The Risen Goddess (Updated 3.10.08)

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22-- Into the Delve, for once and for all (cont.)

The group sets out the next day, armed to the teeth and bristling with prepared spells. The mood is somber, as Taran, Gorquen and Rex undertake their morning calisthenics, and try to loosen up their muscles in anticipation of a terrific battle.

The goblins are true to their word, and when they spot the banner requesting admittance to the Delve, steer the party's boat to a filthy and stagnant pool of shallow water that serves double duty as a dock and a waste-disposal site. Broken pots, discarded bits of clothing and other unidentifiable refuse laps up around the edges of the boat as the group steps into the Delve for the first time.

The place is massive, if not well-kept, and despite the goblin children that swarm about like malodorous insects, the group approaches the place with a sort of quiet reverence. What forms the basis for a goblin tent-city looks to Thelbar's trained eye like a dwarf-made channel, meant to be flooded in order to secure larger vessels than the one the group sailed up in.

Why a lake-faring dwarven clan would require larger vessels is another mystery, however, and one that would have to wait to be answered.

The party is met by none other than the very war-leader who first surrendered to them outside of the refugee camp. Taran stares daggers into the little beast, but in the name of diplomacy refrains from beating him severely. The goblin crowingly tells the group that they have not even seen the main gates, despite their long walk, and hints that the delve is so big, that a goblin might starve to death before he could walk from one end to another.

They enter into a massive passage, at least one hundred feet in width and twice that in height, leading back into the mountain itself. The walkway runs along either side of an eighty-foot wide channel, recessed another forty feet into the ground. At regular intervals, the ground slopes down so sharply that stairs are cut in the walkway on either side.

After several minutes of this, Thelbar has deduced the purpose of such a strange chamber. "We are walking in a lock-weir, brother!" At Taran's bewildered expression, Thelbar continues, "This is a giant passage that can be flooded, in order to give ships access from some underground waterway to the lake outside."

Taran furrows his brow, then seems to understand. "What magic!" he mutters. "These dwarves must be powerful sorcerers."

"Wizards, you mean," Indy corrects him. "You are a sorcerer. Most dwarvish spellcasters are wizards."

"This is an engineering feat, not an arcane one," Thelbar states.

"Goddess of my Heart, Ishlok preserve us," Kyreel mutters as she grasps the enormity of what she is hearing.

"Bad spot to fight a dragon in, I reckon," Rex sagely mutters, as he spits on the ground.

Taran follows Rex's gaze up to the ceiling, so high that his lamplight cannot reach it. "Yeah. Real bad."

A few more minutes pass, and Taran begins to wonder if he'll ever see the other side of this monstrous passage. But eventually, the passage ends at a pair of massive stone doors. The giant-sized portal is flanked by switchback stairs cut in to the wall, giving access to a walkway and guard post that sits fifty feet above floor level. This walkway is swarming with dirty goblins.

The goblin war-chief steps forward to give directions. "Okay, we open door--you go in. We close. We no open unless you knock real loud three times, like this: one, two, um . . . oh yeah, three!"

The stone doors are unbarred and slowly swing open, revealing a short tunnel that opens up to a large cavern, judging by the pressure shift and gust of cold air. The air bites skin even through layers of furs and wool. The goblins grow agitated and restless, dancing about and casting frightened glances into the darkness beyond the portal.

Taran laughs softly to himself and shakes his head at the spinelessness of goblins.

The party prepares protective spells and carefully moves into the cavern beyond. What they see there only leads them to wonder anew about the means of the dwarves who built this place.

They walk into a massive bowl-shaped cavern, bisected by a huge gorge, and so tall that the ceiling would be completely unseen if it wasn't giving off a weak, bluish light.

"If I didn't know better," Indy states, "I'd think that they had a sky-light up there."

"Keep your eyes open and head up. Remember . . ." Taran does not get to finish his thought, as he is struck from behind by a cone of sub-zero air, and whirling ice particles! Fortunately, Indy manages to drop into a reflexive roll, and shield himself from the frigid blast by hiding behind the fighter.

The group whirls around and finds that the other side of the portal has an identical stair-walkway construction framing it, but instead of goblins, the walkway on this side is occupied by a huge snow and ice encrusted dragon! The beast is partially hidden by the hand-rail at the walkway's edge, but it must be easily thirty feet in length. Its slitted eyes are black fissures fringed with blue, and they open, then narrow as it regards its prey. It may, perhaps be confused that the target of its icy breath stands and shakes ice from his beard, then flies straight up in the air, brandishing a sword!

Kyreel says a prayer over the group, and Indy fires a bolt from his crossbow that bounces off the scales around the dragon's mouth. Thelbar, on the other hand, has a more effective response, and after hasting himself, he gestures and calls into being a ball of fiery force, centered on the wyrm's serpentine body, leaving Taran enough room to fly forward and slash at the creature's eyes with Black Lisa.

The dragon slithers forward off of its perch, and spreads a pair of membranous wings, gliding silently like an owl into the party's midst. It lashes out with its claws and tail at Thelbar as it passes, wounding the mage, then deposits itself on the ground closer to the cavern rift, well away from any of the human's melee attacks.

Indy and Rex both take up overlapping fire positions and try to occupy the beast with crossbow strikes, with little effect.

Kyreel scrambles forward to heal the gravely wounded mage as Thelbar casts his second fireball, and unleashes a third, this time from a wand. Taran covers the distance and manages another slash, but this time, the frigid beast whips its head away from Black Lisa's sharp edge, and strikes at Taran with its tail, driving him into the hard stone floor and giving the dragon room to flee.

And flee it does, but not before Thelbar can hit it with another fireball from his wand. Unfortunately, the dragon still has enough life left in it to fly upward towards the ceiling, and dive down into the crevice, disappearing from sight.

As Kyreel looks about to take stock of her companion's wounds, Taran orders Rex to "bang on that door!" After a minute or so of waiting, the door slowly creaks open, revealing several curious goblin heads staring at the group.

"What you forget?" the war-chief asks. "Leave big spear at home? Me often leave . . ."

"Shut the f--k up," Taran says as he pushes past the goblin. "We're going out to the lake, but we'll be back soon. You be ready, or you answer to me."

As the group shoves past the goblins and heads for the lake, the war-chief looks at his companions quizzically. "It snowing in big cave now?"

 

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23-- "Revenge is a dish best served cold . . ."

All in all, it could have been worse. They met a white dragon and managed to hurt the beast, though they couldn't pin it down long enough to kill it. Nonetheless, Taran is convinced that they have the advantage due to their healing magic, and now all that remains is to find the monster's lair, and finish the job. Should be a short day.

The group impatiently waits out the evening, and between Kyreel and Thelbar manage to heal up completely. The next day, Thelbar prepares a basin of water for his scrying spell. He looks for the dragon, but finds much, much more than he'd expected.

The dragon is lying on the floor of a large stone chamber. The room is dimly lit with the eerie bluish glow from the crevasse room, but the glow is stronger here. The dragon's head is in the lap of a concerned looking grey-skinned dwarf, seated on a massive throne. The Kingly figure is stroking the dragon's head, while another dwarf dressed in ceremonial robes rubs some sort of ointment into the dragon's burns.

"Sonofabitch!" Taran curses. "Those bastards are healing our dragon! We gotta put a stop to this before somebody doesn't get killed!"

The party barrels into their boat, and makes for the Great Delve at top speed. They dash past the guards at the gate, and arrive at the main doors winded and out of breath. Taran snatches a goblin by the cuff of its raggedy shirt and demands to know where the mechanism for opening the doors is. The goblin points out a recessed wheel cleverly disguised to blend in with the surrounding rock, and Rex hustles over to operate it.

The group gathers into their accustomed marching order and Indy is sent ahead to scout. Taran had formulated a strategy for searching the room while in the boat, and he begins to explain it to the others. But surprisingly enough, it seems that the dragon is a creature of habit, as Indy's first stealthy search of the room turns up a distinctly dragon-like shape lurking on the ledge, right where they found it last time.

