Down these mean dungeons a Paladin must go, who is not himself mean but hopefully rolls some 20's!: June 2023

Being the Chronicle of Cadan Dalmas, Knight

BEING a BEGINNING to BOOK XI

Svarstaag of the Many Towers

I was truly indebted to Haldamuina. We all were. All wise travellers take pains to check their sleeping quarters, even the third floor private rooms of a respectable inn, even when all their doors lock and their windows are barred. All travellers check for foes or hidden dangers but some are more skilled than others. Any Rogue is trained in the ways of craft; their searches are most thorough, even if they do not always reveal precisely what they seek. The Golden Martlet came warmly recommended but only fools ever take unnecessary risks. Thanks to Haldamuina, we would all sleep more soundly tonight. (*)

Our time in many towered Svarstaag would be hopefully both short and successful, this was no place any wise man wanted to linger. We had chosen an inn expensive enough to secure some safety but not so resplendent we would attract unwelcome attention. Even so, I have no doubt we were watched from the moment we passed inspection and stepped within the great western gates. The guards were far more anxious than we expected.

(*) At least it was Dain Rocksmiter who had to explain certain nocturnal urban facilities to our wildwood Druid.

` “Oh so that’s why it’s got a handle!” Buddynock beamed as light dawned at last. “It was never in case the soup is hot? It’s not for late night snacks at all!”

Dain closed his eyes, breathed heavily through his beard and nodded.

“Makes sense, I suppose,” said Buddynock. “I mean, look at the size of it. Who drinks that much soup in one sitting? It may be a weird city idea but this one I like. Certainly beats having to nip right down the garden on a frosty night.”

I’m still surprised any Phandelver tavern ever lodged us a second week,” muttered Dain.

Many come to ancient Svarstaag, many have always come. Some even leave, eventually. A city of high walls and long forgotten corners, a mighty bastion defending the north eastern Marches from Chaos, but still a city lost to cruelty and decay, where wise travellers rarely walk alone even in daylight. The Council of Twelve offer guidance but make no decisions; the Invincible Overlord rules his city state alone. His soldiers and tame wizards enforce his will, his many unseen spies lurk everywhere. Kritios of Svarstaag rarely ventures outside his palace-fortress anymore and is never glimpsed by anyone without his silver mask. Teeming Svarstaag has prospered, no one can deny that, but at what cost and how many lives did it take? Some still ask “who is Kritios” but not when strangers might overhear. The more perceptive ask “what is Kritios” but I doubt many truly want a considered answer.

When the Nine Realms are secure again, when Chaos has been driven back far into the East, then the righteous will call Svarstaag to account, and this long forsaken city will finally know justice. Really? We have heard such pious promises for close to a century now, and Svarstaag continues as before, ever richer, ever more corrupt. If Svarstaag is one day actually called to judgement I wonder how much remains to be saved.

Yet kindness still endures amid the tyranny, fair dealing and honest regard can exist in even the meanest alley and hovel. To condemn en masse from a distance is always so easy, looking closer and judging fairly requires more time and effort. There are orders of paladins I could not join; their motives may be lofty but their methods barely pass muster. They divide the whole world into the righteous and the wicked; they impose a ruthless morality, they ‘save’ people in spite of themselves.

I recall those quiet words of my High Archon: “Beware people who always “know” they are right. Anyone who instinctively ‘knows’ they are worthy to judge others. They sometimes kill you for your own good.” I also do not forget those wise words carved above the temple of Delphic Apollo. “Μηδὲν ἄγαν,” Nothing in Excess. The sentiment applies to us as much as any other.

Everyone is watched in Svarstaag. Trading empires stay rich on good intelligence. The clerics, merchants and nobles jockey for power, some seek favours from the Overlord, others just hope to continue without interference. The Watch have their orders, the Thieves’ Guilds fight their own wars for territory along the docks and alleys; the beggars are everywhere and the beggars see everything. A city of many dangers but we still had good reason to visit teeming Svarstaag where many wizards throng the Lyceum of Larios, each eager for fresh supplies to fuel their magics.

Watched we all might be but we still had our objectives. “Wilson!” exclaimed Buddynock, hopping from foot to foot with eagerness. “It’s time for-“.

“We sell those Green Dragon fangs and scales and we,“ said Dain Rocksmiter with grim patience. “And we finally have the money for-.”

“Wilson!” Buddynock almost seemed to be leaving the ground with excitement.

“And we buy full plate eh Dalmas? You agree better a stout harness and visored helm for you now, before horse barding?” Dain saw my slow nod of agreement. “Well then, I will find us the best dwarven armourer in all Svarstaag. Full plate for us both.”

“And I can buy Wilson and-“ beamed Buddynock.

“And we can also pay some Wizard to determine exactly what we took from the trolls,” added Dain. Once again, our Cleric shook that strange many stoppered pot. We always heard liquid sloshing about inside, but nothing ever emerged from any of the eight spouts.

“I can read an Identify spell,” Halduamina admitted modestly. “We just need to buy a few dozen scrolls for future use.”

“You have definitely decided to stay with us then?” I asked. “Despite the summons? You are more than welcome Halduamina but there will be risks, severe risks. You are not bound to this quest, both you and Buddynock can leave freely at any time. You are sure? Well, we are lucky to have you.” I know both my old comrades were pleased too, we had all witnessed Halduamina’s courage and quick thinking during that desperate affair at Maarstlock, he saved those two small children never knowing what could suddenly erupt out of the clinging marsh beneath him.

“It’s a wide world and I would welcome the chance to see more of it. I don’t want to eke out my years lurking amid the shadows on the same few street corners. There has to be more than that! In any case, look what I’ve gained already. Coin in my pouch, and enough to really spend. I would dearly love an enchanted rapier if there are any for sale here,” our Rogue smiled. “Not to mention a Bag of Holding too.”

“Now that’s something we all sorely need!” I said. “Lugging this load about is no easy matter. If only celestial steeds could still bear their saddle and stirrups when they return to their own plane.”

“Enchanted armour would be a huge boon,” began Dain, “but that is far beyond our means just now.”

“But Wilson?” pleaded Buddynock Rubyrubb. “If I don’t buy anything else, surely I can now pay for Wilson to be-“

“Enchanted shields may be affordable,” said Dain. “That has to be welcome.”

“True enough,” I nodded. “All assistance most gratefully received. I will miss my trusty mail but-”

“You can all do what you like. I’m definitely getting Wilson. So there! Especially if you two great schimmelpilz are dragging us on another dodgy quest into the unknown.” (*)

“No one says you have to come,” began Dain, but I could hear the concern in his voice. “My orders are for me alone. Dalmas has similar instructions, but that is largely coincidence and-“

“You would both SOON be balls deep in doo doo without me!” Buddynock Rubyrubb, drew himself up to his full height. “I add tone, personality and heart to this company!” (**)

“And very soon a clockwork enchanted bucket too?” asked Halduamina.

“See? SEE! Someone listens!” exclaimed Buddynock in triumph. “And no, don’t bother to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

(*) A biological term referring to spore based reproduction, in the dark and with no second party required.

Well, we really do learn something new each day.

As I say so many times, Druid Buddynock Rubyrubb is a truly erudite and informed person.

Despite appearances.

And his manner.

And his speech.

And his actions

“And bloody ‘Bianca’ the Owlbear!” sighed Dain.

(**) Admittedly this did not take Buddynock too long.

The Golden Martlet tavern floor.

(From a Gnomish Druid’s perspective).

Moments before Buddynock Rubyrubb ‘innocently’ asked the fair-haired Elvish Bard if she knew

the old ballad, “A Score & Four Socially Inexperienced Hobbits Came Down to Inbhir Nis for a Dance.”

Haldamuina is skilled with dice. Very skilled apparently.

Buddynock Rubyrubb shines with zestful ‘innocence.’

Dain Rocksmiter and I could only sip our wine from the corner and wait for the shouting.

“Just remember,” I hissed under my breath. “Make sure you remember this. We are in cramped city streets; many buildings are old and in bad repair. Please select your spells carefully.”

“And no bows either,” added Haldamuina. “Hit the wrong person here and you face the law courts. Unless you are really lucky and the local vigilantes leave you bleeding down some alley instead.”

“So we’re not talking wise and kindly magistrates who recognise ‘gnomes will be gnomes’ and let you off with a friendly pat on the head?” said Buddynock, hopefully.

I shook my head.

“Ha! So expecting justice in mucky Svarstaag is like hoping orc warlords knit fluffy bed socks. With daisies!” Buddynock Rubyrubb has a picturesque turn of phrase whenever he feels aggrieved. Our Druid also has the wit to know your weak spots, especially when his friends have stopped him talking about Wilson, or ‘entertaining’ a full tavern tap room. “Thought you were the law and order man, thought you paladins were quite keen on fair rules and representation!” (*)

“Whenever possible yes!” I began, more stung than I expected by the question. “But we do need the means to enforce justice and law, we do need more than just one knight with one sword!”

“If you say so!” sniffed our Druid. “Not very heroic though is it, not exactly ‘no evil remains unvanquished’?”

“Be fair Buddynock,” said Dain. “Paladins may be simple but they are not stupid. Well not all of them.”

“I just think enforcing justice and law should be consistent and not concentrate on stopping me doing a heart-warming spring fertility dance on the table. They would have found it interesting! They would have found it different!” said Buddynock his brass goggles misted with fervour.

“They would have barred us for life,” said Haldamuina.

-o0o- -o0o- -o0o-

All things are possible. One day a chronicler might devise some written book of instruction for visitors to Svarstaag, a careful guide to sights and experiences, for busy travellers with little time to wander. If such a manual ever does exist, I somehow doubt it would recommend our own experiences.

Yes we should not have separated, yes we realised that only too clearly and all so soon. That morning it honestly did not seem important, we had much to do and perhaps we all simply wanted a few hours apart. Adventurers constantly trust their comrades with their lives, but after long days in each other’s company some time alone can mean so much. (**)

My own experience means little enough to anyone else I suppose, simply a chance to pay respects at a small street shrine to Lady Athene, for she had no grand temple here in Svarstaag, followed by a chance to replace my poor battered chess set, damaged beyond repair in that desperate first meeting with Venomfang the Green. I also found a copy of Lucian’s noble satires for I have to confess, the sight of any shop selling books and chronicles snares me faster than Medusa’s coils or Mirror of Life Trapping.

(*) We are truly fortunate Buddynock Rubyrubb is such a kindly soul.

He has a keen eye for humbug and pretence, yet only ever teases!

(**) Apart from all the rest of the city!

We had left Haldamuina snug in the inn, stretching his long legs before the roaring fire. The tap room was quiet enough, just a few customers managing their own business, but I did see the smiling stranger suddenly sitting next to our friend. I heard the rattle of dice in a cup. A Halfling? There was certainly no beard. Maybe just a child, I could not tell for certain since his cloak was pulled tight around him. In any case, this stranger seemed harmless enough and Haldamuina did not show any sign of alarm. I waited in the doorway to be sure, there was certainly never any hint our comrade was in danger.

Haldamuina only told us afterwards, told us much later when we were all far away from Svarstaag and the watchful Shadow Thieves of Amm. Any stray Rogue entering their territory can expect an ultimatum very quickly. One ultimatum, only one, this Thieves’ Guild do not share their streets with any rivals. The small stranger spoke quickly to Haldamuina. The small stranger never stopped smiling once:

"We’d like to invite you to join the Guild. I say ‘invite’ to keep things polite. Modest dues 25% of your take and you have our friendly support. Yes, you are definitely better off with us than Grisnlugggs’ mob. And no, you really, really don’t want to even try running freelance. The nights get very dark round here. Darker than most folks imagine. Landlord said you’re in room 3. Oh no don’t mind me just waiting a minute. I always like to remember how folks once looked. Just in case.”

“You like the necklace? Ah you have a good eye. Original craftmanship, each fingertip cast perfectly in bronze. It’s so wonderful what a skilled metalworker can do. With the right model.”

“I will be back tomorrow with details of your first job. Nice and easy to break you in. No glyphs or symbols to deal with or invisible stalkers afterwards. Just watch how you go with those shadows.”

