Down these mean dungeons a Paladin must go, who is not himself mean but hopefully rolls some 20's!: February 2024

Being the Chronicle of Cadan Dalmas, Knight

BEING a BEGINNING to BOOK XIII

Saltmarsh seemed so tiny after teeming Svarstaag. Barely five thousand citizens thronged the cobbled streets and wooden wharves, humans mainly, but enough workers from the nearby dwarven mines to have their own established banking house and inn, not to mention also a few score wood elves from Silverstand Forest and a cluster of halflings and gnomes. Few settlements along the Keoland Coast can ever be called rich, but this backwater fishing port still seemed to be thriving.

The harbour berths were full of fishing boats and small merchant vessels, we heard the rasp of adzes and saws as shipwrights plied their trade. The reek of hot tar and gutted fish seemed everywhere as the people of Saltmarsh went about their simple lives. If the daily catch was good we saw smiling faces; if fishing nets rose empty the mood was grim yet never despondent. There was an ease within this town; people spoke without fear and looked strangers in the eye. Very few seemed prosperous but we saw no beggars or destitution in these streets. Both the shops along Sharkfin Bridge and the scatter of market stalls along the Green Leigh seemed busy.

Even so, my heart sank when I surveyed the town. I saw no effective defences at all, no curtain walls or strong points, the buildings were mainly clay brick topped by lath and plaster; and few rose above two floors. Small Saltmarsh seemed wide open to attack from either land or sea. The town guard made some pretence at drill and bore their green reed badge proudly, but a few score soldiers in boiled leather cuirasses were scarcely effective protection. The militia were even worse: five hundred panicked citizens falling over their own feet and clutching any farm tool or fishing spear they could find. Any ships in the harbour might have seasoned crews and even some marines, but never enough to shield this town. The royal naval base at Seaton lay six sea miles to the south. If this fishing port ever faced any real onslaught, I feared there would be few citizens left alive to greet any relief force.

The Long Night fell five centuries ago and every province of the Nine Realms endured blood, burning and anarchy for decades. Order was eventually restored, after a fashion, but only with great pain and endless toil and the realms have never truly recovered even so. Hope is always a fragile flower. Once the free peoples stood united against the forces of Chaos, but so many alliances never survive the return of peace. When the Long Night ended, some misguided provinces turned against their neighbours and kings with dreams of conquest rarely care where their soldiers are mustered. While ambitious monarchs fought among themselves, their former maritime defences were stripped to the bone and remote fishing ports like Saltmarsh were not deemed worthy of any protection.

Thirty years ago savage raiders struck from the sea. Raiders in their hundreds, a whole Confederacy. For years, long pirate galleys looted and pillaged the entire Keoland Coast with near impunity, burning settlements and seizing slaves for hundreds of miles. These corsairs grew so bold they even began to claim this land for their own. From raider to ‘respectable’ ruler only takes two generations; the step is far shorter than people suppose. This coast was so nearly lost forever but at last King Kimbertos Skotti was forced to look south. All his imperial ambitions had come to nothing; he raised a navy and turned back to defend his own people. The pirates resisted and fierce fighting endured for years, until their Confederacy faltered and fell apart. Every corsair stronghold was stormed and most of the pirate fleets were taken or burnt, yet other ships escaped and the old dread still remains. Thirty years have indeed passed yet Saltmarsh citizens have still never forgotten. By the Dog, we had come to a divided town! Some placed their faith in this renewed protection of wayward King Skotti, but others never forgot his wanton neglect all those decades ago. Certain citizens of Saltmarsh now preferred to trust their own wits and weapons and live free.

We bought new silvered daggers in Saltmarsh and Halduamina was fitted for another studded brigandine. Our Rogue kept his own counsel but his purse seemed very light all the same; Halduamina had spent heavily on his enchanted rapier and our passage aboard Unicorn had not come cheap. Money went far in small Saltmarsh but any man needs something all the same. Any Rogue has one obvious means of raising more coin; we could only hope young Halduamina would have the wisdom not to give way to temptation. Saltmarsh might lack any organised Thieves’ Guild, but the consequences for crimes might be far more stringent than we guessed. (*)

“What leather did they use?” asked Dain.

“I still haven’t quite made up my mind,” said Halduamina. “Might even be from some sea creature.”

“Best check for faded anchor tattoos all the same,” muttered Buddynock. “Or any washed out naughty mermaids. Would you want to try dodging any bar bill here?” (**)

Our first duty was plain. Vicious Sahuagin hunting parties were seeking prey; two more boats had been lost and at least a dozen sailors had gone down with them. We joined gallant Captain Hadoke at the Mariners’ Guildhall the first morning following our arrival. Certain formalities are always expected. Halduamina and I both donned our finest clothes for this meeting but Dain Rocksmiter recalled our unknown foes and their attempts to sink our poor ship, for him a burnished breastplate was the wiser choice. Buddynock Rubyrubb was also attending, but I cannot imagine any possible change of clothing which could ever ‘improve’ his appearance. At least, after fervent protests, Buddynock finally removed some of the twigs and flowers from his hose, hair and beard. He also left Oscar the Parrot with his Kenku friends aboard the Unicorn. It is not that our Gnomish Druid is unaware of social etiquette, Buddynock simply fails to accept it ever really also applies to him. (***)

(*) At least we assumed the absence of any organised Thieves’ Guild.

“Saltmarsh may be only a fishing port but we can still expect smuggling all the same,” Dain Rocksmiter said softly.

“Who might well like playing ‘how long can you hold your breath upside down under the pier’ with nosy outsiders,” nodded Buddynock

(**) I still assume Buddynock was joking. Unless he still remembered our murderous experience of Svarstaag.

(***) “Gnomes keep it real!” insisted our Druid. “None of this ‘tug your forelock malarkey and know your place

peasant’. And anyway, how do you know they would not enjoy meeting Wilson?”

An attentive butler welcomed us to the Guildhall; a tall lean man with silver hair and the clipped voice of a veteran servant. His manners were impeccable, his bearing calm, not even Buddynock’s naval hat could startle him. The building was clean and orderly; the plasterwork on the walls had even been freshly gilded, but this was a working chamber all the same. Five worthies of Saltmarsh waited eagerly around the long table and we heard ardent voices even through the heavy oak doors. If hungry Sahuagin threatened their ships and citizens they needed to know; if we had tactics to defeat these Sea Devils they clearly wished to learn. I sensed no obvious antagonism or duplicity but could we really be sure? Some lurking enemy was seeking to destroy us, some unknown foe so nearly sank poor Unicorn in mid ocean. The malign influence of Blind Tharizdun now infested the whole Nine Realms, could we truly be certain any of these five Saltmarsh citizens were actually whom they seemed? I had already planned for this interview with my comrades; we carefully made no mention of our quest. None of these Saltmarsh citizens would be told we desperately sought a portal to the woken dead. (*)

Skerrin Wavechaser, Butler to Anders Solmer

(*) There would be no chance to cast any Zone of Truth spell surreptitiously. Alas

Five faces turned to us expectantly as the aged butler threw back the double doors. Our arrival had clearly interrupted a discussion more heated than friendly. A weather worn woman with iron grey hair was still speaking as we entered, emphasising each point with stabs from her briar pipe.

Eda Oweland

Elliander Fireborn

Eda Oweland remembered those decades when a feckless monarch left all the coast stripped of protection. By holy Procan, Saltmarsh deserved far better! Eda Oweland had no love for King Skotti and no wish for any king’s garrison; independence meant risks but she would choose freedom all the same. Trust a sailor to speak bluntly and dislike authority. Eda Oweland had spent years hauling heavy nets herself before she ever came to own three large fishing boats. She leaned forward in her chair as we described our desperate fight with the Sahuagin and those ships we could not save. Eda Oweland seemed wary of outsiders but warmed to Gallos Hadoke, one mariner recognising the skill of another. (*)

The grizzled veteran sitting opposite spoke as if he paid hard coin for every word. Elliander Fireborn had no time for any wishful thinking, he insisted only royal troops could maintain the safety of Saltmarsh. His words clearly carried weight. Few men survive battling an owlbear singlehanded, especially an owlbear defending her chicks. This victory had clearly come at a price for Elliander Fireborn walked upon a finely carved wooded peg in place of his left leg. Yet despite this injury the Captain of Saltmarsh’s town guard appeared spry and alert, and more shrewd than his simple manner suggested. So many civilians so easily underestimate bluff soldiers: our Druid only realised Elliander Fireborn spoke Gnomish when his whispered comments to Halduamina provoked a hard stare and snort of contempt! Elliander Fireborn seemed particularly wary of me but I could guess his reason all too plainly. Any veteran soldier learns to distrust young nobles who so often and so easily assume the right to command, over the heads of officers who truly know their trade.

