Book XV: Danger at Dunwater

                         Being the Chronicle of Cadan Dalmas, Knight

BEING   a  BEGINNING  to   BOOK  XV

If only I could cast a zone of truth spell in the Saltmarsh Council chamber, if only we could be sure. Each of the five expressed thanks and delight the Sea Ghost had been seized; each of the five clearly declared their repugnance for smuggling and larceny, particularly any trade of stolen weapons. Even Manistrad Copperlocks deigned to state her thanks for the recovery of the mining gear. Could we believe any of them? Truly? I was only sure of one matter; Elliander Fireborn would be far from happy after learning his picked Watchmen still hung back from a desperate fight. I had no doubt his wrath would fall loudly and creatively at their next muster. Some matters are best left strictly private.

Once Sea Ghost was stripped of all contraband, and Druid Rubyrubb passed three more Moonbeam spells along her decks, hold, bilges and yards, our prize was moored safely within1 Saltmarsh Harbour. Any adventurers hope to fill their pockets but this? A ship? We were all grateful for Ander Solmer’s suggestion. Saltmarsh would hire Sea Ghost as a harbour protection vessel. She would bear a chosen crew, expert archers and marines with raised mantlets and hooked boarding nets fitted along her bulwarks and every port protected by an iron grille. We would be spared the cost of her upkeep and vulnerable Saltmarsh would have a little more protection.

 It was regrettable the dead Alchemist still walked. We had come so close to destroying his ghost but at least it would not return for some considerable time. Even so, Dain Rocksmiter and I spent one full day casting Ceremony spells so that each of us had four vials of Holy Water apiece. This was certainly not cheap, the spell requires powdered silver and consecrated vials, but the benefits surely outweighed the cost. We also bought three more Antitoxin flasks. Well, its better to possess and never need than regret their lack.

Dain Rocksmiter cast Ceremony once more that day. Two Saltmarsh citizens wished to marry and he honoured their union with quiet dignity and grace. My other friends were no less busy. We all knew Halduamina Half-Elven is skilled with his sets of dice but his success left each opponent staring in shock and our Rogue vacating the Empty Net tap room the first chance that came. Less nimble men would have been found face down in the harbour! Buddynock Rubyrubb meanwhile wandered the port with a parrot on each shoulder singing Gnomish folk songs. I still hope the local bardic guild were turning a deaf ear, our Druid never requires any musical accompaniment, especially with feathered Oscar and Cuppa adding their own dialogue.

Our first task was clear and for once the Council of Saltmarsh was unanimous. Only one citizen showed any disquiet and Granchio the Limpet was bought off … eventually … with the price of her dilapidated warehouse in precious gems. “Many hands may light work and enough of them means a chance to skive!” beamed Buddynock.

Dawn was barely breaking when we began, for we would need all the daylight we could find. The wooden warehouse was torn into beams and flinders by a score of angry dockyard workers; their efforts aided by two Druidic thunderwave spells. “Xolec the Unholy will soon know our plan,” said Buddynock and it was a quiet shock to see our merry friend looking so determined. “There is no point attempting to avoid noise.”

Even so Elliander Fireborn kept a tight cordon of Watchmen around the site and we stood sentry among with them. The band of labourers with mattocks and spades were all volunteers and well paid for their efforts. Others stood ready with wicker baskets, but they had barely begun to clear the spoil when we saw a purple turban looming above the crowd. This work would soon be going far faster than we expected. Tall Keledek the Unspoken stood before us, the red imp on his right shoulder staring insolently as its forked tongue darted like a snake. 

 Even now, even today, Keledek said nothing to anyone. He did not need to. Before a bell could have tolled ten times, the silent Wizard of Saltmarsh displayed his skill. First Keledek cast a location spell to confirm beyond all doubt that Xolec the Vampire still lurked in his underground chamber. Next came a haste spell and I have never seen a pair of hands gesticulating faster as Keledek cast mould earth cantrips in quick succession, scooping away great heaps of earth. We soon uncovered the spiral staircase, then the roof of that narrow passage to the crypt. (*) 

An imp may be tiny but remains a denizen of hell!

I had to fight the urge to strike it down, but I knew this fell familiar actually existed in its own elemental plane, just like my gallant Boreas. I could only dispel, not slay this demonic entity and I would only earn the wrath of Keledek the Unspoken if I tried.

(*)            Sorry Dain … helical.

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 “We know this crypt chamber is well made,” said Dain. “It carried the weight of the earth above for long enough. It will not be easy to force our way within.” Now the dwarven miners of Manistrad Copperlocks came into their own as they skilfully pried loose each keystone. Even so we would have struggled to complete this task without Keledek casting two stone shape spells which pulled open ten feet of that crypt roof like a child peeling a ripe orange. We heard a wailing cry from below and the Saltmarsh priest, Wellgar Brinehand, raised his holy symbol. For a moment those brave dwarfs flinched, but they knew we stood ready and knew the daylight was with us.

Every dislodged block exposed other stones in turn. We heard scuttling from below, heard doomed Xolec throwing himself from wall to wall, then curses, threats and entreaties as the vampire of Saltmarsh desperately hugged the remaining shadows. His time had come, his long life was over. The last stones fell, we heard a hideous sizzling as Wellgar Brinehand flooded the exposed crypt with a daylight spell and the rays of the evening sun blazed down. All the same, I still had to steady my nerve before using a rope ladder to drop into that forsaken place, despite having Talon drawn to levitate me to safety. The dying sunlight had done all anyone could ask. We found nothing save a forlorn heap of dust which we quickly doused in holy water before any greedy fool tried selling these remnants to an alchemist.

There was nothing else, no treasure, nor any sign how Xolec the Unholy had endured those long centuries of solitary captivity. The vampire of Saltmarsh was destroyed. Some might say our actions were unchivalrous, but we could not face this fiend not yet, or risk any chance he actually might escape. We could not leave Xolec the Unholy lurking beneath the town.

“Also,” Dain said quietly that evening. “Instead of being riven by factions Saltmarsh has united to defeat a common foe. Who knows where such cooperation might lead.”

“I am just glad we finally know vampire Xolec and Keledek the Silent are not actually the same person,” said canny Halduamina. “I’ve heard some mages can alter their appearance as they choose.”

“You really thought so?” Buddynock Rubyrubb shuddered.

“The thought just came to me,” said our Half Elf Rogue.

I was never sure how often the counsellors of Saltmarsh met in secret, but once again our presence was requested in the Guildhall. At least they seemed to show more confidence in our abilities and integrity. Gellan Primewater was usually the first to speak and his request was delivered with such a show of delicate regret. Our report of those lizard folk aboard Sea Ghost had caused a stir worse than a bee in a closed bascinet! (*)

(*)            Buddynock Rubyrubb’s simile was more expressive, but I am choosing not to record it.

                It involved kitchen utensils, an uncomfortable prone posture, bystanders and most unfortunate timing. 

                                                    

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Nothing had changed, nothing was forgotten. Our mission was to uncover any portal to the dread prison realm of Blind Tharizdun. That was always our prime purpose. Other paladins and clerics were scouring every mile of the Nine Provinces, but this coastline was our responsibility. If Saltmarsh fell we would lose our base of operations, our source of supplies. We had to protect this port. These Sahuagin warbands were only growing bolder, they threatened both ships and now the town itself, we could not ignore the danger. Did Saltmarsh stand alone? Why were the Lizard folk of Dunwater buying pattern welded steel weapons when their stone spears and axes had served them well enough in the past? Procan preserve us if these savage reptiles sought an alliance with the Sea Devils! “Their lair is reputed to be in Dunwater Swamp,” Gellan Primewater smiled gently, his gilt monocle gleaming in the candlelight. “We ask you, we entreat you to seek out their den and speak with their Chieftain or shaman. Convince then Saltmarsh has no hostile intentions, ask them the reason why they want our weaponry. You have certainly ended their regular supply and these lizard creatures may be far more willing to speak than we expect. You have already shown your strength and ability, I just know you can accomplish this admittedly difficult assignment with aplomb!”

“More flowery than a monastery herb plot!” muttered Dain Rocksmiter beside me.

“You want us to be your emissaries?” said Halduamina and our comrade sounded less than impressed.

Young Anders Solmer flushed scarlet, Eda Oweland glanced down at her hands, even impassive Manistrad Copperlocks looked away. As ever trust Elliander Fireborn to be blunt. “You are the only ones likely to survive the experience!” Time was pressing and the task never started takes longest to finish. We marched at dawn, heading north and west past the ruined tower of some long dead mage and heading at a brisk pace for Dunwater Swamp. We could have sailed but a vote was cast and each of us felt safer with solid earth under our feet … well … at least for as long as possible. I saw Dain smile as he felt the weight of a steel cuirass again.

I cannot claim to be comfortable in any swampland and I was wary for the presence of Undead, but this marsh was teeming with wholesome life, I could see that now after our experience with that ravenous Krynoid back at Maartslock. The path was narrow but sound, our feet sank a few inches but we were clear of the brackish water all the same and we found a larger island to make our camp. Wilson stood sentry as before, I was still learning to trust this tiny automaton, but his vigilance gave each us the chance to sleep soundly. We were careful, but sadly not careful enough. They attacked two hours before noon, they attacked in huge numbers, and they pressed their attack home with a ferocity to impress even an orc. We had no chance to explain our presence or parley, we were quite simply fighting for our lives.

Frogs which walked like men. Each Bullywug stood almost six feet high, their glistening skins mottled green and yellow or a mosaic of brown and russet, purple and grey, their bulbous eyes gleaming, their webbed hands clutching spears and clubs as they leapt from out of the swamp on either side. Some had leather or turtle plates bound about their bellies, others wielded whole turtle carapaces as shields. Rasping, reverberating croaks filled the air, we heard two singing encouragement as a huge Bullywug heaved himself onto a boulder to stare with complacent assurance, as it waved a rusty sceptre. We beat back the first wave; Dain felled two with Grom, Halduamina’s rapier and long dagger were darting and Buddynock Rubyrubb wielded his shillelagh with deft determination as Wilson launched force bolts with frantic speed. I spitted a leaping Bullywug on my raised lance, then clubbed down with the butt at the sea of clammy hands trying to drag me from my saddle. The first wave was down but there were more, always more. (*)

(*)             On reflection, I so wish any of us had remembered our Half Elf Rogue had his Fire Elemental Gem snug in his pouch.    

                  Surely that fiery entity would have soon routed our swamp dwelling foes.

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 A giant frog shape loomed out of the swamp, a frog the size of horse; mouth gaping like a flapping tent. It lurched forward trying to seize little Buddynock, our Druid frantically took the shape of a mighty brown bear before he could be swallowed whole. Dain unleashed Glittering Bolts to leave a second monstrous amphibian a smouldering corpse; gallant Boreas reared back to lash out with his front hooves as I drew long Talon. The onslaught was relentless, no matter how many we killed, wave after wave of Bullywugs leapt from the swamp, each trying to grapple us to the ground. Halduamina’s sleep spell checked one rush; he nocked an arrow to his bow and sped a shaft at the bloated Bullywug staring so impassively at the carnage. His elvish arrow flew truly, but the Bullywug chieftain casually snatched up a smaller minion as a shield and our Halduamina had no further time to aim and loose. Giant Toads now heaved themselves out of the swamp, each quite big enough to engulf any of us.