"Oh this is going to be too easy," the halfling thinks to himself as he creeps back to the main group with his news. As stealthily as possible, the party moves to the end of the tunnel, just underneath where the dragon is lurking. Thelbar prepares components for both his haste and fireball spells, and everyone else readies missile weapons. Taran wants a rematch, and promises himself that this time, he'll be ready for the scaly bastard's tricks.

As the party steps out to surprise the dragon, they learn the hard way that "surprise" and "dragon" just don't belong in the same sentence. Thelbar manages to finish his haste, but his second spell is ruined by the rain of icy shards and blisteringly cold air that blasts him as he steps out into the room.

As the group recovers their wits, and look about, they find that the dragon has slipped away from its perch, and has positioned itself just outside of Taran's flying range. The party peppers the dragon with missile fire, and Thelbar gets ready to fireball the beast again, but he draws up short as a dreadful form slithers up from the chasm with stupefying speed.

A second dragon, almost three times the size of the first, opens its majestic wings and begins a climb-dive flight pattern that brings it close enough to the party that they can hear the rush of air as it sucks in breath just before bathing the group in a massive cone of frost and pain.

"Mommy . . ." Indy mutters, although it is unclear whether he is referring to the second dragon or calling for his own.

Thelbar and Kyreel target this new threat with spell attacks, and Taran turns his charge around, and flies directly into the maw of the beast, swinging from his heels with Black Lisa, and letting out an exultant cry. Unfortunately, it's going to take more than enthusiasm and a strong arm to penetrate this snow-encrusted dragon's hide. Taran's attacks don't even seem to phase the creature, and it brings its mighty claws to bear on the flying warrior, ripping holes in his armor, and gashing his side.

It becomes quickly obvious that the party is outmatched. Both dragons take to the air, preparing to dive at the trespassers, and the group decides that an orderly retreat is called for. Unfortunately, no one is giving orders, so a full out panicked flight ensues.

The group runs for the doors leading back into the lock-weir. As Taran and Kyreel pound desperately on the main doors, Rex turns to fire another shot from his crossbow, just as the larger of the two dragons unleashes a second blast of sub-zero death. Rex does not survive long enough to cry out, and he is instantly killed.

 

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24-- A Slight Change of Plans

The party manages to close the gates behind them, and limp back to the fortress stronghold. Rex's body is left behind, and the group's mood is dark.

Taran and Thelbar both believe that any further attempt to get into the Great Delve is beyond their means, with two dragons guarding the entrance, and make plans to vacate their base in the lake fortress. The decision is made to seek further adventure in the nearby valley, but no one is confident that without the party's presence that the goblins can be trusted not to reclaim the structure, as that was obviously the Goblin Prince's goal. The men at arms are briefed, and told to return to the refugee camp. They will remain in the party's pay, and possibly called up for service at a later date. Until then, they are to be put into duty watching over the elves there.

The band spends their last night in the fortress drinking and telling stories about Rex-- his affection for his horse, his uncanny accuracy with a crossbow, and the numerous times he saved the lives of the group with his bravery.

The next morning, the group locks up the main gates, and sails across the lake, their hearts heavy with grief. After returning to the elven refugee camp, and briefing the cleric of Corellon Larethian that rules there, they set out for the mysterious abandoned city originally mentioned by the wild elves of the valley.

And a wondrous city it is. The architecture predates any other civilized settlement in the region, by Thelbar and Indy's best estimates, and is probably older than even the mysterious Star Cairns around Greyhawk City. Low, domed buildings supported by columns and plinths predominate, and the entire place has a mystical feel that sets the party's small hairs on edge. The surrounding forest has made significant inroads into the place in the centuries since it was abandoned, and the foliage is just thick enough to obscure sight.

The group notices a structure near the edge of town significantly larger than its neighbors, and begins to advance toward it when arrows whistle out from hidden positions behind trees, striking Gorquen and Thelbar. The party scrambles, taking cover where they can, and charging in two main groups around to the front of the edifice.

Their foes are bizarre creatures-man-like, but without faces altogether, and possessed of preternaturally rapid rates of fire with their longbows. The creatures fire and move to cover, separating the group and targeting the arcane casters. Thelbar is struck several times, and is forced to spend his energy seeking cover and healing himself. Taran and Kyreel, creeping around the opposite side from the others notice a giant-sized automaton made from the body parts of several creatures guarding the front entrance to the building. Taran gleefully charges at it, and begins to methodically reduce the thing to its component parts. Kyreel ascends the stairs leading to the building's entrance behind Taran and prepares herself for melee by drawing the power of Ishlok into herself.

Gorquen starts to fly at one of the faceless archers, but realizes with a twinge of sadness that she no longer possesses wings. She manages to close the distance between her and her foes, but cannot reach melee range and attacks with her bow. Thelbar decides to buy some time by separating his enemies with a wall of fire, a dubious tactic in the woodlands, but necessary to preserve his life!

Taran strikes the fleshy monstrosity once and again, and Kyreel steps up into melee just in time to find herself on the business end of a lightning bolt that comes screaming out of the building, blasting all three combatants. The bolt wounds the heroes, but worse yet seems to heal the construct! Indy takes this as his cue, and sneaks into the building, looking to present the hidden mage with a little present-six inches of good Great Kingdom steel between the ribs.

The archer-creatures are dogged and persistent in their single-minded assault, but Thelbar shrouds one of them in a sphere of darkness, and begins peppering the other with magic missiles of his own. Gorquen provides support for him, and focuses on the wounded creature with her own attacks.

Taran attempts to draw the golem away from the opening, where its master's lightning bolts cannot reach it, but has little success. His sword-blows, combined with Kyreel's attacks do seem to weaken the thing, despite a second electrical blast. Cursing, Taran renews his attack and calls for his brother.

Indy, meanwhile, has made it into the room, and has crept dangerously near their foe. The individual in question is a wizard, dressed head-to-toe in red, flanked by another pair of faceless archers. Indy puts himself in a position to disrupt the mage's next spell with a well-placed sneak-attack.

Thelbar and Gorquen have begun a deadly game of hide-and-go-seek, using the sphere of darkness to hide in, stepping out of it only long enough to strike at their foes with spells and arrows. The archer automatons prove deadly accurate even firing blind, and the duo find themselves drinking healing potions like water, just to stay on their feet.

As the red wizard raises his hands for another spell, Indy pounces forward and drives his spear into the man's side, cutting him deeply and eliciting a surprised yelp of pain. At the same moment, Taran and Gorquen tear into the fleshy giant, evicting its animating force and rendering it inert.

The red mage orders his archers to kill Indy, and flees into a back chamber, where he begins chanting a spell that the halfling does not recognize. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the party dashes into the building and at Indy's prompting, ignore the two archers and pursue the mage. The archers follow, and the entire group arrives just in time to see that the red wizard has opened some sort of portal in the far wall, and is stepping into a mistily seen forest scene strikingly different from the forest outside.

A few seconds later, and the mage is joined by both his bodyguards and his foes, as the entire melee charges through the portal after him. But the wizard is not finished, nor is he out of spells. He mutters a curse in an unrecognizable foreign tongue, and points his wrinkled hands at Indy. A burst of power arcs through the air between them and suddenly Indy has disappeared, replaced by a vaguely revolutionary-looking toad!

"You lucky bastard!" Vognu exclaims in Indy's mind as the former halfling flees in panic back through the portal. Kyreel chases after Indy, attempting to dispel the polymorph, but without success.

As Thelbar stings the mage with magic missiles, and Taran stalks forward, Black Lisa in hand, the wizard raises his hands, hoping to parley. His words are unintelligible, but their intent is clear. Taran pauses, just long enough for the wizard to raise a wand and send a treacherous lightning bolt arcing into the group. If the red wizard had hoped that his desperate attack would preserve his life, he underestimated Taran and Gorquen, who leap forward to cut him down.

