on the world was stronger then hers. While Daziel could only lead the party to where they needed to go, Van was able to actually assist them in their next encounters.

When the Company finally arrived at the Lunar Speculum, they discovered Selûne’s temple floating in the air above a huge crater in the cavern floor. Sometime during the sacking of the city, the goblins or the Coil had attempted to destroy it, yet Selûne’s power held, likely due to the power of the Speculum itself, a disc in which if you gazed into its depths just right, you could see Selûne herself. From the Speculum, a beam of pure moonlight shown down onto the floor of the temple, instantly transporting the Company to an interior of the temple called the Darkcrypt, inaccessible by any other means.

Here, the company underwent the seven trials of Enthandas, for the rumors were true, and that segment of the Moonweb had indeed been placed there under the care of the clerics, now as ghostly as the rest of the original Aerunedar inhabitants. Through the first six trials, the Company performed well, if somewhat without much style—they still had a tendency to rush forward and attack at will rather than working together as a group, although some shimmerings of their future shone through. The sixth trial, a locked door with a riddle that indicated that you would lose your soul if greedy, proved easy to pass, but made the next room difficult. For in the library was what they had been seeking: Enthandas itself, as well as a collection of powerful artifacts left here for the worthy by Selûne. The ghostly Van prevented the party from taking anything, however, by arguing that this was the seventh test, that they had to forgo greed if they were to pass all trials. Still naïve in death, though, he entered the moonbeam portal, leaving his fellows behind, who all but Cara (who quickly followed Van, believing in his argument) proceeded to collect the items in this place.

When they rejoined him, the ghostly Seneschal indicated that the seventh test was yet to come. Using some of the items, Van (understandably upset by the nature of the trials) was restored to life by the Seneschal and certain party members who had been trapped within the trials were restored to the group. As they nursed their wounds and prepared new spells, they realized that the seventh trial was likely waiting for them outside the Darkcrypt in the temple itself.

So it was, for while they were celebrating their new possessions, Banites had reshaped the area around the entrance to the Darkcrypt and prepared an ambush for the Company, once again renamed, this time to the Champions of Selûne (for they now carried her artifacts). While the party had realized that they likely would meet an ambush, they didn’t realize the severity of it. Upon exiting the portal, Bronn Spellforger surprised one group with a deadly fireball, but the ambushers had stationed themselves all around the portal. As they were revealed, it looked like the Company had only won Enthandas to quickly lose it, for the Black Hand of Bane demanded that from them if they were to see any mercy.

The company responded only with their weapons. Lined up against them were a number of new and old enemies: goblins, orcs, a bugbear named Backbreaker and an orc chieftain named Tonguebiter, an evil elf wizard, the Grand Terror of Bane and his mistress, and several Bane fighters. In the middle of this battle, the Zhentarim wizard “Leatherboots” arrived, although it was unclear if he had been invited or merely opportunistic. The party held their own against these overwhelming odds for a half a minute, but Roman was cut down by the orcish chieftain, and Saeita Neví attempted too much at once and fell before the bugbear. Van attempted to aid her by drawing the bugbear off, and found himself fighting it one-on-one. Shortly before the bugbear laid him unconscious, Van screamed in frustration, “Selûne, do not let them profane this, your temple!”

Even as he was able to cleave the Grand Terror of Bane and several of the black-mailed fighters, Velm could note withstand the many enemies surrounding him. Cara, seeing that all was nearly lost, took up Hathos’ skul, which she had been studying, and played a song of panic. At the same time, a blinding white light emerged from the speculum, searing with truth the remaining followers of Bane celebrating over Velm’s prostrate body, while Leatherboots and the remaining orcs panicked and ran. Saeita, although unconscious, had stabilized, and Cara was able to reach Van before he died once again, but it was too late for both Roman and Velm. The party picked up their fallen comrades and took them through the moonbeam portal to the ghostly Seneschal, who merely shook his head. He did not have the power to restore them. He had only been able to restore Van because of the scroll obtained during the trials, but that scroll was now used and gone.

After Cara restored Saeita and Van to consciousness, the party contemplated their next step. Bronn and Van, convinced that something could be done for the dead, decide to return to the temple, especially after Van was told of the blessing granted by his appeal to Selûne under the Speculum. Back in the temple, however, Leatherboots had returned and was busy ransacking the bodies of those left in the temple. Bronn, Cara and Van try to stop him—Van calling upon the aid of Enthandas for the first time to prevent Leatherboots from flying off—but in their weakened state, they were no match for the Zhentarim wizard and were forced to retreat to the safety of the Darkcrypt. A few minutes later, they attempted to return to the Speculum again. Leatherboots was gone, and none of their fallen foes had anything left of value, as the Zhentarim had taken everything.

CHAPTER FIVE: The Conversion of Van Dyksun

Reports vary about exactly what happened next. Only two people were present throughout the event, and neither spoke much of it later, although it is clear that both were changed. The following depiction, although somewhat fictionalized, is based on what could be surmised from examining various sources.

Bronn looked disgusted at the ransacked bodies in front of him. Not only had his cousin and the annoying yet useful elf died, but the dirty Zhentarim had stolen what little advantage he had hoped to gain over what had become quite a collection of enemies. Van, however, was focused on one idea—how to have their friends brought back from the halls of the dead.