(*) “Blunt?” Halduamina whispered to little Buddynock. “That’s one word I suppose but-“

Buddynock Rubyrubb grinned evilly. “After nearly a year with me our Paladin now knows at least some of these words. Just look at Dalmas going all red!”

Mannistrad Copperlocks

Gellan Primewater

Elliander Fireborn was not alone in his opinions. His ally surprised each of us and maybe Dain Rocksmiter most of all. Well, the world is always changing: customs familiar to our forebears are often challenged in ways they could never have foreseen. Dwarves had settled in Saltmarsh recently to mine silver ore from the sea cliffs. Their presence was accepted, mostly, but dwarven women are rarely expected to plan mine shafts and drainage channels. Mannistrad Copperlocks leaned forward in her chair and listened attentively, she let each delegate speak without interruption before returning to her own well-worn theme. Trust a dwarf miner to be stubborn! Mannistrad Copperlocks placed the wellbeing of her shafts and tunnels first and foremost; if troops were needed to protect her mine then Saltmarsh must have a royal garrison immediately. Mannistrad Copperlocks clearly had no time for protracted debate; she wanted tasks identified swiftly then completed effectively that very day. I know most dwarves prize order and tradition but was this truly fair, these miners never endured those long years of pirate raids? (*)

Three Saltmarsh counsellors all spoke with curt insistence, but never appeared to listen. Was the fourth man the only diplomat amongst them? His words were smooth as churned cream, his manner friendly and assured, this Gellan Primewater cut a dapper figure in his velvet coat, fur collar and gilt monocle; a man with all the easy confidence of personal wealth and very sure of his place and his position. Of course Gellan Primewater recalled those terrible years when the Keoland Coast burnt and bled. Of course Gellan Primewater wanted prosperity and peace for all. Of course Gellan Primewater did not dislike King Skotti personally, of course he did not, but any increased royal presence meant permanent loss of independence and freedoms: “the fundamental right of any man, indeed any woman, to make a fair and unfettered profit from the sweat of their brow and the strength of their hands. In all fairness and I feel you can all appreciate my concern, how would any increase in taxation guarantee any further protection than before?” (**)

(*) “We have an old saying,” Dain told us afterwards. “Some dwarfs don’t wait for a mine to creak before adding new

pit props.”

“But this Engineer Copperlocks still expects full carts every shift?” said Halduamina. “And all ores graded, cleaned, assessed and sorted by cleavage. … What? No that’s ores Buddynock, ores as in stone!”

(**) I saw Buddynock Rubyrubb eyeing that monocle with magpie interest!

I saw Halduamina smile and wink. (Our Rogue also dislikes the pomposity of petty magnates).

I saw Dain Rocksmiter’s expression, saw his long beard quivering, saw him frantically mouth the word “NO!”

Anders Solmer

Perhaps young Anders Solmer held the balance of power here. A young man, still fresh faced and only recently elected. Wealthy like Gellan Primewater but not so used to privilege, Anders Solmer had inherited his family’s fleet of fishing boats after the untimely death of his mother. I know, only too well, it is foolish to place much stock in first impressions but he seemed engaging and lacking in artifice. Where other counsellors saw only fear and the weight of the past, young Anders Solmer actually hoped for something better. His ventures in trade were growing and apparently successful, it was Anders Solmer who had chartered Unicorn and her cargo. Was he the key to Saltmarsh’s future? Just how important was he to this town? Wishful thinking is indulgent and hopes can often be foolish, but without any hope we have no reason to ever strive at all. (*)

We saw no resolution to this debate at least not today, I am simply grateful the Saltmarsh council gave their united attention to these Sahuagin attacks. Five Saltmarsh ships had now been lost, near thirty fisherman slain. These Sea Devils were attacking more regularly and in far greater numbers than ever before. There was no sign their aggression was decreasing and both Eda Oweland and lliander Fireborn demanded immediate action. “If you will not turn to the King then we must raise our own force and that means raising taxes to fund it!” Eda Oweland bit down hard on her pipe stem.

(*) Young Anders Solmer was certainly the first to laugh when a bored Buddynock Rubyrubb decided to “shake these stiffs up a bit” and suddenly pulled out his breeches pockets shouting: “anyone ever seen the white eared Klatchian elephant?”

We already knew our Gnomish Druid has a … how can I best put this … a … free and easy relationship with expected social conventions but … but … this?!?

Were Buddynock’s experiences with the sadistic Svarstaag Watch still playing on his mind?

I can only thank Tymora Lady of Fortune the five Councillors of Saltmarsh actually laughed!

Eventually.

I honestly believe Dain Rocksmiter hardly looked less horrified charging dread Venomfang!

Much of that evening, much of it, was spent earnestly talking with Buddynock Rubyrubb back in our lodgings.

Calls to raise taxes come so readily from poor citizens. Others prove less keen. Gellan Primewater smoothly regretted the current difficulties restricting fiscal options and the Dwarven Engineer looked askance at losing any further profit from her mine. Once again young Anders Solmer broke the deadlock and his words were careful and measured; this man might lack experience but there were signs of future wisdom all the same. I could not help warming to him, for this was one rich man willing to shoulder his civic responsibilities. Anders Solmer would fit both of his new trading ships as patrol vessels if his fellow citizens could find fighting crews and pay their wages. “A fund for bereaved families might also encourage volunteers,” said Councillor Solmer.

Mannistrad Copperlocks sighed with exasperation, not caring who might overhear. We observed Eda Oweland and lliander Fireborn exchanging knowing glances, we saw Gellan Primewater force a smile and steeple his long fingers. “Sadly, and this is very sad, but we all know, and know only too well, that increasing smuggling is stripping bare rightful revenues. These are scarcely small expenses and just how long do you expect us to maintain them? How can we realistically fund such ventures ourselves when precious coin is lost to these criminal bands?”

“You say this but you refuse to turn to the King!” lliander Fireborn shouted loud enough for his drill field. “You cannot steer both points of the compass!”

“And generosity comes easiest when spending other people’s money,” Gellan Primewater’s monocle was gleaming. I had the distinct sense all too many debates of Saltmarsh Council ended in such impasse.

Young Anders Solmer had to clear his throat twice before he was heard. “There is perhaps a third course open to us. Thank you for your attention. Yes a third course. We investigate, identify and destroy these smuggling bands.”

“Brave words indeed, “ sniffed Eda Oweland. “But again, brave words from someone scarcely first to risk his neck. Who by Procan’s Blue Foreskin will you be sending?”

“Do not look to my dwarves!” Mannistrad Copperlocks tapped her fist on the table. “This is not our problem. We mine, we pay full taxes. We are not responsible.”

Gellan Primewater sighed and smiled. Iliander Fireborn pushed back his chair to ease his aching leg. I would like to think young Anders Solmer genuinely looked bashful just before he turned to us, swallowed hard and spoke.

I glanced at my companions. Halduamina was only too anxious to seek further treasure before he was forced to turn his hand to menial work. Buddynock Rubyrubb was already bored by the Council and eager for new sights. Dain Rocksmiter simply shrugged. We knew the stark urgency of our mission; dread Tharizdun, The Chained Beast, The Eater of Worlds was bound fast to a plane between the worlds. We could not permit his crazed acolytes to open any gateway to the outer darkness, we had to find the portal between our worlds and when seeking Blind Lord of Chaos where better to search than a haunted house? (*)

(*) A sacred grove dedicated to Obad-Hai lay just outside Saltmarsh and Buddynock gladly paid his respects to the Halfling druid tending the altar. The shrine was completely open to the sky and proved a haven for raucous seagulls. I am still not certain where Druid Ferrin Kastilar actually slept but at least his bullfrog companion Lorys never minded the damp. “He’s a bit of a sober soul, this Kastilar,” Buddynock told us later. “No smiles or jokes, he just kept warning me to beware Aberrations. He also asked for any word from the Dwarf Hold of Oren Ben”.

I noticed Buddynock Rubyrubb listened most respectfully and paid polite attention to Lorys the Frog.

By the Dog, our Gnomish friend is quite able to follow all proprieties when he chooses!

“I notice you did not mention your mechanical friend Wilson,” Dain Rocksmiter smiled sardonically. “To a Druid.”

I think Druid Buddynock actually looked shifty!

We stowed our kit at The Wicker Goat tavern in the west of town; the inn much frequented by Dwarves from the mines. A modest establishment but clean and respectable. “And definitely a lot less dodgy than the other two boozers I tried with spiky Alton, Hugin and Mugin. The Snapping Line permanently pongs of fish and The Empty Net is out on stilts over the harbour. Very iffy! If you don’t start a bar brawl you can’t call yourself a regular.”

“A good place to start any search for smugglers,” suggested Halduamina.

