Lord Antagonis the Generic's page

Greetings, worms. It has come to my attention certain individuals are rabble-rousing and calling for my removal from the post of official chronicler for this journal. Those individuals’ names have been catalogued and undeath squads have been dispatched to quell any dissent. This isn’t my first time at the revolution.

As far as the fate of that hoofed hooligan goes, there have been further ramblings that the unicorn will soon escape from my clutches and return to fill your days with humor, joy and inspiring tales of heroism. These rumors are nonsense. I’m the king of this thread now, and there is no way the adventurers’ actions will affect the return of that magical beast. Anyone who told you that is a big, fat liar and they’d better stop before I feed them to my adorable hyenas! Also, any thoughts you may have had that this is all part of some Kaufman-esque, meta-humor writing exercise are complete rubbish. That cantering curmudgeon may not be above those sorts of theatrics but, I for one, would totally never perpetrate such a stunt.

That being said, I'm not the sort of iron-fisted monarch who fails to recognize the value of entertainment when it comes to placating the torch and pitchfork crowd so I've coerced a ghost writer into providing consultation for my future work. That is to say, he's an actual ghost of a writer I executed and then pressed into my service through the use of black magic.

Duly noted.

Aheh. Hmm, clever. And the last time I checked, you were still a toxic, rat-chewed corpse gathering fungus in the dank, plague-filled poopchute of Region C, so which one of us is ahead on points?

Don't bother answering that question. It was rhetorical. Also, nobody cares what you have to say. So there.

It's a conspiracy I tell you! Something or someone must be protecting these troublemakers, and I plan to get to the bottom of it! I didn't have that mono-horned misanthrope captured so I could watch these cretins not die in my dungeon! Grrr. Here's how they disappointed me this session...

DAY 174 TITLE GOES HERE
featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
Shim, the She/Him – Androgynous Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue
The Nurse – Aasimar Hit Point Dispenser/Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
The Jinx aka Monster Magnet – Human Witch/Liability
Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian – Half-Inch Titan Mauler
No Show – Generic, frequently missing Human rogue

“I think I’ll head back and check on the drow we left in the forge,” Shim announced as the party moved into a dark tunnel leading north from Treak’s workshop. A light breeze flowing from a cave to the east carried the sound of tortured shrieking (or, as I like to call it, 'pathetic mewling') through the corridor, giving most of the group the heebie jeebies.

“We stay together,” the peck whimpered, shaken by the haunted cries. “Treak said his guards don’t like to stay in this area for very long so it might be worth it to find out why.”

The jinx and the scaly gorilla, probably too dense to understand why everyone else was frightened, led the way toward a deep cave that appeared to see little use by the resident aberrations. The moaning wind seemed to swirl through the cave with a cyclone’s fury, and thick, dark, tarry soil slowly bubbled through the walls in pockets along the north wall of the chamber.

“I’m gonna set it on fire!” exclaimed the witch who tried to do just that. He was met with disappointment, however, when the soil refused to burn.

“Does anyone else hear that?” the nurse suddenly asked. The cleric’s ears were beginning to make out a distinct message on the wind.

“All I hear is this stuff not burning,” pouted the witch.

“Shut up, stupid,” is basically what the gender-blank dwarf told the witch. “I hear it too.”

Mingled into the screaming zephyr, the priests made out a chorus of voices repeating a story of terror and sadness. They weren’t always able to make out every word, but the pair could somehow “feel” what was being said. I think they call that empathy. I’m not sure because I have no experience with the sensation.

Anyway, the voices, it turned out, belonged to the disembodied spirits of hundreds of creatures, which had been fed to what they called the Wheel of Sorrow, that big stone column the drow called the Kyorl Khaliizi. Treak and Ari had informed the group that some of what the drow knew of the artifact was misinformation spread by the driders, and these spirits seemed to validate that information.

The Wheel absorbed everything of its victims, anyone unlucky enough to be locked up within one of the four chambers situated around its room. Bones, flesh, soul, The Wheel of Sorrow devoured these sacrifices and used the spirits of the dead to create invisible stalkers to do its bidding. The driders’ threat to use the corpses of those slain by the Wheel to create their golems, it seemed, was just one more of their lies. This chamber was a sort of repository for the only thing remaining of those who’d been fed to the stone: their transmogrified spirits. Here, they waited until summoned to kill or subdue the foes of the driders or any who thought to bring harm to the Wheel.

“They can’t move on,” Shim spoke. The death priest’s voice still quivered a bit from his earlier scare, but it seemed his anger at this offense against the souls of the dead was strengthening his resolve. “Even the stalkers we fought before, they’re still here. They’re tied to The Wheel and they can’t move on.”

“Destroying that thing doesn’t seem like an option,” spoke the peck. “Is there some kind of magic or something we can use to free them?”

The dwarf pondered the situation for a moment, then looked up at its fellow priest and asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so,” she began. “But where are we going to find a ten-foot pole and a carrot?”

The death priest just stared at the woman, dumbfounded for a moment, until the aasimar’s gaze fell to her shuffling feet. “I, um, I may have missed a few spell theory lessons back in seminary,” she mumbled (she was probably too busy tossing up her vestments and getting drunk on sacramental wine with the boys in the refectory.) Truth is, Little Miss First Aid Kit didn’t know the first thing about spellcraft. The dwarf collected himself and turned back to the rest of the party.

“There are a few spells and prayers that might free these spirits,” the cleric announced. “Fortunately, and because she’s the best, most of them are part of Pharasma’s domains.”

“So you can do it?” the witch asked.

“We’re about to find out,” Shim replied. Then, holding aloft the goddess’ symbol for dramatic effect, the cleric chanted the prayer for a ward against death. The wind swirling around the room suddenly picked up, drawing the dark soil from the north wall into itself. The tiny grains of black, oily grit outlined vaguely humanoid shapes in the air and, as the priest finished the spell, the forms combined into a whirlwind that diminished until nothing remained but a few loose particles. It was all very touching and kind of Spielbergian, blah blah blah. Lame.

“Is that it?” asked the peck.

“No,” Shim answered. “The Wheel of Sorrow remains. I freed most of the spirits that were tied to it, but the driders can still make more.”

“What do you mean you freed most of the spirits?” the nurse asked. “How many are left?”

“Only one,” Shim replied. “It doesn’t really speak, but I get the feeling it wants to help us for freeing it. Its time here is limited so, if we want its help destroying these golems, we should go now.”

No one disagreed. The sooner they took care of the driders, the sooner the fools thought they’d be out from under the thumb of the drow. Leaving the chamber, the jinx spotted and began to approach what appeared to be a wardstone in an unexplored tunnel to the north.

“What are you doing?” the nurse asked.

“If what the priest said is right,” Monster Magnet began. “We should be able to walk right past these now without anything to worry about. We might as well test it while we’re here.”

“Didn’t Treak mention something about –“ the halfling started to say, but it was too late. As the witch closed to within about thirty feet of the stone, a high-pitched ringing filled the air. “ – I was going to say ‘alarms,’ but I guess there’s no point now,” he finished.

***

The aranea Wicieth scanned the chamber housing the immense machines the driders used to create their golems. The aberrations and their slaves, busy with their toil, seemed unaware of her presence and, luckily, were completely ignorant of the pair of dark shapes silently padding their way along the east wall.

“Develdar!” the shapechanger whisper-hissed to the drow and No Show as she ducked behind a pile of dismembered limbs. The rogues had forgone returning to the others in order to investigate an unguarded chamber in the east of the cavern. Develdar studied Wicieth suspiciously for a moment before creeping back toward the waiting spy and, as No Show watched silently, performed the strange dagger-swapping ritual he and the aranea had carried out earlier.

“Is that Elotor’s chamber?” the drow sternly asked, pointing toward the heavily guarded south cave.

“I know you want the drider’s head, but charging into his laboratory unprepared is just going to get you killed,” Wicieth replied.

“Is that his chamber?” Develdar insisted.

“I don’t know,” the aranea answered. “He only deals with me through his assistant, but I’ve seen her enter that cave.”

“Nindel orn xun,” the drow spoke before turning to No Show. “We’re going to get back to your companions, and then we’re going into that chamber. Zhah nindel kampi'unus?

“No. That isn’t kampi’unus,” the rogue replied. “In fact, I don’t understand any of this or you people. The only thing I do understand is that my companions and I agreed to shut down some crazy monster-making operation for your people so you might have a chance at freedom. Now, you’re telling me we’ve got to take out one drider in a nest full of the vith’rellen. What makes this guy so special?”

Nobody below his station had ever questioned the drow during his time as a commander of the rebellion and Develdar’s first thought was to quietly cut the rogue’s throat and throw his body into the pile of golem parts. I really thought he was going to do it, but then he calmed down, the pansy.

“The Orbb Valuken, the Spider Kings, claim to be equals, but it’s a lie,” Develdar spoke. “Elotor, the one they call l’ Kyorlin Hiever, the All-Seeing Visionary, directs their every move. If we kill him, it will be like taking their head.”

“Okay, I get that,” No Show replied. “But what’s your real problem with this guy? He take cornbread off the prison menu?”

“There’s no time for this,” Wicieth interrupted. “We need to get back to the forge to wait for your friends before we’re all spotted.”

Whatever secrets Develdar held would have to wait. The drow knew the odds of getting into Elotor’s lair would be better with the aid of the adventurers and so, for now, he was willing to set aside his desire to challenge the drider. The three easily snuck out of the cavern and made it back to the forge where the dozen or so freed slaves waited with spears, swords and bows they’d pulled from the racks.

***

The squealing of the wardstone’s alarm still echoed through the tunnels as the adventurer’s returned to Treak’s workshop. The obese drider was still alive, but Ari had taken the liberty of trussing the stonemason up in cords of strong silk usually reserved for securing the drider’s victims. The drow was now cutting the bodies of the two dead drider guards into easily transportable chunks.

“No demons?” Ari observed.

“We’ve temporarily disabled the stones, but the alarms are obviously still working,” spoke the peck. “We’re going back to the forge before any driders show up. You should probably come with us.”

“I’ll be fine,” replied the drow. “The driders are complacent. They count on the invisible demons to take care of any trespassers. As long as they don’t know the stones aren’t working, it will be a long while before they arrive. I should have plenty of time to finish here.”

“And if they do know?” the halfling asked.

“They will find me here among the bodies of their dead,” the drow matter-of-factly answered. “lu’ mayoe nind orn elgg uns’aa a vaen. You should go.”

Seeing as how the drow seemed comfortable with the idea of impending doom and not wanting to waste any more time, the group hurried to the forge where Wicieth, Develdar and No Show waited with the slaves. There was more talking and some arguing but, long-story-short, it was decided the group would try to draw the Spider King Elotor out of his lair by killing the driders Ailith and Radija while their contingent of slaves hammered the crap out of the machines. The way they figured it, getting rid of the two engineers and damaging the equipment would force Elotor into the open. Not a completely horrible plan for this group. Too bad for them they stink at execution...

(I, on the other hand, excel at executions. Get it? Because I’m an evil dic-oh, nevermind.)

