Journal of Lothanion in the Sunless Citadel.
Day One:
We have arrived near the sunless citadel, having travelled for days and come to the edge of a deep, lightless chasm. We are too tired to descend today; we shall rest, and enter in the morning.
The people I am travelling with seem unlikely enough to try murdering me. They have in their company a large man who is vocal in his opinons, which are always well-intentioned, and sometimes charitable to the point of impracticality.
If I have anything to worry about with him, it that he will restrict us too much in our range of tactics. It is highly doubtful that the use of poison or torture would be well accepted by anyone in the company, because of his influence … I suppose for now I will play along, at least while under his ever-reproachful gaze.
Torvus is his name. He looks able enough to fight, and was useful in our dealings with the temple Gnome. How well he acquits himself in combat remains to be seen.
It seems they were all brought to the brink of despair by an acidic water creature – and now that I am here, about to descend, I am furious with myself. What are the properties of water Elementals? I can’t remember exactly, though I remember Næurbat explaining them to me in detail. Though I cannot be sure that is what they faced, it sounded too clear and fluid to have been an ooze. I suspect it is perhaps a ParaElemental – which may be vulnerable to fire (I cannot forgive myself this lapse in memory!). I have brought soap with me in the faint hope that it will offer some protection against the acid the creature sprays, but what assistance I can be in killing the creature, I cannot say.
I am planning to snatch the treasure secreted in its lair, while the others attack it; I will prepare Expeditious Retreat in the morning. If we must run, my success will ensure we are at least able to afford healing for our wounds.
I have a vague recollection that Elementals, even the lesser species, can only be hit by magical weapons. I think that the ranger is carrying one – a strange, greenish blade with the draconic words “Memory Warden” inscribed. I have, for some reason which escapes me, the impression that it will pay to keep an eye on that sword.
Torvus also has a troubling ring – I think it is a darkish red, though it could have been the light. It allows him to see in the dark, but it will not let him remove it for long at all. The ring and he seem to be attached in some binding way, and this is not a desirable attribute for a magical ring at all. I fear it may be responsible for his simplemindedness, though that could be optimism on my behalf – but whatever it is, I am certain that there is some disadvantage which will make itself known.
Other than him there are two others in the company – the half-elven warrior, Raemar, and the sneakmage Oritin.
Raemar seems a competent enough woman so far, and her demeanour suggests a certain dignified ability – again, tomorrow will see the truth emerge. I hope that her gender is not an encumbrance to us, but my mother has taught me (in her own, very particular way) not to underestimate what women are capable of.
Oritin is a strange character – a diminutive sneakmage, who seems to have taken on the role my mother must have fitted in her time. He is a rogue of some kind, and hopefully useful with locks and traps, as well as a dabbler in the Art. I suspect, however, that the halfling has had no formal schooling, and so can only guess that he is at best a patchy mage who can augment his abilities as a thief from time to time.
We met in a tavern a couple of nights ago – I solicited them, and they informed me of an opportunity. We found acceptable terms and I have joined them for the duration of this task: to rescue the mayor’s children. There is a reward of some kind for their return, or the discovery of their ring also, but it is insubstantial – I am sure that there is more than one thing glittering in the darkness, however, and I could not hope to survive there alone.
Unfortunately we have very little to protect and heal us from the dangers we face. I have the one bottle of curative which Næurbat gifted me, and Torvus seems able to help a little, but I believe we are in need of a priest-acolyte to aid us. For now I think it would be best if I stay entirely out of harm’s way; I have only a thin layer of thread and magic between anything hostile we may encounter and my mortal flesh.
Tomorrow we descend. I must rest well tonight. I hope this will not be my last entry.
Day Two:
We are staying at the camp of a clan of kobolds, having been led here by “Meepo”. But first I will note the defeat of the Elemental - for it was indeed a lesser Water Elemental.
And indeed nothing was capable of hitting it but the Memory Warden – I unleashed a Colour Spray on it but I cannot tell if it had any effect.
