D&D 5E Tap Tap Tap

[BoldItalic]

Some hours later, they were back in the chamber at the bottom of the well-shaft. They were surprised to discover that the ropes that the soldiers had laid when they first arrived, had gone. Someone had evidently followed them to the abbey, climbed down after them to untie the ropes from their anchor points and hauled the ropes back up again, presumably hoping to leave them stranded.

They weren't stranded, of course, because given time anyone can climb a five-hundred foot brick-lined shaft, and with magic spells available it can be even easier. Fingers was the first to go and he scuttled up with ease to see if the way was clear. He then discovered that the trapdoor had been closed above them, sealing the shaft at the top end, and he could not shift it. He called down to the others. BoldItalic cast a spell that enabled him to climb with ease, and joined Fingers at the top. "Is it time for the Konk spell again?" asked Fingers.

It was, and the trapdoor burst open with a bang that was funnelled down the shaft and reached the ears of those waiting below. Fingers drew a sword and scrambled smartly out of the hole, up into the abbey cellar where he found to his dismay that several mead barrels, which had apparently been piled on top of the trapdoor to keep it closed, were now lying scattered around him and their valuable contents were starting to ooze out onto the floor. There was no-one else about, though, and BoldItalic joined him, after calling down to the others to follow at their own pace.

"Looks like someone didn't want us to leave," remarked Fingers. "That dastardly king tried to trap us. This whole quest was a phoney." He tut-tutted. "Not a very bright move. Waste of good mead, if you ask me."

"Hmm. It seems unlikely that the king would seek to imprison own daughter and her guards down there," thought BoldItalic. It must be someone else, someone who did not want the quest to succeed. An enemy of good Sir Rylnethaz. A rival, perhaps, for the hand of the princess?"

"If it was, he's in for a big disappointment. No-one gets her now." As he said this, Fingers grinned inwardly and thought secretly about the extra bulge in his own pocket. A bulge made by the emerald necklace that had, until recently, graced the neck of the princess. To his way of thinking, it was wasted on a corpse and she owed him a present, didn't she?

When everyone was up in the mead cellar Sir Rylnethaz, having been the last to climb up, reviewed the situation and came to a decision. "Here is what we are going to do," he said ...

 

[Rylnethaz]

“We are going to resume our original mission. Do not forget that this was a detour, caused by the mind fogging abilities of the princes through the mirror. We set out to accumulate resources in that mausoleum. But it was when we saw the demonic engines that we decided to do something about it too. That brought us here through the infinite staircase. However, if we are to venture forth and find a door to the abyss, it has become perfectly clear from your battle with the demon in the princess’ room, that we need better equipment. So we are going to have another detour. Fortunately, since we have access to the infinite staircase, it will be a matter of time and luck to find a dangerous place to plunder its untold riches, including better weapons.”

Rylnethaz then turned to the swordsmen. “The question is what are you going to do? We are on the surface again and my friends and I are going to leave this world, at least for now. Will you return to your king? What would you say about what happened here? And if not, would you go somewhere to hide now that you know the truth? Would you spread the truth about your king?”

 

[BoldItalic]

Tharivol spoke up first. "We are oath-bound to King Gil-Galad," he said, "And our duty is to report all that has befallen here today. Strictly speaking, we should also try to apprehend you and hand you over to him, but we have seen your power and we know that such a thing would be impossible. Notwithstanding, We must go back if you will release us."

Rylnethaz nodded. "Your loyalty does you credit," he said, "But you do understand that you go to your deaths? The moment you report to an officer, he will immediately disclaim responsibilty for the situation and send you straight to the king to give your account of his daughter's death at my hands. Then, whatever you say, the king will read your mind to see if you speak truly and he will realise that you know the secret of his power over his court. He will have you instantly gagged, bound and summarily executed to prevent you revealing it."

"Nonetheless," put in Heian stubbornly, "Tharivol is right. We must go back."

"Hmm." began BoldItalic, "Perhaps I can offer a way out. With a little double-thinking you can preserve both your lives and your honour."

"How so?"