“And stay lucky ... please.”

Our party planned to reunite this evening, but Dain Rocksmiter had his own errand just now. Many deities are worshipped in Svarstaag and the search took our Cleric far longer than he expected. Do our simplest deeds reveal our characters most clearly? Only a pious and patient dwarf would have walked so far through such a filthy maze of streets to find a tiny temple of Marthammor Duin.

Yet Dain could only stare with surprise when he arrived at last. Our Cleric was stunned to see fellow dwarfs openly protesting in the street, actually shouting: “The Finder of Trails no longer knows the way!” “The Watcher over Wanderers watches but cannot see!” Dain’s stern words did nothing to ease their anger, he could only push through them and enter the shrine. Inside the nave was even worse. Dain saw an elderly priestess, huddled in the angle of a column, her grey hair falling over her face, her eyes full of tears, muttering the same exhausted words: “What good is effort? What good is courage? We must all acknowledge and accept our fate”.

Dain Rocksmiter followed her gaze and his honest eyes widened with horror at the abomination hacked into the stone altar to holy Marthammor Duin. His mission was more pressing than he had ever imagined.

And lastly our determined Druid. Some matters are as certain as the sun rising again each day. Buddynock Rubyrubb was not going to leave Svarstaag without transforming his beloved bucket Wilson in ways I still struggled to understand despite his many ardent explanations. This was not all however. Our Gnomish comrade remains a faithful Druid for all his irreverent clowning. Buddynock also desired to quietly pay his respects at the small grove of Sylvanus. (*)

(*) Buddynock Rubyrubb experienced other wonders of Svarstaag too.

“Everyone he hoped for?” Haldamuina gave an impressed whistle. “All of them?”

“The top fourteen at least,” Dain shook his head in disbelief. “As far as I could follow his careful colour coded itinerary. His handwriting got quite erratic after the first three pages.”

“You have a really interesting view from the front seats!” Buddynock beamed. “Close up and very-“

“Educational?” Haldamuina said dryly.

“Exactly! And I get a discount if I bring more guests! A free cup of wine and all the little bouncing balls I can catch.”

“You don’t see any …. err …potential problem with that?” I asked.

Buddynock looked puzzled: “Apart from my goggles steaming up?”

I looked at my comrades. “I’m never sure what code of conduct Buddynock’s Order of Druids actually expects. Beyond protecting every living entity; whether plant, lichen, insect, fish or animal.”

Dain grunted. “Personally I think those Moon Druids are either very tolerant, very lax or else they are actively looking for him!”

“Druid’s are at one with the whole bleedin’ interlinked cosmos. YES! Every natural bit of it. You Nature Clerics, you just patter a few prayers for a half decent harvest and that’s job done till next summer.” Buddynock’s bright eyes were positively gleaming. “And you whiffle about in fancy robes too. Druids stay real!”

Halduamina and I were both speaking before Dain had a chance to react.

“Well that’s a point of view I suppose,” said Halduamina

“And hardly fair,” I added. “Not completely.”

Buddynock Rubyrubb picked his way through the streets of Svarstaag. Even in all the bawling bedlam of this human city he was cheered to see clear evidence of indomitable nature enduring still; thick tresses of ivy clinging to a tower, a mud bowl nest of swifts lodged high under the pitched eaves of a stables. Even the hungry flies were welcome.

Our Druid found his way to the small grove of Sylvanus and the small circle of trees left him trembling in anger and dismay. Black mould was coating the trees in a black and jagged spiral pattern. Buddynock peered closer, some wise instinct told him not to touch; this invasive mould was unknown to him, it almost seemed to swallow up the sunlight.

The attack came suddenly from behind. Druid Rubyrubb was seized with an iron grip, his little arms pinned to his side, a heavy sack was clapped tight over his head. Buddynock was dragged into a cart and driven at headlong speed, for despite those crowded streets he heard a deep voice bellowing orders and frantic people scrambling aside.

Buddynock’s arms were still pinned behind his back but at last the sack was dragged clear. The bleak room reeked of stale sweat, a swinging oil lamp overheard trailed acrid smoke. A large man sat across the scarred and battered wooden desk, he was bald as a brick, with black hair jutting from his ears, his nose and teeth were both broken, his cheeks red with broken veins. The Watchman stared with cold contempt: “No you don’t talk. You listen. Carefully. And you speak when I tell you and you tell me what I want.”

“And before you get any bright ideas sonny, see that sigil over there? This watch room, these cells all have an anti-magic field. Oh yes, no spells in here chummy. Out there you might be some skin shifting nature boy running around with his bare knackers swinging, in here, right now, you’re just a midget with a severe facial hair problem.”

“I’m Captain Gregorius, City Watch and you’re my prisoner. And very soon you are going to confess to me. You’re going to sign your name to that charge sheet with the finger and thumb I’m going to leave you with.” Gregorius slammed a heavy oak club onto the scarred table inches from Buddynock’s outstretched hand. He beamed and Buddynock winced from the rank smell of half chewed meat. “Fact is nature boy, rather too many people have been ripped apart by some wild animal within the walls, many taken quietly even from rooms with locked doors. We search and search and yet the trails of blood always peter out. And so nature boy, we are rounding up all known shapeshifters for questioning. That’s certainly better for us than following the blood down the sewers!”

“Hey, wait a mo, I’ve only just got here with my friends and-“

“What was that boy? Did you say you were innocent? DID YOU INTERRUPT ME THEN? Unless you’ve friends of influence here, law is where you buy it in this burg. Either you admit what you did Stumpy or I might just forget myself for half an hour. Outside in the sunlight you might be something special, but down here, deep down here, you’re just alone with us. You’ve heard of good watchman, bad watchman? Well you really should know this I suppose. I actually count as the good watchman!”

Buddynock Rubyrubb saw Captain Gregorius move across the room to another prisoner, a man forty or so, tall, with brown hair and the soldier’s eye, a long coat on his back and a livid bruise across his cheek. His fingers were turning blue from the manacles clamped tight around his wrists.

Buddynock saw Captain Gregorius purring into his ear, he heard the battered stranger spit blood and say defiantly:

“You’ve solved a problem for me Captain. No man likes to betray a friend, but I wouldn’t betray an enemy into your hands. I wouldn’t tell you the time by the clock on your own wall.”

Captain Gregorious smiled with cold amusement: “Your just a little old cop-hater friend. That’s all you are shamus, just a little old cop-hater.”

“There are places where cops are not hated, Captain. But in those places you wouldn’t be a cop.”

Gregorius licked his lips slowly, staring with measured contempt. He cocked his head on one side and spat full in the face of the stranger.

The Captain turned back to Buddynock. The Captain was no longer smiling. Gregorius raised his club again.

The shouting had been going on for longer than our Druid comrade ever realised, the shouting which grew nearer all the time. Dain Rocksmiter and I burst into the interrogation room together. There are times rank has real privilege, times a knight charges home even without his lance. Few bullies ever show any real courage, very few don’t jump to attention when called to account. I had never seen Dain Rocksmiter so furious for his knuckles gleamed white on his axe shaft. Grom still hung on his belt but only just. (*)

(*) “Actually I was a bit scared of both of you!” Buddynock said much later and for once our Druid was not joking. “Overjoyed you had arrived of course, but well, you know … never seen you both so angry before!”

Dain snorted, said nothing, but gently ruffled our Druid’s hair.

We brought Buddynock and that tall stranger away with us. No other prisoners were present, no one else was being tormented. Was I overturning due process of law? Yes, some might think so but I would not leave an enemy helpless in such a place, let alone anyone I knew to be innocent. My zone of truth spell has its uses.

The stranger was more injured than we first realised, but he still carried himself with quiet pride. It took two requests before he permitted me to heal his wounds. He touched one finger to his temple in thanks and stepped back into those mean streets, his lonely errand resumed.

We have fought orcs and grimlocks, faced hobgoblins and uruk hai but these are vicious by nature and from experience. I often look at my fellow humanity with more dismay, for how many of them are simply violent by free choice?

Dain Rocksmiter would not have left that room alive without Buddynock, no true Dwarf ever leaves a comrade in distress. For me, for any paladin the choices are perhaps less certain. We must maintain the right, we must withhold the rule of law, if necessary even a much loved comrade must be left to face due punishment. A harsh stance? Unfeeling? Not necessarily, a paladin cannot defend a comrade if they wantonly commit a heinous crime, but no paladin is ever bound to follow some unfair, unjust law which mocks the very name of justice. The matter was clear to me today. Buddynock Rubyrubb was innocent of this crime; these Watchman only wanted a scapegoat not a culprit. I gladly joined with Dain to save our friend from torment.

Yet if I am honest, if I look more deeply, how could this ever be enough? Surely any Paladin worthy of the name would be challenging this whole city state? The reasons stopping me are obvious, yet such reasons can never sit well. Fear breeds compliance, fear breeds the sophistry which explains away inaction. We so easily turn a blind eye and call ourselves wise when in reality we simply lack the courage to intervene. We will act, we honestly will, not now, not quite, but one day, someday soon. That is what we often choose to tell ourselves when all we truly do is preserve our own skin.

Only fools charge forward without thinking. If the time is wrong, if we lack the power to act effectively, if making a stand is clearly doomed to defeat while helping no one, then we must simply bide our time and wait our moment. True acts of charity are anonymous. Conscious displays of sanctity are self-serving, the objective is what counts, not personal renown. We simply cannot afford vainglory, too many lives are at stake.

It is never simple, it is never clear, a mind could go mad trying to find a clear path forward. Svarstaag is an open sore, a recrimination to any free peoples hoping realms can mean more than ruthless exploitation. The Tyrant of Svarstaag cares only for his own prestige and position, he deals with anyone willing to trade. Yet without the high walls and armoured might of Svarstaag all the province would swiftly fall to Chaos. Overlord Kritios holds his lands in two clenched fists, he would resist any attempt to instil true laws as much as any incursion by ravening orcs.

At present we simply lack the strength to subdue teeming Svarstaag. We can barely hold our borders, we cannot spare troops to march against the Overlord. Even if we defeated his forces in the field, we would still have to take the city itself. A long siege is simply impossible, it would be even worse to try and storm those towering walls or force a bloody path through such twisting streets. Sometimes the remedy is simply worse than a disease. At present we cannot act, we cannot challenge, we have to swallow our pride, forget our fondest hopes and see simple reality stark and plain. Svarstaag will remain a sink of depravity, at least for the moment. We can only intervene where we can. Today Dain and I saved two innocents, that is not enough, that is not everything, but that is all we could do today.

At least this bustling city is good for trade. We eventually secured six more diamonds, at vastly inflated price, but we now held twelve between us. Well, we had to have those stones whatever the cost, and now Dain Rocksmiter could cast Revivify four times. Dain and I also bought belts with a hidden pouch, for we did not intend to lose these precious diamonds to any eager thief or casual search. We also needed to keep the stones within easy reach. “Revivify can only save someone who died in the last minute,” said our Cleric. “Please, please never forget that. You must give me time to work when the moment comes.” (*)

Our next errand was obvious. All institutes of wizardry need a constant supply of raw materials; we had those dragon fangs and scales we seized in distant Thundertree and surely we would be offered a fine price at Svartstaag’s legendary Lyceum of Larios. We certainly needed the money. Full plate costs a fat purse and Dain had already seen where we should go, a dwarven forge where the bright sparks never stopped flying. Dwarf wrought full plate armour? What more could we ask for? And a visored bascinet would be a welcome change after my old great helm. (**)

At least we already had some money to spend. We needed to replenish our workaday equipment, and we visited an emporium warmly recommended by our innkeeper. Alas, we soon began to realise how city people love to mock and entrap outsiders. We were only told this shopkeeper has “branches everywhere,” we never realised the merchant was an urban treant until we were well inside! At first we thought the old oak tree was mere adornment, unusual yes, but who are we to say what should stand in the centre of a shop? It was only when the eyes opened we realised, only when the deep booming voice rang out and those long branches began snaking towards us. No Ent readily trusts anyone wielding an axe and our reception was decidedly frosty until Buddynock Rubyrubb established our good credentials. Life holds many surprises; for to my astonishment our deeds in ruined Thundertree had spread before us. Old Eikeboom welcomed anyone who had fought alongside Reidoth Nisbyht, Moon Druid of the Fourth Circle! All the same, it was deeply fortunate the Treant Trader of Svarstaag also loathed evil Twig Blights. For a horrible moment we all feared our simple shopping errand would turn violent. (***)

(*) We also had the same Revivify spell on that recovered scroll.