The whole event was a blur for me – it was struck with such force by the first volley of arrows that it could not rise from its lair of an iron barrel. I think the powdered soap (which I conviced everyone but the halfling to cover themselves in) may have worked to counterract its acidic breath, but it is hard to say. Soon I will have spells at my disposal to protect me from such dangers, anyway. I kept out of danger as best I could, and did not take a single scratch. It seems the warriors are indeed able, and even Oritin appeared to lend something to the offensive; even some spellcraft of his own, though I did not have time to wonder what it was.
We found some small gems in the bottom of the barrel. If we earn sufficient money from their sale, perhaps I can scribe one or two of the sneakmage’s spells …
And now, Meepo the kobold is leading us off to rescue a dragon! We burst in on him in a room adorned with small dragonesque statuettes. The creature is a pathetic little thing, but I wonder if there is not a cruel guile behind his snivellings – I think he lets on less than he knows.
His clan’s mascot dragon (!), a baby white drake, has been stolen by goblins, and we will gain rewards more substantial than any the mayor promised if we retrieve it - whether from the kobolds, if we return it intact, or the sale of its organs ...
I have a bone to pick with Meepo, also – over a combination of grogginess from the after-effects of my narcotics, and his deliberate provocation. He made me look foolish, in front of the company and the clan’s queen (Yazrouel), and apparently took delight in it. If not for Torvus I would turn him into a ... well, I would put a bolt between his shoulderblades. As it stands, I must find a more elegant solution to my revenge. Despite my lapse, however, I believe the company is beginning to understand how great an asset I will prove to be.
Tomorrow we set out for the goblin encampment.
Day Three:
Waiting interminably for the spellfilcher, Oritin, to disarm the traps the kobolds have laid for Goblins. If this lagging inefficiency continues I fear we may never see the daylight again.
It is worth noting a change which seems to have come over Torvus. He is showing remarkably little tolerance for the kobold Meepo, and an alteration in his entire person has come upon him almost overnight. I suspect I like it – his preaching seems to have subsided and given over to an odd kind of libertarianism, counterbalanced by a hard-boiled intolerance for ... evil, I expect. How he defines that I am not particularly sure, but he certainly holds Meepo in low esteem, presumably on account of his kobold heritage.
I am uncertain I applaud such a judgemental stance, but it is good that it is now directed towards others, rather than myself. He seems to hold nothing against me for my white hair or pallid skin, and his change of heart (if it continues) will no doubt afford me greater freedom while I am with the company.
***
We have just dispatched a number of Goblins. My Sleep spell has proven invaluable in subduing the beasts, though some have shown an irritating resistance to its effects - though I am sure it is simply a combination of poor luck and hurried casting on my behalf. We have one Goblin prisoner, and neither Torvus nor Raemar seemed to disagree overtly with the execution of the two surplus monsters which fell to my spellcraft.
Meepo is now thoroughly dead. Torvus thrust him through the doorway to draw the Goblins’ attention, hoping they would run through the door and be easily dispached. Unfortunately they very quickly turned the snivelling creature into a pincushion – there were more of them than we first thought, and his body is now cooling on the stone floor. Though I bore the little maggot some ill will over my embarrasment in front of Yazrouel, I did not really want him to die. All of us are a little saddened by the episode, except Torvus – strange indeed that he has changed so much. I suspect the ring ...
It will soon be time to prepare spells. I shall choose an additional Sleep enchantment this time, and though it pains me to go without Mage Armour, I know this is the only way any of us can immediately disable large numbers of our foes. If it comes to it, I still have a scroll of Expeditious Retreat - but I must be more careful than ever to avoid the Goblin javelins, lest I end up like poor Meepo.
I have taken a section of his skin, which I had previously scribed an Arcane Mark upon (a bluff to keep him honest). Perhaps one day I will find the means (and the inclination) to ressurect the brute – he would at least make a grateful servant. In the meantime it will make a fitting ornament for my spellbook.
***
I am alive! Boccob has spared me, though only just, and I am lucky indeed to be breathing. The company has just survived our most desperate battle to date, and many broken bodies of Goblins and Hobgoblins attest to this.
In my darkest hour since I left Næurbat's tutelage, I found myself under physical attack from all quarters. My spells depleted, my health failing, and Goblin spears thrusting at my intestines, it was all I could do to stay alive long enough to drink my healing draught, and watch my companions cut down our foul opponents.