I don't get it. How come nobody is dying? These jerks have been fighting one battle after another for something like 15 straight minutes, they're almost out of magic and they're down two members since the half-orc decided to take a tropical vacation on a volcanic island. What's more is they keep finding allies (even if most of them are a bunch of gimpy cripples with black lung.) Maybe things'll get worse for them this time...

(By the way, I'm sure some of you aren't fluent in Undercommon so here's a translator so you don't miss out on any of the insults hurled at these miscreants.)

DAY 174 SOMEBODY DIE ALREADY!

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
Shim, the She/Him – Androgynous Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue
The Nurse – Aasimar Hit Point Dispenser/Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
The Jinx aka Monster Magnet – Human Witch/Liability
Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian – Half-Inch Titan Mauler
No Show – Human rogue, he sure as hell ain’t a diplomat

“Zzzzrraaackk!” said the lightning bolt as it tore through and set fire to the sheet of thick webs entangling the adventurers. The drider that spotted the fools over the corpse of Noh had made it back to his outpost where three more of the elf-spider hybrids ambushed the invaders with their spells. From the high ceiling of the chamber, a pair of the aberrations cast magical webs into the narrow tunnel at the entrance to Noh’s forge, trapping the party as the second pair of creatures launched crackling blasts of electricity at their entwined prey. Unfortunately for the ground-level driders, Develdar, No Show and that idiot lizardman were at the front of the party and managed to either dodge or muscle their way through the incoming lightning and webs.

The trio of drow, human and scaly primate charged down and out of the bowl-like floor of the guard chamber before the driders had time to escape up the walls, quickly pinning one of the monsters to the floor with a series of trident and rapier thrusts. Understandably shaken by the demise of its fellow mutant, the second drider backed away and cast a spell of invisibility upon itself in an attempt to flee. It might have gotten away too if that amphibious brute with the oversized salad fork didn’t have such a keen nose. Cluing his companions in to the drider’s position, the lizardman began to poke the thing full of holes while the rogues managed to land a few lucky and fatal blows of their own. On the other side of the cave, things weren’t going so well for the rest of the adventurers.

The peck, the nurse and the jinx took their sweet time escaping the passageway and, while the lightning flingers were being killed, the remaining driders traded in their webs for bolts of arcane energy. Lacking ranged weapons of any sort, the adventurers could only suck up the damage from the constant volley of missiles, hoping the driders would run out of magic juice and have to come down. Too bad the nurse didn’t last that long.

The driders were on top of the cleric as soon as her face was in the rocks. One of the creatures quickly scurried down the wall and tossed a web from its spinnerets onto the woman while the peck and the jinx took cover in the tunnel. A moment later, the drider was dragging the priest up the wall and toward a tunnel in the east of the chamber. Trying out for “Hero of the Day,” the halfling whipped his hand axe at the monster, but it wasn’t even close. The axe tumbled across the floor of the chamber and both driders were out of the cave with their holy snack in seconds. Naturally, everybody followed the driders into the rather obvious trap.

The tunnel wound toward an intersection with a lumpy mound of slag in its center, and the party was headed right for it when they came face to face with none other than Wicieth. The woman hadn’t gotten very far past the guard chamber when she heard the commotion from the battle. She was on her way back when the pair of fleeing driders raced past her along the ceiling with the cleric, ordering her to slow the adventurers down.

“Three minutes, Develdar!” she chastised the warrior once the driders were out of sight. “You couldn’t give me three minutes!? You and your mii’n are about to run straight into a wardstone! If that thing goes off, you’re going to have more than a few driders to worry about!”

Develdar was one of the last into the tunnel and only now saw Wicieth was right. “Your companion is lost,” he spoke as he eyed the small tower of volcanic stone. “We have to move on.”

“We've already down two people. Nobody else gets left behind,” the peck replied. “There’s got to be a way around it.”
“Not without a Drider Key,” Wicieth informed the halfling.

“You mean one of these?” the fighter smugly replied as he produced the small statuette he’d found in the south. The grin was wiped from his face a moment later when the woman told him the statue would only get one person past the stone. There was no time to work out some sort of relay. Even now, the nurse might be having her insides sucked out.

“Give me statue thing, ook ook!” grunted the dumb lizard. Thanks to some previous healing from the priest and his thick scales, the reptile probably had the best shot of surviving another round with the mutants. Well, aside from the androgynous dwarf who still hadn’t suffered a single injury due to its tried and true policy of leading from the rear.

“I’ll lead the way,” Wicieth announced, reasoning the driders wouldn’t immediately suspect her of treason.

“We’ll check the dead driders for keys and catch up when we can,” the peck called as the two hurried down the tunnel. Back out in the guard chamber, the remaining members of the party noticed Develdar and No Show were missing.

I guess this is as good a time as any to check in on that handicapped hedge wizard and the half-inch half-orc.

***

Castrato the Amazing watched the island in the middle of the lava river for any sign of movement. The last anyone had seen, the barbarian had taken cover under the still form of the shambling mound in order to hide from a swarm of mephits. The mephits were gone now, driven off from a distance by some drider pit boss, but the theurge couldn’t see if the spider-elf was still lurking nearby. He found out as soon as the half-orc popped his head out for a peek.

Tubesocks tried his hardest to crawl out from under the prone plant thing as stealthily as possible, but it was pretty obvious to both the mystic and the hiding drider that the shambling mound was either having a nightmare or it was about to give birth. Of course, giving birth to a half-orc probably is a nightmare so it could have been a little of both. Either way, the half-orc was practically standing on his knees when he emerged from under the monster and the drider didn’t waste any time sending a warning shot over to the island. Neither the barbarian or the theurge were close enough to hear what the mutant was yelling, but the castrato would have probably been too busy wetting himself to notice anyway.

Something huge was moving around in the darkness on the other side of the river behind the half-orc. The theurge couldn’t make it out, but it was close to the river’s edge nearest to the barbarian. Another crossbow bolt flew at the island as the barbarian ducked behind the shambling mound’s bulk and a sudden cloud of thick mist sprang up between the island and the north side of the river completely obscuring whatever was waiting in the shadows. Then, the barbarian heard a deep whisper behind him.

“Find the bridge,” said the voice. “Be quick.”

Tubesocks quickly weighed his options: follow the mysterious voice from the darkness into certain doom or settle in and attempt to build a resort hotel from the remains of the shambling mound. I’m guessing he never earned his mound-weaving merit badge because he opted for the mysterious voice and rushed for the mist at the edge of the island. Not far from where he was hiding, he could just make out what appeared to be the outline of a dark plank stretching from the island to the north edge of the river.

To the theurge, it seemed the half-orc just gave up on being rescued and decided to end his life by jumping into the magma. He tried to get a closer look without drawing the attention of the drider, but he either got too close to the thing’s perpetual aura of magic detection or stumbled on a rock. Whichever it was, the spider-elf was coming his way and, for whatever reason, the castrato decided to run back into the room with the great big invisible stalker-summoning column.

The mystic couldn’t be sure how far the drider was behind him but knew he had little time to hide. He hadn’t seen how his companions fled the room so the only obvious options were the four doors built into the sides of the chamber. Choosing the closest portal, he ducked inside, quickly pulled the door shut and drew his warhammer. The shallow chamber contained only a pair of manacles attached to a metal beam and, with no other way out, the defunct theurge could only wait and shake in his breastplate as the spider-freak drew closer to his cubby hole.

***

“Don’t kill me…I’ll…tell you…whatever you want…to know,” wheezed the fat, greasy-skinned drider at the feet of the adventurers. The tiny spines that decorated the creature’s mandibles looked like an unkempt neckbeard and still dripped with blood and ichor from the drider’s twelfth helping of liquefied organs. I’m just going to skip over the battle here and say the party (minus the pair of missing rogues) managed to defeat the driders, rescue their cleric friend and discover Develdar’s little girlfriend was actually a shapechanging spider-thing called an aranea and not a drow at all. The drider on the floor was a disgusting, bloated, out-of-shape monster Wicieth called Treak. Treak was asleep when the fight rolled into his chamber and only put up a brief struggle after waking before his overeating caught up with him, causing him to fall from his perch, retch all over himself and toss up his hands in defeat.

“Treak here is the driders’ stonemason,” Wicieth informed the party, once again wearing the form of a drow. “He probably knows The Barrows better than anyone.”

“Then he can tell us where they’re making the golems,” the jinx spoke. “And maybe how we can shut down the wardstones.”

“I just build the stones,” Treak answered in between deep, coughing pants. “I don’t know how they work.”

A thin, heavily scarred drow at the drider’s side suddenly dug a chisel into Treak’s abdomen eliciting a yelp of pain from the creature.

“You think he’s lying, Ari?” Wicieth asked. The drow was the rebellion’s best informant. Supposedly immune to pain, Ari gathered intelligence while being passed from one drider to another as a game with each trying to earn points by torturing him to the point of breaking. Today, he’d been in the possession of the stonemason.

“No. He’s telling the truth,” Ari replied without the slightest trace of emotion. “I’m just reminding him of the score.”

“Elotor knows the stones, but you’ll never get to him,” Treak continued. “l’ Kyorlin Hiever never comes out of his laboratory and there are always guards posted at the entrance. Then, there’s the pack of golems sitting right outside his chamber. Only his assistant, Sinalith, gets in or out and l’ Lloun’az would never betray The Visionary while there are lessons to learn from the master.”

“You’re awfully forthcoming with all this information,” the nurse spoke. “Why should we believe any of this?”

“Naubol zhah naut’shinder. Nothing is forbidden,” Wicieth interrupted. The aranea, a perfect spy capable of blending in among any humanoid race under any number of guises, had been among the driders more than long enough to learn how the creatures thought. “He’ll do whatever it takes to survive, won’t you Treak?”

The aranea was right. As Ari either confirmed or expanded on the drider’s words, the stonemason spilled everything he knew about the tunnels surrounding his lair, dropping the names of Spider Kings who lived nearby and what they might know about the golem and wardstone operations.

“I need to find Develdar and your missing companion before they get into trouble,” Wicieth announced as her features took on new shapes. No driders outside the chamber knew she was working with the rebellion, but she didn’t want to take any chances. “I trust you’ll clean up here when you’re finished?” she asked, nodding toward Treak before vanishing up the tunnel.

“Hey Ari, how’d you like some alone time with your friend here?” the jinx asked the chisel-wielding drow. The question got no reaction from the poker-faced Ari, but Treak gave out an audible whimper.

“I can still be useful to you!” the drider pleaded. “Patrols and slaves come through here all the time. They have to if they want bodies for the golems.” A hundred feet up, fifteen or so drow bodies dangled from the ceiling like juice box wind chimes. In addition to being Treak’s workshop, the room served as a meat locker and, according to the mason, a chamber to the east held dozens of “empties” and led directly into Region I to the south.

“Noh doesn’t get many visitors, but me? I’m a regular stop. I can throw them off your trail,” Treak continued. “They find me dead, this place’ll be swarming and it’s not like you’re gonna be able to hide my body.” Treak chanced a smug grin. For once in his life, being a disgusting, gluttonous slob was about to prove useful.

“What do you think, guys?” Shim asked. “Maybe we could set him on fire?” Treak gulped.

