Theona Galanodel is a moon elf of 131 years, who has spent most of her life in Silverymoon.

Theona does not consider herself a thief, but more of an equalizing force. To her mind, it’s not stealing if you are taking items from someone or something undeserving and giving the object to the people to which it belongs. Theona keeps her ears open for news of elven artifacts in particular, and will often join up with a group of like-minded individuals heading into local ruins if there is any mention of such items. Her sense of justice makes sense, in a way, as her own family at one time possessed a magical sword that had been passed through many generations (and elven generations— quite a long time indeed!) and lost or stolen somewhere between the fall of Ascalhorn (Hellgate Keep) and her ancestors’ arrival in Silverymoon; she has hopes of one day finding and claiming it, as it will only show its full potential when in the hands of one of her family, of which she is the last. Her biggest concern at the moment is the large amount of “retired” Zhents moving into the area.

She enjoys living in Silverymoon in spite of her lack of magical or musical aptitude, and so many interesting things have been happening in the past few years that she stops actively searching for her ancestral blade for years at a time. Hopefully though, she’ll have many more years to continue her search.

Character sheet: Theona Galanodel [Moon Elf Rogue]

Kythorn 2, 1373, Greycastle Mine

Every now and then, especially when I am short on funds or leads on objects needing rescued, I get the urge to broaden my horizons outside of Silverymoon. Yesterday was such a day, so I headed over to the Bright Blade Brandished to see if there were any jobs for a quick bit of cash within a day’s walk of the city. I saw that human Antonio that often buys everyone drinks, and the halfling Tassar, who always seems to be around when someone is buying a round. Deitricha from Tymora’s temple was there, which I found curious, and Areon— the grim-looking wood elf that gives me the impression that he’s waiting for a fight to break out.

It just so happened that we had all come to the tavern with similar ideas— a quick job that involved getting away from the city for a few days and would pay well. We quickly decided we could work together, and headed to Lord Evendor Greycastle’s home to seal the deal.

A minor human noble, Greycastle had recently inherited a copper mine in the foothills of the Nether Mountains southeast of Silverymoon. The mines, apparently, are infested with kobolds or other similar critters. For 100 gold a piece (and anything not nailed down in the mines), we agreed to rid the place of any squatters so it could be reopened. Sounded easy enough, so we singed on the dotted line and were off.

It was a nice walk, weather-wise, though a bit chillier than in the city. The halfling managed to keep up with the taller members of the party, though he complained about our “tallness” the entire way. I noticed he eats more than the four of us “tall” people combined, and he must have grown up in a port town because he swears like a sailor. He is definitely not shy about sharing intimate details with anyone willing to listen (or can’t avoid listening).

We got to the mine right as it was growing dark out, so we figured setting up a camp outside would be better than stumbling around inside. Tassar wanted to have a campfire to cook his food on, while Areon feared it would be a beacon to whatever was occupying the mines. I suggested that Antonio just use a cantrip to heat the halfling’s meal. Antonio looked surprised at the idea— I guess he must have fire issues— but agreed to do it. The night passed uneventfully.

We are slowly learning to work together. This requires figuring out who is best at doing what. For example, I felt it natural to let Areon range ahead when we were out in the open, scouting, but when we hit the inside of the mines, I wanted to go through first to look for traps. Tassar insisted that he walk with me in case of an attack, leaving our sorcerer Antonio and cleric Deitricha in the middle. The trick is sticking to a “marching order”— as soon as there is room to spread out, we seem to do that. The first large area we came to was filled with very realistic-looking “statues” of what looked like a band of adventurers, though only one was intact with a head— the look on the face was one of pure horror.

They are too heavy to carry and I doubt that they would fetch anything in the open market.

We had the option of moving on straight ahead, or to the left or right in relation to the entrance to the mines. The majority of footprints went straight ahead, so naturally, we avoided that way and turned right, where footprints only lead away in one direction. Tassar wanted to go left, insisting that there were “elven artifacts” in that direction (he must actually listen to me when he’s drunk, since I am interested in unearthing such treasures and had mentioned it in the Bright Blade yesterday), but Deitricha suggested he was just toying with me.

So we went right, towards a large cavern festooned with webs. As Tassar and Antonio (why was he in front of me?) stood in the entrance and argued about how best to clear the area, Antonio was attacked and apparently bitten by one of the three large spiders hanging in the webs. I managed to drop one with a crossbow bolt before they could react, and we finished off the other two while Antonio crawled weakly over to be healed by our cleric, an arrow sticking from his backside.

I found two cocoons and sliced them open— two desiccated reptilian humanoids slid out— kobolds. No swag whatsoever.

I managed to stay in front of the party long enough to find and disable a tripwire. Following the wire, I came to a thunderstone— that certainly would have alerted anything in the mines to our presence! I carefully removed it and handed it to Antonio.

I lead the party over to a ladder (this place has a lot of ladders) and climbed up to peer over the top— only to be hit by a sling stone. I picked off one kobold standing on a ledge above me while my companions clambered up the ladder— they managed to finish off two more before the last routed. Darn kobolds only had their slings and stones— nothing valuable. In fact, this place doesn’t seem to have anything worth taking.

We tried to chase the kobold, but he was too fast. Unfortunately, Tassar was running ahead of me and fell into a pit. Lucky it was only a pit trap! The fact that the kobold didn’t set the trap off makes me think our halfling is carrying a lot more in his pack than I would have though him capable of carrying. Probably all food.

Once Tassar was out we followed the fleeing kobold into a long, narrow tunnel. More kobolds were pelting us with rocks from a ledge higher up, I took out one, and then slowly inched into the room to allow my friends in to help fight. I felt a sudden pain in my back, and all went dark....

Kythorn 5, 1373, Silverymoon

I became conscious several hours later, very sore, but obviously alive. I was surprised at how my wounds were bandaged, until I looked over and saw that Deitricha was also wounded and tended to in a similar fashion. Apparently, Tassar and Areon had pulled us (including Antonio) to safety after fighting through the swarm of kobolds, and attempted to dress our wounds. It is a comfort to know how dependable they are— I’ve never adventured with a group that worked together so well. Upon first impression, Areon appears reserved, while Tassar comes off as downright rude. I now see that it is more like determination in Areon, and in Tassar, a misguided attempt to be social (I like him anyway).

We were now up on the ledge where the snipers had been standing. Deitricha was unconscious— no doubt as a result of the ambush I failed to see. I was a bit too dizzy to stand up, but I crawled over to the edge of the outcropping we were resting on, resolved to keep watch. Areon and Tassar were in need of rest, and Antonio kept getting knocked out. We fended off one surprise attack; I sunk an arrow into one kobold while a stone flew over my head and hit my tall human companion— poor Antonio is just not good at laying low!

Another half day passed before Deitricha finally roused— thankfully she could heal her self up well enough at that point, with some to spare for us. Apparently my halfling friend felt we had rested long enough, as he insisted on moving on— though he offered to do the scouting ahead personally. As he started to clank up the nearest passage, I reminded him that halflings can’t see in the dark as well as elves, but Deitricha offered him her everburning torch and off he went. I should have insisted on going ahead first— he walked right into another ambush. I quickly caught up with him and managed to shoot a few kobolds with my crossbow. As we dealt with them, I heard the sound of fighting behind us— Areon was taking care of those and Deitricha was tending to Antonio, who should have remained resting. Still, we got through it and the end result was less kobolds for the next attack. We climbed back up on the ledge and decided to try and get some proper rest. Tassar wanted his trail rations heated up again— I offered to help this time and he handed them to me. That is trust.

They weren’t half bad— I’m getting used to eating halfling rations, I guess!

After resting for what we guessed was about 24 hours, we decided we’d better get on with our task before the kobolds came looking for us again. In spite of my paranoia, as soon as I heard the yipping of kobolds off down a narrow passage, I moved forward to take point, and hit a tripwire. Tassar and I both tried to catch the thunderstone that inevitably fell from the sprung trap, but neither of us managed to catch it before it hit. Boom! I assume that the yipping stopped, though of course I had been deafened by the sound of the thunderstone, so I couldn’t verify it. Any chance of surprise gone, Tassar moved ahead of me and rushed down the passage. We all quickly followed.

The battle was bloody but brief. We found ourselves in a small room with sling bullets hailing down on us from a ledge, while other kobolds engaged Tassar in melee. One kobold stood back and began to cast spells, while our own Antonio (also standing back) took him out with a well-timed fire spell. Areon found himself in combat with a chainmailed, axe-toting and rather large kobold. Somehow Deitricha got to Areon just as he would have gone down from a swing of the big kobold’s axe, but she went down instead, just as she delivered a life-saving spell to the wood elf. A concerted effort by those still standing finished off the armored kobold, causing the few remaining kobolds to flee, and Tassar and I ran to Deitricha— luckily she was still alive and we managed to get her patched up. With the exception of Areon, we all still had ringing ears from the thunderstone when we rounded the next corner, hoping that we had just survived the final battle.

We found ourselves in a cavern filled with kobolds— but they were all females and their young— not a weapon among them. While I realize they often grow up to be nasty creatures, I have met one or two nice ones over the years, so was more than happy to leave them go so long as the promised to never come back to these mines. Better still, they gave us a nice pile of loot! I did a quick estimate of the coin, but we decided we’d better get Deitricha home sooner rather than later, so we fashioned a litter out of one of the mine’s many ladders and carted her, and the loot, back to Silverymoon. Thankfully, the trip back was uneventful. We got Deitricha to her own temple where they promised to patch her up, and then the rest of us went to the Bright Blade Brandished for a few rounds of house ale. We divided up our loot: 300gp in coin, two very nice weapons (one a great sword which Areon wanted, and the other, some gnomish weapon worth selling), a beautifully-engraved gold ring of Chultan design with a green spinel (I would love to keep it, but it is worth more than all the other loot combined), and a silver necklace with an alexandrite— I have heard that alexandrite is considered lucky in local lore, so I’ve tucked that into Deitricha’s share of the spoils. Other than selling off what we can’t use and splitting the remainder of the coin, we still have the 500gp to retrieve from Lord Greycastle. The night is young— I’ll go “convert” our loot into coin and, divvy it up, and then take Deitricha her share. That is, after I get done listening to my new friends share the tale of our heroics at the bar— it gets better with each telling!

Kythorn 7, 1373, Silverymoon

I stumbled home after our celebration, to rest— I noticed that Tassar lives close by, in that house Lady Brenin occupies. I wonder if he knows about the… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, it was a long time ago and no one ever was caught. Still, the town guard keeps an eye on things, so he’s undoubtedly safe. Of course, who’s protecting town guards?

Anyway, the night passed uneventfully and I left my small home in the old oak tree to head back to the Bright Blade Brandished, where we had all decided to meet before collecting our pay. Antonio was already there (he’s a human— don’t they need sleep?) and had ordered a huge breakfast for us all. I haven’t bought a meal since hooking up with this group! But, if it makes them happy to feed me, who am I to argue? We finished breakfast and headed off to visit Lord Greycastle.

He seemed pleased at our quick success clearing out his mines and paid us straight away. I mentioned the strange humanoid statues that we’d found in the mines, and explained that we didn’t ever come across any clues as to how they got there. I could see my friends had no idea why I was telling him all of this, until I offered our services to periodically go back through and clean out any new threats that may arise— for a fee, of course. After all, we know the mines now better than anyone, Greycastle included. I am pretty sure he will keep that in mind, but for now, the only work he had available was as caravan guards to Everlund. He had a merchant caravan leaving Silverymoon in two days’ time, and needed resourceful people such as ourselves. Already finding us trustworthy, he offered us each 100 gp right away, and 100 more to be provided when we return from Everlund. We readily accepted, and took our coin. Antonio disappeared into the nearest marketplace after we agreed to let him handle provisions for our trip. The rest of us headed back to the tavern. Areon and I sat down where we had a good view of the other patrons, while Deitricha and Tassar sat at another table, closer to where a steady supply of alcohol could be acquired. I wasn’t surprised to see Tassar drinking so early in the day, but I was astonished to see Deitricha throwing back drinks with equal enthusiasm.

