Velcro Zipper presents AEG's - The World's Largest Dungeon!


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Sovereign Court

I wasn't really asking if the PCs had a map of the dungeon, I meant to ask if the players have a map of the dungeon. Although from the sound of your answer, it sounds like the answer is "no".

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Sorry I wasn't more clear. I was trying to provide an answer to both questions. The players don't have a physical map of the dungeon, though I do often draw out basic, temporary maps for them on the battle-mat so they can get their bearings and, on the rare occasion they actually find a complete map of a region, I actually just let them look at the map out of the book.

Liberty's Edge

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Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Welcome back, folks! In the newest installment of our adventure, the party is reminded of how one random encounter and a few bad rolls can bring a day of adventuring to an abrupt halt...quite literally in a few cases actually.

DAY 171 AMBUSHED!

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Shi - Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Armand - Half-Orc Infernal Sorcerer
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Scaled Horror

Roch lay motionless at the feet of his comrades, paralyzed by the toxin of the spider-eater and, judging from the wound in his back, dead to the untrained eye. Fortunately, Shi had seen enough of the dead and wounded during his training to tell the two apart and he quickly surmised the mystic had survived the attack of the arachnid. Cul’tharic lifted Roch from the ground and carried him to the chamber containing The Death Trap where he, Shi and Armand waited for the theurge to recover. Riswan, however, seemed more concerned with pressing on and quickly darted up the tunnel toward the spider-eater’s lair with Ida giving chase.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” she asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Riswan curtly answered. Lorath had told Riswan the enchanted rapier he’d won in combat with the harpies had been given to a drow warrior who had gone missing during Anguish’s attack and, uncharacteristically, the halfling seemed more concerned with locating his weapon than with safety or the condition of his friend. “Besides, they aren’t that far behind,”

Riswan and Ida entered the long, desolate chamber, Anguish’s former prison, and beheld a terrible sight. Among the debris of the once-grand hall, lay the victims of the spider-eater. Drow and drider corpses littered the north end of the chamber, some flattened and drained like empty Capri Sun pouches while others lay bloated and piled like fish in a larder. The armor on the bodies was mostly intact and a few weapons still rested in the sheaths upon the belts of the warriors, but there was no sign of Riswan’s blade.

“A friend of mine lives close by,” Ida chimed. “He might be able to tell us what’s been going on around here.”

“Fine,” Riswan spoke without really listening as he continued to search the bodies of the drow. It was then that Armand, Roch, Shi and Cul’tharic entered the chamber. The mystic was feeling much better after a few minutes' rest, and Ida informed the adventurers she was just about to flit off to consult with her old friend, Otyugh John, since Riswan seemed more interested in poking around the corpses.

“A filth-eater!? Here!?” Armand retorted with a peculiar level of excitement. “We should bring him a gift! Someone grab a body!”

Moments later, Roch, Riswan and Armand were standing at the edge of John’s stinking filth pit, rolling the body of a drow warrior into the thick slop below as Ida called out for her friend. Cul’tharic and Shi had opted to wait with The Death Trap, citing the smell of the chamber and individual reservations about the handling of the drow bodies.

A burbling gurgle rose from the sludge at the bottom of the pit as the huge otyugh surfaced, filth rolling and sliding into his wide, smiling maw as he spoke.

“Idawalley!” the otyugh bellowed with joy, spraying the adventurers in slime. “You are home! Where are new friends?!”

Ida sadly informed John of Vyk’s death and the disappearance of the kobold, Klarihg’en, then introduced the otyugh to the assembled adventurers. The otyugh, for his part, relayed that the driders had stopped feeding him days ago and that he only occasionally heard the sounds of loud banging from the north.

“The tunnels to the north of here lead into the drider-controlled areas of the dungeon,” Ida informed the party. “They may have barricaded the doors against the drow and the spider-eater.”

“I think we should go after them,” Riswan announced. Roch and Armand stared at the halfling incredulously.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” Roch asked. “You’ve been poisoned and nearly strangled by killer vines, Shi’s been showered in acid and I would have been eaten by a giant spider if Cul’tharic hadn’t jumped in and let the thing take several bites out of him. We’re in no condition to go hunting driders, right now. Honestly, Riswan. It’s almost like you’re another person!”

“The lizard is right,” Armand agreed. “At least about the driders. I don’t know anything about you, Riswan, so I can’t speak to your personal foibles, but it would be unwise to pursue the driders at this juncture. We should return to Lorath, inform him of our success against the spider-eater and see about securing the rest of your gear. I don’t personally care if your things are returned to you, but I begin to suspect my well-being may soon be affected by your effectiveness in battle.” With that, the trio, along with Ida, bade farewell to John and returned to Cul’tharic and Shi.

***

Four solid shadows slipped about the abandoned outpost rifling through the remains of fallen drow warriors and crushed barricades as their dark master scanned the far corners of the vast chamber. Suddenly, a rumbling trundle like the footfalls of a great machine could be heard echoing from a passage to the south. Anxious chelicerae twitched as silent orders were given and incantations were delivered. Moments later, three humanoids accompanied by a hovering sphere of light and a loud, clanking mechanical monstrosity entered the chamber through the south tunnel. The drider waited for just the right moment then gave the order to fire.

The poisoned bolt of a crossbow suddenly flew out of the shadows striking Riswan! Still weakened by the toxic gas of the The Death Trap, the halfling fell to the floor, laid low by the envenomed shaft. A second pair of bolts struck Shi, but the cleric stood his ground as a fourth shot missed Cul’tharic. Four archers, two firing from the cover of a nearby alcove while the other two fired from the top of one of the small siege towers, had caught the party unaware.

Cul’tharic and Ida rushed the archers in the tower while Shi charged at the pair in the alcove, blasting them with a burst of negative energy! Just then, a bolt of mystical lightning from above crashed into The Death Trap. Armand and Roch, who had swapped places at the controls with Cul’tharic after the warrior once again pointed out his discomfort with the machine and Roch’s limited combat abilities, received a small shock but were spared the bulk of the damage thanks to the crab’s sturdy construction.

“Open the hatch!” Armand shouted. “I can’t target anything from in here!”

Roch quickly popped the hatch on the rear of the contraption and turned the vehicle to face the archers in the tower. Meanwhile, Cul’tharic and Ida had reached the tower while Shi had cornered the two archers in the alcove. The lizardman blocked a blow from the poisoned longsword of one of the archers who had rushed downstairs to meet him, and then plunged his trident into the leg of his attacker. At this distance, he could clearly see the archers were drow warriors!

The drow in the tower fired his crossbow at Ida, but the lantern archon’s natural defenses rendered the bolt useless. Having reloaded their crossbows, the pair of drow facing Shi fired again. This time, however, the cleric’s hardy constitution could not save him and he fell to the floor as the drow poison coursed through his veins.

Armand slipped out of The Death Trap and searched for a target for his spells but the curse of the Ritual of Unmaking still blinded him. From the safety of the ceiling, the drider unleashed another arcane assault, this time trapping Armand and The Death Trap within a strong, thick web that easily held the sorcerer immobile.

“They’ve got Shi!” Ida suddenly cried as she blasted the drow at the top of the tower with beams of light. Sure enough, the two drow in the alcove were using the drider’s diversion to grab Shi from the floor as they fled. Cul’tharic finished off the two drow in the tower while Ida rushed after Shi and Roch struggled to steer The Death Trap through the drider’s web. The strands were easy enough for the machine to tear through, but the smoke within the vehicle’s compartment made navigation difficult at best. Armand, meanwhile, struggled within the webbing, unable to cast his spells.

“You’re not taking anyone on my watch!” the lantern archon yelled as she conjured up an invisible force, which slammed close the north doors.

The drider, which had crawled quickly toward the exit after casting its web, hissed in anger and fired a volley of arcane missiles at the archon that nearly blasted her from the air. A moment later, a second barrage caused her to discorporate into a shower of sparks above Cul’tharic’s head as the lizardman wrestled through the drider’s web. Ida was gone but, like all Custodian Archons of the Dungeon, her return was inevitable. For now, the party still needed to rescue Shi.

The fleeing drow reached the door to the chamber before Roch or Cul’tharic could reach them and gave it a strong shove, but it wouldn’t budge. Just before being shot to bits by the drider’s spell, Ida had just enough time to magically bar the portal and now it would take more time and strength than the drow or the drider had to spare to escape. Cursing, the drider scurried back up the wall seeking the exit to the east while the drow below turned to acts of desperation.

“Doer biu veirs lu' uk elar!” hissed a male warrior as he snatched Roch from his compatriot and held a blade to the cleric’s throat. By now, he and the female next to him were completely blocked off by Cul’tharic and The Death Trap. The female warrior at his side threw down her sword and took a step toward the lizardman and the machine wringing her hands before her.

“Qualla xuat elgg uns'aa!” she cried. “We are slaves to the driders! They would have killed us!”

Roch climbed from the hatch of The Death Trap and addressed the woman. “Free our friend and we will let you live,” he spoke. The female turned to her ally and motioned for him to lower his blade when a bolt of lightning crashed down onto the warrior and Shi.

“Ka'lith zhah whol l' yibin!” hissed the drider as his spider-like jaws shook with laughter.

Shi’s smoking body slumped to the floor as the warrior released him and, seizing the opportunity, the female drow quickly leapt on him attempting to wrestle away his blade. The drider’s lightning, unfortunately, had failed to penetrate the warrior’s natural resistance to magic and he reacted to the female’s attack with a fluid slash across her chest that left her unconscious on the floor next to Shi. On the up side, the defensive blow left the drow open to Cul’tharic’s trident which promptly buried itself in his rib cage as Roch checked on Shi. By some miracle, the cleric was still alive.

“Where is he?! Let me at him!” Armand shouted as he arrived from the webs. The sorcerer had finally managed to conjure up a bounding sphere of flame he’d used to burn himself free of the entangling threads, but it was too late for it to matter. The drider had escaped. The party gathered their prisoner and their poisoned comrades and planned their next move.

***

“You’re fortunate to be useful to us,” spoke the drow warrior, Lecyt’hyn. “Lorath sent us to secure the area.”

In the hours after the battle with the drider, Cul’tharic had run a solo, stealth mission to the drow camp as a result of another member of the party falling unconscious. Roch had been knocked cold by a powerful toxin released by a strange key Riswan had found while earlier searching the drow and drider bodies in the spider-eater’s lair.

The key, a tiny drider sculpture similar to the one the party had found in the lair of the chokers, had suddenly sprung to life when the mystic placed it near a peculiar eight-holed lock securing a room behind the chamber's west tower. As its legs danced into and out of a seemingly random series of holes, Roch suddenly felt woozy and ill. Minutes later, full paralysis had set in and the theurge collapsed to the ground, unconscious but alive. Beyond the locked door was a storeroom, and Armand locked himself and the others inside while Cul’tharic went for help.

Riswan, Shi and Roch were still unconscious when the lizardman returned with Lecyt’hyn and six other drow scouts, leaving Armand to speak with the warrior.

“We were attacked by drow,” Armand spoke. “How do you explain this?”

“Traitors,” bluntly replied Lecyt’hyn. “The driders promise power to any drow willing to serve them. The faithful earn the ‘privilege’ of joining their ranks. They know they don’t have time to breed. It’s faster and safer to turn us into them…you might be surprised by who takes them up on the offer.”

“What about the woman we captured?” Armand asked. “She tried to help us before she was poisoned.”

“Of course she did,” the warrior smirked. “Our women are more dangerous than our men. If it were up to me, we’d kill her now before she wakes up and causes any more trouble. She may have useful information about the driders though, so we’re to interrogate her before it comes to that.”

As they spoke, Armand learned of a new obstacle on the road to the liberation of the drow. Evidence of new activity by The Green Death had been spotted within its chamber and Lorath wanted the thing destroyed once and for all. The party would receive all of its equipment (with the exception of Riswan’s missing sword) and the continued use of The Death Trap to use in the attack. Naturally, Lecyt’hyn and his scouts would ensure no driders made their way into The Green Death’s chamber to spoil the fight.

“Welcome to the war,” Lecyt’hyn grinned.


Why don't your guys use antitoxin or the resist poison spell? They've been hit with enough poison and it seems like a theme?


sunbeam wrote:
Why don't your guys use antitoxin or the resist poison spell? They've been hit with enough poison and it seems like a theme?

That requires intelligence and forethought, which the party never carries in abundance.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

I sometimes wonder the same thing, sunbeam, but I suspect Shi's conclusion may be the most accurate answer. In their defense, the party has had most of their equipment taken from them so they haven't had access to their healing supplies. That's all about to change though since Lorath is happy with the results of their bug-squashing mission. It's a good thing too, considering what lies, or should I say, "hangs," ahead! That villainous vine, The Green Death, makes its return in the newest chapter of our adventure...

DAY 172-173 LITTLE DUNGEON OF HORRORS!

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Shi - Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Armand - Half-Orc Infernal Sorcerer
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Scaled Horror

Aside from the screams of the captured drow traitor, the siege hall remained quiet while the party recovered from their battle with the spider-eater and the driders’ scouting party. Once conscious, Shi did his best to get Roch and Riswan back into fighting form while Lecyt’hyn, and his warriors kept their captive separated from the adventurers, torturing the woman despite her willingness to divulge all she knew of the drider defenses “to be certain.”

Armand kept busy examining a crate of crystal spheres the party had discovered while Cul’tharic made a stealthy trip back to the drow camp to the collect the party’s equipment for the battle ahead. The orbs, the sorcerer discovered, were two-way communication devices used by the driders to relay orders to drow patrols. According to Lecyt’hyn, the devices had been stolen from the drow city the driders had fled during their exodus. They were quite old now and their magic was diminishing, but they were still serviceable enough to see use for another few hundred years or so despite their flaws. The sorcerer took the largest of the spheres for himself and supplied Roch and Shi with a pair of the smaller devices. Two days later, the group was more or less ready to take on their next challenge: The Green Death.

***

Roch and Armand steered The Death Trap to the tunnel that would lead them to The Green Death’s lair while Riswan, Cul’tharic and Shi walked behind the apparatus. The lantern archon, Idawalley, who had reformed half a day after being temporarily discorporated by the drider, floated overhead near the lizardman and Riswan. Leafy vines, moss and grass spread from The Green Death’s chamber far into the adjoining halls and Cul’tharic motioned to stop the group. Facing a patch of thick growth upon the near wall, the reptilian warrior made a strange gesture and hissed in a low whistle.

“It says we are not welcome,” Cul’tharic spoke. “Something it calls ‘The Friend’ has fed it. It is healthy now and strong. It no longer rests. It will attack and feed and grow.”

“It?” Roch asked. The theurge and the sorcerer had exited the vehicle. “You mean The Green Death?”

The lizardman shook the small fetish bag around his neck. “Grampy Bone has made the creature’s thoughts known to me for a short time. We should know more about our prey before we hunt it, I think.”

Through the lizardman’s magic, the party discovered a good deal more than they had known of The Green Death. As a seedling, the creature had burrowed into the dungeon through a crack caused by the great earthquake that had damaged the prison. For years, it grew, feeding on whatever light, moisture or meat its roots and tendrils could find until a fire nearly destroyed it, a fire it blamed on the crawling things that inhabited the tunnels outside its lair.