(**) “Bet you ten, Dalmas goes for a plume,” I heard Haldamuina whispering to Buddynock.

“Do you really think he would really dare? He must guess what we would say,” grinned our Druid.

(Whatever thoughts I ‘might ’ have entertained were certainly ended now…)

(***) We were all deeply thankful that querulous rune axe Grom only speaks in actual combat!

Simple tact is so often the best strategy. And we had praised Eikeboom’s young acorns when invited.

Anyone tricked once is wary of being fooled again. We asked many times for the Lyceum of Larios, we even offered money. We simply could not believe the first directions, only when six separate people pointed out the same building did we accept we had finally found this legendary School of Wizardry. There was no soaring tower, no ornate gate, no statues or obvious magic glyphs. All we saw was a single storey stone house, with a pitched roof of faded tiles, no windows of any kind, just a plain bronze door green with age. Haldamuina quietly slipped behind the building, yes, as we thought it stood alone. How could this cottage hold scores of industrious wizards? I saw the same doubts in my comrades’ faces but we were here now and had come so far. We pushed the door open.

We could see the whole room in a single glance. Barely twenty feet square and utterly empty save for an ancient wooden desk and high backed chair near the farthest wall. An elderly woman sat impassive as a statue as we approached, her grey hair pinned back so tightly it almost seemed a steel coif. She wore a long dark dress, without ornament or pattern, she was so still I almost took her for an illusion or artificer’s construct.

“What is the nature of your business?” Her voice never varied in pitch or speed; her words held neither rudeness or courtesy. Even irrepressible Buddynock Rubyrubb listened quietly. She simply gestured towards the carved circle set into the floor. Bright letters suddenly sprang into life atop the desk:

"Death also awaits the man who sits in safety and hides himself from risk." When is wise Euripides ever wrong: that line from his tragedy Aigeos rarely leaves me. Yet even hardened adventurers are expected to look twice at any unnerving novelty. We exchanged glances, shrugged, well, we had come so far already … I forget which of us stepped first onto the circle, but one after the other we disappeared in a halo of shimmering light.

“You have to admit this teleportation is efficient,” said Haldamuina soon afterwards.

“And certainly saves on the ground rent and redecorating,” added Dain.

We spent that whole morning moving from chamber to chamber within the Lyceum. I could not say how far we travelled, indeed, is distance even a concept as we step between the planes of existence? We passed from room to room, some huge and lined with columns or weighty tomes, some small and discreet. None with windows or skylights, none open to the outside world. This was a city within a city and who could say which was actually the bigger.

“Time and relative dimensions in space,” grinned Buddynock. “Just suppose you have two boxes, one larger than the other.” Our Druid blithely ignored our weary stares. “If you hold the big box at arm’s length it can look smaller than the second box. Then the big box fits within the small one.”

“What? But it doesn’t,” I said. “It can’t. Not really.”

“Yes it can,” Buddynock insisted, “if you can keep the large box both far enough away, yet nearby at the exact same time. Then the big box fits inside the other.”

“That’s silly! It’s purely an illusion of perspective, it only looks as if it fits,” said Halduamina.

“Sometimes looks are all you need!” beamed Buddynock.

“Just tell me one thing,” sighed Dain. “Just how do you, a Druid, know any of this!”

“Gnomish curiosity! And the book I really wanted was already signed out.”

Time passed without counting, we trudged through cloisters and down corridors. We saw wizards and apprentices in ornate robes scurrying like earnest ants, their arms laden with books and scrolls, alembics and retorts, some with heavy leather aprons over their robes and iron visors across their faces. A grim faced assessor finally agreed our supplies were of sufficient quality and we haggled a good bargain for the scales and fangs of the late and unlamented Venomfang the Green. We received almost 8000 in gold coins; money to be divided equally with all our former comrades, for Celmar, and Ranger Samuel, Shupatra and Gundren Stonefoot all helped to slay that dragon. The trading houses of mercantile Svarstaag are very happy to issue notes of credit … for a fat fee! (*)

Even wizards must eat and rest, even wizards appreciate some convenient spot to share a meal and beaker. On reflection perhaps we were unwise, on reflection we probably should have declined, but when we sit surrounded by strangers in a place we never dreamt existed, I think we can be pardoned for wanting to seem amiable. His name was Pharnabazos, his white beard and moustache were tinged yellow with years of tobacco smoke. He seemed glad of any company, anyone who might listen, there seemed no obvious reason why he approached us. I honestly think he was simply excited and wanted to show his latest work to someone. Our business was done, we were ready to leave but surely one simple invitation would not hurt. Adventurers survive when they know what to expect or can judge unfamiliar situations with accuracy and speed. The more experience we gain, perhaps the safer we become. The more we see, the more we understand. We were all willing to view his magic portal. (**)

Pharnabazos of Ctesiphon eagerly led us into his rooms, a chamber sheathed with adamantine, and stained with candle soot. Convoluted glassware sprawled across the long bench, a stuffed crocodile hung from the ceiling, books and manuscripts were piled high across benches and chairs, half eaten food fought for desk space with quills and ink grinders, pestles, carboys and wooden chests. Against the back wall was a gleaming circle of light edged in black iron.

(*) I remain grateful High Archon Theramenes took that evil Drow snake staff off our hands.

It was hard enough negotiating a price for common or garden dragon scales.

(**) It would have been useful if we had noticed we were sealed within an adamantine plated chamber.

Meteorite iron. Almost indestructible. And making it utterly impossible for us to escape this room.

Pharnabazos stood at a lectern studded with ivory buttons. He spoke into a fluted bronze cone like some upturned trumpet. The wizard’s querulous voice rang with pride, his words chased each other like gambolling kittens. The huge screen on the wall flickered into life. We suddenly saw the Elemental Plane of Air, all clouds and sunlight, fierce tempests and mists, next the Plane of Fire and the Brazen City of the Efreets, all fire and heat and fierce eyes staring back at such bold interlopers. Next we peered out into the very depths of the ocean, the place light goes to die. We saw flickering creatures, monstrous beyond imagination, the glow of decay from corpses piled against the grey sand. We saw a mighty whale, next a creature all eyes and glowing teeth and then we shuddered as the entire screen was blocked by some monstrous moving body, long, scaled and sinuous, and larger than anything we had ever imagined. I think we were so caught up with wonder we simply did not hear what Pharnabazos suggested next, we never realised his intention until he spoke into that brazen cone and the image behind the portal changed again.

We stared in utter horror, we could not speak, we looked upon Avernus, we gazed into Hell itself. A red sky tinged with fireballs, a bleak barren landscape, craggy iron grey peaks in the distance like jagged teeth, a desolate hellscape where nothing grows. And the creatures, a heaving mass of monstrous entities, images from a nightmare, screaming and hacking at each other only a few feet from our faces.

Yet doddering Pharnabazos was still talking! Jabbering away, with fascinated delight. “Mm mm and here, of course, we look upon dread Avernus, merely one of the Nine Planes of Hell. It is of course desirable, no essential, when surveying such an environment to understand the underlying nature and complexities of the Blood War, the incessant, unending, fight between Demons and Devils. Chaos and Law locked in mutual hatred, locked in mutual desire to rend and destroy. Both utterly, irredeemably evil, both entirely inimical to our very existence. Indeed, and I cannot make this point too clearly, if Demons and Devils ever put aside their hatred, if they ever united against the other planes we would surely be utterly swept away.

“What was that? Tch tch tch, I have ALREADY assured you of this. No they certainly CANNOT cross the planar divide any more than great Jörmungandr could escape those ocean depths. You saw his scales. Please no more pedantic interruptions!”

”Mm mm now please please pay close attention. Here we see a carmine Hezrou demon, with the characteristic toad like maw and dorsal spines; we can of course be profoundly thankful we are spared the vile stench. Well even academic research must have is limits, heh heh heh. Over there in the middle distance a horde of debased Manes being flogged forward, how little they love their lords. Oh look here, now that truly is remarkable, a Lesser Barlgura, the leaping demon, displaying the typical matted red pelt, you notice how the Barlgura stuns its adversary with blows from both upper paws before eating its face. My just look at him go! He really was a hungry chappie! Those lower tusks really are so versatile.”

“Here of course. Are you eating? I hope you’ve brought enough for everyone! Here of course we witness the crucial dichotomy of the Blood War; a disciplined cohort of Green barbed devils, though initially victorious has clearly been overwhelmed by a frenzied demonic counter attack. For here we see Law and Chaos in conflict once more; the tactically minded devil legions who impale their captives following strict protocol, compared to the raw demonic frenzy which does not mind how an enemy is disembowelled providing the job is done! Indeed some of my colleagues in our recent seminar might take note, but no that is hardly fair of me to discuss our latest campus broo ha ha .”

“Ah now this is really special! Now here I suspect we see the leader of this demonic sally. Note the near volcanic glow to the epidermis, the recurved cranial horns and spiked wings. Look! Look, you see that? The Balor has just given orders to stack the spinal columns of each devil as a trophy. Fierce yes, obscenely violent true, but, as I am sure you will concur, this Balor is still an entity of wit, wisdom and discernment. I mean to say, who can fail to notice the cunning juxtaposition of those steaming entrails and what an inventive use of light and shade and bile! Well played Sir!”

“What did you say? No it’s a Balor. Balor! We can’t use the other name. Not anymore. Oh look it’s seen us! Just note the sudden rage in those eyes, we see the mouth roar with fury even if we cannot hear any sound. Now this really is most fascinating. Note the sudden increase in speed as it moves closer!”

“No and please listen carefully. We are quite quite safe standing here. No entity can cross the portal, no entity at all unless someone accidentally does this …. Ah! Oh dear, ah!”

I am still not exactly certain what the old fool did. I only remember him leaning closer and closer to the portal, his long nose only inches from the wall. Did Pharnabazos touch the surface, did his magic suddenly fail? All we know is what we saw, a huge red clawed hand suddenly reached into our chamber, seized chattering Pharnabazos and casually dragged him into Hell.

In these particular circumstances I think we can probably be forgiven for the precise words we uttered when a hideous creature began to emerge through the gateway. Demons! A whole screaming horde of Demons! Utterly evil, absolute Chaos, vile suppurating Manes Demons throwing themselves into our world. Dain, Buddynock and I leapt forward into the breach, our Cleric’s Guiding Bolt obliterated one Manes, my sword cleaved a second in half with two swift strokes; Buddynock frantically tried to seal the yawning portal with his Moonbeam spell; one Manes demon screamed and died, collapsing into acrid vapour, but the portal was too wide and other slobbering demons were pressing forward like excrement oozing through a net.

A Manes Demon

Our comrade Haldamuina frantically pushed buttons on the Wizard’s lectern. Anything, everything he could think of. Suddenly we heard a voice sounding from that bronze trumpet:

Dain stood at my side swinging Grom, beating back the claws slashing at our faces. Pale skinned and bloated, these Manes gibbered like chittering insects, their eyes bulging in their bloated faces. I cast a Protection from Evil on myself, concentrating hard to maintain the magic, Dain cast a Blessing on the rest of our band. (*)

(*) Grom habitually shouts advice to Dain mid battle but this was the first time this petulant rune axe ever sounded

scared!

A Dretch Demon

“Can we pull back?” shouted Buddynock. “Look there’s more, hundreds more, big ones too!”

“How?” snarled Dain. “That old fool has sealed us in! And I was too great a fool to notice. Adamantine plates for walls, door and ceiling! What by the forak-erach-naek Nidhogg was Pharnabazos expecting?”