"You know that we entered the citadel through a portal from another world. We did not enter as enemies, but we might have done and indeed, if we leave and one day secretly return with a great army, we are now your king's enemies anyway. The portal is a weakness in your citadel's defences, is it not? But we have not revealed where it is, have we? Is it not also your duty to obtain intelligence that might help your king thwart a possible invasion? You must follow us to the portal, and through it, so that you can, when the opportunity arises, return to your superiors with detailed information. No-one else in the king's service is in a position to do that. It falls to you. In short, it is your duty to come with us."

The two swordsmen paused a moment while they thought through the twisted logic of what the cunning wizard had said. They seemed to come to some unspoken agreement.

"Where is the portal?" demanded Tharivol bluntly.

"It lies within the heart of the citadel itself," said Rylnethaz carefully. "To show you that, we will all have to return there anyway."

"You will not get past the outer gates. We will call for aid and you will be apprehended."

"If we are challenged, you will say that the princess is behind us with her bodyguard - which is true - and that you are escorting us back to the citadel, which is also true. You need give no details."

Of the two, Heian looked the more uncomfortable. Clotbert could see that something else was pressing on his mind. He guessed what it was. "I will scribe a sealed note addressed to your captain and you will ask for it to be delivered to his quarters to await his return. It will accompany a package of your comrades' personal effects and request that they be returned to their families. Eventually, when the captain does not return, someone will find the note and act upon it. By that time, we will all be long gone."

Clotbert had guessed right, and Heian looked relieved. "You are not bad people," he said simply.

And so it was, that they all reached the Infinite Staircase through the basement of the tower in the citadel. In case you were wondering, the gnomes had by now finished their work upstairs and gone home, whilst the lady-in-waiting, blissfully unaware of the deaths of both her mistress and her fiancé the captain, had gone to visit the glazier for immoral purposes that we need not dwell upon. Suffice it to say that handcuffs and a stepladder were involved.

 

[BoldItalic]

Happy Christmas to all our readers

 

[Rylnethaz]

The elven realm was quite a few steps behind them now and the party was ascending the stair once again. The wooden steps had already given way to gray, uneven stone steps. Torches in the distance were giving a hazy, blurred glow and a light snow had already started falling.

“Clever mind trick BoldItalic, well done,” said Rylnethaz, “Do you think it enough to override years of indoctrination though?”

“I don’t think you are really asking, you are making an observation.”

Rylnethaz smiled to his friend, “ever the wise Vizier.”

“Well, to put your mind at ease, no I do not think so Rylnethaz. I believe that at some point sooner or later they will be overcome with guilt. These men were handpicked to give their lives for the princess. It is not easy to override this. They might come around to it eventually but they will need time. What would you do with them?”

“Assigning them to a post or a task will serve us in the long run, give them time to think and keep our party at a less conspicuous size, at least for now. On the other hand, two more sword arms are always useful when push comes to shove. For the time being though there is no opportunity for them other than to escort us anyway.”

“Ever the pragmatic Coronal,” said BoldItalic, “we’ll keep an eye out then for any opportunity and we will decide about them at that moment.”

“A Coronal with still only the crown in his backpack, let’s not forget. Let’s hope that the next platform will be a more profitable destination. Are these monoliths that I see in the distance? It must be only a hundred or so meters away but with the snow it is difficult to tell if there is movement amongst these or if it is just a light trick. There seems to be a path illuminated by sparsely placed torches leading there.”

 

[BoldItalic]

It was early morning, in the grey light before dawn, and the snowstorm raged fiercely about them making it difficult to see very far. They pulled their cloaks more tightly about them and trudged on, their footprints almost instantly obliterated by the whirling snow. It seemed a desolate and unwelcoming place and Clotbert said a short prayer to protect them from cold, though his words were whipped away and the others heard them not.

With the torch-lit avenue to guide them, they passed between two moss-covered menhirs each several yards across and twice the height of a man; they gave the impression of great age, as if they had stood here since the dawn of time. There were more of the stones to left and right, seeming as if they might curve round to form a great circle and BoldItalic wondered if this was an ancient henge, a site of worship or a monument of some kind from an earlier age.