Van looked up at the Speculum, the first time he had ever done so. Yes, he had walked through the moonbeam portal that shone from it, but he had never cast his gaze into it, seeing how it bypassed all the earth and rock that separated him from the outside. Through the lens he could see that it was night, that the sky was mostly clear with only a few wispy clouds on the edge of his vision, and the moon shone strong. It made him long for the woods and to be outside once again and not trapped in this everdark underground. He fell to his knees and lifted his voice to Selûne.

“Goddess, I beseech you,” he prayed. “Have we not passed your seven trials? Are we not worthy of bearing the name of your champions? Would you favor us now, the wielders of Enthandas, part of your Moonweb, so that we can continue in our mission to remove the curse from these halls surrounding this your temple?” Van bowed his head. While not necessarily a taciturn person, this was an unusual speech from him. Something about the place, the Speculum, his recent experience as a ghost, the stress of the trials of Enthandas, or the shock of losing his best friend Velm and the courageous elf Roman Gemmalee had changed him In the years leading up to this moment, his service to Selûne had been mainly lip service—in fact, recorded in Daziel’s personal effects was a note that she had been forced to encourage the young ranger to share in her prayers to the Goddess at times during the company’s trips along the Starwater Gorge.

Whatever the case, the next event was clear. A blinding, white-hot light immediately bathed both Van and Bronn in the power of Selûne. Van’s injuries, both those suffered recently from the bugbear, but also the scars he bore from his death to the Troll, miraculously vanished. Bronn, either for unbelief or a lack of respect for her eminence, could not withstand the presence of her pure light and fell to the ground in agony. In Van’s ears, and in those of our priests and priestesses of the highest level who happened to be gazing or worshipping the moon that night, the crystal voice of Selûne herself was clear:

“Van Dyksun, be not troubled. You have been found worthy. You bear my mark. What is your need?”

Van stammered, “To remove this curse—both Hathos’ on this city and the spread of Bane’s presence in our lands—I need my companions who fought bravely to get us here to this place but whom Bane has taken from me. Without them, I am not sure the rest of us can overcome the danger before us.”

“If I return them to you, your party must do me a further service. Can you speak for them?”

“I think—no, I know that I can. Yes, we will freely accept your geas.”

“If that is so, bring them here to me, where my light can fill them.”

Bronn, unable to hear the goddess himself, reacted immediately when Van asked him to retrieve the body of their dead companions. As Bronn and Saeita emerged from the Darkcrypt with the lifeless bodies of Velm and Roman, both dwarf and elf immediately began to stir with new life.

Velm, in Bronn’s grasp, immedately seized his cousin’s neck with his strong hands. “You…have…brought me back from Clangeddin’s side,” he said, filled with rage.

“Your task isn’t complete, Cousin,” Bronn reminded him. “Hathos’ curse has not yet been lifted.”

Velm shook his head free of his recent encounter with paradise. “Yes, you are right.”

Roman looked up to Van. “You brought us back? My life is yours. I will do whatever I can for you.”

Van turned to them both, looking at them, as well as Bronn, Saeita, and Cara, who had just emerged from the Darkcrypt. “It’s not me that you owe. We all owe one much greater than me. All of us.”

CHAPTER SIX: The Coiled King

The party immediately moved from the Speculum, in case some of the panicked creatures of Bane returned. It wouldn’t do to have to go through another deadly ambush. They returned to Haela’s Shrine, where they discovered the missing Svirfneblin cowering in the corner. Since he had the opportunity to save Roman during the Battle of the Lunar Speculum, and instead decided to administer a coup de grace to a goblin which had surrendered, the party allowed him to stay, but did not seek to have him join them the next morning when they left to find Clangeddin’s Hall.

One encounter with a pair of “shocker-lizards” and some troglodyte guards later, Selune’s Champions found themselves facing the bleak wall of an intact hall that they suspected was their target. Unfortunately, the troglodytes had made it their base of operations, and several guards were stationed along the edge of the roof. One of the trogs saw or heard something below and sent out a scout party. Instead of waiting for the scouts to raise the alarm, Roman Gemmalee downed the remaining guard with a very well-placed moonmote arrow, then the Champions ran up to the wall, out of sight of any remaining guards, quickly working themselves along the wall until they came to a door. Along the way, the wizard Bronn, bard Cara, and cleric Velm complained of unusual headaches—precursor to areas in which magic either did not work or the results of which might be unpredictable. Van’s attempts to pick the lock on the door were unsuccessful, so instead the party put their strength to the test, eventually breaking into the hall and immediately closing the door after them.

Inside, the Champions focused on finding the stairs downward, being careful not to disturb the gibbering and chanting trogs that they could hear behind certain closed doors. Upon descending, the party spied a creature chained to the wall. Through sign language, they confirmed that his guards were just around the corner. Encouraged through signs to taunt the guard and lead him into their trap, the creature started hissing and spitting until the guard walked into view, to be quickly downed by the weapons against him, which then brought a number of unlucky fellow guards, fried to cinders by a strong lightning bolt cast from the hands of Bronn.

The released creature, nicknamed Hissenspit, indicated that Yss-Fara and “Winter” were along a thin hallway. At another door, the party could hear more of their enemies. But this time, rather than simply rushing in and engaging in battle, Bronn summoned a Celestial Bison on the other side of the door, as a diversion. After hearing the roars of pain from the trogs, the Champions stormed into the room, focused on removing Winter from this world.