As the three heroes standing over the red-garbed wizard and catch their breath, on the other side of a portal and a world away, Vognu has dumped out Indy's satchel and flown outside, filling it with foliage and damp mud. After all, it takes a former toad to know what a newly polymorphed toad might find comfortable.

Taran says, "Search the meat for magic, and we're out of here." The bull-necked warrior turns back to the direction of the portal. He finds himself squinting at a ramshackle stone cottage, long abandoned and mostly collapsed. The plant life is unfamiliar, and even the light quality in this glade seems wrong. The air has a particular musky smell that seems comfortable somehow, but is definitely not familiar. It takes the sweat-covered warrior a minute or two to notice what is subtly disturbing him, however.

"Hey, Thel," he asks. "Where'd the portal go?"

 

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25-- Strangers in a Strange Land, Shipwrecked Without a Ship.

The wizard's body yields several magical treasures, particularly a brace of offensive wands and a rod that seems to control the visage-less automatons. There is one of the archers left undestroyed, and using the rod, Thelbar finds that the creature responds to his mental commands, despite the apparent language barrier.

A detect magic spell reveals faint traces of transmutation and conjuration magic around the door-lintel of the ruined cottage, but no active spells. The trio of wounded adventurers explore the cottage's interior and find tracks of several creatures that Taran swears are elvish. After the group exhausts its healing magic they settle down to wait as Taran slips into the forest for reconnaissance.

He returns with the news that they seem to have stumbled into an area heavily used by small bands of elves, moving with characteristic grace and subtlety, but uncharacteristic haste. As the group is debating whether to follow the elven trail or avoid it, a veritable swarm of small darts whistle into the cottage through holes in the wall and sink into leather straps with dull thuds, and bounce off of chain armor links with a graceful jingle. The darts are immediately followed by stealthy and graceful elven warriors, bright silver blades contrasting against their pitch-black skin.

Drow! Bearing a disconcerting surface similarity to Kyreel, the dark-skinned elves pause in their assault, expecting their sleep poison to overtake the nervous systems of their foes. But their hesitation will cost them their lives, and within seconds, Taran and Gorquen have cut down the nearest drow, leaving the ones further away to taste the fruits of the fallen red wizard's wand-crafting acumen. Thelbar takes his new wands for a field test, and before they get a chance to reverse their charge, the drow are left unconscious and bleeding-out onto the dusty stone floor.

Taran frowns and looks about. "These drow attacked our strong position with a weak force. They obviously expected us to become startled and break ranks. Why in the Seven Names of Ishlok would they think that?" He paces around the room, poking and prodding at the bleeding drow casualties. After a moment he answers his own question. "Because they've attacked humans before. Many times, I'd wager." Taran's eyes narrow as he rifles through one of the drow's gear. "These drow have raided the surface enough to think they know how we'll react."

"Yet it is the middle of the day." Gorquen says. "Who ever heard of Drow raiding the surface in the face of the sun?"

"Look at their gear," Taran says. "These drow are carrying no food, or water. They aren't far from their base, and they were intending on returning soon. We don't want to be here once they are missed."

The group takes a brief inventory of their foe's gear and makes ready to move out. The question of following the elven trail is settled, and the group decides to make out sunward in the hopes of crossing a stream or trail. After a few minutes Taran huddles close to Thelbar and Gorquen. "We've got an interesting situation here, and a dangerous one. These elven trails look like they're being used by small bands of lightly-burdened raiders, but only one sort of band, do you understand?"

Thelbar understands. The drow are moving through the deep forest as the uncontested masters of the place. Where are the elves who should be fighting them?

As dusk nears, the group grows increasingly nervous about being caught in dark-elf territory after dark. Fortunately, a break in the trees reveals the unmistakable twin ruts of a wagon-trail. Taran assures them that it is fairly well traveled, most of the traffic moving East to West. After a brief discussion, the group decides to follow the trail against the flow, in the hopes that they would meet some traveler who could educate them about this land.

Their idea bears fruit, and within a handful of minutes the group runs across a lone human, leading an ox-drawn cart. The man's language is completely unintelligible, but a tongues spell paves the way for communication, and the fellow explains that the group is very near a human community called Mistledale, and that they are in a region known as the Dalelands. The farmer has just left Mistledale, and hopes to reach his homestead before dark falls.

That none of the trio has ever even heard of such a place does not surprise them. Obviously, they have stepped through a portal into an entirely foreign region, if not a foreign world entirely. Thelbar, who has some knowledge of such matters, suggests that they have not left the Prime Material plane, but may have traveled to another world.

When asked about the Drow, the farmer explains that not long ago, as the humans reckon time, the drow swarmed up from the underdark and conquered the surrounding forests, called Cormanthyr after the ancient elven empire that once held sway here. There has been no further sign of the normally reclusive Cormanthyrian elves, and the commonly held opinion in the Dalelands is that they have all been slain or driven off.

Since the drow occupation, Mistledale has been raided fairly continuously. The drow seem to be more interested in inflicting small cruelties and generating misery rather than any serious attempt at conquest. Nevertheless, the populace of Mistledale has grown fearful, and withdrawn.

When this is translated and relayed to Taran, he mutters "Small cruelties my ass, they're probing the human settlements and trying to build a combat profile of the humans. Probably, they've been skirmishing with the day elves for centuries and know how they'll respond in any given situation. Humans are a new element, and they're just gathering information."

Thelbar points out that based on the reaction of the drow in the abandoned cottage, they seem to believe that humans aren't much for fighting.

"Well, if they're commander's worth his salt," Taran replies, "He'll be doing what he can to deliver a false read, while preparing for the assault that's bound to come." Taran looks long and hard at the merchant, who grows unnerved at the tough warrior's level stare. "I feel sorry for these people. I don't think they have any idea what they're up to their chins in."

The group thanks the man, and gets his name, so they might repay him properly should their paths ever cross again. True to the farmer's word, the group retraces their steps, and finds that they were mere miles from Mistledale where they first encountered the road.

 

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26-- Sometimes, The Best Offense Is The One That Kills the Most People

Arriving in Mistledale, the group is greeted by a red-cheeked rotund fellow who introduces himself as High Councilor Haresk Malorn. A tongues spell enables communication, and the party describes their encounter with the drow. Harsek takes the group around town, and they are jovially introduced to Jhanira Barasstan, priestess of Chauntea and Nerval Watchwill, priest of Torm, the town's spiritual leaders. The group is paraded before the town's elders, and then briefed on the current situation:

Vast armies of drow recently rampaged up out of the Underdark and overran the nearby Cormanthyr forest. This invasion was made possible by the Elven Retreat-a phenomena where elves have fled the world of men for a mythical homeland across the sea. Although the Retreat has been recently reversed, the elven forests of Cormanthyr were largely abandoned when the drow made their surprise assault.

The drow stopped short of conquering any of the human Dalelands, but many observers predict that it is only a matter of time before a serious assault takes place. In the meantime, drow have made frequent raids, burning outlying farms and slaughtering or kidnapping their inhabitants.

Taran stares at the assembled leadership of Shadowdale, and asks his brother to translate the following: "Give us a place to live, and we'll see what we can do about your drow problem".

Two days later, the group has begun to learn the basics of the language, and has used spell-enabled communication to gather information on the land they find themselves in. They have been magically transported to a place called Faerun by its sages, in a region known as the Dalelands. Nearby Shadowdale is the home of several famous adventurers, including Storm Silverhand and Elminster; the man Dalelanders claim is the most powerful wizard in the land. Thelbar's eyebrows shoot up at this boast, but he holds his tongue.

After getting a lay of the land, the group is ready to go hunting. Taran retraces their steps back to the small ruined cottage where the portal left them, and begins tracking. After a morning's work, he reports that he has found a group of tracks that were meant to be concealed, leading deeper into the forest.

"It's a war-band, I can assure you that," the bull-necked fighter states. "Look here-advance scouts overlap sweeping in two-by-twos, and here's the supply detail, these sorry wretches are carrying the loot. This group came to fight fast and travel light. They've got to have a base nearby. Eyes up."