Areon was quiet, studying the other people in the bar, no doubt looking for clues to whatever it is he searches for. I kept my ears open, hoping to hear something interesting, and get caught up on the local rumors. Two piqued my curiosity:

1: A ruined tower two days’ ride west in Upper Rauvin Vale is haunted. Ghostly lights have been seen, and moans have been heard at night. Travelers on the road won’t camp near it.

2: People are disappearing around the dock area here at night— so far it’s been the types that have “business” in the dock areas that go missing. The last one was two night’s ago, two blocks from this very tavern.

I heard both of these bits of conversation in the early afternoon, and though I realized that we couldn’t drop our caravan guarding job to check out the ruined tower (as exciting as it sounds!), we were free for the evening and could provide a few extra pairs of eyes for the town guard patrolling the dock areas. At least, that’s what I thought. Areon was more than willing to check it out, but we had to wait until Antonio came back from making purchases for our trip, so I made my way over to Tassar and Deitricha to let them know what I’d overheard.

I was surprised to discover that drunkenness is transmissible, or at least, somehow, Tassar had managed to get Deitricha drunk very quickly. Really drunk. I’m not sure how she was staying conscious. At any rate, I suggested that we plan to go to the docks later in the evening, and they both looked at me like I’d turned into a rock wyrm. Just then I saw Antonio stride past, obviously excited about something, and went to catch him before he wandered off to do more shopping. Apparently, Deitricha and Tassar left the tavern while I was talking to our sorcerer friend. I was a bit perplexed that they weren’t excited about the prospect of fighting off whatever it was that was causing citizens to disappear, but Antonio and Areon were up to the task, so we let Antonio finish up his shopping so we could head over at dusk. I was a little confused as to why a human and a halfling would even be doing what I suspected Deitricha and Tassar were doing, but Antonio pointed out that they are adults. I just hope when they sober up they are still willing to work together!

Later, Areon, Antonio and I walked down to the docks to check things out. I had already bumped into a town guard earlier and let him know we’d be helping them keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Our diligence was rewarded when I saw a shadowy humanoid form, carrying another person, duck into an a sewer entrance. Areon blew his signal whistle as we gave chase, and Antonio, knowing his most potent spells would not work within the mythal that protects Silverymoon, handed me his lantern and stayed above to wait for the town guard while Areon and I continued down into the sewers.

Areon is not used to tracking below ground, but we caught a blur of motion and followed it. I marked the sewer walls with chalk so that Antonio and the guards could catch up with us. I sensed something behind us and turned, crossbow ready, as the claws of a ghoul raked my side. I hit it with a crossbow bolt that embedded in the undead creature right up to the fletching, and Areon finished it off with one blow. I was lucky that elves aren’t susceptible to a ghoul’s attack, and luckier still that Areon had purchased a wand to provide curing—I needed it! Within moments, Antonio appeared with guards. Three continued to search for the victim with us and the other went back to their station after we gave them a description of what we were following.

Areon had no more luck tracking the figure we had been following before the ghoul attacked, but I noticed a few drops of blood near the wall further along, which we followed. Something else seemed wrong to me after we’d gone a few yards. I studied my surroundings then, and saw that we were standing beside what looked like the outline of a concealed door. After checking it for traps, I found the hidden catch and released it— we walked down a set of steps and found ourselves in a room filled with wooden crates and barrels. Sadly, we had no time to look through them. Another door was visible on the other side of the room and, seeing it was not trapped, we kicked it open and I was nearly hit with an arrow— I sent a retaliatory shot in the direction the attack came from and skewered a human thug. I must learn to watch my own back, as I suddenly felt a blade slice into me right about where the kobold spear had earlier in the week. This time I managed to stay up and fighting. My friends and the guards made it into the room, and though two guards fell during the ensuing battle, my assailant was killed. A third thug in the room was hiding behind a set of bunk beds (this was apparently makeshift barracks of a sort)— he went out another door and ran off while we grabbed the wounded guards and headed back to the street above. As much as we wanted to give chase, we felt undermanned— we’re not stupid!

We were fortunate that none of the guards were dead, and that there were healers available at the guards’ headquarters. We offered to go back out with more guards, but by the time we could, the hidden storage room had been cleared. I’ve found out since that it was a slaver ring, and though we didn’t get back the person we saw being carted into the sewers, we’ve at least ended their operations in this port. We called it a night.

This morning, we met again at the tavern for another generous meal paid for by Antonio. Everyone managed to be there, though it wasn’t too hard to tell that Tassar and Deitricha had spent the evening doing more than drinking. Antonio gave a rundown of his purchases for everyone, which included some horses, a wagon, barrels— we may need caravan guards of our own! We also related our adventures of the night before for Tassar and Deitricha, though they were rather quiet concerning their own activities. Deitricha eventually excused herself to go get some rest, and, almost as an afterthought, mentioned “at home.” We all wandered out then, agreeing that we could use the extra rest, rather than revelry, before embarking on tomorrow morning’s journey to Everlund.

Kythorn 9, 1373, Nether Mountains

I hate just sitting around, doing nothing. At least if I’m sitting in Silverymoon, I can listen to the constant murmurings of the townsfolk as they discuss the minutiae of their lives— much of the time here I just get to listen to the wind howl, and occasionally, one of my companions howl.

Yesterday was exciting enough— our group met (Antonio with two horses and a huge wagon filled with our stuff) and Tassar riding a dog. I had heard rumor that the temperature had been steadily dropping outside of Silverymoon, so I used my earnings to purchase winter clothing for us all, tents, and extra rations for our trek. Areon of course, had spent his money on a wand of healing, and Deitricha, well, she brought a note. But she didn’t share it with us— she gave it to Tassar! I’ll have to remember to read that later.

We met up with the Caravan Captain, Morn Drake, next, and discovered that in addition to two caravan wagons, there were four humans (counting Drake)— two drivers and two crossbowmen. They also had nine horses in addition to Antonio’s, four to pull their wagons, and 5 for us to ride! Of course, Tassar was on Otto already, and Antonio needed to drive our wagon, which left three for us to ride and two horses to change out as needed. Areon took point, which was fine with me since we were leaving the city limits, Deitricha kept an eye on the river to our right while I watched the mountains to our left. It was quite foggy, and of course, cold. Two hours out we passed some Silver Knights returning to the city; they had no news of any hazards ahead of us.

We made good time and were about halfway to Everlund when the snow began to fall heavily, and the winds became gale force. We attempted to form a camp a little ways off the road, but there just wasn’t enough shelter to keep a fire going, and the temperature was dropping now that the sky had darkened. We had seen lots of little holes dotting the sides of the Nether Mountains. We quickly found a cave that just had two caverns in it; Tassar called Antonio and I up to check it out, and, other than finding some frozen blood near the crushed skeleton of an ogre, it seemed like it would work. We put the horses in the “side” cave and the three wagons around the edge of the main cave, with a new fire in the center. We split up watches; I took the second watch with Deitricha in the middle of the night.

Though I had read her and Tassar’s little diaries (I always keep tabs on N’Tel’Quess companions, lest they get subverted by Zhents or otherwise fall under an evil enchantment, as I hear happens fairly easily and often), but I didn’t really have a clear enough picture of why they had been drinking so heavily of their own volition. I can understand why humans fall for Tel’Quessir so often, but I am genuinely confused about a human and a halfling (and vice versa). Deitricha must have been too sober to discuss it though, as she didn’t offer me much information, despite my repeated attempts at friendly cross-questioning. Suddenly, I heard a decidedly odd noise from the direction of the horses— the sound of rock scraping on rock. By the time I leapt to my feet, and started to run over to them, the first panicky whinny erupted, followed by the screams of at least one of the horses. Areon managed to get there and kill the orc coming through a concealed door before I did, but I managed to shoot the one following it! I noticed as I did so the lifeless glaze of its eyes— the only thing worse than orcs are undead orcs! Fortunately, Deitricha was able to turn them, and as they shambled back the way they’d come, Antonio hurled one of his “cocktails” at them and they lit up like torches.

Areon, Tassar and Antonio followed the zombies, while Deitricha went back to the main cavern— two of the horses had fled the orcs and were injured— as Drake’s men brought them back out of the storm, she was able to heal them. I resigned myself to rechecking the entire cave for another secret door— I usually can easily see the crude doors made by N’Tel’Quess and feel terrible that I missed that one.

Our male party members returned shortly, indicating that they had found several live orcs, each with one eye socket scarred over, in the tunnels beyond the secret door. I had considered blocking the secret entrance, as Deitricha wished, but the thought that there were more orcs, one-eyed orcs, no less, was too much— I had to go and see if we could clear them out.

We found two tunnels— one ended abruptly with a cave-in, and the other (now strewn with charred zombies) led to a larger chamber. The chamber held four blazing sconces, a tapestry depicting the one-eyed orc deity Gruumsh on the far wall, and— twenty undead orcs. They turned, as one, to attack us. We fought with everything we had— bolts and flame, sword, and divine wrath, but there were too many for us. Areon went down, and then Tassar. Deitricha urged us to fall back, so I grabbed Areon and she, Tassar. As we dragged them down the hall, Antonio hit the pursuing zombies with a fiery spell. As Deitricha was busy fussing over Tassar, I remembered that Areon has that healing wand on him, I found it quickly and attempted to use it on him. It must have worked, as his wounds seemed to stop bleeding, but he was still unconscious. I figured it would be quicker to use something I was more sure of and dumped my only healing potion down his throat. That worked!

We managed to get ourselves back to our relatively safe cavern and I used my copper coins to wedge the stone door closed. Areon and I sat and watched it while the N’Tel’Quess got some sleep. I could see he was as impatient as I to be away from this place. To make matters more unbearable, we could hear the steady thumping of a zombie on the other side of the door—clumsily attempting to gain entry.

Morning brought more bad news— the blizzard was still raging and Captain Drake wasn’t willing to risk continuing on to Everlund until the storm broke, especially with 18” of new snow since we’d taken shelter in the cave. So, with protests from Deitricha, we gathered at the concealed door and removed the coins. A single zombie lurched out. Areon and I had been standing back to get clear shots at whatever emerged. Unfortunately, somehow Antonio had jumped right in front of the opening to light the zombie, and in his enthusiasm lit himself and Tassar, who of course was then unable to effectively hit the zombie. Deitricha’s attempt to turn it must have failed as well. Areon and I struck true, but as I said, Antonio suddenly appeared in front of us. Antonio’s arrow hit him square in the back, and my bolt split the arrow neatly down the middle. Antonio dropped. Ironically, the zombie then did fall, having finally caught fire from Antonio’s little concoction.

Deitricha revived Antonio, and we went charging back down to the room where Gruumsh’s worshippers (or thralls) had been. They were gone! I appraised the tapestry, and finding it wasn’t all that well made, allowed Antonio the satisfaction of setting it to blaze. I then examined a spot below it that looked like a bowl was meant to be placed under the tapestry beside rectangular, blood-stained grooves in the floor, but before we could figure out what, Tassar remarked that he heard guttural voices of what was likely live orcs down another passage, and with that, we all had to run to keep up with Areon as he started out towards the sound....

Kythorn 11, 1373, Everlund

...and found ourselves face-to-face with four one-eyed orcs standing around a fire in the middle of a cavernous room. Before we’d even assessed the situation, Tassar ran headlong towards them, only to fall into a pit trap. He was obviously unhurt, as we would occasionally see an arrow fly out into the flank of a passing orc.

There were a lot of orcs, some undead, some just binocularly challenged. I took out several with my crossbow, and saw my companions making use of their various fighting skills. Deitricha spent her time between dusting the skeletal orcs and reviving Antonio, and one time had to quickly search for Areon’s wand to revive him. One orcish adept said, apparently (as Deitricha was the only one that could understand the guttural language), “This is how you cast a spell!” — an insult meant for Antonio, who had collapsed while attempting to cast one fiery spell. Of course, the orc’s spell had no effect on us, so it was an odd threat. I replied for Antonio with, “This is how you use a crossbow!” and sunk a bolt into the surprised (and now dead) orc’s brow.