“Too smelly and it would take too long,” the jinx thought out loud as he scanned the room. “Maybe chop him up and hide the pieces in that tunnel?” The tunnel in question ended after only about twenty feet and, as the peck and the gorilla examined it, they noticed something wedged into a small ledge near the ceiling. A shoe.

The shoe, it turned out, was connected to the skeletal foot of a long dead drow who’d died when her escape tunnel collapsed. The halfling climbed up for a better look and, as he shifted the debris, caused another cave-in. Unfortunately, he and the lizardman avoided injury and managed to uncover another body stuffed into the vertical tunnel like a clumsy chimney sweep. This one looked more human, but nobody cared about that. What caught their attention were the sparkly, obviously magical gloves hanging from the skeleton’s bony fingers.

Tiny stars seemed to dance up and down the black velvet gloves causing them to glow and the jinx suddenly got all swoony. He said he knew what they were and proceeded to waste everyone’s time with a boring story about some dead fashion-conscious druid making the gloves to complete his outfit or something. There was something else about a curse and an orc ghost too, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, nobody argued so the witch took the gloves and spent several minutes rubbing the smooth velvet against his face probably.

“Leave Treak with me,” Ari spoke when the jinx was finally done girling out over his new accessories. “Go do what you came here to do.”

“Are you going to kill him?” the peck asked.

Ari glanced over at the drider with the clinical indifference of a mortician then looked back at the halfling.

“Uus orn’la talinth,” he replied.

***

“I’m starting to think it wasn’t such a hot idea to leave the others,” No Show whispered to Develdar. The pair had snuck off toward the sound of heavy labor and machinery west of the guard chamber and their search had led them right to the entrance of what appeared to be a factory floor with multiple tunnels leading out.

“I considered that, but your companions possess the stealthiness of stampeding rothé,” Develdar replied. “We need to find Elotor’s laboratory, and we need to do it without alerting the entire Barrows.”

Drow slaves moved busily around a row of tables, conveyors and strange, immense machines while a pair of drider overseers watched from above. Had the rogues been present during Treak’s interrogation, they’d know the driders were the Spider Kings Ailith the Earth Weaver and Radija the Rot Summoner.

Ailith, a female, in the north end of the tunnel stood atop a massive, chugging engine with three pools attached at its three ends. Slaves at one pool tended a vat of molten ore being sucked into the machine and combined with drider silk from the second pool. Somehow, the mixture yielded strong, dough-like putty called Silkstone Treak used as building material. In fact, most of the walls in The Barrows were composed from the stuff.

Radija, who viewed his workers from the vantage of a magical floating disc, was in charge of golem production. His slaves carried body parts from their own dead to a device like a gigantic, pedal-driven sewing machine. Moments later, the device would spit out a fully assembled golem that traveled via belt to a second machine, which provided the animating force for the construct. A process normally requiring nearly a dozen days had been reduced to a matter of minutes. I don’t know how it works, but I want one.

“These driders can see magic, right?” the human asked. “How come they aren’t reacting to us?”

Develdar watched Radija for any sign the drider was aware of his presence, but the Rot Summoner seemed preoccupied with his work. “It must be the machines,” he replied. “Perhaps their enchantments overpower our own?”

“Think we can use that to our advantage?” No Show suggested. “Maybe sneak in and loosen a few bolts; do just enough damage to stall the machines?”

“Elotor first,” the drow whispered as he proceeded through the shadows at the edge of the room. With the amount of noise and work going on, the highly sneaky rogues had little trouble evading notice and slowly came to a cave entrance guarded by a pair of driders. One of the creatures stood upon the ceiling of the cave while the other stood directly below forming a sort of living door to the chamber.

“Must be something pretty important back there,” No Show observed.

“Or someone,” Develdar added.

Ruthlessly and iron-fistedly dominating the land has kept me busy as of late, but I haven't forgotten how much my loyal subjects enjoy a good bloodsport so here's the latest on that group of hooligans in my dungeon...

DAY 174 - SOME STUFF HAPPENS

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
Shim, the She/Him – Androgynous Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue
The Nurse – Aasimar Hit Point Dispenser/Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
The Jinx aka Monster Magnet – Human Witch/Liability
Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian – Half-Inch Titan Mauler
No Show – Human rogue, I think, he keeps disappearing so I’m not entirely sure

The drow woman, Wicieth, was out of the cave less than a minute when those fool adventurers began to pooch all the work she’d done to conceal them. It started with the Monster Magnet himself childishly showing off an enchanted ring to the peck.

“Look at what I can do!” I imagine he yelped while tugging the halfling’s sleeve. With a flick of his wrist, the witch’s staff shrank out of view, vanishing before the fighter’s eyes. I’m sure there’s a lewd joke to be made out of this situation, but I’m going to restrain myself this time.

“Zowie!” replied the fighter. “That sure is swell!” Kids still talk like this, right? That’s kind of the point I’m trying to make here.

Anyway, the witch proceeded to enlarge and shrink his staff in front of the small, impressionable halfling several more times before Develdar spotted what was going on.

“Vel’bol l’ vith!?” the drow exclaimed. “What part of ‘driders can sense the presence of magic’ did you not understand?! It’s bad enough we’re carrying a small arsenal of enchanted weaponry and armor. We don’t need you two playing suingmc vith’rellen with your waele toys.”

“We don’t need you two playing mee-mee-mee-mee with your mee-mee-mee,” the jinx mocked in a hushed voice as Devledar turned his attention to No Show the rogue. Then, after sticking his tongue out at the drow, the witch turned back to the halfling and whispered, “I’ll trade you my ring for your clothes.” Like that isn’t creepy.

“I’m gonna try to talk to this group of slaves,” announced No Show. “Try to get them on our side, maybe at least get some useful information out of them.”

“Don’t bother,” Develdar spoke. “They’re useless. Most of the ilythirri don’t even know a true rebellion exists. They’ve been conditioned to fear and obey the Spider Kings for two generations, and the driders handle any form of open dissent in the most public and violent means available. They won’t fight, and they fear the Orbb Valuken too much to betray them.”

“We won’t know unless we try,” the nurse replied before addressing the rogue. “See what you can get out of them.”

No Show approached the closest group of hardy-looking drow at the rear of the cave, avoiding the weak and sickly slaves huddled into the west end of the chamber.

“Hey there, jerkfaces,” the rogue began (his Undercommon must have been a little rusty.) “My friends and I are here to kill your bosses. We want your help, and you’re gonna give it to us.”

“Say whaaat?!” the drow replied.

“I’m sorry,” the rogue apologized. “Maybe if I speak a little slower you’ll understand what I’m saying. We. Kill. Driders. Are you with me? You. Help. Be. Free. Freedom. Good. Yes? Yay. Freedom.”

“Ilhar vith’rell, you’re being here puts us all in danger and your friends don’t look like they’re in any condition to fight one drider let alone all of them,” replied a slave brandishing what appeared to be a shiv. “You’d better just go back to your side of the cave before the driders find out you're here. Are you with me?”

Realizing his attempt at diplomacy had failed and probably made the situation worse, the rogue quickly switched tactics…by reaching for a knife of his own.

“That a threat, mullet-head?” No Show blustered as he fumbled for his blade. “We could…uh…just kill you now and…uh…save the driders the trouble. Yeah!”

“Maybe I need to speak slower for you, eh nika?” the drow hissed as a gang of slaves pressed in toward the rogue. “Go. Away.”

No Show backed off from the growing crowd of drow slaves and reported back to his companions.

“I’m pretty sure they’re about to turn on us,” the rogue announced.

“What did you say to them?!” the nurse asked.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Develdar spoke as he nodded toward the gathering of slaves. The group was muttering and whispering amongst themselves. “I think your friend is right,” the drow added as he drew his rapier and moved toward the crowd.

“What are you doing?!” the nurse cried. “Where are you going?!”

“This was going to happen one way or another,” Develdar replied. “Forget the ward stones and the golems. If you still want to help us win this war, we need to focus on the Spider Kings. The Pain Crafter, Noh, can tell us where to find the rest of them so, I say we strike now while we still have the element of surprise.”

“We could use the weapons in the armory to equip these drow,” the peck added. “They might be more inclined to help us if we show them we’re sincere about killing the driders.”

“Waste your time on these rath’arg if you wish,” Develdar spit. “I care only to see the blood of the Orbb Valuken spilled by my blade.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m with Develdar on this one,” spoke the witch. “Let these cowards rot here if they’re happy being cattle for driders. I’m for finishing what we started.”

"These drow aren't cowards," tutted the witch's stupid flying cat. "They're just trying to survive the best way they know how. Maybe all they need is someone to show them a better way."

"Wow," said me as I peered into my HD crystal ball. "Can this cat get any more annoying?"

The jinx and No Show were following Develdar through the crowd of sneering slaves before any of their companions could protest, but it didn’t take long for the other adventurers to catch up.

The cave let out into a large chamber lit by the fires of several forges where drow slaves toiled under the lash of a powerfully built drider suspended within a thick net of webs from the ceiling above, its lower extremities completely hidden by the weave. Enough spears, swords and bows to supply a small army already lined the walls, but the monstrous taskmaster, Noh, pushed his slaves to toil harder as he slashed their exposed backs with a wicked, black whip.

“I know you are there,” the drider suddenly growled as the adventurers huddled near the cave mouth planning their attack. “There is no reason to hide. Come. Speak. Tell me why you would interrupt my works.”

“If it’s okay with you,” began the witch. “We thought we might kill you. Is that going to fit into your schedule?”

The drider smith’s face lost all pretense of kindness. “If we must,” Noh sighed before glaring at his slaves. “Keep the irons hot while I deal with these intruders,” he dully ordered as he recovered a massive bow from the webbing. “One flaw in my steel and I feed your bones to the forge.”

Develdar was rushing forward, knife in hand before the drider could nock his first arrow.

“Tell me where to find Elotor, and I’ll make this quick!” the drow hissed as he launched his dagger into the air, striking the drider’s torso. Noh responded with a deep chuckle and raised a shield of arcane energy.

“l’ Kyorlin Hiever?” the drider laughed. “Thank Nocticula you face Noh, slave. The All-Seeing Visionary would not grant you the mercy of a fast death.”

“Hey, Noh!” the jinx yelled as his fingers groped the air like a brain-sucking spider. “Let’s see if your fancy shield protects you from this! Mentatus Retardo!”

Noh’s face suddenly went slack as a small rivulet of drool formed at his distended mouth, traveled up his face and fell to the floor.

“What did you do?!” Develdar shouted.

“I’m helping!” replied the witch. The jinx, who’d spent some time honing his magic against spell-resistant foes, had penetrated the drider’s natural defenses and managed to render the creature dumb as a sack of special needs hammers. Unfortunately for the adventurers, that sack was still a sadistic, highly proficient marksman capable of firing a composite longbow built for a stone giant. No longer capable of tactical thinking, Noh fired his bow from the ceiling of the room at whichever target hit him last; arrows the size of javelins drilling through his opponents’ armor as his workers cowered in their attempts to keep up production of their idiot master’s craft.

“This is helping?!” Develdar roared as he and the rogue flanked the drider with longspears pulled from racks on the walls. “He’s completely useless to us like this! How is supposed to tell us where to find the Orbb Valuken when he can barely grunt!?” Meanwhile, a crowd had gathered at the entrance to the slaves’ quarters.