More bellowing shrieks and roars rent the air. Now grey skinned, Dretch demons threw themselves forward, their long claws reaching for our throats, their vile stench burning our eyes. We were holding the line, holding firm, but how long could we hope to survive? We had no time to draw breath, we glimpsed a seething mass of fiends through the open portal, demons tearing at each other with teeth and fangs, claws, horns, tentacles and pincers to be first to throw themselves into our world. Yet all was not lost, surely, please, we still had some chance even now! Inspired by Dain’s blessing spell Haldamuina seemed to have found the right path! Had our friend stumbled on the means of summoning help? The bronze lectern trumpet spoke again:

“Choose 2! Button 2” I bellowed, ramming Talon hilt deep through a Dretch’s chest. Haldamuina was frantically hitting buttons like a Bard inspired by Orpheos himself.

A huge matted red furred fist slammed against my dented shield, nearly breaking my arm, I stared at bestial eyes and jutting tusks, I swung Talon forehand then back, clubbing the huge Barlgura with the hilt, as Dain Rocksmiter aimed a cunning slash into its flank. The fiend bellowed with fury, its scarlet eyes burning with hatred, raining a flurry of blows against our helms and shields.

A dread Barlgura

“Err, any luck there Halduamina please?” Buddynock spoke with frantic politeness.

“Not sure,” said our desperate Rogue. “Every choice I make just leads to … ah hang on.”

“Choose 1 and 4. 1 and 4” bellowed Dain, his stocky legs rooted to the ground, his magic gauntlets gleaming in the red furnace glow of Hell. Buddynock’s Moonbeam flickered and died, the enemy were too close for his Erupting Earth or Thunderwave spells, but our valiant Gnome comrade stood square against our fiendish foes, his magic shillelagh raining blows.

That horde of shrieking fiends still threw themselves against us. Claws, mandibles, bestial heads and fangs burst through the portal, jabbing forward to rend our faces. They could not cross, they could not pass, we still held firm, but all Avernus was pouring towards us, all Hell was screaming in delight! A terrifying screech from above split the air, we reeled back, barely conscious, barely on our feet. A choking cloud of toxic spores engulfed us, the breath was burning in our throats, two Vrock demons loomed out of the red Avernus sky, their jagged beaks yawning wide. Nothing had crossed the portal; not yet but how long could we hope to hold on?

A screaming Vrock Demon

From somewhere a few feet away, but so far it seemed another world, we heard Halduamina shouting in fury. “What does this matter? What do you want me to choose? Work you useless piece of artificer’s cack!”

The moment had come, it would not be enough, it could not save us for long, but I either tried now or we simply died where we stood. I called on Lady Athene, I implored her divine aid to turn back this horde of cacophony and filth:

Athene ever maiden.

Athene of the shining eyes

Athene who stands in the front rank of battle

She who gives courage and wisdom to men

Be with your sons this day

In our living or dying let nothing shame you.

A Paladin can attempt to turn both fiends and undead! My words rang out, the Holy Symbol on my shield shone with power; the slavering press of demons quailed, recoiled, broke and ran. Not all of them, not many, there were hundreds more still eager to attack, but we had won a moment, a simple chance to gasp, to breathe, to say our last farewells. And all the time that bland, ceaseless jabbering from that brazen trumpet on the lectern:

And then we felt the ground shake, then a triumphant roar rent heaven and earth. We saw those lesser Demons falling back in awe and dread. We saw two burning eyes, a bestial blazing head jutting forward through the portal. Jets of steam gushed from each nostril. We were enveloped in heat like an open furnace. We were all wounded, all weary, our lungs were burning, our flesh seared. The grinning Balrog stood before us, long sword raised, whip ready. Our lives were about to end. (*)

(*) “Thought we had to say Balor instead?” gasped wide-eyed Buddynock, the flames reflected in his brazen goggles.

“Right now I no longer think it actually matters!” gulped Dain, the end of his long beard smouldering.

The long fiery whip swung back and forth and leapt like some living tongue. Poor Halduamina screamed as his studded brigandine began to blaze. He stabbed one last time at the lectern controls, surely now, surely please now, we had finally been able to summon help:

The Balrog’s long sword slashed through the air, it could have felled a troll with a single cut. The burning blade cut deep into the adamantine floor showering us in sparks like a blast furnace. Lucky Buddynock dodged, Dain somehow ducked the savage attack, my Protection from Evil spell saved my life. I struck back with Talon, to my amazement my sword cut home! It was not enough, it could never be enough, we were dying on our feet but at least that fiend from Hell would pay some price! The sheer heat from this demon was cooking us alive, our eyes were glazing over, our armour was almost too hot to bear. Halduamina sped a long arrow, Dain swung Grom defiantly, the Balrog stepped forward whip and sword raised ready, and a voice of majesty and might suddenly rang out behind us! Time seemed to slow, every moment seemed a century. We heard the words so many imagine and so few ever learn: a Wish spell, an actual wish resculpting the whole world around us.

People were moving forward, but we did not dare look round. How could we still be breathing! The grinning Balrog still faced us, the infernal heat was still burning our lives away, then the volcanic air seemed to shimmer and shift into golden sparks. The Great Demon before us simply vanished, the portal behind it closed forever and Pharnabazos of Ctesiphon appeared back behind his lectern, his beard scarcely singed, his wizened body whole. I would like to think he looked a little embarrassed.

The discussions took place in the Archmage’s Chamber, for nothing would induce any of us to remain in that room of horrors for any longer. The gist was plain enough. No permanent harm had actually been done, the incident was certainly most regrettable and yes, potentially apocalyptic, but no permanent harm had been sustained. We had no energy for argument or discussion, we were all just stunned we were all actually alive! Our ordeal was acknowledged and our recompense was handsome; actual Bags of Holding for Dain, Halduamina and me, and something more, something truly without price for the person concerned. A Steel Defender in bucket form; smiling Wilson to trundle at Buddynock’s side and keep him safe. A perceptive woman this Archmage Imari.

All adventurers hope for a Bag of Holding, the best means to transport heavy gear or supplies, especially a heavy military saddle for a celestial steed. Buddynock Rubyrubb has carried his cherished bucket every day we have known him. I confess I have never understood his dream but in a few short days our Druid would have his own dear wish coming true. Our journey back to the Golden Martlet was slow and weary, with a grateful stop for brandywine along the way. We said little to each other, we had little strength left, all any of us wanted was simply to sleep. (*)

We barely left our rooms the next three days. We all knew how close we had come to dying. Sometimes gallows humour soothes the soul, the worse the situation the darker the jokes. Not this time, not now. In all our fights before there had been some chance, even against Venomfang the Green. That terrible Balrog far outmatched us, we had no hope at all of withstanding him, let alone all the fiendish legions of Avernus at his back. Mere death would have been a mercy if they had seized us.

“Maybe they will write a song about us,” said Dain Rocksmiter. “The four who held the Gate of Fire come what may.”

“If they use authentic language it will definitely be adults only though!” said Halduamina.

(*) “Do you think that is the first such portal accident with Pharnabazos?” Halduamina raised one elegant eyebrow.

Dain Rocksmiter did not trust himself to reply.

“Will any of those demons remember our faces?” whispered Buddynock. “Really? Did they honestly get a good

look at us?”

I did not trust myself to reply, but, by the Dog, if I do no other deed all the days of my life, I still know I once

wounded a mighty Balrog!

(Poor Druid Rubyrubb seemed less pleased he had injured several vengeful fiends with a Moonbeam spell!)

At least we had heard no more from corrupt Captain Gregorious of the City Watch. All the same, part of his tale proved only too true. There had been disappearances across Svarstaag, men and women old and young, even children too. All seized from their homes after dark, all found much later cold and still, their bodies cut horrifically, their faces slashed, their eyes missing. People taken from within closed rooms, people taken by intruders able to open a latch or slide back a bolt. The injuries were bestial but the killers were no simple beasts; it was little wonder the city watch were searching for shape shifters; little wonder they had lurked outside a known Druid’s grove.

At least we had the funds to spend now. Dain Rocksmiter and I paid well for Dwarf wrought full plate panoplies, paying over the asking price to have our holy symbols etched into our breastplates for there are times a warrior has no spare hand free. Even if Dain and I lost our blazoned shields, we could still focus the power of Athene and Marthammor. We would be waiting several days for our new plate harness but our trusty mail hauberks were like old friends now. Our party still had errands to run. We purchased sixteen scrolls with the Identify spell for clever Halduamina. Our comrade would now be able to interpret the name and nature of any magic items we might find. At last we discovered the true nature of those objects we recovered from the trolls. Halduamina’s trim leather hat was a cap of water breathing, his red carborondum gem could be shattered to summon an obedient Fire Elemental. And we discovered far more besides: Dain’s mysterious pot with eight spigots was an actual Jug of Alchemy!

This enchanted ceramic jug constantly weighed 12 pounds and on command could pour one different liquid every day: acid or poison, four gallons of beer, a quart of oil, mayonnaise or two gallons of vinegar, 12 gallons of brine, eight gallons of fresh water, or one full gallon of wine.

“That’s five bottles of plonk, or thirty-two pints a day!” Buddynock Rubyrubb calculated at lightning speed. “Is everyone absolutely sure they want to continue this adventuring lark?”

I was glad to change my mind. Plate barding for Boreas could indeed wait, wise Dain was quite correct, improving my own armour must take precedence now. Buddynock Rubyrubb was fortunate enough to find an enchanted linden wood buckler and Halduamina was searching for any magic rapier, for so many creatures shrug off the damage from simple cold steel. (*)

(*) I wait with baited breath to see the emblem Buddynock Rubyrubb chooses for his buckler.

I just suspect it will follow no known rules, traditions or precepts of formal heraldry.

I also suspect his buckler may need a linen cover in polite company!

I was so pleased to find a Driftglobe actually for sale. I am always conscious I lack the darksight of my companions

and the cheering light of a floating Driftglobe also leaves warriors with both hands free.

If the Fates proved kind we would be leaving Svarstaag in ten days’ time, our passage confirmed aboard a small merchant trader sailing for Saltmarsh. Whatever dangers might lie ahead at least we would be far from this vile city. The jagged spiral sign was appearing more frequently now, a shrine to Tyr was desecrated and the mood within Svarstaag was growing ever more ugly. Some malign influence was clearly at work, for when I returned to the small temple of Athene I found vile acolytes of brutish Ares, actually trying to invade the sacred precinct! I used the flat of my sword when I drove them away, but I feared for the future sanctity of this tiny shrine. Rumours were running wild through crowded Svarstaag, all across the provinces sacred places were being attacked.

“The enemies of reason have a certain blind look,” Dain told me quietly over a second cup. “Insane followers for a deranged dark god, He who sends madness from beyond the stars. The Enemy, dread Tharizdun, blind Chaos Incarnate, The Chained Beast, The Eater of Worlds. You know this monster lies in a place beyond our existence, bound fast by his fellow Gods lest he rent our earth asunder simply for sheer delight in destruction. We have word his acolytes are gathering once more. They must not open a gateway to the outer darkness, they must not summon the risen dead. All these missing and mutilated people, all of them are surely offerings to dark Tharizdun.

“And we cannot fight him here?” I asked.

“No lad, we must find the rotten heart of this, the gateway to the dark. Over land or under sea, in air, or fire, we must search and we must find before this madness claims us all.”

“Or before the dead rise.” I met my wise comrade’s level stare. “All the dead. Do you think little Buddynock realises?”

“I suspect he might well guess,” said Dain. “But I prefer not to tell him definitely just yet. We could be facing Heimsendir itself, the whole World’s Ending.”

“At least this is not Phandelver. At least we know there are others on this quest. Hundreds of clerics and scores of paladins. I imagine we are covering every city and island, hill, forest and hamlet between us! I am simply glad you persuaded me Dain. Yes, we are wise to buy full plate harness even if we are putting to sea. One way or another I am sure we shall need it!”

“Just remember Buddynock can now cast a spell which lets us all breathe underwater and both Druids and Clerics have magic which means we can walk across the waves.” Dain smiled kindly at me. “You don’t look any happier Dalmas!”

“It’s bad enough being on the water, let alone the idea of anything underneath!”

