Chapters

Breaching the fortress: “They literally eat brains”
A map, a trap, and Dreck: “I know what collecting skulls is like”
Grandolpha Muzgardt: “We’re not often confronted with such an…intimidating host” Discomcogulation: “This won’t be my first time on a spanner team”
The Temple: “I think we should get back in the elevator”
Duergar on Duergar: “Get out of my head Arlington!”
A simple plan: “You do not negotiate with an Umberhulk!”
Hulk Smash: “Who’s next?!"”
The Forge: “Graklstout!”
The Treasury: “A very specific red dragon”

---

Breaching the Fortress

Beyond the snowy foothills east of the Id Ascendant crash site, low-lying clouds obscured the icy peaks of the gargantuan mountains that form the Spine of the World. After hours of painstaking — and painful — climbing, the company finally rose above the clouds to behold a sheer mountain wall rising more than a hundred feet into the frosty air. Carved high on the wall were rows of arrow slits with lights burning behind them and clanking sounds issuing from within. A narrow staircase hewn from the rock led up along one side of the wall.

---

Tarquin stared up at the edifice, marvelling at the engineering ingenuity that it would take to construct such a fortress. “This is the work of Duergar. Dwarves would never leave such a magnificent canvas blank of all features and ornamentation. Rudely plain, brutal, and imposing — just as a Duergar would like.” He had a feeling his natural charmisma was not going to help once inside.

“We’ve killed Nildar and Durth,” Morgan said, “So given there can’t be too many hidden fortresses of this stature, it’s reasonable to assume the father is inside — Xardorok if I recall correctly.”

Octavian agreed. “Only a Duergar would be so arrogant as to hide in something so obvious.” It was almost a perfectly defensible fortress by his estimation. One way inside, very exposed, and easily defended.

Morgan nodded. “Perhaps the power supply the travellers detected was the dragon?”

“If they have a power source that’s big enough to drive a mechanical dragon, surely that dragon is not the only power source they have,” Arlington considered.

“Another thing I was thinking was I’m not sure we should be helping those…what did you call them? Mind flayers?” Morgan said, looking to Octavian.

“What does that name even mean,” Arlington wondered.

“They ‘flay’ people’s ‘minds’,” Octavian explained, “They literally eat brains.”

“So where do you get this racially inflammatory name from?”

“It’s not inflammatory when people come back and ask ‘what happened to Jim’, and the answer is ‘his brain was eaten by a thing that seemed to flay his mind.'”

“There’s a difference between eating and flaying,” Arlington said weakly.

“Well they do one, then the other,” Octavian glared.

“Morgan makes a good point then — why are we helping them? Tarquin why did you cut a deal with them?”

“Well we got out alive,” Tarquin shrugged.

“We were going to get out alive anyway!”

“Quite frankly at the time I was a little confused about whether we had the upper hand.”

“I second that,” Jankx nodded.

“The thing that brings me comfort,” Morgan said, “Is they said their ship is going to blow up in two days. Given we’ve spent a good day getting here, we might not have to worry about it for too much longer.”

“They did seem to know about Yhtryn, and other things we’re interested in,” Octavian countered.

“If the ship blows up, well, that’s unfortunate,” Tarquin said. “If it doesn’t, then they take us where we want to go. And then they may eat our brains.”

“They might — that’s always a problem going into these type of things,” Jankx said.

“So we need to have an angle on how we get around that — so we should keep our eyes open for anything that might help us,” Tarquin said.

“We’ve got to survive the fortress before we worry about the mind flayers,” Octavian said (rather prophetically as it would turn out).

Arlington nodded. “I think the point is if we come to a situation with the Duergar that warrants it, we might want to cut a deal there as well.”

“I don’t know about that,” Octavian frowned, thinking of other deals already in the mix, and surprised Arlington hadn’t.

“Not if they’re making a dragon out of chardalyn that is going to destroy the Ten Towns,” Morgan said firmly. “I am not going to let Caer–Konig be destroyed by a Duergar monstrosity.”

“Stopping that is something of a heroic purpose,” Tarquin agreed.

Morgan squatted and studied the fortress. There was no way to get to the steps without exposing everyone to the presumed guards behind the arrow slits. But on the other hand, no-one was recognisable under the cold weather gear, and it was unlikely many unexpected visitors would arrive at this remote spot. It seemed reasonable to hope that the company would be targeted without warning. He strode out confidently half way up the path, exposing himself to the sightlines. There was no movement, nor stray bolts. There were no recent tracks, indicating it wasn’t a well-trodden path.

Tarquin called Morgan back. “I’ll cast an illusion that will cover the front two, making us look more Duergar-ish.” He started stuffing his shoulder-pads and chest with gear rummaged from his bags, hunkering down.