Taran, Thelbar, and Gorquen make for a fleet-footed war band themselves, and by the afternoon, they have found their target. Taran's chain shirt is silenced and blackened, and using his newly discovered message power, he is able to range far ahead of the group and provide a whispered commentary of his findings.

Taran describes a pair of stone buildings; a low-set, long structure and a nearby tower. The buildings must have once housed a wizard and his retinue, or perhaps a woodcutting team. Either way, they appear completely abandoned now. A closer inspection reveals several camouflaged sentries hidden about the grounds. Taran completes his sweep and counts four all told, including one at the top of the tower.

Taran flies to a position just beneath the lip of the tower, and waits for Thelbar and Gorquen to get into spell-range. As they have done so many times, Taran waits until he hears the whoosh of a fireball expanding before he flies into the face of the guard and slices into him with a rapid overhand/underhand combination that leaves the drow eviscerated, in shock, and gushing arterial blood.

Within seconds, the drow forces have responded, and Gorquen is dashing forward to engage them. Dark elf fighters come streaming out from the low building and Gorquen gives a hearty Ishlokain battle-cry, hacking at her foes with a righteous fervor. Though these drow had nothing to do with the massacres Gorquen escaped with the elven refugees, you wouldn't know it from watching her fight!

Thelbar is peppering the melee with magic missiles and lightning bolts, but several drow archers get a bead on him and flush him from his cover.

Taran, meanwhile, is holding his position at the top of the tower, and when a trapdoor begins to creak open, he points his wand of fireballs at the hole, and soon the trap door is blown off its hinges in a flaming explosion, taking several drow with it.

But there is a wizard left alive in that tower, and he has a fireball of his own. After a counter burst singes Taran's skin, and sucks the breath from his lungs, he decides that trading spells with a wizard is a bad idea, and hops down the opening to see how the wizard likes trading sword-blows!

Gorquen's characteristic enthusiasm for melee has left Thelbar alone, which is not the place a mage wants to be when several drow rangers are stalking him. He burns and pierces them with magic, but he is soon overtaken, and cries out for help.

Gorquen begins fighting her way back to his side, and after Taran swiftly butchers the drow wizard he flies to give aid as well, but neither of them are fast enough. Thelbar collapses from multiple sword wounds before they arrive. Fortunately, a potion of cure moderate wounds is at hand, and within seconds Thelbar is on his feet, and ready to assist his companions as they pursue the fleeing drow, killing them where they can catch them, and cursing the rest.

 

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27-- An Appointment of No Small Worth, and a Dirty Trick

Upon their return, the group can report a total of one and one-half score drow slain, and Taran presents a sack full of left hands to prove it. This seems to shock and impress the town leaders, who ask the party to remain in Mistledale, and offer to grant them a small plot of land and a house near the town's fringe. Two days later, as the group is finishing their small herb garden and repairing the dilapidated roof, they are called before the town council for a more formal meeting.

Haresk Malorn and the worthies of Mistledale, after a series of lengthy speeches lauding the party's recent victories, make Taran an offer. They propose that he take the title and rank of High Protector of Mistledale, a position charged with the training and organization of the Riders of Mistledale, and securing the defenses of the town.

Due to some confusion as a result of the language barrier, Taran forgets to ask what happened to the previous Lord Protector, and agrees to the terms. He jokingly appoints Thelbar and Gorquen his Low Protectors and bounds off to review his troops and chew them out in Isenthanian, his native tongue.

A few days pass as the party settles into their new home and takes Faerunian language lessons. Taran teaches his Riders some basic Isenthanian words and phrases as well, specifically "no" and "hell, no". The men love him.

Thelbar uses the time to study the archer-golem, and learn more about the red-robed wizard it was taken from. The wizard was from a nation called Thay, a cruel magocracy where the strongest become wizards, and all others are slaves or worse. The red-robed wizards of Thay are known as merchants of magic, and they have conclaves in most large communities.

Through his studies, Thelbar is able to determine the control mechanism for the archer-golem. After some discussion, the group decides that the golem should be put to use guarding Mistledale. It is the perfect sentry against drow assaults; it never sleeps and cannot be misled by spells.

Several days pass in relative peace, but soon bad news filters in to the community. A nearby farmhouse was raided during the night, and the drow who did it kidnapped the farm's children. Two young girls and an infant boy were taken. Taran promises to find them, and punish these raiders. A young Rider of Mistledale by the name of Keltie volunteers to accompany the party, claiming that the children were his kin.

Keltie is formally introduced to Thelbar and Gorquen, and is briefed on the group's standard tactics in battle. The four adventurers gear up for a short overland trek, and leave Mistledale with the dawn. After searching the farmhouse in question, the kidnapper's trail is picked up. The party finds what they had expected; a small band of drow, moving toward the farm light-of-foot, and leaving encumbered. The drow seem bent on putting as much distance between themselves and the farmhouse as possible.

"These night-elves are running fast," Taran chuckles. "Our last raid really put the fear of steel into them. I won't have any trouble following this lot. When we hit 'em, we'll want to be fast and merciless-we don't want to frighten them, in case they try to kill the children."

The party follows the trail, and discovers that it leads deep into the Cormanthyr forest, well within drow territory. Undaunted, the party remains focused on the fleeing dark elves, bloody murder on their minds.

As the twilight hours deepen the forest's shadows into almost night-like conditions, the track of the drow leads into a human-style building, set amongst the trees of the deep Cormanthyr. The party doesn't hesitate, but Taran does take a minute to confirm that no trap awaits them either inside nor lurking near the house, before slipping into the building. Dust covers the floors and walls of the place, and there is no furniture.

Taran scouts forward, easily discerning the drow's movements in the thick dust. The trail leads into a back room of the house, then through a door. When the door is cautiously opened, it reveals, to the group's surprise, a narrow set of stairs that sinks deeply into the earth. There is no trace of the musty smell that might be expected from a cellar in these humid conditions, but a burst of dry, cool air washes over the heroes as they take the first steps down into the darkness.

The stairs descend far deeper into the earth than might be expected, apparently leading into some sort of dungeon complex. Taran lights a torch, and passes it to Keltie, then signals the group to follow his lead. So anxious is the party to punish these drow raiders, that they do not notice how little these stairs seem to resemble the sort of craftsmanship that built the rest of the home. In fact, it is a pity that no dwarf travels with the group, for he might have noticed that the stone walls of the stairway are cut whole from underground stone, not the mud and rock of forest earth.

The long descent ends at a doorway, which is unlocked. The doorway opens onto a huge underground chamber, much larger than the party's light source can fully reveal. As the group moves cautiously forward, more of the strange space is revealed. This room is massive, and in its center sits a three-tiered ziggurat, a full one hundred feet square at its base, with nearly twenty feet in height at each layer. Strange patches of glowing multicolored faerie fire provide an eerie illumination throughout the area, and Keltie extinguishes the torch.

Thelbar does a few quick calculations, and determines that the ceiling of this room is taller than the depth of the stairs he just descended! He casts detect magic and turns back to the door he just left, only to find that the door is gone! Worse yet, the entire room radiates magic, causing Thelbar's detection spell to seem overblown and indistinct.

Without question, the drow have led the group through some sort of teleportation portal and into a vast underearth complex somewhere.

Taran returns from a flying scouting mission and reports that the room has several normal doors, and one set of larger double-doors at the opposite end. The ziggurat has no obvious entrances or even a means to ascend it, but the party decides to find a way to reach the top nonetheless. Flying magic and levitation spells provide the means, and once there, the group finds the top empty save for a stone shrine adorned with the unholy symbol of Lolth, the spider queen.

The group settles in to wait and see what kind of traffic comes through this room. Several minutes pass without any movement, then Keltie spots a trio of dark-elven women dressed in some kind of ritual regalia moving perpendicular to the party's position, apparently making for a doorway opposite the one they just exited.

