In this game, Bandeeto played Splinder the Dwarven Defender, and Plane Sailing breathed life into Priggle the svirfneblin scout.
Once the group has divine assurance that Priggle is not inadvertently working for an enemy, Velendo opens the door and invites him into the Castle in order to brief him. “It figures,” Priggle says morosely while leaning on his gnomish pick. “Dragon probably spends his time eating deep gnomes. Never get a break, do we?”
The Defenders exchange a look and try to change the subject. “Indeed. You know anything about dragons around here?”
Priggle looks even more pessimistic as he considers the question. “Not dragons. A kobold city a few weeks from here had a civil war about three years ago. According to rumor, the old King was forced into exile. I dunno where; Klixxit hasn’t shown himself since. If he had, we would have found him. My people still have quite a few scores to settle with him.
“The old King was forced out by someone calling himself Dragonking. Dragonking Oathenor, I think it is. Blasted kobolds are full of ideas and self-importance, not that it stops them from raiding our gem mines. We’re always the ones what get the brunt of any changes down here in the underdark.” He frowns.
“Oathenor?” asks Nolin, surprised. “Same name. It might be that the Dragonking is a real dragon.”
Mara leans back, looking nervous. “Oh, good.”
Nolin frowns as something stirs in his mind. "Oh cripes. I do remember something I heard from one of the gnomes back in Eversink. If this dragon is the same as the kobold king, he's supposed to be able to walk through stone." Everyone stares at him, appalled.
Sleep is fitful. The group awakens early, prepares spells, and discusses strategy. Priggle describes the layout of the ruined palace.
“For crying out loud,” complains Velendo, “we’re walking right into a death trap! I hate the idea of fighting the dragon by walking in and springing his trap.”
“Nothing more we can do,” says Malachite tersely. “We might as well get to it.”
Priggle has to argue with the group before they agree to let him scout ahead. They finally agree, figuring he probably won’t do much harm. Priggle and Velendo are the first to leave the safety of the Castle.
“Hssst!” hisses Priggle over his mind link. “There’s a kobold about 100 feet thataway. Richly dressed. Scratching itself. Looks nervous.”
“Really? A kobold?” Velendo strains his eyes, but can’t see it.
“It’s coming this way! I could kill it?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what it has to say.” As Velendo summons Nolin and Agar, Priggle fades backwards into the darkness, blending with rock so that the kobold hopefully won’t notice him. The little lizard-like creature walks forward confidently to the edge of the invisible wall. Adjusting his purple and fur robes and waving a golden scepter, the kobold makes a bold pronouncement… which, unfortunately, no one can hear because of the wall.
“Hang. On,” mimes Nolin, and Velendo dismisses the magical effect. Seemingly unrattled, the kobold starts over. As he does, Priggle slides around behind him and disappears into the gloom. Silently, Agar checks the kobold for magical auras, and finds almost none.
“I am Thurmiap!” announces the kobold in a squeaky voice, speaking in accented draconic. “I am the herald for the Dragonking! Lo, I am his emissary made flesh, and his eyes and ears, and you will obey me as you would him. My flesh is his, and an insult to me is an insult to him.” He smiles toothily. “You may make me the proper obeisance.”
The three Defenders ignore the suggestion. “Greetings Thurmiap, Emissary of the Dragonking Oathenor. Where is his Majesty?”
The richly dressed kobold straightens his back and gestures with his scepter. “He does not wish to expose himself to your expected treachery. Instead, I shall pick out his share of the treasure. You shall show me proper honor, or you shall be rent limb from limb and all of your share will be forfeit. Shall we go now and open the vault?”
Nolin rolls his eyes and translates, and Velendo answers. “We are waiting for our spellcasters to finish preparing the appropriate magics. Without those, we can’t get that vault open. We’ll have to wait for a bit.”
“Hrmmmm. Very well.” The kobold stands and stares at them, even as Priggle’s mental reports filter in.