“Any who go to the Empty Net definitely come with at least six of their mates and ideally a very protective Mum!”

We were not in any danger but the winds certainly rose high along this cliff top walk. We would reach the abandoned mansion in another hour or so and I was glad not to force the pace. There was a smell of rain in the air, fitful sunlight pierced the low afternoon clouds.

“So no one has seen this old alchemist for years right?” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“Correct,” I shook sand from my boot. “Not for many years.”

“And he was trying that old turn gubbins to gold trick?” said Buddynock.

“Don’t they all,” smiled Halduamina. “If Rogues ever take the road there are faster and more certain ways of turning all our lead to gold.”

“And this elderly gent vanished faster than a Cleric who knows his round comes up next,” said Buddynock. “And we are casually going to explore his abandoned home? The mansion which stands all alone, where those inquisitive lads heard eldritch screams and wailing before they legged it? That one just coming into view on the headland?”

Dain Rocksmiter sighed. “YES! And also the one where people swear mysterious lights glow on certain nights.”

“There could be spooks, spectres and other Undead nasties waiting in there!” Buddynock’s brass goggles usually fog over whenever he is excited.

“But how do smugglers traditionally deter visitors,” said Dain. “Pretend phantoms or headless horsemen. All moonshine. And anyway Buddynock you’ve faced actual Undead before and lived to tell the tale.” (*)

(*) I give thanks to share my quest with a Cleric of such common sense and modesty.

A shrine to Procan can be expected in any sailors’ town for no mariner ever dares ignore the capricious Lord of the Open Sea. If Great Procan cannot fairly be called cruel, he most definitely can never be mistaken for kind! It was no wonder his services at Saltmarsh were always well attended, the grim priest a retired whaler called Wellgar Brinehand.

“Someone else who has lost a leg,” I murmured to Dain.

“Yes but to what?” whispered my friend as he stared out unhappily at the rolling waves far below us. “Those moments actually in the water under the Unicorn … never again I tell you, never again!”

Even on brief acquaintance it was clear this Wellgar Brinehand liked to talk and he had no shortage of yarns about storms and ships, or the creatures lurking deep beneath the waves. Any Cleric or Paladin who visits a strange town should make a point of offering their services at any local shrines. All clerics take pride in tending their own congregation but some ailments may lie beyond their own skill. Dain and I both offered all the healing magics we possessed, we offered humbly and this Wellgar was grateful for our skill. That certainly proved most fortunate before long!

“Doesn’t mean I like ‘em,” sulked Druid Buddynock. “That Phandelver phantom was picking on me. You both saw it! Solo manifesting, with both hands, in public and IN FRONT of ladies! And he kept going for me! Just cos I’m wholesome and celebrate life and flowers and fluffy kittens.”

“We defeated him though,” I began. “And-“

“Eventually! My left shoulder still goes all numb thinking of him. Am just glad his arms weren’t 18 inches longer!”

“Here we are! “ Dain exclaimed hastily.

“Would have ruined any nights out on the razz!” came an aggrieved voice close to the ground.

The two storey stone and timber house stood proud on a rise, surrounded by a crumbling wall, still six feet in places but with broken stones lying all around the base. A teetering ironwork gate clung to its remaining hinge like a miser to his last copper. A cliff fell sheer to the sea, and with Dain holding firmly to my feet, I swallowed hard and peered over the edge. A hundred feet below the grey sea pounded at the rocks; there was no beach, nothing but driving waves.

We explored the grounds first and only after checking the gateway for traps: crafty Halduamina employing his Mage Hand to good effect from thirty feet away. Gravel paths were choked with weeds, but we found some evidence of previous cultivation, a vegetable patch long overgrown and returned to seed. Nearby stood a lichen covered stone well, the coping stones still sound but the bucket and winch long rotted away.HaulHH

“There’s something glinting in the bottom,” said Buddynock.

Dain sniffed. “Twenty foot deep at least, how are you going to get down?”

“I could take animal form,” smiled our Druid craning even further over the edge.

“You can’t fly yet,” added Halduamina.

“Well, I could be a squirrel or rat, something good at scampering down rough brickwork, or … or … Dain could lower me part way on his pole of collapsing and I hold a cloak over my head to slow my fall as I-”

“Or we could just use my rope and grapple,” I said, carefully deadpan. If I rarely get the opportunity to make jokes that does not mean I don’t appreciate the chance!

I took the strain as Halduamina carefully kept watch for any threats at our back. We heard muttering as Buddynock slowly descended, complaints when he accidentally landed in a foot of water and cursing when he read a carved message to “beware the Mimic” etched into the shaft. Our Druid was soon returned to us and squeezing water from his boots. “Just a dozen or so silver pieces, some disturbingly large snake bones and evidence some folks have chisels, hammers, a rope ladder and far too much free time.”

We heard creaking planks groaning in the fitful breeze; somewhere an unsecured shutter rattled and banged. This was hardly a place to calm anyone’s nerves. A limp scarecrow drooped from a stake in the ruined garden and the creature’s dark eyes and stitched grin had truly lurched from a nightmare. We prodded the rotted sacking with Dain’s extending wooden pole. Nothing, nothing at all, we were anxious for no reason but the mood in this bleak place was truly unsettling. A weather stained veranda ran alongside the front of the house. We tested each mouldering plank, we leaned forward to push the broken door; suddenly that scarecrow leapt at us!

I am proud to say nobody squandered a spell. The creature surged through the air, then stopped and hung motionless save for two flailing arms. “It’s on a wire,” said Halduamina. “Running under the planking and look, attached to the door.”

“Very … humorous,” muttered Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Humorous, yup that’s the term I am looking for.” Our Druid gave a wry smile. “It’s certainly the only word you are going to let me use!”

We entered a dank hallway, cold as a rain lashed grave. The floor was littered with pieces of smashed wooden furniture and yellowing chunks of broken plaster. Mould streaked the walls and warped wooden floor, there was no sign of life, none at all, beyond rat droppings and dead mice. We moved cautiously from room to room, taking our time, taking no chances. A wooden stairway led up to a balcony. We considered our choices and then we saw the tracks, human footprints in the dust, leading deeper in the house. We tracked the prints to a raised patio where they vanished; we searched each room on the ground floor but each was empty, each long abandoned. A former library held only broken bookshelves and a pile of fourteen mouldy tomes. Three still seemed worth recovering: a study on the arcane properties of gemstones, an account of the metaphysics of mathematics and a treatise on magical herbs and flowers purportedly by Archmage Tenser. A fragment of parchment also fell to the floor; damp had erased every word save: “beyond skeletons.”

We could not find a single sign of occupation. A long-cold fireplace revealed a small pouch and two pieces of polished blue quartz. Wary Halduamina used his tactile Mage Hand to open a locked writing desk and found two healing potions. A swarm of tiny spiders scuttered away down a hall after Buddynock spoke to them and we sidestepped a patch of poisonous yellow mould. There was one last door, we did not lower our guard, we again searched for traps, for anything disturbed or out of the ordinary. There was nothing, we were sure, and we stepped forward into the room. A stentorian voice suddenly shattered the silence, booming words echoed through the silent corridors: “Welcome fools! Welcome to your deaths!” Yet the chamber remained empty, I could not sense any undead or fiends, just this cackling demonic laughter.

“Magic mouth spell?” asked Halduamina ruefully.

“Cast by whom?” sighed Dain.

“On the plus side,” gulped Buddynock. “At least there’s no more need to tiptoe. Anyone still here must have heard that. We could form a novelty bagpipe foursome and make less din!”

“And at least we can be sure someone is trying to deter visitors,” I said. “Do we try upstairs next or the cellar?”

“Whichever we guess is bound to be wrong,” grinned Buddynock. “I vote up.”

Some treads on the stairs were missing, others creaked alarmingly as we climbed. Shafts of light shone through holes in the tiles. Normally we would not divide our party but here, with the floor already groaning under our weight, it truly seemed wisest to split into pairs. Buddynock and I moved forward, placing our feet with care. In a crumbling bedroom my friend found a rounded glass bauble which rested flat on the ground; the glinting crystal had a satisfying heft even if its purpose was unknown. We moved cautiously down the narrow corridor, doors to our left and right, trying each one in turn. (*)

(*) Buddynock has always been keen to recover treasures and mystery artefacts, but I never realised he had devised his own classification system! He graded the rounded glass bauble as “38 DD.”

(Buddynock has small hands).