“No need to increase the size of my shoulders,” Arlington grunted as he crouched ever so slightly.

“Octavian if you lead from behind, perhaps with perspective they’ll think you’re larger than you are,” Tarquin quipped.

“Well we don’t want them to know,” Octavian said in all seriousness, “For if they see the world’s greatest and largest kobold, it might spark their alarm.”

A familiar sound stopped the conversation dead. Dragon wings! A long way off, and beating rather faster than the chardalyn wings, but with the same ominous tone. Octavian stared up into to the remarkably clear sky and was first to see it: a small dragon bearing down fast. He pointed and was about to yell a warning when a voice cried out from atop the beast: “Great wing-ed one! It Meepo!!”

Calcryx swooped down and landed in an explosion of snow. Meepo leapt from it’s back to embrace Octavian, who stood with arms out not returning the hug.

“Meepo so happy to find friends!”

“Meepo. Meepo! Mee-po. Meepo,” Octavian seemed to be trying to process how Meepo could be standing here. “What are you doing here!?” he suddenly said with delight, returning the hug with enthusiasm.

“We fly! Calcryx and I learn, and we fly!”

“Did you know we were here?”

“No, we not know. We see dragon flying, not normal dragon Calcryx say, but strange black ice dragoon. We follow and find here!”

Tarquin stared at Calcryx, ignoring Meepo. Carcryx returned the gaze briefly, then turned to Eearwaxx and nodded. Eearwaxx grinned with delight and stepped over to the now warhorse-sized dragonling. Calcryx allowed the young wizard to run his hands and scratch under its leathery neck.

“You were kind to me, and I do not forget,” Calcryx said quietly. “I told you we would cross paths again, wizard.”

“And I am very grateful. You look well,” Eearwaxx said, and continued rambling with enthusiasm, running the dragon over recent events. Calcryx listened but did not respond, watching Meepo and the rest of the company carefully.

“Young master Meepo,” Arlington said sternly. “Do you not think the people in the fortress yonder might not see you flying around wildly?”

Meeop looked up at the fortress, then back to Arlington, then back to the fortress. He blushed. “Meepo not think of that, no. But maybe they think we bird?”

“We’ve seen this dragon too,” Tarquin said, still looking at Calcryx, “And it is not one of flesh and blood.”

“We know,” Calcryx said with a voice like soft ice. “It is not like me, nor my mother. It should not be here.”

Tarquin thought again of Arveiaturace, and of his father. Calcryx somewhat complicated that particular dream, he pondered. “And what plan do you have once you do find this dragon not of flesh-and-blood?”

“We run,” Meepo said. “But we know more!”

“How long have you been here, Meepo?” Arlington asked.

“Not many time, only few. We not see dragon.”

“So once again our stories entwine,” Tarquin said. “And it looks like this time we are aligned.”

“Maybe! Meepo find, then you find!”

“Yes. And our plan is to go up there and find out more, just like you.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Calcryx said, surprising Tarquin.

“Do you know this place?”

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps there is another way in.”

“Perhaps. Would you like us to look?”

Tarquin nodded. “We were about to go through the front door, but maybe there is a better way.”

Meepo’s eyes were wide. “You give Meepo mission? Great heroes of Sunless Citadel give Meepo mission?!?”

Octavian put a hand on Meepo’s shoulder and spoke in kobold-draconic. “Be careful. These idiots could easily get you killed.”

“It important mission?”

“It is. But they just want information — they don’t care about you, Meepo. So take care, don’t go too close — Calcryx has very good eyes. Don’t risk yourself for them.”

Meepo scratched his head. “They care, but Meepo understand.”

Octavian was taken aback by Meepo’s assertion. He looked around his companions and was surprised to see a tenderness in their eyes as they watched the young kobold. Maybe Meepo was right?

Meepo mounted Calcryx and they shot up into the air. Meepo was trying to pull the dragon directly toward the tower, but Calcryx wisely took a path that wound through the peaks and skirted the edges of visibility. As he watched, Eearwaxx felt a pang of jealousy at Meepo’s closeness with Calcryx, but also a joy at their bond. He thought back to the frozen wizard strapped to Arveiaturace’s back and wondered if he too would one day form a great draconic partnership.

“I think you were instructing the wrong party,” Arlington observed to Octavian. They flew high over the battlements, avoiding the stairway and exposed surfaces. Before long they landed, Meepo breathless and Calcryx calm.

“We do the mission!” Meepo panted.

“Good. Number one rule of every mission: come back alive,” Octavian said, hoping to embed some wisdom into his young charge.

“We fly over towers. There not way in we see. But those panel on angle? They look like they open, maybe. Not know how.”