I struck back desperately with Talon, but for each one we killed another lurched forward. Poor Dain was seized. We could not help our friend for an instant we saw his iron shod boots kicking frantically then Dain was swallowed whole by that monstrous beast. We were fighting for our lives, we had barely chance to draw breath, let alone save our friend. Artemis be praised, we head muffled curses, the eyes of that Giant Toad bulged with surprise and gleaming Grom cleaved the huge beast from within as Dain cut himself free and dragged himself clear. At last, at long last our enemies paused, even that damned croaking battle song ebbed away. We stood back to back, we stood defiant behind a wall of dead frog creatures but we saw every foot of that swamp around us held a Bullywug or giant toad. They stared impassively, their yellow eyes gleaming, their long tongues tasting the air. We heard weeping cries from the wounded as they dragged themselves away, yet most were swiftly despatched and jointed by their comrades. Their purpose was only too plain

“Call me intolerant and inflexible,” grunted Halduamina. “But I can’t say I care for their funeral customs!”

“Let’s hope your right,” panted Buddynock “But until we know for certain about their dining habits I’m saying a polite NO to any elevenses!”

Both of those Bullywug bards were singing again, a different melody, full of pomp and pride, their fat throats swollen like balloons, pulsing and throbbing. “Look,” muttered Dain Rocksmiter. “Look at them eyeing each other. I think neither wants to be the first to stop.”

“If this delays the next act I will be shouting encore whatever the sound!” said Halduamina.

Their eyes were straining fit to burst, notes hung in the air like a high arcing arrow about to fall, then one Bullywug bard faltered and choked and spluttered into silence. His rival only managed a few more notes but still glared triumphantly as he bowed low before his master.

“Good Arrrp. Arrrp. Good Arrrp.” The Bullywug chieftain gulped convulsively and glared at the failed singer. Now we could see his sceptre, a human skull impaled on a sharpened bog oak staff and still wearing a rust caked open helm. No detect magic spell was needed here, that shining metal circlet resting above the open visor clearly held arcane powers. Did this frog creature not understand what it owned or simply not realise how to wield it? The king’s red tongue licked his lipless mouth. His bulging eyes stared skywards, his bloated red throat pulsed and throbbed. I gasped with surprise. We heard broken words in the common tongue, bubbling and oddly accented but words we could follow all the same!

“You. You listen. You listen good. All dryfoots listen to words, to bigly words, excellent words of the august and renowned, the mighty and unsurpassed great Gulpa'Gor. You dryfoots, you listen, you live maybe, you live a little, little longer or you die here, you die now, you dryfoot warm meat. You listen or you die here.”

The great Gulpa'Gor. Lord of all the World

Or at least this corner of swamp which in his eyes was all that countered.

I remain uncertain regarding his second staff of office. Or his carefully coiffured heard piece.

“We listen!” Dain Rocksmiter and I said simultaneously.

“I Gulpa'Gor speak. I Gulpa'Gor proclaim. You listen you listen good, you show respect or you dryfoot meat fast quick.”

“You listen, you listen good!” Arrrp echoed his Master’s speech with ecstatic reverence. “You behold bigly words of mighty Gulpa'Gor.”

“Do you think they will go on like this all night?” Buddynock Rubyrubb whispered. “I don’t want to leave Wilson waiting for his bedtime story.”

“I the great, magnificent and munificent Gulpa'Gor do say and proclaim, you will obey my august words, in full and without hesitation. Obey my wishes and you may live. Some of you at least.”

“Should we be encouraged and worried?” muttered Halduamina.

“You follow us deep deep into green place. Into mighty kingdom of the great Gulpa'Gor. You follow us plenty quick or you go dead place plenty fast. You understand dryfoots? You understand and obey humble humble?”

Our passage through that swamp could have been culled from some feverish nightmare, those bulbous eyed, bloated creatures leaping alongside us, pressing close, their weapons drawn and ready, their mighty steeds hauling their webbed feet through the swamp with barely a ripple, their eyes staring hungrily in our direction. Did these Bullywugs simply seek to drown us, to lead us into some sudden quagmire? The water closed chill about my heavy sabatons, I heard Dain Rocksmiter’s thick breath as he kept up the relentless pace. Buddynock Rubyrubb had scooped Wilson back into his bag of holding not caring what any Bullywug might say and little Ettel lay around Halduamina’s neck her bright eyes staring anxiously at our captors.

Ahead lay a deep pool of open water fringed by long bulrushes. Two great statues stared impassively across the swamp, each at least forty foot high, Bullywug warriors shaped from mud and clay, guarding this sacred place. We saw four Bullywugs waiting, each bedecked with feather and grass crowns around their heads. Beyond we saw another four and another. There must have been forty at least waiting silent and patient, all dressed up in this tawdry nodding finery, all clutching long spans of white peeled willow. I felt Dain Rocksmiter tense in horror. “For the love of great Durin, not folk dancers!”

“Here! Here! Here!” Sang Arrrp his arms held aloft in a grand gesture. “Here we see god’s will and judgement.”

“You notice even the “great” Gulpa'Gor seems a tad less eager just now?” muttered Dain.

 “So now you listen quick good. You hear me careful careful. You follow orders and maybe you live. Maybe. Maybe. Some. Some.” proclaimed Gulpa'Gor. By the Dog, wise Dain was quite correct, all of a sudden this pompous Bullywug king, seemed rather less sure of himself.

“Here, down here. Godhome. Great God sleeps, happy happy, then hungry hungry!”

“Hello,” whispered Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Can’t say I quite like the turn this conversation is taking!”

“God sick sick. God angry angry. God need happy help to be happy sleep again. Brave Bullywugs sing-dance, sing-dance, brave Bullywugs praise God, cure God, brave Bullywugs make God happy happy sleep again not hungry hungry, eat eat: eat all, eat everything, eat whole world!” Gulpa'Gor paused to snatch mouthfuls of air.

“Tharizdun?” I said. “Surely no, surely the portal is not here?”

“Could be,” muttered Dain. “But these frog creatures. Callous yes, but demented? They could have killed us out of hand if they had wanted to.”

“Blind Tharizdun wants to destroy the whole world,” said Halduamina. “Everything. More than merely this swamp.”

Dain grinned with sardonic relief. “And if that bloated newt thinks this wearisome wetland is the entire world his god is merely some local entity not Dark Tharizdun himself!”

“Very good,” sighed Buddynock Rubyrubb. “But whatever this ‘dinky’ deity might be it’s presumably still potent enough to make happy snacks from us!”

Gulpa'Gor glanced around, gestured, and his warriors began to fan out around the pool taking pains not to approach the open water. By the Dog we were correct, our captors were scared!

“God sick sick. God angry angry. God need happy help to be happy sleep again. Brave Bullywugs sing-dance, sing-dance to cure God but hungry God eat them, eat them before dance finished. You keep God busy busy until sing-dance done done. You keep God busy busy until sing-dance done and God goes happy sleep again.” Gulpa'Gor gestured to his attendants and began to draw back himself as the silent swamp suddenly rang to a frenzy of gongs and croaking.

“One thing, one thing you note, you note good.” Gulpa'Gor’s eyes bulged with anger. “You harm God, you hurt hurt God and if he does not eat you quick quick we will eat you slow and warm and screaming. You hear? You hear me good? You keep God busy busy and I be nice nice. I the magnificent and munificent bigly Gulpa'Gor King of the World!”

 “He’s not joking is he?” whispered Buddynock.

“I fear not,” I replied.

“And we can’t hurt this creature?” said Halduamina as we saw the dark water of that pool beginning to bubble and surge, great gouts of black mud rising to the surface.

“Or presumably humiliate it,” muttered Dain Rocksmiter.

“Any suggestions?” whispered our Druid.

“Smile, dodge and dodge again,” I exclaimed. “And hope those Bullywug dancers are nimble on their toes.”

“So four do the dancing?” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“Apparently,” Halduamina spoke with careful innocence. “With lots of high kicks until they croak?”

“But if only four are needed why are another forty kitted up and ready for the off?” asked our Gnomish Druid.

“I’m trying not to think of that,” grunted Dain. “By Moria and Durin here it comes!”

The angry water surged and rose, the creature broke surface blotting out the evening light. Hideous and towering a form fit for a demon. Two stout legs and three eyes standing proud on stalks, no head, but but a great mouth bisecting its bulging belly, a mouth lined with fangs and dripping with ichor, with a tongue, a long lashing tongue lined with grasping spikes. Four tentacles reared fifteen feet above the creature; it bellowed with rage and rushed forward, its great maw gaping wide. The four Bullywug dancers had scarcely taken a step before two tentacles each seized a screaming victim and stuffed them head first into those terrible jaws.

Before we could move, another pair of bedecked Bullywugs leapt forward and the renewed quartet of dancers began their ritual. We saw Gulpa'Gor beckon, this was insane, utterly mad but what choice in Hades did we have. I cannot say what I shouted only that I rushed onward, shield braced, rushed forward towards this creature of the damned. I have rarely been more envious of any Rogue. Nimble Halduamina dodged the first tentacle to snap in his direction, our Half Elf turned a complete somersault as the green arm passed over his head. Another tentacle smacked against my shield and sent me staggering. This aberration was immense, at least twenty feet high and ten broad. It rumbled forward like a living earthquake. If we could have fought back, we should have had some hope, but this … this offering ourselves like popinjays to a marksman, this was a torment far less easily bourne.

I have never seen Buddynock Rubyrubb more thankful for his magic buckler and Ring of Protection but even they could not have saved him for long. I always knew our Gnomish Druid has uncanny luck, and poor Buddynock never needed good fortune more than today. Four huge tentacles lashed out and another pair of screaming Bullywugs were carried back to that cavernous maw. Two more bedecked Bullywugs darted forward to take their places and we heard their sacred dance begin. Not even dread Venomfang of Thundertree could match this behemoth frog demon! Every nerve in our bodies was screaming the need to run yet we still stepped forward even so, Halduamina and Buddynock shouting defiance as Dain and I clashed our blades against our shields. That terrible eyestalk swivelled in our direction as we saw those two hapless Bullywugs vanish head first down that yawning throat. One tentacle snapped at Halduamina but our Rogue evaded with ease, a second smote Boreas and my celestial familiar immediately vanished from this existence.

A coiling spiked tongue sprang forward like a striking snake. Nimble Buddynock darted clear. This aberration reared up against the sky, an impossible, unbelievable bulk blotting out the moon. Behind us the desperate Bullywugs continued their frenzied chanting, was I dreaming or was the rhythm changing, were the sacred dance steps suddenly slower? Dain Rocksmiter caught one lunging tentacle against his kite shield, our comrade staggered back one pace but held his ground. A second curled backhand at me and I barely evaded; little Buddynock waited his moment, biting his lip, then side stepped swiftly as the hooked arm smashed down at the ground.