The last orc standing bolted out of the cavern, and by the looks of it, out of the Nether Mountains entirely. We hauled our halfling out of the pit, and searched the bodies in the area— I of course grabbed the crossbow off the orc that had obviously not known the quality of the weapon he carried— it’s at least as nice as the one I’d just purchased in Silverymoon. I did a quick look around for more traps (I guess Tassar managed to find the only one), and we followed one of two paths out of the cavern. Finding it lead to the outside of the mountain, and led to dozens of orc tracks, we realized we could not fight an entire mountain full of orcs. We could see way markers (skulls on pikes) indicating whatever it is that orcs feel they need to mark to show who is in charge of an area. Areon was obviously disappointed, but we can come back to finish them off at some other time. Tassar scurried ahead of us to the other tunnel leading out of the cavern— it split into a Y— he took the left and I the right. He found nothing but foul smelling pelts in a small room, while I found— Dante! Dante D’mato, who was quite possibly the friendliest person I’ve ever met next to Antonio, was standing alone at the end of a corridor, behind a set of bars— a crude but effective prison cell. The only reason he wasn’t immediately shot was his eyes— there were two of them. For all Dante’s politeness and obvious happiness at seeing me, he was quite definitely an orc. While my curious friends caught up to me, I gave him a quick quiz, and discovered he was a bard from Waterdeep who had met with mishap that resulted in his human appearance being altered to its current orcish state.

Now, maybe it was the contrast of the friendly, cultured voice with the hideous visage, but I was immediately intrigued, even fascinated, by this creature. A few more questions convinced me that, looks aside, he at least didn’t have the temperament or inclinations of an orc, and before Areon could say anything, I found the keys and released Dante from the cell— Tassar pointed out we could “kill him later” if he turned out to be a follower of Gruumsh.

Dante assured us he was not, but did give us some information on his captors (who apparently didn’t find him orcish enough either)— this particular band of orcs is led by Grom, a necromancer said to be blessed by Gruumsh himself, who has a stronghold in the Nether Mountains. As we walked along, he told us of his time with these orcs (most of which was against his will), We found some barrels of wine and some water stained silks— not much in the way of treasure, but no one in our group would dream of leaving a drop of alcohol behind, so we lugged those back to the caravan with our new companion. Dante showed his gratitude by healing Areon and Antonio of their remaining injuries from our earlier battle. Our caravan group didn’t seem to be disturbed Dante’s presence, though we did agree not to give him a weapon till we knew his intentions better. He took it all in stride. Within seconds of arriving back with the caravan, we heard drums in the distance, no doubt an orcish call to arms or a ritual we’d prefer not to witness. So, we left in the 30” of snow (thankfully the wagons’ wheels were tall enough to allow the horses to pull them), Dante in the last wagon with Antonio and the rest of us ranging a short distance away.

We continued on at a rather slow pace due to the sheer amount of snow, and eventually had to stop when two of our horses gave up trying to pull the wagons. There were no sheltered areas to be found, so we opted to keep the river at our backs, hoping anything that chose to attack us would do so from the landward side. We just finished setting up camp when the howls of wolves, which we’d been hearing off in the distance, evolved into actual wolves, keen on tearing us apart. One of the crossbowmen had his throat ripped out by one. Dante was able to peg one with my borrowed crossbow, while shouting an inspiring tale over the howls, and he managed to survive being hit himself— not by a wolf, but by an arrow from Tassar! Assured it was an accident, he never the less gave Tassar a wider berth after that. He moved just in time too, since some stray fire spell of Antonio’s passed through, hitting only Tassar.

There was nothing to be done for the lost caravan crossbowman. We did skin the wolves and use the meat— not the best eating, but there was plenty.

It took us two more days to reach Everlund, but thankfully things were easier with no more attacks. We agreed to meet up with Drake again in five days— we are hoping that the snow will have melted off by then.

We were able to sell off our haul (old orc weapons, the wine and the skins) for about 350 gp. We’ll have to buy Dante a rapier and some travel gear, as he had none when we found him and he’s interested in traveling with us. I was relieved to see that he actually knew people in town who were able to verify he really was a human transformed into an orc.

We are staying in an inn called the Stone Griffin, which has a large petrified griffin in its center. We let Antonio do the haggling for our rooms— I was surprised to see that he put Tassar in with Deitricha, and Dante in with me! I know Antonio is young and apparently not wise in the way of certain things, but he’s just asking for trouble by pairing people up in that fashion. I was also surprised to see that he and Areon each got a single room, though Tassar and Deitricha have been giggling about remedying that. Here’s hoping whatever remedy they’ve chosen doesn’t result in the inn being burned to the ground.

Kythorn 18, 1373, Silverymoon

This room arrangement worked out better than I thought, since there was a window available that led to Areon’s room. Now, I guess I’d better explain my suspicions.

One thing I have not told my companions (other than Areon, being neither human or currently involved with a human), is that I saw a Harper symbol scrawled in the corner of Dante’s cell when we found him. This is the most exciting thing I’d seen in about ten years of watching the town guard watching the Harper agent watching the town guard (I suspect they are both Harpers that don’t know each other is a Harper— a tale for another time). I’ve always been fascinated with the Harpers, mainly because they work against the evil Zhents. The more Zhents move into the area, the more Harpers arrive to keep an eye on things....

As it turned out, I was right about Dante, and he really had been polymorphed into an orc by a wizard— and had the means to turn himself back before reaching Everlund until Grom took his belongings and locked him up. That also explained why Rand Tallwood, the “shopkeeper” that we’d gone to talk to and re-outfit Dante, had given him such good quality armor and rapier when he only paid for basic goods— that was, in fact, his contact in Everlund. Thanks to our bizarre room renting, I managed to get Dante aside to get that much info (or rather, I told him that much and agreed to keep quiet to all other than Areon, who, of any of my friends, would notice if I was behaving oddly), if I could help. He is obviously a good judge of character, as he agreed.

My “job” was not that interesting, but I did accomplish it! Each night I had to sneak out of the Stone Griffin unseen, and I had to slide past Tassar and Deitricha’s window to get there (thankfully they were always doing something that prevented them from noticing a female elf back lighted by the moon climbing past) to Areon’s quarters, and climb in, then go out the window on the other wall of his corner room. I really surprised him the first night, but he was so relieved by my explanation of my behavior that I regained his confidence. Areon and I would then slip out of town and walk for nearly an hour, to get to a specific tree. And wait. For two hours! If we didn’t see anything unusual, we’d just head back and sneak back into the inn again, our friends none the wiser. I thought this would allow Dante to get the extra rest humans seem to require (the poor guy had barely slept while in Grom’s captivity), but he always looked even more haggard when I came back in— the two occupants in the rooms on either side of him would keep him awake! So, each morning when I got back into the room I’d bang on the wall if things were too noisy. This seems to please my friends immensely.

The last night in Everlund, Areon and I finally completed our Harper “assignment.” When we went to the tree, we found a small scroll of paper stuck in the crotch of the tree. I confess I did look at the note, but it was in some code I could not completely make out. As promised, Areon and I took the note back to the Tallwood’s shop and slipped it under the door. I was sorry the person leaving the note had not wanted to show himself, but hopefully someone will put in a good word for us if Areon or I ever want to join the Harpers on a more official basis.

The next day we departed for Silverymoon, with Dante and the caravan. We decided to go straight through, considering that any campsite would likely receive attention from orcish attackers. We surrounded the caravan in the same fashion as we had on the way to Everlund, Areon at the head, Deitricha watching the river, I watching the mountains, Tassar galloping ahead on Otto and then waiting until the last wagon caught up, which was driven by Dante and in which Antonio was preparing for any situation that needed firepower— literally.

About halfway home, in the darkness, Areon came upon a burning wagon right in the middle of the road. He and Tassar went on ahead to investigate, and when we heard commotion, Deitricha and I followed to find two burning wagons and four human zombies (not yet burning), which were attacking our comrades. Tassar had fallen off of Otto, but luckily Deitricha had seen and was so incensed that she turned the zombies, who shuffled away from her as quickly as they could.

The rest of our caravan was coming forward as the zombies shuffled back into view. We peppered them with arrows and fire, and Deitricha fell off of her horse in the fracas, I sped off to catch the horse, and did so, but by then I was away from the fire of the burning wagons. I noticed movement a ways up the mountain— humanoids about one hundred yards up the sloping surface on a ledge. I grabbed the reigns of the frightened horse and returned to the party. The zombies were dispatched and they were moving a charred (and stripped clean, apparently) wagon off the path so we could squeeze by with our caravan. As I began to tell them of the movement ahead, we heard a call to arms in the form of a horn blast.

We moved off as quickly as we could, though at one point a dozen orc warriors led by an orc in chainmail riding a dire wolf was close enough that we could see the evil glint in their eyes. Tassar took a potshot at the leader and actually managed to lodge an arrow in his chain. Of course, he also shouted his name so that Grom (for that is who we think it was) would know who to seek revenge on.

We kept up what amounted to a forced march until we saw the Moonbridge leading to our city.

I had got to thinking of Dante as a Harper rather than an orc, so I felt almost guilty as we walked through the streets of Silverymoon, where all eyes turned a disapproving stare on him. Antonio disappeared (we figured he was already shopping again!) and soon returned with beautiful silver mugs each engraved with our first name. It will be doubly handy if I meet up with a lycanthrope in a bar.

Dante spent the night in my tree home with me— my house is much too small for more than one person, especially when one is a hulking orc. I peeked out now and again, since I don’t need sleep, and I swore I saw Areon keeping watch on my place. For some reason, that makes me feel more secure, even though Silverymoon is the safest place I can think of. He hates being cooped up indoors – even when the house is a tree, so I don’t invite him up. I think he spends most nights “hunting” though I don’t know just what all he hunts for.

The morning came and we all met at the Bright Blade Brandished for breakfast, where Antonio seemed intent on making plans to go to that abandoned tower I’d heard rumors about. We eventually left to go over to the Greycastle estate to collect our pay. Unfortunately Lord Greycastle was not available, but his butler was expecting us and provided us with our earnings. I was surprised that Antonio already had an idea for spending our money— he knew someone at a local magic college that could polymorph Dante back into a human. I was immediately confused by conflicting emotions. First, if Dante was human again, he could go back to doing whatever exciting things Harpers do without my assistance any longer, and well, he’d be human, the N’Tel’Quess that most often follow the Zhentarim ideals. Even more confusing to me, the two humans in my party were the ones that were pushing to make his appearance human again! I knew my reasons were selfish though, and kept my concerns to myself, even paying a third of the cost of the spell.

He was changed instantly back to his human form, and though attractive for a human, just not what I had expected. For one thing, his vanity level increased 200%— the clothes we had provided weren’t right for his image. Luckily Deitricha was willing to take him shopping. I needed a drink!

I must have had too much to drink, because, when I became conscious again, I found myself lying on a bearskin rug in front of my own hearth in my home, with Areon characteristically pacing the perimeter of the room. I must have really worried him, as his expression unexpectedly softened briefly when he saw I was coming around. He only said, “We had a mishap with our N’Tel’Quess companions.”

Theona’s Home in Silverymoon.

Kythorn 21, 1373, Silverymoon

Having friends is hard work— I had been a loner for years and never really minded that lifestyle. Areon was not kidding about the trouble either— all of our little circle of companions were having problems, which in turn were causing each other problems. Let me explain as I go, as my thoughts are in turmoil.

I quickly grabbed my backpack and followed Areon out of my house, leaving Dante to sleep off his drink. I didn’t even stop to wonder why he was unconscious in my side room, trusting Areon’s belief that time was of the essence. Areon took me towards our favorite tavern, and then stopped and cursed like he’d lost something. He hurriedly explained to me that we were looking for Tassar, who had been ambushed in the alley by a group of town guards. By the time Areon had climbed down from his view of the incident high up in the trees, the guards were gone, as was our short friend. Areon is normally an excellent tracker in the wilderness, but hasn’t learned all the nuances of following quarry within the city limits. Luckily I had sobered up enough to help— I spotted some drops of blood and drag marks leading from the alley behind the Bright Blade and we picked our way carefully, following the sporadic crimson trail. It was a long trail to follow, and we had to work together at a few points, because, though I could see that someone had been bleeding and dragged through the alleys, I wasn’t always clear which way they had turned. As much as he dislikes cities, Areon is learning to look for these differences when tracking, and between the two of us, we muddled through. When I asked him why we didn’t stop for Deitricha or Antonio, he indicated that they were the last two people that should be with us when we caught up with Tassar— Antonio’s father and Deitricha’s older brother, both members of the town guard in good standing, were apparently the ones that had beaten him and left him for dead!