The genderless Shim, who wisely chose to remain at the cave entrance and around the corner from any incoming projectiles, was joined by a group of slaves not long into the fight. The weak, sickly and broken drow No Show had ignored earlier were now taking a keen interest in the battle and, in Elven, asked the priest if its companions would win.

“Anything’s possible,” the cleric replied. Suddenly, a yelp of pain erupted from the rear of the group as one of the stronger slaves threw a weary slave to the ground.

“Take him!” barked one of the hardy slaves, a sharpened bit of volcanic rock in his hand. Like true survivors, the strong drow had decided to cast their lot in with the driders. They knew their cruel masters would kill them for harboring these strangers but capturing one of the outsiders might earn them a place among the favored, the very same drow who whipped and beat them as they toiled in the crater.

The forge’s exit was just outside the cave and the priest’s companions were busy dealing with Noh. Hoping they might overwhelm the stranger and drag him to the nearest drider guard post, the healthy slaves surged forward only to be met with surprising resistance from their weaker brethren.

“Out of the way!” shouted the strong. “You may as well be dead already, but we have a chance to live!”

“We aren’t dead yet!” cried one maimed drow shortly before having his face smashed by a larger slave. Shim’s defenders, broken by decades of toil, injury and sickness, were dropping fast, but they seemed determined to back the adventurers in their desperation. On most days, the priest could care less if a bunch of drow were killing one another. Today however, a group of doomed drow slaves were fighting to keep the freak alive and, whether Shim realized it was about to be dogpiled by a bunch of filthy savages or felt it owed its protectors, the priest popped off a spell to even the odds.

Much to the astonishment of the drow, heavy rain began to fall within the cave, centered over the priest’s attackers. That wasn’t anything compared to the terrible wounds left by the precipitation though. The cleric had pulled this spell out of his bag a few times in the past. Its magic injured any evil creature caught in the downpour and, within moments, several of the drow were lying dead in the cave or dying as the rain seared their flesh. The survivors quickly surrendered as the weak slaves at Shim’s side cheered and comically hobbled out of the cave toward the weapon racks like a bunch of diabetic zombies.

It didn’t take much longer for the adventurers to finish Noh, what with his intellect being reduced to that of a lizard. The drider had managed to deal a ton of damage with his bow but it took him a moment to figure out when he’d run out of ammunition and, after throwing the weapon, he’d resorted to violently thrashing at the nearest of his enemies with his whip. The blows of the lash were easily deflected by the adventurers’ armor and a combination of arrows and spear thrusts eventually left the smith hanging limp and bleeding out from the webs above. Then, like a vulture, the witch swooped up to cut the drider free of the tangle of filaments in order to loot his corpse.

Noh, the adventurers realized, didn’t seem particularly mobile in combat and, as his lifeless body fell to the floor, they discovered the reason why. The weaponsmith of the Spider Kings was some kind of mutant freak. While Noh’s upper body and head had the proportions of a giant, his legs and abdomen were shriveled and frail.

“What exactly are we looking at here?” asked the nurse.

“Ulu Heeth Siltrin,” Develdar spoke. “Fleshwarping, Haagenti’s gift to my people. In the past, fleshwarpers would use it to create driders. It was a punishment for those born weak or any who rebelled against the noble houses. Now, the Spider Kings use it to replenish their numbers and call it a reward for loyal service. Heh. L’ tresk’ri zhah wu’suul doeb. The world is inside out.”

“We are seen, ook ook!” the big, dumb gorilla suddenly howled as he loosed an arrow toward the ceiling above the forge entrance. One of Noh’s drider guards had returned and spotted the adventurers in the forge. Now, the creature was quickly fleeing to raise the alarm.

“Get your new friends ready for a fight!” the peck shouted to Shim as he quickly joined the lizardman, rogue and Develdar in chase.

It seems they keep trying, but nobody in this group has managed to stay dead so far (stupid cleric and his stupid Breath of Life spell, grumble grumble.)

I simply must disagree with your claims that a rogue would be useless in this dungeon. Some of my best employees are rogues. The lurkers possess a set of abilities that would be of infinite value in an environment so laden with traps, locked doors and places to set up kill zones. Now, if you were to say a rogue is useless with this group of curmudgeons, I might agree with you. Even when they do have a rogue, their trap strategy typically involves throwing bodies at the device until it breaks from excessive wear and tear; their lockpick is the strongest guy in the party swinging a heavy stick and their idea of stealth is blowing a magical horn that conjures up big, glowing circles. They've got another rogue now (I think,) so we'll see if anything changes.

According to the blueprints I liberated from the hooves of that useless unicorn, any magic that allows interdimensional or interplanar travel is defunct. The place was designed to imprison and foil the abilities of creatures capable of teleporting at will, summoning hordes of minions and, in some cases, phasing through solid matter. There are a few rules-bendy exceptions to this scheme (the ward stones seem to summon invisible stalkers and the warp gates in Region F apparently bend spacetime to connect various points throughout the labyrinth,) but that essentially means Summoners of any stripe are poop out of luck. There's a noticeable lack of druids in the dungeon for the same reason. Only one resides in the prisoners' commune and she seems content to stay there.

An alchemist might be a useful addition to the group. I seem to recall they had one, but he mysteriously left the group without a word or a forwarding address. He probably didn't like the way Cleric Boy George was looking at him.

If it's hordes of customizable mooks you're looking for, I'd recommend the school of necromancy! Somewhere around 29-34% of my nation's workforce is made up of undead at this point, and there's plenty of room for expansion!

This dungeon seems like a perfect spot to literally stitch together a shuffling mob of exotic shamblers. Zombie minotaurs, zombie drow, zombie adventurers, the list of possibilities is endless! Better yet, no summoning required! Just add onyx and *POOF!* instant minions!

Muahahah! This is just getting painful. Not for me, mind you, but for those fools in the dungeon. I'm having a whale of a time watching them chased, beaten and humiliated by every monster in this pit, and it only seems to get worse when they manage to find exactly what they were searching for. Mmmm, whale. Now, I'm hungry for something endangered...

DAY 174 (still) THE ADVENTURERS ARE STILL LAME!

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
Shim, the She/Him – Androgynous Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue
The Nurse – Aasimar Hit Point Dispenser/Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
The Jinx aka Monster Magnet – Human Witch/Liability
Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian – Half-Orc wishes-he-could-fit-into-Titans Mauler
No Show – Human rogue, I think, he keeps disappearing so I’m not entirely sure

“Where’s my sword!?” cried the annoying peck as he noticed the rapier was missing from the sheath on his pack. The fighter had lost both his blade and his bow during the fight with the air elemental, but he seemed disturbingly obsessed with the sword.

“Never fear!” mewed the jinx’s equally irritating familiar who somehow managed to carry the enchanted blade between its stupidly cute paws. “I found it while I was hiding and figured you’d want it back!”

The diminutive fighter was so overjoyed at the sight of his rapier, he grabbed it from the celestial cat without so much as a “thank you” and proceeded to kiss and fondle the weapon for several minutes, probably. I’m just saying the little creep is way too attached to that sword.

Anyway, the tunnel the adventurers backed themselves into was cramped and dark, but there was no going back. The drow had returned with one of their drider masters and, even now, the creature was using its sorcerous talents to scatter the few remaining mephits outside. Realizing it wouldn’t be long until the drow were sent into the cave, the party moved through the tunnel toward a strange blue-black glow. Their foolish barbarian companion, still hiding under a pile of stinking moss and rotting garbage on an island in the middle of the river of lava, would just have to wait to be rescued.

A wide chamber seemingly built from giant blocks of smooth stone awaited the party at the end of the tunnel. It appeared they had located a section of the old dungeon that hadn’t been destroyed by the eruption. Indeed, aside from the breach in the northeast corner leading into the rough tunnel, it seemed the room had suffered no damage at all. What really got their attention though, was the tremendous pillar of glowing blue-black stone covered in strange runes and standing in the center of the room.

“Develdar?” called the jinx. “Any chance this is the-“

“The Kyorl Kahliizi. Yes, I think so,” the drow interrupted. “I don’t like this.”

“What’s the problem?” asked the witch. “We found the thing. Let’s just find a way to disable it and get out of here.”

“The chamber was unguarded, untrapped,” Develdar spoke. “If you and your friends hadn’t made such a shrieker of things, we could have walked right in without seeing so much as a warning sign.”

“I can’t quite make out these symbols,” Shim interrupted as it examined the monolith. “A few appear to be related to summoning runes, but I can’t place their origin.”

“Maybe there’s something useful behind these doors?” pointed out the peck as he moved toward what appeared to be a block of stone with a small grip carved into one of its sides. Three similar stones stood in each wall of the chamber.

The fighter listened at the nearest door before grasping the handle and pulling it open to reveal a small closet of a room. The wall of the small chamber was rough and unworked, but a beam of metal had been fastened to it about five feet above the ground. A pair of manacled chains hung from the beam.

“Nothing in this one,” the peck mentioned before quickly moving on to the next door.

“Be careful,” cautioned the nurse who began to follow him across the chamber when a sudden deafening rumble filled the air. The pillar was beginning to turn.

“What did you do!?” shouted the cleric.

“I didn’t do anything!” replied the peck as he retreated back to the entrance to the chamber. “I just opened a door! That’s all!”

The fools backed into the northeast corner of the room and waited with weapons drawn. Suddenly, the witch cried out as some invisible force struck him with the power of an ogre’s warhammer.

“l’ errdegahren!” Develdar shouted. “You’ve summoned the demons!”

“I guess this explains why the chamber isn’t guarded!” the nurse yelled as she administered healing to the witch.

The pair of unseen creatures continued their attacks against the party, focusing on single targets as the adventurers repeatedly slashed at empty air.

“These aren’t demons!” the androgynous death priest called as he suddenly recalled where he’d seen the runes upon the column. “They’re elementals!”

Invisible stalkers to be correct. The driders didn’t bother to guard the massive pillar because the thing could produce its own defenders; defenders which had just rendered the witch and the peck unconscious and were now moving on to new victims. Things only got worse when the priest of Sarenrae once again intruded on the pillar’s space.

“Get away from the stone!” Develdar shouted, but it was too late. The nurse had moved too close to the massive plinth and, once again, the thing began to turn.

“Dawnflower protect us! We can’t stay here!” the bumbling nurse exclaimed as she struggled against one of the stalkers, which delivered her a vicious beating. Moments later, the adventurers were fleeing back up the tunnel toward the drow, hoping the warriors had returned to their posts. It was the witch, once again among the conscious, who discovered the unfortunate truth.

“Belbau udossa l' ilythiiri, lu' luth doeb dosst sarolen!” hissed the drider as a warning bolt struck the cave entrance above the witch’s head. The creature and its slaves had kept their distance from the cave, but waited patiently for the adventurers to emerge.

“Crap!” shouted the witch as a bit of dislodged slag fell onto his head. “We’re not getting out that way!”

“Quick, ook, ook!” grunted the big, dumb gorilla. “Me see a way out, ook!” As was typical, the lizardman had stayed behind to cover his companions’ escape and was thus the only person still in the room when a concealed door opened in the northwest wall. A drow woman in leather armor stood on the other side frantically waving.