We dodged each flailing tentacle as best we could and that obscene thrashing tongue. Behind us the Bullywug chanting had surely changed pitch again, surely, oh by the divine light of reason these frenzied frog creatures were finally succeeding! Halduamina rolled and tumbled like an acrobat, his devoted Otter familiar had been dispelled just like celestial Boreas but our lithe Half Elven comrade was proving more than a match for this demon from the dark. A tentacle swept over Dain Rocksmiter’s helm, little Buddynock dodged one, no two together; our tireless Druid leapt for safety, but then, to our horror, the coiling, slurping tongue latched around his ankle. For a moment our friend froze in terror, then before we could even scream, poor Buddynock was savagely yanked from his feet as that pulsating tongue began dragging him across that sodden ground.

We heard a scream, we saw another prancing Bullywug being hoisted high into the air, but even as the doomed wretch shrieked in terror we heard their ritual dance change tempo once again. Poor Buddynock was being hauled through the swamp, his eyes staring helplessly behind his fogged brass goggles. I started forward but I had looked too long. A green tentacle suddenly snaked around my armoured waist, and before I could even try to wrench free, I too was being dragged remorselessly towards that gaping maw. Buddynock must surely have been trying to shift form and slip that grasp of death, unless he was simply helpless and stunned. My steel sabatons flailed in the mud as I frantically tried to break free, but the abomination’s strength was simply appalling. Despite my efforts I was simply drawn ever nearer that drooling mouth. The only “mercy” was the weight of my armour slowing the tentacle even a little. 

I never realised any Bullywug had any skill at drawing.

Previous adventurers had apparently escaped less lightly.

May the earth lie lightly on their bodies.

Or any fragments that survived.

That breath! Like some fiendish charnel house. Somewhere behind, a few feet, a whole lifetime away, those frantic frog creatures capered and sung, invoking praises and benisons on their horrific deity. I could not see Halduamina or Dain any more; through the slits in my steel visor I glimpsed those long dripping fangs opening wide to engulf me. I kicked out, drawing my legs back frantically. That engorged tongue had drawn Buddynock to the very mouth; I simply hoped my friend would lose all consciousness before it actually dragged him inside that cavernous mouth. I lashed out again, felt my feet smashing against those grinning fangs, felt the gout of breath from within that demonic beast, felt the tentacle swing me up and around and upside down ready to plunge me to my doom.

If the darkest hour is truly before the dawn we leapt from abyssal night into shining noontide. A crescendo of drumming, cries and croaking erupted behind us; the Bullywugs raised their united voices in a paian, their webbed hands uplifted, their bulbous eyes gawping at the risen moon. I felt that terrible grip around my waist slacken, my eyes wide with surprise as I watched that writhing tentacle uncoil and release me, saw that lolling tongue flick our Gnomish Druid out, aside and away. Was I delirious, was my mind trying to shield me from such a terrible death, but no, oh by high Olympos and all the Muses, no this was real, this was happening, that placated behemoth released us and slowly, ponderously sank to sleep again underneath that clinging marsh. The surging water seethed and slowly settled, the ripples faded and vanished; only the pool was left, that deep pool of horrors and the fatal secret beneath.

I remember little clearly save Dain and Halduamina dashing forward to drag us both clear as the marsh water sucked and boiled around us. I have a faint recollection of my visor being opened and the burning taste of brandywine as Cleric Rocksmiter held his medicinal flask to my mouth. Not even that filthy Carrion Crawler, or dread Venomfang had been more terrible, not even that wraith haunting forsaken Phandelver. We had never come so close to death, or a more terrible way of dying.

I take the quiet words of Socrates for my guide, before any astrolabe or sextant: “If I am truly wise it is only because I realise I know nothing.” These Bullywugs are undoubtedly evil creatures, they delight in running down their prey as they strut and brag of tawdry triumphs. In other circumstances we would have been slain out of hand, our corpses stripped and our heads taken to ornament their temples. Yet now, yet here, in this place where we had strained heart and sinew to serve a purpose, these swamp creatures proved to have their own share of honour all the same.

Gulpa'Gor beckoned us forward, the depleted ranks of his followers assembled to cover flanks and rear, their giant steeds staring at us with empty, hungry eyes. “So dryfoots keep word. So dryfoots lucky lucky. You keep God busy busy until sing-dance done and God goes happy sleep again.” The bloated creature drew himself upright his throat sac bulging.

“I Gulpa'Gor say this, I Gulpa'Gor warn you. Should you come back we kill you, we kill you slow. You dryfoots do not walk here. This our world, this the world. You come back and we kill you slow. But here, now, you done bigly thing, you done right thing. You send God happy sleep again. So to take this, take this now. You remember the mighty, the wise and powerful All High Gulpa'Gor, you take this but you know we take this back anytime we choose choose. Go, go now, go fast, go without look back. You run fast. You hope. You hope you stay stay lucky lucky.”

Gulpa'Gor pulled the gilded wreath from the rusted helm crowning his sceptre and sent it skimming at my head. I plucked the delicate orle from the air, much to my own surprise. Gulpa'Gor was already bored with us, and ordering forward a banquet and songs in his honour. Arrrp was singing a new hymn of praise as we splashed through the marsh reeds and mire, making the best speed we could as we fled that Bullywug camp.

“Just keep moving,” hissed Dain. “No jokes, no comments, just keep putting one foot ahead of the other and don’t stop.”

“Does anyone REALLY think they have to tell ME that!” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

                                                                                    5

We force marched through that swamp, pressing the pace relentlessly. Whenever gentle Buddynock has stopped joking the day is grim as sightless eyes staring out the stars. For all we knew that aberration, that demonic behemoth might wake hungry once more. We wasted no time until we stood upon dry ground once more, the swamp paths all behind us and the low hills rising to the north. At last we drew breath, at last we could set our fire and camp and feel safe from unseen pursuers lurking under that still swamp water. I think Buddynock and I were both more shaken than we wished to admit. I am certain our comrades guessed this but I appreciated their reticence in asking. Druids may do as they please, any knight should only talk when they must. At least we now had leisure for Halduamina to read one of those dozen remaining spell scrolls and cast identify over my gilded orle. Our friend’s face widened with slow delight, for not even bright elves can always be impassive.

                                                                                    The gilded orle given by Gulpa'Gor

“A lucky and most fortunate find,” said Halduamina. “This gilded wreath for your helm.”

“This orle.” I insisted.

“This orle then. This only acts as a helm of water-breathing! You can survive below the surface and swim as fast as you can walk on land. You will also be able to see in darkness.”

I whistled. “Like each of you?”

“Welcome to all the wonder of a grey world,” grinned Dain. “A place of ghosts and shadows, but yes, you will be able to see as we all do when there is no other light to guide you.”

“But we still need light to see colour,” added Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Darkvision is handy enough but not really what I would call fun. I mean, I could still peruse naughty woodcuts but there’s no incentive to go for the fully tinted pages unless you’ve got a steady lantern handy.”

“We still struggle even with our night vision,” said Halduamina. “We can see somewhat but we still need light to take full advantage”.

“And now you have it too,” Dain Rocksmiter nodded with satisfaction.

“Behold new wonder dolphin Dalmas!” grinned Buddynock. “No more going wide eyed and setting your teeth like a sphinx anytime you see a simple puddle! Or your voice going up half an octave each time!”

We trudged on through the marsh, conscious of a salt tang to the air and the cry of sea birds. A chill wind was blowing in our faces, the few gnarled trees were hunched like hungry hags over a crib. We avoided bog pits, and quicksand and thanks to bright eyed Ettel saw a pool of Green Slime before we drew too close. A brace of oil flasks and a smouldering torch soon put paid to that hazard. Was the smoke a risk? Possibly but we also had to ensure a clear line of retreat should our venture go awry. A rough path led us onward but we sorely missed the tracking skills of Ranger Samuel. The river Dunwater flowed to our left, wider now and sluggish as those muddy waters left the land behind. Ahead a stunted promontory rose eighty feet at least above the marsh, standing stark against the sky with only the open sea beyond. This was no place anyone would choose to linger, those sparse thorn bushes would struggle to shelter a rabbit warren. Yet the rough path we followed led us onward all the same, curving around the flank of the mound.

“Surely no lizard folk would settle here,” said Dain Rocksmiter. “Surely this is far too cold and exposed.”

“Unless needs must and they had no choice,” suggested Halduamina.

“Unless they are all underground,” Buddynock Rubyrubb was still more silent than I liked. His ordeal had been horrendous, his life so nearly lost to that terrible creature. Another few moments and our friend would have disappeared forever down that pulsing gullet.

“Look!” Dain pointed at the mud. “There’s no doubt left now, none at all. These have to be the marks of lizard folk. Look at the spacing and the indentation. Reptile feet, our own size and clearly walking upright. On that other track heading due west.”

“And there,” said Halduamina. “I swear there are some boot prints too.”

“The ones which just sort of peter out?” Our Gnomish Druid sighed. “Just why are we here again? If anyone is able to tell me! And have you noticed something else? No little frogs round here and no nesting birds. None!”

“Meaning?” Halduamina raised one elegant eyebrow.

“Meaning I’m not going to be turning into anything cute, petite and potentially scrumptious!” Buddynock Rubyrubb said with feeling. “Even full Gnome sized I still got more than close enough to the mouth of that swamp horror! I mean to say, I have to look after myself. None of you know how to keep Wilson happy.”

The earthen mound loomed above us as we turned to follow the new track, walking silently, placing our feet with care, watching for traps, alert for any hint of any sound. We were nearer now, we could make out a low cave entrance well screened by scrub, at least thirty feet wide and ten high. It was then sharp eyed Buddynock saw the forlorn rag doll floating in a pool. Dainty Ettel swiftly retrieved the doll for us; one button eye had been torn away and the check dress was stained with blood.

“Not voodoo is it?” asked wary Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“Just a child’s lost toy,” said Dain but we all heard the worry in his voice and I saw our friend quietly tucking the broken doll within his pouch.

                                                                6

There was still no sign of life as we approached the cave, no sentinels or traps, nothing to indicate any living creatures lurked inside, save the medley of claw marks scoring the ground. We glanced back at the daylight then ducked inside, placing our feet with care in that clinging sea of mud. The cavern was at least forty feet high and sixty wide; at the far side we saw a narrow stone pathway set higher in the rear wall with two arched entrances leading deeper into the hillside.

Needs must, the only way was forward. We plodded through the mud, little Ettel wound herself around Halduamina’s neck in disgust. One moment we were considering a battered and rusty breastplate left protruding from the stinking mud, and the gleaming hilt of a dainty scimitar an arm’s length away. An instant later and we heard the frenzied hiss of six giant lizards, each at least ten feet long, as they suddenly leapt towards us; purple mouths gaping as they charged. I slew the first from sheer reflex, long Talon severed its neck with one slash.

To my right our nimble Rogue moved like a bull dancer, Halduamina side stepped one frenzied lizard then plunged both sword and dagger deep into its scaled back. Buddynock Rubyrubb chanted familiar words and summoned two spirit bears to guard him; we could see his furrowed brow and hear our Druid muttering; little Buddynock was concentrating hard to maintain the presence of his spell. Dain glared frantically at all of us as he summoned his divine powers to speak to these giant reptiles, and hopefully, somehow calm them.

