Dongle the Dungeoneeror--CLOSED--Adventure #52

[Gray Shade]

Hello,

Feel free to read this thread, but it's a solo adventure I'm running for a friend, so it's already closed for more players. Thanks for your interest, though!

 

[Gray Shade]

An Overview of Dongle the Dungeoneeror

“Dongle the Dungeoneeror is the best dungeon crawler in all the Three Kingdoms, the Deadlands, and the Sunset Isles. Essentially, there is no better in the world. He is larger than life, but never obnoxious or annoying, always interesting, and always a gentleman charmer with the ladies. He never wavers from his own Dungeoneering Code of Honor, which he's never actually bothered to write down, but by cracky: If a treasure's out there, it needs to be found... If a trap is out there, it needs to be bypassed... If a riddle is out there, it needs to be answered... If an arcane, clockwork puzzle is out there, it needs to be solved! To him, delving is done for its own sake – it doesn't hurt that there's almost always treasure involved.

His reputation is great enough that he can pick and choose the jobs he takes, embarking on only the most challenging adventures that, of course, offer the sweetest plums, and he got there by his own blood, sweat, and tears! He's earned his position in life, and he enjoys the hell out of it.

He spends his non-delving time at The Delver's Den, his inn/tavern that caters almost exclusively to adventurers. It is here that he is able to hear all the latest rumors of treasures to be found, monsters to be slain, and damsels to be de-distressed. He lives in the largest suite of rooms in the inn, tastefully appointed with countless trophies and mementoes of his numerous adventures.

Assisting him in his expeditions and minding his domestic affairs is Dongle’s butler and herald, his fence and high-chief of etiquette, Brabinger (rhymes with 'scavenger'), a Bugbear of inestimable merit and class - the epitome of the Gentlebugbear's Gentlebugbear.

Far beyond any run of the mill Bugbear or even most highly trained Humans, Brabinger possesses unparalleled speaking skills and a fluent knowledge of most every language. He has a keen appraiser's eye (after all, it is his duty to see that his master is never cheated out of any gold) and exceptional poise and posture. He dresses tastefully but exquisitely in clothes befitting only the best in his position and his master's social standing (an always spotless and wrinkle-free Courtier's outfit) and keeps himself immaculately groomed: his hair (the hair on top of his head, anyway) well-trimmed and slicked back; his nails clean, trim, and buffed; his teeth pearly white; and his breath minty fresh.

As Dongle's most trusted servant, he is also the head of The Delver’s Den household staff: Flora and Fawna, the two half-elf maids (who sometimes double as serving girls); the Dwarven handyman and groundskeeper, Willie; Roddy Topknot, the Halfling stableboy (he's a fully grown adult, but everyone calls him a ‘Boy’ because, well, he's a Halfling – and he doesn't seem to mind.); Chef Cauliwonkle Copperpot, the Gnomish Gourmand; Cap'n Morrigan, the retired militiaman-turned-adventurer-turned-barkeep; and Lorelei, the beautiful Elven barmaid. These employees are quite loyal to Dongle, not only because he pays them well, or because he's famous, but also because, well, he's such a swell guy. Cap'n Morrigan, with his military background and impeccable honor, is the Den's business manager, and is in charge of the place when Dongle and Brabinger are away on business.

The Delver's Den is also where Dongle, with the able help of Brabinger, does a brisk trade in hard-to-find items. This is obvious yet tasteless to discuss, and thus only hinted at in public. Never outright stolen, the items are brought back from deep dungeons, tall towers, or complex caverns, and are always of the highest quality. This side business is a ‘well-known secret’ in the city of Safe Haven, and how Dongle has managed to amass his considerable wealth and fame.”

-Excerpted from “Adventurers Near and Far” by Feltabast FairQuill, Scribe and Vizier of High King Melabourne, Divine Ruler of the Third Kingdom, in the 23rd year of the Serpent.

 

[Gray Shade]

The Adventure Proper Begins . . .

The Adventures of Dongle the Dungeoneeror, Part the 52nd: “The Matter of ‘The United Dungeon Front’”

* * *

Part of the problem with being the best dungeon explorer, cave spelunker, puzzle solver, monster defeater, challenge over-comer, tower investigator, cellar sealer, artifact retriever, treasure hunter, and narrow-escape maker ever is that some people STILL think they’re the boss of you. Case in point . . .