Everyone turned to the towers, seeing two massive surfaces angled between them. “Not a back door, then, but a skylight,” Tarquin said. “What we could do is rappel down from the top — if we could get to the top,” he said, looking meaningfully at Calcryx.

This idea made Arlington feel very tired. “Is there some reason we’re not just going up the stairs?” Also tiring, but not as tiring.

“If they noticed us, it would be murder,” Octavian said.

“Assuming they took us for hostile,” Arlington countered.

“Personally I think it would be surprising for us to enter from the top, rather than through the front door,” Tarquin shrugged.

Morgan looked to Arlington. “I agree with you. There are no tracks, and the one advantage we have is I don’t think they expect anyone to come here, or that anyone knows this is here. If anyone is watching hard they would have seen us already, and the Duergar we’ve met aren’t shy about that kind of thing. So we should just go up those stairs, and Eearwaxx can get us through the door.”

Arlington nodded. “Before we do, can I ask a question. What is the purpose of this building? It is enormous, yet the doorway in is up these tiny stairs. So they are not moving any material in any kind of quantity up through there.”

“No, they are moving it through the Underdark,” Octavian said. “This is just so that if anyone comes from the top-world, they have thirty-eight murder holes to stop them.”

“Right. So this is actually an entrance to the Underdark, you are saying. But if you have all the gems and gold from the Underdark and you want to traffic it with the surface world, you are going to bring it down those stairs?”

“Well what they want is to eventually control the upper world as well as the under. And that is why they are in league with the Druids.”

“I hear you. But this is logistically problematic as a portal for getting goods out,” Arlington insisted.

“But Arlington,” Tarquin interjected, thinking of Meepo’s home, “So was the underground city to which we have already been.”

“Both are colonies, beachheads into this realm,” Octavian nodded.

Arlington shrugged. The ways of the underfolk would remain a mystery to him.

“Now we have Meepo here, they can keep an eye and provide an exit if it is needed in dire circumstances,” Tarquin suggested.

Calcryx turned its cold eyes on Tarquin. “I could maybe rescue one of you.”

“Excellent,” Tarquin grinned.

“Well, obviously that would be me,” Octavian said to Calcryx in Draconic.

“That would make sense given you are the smallest,” Morgan snapped back, also in Draconic, much to Octavian’s surprise.

“Smallness is an objective term, sometimes,” Octavian parried.

“Let’s just go,” Morgan said aloud.

“Good luck on mission!” Meepo said. “We will find you again!”

“Meepo why don’t you wait on top,” Arlington said, “And then if one of us should find our way out of those shutters at the top in desperate need of rescue, you can haul them away.”

“We can do!” Meepo said with enthusiasm.

“That is a good idea, but don’t put yourself in danger. And remember who to pick up first,” Octavian said in kobold-draconic.

Meepo nodded. Arlington frowned. “You have wings!” He had no idea what Octavian actually said, but the tone was clear.

Morgan turned to Calcryx. “If you see anything while we are making our way up the stairs, and you are predisposed to do so, maybe you can roar?”

“We will do our best to warn you,” Calcryx granted. Meepo saluted Octavian and they took once more to the sky.

---

Morgan and Jankx led out under Tarquin’s illusion, which he rolled through as the stairs loomed. Those following were impressed with the change Tarquin effected, and reaching the foot of the stairs safely boosted everyone’s confidence. It was a one-hundred and fifty foot ascent, and the stairs were only five feet wide. As he took the first step, Octavian shuddered at just how little chance there was at surviving this should the Duergar decide to defend, gritting hie teeth and continuing the climb.

As everyone climbed the tension eased somewhat. Most of the arrow slots pointed down the valley, and only a few would have visibility of the climb. And there was still no movement. “Do you have a plan for getting inside?” Tarquin gasped to Morgan in the thin air.

“Eearwaxx has a spell that can open doors and get us inside,” Morgan said, seemingly unaffected by the climb. “And based on our previous experience with Duergar, then we’ll go inside and start killing them all.”

“So long as we’re all on the same page” Tarquin smirked as Octavian nodded agreement.

On the landing a single arrow-slit, flickering with torchlight from within, faced down the narrow path that led to a pair of ten-foot high imposing stone doors. There was no hiding, but there was thankfully no movement nor sound from within.

Tarquin quickly changed his illusion, taking a sample of the rock wall and plonking it in front of the arrow-slit, hoping to mask what was happening at the door. The light was immediately blocked and Tarquin signalled Morgan and Eearwaxx forward. They started to move then froze when they briefly heard the sound of metal boots on a stone floor from behind the now hidden arrow hole. Then there was silence again — whoever, or whatever, was inside had stopped moving.