“Hurry! We haven’t much time!” she called.

The lizardman took the lead, defending his companions against the stalkers as Develdar ran through the open portal and Shim and the suddenly-there-again rogue carried the unconscious bodies of the nurse and the peck through a cloud of mist provided by the death priest. The castrato seemed to be falling behind, however.

“What are you doing!?” the witch called back to the theurge. “We need to go now!”

“Go on without me!” he answered. “I’m going to try to help the half-orc! Now get out of here!” How the powerless mystic planned to help the barbarian was beyond the witch, but there was no time to change his mind. Caring only for his own safety, the witch ran off through the escape tunnel leaving Shim and the rogue to carry the wounded.

“Do you need the lizard?” the drow woman asked Develdar as she looked back to where the warrior still held off the invisible stalkers.

“Yes!” interrupted the jinx before the drow could answer.

“My question was not for you, surfacer,” the woman glared before returning her attention to Develdar. “I’ve got to close this door before those things get through.”

“The scaled one seems useful,” the drow replied. “It would be a shame to lose him so soon.”

“Together then?” she asked drawing a fine dagger from her belt.

“Hold the door until we get back,” Develdar advised the rogue and the witch as the two drow charged back into the chamber to rescue the gorilla and the androgynous dwarf who was still trundling toward the exit with the heavily armored nurse over his shoulders.

The female reached the lizardman first, placing a hand on his shoulder as she spoke some magical gibberish, “Recondus perduime! (or something like that) The creatures no longer see you,” she spoke. “Now go!” Under the protection of the drow’s invisibility spell, the fighter and the cleric managed to escape and seal the door just as the pair of dark elf rogues tumbled away from their elemental opponents and back into the relative safety of the concealed chamber.

The room beyond the hidden portal was a rough, deep cavern where a couple dozen drow slaves huddled in the corners suspiciously eyeing their uninvited guests as the mysterious woman moved through them to check the entrance to the cave. The group seemed to be divided between a gathering of hardy and strong specimens to one side and a motley band of broken and sickly drow to the other.

“Where are we?” asked the witch. “Do you know this woman, Develdar?”

“I do,” the drow answered. “She is Wicieth, a draa jindurn, a spy for the Orbb Valuken and a valuable ally of the rebellion.”

“She’s a double agent?” the witch countered. “How do we know she isn’t going to triple-cross us?”

“We don’t,” Develdar replied. As the woman returned, the drow warrior drew one of his daggers and, taking it by the blade, held it out to her. Wicieth, in turn, offered Develdar one of her knives and, without a word about the exchange, explained the current situation.

“You’re lucky Noh is a fat, lazy elg’caress,” Wicieth chastised the group. “He sent me in here to check on the slaves when we all heard the grinding. He’s going to expect a report so I can’t stay long.”

“Noh?” the jinx asked. “What’s a Noh? That sounds bad.”

“l’ Jiv’undus Mortath, the Pain-Crafter,” Develdar explained. “They say he makes the weapons used by the driders. So, we are close… ”

“Yes,” Wicieth replied. “But you need to lay low until things die down. I’ll tell Noh a few of the slaves tried to make a break for it and set off the ward stone.”

“A group of drow saw us enter from the other side,” the peck offered. “Two of our companions are still out there somewhere.”

“Then pray to whatever gods you worship they haven’t been captured,” spoke the drow. “I can convince the driders you were only a group of escaping slaves as long as none of the driders got a good look at you.” Here, the jinx sheepishly raised his hand.

“One of them might have seen me,” he admitted.

“Nindol fridj cas alur,” Wicieth sighed. “I’ve covered up worse missteps, eh Develdar? What news is there from l’ ventash’ma? I’ve heard nothing since Anguish was freed.”
Develdar quickly explained the plan to disable the ward stone and halt the production of flesh golems to Wicieth, but went on to reveal his leaders’ ulterior motives.

“Lorath’s people thought they could use the monster’s rage to their advantage and began the attack against the driders before anyone was ready,” the drow spoke. “I understand things were going well enough until some kind of earthquake drew Anguish away from the battle. Without the monster, Lorath had to fall back and, now, he is blamed for the actions of his soldiers. l’ ventash’ma expects the outsiders to fail and, when they do, Lorath’s lieutenants will be forced to surrender while the majority of the nobles go into hiding and the common ilythiiri are sacrificed for the greater good. In time, the nobles will rebuild the rebellion and try again…ji saph mina.”

“What of Lorath?” Wicieth asked.

“He knows too much,” Develdar answered with a grim smile. “In less than five klew’kinen, his lifeless body will be presented to that beast, Arioch, before being dropped into the fires below The Path of Worth.”

“They expect us to fail?!” the peck exclaimed. “Then why send us at all?! Why not just let us get on with our lives!? What is wrong with you people?!”

“You haven’t figured it out?” Develdar grinned. “Udos ph’ vigh. We are mad. Since your arrival, Anguish and Madness have disappeared, The Green Death was destroyed and the rebellion has taken control of most of the southern tunnels. I am told you had a part in all of this, often without your equipment and sometimes separate from one another. l’ Senger d’ Thir’ku, the Lord of Change, rides on your shadow. No matter how small, there is a chance you will succeed. Either way, the will of l’ ventashma is fulfilled.”

“Well, you won’t succeed at anything more than getting yourselves killed if I don’t get back to Noh with my report,” Wicieth spoke. “Do what you can to recover and wait for my return.”

“What about them?” asked the jinx as he pointed at the collection of slaves gathered in the cave. “Won’t they turn us in as soon as they have a chance?”

“They’re convinced I have the ear of the Spider Kings and the authority to out them as conspirators if they try anything,” Wicieth answered. “That won’t save you if they do choose to betray you, but it should give them something to think about.”
“What about guards? Should we be worried about guards?” the peck continued to pester.

“What guards?” calmly huffed the drow. “The Spider Kings have so little fear of these slaves they don’t even bother to put a gate on the cave entrance and most of their soldiers are either out looking for you or watching the southern tunnels right now. As long as you stay at the back of the cave and away from any passing drider’s ability to detect the presence of your enchanted gear, you should be fine. Now, I need to go. Stay here. I’ll return as soon as I can.” And with that, Wicieth hurried out of the cave, leaving the adventurers to blow their cover.

A task they managed to accomplish in just under four minutes...

I am constantly amazed at the deep amount of dookie this group gets itself into on a daily basis. Whether they’re fouling up an assault on a naga or literally being thrown into a deep pit of dookie, these guys continue to explore new territory when it comes to making the worst of a terrible situation. You’ve really got to respect their devotion to masochism. Case in point, the witch, who I’ve taken to calling The Jinx or Monster Magnet, became the latest catalyst for catastrophe when he decided to fly off ahead of his companions as they made their way across the north rim of the crater the drow call l’Resk’afar...

DAY 174 IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING!

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party

The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
Shim, the She/Him – Androgynous Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue
The Nurse – Aasimar Hit Point Dispenser/Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
The Jinx aka Monster Magnet – Human Witch/Liability
Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian – Half-Orc wishes-he-could-fit-into-Titans Mauler
No Show – Human rogue, I think, he keeps disappearing so I’m not entirely sure

Develdar, as you may recall, warned the adventurers of the danger of using the path along the lava river. Even the driders feared to get too close to the burning flow due to the high possibility of mephit mobbing, but the party decided this risk was preferable to trying to sneak through the crater itself and, whether the witch was simply impatient, a glory hound or just showing off, he decided to invoke his supernatural ability of flight and jet off ahead of the group at high speed accompanied by his abominably cute flying cat-thing familiar. Naturally, it didn’t take long for one of the unfriendly natives of the region to take notice of the fast-moving target racing along the river’s edge.

So Jinxie and Flutterkitty were cruising along, only inches from the ground, at a brisk, 120-feet per round clip when they were suddenly halted and battered against what felt like a wall of violent wind. From where they were a couple hundred feet back, the eunuch and the gorilla could just make out what appeared to be the witch and his cat twitching and tossing about in mid-air like a pair of epileptic parrots and they quickly sounded an alert to their companions to mount a rescue. Before they could arrive, however, the jinx and his faithful feline were carried up into the darkness by whatever had snagged them. In this case, that “whatever” happened to be a huge, sadistic air elemental out for its morning constitutional around the dark valley. It wasn’t long before the party was quite literally caught up in a whirlwind of violence.

The powerful air elemental, taking advantage of the conveniently located river of burning magma, proceeded to grab adventurers, two or three at a time, in an attempt to pitch them into the river. The witch, at least, had the protection of his patron-granted powers of flight and feathery lightness to protect him, but his companions were not so lucky and the peck and the castrato soon found themselves ejected into the slag. Both would have certainly died if it hadn’t been for the intervention of the party’s two clerics and a magically enlarged, big, stupid gorilla who reached out to extract the pair from the magma before it could finish them off. Then, just as the elemental caught sight of the tightly grouped pack of potential meat grenades, a monosyllabic roar emanated from further up the river.

“I will fight you, air monster!” shouted the suddenly apparent half-orc as he waved his massive and suggestively phallic greatsword at the elemental. At least, that sounds like something he’d probably say. I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, he and the rogue had escaped the driders by means of the scoundrel’s enchanted cloak, a mantle that gave the rogue the ability to cover himself and an ally with invisibility for a short duration, and were drawn to the battle by, I’m assuming, the girl-like screams of the eunuch.

Rushing to the witch’s side, the overcompensating half-orc openly challenged the air elemental as his supernaturally gifted companion embiggened him with a spell of *heh heh* enlargement. By now, the wind spirit had wised up to the witch’s flying trick and took special offense to the meatsack’s invasion of its airspace. Ignoring the wounded adventurers and the whooping man-dance of the barbarian, the creature charged the spellcaster, catching the giant half-orc and the walking first-aid kit cleric in its hurricane grip as it once again carried the jinx into the air.

Unable to escape the elemental whirlwind, the witch could only look on in horror as his companions were spat toward a fiery death in the river of lava below. The creature meant to hold him in place, beating him senseless as he watched his friends die. Then, a tiny sliver of hope emerged, at least for the barbarian and the cleric.

Apparently smarter than he looks, the barbarian had just enough time to thrust a clenched fist toward the magma before being thrown by the elemental. The enchanted ring on his finger suddenly crackled with energy as a massive cube of force formed above the river. Grabbing the cleric as they fell, the barbarian slammed into the invisible barrier below. The pair was safe from the fiery doom of the river for the moment, but the barbarian knew the cube wouldn’t last. The full energy of the ring could only maintain the construct for another 18 seconds. They’d have to work fast to escape to shore.

At this point in the story, I’d like to point out the adventurers were on the defensive for pretty much the entire battle. It was really quite amusing. Weapons proved nearly useless against the elemental and only the gender-blank death priest and the witch of ill omen managed to score a couple weak hits against the thing with their spells. With the half-orc and the nurse trapped on a quickly failing refuge in the center of the river and most of the rest of the party watching helplessly from shore or tending to horrible, disfiguring burn wounds, I don’t think anyone should have been surprised when the witch finally died.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stick.