The third bedroom scarcely looked safe to enter; so many floorboards were missing. We saw a window opposite the door and heard the breaking waves under the cliff below. Buddynock Rubyrubb smiled bravely and edged one foot into the room. I scarcely dared look; I know our Gnomish friend is often blessed by good fortune and Buddynock truly needed the favour of the Gods and his magic ring of protection to traverse that rotting death trap. Buddynock reached the far wall and called out everything he saw. The dust had been disturbed, something circular had stood upon the window sill and our Druid saw a smear of oil. There were footprints on the boards underneath. “Lantern?” I mouthed. “Somebody signalling?” Buddynock nodded, then inched back to join me in the corridor.

One room was left. We picked our way forward, tried the door and heard a tremulous cry for help. My crowbar forced the lock and the stricken man was lying just within the threshold. Thirty or so, dark haired, lean as a gnawed bone with a livid bruise on the side of his head and stripped to his tunic and hose. Tylo was a merchant waylaid on the road from Seaton and dragged within this mansion by masked attackers. He jumped at every sound, he was starving, his hands and feet were cold as midnight, poor Tylo could not have lasted many more days but he was too overcome by fear to even try escaping. We all have limits to our courage and pain and isolation sap every captive’s resolve, yet I was still shocked to see anyone so fearful they would not even attempt to save them self. If Tylo had been bound and gagged we might never have realised he was there. At least we found his clothing and boots in the corner. A large basket of well used woollen socks also engaged our Druid’s attention. Buddynock Rubyrubb has become most wary of mimics in all their possible forms. I can only guess what my friend has been reading! To the best of my knowledge we have never once encountered a mimic yet my Gnomish friend rarely ceases searching for them.

At long last we could retrace our steps. As planned, we met Dain and Halduamina at the top of the scullery stairs. They had found nothing beyond empty rooms, echoes and the slow drip of water from the ruined roof. It was certainly a mercy we never ascended from the first hallway for the ceiling there was truly rotten and I have no doubt the joists would have collapsed under our weight. We made sure Tylo remained in the middle of our party for safety and the hand axe and dagger we leant him did something to restore his confidence, at least until a second Magic Mouth spell suddenly screamed threats and curses, the demonic shrieks resounding through the entire mansion. Once more we froze, once more we braced ourselves to meet any attack, our shields raised, our weapons levelled, once again we waited, and once again the booming echoes died away and no foes actually appeared.

“So let’s be logical,” said Halduamina. “Anyone alive in here must have heard that.”

“Anyone undead too.” Buddynock Rubyrubb was rummaging through his Bag of Holding for Wilson, his enchanted bucket, an automated self-governing steel and wooden construction.

“And yet they don’t show themselves,” Halduamina continued. “Which logically means they either can’t attack or don’t yet want to.”

“So there’s an ambush looming,” muttered Dain Rocksmiter. “But what are they waiting for? Reinforcements? Better ground? “

“Or traps to wear us down,” I added. “Time for even further vigilance gentlemen.”

The dank scullery at the rear of the mansion was alive with mould and decay. A large copper cask, split and discoloured stood under the window, near a flight of wooden stairs leading down into a long wine cellar. The stone flagged chamber was forty feet long with racks for bottles running shoulder height along two walls. Shards of smashed glass glinted in the light of our Driftglobes; broken bottles littered the floor and shelves, but Halduamina retrieved one intact survivor, he stowed for sampling later. “The Jaunty Unicorn label,” Buddynock smacked his lips. “Very tasty!”

Cautious Dain Rocksmiter pointed to the far end of the cellar between two large rusting metal bins. A corpse was sprawled upon the flags, the man was clearly dead, his plate armour was battered and dented, a long sword and shield with the emblem of a serpent devouring a child lay at his side.

“Anyone you know?” I asked Tylo.

The merchant shook his head, winced and touched the bandage around his temples, then peered closed with professional interest. Our new companion still seemed anxious but the greed in his voice was clear. “His arms and harness will be worth recovering.”

“Hardly a cheerful shield,” said Halduamina. “Hopefully not a paladin then?”

“Especially of any deity keen on culinary skills or childcare!” Buddynock Rubyrubb smiled up at me with careful innocence.

“Mage Hand?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not; it can’t shift the weight of a cuirass,” said Halduamina. “Given time, I suppose I could unbuckle the armour into separate sections but…”

Dain stepped closer, his Pole of Collapsing braced in both hands. He leant forward and poked at the armour clad corpse. For a moment we thought we had no causes for concern. For a moment.

We saw movement, we heard rustling. The light from our two Driftglobes caught movement, crawling movement, we stood stunned, not one creature, no single beast but a sudden sea of curd white maggots oozing towards us; scores of them pouring from beneath the dented armour and from the two metal bins behind. Segmented bodies and gaping sphincter maws lined with needle teeth, blind but surging towards us even so. More were pouring from the cracked wall behind us, we were completely surrounded, cut off from any escape. Tylo the Merchant stared in horror, eyes wide as Medusa’s, his wet mouth gaping. We heard him scream worse than a half butchered horse: “Rot Grubs! Great Bhaal save us! They burrow inside, they eat prey alive!” (*)

(*) I blame myself. I should have noticed who Tylo called upon in his terror, but in fairness we were fully occupied fighting for our lives against a suppurating sea of ravenous carnivorous grave maggots.

We fell back as far as possible. Tylo hurled his borrowed hand axe, Halduamina sped an arrow; Buddynock used his sling. I nocked and loosed two shafts from my longbow as Dain sped a Guiding Bolt. We could not fail to hit them, not at such range and every missile found its mark; six of the filthy creatures burst and died in spurts of blood and pus; six of them only, at least a hundred more still seethed towards us. Wilson trundled towards the sea of ravenous creatures lapping the stones behind us: bolts of force sped from his carapace, two more of the grubs shrivelled and died. I trust the courage and wits of my comrades, I trust them to stand firm come what may, I trust to their skills and prowess, we had faced grimlocks and a carrion crawler, a spectre, flameskull and even a dragon, we had overcome far stronger foes so many times, but never enemies like this crawling tide surging incessantly towards us.

Our missiles and spells could not fail to find a mark but we could not kill them all, we could not kill them quickly enough, even when Buddynock’s Moonbeam seared handfuls of the foul creatures with divine silver light, this sea of ravenous mouths still inched towards us. Tylo screamed and hurled his dagger, screamed and cowered down hands over his eyes. “They eat prey from within they eat out your heart! If just one grub touches bare skin it burrows within your body!”

Halduamina’s sleep spell froze almost a score in their tracks but other grubs soon woke them as they crawled over their inert bodies. I sped arrows as fast as I could draw shafts from my quiver, the steel heads skidding along the paved floor with every low shot. Wooden Wilson darted and spun, bolts of force sparking like tiny lightning bolts. Dain hurled flasks of oil and used his produce flame cantrip to set them aflame, his rune axe Grom shouting frantic encouragement. Buddynock’s face was creased in concentration as he maintained his moonbeam spell, the pale light moving across the floor leaving still corpses in its wake. Dozens, scores of these filthy creatures writhed and died under this blessed silver light, without our clever Druid we would all have been devoured alive.

The remaining rot grubs inched ever closer, far fewer were left now, but just one could kill any of us outright. The air was choking with oil streaked smoke, Dain had run a moat of burning oil around our tight packed group, but the licking flames were soon choked with charred and writhing maggots. I killed several with my sword, stabbing each in turn, my arm at full stretch. Halduamina stopped another score with a second sleep spell; there were no more grubs behind to rouse them and before the spell could fade our Rogue ruthlessly crushed the filthy creatures under his boots. One last group remained, still crawling forward, still ravenous and implacable. Buddynock Rubyrubb calmly waited his moment with both hands upraised, fingers spread wide, waiting for the very last instant, for noise could no longer matter anymore. His booming Thunderwave spell destroyed the very last of this vile swarm, not one single rot grub was left alive.

I know we shared stunned glances between us. We had never faced such vile foes before. Any creature fears rot grubs, any creature can die from a single bite, for these vile maggots burrow within their victim’s living body, tunnelling through flesh, organs and muscle to devour the heart. No creature is immune; the most powerful entity drawing breath can be eaten alive as easily as a helpless babe in a cradle. Fire can kill a burrowing rot grub in those first few seconds it disappears beneath the skin, wait any longer and no power under the stars can save a victim. I am simply thankful those insane kobolds underneath Svarstaag had none of these filthy vermin in their clay pots.

Tylo was still rocking back and forth on his heels, sobbing like a beaten child. We could not console him. Buddynock Rubyrubb checked every inch of Wilson for damage or “stray wriggling passengers.” Our kindly Druid looked as shaken as the rest of us but I was glad to see my friend was soon smiling again. “I take it we ALL agree Wilson is WELL worth his keep now!”

I accepted the battered plate armour was still worth several hundred gold crowns and I understand Halduamina was desperately short of coin, but I was still askance that any of us should carry such tainted items. Surely we had to inform any purchaser just what horror had lurked inside?