In the end, somehow, we won through. Torvus and Raemar, after a succession of horrible fumbles, cut down the leaders and the monsters’ morale started to crumble. Never again will I sacrifice my defenses with such idiotic abandon – nor allow myself to be flanked in such a way. I should have run, past the door behind us, and off to a safer distance. I could at least have made good then with my crossbow, and avoided the manic session of stabbing, ducking and bleeding I have just lived through. I almost suspect I am growing attached to my companions, and that this is to blame for the heroic impulse to stay and fight which very nearly got me killed.
As I write, Oritin is opening the lock of a chest. I have alerted him to the poison trap I detected on its latch, but he seems undeterred … he has his own peculiar brand of hesitant foolhardiness which I cannot understand. I know he isn’t stupid - perhaps it is his Halfling blood?
Still, I am glad he is with us. I suspect he will one day be a very dangerous little fellow indeed, and I envy him the breadth of his talents – though I wouldn’t sacrifice a thorough command of the Art for any of them.
Aha! He has avoided the needletrap, though it could have gone badly, and we now have piled together a handsome assortment of equipment. Some very well made weapons for the others, including a short bow and sword. Also some gemstones, and several vials of coloured liquid … I hope at least some turn out to be healing potions. Most importantly of all, however, is a scroll: Knock. Soon I will be able to copy it to my spellbook, and no door will be closed to me.
The signet ring of the mayor’s children is here too, and some mail with the same imprint: worth at least a small reward. I fear the youths themselves are dead, but I cannot yet say.
Note: Torvus seems able to heal with a touch – he has just held Raemar and closed a number of small fissures in her body. I do not know how he can do this, but I suspect he is one of the holy warriors I have read about: a Paladin. If that is true, he certainly doesn’t act like I might have expected of a holy knight ... at least not anymore, thankfully.
Just before we entered this room, he smashed the skull of our gobin prisoner against the wall, and painted it with the dark blood of the monster. His justification, a certainty that the Goblin would betray us, proved all too prophetic when we burst in not upon a small white drake, but a room of Goblin warriors right outside their garrison.
I shall be mindful in future to trust these monsters only as far as I can poke a throwing dagger into their eye sockets. I only wish i had a more painful spell to inflict on them than Sleep; when we return to town I must procure some flasks of acid and Alchemist's Fire.
Additionally, though it is unfortunate that Meepo can no longer serve as a guide, I am no more inclined to trust his race of Kobolds - the stunted, treacherous rats that they are - than the Goblins. As I turn our options over in my head, I draw closer and closer to the following conclusion: that we stand to gain more by slaying the drake, and taking our reward forcibly over the dead bodies of the Kobolds, than returning it intact.
For a start, I cannot imagine returning the dragon to be an easy task if it does not wish to come with us. Furthermore it is an evil creature, and better destroyed at this young age than allowed to grow for centuries ... and I am certain that its scaled hide and internal organs will fetch a handsome price at the nearest alchemists' guild - more than we could hope for returning it intact.
I shall attempt to coerce the company to kill it, and to kill the Kobolds as well to make good our payment (as we were promised a scroll for our trouble). In fact, I haven't yet met anything in these depths I haven't wished death upon ... it is perhaps too much to ask for some polite company in such a place, but I would like to move to a city should we ever get out of here alive. People may have their flaws, and at times, terrible flaws - but I would prefer the company of tavern scum and thieves to these stinking demihuman pack-rats any day. But that is supposing we even make it back to the Kobold lair intact ...
I am deathly tired, and it is all I can do to patch my bloodied robe together with a little cantrip. We must soon withdraw, hopefully without incident, and rest. In a day or two we will come back – and then I will show these beasts a viciousness and guile which will make their distant cousins fear me.
I am Lothanion Ninegreaves, and nothing spills my blood without a terrible retribution ...
Day Four:
I am above ground again, and the early rays of sunlight are streaming through the trees, turning dew to steam. I am glad to feel the sun on my skin again. The rest of the Company remain below. I have taken a short break from the dangers of the Citadel, for the purpose of calling a Familiar. I suspect we have only just begun our work there, and it would be idiotic to remain in such a deadly place without taking every advantage available to me. The others press on today, but I will be stronger when I meet them in the morrow.