Too late, far too late. The orders were barked from the back of the cave, from up on that stone walkway near the arches. Words sharp as spear points, their mood was plain even if their meaning escaped us. Five proud lizard folk stalked from the shadows. Each bedecked in leather straps and pouches, with short plain kilts, each with a jutting tail, each walking upright and clutching stone headed spears or heavy swords while the largest bore a two handed axe a mighty ogre would struggle to lift. We saw yellow livid eyes staring at us, unblinking, wary, no sign of doubt or fear, creatures utterly sure of themselves, proud and determined and we were the interlopers in their lair. Two of their ‘watchdogs’ now lay dead at our feet.

Normally Buddynock Rubyrubb has no regard for polite formalities and bounces into any conversation with more gleeful exuberance than a whole cartload of kittens. I’m even reasonably used to this now. Sometimes. But whenever our Gnomish Druid actually permits me to parley with all due protocol, even blind Oedipos would see the situation is grave. I raised my visor and lowered Talon. “We come as emissaries not enemies. We come openly. Your creatures attacked without warning and I regret we had to defend ourselves.”

Just as on Sea Ghost, only the largest lizard creature spoke, but their eyes never left us and their gaze never flickered. He seemed particularly wary and there was a surly twitch to his long jaws I did not care for, or the bulging leather pouch at his belt. Something living squirmed and writhed within. Something? Many things. A small yellow frog pushed its snout free of the flap. A bad mistake, this lizard creature reached down to his pouch and absently crammed the wriggling frog inside his mouth.

His hisses were angry, guttural, he saw the two giant lizards we had slain and the blades clenched in our fists. Strident Grom was still muttering to Dain Rocksmiter, calculating the best axe stroke to bring down yet another of those lurking reptiles. For one long moment we all stood and stared.

“Sheath swords,” hissed Dain, as he lowered his rune axe, haft first, to the floor, resting his gauntleted hands upon Grom’s head. “Yes now!”

Maybe his surly temper had a clear cause, we all saw his scars and blackened scales, this lizard creature had clearly once been engulfed by flames. He beckoned one of his companions forward and I sighed with relief to hear clear words spoken, uncertain, unsure but words in Common all the same. The speaker was lithe as a serpent and with bright eyes alive with curiosity, we all saw the bright feathers tucked within a leather head band and a necklace of chipped quartz and jasper.

“You also see the bloodstained human hair swinging from her belt?” muttered Halduamina.

“Very arts ‘n crafts!” whispered Buddynock. “Especially the leather braiding at the ends.”

The lizard creature pointed at herself: “Mirik! Mirik. You come friends?”

“We want to be friends,” I said. “We came through earth and water to find you. Through danger and death to speak truly.”

“You mean real?” Mirik was leaning forward now, curiosity overcoming reserve.

“We show respect. We receive respect,” Dain Rocksmiter spoke with careful care.

“Don’t hate me for this please,” whispered our Druid before raising his voice and calling: “take us to your leader!”

Eager Mirik pointed at each of her companions, repeating what could only be their names.

“Well that’s sort of friendly!” sighed Buddynock.

“Unless they want their enemies to know who eventually kills, eats and scalps them!” whispered Halduamina.

“Eats?” hissed Buddynock.

“Just look at those teeth,” advised Halduamina. “And please don’t tell me salads feature frequently on their menus!” Valignant now led the way, the surly lizardman burnt by flames. Towering Garut paced behind us, his huge hands clenched around his axe. Baleshra stank. That is the simple truth. Thick set, with heavy jaws, this lizardman walked hunched over, sometimes almost on all fours, but slender Kosj at his side moved as dainty as a bird. We did not miss how she glanced at her reflection in our shields but this graceful creature seemed friendly enough all the same.

Hulking Garut never uttered a sound.

“He sort of gets his point across without really needing to!” whispered our Druid

We plunged within a winding labyrinth of twisting tunnels, hewn from the stone and clawed from the mud, the floor just beaten earth, scored with claw marks. Flaring torches and charcoal braziers set into niches left the air humid and oppressive. We were hurried past tunnel mouths and heavy wooden doors. We glimpsed cold eyes staring, heard a hissing chatter follow our passing. This lair was full of life. There had to be hundreds of lizard folk at least! We encountered frequent patrols, armed, wary and ready; these creatures were clearly on their guard and expecting trouble.

There was little time to linger, we could only guess the purpose of each room we passed. One near the entrance was clearly a barracks or guardroom. Fifteen straw mattresses were set around the long chamber, each with a small wooden chest at its foot. In the centre stood a crudely built wooden table, with benches on either side. We saw four warriors receiving orders from an officer clad in bone armour. Another lizard-creature stood observing from the side, its long robe dropping down over legs and tail.

After several hundred feet the tunnels branched three ways. Our escort paused to consider and I saw keen eyed Buddynock swiftly stoop and snatch a piece of tattered parchment from the floor. Halduamina moved fast as thought and stood between our Druid and the escort. Little Buddynock was back in his place without saying a word.

A communal kitchen was also obvious, the smell of cooking meat hung on the air, a curious aroma with an acrid tang. Through an open doorway we glimpsed small scurrying lizard folk tending a series of spits above a stone firepit full of burning coal; turning the roasting meat and basting the joints with stone ladles. Most of the carcasses were clearly animals or small fowls, but there also were three larger joints I struggled to identify but I sensed Dain Rocksmiter’s quiet alarm as he gazed into the room.

We saw shelves piled high with clay pots, mugs and basins and a wooden cask full of rock salt. A large iron cauldron, blackened from heavy use, swung from the ceiling on a pulley and chains. These lizard folk were certainly well stocked, assuming those chests and wicker baskets were all full. They certainly liked their wild fowl for fifteen or so disconsolate ducks squawked from one cage. I felt our Druid about to step forward and I sadly laid a firm hand on Buddynock’s shoulder. Not now, not today, we were far from our home and we could not intervene for that.

Four large and crested lizard folk in this kitchen simply sat and laughed at a wooden bench,

not deigning to share in the busy work all around them.

“Yup,” muttered Buddynock: “Never matters where you go. ‘It’s the same the whole world over …’ “

Valignant led us to a small chamber furnished with little more than two benches, a table and an iron bound chest. He nodded to graceful Mirik, who paused, collected her thoughts and found the earnest words she wanted. “You wait. Wait here. Soon you see. Soon. And yes, you take the iron sword. Bad weapon, bad, no use us here. You take.” Mirik turned to stare at Dain, she actually blinked, bobbed her head and waited with huge Garut outside the chamber.

Buddynock Rubyrubb had the decency to look embarrassed when he realised his foraging had been observed. Halduamina still had a dozen of identify scrolls from Svarstaag and we agreed it was well worth him casting the spell, well there had to be good reason why that curved sword was not pitted with rust and corrosion. By the Dog and just as we hoped, the scimitar was enchanted; at last our Gnomish Druid had a magic weapon of his own! “I only hope he does not need to wield it too soon,” muttered Halduamina.

At last we had an opportunity to draw breath. Mirik and hulking Garut still stood in the doorway and the others were surely nearby, but at least we could make reasonably certain we were not being overlooked or heard. “Assuming there is no damn wizard aiding them,” Dain shook his head. “Some scrying glass or clairaudience spell could reveal all that we say or do here!”

“Don’t care,” said our Druid. “You need to see this. You really need to. All of you. I’m not sorry I picked it up but the implications are truly horrible!”

A moon curved magic blade fitting for our Gnomish Druid. Enchanted, damascened steel

inlaid with golden runes of power, a deadly weapon, graceful as a fleet gazelle, deadly as a striking lion.

“But I’m still naming it Ernie!” said defiant Buddynock Rubyrubb.

 “Just you take a shufi.” Buddynock unrolled the mud smeared parchment, carefully keeping his back to the doorway. “Somebody dropped this a hundred feet or so inside this lizard labyrinth. Unless it blew in, but I think that’s far less likely.”

“Clear enough,” Halduamina gave a low whistle. “So there’s a small child down here somewhere. Or at least there was a small child.”

“Some of those joints of meat in that kitchen looked very peculiar to me!” Our wide-eyed Druid rolled up the parchment and stored it safely once more.

The world could be ending around us and I could trust Dain Rocksmiter, devout cleric of Marthammor Duin to calmly and carefully sift for evidence before leaping to any decision. “If this picture is true we can assume a party was attacked outside, the escort was slain and little Pia was left unharmed and able to quietly draw a picture of what happened.”

“Pia?” said Halduamina. “But-”.

“If you look closely under the child’s right foot you can also see the artist has written her name.”

“So this little Pia is down here somewhere?” said Buddynock. “Down here? In this rabbit warren!”

“I hate to imagine it but yes,” said Dain. “At least for a time.”

“But well enough to draw a picture and leave it hoping someone will realise and rescue her!” Our Gnomish Druid becomes truly fierce when most insistent.

We heard movement at the doorway. Valignant had returned and nodded to clever Mirik. She cleared her throat and said. “All you. All. See Sauvik. See Queen. You come now. Follow.”

We could not fail to observe Mirik’s especial interest in Dain. I swear her hand actually craned out to touch his beard before vain Kosj hissed and a chastened Mirik stepped back suddenly, her bright eyes blinking.

“That scalp on her belt,” mouthed Halduamina. “Looks very like whiskers to me.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” hissed Dain Rocksmiter. “You really don’t!”

“But she … Mi.. rik seems so sweet!” exclaimed our Druid. “Look she’s offering us a treat now. For me? A little nibble? Now that is kind. Now that is thoughtful. Now that is … oh Silvanus … that’s, that’s …”

“A bag of human fingers,” Halduamina’s carefully impassive tone did not marry with the expression in his eyes. “Freshly severed human fingers at that. And dwarf too.”

Baleshra could walk almost upright when he chose, but often seemed easier using on all fours

Even within one tribe the range and variety among these lizard folk surprised me, from the colour of their scales and length of crests, to the banding on their tails and even the shape of their head and jaws

“Be calm,” urged wise Dain. “Be calm, stay calm. Do not react.”

“Easy for you to say!” snapped Buddynock. “You weren’t nearly served full on finger food!”

“Wait,” I began. “See, Kosj is telling Mirik off again. Well that’s very clear. Kosj is displeased Mirik offered you a bag of fresh human fingers. That was clearly rude or unthinking. See, Kosj does not want Mirik to open that pouch of human fingers … no, Kosj wants Mirik to offer you a choice from … oh by Lykaon’s foul ghost, from those freshly severed human thumbs instead.” I let my visor drop as if my accident, but I did not dare raise my bascinet until I had recovered my calm expression and some power of speech.

Elvish detachment is truly real, even when they share their blood with men. “I suppose it makes a kind of sense,” said Halduamina. “If human digits are a delicacy then thumbs have more meat on them than fingers.”

“Just what are Wilson and I doing here? Tell me that!” I have never heard Buddynock Rubyrubb ever sound so plaintive. “Someone tell me that. Please!”

Clever Mirik bedecked with feathers, her necklace worn so proudly

“You see Sauvik now soon,” Mirik blinked her bright eyes again and looked away. Our guides led us deeper through these winding tunnels, we passed rooms and side passages, we encountered guard patrols wary and watchful, we spied lizardfolk of all sizes and hues busy with their own errands. Scarred Valignant still led the way with vain Kosj and Mirik. Aromatic Baleshra scuttled along behind us while patient Garut strode at our heels, huge stone axe on his shoulder and still never making a sound.