“Well, we will see what comes. That is all anyone can do,” said Dain.

“And that’s just what worries me.”

“Maybe Buddynock’s enchanted bucket will actually save the day,” smiled Dain. “Wilson the Steel Defender.”

“Would victory that way actually be worth the cost? We both know Buddynock Rubyrubb would never let us live it down!”

Fond hopes die hard and so frequently. We suddenly lost any chance of leaving Svarstaag quietly. The small family were truly desperate; so frantic they even turned to complete strangers. They came to us at the tavern, they implored us to help. Another innocent had been taken, a young mother seized from her own fireside after dark. The terrified family had found one clue to Mevrian’s abductors; her torn kirtle was caught beneath a drain cover in the street outside. The answer was only too clear. Teeming Svarstaag is a maze of winding streets and alleys yet these are not the only labyrinth for Svarstaag sits atop an ancient maze, a place apart, far from clean rain and sunlight. The City Watch would not enter those dark sewers, not for all the gold in rich Chult. Even when hope is as faint as a fading firefly, the risks must be run, the attempt still made. Over twenty citizens had disappeared in the last few months and anyone aware of blind Tharizdun knew the significance. Twelve corpses had been recovered. Each lacked eyes.

The stench hit us like a swung battering ram as soon as my crowbar prised the hatch open. A circular shaft with rusted iron rungs led down into the darkness thirty feet below. “Look there,” said Halduamina. “Fresh mud. There too. Someone has climbed down here very recently.”

We found ourselves in a circular brick lined tunnel, the walls and walkways covered with mould and lichen. Stone flagged paths, five feet wide ran along each side of the passage, an open sewer between them, the murky water flowing steadily down a gentle gradient. A curving brick bridge linked the two walkways. “Do we split up and walk each side simultaneously?” said Buddynock. “We would cover more ground more quickly.

“How could we support each other then?” argued Dain. “Better just stay on one path. Single file and careful. If this was hewn stone I could be of more use, but not down here I’m afraid.”

“Which side then?” said Buddynock.

“I don’t think it really matters,” said our Half Elf Rogue. “Not yet at least. I wonder how deep that channel is.”

Dain sniffed then spat into the sewer: “I just hope none of us find out.”

Our two Driftglobes lit the path, hovering gently over our heads; their light dimmed as much as possible, enough to let us all see, but not so bright to inevitably draw attention. Dain led us forward in single file; I brought up the rear. We picked our way with care, moving as quickly as we dared. We could see the footprints clearly and the imprint of dragged feet. Even without Ranger Samuel’s skill at tracking we guessed we were hard on our quarry’s heels.

We heard scuttering feet and looking back we saw hundreds of tiny red eyes. Swarms of rats were following us, some on the raised stone walkways, others swimming in a mass of sodden black fur. Rats ahead fell back before us, eager packs of rats pressed close behind. When we raised our weapons they pulled back, when we continued our journey they resumed shadowing us. When Buddynock used his Druid skills to speak with them the rats would only say: “Hungry, hungry. Not yet, not quite, not yet, not fair.”

We passed side chambers and adjoining tunnels but the footsteps only led one way. What else could we do except follow? Halduamina noticed a hand sized hole with a painted eye next to it. We probed the cavity with Dain’s collapsing pole, we found nothing. We came to a corner set with iron grilles. The rusted bars had been bent back years ago, but there was fresh blood on the corroded ironware and always the mark of those dragged heels.

“If this is truly way they took young Mevrian, they are clearly pulling her along rather than carrying her. Does that mean they are probably human? Not much bigger than us at any rate? They can’t lift Mevrian bodily along these narrow walkways and they don’t have magic to carry her either?” My friends paused and stared in surprise. For a moment I felt affronted. “Paladins can think and reason too you know!”

The tunnel now passed around a circular bricklined drop shaft plunging far deeper than we ever expected. We sent our Driftglobes down to the limit of their range but we still saw nothing save wary rats, nothing to suggest anything else had clambered down into the depths. A pair of chains hung from the roof above, but there was no dangling rope or ladder, nothing to suggest any means of entering the shaft.

“Could always be magic I suppose,” said Halduamina, peering over the edge.

“We can always so easily assume that,” sighed Dain. “When in doubt, blame magic!”

“I just can’t imagine why anyone would need such a deep pit,” said Buddynock. “All the stinky gubbins and floaters are diverted around it. The shaft just sits in the middle like a raised well.”

Dain Rocksmiter gazed at the masonry with true dwarven appreciation. “Hmm, look over there, stones laid with care …what? Oh stop sniggering Buddynock.”

"I was just laughing at ‘laid with care!” grinned our Gnomish Druid. “I personally like ‘laid with glad abandon and a little snack for afters!’ ”

“The rats have vanished,” Halduamina stared down into the darkness with concern. “Significant?”

“Not really much of a loss,” our Druid is always determinedly cheerful when most worried. “They weren’t exactly brilliant conversationalists.”

“What about that one sailing peacefully ‘downstream,’ the rat paddling a piece of wood and squeaking about the hay harvest?” asked our Nature Cleric. I so often forget Dain Rocksmiter can speak with animals too.

“A ‘river’ rodent yes,” replied Buddynock. “But his bobbing ‘boat’ never came from any tree.”

It was now we found the bones. Old and yellowed, the ends curiously smoothed. We saw a corroded belt buckle of two clasped hands but no leather belt or boots, next a rusted axe with no wooden haft or cord binding. We were alert, we were careful and I think that probably saved our lives. Halduamina shouted and leapt back as the yellow ooze dropped from the curving ceiling above; moments later a second landed behind us cutting off any retreat. A trap? Some mass of acid? No these pools of sludge were alive! The creatures slithered towards us, two sticky yellow protuberances suddenly rose and swelled and lashed out at our faces. I caught most on my shield but drops hissed through my mail sleeve and I felt skin blister and burn.

Wise Buddynock flailed back with his magic shillelagh. “Don’t slash them! Don’t cut bits off them!” Dain Rocksmiter dragged the war hammer from his belt as I reached for my mace Lightbringer. Halduamina waited his chance then hurled clay flasks of oil, followed by a smouldering torch. The waving pseudopod sputtered in the flames, withered and collapsed, but the stricken ooze soon extruded a second, a third. A ravenous Ochre Jelly is slow but seeps forward inexorably, They had clearly hoped to drop down on our heads, their initial hopes had been dashed, but these sentient oozes had scented prey and wanted to feed. We clubbed them back, striking without remorse or pity, we were all burnt by their acid slime, but we left the foul creatures smeared across the stones.

“I assume we’ve all guessed what would have happened if we’d slashed them,” said Buddynock. “And just so we are all quite clear. Natural creatures we Druids protect; monstrosities, undead and extra dimensional nasties, NO!”

“I’m just grateful you never shouted: ‘wow is he “really” pleased to see us or just hungry?’” muttered Dain, wiping the filth from his war hammer against the wall.

“Far too easy a feed line!” beamed Buddynock. “We social satirists like to be stretched!”

“The next time any of you complain about some honest dwarven mine or tunnel I shall simply mention THIS place,” said Dain Rocksmiter. “And all it’s ‘attractions!’”

We passed occasional arching brick bridges linking both walkways but we remained together on one side of the sewer. “The rats have still not reappeared,” said Halduamina, a few hundred yards later. We soon discovered the reason why. Sagacious creatures do so tend to avoid anything ready to eat them. We never saw the concealed loopholes hidden in the brickwork, we only realised when a volley of tiny crossbow bolts hissed towards us. We heard gleeful barking, we glimpsed small red scaled snouts peeking through gaps in the bricks. Four Kobolds appeared ahead of us, three more behind. I caught two crossbow bolts on my shield, a third glanced off my helm. Dain grunted as another bolt gashed his hand, our Rogue was hit three times. Halduamina’s leather brigandine gave less protection, even a nimble Rogue needs space to dodge and there was little enough room on this slimy ledge.

Buddynock saw the missing stones in the walkway ahead. He measured the distance, braced himself and leapt, clearing the pit with ease but landing in the concealed bear trap the other side. Jagged steel jaws snapped shut, our Gnomish friend shouted with pain, he was pinned helplessly as the grinning Kobolds closed the range. One of my javelins found a mark, one of the red scaled creatures dropped and died, Halduamina loosed shaft after shaft but his arrows splintered against the sewer wall. My second javelin followed them. A Kobold on the path ahead stepped forward and hurled a plain clay pot at our trapped Druid; the jug shattered on impact and a small mottled snake wriggled toward Buddynock. Our Druid tried to reason with the beast, but his hopes were dashed this hissing serpent was far too furious. Tiny fangs flashed, Buddynock howled with pain. “Really? Me of all people, really?”

A Kobold behind me snarled and raised an octagonal clay pot set with runes. Was the creature actually grinning at me? Teeth bared it stepped forward, aimed, but suddenly slipped. The small jug fell, the Kobold made a desperate attempt to catch it then barked with horror as the pot broke at is feet, spilling green liquid, no green slime over its hind paws. The stricken creature squealed with fear, I am used to battle, I have seen death before, but not like this, never like this; the green slime engulfed the terrified Kobold, to our horror we saw him actually dissolving as the living slime ate away his limbs, stifling his final cries of agony as it slowly engulfed his head. Halduamina sped a merciful arrow, he could not miss at such close range; yet to my consternation, the remaining Kobolds seemed hooting and barking with amusement!

I should have realised faster, there was no risk of these tiny Kobolds charging home, not now, not yet. They were enjoying their game too much, they would soften us up first. Tiny crossbow bolts still hissed from those hidden loopholes like driving rain.. Three wounded me, then our Rogue again, Dain had bolts through his mail and shield and the Kobolds blocking the path had still more jars to throw. We could not advance, we could not retreat and poor Buddynock lacked the strength to prise open those rusty steel jaws. Our small friend was trapped and now another Kobold crept forward. We all saw the clay pot clenched between his paws and those same black runes along its side.

A Kobold thankfully not wielding any creative missiles

Dain cursed, charged and leapt, clearing the gaping pit and landing beside trapped Buddynock. A valiant effort yet all too late, my last javelin missed the running Kobold, he raised his clay pot, aimed and threw. Bubbling green slime landed a bare foot from trapped Buddynock, landed and started to ooze towards him. Dain had Grom wedged against the trap, our Dwarven comrade strained with all his might and the steel jaws snapped open. Halduamina has a good eye himself, his burning flash of oil set the Green Slime ablaze.

With injured Buddynock safe, at least for the moment, wise Dain unleashed his latest magic. Trust any Dwarf to know tunnels and excavations; these cunning Kobolds had clearly burrowed behind the sewer walls, they gained a superb ambush site but those ancient bricks no longer had earth behind them. Dain called the words of command and a howling wind erupted into life. That hail of crossbow boats was deflected down into the noisome water or shattered against the tunnel roof, Dain directed his spell hard against the far wall, the weakened bricks bulged backwards, old mortar crumbled to dust, at least ten feet of the far sewer wall suddenly fell away in tumbling ruin. We heard ominous creaking from above but by some mercy the roof still held. We heard yelps of pain and scrabbling paws; no more crossbow bolts sped from those hidden loopholes. (*)

Finally, at last, the Kobolds retreated. We had killed three for certain, a fourth had been slain by that terrible Green Slime and Dain Rocksmiter’s magic had surely claimed a few more when he collapsed the brick wall among them. All the same, had these Kobolds fallen back from fear or merely wearied of the ambush? We all heard those high pitched barks, were they really laughing as they attacked? They are no bigger than hobbits, no threat to anyone in the open, but let any pestilential Kobolds prepare the ground and stronger parties than us have paid the final price. Orcs are savage and relentless but they lack any guile, their tactics nothing more than a headlong charge. Hobgoblins advance in ordered ranks, they fight with discipline and they are all the more deadly for it, but their drill book manoeuvres are predictable and open. I still remember poor Hrove and Espida talking of Kobolds, so long ago now, they described an expedition wiped out by a string of ambushes, each different, each fiendish. Few escaped that winding warren alive as those yelping barks of glee echoed out of the darkness. When Kobolds have laid their devious traps, only fools or the desperate draw near.