Instead, they were confronted by two horrible monstrosities: their former companion, Corwyn Black, now changed into half-man, half-serpent; and a tall serpent-like woman like the one they had faced once before in the ruins. The courageous bison had an entire phalanx of troglodytes armed with spears around it. Saeita, Roman and Velm rushed into the room, deciding on taking out the female snake-thing first. Another foul snake-thing poked its head out from among the shadows and Roman instantly transformed into a viper.

Van called upon the power of Enthandas to return Roman to his natural form. That is why Yss-Fara, the coiled king, said to bear the blood of dragons, revealed himself. The Champions slowly overcame their enemies, suffering terrible wounds themselves, but their saving grace, Cara, invisible through the use of a potion, was there to cure them. During the fighting, another of the snake things was able to change Van into a viper, but Bronn’s use of the moon salve returned him to his natural form.

Victorious, the party spiked the door to Yss-Fara’s throne room and debated their next move. The one troglodyte who had surrendered indicated that Winter was down a hidden staircase, which the party believed to be the way to Moradin’s Hall, and the goal of their quest—the way to remove Hathos’ curse from Aerunedar. They took an hour to refresh and heal, while Bronn scribbled frantically in his spell book, trying to capture the polymorph spell exactly, now that he had heard it three times.

Among the order, debate rages as to when exactly Van took the cloth. Some say that it was after the Battle of the Lunar Speculum, considering that was the seventh trial of Enthandas. Others say it was immediately after being visited by the Goddess. Still others speculate that it was at this time, when he realized that he needed to reflect his faith in his life.

CHAPTER SEVEN: Moradin’s Hall

Still fearing Zandris Winter’s power, the party made plans to use Selune’s bracers to instantly dimension door to her side, in the hope that they could surprise or break her concentration before she could cast a spell or call upon some other power. The two quietest members, Van and Saeita, took the lead as they descended further into the depths. At one spot, they came upon a hall that was littered with the remains of fungi and slime, with the cracked yet moist shells of eggs in which the young had recently departed. While wanting to remove this evil, the party was resolved to take Winter now, while she could still be surprised. The next door they came to was marked with Clangeddin’s symbol, but the lock was not easily picked by Van. They moved on to a large set of double doors that were unlocked, to a large cavern beyond with a pool of water in its center. Hugging the wall to the right, the party moved along until they came to another set of doors, this time with the burning eyes of Gorm Gulthyn marked upon them. Once again, the doors did not yield to Van’s lockpick. As Velm said, “Clangeddin and the other gods have decreed that we do not need to enter.”

Staying along the wall, and still traveling to the right, the next set of doors was the largest they had seen yet. This time, they were marked with the symbol of Moradin. They had reached their goal.

Yet the party was much more wary than they had ever been. Opening the doors in the dark, the ones with darkvision were greeted by a surprising site: the crushed bodies of Zandris Winter and a host of troglodyte escorts. The feared confrontation had been taken from them, so while some of the party wished they had had a chance to exact their revenge, others prayed happily because no one died in the attempt to do so.

So as not to suffer the same fate as Winter, whose hand still held what she had thought was Hathos’ skull, the party gathered around Cara, who began playing Hathos’ skul. Advancing forward, they came to the spot where Winter had died and they sensed the force pressure, yet the bard’s drumming matched the rising pitch of the pressure on them perfectly and then it was gone. Searching Winter’s body, Bronn retrieved a wand and a ring. Van reflected on the skull in her hand, which seemed to fascinate Hissenspit. Van told him to take the skull, and the bones in the sack where it came from. As soon as the bent creature held the bones in its gnarled hands, it stood up straight and in a clear voice so unlike the one it had spoken with before, said, “these are what Ruathgrym wants,” and disappeared. The party looked stunned, and Van once again cursed his trusting nature before remembering that such is the way of our order.

They had to move on, though, and give thought to Ruathgrym later. Cara switched to the Song of Fire. In the hall before them, three large rubies were set in the ceiling. As they appeared underneath them, tendrils of flame snaked out and tried to whip at them, blocked by the wall of force from the skul. As they moved on, Cara switched to the Song of Ice, preventing three cones of cold that froze the moist air around them, except for the bubble of force protecting them.

Selune’s Champions, the defeaters of Yss-Fara, the Coiled King, then stood before the large statue of Moradin, whose eyes burst into flame and whose crown began to emit smoke that began to snake up the walls. The statue spoke to Cara, who did not understand it, asking if she were a true son or daughter of stone. As the smoke continued to billow, the party cried out and Bronn took up the skul. Immediately, the statue’s eyes switched to him, and a hidden door opened. The statue said, “Restart the forge, true stone son.”

Velm and Bronn, remembering the days of their youth, shifted the two levers in front of them, and somewhere deep beneath, a shifting occurred and the forge was lit once again. In a room beyond, the party discovered treasures worth fighting for—suits of armor and weapons of mithral, all radiating the strong aura of magic. Gathering what they needed, the party returned the way they came, all the way to Clangeddin’s Hall. Here Bronn used a spell of knock from one of his held scrolls to obtain entry to this hall, where Selune’s Champions found vials of healing and rations that were sorely needed.