It was nearly dawn by the time we found him. We had walked more than half the length of the city, backtracking multiple times, to eventually find him in a deserted building in the dock area well past the Moonbridge. We found Tassar strung up by his feet in an otherwise empty room, though a full bucket of water was on the floor below his hanging form. Tassar had bruises and congealing blood on nearly every bit of exposed skin, and his face was puffy and swollen. Areon was just tall enough to reach the knot on the rope to get him down, and I splashed some water on the halfling to revive him a bit. He didn’t seem altogether coherent and I was afraid he’d pass out again, so I used my remaining healing potion on him. Tassar just wasn’t coming around and I had suggested to Areon we take him to the Temple of Silver Stars (I’ve actually found work through them before and knew the Moonmistress would help Tassar, even with my limited gold). I started off with the halfling right away and Areon agreed to follow us at a distance to make sure we weren’t being followed.

Tassar needed a bit more healing than I realized; apparently, small folk have as many bones to break as us “tall” folk. Two clerics cleaned him up nicely for the 22 gold I offered, though of course Areon and eventually Tassar donated some to the temple afterwards. I must be sure to thank Selûne for the pleasant nature of her priests.

Tassar was hungry, of course, and it was time for breakfast, so we went back to the Bright Blade and found that Antonio was already there, and Deitricha had also just arrived. Antonio was clearly upset and begged us to get ready to leave town immediately. Deitricha just had a look of general unease, though we hadn’t yet told her of the night’s events. I had to go back and find Dante (who was not, apparently, eating with us) to see if he was going along to check out the ruined tower, or moving on with his Harper business, so we agreed to meet at my house midmorning. When I got home, Dante had departed without so much as leaving a note, though I didn’t think to look for any hidden symbols; it appears he was in even more of a hurry than Antonio, so we grabbed some supplies and departed. Antonio brought the horses and Otto around, but did not want to spend the time getting the wagon ready.

We were already well on our way out of town when we all finally got to discuss the events of the night before. I think that perhaps Tassar wanted to spare Antonio and Deitricha from some of the details, so he was a little vague with some of the story. Antonio admitted to having a falling out with his father, and Deitricha seemed to be aware that her brother was not comfortable with her relationship with a halfling, but no one was really making the connection. When we made camp later in the evening, I took watch with Deitricha, and managed to give her the rest of the story. I feel bad now— I thought I was doing her a favor, but now she is struggling with what appears to be divided loyalties. She believes her brother is a good person— we can only wonder what Tassar could have done to make her brother behave so horribly.

Being away from home seemed to have the desired effect for all of my companions: Areon is always happier when we are away from the city, Tassar looked a lot less paranoid, and even Antonio and Deitricha seemed to lighten up a bit. We were all maybe too relaxed— we almost tripped over a dead cow in the middle of the trail we followed. We hadn’t passed any farms, and there were no visible tracks to show how the cow had arrived and been slain and the cow was devoid of blood. It was injured prior to its death; that much was obvious, it just didn’t have any blood on it, nor was there any where it lay. Antonio insisted it was a vampire, but as none of us has ever seen a vampire (and Tassar doubts their existence altogether), we began to look around us for any obvious signs of blood sucking creatures of the night.

It was late morning, and the sun was shining. No vampires appeared that we noticed.

Another few miles down the road we did come to a farm, and I wanted to stop and let the people know of the mutilated cow. My friends were in a hurry, I think, but when Tassar thought he smelled freshly baked pie, he began running towards the farmhouse with Deitricha in tow.

The two men we found out working in a nearby field thanked us for finding “Nellie,” and said there had been a rash of killings on the neighboring McNam and Narl farms too, over the last three nights, with cattle found in similar conditions. Antonio asked if we could camp on the farm, and as I pointed out it was still only mid-morning, the friendly farmer mentioned that the hamlet of White Haven, just up the road, had a nice Inn that we’d probably prefer anyway. We thanked him and, seeing our other companions emerging from the farmhouse, headed back to the road leading west.

We soon arrived in the quaint little farming community and stopped at the Frosty Mug for a bit of lunch. Afterwards, my friends started fanning out one or two at a time, looking for places to shop for supplies, while I grilled an older human named Marl about the tower up the road. He took such a round about way to spit out the information that I was sure we’d all expire from old age long before he finished. Topping off his beverage of choice kept him interested in the conversation, but he remained painful to talk to. After several hours, I managed to get this much information:

The “old” tower is 100 years old. The wizard Kantrell disappeared 70 years ago when the tower blew up.
Rumor is that the tower was built over a gate leading right into one of the Hells.
Strange lights are seen around the ruined tower at night.
A band of fortune seekers went up a month ago and never came back. Group consisted of an elf, dwarf, gnome and something not-quite-right.

I presume that Marl is still telling the tale to anyone that is willing to listen, but, seeing that my friends were ready to forge ahead, I thanked him and hurried off.

We soon were heading west again, anticipating our imminent arrival at the tower. A seemingly random encounter brought our travel to an abrupt halt. We were traveling close to the River Rauvin and noticed some rather large footprints in the dirt headed towards the water. Curious, we walked a distance until we saw a huge troll, its back to us, facing the river. Now, none of us had ever killed a troll, but we knew they were bad news, and Antonio was fairly sure that fire was the answer (isn’t it always?). Areon and I let loose with arrow and bolt, while Tassar ran up to the beast and began to hack at it. Antonio used a magic missile while Deitricha, realizing the troll was regenerating from the damage, ran forward to throw oil on it (getting hit by an arrow from Areon in the process) and pulling the staggered Tassar away from what would surely have been a killing blow from the troll. Running to stand close to Antonio, I shouted to him to light my next bolt so we could safely ignite the oil from a distance. He started to agree, but then, inexplicably, ran forward and lit the troll with a spell that required him to touch the giant creature. Flames shot up from where he touched it, catching the beast on fire, which, in turn, enraged it. We couldn’t move fast enough— the troll’s claws ripped Antonio apart, killing him instantly. The monster succumbed to the flames moments later, never to rise again.

We were all in shock, but agreed that, even though he was fighting with his family, returning Antonio’s body home was the right thing to do. We turned around and headed right back to Silverymoon. We didn’t talk much on the way home, but at some point we realized that Deitricha, human cleric that she is, would be the best spokesperson for giving the sad news to his family, as there was no way we could begin to pay to have him raised, if it was even possible. I went with her, while our male companions waited for us nearby; if Antonio’s father had seen Tassar, somehow he would have been blamed for the tragic death. Deitricha smoothed over the incident; she described the incident to Antonio’s mother well enough, but she glossed over why we had left town in such a hurry to begin with. I just handed the grieving parent Antonio’s silver engraved mug (she didn’t ask for anything else he’d been carrying), and admittedly, I muttered a few things about why he’d left home the day before. Deitricha was mortified, though I doubt Antonio’s mother was even listening.

I am certain my companions will want to leave town again and head for that tower, but some of the thrill of the hunt has gone out of me. Realistically, we need to find an arcane magic wielder we can work with, and hopefully, get along with, to even make the attempt. Having a group of companions that I can trust and enjoying being with is a rare combination for me. I wish I had the calm determination Areon always seems to have— even with the tragedy that has befallen us, I felt safer having him close by.

Kythorn 23, 1373, Ruined Tower

I had rushed out of town before our last trek to the tower, so I decided to check my home one more time for any notes Dante may have left for me. I didn’t find him or any signs he’d been back, but left a note of my own explaining where we’d gone on the off chance that he’d been by looking for me. I would suspect that he was in a hurry to get back to Waterdeep by any means necessary, to get some “proper” clothing. As I was leaving my house, I saw, staring up at my door, a rather odd looking fellow. He looked kind of like a human— likely a halfbreed— and fairly harmless. I descended from the tree my home is in and he immediately gave me his sympathy for Antonio’s death, mentioning he had been an acquaintance. I thought it rather odd that he’d be calling on me instead of the Ysthine family, until he offered his “services.”

Well, I’ve been offered “services” of all manner before and was about to politely decline, when I realized he (who now introduced himself as “William”) meant as Antonio’s replacement on our excursion (my, word travels fast!), declaring he was a mercenary and handy with a few spells. After explaining that the current pay rate was absolutely nothing and him not leaving directly, I figured I’d test him to see if he really was a mage. So, I told him to stand still and I walked about ten yards ahead of him. I turned around, and he was still there. So, I said, “I’m going to stand where you can’t see me,” and ducked behind a tree. After a few minutes, I showed myself again, and was amazed to find that his curiosity hadn’t caused him to look for me! He would have found himself face-down in the dirt if he had. Satisfied for the moment that he wouldn’t be the type that would run into melee and get himself killed outright, I agreed he should come to the inn with me to see my companions.

William followed me in to meet Areon and Deitricha, and, I found that Tassar (er, Otto, as he’s calling himself today) had wandered off to be alone. Deitricha and William went to fetch our horses while Areon and I took the challenge of finding a halfling in a city of 37,000. It took us several minutes.

Areon and I found Tassar paying his rent, of all things, and mumbling about seeking out “Mr. Bucket.” Assuring him Mr. Bucket wouldn’t be going anywhere, he agreed to get Otto (the real Otto) and saddle up for the trip. As nice as the walk was the first time, it was now overcast, so we decided to ride our two packhorses, with William riding his own horse. I casually asked Deitricha what she weighed to compare it to Areon (knowing I weighed the least of all) and suggested that I ride with the lightest so as not to overburden the horses. I’m not sure Areon approved of the arrangement at first, as he seemed to tense up quite a bit when I hopped on the horse behind him, but eventually he relaxed enough. Now that I’m thinking about it, it was likely just the fact that we were in town that caused him stress, as he usually seeks me out rather than the N-Tel-Quess whenever he needs help. He relaxed considerably after a short while, and I found the ride quite comfortable, in spite of sharing a packsaddle.

It rained most of the way to White Haven, and when we arrived, Deitricha felt so miserable she just checked in to a room— alone. Tassar didn’t seem too worried, so she probably just needed some time to rest. I didn’t feel like being alone, so I stayed in the Frosty Mug’s common room for the night with the rest of my companions.

The morning arrived damp and not overly warm. Seeing as the tower was only a short distance from the town, I suggested we board the horses in town until our return. If there are other creatures like that troll out there, our horses wouldn’t stand a chance if they were tethered outside the tower.

The walk was nice enough, until we got about 100 yards from the tower and heard a wolf howl, at which point William stated how much he really hates wolves. I recommended we hurry, when Williams suggested the wolves would be gathering— sure enough, one was watching us from the base of the tower and it disappeared as we approached— only to come back with a dozen of its pack mates! Areon and I dashed to the base of the tower, planning to keep our backs to it, but our companions were not as quick and ended up fighting out in the open. We shot as many of the wolves as we could, but one by one, our companions fell— even Tassar’s dog seemed to be having difficulty. Tassar and Deitricha were still fighting from a prone position, but William was being dragged away by one wolf— perhaps intent on taking William back to its lair for a meal. Areon left the relative safety of the tower to shoot that wolf and stabilize the failing spellcaster, and soon the remaining wolves thought better of the situation and disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. I think I was the only one that hadn’t been at least nipped at— it seems the wolves wouldn’t risk going past the doorway of the tower.

As Deitricha healed those who needed it, Tassar was already making wolf stew. I did find myself warning William away from a stairwell in the middle of the ruins— he of course has no idea that Antonio had a bad habit of running up to dangerous things— I just can’t fathom why people that rely on magic more than armor and a dependable weapon think they can wander around like that and not get hurt.

We finished up our meal and looked over the ruins— the tower (what was left of it) had a 40’ diameter, and crumbled walls and stairs ranging from 5’ to 10’ tall. Of more interest was the stairwell going down. I asked everyone to let me check it for any traps, and proceeded slowly down the rain-slicked steps. I was not the first one to the bottom though— one by one, Tassar, Otto, and William slid past me. Obviously the stairs were not trapped. Looking for traps in the many small rooms didn’t work either, as, while I looked at one carefully, I could hear my companions wandering through another, putting torch to webs. There were several small rooms, apparently randomly placed, each festooned with cobwebs. I borrowed a torch from Tassar and looked into the doorway of one chamber, only to have something fall from the ceiling and attach itself to my neck!