Tarquin put his arm in front of Eearwaxx to hold him while Jankx stepped forward to study the doors. They were flat surfaced, with no visible mechanism. He ran his hands over the featureless stone and shook his head. There as no way to open them from the outside.

Morgan waved Eearwaxx over and everyone stood ready and he muttered his spell of opening. A loud knock echoed down the valley as he completed the incantation, but again there was no reaction from within. Morgan carefully pushed the door open, which creaked on iron hinges as it moved.

Beyond the double door was a 10 foot vestibule with a lowered iron portcullis. Morgan could see the room beyond, a larger twenty-by thirty foot chamber with another internal arrow-slit on the left. He wasn’t visible yet, but would be if he stepped through the portcullis. Tarquin conjured another illusion in front of the portcullis to reduce the risk.

Morgan nodded his thanks, then stepped forward and grasped the iron bars and grunted softly as he attempted to force it open. It barely moved. It wasn’t that it was too heavy, he could feel something holding it against the upward motion, and the bars were too thick to bend. Like the fortress itself, this was very well designed to keep people out.

Morgan waved Eearwaxx forward again. Despite the noise, there was no choice. Eearwaxx repeated his cast, and Jankx, standing outside, heard something rotating from within the room outside, evidently withdrawing the crossbar that was blocking the portcullis from opening. This time the knock reverberated ahead into the fortress. Anyone inside would know something was happening now. Eearwaxx stepped back while everyone moved into the room ahead as Morgan braced the portcullis open. “Jankx — wedge it!” Octavian cried as he ran inside. Jankx nodded and thumped a piton in to wedge the iron bars.

As Octavian ran he heard a cry in Undercommon from behind the arrow-slit. “Intruders! To arms!!”. “Duergar!” Octavian yelled as everyone drew their weapons, barely needing the translation.

“Block the passage ahead!” Morgan cried. Arlington nodded, swinging his crossbow toward the arrow-slit. He could see a growling face through the hole, a face that reacted with shock as two bolts threaded through the slit and into its chest. A shot of great difficulty made look easy. “What the fuck!” a female Duergar voice cried.

Eearwaxx charged into the room and followed Arlington’s lead, sending a thunderous wave through the tiny slot. The Duergar he could see was blown back and dropped to the ground dead, crying. Eearwaxx couldn’t see any others being hit, though there were some cries of surprise from within. The boom from the thunder was even louder than the knock, not that any further alert was needed now.

Jankx slid across the room to the far corridor, looking around the corner into the next room. He could see four Duergar emerging from within, each growing in size as they snarled and ran toward the entrance chamber. He unloaded his crossbow into the closest, drawing a howl of anger.

Octavian ran into the corridor hoping to knock the Duergar to the ground with an earth tremor, but they were too far away. Too late he realised his mistake, now fully exposed to the incoming Duergar. He quickly adapted, sending a guiding bolt instead, staggering the approaching opponent.

Morgan saw two enemies running to the north through the slit, so he quickly materialised Ezra behind them. Morgan’s shade sliced one but missed with the second swing. Tarquin saw Octavian in danger and sprinted to his side, throwing a cast into the Duergar’s room that caused a zone of slowness. They reacted with surprise and anger, fighting to move as if through molasses. Tarquin grinned as he sang a song of inspiration for Morgan.

Some were close enough. The first hacked into Octavian with a huge swing of his warpick, drawing a spray of blood. Another followed suit, crunching into Octavian with a second heavy hit that forced him to stagger into the wall — Tarquin could see he was badly hurt. A third, slowed, pulled a javelin from her back and hurled it into Octavian again and he nearly fell to the ground. A fourth and final Duergar, sensing blood, tried to finish Octavian but his swing missed amongst the chaos of his allies.

Seeing this, another slowed Duergar hurled a javelin at Tarquin instead, embedding the weapon into his side. Arlington didn’t like the numbers he was seeing — there were too many and they were all enlarged, giant Duergar. Time for some thinning. He dropped one with an easy shot to the left eye, and caused another to howl in pain with a forearm strike. Jankx followed through, dropping Arlington’s already wounded foe. Eearwaxx shot another bolt through the arrow hold, killing another with a firebolt to the back.

Octavian was close to death, and realised it. He desperately healed himself under the blows of the Duergar, then, knowing the huge risk he was taking, tried to withdraw into the entrance vestibule. One of the Duergar saw his opportunity: as Octavian turned the Duergar buried his into the fleeing kobold’s back. Octavian cried out as he fell, dropping to the ground, dead.

Morgan looked on in horror as Octavian fell. He stepped over the small body of his friend and into the corridor, blocking the way. He took aim at Octavian’s slayer and felt the surge of inspiration from Tarquin’s song as he plunged his sword into the Duergar’s stomach. Ezra materialised at his side and finished what Morgan started, meeting blades inside the now dead Duergar.