I came to the edges of this muddy lake yester-evening, and heard the hoarse throbbing of toads' throats in the still night air. I wandered around the water's edge with my lantern, trying to spot one of the little creatures, to no avail, though I recognised their voices. Eventually my patience was rewarded - I spotted one swimming across the lake, and I waited for it at its destination. A quick snatch secured the creature, and it seems a normal, healthy adult of its kind.
The species is the Dappled Slidge; angular and aggressively striped, its pigmentation gradually alters to suit its surrounds. I have chosen this species for its incomparable ability to escape notice and its hardy constitution. Any Familiar is useful to its master so long as it is alive, and the Slidge has a great ability to remain out of sight, and healthy in the most hostile of conditions.
***
I have made the first preparations; I have drained a measure of blood from my veins, combined it with the rare inks and powders Næurbat provided for this occasion, and boiled this down to a thick, reddish black grease over the flame of a candle burning at both ends. This I recombined with enough saliva to give it the consistency of ink, and the Familial Writ i penned out with this mixture and posted for my captive toad.
The toad has already read and consumed a number of the pages; it seems to be growing more aware of me, and more alert to its surroundings. I can feel already the dim stirrings of its thoughts, pressing at the outer edges of my mind, almost as if they were my own, but a step removed.
***
The ritual is completed. The sun is sinking, its golden light reflected in the lake, just as I hear myself reflected in the thoughts of this warty amphibian atop my shoulder. It has changed almost imperceptibly in appearance ... the way it holds itself is more certain and assured than before. It is now a magical creature, and its mind is comparable in scope to many humans' (and more advanced than some).
Its awareness is a reassuring echo of my own, and its body also. I feel - I am - more alert and resilient than just this morning. I now have a spy, confidant, friend, and much more besides. When I return to the Sunless Citadel, there will be more of me than left yesterday.
Now it is time to descend once more into the Citadel, and search for the rest of the Company. It will be dangerous finding them if they have strayed far, but buried riches beckon me back.
***
I believe have found them. I have been on their trail for hours now, and they have wandered a long way from where i left them. A complex, writhing system of natural tunnels connects to the Goblin lairs, and they walked for hours along these dank stone floors.
I have exhausted many of my spells using Invisibility to evade the Goblins and attempting to divine the location of Raemar's sword. I have mastered the Goblins' guttural language now, and I believe they felt my presence once or twice as they passed me by - I overheard them mention dogs, and decided to make haste into these tunnels.
I happened upon a set of heavy, booted footprints which I immediately suspected to be Torvus'; following these from the stream I had been following, I came to the scene of a battle. An enormous spider lay slain, it's fangs bloodied and its poison sacs cut out. Two elven corpses, long dead, lay on the ground nearby. These have been looted, with fingers and arms snapped in the hasty removal of their treasure. The prints in the damp earth suggest that one of the Company were dragged away after the fight - poisoned, I presume.
I wonder if they are still alive, and what they liberated from the corpses? These husks are likely the remains of Drow - the nightmarish, black-skinned deep elves. If that is the case, and their are more of their kin down here, we can expect grave danger ahead at the hands of these malevolent enemies of humankind.
Another thing relates: I have noticed Torvus' visage change. It has been happening for several days, and for some reason I doubt the others have noticed, but it is a change as disturbing as anything I can think of: he now has the look of the Drow about him. The angular cheeks, pointed ears, and all the delicate savagery of the elven countenance is there, tainted with the black stain of the Underdark.
Many unresolved questions suggest themselves, and only one certain fact: that I must be very wary indeed of Torvus; if the recent change in his behaviour is attributable to this transition, then it will worsen - and I can expect a quick stab in the back before too long ... it is that blasted ring - I am sure of it ...
I wonder if any of them are dead after their confrontation with the spider? If Torvus is gone, it may be a blessing in disguise ... soon I shall know. I have left my mark here, and directions to find me should they pass this way before I meet them. And when I do ... I shall try to follow them unobserved for a little while before making my presence known.
