They emerge on the far side of the portal with their mindlink to the rest of the party completely cut off. Oh no, thinks Nolin. We must be extraplanar or in a shielded room. He winces at the sound coming from him, and looks around. Probably the latter. From inside of him, he feels the phoenix Rides-The-Sun pulse in silent agreement.
In front of him is an indecipherable maze of death. Sharpened gears slide back and forth, huge blocks slam down at random intervals, and sharpened spikes slide back and forth at odd intervals. Sections of stone floor, apparently animated, flex and fold in a way that would instantly pulp flesh. The noise of the stone smashing against itself is deafening.
Agar lets off a low whistle. “Wow,” he says to no one in particular. “Messy.”
Nolin looks down at Glibstone. “Tradition will see you safely through? What does that mean?” Glibstone shrugs in ignorance, and Nolin studies the deathtrap in front of him with a practiced eye. Think of it as music, he thinks. It has a pattern or a rhythm. I just have to see it. Then he does; his ear picks up a beat in the crashing rock, a pattern that reminds him of something that he first heard years ago, back when he knew Grundo the dwarven battlerager. His eyebrows narrow as he tries to remember. “Music?” he asks out loud. “A dance?”
Glibstone frowns next to him, and then his heavily lined and bearded face lights up. Bells jingle. “The bailkrin!”
Nolin looks confused for just a few seconds. The bailkrin? The traditional dwarven wedding and celebration dance? And then, like an image suddenly snapping into focus, Nolin sees it and laughs. “The bailkrin! Of course!”
“What?” asks Agar, confused.
“It’s an old dwarvish dance,” Nolin explains. “One that probably only a dwarf would know. If you perform it properly, stepping off this stone…” A huge stone hammer slams down in front of them. “NOW, and you follow the dance at the normal speed, you should end up on the other side of the trap completely safely.” Glibstone, now fully understanding, nods in agreement.
“I had heard that the artisan who designed the waterfall’s hammer-song in Mrid’s central square worked on the palace as well. Now I know where.”
Glibstone reminds Nolin of the exact steps of the dance, and then they return back through the portal to tell the others. “It’s really easy!” says Nolin. “Let’s practice.” Malachite looks extremely dubious as he watches the dwarven troops practicing.
“Dancing isn’t my strong point. Perhaps I’d best dimension door across.” Velendo nods in agreement, and Tao looks around.
“Let’s leave the mounts in here as well. I don’t think Newt, my giant lizard, would make it through safely.” She pats the beast fondly, and it snaps out a long tongue and licks her. Mara nuzzles Luminor and whispers some words to him, and he neighs in accordance.
Back through the portal, Nolin is the first one to cross. It takes an iron will. He knows the steps of the dance and the music sounds in his head, but he has to focus his concentration as a rasping iron gear grinds towards him. He twists in the correct dance step and bows to his imaginary partner, and the gear whistles by just above his head. Nolin stamps his left foot twice and spins forward, and several tons of stone smash the floor where he was just standing. Within a minute, he’s standing safely on the other side of the deathtrap, laughing with sweat beading on his forehead. “Come across!” he calls. “It’s fun!”
"Sure it is."
Within a short time, everyone has passed, either by magic or by dance skill. Only Agar is injured. The halfling does the dance step correctly, but his steps are shorter than a normal dwarf's, and he isn’t completely clear as a stone block crunches down on the side of his foot. Stifling a cry of pain, he wrenches his foot clear and dances faster, barely dodging a lowered ceiling as he resumes the dance. He reaches safety on the far side, and shakes his head. “Fun if you’re a dwarf, that is. Yikes.”
The Defenders now stand in a room similar to the first, but lined completely with weapon and armor racks. To one side are deep trenches in the floor, filled with thousands of old copper pieces. Many of the weapon and armor racks are empty, presumably used by the perished dwarven soldiers, but it is a mute tribute to the declining population of Mrid that hundreds of arms and armor still stand gleaming around the huge room. Glibstone wanders around the armory, handpicking certain weapons to bring with him back to Mridsgate.
“How are you going to carry all of those?” asks Mara, curious.