* * *

My good master, Dongle the Dungeoneeror, renowned explorer of the ancient Caverns of Carnage and celebrated solver of the Puzzle of the Sundial of Sin (et cetera), and I and about forty others whiled away an early Autumn evening at The Delver’s Den, the community house my master owned in the city of Safe Haven. Now, on the off chance you’ve never heard of it, Safe Haven is located where the River Drall meets the sea, under dominion of the Third Kingdom. For a thousand miles in either direction there is no harbor, only icy waters, crashing waves, cliffs and rocks, deadly mists and bleak, lonely lighthouses. Thus, Safe Haven is the largest port city in the land, being the only port on the west of the continent. This fact usually brought Dongle and I many tales of lost treasures and artifacts waiting to be retrieved. With an early cold spell this year, though, the traffic had been sparse and thus so had the jobs.

Dongle (and please note, kind reader, that I refer to him in the informal in these writings only as a form of shorthand and not at all as a check of disrespect) leaned back in a large comfy chair, his slippered feet on an ottoman facing the common room’s huge central fire pit. He swirled a snifter of brandy in one hand and absent-mindedly worked his way through a considerable pile of locks, all of which missed their keys, with the other. He set a lock upon his lap, picked up a simple steel pick the length of a man’s index finger and, with a seeming simple swirl of the probe, popped the lock open. He had opened all the locks twice before already that night and paid the whole procedure the same amount of mind any other man would pay snacking on nuts or chips.

Our brave protagonist was approaching two full fortnights with no paying work, and he was growing restless. He had reached the point on Tuesday of sending myself, that is, Brabinger, his humble and loyal Bugbearservent, to the local temples just to ensure that none of the denizens of their graveyards had taken to walking around again. Sadly, no, all the bodies buried in tombs were staying in the tombs.

And so, for the evening, Dongle busied himself dictating a letter to an old wizard friend of his by the name of Wilderhorf (see: “The Case of the Burning Tower”; “The Dungeon of Blood”; and “When Erupts the Man-Mountain”). The adventurer rocked his brandy snifter thoughtfully and stopped picking locks, his hand lifting to cue me.

I held my quill expectantly and prompted him back, “‘I would not recommend the Chaos Beast be used as sustenance under any usual circumstances; however . . .’”

Dongle sipped his drink, twiddled his toes to keep the feeling in them, and opened his mouth to finish the thought, but was interrupted by the entrance of a rodent-like man. Cold air blasted in through the open door past the man and I must admit, I cursed (“Oh, my!”) as my papers curled up and scraped my pen-tip. Dongle took a leisurely look toward the man and with perfect accuracy threw a quilt one-handed so that it unfolded mid-air and covered his feet evenly.

The stranger had flesh creased and dry like the bed of the long-dead river Hourn and moved through the busy pub without lifting his head. At the bar he leaned across and muttered to Cap'n Morrigan, the retired militiaman-turned-adventurer-turned-barkeep. The Cap’n hesitated to answer, obviously waiting for the man to look him in the eyes. Dongle, however, could tell what was happening and nodded to the Cap’n. The Cap’n nodded back, but the man was walking toward us before the Cap’n could give him permission.

Standing over Dongle, in better view right next to the fire, Dongle could tell that the man was of wealth if not taste. (All of the master’s thoughts and inner conclusions are presented herein as fact for simplicities sake, as in all my journals, as they were all recorded after the fact from my interviews with him.) The man’s shoes and belt were Lizardman skin, and the wools of his coat and trousers were of Minotaur hair. The man was shaven, but stray strands of silver curled from his nostrils and ears and neck, which made me (a stickler for such things) bristle and lose my self-control (what I felt to be an extreme (if singular) twitch of my upper lip – a loss of composure I assure you I was quite embarrassed by, but for which my master, although I’m sure he noticed, was kind enough not to reproach me).

The man hunched like a vulture and had a boney body with gray hair that was coarse and prickly to look at. I wondered if he wasn’t a Lycanthrope—a wererat. If he were, he wouldn’t be the first Dongle and I had had dealings with (see “The Mystery of the Silver Dagger”). But when I mentioned this later, Dongle pointed out that my theory could not be correct: the master, of course, knew that the moon was full that night, so if the man were a Lycanthrope of any kind, he would not be in his human form.