The living wind had maintained its tornado attack for nearly a full minute when it finally felt its momentum spent and had to reassume its natural form, an ash-filled cloud shaped something like a pterodactyl, or a slightly less intimidating baby duckling depending on how you looked at it. Regardless, it belted out one final blow to the trapped witch, stealing his consciousness, before dumping him like a bruised turd. Far below, Tubesocks the Pants-stuffing Barbarian, made a valiant attempt to rescue his companion by reaching out to catch the falling fool and, while he managed to save the witch from a magma bath, not even the limp embrace of the half-orc could save the jinx from a plummet of sixty feet. Then from the shore, Tubesocks heard the voice of Shim mixing with the squishing and grinding of the witch’s broken body.

“Quickly!” shouted Budget David Bowie. “Throw him here! There might still be time to fix him!”

“What if I miss?!” answered the half-orc.

“We don’t have time for me to tell you how stupid a question that is!” chastised the priest. “Now throw him over here, you big dummy!”

Still under the effects of the witch’s previous enlargement spell, the barbarian used all his increased strength and reach to hurl the spellcaster’s doughy remains to shore. I must have spit up my tea when he actually pulled it off, drilling the witch into the feet of Shim who, I s**t you not, grabbed the jinx’s head and gave him a big sloppy kiss, probably with tongue.

Suddenly, the witch’s body convulsed as the wounds on his body began to heal. I think he was disgusted back to life by the cleric’s apparent penchant for necrophilia because, the next thing I know, he’s conscious again and all psyched up to cause even more trouble for his companions.

I’ll never know if returning from the brink of death causes irreparable brain damage (because I plan to never die) but whether his brush with the afterlife caused him to panic or fried a few of his neurons, the witch decided now was the perfect time to dig out an enchanted horn and start blowing away on it like Dizzy Gillespie at Minton’s. The resulting belt from the horn not only surrounded the witch with a magic circle of protection but served to alert every drow, drider and mephit within a mile radius to the altercation taking place on the river’s edge (just in case they missed the lightning bolts he’d fired off earlier,) and that’s why he’s the Monster Magnet. Meanwhile, the elemental had set its sights on the half-orc and the cleric riding his back.

Only seconds remained on the duration of the barbarian’s force cube and, knowing he and the nurse were about to look like a pair of clowns in a dunk tank, Tubesocks went for a desperation move. Telling the priest to hang on, the half-orc lunged forward to leap into the air toward the shore then promptly tripped over his own feet, fell and barely managed to catch the edge of the cube. This was an opportunity the elemental couldn’t pass up and, just as the stupid gorilla plucked the dangling cleric from the half-orc’s back, the wind spirit attacked, bull-rushing the barbarian from the edge of the cube and into the magma.

Tubesocks howled with rage as he rolled across the surface of the rough, burning slag and half-scrambled/half-swam toward a moss-covered hill of black stone rising from the middle of the river. Thoroughly cooked, the half-orc pulled himself onto the shore of the island only to notice the moss seemed to be reacting to his presence. A moment later, with the air elemental closing in fast behind, the massive lump of stinking plant matter rose up to strike at the incoming outsider with a pair of thick tendrils. Severely wounded, the barbarian wisely chose to play dead and sneak sips of a healing potion into his mouth while the two behemoths pummeled each other on either side of him.

The sudden appearance of the shambling mound, while potentially detrimental to the health of the barbarian, gave everyone lucky enough to be on the river’s shore a chance to regroup and heal but, thanks to the witch, they had only moments to catch their collective breaths. The barely present rogue who’d snuck off to keep an eye on the crater suddenly alerted the party to movement around the edge of the slave pit. Humanoid forms were weaving through the natural cover of the crater’s edge from the east and threatened to cut off any escape toward the rebel camp. Somewhat recovered from his near-death experience, the witch once again took flight and shot off ahead of his companions, fleeing into the west with the castrato close behind. Of course, he didn’t make it very far before he noticed shadowy shapes moving in from the south as well.

The barbarian continued to cower between the two massive monsters as the shambling mound and the air elemental traded blows, the elemental relying on its semi-corporeal defenses to absorb the plant monster’s attacks while the mound had only the natural protection and toughness of its composite form. Still, the wind spirit had been somewhat wounded by the spells of the death priest and the jinx and eventually chose to retreat in search of easier prey, leaving the shambling mound torn and beaten but standing victorious on its island home. By now, the peck and the gorilla were fending off drow attackers from the south while the rogue once again disappeared into the east, presumably to hold off the drow coming in to flank the party (my money's on him turning invisible and leaving his companions to fend for themselves.)

“Help me!” shouted the barbarian from his prone position on the island, hoping the mound reacted only to movement. The towering heap prodded the half-orc with its tendrils, probing for a response when a pair of crossbow bolts dug into its mossy hide. The castrato and the death priest were firing on the beast from the safety of the shore in an attempt to draw its attention. The attack garnered the desired response and the mound turned toward the shore, prompting the witch to do something terribly ill-advised. I swear it’s like a theme with this guy.

The walking wall of compost was already badly wounded before people started burying arrows in its face and it had no way to reach anyone shooting at it short of swimming across the burning river. The witch only needed to wait for the thing to drop but in true heroic fashion, he decided to fly over to the island and expedite the half-orc’s extraction. This, of course, led to him being grabbed out of the sky by the entangling tendrils of an increasingly frustrated mound of sentient grass clippings. If it wasn’t for the half-orc, the monster magnet would have died again.

Tired of impotently cowering among the sharp, jutting rocks of the island, the barbarian used the distraction provided by the incoming missiles and the struggling witch to grab his sword and leap to his feet. A second later, he was covered in cole slaw as his blade inflicted a critical wound to the stinking heap. The wasted thing dropped the witch and began a desperate final lunge at the half-orc when the tip of another crossbow bolt broke through what passed for its brow, causing the thing to collapse to the ground. None could be sure if the mound was truly dead but, for now, it wasn’t moving and that seemed good enough. Back on shore, the fight against the drow continued.

“We cannot fight them all, ook ook,” the stupid gorilla grunted at the nurse who had rushed over to provide support to him and the peck. Probably owing to their masters’ distrust, the drow were poorly equipped but the battle was drawing more of them by the moment, and they were beginning to climb up the sides of the crater to get behind the fighters. “We need to run, ook.” From their position at the river’s edge, the eunuch and the coward of Pharasma spotted a narrow tunnel blending with the dark stone walls along the path and they called for their companions to follow, but escaping the chaos of the battle was about to become even more difficult.

“You’re too heavy for me to carry across the river,” said the jinx as he failed to lift off with the half-orc. “You’re going to have to lay low and wait for us to find a way to rescue you later. The drow probably won’t see you if you hide on the other side of the mound.” With that, the witch flew straight for the tunnel, leaving the barbarian alone to spot a disturbing change along the surface of the magma.

Something huge was moving below the flow of lava and it was heading straight for the adventurers fighting on the shore. Tubesocks’ first thought was that an eruption upstream had caused an increase in the height of the river, but the horrible truth was revealed a moment later when a dozen, small devilish heads poked up through the liquid fire. Half the creatures appeared to be composed of lava while the others seemed composed of a strange, solid mist.

“Mephits!” Shim screamed as the first wave of little monsters took flight and charged drow and adventurer alike, breathing gouts of fire and steam. Any drow who wasn’t already engaged in the melee immediately fled the scene as the elemental imps surrounded their quarry, giggling and laughing as they pulled their new “playmates” toward the lava. A dark blur suddenly leapt across the north rim of the crater and a rapier broke through the chest of one of the drow who was too slow to depart as a familiar voice ordered the party to flee.

“Naut-ilythiiri, we must go!” came the voice of Develdar as he tumbled through the flames of a mephit’s breath. “I killed two sargtlinen on the east rim, but I believe more are on the way!”

“What are you doing here!?” asked the nurse, fending off the claws of a pair of the imps.

“Uustan xun naut kahless dos. I suspected you would betray my people and followed you,” answered the drow.

“Does this mean you trust us now?” the priest replied.

“No,” Develdar grinned. “It means only that I would hate for you to die before you’ve had a chance to properly sell us out to the Orbb Valuken.”

Back on the island, the barbarian could see the mephits might soon overwhelm his companions and he couldn’t bear to hide while the creatures dragged his friends into the lava. Four of the creatures remained in the magma, laughing at the fight on the shore as they swam through the deadly flow. Fearing they might join their monstrous brethren in battle, Tubesocks peeked out from behind the remains of the shambling mound, charged up his enchanted gloves and fired a bolt of electricity at the closest mephit. The startled creatures ducked below the waves of the river, then reemerged in different spots around the island.

The magma and steam mephits surrounded the half-orc from the safety of the river, breathing fire and causing clouds of boiling rain to appear over his head. The barbarian had saved his companions from being completely swarmed, but it looked like his foolish act was about to cost him his life. Then, an idea formed in his lunkish brain. In his years of adventuring, the half-orc had learned a few things about the creatures of the natural world and it suddenly dawned on him that shambling mounds were resistant to heat. Diving into the rotting heap at his feet, he quickly buried himself under the plantish brute as flame and steam licked at his feet.

His plan worked. The heat of the mephits’ attacks couldn’t penetrate the mound’s hide, and the barbarian breathed a sigh of relief as he nearly passed out from fatigue. On shore, the death priest had had just about enough of the impish elementals.

Shim, as was often the case, had done his best to remain as far from danger as possible throughout the course of the fight and, even now, stood a safe distance from where the mephits struggled to pull his companions into the fiery river of death. However, his divine magics were nearly spent and he knew the creatures would come for him next if he didn’t flee now or do something drastic to even the odds.

“I hope you guys packed your umbrellas,” he, er, she…it quipped before intoning a quick prayer to Pharasma that saw the sky rip open above the melee, filling the air with freezing rain and deadly, grapefruit-sized balls of ice that bludgeoned mephit and adventurer alike. The small, cold-hating elementals scattered and fled into the safety of the river as the storm of ice smashed their wings, leaving the battered but grateful adventurers to run toward the narrow cave. For the moment, the party was safe but any hope of retrieving the barbarian was ruined when a bolt of lightning from the south struck a pair of mephits hovering around the half-orc’s hiding place. The fleeing drow warriors had returned with a drider.

“Pray your ally has the sense to stay hidden,” Develdar spoke as the castrato peered out at the island from the relative safety of the cave. “Ukt ap’za zhah xuil Udossta Jallil wun Veldrin. We must go on without him.”

The drow was right. With the exception of the priest of Pharasma, the assembled adventurers were bloody, beaten and burned beyond any ability to contend with the drider or its drow slaves and there was no time to wait for the creatures to leave. For now, they could only follow the tunnel into the darkness and hope their companion would be safe.

What a bunch of jerks.

I knew there was going to be a downside to imprisoning that mono-horned freak.

I sent your question down to the unicorn and, after several hours of unecessary torture and interrogation, he claims the entrance is mentioned in the dungeon's blueprints. Something called a "Dee-Emm" gets to decide whether or not the cave can be used as an exit, entrance, both or neither. Apparently, this Dee-Emm creature deemed it necessary to use the tunnel as a secondary entrance so new adventurers would be able to start closer to the original group.