There was no other door out of this cellar but we knew someone was using this abandoned house, those footprints, the two magic mouth spells, the scarecrow; there had to be more, we had to search further. Tylo refused to help, the man was too scared to leave us and too fearful to even keep watch, he simply stared blankly at the floor, his thin face glistening. Wilson stood sentry as we examined every inch of the floor and walls. Halduamina moved his Mage Hand across the ceiling searching for any secret passage over our heads between ceiling and floor. Our Party shows its worth so often; trust a Dwarf to know stonework! A few steps away Dain grunted with satisfaction and we heard a sudden click as three foot of the rear wall sprang back.

We glimpsed another stone flagged room through the opening, we smelt stale sweat and burnt cooking oil, yet there was no movement, no sound. I know the popular perception of all Paladins, well-meaning, at least usually, and useful when negotiating, fending off foes or healing injuries, but hardly the comrade anyone calls upon to make sure any room is safe. Boasting is always foolish, and I admit this only to myself, I was still so quietly proud all the same! For I saw the tiny eldritch sigil above the secret door, it was my hasty warning, mine, which saved my comrades. We fell back to the far wall taking Tylo the Merchant with us. We nodded and Halduamina made his Mage Hand throw an iron spike through the opening. Lightning flared, searing the stones, two flags cracked asunder as the blazing glow left us blinking. As we hoped and expected, a second thrown spike landed safely; a glyph of warding is deadly but usually only carries one charge.

“Does everyone notice I’m saying absolutely nothing about this mystic sigil thingy and what it sort of resembles,” said our Druid.

“Yes everyone knows you are being very restrained,” sighed Dain.

“Just so it’s not overlooked!” beamed Buddynock. “I mean those wizards … all those days studying scrolls and poring over palimpsests. Don’t look at me like that! I’m just saying if wizards had more time for booze ups, hi jinks, cuddles and romance they would be less likely to cast suggestive magic symbols. Possibly.”

“Finished?” sighed Dain Rocksmiter.

“For the moment!” smiled our Gnomish Druid.

Buddynock Rubyrubb carefully sketched the mystic sigil which activated the Glyph of Warding.

(While sniggering with Halduamina. They are a bad influence on each other!)

We stepped through into a second cellar, larger than the first. I could not determine its original purpose but the main use now was very clear. Ten wooden bedsteads stood against the southern wall, each with a few dirty blankets crusted with sea salt. A long trestle table ringed by crude stools filled the centre of the room, piled high with cutlery, cups and dirty plates. Cooking pots on the stove were still warm, a large smoked ham hung from a hook. Halduamina nimbly climbed a rope ladder hanging from the ceiling and found a trapdoor opening under the patio above. “We are right beneath the mansion,” said our Rogue, “and, coincidentally, close to that first Magic Mouth enchantment warning off visitors.”

“Ten beds, ten enemies?” asked Dain. “Or is that true wishful thinking? I bet Grom the leader has private quarters.”

“And there could be more than ten minions but sleeping in shifts,” grinned Buddynock. “Unless of course … they are really … friendly!”

“There are two doors here,” I said. “One is barred but the wooden bar is … err … bent.”

“Something inside trying to get out,” Dain Rocksmiter spoke with a veteran’s carefully measured calmness.

“I can sense undead … zombies behind this one. If you’ve finished searching those lockers and I don’t really advise cutting down that ham, we need to try here.” I sheathed Talon and drew Lightbringer, the radiance inflicted by my magic mace makes short work of any damned zombie and their stubborn resistance to injury.

“No sign of … err … life from them?” asked Halduamina.

I used my divine sense a second time to be sure. “I am guessing they have orders to hold their position. There could be other reasons but yes, they must surely know we are here yet they are not moving.”

So I stood my ground by the second door, ready to meet those zombies the instant they emerged while my comrades searched the adjoining chamber. As we hoped these appeared to be the quarters of whoever led our unknown adversaries. Unlike the crude barracks, this room proved comfortable and well cared for. The brass bedstead had a quilt and straw pillow, the leather chair was padded. On the nearby table stood an unlit bullseye lantern with a shutter closing the lens.

“There’s no dust on the base and it’s half full of oil,” said Halduamina. “Been used recently.”

“Upstairs I bet,” nodded Buddynock. “Perfect for signalling to a ship.”

“Yes but where could any ship land cargo?” mused Dain. “Just because we’ve been asked to seek out smugglers does not mean we have found them. The cliffs run sheer to the sea alongside the house, there’s nowhere to land contraband.”

“Look at the books though,” said careful Halduamina. “An almanac listing tide times for the Saltmarsh coast. Very well-thumbed.”

“What are the other two?” asked Buddynock.

Our Rogue tried not to smile too obviously. “A theological treatise concerning the Demigod Luz and his due rites and offerings. It comes with a leather bookmark I hope is not humanoid.”

“And the third?” asked our Druid.

Halduamina could no longer hide his grin. I also glimpsed him trying to surreptitiously slip the last volume to Buddynock Rubyrubb. “I think any librarian would … err… classify this as ‘erotic poetry.’

“Dewey?” our Gnomish Druid moves remarkably fast when he chooses.

“Positively moist!”

“With pictures?” Buddynock said with casual care.

“Full colour!”

“Well thumbed?”

“More dog eared than Cerberus!” said Halduamina.

“Could be a clue. In there. Somewhere. Definitely wrong to leave it!” Trust a Gnome to be nimble stowing small items. Buddynock’s hands must have moved but I swear we never saw them.

“There’s a loose piece of parchment too,” said Halduamina. “Looks like a list of handy phrases written in Common: ‘stop,’ ‘fight,’ ‘lift,’' ‘come.' Then the same words written in … it’s similar to Orcish but not quite.”

“It’s Goblin.” Dain nodded. “Curious. You are quite correct, the same instructions written out in both languages.”

“Someone appears to have interesting friends then,” said Halduamina. “And I’m not sure I really want to meet them.”

“Needs must laddie, needs must. Clear on the left, ready on the right.” Dain Rocksmiter stood ready, kite shield on his left arm, his holy symbol of Marthammor Duin displayed proudly, rune axe Grom ready in his right gauntlet. We exchanged glances, nodded, I slid the damaged bar clear then kicked the door wide open. The room within was close and airless, not that the eight occupants minded. Scraps of seafaring clothes adorned their rotting bodies; their skin was blue with decay and reeking. Every dead face turned towards us, and the zombies lurched forward arms outstretched, two with rusty cutlasses, one with a boat hook, the rest simply reaching with bare hands.

As we prove ourselves we gain new skills. We now heard Dain’s deep voice chanting praises to his beloved God, noble Marthammor Duin, champion of all life natural, life enduring. White light shot from Dain’s outstretched hand, divine light pure and unyielding, light to drive back any creature of death that dared stand forth within our world. Holy radiance engulfed each zombie, engulfed and burnt away their flesh, their very bones,, engulfed and destroyed them, destroyed every sign they had ever existed. Nothing was left, nothing, no speck of dust, no wisp of rotting hair or tattered cloth.

We stood in stunned silence as the last motes of divine light flared and faded. Even gallant Dain seemed lost for words, for we saw our friend staring at his outstretched hand in disbelief. I bowed my head in respect but, for good or bad, you can trust Buddynock Rubyrubb to break any silence.

“Now that is nifty!” Buddynock was grinning wider than a whale. “Nice going Big Beardie! Come to think of it I heard of another Dwarf God Botherer who could pull that same trick on the Undead. Can’t quite remember his full name. Dura … Durace something. He had copper coloured hair.”

“I don’t know about any other Cleric,” smiled Halduamina, “but our Dain Rocksmiter is quite definitely ever ready!”

I did warn my comrades, just. I saw the corpse blue glow at the base of the far wall, I sensed our new adversary just before it struck, I was hitting out with Lightbringer the instant it appeared. The ghost surged forward arms outstretched, I saw two eyes gleaming with malice as I reeled back, I saw even brave Dain shudder with fear, saw the skin of his face suddenly age and wither. Buddynock cast his shillelagh cantrip striking out with his magic club, for a moment the ghost hung in the air, we saw spectral hands glowing with grave light reaching for our throats. Dain gasped as the flesh on his arm felt the spirit’s necrotic touch, we saw old wounds reopening as the lifeforce drained from his limb. I leapt forward Lightbringer raised, my first strike landed, I am sure of it, I felt my mace meet resistance but then that ghostly shape simply vanished.

“Back to back!” I ordered. We were all shaken, all fighting the urge to flee in terror. Instead Wilson primed more force bolts, Halduamina stood en garde, rapier in his left hand, long dagger in his right. Strangely, considering his helpless terror when facing the rot grubs, Tylo the Merchant seemed least concerned at our ghostly foe.