Keltie and Gorquen ready missile weapons, and Taran flies up toward the ceiling, hiding amongst the shadows there. The three heroes still at the top of the ziggurat release magic missiles and arrows into the priestesses, and as the drow women fall to the ground or fumble for their holy symbols, Taran swoops down into their midst, and finishes them.

The party searches their bodies for treasure or intelligence, and finds little, save that the house-marking these clerics have tattooed is different from the drow of house Jaelre the party fought on the surface. Thelbar postulates that the party has been teleported far from their previous location, and most likely even into territory occupied by house Jaelre's enemies.

"Well, you gotta admire their tactics," Taran says gleefully. "It's two birds with one arrow; if a band of adventurers are cutting a swath through your ranks, teleport them into your enemy's lap."

"What do we do now?" Keltie asks, looking a bit concerned.

Taran looks at him evenly. "We kill our way out of here, Keltie. That's what we do."

Thelbar adjusts his spell-component satchel. "Followers of the Spider Queen do not deserve to live."

"Battle is honor, young sir," Gorquen states, placing her hand on Keltie's shoulder. "Ishlok's name be praised."

"Her name is exalted amongst all things," the two brothers reply, by rote.

The group settles into a marching order, with Taran scouting ahead and Thelbar sandwiched between the other two fighters. Taran receives a darkvision spell, and uses his message ability to send back whispered commentary on his findings, allowing the group to prepare for whatever lies ahead.

The rooms that the priestesses exited are searched first, and appear to be the living quarters for three clerics, with nothing unusual about them (if you think of erotic sculpture depicting scenes of torture as usual, that is). The group makes haste to follow the clerics' lead and explore the doorway they were headed to.

Drow generally aren't used to being surprised by hidden surface-dwellers. After all, those roles are normally reversed. The spectre of humans springing out of the shadows and decimating their ranks with spell and sword is not something most drow warriors have ever imagined having to face.

In a dark and light-less world populated by giant floating eyeballs with death rays, squid-headed humanoids who possess terrible mind-control powers and giant, translucent fish that plot to enslave all living things, a rational being could forgive these drow for not preparing for a band of stealthy surface-dwellers committed to a massive and overwhelming first-strike.

Not that Lolth is likely to do so, when she receives their souls.

Of the fifteen drow warriors in the chamber next to the ziggurat rooms, a full third of their number fall to spell and sword before the remainder are even able to draw their twisted rapiers, or level the exquisite polearms that are their hallmark. They regroup quickly, and form a makeshift spear-hedge, attempting to force the invaders back. Several of the more nimble drow manage to win their way to the back of the party's formation, where Thelbar is raining magical death upon the drow spearmen.

Thelbar proves harder to hit than might be expected, and after he becomes invisible, the drow are completely befuddled. The dark elf fighters are outmatched, and while they have shown that they have the courage to fight in the face of sure death, it is a moral victory at best.

 

[(contact)]

28-- Gigantic Dungeons Make For Strange Bedfellows.

Taran sifts through the remains of the fifteen drow fighters still bleeding out onto the stone floor. "Yup, Lolth worshippers, same house as the others. Nothing else here, though."

There are two exits from this room. Both are barred from this side, but one of them seems to be permanently sealed, with several different means of doing so. "Hey now," Taran says. "What's on the other side of this door, I wonder?"

"Something horrible enough to scare these drow," Keltie says.

Gorquen looks up from the cleaning of her sword. "More of us, then."

The party elects to explore the un-sealed door, and are horrified to find themselves in a long, narrow passage with alcoves cut into one wall at regular intervals-alcoves used to store prisoners and torture victims.

Taran slips quietly along the row, looking for signs that the prisoners may be guarded by something other than the fifteen drow that the party just vanquished. Instead, he finds several human prisoners and many drow hanging in manacles. One of the humans seems to have been driven mad from the torment, as he mutters to himself wildly. There are also several drow to be found here, criminals no doubt, or possibly individuals that couldn't bring themselves to complete some ordained act of cruelty and have been sentenced to death by torture for the unforgivable sin of mercy.

Taran begins to release the human prisoners, as Thelbar casts a detect evil spell to examine the drow with. The spell reveals some surprising information. Two of the drow are not evil, after all, but the human Taran just released is.

Taran is helping the fellow to his feet, and covering him, when Thelbar speaks in Isenthanian. "That one is not to be trusted, brother. The two night-elf women to your left can be, however."

Taran frees the two indicated women, one of whom is so severely wounded that she cannot quite stand without help. The drow thank the party for their freedom.

"You." Taran says, turning to the human. "What's your name."

"My name is Elbis, and I am also grateful to my rescuers, but I must caution you to be wary. These drow should not be released. They are an untrustworthy race, after all."

"We worship the goddess Palatin Eremath," says the stronger drow woman. "She is a goddess of mercy and redemption. I am Elita, a priestess of the goddess, and this is my acolyte."

"Oh yeah," Elbis says, rolling his eyes, "That's believable."

"This man," she says, pointing to Elbis "is a worshipper of Bane."

"Is it true you are a Bannite?" Thelbar asks the man.

"Well, I am a citizen of Zhentil Keep, after all," the man purrs.

"He is a cleric of Bane," Elita says.

"A citizen of Zhentil Keep and a cleric of Bane, I was about to say."

"We have heard of the Zhentarim and Bane in Mistledale," Thelbar says.

"Bane is an Evil god," Taran says.

"Evil?" Elbis squawks, "No! Bane does not teach evil. Our faith is misunderstood. Bane merely instructs us to defend ourselves-- Bane teaches a man to repay insults in kind." Elbis turns to Taran. "If someone slapped you, how would you respond?"

"I would beat them," Taran says matter of factly

"And would that make you evil?"

Taran laughs, "No, that would give me bruised knuckles."

"Exactly. And after all, who are a pair of drow to level the accusation of evil?"

Thelbar steps in front of the Bannite. "We have drow companions, so mind your tongue."

"Of course," Elbis purrs, "not all drow are evil. I am merely advising you to use due prudence when weighing the statements of strangers. Should we not trust first our own? Bane wants us to be discriminating about our companions."

"Yeah, yeah," Taran says, interrupting the cleric. "How did you wind up here?"

"I was captured, while exploring Undermountain with some associates."

"And you?" Taran turns toward the drow women.

"Our order keeps a shrine nearby. We are here searching for artifacts of our faith, which we believe to be somewhere in Undermountain."

"What is Undermountain?" Thelbar asks.

"You're in it, pal," Elbis crows. "The largest dungeon in Faerun. Why, it's said that no mortal has ever seen the full length and breadth of it. But the sad part is, nobody knows the way out."

"That's ridiculous," Taran says. "You get out the way you got in."

"Uh, huh. And how did you get in?" Elbis asks.

"Well, there was a door, but it disappeared . . ."

"Uh, huh."

"Alright, I get it." Taran says. "Gorquen-- take Elita to the guard room, and get her armed. Thel, why don't you see what you can do for the acolyte, healing wise. You," he says, tossing Elbis a cloak, "can come with me, but if I see you looking like you're even thinking about casting a spell, I'm going to kill you first and speak with dead second. Got it?"

"Shouldn't I be armed as well?" Elbis asks.

"No. Don't trifle with me, or I might decide you're more trouble than you're worth."

As Gorquen takes the two clerics to scavenge weapons and armor from the party's last battle, Elita cries out. The drow priestess points out Gorquen's falling star birthmark, explaining that it is a symbol of her faith. Gorquen says nothing but offers a silent prayer to Ishlok.

Elita walks point with Taran, in order to guide the group to the compound of her faith, which she assures them is close, by Undermountain's standards. They travel through several deserted rooms and corridors, until they stumble upon a band of five ogres squatting around a dice game.

The ogres and the party notice one another at just about the same time, and hostilities commence with a predictable suddenness. The ogre's smug confidence turns to shock, and then fright as Taran and Gorquen rip into their ranks, swift on the heels of Thelbar's ubiquitous party favor, fireball. With three of the five ogres slain within seconds, the other two show the party their heels with a quickness.