We paused once when our escort bowed their heads and gestured us through a set of double doors carved with long reptilian eggs. After so many crowded tunnels and chambers the room beyond was a sudden refuge of peace. Its purpose was obvious immediately. Incense hung in the air and at the far end a shaman in long robes crouched before a stone altar. Smoking tallow candles added their own aroma. Above the altar, the south wall bore a marine fresco of a lizard folk warrior brandishing a two handed club embedded with sharp sea shells; the other walls were bedecked with sea green curtains from ceiling to floor.

“Semuanya,” whispered Cleric Rocksmiter, “their revered first ancestor. And just be mindful, this may appear peaceful but sure as Halflings smoke pipeweed there will be powerful protections here just waiting for anyone foolish enough to profane the shrine. So admire the carved serpent masks on the walls and leave that iron chest well alone!”

I understand some industrious Rock gnomes tinker with cogs and winding springs to keep track of passing time. We certainly needed one of their devices down here. The stifling winding tunnels continued, a maze of junctions, doors and archways, but I could not longer be sure just how many hours had slipped by, nor how far we had trudged. Some of these curving passages had turned back on themselves, of that I was quite certain, yes by Daedalos and Minos, this labyrinth was perhaps not so immense as these lizard folk wanted us to think.

                                                                        7

There was also no doubt as to the purpose here and this long room was certainly the noisiest we had visited. Straw mattresses were scattered around the floor. Wooden tables held earthenware cups and pitchers, but also clay bowls filled with wild flowers. A few adults shared quiet conversations, but the chamber was full of young hatchlings chasing each other or wrestling, some with crude toys shaped from gnawed bones or wood. Bright-eyed Mirik beckoned us forward, but motioned us to move slowly and with care. Her concern was all too clear; the next room was lined with wooden shelves from floor to ceiling, each supporting rows of gleaming eggs all wrapped with straw. Mirik stroked one blue speckled egg, inspecting the shell for damage or dust, then hissed with satisfaction and tucked it back into the close packed hay.

“Does that mean there is a Mr. Mirik out there?” whispered Halduamina.

“And will he be miffed she keeps wanting to stroke Dain’s beard?” grinned Buddynock Rubyrubb. “Ecclesiastical types eh … darker horses than the midnight steeds of Hades himself!”

 “Men came. Bad men. Bad small beard man too. One with shining sword, bent sword,” Mirik’s long tongue flickered with disdain; she seemed to have been rehearsing her words with precision and care. “Tried take eggs. Tried. Killed eggs. Killed dead!” We all heard the fury behind her quiet words. “They not run for long. We send them dark place fast. No need for hair. No need for fingers or toes. THEY KILLED EGGS!”

Our friend Dain Rocksmiter is a quiet and thoughtful companion, who sees much and only speaks after he thinks. And now I saw him lean forward and gently pat Mirik’s shoulder; his eyes earnest, as he nodded his head. A good comrade our Dwarven Cleric. We saw vain Kosj and bright Mirik exchange glances; saw them raise their long tails in salute.

We passed a pillared drill hall where an officer clad in bone armour and bearing a long and polished tusk observed the score of warriors practising wrestling holds or hurling barbed javelins against a target adorned with the head of a sharp toothed fish. The cells were nearby for clear reason. Hulking Garut tightened his grip on his axe haft as he gestured towards the iron grille set into the door. To our surprise we saw water not a floor; the cell beyond was actually a pool with iron bars extending across the surface, the water deepening with distance from the door. We saw a slate grey shape swimming within the cell, moving ceaselessly as it circled and spun. We saw two eyes dark as pitch, saw long teeth lining a lipless mouth. I was so glad to turn away and walk on.

“So Lizard folk really dislike Sea Devils,” Halduamina Half Elven spoke with cool detachment but I could see how greatly this this news cheered him.

“I’m just amazed to hear a Sahuagin actually speak in Common!” Dain Rocksmiter glanced back the way we had come. “After witnessing their butchery … or the grisly aftermath, I honestly wondered if they could speak at all.”

“But a scout, any scout, is normally selected for their intelligence and ability,” I began. “Assuming what Mirik told us is correct, they captured this shark lover while he probed their defences for weaknesses.”

“I’m just surprised this devious deep sea delinquent actually had the nerve to claim he was just an innocent Triton!” Buddynock Rubyrubb tutted. “Detained by mistake and needing immediate release! Dearie me, he was really chancing his flippers there”.

|”Probably the only chance he had,” said Dain. “Hoping we had never seen an actual Sahuagin before.”

“We’ve surely tramped every tunnel now,” said Halduamina. Now Mirik hissed, pointed and stepped back as vain Kosj knocked on a red painted door set deep into the wall. The voice inviting us to enter sounded as warm and as weak as steam seeping from a kettle. The accent was strange but the words were clear all the same; at last one lizard man who truly shared the Common tongue.

Minister Sauvik with his amulet of office and just one of his beloved books.

The room was small but with a clear air of comfort. The air was tinged with smoke and warmer even than those humid corridors thanks to the chased brass bowl of smouldering coals supported on a metal tripod. We saw hanging heavy curtains, a crude circular table, a number of simple stools and an aged lizard man sitting comfortably in a faded leather armchair. His scales were chipped and faded and his friendly eyes rheumy like an ancient tortoise. The weight of the gold chain about his neck almost seemed too much for him, we saw him gather his strength to speak. One of his trembling claws rested lightly on a large bound book; to my delight and surprise I saw a shelf with five other books within easy reach. Their titles did not appear too enticing, at least to me, treatises on power politics, diplomacy and the properties of gemstones but I still revelled in the sheer surprise of finding a library down here. I did not mean to stare, I simply could not help myself; I heard an amused cough and saw two calm eyes staring at me with some amusement.

“Yes you may wait outside,” the ancient lizard man told our earnest escort “No I shall be completely safe, I … am sure of it.” His voice seemed as dry as tearing paper, even raising his claws clearly took a significant effort yet he met our gaze without flinching and did not once look away. “I am Sauvik, first minister to Queen Othokent, I believe we have foes in common and I bid you welcome.”

We knew the petty factions of Saltmarsh all too well and none of us forgot the depraved duplicity of teeming Svarstaag. Only fools believe just what they wish to, but the more old Sauvik spoke the more his halting words seemed to ring true. Did Sauvik truly mean what he said? Did he? Did he offer us real hope against a common foe?

 “This lair you see now is not our ancestral land. The Sahuagin or Sea Devils as you call them drove us from our home years ago. We stood and fought, we tried, yet they were simply too many, too fierce. Our chosen warriors could only fall together as we carried our eggs and hatchlings clear. Those they caught they killed and devoured. They despoiled the sacred places, dragged our name and honour through the filth.“Sauvik’s thin voice wavered, his trembling claws reached for a glass goblet, failed and fell short. Dain Rocksmiter silently placed the cup within his reach and the old lizard man bobbed his head in thanks. “Their might grows, their ambitions soar. They are coming for us, coming for you. They come to kill without mercy, kill without pause. We cannot stand alone. Neither can you, neither can anyone. We look for weapons from the ship, we look most of all for allies. I think and I hope you look for the same.”

“Does your Queen feel the same? I asked. “Do you speak for many?”

“I speak for almost all!” Sauvik hissed with satisfaction. “Our Shamans of divine Semuanya burn to reclaim her shrine, for them any sacrifice is worthy in Her name. They would marshal the whole tribe today if they could.”

“When a shrine is desecrated-” Cleric Dain began.

“It is still wise to still remain calm and strike when there is a faint hope of success,” wheezed Sauvik. “No matter how great shame. Our war leader Irhtos is ready now, but Queen Othokent fears the likely loss of life. Our warriors are ready for battle no matter the odds, but to fight without real hope of victory is a vain waste of life. We have sent and summoned all those who may stand with us: the Locathah from the deeps, the Tritons and Aquan Elves, even the Koalinth too despite their reputation. Not all will join us, but maybe some, maybe enough. It it a hard blow to our pride but we cannot resolve this alone. Sitting and waiting will doom us all yet if we fail our eggs will be smashed, our hatchlings devoured. Our scales will dim our claws shatter; we shall be merely a memory, and perhaps not even that. I thank you for your courtesy to my emissaries aboard the ship, and I give further thanks you have come so far to speak with us. Just know we need your aid, just as you surely hope for ours.”

“We either stand together or fall alone,” Dain Rocksmiter said quietly.

“So all these emissaries are coming here?” asked Halduamina. “To discuss an alliance?”

“Do others here speak the Common tongue too?” I asked. “I know of no one who speaks Draconic.”

Old Sauvik’s long tongue flickered. “Then I suggest you remove the third volume along from my shelf. Yes that one. Study hard gentlemen and you will learn all that you need.”  

 “A magnificent gift!” I said. “One you wrote yourself? Ah I see. You are sure, quite sure you can spare it?” I saw Buddynock Rubyrubb nodding and grinning as he reached within his bag of holding. “I wonder if you would wish to take any of the following tomes? I cannot say just how useful or interesting they may be but you are still very welcome all the same.” By the Dog, let no one ever tell me these grim lizard folk never reveal emotion! Sauvik’s claws wrapped themselves around six new unexpected volumes, his old eyes alive with delight. Perhaps the subjects did not really matter providing they were something new to read! (*)

(*) 1: The Secret of the Philosopher’s Stone, author unknown

2: A digest on maritime law by Captain Bucina.

3: A volume explaining maritime navigation, title page lost.

4: An account of the metaphysics of mathematics compiled by the Mage Nystul of Nevond

5. A palimpsest discussing the arcane properties of gemstones credited to Archmage Tenser

6: A treatise on magical herbs and flowers, again, purportedly by Tenser of the Circle of Eight

“As long as he’s happy,” whispered Druid Rubyruybb. “And no I’ve not been drawing flicker gnomes on the bottom corners!”

“What about that volume of erotic poetry?” grinned Halduamina.

“Don’t want to confuse him.” Buddynock spoke with earnest care. “I mean … it would be a lot to take in. Not to mention the inherent risks at his time of life if he tried to follow some of the illustrations.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Halduamina. “Though we know he definitely would have access to a stick on beard!”

                                    

                                                                                8

She was so quiet, so still, it was only then we realised. Old Sauvik shuffled to his book shelf to place his new treasures with the rest of his library. His dragging tail inadvertently brushed against the long curtains and we saw a wicker cage set against the wall and two bright green eyes staring out. Dain bristled with horror and surprise: “Great Thor’s hairy nuts!”

A small human child, dark haired, barely five years old, her russet dress filthy, her face smudged with dirt and tears. Her eyes seemed round as millstones, her mouth opened and closed without making a sound. We saw a bowl of water in her cage, a plate of oatcakes and apples, a piece of parchment and pencils at her feet. My right hand dropped to my sword hilt before I had even started to think.

“I see we have something else to discuss,” I began, picking my words like a man inching his way across breaking ice. Just why was Sauvik suddenly reluctant to speak?