The Green Death escaped the fire by pulling itself into a huge fissure in the ceiling of the chamber where it rested, slowly establishing new roots and seeking new sources of nourishment. In the wake of the conflagration, a powerful force of life had filled many parts of the region and The Green Death found an abundance of flesh to sate its appetite while the radiation of positive energy enhanced its growth, allowing it to spread its roots throughout the dungeon. Eventually, the crawling things returned and The Green Death was occasionally challenged and even defeated by them or other more terrible creatures but nothing had ever killed it. After its most recent battle, The Green Death had once again retreated into its cave to rest and to wait for a chance to return to its feeding. Then it met “The Friend.”

The Friend, according to the plant, was a creature that came from the tunnels outside its lair. It was large and small. Sometimes it moved on few legs and sometimes on many, and sometimes it made familiar sounds and sometimes it was silent. What mattered most to The Green Death was that The Friend fed it the bodies of the crawling things, the crawling things that came with their loud scuttler to kill its seedlings. Thanks to The Friend, The Green Death was once again strong and it could return to feeding and growing, the only things it desired.

“It seems less deserving of death than the drow, but it’s still an indiscriminate killer and a danger to anything traveling through the region,” Idawalley chimed. “It’s a bad weed that needs pulled.”

“The archon is correct,” Armand spoke. “Based on its own testimony, The Green Death will continue to devour every living thing in the dungeon until it is too huge to stop unless we do something about it now. Destroying it is the most logical course of action.” Hearing no arguments, the sorcerer, along with Shi and Ida, prepared the party’s warriors with spells of elemental protection and prayers for divine guidance and strength. The party then split into two groups. Armand, Roch and Ida would take The Death Trap through the wider west entrance while Shi, Riswan and Cul’tharic attacked from a tunnel in the northwest wall.

***

Armand shoved at the entrance to The Green Death’s lair pushing the double doors into the densely grown chamber while Roch and Ida waited behind him with the clanking, trundling Death Trap. The vines and undergrowth beyond the heavy doors were quiet and still. Nothing within the chamber stirred and Armand raised his arm to give the signal to advance as he took a nervous step toward the interior of the room. Suddenly, a thick root shot out of the maze of vines on the chamber floor and wrapped around the sorcerer’s leg, crushing his ankle and burning his flesh with acidic sap.

The ceiling of The Green Death’s lair rumbled and shook as the foliage of the room bristled with rage. Using The Death Trap’s pincers, Roch attempted to free Armand of the roots grasp while Riswan, Cul’tharic and Shi made their way into the chamber. Just then, a second vine struck from the floor, grappling Riswan as a pair of leafy mounds suddenly rose up from the floor on writhing stalk-like limbs. The Deathspawn had returned!

Freed from the root’s grip, Armand dashed into the chamber giving Roch room to maneuver The Death Trap into the chamber. Through the haze of the acidic smoke within the vehicle’s compartment, the theurge could just make out the approaching Deathspawn and, as it lashed at the machine with its tendrils, Roch fired a barrel’s worth of defoliant into what passed for the monster’s face. Acrid smoke rose from the melting, burning moss and vines clinging to the Deathspawn and the monster roared in pain. Meanwhile, Riswan wriggled free of the vine entangling his waist just in time to be confronted by the second Deathspawn. The halfling swung his axe into the shambling beast then gazed in horror as the wound quickly healed before his eyes. A moment later, Riswan was caught firmly within the grip of the monster, which lifted him toward its gaping maw as Shi fired bolts from his crossbow to try to wound the thing.

Cul’tharic and Roch engaged the first spawn with trident and pincers when they caught sight of Riswan’s predicament. The lizardman plunged the tines of his weapon into the leafy monster once before breaking for the halfling, hoping Roch could finish the job. However, before he could reach his ally, the undergrowth suddenly writhed about his legs as a deafening boom was heard from the fissure in the ceiling of the room.

Only Shi and Ida were outside the reach of the entangling mass of vines, roots and tendrils that rippled and contorted about the chamber as The Green Death emerged from its cave whipping a long, powerful stalk at Cul’tharic. The lizardman was struck hard and quickly wrapped in the thing’s crushing grasp as Armand once again came under attack by a pair of vines that burned him with their corrosive touch. Angered by the grappling vines, the sorcerer struggled to cast an explosive ball of fire that ripped through the chamber destroying the weakened Deathspawn, scorching The Green Death and wounding the offending tendrils along with Ida, Shi and Cul’tharic who were caught in the blast along with the sorcerer.

Infuriated by the flames, The Green Death lashed at Armand and caused its roots to pull the sorcerer to the ground, binding him while the dendritic nightmare forced Cul’tharic into its gullet. By this time, Riswan had already been swallowed whole by the second Deathspawn and he frantically cut and tore at the belly of the monster with his axe in an attempt to free himself while Roch moved into position to fire a line of defoliant into the thing’s forbear.

A stream of powerful acid from The Death Trap’s cannon cut deep into The Green Death’s mossy hide and the monster howled with rage. With the fire-flinging sorcerer incapacitated and the lizardman, Cul’tharic, fighting to escape its belly, the verdant villain was now free to turn all its attention on the killer of its children, the loud scuttler of the crawling things, and this time it meant to destroy the mechanical beast once and for all.

The Green Death heaved forward across the ceiling and flung its tendrils and teeth around The Death Trap. Within the machine, Roch could hear the groaning iron of the machine’s frame as the monster tried to crush it into scrap and he fired the final blast of defoliant from the contraption’s tank.

The Green Death shrieked a hollow, reverberating shriek of rage and unleashed a flurry of hammering blows upon The Death Trap. Experience battling the machine in the past had taught The Green Death to repeatedly grapple and release the contraption while biting and beating at its iron hide, and it used this clinch-fighting technique to great effect against Roch who spent more time trying to pull the machine free of its hold than making any attacks. Meanwhile, Shi was desperately trying to keep Armand alive.

The corrosive sap of the roots binding the sorcerer along with a pair of thunderous blows from The Green Death had worn Armand down, and the half-orc was dying. Unable to offer assistance to Riswan, Cul’tharic or Roch, Shi fought through the writhing vines and managed to heal the sorcerer’s wounds while Ida cut through the roots with beams of light. Just then, both Cul’tharic and Riswan burst forth from their mossy prisons into the swaying undergrowth. Owing to their impressive fortitudes, the warriors had managed to hack or chew their way free before the paralytic enzymes of the tendriculi could render them helpless.

Rolling out onto his feet, Riswan tossed aside his axe and dug into his bag for a vial of alchemical fire that he promptly smashed against the Deathspawn as it reached out for him a second time. Having loosed his shield and trident while chewing his way out of The Green Death, Cul’tharic pulled the greatclub from his back and delivered a crushing blow to the beast while it grappled with The Death Trap. A moment later, an orb of fire soared past the mossy monster narrowly missing the creature and bursting against the far wall of the chamber. Thanks to Ida and Shi, Armand was back on his feet and the sorcerer had managed to drag himself free of the entangling vines and back into the hall outside the room. With The Green Death’s spawn laying in a burning pile at Riswan’s feet on the east edge of the chamber, the party now had the horticultural horror surrounded and they moved in for the kill.

“All that armor and other stuff you is wearing looks heavy,” came a sudden rasping whisper from behind Riswan. “You be more comfortable if you take all that off.”

The halfling stopped and thought about the voice’s words for a moment. “You know, you’re right,” he replied. “This stuff is really heavy, and I would be more comfortable if I took it off.” And with that, Riswan threw aside his bag and began to strip off his armor and clothing as the kobold sorcerer Klarihg’en flew into view.

“Shoom et dok, Osib,” the kobold gently hissed in the language of the fey as the photosynthetic fiend quickly retreated into its cave. “Why you hurt Green Death, Armand?” Klarihg’en then asked as he quickly conjured up a shifting pattern of mirror images to protect himself from possible attack. “Green Death is friend. It kills drow, drider. Soon you and Klarihg’en will be free.”

“It will kill us all as well,” Armand answered. “The Green Death must die for us to be safe. Now get out of the way, Klarihg’en.”

“No,” the kobold replied. “Klarihg’en is tired of doing what others say all the time. Lizardman-Cul’tharic remembers serving machine-people with Klarihg’en, with Croo. Klarihg’en think Cul’tharic is tired of serving drow, serving adventurers who come with evil dwarf to kill his friends.” The kobold made a strange gesture and pointed at the reptilian warrior as he murmured a series of arcane syllables. “Klarihg’en is right, no?”

Despite the danger of the situation, Cul’tharic’s will crumbled against the powerful charm of the fey-blooded kobold, and he suddenly felt as if he and Klarihg’en were the closest of friends. “My friend is right,” answered the lizardman. “We should not kill The Green Death.” Roch, in the meantime, had begun to steer The Death Trap toward the tunnel in the southeast corner of the room. Riswan, who was still busy stripping himself, had earlier stated the tunnel led to a cache of defoliant the theurge might use to refill the machine’s tank. As he drove the contraption toward the tunnel, he noticed the battle had drawn the attention of a gaggle of spindly-limbed, spider-like humanoids, which stood within the open tunnel to the south, some of them carrying the remains of dead drow warriors.

“Do you see, Armand?” Klarihg’en hissed. “Even ettercaps help Klarihg’en! They feed Green Death to make it strong, to make it grow, so it will kill the driders and set them free!”

“The ettercaps feed the Green Death because you asked them to do so and because it suits their needs,” Idawalley spoke. The lantern archon had studied her drider enemies long enough over the years to learn the strange ettercaps of the Dungeon were not unwilling slaves to the aberrant mutants. “They are simple creatures whose only loyalty is to their traps and their webs. They’ll serve any being that ensures they can work in peace. The ettercaps are not your friends, Klarihg’en. They can’t replace Croo or Vyk or anyone else you might once have considered an ally. They’re just cleaning up so they can get back to work.”

“I think Ida is right, my friend,” Cul’tharic suddenly spoke. Ironically, Klarihg’ens charm spell was backfiring on him, and the lizardman was now speaking in what he thought was the best interest of the kobold. “I have spoken with The Green Death, and it isn’t your friend, Klarihg’en. You think it’s giving you what you want, but it’s using you just like the drow and Siglinde and the Inevitables. It calls you its friend now, but what do you think it will eat when you run out of drow and driders?”

The writhing of the vines and tendrils within the room calmed and Klarihg’en took a moment to consider Cul’tharic’s words. He thought of how he might manage to feed Siglinde and the cloakers to the ravenous, ever-growing monster once the drow were wiped out, but what then? Grown large enough, The Green Death might easily devour all the flesh growing in the tunnels and there was no way to be certain more creatures would come from the regions south of the Halls of Flesh. He might feed the ettercaps to the thing to buy himself some time, but what if The Green Death became so large and powerful it no longer needed him? Would he serve at the beck and call of this chlorophyll curmudgeon until it finally decided to eat him? Klarihg’en hovered away from the entrance of The Green Death’s cave, hung his head and muttered, “Do it.”

“Why am I naked?” Riswan asked as it dawned on him he was now standing nude amid a pile of his own equipment.

“There’s a question I’ll never get tired of hearing,” Shi quipped. “Pick up your things, we’ll explain later.” Before the halfling could even pick up his pantaloons, however, the reinforced doors to the north were hurled open revealing a quartet of drow archers and their captain, the drow warrior Lorath. Drow scouts listening at the door had reported a sudden silence in the room and their leader had come to look personally upon the pulped corpse of The Green Death.

“Hello Klarihg’en,” Lorath glared. “Bring him down!”

A pair of the archers immediately fired at the kobold sorcerer while the other two aimed their shots. The first bolt flew through one of Klarihg’en’s mirror images, but the other struck him firmly in the shoulder and he yelped in pain as its poison coursed through his body causing him to fall unconscious from the air. Still under the effects of Klarihg’en’s charm, Cul’tharic rushed to the sorcerer’s side and scooped him up from the ground.

“Harm him again and I’ll tear out your throats!” the lizardman growled.

Ida and Armand quickly explained Cul’tharic had been charmed while fighting The Green Death and the sorcerer.

“Klarihg’en had been feeding the drow and driders to The Green Death and we’d just convinced him to-“ Armand began before being cut off by the drow warrior.

“He fed my people to that thing?!” Lorath hissed.

“Oh, uh, right. I said that, didn’t I?” Armand stammered before composing himself. “Cat's out of the bag now, I guess. Things were well under control before you came in, Lorath. The Green Death was heavily damaged and retreated into its cave. We need only pursue it, and I’m certain we can finish it off.”

““I want that monster reduced to a fine green paste,” Lorath growled. “Do you need the lizardman?”

“His savagery in battle would be most useful to us,” Armand answered.

Speaking the lizardman’s tongue, Lorath turned to Cul’tharic. “Assist in the destruction of The Green Death and I shall be lenient in my judgment of your friend,” he spoke.

“I do not trust you,” Cul’tharic retorted.

Lorath’s patience was wearing thin but, before he could respond, a rumble came from the ceiling of the chamber and the powerful jaws of a botanical brigand shot forth to clamp down on the lizardman and his helpless charge. The Green Death had re-emerged, fully healed and furious.


this is soooooooooooooo not how I had hoped this would go
well Adapt or die as father would have said , strange how he couldn't adapt to having his lowwer torso imeadately removed and placed 10 foot away from his upper torso


What kind of equipment do you guys have? I look every few days to see if this thread is updated. At one time or another I've read the whole ting.

I know you have an Apparatus of Kwalish now, but from reading this journal it almost seems like you guys play naked.

It just seems like you have no equipment that enhances your effectiveness. I've never played this, is it supposed to be this way?

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The party usually has pretty decent equipment. Aside from what they find in the Dungeon, the commune has several members capable of crafting magic items. However, I keep track of what spells each NPC has and their levels so that somewhat limits what they can craft. I also enforce a spending limit on singular items equal to 15% of starting funds based on level. For instance, a level 8 character begins with 33,000gp. 15% of 33k is 4950gp so the craftsmen in the commune can't make anything costing more than 4950gp. That means, the party can purchase +2 Armors and Shields, +2 Belts and Headbands and useful items like Minor Rods of Extend Spell. I also allow items from the Magic Item Compendium so the party also has Healing Belts, Amulets of Elusive Action and Rings of the Darkhidden (invisibility to darkvision rocks!) I did this to illustrate how the prisoners in the Dungeon don't have ready access to materials the way they would outside. This lack of a Magic-Mart also means the treasure the party wins through adventuring is usually going to be much better than what they can buy at the store.

The only time the party has been completely without equipment was right before the first encounter way back at level 1. That was my doing. The book for the adventure doesn't say it needs to be that way. Since then, I can only think of one occasion when the party was stripped of their equipment, and that was only recently when they failed to kill Siglinde. When that happened, I was left with the decision to either TPK the party or make it work for the story. It made sense the naga would want to take them alive so she locked them up and gave their gear to the drow for safekeeping. Over the last few sessions, there were given only small handfuls of their equipment at a time, but they've now earned back all their gear.


What level are the PCs? I think I recall having read that they were approximately a third of the way through the entire Dungeon.

This journal has been a blast to read: it makes me want to pick up Rappan Athuk when it comes out for Pathfinder this autumn!

Sovereign Court

Macharius wrote:
What level are the PCs?