Day One:
We have arrived near the sunless citadel, having travelled for days and come to the edge of a deep, lightless chasm. We are too tired to descend today; we shall rest, and enter in the morning.
The people I am travelling with seem unlikely enough to try murdering me. They have in their company a large man who is vocal in his opinons, which are always well-intentioned, and sometimes charitable to the point of impracticality.
If I have anything to worry about with him, it that he will restrict us too much in our range of tactics. It is highly doubtful that the use of poison or torture would be well accepted by anyone in the company, because of his influence … I suppose for now I will play along, at least while under his ever-reproachful gaze.
Torvus is his name. He looks able enough to fight, and was useful in our dealings with the temple Gnome. How well he acquits himself in combat remains to be seen.
It seems they were all brought to the brink of despair by an acidic water creature – and now that I am here, about to descend, I am furious with myself. What are the properties of water Elementals? I can’t remember exactly, though I remember Næurbat explaining them to me in detail. Though I cannot be sure that is what they faced, it sounded too clear and fluid to have been an ooze. I suspect it is perhaps a ParaElemental – which may be vulnerable to fire (I cannot forgive myself this lapse in memory!). I have brought soap with me in the faint hope that it will offer some protection against the acid the creature sprays, but what assistance I can be in killing the creature, I cannot say.
I am planning to snatch the treasure secreted in its lair, while the others attack it; I will prepare Expeditious Retreat in the morning. If we must run, my success will ensure we are at least able to afford healing for our wounds.
I have a vague recollection that Elementals, even the lesser species, can only be hit by magical weapons. I think that the ranger is carrying one – a strange, greenish blade with the draconic words “Memory Warden” inscribed. I have, for some reason which escapes me, the impression that it will pay to keep an eye on that sword.
Torvus also has a troubling ring – I think it is a darkish red, though it could have been the light. It allows him to see in the dark, but it will not let him remove it for long at all. The ring and he seem to be attached in some binding way, and this is not a desirable attribute for a magical ring at all. I fear it may be responsible for his simplemindedness, though that could be optimism on my behalf – but whatever it is, I am certain that there is some disadvantage which will make itself known.
Other than him there are two others in the company – the half-elven warrior, Raemar, and the sneakmage Oritin.
Raemar seems a competent enough woman so far, and her demeanour suggests a certain dignified ability – again, tomorrow will see the truth emerge. I hope that her gender is not an encumbrance to us, but my mother has taught me (in her own, very particular way) not to underestimate what women are capable of.
Oritin is a strange character – a diminutive sneakmage, who seems to have taken on the role my mother must have fitted in her time. He is a rogue of some kind, and hopefully useful with locks and traps, as well as a dabbler in the Art. I suspect, however, that the halfling has had no formal schooling, and so can only guess that he is at best a patchy mage who can augment his abilities as a thief from time to time.
We met in a tavern a couple of nights ago – I solicited them, and they informed me of an opportunity. We found acceptable terms and I have joined them for the duration of this task: to rescue the mayor’s children. There is a reward of some kind for their return, or the discovery of their ring also, but it is insubstantial – I am sure that there is more than one thing glittering in the darkness, however, and I could not hope to survive there alone.
Unfortunately we have very little to protect and heal us from the dangers we face. I have the one bottle of curative which Næurbat gifted me, and Torvus seems able to help a little, but I believe we are in need of a priest-acolyte to aid us. For now I think it would be best if I stay entirely out of harm’s way; I have only a thin layer of thread and magic between anything hostile we may encounter and my mortal flesh.
Tomorrow we descend. I must rest well tonight. I hope this will not be my last entry.
Day Two:
We are staying at the camp of a clan of kobolds, having been led here by “Meepo”. But first I will note the defeat of the Elemental - for it was indeed a lesser Water Elemental.
And indeed nothing was capable of hitting it but the Memory Warden – I unleashed a Colour Spray on it but I cannot tell if it had any effect.