This Dee-Emm must be very powerful to have so much control over the dungeon. I must learn more about this creature. Its power will be mine! Muahahahah!

Greetings once again my subservient drones! As you can see, that galloping endorsement for gelding is still absent and won’t be returning for quite some time (i.e. ever.) Thus, it falls on me, your magnanimous and handsome ruler, to continue this sordid tale of the terror, exploitation and unchecked aggression unleashed upon the innocent natives of The World’s Largest Dungeon by a relentless pack of roving hooligans.

Let’s get on with this. I’ve got orphans to make (they’re Runothemill’s leading export!)

DAY 174 – LONG LIVE LORD ANTAGONIS!

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
The Androgynous One - Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Big, Stupid Gorilla (formerly The Kobold Eater) - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue

and, introducing, some new fools whose names I didn’t care to learn:

the witch who reminds me of that cross-dresser from “Some Like it Hot”
a black chick who I think is some kind of cleric
some overcompensating half-orc barbarian
a rogue

I must say, using the dungeon as a dumping ground for undesirables has been one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. It’s like some kind of boarding house for vermin except the bugs never check out of their rooms (Note to self – hire alchemist to create small box filled with poison to exterminate cockroaches in royal pantry, maybe call it Insect Inn, then feed alchemist to hyenas and take credit for invention.)

I understand the newest tenants of the dungeon entered through a previously undiscovered cave system leading into the area known as Region M. It seems the black chick and her cohorts were led to believe a means of deposing a certain debonair dictator might be found within a series of tunnels on the other side of the mountain containing the dungeon itself after a pair of refugees claiming to be the heirs of an ancient royal bloodline spun the fools a tale about a legendary king who is said to have disappeared within the mountain a thousand years ago. If proof of the king’s existence could be found, the refugees pleaded, they would have the ability to contest the rulership of the Kingdom of Runothemill. If you haven’t already figured it out, I know all this because I set it up.

I’ve often wondered if there was more than one way into the dungeon and, for months, I sent soldiers into the mountain to search for an alternate means of access. Then, I realized how much money I was losing on lost equipment whenever a soldier was eaten by some wayward troll or ooze and devised a plan to get a bunch of dim-witted adventurers to do the searching for me. All I needed was the right bait and the myth of King Arnulf provided the perfect catalyst for my plot.

King Arnulf the Good, you see, was said to have been kind and brave and strong. He fought dragons and giants and demons (oh my!) and performed other miraculous deeds with the aid of a magical axe and a shirt of enchanted boar skin or some such nonsense. Basically, the guy’s a fantasy my propaganda department perpetuates to manipulate the ignorant masses. My spies spread various versions of the Arnulf story to the surrounding lands and, soon, the mountain was crawling with fortune hunters and so-called “heroes.” Scrying revealed many of the adventurers died or abandoned exploring the caves, but this cleric and her companions somehow blundered their way into the dungeon after slipping down a narrow shaft into darkness.

***

The black chick, the cross-dresser and those other two freaks stood within a craggy chamber of dark rock. The small cave was incredibly warm and a slight glow bled through cracks in the walls, floor and ceiling. A thin, winding tunnel of sharp stone led the group toward a sound like a massive grindstone and out to a strange ball of light floating near a wide river of flowing magma.

“Hi there, I’m Stupid,” said the ridiculous orb. It didn’t actually say that, but those little celestial pests annoy me. I think it gave the adventurers its dumb name and then offered them a torch or something. Basically, the archon informed the adventurers they were now within Region M of the dungeon, an area that had been gutted and largely destroyed by a volcanic eruption. The archon was all that was left of the original celestial contingent in the area and now waited at the entrance to its region offering free magical torches and advice to new arrivals.

Torches.

In a region perpetually glowing from a sea of lava coursing through its very walls.

What a jerk.

Anyway, the cleric and the witch asked the archon about King Arnulf and the archon told them it rarely had visitors but it vaguely remembered a friendly warrior coming through after the eruption though it couldn’t remember when.

“He never returned,” said the stupid archon. “If he went across the river, Aphnitern may know where he is but he won’t tell you.”

“What’s an aff-ni-tern?” asked the rogue.

“Aphnitern is a former king of the air elementals,” the archon answered. “He escaped his cell during the eruption and escaped across the river. He considers the valley across the river to be his new kingdom and murders any who enter his territory.”

“Is there anywhere else this warrior may have gone?” asked the witch.

“The tunnels to the south are filled with strange creatures who were not originally prisoners of the dungeon,” spoke the glorified candle. “They are unkind but, if your friend was able to avoid the mephits, he may have gone to see them.”

“Mephits?” said the witch. “A few mephits aren’t much of a threat. Why would he have any trouble with them?”

“There are many more than a few of those creatures within the river of fire,” answered the archon. “They swim the magma-flow like schools of infernal fish and enjoy dragging creatures into the lava. Fortunately, they rarely travel far onto the shore.”

“Is there anything else we should worry about?” asked the cleric. “Do you know anything about the creatures to the south?”

“I haven’t left my post here for a long time…I think,” said the moron. “But I remember when the creatures came to the region. They were led by large spider-things and I could tell they were not good. I tried to warn them to turn back, but they attacked me. When I recovered, they were gone. The spider-things now sometimes send their elfish followers to observe me, but they never get very close. Other than that, I can only warn you against crossing the river. I am certain Aphnitern is not the only danger present on the northern shore. I sometimes see flashes of lightning and hear the echo of thunder in the skies over the northern plain.”

The oblivious adventurers only now realized just how massive the cavern was, its ceiling far outside the range of their vision. It was as if they stood on a rocky plain under a night sky devoid of stars.

“What’s so dangerous about a little bad weather?” asked the idiot half-orc.

“There are no clouds,” the archon replied.

Meanwhile, some nameless drow mook was leading the genderless death priest and his band of fellow miscreants to their deaths, probably.

***

As the original gang of lunkheads headed north, they began to notice a drastic rise in temperature and a distinct lack of craftsmanship in the tunnels as carved stone and metal gave way to porous and rough slag.

“Sina yanta na il varna,” the drow spoke in the Elven tongue as he pointed toward a dark, but relatively benign looking cavern. “Lye aut sina men.”

“He says that tunnel is not safe,” translated the priest. “He is taking us another way.”

The other way, it turned out, led straight to a solid cascade of falling magma and, for a moment, the adventurers thought they’d been led into a trap. Their fears were allayed, however, when their guide quickly gave a series of small, silent gestures that resulted in a barely audible, clanking squeal from behind the curtain of incendiary rock. A moment later, the shower of lava was staunched, revealing a small cave hewn into the stone.

“Ta na olin a’ il’gwaith,” grinned the drow who motioned for the party to follow. As the fall of magma resumed behind them, the group was taken through a short series of tunnels exiting to a sight none of them believed was real.

The adventurers stood near the shore of a wide river of glowing magma, a wide, dark valley spreading out before them like the legs of an- er..eh..ahem… it was a really big place. The air was thick and heavy and there was no trace of the typical, stale scent of the dungeon behind them. In fact, there was very little evidence of the dungeon structure at all. After months of incarceration within the ancient prison, it seemed the adventurers were finally free.

“Vedui’,” came a confident voice from the shadows. “I am Develdar, Sut’rinos of l’Resk’afar, though the title means little. I understand I am to assist you in reaching the Kyorl Kahliizi, which means you have either outlived your usefulness or l’ventash’ma places great trust in your abilities. There are so few of you, I should think the former.”

“We’ve lost some allies along the way,” understated the castrato.

“Then you are in luck,” replied Develdar as a drow soldier arrived with the cross-dresser and the black chick. “We rescued these two from a drider scouting party after they were separated from their companions only an hour ago. They’ve agreed to aid our cause in exchange for help in locating their friends. Dosst sithe’ ph’ luthk wun ul’naus, I think. Your lots are thrown in together.”

With no time to lose, Develdar explained what he knew of the Kyorl Kahliizi as he led the gaggle of thugs along a rough path near the lava river’s edge and through a deadly cloud of scalding, yellow smoke that burned their flesh and choked their lungs.

“The vapors of the cloud are toxic, but it forms a natural barrier the driders loathe to cross,” Develdar informed the group. “l’Resk’afar, The Hole, is on the other side and the Kyorl Kahliizi stands beyond it within one of the three caves on the western rim. We’re unsure of the most direct route, but we have an ally within the drider tunnels who may be able to help you, a slave called Ari. He is prized by the driders for his ability to endure pain and hears many secrets as they torture him.”

“Anything else we should know?” asked the death priest.

“Stay away from any rei d’ niar you find. The heat of this place will take longer to kill you than the water we have found. Also, the crater is filled with slaves who will betray you and patrolled by warriors seeking the favor of the driders,” Develdar replied. “If you don’t think you can sneak through, you could try the path along the north rim. The patrols don’t like to go there because it is so close to the river and they fear attacks by the inlul’quaren that dwell in the chath. Now, if we are finished, I must return to my warriors. Nocticula veldri dos. Our Lady in Shadow conceal you.”

And so, the adventurers found themselves trapped between a river of burning slag, reportedly teeming with fire-breathing imps, and a crater, absolutely populated by demon-worshipping sadists. I think it goes without saying things only got worse from there but that is a tale for another time…also, I’m tired so I’m stopping now…Muahahahah!

Greetings my loyal minions!

It is I, Lord High Emperor Antagonis the Generic of the Kingdom of Runothemill!

The grass-eater couldn't be here to continue this sad tale because he's been dealt with. However, I know how much entertainment means to the proles so I've nobly stepped in to fill his horseshoes...get it? Because he's kind of like a horse! Laugh or I'll summon the guards!

This can't be too hard if that whinnying layabout can do it...

DAY 174 - THE ADVENTURERS ARE LAME!

featuring: The World's Lamest Adventuring Party
The Castrato - Lizardfolk Eunuch Theurge
The Androgynous One - Dwarf Coward of Pharasma
The Peck - Halfling Meat Shield
The Kobold Eater - DMPC Lizardfolk Mary Sue

Let’s see, where did that glorified carousel-pony leave off? Oh, right. So, the big lizard guy had just eaten the little lizard guy and they were all off to kill some driders. Boffo.

Lorath, the wise and powerful leader of the drow rebellion in the Halls of Madness, gathered the useless adventurers and explained his battle plans using small words and pictures so they might understand.

“There are three direct paths into the drider-held tunnels,” Lorath declared, pointing to a map of the complex. “We will be taking the middle route through the tunnel you secured after your battle with the drider scouting party.”

“Why not try another way?” asked the castrated cleric of Nethys.

“Because I said so,” answered Lorath, or, at least that’s what I would have said before feeding the fool to my hyenas. Where was I? Oh yes…

The reason Lorath chose the middle path was really quite simple. The first path, the rooms north of the garbage pit where the giant otyugh lived, had been heavily barred and reinforced by the driders in advance of an escape by Anguish. With days to prepare for the drow assault, Lorath anticipated the driders’ ettercap servants would have placed traps throughout the rooms as well, which would slow his soldiers’ advance and give the driders time to pick them off as they came through the doors one at a time.