Level 8ish, I'm guessing. He mentioned they were level 7 when they fought the dragon.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The party is about 740xp from level 9. We've had to postpone a couple weeks due to player illnesses and some ridiculous sports thingy but, once they finish the encounter with The Green Death, they'll have the XP they need to advance. It seems like everything is on track for them to be at about level 10 or 11 at the 50% complete mark.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Aaaaand we're back! It's been a little difficult getting the game up and running the last few weeks. We recently lost three players when two moved away and a third realized he could no longer afford to drive all the way out from Portland to play. However, all is not lost. We've got three new players joining us in the next session which means three new names to add to the WLAP's roster. Until then, on with the show...

DAY 173 - AMARA FESTUM

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Shi - Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Armond - Half-Orc Infernal Sorcerer
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Scaled Horror

The hollow roar of The Green Death filled the chamber as the monster darted out of its lair like a striking snake, smacking the lizardman, Cul’tharic with one of its tendrils and knocking Klarihg’en from his claws.

“Open fire!” Lorath shouted to the drow marksmen who unleashed a volley of crossbows bolts into the creature’s pulpy hide. “This ends today!” Meanwhile, Roch and Riswan (still partially in the buff) worked to quickly reload The Death Trap’s defoliant tank while Shi fired his own crossbow at the thing.

“Scorcnen raie!” Armond cried as beams of flame cut through the air from his open palms and withered The Green Death’s trunk. Unfortunately, in his haste to destroy the monster, Armond misjudged his proximity to the thing and, to his detriment, the leafy leviathan howled in rage and lunged at him, trapping and crushing him in its massive jaws. The sorcerer squirmed within The Green Death’s maw in a futile attempt to cast a spell to no avail and, a moment later, the beast forced the half-orc into its stomach where paralytic enzymes stole his ability to fight.

“Let us ensure the sorcerer is this thing’s final meal!” Lorath growled as he tumbled in behind the foliated fiend to strike with his flail and dagger while Shi, Ida and the drow marksmen continued to pepper The Green Death with crossbow bolts and beams of light and Cul’tharic bit and tore at the monster with claws and teeth of his own. Without its Deathspawn to distract its assailants or the strength to lash out with its entangling roots, The Green Death suddenly found itself on the defensive. Once again severely wounded, the creature made a desperate grab for Cul’tharic and retreated back into its cave with the lizardman in tow.

“Bleeding nails!” Shi cursed as his shot narrowly missed the escaping monster. “It’s gone to ground...er, ceiling, whatever! We’ve got to finish it off before it regenerates! Ida, you can chase it down, right?”

The cleric didn’t even have to ask. Effectively immortal or not, the lantern archon would gladly put itself at risk to save the life of a good creature and she was already rushing off to rescue Cul’tharic from The Green Death’s clutches.

“Tell me, priest,” Lorath spoke as he watched the lantern archon ascend into the tunnel. “Your goddess, does she lend you the power to harm or heal?”

Shi saw where the drow was going with his line of questioning and grinned as he moved below the entrance to the cave. “You might want to stand back,” he answered.

“We can’t risk you’re out of range,” the drow responded. “I’ll give you a lift.” At that, the cleric was understandably confused when he began to float off the ground. “Now finish it,” Lorath coolly intoned.

Roch and Riswan were just returning with the Death Trap when they saw the vines hanging from the ceiling around Shi shudder and writhe in pain. The first burst of negative energy tore through The Green Death, wracking the wounded creature with pain as Shi hovered ever closer to the monster. Lorath winced a little as well, but maintained his concentration on the levitation he’d granted the cleric and moved Shi further into the tunnel. Close enough now to touch the thing, Shi could see The Green Death was clearly disabled but still regenerating. Then, channeling the dark energy of death itself into his mace, he struck at the incapacitated beast with all his might.

The whole of the Green Death’s form seized and roiled with the blow as its mossy hide withered and decayed. At long last, the botanical brute known as The Green Death was destroyed. With the adventurer’s help, the drow had seized the Green Death’s lair and come one step close to winning the region from their former masters, the driders. However, victory often requires sacrifice and it was the sorcerer, Armond’s, body which tumbled out of the cave to the floor of the chamber as Cul’tharic, heavily wounded, tore free of the thing’s remains. Perhaps ironically, it wasn’t The Green Death’s acid that had killed Armond but the penultimate attack of the cleric, Shi. The cleric’s burst of negative energy had coursed through the monster and into Armond’s paralyzing prison, sealing the half-orc’s fate as he lay helpless.

“Take whatever trophies you like from the half-orc’s corpse or the monster’s cave, but be quick about it,” Lorath spoke as his warriors collected Klarihg’en’s unconscious body from the floor of the chamber. “We attack the driders in less than a day’s time.”

“Put down my friend,” Cul’tharic hissed as he slid down a vine now hanging from the The Green Death’s cave. The lizardman was still under the effect of the kobold’s charm spell and, even in his wounded condition, he was ready to fight for Klarihg’en’s life.

“You’re more than welcome to join him in his cell, but we’re taking the kobold” Lorath replied in the Draconic tongue.

For a few tense moments, it seemed another fight would break out and Riswan was tempted to hose the drow down in acidic defoliant, but Shi and Ida managed to convince Cul’tharic to accompany them to Klarihg’en’s prison cell after the halfling and Roch looted Armond’s corpse and explored The Green Death’s cave.

There, wrapped in a mesh of vines, Riswan found the body of a drow warrior crushed against the wall, a familiar rapier tucked into its belt, its keen blade dimly glowing. At long last, Riswan had recovered the enchanted sword he won in combat with the harpies. Furthermore, upon a small ledge above the craggy winding tunnel leading into the monster’s den, the halfling discovered the skeleton of a humanoid, a strange steel half-mask emblazoned with a wide, staring eye still strapped to its skull.

Riswan tossed the mask down to Roch who marveled at the item in his hands. The theurge went on to explain he recognized the mask from his studies and that it was one part of a set of armor pieces worn by a sect of paladins known as The Watchful Eyes. The Watchful Eyes were known to have disbanded after many of their members fell from grace, but suits of their armor were still occasionally found in collections or in the possession of adventurers who had delved the deep corners of the world. Some said the armor itself led to the fall of the noble warriors, and this piece, the Mask of Mastery as it was known, gave its wearer the ability to speak with the force to command others through fear.

“That could come in handy,” Riswan spoke as he took the mask from Roch and attempted to fasten it to his face. Unfortunately, the steel mask refused to conform to the size of his diminutive skull and hung loosely from his chin. “Ah, nuts,” groaned the halfling.

“Is oversized equipment becoming a theme with you?” Roch jokingly asked nodding at the long rapier and comically dangling mask. “I think we’ll soon lose sight of you under a clanking, shuffling pile of loose-fitting armor.”

On their way back to Klarihg’en’s cell the adventurer’s had a chance to discuss the issue of the kobold’s spell.

“I could tell he was trouble when I first met him," Idawalley chimed. “Now he’s dug his own grave and he’s trying to pull us in with him.”

“I may be able to dispel the charm, but I’ll need time to rest,” Shi offered. “Only Pharasma can determine whether Klarihg’en lives or dies, but I’m not giving up blood or money to save his scaly hide.”

Riswan more or less agreed with Ida on the matter, but Roch was having reservations after he’d seen the drow’s treatment of the drider, Ecthelon, and the drow woman they’d captured in the west tunnels.

“I think we can save him,” Roch spoke. “We can try to reason with Lorath. Maybe he’ll spare Klarihg’en if he helps us fight the driders.”

“Do what you want, but don’t expect my help,” Shi replied.

“I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I’ll help if I can,” Riswan offered. “I know what it’s like to be held captive by a bunch of murderous psychopaths. Klarihg’en might be bad, but he probably doesn’t deserve what Lorath has planned for him.”

Together, Roch and Riswan approached Lorath to parley for Klarihg’en’s life, but the drow was less than warm to the idea of freeing the sorcerer.

“A drow’s life is worth a kingdom of kobolds,” Lorath spoke. “What could you possibly offer to pay for the damage he caused when he and your friend set Anguish free within our halls? What would you give to appease the spirits of the vengeful dead he fed to The Green Death?”

The adventurers dug through their bags, offering up a few valuable, but unnecessary trinkets they’d pulled from the corpse of Armond.

“Pathetic,” Lorath sneered. “You think you can barter away our revenge with cast-offs you scavenged from that half-orc? I should have my men beat him to death with hammers while you watch for this insult.”

“What do you want?” Roch pleaded with the drow. “We have nothing else to give.”

“Then we have nothing else to discuss,” Lorath answered. “The kobold will die before the attack on the driders begins. You have until then to decide if you truly have nothing to foolishly sacrifice for his life.”

“Well, that went as well as expected,” Riswan spoke as Lorath continued back to his quarters. “Is there any chance we can just leave once you break the enchantment on Cul’tharic, Shi? Why can’t we just let the drow and driders kill each other off? Why should we involve ourselves any further in their war?”

“I don’t think it would be as easy as walking away,” Shi answered. “We’d be in for a hell of a fight if the drow decide they don’t want us to leave with all of our fancy toys. For now, we need to concentrate on breaking Klarihg’en’s spell.” Once at the kobold’s cell, however, the party noticed a peculiar change come over Cul’tharic.

Klarihghen landed in his cell with a thud after being unceremoniously tossed to the floor by the drow, and Cul’tharic immediately went to move the kobold to the hay matting that served as a bed when he suddenly stopped and stared down at the sorcerer.

“Why am I doing this?” he confusedly asked his companions. “I have never liked this kobold. He is a faessi and a sotsca-tzarreth. He cannot be trusted.” It was then Roch remembered the anti-magic field produced by the walls of the prison cells. The nullification aura was apparently suppressing Klarihg’en’s charm.

“The kobold used his magic to charm you while we fought The Green Death,” Roch informed the lizardman. “If I understand the nature of this prison correctly, his spell cannot affect you while you are within the cell.” Cul’tharic looked down on the helpless sorcerer, the spines rising on the back of his neck betraying a sudden, subdued anger at the kobold’s manipulation of his mind.

“Please hold onto these,” the lizardman coolly hissed as he handed his weapons and shield to Roch through the open door of the prison cell. “I need to be left alone with my ‘friend’.” Then, with the drow guards still looking on, Cul’tharic turned toward Klarihg’en, gently flicked the door closed with his tail and found a comfortable place to sit and wait for the kobold to regain consciousness.

Only the homunculus, Beem, who was hidden within the tunnels connecting the cells, was privy to the “discourse” that took place between the lizardman and the kobold over the next several hours but, when Lorath arrived to execute Klarihg’en the next day, the drow was in for a surprise.

The kobold’s bones, many broken and held together only by bits of sinew, had been placed into a neat pile in the center of the cell where Cul’tharic stood wiping blood from his snout with Klarihg’en’s robes.

Lorath could only grin in grim satisfaction over the sorcerer’s gruesome fate as the lizardman quietly exited the cell. Then, stopping just outside the door, Cul’tharic turned his head toward the drow and growled in the Common tongue, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go kill these driders.”


I've enjoyed reading this thread.

I'm curious as to whether you have a master list of the characters who have been in play, and their final fate? I ask this because I don't think you have a single one of the original crew around now.

The Lizardman man has been around a long time, but he is a dm npc right?

And is their any chance Walker will ever come back? I have a mental image of someone wearing a set of assless chaps fighting their way back from hell.

I play fall from heaven a lot, and he kind of makes me think of Donal Lugh.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Cul'tharic has been around a long time, and he is an NPC. He isn't still alive thanks to me playing favorites though. I think it's more from a combination of having +2HD on the rest of the party from his racial Hit Dice and the fact that, since he's an NPC, I never let him dictate the party's actions or take the initiative to make decisions that usually get PCs killed. At one point, the players tried to make him party leader but I'm pretty sure I didn't let that go past one session because I want to make it clear he isn't "my character" or some Chosen One. He's basically just a meat shield. I'm pretty sure the party would pay to have him brought back to life if he dies, but he's in no way special.

I do occasionally post a list of all the characters and a short note about how they died. I think we were up to around 60 PCs last time I checked.

I have no idea if Walker will ever return from Hell. His player is one of those who recently moved away, but that doesn't rule him out as a future NPC or as a candidate for someone else to play if he does return. You may have noticed we don't have a completely serious tone with this game, and Walker was a good example. You'll meet another good example of it when I post the next session...


Here's the list
Active Members
1. Shi
2. Roch
3. Cul'tharic
4. Vyk Vulkyn
5. “The Stir”
6. Riswan
Inactive members
7. Durthuunicar II = serving as guardian of Four Waters
8. Patreus = location unknown
9. Klibb = serving as guardian of the Goblin Empire
10. Traxxas = usually getting drunk at Famous Macready's pub
11. Marcus = working as a bowyer for Four Waters
12. Hurk = wererat, living among the goblins as a guest
13. Pallas = joined The Redeemers
14. Walker = in Hell
15. Thorin = currently serving Four Waters as a healer
Deceased/Incapacitated Members
16. Saelin = left party, killed by wererat Mina
17. Mina = left party, became wererat, killed by Hammerfist
18. Ranoth = killed by lightning bolt
19. Poker = killed by darkmantles
20. Lockwalt = killed by darkmantles
21. Foxy Loxy = killed by darkmantles
22. Air'elon = killed by lightning bolt
23. Runath = left party, killed by howlers
24. Chu = killed by lightning bolt
25. Ayla = killed by dire wolf
26. Laze = left party, joined The Trust, killed by Nardarik
27. Dorin = killed by ghoul paladins
28. Drax = killed by howlers
29. Dammi-tall = killed by bugbear
30. Dorian = killed by howlers
31. Marius = killed by bugbear
32. Annali = killed by phantasmal killer trap
33. Gofer = killed by ghoul paladins
34. Dan-Zig = killed by ghoul paladins
35. Mio = killed by ghoul paladins
36. Jin = killed by pendulum blade trap
37. Pojies = killed by ghoul paladins
38. Rayder = killed by shadows
39. Kraum aka The ½ Orc = killed by shadows
40. Jayder = killed by shadows
41. Rudeth Ravenlark = killed by shadows
42. Grimdar = killed by hellwasp swarm
43. Mark = killed by ghoul
44. Rags = petrified by medusa
45. Troy = killed by cloudkill trap
46. Chumlee the Third = killed by mimic
47. Chumlee the Seventh = killed by harpies
48. Patterson = killed by dragon bile poisoned key
49. Reg = petrified by medusa
50. Janus = killed by harpies
51. Grackle = petrified by warp gate
52. Sloth = killed by harpies
53. Felix = killed by harpies
54. Jonathon = killed by harpies
55. Durthuunicar I = petrified by warp gate
56. Ayor = energy drained to death by warp gate
Thats a lot of dead.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Actually, that's the list from a few months ago. Vyk and Elstir are no longer active members since they've died. Also, Armond would have a place on the list despite his short time with the group. The sorcerer certainly didn't have the shortest tenure on the team by any stretch though. That honor goes to Durthuunicar I (Ayor might argue he was on the team for less time, but I think the ranger edged him out.)

Dark Archive

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.”

Dark Archive

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.

Spoiler Alert!:
They weren’t.

“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!

Sovereign Court

Does the original dungeon have multiple entrances into it, or was that something you added?

Dark Archive

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!

Dark Archive

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.

Dark Archive

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...


Since it looks like you are going to lose more characters soon, I was thinking about what I would make if I were playing in your campaign.

I was kind of struck by how useless a rogue would have been/was in this campaign, and this is "The World's Largest Dungeon."

I was also thinking a Summoner might be the very best class to add to this group, but would the eidolon even be summonable in this dungeon, with the rules as written?