The whole event was a blur for me – it was struck with such force by the first volley of arrows that it could not rise from its lair of an iron barrel. I think the powdered soap (which I conviced everyone but the halfling to cover themselves in) may have worked to counterract its acidic breath, but it is hard to say. Soon I will have spells at my disposal to protect me from such dangers, anyway. I kept out of danger as best I could, and did not take a single scratch. It seems the warriors are indeed able, and even Oritin appeared to lend something to the offensive; even some spellcraft of his own, though I did not have time to wonder what it was.
We found some small gems in the bottom of the barrel. If we earn sufficient money from their sale, perhaps I can scribe one or two of the sneakmage’s spells …
And now, Meepo the kobold is leading us off to rescue a dragon! We burst in on him in a room adorned with small dragonesque statuettes. The creature is a pathetic little thing, but I wonder if there is not a cruel guile behind his snivellings – I think he lets on less than he knows.
His clan’s mascot dragon (!), a baby white drake, has been stolen by goblins, and we will gain rewards more substantial than any the mayor promised if we retrieve it - whether from the kobolds, if we return it intact, or the sale of its organs ...
I have a bone to pick with Meepo, also – over a combination of grogginess from the after-effects of my narcotics, and his deliberate provocation. He made me look foolish, in front of the company and the clan’s queen (Yazrouel), and apparently took delight in it. If not for Torvus I would turn him into a ... well, I would put a bolt between his shoulderblades. As it stands, I must find a more elegant solution to my revenge. Despite my lapse, however, I believe the company is beginning to understand how great an asset I will prove to be.
Tomorrow we set out for the goblin encampment.
Day Three:
Waiting interminably for the spellfilcher, Oritin, to disarm the traps the kobolds have laid for Goblins. If this lagging inefficiency continues I fear we may never see the daylight again.
It is worth noting a change which seems to have come over Torvus. He is showing remarkably little tolerance for the kobold Meepo, and an alteration in his entire person has come upon him almost overnight. I suspect I like it – his preaching seems to have subsided and given over to an odd kind of libertarianism, counterbalanced by a hard-boiled intolerance for ... evil, I expect. How he defines that I am not particularly sure, but he certainly holds Meepo in low esteem, presumably on account of his kobold heritage.
I am uncertain I applaud such a judgemental stance, but it is good that it is now directed towards others, rather than myself. He seems to hold nothing against me for my white hair or pallid skin, and his change of heart (if it continues) will no doubt afford me greater freedom while I am with the company.
***
We have just dispatched a number of Goblins. My Sleep spell has proven invaluable in subduing the beasts, though some have shown an irritating resistance to its effects - though I am sure it is simply a combination of poor luck and hurried casting on my behalf. We have one Goblin prisoner, and neither Torvus nor Raemar seemed to disagree overtly with the execution of the two surplus monsters which fell to my spellcraft.
Meepo is now thoroughly dead. Torvus thrust him through the doorway to draw the Goblins’ attention, hoping they would run through the door and be easily dispached. Unfortunately they very quickly turned the snivelling creature into a pincushion – there were more of them than we first thought, and his body is now cooling on the stone floor. Though I bore the little maggot some ill will over my embarrasment in front of Yazrouel, I did not really want him to die. All of us are a little saddened by the episode, except Torvus – strange indeed that he has changed so much. I suspect the ring ...
It will soon be time to prepare spells. I shall choose an additional Sleep enchantment this time, and though it pains me to go without Mage Armour, I know this is the only way any of us can immediately disable large numbers of our foes. If it comes to it, I still have a scroll of Expeditious Retreat - but I must be more careful than ever to avoid the Goblin javelins, lest I end up like poor Meepo.
I have taken a section of his skin, which I had previously scribed an Arcane Mark upon (a bluff to keep him honest). Perhaps one day I will find the means (and the inclination) to ressurect the brute – he would at least make a grateful servant. In the meantime it will make a fitting ornament for my spellbook.
***
I am alive! Boccob has spared me, though only just, and I am lucky indeed to be breathing. The company has just survived our most desperate battle to date, and many broken bodies of Goblins and Hobgoblins attest to this.
In my darkest hour since I left Næurbat's tutelage, I found myself under physical attack from all quarters. My spells depleted, my health failing, and Goblin spears thrusting at my intestines, it was all I could do to stay alive long enough to drink my healing draught, and watch my companions cut down our foul opponents.