They went forward and there, in what they guessed was the centre of the circle, a huddle of fur-clad figures stood silently, as if waiting for their arrival. They wore hoods and tunics sewn from the hides of wolves and bears and their boots from the fur of some other animal that Rylnethaz did not recognize. What he did notice immediately was that they were all carrying stone clubs with wooden handles bound with leather thongs but, strangely, they were carrying them raised, as if they were of more ceremonial than warlike use, and Rylnethaz was uncertain of their demeanour. He raised a hand as a signal and his companions halted behind him.

The fur-clad men began a chant in a strange language that even BoldItalic could not identify, beyond thinking that it seemed very ancient. Fearing that it might be the beginning a spell to summon up primæval forces, he raised his staff and prepared a counterspell in his mind. But the chant was not directed at the newcomers. It had the effect that within the circle of the standing stones the weather quietened, the wind dropped to a whisper and the snow ceased to fall.

Feeling more confident that these men were not their enemies, Rylnethaz flung back his cloak and presented, as was the manner of knights in those days who made their identities known to each other by the blazons on their surcoats and shields. It was at that exact moment that the sun rose. A shaft of sunlight struck through a gap between the stones and fell upon Sir Rylnethaz, catching the steel of his mail and making him seem to blaze suddenly out of the shadows around him.

He couldn't have timed it more dramatically if he had tried. The fur-clad men gave hoarse cries and fell to their knees, worshipping this god-like figure clad in raiment of the sun the like of which was beyond their comprehension.

But the moment did not last. There was a harsh cry from the sky above them and a monstrous winged lizard, like the pterodactyl of legend, swooped down and grasped one of the kneeling men in its huge maw. It flew clumsily past and perched on top of one of the menhirs obviously intending to devour its still-struggling prey.

The first to react was ...

 

[BoldItalic]

The first to react was BoldItalic, who cried out a single word. A bolt of lightning sprang from his staff. It struck the monster on its snout causing it to jerk backwards in shock, release its victim and fall bodily off the menhir it had been perched on, wings flapping in an ungainly tangle as it tried to right itself. Fingers sprinted across the intervening few yards, leapt on its back and started to hew at the roots of its wings with his swords, but alas the sinews were surprisingly strong and he made little impression. Sir Rylnethaz went for the head and plunged his sword deep into its mouth, slicing the snake-like tongue almost in twain but flinching at the foul stench of its breath as it screamed defiance at him. Clotbert was more concerned at that moment for the creature's erstwhile victim, who had fallen from its grasp and lay inert and unmoving at the base of the menhir. He spoke a short prayer and called upon Myrristra's power to heal the fallen, hoping that his goddess held some sway in this place.

Meanwhile the fur-clad men, or druids as they were later discovered to be, began another chant that seemed to be a curious phrase repeated over and over again, to a chorus of raucous screeching. Clotbert had never heard anything like it but the strange lizard seemed as though it understood in some way, for it stopped trying to rake Rylnethaz with its claws, ignored the halfling on its back and tilted its head as if listening. Then it rallied suddenly, threw off its attackers and took to the skies, spiralling upwards and honking like a goose that calls to its mate.

BoldItalic was puzzled by the strangeness of the men's language. He hummed as if in imitation of their chant and held the carved tip of his staff to one ear, cupping one hand to try to hear better. He was dismayed and astonished by what he began to understand. The druids' chant was not telling the lizard to flee, quite the contrary; it was urging the monster to return hither with the rest of its flock. The druids were summoning aid, not against the beast who had seized one of their number, but against the adventurers who had tried to intervene.

"They are calling for it to return with more of its kind!" he shouted to the others.

"TO ME!" cried Sir Rylnethaz as he suddenly understood their peril.

 

[Rylnethaz]

“Go, go, go! Away from the ruins! Now! Rally to me!” Rylnethaz kept shouting, now from out of the ruins. “We have to find cover or at least get lost in the haze!”

“Aren’t we a tad too quick to withdraw? Maybe if we attacked the barbarians?” Asked Fingers while running.

“It’s not about them,” said BoldItalic jumping over a fallen stone pillar.