I think Master Summoner is the strongest summoner, and what makes him so strong wouldn't be usable here. Synthesist would be very handy though, but I wouldn't think he could summon his armor.

If I were rolling up a character here, I think I'd go with an Alchemist or a caster focusing on Shadow Conjuration. Summonable, customizable mooks would have made a lot of difference in this campaign I think.


A summoner of any class would have been great, but early on in the campaign summoning spells would not work. They may work now in this fractured area of the dungeon, but none of us has had the time to try a summoning spell or like me, Lizardfolk Theurge, I need to regain my spell abilities.

Dark Archive

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!

Dark Archive

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.

Dark Archive

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.

Dark Archive

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.)


Well you got that right Antagonis, you are an evil dic-...

Dark Archive

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.

Sovereign Court

I'm ashamed to admit that I skip over the Lord Antagonis sections of this journal. Stripping out the editorial comments to figure out what's going on is too much like work. :-)

Dark Archive

Duly noted.

Dark Archive

Balthazar Picsou wrote:
I'm ashamed to admit that I skip over the Lord Antagonis sections of this journal. Stripping out the editorial comments to figure out what's going on is too much like work. :-)

Yeah I tend to avoid those ones as well


It could be worse...

Dark Archive

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.


Huzzah! or the ghost writer.


Lord Antagonis is alright in my book. I'd vote for him. Or something.

I kind of miss the real names though. It kind of separates you from the characters reading through entries if they are called the names they are.

Almost like reading about a different party.

Dark Archive

Using the adventurers' real names might give the impression I view them as anything more than expendable monkeys here to dance for my pleasure. Better not to get too attached.

Anyway, I'm still not happy about this but here's the latest session courtesy of your magnificent ruler and edited by some stupid sheet.

DAY 174 THIS BETTER WORK OR THAT GHOST IS TOAST

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

The nearly completely useless wizard/cleric of Nethys held his hammer at the ready, certain his doom waited on the other side of the thick, stone door. He could just make out what sounded like muffled speech in the chamber beyond. Had his pursuer called in reinforcements, perhaps a firing squad? The theurge had cheated death once before, but there was no friendly druidess nearby to reincarnate him this time. Chances seemed fair the dwarf-turned-reptile’s next life would involve a whole lot of stitches and moaning, but maybe an existence as a flesh golem wouldn’t be so bad? In any case, things outside the door got very quiet all of sudden and the mystic steeled himself for whatever came next.

What came next was a knock, followed by the sound of someone trying to speak through the stone door. It was probably a trap, but the castrato found himself reaching for the door’s handle all the same. If he was going to die, he might as well face his death, head-on, like a warrior. It wasn’t as if he had the choice to die in a proper wizardly blaze of fireballs and explosions, I suppose.

Death, it turned out, looked like a drider with alot of junk in its trunk. The thing’s spider-like abdomen was massive and swollen to the point of bursting. The scales protecting it formed strange patterns like the wrinkles of a giant brain.

“So, you are still alive,” said Death. “I thought perhaps you’d taken your own life in despair and I’d come all this way for nothing.”

The theurge raised his shield in anticipation of a crossbow bolt that never came. “Where are your drow slaves? Did you get tired of sending them to die?” the mystic asked, trying to sound brave. “Did you come to kill me yourself?”

The drider seemed hurt by the lizard’s accusation. “Far from it,” he replied. “I heard we had visitors and wanted to welcome you to our home. I thought there would be more of you.”

“My companions went ahead without me,” confessed the theurge.

“A pity,” said the drider. “I never get to meet anyone new. Elotor always gets to them first.” The creature seemed almost wistful for a moment and stared up at the slowly turning, glowing column in the center of the chamber. “He used to come here with me. We studied the Zermr Gryryk together until he got bored; new vistas to explore and all that.”

“The what? Who are you?” asked the theurge. This drider hardly seemed anything like its fellow monsters.

“Of course. It really has been too long since I had a guest,” the drider apologized. “I am Orbb Valuken Faieth, l’ Ult’trin Shar. Welcome to The Barrows.”

***

“So it’s settled,” the jinx announced. “We’ll concentrate on Radija and the golem machine while the rogues do what they can to take out Alith.”

“Fine,” agreed Develdar. “But if this works and l’ Kyorlin Hiever shows himself, he’s mine.”

“My apologies, but I can’t come with you all,” Wicieth spoke. “The alarm you set off might still attract some driders, and I’ll need to throw them off your trail if they get past Ari. Bwael ap’zen, Develdar. I hope you get him this time.”

At that, the aranea disappeared into the tunnels leaving the party to begin their attack. Their plan consisted of two parts. First, No Show and Develdar would sneak along the east wall of the chamber toward Alith, the drider in charge of producing the earthsilk the driders used to build their tunnels. At the three-minute mark, the witch, the fighters and the nurse would charge Radija, the drider controlling golem production, while Shim and the freed drow slaves attacked the machinery. The rogues, in the meantime, would surprise Alith. With the engineers dead and the machinery disabled, the party reasoned Elotor would have no choice but to leave the safety of his laboratory.

Sloppy as usual, things still started off well for the adventurers. The rogues were in place when the witch blew his enchanted horn signaling the attack. The horn’s magic was spent for the day, but its trumpeting could still be heard just above the din of the machines. There was little chance any creatures lurking near the chamber had heard, but the sound was clear enough for the rogues who launched their attack on the drider, Alith.

One of Develdar’s poisoned daggers along with an arrow from No Show’s bow flew from the shadows of the east wall, striking the drider as the peck and the lizard-ape charged from the south tunnel. The clever aberration hissed an order for her workers to attack and immediately began to levitate toward the ceiling of the chamber where she used the available webbing to bind the bleeding wound caused by the human rogue’s surprise attack.

Radija had better luck. The drider was a good distance away from the adventurers and used his flying disk to widen the gap when they appeared from the tunnel. The plane of shimmering force moved slowly but kept the drider away from the trident and blade of the party’s fighters while he cast defensive spells and shouted commands to this workers. That all came to an end, however, when the gender-blank cleric, Shim, spotted the trouble its companions were having with the gradually escaping monster.

Kaibosh Ur Mana!” shouted the cleric from his position near the golem-crafting machine. This was followed by a sudden loud pop as Radija’s disk vanished, sending the monster to the floor. “I can’t do that again, so don’t waste it!” Shim shouted to the peck and the lizard-ape who quickly rushed toward the fallen drider after dispatching three of the drow workers. Develdar joined the fighters, leaping from atop the earthsilk machine, but all three warriors were too late. The Rot Summoner cast a spell of invisibility and once again attempted to flee as the reptile drew near.

“Beast-man!” growled Develdar. “Where is he?!”

“He is still close, ook ook!” grunted the dumb ape. The chamber’s air was heavy with the scent of rotting flesh and smoke, but the lizard’s well-trained schnozz could just make out the greasy reek of the drider. Striking blindly into Radija’s last known position, the reptile scored a lucky hit before the drider could move. However, subsequent attacks on the drider were useless. Radija had wisely chosen to flee.

“Ook ook, I will find you, bad spider-elf!” the lizard-ape croaked as he did his best to follow Radija’s scent. Clambering up the side of the earthsilk machine, the reptile quickly outpaced the halfling who had just arrived after carefully wading through the mob of up-to-now motionless flesh golems followed closely by the nurse.

“Hey! Wait up!” the peck shouted uselessly. The reptile, along with the flying witch was already on the other side of the immense engine.

“Let them go,” advised the nurse who’d noticed how little damage their slave allies were doing to the machinery. “The slaves are too weak to cause any serious damage to the equipment. We need to figure out how to shut these things down.”

The halfling scanned the room. The nurse was right. The freed slaves, mostly drawn from the wasted and sickly slated to die, were in no condition to harm the equipment. Meanwhile, No Show was still chasing Alith with arrows as she fled across the ceiling, Develdar had disappeared again and Shim was finishing off the last of the driders’ workers along with a couple of the freed slaves. If their plan was going to have any chance of success, the figh-tard and the spellcraft-deficient cleric were the group’s only hope. Fortunate for the party then, the halfling had a trade-school education.

***

“I feel as if I’m the one doing all the talking,” Faieth spoke as the mystic theurge followed him along the edge of the vast crater where drow slaves toiled under the watchful eyes of drider sentries. The Spider King had spent the last dozen minutes or so explaining some of what he knew of the region as they returned to his private sanctum and these revelations only troubled the former spellcaster’s brain.

According to Faieth, the driders and their captured slaves arrived to the region over 250 years ago after fleeing a failed attempt by the driders to overthrow their drow masters. Here in Region M, they discovered the massive column of glowing stone Faieth called the Zermr Gryryk, an Abyssal term meaning Millstone (or Wheel) of Sorrow. From what the driders could tell, the thing was older than the ruined dungeon surrounding it and someone had gone through a great amount of trouble to seal the monolith away before it was once again exposed by some great disaster.

The Wheel of Sorrow was in sorry shape when it was discovered by the driders, but the first batch of slaves sent to clear the ruined chamber quickly invigorated the artifact. The dull tower of cracked stone slowly began to spin as the drow drew near and, within seconds, were reduced to a fine red mist that fed the starved structure. The resulting invisible stalkers slew a few more slaves before stopping short of attacking the driders themselves.

It seemed the Wheel possessed an intelligence of its own and recognized the driders as kindred spirits or, at the very least, potential providers. Its stalker servants led the new masters of the region to another buried chamber where they discovered the fantastic machinery they now used to create their earthsilk and golems. Over time, the bond between the driders and the Wheel grew. The aberrations, led by the Spider Kings, repaired the machines and created the first ward stones, allowing for the spread of the Wheel’s influence and the fortification of their new home. In exchange for these weapons, the driders kept the Wheel’s appetite sated.

“But that’s enough about us,” the drider announced. “I want to know all about you and your friends. For instance, why are you here?”

A smell like burning rubber and the sound of a squealing fan belt escaped the theurge’s ears as his muddled brain considered his next words.

“To help?” he eventually answered, seemingly confused by the question.

Faieth studied the mystic a moment, trying to figure out if the reptile before him was serious or simply an idiot. “You’re some kind of a warrior then?” he quipped.

The theurge hated being on the spot. For all his book-learning and study of what to say and how to say it, the man was a complete disaster when he didn’t have someone to whom he could defer.

“We were told to meet somebody,” the castrato blurted. “Develdar? I think.”

Faieth was intrigued. This wasn’t really the answer he was looking for and he didn’t know who Develdar was but, the befuddled lizardman just handed him the name of a potential enemy without asking for anything in return.

“Why don’t we start over with a simpler question?” the drider suggested. “Who sent you?”

Given the adventurer’s confusion and frustration, most of the exchange between the drider and the mystic was painful to listen to and unnecessarily drawn out but Faieth eventually learned the theurge and his companions were working for the drow rebellion. All this would probably have mattered to a drider more concerned with the balance of power within the region but Faieth had moved beyond such concerns.

Like the forgemaster, Noh, Faieth was the product of a fleshwarping experiment. Whereas Noh had been engineered to excel at combat, Faieth had been created to be a great thinker; a drider capable of seeing possibilities no other drider had the patience to consider. In fact, his elephantine abdomen was the result of a massive brain being lodged in his tuckus after it was determined the weight of the organ would break his neck.

“None of that really answers my first question, but I think we’re making progress,” patronized Faieth. “What exactly do you know about the drow?”

This question gave the mystic more pause than the last. It was bad enough he had to deal with this monster alone, but the room itself was sweltering. A hot spring rose from the center of the chamber like a small volcano and filled the room with a light mist and, as the theurge stopped to think, he noticed something peeking its head over the rim of the drider’s hot tub. A drow slave appeared to be hiding in the spring.

“Well,” the theurge began, moving in such a way that Faieth’s back would be to the spring. “We know they’re slaves and, uhm, they’re, uh-”

“Did you know they’re all sociopaths?” Faieth interrupted. “I’m assuming you’ve been around them long enough to realize something isn’t exactly right about them. Maybe you’ve noticed their sadism, distinct lack of trust and compassion or their propensity for demon worship? Are these really the sort of creatures you want to help?”

The drider could tell the castrato was struggling so he decided to spell it all out for his guest. Faieth told the theurge all about the madness that was ingrained into the drow race and how, given their freedom, the dark elves would turn their attention to dominating or wiping out any they encountered, starting with the adventurers themselves. At best, the party could look forward to being favored servants for their role in the defeat of the driders.

“Imagine an entire race of beings so lustful for power they’ve lost the ability to see anyone, even others of their own kind, as equals,” continued Faieth. “To the ilythiiri, there are only the conquered and the competition. A strong hand is required to guide them, and that is what we Orbb Valuken offer.”

According to the drider, Elotor’s grand plan was to eventually transform all the drow slaves into driders, thus creating equality throughout the race. To the Spider Kings, becoming a drider wasn’t a punishment. Fleshwarping was a gift from Haagenti, the Demon Lord of Change, so it only made sense that becoming a drider was also a gift. Afterall, driders were stronger, smarter, more skilled with magic and possessed amazing gifts of perception. The elevation of the drow meant there would no longer be a division between common and noble because all driders would be kings.

“So what’s keeping you?” the theurge asked. “You’ve been here two-hundred and fifty years. How come this hasn’t already happened?

Faieth was pleased at the stranger’s question. “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied. “Nau elg’cahl z’hrenen dal naubol. We are not so unalike. Slaves are required to mine the ore for our tunnels, craft our tools and feed the Wheel of Sorrow. These are not things for driders to do. Besides, not every ilythirri is ready for elevation. Some, like these rebels, cling to the old ways. We’ve needed time to separate them from old customs and notions of their superiority. We’ve needed time to show them that we are the future.”

“But…making them like you would cure their madness? It’d make them better?” the theurge hesitantly asked, beginning to think he and his companions had picked the wrong dog in this fight.

“I see this will require a visual example,” the drider sighed. Faieth’s voice grew louder as he called to the drow in the pool behind him. “To your feet, both of you!” he shouted without turning his attention from the mystic. “What did I say was going to happen if I caught you fouling up my pool?”

The pair of drow slaves stood immediately and looked at one another with fear in their eyes. Suddenly, one went for a dagger resting on the rim of the pool as the other dove to restrain him. What followed was a savage match between the drow as each fought to kill the other.

“What’s happening?!” the castrato asked alarmed at this savagery. “Aren’t you going to stop them?!”

“Do you understand now?” Faieth replied as he watched one of the slaves rise from the pool, a bloody dagger in his hand, only to be dragged back and brutally drowned by his wounded opponent moments later. The drider ordered the victor to clean up and leave before turning his attention back to the mystic. “Those drow were my personal guard. I told them they’d go to the Wheel if I caught them in my spring. I said I’d let one of them live if he could kill the other, and do you know what I’m going to do now? I’m going to have him killed anyway…We’re no better than they are. So, why are you here?”

The deposed priest of Nethys took another long minute to ponder the question and then replied, “We’re…here to help?”

The drider’s mandibles twitched with irritation, his curiosity in his guest dwindling.

“Then you are madder than I,” Faieth plainly spoke. “I can sense your desire to do good works, your unfortunate sympathy and the ridiculous fantasy that you can make the world a better place, but you must realize nothing good can come from this. Regardless of the victor here, drider or drow, your help will only spread ruin and, still, you insist you want to help. We are terrible creatures spawned from terrible stock who will find a way to spread our evil throughout this dungeon until we’ve destroyed or enslaved all who oppose us and, still, you insist you want to help. I haven’t been asking why you’ve come because I care about your mission. I want to understand how you’ve come to the conclusion that helping the drow can, in any way, shape or form, be to the benefit of those you hold dear.”