In the end, somehow, we won through. Torvus and Raemar, after a succession of horrible fumbles, cut down the leaders and the monsters’ morale started to crumble. Never again will I sacrifice my defenses with such idiotic abandon – nor allow myself to be flanked in such a way. I should have run, past the door behind us, and off to a safer distance. I could at least have made good then with my crossbow, and avoided the manic session of stabbing, ducking and bleeding I have just lived through. I almost suspect I am growing attached to my companions, and that this is to blame for the heroic impulse to stay and fight which very nearly got me killed.
As I write, Oritin is opening the lock of a chest. I have alerted him to the poison trap I detected on its latch, but he seems undeterred … he has his own peculiar brand of hesitant foolhardiness which I cannot understand. I know he isn’t stupid - perhaps it is his Halfling blood?
Still, I am glad he is with us. I suspect he will one day be a very dangerous little fellow indeed, and I envy him the breadth of his talents – though I wouldn’t sacrifice a thorough command of the Art for any of them.
Aha! He has avoided the needletrap, though it could have gone badly, and we now have piled together a handsome assortment of equipment. Some very well made weapons for the others, including a short bow and sword. Also some gemstones, and several vials of coloured liquid … I hope at least some turn out to be healing potions. Most importantly of all, however, is a scroll: Knock. Soon I will be able to copy it to my spellbook, and no door will be closed to me.
The signet ring of the mayor’s children is here too, and some mail with the same imprint: worth at least a small reward. I fear the youths themselves are dead, but I cannot yet say.
Note: Torvus seems able to heal with a touch – he has just held Raemar and closed a number of small fissures in her body. I do not know how he can do this, but I suspect he is one of the holy warriors I have read about: a Paladin. If that is true, he certainly doesn’t act like I might have expected of a holy knight ... at least not anymore, thankfully.
Just before we entered this room, he smashed the skull of our gobin prisoner against the wall, and painted it with the dark blood of the monster. His justification, a certainty that the Goblin would betray us, proved all too prophetic when we burst in not upon a small white drake, but a room of Goblin warriors right outside their garrison.
I shall be mindful in future to trust these monsters only as far as I can poke a throwing dagger into their eye sockets. I only wish i had a more painful spell to inflict on them than Sleep; when we return to town I must procure some flasks of acid and Alchemist's Fire.
Additionally, though it is unfortunate that Meepo can no longer serve as a guide, I am no more inclined to trust his race of Kobolds - the stunted, treacherous rats that they are - than the Goblins. As I turn our options over in my head, I draw closer and closer to the following conclusion: that we stand to gain more by slaying the drake, and taking our reward forcibly over the dead bodies of the Kobolds, than returning it intact.
For a start, I cannot imagine returning the dragon to be an easy task if it does not wish to come with us. Furthermore it is an evil creature, and better destroyed at this young age than allowed to grow for centuries ... and I am certain that its scaled hide and internal organs will fetch a handsome price at the nearest alchemists' guild - more than we could hope for returning it intact.
I shall attempt to coerce the company to kill it, and to kill the Kobolds as well to make good our payment (as we were promised a scroll for our trouble). In fact, I haven't yet met anything in these depths I haven't wished death upon ... it is perhaps too much to ask for some polite company in such a place, but I would like to move to a city should we ever get out of here alive. People may have their flaws, and at times, terrible flaws - but I would prefer the company of tavern scum and thieves to these stinking demihuman pack-rats any day. But that is supposing we even make it back to the Kobold lair intact ...
I am deathly tired, and it is all I can do to patch my bloodied robe together with a little cantrip. We must soon withdraw, hopefully without incident, and rest. In a day or two we will come back – and then I will show these beasts a viciousness and guile which will make their distant cousins fear me.
I am Lothanion Ninegreaves, and nothing spills my blood without a terrible retribution ...
Day Four:
I am above ground again, and the early rays of sunlight are streaming through the trees, turning dew to steam. I am glad to feel the sun on my skin again. The rest of the Company remain below. I have taken a short break from the dangers of the Citadel, for the purpose of calling a Familiar. I suspect we have only just begun our work there, and it would be idiotic to remain in such a deadly place without taking every advantage available to me. The others press on today, but I will be stronger when I meet them in the morrow.