“No we are NOT going to just leave her!” I heard Dain Rocksmiter whispering to Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“Ah, I take it you would like an explanation,” Sauvik began, steepling his long fingers.

Pia Quellina, five year old orphan of Saltmarsh

“That would be a beginning,” said Halduamina. “But only a beginning.”

“You would agree, to some degree, all policy is always a matter of expediency?” said Sauvik. “That all entities have their price and some dues must be paid no matter the cost.”

“Everyone has their price?” I asked. “I prefer to believe everyone has a line they will not cross.”

“Little Pia is safe here,” said Sauvik.

“Safe from what?” demanded Dain Rocksmiter. The bite behind his words was unmistakeable. Despite his quiet admonishment to Buddynock, I would expect the Heavens to fall before our Dwarvish Cleric ever compromises his principles!

Old Sauvik hissed very faintly. He clearly did not relish this new topic of conversation. “Feelings are high. Fears are high. The combination is not … good. Too many chances of mistakes … of unwise actions of-.”

“More bloody bags of bloody fingers!” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

Minister Sauvik winced. “Five days ago, three adventurers infiltrated our home seeking eggs. They killed two hatchlings and destroyed sixteen eggs. They were dealt with. Later that day our hunters stumbled across a small party of travellers lost in the swamp. There was anger. Mistakes. There was blood not words. Much blood. We carried Pia Quellina away for her own safety. I keep her with me until I find means to return her to her family. This is not easily done.”

“Don’t have family,” came a small voice from the corner. “All gone. Live with ole Mrs Tarkelby in Saltmarsh. Even my dolly has gone. And my paints.”

“So you are not holding … Pia hostage?” I asked. “Or for other purposes?”

“I could choose to be insulted!” said Sauvik.

“But I cannot choose not to ask!” I replied.

“Come with me to see the Queen. The other emissaries may also be present now. Come make your case, and yes, I hope and I pray young Pia Quellina will have your blades to guard her on the long trek back to Saltmarsh.”

“Is she safe alone in your quarters?” asked Dain.

“If I am not present?” Old Sauvik sighed. “No, I prefer she comes with us. Yes I would be pleased for you to keep the key. And yes, I believe she would be pleased by the return of her toy.”

“Did you find my picture then?” said Pia. “It took all my best paints.”

“That was very clever,” I said, making sure my visor did not slip down as I bent down to speak to the child. “I hope you feel safer now we are here.” I saw her mouth quiver. “We shall not leave you behind. We give our word.”

Pia Quellina nodded but we saw she no longer trusted herself to speak, simply clutching her restored rag doll like a lost climber clinging to a cliff edge. We closed around her, our weapons sheathed but ready. Our escort bowed their heads to Minister Sauvik, we heard a tense conversation then Mirik nodded us forward and we set out once more. This latest tunnel was unfamiliar, the scent of incense was stronger, the torches more frequent. Four guards almost as large as Garut stood before the carved bog oak doors at the end of the corridor, each of them armoured in plated brigandines, each bearing a heavy falchion of actual steel. They drew back and stood at attention only when Minister Sauvik was clearly visible, we clearly would never have passed them otherwise.

                                                                        9

The chamber beyond was graced by a colonnade running the length of the room to where a wooden throne stood atop a low stone dais. Inlaid gemstones glinted in the torchlight and I felt our incorrigible rogue involuntarily catch his breath. Wily Halduamina grinned ruefully and looked away without another sound. Trophies were mounted along the walls to west and east, the preserved heads of a giant crayfish and tentacled carrion crawler, a gaping hippopotamus, hobgoblin and screaming Sahuagin.   

Queen Othokent of the Dunwater Lizardfolk

We all saw her jagged coronet. Simple and plain yet her authority was clearly on display. Queen Othokent waited impassively for our approach. She appeared young, so far as we could tell, she was clearly alert and watchful, her claws were empty but she wore a bronzed corslet of scale mail, and gleaming metal collar. Queen Othokent nodded to old Sauvik then gestured for him to sit. Armed warriors stood at her side; we were conscious just how many reptilian eyes were suddenly staring at us. I heard little Pia Quellina whimper and felt her small fingers grasping my hand as she buried her face in my short surcoat.

Orders were barked. Footsteps sounded; the wet slap of bare feet as other emissaries entered the chamber. The Locathah peered with anxious resolve, his bulbous eyes more used to the ocean depths than dry land. His seal companion padded along at his side. I heard an impressed “Wow!” from below. Buddynock Rubyrubb began to speak but nodded when Dain held up one warning finger.

Nuanan, Emissary of the Locathah. And friend.

A tense, heavily muscled lizard man spoke with the staccato barks of command. War leader Irhtos beyond a doubt. The small Locathah visibly quailed for a moment, gulped convulsively then spoke again; his voice like the lapping of low tide against soft sand. I do not mean to sound disparaging, for any people of any stature can display courage and resolve, yet this soft voiced sea creature did not seem any natural choice to face down ravening Sea Devils. Were these Locathah truly the strongest allies these Lizardfolk could find?

We could not follow all that was said, yet the meaning was all too clear. Suggestion met with counter offer, earnest entreaties facing every cold reality of the current threat. Who was really requesting help here?

“A pity, perhaps, Aemo Ruaardir stayed back in Saltmarsh,” Halduamina whispered. “He might have said much and of much purpose. “Especially if his Sea Elves also wield magic.”

“No point wishing now.” Dain grunted as he listened intently to the debate.

“These Locathah must have a splash pool somewhere,” suggested Buddynock. “At least that suggests this Lizard clan are looking after them. This Nuanan seems very friendly all things considered. I mean, how would any of us like to be out of our element and surrounded by strangers bedecked with fangs and pointy sticks!”

“I don’t dispute these Locathah appear genial,” said Dain. “Or at least genial at the present moment. I just don’t fancy their chances flipper to flipper with blood crazed Sahuagin riding sharks!”

“Well I’m on the slight and delicate side,” said Druid Rubyruybb. “Do you think I’m somehow lacking in the potential mayhem stakes as well?”

“Hmm!” snorted Dain. “You’re a special case. We’ve finally learnt that!”

“Very special?” beamed Buddynock.

“Beyond question,” I added as little Pia squeezed my hand.

“It just makes sense these Locathah are seeking assistance too,” said Halduamina. “If these Sahuagin are gleefully attacking everyone. Real sharks of the sea!”

“NO!” Buddynock almost raised his voice. “Sharks are just fish and they need their own space and food too. Nothing wrong with sharks. Just like wolves or bears, or lions they have their own place in things. These Sahuagin choose what they do. They give poor sharks a bad name!”

“Please not again.” winced Dain. “I acknowledge your representation about shark rights and needs. I can respect and honour your stance, especially when safely on dry land but I really don’t want to hear this again today!”

“No Pia there’s nothing wrong. Honest.” I sighed at the two big green eyes staring up at me. “No they are usually … always like this! We will be going home to Saltmarsh soon. I promise.”

More than Locathah were here. The Triton strode forward, raising his trident in salute, his lank hair falling down to his shoulders. He moved with decision and despatch and his scale hauberk had clearly seen hard service yet, once again, I could not help but measure his limbs against those demonic and frenzied Sahuagin. I know only fools go by first appearances but this was not our accustomed place or familiar world, we could only predict the perils and our ignorance left me fearful and dismayed. These Merfolk clearly seemed capable warriors yet did they have enough strength to withstand our terrible foes? How many Sea Devils did we actually face when even these fierce lizard folk sought steel arms and armour to augment their teeth and claws.

                    “But still no Aquan Elves at this muster?” Halduamina sounded surprised and annoyed. “Surely these reptiles need every ally they can find. You can trust any Elf to stay true and fight fiercely.”

                    “I think the reason has maybe just entered,” said Dain Rocksmiter.

I do not recollect his name but these Merfolk are clearly doughty warriors beneath the waves.

A Triton’s skill with a trident is legendary; they do not live long otherwise.

Whether night or day, by land or sea, some enmities endure. Both High Elves and Wood Elves are natural foes of dour Hobgoblins and the same hatred abides between Aquan Elves and Koalinth warriors. We had never encountered them before, but even so, we recognised the same precise drill, the same expertise with weaponry and tactics. Four Koalinth strode into the throne room; laying down their barbed spears only at the repeated insistence of war leader Irhtos. Their speech was blunt, their manner unmistakeable.

“We have choice,” Old Sauvik murmured. “At least for now. They will not serve together at any price.”

“And these Koalinth seem stronger than the Aquan Elves?” sighed Halduamina.

“At present, yes,” said Sauvik. “And the present is all that counts. We cannot ally with both Sea Elves and Koalinth, we must choose one over the other.”

A Koalinth warrior of the Outer Depths

Close brethren to Hobgoblins and equally adept at close quarter fighting with regimented precision.

None of us forgot the two sieges of Cragmaw Castle

“You know why Gnomes have no word for diplomat?” said Buddynock.

“Enlighten us pray,” sighed Dain Rocksmiter.

“Because we’ve got better things to do with our bloody time!” Druid Rubyrubb shook his head with exasperation. “Little Pia is tired and scared and needs to be home, not listening to all this palaver.”

“I quite agree,” Dain Rocksmiter replied mildly.

“With me?” Buddynock nearly dropped his goggles. “With me? Gosh!”

“These Koalinth are definitely not happy to see us,” muttered Halduamina.

“That’s as maybe,” I said. “But we still have our chance to speak.

Any Paladin has at least some skill at negotiation. We are taught to present ourselves and to make a case with logic and morality, considering all due viewpoints and likely outcomes. The Lizardfolk listened, old Sauvik learning forward in his chair, war leader Irhtos with wary suspicion, Queen Othokent taking pains to conceal her thoughts and feelings.

“And so I can only conclude with the obvious. We face a fight for our very lives and homes. All of us. Each person here.” I chose my moment and drew long Talon, the torchlight glinting on my gilded hilt and engraved blade. “Any struggle with the Sahuagin will be hard and perilous. We must hope for victory yet we cannot simply expect it. We can only trust to our courage and skill. Yet if we stand together we have some chance of success. To quote an ancient poet from my own lineage:

“Forward you sons of Hellas,

Set your country free.

Save your wives and children,

The tombs of your fathers,

And the temples of your Gods.

All is at stake, now fight!”

“Fine words,” hissed Irhtos. “The sounds so many poets sputter sitting safe from the blood and the fear.”

“Not every poet,” I replied. “Aeschylos of Eleusis knew the reality of battle against bad odds all too clearly. The true cost of warfare and sometimes the price of peace.”

“The Koalinth claim their support is all that is required. They state trusting the men of Saltmarsh and Seaton will see all lizard folk decline and diminish even if we win the day.” Queen Othokent did not glance in our direction, but we heard her words plainly all the same. 

We saw anger in the eyes of the tall Triton, we saw the alarm of the gentle Locathah. The half dozen Koalinth raised their long barbed spears in salute, their commander opened his mouth to speak but ceased like a floundering fish as Queen Othokent rose to her feet. “I know the reputation of all here. In detail. I would find room for all in an alliance if I could, but where there is doubt or distrust I can only ask such emissaries to prove themselves”.