“It’s about the flight of wyverns they have called against us,” Rylnethaz pointed away and up in the air, “we can’t do much against them as we are now.”

“It’s about that bow again, isn't it?” asked Fingers.

“Fingers, just forget about the bow and run faster, we need cover.”

Whenever the blur of snow and smoke would clear even for a while, five winged lizards could be seen descending and closing ever faster.

“How far to the next staircase?” Fingers asked BoldItalic.

“I do not know. We don’t even know if there a staircase ahead, just run!”

“What? What do you mean we don’t know…” and then the ground disappeared from under their feet.

They all fell down into the opening and came tumbling to a halt on the ground, two meters below the surface. It seemed like the opening of a cave.

Clotbert and Tharivol, one of the elven swordsmen, got up first and helped the rest get in the cave.

 

[BoldItalic]

They found themselves in an underground chamber that seemed too square and regular to be anything but artificial. The low flat ceiling was supported at regular intervals by square columns that were all of a bland, light-coloured and featureless stone that was rough and gritty to the touch. The floor was of the same substance but it was worn smooth in places, as if many hard boots had marched over it. Behind the entrance was a large stone block on rollers that seemed as if it was designed to be moved into place to close off the chamber from the world above.

The red light from the morning sun penetrated only weakly into the chamber and BoldItalic made to bring forth a yellow light from his staff. He tried twice, and was puzzled to find that his staff gave out only the feeblest of glimers. Something felt wrong. While he was pondering this strange turn of events, he spied a light approaching from deep in the chamber. It gradually resolved itself into a lantern being carried by a dwarven watchman.

"Best roll the gate shut," said the watchman jovially, "Don't want those druids coming down here tut-tuting all over the place."

"Druids?" asked Clotbert, as Rylnethaz and the two elven soldiers pushed the stone door along on its rollers until the entrance was sealed and the daylight entirely blocked.

"Crazy old men dressed in animal skins. Always chanting. Weird. You must have seen them, surely?"

"Oh, we saw then alright," said BoldItalic, "They tried to set some flying lizards on us."

"Flying lizards? You mean the pteranodons? There's a nest of them up in the cliffs. Eat the occasional druid, and welcome to it, if you ask me. The druids think it's an honour to be chosen. A reward for a lifetime of chanting. I said they were crazy."

"We haven't introduced ourselves, I am Coronal Sir Rylnethaz Redshield, this is my vizier BoldItalic, my ArchPriest Clotbert The Pathetic, and Fingers, our factotum. These two soldiers are our escort."

The watchman raised his lantern to look at their faces, then grunted in apparent satisfaction. "I'm the watchman. You can call me Brottor, if you like. I've come to guide you to the next step."

Rylnethaz was astonished by what the dwarf had just said. "The next step?" he asked.

"Yes, you'll never find the right staircase in all these columns if I don't show you. Just follow me," and he led the way deep into the chamber, counting pillars as he went.

"Pardon my asking, Brottor," began BoldItalic as they walked along behind him, "But is there something peculiar about the stonework down here?"

"Nineteen, twenty, ... Yes, dwarven composite. Secret formula. Has anti-magic properties. This place was built as a bunker in the spell-wars years ago. Never needed to be used, I'm glad to say. Twenty-one, ..."

Brottor stopped and, reaching up, pulled down a circle of the roof surrounding one of the pillars. It dropped squeakily to the ground, unfolding an iron staircase that ascended into the hole that was revealed in the ceiling. "There you go, this one is for you," he announced.

"Er, thank you," said Rylnethaz. "Fingers, it is customary to tip the watchman. I believe you have a few coins of ours about you, do you not?"

Fingers coughed. He did, but he wondered how Rylnethaz knew. He handed over some gold anyway, with best grace he could muster. He thought he would try to get something in exchange, though, just on principle, even if it was only information that might one day prove useful. "Do all the pillars have staircases like this one?" he asked innocently.

Brottor laughed, while adroitly pocketing the coins. "Only when they need to. You wouldn't believe the people who have come through here, all looking for something. Each staircase is for someone different. It takes them where they want to go. But it's personal to them. Doesn't work for anyone else."