“Dongle the Dungeoneeror,” the man said, his voice raspy and from deep in a phlegmy throat—more like Orc than man. “Your exploits are legendary, and you are easy to find. That is fortunate for me. You will work for me now. I need you to—” He stopped suddenly as he seemed to notice me for the first time. His eyes narrowed and he said, “I have work for you. We will discuss it once you’ve finished with this creature.”

 

[Lazlow]

Dongle continued to swirl the amber liqueur nonchalantly, seemingly taking little notice of the verminous visitor. After a pregnant pause, made all the more tense by the sudden hush that had fallen over the common room, he spoke, keeping his eyes fixed comfortably on his drink until he reached the end of his discourse.

"I must say," he began, "your behavior matches the same level of taste and tact that your choice of attire shows - that being very little, and of the poorest quality. I have several friends, sirrah, who would no sooner slice you from navel to nape than look at you for wearing the skin of their kin as you so cavalierly do on your feet and around your waist. Furthermore, I care not what stature or social standing you currently possess - it is not the place of any being to wear the skin of so noble a beast as the Minotaur.

"As for... 'This creature'," he continued, furrowing his brow ever so slightly, "'this creature' just so happens to be my closest confidant and most trusted advisor. You would do well to pay him the same respect you would me - IF it be your goal to have the privilege of my services. That being said: I work for no one, save myself, and The Delve." (He often referred to his chosen profession in this personified manner, and always with passion.) "Now. State your business, if you would." At this, he finally looked the man in the eyes, studying them for a second or two, then waved him towards a nearby chair.

"We'll finish the letter presently, Brabinger, as soon as the... 'Gentleman', here, has said his piece."

 

[Gray Shade]

A Proposal for a Delve

With a nod, I sprinkled dust over any wet ink on the page to dry it and, once dry, rolled it up and put the rest of my utensils away.

The 'gentleman' as my good liege called him gave me a most discourteous look, which it was my pleasure to return blankly, as my station dictates. He then seemed at a quandary. Blatantly and publicly shamed and just as blatantly unused to such treatment. His views and attire, however unsuitable to my master's tastes, were obviously points of pride at whatever court he was used to entreating.

Finally, though, he sat. As he made himself comfortable, I poured him a tumbler of brandy to warm him. He took it without courteous acknowledgement. He did not look at me again through the conversation, and instead focused on Dongle's eyes. "Mmm," he grumbled deep in his throat as if still hesititant. But then spilled forth his story in his gritty and mucus-drenched tone, "Call it what you will, but I have a dungeon that is in need of clearing. I have recently purchased a keep of considerable age. Along with this keep comes, of course, the sublayers and typical secret passages and what-nots with which you are so familiar. I have already ordered twenty of my men to clear it, but none have been so competent or honorable to return alive. Return some of them have, but only as the walking dead. In any case, it both grieves me and relieves me to come to you with this problem. Relieves me because of your reputation, which all but guarantees your success in emptying the dungeon, but grieves me because of the cost I am sure you will ask. I will be blunt: I want everything living in that dungeon dead and everything already dead destroyed. I want every trap, device and curse disabled, removed, and dispelled. Once this is done, our dealings will be at an end and we will no longer need to humor one another's disagreeable dispositions.

"All loot, as I understand is par for the job, will be yours to keep as payment. However, you are NOT to move to any of the upper levels of the keep. These I have already explored and they are quite acceptable to me as is. I presume I will not have to repeat this order.

"I can and will provide all the information I have on the dungeon to facilitate your swift and total success. If you require further payment, mention it now, as I will not be held to any after-the-affair demands." He then drank the brandy in one sharp flip of the wrist. The amber leaked on the corner of his mouth and as I reached for a napkin, he wiped at it with the back of his arm.

 

[Lazlow]

The seasoned adventurer listened to the rat-faced man's entire proposition without interruption, eyes closed and fingers laced behind his head. When the man finished, Dongle stayed in this position for a considerable amount of time afterwards. When he finally spoke, it was quick and to the point.

"My fee is twenty-five hundred gold, up front, and the same amount again upon completion - I'm sure you appreciate that," (at this he opened his eyes and glanced, smiling, at the gentleman). "If you find my price to be a bit steep for your tastes, I would remind you of the number of men you've wasted on the effort so far, and, from the sound of your... Dilemma, it seems at least an equal number would be wasted again without my services.