Tarquin flung a healing spell at Octavian, hoping to bring him back before death was irreversible — and before something worse than death could take place. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Octavian suck in a breath of life, then gave Jankx a quick poem of courage. Jankx rode the power and shot a point-blank bolt into a Duergar five feet away.

A Duergar stabbed a javelin at Morgan, missing and growling with frustration, but another smashed Morgan with his warpick. Two more were forced to wait as Ezra and Morgan blocked the way. Arlington hoisted his crossbow once again, only hitting once thanks to a moment of indecision about who to target.

“Time to rumble, Eearwaxx,” Arlington cried as Eearwaxx ran into the corridor. The young wizard stared hard at one of the Duergar and arose a great fear within him. The Duergar looked at Eearwaxx as if he had seen his own death and started to back away. Eearwaxx stepped protectively over Octavian who was stirring slowly.

Octavian, his eyes wild with fear and something darker beyond that, staggered to his feet. He looked hysterical, as if he did not know what he was doing, and thrust his one icy hand forward and blasted his new power into the closest Duergar — and Ezra. A cone of ice exploded from his frozen fist, dropping Ezra and one of the Duergar, and drawing cries of surprise from the others.

Morgan used the surprise to finish his nearest foe, then followed through to drop another. Ezra reappeared much to the disappointment of the Duergar in front of him. Tarquin threw his dagger through the crowd and killed another with an insouciant grin — who need the rapier when the dagger was just as efficient. The battle had swung firmly in the favour of his fellows.

One of the few remaining Duergar spat at Ezra’s feet, having learnt that killing Ezra repeatedly was pointless, turning instead to Morgan and clobbering him with his warpick. Arlington loaded his crossbow with the air of someone who had had enough of this nonsense, a huff even, and fired. Badly. Very badly. The bolt flew wildly off target and thudded into the back of…Morgan. The young warrior grunted with surprise and Arlington realised ruefully that Morgan knew exactly what had happened. Arlington threw his crossbow to the ground in frustration and flung his spear instead. It too flew wide, though thankfully not wide enough to hit Morgan a second time.

Eearwaxx shot fire into the final Duergar, and Jankx added his own far more accurate crossbow bolt directly between its eyes. The last Duergar was dead and everyone sucked in the cold air to recover their breath as relative silence descended once more.

From the far end of the eastern corridor a stone door closed with a gentle thunk. Someone had been watching.

---

A map, a trap, and Dreck

With time to breath, the interior of the fortress revealed itself. The corridors and rooms were hewn from grey stone, bereft of ornamentation, with iron-handled stone doors. Ten feet ceilings pressed down, and a smoky haze permeated everything — those familiar with the workings of a blacksmith recognised the acrid smell of forged metal. Stone braziers filled with glowing hot coals provided dim light and contributed to the smoky ambience.

In the respite after the fight a loud mechanical noise became obvious, cogs turning in constant rotation. It sounded like it was centred on the open corridor to the south. Another corridor led north to a pair of doors, and the third corridor led east, shrouded in semi-darkness.

“Are you ok?” Morgan said, glancing with concern at Octavian.

Octavian was breathing fast, but he nodded as he healed himself to add to Tarquin’s already given aid. He knelt down and started rifling through the bodies of the dead Duergar, finding nothing but it was a good distraction from the darkness he had just been in.

Morgan nodded then turned to Tarquin. “Could you please pull out this bolt?” Tarquin grimaced but obeyed, noting Morgan’s stoic silence as he yanked it free. Tarquin passed the bolt to Arlington who stood nonchalantly with his hand out as if nothing had happened. Morgan and Ezra then moved to the four-way intersection to stand guard.

Jankx stepped over the fallen Duergar and into their barracks. A dozen or so unadorned bedchambers led off the room, and a meal table stood in the centre. Octavian called for Jankx to search for trinkets or tokens, but there was nothing of interest beyond tatty fur beddings and a few well-used weapons, so Jankx turned his attention to the walls. After a few minutes searching he discovered a hidden stone door in the stonework at the north-east corner. Five-foot wide and reaching to the ceiling, a false wall that looked like it could be pushed open. He put his ear to the door but there was no sound beyond.

As Morgan waited, he heard the mechanical clanking stop. He inched down toward the room, trailed by Arlington with drawn crossbow. Ezra turned, glared at the crossbow that had so recently pierced Morgan, and gave Arlington a filthy look. Which Arlington ignored because obviously Ezra wasn’t real — or at least that’s what he chose to believe.