"And this one is mine?" asked Rylnethaz, "I had no idea. Thank you, Brottor, perhaps we will meet again in another place."

"I doubt it. But thank you anyway, Sir Rylnethaz. Now up you go, and may good fortune snap at your heels like a terrier dog."

"A quaint expression," mused Clotbert as they climbed the iron stairs, "But apt, somehow, very apt."

 

[BoldItalic]

The landscape was desolate beyond belief. Not a living thing was to be seen. No grass grew upon the featureless grey boulders that lay tumbled all around and no footprints had ever trod the dust. It had been so for aeons and the air that blew past their faces was not just dead, it had never been alive.

"What is this place?" cried BoldItalic, "Is this truly where you wished to go? Has that dwarf tricked us?"

"I think," began Rylnethaz, "that this place is a blank slate. It will become what I truly want it to be, but not until I make it so." He let his imagination wander and announced, with great certainty, "Atop that escarpment yonder, there is a grassy plain where herds of wild horses roam. No more than a mile hence across the plain, lies a small castle atop a hill. The gate lies open to us, and a banquet awaits us in the hall."

"Sounds good, but how do you know? Have you been here before?" asked Fingers.

"No, but I have now wished it," declared Sir Rylnethaz, "and thus it is so. Shall we investigate the castle?"

An hour later, they had climbed the escarpment by a sloping path that Sir Rylnethaz spoke into existance and the towers of a castle could indeed be seen across verdant pasturelands. A red banner flew from one of the turrets. Clotbert was troubled and Rylnethaz asked him what was wrong.

"If that castle is there merely because you wished it to be, then you are become as a god in this place, able to shape reality to your will, and being in the presence of that amount of power is terrifying," he said.

Rylnethaz turned to the wizard. "How say you, vizier? he asked. "I imagined a castle, and there is a castle. There is no other explanation, is there?"

"Well," began BoldItalic, "Theoretically, it is possible that the castle was already there, that you somehow sensed its presence and, that thought having come into your mind, you supposed it to be a wish on your part."

Clotbert seized upon this line, which he found much more comforting than the alternative. "That's right," he agreed, nodding his head vigorously, "You wouldn't know. It would just seem as though it was your idea."

"Begging your pardon," interrupted Fingers, scuffing his feet on the ground, "But there wouldn't happen to be a small pile of diamonds right here would there?"

Rylnethaz turned to him. "I think that's fairly unlikely. But let's try something. I want you to imagine an emerald necklace, like the one the princess was wearing when she died. Close your eyes and think about it very hard."

Fingers closed his eyes but didn't have think very hard at all, being acutely aware of what was in his pocket and suddenly realising that Rylnethaz must have known about it all along. He thought very hard about a ruby necklace instead.

"Now look in your pocket."

"Well, that's just amazing. An emerald necklace. And you just conjurered it into existance, just like that! Do you realise just how rich this could make us?" Fingers was cornered. Rylnethaz knew that he knew that Rylnethaz knew and Fingers couldn't very well admit it. Or could he? "Nice try, but it was there in my pocket all along. I stole it from her corpse when no-one was looking. Anyway, she promised it to me."

"I know. Now look in your other pocket."

Fingers pulled out a ruby necklace that he was quite certain hadn't been there two minutes earlier. Then he fainted as the enormity of it all hit him. Luckily, he was only short so he didn't have far to fall. Clotbert caught him and splashed water over his face to bring him round.

Meanwhile, the two elven swordsmen had glanced at each other with 'are you thinking what I'm thinking?' expressions on their faces. They were, and they instantaneously made an unspoken agreement to abandon their plan to report back to the citadel of Gil-Galad when they got the chance and now to side, instead, with Rylnethaz. "We might even get paid," said Heian. "That would make a change," agreed Tharivol.

Rylnethaz turned to the two. "I have it in mind to use the castle as a base of operations for a while. I will be putting you two in charge of the castle defences. If you need anything, just ask. Oh, and by the way, in case you are wondering, no, I'm not like Gil-Galad; I can't read your minds. But I am good at guessing."

"Very good, sir," replied Tharivol, saluting smartly.