The third path available to the drow led to the dreaded arena of Arioch. Lorath had informed the party days ago that the arena was a disc suspended above a river of lava and guarded by a monstrous creation of the driders. Classic. To make matters worse, the driders controlled the bridge to exit the arena into the north so, even if Arioch could be defeated, the drow would have no way across.

The driders had forced Lorath and his soldiers into a bottleneck, but the cagey drow would not be deterred. Rightly placing the lives of his men above the lives of these ugly and stupid outsiders, Lorath called upon the powers of his superior, noble-born intellect and ordered the adventurers to the front of the column. Of course, the cowards immediately tried to weasel their way out of the deal.

“The lock on this door can only be opened by one of those drider keys,” the castrato whined. “The last time I tried to open one, the key poisoned me and I was unconscious for nearly a day.”

But Lorath was too clever for the theurge. He ordered one of his underlings to activate the drider key and take one for the team. The drow warrior unhesitatingly suffered the effects of the debilitating poison and valiantly limped away to be used as a meat shield by his grateful brethren.

“Now, if you’re done wasting my time…” Lorath growled at the theurge. “Get in there and be ready for anything. The driders have had just as much as us to prepare for our attack.”

The silly peck and the kobold-eating lizard guy led the way into the chamber beyond the door to find the room eerily silent and devoid of life. A small siege tower stood in an alcove in the west edge of the chamber and the halfling moved around behind the structure to inspect it for hidden enemies, but there was no one to be found.

“All clear,” the peck foolishly stated before tripping a thin strand of webbing that caused the tower to collapse onto himself and his comrades. It was hilarious. Meanwhile, Lorath and his soldiers readied their weapons for a surprise attack as the adventurers dug themselves out of the rubble. Nothing came. No driders, no drow servants, not even a single solitary ettercap. Aside from the trap, the tunnel seemed to be abandoned. Beyond the next door, however, the adventurers found the spider-elf things hadn’t completely left the tunnel unguarded.

Once again, the peck and the lizard led the way into the chamber and they cautiously peeked around the corner into the hall beyond the archway. A large humanoid stood in the soft glow of a pair of fire beetle lanterns, but neither could make out the creature’s race. It didn’t move or speak and seemed not to notice the group even after the halfling threw a torch at it.

“Grunt grunt hiss,” said the ridiculous reptile. “Me say it don’t smell good. Ook ook.” I guess I’ve decided he reminds me of a big, stupid gorilla so that’s how he talks now.

“I’ll take a closer look,” said the theurge, though he should have added, “…even though I don’t have any ability to sneak toward it and I’m useless in a fight since my spells don’t work anymore.”

So the eunuch theurge, followed by the gorilla and the peck, traipsed up the hall toward the big smelly thing that, in the light of the torch, appeared to be a giant, heavily scarred drow slave.

“By the spongy undergarments of Calistria!” exclaimed the god-hating theurge. “It appears to be a golem!” And it was. A flesh golem to be exact, constructed from the bodies of several drow slaves with a note folded and stapled to its chest. Unhitching the fold of the sheet, the mystic found its message was written in the Elven tongue and was, thus, incomprehensible to him (much like the concept of bathing or how babies are made.) He flinchingly tore the note from the golem’s chest and then ran away screaming like a little girl toward Lorath who waited for the adventurers’ report.

The drow’s hands crushed the edges of the vellum page as he scanned the message, his rage growing with every word.

“Kaaseel d’lil rendan! It’s from The Orbb Valuken, the Spider Kings. They are the lords of The Barrows,” Lorath announced. “They say they’ve been planning for this day and they will make more of these sarolen from our enslaved people if we don’t surrender.”

“It would take days to construct a single golem,” the theurge spoke like a jerk. “Couldn’t we attack now before they build another?”

“The message warns they can produce a dozen in as many minutes,” Lorath answered. “They may be bluffing, but they count a few extraordinary sorcerers among their number and they have access to strange machines that were here when their kind arrived to this place. If they’re not lying, they could wipe out our people within hours. They say they will feed the souls of our brothers and sisters to the Kyorl Khaliizi and send errdegahren to kill us if we continue to fight.”

“What is all that stuff you just mentioned?” asked the androgynous death priest as if it wasn’t clear.

“The Kyorl Khaliizi, the Ward Stone, is the Spider Kings’ most feared weapon,” Lorath growled. “It feeds on the living to summon invisible demons that are drawn to smaller satellite stones positioned around The Barrows when outsiders get too close. The Spider Kings could use the dead slain by the Ward Stone to create their golems and then use the golems to move a satellite into the tunnels we control.”

“So what do we do?” asked the peck.

“We return to camp,” Lorath grimly spoke.

Back at the drow camp, the adventurers waited for nearly an hour before the mighty Lorath returned to them with his decision.

“I have conferred with the other leaders of the rebellion and a decision has been made to send you north,” Lorath began. “We do not know how long the golem waited for us. It may be the Spider Kings are waiting to see whether we attack or surrender in response to their message, but driders have ways of seeing and hearing things over vast distances. We can only assume they now know we have their message, which means we have little time to decide our next course of action.”

“We control a small section of tunnels not far from The Barrows and you will be taken there to meet Develdar,” the drow continued, seeming to sneer at the name of his fellow commander. “Develdar may know more about the Kyorl Khaliizi and will direct you to The Barrows where you must sabotage the Spider Kings’ plans to create golems from our people. You have eight hours to complete this task.”

“What happens after eight hours,” asked the party’s poor excuse for a leader, the priest of Pharasma.

Lorath waited long enough to give his answer a satisfactory dramatic build-up and then replied, “We surrender.”

A sentiment shared by your father I suspect.

The mule might have an easier time remembering this garbage if he'd lay off Spishak's cough syrup.

I like these minotaur chieftains. They're relationship reminds me of the time I spent plotting against my own family, damn their zombified remains.

The players were revolting long before the rust monster came along! Muahaha!

I always wondered what happened to old Ezrael and his pet goblin. Ha! I guess I don't need to worry about ever paying him for that bet we made.

I guess one could say that wizard is about to become a shadow of his former self. Hah! I command you to laugh! Laugh or I shall have you fed to my hyenas!

I'd prefer a shadow that can swallow a man whole and drown him in pure negative energy before pooping the fool out as some sort of horrible zombie-like monstrosity but fireballs work too. Hmm, I'll have to put the court necromancer to work on that zombie-pooping shadow thing.

Elected? Bwahahahahahahah*cough, cough*hahahaha Elected he says! *wipes away tears of laughter* That's rich.

The democratic system is a huge scam, dear boy. It's a smoke screen that fools common people into believing they have some sort of control over their government when, in actuality, their leaders are chosen by a clandestine organization from among a small but powerful elite who curry favor through the use of skillful political maneuvering, the proper application of wealth and the occasional deal with Asmodeus.

Suffice it to say I came to power as the result of a bloodless coup whereby "bloodless" I mean I was completely unharmed.

Isn't it obvious? They can't help themselves. It is their only choice given their divisive nature.

I've been in this game a long time and I can tell you most adventuring parties are held together by only the most tenuous of bonds: strength in numbers. More than half the time you've got at least two people trying to kill each other, one guy trying to kill everybody, a couple guys who are just along for the loot and one den mother desperately trying to hold the family together out of some deep-seated need for control and stability. It's rare to find a party of adventurers who actually enjoy each others' company enough to work as a cohesive unit with a purpose; One for all and all for one and all that bosh.

Splitting up also satisfies their innate lust for power and wealth. One or two of them run off to prove themselves against the dangers inherent to their lifestyle and, provided they survive, return with the strength of their experience and possibly some new weapon or skill they can use to dominate or murder their companions. Meanwhile, the one or two truly good-hearted fools among the party are too cowed by their fear of dissolution to excise this cancer from their party. And that, my subjects, is why people like me get to rule vast kingdoms and people like adventurers get to fail and die unknown and unremembered deaths by the dozens in dark, monster-filled dungeons. Speaking of which, I love the new graffitti on The Killing Grounds' wall.

As far the criminal backgrounds of these interlopers go, each and every one of them was given a fair trial in accordance with whatever law I decided to establish in response to their malfeasance.

It's good to be the king.

Also, that cat got he deserved.

Fantastic! Four cretins in one encounter! That's a new record! No doubt the insects already have some new recruits to feed to the meat grinder. Ha! The fools.

What you need, you reject from a carousel at a theme park for slow children, is to quit writing this drivel and throw yourself into the ocean. I know a guy with a castle near the sea who could use another drowning pony to cheer him up.

Muahahaha! I do so enjoy being evil.

you never know who will show up.

Or what...Muahahaha!

Finally. Someone with sense enough to agree with me. Keep this up, Zorro or Tuxedo Mask or whatever your name is, and there may be a place for you in my organization.

Nine adventurers dead, one cursed, one kidnapped, one halfway to becoming a vargouille and one in Hell; not to mention the possibility that three of these people could turn into wererats any day now. This pleases me. You have my permission to continue with your story, dung-hoof.

That does it! I'm putting a battalion at the entrance to that hole. I'll have no more of these heavily armed and sufficiently supplied random adventurers wandering into my dungeon ruining my little social experiment. From now on, nobody gets in without my say so!

Ha! Three birds with one bolt! Even after I had her order's monastery burned down and sent that flat-chested trollop to the dungeon, she's still taking care of my wet work. Such loyalty is rarely found in a woman. I hope she's rewarded with a quick and painles..Oh, who am I kidding? I want her to suffer like the rest of them.

Useless orcs, never finishing the job. That fool half-orc and the imbecile paladin would be room temperature right now if those dolts had just exerted a little extra effort. At least I can look forward to the moment when half of these idiots turn into wererats and kill the other half. That'll be fun.

Hey, Darkmantle-chow! Nobody is here to read about how this band of maladjusted miscreants spends half their day drooling over the underdeveloped, gender-confused hermaphro-monk. We want to read about their well-deserved suffering and the hilarious ways in which they die. Now, why don't you run along to Mechanus? I hear they've got a lovely, little, golden, pill-munching monodrone in a maze who could use some chasing.

So, it's true. The mule hasn't posted in awhile so he must really be gone. Good. I hope he gets eaten by something. Then I, Lord Antagonis the Generic shall rule this thread forever! Muahaha!

Don't encourage the mule. I think most of this has been utter rubbish. However, I admit there are a few parts I've liked. Watching the gnome and that elf wizard die was fun (that's what he gets for ruining my view.) And that Marcus fellow is probably going to be the death of everyone if the monk doesn't kill him first.

That gnome soup song is rather catchy too.

Lord Antagonis is giving me a headache.

I scryed that, mule! And don't think I'll forget your insolence!

You two had better make sure you're back inside before the next game session or Antagonis is gonna be steamed.

That's Lord Antagonis to you, you prattling, dung-hoofed mule! Now, what's this rubbish I hear about two of the prisoners escaping my dungeon? Inconceivable! The fact that they're here wasting their time talking to you only means that you're in the dungeon with them whereas I am safe and warm in my castle relaying this message to you via my crystal ball...which I stole from an old gypsy woman before having my soldiers enslave her people and set fire to her caravan. So there. Take that you stupid unicorn.