Where had the ghost vanished? Why did it not reappear? I saw my comrades turning their heads, desperate to locate our incorporeal enemy. Should we just fall back? Would this ghost follow us or was it bound to this one chamber? Halduamina shrugged, Buddynock was turning like a potter’s wheel, only Dain did not speak or move … only Dain.

I slowly turned to look my old comrade full in the face. My jaw dropped, poor Dain stood rigid, his eyes drained of colour, his face a waxen mask. He was possessed.

Dain raised Grom, the rune axe slashed at my chest, I barely managed to parry in time. Shouting for help, I dropped my mace and wrapped my arms around Dain, grappling him to the ground. Buddynock and Halduamina sprang to join me, only Tylo stood back. Dain made no sound, his empty eyes stared into our faces, he struggled with inhuman strength but my friends ripped the gauntlets of ogre power from his hands as I exerted all my might to pin him to the floor. Suddenly Dain went limp, he spluttered as the colour returned to his face, now we saw his familiar brown eyes staring back at us.

“Is he safe?” Halduamina stared down in horror.

“I think so, Dain? Dain?” I dared not slacken my grip until I could be sure. “For pity’s sake Tylo stir yourself and actually help!”

“Nidhogg’s Blood get off me!” Dain struggled to rise. “By the-“

“No don’t risk it!” spat Tylo, one hand reaching for his dagger.

“Has it gone?” Halduamina peered anxiously at our friend.

“No ghost could surely ever curse like that!” I grinned, but we saw the confusion and shame in Dain’s honest face as he saw the axe gash across my shield. “Anyone can be possessed, anyone!” I made sure Dain heard every word. “There is no fault and no guilt, you were not guiding your actions.”

“If it’s gone, where has it gone?” asked Halduamina.

“Buddynock?” To my horror I heard no answer.

“Buddynock!” Halduamina’s eyes widened.

Our Gnomish comrade stared down at us, his hands uplifted, his kind eyes empty, his mouth bared in a gloating devil’s grin. We heard the first syllables of a Thunderwave spell.

“Grey-eyed Lady of the Battles be with me now!” In this dark place of terrors, I called on good Pallas Athene, beseeching her, begging her for aid. Light flowed from my fingers, Buddynock’s small body convulsed in a soundless scream, we saw a shape, a grey shadow split away like night chased by dawn. We saw the terrible ghost flee and fade through the walls, out of sight, safely away.

“Have I just been, for want of a better term got at?” Druid Rubyrubb glared up at us with mingled fear, relief and gratitude, as he patted himself all over. “Just checking me small change and to make sure that ectoplasmic squatter has shifted.”

“I turned him. I actually turned him!” I stared at my hands and sped a silent prayer of thanks to my Lady. “Possession cannot work a second time on the same person. Not that same day.” I began to cast a second spell.

“Really?” Buddynock beamed with relief then gestured where the ghost had fled. “Next time you try that at the very least buy me a drink first!” Our friend paused. “Has it definitely gone? Yes? SO bugger off you incorporeal interloper!

“The ghost is only turned Buddynock.” Dain pulled on his magic Gauntlets and raised his shield. “Remember the flameskull of Phandelver.”

“You mean you haven’t destroyed it?” Tylo the Merchant cringed with horror. “You mean it could come back?”

“What have you cast on me?” said curious Halduamina.

I had to concentrate on shielding my comrade. I kept the incantation foremost in my mind, but shaped words around the spell. “Protection … from … Evil. … It … will … ward … you … against … possession.”

“But what about you?” asked our Rogue, his eyes widening.

There are times silence is most chivalrous; true duty should be quiet and unobserved.

“Can’t you turn that bedsheet bandit Dain?” Buddynock looked up at me with concern. “He’s not diddling with our Dalmas too!”

Dain Rocksmiter shook his head. “Those cursed zombies.”

“I … have … flasks … of … holy … water … in … my … pack.” I said to my friends. “Stand … firm, stand … together. … Never … give … up … hope.”

Moments passed slow as grief. Moments we stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle, our blades raised, our eyes and ears straining for the first hint that ghost was materialising. Time passed and nothing came, time passed, more than enough time for that vengeful spirit to attack again. We had not destroyed the ghost, that was certain, but this phantom was not returning, not now at any rate. I do not say we drew an easy breath in that room, but at least we now had leisure to look around us and take stock.

We stood amid a litter of broken alembics and carboys, copper condensing coils, broken glass and earthenware piled on the acid burnt table and floor. Jars of powders and liquids filled a bench, a candlestick stood covered in dust and congealed wax. We saw more of those rounded glass objects found by Buddynock standing next to brass scales. “If this is what I think it is, I reckon that ghost could be the old alchemist protecting his laboratorium,” Halduamina exchanged a gleeful glance with Buddynock as the light of our Driftglobes caught the warm gleam of gold. Upon the scarred bench stood a human skull, an apple, five small circular discs and a wondrous flowering rose, each yellow and shining. A dusty book lay beside them, the leather binding split and peeling away from the pages but the title was still clear even so: ‘Ye Secret of Ye Philosopher's Stone.’

“No wonder that ghost alchemist does not welcome visitors,” beamed Buddynock.

“But you are still going to take them even so? Even if that angers him more?” signed Dain Rocksmiter.

“Call it rent!” insisted Buddynock. “That bedsheet bandit moved in without a by your leave, made himself at home without permission and only vamoosed when Dalmas issued an ecclesiastical eviction notice. Diddle with me and I call in the debt!”

Tylo the Merchant snorted with contempt. “Alchemists have been attempting transmutation for centuries without success. But you believe a hedge wizard in this backwater actually succeeded?”

“Could have!” Buddynock said defensively. “Well worth checking his book anyway. Some of us like reading! Some of us enjoy a good book and a chance to improve our minds!”

“And sometimes they even consider more than licentious limericks,” muttered Dain.

Further searching revealed a concealed drawer holding almost fifty gold pieces and the spell book this alchemist used when he was alive. Simple magics but valuable to any fledgling wizard: we saw incantations for dancing lights, comprehend languages, Tenser's floating disk, and shatter.

“Very very basic magic,” sniffed Tylo. “Strange how a simple wizard with no great mastery nevertheless learns the trick to alchemy all by his lonesome.” I confess I did not care for our rescued companion. Anyone can be overcome by fears but only a small mind mocks others as soon as they feel safe again.

“This still makes no sense,” said Halduamina. “We have beds and provisions for at least eleven people, but we only have the footprints of one man. Where are all they now? There has to be another hidden door.”

True enough, we soon found the secret entrance, the long barracks was the logical place to search first and our unknown adversaries had not been quite careful enough, painted sailcloth hung from the ceiling and one corner had been accidentally caught by the closing panel. We made certain no further traps lay in wait, and slowly pushed the secret doorway open.

At last this mystery seemed closer to a resolution. We descended stone steps, in a steep spiral. I lost track how many but we must have descended a hundred feet at least. Now a narrow tunnel lay before us, pointing down into darkness. The gradient was gentle, the tunnel floor thick with wet sand, the sand marked with many boot prints. Now we could hear the steady beat of surf, now we could smell the sea. “Natural caverns,” said Dain with Dwarvish expertise. “Dank yes but no sign of actual flooding. These were not formed by the waves.”

“You say that,” grumbled Buddynock, “but are you truly sure we are not suddenly going to find a high tide surging up through these tunnels?”

“And no one brought that nautical almanac from upstairs did they?” asked Halduamia.

“It was mucky!” our Druid said defensively. “And not in any recreational solo study way!”

Dain sighed. “Trust me please. The sand is damp yes, but not soaked through, there are no stranded sea creatures or plants. Look, yes just there. These smugglers have laid matting to cover the worst potholes and that would have floated away if any tide had surged through here.”|

“Maybe,” sniffed Buddynock. “Maybe, but I still want us to wedge this door open with a spike!”

“What if that ghost comes down here after us?” Tylo the Merchant glanced back fearfully.

“He can wait his turn like anyone else!” said Buddynock. “He doesn’t give a spectral sniff for doors open or closed anyway.”

I love and revere my comrades; I trust them with my life, my hopes, my honour and my good name. There are still times I would give my sword arm for even a little formal discipline! “Shields up then. Remember if anyone is actually down here they must surely know we are present. Unless they intend to surrender on sight, yes Buddynock I DO know that is unlikely but we should consider EVERY possibility. Unless they intend to surrender on sight we know they are prepared and ready for us.”

“So careful round the corners,” muttered cautious Halduamina.

A cavern soon opened to our right, empty and dank with no other exit. We saw footprints which ended abruptly in the centre, marks which ended in a churned mass of sand kicked madly in all directions. Many in the Nine Realms try adventuring. Few try for long. Some earn all they wish, others soon realise their folly, some do not survive long enough to grow wise. We were all still learning, each of us had so much to master, but we were veterans now all the same. I think that quite probably saved our lives just now. As we checked this small cavern for dangers we also looked up.