After resting the night, the group decided to leave the hall, but before they could leave, Bronn put forward a suggestion that Van become the leader of the group, quickly seconded by Velm and the others. His first decision was to investigate the hallway of slime and fungi that they had passed by before, convinced that it hid some evil. His instincts were correct, as what they discovered in the room at the end of the hall was a vile creature laying eggs that were hatching what looked to be immature troglodytes and other, worse, monstrosities.

Bronn Spellforger cast a fireball centered directly on the thing, blasting the small crawling things around the pool as well as the unhatched eggs. Roman, Van, and Velm hit the thing with arrows, and it sank down in the pool out of sight. Following up to see if it was dead, the thing emerged again—with whiplike appendages holding several different types of weapons or a snakelike maw. Roman was frozen in place by a foul spell, and all the party did their best to destroy the creature, including Bronn, who summoned an fiendish ape. The deepspawn panicked once again and dove out of sight. Velm immediately attacked the ape, recognizing it as a fellow creature of hell.

While Bronn attempted to dissuade him, and forcing the beast to retreat, the rest of the party pulled Roman back to the wall, out of the way. Shortly after Bronn dispelled his ape, following the request of both Velm and Van, the deepspawn returned suddenly, its wounds healed. This time it froze Van, then, after suffering some terrible attacks from Velm, it dove again, this time dragging Van and Roman into the pool with it. Saeita, recognizing the danger, immediately dove into the pool, found Roman and used the dimension door capabilitity of her moon bracers to spirit him to the safety of the hall. Velm, fortified by a potion of water breathing from Bronn, took the fight to the deepspawn’s lair, wrenching the ranger from its grasp, and returning him to the surface where the untrained skill of Cara, who kicked the human in the stomach, was enough to cause him to belch forth the foul water.

Like before, the party had assumed that they had the strength of thousands, and yet one creature had nearly been the death of two of them once again. They retired to Gorm Gulthyn’s Hall, hiding their tracks from the troglodytes that might be brave enough to see what had happened down in the caverns, to reflect on their greatest challenge yet. For Aerunedar could not yet again be home to the dwarves as long as Nightscale, the black dragon, survived, nor while Ruathgrym, responsible for the ruin of Aerunedar to begin with, was still free.

[many thanks to Glen for writing this wonderful summary]

 

[Tom Cashel]

Episode X: Ooltugula’s Portal

Characters: Bronn Spellforger (shield dwarf male Wiz7); Caramip Murnig (gnome female Brd6); Roman Gemalee (gold elf male Ftr6); Saeita Neví (wild elf female Mnk7); Van Dyksun (human male Rgr4/Rog2/Clr1); Velm Trueforger (shield dwarf male Ftr5/Clr2–Clangeddin).

from the journal of Velm Trueforger

The crunching clack-clack of wagon wheels on a leaf-strewn autumn road is the most comforting sound I’ve heard in these past two months. I am headed along this road in the company of a mule named Lars, my destination Thunderstone, village of my birth. My name is Velm Trueforger, Hatchet of Clangeddin, blood of Nor.

At first glance you’d think me an everyday dwarf, with my simple green hood and battered boots. My blond beard is as braided as the next dwarf’s. Hail and well met to you, fellow. But look a little more closely and you will see the long handle of a waraxe propped beside me. Is that otherworldly shine the evidence of light glancing off mithril?

Look more closely still, and you will see my scars. I’m laced with them; they stitch me together. Aye, my spirit has traveled beyond this world to stand at the side of the Lord of the Twin Axes, and I’ve seen things beneath this world that would turn your hair white and cause you to fall over stone dead.

And when you see the crossed silver axes hanging from my broad neck by a stout chain, you know I speak the truth. I am headed home to bury my dead. My wagon’s canvas tarp shrouds the doomed and the lost. But we saw it through to the end, didn’t we?

*** *** ***
Eleint 28-29
After we had put an end to the Spawning Mother, she who had birthed into the darkness score upon score of wretched and stinking troglodytes, we stayed briefly within the Hall of Clangeddin. But there the water was crusted with an oily foam, and we thought it best to retreat into the corridors of Moradin’s Fane and shelter in the Hall of Gorm Gulthyn, the Fire-Eyes, protector of dwarves.

Our rest was punctuated by mysterious happenings, as well as the bickering that had been welcome among us–a trusted friend–since our humble beginning in Even’star two months earlier. Best I should stick with the mystery and spare you yet another account of my quick temper, Bronn’s ever-expanding hubris, Saeita’s stubborn and enigmatic silence, the good-natured but irritating braggadocio of the gold elf Roman, Van’s well-meaning but–all praise to the Moonmaiden–increasingly preachy leadership, and Caramip’s growing obsession with the drum of Hathos. Even though it had fulfilled its purpose, still she persisted in tuning, fine-tuning, devising new rhythmic patterns, insisting that no one else touch it.

More interesting were the rumblings that passed through the very foundations of Cindarm’s Hall above and into the halls below, where we sheltered. The walls and floor trembled as though shaken by earthquake, or upset by distant concussions in the earth. We did not dare guess what this could mean, but we all had suspicions.