Another long moment passed before the mystic offered his rebuttal. “We’ll leave,” he announced. “Get me to my friends and we’ll go.”

“Do you really think the rebels are going to let you simply walk out of here once they learn you’re abandoning them?” Faieth asked. “The drow expect betrayal. It’s how many of them advance their station in life, but that doesn’t mean they take it well.”

“Then we’ll help you instead,” replied the mystic. “I can give you the name of one of their spies.”

Faieth was not expecting this. Whoever this stranger was among his companions, there was no way he could be counted among their brightest stars.

“That’s your answer?” the drider responded with amazement. “Knowing what you know about us, you trust my people won’t turn on you as soon as the rebellion is destroyed? You can’t think of any other solution?”

“Ari,” spoke the mystic. “The spy’s name is Ari. He’s a drow.”

Faieth was agog. He knew Ari and the drow being a spy made sense, but that isn’t what bothered him. He could feel his giant brain hemorrhaging as the adventurer spoke. Maybe the lizardman was smarter than he looked as he was trying to kill the drider with nonsense?

“Fine, whatever,” the drider replied. He was done with this. The stranger was either insane or a Great Old One, his mind too bizarre a thing to fathom this early in the day. Let Elotor have the weirdo. Faieth just wanted to relax his troubled brain in the hot spring.

“So you’ll let us go?” the theurge, gripped his warhammer as if to threaten the massive monster.

“You can show yourself out,” the drider answered as he waved toward the cave’s exit and climbed into his pool.

“No tricks?” the mystic asked. There was no reply from the drider who only pointed the way out and rubbed his abdomen like an athlete massaging a pulled muscle.

The theurge made it about 100 feet from Faieth’s cave when a pair of driders threw a web net over him and ordered a gang of slaves to disarm him. Unable or unwilling to simply let it go, the Spider King dragged himself out of his pool and caught up to the adventurer before he was dragged off.

“Kill us all,” Faieth spoke as looked down at the entangled eunuch. “It’s the only answer that makes any sense.”


The last line for some reason "speaks" in Sheldon Cooper's voice...

Dark Archive

I see less complaining so that means the ghost either did a decent job or you all stopped reading. Meh.

Anyway, the battle on the golem factory floor (and the ceiling, and the walls) has finally come to an end. It irritates me to report nobody died, but the results might be just as good...

DAY 174 LORD ANTAGONIS IS STILL THE BEST!

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

The buzzing, whirring collection of metal, leather and glass before the peck was a complete mystery. The word “machine” only barely covered whatever the silkstone-producing device was supposed to be. It reminded the halfling of the Death Trap, that scuttling mechanical monster the party had borrowed from the drow and, based on everything the fighter knew about mechanical engineering, neither this clanking thing, nor the golem-crafting device next to it should work at all.

“There are no switches, no levers, no wheels,” the peck complained. “What are these pipes connected to? This bellows doesn’t even seem necessary! It makes less sense than a gnomish engine!”

“Why don’t we just jam it full of stuff?” asked the nurse. Their first plan to destroy the machinery having gone belly up, it was now up to the fighter and the cleric to figure out a way to shut it down while the battle raged on around them.

The halfling considered the cleric’s proposal a moment, shrugged his shoulders and announced, “Couldn’t hurt.”

The silkstone machine appeared to have two feeds. One, a sort of automated loom, pulled drider silk from a pool into the machine while the other moved heated slag from another pool up a conveyor and into a funnel.

“What do we use to jam it?” asked the peck as he and the cleric scanned the room. The rock pile use for supplying the conveyor was too far away to get to in a hurry and the few loose tools around the room seemed too small. Then, their eyes fell on the drow bodies littering the room.

The nurse turned to the fighter and saw he’d come to the same conclusion. “Would it be wrong?” the halfling asked like he actually cared. Just then, the cleric noticed a twitch from the pile of flesh golems in the center of the room. A second later, one of the constructs sat up and got to its feet.

“All things considered, I think the alternative would be worse for everyone,” she hurriedly spoke as she rushed over to the nearest corpse and grabbed its ankles. “Now get his shoulders!”

***

The battle in the factory had been going on for a little over a minute when the eunuch theurge arrived within a net of webbing carried by a lone drider. His captor was under orders to bring any outsiders directly to the Spider King Elotor, so the aberration quickly raced across the floor of the chamber and up a wall to avoid the fighting below. The castrato screamed to his companions for help, but the adventurers already had their hands full.

The battle in the factory was going from looking like a gang of blind gibberlings playing duck-duck-goose on roller skates to pretty much the same thing with the addition of land mines filled with silly-string. By now, the adventurers had succeeded in chasing Radija and Alith from the room and jamming the silkstone machine with drow meat. However, one of the flesh golems had risen to smash and chase away their slave allies while a trio of newly arrived drider warriors blanketed the floor in conjured webs, trapping the nurse and Shim. The big, dumb lizard-ape managed to horribly maim one of the driders, causing the thing to retreat via levitation but, otherwise, the party’s momentum was failing. It looked as though the theurge would have to save himself and, luckily, the mystic’s captors had been in too much of a hurry to completely disarm him.

The drider was already to the ceiling by the time the mystic cut halfway through the net, but the castrato didn’t care. He had a plan, sort of. At any rate, I guess he figured it was better than watching helplessly while his friends die 60 feet below.

The moment the web snapped caught the theurge by complete surprise. As if he’d forgotten how gravity works, he’d neglected to take hold of the drider before sawing through the final fibers of the net’s thread and now the large vat of finished silkstone yawned below, ready to swallow him whole. The castrato grabbed desperately for the monster as he fell, catching hold of one of the beast’s arms. The creature strained, clinging to the ceiling with all its might as the full weight of the theurge threatened to rip it from its purchase and, somehow, the thing managed to stay planted. Unfortunately for the mystic, it was then the drider decided it was done playing Sherpa.

“I will inform my master you were unable to hang out,” I like to imagine the drider laughed as he shook the fool free. “Perhaps, we can try this again next fall!”

Ha! That is gold!

Anyway, the theurge belly-flopped into the fresh, spongy silkstone with a loud THWAP! and immediately sank into the goop, which enveloped him like a hungry ooze. On the bright side, the strange putty-like material had somewhat cushioned his fall. However, that only meant he was still alive to feel the toxic substance soaking into his scales as it quickly began to shut down his respiratory system. Imagine trying to swim through a vat of hot asbestos covered in asphalt and you’ll have an idea of what the guy was going through.

Things only got worse for the party from there.

Free of its burden, the drider formerly carrying the former spellcaster joined the fight by firing a bolt of lightning down at the big dumb gorilla and warning another drider of the rogue sneaking up from behind. His ambush foiled, No Show cursed and charged the monster anyway as the lizard warrior shook off the blast of electricity. Together, they pinned the grounded drider into a corner, but the beast was determined not to go down alone.

The wounded monster clacked its mandibles with glee as it took aim at the witch who was now trapped in one of the driders’ web spells. A bolt of lightning streamed from the drider’s hands, striking the vulnerable jinx and causing him to convulse and collapse to the floor. And he may have died too, if it weren’t for that pesky flying cat on his shoulder.

The celestial mouser used some kind of divine mumbojumbo to stabilize the witch’s wounds, but could provide no further aid. Even if it could, there was no time. Its services were required elsewhere when the lizard-ape was the next to fall. The rotten reptile was doing a splendid job of giving the driders hell and sending them fleeing or floating to the safety of the ceiling until the monsters discovered his weakness: the ape was about as nimble as a cement tree.

It took three lightning bolts to finally drop the wounded reptile. The cat did its thing and stabilized the warrior’s wounds before he could die, but the adventurers should have known they’d lost at that point. The nurse was on fumes after slowly burning her way out of the driders’ webs while being pelted by magic missiles, the jinx and the gorilla were down, Shim had been carried away struggling by a flesh golem and the castrato was dissolving in a tub of carcinogenic play-doh. Nobody had seen Develdar since Radija did his disappearing act and Wicieth had presumably failed to keep the driders out of the room and might be dead for all anyone knew.

Only the peck and the rogue remained to offer any sort of armed resistance to the driders. Maybe they didn’t care that things were hopeless or maybe they were doing that thing that heroes do when think going down swinging makes them any less of a failure. I don’t know, but they kept right on fighting.

The halfling was hurrying across the top of the silkstone engine, rapier clutched in both hands, after wriggling out of a web, and No Show was just about to deliver what he hoped would be a killing blow to the wounded drider that was still literally pinned to the floor by the unconscious lizardman’s trident. The monster opened its mouth to spout some foul final curse as the rogue cocked his arm to strike when the action was suddenly interrupted by a loud gong that echoed through the chamber.

“Enough!” shouted an unfamiliar female drider as she revealed her position high above the battle. “I am Orbb Valuk Sinalith, l’ Lloun’az. My master, Orbb Valuk Elotor, l’ Kyorlin Hiever, has been watching your movements since you first entered The Barrows. He has decided your struggles have gone on long enough and wishes to meet you. Sheathe your weapons and tend to your wounded companions.”

No Show, eyes still locked on his target, held his blade ready as if to respond, “And what if we don’t want to meet your stupid master?”

“Or…if you prefer,” continued Sinalith. “We could go back to the part where you and your friends were about to die.”

It was no bluff. Alith and Radija’s flying disk (along with the presumably invisible Radija) had returned and another flesh golem was beginning to stir within the pile. The rogue lowered his blade and the nurse rushed to take care of the wounded.


When is the Castrato going to get his magic back? He's pretty close to being a commoner as is.

How long has it been with that situation? 6 months or a year real life? I admire his dedication to sticking it out.

Dark Archive

Based on what I know of the matter, it seems the only thing holding that handicapped hedge wizard back is himself. He could have decided to stay with that dark naga, Sigilinde, in order to research some new spells and make Nethys happy, but he chose to run off with his drinking buddies instead. As soon as he gets a little time in a decently stocked laboratory, I'm sure he'll get back to fireballing his own companions and using Create Water orisons to fight Hellwasp Swarms.

Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've just received word that a certain equine insurrectionist has gone missing from one of my secret pony death camp/children's daycare centers, and I need to have a short, violent and execution-punctuated powwow with my staff.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

If you don’t mind, I’ll take that question, Lord Antagon-ass!

Guess who’s back?! (It’s me. I’m the one who’s back.)

Roch(the mystic theurge) will get his old spells back once he’s successfully authored some new ones as atonement to Nethys. In game, only about five days have passed since he lost his mojo. Out of game, it’s been about six months. The player has sent me a couple homemade spells but, until Roch actually researches them, he can’t cast them. He had a chance to stay behind and use Sigilinde’s lab, but he doesn’t trust the evil dark naga (can’t say I blame him.) Luckily, it looks like he and his friends are going to get a little time to recuperate after this last session…

DAY 174 – ELETOR’S WEB, The Monologue-ening!

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party

Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Aria – Aasimar Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
Nicky Holroyd – Human Witch
T-Bone the Stingy Gorilla (I’m not making that up. That’s his actual name.) – Half-Orc Titan Mauler
Jasper – Human Rogue
Shi – Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Cul’tharic - Lizardfolk Scaled Horror
Pyewacket – Nicky’s silvanshee familiar

Sinalith the Shaper, assistant to Eletor, waited patiently while the adventurers tended to their wounds and freed Roch from the silkstone suit he’d acquired. The nameless drider guards had been given leave to return to their regular duties, but the Spider Kings, Alith and Radija remained to inspect the damage caused during the battle. Minutes later, Sinalith announced the arrival of her master.

The party watched as the portcullis leading into Eletor’s laboratory raised. A robed drider wearing a jeweled diadem stood on the other side and exited onto the workshop floor.

“Greetings colnbluthen,” the drider spoke. “I am Orbb Valuk Elotor l’ Kyorlin Hiever, the All-Seeing Visionary. You did well to make it this far. You have impressed me, and that is not an easy thing to do. Now, let us speak of why you are here. Please, follow me.”

Alith, the drider charged with the running the silkstone machine, tried to give Elotor a report on the engine’s status, but the All-Seeing Visionary waved her off as his spidery legs carried him through the room.

“You know better than I these strangers could not have caused any lasting damage to the machinery,” Elotor interrupted. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

With that, the drider bade his fellow Kings to retire for the day, leaving only Sinalith and himself among the adventurers. Ever watchful of her master, Sinalith followed from the ceiling while Elotor led the party past a large table used for sorting and preparing body parts for the golems. Suddenly, a dark blur leapt out of the shadows of an adjoining tunnel, steel gleaming in the lamplight as it fell on Elotor’s back.

Develdar’s blade pierced deep into the drider’s carapace. “Tesso Mahir Usstan telanth vendui!” the drow growled as the poison did its work. Elotor sank to the floor, unconscious, as Develdar prepared the killing blow.

“Uh…we don’t know this guy,” Jasper called up to Sinalith, expecting to be swarmed by drider guards at any moment. However, Elotor’s assistant seemed unconcerned and a half-second later, the adventurers learned why.

Develdar’s rapier lined up with Elotor’s heart. The warrior was all set to end the oppressor’s life when a strange drow woman from within the tunnel darted up and struck him from behind with the precision of a trained killer.

“But, the daggers…” Develdar gasped as darkness fell over his mind. The shape-changing aranea, Wicieth, wearing a new face and slipping into the battle unnoticed, had found Develdar’s hiding place knowing he would set up an ambush for Elotor. She’d even told him she was there to back him up as she drew her dagger and handed it to him the way she always did to prove her identity. It was a simple ritual but, over time, the drow had come to take it as a sign of loyalty, a sign that, of all the allies he had, Wicieth was the only one worthy of trust.

Wicieth stood over Develdar’s body, blackjack in hand. After sustaining injuries fighting alongside the adventurers and his betrayal by the spy, the drow was only unconscious, a detail not missed by the cleric, Shi.

“Now that that’s been dealt with,” Sinalith spoke. “I think it’s time you met the real Elotor.”

***

The floor of Elotor’s laboratory was sticky with spilled biofluids and strange chemicals that gave it a prismatic sheen and, from the cracked and worn tiles, it appeared the chamber had once been part of the main dungeon complex. The walls and ceiling of the room had been largely replaced with silkstone and hung with a complex weave of drider silk. Old jail cells lined the walls of the room, but the former cellblock had been converted into an operating room/laboratory where Elotor could work in full view of the prisoners who formed his gallery.

The All-Seeing Visionary, himself, looked nothing like the pedestrian stand-in the party met in the factory. The true Elotor stood at twice the height of an ordinary drider and wore a copper mask made to resemble a skull. A heavy, blood-spattered, black cloak was draped over his body, its hem fastened to his legs as if to conceal something that seemed to crawl across the Spider King’s form. That Develdar could mistake the dupe for this monstrosity could only mean the drow had possibly never actually seen the target of his ire.

The Spider King was putting the final touches on his latest experiment when the adventurers entered the room, allowing them a few moments to examine his captives. The nearest cells contained a menagerie of small, unidentifiable creatures that fought over scraps of flesh or hid in the corners of their cages nursing wounds they’d suffered at the hands of their creator; here, a spiky, blue-furred badger-thing, there, something resembling a cross between a snail, a crab and a drow’s severed head.