I yelled for help as more things fell from the ceiling. Deitricha, I think, got to me first, though I am not sure who got the bug-like creature off my back. I was surprised to see one on Deitricha, only to be zapped off by a spell from William. I was so stunned to see a mage use a spell that worked that I quickly found myself battling my own bat-winged bug— a stirge— again. This one managed to get its proboscis through my skin. Areon pulled it off of me quickly, but I feel quite weak now, and Deitricha doesn’t look much better. At least now we know what we are fighting— I think these creatures are the “vampires” that are harassing the local farms. Could this be the reason the wolves steer clear of the tower?

Kythorn 24, 1373, Ruined Tower

It is hard to search with certain people— sometimes one must just give up and let them find the traps themselves, and pray no one dies because of it!

After the stirge incident, I went down a small set of stairs to find a room filled with old bones and rusty metal. Half expecting to have them all rise to fight us, I was calling for Deitricha to have divine assistance standing by when Tassar just wandered in. The bones remained inanimate, as they should. We continued on, oh, about two feet, to come to a door. Finding no traps, we passed through into a bizarre scene— a long room, or a wide hallway, if you prefer, and eight statues of a mage in various contortions, as if casting a spell. William didn’t recognize the gestures, but we found some great stuff to plunder, though it would have been nicer had the items not been on two desiccated corpses: one, an elf in half plate, the other, a robed figure impaled to the wall by a bastard sword. What was left of their facial expressions showed confusion— perhaps one had turned on the other, or maybe the mage statues had cast a spell on them— it was clear that the only weapons in the room belonged to them and had been instrumental in their mutual demise. Good quality stuff though— in addition to the nice bastard sword, we found a well-crafted large steel shield, longbow and arrows. I was still admiring the stuff when I heard a pitiful “woof” sound. Running out of the room with my companions, I discovered that Tassar had found yet another pit trap; this time it was 20’ deep and filled with spikes. He was okay, but his poor riding dog Otto did not survive the fall, or at least, not the landing. To make matters worse, the trap doors swung shut again, preventing us from simply hauling Tassar up with a rope. While I was running back to the last room to grab a broken staff the previous party had used to beat each other to death, I heard another thud in the corridor with the pit— Deitricha had attempted to disarm it, I’m guessing, with her entire body, as she was now lying beside Tassar.

It wasn’t a total loss (except for poor Otto): they found a dead human rogue in the pit who had likely looted her former companions in the previous room— they obtained several carefully labeled potions, thieves’ tools, a rapier, shortbow and arrows, all of very good quality, and a bit of gold too. I was able to brace the trap doors open to allow them to be hauled out by rope.

Now, I don’t know where my brain was after finding all those neat trinkets, but I was itching to continue on and find more loot, so I tied a rope around my own waist to jump the 10’ across the pit, knowing Areon would hold on and keep me safe. I planned to let everyone else use the rope between us if they were uncomfortable jumping. I must remember to not do that when there is no room for a running jump, as I missed. The rope caught me though and Areon hauled me back up. I was reevaluating this, when Tassar (short of stature, heavy of armor, and now toting the large shield) jumped— and fell back into the pit. Well, now I couldn’t close the trap doors, as he was in the pit, so I jumped across (successfully) and hauled him out by a rope.

Before I could correct the issue with the open pit trap, we were attacked— the room we were on the edge of had six statues and two had wandered off their pedestals to smoosh us— two dread guards vs. Tassar the pincushion and I, still not recovered from the stirge attack. I would have probably died right there and then, but Areon pulled on the rope and hauled me back across the pit while Tassar fought the constructs, using his newfound shield to keep their own attacks less effective. By the time I got the trap doors shut and secured so we could run across as a group, Tassar was down and the walking statues were returning to their posts.

I quickly shut the trap and we dashed across. Deitricha ran up to stand over Tassar as the constructs reanimated and continued their assault. Both statues began to attack her, even with the rest of us in the room shooting them. Seeing she wasn’t going to last long, I yelled to Areon to pull out his wand. I am not sure where his mind was (judging by the nice grouping of arrows on the far side of the room, it was not on the current battle!), but after a few seconds my request filtered in and, with a look of recognition, he retrieved the wand of healing, alternately healing Tassar or Deitricha, or fighting the dread guard in front of him.

William was having trouble of his own. Apparently that nice spell he used on the stirge wasn’t an option, as he began tossing magical acid toward the fray. Unfortunately, the only thing he hit was Tassar. He went down. He got healed and back up, and then, I am ashamed to say, I hit him— a bolt aimed at his opponent hit him as he stood up. He went back down. Not wishing to endanger my friends further, I tumbled past Deitricha to stab the construct in the back. Had it been flesh and blood, this would have killed it outright. I hit it one more time and it went down, never to rise. I was about to run over and help Areon, noticing Deitricha was on the floor beside Tassar again and that William was apparently tapped out of magic, but Areon dropped his foe at that very moment too. He then helped patch up Deitricha and Tassar (who I apologized to profusely, though I honestly think Tassar somehow blamed William for my bolt)— I of course had to see what made those constructs work— but their armor was empty. In fact, their armor was now utterly useless, but they each had a rather nice shield.

We decided to just rest in this room, seeing as we were the only things left moving from what we’d seen so far. There was a rather largish well-like hole in the floor, but none of us felt up to investigating it. We ate a bit and took turns keeping watch. At one point I heard Tassar and William having it out— in the future, we’ll have to add “drink Tassar under the table” to our list of requirements after the “follow me” test so that new adventuring companions are truly compatible! Deitricha was obviously tired and not as talkative as I would have liked. Areon was, well, I’m not sure. He’d come over and sit by me for a minute, say something strange like “Nice night.” or “That pit was really big!” and then retreat to a corner for an hour or more.

After a length of time that we decided constituted a full night’s rest, we had a bit of breakfast and then went over to look at the hole in the far end of the room. It was about 12’ in diameter, with the words “Vault of Sorrow” written in Common over it. Now, from my small experience in these matters, taverns, inns, even mercenary units are given names in Common—places that hold great magics or ancient artifacts generally have a name in a more cryptic language— even Thorass would have given it an air of mystery. There was one interesting feature though— we couldn’t see the bottom, thanks to an inky darkness that our torchlight could not penetrate. We tried dipping a rope in and then pulling it out, half expecting it to be charred or cold or something, but it looked just as it had going in. We took a hunk of metal from the dread guard rubble pile and tied that on the rope— and then, we had to tie another rope onto that— finally hearing a clunk about 60’ down. The armor came out looking the same as it had on the way down. Seeing as we haven’t found any secret passages elsewhere, this must be the gate to one of the Hells, though honestly, I was expecting the glowing lights and ghostly moans promised by the local lore. Maybe we should take a closer look at the statues and locations of the corpses we’ve passed for more clues to where this pit leads....

Kythorn 26, 1373, Somewhere in the Nine Hells

My comrades, either listening to my suggestions about the statues needing looked over again, or just unsure how to proceed, decided not to hop into the Vault of Sorrow. Instead, Deitricha, Areon and I went to check out the mage statue hall again, while Tassar and William went out of the ruins for some air. Neither attempted to beat the other, which surprised me, as I am certain I heard William mumbling in his sleep about “teaching that halfling a lesson.” While they were aboveground we examined the statues a bit more carefully. I can only assume that whatever spell the statues may have cast (for I am convinced the frozen hand gestures mean something), had been spent on the victims in the hall— perhaps some sort of enchantment that may have caused the human mage to attack a Tel-Quessir. I found the outline of a secret door, 5’ high, opposite the impaled mage, and upon opening it, we heard a lot of bellowing from a very loud, gruff voice. Curious, and slightly alarmed, we crept down the revealed 25’ corridor and found a shaft with a dwarf lying at the bottom. Apparently Tassar and William were done breathing outdoor air already, as they appeared and quickly climbed down the shaft. They began to chat with an obviously distressed dwarf who was trapped under a pile of debris. I quickly climbed down and pulled Tassar off the pile to help the dwarf, who introduced himself as Rosorc, up while Areon and Deitricha were climbing down, and then gave the parched dwarf some ale (which must have been the exact right thing to do, as I’ve apparently made a friend for life). He had been with traveling companions, but had been separated in some rather involved chase, somehow winding up in the ruins.

We looked around the area we were in: a small hall with two more mage statues and stairs leading down to yet another pair of mage statues flanking a pair of doors. Before I could stop him, Tassar moved between those statues and began to tug the doors open. I managed to leap out of the way as the statues shot electricity at the halfling. He looked dazed for a split second and appeared to shake it off. Rosorc helped look over the statues, somehow managing to break a finger off of one, but they appeared to no longer be dangerous. This led me to believe we’re either the first to make it this far, or any caretaker these catacombs had have been on vacation the last several weeks.

Tassar, now that the doors were open, started down another hall (about 40’ by 10’) towards another pair of doors, and Deitricha tried to catch up with him; all the while I was hollering at him for being careless with the statues. He stepped on a hidden plate in the floor and an iron gate dropped down out of the ceiling 5’ from the doors at each end. Two secret panels opened in the side walls and two dread guards, followed by twelve skeletons, appeared. I began a frantic search for a switch to pull up the gates, hampered by the attempts of the party to fight through the bars (which was necessary, really, but slowed things down for me). In fact, once or twice William pushed me out of the way so he could cast a spell, and Areon gave him a stern warning not to touch me. Deitricha dusted the skeletons six at a time— all that fit in the hallway simultaneously— while we beat on the dread guards with arrows and spells. Rosorc and William managed to burn one or two skeletons during this phase, as it was hard to fight the dread guards through the bars with all the skeletons milling about. Deitricha went down, but fortunately, Areon took out the dread guard fighting her. Tassar went down too, and his guard didn’t! Both were unconscious when I found a lever hidden behind one of the lightning trap statues— which thankfully pulled the gates back up. Rosorc finished off the last construct as Areon and I healed up our two wounded friends. William, oddly, didn’t help until I yelled at him— he figured they could lay there and bleed while he investigated the empty secret compartments that housed the creatures, even while Rosorc fought the last monster and the Tel-Quessir tried to stabilize their fallen comrades. Amazingly, our new dwarf companion seems to have melded with our fighting style faster than our new mage-like person.

Now that we had cleared the hallway, one more set of double doors stood in front of us. I suggested one or two people go back to the other end of the hallway (I asked William first, since he’d seen me find the lever, but he was not really interested in doing that) in case I managed to spring the trap again. The doors were clean though, so I opened them and we went in— dwarf first, then the rest. We found ourselves in a large, scorched and disheveled laboratory with a stone slab in the center, upon which was a dissected (well, likely vivisected, judging by the look on the face) gnome. I began to search the room for a secret door (this place is filled with secret levers, traps, doors, dwarves), once again wondering if this was a real dead end. Just as I found the outline of a door on one wall, the gnome on the slab turned to William and said, “Leave.” He bolted, as fast as he could, out of the chamber and towards the rope we’d used to reach Rosorc. Just as Deitricha rushed after William, I got hit as something invisible brushed me, and I felt a brief numbness that I was able to shake off. Then, those still in the room saw/felt something about halfling-sized flapping about. It was nearly impossible to hit, appearing to heal itself up half the time when we did succeed in stabbing it, and its barbed tail, if it touched one of us, made us feel sluggish and uncoordinated. We spent a long time attempting to hit it, while Deitricha was apparently “subduing” William to bring him back. By the time she did, of course, he was unconscious. Meanwhile, I staggered out into the hall when and told I “look like hell.” Tassar attempted to lasso the creature, now recognized as an imp, which was still zipping about the lab, but lassoed Areon instead. At that exact moment, the imp grazed Areon, and Deitricha hit him with a shuriken. Thankfully Rosorc snagged the imp with a chain he’d been hauling around, and it fell to the floor. Areon cut it in two, and Tassar removed its tail.