We were all injured and in no fit state to continue, yet how could we rest when Mevrian faced such danger? Dain Rocksmiter saved us once again, his Prayer of Healing takes time to cast but this kindly magic restores wounds wondrously. The venomous snakebite had left Buddynock shaken but our comrade was still ready to resume our desperate quest. We had lost time true, but this race was far from done and we would press on come what may until the finish.

(*) “No comments about Dain’s deadly wind?” I asked ‘innocently.’

Our exhausted, injured and scared Druid opened and closed his mouth then shook his head.

I have seen Buddynock Rubyrubb endure so many perils, but being trapped as Green Slime seeped towards him would take a long time to fade.

Despite his ordeal and wounds, our Druid still would not harm that deadly snake. He finally released his grip and let the little creature slither out of sight. “You be good,” whispered Buddynock. “No more naughty stuff and be more careful who you spend time with please.”

Our comrade was still ashen faced and trembling from his injury. At least my Protection from Poison spell was ready and it soon drove the venom from his body. Poor Buddynock was bruised and battered but mending fast.

So often dark humour provides its own healing. “No jokes about sucking out the poison then?” asked Halduamina.

Buddynock Rubyrubb held up a shaking hand. “That all depends I suppose. Can you all remember which finger got bitten? Come on it can’t be too hard. You have an either or choice!”

Occasionally we passed iron rungs set into the wall, rungs leading up to manholes and daylight and escape. Not yet, not now, perhaps not ever. We trudged on, the tracks still clear in the mud. It was now the brick lined sewer opened out into a large chamber. After so long in this sewer we had almost forgotten the foul reek, but two waterways met and crossed here and the bile rose in our throats at the smell. In three corners of the chamber pipes set high in the wall discharged arching curves of soiled water. In the fourth corner we could see the mouth of the pipe but there must have been toughened glass over the aperture. We could see green water pushing against the glass but not one drop fell to the channel below.

Something else struck us. This section of the sewer was swept clean of all detritus, mud covered the stones but there was no trace of vegetation or dead rats. Up along the wall we saw weeds and mould still growing from the brickwork but only ten feet over our heads, all the walls below were swept bare. The dividing line between bare stone and weed encrusted wall was sharp as a knife cut, we could even see half fronds, severed so neatly a wizard in his laboratory would approve.

“These are still old bricks though,” said Dain. “The clean lower sections are still ancient, just look at the colour and stains.”

“You look at walls all you like,” muttered Halduamina. “After those yellow balls of gloop dropping from above, I am keeping my eyes higher!” Buddynock Rubyrubb pulled his goggles down and his green hood tight about his head. It seems fair to say our Gnomish Druid appeared particularly unimpressed with the waste disposal practices of old Svarstaag. It was then we saw the dagger, old but still gleaming, there was no hint of rust or dullness, the short blade appeared stuck to the clean swept bricks behind. We were careful, we were wary. Very little should ever be taken on trust, particularly in any dank and fetid chamber far from sunlight and the cleansing rain.

“Sildenafil!” said Dain and his pole extended ten feet.

We all paused. We waited. We waited again.

“What?” sniffed Buddynock Rubyrubb. “I’m not Mr. Smut the one dimensional court jester!” Our small friend gave an evil smile. “Sides it’s only fun if Dalmas looks all confused!”

Dain Rocksmiter levelled his Pole of Collapsing and poked at the dagger. To our surprise the long pole moved so slowly towards the blade. We glanced at each other, stared again, then reeled back in horror as a huge transparent mass lurched towards us, a great gelatinous block near ten feet square. Stinking sewer water spurted from the open aperture behind as the towering creature bore down on us. Waving protuberances formed, swelled, extended and lashed at our faces or beat against our shields. A low attack glanced off my mail chausses but my legs were still burnt by the acid. Our Gnomish friend is phenomenally lucky but not today, the oozing mass simply engulfed him, we saw Buddynock’s horrified face as he was sucked within the belly of this beast, hanging in mid-air, his skin and hair beginning to blister and burn from the digestive juices.

We hacked frantically, we could not miss this gelatinous creature, Halduamina sped arrows, Grom flashed and Talon swung, we carved huge collops off the ooze beast but it still remorselessly inched forward, we were cut off from the corridor, our towering foe was forcing us back against the open sewer behind us. Buddynock burrowed like a badger, his eyes thankfully shielded by his brass goggles. His frantic face broke surface and we thankfully dragged him clear, a moment’s respite no more, but our poor friend could not have lived much longer inside the monstrous creature.

The gelatinous cube shifted direction, Buddynock was half dead already and the beast wanted to finish its meal. Poor Dain and Buddynock were being forced towards the lip of the sewer, they were ten feet away, five feet; they were teetering on the very edge. We were all burnt by the digestive acid, all suffering, the creature was almost half my height again and towered over Dain and Buddynock. We tried, Halduamina and I desperately tried to divert the creature but too late. It surged forward again, for a moment our friends were still visible through its pulsating body, the next instant we heard a splash and a scream and poor Dain and Buddynock disappeared from sight.

“Some artists have very vivid imaginations,” said Halduamina.

“That’s certainly what we should hope,” growled Dain.

Brave Halduamina and I exchanged one desperate glance, nodded and charged again. I buried Talon hilt deep into the creature, stabbing home to the quillons, my Half Elf comrade hurled flasks of oil with both hands and set the ooze alight. We could not miss, we never missed once, but did this foul creature feel anything? The gelatinous beast reversed direction, now Halduamina and I were being driven back, dodging those flailing arms of jelly, desperately trying to avoid being absorbed. There was truly no retreat from this fight.

Were our ears playing tricks? Both Halduamina and I struggled to hear clearly, but we almost thought … yes … by the Dog there they were! Dain Rocksmiter and Buddynock Rubyrubb, soaked, burnt, smeared with filth and more furious than we could ever have imagined. We cut that gelatinous creature apart between us, it was truly blazing now thanks to Halduamina and the great mass suddenly collapsed in on itself and lay still, the last lumps of transparent flesh quivering, writhing then at last lying still, flickering in the dying light of the fire.

The magic dagger collapsed to the stone flagged floor. Halduamina knocked it clear with the end of his bow stave. We sank back exhausted on the ground. Poor Mevrian was still ahead somewhere but we needed a brief moment to gather our breath. I used my own healing magic, Dain cast every healing spell he could to restore us without delay.

Dain cast his Mending cantrip on himself and Buddynock, casting it repeatedly until any damage left by that ooze creature was repaired. No wise adventurer is profligate with drinking water but Dain had his Jug of Alchemy! Twelve gallons of salt water would empty the jug for one day but our friends could gladly have used more! Eight gallons of fresh water would have lathered better with soap but this was one occasion when quantity was clearly the pressing concern! We held the magic jug over Dain and Buddynock until the last drop of brine had been drained.

“How did you both survive?” asked Halduamina.

“We are not going to talk about this,” said Dain, still staring suspiciously at his soaked legs.

“We are never going to talk about this!” said Buddynock. “Ever!”

“There was a narrow ledge, the channel is not uniformly deep, we dropped onto the ledge,” said Dain. “Our heads were just below the walkway.”

“With mouths shut!” I have never seen Buddynock Rubyrubb so fierce!

“Otherwise you would have drowned?” asked Halduamina, “Or been swept away into the darkness and whatever deep pit these sewers enter?”

“We are NEVER mentioning this again, never referring to it indirectly, never making any comparison to it. End of!” exclaimed our aggrieved Gnomish Druid.

“I’m just glad we had a Jug of Alchemy,” said Dain “but we are still going to that bathhouse if we ever survive this jaunt!”

“I’m just glad you learnt how to operate the jug,” I said mildly. “Just imagine if you summoned acid by mistake.”

“Or mayonnaise,” said Halduamina with wry amusement.

“Don’t mock the jug,” said Dain. “It’s earned a permanent place in my knapsack!”

We had fought our way through Ochre Jelly creatures, Kobolds and venomous snakes, Green Slime and a Gelatinous Cube. We were far from fresh, but thanks to our healing magics we had not needed time to rest. We picked up the trail once again our two Driftglobes hovering at our heads.

Ahead the sewer channel plunged down and out of sight. The walkways simply ended. Was this all, were all our efforts in vain? No, I could not believe that. We tapped the brick walls, we searched for any secret door or concealed hatchway, we had little time to lose, that desperate family were depending on us. We were truly grateful for our Half Elf Rogue today, Halduamina found a hidden lever, he made sure there were no traps, reached inside, turned and twisted and a section of wall sprang back. We saw an iron grille and a corridor leading onward. The hinges were stiff but swung back at merely a touch.

A stairway led us down as if we were descending a square tower. We had come so far, we could not turn back now. At the foot of the stairway another brick lined tunnel, and still with the mark of dragged heels through the mud. From the tracks we could expect half a dozen foes at least, but with our luck, probably many more. Well, come what may, we would march forward, the end was surely near now. Far ahead, for the first time we could hear noises. A distant murmur like the sound of lazy waves crashing onto the beach. “Or the socially peculiar pattering out prayers and rituals,” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

We closed the range, moving with care and stealth, constantly covering front and rear and checking the floor and ceilings. The relentless chanting grew louder, dark words we could not distinguish, guttural shrieks and moans, but then one name invoked again and again from massed voices roaring their adoration,: “Tharizdun! Tharizdun!” A relentless, eager, hungry storm of sound.

Blind Tharizdun the Chained God, Tharizdun Destroyer of Worlds. Only the insane follow him, only the insane could. We were near, so near, as this hideous bedlam echoed down the narrow passage ahead, chanting which only kept getting louder. I saw my comrades anxious faces and was grateful mine was hidden by my helm. Just how many foes did we face?

“There is something you all should know ,” said Dain and he seemed to be tasting each and every word. Our friend stared ahead, his jaw set as he ran one careful thumb along Grom’s edge. “These followers of Chained Tharizdun, they truly, absolutely adore their god, they seize offerings for him, they kill for him, they care nothing for friends or family, or even their own children; these zealots only want to serve Tharizdun, they only want the Ebon Lord to slip his chains and claim every world for his own. They do not fear death. They really truly do not fear death. They will not yield or run. There is only one thing these cultists truly fear.” Dain Rocksmiter looked up at me.

I nodded slowly. “These cultists of Tharizdun only fear still being alive when their dark god returns. They welcome his plans for the world. They merely hope not to still be breathing when Tharizdun carries them out.”

Halduamina opened his mouth to speak, Buddynock Rubyrubb stood rigid with shock his long nose quivering. And then we heard, then we heard the followers of Depraved Tharizdun all too plainly. They were calling out our names, inviting us to step forward! They knew we were here, they were waiting, they welcomed us and even as we froze in stark horror we heard the same eager chanting erupt behind us, steel shod feet drumming on the stones, heavy feet in perfect, absolute unison. The followers of Depraved Tharizdun were before and behind us, we were trapped, outnumbered, there was no way back, no escape.

“There’s thirty at least back there,” said Halduamina, his eyes wild in the gloom.

“And drilled to perfection,” I muttered. “And how many ahead from the noise? Forty? Fifty?”

“And we’ve used our healing spells already!” Buddynock Rubyrubb smiled cold as midwinter midnight. “Plus a few others against those damn Kobolds. It’s not looking exactly rosy is it?”

I tried to smile back.

“Never thought I would ever feel wistful for merely facing screaming orcs,” sighed our Druid.

“If this poor Mevrian is anywhere she is down that passage right?”

Dain Rocksmiter nodded.

“And if we wait here we could die just fending off the thirty closing behind us while never even seeing her,” said Halduamina, bravely trying to smile.

“That’s about the size of it,” said Dain.

“Big bloody portions!” said our Druid. “You’re the soldier Dalmas, can someone do a panicked run forward cos they are too scared to stand about waiting?”

“Far more times than civilians ever imagine!” We stood together, we smiled, we all shook hands. Hope may fade, the Fates may beckon, but there is still fine comrades and good fellowship. I slid long Talon from its scabbard. (*)

`“It just seems strange we are trying to rescue someone we have never even met,” said Halduamina mildly. “Err, is it worth me saying ‘after you then?’”

“Well, when all else fails, shields up, swords out and charge. If they are going to kill us today, let’s make them pay for the privilege. En Avant, comme il faut!” I sprang forward down the narrow passageway, my comrades close behind, Dain’s deep voice singing us forward:

“Dwarves, wha hae wi Durin bled,

Dwarves, wham Thorin has aften led,

Welcome tae yer gory bed,

Or tae victorie.”

“Now's the day and now' the hour
See the front o' battle lour
See approach such fell, foul power
Chains and slavery.”

“Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee.”

(*) And for me the same silent , eve of battle prayer:

“Lady Athene! thou knowest how busy I must be this day: if I forget thee, do not thou forget me.”

We charged forward, charged into that shrieking obscenity. The chamber was huge, far larger than anything we could have expected, hewn stone, colonnaded, eighty foot long at least. Our faithful Driftglobes were tiny motes of life in all the darkness but then Dain and I gave the command and our floating illumination burst into full daylight.

A bleak barren room. A waste pipe lay shattered forty feet away and a great heap of ordure was heaped along one wall, so old that plant fronds grew from the reeking mound. Nine, no ten, dark robed figures waited at the far end, where three burning braziers illuminated a long stone altar. There he stood, his arms aloft: a tall shaven headed man flanked by two hulking barbarians, their eyes vacant, their mouths drooling, one biting the rim of his shield. The man between them was smiling, he knew we were there, despite the two bloody eye sockets in his ruined face.

Thirteen? Only thirteen? But the roar of voices, the stamping feet? Were there more foes we could not see, invisible enemies only waiting for us to step nearer? No and the truth his us like a siege ram. These cultists of Tharizdun had been casting Thaumaturgy! There were only thirteen in the chamber and maybe a half dozen behind. Halduamina’s first arrow dropped one cultist in his tracks, Dain’s Guiding Bolt claimed another. Buddynock bought us precious time. As our screaming enemies charged forward, our Druid cast two Erupting Earth spells in quick succession, crushing two men and slowing the others when they had to climb through twisted heaps of earth. We heard scrambling steps from the passage behind us. Dain cast thorns to block their attack.

Dain and I held the centre of our line where we hoped to draw the brunt of any charge, nimble Halduamina and Buddynock two steps behind en echelon to guard both flanks. “Oh? Really? You mean like that barney with the frisky ghouls of Phandelver when I got seriously nobbled and not in any recreational way?” muttered our Druid.

Those two berserkers were leaping towards us down the hallway, huge axes glinting in the light, their eyes glazed, their mouths white with froth. We heard a high pitched voice raised in exultation, we heard words of power, words no mortal should ever know. The blinded warlock was calling upon his dread master, this acolyte of Tharizdun opened a gateway to the dark between the stars.

All at once the familiar world we knew was gone; suddenly the four of us stood in a sphere of utter blackness. We were fighting simply to breathe. We were blinded, trapped, numb with cold, we heard a cacophony of whispers, an eager slurping sound from hungry mouths. Milk pale tentacles rose around us, billowing like marsh lilies then lashing at our faces. They moved as mindlessly as smoke but their touch seared us with acid. From far away, we heard the joyous laughter of our foes.

We fought our way forward like wanderers trapped in quicksand, every step an agony, those tentacles twining round our bodies, the cold opening raw wounds in our flesh. Time slowed, each moment seemed an eternity, we struggled even to see the edge of this hellish magic, a few steps more, fighting all the way, we forced ourselves beyond the reach of this sorcery back into the cultist’s chamber. Our foes were almost on us, the tall warlock still made no sound, his hairless face was streaked with blood from his ruined eyes, but he did not need sight to find us. The warlock held his hands aloft, his fingers spread and again eldritch lightning leapt from his body. I grunted in pain as my mail hauberk burnt against by chest in a flurry of sparks.

Crossbow bolts hissed between us from the six cultists behind the thorn barrier, I dodged the first axe swing from one berserker and hacked back with Talon, as Halduamina felled a cultist with a cunning thrust of his rapier, the dagger in his right hand giving a coup de grace. Dain swung Grom felling another fanatic, the man had tried to hold Dain helpless with his own spell but our stubborn Dwarf was no easy prey for fell magic! The second Berserker was just dropping over the heaped earth left by Buddynock’s handiwork, he had gashed his leg on the sharp stones but simply did not notice the pain.

And then the reeking heap of ordure suddenly erupted as a monstrous creature burst into the light. A swollen bulbous body with three claw tipped legs like the trunks of trees, two long tentacles crowned by curving spikes and a yawning maw ringed with jagged teeth like the very mouth of hell. An otyugh, a foul and mindless otyugh! A waving frond? No an eyestalk and the creature had sighted its prey. The berserker dodged the first swinging tentacle and buried his great axe in the otyuch’s flanks, but the second tentacle laid the whole side of his head open, half his face ripped away.

The warlock chanted again, words which tore into my head like iron claws, words of hate and blood and ruthless command. I no longer knew what I was doing, I honestly had no control over my mind or actions. Dain’s fine linked Dwarvish mail turned my first attack but my second cut struck home and I saw the blood leap from my friend’s broad shoulders. Dain Rocksmiter swung round in shock and pain, just as another cultist stabbed home. With a bellow of fury, as Grom spat instructions, Dain swept the man’s head from his shoulders as I fought frantically to regain my senses.

My mind was invaded with dark evil, a cold chilling laughter, an absolute delight in pain. I raised long Talon again, I feinted left, thrust low, then jabbed down with my hilt. Poor Dain Rocksmiter barely dodged in time, ignoring Grom’s shrieked orders to cut me down. My psyche, my very soul, seemed drowned deep in dark waters, but even lost in those hellish depths I remembed my Stoic training. I wrestled that foul sorcery like great Herakles with Antaeos, shaking my head and driving that fell magic from my mind. A second cultist had flanked Dain, and was aiming his curved blade at my comrade’s unguarded side. With a desperate lunge I left the fanatic sprawled on the blood slicked stones. Dain grunted in thanks, eyed me warily and gallantly turned back to the enemy. Talon trembled in my hand, I had struck a comrade, I’d drawn blood, nearly killed my dear friend. The blinded warlock threw back his head laughing merrily, as I screamed with rage and sprang back to the battle.

An otyugh, thankfully without its prey.

Again the warlock sped lightning from his hands, again those six cultists behind us shot their crossbows, we were all hit at least once, for at such close range even full plate would struggle to turn their bolts. The otyugh seized the berserker in both tentacles, repeatedly dashing the luckless man headfirst against the floor. He lay limp, his face blind with blood, to our horror we saw the filthy creature feeding his stunned body between its jagged teeth. It proved too big a mouthful but the otyugh used its tentacles to slowly cram the warm corpse within its gaping maw, gulping convulsively as the dying berserker disappeared. Once again I felt the same dark magic invading my mind, I called upon Pallas Athene, I bit down on my lips till I swallowed my own warm blood, dragging myself free of the vile filth. I felled the last berserker with two more cuts. He died still foaming at the mouth, still trying to rend my sword hand with his teeth.

We were all wounded, all of us barely on our feet, the desperate battle hung in the balance. We saw our cultist foes healing their own wounds! We saw them blessing the warlock, who time and again sent dark lightning darting from his splayed fingers; the cruel bolts searing our flesh and faces. Buddynock was still on his feet, still holding his place, three cultists had fallen to his shillelagh spell and our Druid turned to speed a sling shot down the passage against those crossbowmen. Halduamina had truly fought valiantly, his darting rapier and dagger engaging two, no three foes at a time, but our brave Rogue fell to a swinging club and dropped unconscious to the floor.

Dain unleashed another Guiding Bolt which sent the blind warlock reeling, his tall body glowing with holy fire. Dain’s second spell smote the warlock to the ground, rolling like a flung rag doll arms flailing, a third left our vicious foe a smouldering corpse. Two crossbow bolts hissed past his head but Dain Rocksmiter still stood staring, ready to cast Guiding Bolt yet again at the slightest hint of movement. By the Dog, whether with blade or battle magic, a roused dwarf is a redoubtable warrior! (*)

(*) Even a polite and good-natured dwarf has limits to his good nature. Particularly when crazed cultists are trying to add him to their many victims and he has already endured a highly trying encounter with a particularly tactically aware Gelatinous Cube. That ledge saved Dain and Buddynock from a truly horrible fate, but ONLY just.

No town is safe if a ravenous otyugh ever emerges into daylight

The bloated otyugh was still feeding, reaching out tentacles for the warm corpses. I shielded helpless Halduamina as Buddynock and Dain felled the last two crossbowmen, trading shots through that tangled thicket of thorns. We took no prisoners; we had no chance to. At no point did our foes ask for quarter; these cultists only wanted death and we obliged them. Even the loss of their leader did not shake their resolve; our foes still spat curses in our faces as they died. An orc or gnoll is born to brutality, they kill because they know no better. These cultists of Tharizdun kill by choice.

The stone floor was a shambles of blood, but poor Halduamina was back on his feet despite the deep wound across his temple. We had never seen an otyugh before. Would the beast depart now it had eaten, would it let us slip past to search that terrible altar for poor Mevrian? We were wounded and weary, we had no stomach for another fight. We tried to communicate with the beast, we did, both Dain and Buddynock can speak with animals but this hideous otyugh was no natural creature of wood or hill. They tried, they shook their heads, but then gaped with astonishment, for we each heard the same guttural, bubbling voice within our minds: “Hungry, hungry, feed, feed, meat NOW!”

The otyugh rushed forward long fangs dripping, the yawning mouth wide as a wine barrel; spike tipped tentacles lashing the air. I slashed twice with Talon; as Grom guided Dain’s axe stroke and Halduamina stabbed with his long rapier and nimble dagger. The otyugh roared with fury; one tentacle glanced off my battered shield, Halduamina dodged the second, but to our horror that drooling mouth closed on little Buddynock, the jagged teeth biting deep. The hideous beast held our Gnomish friend in a death grip and we plied our blades with a will, hacking at that otyugh until it at last lay still and we leaned on blood smeared arms sobbing for breath. Poor Buddynock Rubyrubb fell to the floor and we winced at the ragged gashes in his side and the rank stench of his wounds; that offal eating otyugh was truly a beast of the sewer and cess pit. I used the very last of my healing skills to curb any infection; I do not like to imagine Buddynock’s chances without such aid.

“So Druids can kill some creatures, “ gasped Halduamina. “If they’ve got three legs and tentacles and a mouth wide enough to swallow a millstone?”

“Exactly!” said Buddynock, turning his head to make doubly sure his wounds were not infected. “It’s just not natural that Otyugh thing. Bloody wizards with too much time on their hands, getting ‘creative’ and hey presto, a great flabby monstrosity feeding on sewage and messing with your head.”

“But deranged terminally curious wizards making owlbears are socially acceptable?” Halduamina raised one eyebrow.

“Owlbears are furry and quite cuddly,” Buddynock insisted. “YES! In the right circumstances”

“No don’t go there again. Please!” urged Dain Rocksmiter.

“But why was the otyugh even here? “ I asked. “The cultists were clearly surprised when it appeared. It hardly seems a welcome sentry.”

“I think it moved in between their last use of the chamber,” Buddynock nodded. “When the cultists found the results of that bust pipe they should have checked. You leave piles of muck around and you just see what quickly calls it home.”

The day was ours but not the victory, as we approached we saw what lay upon that altar. Poor Mevrian had died long before we ever reached this chamber and her death had not been quick for blind Tharizdun expects all due honours from his followers. We shrouded her desecrated corpse in sacks and carried her back to daylight. Some might say it would have been kinder to spare her stricken family the sight of her body, yet how could we leave Mevrian alone in this unhallowed darkness, alone in this filth? We all saw the jagged spiral of Chained Tharizdun carved deep into the altar; we shattered the long slab of stone where she lay and I blessed the fragments and dust. We could not guess how many victims had died upon that altar but poor Mevrian would be the last.