The next set of cells held larger creatures. A pair of tauric females, one with the lower body of a horse, the other, a lion, watched each other suspiciously from their respective cells in the south corner, while a bloated, malformed giant dark elf blubbered in a cell nearby. A cell in the east wall contained what appeared to be an injured, but incredibly handsome, strong and intelligent (I’m assuming,) white stallion with a long, tapered horn growing from the center of its forehead. The creature’s purple mane flowed along its neck like a cascade of lavender snowflakes, and its eyes sparkled like twin sta…er, uh, where was I? Oh right. So, one of the prisoners was a unicorn who totally was not me because that would be preposterous.

As glorious as the unicorn was, the cell that really caught the attention of Shi, Cul’tharic and Roch was a large cage, nearly bursting with a swarm of small, rat-like humanoids. The squeaking creatures bore a striking resemblance to a former adventuring companion of theirs, the rat-man cleric, Rags, who had been petrified during their battle with the medusa Saria. Rags’ memory of his origins had always been hazy, but it now seemed the driders may have had a hand in them. Before the adventurers could ask, however, Eletor stepped back from his operating table, laughing maniacally as an impish homunculus hovered in for a closer look at the drider’s project.

The Spider King’s laughter was like an empty-lunged, wheezing mockery of joy. “I’ve done it!” he bellowed. “They said it couldn’t be done, but I proved them wrong didn’t I, Scuttle?! Didn’t I?!!”

The homunculus rolled its tiny eyes and gave its master an unconvinced stare, then darted away to the other side of the table. “Bah! What do you know anyway, clay-brain!” Elotor shouted as he swatted at the little monster.

“Now rise, my slave!” the drider ordered as he pulled the blanket from the lump on the table. “Riiiiise!”

The naked, sexless thing that sat up and dragged itself onto the floor was a nightmare of anatomy. The stout, humanoid creature sported four, short, muscular arms and its flesh was a splotchy patchwork of dark orange rust and bronze. Its two, misshapen mouths, one stacked on top of the other, bubbled with froth, and its heterochromic eyes bulged out with panic, pain and confusion. One orange eye fixed on Elotor as its upper mouth coughed up what sounded like a choked goblin curse while the other dark eye turned independently over to the assembled adventurers.

“Kiiillll mmeeeee,” the thing’s lower mouth spoke in a familiar gravelly voice as slime fell past its lips from its upper mouth.

“Gods of mercy,” Roch spoke, fighting back an urge to puke. “That’s Pallas.”

“He’s really let himself go,” Shi quipped, but Roch was right. At least half of the horrible, pitiful thing before them was their old adventuring companion, the evil dwarf Pallas. Elotor cackled, motioned the thing forward and laughed again in triumph as it took its first steps. The fire of the Spider King’s sadistic glee was quickly doused, however, when the monster’s skin began to bubble and pop. Pallas’ dwarf physiology was rejecting the drider’s fleshwarping magic and, within seconds, the thing was reduced to a smoking blob of foul-smelling goo that exploded like a dead cow’s stomach on a hot afternoon.

“But…I was so close,” Elotor sighed as chunks of the thing dripped from his cloak.

Elotor’s failure was too much for the homunculus, Scuttle, who mockingly congratulated its master with a slow clap and before zipping away before the drider could squash him. “You did this, didn’t you, you little fa’la zatoast!” Elotor screeched as he hurled a flask after the tiny construct. Then, straightening and wiping off his cloak, the Spider King turned toward the adventurers.

“Sinalith, clean this up,” Elotor ordered, his composure regained. “I think I’ve kept our guests waiting long enough.”

The portcullis behind the adventurers had been closed by Wicieth and the aranea stood at the gate barring their exit. Whatever Elotor had planned, it seemed he wanted a captive audience.

“You, no doubt, know I am by now so I’ll skip the introductions,” Elotor began. The giant, cloaked drider was all bravado and arrogance. “But do you know why I am called the 'All-Seeing Visionary'…aside from the fact I’m a genius with an almost prophetic understanding of the future of my kind?”

Elotor went on to explain that he and the Orbb Valuken shared a special bond with the Zermr Gryryk beyond merely being able to create their invisible minions. The Wheel of Sorrow had also granted the Spider Kings the ability to see through the various wardstones placed within their domain. As soon as the adventurers activated the Wheel of Sorrow upon their arrival, Elotor knew where they were. From that point on, the Spider King had secretly orchestrated their every battle within The Barrows.

Elotor couldn’t control the party’s movements, but he could watch them through the wardstones they passed and order some of his driders away from their posts in an attempt to lure them to the factory, confident they wouldn’t be able to permanently damage the equipment. From there, it was a simple matter of viewing their struggle with his inborn clairvoyance and gauging their remaining strength. If that weren’t bad enough, Elotor revealed he had yet another way of tracking the adventurers’ progress.

The construction of the small drider-shaped key the party carried was based on the same magic used to create the wardstones. Whenever it was used by a non-drider, it emitted a telepathic beacon only driders could intercept. The beacon couldn’t convey any information about who had the key, but any drider in the dungeon would know where the key was at the time it was used.

“So why allow us to get so close to you?” Riswan asked. “Why not just send an army of golems or driders to finish us off or put us in chains?”

“Why are you so special?” Elotor finished. “Sinalith is scraping the answer from the floor, little warrior.”

Elotor continued his exposition by informing the party of his plans for his people, plans which involved the adventurers and, by extension, the prisoners’ commune of Four Waters. Much of what he said mirrored what Faieth had told Roch; that the driders planned to eventually transform all of their drow slaves into aberrations like themselves. What Faieth didn’t know, however, was that those plans were much closer to coming to fruition than anyone realized.

The All-Seeing Visionary had foreseen that elevating all the drow would deplete their slave stock. Slaves were vital for labor and food so, before the mass fleshwarping could begin, a substitute slave race would need to be found. Here, Elotor directed the adventurers’ attention to the cage of rat-men.

Rats and dire rats were hardy, comfortable in cramped conditions and, most importantly, abundant in the dungeon. This led Elotor to experiment with the tiny creatures in an attempt to craft a new slave race that could replace the drow. After a few unsatisfactory results, Elotor happened onto success when he used organs from a pair of gnomes who had been captured near the region’s entrance. Using cruel and terrible fleshwarping magic, Elotor successfully combined the gnomes’ genetic material with that of dire rats.

The “Jor-Lodias,” or “Rat-Folk” as Elotor referred to them, were deemed a good start, but he was out of gnome parts and the breeding process was too slow for his tastes. Then, word came of a visitor from the south, a hobgoblin warrior named Morrigsen who was willing to trade his services for help dealing with a sadistic dwarf that was tracking him. Few creatures ever came through the celestial wards to the south, and this was an opportunity Elotor would not miss. The hobgoblin was brought to Elotor, interrogated and locked in a cell while the drider waited for his nemesis.

The dwarf, Pallas, it turned out, had promised the drow rebellion he would fight on their behalf only to betray them when the group he was with was ambushed by drider forces. Pallas claimed he was only interested in finding his quarry, the hobgoblin, and killed three of the drow rebels to prove his sincerity. Reports of the dwarf’s actions intrigued Elotor and he ordered Pallas brought to him at once.

Elotor asked Sinalith and Noh to craft enchanted gifts for the dwarf and promised him more power in exchange for all he knew of the regions south of the Halls of Madness. Pallas, confident in his prowess, planned to turn on the driders as soon as he had taken advantage of them, and gladly told Elotor all about Four Waters, the Goblin Empire, the few remaining members of the Celestial Garrison and the minotaur tribes of Region F. Finally, Eletor knew where he could quickly find the slaves he needed to replace the drow.

Pallas’ final fate was clear. His anatomy had been combined with that of Morrigsen in an attempt by Eletor to become the first creature ever to successfully fleshwarp a dwarf, an attempt that quite explosively failed. What wasn’t clear was how the Spider King intended to reach Four Waters when the celestial wards barred access to all evil creatures.

“Golems are amazing creations,” Elotor spoke. “They’re powerful, nigh-impervious to damage and, best of all, free from the constraints of morality. The invisible stalkers created by the Zermr Gryryk share a similar quality. Things like good and evil just don’t matter to them.”

The adventurers were beginning to understand Elotor’s master plan and it terrified them. The driders weren’t just creating flesh golems. They were building wardstones, dozens of wardstones that could be carried effortlessly by the flesh golems and past the celestial wards. Once the stones were in place, the invisible stalkers would swarm into the south, overwhelming the Celestial Garrison and, with the Garrison defeated, the wards would fail. The driders could follow in the wake of the golems’ destruction, and Four Waters and the Goblin Empire would be defenseless.

“What about the minotaurs?” Roch asked. “You don’t think they’d fight you to avoid becoming slaves?”

“I know they won’t,” Elotor answered. “The dwarf was very clear about their distaste for the celestials and their love of wealth. The minotaur tribes will unite with our forces in exchange for enchanted weaponry, armor and big sacks of valuable gemstones we mine from the crater near The Barrows’ entrance.”

“The last time I checked, your freak weaponsmith was dumb as a really dumb brick and, oh yeah, dead,” Nicky proudly commented.

“Both of which are temporary conditions and easily remedied,” Elotor grinned.

“What if the commune and the goblins make a better offer?” Riswan asked.

“They won’t,” Shi suddenly spoke to his companions’ surprise.

“How do you know, Shi?” Roch asked. “What are you talking about?”

“They won’t make a better offer because we won’t give them the chance,” Shi answered. “Elotor here is planning to put a charm on us and use us against our own people. That’s why Wicieth turned on Develdar, isn’t it, Elotor?”

The Spider King smiled and applauded the cleric for his insight. Shi had correctly sensed the aranea was under some sort of compulsion. It wasn’t strong enough that she’d kill her ally but she’d been unable to resist Eletor’s order to betray Develdar nonetheless.

“Very good,” Elotor congratulated. “It’s true the aranea is under my control. So is that little floating celestial gasball at the region’s entrance. The custodian archon has been most helpful when it comes to alerting me to the presence of newcomers, and I knew it would eventually point someone toward the location of the hidden rebel camp. Then, it was only a matter of time before they found their way back to me.”

“None of you thought I was going to let you just walk out of here after telling you my entire plan, did you?” the Spider King laughed.

Roch raised his hand a little. “uhm…I did,” he muttered.

Cul’tharic remembered how the kobold Klarihg’en had charmed him, then gripped his trident and hissed, “Never again!” Shi placed a hand on the lizardman’s shoulder and whispered to his companions, "Help is on the way. Get ready.”

Just then, a loud crash was heard from the factory floor outside Eletor’s chamber. Riswan, seizing the opportunity of the drider’s surprise, swung his mithral axe at the nearest cell door with all his might. The old iron of the ancient cell was no match for the elf-crafted weapon and the lock buckled and snapped, freeing the small, mutant creatures within. Following the halfling’s lead, Roch and Jasper broke for the cells nearest to them as Nicky ran for a set of switches behind Eletor. Cul’tharic charged the massive drider but missed, his trident piercing the aberration’s heavy cloak and finding only empty air, as Aria ran to back him up.

Wicieth suddenly shrieked in alarm. A huge, ivory-skinned giant with an rockin’ moustache was at the portcullis wrapping its massive hands around the bars and forcing the gate open. Then, to everyone’s disbelief, T-Bone the Stingy Gorilla, sword in hand, charged into the room through the giant’s legs!

“Bet you didn’t see that coming, you big bastard!” Shi shouted to Elotor as his freed invisible stalker friend returned with the cavalry.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The escape is underway! The last journal entry was so long, I had to break it into two parts.

After serving as conscripted soldiers of the drow rebellion for the last several days, it looked like the evil Spider Kings were set to turn the party against the dark elves and, ultimately, their own allies to the south! Fortunately for them, the cleric Shi had a secret plan to send for reinforcements. He wasn’t expecting those reinforcements to include an 18-foot tall, 5000lb. giant, but he isn’t complaining and he certainly isn’t going to tell anyone he didn’t plan for it.

*PARENTAL ADVISORY*:
The text in the second photo for today's journal contains language which may not be suitable for children, the Amish or anyone else with an aversion to the "F" word. Also, some of the jokes near the end are very "inside." Probably not very offensive, but maybe a little confusing to people outside our table.

DAY 174 – ESCAPE FROM THE BARROWS!

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Aria – Aasimar Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
Nicky Holroyd – Human Witch
T-Bone the Stingy Gorilla – Half-Orc Titan Mauler
Jasper – Human Rogue
Shi – Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Cul’tharic - Lizardfolk Scaled Horror
Pyewacket – Nicky’s silvanshee familiar

T-Bone the Stingy Gorilla stood before a massive, pale-skinned humanoid with what appeared to be an immense warhammer hanging across its back. The giant had used some sort of spell to create a bridge across the lava flow for the half-orc to cross, but the barbarian had no idea why.

“You’re not gonna try to eat me, are you?” T-Bone began, putting one hand on his greatsword. “Because I’ve already had one hell of a morning, and I’m not in any kind of mood to be eaten.”

“Of course I’m not going to eat you,” the giant chortled. “You haven’t been cooking long enough!”

This response didn’t instill any confidence in the barbarian who furrowed his brow and kept his hand on the grip of his sword. Seeing this, the giant took a knee and slowly extended an open hand toward the half-orc.

“Name’s Norkor,” the giant spoke. “I saw your signal and came to investigate. I thought you might have been my brother.”

“What signal?” T-Bone asked, shaking Norkor’s huge mitt. “I’ve been under a compost heap the last few minutes.”

“The lightning,” Norkor responded. “The bright flash in the sky a few minutes ago. There’s a plateau not far from here. I sometimes climb up there to look for signals from my brother. When I saw the flash, I thought maybe you were him.”

T-Bone suddenly remembered Nicky had fired a lightning bolt at the air elemental while they were trapped in its whirlwind. He explained this to the giant and informed him that his companions had fled when the drow, mephits and drider were closing in.

“I saw the drider from here,” Norkor spoke. “I thought you might be one of the dark elves and almost left you to your fate, but I guess I figured I owed it to Stronmaus to make sure.”

“Stronmaus your brother?” T-Bone asked.

“My god,” Norkor answered.

Norkor explained to T-Bone that he and his brother, Zethar, were both priests of an old cloud giant deity of joy and weather. Stronmaus was an enemy to all evil creatures of the air and the giant brothers had come to the dungeon after hearing a legend claiming the evil air elemental king, Aphnitern, was trapped under the mountain seeking a way to escape and cause great destruction to the world above.

“About twice a year, priests of Stronmaus usually declare an Omjag, a ‘Sky Hunt,’ to seek out and destroy some enemy of our god,” Norkor continued. “Usually it’s things like wyverns or manticores, maybe an evil dragon, things like that. Well, Zethar and I got it into our heads we could take down King Aphnitern.”

The brothers eventually found a cave entrance into the dungeon and tracked Aphnitern to an area they called The Valley of the Demon Wind. From a base camp they built on a nearby mountain, they observed the valley over several months until they were certain they’d discovered the elemental’s lair.

“After nearly a year of training and studying our prey, we thought we were ready for anything,” Norkor ruefully spoke. “We were like two mice charging an owl’s nest. The Demon Wind flung us into the valley like we were kawgh ar y bys and left us for dead. I woke some time later and dragged myself to our camp, hoping my brother would be there, but he never made it back. I haven’t seen him for forty years.”