“Oh firkydoodles! Here it comes,” muttered Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“I ask you to reassure my people as to your prowess and dedication,” intoned Queen Othokent, and her words seemed far too polished for my liking. This was no sudden extemporised speech! “Half a day’s march lies a peril which has claimed the lives of too many of our people already. I do not intend to lose more nor do I accept my hunting parties should learn fear by avoiding danger.”

“Make up your mind then!” whispered Halduamina.

“I do charge and commission you to slay One Tooth, Sacred Lord of the Marshes. Display your prowess and prove your good fortune. Bring back his head to honour our temple and we will forge an alliance with the mighty men of Saltmarsh for our mutual regard and preservation. Yet know I will not look kindly on the loss of any more of my warriors. This fight is for you and you alone. Should you fail … the Koalinth will take their own turn next dawn.”

Poor Buddynock and Halduamina! Stout Dain and I are used to commissions and orders but our friends have no such tradition or training. I know their worth and valour only too clearly but I know such peremptory commands cannot sit easy in their hearts. Yet, despite their doubts, despite their natural misgivings, I knew we could still count on them all the same.

These proud lizard folk demanded respect yet they had clearly little regard for anyone unsure of their own worth. We had little choice yet could still accept graciously. “Our need is great and time is pressing. With all respects you do not command us,” I replied. “Yet if we accept your charge freely I would expect a favour in return. Whether we return alive or not, this young child will be escorted safe to Saltmarsh without delay. I expect enough of your warriors to ensure she returns without risk. I will leave money for her rightful provision and I expect your people to act with gentle regard, patience and kindness.” We saw the Queen and her counsellors nodding.

“Well then, come rain or shine we march,” I said.

“Why am I not snug in some forest tavern playing tag with fluffy badgers?” asked Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“Well, so far you’re the only one of us to actually recover any treasure from this little undertaking,” said Halduamina.

 “And just why do I just know I’ll be making use of it far too soon!” replied Buddynock. “So they can’t fight this One Tooth themselves because he is sacred but they can watch us kill him on their behalf?”

“Then mount his head in their temple,” said Cleric. “Yes before you say anything Buddynock we know what you think. Organised religion leaves logic crying along the way!”

“I’m just glad anyone called One Tooth is going to be less dangerous than some foes we’ve faced.” Buddynock always polishes his brass goggles whenever he is worried.

“Your assuming that?” said Dain.

“I’m certainly choosing too!” replied Buddynock. “Until forced otherwise by overwhelming bloody evidence!”

                                                                                10

Our familiar escort led the way. Scarred Valignant and hulking Garut with his stone axe, aromatic Baleshra on all fours and vain Kosj and lithe Mirik. She seemed so delicate compared to the others but we certainly noticed the determined gleam in her eyes and the defiant curl she gave to her panache of feathers. The path wound deeper through the swamp but out of sight of the sea. Stunted trees were in abundance, we heard the plaintive cries of marsh birds and saw the prints of wild deer and oxen.

“Good hunting,” muttered Baleshra. “Best meat. Good.”

“But danger here,” said Mirik

“One Tooth?” asked Dain. “Have you seen him?”

“Distance only,” said Mirik. “Too close we die, you die.”

“And you cannot fight One Tooth?” said Halduamina with wry resignation in his voice.

“Holy!” To our surprise it was hulking Garut who spoke.

“He’s only got one tooth,” intoned Buddynock under his breath. “A single fang, a solitary gnasher. Whatever he is, he’s dentally challenged.”

Journey’s end was a dark lake fringed with trees and gorse shrub. We saw the animal tracks leading down to the water’s edge. We saw where some heavy weight had pressed down upon the earth, bending low boughs and breaking roots, forcing the twisted timber into the ground. Once again I longed for the tracking skills of Ranger Samuel. The water lay still, so saturated with mud we could not see the bottom. I shivered despite myself, shivered as I stared at these dark and unknown waters. They seemed far too placid for my taste.

“One Tooth is in there?” Dain asked quietly.

“Of course! Where else?” said grim Halduamina. Our escort dropped back thirty paces; they said nothing, they were lizard folk after all, but by now we would see their alarm all too plainly and the clear concern in gentle Mirik’s eyes. “And he is holy.”

“He’s gonna be holier by the time we finish with him!” exclaimed Buddynock with an edge to his bravado I knew so well. “And we still don’t know what he is? Call me unreasonably optimistic if you choose, but are there still grounds for hoping this is merely an elaborate practical joke? Just saying!”

I cast my Aid spell to strengthen each of my comrades, then a second time for myself, little Mirik and Kosj. I could do no more beyond blessing each of my comrades, murmuring the sacred words over and over in my head as I waited, sword drawn, shield thrown before me. Our Rogue nodded and his familiar Ettel raced forward into the water, her lithe form curving and diving deep. We glimpsed her brown fur, saw dull sunlight sparkling on the water; Ettel surfaced, shook herself then plunged to the bottom. Was there truly nothing lurking there after all? Or was tiny Ettel far too small to provoke any attack? No celestial familiar can ever be harmed in this world, I knew that, we all did, yet even so, the whole party breathed easier when this gentle Otter emerged from the lagoon safely and curled around Halduamina’s neck once more. Our Rogue steadied his crossbow.

“Time for Plan B?” asked Buddynock. “As per the example of Druid Asdik and his hedgehog?”

Dain Rocksmiter nodded. He clearly did not trust himself to speak but cast his Spiritual Weapon so the glowing mace of Marthammor Duin hung hovering in the air.

Buddynock grinned, crossed his fingers, pulled down his goggles and cast an Erupting earth spell into the depths of the dark lagoon: moments later and a great gout of mud and fetid water soared from the surface, crashing down in a great reverberating shower. Waves crashed against the shoreline, a flurry of birds took to the air in shock. The lake almost seemed to boil as debris fell back into the churning water, but nothing stirred, nothing, nothing at all. I glanced at my comrades, was this it, was this everything.

An immense crocodile lunged from water at Buddynock, its cavernous jaws dropping like a drawbridge! Two demonic eyes glowed red, its mouth was a sea of dripping fangs. Any of us could have simply walked inside its maw! The sheer speed of the creature was … it made to snap at our little Druid but the beast was feinting, a heartbeat later and those terrible jaws turned on Dain instead. May all the Dwarf smiths ever born be rightly proud of their craft and skill; Dain’s stout steel plate turned that bone crushing bite by the width of a butterfly’s wing! Darting Wilson launched force bolts and Buddynock cast a hasty moonbeam but the potent magic made little impression on that armoured hide. I was racing forward with long Talon, nimble Halduamina sped a bolt from his crossbow. Only Dain’s Spiritual Weapon drew blood in a blaze of celestial light.

 “One Tooth of the Dunwater Swamp.”

“A distinct and quite definite Deinosuchus Rugosus!” said our stunned Druid. 

Matters are never so bad they can’t suddenly get worse still. Four giant snakes dropped from the branches behind us. Vain Kosj was bitten before she realised, we heard a shriek of pain and she dropped lifeless, frothing from her mouth. Gentle Mirik closed the distance in an instant, her comrades close behind. We heard their harsh hissed battle cries as mighty Garut decapitated one venomous serpent with a single blow. The giant crocodile towered above us. Dain dealt a deadly blow with Grom, his shrill rune axe calling out the best stroke, but One Tooth’s armoured tail whipped through the air like a leaded flail, sending Dain flying back ten feet the wind knocked from his body. He was moving, by great Olympos our friend was still moving then to our stark and staring horror we realised Dain was blind.

Halduamina slashed clean through the serpent that felled Kosj as Valignant and Baleshra fought the remaining snakes. I was calling on divine Athene to aid me and striking home with Talon; my long sword cleaved that rugged hide sending the reptile roaring with pain. Gallant Buddynock dashed forward to shield fallen Dain, dodging that scything tail, his enchanted scimitar gleaming. Wilson sped more force bolts and now our Druid’s moonbeam spell was truly biting. I struck again, once, twice, but alas, my fine blade turned on that iron bound hide. I saw jagged teeth like serried sabres, I half choked at the foul breath, I glimpsed a thick pulsing tongue and the creature seized me bodily in its maw.

Dain was on his feet again blinded and bloodied, struggling to breathe, his heavy armour dented, his spiritual weapon spell faded. Our resolute cleric chanted familiar, defiant words and a Guiding Bolt hurtled from his hands. Even completely blind and near helpless, our blessed Cleric still struck struck home even so! The gargantuan crocodile bellowed in pain its scales suddenly shining in the glare of Dwarvish battle magic.

I was injured badly but so scared I barely felt the pain. I was near stifled by the choking breath of this armoured beast, I felt gripped in a vice, without that dwarven steel I would have been bitten clean in two. I tried, I could not shift those grasping jaws, I still held Talon, still hammered down with my hilt, then to my absolute terror I felt the creature carrying me away, carrying me back to that dark deep water and a death I did not dare imagine.

Buddynock Rubyrubb kept his moonbeam playing over that monstrous One Tooth. Dain could not see, could not defend himself, yet our comrade still would not retreat a single step, to my absolute amazement his second Guiding Bolt also struck home. Halduamina slew another serpent. Baleshra and Garut were both bitten, both poisoned but they finished the last giant snake between them.

Now the lizard folk truly showed their mettle! Baleshra and Garut and Valignant dropped their stone weapons and charged forward heedless of the risk, throwing themselves at the mighty legs of that giant crocodile. Little Mirik cradled dead Kosj, as Halduamina wound his light crossbow. Our Rogue sped a second bolt only to see the quarrel spring back from the reptile’s thick scales.

One Tooth was injured but happy with its prey, I was being dragged ever nearer that foul lake. Wise Dain Rocksmiter cast spike growth just behind the crocodile, a twenty foot mass of choking thorns. But for his quick thinking colleague I would have been carried bodily into the lagoon with no hope of any rescue. One Tooth threshed its head from side to side in fury, nearly breaking my neck. There was nothing I could do, I was helpless, barely able to move. The giant crocodile began to back through those magic thorns, heedless of any injury from the spines. One Tooth could no longer bite but the monstrous beast was far from defenceless; its lashing tail caught brave Garut a glancing blow and the hulking lizardman was smashed to the ground, bloodied and broken, his eyes dimmed his breathing spent.

Wilson’s force bolts were still striking home, valiant Buddynock was slashing madly with his scimitar, his mighty moonbeam spell still boring through that horrific beast. As One Tooth shifted ground, a pool of that remorseless silver light shone upon me. I gasped in pain though in honesty I was past all caring now. I was barely five feet from the water, I was helpless, I could not break that iron grip. I smashed a tooth with my sword hilt but that demonic grip still held me.

Thank sweet Athene she who fights in the front rank of battle I was still somehow concentrating on my blessing spell. Even blinded, even with blood running down the inside of his armour stalwart Dain fought on. A third, a final Guiding Bolt shot from his broken hands, striking home again with deadly skill, One Tooth reared back, dropping me, the mighty beast gave a choking grunt, its savage eyes staring in pain. The monstrous crocodile fell back finally dead as my comrades dragged my limp body back from the water.