Gobbets of Green Slime dropped from the rock over our head, but we leapt back in time all the same. Tylo the Merchant screamed in horror; I saw my friends’ shocked faces, saw they also remembered that wretched kobold being engulfed alive below Svarstaag. There are few more hideous deaths possible. We stared at the bubbling slime, was this really true, were we imagining this, was this slime alive and slowly reaching for us! Had this corrosive filth only fallen by accident? We destroyed it with fire; I would gladly give every oil flask I ever owned to burn away all such horrors. It was no wonder the smugglers had not dared use this small cavern for themselves!

“What if they smell the burning oil?” whispered Tylo. “What if they heard me cry out?”

“Considering all the noise we’ve already made, a giant Roc trying to lay square eggs could not draw any more attention!” snapped Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Well let’s get this over with if we have to. I could take animal form and scout ahead unless Ettel the Otter fancies a gander.”

“In all honesty, they know we are here, and we can be sure they are ready,” I hung Lightbringer back on my belt and drew long Talon. “There’s absolutely no cover for Ettel in these tunnels.”

“She can’t be hurt remember,” Halduamina ran his free hand over his otter familiar’s sleek brown fur.

I nodded. “If you are both happy to try then gladly.”

“Err, not that I’m at all bothered but is there any sign of that Undead Alchemist floating down here after us?” Buddynock sounded more worried than his smile suggested.

“Especially now we have ‘acquired’ his worldly possessions and life’s work?” Dain murmured.

“Hey if it comes to grudges Dain, you and I have got the most to be narked about. We still don’t quite know how that intangible idiot got … in and out!”

We retraced our steps to the winding tunnel. We inched forward twenty feet, conscious the light of our Drift Globes shone before us. I nodded, Halduamina knelt and little Ettel leapt from his shoulders, crouched, sniffing the air, then slunk forward, the tiny otter hugging the far tunnel wall. We saw her pause, nose twitching. The long arrow hit her tiny body a heartbeat later. (*)

“Bowmen ware right!” shouted Dain, turning to face the sudden tunnel. Arrows splintered against our shields, ten at least maybe more, Halduamina was hit twice, Tylo the Merchant cowered on the sand. A dozen men lurking behind piled barrels were levelling longbows. Just as we steadied ourselves to meet them a ballista bolt hurtled down the long corridor to our front, splintering on the rock above our heads.

(*) No celestial or fey familiar is ever injured in mind or body. Graceful Ettel simply vanished unharmed.

Any ‘injury’ simply sends a familiar spirit back to their own dimension where they wait to be summoned again.

I know this is true, I know this, yet I still need to keep reminding myself all the same.

“Ready for us you said!” spat Halduamina, nocking a shaft to his own bow.

“And taking the proverbial piss!”snapped Buddynock. “Wilson, fetch!”

Training sustains us, training shows us the way. Under sustained missile fire a shield held at an angle offers more protection. I knelt in the long tunnel, my heater shield braced against the sand, the next ballista bolt nearly knocked me sprawling but stuck fast without inflicting injury.

“The artillery is too far for a Guiding Bolt!” shouted Dain. “Can’t see a damn to use a crossbow.”

“No! Not Wilson!” Druid Rubyrubb’s eyes widened in horror as three arrows struck home in his ambulating automated bucket. “Bastards! He’s not done a thing to you … yet.”

Halduamina grunted as a third arrow lodged through his studded brigandine. Dain and I slew one archer but there must have been a dozen at least, all of them loosing aimed arrows with barely a second’s pause. Without Buddynock Rubyrubb we could have been shot down like the heroes of Thermopylae but we had a furious Gnomish Druid on our side. Heedless of their bombardment, Buddynock Rubyrubb chanted the words of power, his Erupting Earth spell exploded the cavern floor under those enemy bowmen, we heard rumbling stone and scattering sand, we heard screams then all was still.

“All clear on the right,” Buddynock said quietly as he pulled four arrows from Wilson Bucket and made sure his construct creature was knitting together again.

Dain and I exchanged glances even as a further ballista bolt struck home. At least we could move behind the angle of rock to the cavern cleared by Buddynock.

“Are you entirely happy he can cast Erupting Earth spells?” I whispered. “Entirely?”

Dain Rocksmiter sighed. “There’s not exactly much we can do to deter him. Not now at any rate!”

“That ballista definitely has the range,” gasped Halduamina. Our Rogue was wounded worse than we first realised and Dain used healing magic to sustain him.

“Too far away for battle spells and I don’t fancy duelling artillery with my crossbow,” muttered Dain. “Wait for the next shot then attack?”

“You mean run like buggery straight forward?” winced Buddynock. “That’s our best tactic?”

“Any other suggestions?” said Dain, as another bolt embedded itself in our shields.

“Yes, but you always get sniffy whenever I suggest waving a nearly white hankie and calling out kamerade!” Our Gnome inched forward and set Wilson firmly on his wheels.

“Reckon we can close the distance between the fall of shot?” said Dain. “I know you can Halduamina but you can’t run in there alone.”

“Remember the ballistae on Unicorn,” I advised. “There’s only room to aim one artillery piece down this tunnel and they always need time to wind the gears and fit a new bolt. They could be just as discomforted as us. We’ve suddenly defeated the bowmen on our flank and we’re not giving ground despite the barrage.”

“Or they’re waiting there sniggering at us!” Buddynock tried to smile. “Waiting for the first numpty to show his head round the corner and call ‘hi!’ ?”

“Yes, that’s quite likely too,” I replied.

“But you’re trying to keep up morale and steel us to face a new peril?” said our wincing Druid.

I fought the urge to pat Buddynock’s head affectionately. “While considering every horrible alternative … yes!”

“Oh Paladins! Ah well Mr. Brightside time for the killers!” said our Druid.

“But watch for traps, watch the walls, floor and ceiling, watch for traps!” warned Dain.

“If anyone has any inspiring battle cries I suppose now’s the time,” muttered Halduamina.

“Ha! None of you ever let me shout ‘I give up!’ How about ‘touch my bucket again and I’ll turn your left knacker into a novelty lampshade?”

“Punchy if not completely classical!” said Halduamina.

“But how do we ever know what those old translators chose to leave out?” I said. “Ready gentlemen? En avant!” I cast a Blessing on my comrades, maintaining the sacred words in my mind. Dain cast a Shield of Faith and summoned a spiritual weapon, a floating spectral mace of Marthammor Duin. We raced down that narrow tunnel shields braced, steeling ourselves for that first deadly bolt. We could see movement ahead, we were closing the range, we were moving fast in that narrow space, the first bolt slammed home against my armour, it did not pierce not quite but the impact knocked the breath from my body, I staggered onward, determined to charge home when three more ballista bolts screamed home in quick succession. My desperate Sanctuary spell had failed me! Save for my dwarf wrought plate I would have died on the spot, my shield quilled worse than facing a manticore.

Again! Four more bolts slammed home, I was covering my comrades, shielding them from the ballista fire as we raced to the cave mouth ahead, raced through and into a larger cavern, raced into a frenzy of crossbow bolts and arrows whistling around us like the devil wasps of fiery Avernus! There are times when only our training and sheer force of will sustain us; those moments when we can only continue like some iron construct conjured by a crafty mage. I still staggered forward, my riven shield still before me, bellowing a command spell at the two smugglers winding that devastating ballista. One crewman immediately stabbed the other, just as he triggered a final volley. Half a dozen smugglers and at least eight hobgoblins unleashed a further flight of arrows. I had borne the brunt but we were all injured now: Wilson was feathered like an iron chicken but brought down one hobgoblin with his force bolts, Dain’s floating spiritual weapon claimed a second. Buddynock Rubyrubb cast his Moonbeam but a tall robed smuggler with shaved head and piercing green eyes barked a counter spell and our Druid’s magic just flickered and died.

Nimble Halduamina dashed forward at great speed, long rapier and dagger ready. Much to my surprise Tylo the Merchant had actually followed at our heels, he saw me drop to my knees and ran towards me. My bascinet visor was down but I smiled in grateful thanks just as Tylor stabbed home! He drew a hidden blade, the edge glistening! He pierced my right shoulder where the pauldron had been dislodged by repeated bolts. I could not move, I could not defend myself, my wound was burning! Tylo the Assassin pulled his short sword free and fumbled for my visor.