“Anyway, pyth eus gwyrs eus gwyrs,” the giant conceded. “You’re wounded, and this is a dangerous place. I should get you back to my home so you can heal.”

“Thanks, but I need to get back to my friends,” replied the half-orc. “Maybe you could make me another bridge?”

“Not today,” Norkor spoke. “Your friends will have to take care of themselves until I can prepare the spell again. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

T-Bone looked back across the river of slow-flowing magma. It was too far to jump and swimming would be suicide. Then, just as he turned to follow Norkor deeper into the valley, he felt a light breeze brush against his cheek. Norkor suddenly began to make a series of strange noises, like whistling mixed with labored breathing.

“Your name is ‘T-Bone?’” the giant asked with a laugh. “Seems your companions made themselves a friend. It says it’s here to collect you.”

As a priest of Stronmaus, Norkor had learned the language of air elementals, which was shared by invisible stalkers. The creature he spoke to now was the same stalker Shi had freed when the party found the spirit repository in The Barrows and, hoping it would have the strength to lift the barbarian, the priest had sent the invisible stalker to locate and recover T-Bone from his island getaway.

“I’ll come with you,” Norkor spoke as he levitated into the air. “But I’m going to need a push.”

***

“Master, go!” Sinalith shouted to Elotor as she ascended the wall of the All-Seeing Visionary’s laboratory and conjured a thick cloud of fetid gas over the adventurers. “The Silinrai will deal with them!”

Elotor floated to the ceiling of the chamber, narrowly dodging Cul’tharic’s trident as the reptile charged out of the blinding fog. “I suppose you’re right,” the Spider King sighed. “Physical combat is beneath me anyway, hah ha!”

Sinalith groaned. “Just go!” she shouted. Though considered a Spider King herself, the Shaper took her duty as Elotor’s assistant very seriously and was on constant watch for his safety. Not since her sire, Byalahiir, led their people to freedom had there been a drider with l’ Kyorlin Hiever’s potential. It was true she might someday kill him, but not until he succeeded at securing the power of their kind.

The adventurers choked their way out of the stinking cloud where they could and continued their efforts to free the drider’s captives, but Sinalith’s words had given them pause. Even with T-Bone’s return and the giant’s help, they knew they couldn’t win a drawn out fight with Elotor and whatever legion of driders was on its way. Their best shot at survival was to flee as soon as they’d freed the captives.

After stumbling through Sinalith’s cloud while trying not to trip over the small, furry mutants he’d rescued, Riswan finally reached the cage of the magnificent unicorn in the east wall.

“Hang in there, uh, boy? I’ll have you out in no time,” the halfling spoke through the bars as if the creature was just some dumb horse.

“You mean you can see me?!” the unicorn excitedly replied. “Oh thank Desna, you’re a virgin!”

“Wait, what?!” Riswan exclaimed, not expecting the unicorn’s response.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the unicorn spoke. “I’m sure you just haven’t met the right person.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the chamber, Nicky had just arrived at a series of levers set near the center of the room.

“The switches open the cell doors!” called the centaur woman from her cell in the corner. “Get the ratfolk out first!”

“Get me out of here!” called the leonine woman in the cell next to her. “I can help!”

“Stay your tongue, gaetos hoer!” the first woman shouted. “You deserve to rot in there!”

“Ignore the horse’s ass! Let me out!” the other creature called. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

The witch ran for the closest switch and pulled it while the party’s invisible stalker ally pulled a switch on the opposite end.

“Ow! Dammit, Nicky!” shouted Riswan as the unicorn’s cell door smacked into him (it was actually the invisible stalker’s fault but nobody saw it throw the switch.) The other lever opened the cell containing the bloated, misshapen drow, but the pathetic creature could do nothing but hang from its chains and whimper.

“Get away from those!” Elotor yelled when he noticed the witch at the controls. “They’re mine!”

The aberrant sorcerer quickly cast a spell that covered the floor of the room in a spectacular display of shifting colors. Nicky’s well-trained mind easily fought off the enthralling effect of the pattern, but Eletor had achieved his goal. The ratfolk stared in slack-jawed awe at the shimmering rainbow that danced in the air even as Cul’tharic pried open their cell door with his resin trident.

“T-Bone!” Norkor shouted from the laboratory entrance. “We’ve got to get your friends out of here now!” Over the billowing clouds of rank gas, the giant could see a quartet of driders racing along the ceiling from a tunnel to the south. From the factory, he could hear the approach of more creatures.

“But I didn’t get to kill anything yet!” T-Bone replied. “Grrr. Fine. Grab as many of these whatever-the-hell-they-ares and run!” he yelled to his companions.

Nicky glanced at the next lever and wagered his odds of getting the thing pulled and escaping before the driders descended on him. They weren’t good.

“Get out of here!” shouted the centaur.

“Pull the stupid switch!” yelled the lion-woman.

A thick web suddenly exploded within the ratfolk cell as a drider’s net from above narrowly missed the witch.

“Screw it,” said the witch who grabbed the lever with both hands as his hair stretched out to pull the switch next to it. The two corner cells sprang open as a net snagged Nicky. The lion-bodied woman burst from her cell, ignoring the rainbow pattern that ensnared the ratfolk. Before her equine contemporary could escape, however, the lever to the centaur’s cell suddenly snapped back into the closed position.

“That’ll be quite enough of that!” Sinalith hissed from the ceiling. The Shaper had conjured an unseen servant to secure the cell and she was already preparing another spell.

“Thanks for the rescue, handsome,” the lion-woman purred. “Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”

“How’s now work for you?” Nicky growled as he struggled to break free of the drider’s net.

“Sorry darling,” the creature grinned. “I’m a little busy right now, but look me up if you ever get out of here.”

The beast-woman vanished into the stinking cloud as the drider began to pull Nicky toward the ceiling. Suddenly, the net snapped open dumping the witch to the floor. After tearing open the net, the invisible stalker pulled Nicky to his feet as the centaur shouted from her cell.

“Now go!” she cried. “You won’t get another chance!”

“We’ll come back for you!” Nicky yelled as the invisible stalker fended off another attack by the driders and Pyewacket tugged at the witch’s cloak.

On the other side of the fog, Shi and Jasper fiddled with the portcullis mechanism as their companions rushed past with rescued ratfolk and liberated lusus naturae.

“What are you doing?!” Roch stopped to ask. Two tiny mystery varmints hung from the mystic’s tail and were using him as a taxi. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Do you think this’ll work?” Shi asked the rogue, ignoring Roch.

“We’ll know in a sec’,” Jasper replied.

Cul’tharic, Aria, Nicky and Pyewacket burst out of the stinking cloud behind Riswan and the unicorn while T-Bone and Norkor held off a pair of driders trying to enter the factory from the east. Jasper grabbed the trail line he and Shi had attached to the portcullis control and quickly moved out of the chamber behind his companions. Then, with driders moving in from the south, he and the priest gave the line a mighty jerk and snapped the control lever free of its mechanism. The portcullis crashed to the floor trapping the driders on the other side, and the party ran for the magma river to the north.

***

“We will hide,” squeaked one of the ratfolk to Roch and Jasper as the adventurers crossed the river, two at a time, with Norkor and the invisible stalker’s help. The party had managed to rescue five of the rodent-like creatures. “You should go. We will come if you need us.”

The adventurers nodded and prepared to cross the river when Wicieth suddenly arrived with Develdar over her shoulder. The aranea had escaped when Norkor arrived and found the unconscious drow where she’d left him.

“Please,” she pleaded, stumbling out of the factory cave. “Take us with you.”

“Uh-uh, no way,” Jasper replied. “You’re their spy and he’s a pain in the t’zarreth. We’re not taking you anywhere.”

“It’s true I served Elotor, but you heard him,” Wicieth countered. “I had no choice then, but the spell was broken when I saw what he’d done to those creatures in the lab and heard his plans for you and your allies. I can’t let him get away with this.”

“Assuming that’s true, what do you get out of helping the drow?” Jasper asked. “From everything we’ve seen, they’re just as bad as the driders.”

“I don’t care about the drow,” spoke the aranea. “I want revenge for what Elotor did to me. The driders aren’t going to forget what you did here today. When they finish off the rebellion, they’ll come looking for you, and it isn’t going to be a few drow slaves with crossbows they send after you. Let me help you.”

The rogue consulted with Roch and Norkor a moment. The driders would work their way around the broken portcullis soon enough and time was running short.

“Fine,” Jasper conceded. “You can come with us, but jerkface is on his own.”

“I can’t just leave him!” Wicieth pleaded.

“Your choice,” the rogue answered. “He’s a liability, and-“

“Eletor has his father!” interjected Wicieth. “Develdar’s father was an advisor to Mahir back when Elotor was just the sorcerer’s apprentice! They found out he was working with the rebellion and he disappeared! Eletor’s the only one who knows where he is!”

“Yeah?” responded the rogue. “Now pull the other one. We don’t have time for this, lady. We’re going now, with or without you.”

“Wait,” Norkor spoke. “I’ll carry him.” Maybe the woman was lying, but the giant couldn’t help but think of his missing brother, Zethar. “I won’t trust to take the drow into my home, but I know a place where he should be safe.”

“Thank you,” spoke the aranea.

Not far away, Riswan stood upon the shore with the strange, but awesome, unicorn.

“So, none of you’ve ever, you know?” asked the magical beast. “There a Promise Keepers convention in town or something?”

“First of all, I don’t even know what that is,” replied the halfling. “And second, cut it out. I know for a fact Cul’tharic isn’t a virgin because he has a wife and hatchlings.”

“And I bet he told you they all live in Idaho,” laughed the unicorn. “Have you actually met them?”

“Shut up before I punch you,” Riswan grumbled.

“Who do you think you are, Joseph Smith?” the unicorn giggled.

“What?” asked the confused halfling.

“I was just saying I need to get going,” answered the unicorn. “Thanks for rescuing me, and good luck with the driders.”

“You’re not staying?” asked Riswan. “We could probably use your help.”

“Trust me, Mr. Once-and-Future-NPC,” spoke the unicorn as he sauntered away around a corner. “I help you guys plenty.”

The halfling pondered what the unicorn said, but so much of it seemed like nonsense. “Wait up!” he cried as he tried to catch up with the noble beast. “We don’t even know your name!” But it was too late. The unicorn had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Riswan!” Jasper called to the halfling. “Quit talking to yourself and get over here or we’re leaving without you!”

“I bet it was something fruity like ‘Windshadow’ or ‘Wildfire,’” the halfling thought to himself as he shrugged his shoulders and returned to his companions. “Or maybe some ridiculous elf name like Verilkiro,” he laughed. “What a baridric!”

___

helpful translations:
Below are some of the non-Common (unCommon?) phrases and words used in today's journal translated for your reading pleasure!

kawgh ar y bys = Giant (cloud dialect) for "excrement on his finger"

pyth eus gwyrs eus gwyrs = Giant (cloud dialect) for "what is done is done"

gaetos hoer = Sylvan for "demon prostitute"

baridric = Halfling compound word for "stupid ass"

Sovereign Court

By the way, you probably know this, but as written Rainbow Pattern and other spells that fascinate are pretty useless. Fascination is automatically broken whenever anyone draws a weapon, casts a spell, points a ranged weapon, etc.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Actually, to be totally honest, I forgot about that. Thanks for pointing that out. I think I can finagle it to work in this case for a few reasons.

1. No hostile creatures approached the ratfolk. By the time combat started, the ratfolk realized the adventurers were there to help them.

2. While the adventurers did have drawn weapons, none of them threatened the ratfolk. The way I read it, the fascinated creature must be the target of a hostile action. Otherwise, just casting the spell in the presence of armed (or even naturally armed) creatures would seem to auto-negate its effect. I think you've got to draw a line when it comes to the "potential threat" part of the effect. Otherwise, you could argue the friendly chef standing nearby with his carving knife or the tubby housecat next to the fireplace with its 1d3-3 claw damage are potential threats.

3. When the driders did finally make their move to recapture the ratfolk, they did so with Web spells so the Rainbow Pattern became irrelevant.

4. The adventurers could have tried to shake all of the ratfolk free or done something to spook them out of their fascination, but shaking them would have taken too long and I don't think any of them thought to use any "hostile" effects to break the fugue. I might have dropped the hint if I'd remembered they could do that.

Sovereign Court

I can't fault your logic one bit. Certainly one has to be a bit generous with how fascination works, lest it be useless.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

So, a couple things to get out of the way before I begin the next session’s telling.

While I was incarcerated, it happened that our little campaign passed the three-year mark (though it seems like only five months have passed since we arrived.) We’ve been through close to a dozen players and somewhere around 50 characters, but the World’s Largest Adventuring Party is still going strong. Unfortunately, this session we bid adieu to veteran party member Shi and the stalwart halfling Riswan.

The three players who ran Shi and Riswan (the small fighter was too much for one man) moved away a few months ago, and there was never a good time for the characters to slip away what with drider-fightin’ and mutant-smashin’ to do. They’ve been passed around the table like a communal blunt since then, but circumstances have finally allowed for the characters to retire from active service. However, that doesn’t mean it’s the last we’ve seen of them. They’ll no longer appear on the official roster of characters, but they’ve still got a part to play in the party’s upcoming battle with The Spider Kings.

Here’s to, at least, one more year of this nonsense! Now, on with the show…

DAYS 175-177 THE DARK CROWN

featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Lizardfolk Mystic Theurge
Aria – Aasimar Holy Vindicator of Sarenrae
Nicky Holroyd – Human Witch
T-Bone the Stingy Gorilla – Half-Orc Titan Mauler
Jasper – Human Rogue
Cul’tharic - Lizardfolk Scaled Horror
Pyewacket – Nicky’s silvanshee familiar

Norkor pushed aside a large wooden beam laying across the entrance to a long-forgotten, ruin on the ashy plain. “This should do,” he announced.

The structure, the giant explained, had once been a six-story tower built by drow slaves serving the driders.

“The spider-elves abandoned it within a couple years,” he recounted. “…along with all their other plans for conquering the mountains and plains north of the river. Didn’t like the neighborhood I guess. I hear they kept having trouble with a couple of kids tossing rocks through their windows.”

Several five-foot-tall sections of wall arranged in a wide, rough square and a few piles of debris were all that remained of the tower, but it could still serve as a safe haven away from the eyes of the Spider Kings. Norkor told the adventurers they would push on to his home the next day but, for now, they would rest and plan out their next move.

“By now, the rebellion will have ended,” Wicieth spoke. “The nobles in charge will go into hiding, their commanders will be put to death and their soldiers will probably wind up going to the Wheel of Sorrow or as Radija’s newest golem components. We won’t be able to beat The Spider Kings in a stand-up fight.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” replied Riswan. “Most of the walls in The Barrows were replaced with silkstone when the driders moved in, right? What if we can get ahold of some of that solvent we used on Roch to collapse The Barrows right on top of them?” The halfling’s blue-collar roots were clearly showing.

“That’s not a bad plan,” the aranea agreed. “But we’d need more than a few vials of the stuff and, from what I remember, you jammed up the machine that produces it. We’d need to steal the driders’ entire surplus.”

“Or make our own,” added Nicky. “I could probably whip up a batch in my cauldron if we can get a sample to examine and the ingredients.”

“I don’t think that tea kettle you call a cauldron is going to cut it,” said Jasper. “Those tunnels are massive. You’d need a pretty big lab to cook up everything we’ll need or it’ll take forever.”

Everyone looked at Norkor, but the giant shook his head. “I’ve got little worktable and a few things for making medicines and poultices, but nothing like what you’re talking about,” spoke the giant.

“We know someone with a pretty big lab,” Shi chimed. “Don’t we, Roch?”

The theurge growled. He might still have access to his spells if it weren’t for the slippery worm. “What makes you think she’d help?” Roch asked. “She only cares about her experiments.”

“What choice does she have?” spoke Cul’tharic. “Her allies have fallen. The driders will find her soon, and a few cloakers aren’t going to stop them or their golems.”

“What if she works out a deal with them?” countered the mystic.

“We’ll just have to get to her first,” Shi replied. “She didn’t seem to like the driders much, and she might like them less when she learns what Eletor has planned. Besides, I think she owes us.”

“We should have a backup plan in case we’re too late,” Riswan spoke.

“I think I know a place,” replied Wicieth. “It’s dangerous but the drow have a sanctuary, a cave the driders can’t enter. The rebellion used it as an infirmary, and the healer there is a skilled alchemist. She might be able to reproduce the solvent. Luckily, Eletor never thought to ask me about it so I was never compelled to tell him.”

“What makes it so dangerous?” asked Nicky. “Why can’t the driders enter?”

“The entrance is covered in regenerating webs that paralyze and render unconscious any non-drow that tries to enter,” the aranea explained. “I don’t know who put them there or why the drow are unaffected, but the driders got tired of losing scouts so they placed wardstones near the entrance in case it was some kind of predator. They don’t bother to go near the place now, but it’s close to l’ Resk’afar, the huge crater that makes up the slave pit, so they’re never far away.”

“How can this sanctuary help us if we can’t get in?” asked the halfling.

“Develdar or I can get inside,” Wicieth answered. “The webs don’t seem to know the difference between a real drow and someone in the form of a drow. I don’t think any of the driders can change shape or they might have figured that out by now.”

“Speaking of Develdar, we should probably wake him up,” Jasper commented. “He’s a jerk, but he might have something to contribute.”

“If none of you mind,” Wicieth began. “I’m going to step outside before you wake him. I don’t think you’ll have an easy time speaking with him if I’m around. In fact, it might be for the best if you don’t even mention I’m with you.”

The aranea was right to slip away when she did. Aria used her healing touch to rouse the drow, who was livid upon waking. It was bad enough Wicieth had betrayed him, but he’d failed in his mission to find his father and kill Eletor. Jasper, perhaps owing to roguish kinship, finally managed to talk the drow down and pointed out how the aranea was the entire reason he was still alive.

“Elotor was like any other drider the last time I saw him,” Develdar spoke as he remembered his attack on the Spider King’s decoy. “That was before the accident in Mahir’s laboratory in the south. I’d heard he was injured, but that was all.”

“Injured?” Aria commented. “The guy was fifteen feet tall, wearing half a skull on his face and a tent!”

“Nindol thir’kuar naubol,” Develdar replied. “I will have revenge for myself and my father. Tell me your plan, and if it will grant me that, I will hold to it.”

“Even if part of the plan involves killing a whole lot of your people?” Roch asked. The mystic had shared the details of his visit with the Spider King, Faeith, to his companions on the trip to the tower and all seemed to agree victory over the driders would mean nothing if the drow were allowed to pick up where the aberrations left off.

“I’m listening,” replied the drow.

***

Shi, Riswan and Wicieth were gone hours before their companions awoke the next day. The three had been selected to handle the first and most important stage of the adventurers’ plan: securing a sample of the silkstone solvent and getting it to the dark naga Sigilinde. The aranea could easily blend in with the drow slaves in the south and her invisibility magic would conceal Shi and Riswan as long as they moved quickly.

The cleric, Shi, was a natural for this mission. Among those adventurers who’d met Sigilinde, he was the only one who could be counted on to stay objective with her. Aside from that, however, the priest had another reason for going. Along the way to collect the solvent sample, it would be his job to break the enchantment Eletor had laid on the region’s lantern archon custodian.

Riswan’s small size would help him stay hidden during the mission, but his job could be considered the most integral to the plan. While traversing The Barrows, it would be Riswan’s task to use his knowledge of architecture and engineering to determine the best walls to destroy when the party finally had the solvent they needed.

The trio took with them two crystal spheres. The party had found three of the “crystal eyes” while exploring Region I and just sort of forgot they had them until now. The eyes could be used to communicate over vast distances, but were old and required great concentration to operate. They also posed a risk to their adventurers’ plot.

Five additional eyes were still somewhere within Region I, and the crystals could easily have fallen into drider hands. Due to the orbs’ enchantment, a drider using one of the eyes at the same time as the party would be able to eavesdrop on their conversations. However, seven of the crystals could only be used for 30 minutes a day so they accepted the risk. Afterall, they possessed the Master Eye, which could operate indefinitely.

While Riswan, Shi and Wicieth set to work, the rest of the adventurers, minus Develdar, would follow Norkor to his mountaintop home. The giant would trust no drow with the location of his camp and, at his request, the party agreed to leave the warrior at the tower. This didn’t seem to bother Develdar who seemed to prefer working alone anyway.

***

Norkor’s home was little more than a flat clearing atop a mountain he called The Dark Crown. A few natural spires jutted from the mountaintop giving it the appearance of regal headwear from below, but the giant had added to these over time by stacking boulders along the edges of the plateau as decoration and to serve as ammunition against intruders. The center of the clearing was home to a huge, flat stone carved with the image of a forked lightning bolt descending from a cloud partially obscuring a sun, and a pile of furs Norkor used as a bed was neatly laid out near the west edge of the mountain near a large, beautifully crafted harp.

“Welcome to my home!” Norkor laughed. “Please excuse the mess. I’ve been away a few days and wasn’t expecting company.”

The giant took a few moments to show the adventurers around the mountaintop and point out the amazing view he had of the valley. The sky above the mountain was black as the deepest void of space, but the chasm below was awash with the warm glow of the magma river. The lava’s light gave the southern reaches of the region the appearance of a land caught in perpetual dusk and small patches of shimmerweed and phosphorescent fungus spread across the valley twinkled like prismatic stars making it seem as if all the world had been turned onto its head. Then, a pair of sleek, four-winged serpent-like creatures darting through the air caught the party’s attention.

“What are those?” Aria asked as the beasts circled and landed upon the tallest spire atop The Dark Crown.

“Arrowhawks,” Norkor replied. “They’re not the friendliest of neighbors, but we have an understanding. They alert me when they see creatures approaching the mountain and I dissuade intruders from climbing into their nest.”

“And that?” asked Nicky, pointing toward a rift to the west of The Dark Crown where no light shined.

“That, my friend, is the Valley of the Demon Wind, home to Aphnitern, King of the Air Elementals,” the giant’s voice was grim as he spoke. “Aphnitern’s hatred for other living things spurs him to destroy even the light-producing plants of the chasm.”

Aphnitern, Norkor warned, was not the only danger within easy reach of his home.

“Aphnitern’s court, the air elementals who once served the Demon Wind, make their homes in the eastern cliffs of The Dark Crown,” the giant cautioned. “Hundreds of years ago, they fled his madness and retreated into their caves. They sometimes fly out to dance on the heated air currents above the Tanbera, the lava river, but they’ve never come into my camp. Zethar and I tried to speak with them when we arrived, but they’re very hostile. They seem to tolerate my presence, but they’ll attack and kill anything that gets too close to their homes. They also seem to really hate creatures who use magic to fly.”

“Tell me about it,” Nicky commented as he cringed thinking about his experience near the river.

Norkor, who also turned out to be a talented harpist, entertained his guests for two days with stories, music and a keg of strong dwarf ale he’d been saving for a special occasion while they rested and tried to keep in contact with Shi, Riswan and Wicieth.

The errant trio had good news at the end of the first day, reporting they’d freed the lantern archon, Marfa, from Eletor’s spell and managed to steal a sample of the solvent. By the second day, they’d reached Develdar’s old camp on the east side of the slave pit. They reported a small number of rebels were still hiding there and planning to continue the fight, but Shi’s message was suddenly cut short. The adventurers could do nothing but hope for the best and wait.

While most of his allies relaxed or trained or monitored the crystal eye for broadcasts from Shi, Roch decided to borrow Nicky’s cauldron and take advantage of Norkor’s modest thaumaturgy station. It had been a little over a week since the theurge lost his religion and it was finally time to put some things right. Shi had surmised Roch might get his mojo back by replacing the spell he’d helped to destroy with one or more entirely new spells, so that’s what he intended to do.

Halfway through the third day atop The Dark Crown, there came a sudden call from the south edge of the plateau. Everyone ran to find Develdar 20 feet down the cliff and climbing. Being a common drow, the warrior didn’t have the luxury of levitating up the wall, but his training as a rogue had helped him evade notice by the circling arrowhawks.

“Unless you all want to die, you’ll throw me a rope!” the drow called. Develdar’s words sounded more like a portent of doom than a threat.

“How did you find this place?!” Norkor bellowed.

“I followed a trail left by some jatha’la derfi and her hatchlings and then followed the sound of its womanly clucking,” replied Develdar, irritated but amused by the analogy. “Now, about that rope!”

***

“There were three of them,” Develdar spoke. “Orbb Valuken, I’m sure of it. They rode upon Radija’s floating discs, but they were too far away to identify. And that’s not all…”

The drow warrior was still at the ruined tower a day ago when he spotted movement on the south edge of the river.

“There were golems with them,” Develdar continued. “At least two, and a few driders I’m willing to bet were Silinrai.”

The Silinrai, Develdar explained, were a sect of driders specially trained for tracking and capturing escaped slaves.

“Crossing the river was slowing them down but, if the Silinrai are involved, I knew it wouldn’t take them long to find you,” the drow spoke. “I did what I could to spoil your trail on my way here, but I’m not half as good a tracker as any one of them. I give us a day before they find this place, maybe two if Nocticula favors us.”

“Warya henn ansansoleth!” Norkor growled. “I’ll not have that demon’s name spoken near a shrine to the Storm Lord!”

Ignoring the giant’s protestations, Develdar continued his report. “I think one of the Spider Kings I saw was Nielial.”

“Is that bad?” asked Jasper.

“Orbb Valuk Nielial l' Rin'ov-Kr'athin Ul'Saruk, The Ever-Vigilant Warlord, was one of the original four Spider Kings,” Develdar replied. “Every Spider King has an obsession; Nielial’s was strategy. Training the Silinrai and using the wardstones to defend The Barrows were her ideas. They say she had no equal on the battlefield.”

“You keep saying ‘was’,” observed Aria. “What happened to her?”

“Nobody knows,” answered the drow. “It’s been years since anyone’s seen her. We all thought she was dead. If we were wrong…if Nielial really is back and she’s after you…Udossta Jallil-”

“Gasa hi dos,” Norkor boomed. “Stronmaus has their backs.”

____

more helpful translations:

Warya henn ansansoleth = "mind that blasphemy"

Gasa hi dos = "Let her come"

For anyone who's interested, I wasn't able to find a thorough Giant language translator so I decided the Giant tongue (especially the Cloud dialect) sounds just like Cornish. There's a pretty good Cornish translator here.

Dark Archive

Well isn't this nice? The pear-muncher somehow escapes a maximum security facility at the same time as these bumblers manage to rescue another mono-horned miscreant who just happens to be captured by those web-spinning wierdos in the dungeon. How convenient. You confound me, unicorn. You confound me, and I hate you.

But fine. Keep your silly journal...for now. I was growing tired with it anyway.

Now to business. I didn't just pop in to express my loathing for you, Smell-cro. I thought I might drop some knowledge on your readers concerning The Spider Kings, that dastardly legion of doom with whom these so-called-heroes are destined to clash. Maybe give them a little hint as to what these fools are up against.

Spider Kings history:
The order of Spider Kings, or Orbb Valuken in Undercommon, was created by the drider warlord Byalahiir who led the driders into the dungeon over 200 years ago. Byalahiir had become bored with ruling over the driders and their slaves and turned to the drider wizard Mahir, to select three other driders who would administrate his kingdom. The old warlord would still have the final word on important decisions concerning The Barrows, but the Spider Kings would become the defacto rulers of the realm.

Mahir made his selections and a caste system was created among the driders with sorcerers and wizards at the top, artisans and warriors in the middle and general laborers at the bottom. Things went well enough for the Spider Kings until Mahir's little accident in Region I cost the driders their dominance in the region. Mahir was brought before Byalahiir and executed for his reckless experimentation, leaving the wizard's position open for his only surviving apprentice, Eletor.

The sorcerer Elotor quickly proved to be Mahir's better in terms of politicking and intrigue and, when Byalahiir eventually died, Eletor successfully petitioned his peers to increase the number of Kings to eight. While no King remained above any other, the new Spider Kings backed their champion and treated Eletor as the unofficial leader of the order.

The Spider Kings

Eletor:
Eletor the All-Seeing Visionary was one of two apprentices to serve the wizard Mahir and was thought to be the only member of the wizard's staff to survive the accident that resulted in the Halls of Flesh (none knew the phasm had also survived.) His title stems from his ambition and his uncanny ability to foresee the outcome of any situation. Eletor is the most powerful sorcerer among the Spider Kings and is regarded as something of a miracle worker among his kind.

Nielial:
Nielial the Ever-Vigilant Warlord was one of the four original Spider Kings and commander of the drider army under Byalahiir. A tactical genius, legends among the drow claim she was also unmatched as a warrior. Her disappearance led many to believe she had died, but it seems the old warhorse is back.

Alith:
Alith the Earth Weaver served with Nielial, Mahir and Radija as one of the original Spider Kings. Though not as aggressive or ambitious as her contemporaries, Alith's skill at alchemy and perfection of the Silkstone formula and its solvent make her a vital member of the order.

Radija:
Radija the Rot Summoner revels in the creation of the driders' flesh golem servants and his position as overseer of the golem-crafting machinery. Though he dabbles in necromancy, Radija takes special pride in his development of an improved floating disk spell that allows him to look down on even the mighty Eletor.

Sinalith:
Sinalith the Shaper is the assistant to Eletor and daughter of Byalahiir. None dared object to her being named one of the new Spider Kings and, though she might make a bid for more power based on her lineage alone, she seems content to learn from and clean up after Eletor's experiments. In addition to being a sorcerer of some skill, Sinalith is capable of crating enchanted items for the driders.

Faieth:
Faieth the Sound Mind was a brilliant drow slave selected by Elotor for a special fleshwarping experiment as a reward for his service to the Spider Kings. The result was a drider with all the evil and madness typically associated with his kin, but a massive brain capable of providing insights no other drider had the capability to fathom. Potentially more powerful than Eletor himself, Faieth was selected to become a Spider King in order to show the drow slaves what they might achieve if they remained loyal to the ruling driders.

Noh:
Noh the Pain Crafter was another of Eletor's political maneuvers/fleshwarping experiments, a simple drow craftsman and warrior who killed several applicants to become the subject of an experiment to craft the ultimate drider warrior. The procedure left Noh with stunted, nearly useless legs but a powerful and massive upper body, allowing him to use equally large weapons. Noh became the overseer of the driders' forge, a crafter of enchanted weaponry and an unequaled archer among the aberrations. With Noh's defeat however, it would seem there are two spots open in the The Spider Kings roster.

Perhaps I shall deign to provide further elucidation on the nature of the dungeon's villainous inhabitants in the future, but only when it suits me and doesn't interfere with adorable hyena playtime.

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