Inside the room Morgan spied a solid iron cage that rose from floor to ceiling, with a metal gate drawn across the opening on the near side. There was no sign of anyone in the room. After a minute or so, the clanking restarted, and Morgan could glimpse chains moving inside the cage.

Tarquin stood nervously between the two groups, concerned that the party was slowly becoming split. He also worried about making too much noise — surely there were more Duergar nearby. He buffed Morgan, Jankx and Octavian, then signalled to Arlington to withdraw and come to Jankx’s discovery. Arlington waved his crossbow for Morgan and Ezra to follow — not threateningly, but hardly friendly given recent events.

Eearwaxx studied the secret door, running his fingers down the seam. Needs mending, he figured, and proceeded to do so. The outline of the hidden door became very clear, allowing Jankx to check for traps with ease — it was safe. He checked everyone was in position then opened the door with a sharp shove.

A dark, five-foot diameter corridor led twenty feet to another stone door. Morgan did a cursory check the confidently crouched and moved down the small corridor. The door at the other end pulled open easily.

Beyond was a rectangular room with a low stone table, on the top of which was drawn an crude illustration that looks something like a map. Mounted to the top of a thin iron stand on the table was a 6-inch-tall dragon figurine carved out of chardalyn, its wings outstretched. Two doors led south (obviously to the already explored corridor) and another pair north.

Morgan stepped inside and up to the table. It was obviously a map of the Ten Towns, and a path was etched into the table to allow the dragon model to travel through each township.

Eearwaxx came into the room and pulled out the map recovered from Durth back in Easthaven. It showed the same path — first stop Dougan’s Hole, last Bryn Shander. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, he grinned. His smile spread even further when he saw a lever on the west side of the table. He moved quickly to it so he could study the complex series of cogs and wheels to which the lever was connected. “This lever must move the dragon,” he said from under the table, somewhat taken aback when everyone almost yelled for him not to pull it.

“If this is the controller for the dragon,” Arlington said, “Then we need to unhinge some of it.”

“I thought the same thing,” Eearwaxx said excitedly, “But I’m not sure that it does. If it did it doesn’t allow enough freedom of movement — how did it move down the valley when we saw it if their is not carved path?”

Tarquin tested the southern doors, finding them unlocked. As he inched it open he heard the cranking gears stop again — and muffled voices. The sound of the metal gate being wrenched open was followed by what sounded like the start of an argument between two parties. Tarquin couldn’t understand a word so he ushered Octavian over.

Octavian signalled for quiet and eavesdropped on the conversation, which was being held in Undercommon:

“We heard that boom from below — Xardorok wants us to investigate,” a female voice said sternly.

“It was nothing. is experimenting as usual,” a male responded.

“What kind of experiment? We need to check or we’ll be paying.”

“Seriously, you don’t want to upset her. You know what he thinks about her, leave it alone.”

There was a pause, then a third male voice joined.

“He’s right, Xardorok will be even more upset if we interfere with her.”

The first voice sighed. “Very well. We’ll tell him — you’d better be right, Dreck.”

“Of course I am. Get back in the cage before it leaves.”

A few moments later the grinding of the gears began again.

Octavian reported this to his companions. “Whoever ‘Dreck’ was, he managed to talk-down the new arrivals. Sounds like there’s a wizard or something called Grandolpha, and Xardorok is definitely here somewhere.”

“And that contraption they arrived in, the metal cage, that’s an elevator,” Arlington explained.

“What’s an elevator?” Octavian asked.

“It’s like in a mine shaft, with a pulley and a plank. But fancier. I’ve got several in my house,” Arlington said polishing his fingernails.

“Ah, we use them on stage all the time,” Tarquin nodded, then pointed to the double north doors. “They’re talking about Xardorok, and I’m willing to bet this is his antechamber.”

Jankx listened and checked the doors as everyone stood ready, the carefully opened them. Braziers heaped with glowing-hot coals heated the moderate chamber inside, which was dominated by a large stone bed covered with soot-stained furs, its head against the north wall. In a shallow niche above the bed was a bas relief of a giant, scowling Duergar clenching its teeth. At the foot of the bed was a flat-topped stone trunk sealed with a bulky padlock. A stone door was set into the western wall.

As everyone started to move inside, Eearwaxx pulled the lever. Dozens of tiny gears started ratcheting into motion as the dragon began it’s flight over the Ten Towns, poor Dougan’s Hole the first stop. Everyone spun around as Eearwaxx pulled the lever shut again. The dragon stopped. Eearwaxx grinned widely — this was a marvel of engineering. He reached over to the dragon to see if he could unscrew it, but it looked like it would need to be snapped free. Tarquin shook his head slowly and Eearwaxx withdrew his hand.