We found a sad heap of clothing, shoes and pitiful personal belongings, we found where these cultists had wantonly destroyed everything belonging to their scores of victims. Dragons kill for loot, trolls seek food and treasure, yet followers of Tharizdun destroy for the simple delight in utter destruction, blind Chaos, despair and decay. Everything was ripped, wrecked and ruined apart from one single scrap of parchment, the words and jagged spiral emblem only too plain:

The rest of our time in Svarstaag is quickly told. We brought poor Mevrian back to her family the only way we could. There are never any words to soften the pain; if there were, we would all know them by heart already. We could only mumble some apologies and try to explain, we could only try to forget their stricken, weeping faces. Words like justice or due punishment ring so hollow, when all her family wanted was Mevrian safe home again once more. We had destroyed one group of cultists yet how long before blind Tharizdun ensnared further zealots? Some dark force had opened a conduit to the Chained One, the Destroyer of Worlds and unless this gateway was soon found and sealed, surely other cults of Tharizdun would form and more citizens of teeming Svarstaag would soon go missing.

Halduamina already had that magic dagger recovered from the Gelatinous Cube. He was fortunate indeed to also discover an enchanted rapier actually for sale; it took most of his gold and jewels from the troll den but this sword was well worth the price. Like Buddynock and Dain, I also paid to have my dagger inlaid with silver. Some fell creatures are only harmed by enchanted or silver weapons, each of these inlays cost more than a full chain hauberk, but sometimes daggers are the only weapon we have left. Better to have a prepared weapon we never need, than lament its absence all too late.

At last our new armour was ready. Dain and I were fitted for our new dwarf wrought plate harness and it was a wonder to feel such fine craftmanship encasing my limbs. So many know so little about heavy armour. A trained knight can vault into his saddle even in full plate when the weight is distributed well and evenly. Dain and I were both armed cap a pie from steel sabatons to visored helms. Our breastplates were not gaudy but intricate enough to be worn separately at any social gathering, well who can say when such precaution may be advisable. Our breastplates were also engraved with our holy symbols, the valiant owl of Pallas Athene and the mace and furred boot, Masse d'armes sur brogue vair, of Marthammor Duin, for Dain. The whole Nine Worlds would see our allegiance when we fought and we could call out for divine aid without needing one hand to hold any relic or sign. A wise warrior does not rely purely on their shield. (*)

(*) On careful reflection I preferred a pointed bascinet over an armet. Yes the armet would fit my head more closely, but I felt the cheek pieces would prove too vulnerable if the hinges were damaged or the protective side phlanges bent. Maybe I was simply so used to my heavy great helm, the weight of a steel bascinet seemed nothing in comparison! I requested a plate gorget rather than a camail to guard my throat as this also helped contour the bascinet around my head. I wanted minimal restriction to my peripheral vision and I was still able to swiftly turn my head from side to side. Yes, I chose very carefully indeed. The skull piece did not taper to a towering point either. I had NO wish to encourage any bored Druid behind me to start playing ad hoc hoop la!

“Yes but what about the most crucial question?” Alas, Buddynock Rubyrubb is truly to be most feared when he looks most innocent.

“Not again please!” I began. “I have explained all this once already. No, do not encourage him Halduamina!”

A lazy mind only ever considers the commonplace. A lazy mind rarely strays beyond expected platitudes. Yet … yet … some old chestnuts have deep roots! They are both bearded, both of short stature, but yes, Gnomes and Dwarves share no similarity in temperament! For every sober and earnest minded Dwarf, a merry Gnome sings and quips their careless way through life.

Buddynock Rubyrubb had insisted on accompanying us to the armourers and observing every aspect of being fitted for full plate harness. He was present when Dain and I were first measured. He was present when each new helm and pauldron, besagew, cuirass, rerebrace, coulter, vambrace, gauntlet, fauld, cuisse, poleyn, greave and sabaton were painstakingly tried, flexed, and marked for final adjustment.

Those five Dwarven armourers were true masters of their craft, determined to create plate armour Durin the Deathless would have gladly worn. Their skill was outstanding, their efforts truly painstaking. They certainly never deserved all Buddynock’s eager questions:

“But what happens when knights in full armour want a tinkle?”

“Are you quite sure adding a little spigot just there would not help? Yes, just there!”

“Does it all just collect in your metal shoes?”

“Are there a lot of vacancies for squires then? Seems a job not everyone would really want.“

“So you’re both definitely not going for one of those strap on thingies?” (*)

(*) Dain Rocksmiter had to be taken outside for air and slapped vigorously on the back after hearing “armourdildo.”

Dain and I had slipped Halduamina ten crowns and asked him to take Buddynock back to the afternoon pantomime, but either no puppets were performing today, or our Druid friend had already been barred

after his first exposure to drama last week.

Dwarves revere their long dead ancestors, honour tradition and put heart and soul into their work.

A helm even worthy of brave Azaghâl, Lord of Belegost.

Lord Azaghâl, fallen defiantly at Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Battle of Unnumbered Tears, wounding the fell dragon Glaurung with his dying strength and buying time for his last Elvish allies to escape the slaughter.

Dwarven armour has a fiercely intricate, angular beauty, wrought steel warded with runes of power.

Great strength and great ancestral pride combined.

Fitting for our comrade Dain Rocksmiter

“I refuse to discuss the matter,” Dain Rocksmiter pushed back his helm, his beard neatly held within the rivetted steel camail. “Especially with anyone who spends good gold on a hat like that. Not To mention a green parrot too!”

“You mean Oscar.” Buddynock gently stroked his new pet’s head. “And this bicorn is just the ticket for when we sail to Saltmarsh. Some adventurers hide themselves in steel trousers, others have an actual sense of style! And Oscar likes the purple feather.”

“That hat certainly makes the thought of losing every possession to shipwreck less terrifying,” grunted Dain.

Halduamina was kind enough to let me try a series of thrusts and all the eight parries with

his resplendent enchanted rapier. A truly elegant weapon, I would be proud to wield myself.

Our new Bags of Holding were of crucial importance, allowing us to stow supplies and heavy gear with ease. Some equipment we carried openly. I had exchanged my javelins for a longbow and quiver, for I was weary of not being able to engage our enemies at range. Halduamina replaced his short bow with a light crossbow, all the better to punch through armour or heavy scales.

We had only one more errand in Svarstaag: to collect Wilson from the grateful wizards of Larios. Some moments may seem small, but like the mystic pearls of Amphitrite, they actually encompass a whole world of dreams and longing. Shupatra the Bard would have surely composed some plaintive threnody or soaring triumphal ode, noble Aeschylos would have set a full masked Chorus singing praises; all to honour the moment Buddynock Rubyrubb, Forest Gnome Druid of the Fifth Circle of the Moon was united with his enchanted, self-repairing, wheeled battle-bucket smiling Wilson. (*)

“And look, look, LOOK! Wilson’s still got his smiley face! He mends himself, he moves at command, he can zap people in melee and deflect attacks and he will gain strength as I do.” Buddynock was more overjoyed than we had ever seen him before. “Here boy, here boy. Look, look LOOK!! Wilson’s coming towards us!”

I felt a tug on my sleeve. “Do you remember the safe angle to stand in?” whispered Dain. “I know he told us once but…”

Wilson the Steel Defender had been a long time coming but now, could life ever really be the same!

BEING an END to BOOK XI

Halduamina recovered a magic dagger +1 from the sewers of Svarstaag but none of our foes had any other treasure.

Our other new magic items were all purchased.

Halduamina bought an ensorcelled rare rapier+1

Buddynock now owns an enchanted linden buckler+1

I bought my own Driftglobe for welcome floating illumination. I also bought a cleansing stone

Our party now owns twelve diamonds each worth 100 gold pieces

We also possess fifteen Identify spell scrolls.

(*) Wilson is now technically a Steel Defender and will rise in potential as Buddynock gains experience.

Wilson is speedy too, he propels himself, yet when necessary, Buddynock can still carry him within his Bag of Holding.

Our Gnomish Druid has talked of enchanting his bucket into a from the very first day our company was formed!

NOTE: I

I made one further purchase, a pocket Aundairian cleansing stone.

They are normally carved in a sphere a foot in diameter and set in city squares by kind benefactors who want to aid their fellow citizens. My smaller stone weighed only 5 lb but had the same mystic sigils and performed the same task, if a little slower.

In only a quarter hour this Aundairian stone could remove all dirt and grime from my garments or person, a true boon for adventurers fresh from battle and toil, especially if they hope to persuade or impress wavering bystanders.

“A kindly thought but perhaps a little late?” said Dain Rocksmiter, who still sniffed cautiously at his clothes when he thought none of us were watching.

“But certainly very useful in the future,” I replied.

Our Cleric just gave me a very level look.

That’s no mean feat for a dwarf, even an aggrieved one. (*)

(*) A pocket Aundairian cleansing stone was not my only unusual purchase.

I do not claim to be some seer or prophet but but some future needs are only too obvious!

Gallant Boreaus my noble celestial steed can take many forms and teeming Swarstaag has a few specialist saddlers.

This city is no stranger to maritime trade either.

Yes, I was most fortunte indeed. Sixty gold crowns is hardly a light price but some needs have to be met.

NOTE II

At the time, we rather lacked any chance to ask about: “forak-erach-naek” Nidhogg?”

The world-devouring Nidhogg I know of already; for every people have their own monsters deep in the dark, and the Dwarfs dread serpents most of all.

But “forak-erach-naek?” I speak Dwarvish with fair fluency, even if my accent is not all that I could wish. I could translate the individual words sure enough: “empty-scabbard-killers” but what in Hades did that mean?

Dain Rocksmiter is a clean spoken dwarf unless strongly provoked; I preferred not to raise the matter with him directly.

“Don’t think so literally,” Halduamina advised me quietly. “Empty-scabbard-killers clearly has a more colloquial meaning to dwarfs.”

“You say that but-“ I began.

Buddynock Rubyrubb rolled his eyes. “When in doubt about any naughty words dear Dalmas just assume the obvious; it’s something closely connected to how little baby dwarves appear!”

NOTE: III

“Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger. A wise saying,” said Halduamina, “but sometimes … on balance and after careful consideration, still best overlooked all the same.”

I suppose many books could be said to increase intelligence. (*)

The summons from Archmage Imari arrived six days before we sailed, she offered a chance I never expected, an opportunity we simply had to accept . The High Circle had considered carefully. We had thwarted a demonic incursion from dread Avernus, we had saved the University from damage and disgrace. On reflection, had our previous reward really been fitting? Surely Wizards above all others should value intelligence and nurture every mind capable of honest reason?

No Wizard ever parts willingly with their books, but they might just lend them in special circumstances. The Lyceum of Larios is famed for its Library; a dangerous place for uninvited visitors but we were guests at the express invitation of Archmage Imari herself. Wizards escorted us, wizards remained with us every moment. We were told not to wander, told not to open other books, or even approach certain other shelves.

For six days our small company sat at ancient oaken tables, sat under bright candlelight, sat and studied earnestly. The Tome of Clear Thought is near legendary, a collection of memory and logic exercises, all charged with magic and providing the reader with new precepts and new modes of thinking. Tireless exercise with sword and spear develops strength, rogues practice finger exercises to enhance their sleight of hand; anyone studying a Tome of Clear Thought and following its guidelines intensifies the power of their mind!

Few full copies of this tome exist and each can only be read once in a century. Yet here, now, in this ancient and renowed sanctuary of books were four digests of the main axioms! The next six days were a blur of strained eyes and ink stained fingers, muttered curses, pounding headaches and sudden dawning realisation and delight! We had not read actual Tomes of Clear Thought but our powers of reason and logic had still been enhanced all the same!

What new possibilities did this offer us? We were only just beginning to realise!

NOTE: IV

Why wise parties avoid venturing onto the high seas, lakes, rivers, streams, ponds, limpid pools, meres, marshes, mangrove swamps or even paddling areas if they look a tad suspect.

Down these mean dungeons a Paladin must go, who is not himself mean but hopefully rolls some 20's!

Friday, 2 June 2023

Book XI: Many Towered Svarstaag