Elbis wisely hangs back during the fighting, and in its aftermath he regards the party with a newfound respect. "Say, with fighters like you in Mistledale, it's no wonder those drow from the Cormanthyr couldn't take over."

"Nor the Zhentarim," Thelbar interjects. "Keep your opinions to yourself, Bannite, and thank your god we let you live."

"I'm hurt," Elbis begins. "This is not the way friends talk to one another in Zhentil Keep."

"Nor is it the way friends talk to one another in my homeland," Thelbar says. "Mark that, Elbis, and grow silent."

The party has several more encounters with hostile bands of monsters, including a large war-band of orcs who scatter in the face of Thelbar's fireball wand, only to flee into the greedy clutches of a group of hungry trolls drawn to the area by the sounds of combat. The next few minutes are an orgy of blood, fire, squealing orcs, rending flesh, fireballs and the steady thwack, thwack of Gorquen and Taran's swordplay.

"Undermountain? I love this place!" Taran announces as the last of the burned trolls flees over the corpses of a full score of mutilated orcs.

 

[(contact)]

29-- Looking Into the Face of the Goddess, the Goddess Looks Back.

Elita sighs with relief as the group slips through a secret door and into a deserted corridor. "That door, there," she says. "That is our sanctuary in this place."

The group enter into a series of dungeon rooms inhabited by a dozen clerics and followers of Palatin Eremath. The party was expecting drow, but the multi-racial composition of the shrine's inhabitants would put any adventuring group to shame. The high priest introduces himself as Malwyn, a former cleric of Tyr who was converted when he came into the presence of a holy artifact of the Goddess, here in Undermountain.

Elita anxiously takes Gorquen into a side room where she shows her a statue of an elven warrior-woman brandishing a bastard sword. "This is an ancient hero of Palatin Eremath," Elita explains, "This statue predates the elven schism. We found it when we recovered the great artifact."

Gorquen examines the statue, a look of wonderment on her face. "She . . ." Gorquen trails off for a moment and looks at Elita, who has tears in her eyes. "That's my . . . that's an Ahk Velar fighting stance," Gorquen says.

"And look at her birthmark," Elita whispers. "Gorquen, this statue is you."

"Palatin Eremath," Gorquen says, "she is Ishlok!"

-----

Malwyn explains that he was a high-cleric of Tyr and came down into Undermountain with a half-dozen of the faithful hoping to loot treasure to fill the church's coffers. However, what he found was better than any gold. They discovered a secret series of rooms that were once the hideout of a lost cult to a forgotten Elvish goddess. In the main room was a shrine with a reliquary statue that struck Malwyn and everyone viewing it with the full majesty of Palatin Eremath. He was converted on the spot, and became the first modern true cleric of Palatin Eremath in the Forgotten Realms.

His companions were likewise converted, and over time, they have shown the relic to other dungeon inhabitants. Without fail, all those viewing the statue are either destroyed or instantly transformed into good-aligned worshippers of Palatin Eremath.

Palatin Eremath is the name of an elven goddess, a member of the racial pantheon. Her portfolio seems to relate to battle and honor. How her worship came to be lost is a mystery, and the goddess has chosen not to reveal her history to her new worshippers.

Gorquen and Elita return from their discovery, and Gorquen explains the doctrines of Ishlok to Malwyn. He agrees that the two faith's teachings agree on every major point: All souls must find their way to a state of Goodness as a sort of cosmic inevitability. Thus mercy and redemption are more than merely moral values, they are the immutable basis for all reality (and unreality as well). The only concept from the Ishlokian faith that startles him is the pasoun, the process where souls are folded back into living bodies that they might complete their transformations.

Malwyn concedes that the pasoun clarifies several visions and sendings he has had from Palatin Eremath of late. He declares that Taran, Thelbar and Gorquen are messengers and Champions of the goddess, and must be taken before the relic immediately. Keltie is also anxious to see such a wondrous thing, particularly when its Champions fight so well.

Elbis politely declines the offer, but is convinced by Taran at swordpoint to attend the viewing.

After the affair, none of those viewing it can truly recall what they saw, save that it seemed very old, was definitely elven, and seemed to occupy the entirety of one's attention, regardless of what else was going on around it.

The four Mistledale adventurers leave their audience with the artifact unchanged, save for a powerful sense of Ishlok's divine presence, but Elbis is a new man. Tears streaming down his face, Elbis explains how his selfish views and mistrust of others have been holding him back. He begs the group's forgiveness for plotting to murder and rob them at his first opportunity, and swears off politics for good.

Malwyn asks the former cleric of Bane if he would like to come into the divine service of Palatin Eremath, and Elbis gratefully accepts.

The cult of Palatin Eremath has two major issues before them: First, they need to get the great relic out of Undermountain, and second, they must retrieve another artifact known as the Fallen Star of Palatin Eremath, a sapphire of unusual quality. The Fallen Star was stolen from the ancient shrine, but the cult does not believe that it has left the dungeon.

The party proposes that they help in this way: Gorquen can shepherd the faithful and the relic to the surface, while Taran, Thelbar, Keltie, Elita and Elbis search for the Fallen Star. This would allow Gorquen to explore the mystery of her markings and get the cult to safety, while leaving those more suited for dungeon-crawling work behind to scour Undermountain.

The next morning, Malwyn leads a small service of investiture, blessing Taran, Thelbar and Gorquen as Champions of the Goddess Palatin Eremath, and asking her favor for their endeavors. Gorquen shares a few terse words with her companions, and wishes them well before she leaves.

As the faithful and their caravan are trundling toward the exit, Taran laughs. "Gorquen sucks at saying her good-byes," he says. "That was the prickliest hug I've ever gotten, even from a stone cold killer like her. C'mon Elbis, let's go find this Star."

 

[(contact)]

30-- "It's A Small Dungeon, After All" (tm)

Undermountain was built (legends say) by the Mad Mage Halaster Blackcloak. It is widely accepted by the populace of Faerun that Undermountain is the single largest labyrinth of connected underground rooms and passages in the known world.

The entire place radiates magic, and ruins divinations of that sort. In addition, transportative spells simply do not function within Undermountain, foiling rapid travel into or out of the dungeon. Not that such travel does not take place-in fact, there are said to be portals to countless other places in Faerun and even other planes of existence within Halaster's domain, but they are not easily navigated. Rooms that adventurers were resting in just minutes before have a nasty habit of disappearing, and more than one band of hardy delvers have starved to death trying to find a way out of Undermountain. In Halaster's halls, everything must be won and nothing can be taken for granted. The monstrous inhabitants of the place are teleported or summoned into the dungeon by the Mad Mage himself-monster collecting is said to be one of his more mundane hobbies.

The first half-day of searching does not turn up any ancient artifacts, but a trio of events transpire that are interesting in their own right.

In the first, the four explorers stumble upon a scene of battle. The fight must have been fairly recent, judging by the state of the human and elven corpses around the room, but not so recent that the bodies were not looted for their coins, magic and steel. Five adventurers died in mortal combat here, that much is obvious. From the looks of their mutilated remains and the footprints in the blood around their bodies, they were killed by a mixed group of trolls and human-sized spell users.

Taran discovers a diary on the body of a fighter-type, and with Thelbar's help is able to make some sense of the entries. The man is Cormyrian, and he names his hometown as Arabel. A former knight of the realm, his family fell on hard times during the recent struggles there, and he had decided (against his wife's argumentative disapproval) to try and win back his fortune raiding the halls of Halaster. By the time of the last pitiful entry, the band had grown completely lost, their numbers dwindling through violent attrition, and food supplies were dangerously low. The last entry reads simply, "Someone tell my wife she was right."

Taran finds himself deeply moved by the late adventurer's story, and pockets the diary, thumbing through it from time to time.