Attention returned to the bedchamber. Eearwaxx used his neophyte thievish skills to snap and lift the dragon, slipping it into his pocket. He mended the broken top and walked calmly to the open doors, fidgeting with the dragon. It had a pleasing weight.

Morgan had moved into the room and flanked the west door. He listened and heard movement from within. He motioned quickly to Jankx who listened but he heard nothing. “I’m not sure there’s anything in there,” he whispered. Morgan frowned, gripping his sword and nodding for Jankx to open it. Jankx pulled the door open.

There was no-one inside the closet beyond. What there was was a shrine that sent a shudder down Jankx’s spine. A shelf embedded in the south wall held a two-foot-tall statuette of made of chardalyn. It depicted a nude female Duergar with no facial features and a spiked crown atop her bald head. Stacked on smaller shelves around the statuette were seven skulls. The skulls were all different sizes, and each had an enlarged cranium, but Jankx didn’t recognise any of the species.

Arlington reached out to take the smallest before Octavian put an arm out to stop him. “Wait. Let me have a look, I’m the only one who might know what these might be.”

“I know what collecting skulls is like,” Arlington protested.

“You can have all the skulls you want, just let me check.” Octavian examined the statue. He knew it was a Duergar deity, but he was frustrated not to be able to identify it. “The skulls are mind flayers, proffered to this deity,” he explained. “None are fresh, so the gnome captain could still be alive.” Arlington pushed past and stuffed a skull into his pack.

Jankx returned to the room and lent down to check the padlock on the chest. It was big and obvious, but like the dragon mechanism this was a superbly engineered lock. Tiny sprockets and springs warned of a long and arduous pick. “I don’t think I can do this, this looks tough,” he said, slightly embarrassed and trying not to show it.

“Now’s your moment, boy,” Octavian said, turning to Eearwaxx and giving him a push forward.

Tarquin went to pull the southern doors closed to hide the lock work. He glanced at the table — the dragon was gone? He looked around wildly, but there was no-one in the room and the far doors were shut. He quickly closed his doors and stood inside the map room listening and watching. All he could hear was the clanking of the elevator. Was the jig up? he wondered as he studied where the dragon had been removed. It looked like it had never been there, the edge of the metallic spike smooth and unbroken. He slapped his forehead: Eearwaxx.

Inside the bed chamber, Eearwaxx lifted the lock, tilted his head, stuck in a single beautifully clean lockpick, and twisted: up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, Start. The tiny gears gave way one-by-one and started whirring smoothly and the padlock popped open.

Jankx’s eyes widened in shock. “Wow.” Eearwaxx smiled and stepped back.

“What’s inside boy,” Arlington said patting Eearwaxx on the back.

“Be very, very careful!” Jankx warned, trying to re-establish control. “Slowly.”

Eearwaxx nodded. “It’s not trapped,” he said, then slowly opened the stone lid of the chest. Inside were a pair of dwarven sandals carved out of obsidian resting on a quilted smoking jacket, sized for a dwarf and sewn with fifty gemstones. Both items look regal and overdecorative in the plainness of the fortress. “These might fit you, Octavian,” Eearwaxx said offering both.

“I’m a bit too tall,” Octavian protested.

Jankx looked into the chest to see what lay beneath the jacket. There was a beautiful malachite beard comb set with seven red garnets, a hookah made of platinum and star sapphire, and a rolled-up leather scroll. Jankx ignored the finery and reached for the scroll. He passed it to Eearwaxx, who unrolled it carefully. Written on the leather were eight sequences of three numbers:

1-3-6
2-5-2
9-7-5
4-3-4
8-2-7
5-6-3
7-1-4
2-9-9

Jankx knew all too well what these were. “Lock codes,” he said. “Keep those safe, Eearwaxx.”

Octavian moved next to the chest. “I want to check for a false bottom,” he said to Jankx. He carefully tapped the bottom of the chest with his staff, avoiding the treasures. He and Jankx instantly heard something was off. A tiny resonance that made both think the chest wasn’t resting on solid stone.

“Maybe it’s covering something below the floor,” Jankx said, examining the outside of the chest. But there were no scratches or furrows in the floor that would indicate movement. He gently tried to pull it, but it seemed set in the floor, as if it was locked in place.

“Let me check for magic,” Eearwaxx said, and did so. Nothing.

“Maybe inside,” Octavian said, and Jankx nodded. He lent down and pulled out the comb set, then the heavier hookah—

CLICK.

Hidden springs lifted floor of the chest slightly, a mechanism releasing as it did so. Jankx jerked backwards just as the stone visage above the bed opened its scowling mouth and belched out a cloud of poisonous gas. The room filled with the noxious fumes causing everyone to retch and cough, shoving the doors to Tarquin’s room open to escape. Octavian reacted quickly and summoned a druidic breeze that gathered the cloud and pushed it into the shrine room.

