The problem was with luck. He didn’t have any.
No, that isn’t true. He had lots. The problem – Olum Shiverstone had thought a lot about the problem, these past few hundred years chained in the vault – the problem was that it was all bad. Now, why should that be? Olum wasn’t sure. He had settled on some sort of karmic deficiency perpetrated by one of his long dead ancestors, or maybe he had triggered some sort of cursed trap early in his thieving career that he had never noticed at the time. Maybe Moradin hated him. Who could say? And if he ever met anyone who could say, Olum had no doubt that the wise old crone would fall dead of a heart attack seconds before she would tell him.
For most people, luck was an old friend. For Olum, luck was the loud abrasive friend with the flu who comes over at an inconvenient time, makes racist comments, and eats all your favorite food while hitting on your wife.
“All right,” says Agar cheerfully as Proty pulses and squirms on his shoulder. “All the magic items are identified and distributed. Everyone have any questions on what they do?”
His question is partially drowned out by the sound of Glibstone’s bells, jingling from the other corner of the room. “Did you hear about the priests of the Dairy God? Apparently, they have the power to churn undead!” Tao’s laughter bubbles forth, and a few of the dwarves reluctantly give polite chuckles. The jester and loremaster bobs his head in response.
It wasn’t as if Olum wasn’t talented. Incompetence would have been too easy an excuse for his checkered career. He was darned good at sneaking, for instance, and considering the number of times that guards had walked in on him mid-job he had learned how to move silently as well. He knew traps, he knew locks, and he knew people. But somewhere, somehow, the fates had it in for him. If Olum burgled a long-lost tomb, that would be the day that the inhabitant’s equally long-lost relatives would show up to pay their respects. If he stole a necklace from a well-respected jeweler, it would turn out to be the cursed ruby of Gaxxos, which would doubtlessly turn him into a chicken even as crazed cultists hunted him down with blades dripping poison.
Take those damn ghouls, for instance. Olum had thought about going legit, so he had answered an ad. A simple ad. “Guide needed in underground adventure. High pay, high glory!” Before he knew it, he was sweet-talked and bamboozled by a convincing paladin and his uppity sword, and dragged down into a smelly hell filled with gnashing teeth and consistent paralysis. High pay? Turns out ghouls didn’t have much cause to carry coinage, and the damn cleric hogged the lion’s share of the magic items. High glory? No bard came along with them. But he did his job, trooping after Acimer and Hundle and Aleax and Morak, even as they dropped him into one bad scrape after another.
“I’ve got all the gems I think I’ll need,” announces Velendo. “I’ve taken the ones which I think will serve for both
true resurrections and
resurrection spells, and a handful of lesser gems to serve as currency. I’ll try not to use the nice ones, though; they’re really beautiful.”
“I’ll appraise ‘em fer you later, sir,” barks a dwarven soldier.
“That’d be just fine, soldier. Thank you.”
Glibstone says nothing as he watches Velendo unknowingly pocket his kingdom's priceless crown jewels, but he jingles slightly as his face develops a nervous tic. “Err…" he starts to say. Velendo turns with an inquiring look on his face, and Glibstone turns his protest into a joke. "A ship crashes against a shore of the Sunless Sea. One half of the rocky beach is controlled by the svirfneblin, and the other half is controlled by drow elves. Where do the drow bury the survivors?”
Velendo tries to look patient. “I'll bite.” He raises his eyebrows. “You can’t bury survivors.”
Glibstone jingles authoritatively. “You don’t know drow elves very well, do you?”
Then it all came crashing down at the Gap of Silk. They had run from mind flayers (losing Hundle in the process), gotten lost a dozen times, fallen into the slime pits of Kek, and Olum had almost been made into dwarf stew by some nasty little feral race with sharpened teeth. Finally they confronted the ghoulish army led by the ridiculously powerful ghoul queen, and what happens? Morak decides that the only way to destroy the army is to drop the ceiling on them.
The ceiling. In a volcanic cavern. Moradin’s Bunghole, but that man was dangerous to be around. And Aleax had just egged him on with his little lectures about “glory” and “honor,” which didn’t exactly help.