I finished searching the room and found a secret panel. Disarming it, I found two potions labeled Lesser Restoration (and quickly drank one), and a box of 50 platinum pieces. At Deitricha’s behest, we sat and rested for two days, getting to know Rosorc much better. The dwarf fancies himself a bit of a bard (just a bard with absolutely no sense of rhyme that can’t carry a tune), and can happily discuss the quality of any tavern’s ale from here to the coast.

After our rest period (during which Areon cast many meaningful looks at me— I think he wants to tell me something but didn’t want to share with the N-Tel-Quess), we finally opened the secret door off the lab and found a bizarre 15’ circle in the middle of the floor of a 25’ square room. It was ringed by runes, and obviously magical. While I studied the runes (William claimed to have little knowledge of arcane magic— note to self: next time we seek out a mage, make sure the mage can cast simple spells), Rosorc and Tassar bashed the lock off of a treasure chest in the corner of the room (200 gold pieces, 550 silver pieces, four labeled potions, two scroll cases, a spellbook, and an ash stick). Like the runes on the circle, the scrolls in the cases are written with symbols I’m not familiar with, but I flipped through the book and actually recognized the words “Ray of Frost,” though not much more. While I lamented the damage to the chest’s lock, Tassar threw a few coppers onto the circle. They disappeared. William indicated that it was a portal that likely goes two ways, and that my suggestion to drop a rope onto it would merely cut the rope in half. Before I could argue this logic, Tassar jumped in. Deitricha, who would jump down the gullet of a black dragon if Tassar were in there, followed. As did William. Then Rosorc. Finally, I turned to Areon and asked him if he’d, “follow me into Hell?” He nodded assent. I reached out and he gripped my hand firmly in his, and we stepped onto the circle together.

---

Blood red skies hover over mountains of blood red rock in the distance in one direction, a green fortress contrasts against the crimson sky in another. Distant bands of creatures appear to have bat-like wings and barbed tails. As I suspected, we are in Hell.

Kythorn 27, 1373, The City of Doors

I guess we looked dangerous, because the first creature we came face to face with dropped down prostrate on the ground, trembling and squeaking, “no hurt!” Now, I didn’t trust the little fellow, a dark-skinned spiky devil complete with warfork, but it wasn’t hard to get him talking, and most of what he said was accurate enough to form a plan of action. Hixtali indicated he was one of the many guards of Lord Bel’s castle (that would be the large green building filling up one horizon) and was more than willing to get us away from where we were standing. He wanted us to go through the nearest portal; though after hearing it led to something called the “Front Line of the Blood Wars,” we indicated we’d prefer something a bit more like home. Hixtali squeaked that he would take us to see a bad sorceress called Hexla, who lived in a cave in the mountains. Seeing as we were heading there anyway, we convinced him to act as our guide.

The landscape was depressing enough already, but we soon came to the edge of a river, which our guide insisted we had to cross. River of Blood was an apt name— the vivid red waterway smelled of blood, and in fact the “waterline” appeared as if it was clotting where it touched the dryer ground. Hixtali waded right in, with the crimson liquid lapping about his face as he forded what was apparently one of the narrower portions of the river. The rest of us resigned ourselves to getting drenched in the stuff, though Tassar ended up riding on Dietricha’s shoulders, as he would have been completely submerged. The distance across was still at least 200 yards. Before we got to the other side, Deitricha cried out when something brushed her leg— and then latched on. We quickly got out on the far bank to find that two 3’ long bloodworms were attached to Deitricha’s legs. We got them off but she looked like they’d already done some damage. Thankfully her clerical abilities still seem to function, as she had to do some healing before she was ready to walk again.

We quickly proceeded to the foothills where the red mountain met the red plains, and Hixtali pointed to a cave entrance a short ways up. Refusing to go up with us, the little devil assured us that he’d be waiting right there when we came out. Rosorc rewarded the fiend with a bit of meat he’d had in his backpack. I suspect Hixtali departed long before he’d swallowed the last morsel.

We climbed the path up to the entrance and soon found ourselves in a cave strewn with bones and skulls (definitely demonic in nature)— and a small wooden hut. Now, I don’t really know why my comrades would trust anyone that lived in a wooden hut in a cave on a plane where no trees were visible, but William, at least, was delighted by the prospect of meeting a magic user, and ran right up to the door of the dwelling. An eye peeked out. And that was it— just an eye, no body. The eye must have been satisfied by what it saw, for soon a half-elf appeared at the door as well.

Tassar somehow bribed her to give him some ale, and was soon completely intoxicated by some suspicious-looking red brew (I noticed at this point that he also had acquired Hixtali’s warfork— and he thinks I’m a thief!). More disturbing, upon talking to William, Hexla decided she could help us get back to our home, but only William had the “spell components” she needed— silver eyes. Now, I’ve never had the heart to tell William, but those silver things he has stuck in his face do not look like eyes to me— I was rather sure he’d be better off handing them over and getting a proper pair with pupils and all, but there was no convincing him of that. He offered her some of his platinum hair instead, which was simply astounding seeing as she didn’t ask for it. She was quick to shear it off of him though. I assured William that, unlike the eyes, the hair wouldn’t grow back. Our last mage burned off his hair and it never grew back. My friends tell me that is ridiculous, that hair grows back, but I know for a fact that there are a lot of bald humans in Silverymoon that I’ve been neighbors with for years and years— their hair turns platinum just like William’s, and then it falls right off, never to grow back. Nearly all of them have eyes though.

At any rate, Hexla told us we had to follow the River of Blood south until we came to the Pillar of Skulls— apparently there is a means to find a portal home there. While we mulled that idea over, I remembered that we’d found some as-of-yet-unidentified magic scrolls right beside the portal that got us into this mess. I didn’t trust that Hexla would tell us what they contained, so I asked to buy two potions of “Read Magic” from her (though I had to borrow from Rosorc to pay for them). After seeing how she’d interacted with Tassar and William, I bade her drink one before I could assume the other would be safe enough for me to swallow. The good news is that the potion worked, but unfortunately, the spells revealed by this magical enhancement were of no immediate use to us. Deitricha has been looking at me disapprovingly, and Areon seems to be keeping to himself even more so than usual, though I’ve caught him watching Rosorc a few times. Every time I catch Rosorc’s eye, he starts beaming and stroking his beard.

We departed the cave and headed south on a three-hour trek to the pillar. On the way we saw a squad of about twenty blue-skinned Baatezu (what the devils collectively call themselves), looking somewhat like tall dwarves, heading towards us, actively searching for trouble. We all scattered and hid behind some of the numerous boulders, and were doing a fairly good job of not being seen, until I noticed I could see Rosorc, or rather, a lot of the spikes on his armor and helm, sticking out from behind a big rock. There was no time to find him a better spot, so I tossed him a potion labeled “invisibility”-– that did the trick! The Baatezu were so loud in their plate armor as they clanked past us that I doubt they would have heard us had we been yelling at them.

The rest of the hike to the pillar went without incident. Before long we saw a line stretching up into the sky and out of view. As we neared, we could hear the cacophony of a multitude of voices, and realized that it was a column of heads stretching off into the— well, I would have said Heavens, but I suspect they stop quite short of that. A few dozen pairs of eyes locked on our party, and dozens of voices began to demand various things. Finally, an ogre head silenced those around him, and began an attempt at communication with us. It offered to give us instructions home in exchange for one of us! A fat head nearby demanded a fiend for providing the same information. An elf head suggested a means of departure from the plain, requesting only that we remove the large head from the pillar so the elf head could get a bit of peace. The ogre head was yanked out and tossed into the River of Blood (and continued its rant from there), though we are assured that it will take its place in the pillar again in due time.

The elf head, which once belonged to a merchant from some far off land called “Verbobonc” (“Always read the fine print!” he lamented), said that there was a portal to the south in a horseshoe rock. It required a special key— a brick from the road of Avernus. This would be a long red road we neglected to notice back by the fortress of Lord Bel. We’d either have to ford the river again, or go over a bridge to the south that was heavily guarded. While the elf head graciously gave detailed instructions, the fat head kept interrupting with suggestions to go west and find a circle on the ground. Even in Hell, the only really good advice came from an elf!

We headed off south first, to see just how “guarded” the bridge was. A very large fiend guarded the bone bridge, with quite a few minions keeping watch with him. We headed back on a three-hour trek to the narrowest part of the River of Blood. As we crossed, I felt something brush my legs and then heard a yelp from William. We got out of the river to find a bloodworm attached to him. It was immediately yanked off, but I skewered it with my rapier— one less critter to deal with when we cross back with our brick!

We headed towards the fortress and the “Blood Rift,” or rather, we skirted the fortress to the road. It was, indeed, made of red brick, though there was an entire army of fiends amassed on it. They weren’t paying any attention to us, but we kept our distance until they left several hours later. Occasionally, gouts of flame would burst from the ground near us.

Before I could offer to sneak out and get a brick, Tassar was off like a shot. I had a sudden mental image of him finding the only pit trap in the entire road and falling in, but he managed to grab a brick and started running back towards us.

Suddenly, about fifty winged fiends launched themselves from the top of the fortress, heading right for us! It took some convincing to get Tassar, who had thrown the brick to Rosorc, to keep running— he looked as though he would turn and fight the entire horde himself, and I think Rosorc would have fought at his side! Luckily for us, it didn’t come to that. First, a random ball of flame erupted from the ground, scattering fiend bodies everywhere as they fell from the blast. The remaining fiends, who were apparently answering the battle cry of another group of fiends heading towards the fortress, clashed overhead we ran like, um, Hell.

We raced across the river one last time, and, of all things, managed to nearly run into that squad of blue-skinned devils we’d avoided earlier. We took off as fast as we could, though with our shorter stature and overabundance of equipment, we probably looked like we were leisurely strolling along the path south. Luckily, the heavily armed Baatezu couldn’t catch up, so the slow chase began. We breezed past the pillar and thought we were home free, so to speak, when we passed the bone bridge— and all of its occupants. Things were looking grim, but then we spotted the horseshoe shaped rock just ahead. Sprinting for all we were worth, we got to the portal, only to find a fiend standing there blocking our way. The good thing was, that it caused the devils behind us to give up their pursuit.

The fiend, to be honest, looked like a darker version of William, being about the same height, though he still had his spiky hair. He said he would allow us passage on the condition we take a black orb he was holding with us— in fact he indicated we would not likely survive the trip through without it. As we agreed (there were not a lot of other options at this point) I called out, “Where does this portal lead?” to which he replied:

“The City of Doors.”

---

We found ourselves standing on a cobblestone street in a haze-shrouded ghetto, with lights high overhead. The orb was now useless, crumbled to dust. Looking up and down the street, we could see that it curved upward in both directions— way up. All manner of strange beings walked passed us— centaur-like creatures (though their bodies looked more goat-like), tall jaundiced-looking humanoids with sharp features, things with wings, and things with horns, mixing with others that likely were humans.

I could use a drink.

Kythorn 29, 1373, The City of Doors

The trouble with endeavoring to look sure of yourself in an extraordinary situation is that you may be sending the wrong signals to your friends as well.

First, we really needed to find an inn— we were just exhausted from our entire visit to Avernus. Our first attempt to find a place to rest brought us to a flophouse— no food, no bath! Determined not to look too lost, we were never the less attracting seedy individuals— a shifty-looking gnome offered to show us the way to an inn— we need only follow him into a dark alley first. We decided to stick to this main “road” we were on. We also passed a very ominous arachnid-shaped building, all of us in agreement that it likely was not an inn.

We soon came to a signpost that we had to decide whether to read or attack— it was an actual zombie with scraps of paper nailed to it! My friends, other than Rosorc, decided to keep their distance, but I wanted to read the notices in case we could find a bill for an inn. There were personal notes and job postings— one for someone who was good at “finding things” to apply for work at the “Brainless Dretch,” and another seeking magic items with an address of “31 Darkbane Alley.” I figured there must be more to this zombie than being a board for bills, so I asked directions to a good inn. The zombie groaned and pointed straight up at the rooftops above us. That’s right, they were directly above us! Poor Deitricha was already getting sick from staring at the skyline from this odd angle; we suggested she look down, but not before we all saw something that looked like a cross between and ooze and a mephit fly past carrying a scrollcase.