"Now: I will need each and every map you have of the area, the ENTIRE area, mind you, plus any documentation on the history of the keep, and any writing you may have found in the keep during your time there so far. Please, try to be as thorough as possible in this area: What your untrained eye may percieve as a simple scrap of paper may offer an invaluable clue at some point.

"That is all that I require. As soon as you can deliver the maps and history - and my fee, of course - then I can prepare for the delve, the length of which will depend solely upon the amount of documentation you can muster.

"One last question, and I will leave you to consider my offer: Exactly which keep are we talking about?"

At this Dongle finally took his hands from behind his head, placing them comfortably in his lap, and looked his guest in the eye, waiting for an answer. Presently, something seemed to prompt a response in him and he stated, matter-of-factly, "Oh, um... I would ask your name, but frankly... I don't care." He smiled sincerely and awaited a reply.

 

[Gray Shade]

The deal is struck; the job begins.

I, myself, believe it or not, am more naturally curious than my master at such affairs as names. I like to think that I keep quite a bit of history in my head and journals, and having the man's name would have suited me well, as it would probably have taken up less space in the mechanisms of my memory than "The rat-like gentleman of Delve #52." However, it not being my place, I said nothing and did not react.

The rat-like gentleman of what would become known as Delve #52, however, had a response (it did not, however, include his name).

"Your price is fair. No need to argue it with me. We both understand the value of your service. Elsewise I would not have wasted my time in coming." He reached into a pouch on his belt and counted out 5 gemstones which he put on the small table near Dongle. "I assume you will accept harder currency than gold. I'll have a boy bring over the maps and papers tomorrow. There is not much. The keep, what was once called 'Black Keep,' was gutted with fire years ago, as I'm sure you remember."

The master depended on my memory and journals for much of his historical knowledge; however, I'm sure that he did remember Black Keep. For dozens of generations it stood watch on the edge of the Twisted Forest. An expanse of dense growth, most of it unnaturally black-leaved, three days ride north of the city. Duke Archibald, who ruled the area of the Third Kingdom which included the north embankment of Safe Haven, but ended at the River Drall, had followed in the footsteps of his lineage in using the small fort as a first outpost in any attack that could come from the denizens of the Twisted Forest, which, really, most considered to just be legend anymore, since they had not been seen since before the days of the Deadlands. Because of this purpose, the most important feature of the keep was the fire-tower that rose forty feet above the height of its walls, and was always kept doused in oil and ready to be lit in case of attack. Due to some unfortunate event, the exact cause of which was never discovered, about twenty years ago, the fire-tower fell. Being night when it fell, there were of course torches in the courtyard. Simple irony did the rest.

Duke Archibald, under considerable financial restraints already, could not justify rebuilding or repairing a keep which kept watch over what was probably an extinct enemy. Seems now he had had the good fortune of someone buying it from him. Of course he hadn't said no. The Black Keep had been of good size, I remembered, and even damaged would run a considerable price. I admit, I wondered more who this man was knowing that he had those kinds of resources.

Dongle nodded my way and I picked up the gemstones and examined them. Not the rarest of stones, but beautifully cut. Combined, they would run at least the 2500 the master requested, I could tell even without my eyeglass. I nodded to Dongle.

 

[Lazlow]

Pulling the quilt off his feet, Dongle rose from his chair and stretched, downing the remainder of his drink. "Very well then - you have your man. If there is nothing else...? Then good night. I shall expect the papers tomorrow." He strode over to the bar and returned the snifter to Cap'n Morrigan. When the rat-faced gentleman was sufficiently out of earshot, he leaned in close to the bartender. "I'm sure one of the lads here knows who our friend there is," he said. "Can't go around town dressed like that without drawing some kind of attention, especially packing that sort o' coin. A platinum to anyone who can get me his name, and more if there's a story behind it."

With a nod from the Cap'n, he walked back over to me. "Well well, Brabinger, looks like our dry spell is finally at an end! It'll be good to get out and under again, get the blood flowing. Make all the usual arrangements, please; I'm off to bed. Much work to do tomorrow. Hmm, mayhap I'll have a chance to put my new longspoon delver's tools to the test on this one..." Lost in thought, he started towards the stairs, but not before stopping and adding, "Oh, and the, er... The Chateau DeNoir, I think, vintage, oh, 15th year of the Raven. HA! Fitting, don't you think? Although, nothing beats a good cabernet anyway..." With that, he sprang up the stairs to his rooms.