At that point, of course, Aleax was about to be killed, and Acimer had gotten his face bitten off by her Royal Hungriness herself, so there might not have been many other choices. When the dust and steam finally cleared, though, Olum was the only one left alive. Just him. Four miles underground. In a region swarming with ghouls. And the only treasure he could easily scavenge was that bloody holy sword of Aleax’s.
And then the mule ran away.
“I have everything we’ll need at Mridsgate, I think,” states Glibstone with caution. “I think I might actually miss you people. Say, Priggle, why did the deep gnome cross the road?”
Priggle looks at him suspiciously. “I don’t know.”
“No one liked him on the side he was on.” Tao erupts into laughter, and even Priggle smiles. A little. Glibstone walks over and looks up at Tao, blushing a bit.
“Err… well, you’ve been very appreciative of the traditional humor.”
jingle
“They’re funny, Glibstone! And you’re funny, too.” Glibstone blushes noticeably beneath his thick beard.
“Hummph. If you’re going off into the unknown, I want you to take this with you. Perhaps it will cheer you in places where there is no cheer.” He pushes a worn, leather bound book into her hand. It is entitled in dwarvish
Traditional Humor.
“Why, thank you, Glibstone! That’s so kind of you! This must be very valuable.” He shrugs. “I know that we’re splitting off when this earth creature sends us wherever we wish to go, but I wish you were coming with us.” Mara smiles her agreement. Malachite controls an involuntary cough. Unnoticed, a number of the dwarven troops catch each others’ gaze and trade a secret look.
Suddenly Tao staggers, and her eyes pour forth green light. The voice of Galanna speaks through her.
"Tao. Speak of my gospel to those who do not believe. There is still time to save some of their souls, before the fall is over, if you do what I ask. Be strong in your faith, and you will deliver them from darkness. You do my will. Now, more than ever, you have my blessing."
Tao straightens, gasping. "You okay?" asks Nolin.
"Yes. But what did she mean?" Tao rubs at her shoulder. "I had odd dreams last night, prophetic dreams that scared me. I dreamed that I was flying, and then falling, and when I woke up my shoulder was incredibly sore. It felt as if I'd been firing a bow all night."
"Right handed or left handed?"
"Left handed."
Nolin pauses. "Galanna is supposed to be left handed."
"I know. But I don't know what it means, or what Galanna wants of me. I hope I'm worthy. I don't recruit; I just kill things." She shakes her head with worry.
So he’d snuck, and he’d creeped, and he’d wheedled his way through more than a month of terrified travel. At long last he’d reached a semblance of civilization here in the dwarven city of Mrid. And – this part still got him, even after hundreds of years – their lorekeepers hadn’t believed him. It was enough to make you cry. Or to want to rob their vault, anyways. He chose the latter.
One ill-timed sneeze in the middle of a dwarven dance – why’d he sneeze, then? – and that was it. Except it wasn’t. Blah, blah, pay your debt. Blah blah, learn from your mistakes in the afterlife if you couldn’t learn in life. You know, it just wasn’t fair. And when someone came to save him, who did it turn out to be? That same bedratted holy sword, and another paladin and cleric, all in a group of people headed down to hunt for more damn ghouls! Really, it was enough to make a ghost cry.
Malachite glances back. “Is Splinder secure?” The dwarven defender is strolling along with his hands securely bound and weapons removed, a funny look on his face.
“I am indeed,” answers Olum. “It’s odd to feel a heartbeat again. It feels good.” Malachite gazes at him suspiciously. Deep at the back of his mind, Olum can feel Splinder’s personality, waiting patiently as he lets his body be borrowed by a dwarf who needs it more.
“You promised you would not steal this dwarf’s body. In addition, you swore you wouldn’t betray us to our enemies. Never forget that.” Olum frowns, and Splinder’s face frowns with him.
“Of course I did! You’re my only chance of getting out of this misbegotten vault before another hundred and thirty eight years go by! You think I’m going to abuse that trust? Don’t bet on it.” The dwarf gestures with bound hands. “In any case, you won’t have cause to regret your actions. I promised that, and I meant it.” He smiles. “Let’s go. Before my luck notices.”