In answer, Glibstone unrolls something similar to a portable hole across the floor and starts placing sheathed weapons inside. “If needed, I can remove these later, but best to gather as we go,” he explains with a rare smile. The Loremaster seems to be concentrating on named weapons, and weapons and armor that once belonged to long-dead dwarven heroes. As he works, he recites traditional dwarvish jokes to anyone who will listen.
The other heroes pass their time looking about the room, and in a musty corner behind a set of ancient plate mail Tao finds an old key pegged to the wall. “What’s this?” she asks aloud, and she and Galthia examine it as the others come over. It’s quite large, iron and rusty.
“It’s got a slight enchantment,” offers Agar. “Errr…. Conjuration and abjuration.”
“Let me see that!” Nolin says as he crouches next to them. “Huh. Look at that symbol.” He points to a barely readable imprint on the base of the key, a rough throne flecked with tiny shreds of gold leaf. The bard’s eyes widen. “Wait a second. That’s the symbol of Goldthrone!”
“Rubbish,” states Glibstone flatly from inside the nearby portable hole. He pulls himself up, bells jingling, and glares. “The place never existed. It’s a myth.”
“Forgotten lore?” asks Galthia. “Like Tuz’zud, and the Ebon Door?” Glibstone glares at him and grunts heavily.
“No. A myth. Like the elven treasure-bunnies, or friendly githzerai. A children’s tale, something that never existed and never will exist.” Galthia hurrumphs, and Nolin quickly explains, eyes sparkling.
“Goldthrone is a lost dwarven kingdom from far down south. Supposedly thousands of years ago, before humans were common, the entire kingdom of Goldthrone vanished overnight. Tens of thousands of dwarves, gone! And not only did the dwarves disappear, but so did their cities and the tunnels between them. Fwoosh, gone, with nary a trace.” He lowers his voice, drawing the listeners in. “Some say that Moradin was angry with them, but others say that the dwarven Gods took them directly to heaven. No one knows.” Splinder nods, obviously recognizing the story, and the other dwarves move closer to better hear the bard.
“Because it never happened,” interrupts Glibstone, his voice pedantic. “Trust me, I know the Lore, and you’re passing on lies as truth.” Nolin rolls his eyes and continues as if Glibstone never spoke.
"I know a snippet of verse about it. Let's see...
"Goldthrone stood
Foremost of all
Taken or sent
Draining away
Growing despite
Waiting its place
Lost and alone
Back on the day."
Nolin clears his throat. “Occasionally relics are found that are supposedly from there. And now this! I wonder if it’s a counterfeit?” He bangs it in emphasis on his hand, and is startled to hear a faint ringing tone. Agar perks up.
“A planar key?”
Nolin looks down at the ancient piece of metal in his hand. “Maybe. It’s hollow, and it rings a little. It may be a component to a plane shift.” He shrugs, clearly excited. “No use wondering about it now. But let’s hang on to it.” He looks at the old key longingly, and tucks it into his belt pouch.
By now the group has eaten, and Glibstone is finished packing weapons and armor. The dwarf is studying the next seven portals and mumbling to himself. “The lock has to do with how far underground we are, as well as some religious symbology of Moradin. I think I almost have it.” He perks up. “Prithee, do you know what sound a Dwarven God makes when he falls down the stairs?”
Everyone looks at Nolin, who shakes his head. “No.”
Glibstone jingles. “CLANGEDDIN CLANGEDDIN CLANGEDDIN clangeddin clangeddin.”
Nolin laughs. “Okay, that’s funny.” Tao frowns.
“I don’t get it.”
As Splinder explains, Glibstone touches a flowstone mural one last time, and the portals all erupt into life. “Through the portal marked Venya, I’d say,” says Glibstone. “The third of the Seven Heavens. This is the treasury.”
“What is the guardian here?”
Glibstone looks dubious. “The treasure is said to protect itself.”
Velendo looks at the portal suspiciously. “Agar, can you see through it?” Agar shakes his head to say no, having already used up his ability to gate sense for the day. “Then I suggest we do what we did last time. Just send three people through. Nolin, Galthia, Glibstone?” The three nod. “The rest of will follow exactly a minute later. If it isn’t safe for us, send someone back through to tell us.”
They step through.
To be continued….