“The passage is still very congested. Some of this stuff would make nasty deadfalls. I’m coming up on… oh my, lots more rubble in the former temple. I’ll just climb… humph. The room has been excavated. Looks like the dragon wants room to maneuver in. There’s a new pillar on one side, holding up the ceiling – which probably isn’t all that safe. And the wall on the left has been carved out, dug behind, and rebuilt. There’s probably something behind it. Yes. For one thing, there’s darkness leaking out from one of the cracks.”
“You can tell all that?” thinks Velendo. A mental snort of long-suffering, strained patience comes back to him.
“I’m a svirfneblin. Not that you know what that means. No sign of the dragon, but it’s certainly around here somewhere, maybe in the darkness behind that wall. I’m coming back. As far as I can tell, it isn’t going to attack us in the corridors; it probably wants us to get the vault open first.”
Malachite, Mara and the other Defenders emerge as Priggle returns. The thirty dwarven troops arrange themselves in small strike teams, each group ordered to protect a particular hero in the thick of battle. Only Glibstone stays behind.
“Tell the dragon we’re going nowhere until he shows himself,” orders Malachite.
The kobold boggles at his harsh tone. “He takes no orders from the like of you,” Thurmiap replies. “You will treat me as you would treat him, or else you will die.” A slow smile spreads across Malachite’s face.
“All right.”
The group cautiously picks its way towards the vault, every sense tingling as they await a possible ambush. As they approach the former temple to Moradin and the room with the vault door, everyone begins to appreciate the thoroughness of Priggle’s scouting. From the floor 30’ below, even Velendo and Splinder have trouble telling that the ceiling has been weakened. One by one, the heroes filter their way into the room.
“Well?” demands Thurmiap. “Open! Open!”
In cooperation, Velendo begins casting – and creates a flexible wall, stretching the magical barrier to entirely block the lefthand wall and arcing it over his head like an umbrella, about ten feet below the ceiling. As he does so, the little kobold cries out, “Treachery!”
The stone wall to the left smashes outwards, hit by something big behind it. The flexible wall holds, and more Defenders spin with weapons out. Then the horrible sound of snapping stone echoes through the chamber, and the ceiling above their heads shatters and collapses like an avalanche on top of the heroes.
It’s stopped dead by the flexible wall. Visible through the rubble that seemingly hangs in mid-air are four tremendous claws. The dragon was hiding above the ceiling, expecting to bury them in a ceiling collapse before attacking. A horrible roar echoes through the room, and fear spills forth along with choking dust.
Priggle looks up at the blocked stone and the force wall. “Nice work,” he comments. Then the dragon snakes a long, flexible neck around the edge of the flexible wall, coughs horribly, and vomits flesh-corrosive acid over most of the group.
Thurmiap dissolves immediately, flesh bubbling, but the Defenders are completely untouched; preventative spells have shielded them entirely from acid. Oathenor doesn’t much seem to care. A huge smile crosses his rocky, reptilian face, he seems to wink one gem-like eye… and in an instant, his massive stony bulk is transformed entirely into living metal.
Mara recognizes the spell. “Iron body!” she shouts, and as soon as Nolin hastes her she activates her own iron body necklace and flies towards the dragon. Only Oathenor’s head is really close enough to hit, the remainder of his long body is still above her head and protected by Velendo’s wall. “You’re mine,” mutters Mara as she lifts Lightbinder and soars in. As she does so, the dragon uses its reach to attack her first. Its head snaps forward….
It uses its blade-like teeth to forcibly rip the +5 mace from her gauntleted hand….
And it swallows Mara’s weapon.
Silence fills the room. Mara hovers there, shocked. “You swallowed my weapon!” she says in disbelief. She uses her momentum to shield bash the dragon, ineffectually.
Again, Oathenor smiles, this time grinning with teeth like iron swords. It’s clearly having fun. ”WHO’S NEXT?
To be continued….