When the group passes through the portal into the last room of the vault, the new cavern they enter is completely empty. Silissa is gone. The area that was once her earthen maelstrom is now just rippled stone, with only the end of a small stone pillar emerging from the middle of it.
“Trap?” asks Velendo.
“Trap,” concludes Nolin with a nod. “Maybe someone has killed her?”
“No evil,” says Mara.
“No undead,” says Malachite. He gives his head a toss towards Splinder. “Except for him.”
Nolin frowns. “Agar, what do you see?”
Agar examines the cavern with
arcane sight, and his brow wrinkles. “A weak illusion spell has been cast on the end of that post. The stone post itself is the linchpin for a whole series of complex spells that involve divination, conjuring, all sorts of things. Powerful magic.”
“So something we don’t want to trigger? No one step on that stone!” cautions Velendo. “No telling what it might do.” He tries to see through any illusion on the post, but notices nothing different.
True seeing reveals nothing as well.
After debating different ways of dealing with the problem, Agar eventually shows bravery and casts
fly, swooping towards the stone post. “So, I wasn’t kidding about this stone post being a linchpin. If it dissolves, all the spells that it holds in abeyance will trigger.” He draws on his pipe. “Fascinating. And I think…” The halfling reaches down and tentatively brushes the end of the post with the tip of his finger. As he does so, an illusory mouth appears in the top of the post, and Silissa’s contralto voice fills his hearing.
“Things are not what they were before, and the avalanche has carried away the anchor that has kept me here. You rest, and I have departed, and I can not foresee what may draw me back. However, I will not make my offers a lie. Pay the price I requested, and a way will open for you to take you farther on your path, or for some return you to whence you came. You are indebted to me, and I will know when the price is paid.
Perhaps my sister can give you words of hope. I can not, for there are none to give.”
Agar looks around. “
Magic mouth. I should have guessed.”
Tao looks annoyed as she rubs her riding lizard’s scales. “So what did she mean, and what do we do now?”
“Pay the price she requested? I guess it would mean that ring from the dragon.” Velendo looks aggrieved at Agar’s words.
“I heard the
legend lore you performed on that ring. It’s no simple
ring of merging into stone, as the
identify tried to indicate; that thing is some sort of focus for major elemental power. And if it’s worth what I think it is…” He looks sick, and Nolin finishes his sentence.
“..then it’s worth more then we are. A couple of hundred thousand gold, maybe? But the question isn’t how much it’s worth. The question is, is it worth giving the thing up in order to possibly cut weeks off of our travel time?” He looks around.
Tao nods. “I think so. If we don’t do this, we have to go out the front and head into the underdark the hard way, and there are still undead beholders waiting for us. I don’t think we can afford to
not take Silissa up on her offer.” Mara agrees, and so do the other Defenders and troops. In Splinder’s body, Olum keeps his feelings to himself about giving away the ring.
Oh, hi, luck. Welcome back.
“Well, let’s do it, then. No time like the present. Everyone ready?”
“I think so. Where do you think we’re going to end up?”
“I have no idea. But be ready for anything.”
“Okay,” says Agar nervously. “Here goes.” Cautiously, he hovers over the stone post and lays the ring on top of it. In seconds it is absorbed, and the stone post dissolves away like loose sand.
The stone churns into a whirling and grinding vortex, and Agar yelps as he drawn down into the darkness.
“Oh!” says Mara from atop Luminor. “That was fast!” She kicks her warhorse forward, and Luminor responds, not even hesitating as he leaps into the vortex. Malachite follows, along with other Defenders and dwarven troops.
The last to leave is Galthia, who stands alone on the edge of the maelstrom for a few seconds as he takes one last look around the room. He can feel Silissa’s eye in his belly, thrumming with quiet power. If he asks a silent question, though, no one answers it. Without a word he steps into the darkness and disappears, leaving that place forever.
To be continued….
End of Compiled Book Two.