We healed our hurts, we readied magic and blades, we armed ourselves with the contents of Iolar’s armory. Clad in gleaming mithril shirts and armed with mithril blades, we were the dwarves of no Clan, the descendants of Selûne’s grace, who would set Aerunedar free of the Coil. Only a single dragon stood in our way.

Much of our time was spent in planning our confrontation with that fell beast called Nightscale. If Bronn was a little fatalistic or cynical during those hours of planning and re-planning, I chalked it up to nerves. I didn’t dwell too much on his request that I lay his body to rest at the Crystal Caverns, if he did not live through the coming battle. How could I have known that he intended to face Nightscale alone?

We were all wary of this fight; the Curse of Hathos had been lifted, and the power of the Coil was, arguably, broken. By the yardstick of Hathos’ own verse, we were entitled to pack it in and head for home. But to do so would have dishonored me in Clangeddin’s eyes, and would have done the same for Van Dyksun in the eyes of his goddess. According to the map we had taken from the corpse of the sage Mellomir nearly two months before, there was yet one more cavern, downriver, that we had not yet visited.

There we expected to find a ziggurat to the reptile god Meerschaulk, and someone or something called Ooltugula. We knew nothing of this being but its name, and its habit of piecing together patchwork slaves, soldiers and minions from the still-living remains of its enemies. We were destined to learn far more.

Eleint 30
We attempted to leave the throne room of Yss-Fara, and found tons of rock and earth blocking our way. Where the cellar of Cindarm’s proud Hall had been was now completely choked with rubble. The wizard set his toad free to wriggle upward through the rockfall, and we soon learned that the Hall was no more. Some force had utterly annihilated it, and all that remained was a smoking waste of shattered masonry and stone.

Quickly we devised a plan to be free of this place. Caramip would play the drum’s stone-cracking rhythm and, under the direction of Bronn and myself, pulverize the correct slabs of rock to open a way to freedom. One by one the jagged remains of hewn blocks became great boulders and these boulders in turn were reduced to flying gravel and dust by the power of the drum. Soon enough we had opened a way to the surface.

Saeita sprung ahead with preternatural quickness.

But our detonation of the stones had drawn curious observers: a large warband of goblins and fierce worgs. No sooner had Saeita clambered up onto the rubble than she was pelted with whining arrows. She grunted and fell on one shoulder, the other pierced by a shaft that, had it not been off-target by mere inches, would have ended her life instantly.

They swarmed in, faster than we could climb up, and pinned us down. We were ready to fight, but seriously outnumbered by a score of goblins and nearly that many wolves. Snarling worgs, with ropy drool dangling from their fanged mouths, circled and pounced and hungered for our still-warm hearts. Stinging black-fletched arrows fell like death-rain. Soon we had no choice but to flee, by means of Saeita’s moon bracers and Bronn’s spellwork, to the base of Iolar’s Pillar.

We secured ourselves within the stone doors we had passed by twelve days ago, in the wake of our disastrous battle at Arglarllur Bridge. Then we had fled from Nightscale’s dark and serpentine form; now we longed to face her again, even if that longing was born equally of honor and terror.

“Cindarm’s Hall was razed by invocation magic,” Bronn told us wearily, “and only Ruathgrym could summon such spells.” He glanced at Van. “He has the bones of his dead lover, and now he is free.” Corpsecoil…free once again? If only the paladin Temuel Khiv were here with us.

A long staircase led upward into the Pillar, accessing two levels of chambers and a forgotten throne room, where Bronn had heard strangely-accented voices speaking in Undercommon twelve days before, as we approached the Arglarllur Bridge. It seems that so much time has passed since then, until I recalled that in the intervening ride my soul had traveled to Clangeddin’s side and returned by Selûne’s grace.

It was also long enough for whomever had spoken those words to have vacated this hiding place. We found only the remains of a brief inhabitation. From the throne room we could look out round twin windows, which were the pupils in the eyes of Iolar’s huge carved face, and if the ruins of Aerunedar were lit up we could have viewed it in all its fallen splendor.

Another staircase led upward into the arm that supported the cavern roof, and at its peak we found a portal to the Underroad, that avenue mentioned in Hathos’ most cryptic verses. But now we surmised that the straight and high-ceilinged passage through the earth might have its other end beneath the village of Eveningstar, in the former cellars of the tower of Redhand, where that famous dwarf had lived and shared ale with Temuel Khiv so long ago. We decided then that if any of us survived the following day, we would leave Aerunedar by this route.

None of us slept very well that night.
*** *** ***

Not far to go now. Thunderstone is but a few days beyond the next ridge, and the shadowed and mysterious Hullack Forest lies to the north, where stormclouds line up across the horizon like ranked wispy soldiers. I smell the fresh tang of rain on the growing breeze.

I am being watched, that much is certain. But by whom? They say that wild elves have been attacking travelers, which would explain why I have yet to see another living soul along this rutted track.

That night I awaken to the furtive noise of my wagon being searched. I sit up blinking, and in the starlight I see them: six silhouettes crouched and ready, one of them perched upon the wagon, looking steadily at what lies beneath the tarp. I do not know if they see me. They look upon my cargo for a long while, while a chill breeze slides along the grassy meadow. My fingers inch toward samryn, the waraxe beside me. But abruptly they depart in silence, leaving the oilcloth tarp’s unfastened corner to flap sluggishly in the wind.

No longer certain if my visitors were actual or apparition, I stalk toward the wagon with axe in hand. They are gone into the night, and they have left no trace. Beneath the tarp lies the form of Saeita, frozen in stone in the act of springing forward, and beside her a single corpse wrapped in its shroud.

I tie the tarp back into place. Too nervous to sleep, I prod Lars into motion. He brays at me.

“Quiet, mule,” I chide, “this is no place to make a camp. Thunderstone is where we’ll rest.” Clack-clack go the wagon’s wheels on the lonely road. The night goes dark and drops rain. Rain is one of those things that used to bother me, used to drive me indoors and bring an inexplicable sadness to my heart. These days I don’t much notice it; there are so many worse things out there to be worrying about a little shower. Even if it chills the skin, it washes clean the eyes.

*** *** ***
Higharvestide
As it turns out, we reached our final goal on the holiday marking the first day of harvest season. Although not many would find fighting and dying a worthy way to spend a holy day, I see it another way. Somewhere above, on the surface, the faithful of Chauntea wielded scythes and cut down row upon row of wheat. Down here in the dark, we would swing everbright mithril blades and harvest souls for Kelemvor and Clangeddin and Selûne.

We moved east, down the ruined avenues of Aerunedar, past the gatehouse of the Arglarllur Bridge, toward where our map showed the former residence of Glamerdrung. That silver wyrm had allied with Aerunedar’s dwarves long ago, and had been slain by Ruathgrym’s magic when the power of Clan Darkfell was broken two hundred years earlier. We imagined that we were here to put things right.

Indeed we were–but we were also there to survive.

A stone jetty protruded into the dark river, and two longboats were moored at its side. We moved back into the ruins, a good hundred yards from the riverbank, and there we put the reconnaissance phase of our plan into motion. And there we made our first mistakes. Again, none of us could have known what Bronn was planning. I don’t truly believe that even he had any idea of what he was on about. To his credit, he was only hoping to spare our lives–and hopefully his own–by a heroic act of magic.

Bronn used spells to protect himself and Saeita from Nightscale’s acid breath. I loaned Saeita my mooncloak, so that she could walk upon the river’s surface, and Bronn consumed a live spider to finish the incantation that would allow him to clamber along the walls. Together they set out, the dwarf and the wild elf, and left the rest of us to wait in uneasy silence. Before long they returned on foot, claiming that they had heard troglodytes in the tunnel and remembered that they had meant to be invisible.

It wasn’t like Bronn to forget a detail like that, especially one that involved a spell. I studied him closely, but his demeanor showed only annoyance; there was no indication that he’d done it on purpose to warn Nightscale, so that he could face her on his own and spare the rest of our lives. At that point I should have put a stop to this recon; we should have moved in together, or done our best (as Van would later suggest) to lure her out into the open.

But I didn’t, nor did anyone else. Again, this time unseen, they departed.

We waited for what seemed like hours, although it was closer to twenty minutes. Far away in the ruins we could hear the occasional bark or whine of a worg, and the flapping of bats and stirges in the stalactites far above. But from the direction of the river, we could hear no sound, no cries for help, no calls to join the battle.

Abruptly a drenched Saeita appeared beside us, stepping through the dull flash of a dimension door to collapse upon her knees. Her clothing was torn, her midsection bleeding from a score of jagged wounds. “Bronn,” she gasped as water and blood pooled beneath her, “Bronn’s gone. The invisibility didn’t work.”

Only later did we learn what had happened. Bronn and Saeita had made their way slowly and surely downriver, past where they had heard the croaking and splashing. They found a breakwater of flat stones and nothing more than the fading stench of trog. Uncertain but undaunted, they pressed on until a low and flooded side-cavern beckoned. Faint bubbling noises could be heard from within.

“Maybe the ziggurat is underwater,” whispered Saeita.

“Could be,” Bronn agreed, “let’s move in a little bit.” The cavern was utterly empty, and the rock above looked as though it could collapse at any moment. “Not too far…I don’t like the looks of that ceiling.”

“I don’t like any of this,” Saeita said. “Maybe your toad could swim down and see what’s there.”

Bronn crawled down the wall to the rippling surface of the dark river. He held Wolf above the water. The toad looked at the water dubiously, then back up at Bronn. To his credit, Bronn placed his tiny familiar back in his pocket. “Too dangerous. We should–”

The calm surface exploded in a shower of cold water and at its center was the scaly, skull-like maw of Nightscale, covered with black spines. The dagger teeth clamped down on Bronn and recoiled, and they were both gone. Saeita gaped in disbelief.

From where she stood atop the river’s surface, she could see the sudden flare of a spell erupting in the depths, for an instant silhouetting the great serpent. A second later she had made her decision: she ended the claok’s water walk magic and plunged into the cold river.

She swam downriver as fast as she could manage through the murky water, but there was no sign of Bronn or Nightscale. Turning a corner, the water cleared and Saeita found herself swimming atop a pool whose depths were strewn with coins, jewels, gems, riches beyond imagining and certainly beyond belief. The lair, she had time to think, I’ve found it–

From the darkness came Nightscale, who unlike the wild elf was completely at home in the water. Her great jaws clamped down on Saeita, and pain ripped through her. Claws raked in on either side; her breath clamored at the walls of her lungs. She could not see any sign whatsoever of Bronn, but she knew that to stay was death, and she made the only choice she had left. A second later she was with us, soaked and bloody.

She recounted what had happened, and before we could decide what to do next a hissing voice reached our ears from the direction of the river: “This isn’t over…” The very same words Bronn had shouted at her during the battle of Arglarllur Bridge.

“Nightscale,” said Van.

Roman Gemalee drew his bastard sword Swift. “What do we do?”

“We draw her out. In the river she’ll tear us to pieces.” Van nocked an arrow and gazed off toward the river in grim determination.

“She’ll tear us to pieces out here,” Cara replied, clutching Hathos’ drum.

“But out here we at least have a chance of doing the same to her,” said Van. He brought out the sack which still held the head of Yss-Fara, the troglodyte king in whose veins black dragon blood flowed. “A slight chance.”

We moved closer, and tied the head upon the dock in full view of Nightscale. Retreating a good fifty feet from the river’s edge, we readied our weapons.

“Nightscale,” Van shouted, “show yourself! We’ve killed your spawn and we’ll kill you as well!”

The rest of us chimed in, lost for a few moments in the joy of taunting certain death, freed from fretting. Then Nightscale emerged from the river, inspecting the severed head of her offspring with yellow eyes the size of torch flames. We fell silent.

“You have chosen death,” she hissed, and charged forward in a storm of buffeting wings and slashing claws.

In a moment Roman was snatched into her maw, the life crushed from him as he struck out with his sword. Van launched arrows, Saeita and I moved in to land a few blows, and Cara inspired our hearts to battle with the beat of the drum. But Nightscale flapped her batlike wings and soared back, landing in the river with a great splash, taking Roman with her.

There was no time for plans, only for Van to call out, “Be ready!” Nightscale emerged once again, this time coming straight toward me.

Everything vanished except for those two yellow eyes and great scaly darkness rushing at me. I raised samryn, ready to strike, but found myself clamped in those jaws of death. Pain flooded from my every pore.

Arrows soared from Van’s bow and found their mark; a keening cry of pain warbled past me and the dagger teeth embedded in my flesh and grinding against my bones. Through the haze of my own agony, I realize that now it is Nightscale who gives voice to pain. She makes her way back toward the river, carrying me with her. I know that I will die in those dark depths.

I called upon the strength of Clangeddin, and with a shout I pressed upon Nightscale’s jaws, intent on breaking open her deathgrip. The river’s edge grew closer. A bellow of pure suffering erupted from my mouth, and in that second the dragon’s grip slackened. I fell free.

And before she could escape, I swung my axe again and again into her writhing bulk. Saeita landed fist after fist, and many of Van’s arrows protruded from the scaly hide. A huge acrid exhalation roiled from her lungs, and there on the banks of the River of Slaughters Nightscale died.

We healed what wounds we could and piled into one of the longboats. The calm and dark river bore us downstream with cool insistence. No one spoke; we had discovered the acid-scarred bones of Roman and Bronn in the gullet of the beast.

When I regained some sense of my surroundings, we were slipping quietly into a huge chamber just off the river–the former lair of Glamerdrung. Submerged at a depth of nearly thirty feet were strewn the riches of Aerunedar, looted by the Coil two hundred years ago. And perched atop an outcropping of stone was an enormous ziggurat decorated with shiny green mosaics–it was constructed in the shape of a titanic coiled snake, with a fanged maw open and inviting at the apex.

We moored the boat and climbed the steps. Within the snake’s mouth, a staircase corkscrewed down into the ziggurat, and descended beneath. Soon we found ourselves in an octagonal chamber inscribed with many runes, six levers upon the walls, and a pewter post at the center. In the top of the post was a space that seemed designed for the strange disk we had taken with the treasures of Selûne’s temple.

With the bronze disk in place, coruscating energies passed through the walls of the chamber. Before long we surmised, with Van’s prodding, that the picture on the disk itself was the key to pulling the levers in their correct order. When we had done so there was a flash of light, and a feeling of emptiness beneath the feet, and the lurch that hits one’s guts when falling from a great height. But we found ourselves standing in a nearly identical room. But this one had no pewter post; the disk clanged to the floor.

We moved down a tunnel, and found ourselves in a huge limestone cavern. A massive stone bridge had once spanned this cataract, but now the center of the span was collapsed into a small stream below. At the other end stood a forbidding portal carved from white marble.

At that moment we clearly heard Lady Tessaril Winter’s voice. “Well met,” she said pleasantly, “Meerschaulk will soon be free. Even if you win through to the end of the path you have begun…you will have lost. Can’t we talk about this, as we used to?” Van gave us a warning as he shook off the effects of charm magic.

Then she appeared, across the broken span. Her face was very much like that of Tessaril Winter, but where she had once had the fair and smooth skin of a Cormyrian noble, she now had grayish-green scales. Where she once had blonde hair as fine as spun flax, there now writhed and snapped a mass of hissing snakes. Where once she had a pair of shapely legs, her body now stretched into the form of a massive constrictor snake.

“You knew me as Lady Winter,” she hissed, “but my slaves call me Ooltugula. I must congratulate you for sparking the liberation of Eveningstar…be sure to hold close that pride as you perish.” From her snaky shortbow she fired volley after volley of poisoned arrows.

Saeita rushed forward to leap the gap, and with a gravelly crackle turned to solid stone before our eyes. Only Van, Caramip and myself remained. I hurled javelins across the gap, and Van’s arrows flew to the mark with stunning precision. We were no longer novices to be manipulated of disposed of at Lady Winter’s leisure. We were Selûne’s Champions.

Only now did she realize that it had been a fatal miscalculation to face us like this, even though only half of our number remained. A warbling cry of despair escaped her, and as she turned to flee through the portal Van felled her with a final shot from Stonegroan, the strongbow we had taken from Moradin’s Fane.

“Let’s go,” Van said, and I saw before me not the white-haired seventeen year-old who had begged to accompany me two months ago, but a hardened warrior. I knew then that I would follow him into the jaws of ten dragons if he but asked.

We climbed down one side of the fallen bridge, and up the other, and opened the marble portal.

Within was the last chamber, its walls covered with green and scaly mosaics, pillars like trees rising to a ceiling covered with bas relief branches, and carvings of hideous snakes and serpent-like creatures. A foul stench, like spoiled incense, drifted in the air. Treasures and objects of art were strewn all about. Directly across the room stood a huge looking glass.

Cara crept across the silent chamber and peered into the mirror. The surface rippled like water. Instead of her own reflection, she saw a huge chamber. A giant marilith demon, each of her six arms bound by a bronze manacle and heavy chain, glowered at Cara in smoldering rage. It was Meerschaulk herself, waiting for the freedom the Sons of the Coil had promised long ago. Freedom that needed our blood to baptize.

In a burst of smoke and stinking brimstone, a hideous creature appeared in our midst, surrounded by mirror images of itself. It had the squawking head of a twisted and infernal vulture, massive black wings, and puckered skin that gave off a cloud of abyssal spores. Van and I launched into combat, while Cara crept close enough to bestow healing magics on us if we needed them.

Though the spores hooked into our skin and grew, bringing blinding pain, we fought as scions of Selûne should: with skill and valor. For the first time in our short careers, the enemy had no good luck, and blow after blow from its hooked claws and beak went astray, while nearly every one of ours struck true. The demon sank to the floor and dissolved into stinking greenish smoke, and was gone.

Beyond the mirror, Meerschaulk’s face contorted in rage. She stared at each of us, never to forget the faces of those who denied her freedom. Van strode forward and drew out the snake-killing rapier he had dubbed Ssslasher, and swung it in one titanic blow against the face of the magic portal shaped like a looking glass.

KA-CRASHHHH!!! Van was thrown from his feet. The surface of the mirror exploded in jagged cracks and fell smashed, and all that was left of Ssslasher was a burned and melted stub. The cry of Meerschaulk faded away into silence.

Then the room began to tremble. Cracks ran across the floor. Scooping up what items of worth we could, we fled through the marble portal.

Out in the limestone cavern, great chunks of rock were falling from the ceiling to smash into the floor below. Barely keeping our feet, we scaled the other side of the bridge and I hefted the dead weight of Saeita’s petrified form.

“I’ve got her, “ I cried. “Go!”

Somehow we climbed the staircase to the top of the ziggurat, and as we descended toward the longboat a great lurch went through the steps. We all tumbled to the bottom, breaking off one of Saeita’s stony arms. No time to lament. Cara snatched up the arm and we all piled into the longboat, just in time to witness the ziggurat sinking, sinking, and abruptly plunging into the limestone cavern below with a roar of stone and water.

“Plant the poles!” Van shouted. The water filling Glamerdrung’s lair swirled into a momentary vortex as it followed the ziggurat down into the depths, sealing forever the portal to Meerschaulk’s other-dimensional prison. We managed to hold back the longboat as the water level crept steadily down the cavern walls.

Finally the boat came to rest upon the floor of the cavern, propped unsteadily upon tons and tons of treasure and coin. I looked upon the riches of Aerunedar, the statue in the shape of Saeita, Van and Cara looking pale and stricken. I thought of Bronn and Roman’s souls speeding toward their rest and wished them well.

And I thanked Clangeddin for guiding us. And Selûne too.

After two hundred years, Aerunedar was open to the dwarves again.
*** *** ***

Of course, we returned to Eveningstar with what coin and treasure we could manage, and it amounted to quite a fortune. Not that you’re interested in hearing such boasts. It was enough, at least, to allow me to build a small keep where the southeast gatehouse enters Aerunedar. Enough to establish a school of wizardry in Bronn’s honor and memory: the Spellforge. But first, I’ll lay Bronn Spellforger to rest in the Crystal caverns near our home at Thunderstone, as he wished. He is with Mystra now. Once my people have restored Saeita Neví, I’ll see that she returns to you.

And as for me? There is still work for the dwarves who would see Aerunedar rise to its former glory, and no living dwarf has seen more of that place than me. So I will return to Eveningstar, and I will join my Uncle Dorn and his Doomslayers for another trek into the reaches below.

To all you Champions of Selûne, I wish you luck. The rest of the world awaits your swords, and your will, and your wisdom. Do not forsake their need. The Eyes of the Moon and the Blade of the Axefather go with you, gladly.

Velm
Blood of Nor
Clan Trueforger
The Year of Wild Magic
1372 DR