 

[Gray Shade]

Research and Preparations

I returned his smile and said, "Very good, sir," to the wine suggestions. A good duty causes a good mood, Grandmother always said.

I then went to Cap'n Morrigan and I put in the order for the wine to be prepared for the trip. Once that was done with, I ordered a pint and we discussed this stranger. He bid Flora fetch Roddy Topknot and out she went. When she returned with Roddy, the good Cap'n passed along the master's offer of reward for information and out Roddy went.

I continued my preparations by making some notes as the Cap'n and I engaged in idle talk and I sipped my pint. A few pints later it had come out where the master and I were to be headed for this job, and the Cap'n and I were in deep conversation about the Black Keep. I was quite interested when he told me that he'd actually served there for a stint. It was quite by accident, as the ranking systems of Duke Archibald's Ground Forces and Duke Willerton's Naval Forces shared many ranks, so that when the Cap'n, who spent his years in Duke Willerton's service, was sent as a military advisor to assist Duke Archibald ended up being assumed to be a commander of dragoons and not the commander of a sailing ship and hence found himself, quite confusedly, advising the Captain of Black Keep for a year, while through similar mix-up the Executive Officer of the Black Keep found himself advising one of Duke Willerton's Admirals for the same period of time at sea, and with considerably more confusion.

In any case, Cap'n Morrigan reported to me that the Black Keep was indeed large: a good 500 feet in all the compass directions--that is, it's a circular keep--but also large in that the walls stand over twenty-five feet high and have many secret doors and passages. The most impressive feature, of course, was the tower, which was large for the first four levels, then compressed down to a needle-like fifteen feet acrooss for the last forty feet of its height. He said that there were many buildings in the courtyard, but that they were all of wood and couldn't have withstood the blaze and time that had so affected the keep since last he was there.

There were, of course, a series of caverns, both Dwarven-made and natural, that ran beneath the keep, but he couldn't remember any details other than the following, which I passed on to our master the next morning over breakfast:

The entrances (there were two) were on the far side of the keep from the Twisted Forest, and the only entrance within the keep was through a secret passage in the back of the armory (where, if anyone tried to enter, the troops would have all their equipment at hand to defend the keep). He did remember that entrance as quite a defensible position.

He also remembered that within the dungeon there was a large alchemy lab, wherein the oil for the fire-tower was refined. He remembered being quite impressed with this, as it made the whole keep self-sufficient as a watch tower. This lab was directly below the fire-tower, and a sort of dumbwaiter contraption ran through a vertical tunnel all the way from the lab to the fire-place, with several slats that could be shut to prevent fire from falling down the shaft if ever the fire had to be lit. He wondered if that lab survived the fire. I told him I hadn't heard.

By the time we'd discussed that (and had some quality bitter) Roddy returned. He reported that he knew a man who knew a half-orc who knew a gnome who knew a fey who recognized the man from his description. The problem was, the fey, being a faerie, was subject to its own whims and was suddenly in a hurry to leave when Roddy mentioned that this man was in town. Thus, he arranged for a meeting. This fey (a Grig from his description), who resides in the Twisted Forest, had agreed to meet Dongle and I exactly three days from tomorrow's sunrise at the edge of the Twisted Forest, directly Southwest of the Black Keep. Seemed like a lot to go through for just a name, but if this Sprite agreed to meet us (assuming it kept its appointment--not something most Sprite's do) it sounded to me like it may be giving us more than his name. Although, again, with fey creatures: who can tell?

I had the Cap'n tip Roddy a couple of platinum, and told Roddy and the Cap'n to make what preparations they could as the master and I would be leaving tomorrow morning, probably for a week, but possibly two. I spoke to everyone else as necessary for preparations then said my good nights and made my way to my chambers to retire for the evening. Tomorrow would bring a very busy morning of preparing and travel.

 

[Lazlow]

The next day saw Dongle the Dungeoneeror rising bright eyed and bushy tailed at the crack of dawn. After a hot bath and a bracing shave, he set about cleaning and preparing the necessary tools for the job.

"Let's see now... Heward's Haversack, check... Gladstone's Fire Mill, extra flintstones, check... Bucknard's collapsible bucket, check... Hrm. Now where... Where is my favorite grappling hook?" He reached over and pulled the bell chain next to the door in his prep room. "Can't imagine a delve of this, this caliber without ol' Bessie," he fretted to himself, waiting eagerly for Brabinger to respond.