I got my last flask of ale out and passed it around, and tossed the remainder to a voice from an alley asking for what was left. Feeling a bit more fortified, we hardly reacted to the large red scaly creature that exited a door onto the street beside us and just kept walking.

The area we were passing through eventually became even hazier and the sounds of a foundry drifted to us— we were obviously in the factory ward now. Needing fresher air, we continued on.

Things finally started to look cleaner after we’d walked for an hour or more. The area seemed safer too— guards in red spiked armor watched us, alert for trouble, as we passed by. We came to a door with a sign above it: “The Alabaster Mermaid”— an inn at last! Better still, it had rooms, food, and baths available. Areon generously offered to pay for our accommodations and bought three rooms and access to the bath area. There were three baths, labeled for male, female, and “other.” Tassar and Deitricha headed into the one marked for females, and Rosorc was already walking towards “males” so I took the chance the “other” would be empty and headed in. I’m not sure how they were piping the warm water through the baths, but it was one of the nicest experiences— and I needed a bath badly! My clothes were still sticky from the River of Blood, so I scrubbed them as well.

Feeling better, but hungry, I headed back to the common room of the inn. We couldn’t make heads or tails out of their menu, so we just ordered one of everything. Some of it was a bit scary-looking, but there was plenty of ale to wash it down, thankfully!

Things were a bit more awkward when it was time to grab rooms. Areon had only purchased three, and of course Tassar and Deitricha ran in one immediately. William and Rosorc took the next, so Areon and I got the last. I’m not entirely sure Areon is aware of the soul bond we have formed— he knows things have changed between us, but it was so gradual that I’m not sure myself when I became conscious of it. It is there and that is enough for now.

Of course, since elves don’t sleep, we just mediated as normal, and then I suggested we find a marketplace to sell our extra loot at— we could collect the money and take our friends back to the market when they awoke. I know Areon likes to be outdoors as much as possible, and even though there is not much “nature” to be found in this haze-shrouded city, I figured he’d like it better than sitting in an inn. We got directions to the Great Bazaar and headed off. I would say that the sun was coming up, but honestly, it was more like a lightening of the haze.

I was able to get my clothing magically cleaned, which saved me the expense of buying new, and we got 2000gp for all the extra stuff we’d been hauling around. Areon has been looking for an animal companion for some time, so it was ironic that he was able to buy an animal that is surely native to our world— a tressym, or flying cat, that he calls Nianque, with fur and feathers that are a good color match to my own hair. We were both pleased to be able to let the poor thing stretch its wings outside of a cage. Several hours had passed by this time, so we hurried back to the inn to find our friends finishing up breakfast. After handing out the remaining shares of coin, we took them back to the market ward so they could shop for themselves.

While shopping, we also found information on portals, or rather, where to find information on them, so we could more easily return home. As nice as this City of Doors (called Sigil by the natives) is, even I am longing to see some greenery and real sunshine.

What happened next is all a blur— I think I have made a grave error with my newest friend. A young human lad ran up to me, hailing me as Lady Theona, and presented me with some red roses and a beautiful mithril chain. Attached was a thank you note “from a friend.” Wondering how Areon had managed to orchestrate this when he hadn’t left my sight hardly at all, I stood there confused until Rosorc, seeing my bewilderment, took the chain and wove it into my hair with a rose. I absentmindedly thanked him as Areon led us back to the Clerk’s Ward to get the information we needed for the portal home.

We eventually arrived at a huge marble building called the Hall of Records and met with a creature that looked like a cross between a goat and a human (I’ve since discovered that they are called bauriar). He instructed us to go elsewhere, and with our new instructions, we eventually made our way to the Office of Portal Registry. Rosorc thoughtfully held the doors for me all the way through— dwarves are much more polite than I had ever realized!

We met with a short human called Marxel who insisted that we fill out a huge stack of forms before he could give us information on the portal we needed. Areon got to work filling them out while I attempted to bribe the clerk. Areon and my friends finished filling out the forms before I was able to successfully bribe Marxel, but not, I’m afraid, before the office had closed for the day. Marxel took the forms and bade us come back in the morning.

I was still pondering the gift I’d received in the Market Ward when we arrived back at the Alabaster Mermaid. I was surprised to see the dining area completely transformed— a table for two with candles, red roses and several ales and wines was set. Rosorc led me to one seat and— Areon went up the steps to our room and closed the door.

I noticed, at this point, that Rosorc had something woven through his beard— a mithril chain that matched the one in my hair!

Already seated, I grabbed the nearest flagon and took a big gulp of a very strong alcoholic beverage. I needed it! I am ashamed to say that I panicked when I realized that I was the object of Rosorc’s affection, and as the meal was served and a privacy screen set in place, I had to excuse myself from the table and bolted out the door of the inn.

Between the drink I had consumed and my mounting anxiety I had lost any rational thought I’d had. Knowing Areon would help me from an awkward situation, I grabbed a handful of pebbles from the alley and threw them at (what I hoped) was our window. He lifted the sash, but I could see by the hurt look on his face that he thought I had returned the dwarf’s affection by accepting the gift. He did not throw me a rope to climb up the vine-choked wall of the inn, and I did not want to yell up to explain the misunderstanding, so I attempted to scale the wall myself— and was blinded by pain. I apparently went back into the inn, sat back down with Rosorc, and drank myself unconscious, but I don’t remember it.

I became conscious hours later, on a bed in a room that I did not recognize, but alone. Right then, a tray was delivered to the room, with breakfast, more roses, and a note saying “With thanks for a divine evening— Ro.” What had I done? I now noticed that I was absolutely covered in little puncture wounds on my hands and arms (all that I could see at the moment), though it was obvious that most had been tended to. With a feeling of uncertainty that I’m not used to, I snuck down to the baths to clean the wounds and clear my head.

I sat there for an hour before one of my companions came looking for me. Deitricha, without Tassar, came into the room where my bath was. Determined to hide my shame, I let myself sink to the bottom of the basin, hoping she’d think I’d left, but she spotted me and hauled me out. There was no way I could hide the wounds from her, so I unburdened myself with what I assumed I had done the night before. She laughed when I told her that I’d stuck myself on Rosorc’s spiked armor during a romance I could not remember, and assured me that I’d cut myself to ribbons trying to climb to my bedchamber up a wall covered in razorvine. Relieved that I hadn’t broken my promise to Areon, but sad that I had likely ruined my friendship with Rosorc, I put the mithril chain around my neck instead— a reminder of a good comrade if nothing else. Deitricha assured me that I had told Rosorc that, “elves and dwarves don’t mix,” though he may have believed me to be referring to the two types of spirits I’d drunk together the prior night before sliding unconscious under our table.

I was unable to make eye contact with any of our friends (though Tassar winked at me, I swear!), as we went back to the Office of the Portal Registry. Another clerk called Gelvik attended us, but thankfully had looked over our paperwork and found a portal to our home. There was only one active portal they could find, and it only opened once every 32 days. Today was the day, so we didn’t have time to spare. We needed a black rose to activate it, and, unfortunately, it was in the catacombs below the Hive district— near where we’d arrived. The portal was accessible because apparently the stewards of the city had moved a wall, thereby allowing traffic to it. Rosorc was able to obtain a black rose quickly enough, and with a lightboy named Bob to guide us, we rushed off to the Hive.

Bob stopped short of a hole in a wall near where three white-haired, blue humanoids floated, hammering away and making repairs to the structure. The boy pointed to the stairs down, indicating we were on our own from this point on. We made our way quickly, not yet having to choose a fork, for the path was fairly direct, when suddenly we saw four shapes shambling towards us. Zombies— this time without ads! Rosorc ran forward to hack two to pieces, while I shot one and Tassar slew another— had the passage been wider, my other comrades would have been able to better fight them as well. Strangely, I find comfort in fighting undead— it is the one thing I’ve done so far today that I am sure is right for my friends.

Kythorn 30, 1373, Ancient Dwarven Stronghold

It seemed there was no end the undead attacking us. We walked a few paces, into an area filled with stone crypts, and were attacked again. I’ve discovered that, in spite of our great aim, Areon and I don’t do too much damage to the shambling corpses we shoot— Deitricha seems to be able to use her divine power to disintegrate them, and Rosorc and Tassar are quite fond of walking right up to undead and hacking them in half. Of course, that only works if they are corporeal. William is fairly sensible for a mage, and doesn’t run right up and poke at them, using ranged spells instead.

Even though there was only one black rose amongst us, and we were constrained for time, our group immediately split up when we discovered that some of the empty tombs contained coin. Tassar ran off one way, Rosorc ran off another way, Deitricha and William stayed in the larger chamber where we’d just fought. Moments later, I could hear what sounded like looting coming from the direction Tassar had gone— he’d apparently found a rather nifty-looking dagger and some coin. Areon walked about 20’ away from where that skirmish had been and called me over, apparently to check out some open sarcophagi in a side chamber. I walked in and began to dig around without saying anything, finding a few coins, when I realized Areon was just standing there looking at me like he had something to say. In fact, he got as far as, “Theona, I need to tell you…” when we heard a shriek from (or because of) the halfling, as Tassar engaged some manner of creature in a far section of the catacombs. With a promise to talk later, Areon ran to Tassar’s aid. I was about to follow him when I heard a cry from Rosorc— without thinking, I ran headlong into the dark— Areon was holding the torch! I am lucky that I carry a moon mote with me, and used that for enough light to get to the dwarf, who was now fighting for his life against two shadowy things. William arrived just a few seconds after I did, with a better light source, in time for us to see Rosorc’s weapon pass right through a shadow, and then the shadow pass right through Rosorc’s armor, weakening him. I shouted for Deitricha as loudly as I could.

Right at that moment, I had the most horrible, sickening feeling pass through me and I knew Areon was in trouble. Just as Deitricha arrived, I shouted “undead” and turned to run off towards where I sensed Areon was. As I did so, Rosorc grabbed my arm and handed me a scroll— I stuffed it into my pack, planning to look at it later, and ran faster than I ever have.

I found Tassar and Areon in the doorway of a room that contained what looked like several bat-winged, severed heads, each with a long tongue, flying back and forth just out of reach. Areon seemed to be frozen in place with his eyes wide open, with Tassar beating the creatures away from him. Luckily Tassar outguessed the grisly creatures’ moves and hacked them down before they could do more damage to Areon. I quickly told Tassar of the situation further into the catacombs, and that I’d keep Areon safe until he snapped out of the paralyzing affects of the flying creatures. Oddly, Tassar winked at me as he sped off.

Well, Areon and I were alone again, but he wasn’t moving. While I was trying to decide whether to drag him somewhere slightly safer (if there was such a place here!), I heard Tassar yelling at some more undead creatures that he’d disturbed. I could look down the hall far enough to see that zombies where shuffling towards him from a few directions. I tried to prevent one from getting behind him with a well-placed bolt, but only succeeded in redirecting its attention to me. I walked backwards, continuing to shoot bolts into the undead thing, always keeping my own body between Areon and the zombie. After five or six bolts, it was beginning to succumb to the damage, but by then I had backed right into Areon’s chest. Luckily, his immobility had just worn off, and he was able to reach past me and finish it off with his sword. As the corpse landed at our feet, Deitricha ran up behind it, and we learned that Rosorc had found the portal using the black rose (and, apparently, our comrades had finished off the remaining undead). My only regret now was that no one wanted to stay and finish checking the now-empty sepulchers for valuables that zombies don’t need. Areon must have sensed my hesitation, as he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the shimmering portal with him.

---

We found ourselves standing in a long, dusty, stone corridor about 30’ wide. Areon (still holding my hand, I noticed) and I wanted to try the double doors that were within a few feet of where the portal had dropped us, in case they led outside, but Tassar was already running in the opposite direction. We studied the walls, which were carved with a mountain motif, until curiosity got the better of us and we followed the halfling.

The dwarven stonework, which is what we determined we were looking at, must be several millennia old— at least 3000 years. With Deitricha’s knowledge of history and Rosorc’s of, well, dwarves, we determined that we were in a hold of the Delzoun dwarves that had been lost to history, and that we were somewhere in the Spine of the World. We weren’t terribly far from where we’d hoped the portal would lead to, though our arrival in this place was somewhat surprising— the few footprints in the dust led me to believe that we’d taken a portal that wasn’t all that popular.