Armed smugglers and armoured hobgoblins

Dain Rocksmiter saved my life, Dain Rocksmiter saved all our lives. His Wind Wall spell smashed the next volley of arrows into the ground, crushing the hobgoblins on the right, Buddynock was close enough to cast Thunderwave on the left, even as crossbow bolts whistled towards him and the smuggler’s wizard set Halduamina’s armour ablaze with a scorching ray. Half our foes were dead or down, the enemy suddenly raised their hands and begged for quarter, Dain Rocksmiter let his Wind Wall fade but braced himself to cast the spell a second time at any hint of treachery.

The smuggler’s wizard saw the fight was lost; one instant he stood before us, the next he dissolved into a cloud of mist, vanishing down the tunnel ahead before we could stop him. Only Tylo the Assassin was left and already having to fend off vengeful Wilson. My comrades stepped forward their faces full of rage; our erstwhile companion threw down his blade and begged. I do not say my friends were rough with Tylo, I will simply record they made very sure this treacherous snake had no further means to cause any harm and his hands, wrists and fingers were all bound closely with two bow strings. Buddynock Rubyrubb’s second best handkerchief made a highly effective if deeply unwelcome gag.

If I had not withstood the venom on Tylo’s blade I would have died that very instant. But for Dain’s healing magic I would surely never have lifted a sword again. Only his skill knitted my ravaged muscles together and mended the shattered fragments of my collar bone.

Three of the hobgoblin mercenaries and four smugglers had survived. They were stripped of weapons and ordered to cut through their belts. “Let’s see them try anything fancy when their breeches will fall down if they take their hands out their pockets!” smiled Halduamina. In all honesty, I do not think our prisoners would have tried to resist anyway while an angry Buddynock was casually pointing the repeating ballista in their direction and loudly mulling over the incantation to cast another point blank Thunderwave spell. Wilson scooting in circuits around them was an added incentive to comply.

We found five bolts of fine silk and eight wooden casks of brandy in this big chamber, and half a dozen more down the tunnel. One hobgoblin wore a hauberk of scale mail ornamented with bronze fish and sea shells. He was reluctant to surrender his armour; this certainly warranted further investigation. Dain questioned him to no avail, no matter, we would surely have time later. There was one last tunnel to explore and we could already see the glimmer of daylight

We saw no shortage of Hobgoblin armour at Cragmaw Castle: this was no cuirass we recognised.

Halduamina made good use of another Identify scroll.

“You really think we should chance it now? What if that crafty wizard reappears,” said Halduamina.

“I think his bolt is well and truly shot,” said Dain. “He’s surely sped most of his spells already. Unless he has reinforcements I can’t see too much risk. We can hear the sea, I am sure there is not much left to explore. If there were any more in this gang surely they would have all been waiting in this same cave for us. They certainly had enough time to gather.”

“Logic, merely enables one to be wrong with authority!” I don’t think Dain quite heard our sardonic Rogue, but despite my pain I had to turn my head to smile. In all honesty there is never any perfect safety, merely calculated risk, divine favour, honed skill, intelligent preparation, quick initiative and simple luck. Well, at least today the Fates proved kind.

Dain, Halduamina and I followed the winding passage towards daylight. We found a cave opening directly to the sea. The tide was out but the high water mark was clear and obvious. A small boat was pulled hard onto the strand, held fast by a line from the bows to a large boulder. The craft had both rowing benches and a mast with furled sail, six could fit aboard her in comfort, eight at a pinch. We had found our smuggling gang, at least part of our task was done.

Night would fall faster than we could march the distance back to Saltmarsh. None of us wanted to abandon our prisoners or their stolen goods and we certainly did not choose to risk sailing that small boat with no trustworthy mariners aboard. So we made camp down in the cavern, but kept careful watch. Halduamina would need to wait until dawn to summon his faithful otter familiar again but at least we had whirring Wilson to share sentry go. “Just don’t expect me to talk to it!” Dain said vehemently. “Even if it will sense that wizard if he returns.”

Buddynock cast an Animal Messenger spell at dawn, speeding a seagull to find the Saltmarsh Counsellors and request a score of town guard and two sailors to meet us outside the ruined mansion in daylight. We did not have many words to spare but that vengeful ghost was still lurking within the mansion cellar. We did not want any more innocent lives lost after dark.

That fiendish repeating ballista, stripped down from its tripod.

Sheafs of bolts dropped into that vertical hopper were loosed one shaft every second.

Great Daedalos himself would never have countenanced such mechanised butchery!

This is no gentleman’s weapon; no honourable knight should ever be expected to face them!

There was little now we needed to do bar wait. I still shuddered at the sight of that damned repeating ballista. An actual torsion polybolos! Few such ballista exist and fewer still can afford them. So the stories were true then, the rate of fire was terrifying, with iron shod bolts simply dropped into a wooden hopper as one crewman kept winding the gears. Barbarous and brutal; a dishonourable weapon no knight should ever have to encounter: I shuddered at the sight but knew this artillery piece was far too valuable to leave behind. Our captured crewman was only too eager to oblige us. He dismantled the ballista ready to be stowed in our bags of holding.

Our salvaged goods were sailed back to Saltmarsh and reunited with their former owners: we returned on foot with the town guard and our captives. None had spoken just yet but I would certainly have no compunction in casting zone of truth. Buddynock’s Charm person spell would also prove useful. There was so much we needed to discover: the leaders of this gang, their signals and numbers and their remaining strongpoints. That cunning wizard had escaped us, at least for the moment, but Tylo the Assassin was ours and he must be made to talk. I wanted names!

The Saltmarsh jail lay underground. Six cells only but well maintained and guarded and one cell was warded against all magic. Well interrogations could wait until the morning. We had done more than enough today. I was pleased the worthies of Saltmarsh paid the promised reward promptly. We do not seek riches for their own sake or vainglory. I am just very aware neither Dain nor I could afford to replace our precious plate armour and brave Boreas still lacks any protective barding. I also wonder if little Buddynock hopes to buy and maintain his own home one day.

“And little Wilson has proved his worth!” exclaimed Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Hands up who doubted him before today. Hands up please! Come on, I heard all that muttering before!”

Thankfully the priest of Procan, Wellgar Brinehand was able to heal the injuries inflicted by that fearsome ghost. A human seeing that spirit could have died of sheer terror and old age. Any dwarf carries their years well, but Dain Rocksmiter was only too glad to have his rightful age restored all the same.

And I owed my life to my plate mail. My armour was restored once more, my shield resplendent once again. The old tales still guide us all. I quietly recalled Uncle Dap’s words from the Chevalier Mal Fet: “A riven shield is honourable if a knight is fresh from some passage of arms yet only a braggart leaves scars stark across his shield if he ever had chance to repair them. No knight should ever boast of past deeds of valour, renown must be earned anew each day.”

BEING an END to BOOK XIII

The battered plate mail from the cellar was still worth over 700 gold pieces and we collected another few hundred from the unbroken arms and armour of our foes. I had a horrible feeling the good citizens of Saltmarsh might soon need all the weaponry and protection they could find.

The small boat and maritime gear raised further funds. None of our party felt confident taking any craft onto open waters. If we should need to travel on the seas we would charter any boat and the experienced crew to manage it. The golden artefacts from the laboratorium brought another 50 gold pieces but the Jaunty Unicorn wine proved so sweet it left honey mead bitter as lemons. “But,” smiled Buddynock, “call any weird plonk an exotic liqueur and some rich snob will buy it.”

Keledek the Unspoken paces the streets of Saltmarsh all hours of the night, dusky skinned, seven foot tall and unmistakable even without his scarlet turban. I presume any wizard is glad of alchemical supplies, even if he never gave us more than one nod to confirm price. Keledek’s Tower remains the tallest building in Saltmarsh but it is still only three storeys high. Would we ever see inside? We certainly did not expect any invitation.

We could not find any purchaser for the volume of poetry, the theological treatise on Luz or that nautical almanac, carefully collected on our return.. We did not even try to sell the dead alchemist’s simple spell book. (Holding dancing lights, comprehend languages, Tenser's floating disk, and shatter.)

Buddynock and Halduamina wished to study Ye Secret of the Philosopher’s Stone (No author acknowledged) . I wish them joy of it. Just because that skull and rose was solid gold does not meet alchemy was the source, but I knew better than to try distracting our enthusiastic Druid.

Our spoils and reward came to 300 gold pieces apiece and 7 silver.

Halduamina had found two healing potions

Dain had found a hauberk of mariners’ armour. This scale cuirass grants two boons.

Anyone wearing this armour swims at a speed matching their walking pace and should they ever fall

unconscious their body simply floats to the surface.

A most welcome treasure for any dwarf naturally fearful of this world beneath the waves!

The repeating ballista we offered to Captain Gallos Hadoke. With Sahuagin warbands swarming these seas, our friends aboard the Unicorn needed all the protection they could find.

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

Tuesday, 6 February 2024

Book XIII: Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh