Another FlashbackDeep Emissaries had made contact with a strange race of fish men, or frog men, they seemed to share traits of various aquatic or amphibious creatures. Whitish pink with pink-red rims around their eyes, at the edge of their nails/claws, and around their lips and nostrils. It isn't clear if they are blind or not, but their eyes are clouded like cave fish, and they have the undulating cheek fronds of an axolotl. They speak in strange deep gurgling voices, but some of them speak dwarven. A delegation from this strange race has come to the city, and the king is speaking to them about their domain in an underground sea.
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Snorri lays a peaceful hand upon the newcomer's shoulder and responds in kind, "I am Snorri Tharnhammer, heir to the throne of Dammerhall, friend." He then looks into the eyes of the dwarf a moment and a strange feeling comes over him. "You know, if I didn't know any better, a part of me feels as if we've met before. It's almost as if I was here a time before. Or maybe it was you that was here a time before." Realizing how he sounds, the paladin shakes his head trying to rid himself of the insanity that just spewed from his mouth. "Forgive me, that makes absolutely no sense seeing how you actually were here a time before and there could be absolutely no way that I...," the dwarf stops himself, taking a deep breath through his noise and attempts to put a stop to sounding so inane.
"Torvi, our resident skald"
Torvi raises her head and an upraised fist to identify herself to the newcomer as she is mentioned.
"Garnet, one of THE finest warriors ever to fight by my side whether they be male or female. "
Torvi turns to Glenda, "he does realize there are more t$@% in this group than there are testicles, right?"
Glenda replies to Torvi, "I didn't realize that anyone was counting."
"What I know is not more than I told thee, Allknower. I witnessed the flame, or shadow, creep through our ranks to possess our own, strengthening their arm by foul sorcery. Their skin harder than gunzarak, their fists striking like mountains. Some ward of sorts kept the King safe from its grasp, but I know not its nature. Min wife was the one versed in matters of magic."
"I have other memories, faint ones, ones concerning other creatures of the Azathyr. Dwellers of water, their nature akin to fish and frogs. Messengers and ambassadors, who came to our city as a delegation. Whether they had to do with the attack, I know not. But they may have been the ones to carry the foe behind our walls."
...the king is speaking to them about their domain in an underground sea.
Blushing anew at Gunnar's honorific and Snorri's praise, Garnet manages quietly, "My family name is Ironshanks; I come from a clan of armorsmiths and metalworkers."
The conversation between Torvi and Glenda did nothing to ease her embarrassment, but she holds together her composure as best she can.
Snorri lays a peaceful hand upon the newcomer's shoulder and responds in kind, "I am Snorri Tharnhammer, heir to the throne of Dammerhall, friend." He then looks into the eyes of the dwarf a moment and a strange feeling comes over him. "You know, if I didn't know any better, a part of me feels as if we've met before. It's almost as if I was here a time before. Or maybe it was you that was here a time before." Realizing how he sounds, the paladin shakes his head trying to rid himself of the insanity that just spewed from his mouth. "Forgive me, that makes absolutely no sense seeing how you actually were here a time before and there could be absolutely no way that I...," the dwarf stops himself, taking a deep breath through his noise and attempts to put a stop to sounding so inane.
Snorri takes a quiet deep breath and rubs his eyes in frustration as he purposefully ignores Torvi's remark. "So do we suppose these water-dwellers could still remain to this day? If so, we must find a way to locate them. Allies of any kind would be most beneficial."
You are, perhaps, surprised by Erebos' sudden outburst. The dark elf has been fairly silent since you entered Dammerhall, but he suddenly loses his composure completely.
A loud, shrill laugh, more of a cackle, really, explodes from his ebony face. "Deep ones?! Dammerhall was sunk by Deep ones? Prince Snorri, nay, soon to be King Snorri if we can take this throne that we are so close to, these Deep Ones are not your friends. They worship beings from Beyond the Sky, and Demons older than Demons. They were men once, but they gave themselves over to these dark powers when the descended into the depth and into the dark places of the earth. The path of my people was not so different. I cannot believe your people were destroyed by welcoming them into your home."
Snorri looks to the dark elf a moment through narrowed eyes before stroking his beard in thought. Could he be speaking truth? Or are these creatures enemies of the drow? After a moment, "Very well. I am sure at some point if these creatures do still remain then we shall find them. And when we do, we will then determine whether they be friend or foe. But until that time, we shall continue on in our efforts to reclaim the throne and forego looking for these beings for the time being. Besides, it does make more sense to first reclaim Dammerhall before proceeding with the task of gathering allies."
Gunnar whips his head to glare at the drow who has the gall to mock the downfall of Dammerhall, a fresh loss in Gunnar's heart.
"Fie on the irony that one of the Dark Ones would be lecturing us on trespassing our ancient grounds, whilst doing so himself. Or art thou, pray tell, suggesting that further peril will come from thy presence among us? Thou hast but to ask for min enmity, if such is what thou seekest. Oft have I sought thy kind as a quarry."
"Yet I follow thy guide, my liege. Where dost thou wish our path to lead?"
"We will continue on as is but we must remain ever vigilant of this dark flame. We have dealt with dwarves possessed by such already. One we put to rest but there are at least three others - that we are aware of - who still suffer and must be dealt with accordingly. It is imperative we locate the source of this dark flame and put an end to it... if such a thing is possible." He sighs, pondering that a moment as he looks off into the distance. He then shakes his head before saying, "Unfortunately, I do not know if either are attainable; but that is not going to stop me from trying."
"We are with you, every step of the way, my prince," says Garnet, having somewhat recovered from the preceding irreverent conversation now that weighty matters are being discussed.
"Lead on," she says simply, gripping her trusty Longhammer and preparing to move out.
"Now, I may only understand every fifth word coming from the flowery mouth of the old-timer, but I sure as heck agree with his sentiment. One must weigh the advice from the drow carefully."
"Now, I may only understand every fifth word coming from the flowery mouth of the old-timer, but I sure as heck agree with his sentiment. One must weigh the advice from the drow carefully."
Stroking his beard in thought as he looks to Torvi, Snorri grins. "You know, Torvi, that is wise council. I couldn't agree more," he simply responds, giving a nod of approval. He then quickly moves off the subject. "And as soon as we are ready to continue on... let us do so."
Torvi shakes her head.
Erebos stiffens, though he takes little offense form Torvi's observation. He is well accustomed to her distrust. Switching to the older dialect that Gunnar is speaking, he says, "I fear you misunderstand me Gunnar Oathminder, and I have no desire to be at cross purpose with one of the Warriors who won what my people call the Hunt of Four Crossings, and I believe your folk called the Battle of Twined Rock. I believe I remember you face from there, though I was but a young Elfling. You are accustomed to battles with my kind and with others. Battle for territory, for resources, for power, for control. My people bow to Demon Lords, and truly those Demon Lords are vile beings, beings born from mortal sins crystalized in the Abyss and who have then fought, f&!%ed, consumed, and connived their way to the highest levels of power in their realms. You call me Dark One, and I shall accept such title, but these fish folk, twisted creatures of the dark waters, they are another matter entire. Demons seek to consume mortal souls through sin. The Masters the deep ones serve has no care for such matters. They wish only for the End. All things not only ended but undone, all of reality unwoven like a tapestry to remake their own knots in the threads of being."
"And yes, Torvi, never forget that I have come all this way in your company, defending your lives and advancing your power, in order to betray you to mine own people, a people who would kill me for the failure and dishonor that our initial encounter brought upon me. That indeed I have fought against my own people only to fail to gain your trust so that I can betray you at just the right moment when we confront the Deep Folk who are a constant enemy to my people, and, so it would seem, to yours."
Iverna chuffs at the bickering, "I don't know what you are all on about, but it seems to me that Dasur is settling in to do some writing and pondering, and since this place seems as safe as we are going to get here in Dammerhall, I'm going to get some shut eye."
She grabs a sumptuous amber colored cloak with a fur edging that looks like it might be wolf fur and moves to a corner far from the door. By the time she wraps herself within the cloak, she looks like nothing so much as a pile of cloth.
Snorri turns to Erebos and says, "Just for clarity's sake, Erebos, I have no reason to mistrust you and therefore do not. You have proven yourself true and I highly commend you for that. Thank you. When Torvi mentioned to 'weigh the advice from the drow carefully', I agreed due to the simple fact I weigh the advice of ALL carefully. Advice is something to be heard, thought through, and either accepted or declined - whether it be from me or anyone else. I do not consider advice from one more favorably over another - for any reason - nor shall I ever. That makes no sense. I will - and always shall - consider said advice based on its substance and nothing more."
He then looks to Iverna as she walks off before turning back to the others. "I believe Iverna has the right of it. Probably best we break for the day and start fresh tomorrow."
Shrugging, Garnet loosens her grip and prepares to bed down. Finding a bit of privacy, she changes out of her armor into some of the spare clothing she found in the theater below, then finds a place to rest with her back against the wall and her hammer close at hand.
Attached to the main room is a small private chapel, long since desecrated, as well as a privy (with running water) as well as pantries, closets, and other small storage spaces.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful bronze screen that separated the sleeping area from this more public living space, but it is bent, partially melted, and torn to pieces.
After some rest and some work (scroll scribing, armor fitting, cloak adjusting, etc.) you can head out.
Gunnar presses his lips tightly while listening to the drow. A mote of pride blossoms in his chest at the memory of Twined Rock, the strenuous stubbornness and resilience which ultimately won the day for all the kingdom, when dwarves insisted that they won't be moved any sooner than the bones of the earth be uprooted.
And while some part of his soul is still screaming at the tought of the creature's feet touching Dammerhall's stones, he drowns those feelings in the icy, steely resolve of the hunter that he always strove to be.
"I remember Twined Rock, that I do. And I thank thee for thy insights into our quarries; unless our liege resolveth otherwise, I shall aim to kill. Now let us rest. I shall partake of your watch."
In the morning, Gunnar has his first meal in two centuries before heading out. He eats silently, still struggling with the thought of his missing years. But soon comes the time for action, and he stands ready and tense like the springs in the pelletbow.
"I shall show you the path, but be wary. Much might have changed."
Torvi will try and spend as much time as possible with the newcomer, building bridges of friendship and such. She figures he might be her best bet for an ally in her not so quiet crusade against the dark elf!
Iverna had observantly noticed Dasur wholly disengaging from the conversation after Gunnar described the symptoms and methods of possession exhibited by the Black Flame. He clears off a debris-laden table with a sweep of his arm and starts to set up all manner of optical and jeweling instrumentation. A cool ball of floating light is summoned directly above the workplace, silently floating in perpetual stillness. His brilliant, trillion-cut fist-sized ruby amulet(and supposed arcane familiar) Zhashilgeax sits in a brass stand with bright white light pouring over it, as one might see a patient on a surgeon's slab. All manner of smaller gemstones spill from the wizard's many pockets, carefully hoarded through their journey before the surface of the planet.
The second in line to the throne of Dammerhall seems anything but through the night- instead, he is a craftsdwarf of the greatest caliber, lapidary and arcane master both. As he speaks softly to his amulet and the tiny gemstones, the others realize that he is also, possibly, a little unhinged.
Delicate inscriptions invisible to the eye are carved into all manner of precious stones and whispered secrets only the Stone can understand, and in turn he listens. The gems are given knowledge and power, but in return they yield their own secrets, which is he passes on to the next gemstone, and so forth. Zhashilgeax's outer filigree is carefully studded with only the most loyal and powerful stones he has managed to find thus far as he seeks to ward himself against the various methods the Black Flame may seek to control him. Other, lesser stones that are loyal but less powerful are instilled with a sort of agency, and throughout the night small gems can be seen to rise from the table and begin to float around his head in tight orbits.
One gemstone, a piece of rose quartz with small flecks of gold running through its sides, is cut into a pyramid by his deft hand. He had already spoken with this stone and decided it would be a fine companion, but as the last lines of arcane embellishment are scraped into its sides, he is surprised to see it leap from the cradle of his magnifying station and onto the floor.
Staring at the gemstone with first a shocked and then a hurt expression as it begins a laborious journey across the floor, his plain brown eyes track its path to Torvi's current position at a nearby desk. "Very well." He says, though he sighs in the same manner as a parent would if their child were making a poor choice. "This one says I am "stuffy" and would rather join you, Torvi."
The trundling pyramid begins to lose coordination and strength as it travels further from Dasur, though it is unerring in its path towards the skald. With its last bit of energy it lifts up one face to rest softly into her foot, its free will expended in its final and only choice during the brief and fleeting consciousness Dasur had imbued in it.
Two other stones abandon him that night, both haphazardly rolling or stubbornly clacking their way across the chambers towards Snorri. Each time Dasur watches them go with disappointed resignation before hunching back over his instruments and returning to work.
In the morning the sleepy-looking wizard appears as plain as ever, though he is now orbited by three magical gemstones and covered in a dark blue cloak he found stuffed in a drawer. "The throne room. Our destiny is near." He intones with single-minded determination.
Torvi gently reaches down and picks up the stone that has chosen her. "The craftsdwarfship is incredible. She holds it up beside her left ear, and releases it into an orbit around her head. "I am honored."
Gunnar's lips twist in a bitter half-smile. "Thou hast claimed a high honor, Dasur Allknower, that thine is the first hand to craft stone here in long."
Iverna moves out with the new hire, keeping as close an eye on him as she does on their surroundings.
Gunnar finds that he one moment he is watching the svirfneblin move across the stone near the wall in the river chamber. As he scans the chamber for threats, when his gaze returns to where he thinks she should be, she has vanished completely.
Gunnar's eye is drawn to the artificial river and small lake. Something about it seems different from what he remembers. Strange ripples across the surface.
Moving east, he finds the entrance to the ancient mines, older than the city, the first delvings in this place, both preserved and, deep below, still a working mine. Well, not still working, but working at the time of the Fall.
Gunnar thinks it best to avoid the smaller entrances and enter the mines through the largest entrance. This entrance has been widened and carved, creating a beautiful but still functional mine entrance. Your path takes you past a shaft 20 feet wide with a set of scaffolding and machinery allowing descent into the more functional mines.
Iverna suddenly appears, noting the stone floor, "I think those dwarves we saw on the bridge below move through here recently. There are footsteps of at least 2, maybe three sets of boots."
Standing in the dwarf-made cavern with the rush of water nearby, Dasur patiently waits for the return of their scout. "I wonder how many dwarven bodies the Black Flame has at its disposal, and how automatous they are. If we could capture one, perhaps we can learn the answers to these questions and more."
Torvi smiles.
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"It is a poverty that we cannot free our people from the influence of the Black Flame!"
Gunnar leads you into the main shaft of the mine that was the beginning of Dammerhall. This level of the mine is more museum and demonstration than active mine these days, or rather at the time of the fall of the city. Not far from where you enter is a 20 foot shaft with a complex elevator system that descends back into the earth in parallel to the ascent you made earlier.
Following down the main shaft, which has been shaped into a finely finished corridor and not a rough mine shaft, you come to a massive stairwell. It is 20 feet high and 20 feet wide, and the steps are carved to a comfortable height of only a few inches. This staircase certainly does not belong in a mine, and leads upward.
You ascend the steps to the second level of the city, only to come to a lowered portcullis. Gunnar does not remember it being lowered, but he also doesn't remember how he came to be in the temple chambers, so it may have been lowered during the defense of the city or more recently. In any case, it presents a barrier, though one that you have many means to overcome.
Dasur runs his hands along the mineshaft as they walk, communicating with the ancient stone as they go. He was looking to test a new theory of manipulating the earth that should allow him to pass through it like a fish in water, but so far he has yet to find a suitable surface unworked by tools.
He does, at least, look very much in place in the museum with his antique mining helmet.
Huffing up the steps, they wizard in nonplussed to see the lowered portcullis. "The Black Flame has many hands look for us. This is surely an attempt to box us in." He approaches the metal grates and places a hand on the metal to identify its make.
"Iverna, do you believe you could fit through this gate with some magical assistance?" He asks of their deep gnome companion.
"The defenses of the keep were mighty. Mayhaps many were lain to waste when the fiends came upon us, but if the thralls learned how to work them, we may have more hardships to face. Droskar's malice that our own craft would oppose us."
Gunnar starts examining the stone and the portcullis in detail, hoping that no dwarf would engineer a device to lock themselves out of their own home without placing a backdoor.
”I can get one of us through if needed. Perhaps to go and find the levers to open this contraption.”
Gunnar's inspection of the bars and their mechanisms reveals that they are raised a lowered by mechanisms that are buried in the ceiling above, and likely controlled from somewhere else entirely.
He also finds that the bars of the portcullis are carved with tiny runes.
As the runes are pointed out, Dasur moves to investigate with a simple cantrip.
Large, fuzzy eyebrows raise in surprise at the magical weavings he sees insribed in the bars. "An incredible magical fortification. These runes attempt to asborb and nullfying any spell cast within twenty feet, and then use that energy to create an anti-magic field centered on the portcullis itself. A magical trap for magic, as it were. This has potentially inconvenienced us for several more minutes."
"For how long would the antimagic field last? It might be problematic for my method of getting someone through as well."
"There is little hope to be gained that we may open the way by making use of the controls, as they are well hidden and protected. Doeth thy dwimmer request of thee to be close to thy target? By thy account, magics thou castest from further away would stay unhampered of this bulwark, akin to a quarry unaware of the hunter's ambush."
"There must be another way. I am sure our ancestors did not have to go such extremes to open this gate. I suggest we look for this 'other way'. It is a fantastic mode of defense that could be quite useful once we reclaim Dammerhall. I do not wish to destroy the gate nor do I wish for such protections to be removed. I believe it to be a grave mistake if we are to do either," he states candidly.
"Very well, to the steps then!"
"As you wish, my prince. Gunnar, will you show us an alternative route to the throne?" The wizard asks of their guide.
Garnet stays out of the magic discussion, but stands ready in case brute force is needed. When the decision is made to choose a different route, she readies herself and moves to protect the Prince as they travel.
"Another way lieth further, one longer and more convoluted but perhaps less fortified. I doubt, nevertheless, that it would be unguarded at all."
This portion of the city is built in imitation of a surface town. The ceiling soars to 60 feet above the "ground" level, and the ceiling glows with a blue like the sky, though the illusion is imperfect. No one (save perhaps your friends who have never seen the sky) would be tricked by it, but it is a pleasant effect if you are missing the surface.
The buildings are built with fitted stone ground floors and timber and mud second floors, even with roofs in some sort of thatch that has now rotted and collapsed for the most part.
All of the buildings appear to be dwellings, some with shops in the lower level. Gunnar can confirm that this was a neighborhood for dwarves who enjoyed the surface and for a few humans who lived here. In the center of the cavern is a 20 foot high artificial uprising/plateau on which sits a fortress constructed from fitted stone. This fortress has a drawbridge/movable ramp that allows access to its interior, and more importantly to the staircase that rises into the ceiling.
Flight would allow you to avoid the walls of the fortress and simply mount the stairs, but from the surface you would need to bring the drawbridge down.
To the far south (again, ignore the rubble) you could come to the other side of the portcullis that was blocking your way.
Looking at the fortress, you have the eerie feeling of being watched.
"Hrm. We're crossing open space, easily spotted and followed," points out Glenda.
The imitation surface town itself draws little attention from Dasur, though he describes it in detail from the vantage point of his magical sensor. "I have ample magics to protect us from projectiles and another spell that will let us scale the fortress walls with ease. Unfortunately we will most certainly be seen and followed, as Glenda has pointed out, though the Stone tells me the Black Flame's possessed bodies will meet us at the walls."
"Silly mannerisms of those longing for the upside world, feh." grumbles Gunnar, sharing Glenda's worries for the indecent amount of exposure. "Dwellings build in stone should show the spirit of the stone, not this mockery of a surface life. As for the keep which stands in our way, we may scale the walls by way of rope, unless the ways of dwimmer show an easier path."
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The imitation surface town itself draws little attention from Dasur, though he describes it in detail from the vantage point of his magical sensor. "I have ample magics to protect us from projectiles and another spell that will let us scale the fortress walls with ease. Unfortunately we will most certainly be seen and followed, as Glenda has pointed out, though the Stone tells me the Black Flame's possessed bodies will meet us at the walls."
"Then let them meet us. Even though we put ourselves at a disadvantage crossing in the open - as Glenda alluded to - I am confident we still possess the advantage. This is as formidable a group as any I've ever been a part of and believe Dammerhall is destined for us to reclaim it. So let us continue on and face whatever foes dare challenge us then, hm?" he says with a slight, yet confident, grin.
Sitting cross-legged in a circle of chalk-drawn symbols at the top of the ramp, Dasur wills the Arcane Eye into the fortress The invisible extention of his sight first scans the inner walls for minions of the Black Flame, then goes deeper inside to check for additional hostiles.