Somehow, the stately halls of the long-departed dwarven clan are more oppressive to me than natural tunnels are, but at least we don’t have to walk single file here. We wandered past what looked like a garden of rocks, with ten chambers leading off from it, each one with a bit of story depicting a dwarven hero, or a dwarven god, such as Berronar Truesilver. I think Rosorc finished looking through a few more of them for the stories contained therein, but I gave up and found a spot to sit until my comrades where done exploring. We’d found a second set of double doors, but decided to wait until after we’d all rested to explore further. Areon had determined the few faint prints we’d noticed were from orcish war boots, but thankfully, we hadn’t seen any orcs.

I had offered to take third watch during our rest period, after Tassar and Rosorc had each taken one. I sat down to relieve Rosorc, and suddenly remembered I still hadn’t looked over that scroll he gave me. I waited until he was settled in and read it:

My Dearest Lady Theona,

Your every whim holds me bound in rapture. I am struck beyond return. From your dimples, to your wry upturned smile, your beautiful long flowing hair, your wit and intellect that seems to have no bounds, I am mesmerized and transfixed. Truly I don’t now what I can do. My waking moments are consumed with seeing you happy and just being there in your life.

My inner being cries for me to share the beauty and joy gifted to me by the mountains. To hold your hand, to stroke your cheek, to sing the sweet joys of life, to grow old in your arms. The well of this dwarf’s heart runs deep indeed. Strong and pure, undaunted and open, for all to see.

I have prayed long and hard to Clangeddin as to what I should do. He has sent me signs that the mountains do not lie. My heart is bound to you. It may not be probable that your feelings will ever change, but it is written in the great halls that I must and will be there, if or when they do.

Caring and loving from a distance, I will not hide my feelings. Nor shall I push too hard. I shall be there; your rock of security in life’s darkest storms.

My Lady, I ask you this one boon. I bid you always wear your chain as I shall always wear mine. Bound in destiny under the mountains, somewhere is written our love truly belongs.

Always Yours,

Rosorc

Oh. I am quite confused. I know very little of the dwarven ways, but I assumed when I put the chain around my neck, it meant no more or less than when I would use the silver mug given to me by Antonio, or food given to me by Tassar. I suppose each race is different, but then, that is one of the main points I had originally tried to make!

I just sat for a while, trying to absorb what I read. Either I was doing a very bad job of keeping watch, or Areon is very good at moving quietly— I nearly jumped as I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Areon sat down beside me, and, whispering in Sylvan, said, “I did not mean to be as callous as I was last night. You are one of the best friends I have ever had and I would gladly trudge through the Hells with you again. I did not see anyway that I would be able to deal with Rosorc better than you. You are the one who always is dealing with people. I just assumed that you would be able to deal with him just as everyone else. I am sorry that I brushed you off the way I did.”

I could tell that he was struggling with several other thoughts that he seemed unable to express, but I was actually relieved that he was as confused about the whole thing as I was. I still need and value his advice though, so I decided to show him the note Rosorc had given me, knowing he’d keep it to himself, and, if possible, help me deal with it without hurting the dwarf’s feelings.

He was quiet about that for a while, and then, finally suggested that I simply not wear the chain, for fear that it would lead Rosorc to think I returned his affection in any measure. As pretty as it is, I am inclined to agree with him. I wrapped the chain around the handle of the monogrammed silver tankard I carry, as a reminder of two of my favorite “drinking buddies” and placed them in my backpack.

Almost on queue, I heard a rumbling and Tassar stood up from his bedroll— the rumbling being his stomach reminding him it had been several hours since he’d eaten. It is a good thing his stomach is so reliable; since we can’t see the sun come up we have no other way of knowing what time it is!

After a bit of breakfast, we gathered up our gear and pushed through the nearest set of double doors. Tassar and Rosorc hurried on ahead, leaving me to see if they sprung a trap, apparently. We entered a great hall, 50’ wide, with 30’ high vaulted ceilings, surrounded by balconies still hanging with ancient tapestries— war banners, according to Rosorc. They appeared to be family crests of long-dead houses. Rosorc told us that this hall is much larger than the great hall of Citadel Adbar, but even in this grand space, I could still feel the weight of the mountain bearing down on us. Areon pointed out that the orc tracks in this area looked more recent.

There were even more doors leading out of the grand hall. The first few rooms we checked either stood empty or contained dilapidated furniture, but the fifth one we opened revealed a passage with a light at the far end. Tassar, with Rosorc right behind, ran ahead of us and burst in to the room at the end of the hall— a room filled with orcs.

Kythorn 30, 1373, Ancient Dwarven Stronghold of Barannsar

We charged into a dining hall. Thankfully, this surprised all of the orcs, who, for a few seconds at least, were unarmed with anything other than eating utensils. I sank a bolt into one before he even had a chance to pull a weapon, and I was pleased to see my comrades having similar successes. In fact, if not for one orc with a horn, we would have likely finished them all off in under a minute. That orc was my next target. He didn’t go down, but the alarm he was sounding went up an octave when my bolt hit him.

I was quickly targeted by several orcish archers, and two of them hit. I managed to stay up while Deitricha went between all of us providing healing as needed. At one point, she needed to heal both Areon and Rosorc, so I threw my healing potion to Ro as I feared Areon would not last long enough to drink it.

Though we were making a good swath through the orcs, the horn blower had managed to summon a one-eyed orc cleric and two ogres, the latter were quickly dispatched by Tassar and William, whose spells seem to have the accuracy of a well-crafted bow. Areon helped me finish off the archers, but the horn blower and the cleric ran from us when the ogres fell.

This time, I insisted we “loot” the fallen creatures, and managed to pick up a good amount of coin. I wandered off to check out a passage to our right while Tassar followed the path of the routed orcs, which just happened to be the kitchen. I found some odd scratches in the floor, with a rather largish splotch of dried blood staining the stone floor around them. I called Areon to come look, but Rosorc had followed me and walked right up to the— well— trap, before I could stop him. A big spike shot out of the ceiling and rammed into the stone, skewering Rosorc. Areon appeared and announced that it was “dwarf blood.” Thankfully Ro’s pride was more damaged than his person. We figured out what was causing the scratches on the floor, of course.

William and Deitricha caught up to us, while Tassar volunteered to stay in the kitchen. We walked a few more feet down the passage, only to come to a bolted wooden door. Rosorc was able to read the symbol scratched on the door: Drow. We agreed as one that we didn’t need to open that particular door today.

We walked across the dining area to hear Tassar defending a pot of stew— more orcs! There were only five this time, and Rosorc took out two while Areon chased down the rest. We all ran after him, to come to yet another large hall filled with a dozen foes— including that cleric and a fresh ogre.

There were columns along each wall which made good vantage points to shoot arrows (or spells) from, though Rosorc decided to take the fight over to the orcs at the far end of the room. As he charged, we saw the cleric pull a lever and the floor fell out from under the startled dwarf. He landed in a pit with several inches of oil in it. Two orcs stepped up and lit a torch to throw in— thankfully Rosorc caught the torch before it touched the oil in the pit, but, since he was now soaked in oil, he lit up like an Azer anyway. Deitricha threw a rope to him while the rest of us continued to fight the orcs. The ogre, it appeared, was not very bright— after tossing a spear our way, he started lobbing the orcs surrounding him at us. A few went into the pit, never to rise, but one sailed across the room and knocked William out. I thought it had squashed him, but Deitricha was able to revive him after helping Rosorc out of the trap. Tassar slipped into the pit (I think he fell, but it’s not always easy to tell since he shouts a triumphant battle cry regardless of the situation) and then killed the ogre by throwing his green war fork up out of the pit. He’s getting to be a pretty good pitfighter.

Once again the cleric ran away from us, this time through a pair of double doors at his end of the hall. We were able to close the oil pit, but no amount of trying would get those doors open. In a fit of desperation, I took out that mystery wand we found and aimed it at the door. A beam of green light came out, but didn’t apparently harm the doors, which I’m sure were barred on the opposite side. William and Deitricha conferred and determined the wand cast a Ray of Enfeeblement. Here’s hoping I can get it to work again the next time we actually need it!

After collecting some loose coins off of the fallen bodies, we made our way back to the kitchen and I used some coppers to penny the door shut from our side. I imagine the one-eyed cleric has a multitude of doors available if he is determined to find us, but he seems a coward. At this point, we noticed Tassar was moving much more quickly than the rest of us, and so we hurried out the grand hall to find him flinging doors open. He found an unusual room when he opened the second door on the right in the hall— the one with a mountain and sun motif carved into it. The inside was an obvious sanctuary, with four green torches lighting the corners, two alcoves, each with a 15’ tall statue of a dwarf wearing platemail; one had an axe, the other bore a warhammer. In the center of the room an altar stood, with a bright mithril axe resting on it. The charred remains of orcs surrounded the altar.

Those of us that weren’t dwarves filed back out into the hallway, lest we end up like the black smudges surrounding the axe. Closing the door, we waited, hoping Ro would know what to do. He must have been worthy of the fine weapon, as he reappeared moments later hefting the well-crafted axe. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but he looks— different, somehow. I went back in and grabbed the four torches—they are the everburning variety, and since the axe was leaving the shrine, it seemed that we’d have better use of the light.

Tassar was unable to restrain himself for long, and wandered off into a hallway he’d found behind another door. He came running back out a minute letter, breathless and asking for ale. While I fished him out a flask from my bag, he tried, only somewhat successfully, to describe a halfling-sized creature that had dropped long arms down from a hole in the ceiling, attempting to strangle him. Rosorc went back in to look with him, but the creature did not make another appearance.

I believe we’d only broken camp a few hours before, but between the charred dwarf, strangled halfling and two spellcasters with little if any magic left, we agreed to rest again, back at our original camp site. Deitricha had done a good job of keeping Areon and I patched up, so I believe we’ll take two watches so our friends can get the extra rest they need.

Flamerule 1, 1373, Ancient Dwarven Stronghold of Barannsar

We ended up letting our N-Tel-Quess companions rest a full 24 hours, as they looked like they really needed it. Even Tassar only got up from resting long enough to eat (about six times by my count). Since Areon was up, I decided not to do much riffling through our friends’ packs. I am surprised by my reaction to being underground in this dwarven fortress— natural caves have never bothered me, and even mines and sewers don’t feel as oppressive as the weighty architecture of these mortal-made catacombs. If it weren’t for Areon, I would claw my way out of this subterranean vault just to see the sun and open sky.

Finally, our comrades were up and about, and we decided to explore a passage near the dwarven shrine. These halls are loaded with traps, but thankfully, at least some have been sprung prior to our arrival. This corridor had a gaping hole in the ceiling at one end, and we found a large stone cylinder resting against the wall 80’ further along, with what looked like bone fragments and bits of rusty armor flattened around it. As we stood and admired the handiwork, I saw some movement in the distance. Two large beetle-shaped creatures with outstretched antennae were scuttling towards us— rust monsters! Those of us with bows began to shoot them, and I managed to kill one with a well-placed bolt, yelling, “One!” for Tassar’s benefit. They were quick though and I could see that William’s chain shirt and steel shield were already falling in a rusty pile at his feet. That was enough to send Rosorc retreating behind the rest of us, but thankfully William finished off the second creature before it had a chance to sample the dwarf’s selection of metal gear.

We began to head the direction the rust monsters had appeared from, and after walking a few feet, I noticed the outline of a door hidden in the wall. I was still checking it over when Areon pushed the panel open and headed through. He appears calm, though I suspect he must hate being under all this stonework as much as I do. I quickly followed him down the narrow secret passage to a rather nondescript room with one other exit. Suddenly, the floor began to move. I confess; I lost all composure as the floor coalesced into a creature of stone and began to attack us. Within seconds, the large earth elemental knocked Tassar down. My bolts merely bounced off of it, and Areon’s bowstring snapped as he tried to load his bow and keep me out of the creature’s reach at the same time. As Deitricha pulled the unconscious form of Tassar out of harm’s way, Rosorc ran forward to attack while William s