I came to the edges of this muddy lake yester-evening, and heard the hoarse throbbing of toads' throats in the still night air. I wandered around the water's edge with my lantern, trying to spot one of the little creatures, to no avail, though I recognised their voices. Eventually my patience was rewarded - I spotted one swimming across the lake, and I waited for it at its destination. A quick snatch secured the creature, and it seems a normal, healthy adult of its kind.
The species is the Dappled Slidge; angular and aggressively striped, its pigmentation gradually alters to suit its surrounds. I have chosen this species for its incomparable ability to escape notice and its hardy constitution. Any Familiar is useful to its master so long as it is alive, and the Slidge has a great ability to remain out of sight, and healthy in the most hostile of conditions.
***
I have made the first preparations; I have drained a measure of blood from my veins, combined it with the rare inks and powders Næurbat provided for this occasion, and boiled this down to a thick, reddish black grease over the flame of a candle burning at both ends. This I recombined with enough saliva to give it the consistency of ink, and the Familial Writ i penned out with this mixture and posted for my captive toad.
The toad has already read and consumed a number of the pages; it seems to be growing more aware of me, and more alert to its surroundings. I can feel already the dim stirrings of its thoughts, pressing at the outer edges of my mind, almost as if they were my own, but a step removed.
***
The ritual is completed. The sun is sinking, its golden light reflected in the lake, just as I hear myself reflected in the thoughts of this warty amphibian atop my shoulder. It has changed almost imperceptibly in appearance ... the way it holds itself is more certain and assured than before. It is now a magical creature, and its mind is comparable in scope to many humans' (and more advanced than some).
Its awareness is a reassuring echo of my own, and its body also. I feel - I am - more alert and resilient than just this morning. I now have a spy, confidant, friend, and much more besides. When I return to the Sunless Citadel, there will be more of me than left yesterday.
Now it is time to descend once more into the Citadel, and search for the rest of the Company. It will be dangerous finding them if they have strayed far, but buried riches beckon me back.
***
I believe have found them. I have been on their trail for hours now, and they have wandered a long way from where i left them. A complex, writhing system of natural tunnels connects to the Goblin lairs, and they walked for hours along these dank stone floors.
I have exhausted many of my spells using Invisibility to evade the Goblins and attempting to divine the location of Raemar's sword. I have mastered the Goblins' guttural language now, and I believe they felt my presence once or twice as they passed me by - I overheard them mention dogs, and decided to make haste into these tunnels.
I happened upon a set of heavy, booted footprints which I immediately suspected to be Torvus'; following these from the stream I had been following, I came to the scene of a battle. An enormous spider lay slain, it's fangs bloodied and its poison sacs cut out. Two elven corpses, long dead, lay on the ground nearby. These have been looted, with fingers and arms snapped in the hasty removal of their treasure. The prints in the damp earth suggest that one of the Company were dragged away after the fight - poisoned, I presume.
I wonder if they are still alive, and what they liberated from the corpses? These husks are likely the remains of Drow - the nightmarish, black-skinned deep elves. If that is the case, and their are more of their kin down here, we can expect grave danger ahead at the hands of these malevolent enemies of humankind.
Another thing relates: I have noticed Torvus' visage change. It has been happening for several days, and for some reason I doubt the others have noticed, but it is a change as disturbing as anything I can think of: he now has the look of the Drow about him. The angular cheeks, pointed ears, and all the delicate savagery of the elven countenance is there, tainted with the black stain of the Underdark.
Many unresolved questions suggest themselves, and only one certain fact: that I must be very wary indeed of Torvus; if the recent change in his behaviour is attributable to this transition, then it will worsen - and I can expect a quick stab in the back before too long ... it is that blasted ring - I am sure of it ...
I wonder if any of them are dead after their confrontation with the spider? If Torvus is gone, it may be a blessing in disguise ... soon I shall know. I have left my mark here, and directions to find me should they pass this way before I meet them. And when I do ... I shall try to follow them unobserved for a little while before making my presence known.