As the group is leaving the battle site, several wispy translucent figures float up through the floor and clutch at the hearts of the living. Wights! Elbis is not yet strong enough in his new-found faith to repulse these fiends, and Elita can only send a pair packing. The rest fall upon Keltie, piercing his skin with their half-real fingertips, and greedily clutching the life out of his heart. Taran leaps forward, Black Lisa is put to use, and soon the wights are no more. But it is not soon enough for Keltie, who has gone to the pasoun.

Elita says some words for her new companion and Taran promises to pay Keltie's treasure share to his survivors. Elbis grapples with a strange, new feeling-grief. After all, the death rites in the church of Bane usually revolved around dividing the deceased's loot and fighting over who got the promotion.

Several more rooms are searched without event, when the band stumbles upon another group of delvers. This new band is composed completely of elves, worshippers of Corellon Larethian, as proclaimed by their prominent holy symbols. Unfortunately, these Corellon elves aren't interested in parleying with any band that includes drow members, and before Thelbar can explain himself, the elves attack!

Poor Elita is their first target, and she is attacked from behind by a previously unseen elven rogue. A follow-up flame strike from the elven cleric finishes her, and she dies on the spot before Taran can even free Black Lisa from her scabbard.

The party counterattacks, and within seconds, the cleric is feebleminded, and Taran has cut the rouge badly. Elbis fights well enough to make his former Zhentarim brethren proud, and things turn deadly serious. It is a tragic mistake, to be sure, but one that the Champions of Ishlok intend to live to regret.

Spells fly, and swords sing their deadly tune. Taran is wounded, but the elven rogue is killed, the elven mage held and their cleric left a drooling idiot. A lone elf, an arcane archer, turns invisible and flees, but cannot escape her foes, as she retreats into a room with no exits.

• Rule number one: Never split the party.
  
  Rule number two: Never flee into a part of the dungeon you have not explored.

The arcane archer is cornered, and convinced at sword-point to parley. The archer expresses no regret for their murderous attack, and curses the party for being evil, refusing to accept the possibility of good-aligned drow. It is revealed that the Corellon Larethian faithful were searching Undermountain for a sacred gem of their own faith, but their hopes for success are certainly dashed now.

In the end, no real peace can be found, and the group sadly allows her to gather her dead and wounded. She scorns all offers of help, and the four surviving Champions leave her to find her own way free of Undermountain, wounded and alone.

Thelbar says a few words over the body of Elita, and commends her soul into the pasoun, ending with the Ishlokain ritual prayer for her next life.

Their numbers dwindling, Taran is fitfully reminded of the fallen adventurer's diary, and the horrible litany of attrition it contained. But he puts the morbid thought from his mind, and continues with the search. After several twisting turns that directly contradict the map given them by the cultists of Palatin Eremath, the party stumbles into a narrow corridor that gives out into a doorway that opens on blackness. Taran is scouting ahead when he spies a trio of female heads, seemingly floating in the inky darkness of the doorway.

"Greetings, human," one of the heads hisses in a sibilant whisper.

"Perhaps you could provide us with an answer to a pressing question," the second says.

"Yes," the third finishes. "Why should we not eat you?"

"Because I'd f-king murder you?" Taran asks in his best innocent tones.

"No, brother," comes Thelbar's voice as he approaches the scene. Elbis is carrying a torch, and as the two near the doorway, the darkness is dispelled, revealing that the women's heads are not floating, but attached to snake bodies that twine back into the room.

"Worthies like these fear not your steel," Thelbar says. "But perhaps we have something they cannot retrieve from our corpses."

"Yes," the top head says.

"News, perhaps?" the middle head says.

"Gossip about Halister's Home?" the third head says.

"We will exchange information, in equal measures if you can help us find what we seek."

The exchange is surprisingly polite, with both sides wary of the other's temper. The nagas are long-term inhabitants of Undermountain and claim that nothing happens here that doesn't reach their ears eventually. They are not surprised to hear about the goddess Palatin Eremath having a shrine in the dungeon, but are shocked to hear that she now has a priesthood here as well. The naga say that Palatin Eremath is a dead elven goddess, believed lost from before the time of even their grandmothers. That she has followers, or an other-worldly existence as the goddess Ishlok is news to them. In turn, they tell the party that the Fallen Star of Palatin Eremath is a perfect sapphire, truly one of a kind, and now currently in the possession of a blue dragon that has taken up residence in Undermountain fairly recently.

"No more than decade or so ago," one of the nagas says.

The group shows the nagas their map, and are instructed to bear north by east. "The dragon's lair is in the northeast corner", one says.

"You can't miss it", pipes in a second.

"Best of luck prying the Star from its clutches", the third cheerily and insincerely replies.

Taran scowls, but Thelbar remembers his manners, and bows to the naga as deeply as he might to a eligible baroness. Elbis grapples with another foreign emotion-disgust for evil things.

The trio follows the naga's directions, and comes across a large room containing a freshwater pool. The water would be a welcome sight and rare luxury if it wasn't guarded by a handful of massive humanoids, 13 feet tall and slope-browed. When they spot the party, the de-evolved giants leap to their size 64 feet and brandish clubs eagerly. Battle commences, and Elbis proves that while he may be newly kind-hearted, he is still as conniving and clever as ever. He summons monsters to distract the giants, leaving openings for Taran, while Thelbar quickly charms one of the titanic brutes.

As the battle lines are drawn, Taran scores a legendary blow, cleaving through one of the giant's legs with one mighty swing of his sword. The unfortunate giant falls to the ground screaming, and as his blood literally bathes the snarling human fighter, the remaining giants look like they are beginning to think twice about wanting this fight.

But the way is not yet clear as a hooded figure appears from a secret passage and begins a series of arcane gestures. A wave of nausea and muscle tension slips over Taran and Thelbar, but they are fortunately able to resist the effect. Thelbar hits the wizard with a dispel magic, and Elbis silences the mage. Taran tries to win free of the giants he is fighting in order to get close to the enemy wizard, but just as he succeeds, the wizard throws back his hood revealing an alien head filled with clutching tentacles where a mouth should be. Taran hesitates for a second out of revulsion and is suddenly overwhelmed by the will of the creature, which seems to radiate out of it in palpable waves, confusing and stunning the fighter.

Thelbar is not stunned, however, and places a lightning bolt square between the beast's tentacles. As he does so, his charmed giant companion swings his oversized maul and crushes the face of the last of his friends, laughing all the time, and saying "Me told you no make fun of me! See what you get! See what you get!"

As Taran slowly recovers his wits, Thelbar addresses his new giant companion. The huge degenerate gives his name as "Skullf--ker", a charming moniker no doubt thought to be quite sophisticated amongst his kind.

Thelbar considers re-naming his new pet, but decides against it, realizing the amusement he will have every time Taran barks "Skullf--ker! To my side!"

 

[(contact)]

31-- A Skull To Love, A Skull To Hate-- A Skull to Trade At Freedom's Gate.

The alhoon keeps chambers behind the secret door, and they are lavishly appointed by any standards. The party takes turns bathing in the cold pool, fed by an elaborate fountain featuring mermaids and alien octopi. Even Skullf--er gets in on the act, as Thelbar is gratefully able to convince the gigantic simpleton to bathe. Taran, exultant from his amazing feat, gestures toward the severed leg, and tries to intimidate the dripping wet giant. Skullf--er is duly frightened, but requests the leg for himself, to use as a weapon. Of course, Taran agrees. After all, who could deny such a cute face?

Thelbar orders his giant to keep watch during the night, and the party slips behind the secret door, taking their rest in the Alhoon's secret quarters.

Once spells are re-memorized and all wounds attended to, the party moves out, Skullf--er in the rear. Er, well, the giant is at the back of the group.

They come across a sight that seems odd for even this strange place. A lone human skull sits atop a writing desk in a lavishly appointed sitting room. As the party approaches, the skull speaks in a high-pitched squealing tone, and introduces itself as Murg.

Murg has a tragic tale to tell. Once a Waterdhavian wizard, he was cursed by a rival spellcaster to never die, but to live on as an eternally animated severed head. "Of course, that was long ago," Murg says, "back when I still had my flesh. Halaster himself brought me here, you know. I think he fancies me."