We had only moments left. Dain Rocksmiter did not need sight to cast Revivify, once twice, six of our precious diamonds flared and crumbed to dust as our Dwarven Cleric chanted those miraculous words of recall with seconds to spare, summoning vain Kosj and hulking Garut back from those dark and sunless shores. I saw the staring wonder in the faces of Mirek and Valignant and Balesha saw them inch forward barely able to believe what Dain had just accomplished.

I have seen the depiction of crocodiles in our manuscripts.

I have seen them and raise some concerns regarding their strict accuracy!

“One Tooth? ONE TOOTH!” I asked with some persistence

“Yes? One Thousand Tooth,” replied a confused Mirik

I have never cast my Lesser Restoration spell more gratefully or been more glad to see the vision return to anyone’s eyes. Dain Rocksmiter is truly a mighty warrior and a cleric of renown! He next cast a prayer of healing, I used my own healing magic to lay on hands. We were exhausted, battered, reeling from effort and shock. I looked away as our lizard folk escort removed the head of One Tooth, I had seen all the blood I cared for today.

There is little more to tell. Queen Othokent proved true to her word. She passed us a written message for the Councillors of Saltmarsh, and even asked us to take three diamonds from her treasure chest as thanks for our service to her people.

They all stood to honour us as we made our farewell. Still impassive, still so hard to understand but no, those five lizard folk, Valignant and Balesha, great Garut and vain Kosj all wished to send us on our way as comrades. Graceful Mirik most of all. She said nothing at the end, I do not think she could bear to, but she made Dain Rocksmiter take the finest feather from her headdress before she rushed back to her familiar tunnels and egg.

Little Pia Quellina was still so quiet, so subdued but she rode back in state to Saltmarsh atop noble Boreas. I am simply glad I commissioned the additional stirrups and straps to be fastened to his war saddle. If I am to bear a fellow rider I am damned if they shall slip from my steed!

We passed word with some friendly fishers on route but saw the lights of Saltmarsh ahead before evening fell on the second day.

We found no coin, or gems and, I confess, we spent our own money to ensure little Pia Quellina and her fellows would lack for little in the Saltmarsh Orphanage.

Their need of the Dunwater Lizard folk was clear and at our decision truly lightened the weight in our packs. Dain and I presented our old mail hauberks to Irhtos, along with my former longsword and Dain’s first battle axe and throwing axes. The Lizard folk also accepted Druid Rubyrubb’s old scimitar with the leaf chased hilt but declined our Rogue’s first rapier since the long delicate blade did not rest easy with their style of battle.

Buddynock Rubyrubb was now the proud possessor of an enchanted scimitar.

And at least we carried back the desired alliance on our sword points.

Note I

Little Pia Quellina proved an industrious artist, drawing with rapt attention, legs folded under her, the tip of her tongue protruding between her teeth

 “I am simply glad if this lifts her mind from her experiences,” wise Dain told me quietly.

“I shall call this ‘engaging in prime et main gauche!” said Halduamina Half Elven.

 “This is sweet as unicorns,” whispered Buddynock Rubyrubb, “but she’s left off Wilson.”

“Sshh!” hissed Dain.

“But Wilson will get upset!” our Druid insisted. “And a moody bucket is no fun to deal with!”

I gained no gold on this adventure nor any enchanted treasures but I placed Pia Quellina’s picture safe between the pages of my copy of Malory and considered myself rewarded better than I ever could have dreamed.

 We received this illustration a few days following our return, hand delivered by one of the helpers at Mrs Tarkelby’s “Refined, Renowned & Most Proper Orphanage for Waifs of the Sea, now wards of Saltmarsh.”

Young Pia Quellina had evidently made speedy use of the new paint sets we had all apparently bought her.

Her artistic sensibilities had captured our desperate flight from Xolec the Vampire of Saltmarsh with uncanny skill, recording every salient point of our final escape.

Pia Quellina’s interpretation of Druid Rubyrubb’s reaction suggests she is a strong judge of character whether the precise gestures were employed or not.

“Sheer class!” said Buddynock Rubyrubb.

“So we’ve still never actually seen Mrs Tarkelby?” said Dain.

Note II

We were enjoying an evening stroll along the beach when we met him. We simply hoped to savour a few, brief moments of peace and rest after all our savage trials and dangers. The old fisherman’s weather-beaten face and soft, unfocused eyes speak of a life watching far off horizons, his gnarled hands and broken knuckles mute testimony of strenuous toil. You were only being courteous, simply passing the time of day as you walked past his wooden bench; no one could have foreseen the stark fear in Xadok Allen’s gaze as he saw your magic Bags of Holding. For a moment he even seemed ready to cast aside his torn net and needles and flee for Saltmarsh town.

 “Don’t you be stopping, don’t you be placing those cursed things near me good Masters. By great Manannán mac Lir keep your distance! What do you mean you don’t know? Where have you been? All folks round here know the truth, know, those Bags of Holding all carry a curse. Oh so you wants to listen now, do you? Now you wants old Xadok to speak? Well wet me whistle then and I’ll be telling you, just as me old Dad told me all them years ago. I was barely a ship’s boy then, barely sniffed salt water. One night, out on the empty sea, becalmed and bathed in moonlight, me old Dad told me the tale of those cursed bags you all be carrying so proudly.”

“Long ago an adventurer, so full of his own pride and prowess found his party overwhelmed and cut to bare blood and bone in some sudden attack. Instead of defending his friends, this son of a sea lawyer saved his cowardly skin by crawling inside his own Bag of Holding to hide! This freshwater swab slipped down into a place without laws, without rhyme nor reason: he found himself lost in windows between the worlds.”

“Days without number he spent there, time without end, forever wandering, yet never finding a way back to the open sky again! Magic always magic around him, tricksy magic, playing games with shape and size and weight! This lost man spent so long trapped within his Bag of Holding the magic changed him forever, changed him so his own mother would never know him again, changed him so his fondest friend, or dearest love would shriek and scream in horror if they just glimpsed him!”

“So now The Bagman lurks deep in the dark magic, ever watchful, ever wanting to feed. Proud of your Bags of Holding are you? Don’t you know they are all connected, all linked somehow, like cords in a trawl net? Each night The Bagman creeps out of one Bag of Holding, creeps out with his gleaming eyes and long claws grasping, creeps out and takes someone back with him into the darkness, leaving only some broken trinket in their place! No one ever knows which Bag of Holding he will choose that night, no one ever knows who he will kill! Just remember this. Just you mark my words if you be wise. If anyone do say ‘follow my voice’ three times into an open Bag of Holding, sure as whales sing The Bagman will come for you!”

“So don’t you be bringing those cursed Bags of Holding near old Xadok Allen! I might not have long for this life now, but I wants to die natural, I wants to see the bright sun or shining stars above me, not that cursed choking darkness with The Bagman’s long fingers round me throat!”

And now we also recalled that favourite skipping rhyme of little Pia Quellina:

“You be careful when you’re sleeping.
That’s when The Bag Man comes a creeping.”

“He watches and he waits and he picks his times
Say the wrong words and out he climbs.”

“He squeezes through holes, he squeezes you
He smiles and he chuckles and he takes you too.”

“You be careful when you’re sleeping.
For that’s when The Bag Man comes a creeping.”

Note III

Dain Rocksmiter greetings,

Long your journey as been, full of hardship and danger but your High Council honours your mighty deeds, resolve and valour. We trust you have recovered fully from your recent injuries.

We send servants of Marthammor Duin into the world to uphold his precepts.

We expect much Dain Rocksmiter, yet some acolytes display, valour, dedication and skill far beyond anything we could ever demand.

Your conduct has been noted.

Your conduct is honoured.

Your conduct is recorded in the high rolls of your clan and your priesthood.

Blind Tharizdun remains our priority: to stave off Heimsendir when the Dead Shall Rise and Chaos Devours all. The Chained Despoiler must not be released, the portal must be found, it must be sealed.

We have welcome news. We now have word of a most likely site and have despatched a company to resolve the matter forthwith. If Great Durin is kind we may soon have an answer.

There is no time for you to join this expedition to Barovia yet we have another matter for your attention.

All contact has been lost with the Dwarf-hold Oren Bran, by some called Golden Heart.

We hear nothing, no messengers return to us.

Ten generations ago Edrin Ironborn achieved the near impossible; he cleared an area of the Underdark and established a true Dwarf-hold for his clan. They welcomed many within their walls and Oren Bran also held a colony of Gnomes, creatures most industrious and genial.

The dwarves of Oren Bran forge steel second only to adamantine and mithril.

They had mechanical servants and armoured protectors.

They crafted a colossal telescope, the Sky Seer, to look beyond the stars into the dark “tapestries” between them.

All seemed well, yet silence has fallen on Oren Bran. Their last messages spoke of new suspicions, new concerns, matters which must be concluded effectively and finally. The scribe spoke of dreams from the darkness, dreams which made them long for daylight. The words “forsaken” and “they are afraid” were scrawled on a scrap of additional parchment thrust inside the scroll case.

We cannot say what you might find Dain Rocksmiter, but your prowess and wisdom is well known to us. Bring back word of Oren Bran but be wary of any Gnomes within your own party.

I would counsel you to go alone, were that not even more perilous.

The journey is far and across wild country. We shall send the means to speed your travels.

This shall take time to reach you, yet remains the fastest means to reach Oren Bran.

Thorald Strakeln

High Priest of Marthammor Duin

Finder of Trails, the Watcher over Wanders

Note IV

Greetings Halduamina Half-Elven, Greetings Master Rubyrubb,

I the august and most puissant Keledek the Unspoken of Ket, renowned Wizard of Saltmarsh bid you both welcome to my home.

Know that I see so much, know I have minions skilled at secret observations.

You seek the lost strongbox of Aubrek aboard the long abandoned “Empress of the Waves.” You know the contents are valuable. One hundred thousand in gold and promissory notes.

You, naturally, have thoughts of somehow ‘diverting’ this bounty, in part or in full into your own hands. Your greed does not concern me, nor such petty lucre. More than mere money fills the coffers of Aubrek, his strongbox holds another trinket I wish to secure for myself.

Let us converse as intelligent minds who see the simple realities around them. We all know the growing threat ranged against this town but you have no loyalty to this pathetic port, no responsibility for shoring up paltry defences and shielding these ramshackle fishing hovels against Sahuagin war bands.

We all know this town lies wide open to any attack, we all know the onslaught could come from land or sea and any invasion would sweep through these streets in the blink of a Beholder’s eye. We also know the single point of defence in all Saltmarsh … my Tower. More than mere walls protect my person, my home is a sanctuary no invaders can ever seize or destroy.

If the time comes, no when the time comes, and you seek some means of saving your own skins, remember I offer favours to those who please me, those who have already proved their worth.

In any case, do not imagine you can open this strong box without my aid, it is protected by strong magics and will not surrender its secrets to any lock pick or petty spell. Deliver the strongbox of Aubrek to me. The gold shall be yours, the reminder mine.

If you fear the reaction of your comrades, this dwarven priest, this human paladin, rest assured there are ways and means of engineering their silence.

Tried, tested and most effective means.

Be sensible and we may all prosper.

And please be aware this missive shall consume itself in flame within one minute of you reading it.