Murg claims to have extensive knowledge of Undermountain and brags that he has been a guide in this place for several bands of adventurers. His role as a guide is enhanced by his magical ability to see through all deception, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the dungeon's layout. Murg promises that if he is taken along, he can lead the party to their goal, and show them the way out.

The group agrees to bring Murg along, as his true sight will no doubt prove exceedingly useful, but Taran makes the skull promise to remain silent while they move about the dungeon. Murg promises to be compliant and helpful, a perfect skull companion, although he is a bit distressed when introduced to the giant by name.

"Merely an evocative appellation," Thelbar promises the talking skull. "Nothing to distress yourself over, I'm sure."

"Yeah, you're not his type," Taran says.

Murg suggests a course that should lead the group to the northeast corner of this level, but refuses to remain silent, jabbering away about the minutia of facts he has accrued over the years. Taran argues with the skull, and each time receives promises that Murg will remain silent.

"The epitome of stealth, that's me," Murg squeaks. "Never one to go on when I'm not wanted, no sir. Why subtlety is my forte! In fact, I was once compared to . . ."

"Shut up now, skull," Taran says.

"Oh I will, I assure you. Silence first, discretion always. 'The wise man does not speak, and the man who speaks is not wise', isn't that right Thelbar! After all . . ."

Murg's voice is muffled as he is stuffed into a pouch.

Taran motions the group for readiness when he spots movement up ahead through an open doorway. Apparently, Murg's incessant babbling has attracted the unwelcome attention of some wandering monsters. The party is readying themselves for this new threat when a pair of fireballs blossom in their midst, striking Elbis to the ground, and setting him on fire!

"I told you to be careful!" Murg screeches from his bag. "That is a fireball spell; material components sulfur and bat guano. It's very dangerous, and casters must always take care when . . ." Murg is cut off as Taran snatches him out of his bag and throws him through the door at the mysterious spellcasters then slams it shut.

"That ought to give us a moment's peace. Elbis? Is he?"

"He's dead Jim," Thelbar says, feeling for a pulse on the cleric.

"Who the hell is Ji . . ." Taran begins, but the crackling boom of a lightning bolt interrupts him as it blasts the door into splinters and blows him off his feet. Taran groans in pain, and struggles to stand before passing out.

Suddenly, a projectile is hurled through the open door frame and Murg bounces back into the room. "How do you like that!" he whines. "Shuttled between hands like a common throwing-skull! Why, if I had legs I'd . . ."

Thelbar steps over the talking skull and raises his hands, fury in his eyes. He spots a trio of snake like figures in the darkness beyond the door, and gets a better look at them when his fireball lights up the room. One of the human-headed snakes falls with a hideous shriek, and the others intone abjurations to protect themselves, but they apparently forgot to ward against feeblemind. As the second naga suddenly looses her train of thought in a most unpleasant fashion, the third decides that she's had enough, and slithers away in full retreat before Skullf--er can get a leg up.

Thelbar immediately turns to his brother, and calls upon the goddess Ishlok to cure his wounds. Taran rises, and after noting that the fight is over, drinks his remaining healing potions, restoring himself. Thelbar is also in need of healing and soon the duo is without magical aid.

"Elbis, we hardly knew ye," Taran says, looking at the body of his fallen companion. "You were a real bastard, but you saw the light eventually. May the goddess have mercy on you and bring you back as a better looking son of a bitch."

"What a great eulogy," Murg pipes up. "You know, when I was a young man . . ." Murg probably finishes his story, but Taran and Thelbar miss the end of it as Taran punts the talking skull as far down the corridor as he can.

"We'd better get a move on," Taran says. "Ishlok only knows what's coming for us now."

The group, now down to three (four if you count the giant twice), makes their way onward, following Murg's last direction. Before long, they surprise a trio of disreputable looking humans. Taran is about to attack them when Thelbar holds him back.

"Brother, no. These men are dressed in city clothes, not adventurer's gear," he says in Isenthanian. "We must be near the surface."

In fact that proves to be the case. Something in the steely fighters eye convinces these men to parley, or perhaps it is the sight of a drooling hill giant wielding a severed giant's leg as a club, but whatever the case may be, the men claim to be members of a Waterdhavian criminal organization. They tell the party that there is an entrance to the surface nearby, but the toll to use it will be steep. When asked, they are aware that a blue dragon lairs nearby, but claim to never be troubled by the beast.

"If ya mean to go dragon-huntin', whyn't I hold ya pretty jewels while yer gone?" one of the rogues asks.

"Why don't you tell your master that we'll be back soon, and intend to be ferried to the surface instead," Thelbar says. "Come, Skullf--er. The end of our quest is near."

The trio gird themselves with all the protective magics at their disposal, taking pains to ward against electrical attacks. As they approach the area said to house the dragon, they are greeted by a beautiful young man, dressed in minstrel's clothes. He pleasantly inquires as to the party's business in this place. Thelbar tells him that they are lost adventurers, and asks how he came to be here. The minstrel is evasive, and something about his demeanor sets Taran's teeth on edge. Thelbar asks the minstrel to name his patron deity, but the man demurs, saying that worship should be a private affair. That is all the suspicion Taran needs, and when the young bard reaches for spell components, he is ready. Black Lisa snaps from her scabbard, and between Taran's devastating slices, and Skullf--er's clubbing leg, the bard manages only one feeble spell, which fails in its desired effect.

• Metagame note: The giant failed his save against the bard's confusion, but since he rolled "act normally" two rounds in a row, the bard didn't live to see his spell befuddle the monstrous simpleton. After all, bludgeoning fancy little men to death with the severed legs of one's companions is "acting normal" for a hill giant.

When the bard falls to the ground, a terrible mournful screech emerges from the corridor ahead of them and echoes weirdly throughout the halls around them. As the trio moves forward, they are bathed in a blast of lighting so dense that all vision is obscured for a terrible minute. Fortunately, their protective magics help them to weather the storm, and soon they find themselves sword-to-claw with a massive reptilian shape, its blue scales gleaming in the torchlight.

Thelbar hangs back, letting Skullf--er and Taran melee with the creature, hoping to harm it with spells. But the dragon proves resistant to Thelbar's magic, and his arcane energies cannot pierce the wyrm's natural magical defenses. Things look dire, and Thelbar is planning to sacrifice his giant in a desperate retreat when suddenly, his confusion spell takes effect, and the dragon falls under its effect!

Skullf--er also is confused, but as the dragon and giant trade blows, each one becomes unable to conceive of another course of action, laying into one another with club and claw. This gives Taran some room to retreat, and he pulls back to his brother's side, and Thelbar begins to administer as much magical healing as he can muster.

Within moments, it becomes obvious that Skullf--er cannot stand against the dragon, but as Taran charges back into the fighting, aided by blasts from Thelbar's wands, the dragon is overwhelmed, and falls lifeless to the ground.

Skullf--er is grievously wounded, but alive, and the duo instructs him to guard the entrance while they search the lair. There is a living quarter for the bard amidst the treasure, replete with trinkets that indicate that the dragon spent much time in human form, consorting with her human lover. Along with the dragon's treasure, they discover the Fallen Star of Palatin Eremath- a gemstone so large and perfect that it must be celestial in origin. The stone radiates a blessed aura, calming and invigorating the two brothers. They gather what of the dragons' treasure they can easily carry and return to the bandits.

The bandits are dutifully impressed that the group survived their fight with the blue dragon, but even still seem more afraid of their lord. They demand a steep price in gold, but Thelbar has other ideas.

"Do you see the giant behind me?" he asks. The bandits motion that they do, indeed. "He is my thrall, but I suspect he would be much more useful to your organization here in Undermountain. Take the giant, and lead us to the surface in return."

The bandits confer with their bosses, and the deal seems agreeable to all sides. Soon, Skullf--er is getting acclimated to his new home, and Taran and Thelbar are climbing up through a sewer grate into the Waterdhavian night.