Tarquin spun in surprise as everyone burst into the map chamber, sick as dogs. He sensed what had happened instantly and quelled the sickness with a quick song of healing.

“I hate to suggest this, but once that dissipates Jankx should search for doors in there,” Octavian coughed.

“Are you thinking the hollow sound was the gas chamber under the chest?” Arlington asked. “Or that there is something further?”

“It’s just to protect the personal wealth,” Jankx said. “Nothing more.”

“That’s probably Xardorok’s bedroom,” Morgan said to nods of agreement.

“There’s no harm in having Tarquin go in there and double check,” Arlington said with a side-eye at the unharmed bard. Jankx laughed, and once recovered, did a quick check of the bed-chamber and shrine but found no hidden doors.

“We may need to rest soon,” Octavian warned.

“We cannot spend any time resting in here,” Morgan shook his head. “We don’t know when the dragon is going to start its flight.” He didn’t care about the gnome ceremorphs, but if the dragon was preparing to fly, Caer–Konig was in danger. There was no time to rest.

Jankx glanced at the table and raised his eyebrows when he saw the dragon was gone. “Where’s the dragon?” he said quietly, as everyone turned their gaze to Eearwaxx. The young wizard shoved his hand involuntarily into his pocket, wrapping it around his precious, and tried to look as innocent as his age deserved.

Tarquin decided to unmask Eearwaxx’s deception. But as he went to point it out he found he reached into his pocket accidentally. Octavian jerked his head look at Tarquin. Of course, Tarquin had been alone in this room when the poison released, he thought. “Sorry Eearwaxx,” Octavian said apologetically.

“That’s ok,” the young wizard shrugged happily.

Tarquin rolled his eyes then made a show of turning out his empty pockets.

“We get it, you’ve hidden it. Come on — we’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Octavian said.

Eearwaxx went to open the southern doors. Morgan stepped in front of him and shook his head. “Please don’t open eny doors,” he said looking at everyone very earnestly. “Ezra and I are going to go at the front of every door, room — everything that happens. So you don’t get attacked until we’re dead, or you’re ready. Does everyone understand that?” He stared at Octavian, thinking of his recent misfortune.

“That wasn’t a door,” Octavian muttered under his breath. Morgan glared, protectively.

“I haven’t been walking in front of you since the sunken citadel,” Tarquin smiled.

“And I understand you want me behind you,” Arlington quipped. Morgan walked past the great hunter without acknowledging anything of the sort.

---

Morgan walked cautiously into the southern room. The chains were rattling inside the elevator shaft, and arrow slits faced down the valley. He edged toward and around the metal structure, finding a pair of doors in the eastern wall.

“There must be someone in here,” Tarquin said quietly. “Because when we heard voices before and one of the people was up here.”

“Or they both came up in the lift,” Morgan said.

“No — that interaction would have happened below in that case,” Tarquin said.

“I agree,” Arlington said as he entered the room. He had an idea. “Why don’t we stick a piton through that chain and then go explore the rest of this level safely?”

“Because if the mechanism breaks, they’ll know we’re here. And we may not be able to get down to the bottom level,” Morgan said.

Arlington considered this and wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. “That was a test, and you passed,” he recovered weakly.

Morgan stepped toward the doors, with Jankx on his shoulder. As he reached for it noticed a something out of place: a cloud of cold breath from someone hiding beneath the arrow holes. No use being invisible when it’s this cold, Morgan smirked. He continued the charade of opening the doors, instructing Jankx to check the doors, then darted across the gap to the outside wall.

As he moved the frozen breath started backing away, obviously watching Morgan’s approach. Tarquin saw Morgan’s sudden movement and moved himself to the wall, also seeing the tell-tale breathing. Morgan hesitated when he saw the retreat, so Tarquin took a shot instead. He flung his dagger at where he guessed the figure was. A cry of pain was his reward, and a grey-bearded Duergar materialised clutching his kidney. “Stand down! Stand down!” he cried in broken common. He carried a warpick with a javelin strapped to his back.

Jankx pulled out his sword. “You stand down,” he warned.

“I haven’t stood up, if you hadn’t noticed! You attacked me unbidden!”

“Will you attack us,” Jankx said calmly.

“Do I look like I’m going to attack you? I had my chance,” the Duergar scowled. “You want more? There!” He threw his pick to the ground. “Who do you think send the war-party back? It was me!” he said angrily. “And I’m rewarded with a dagger in the back?”

“You were invisible,” Octavian, said clawing for a good excuse.

“I couldn’t know I could trust you, you might kill me — you already tried,” he said jerking a callused thumb at Tarquin. “I’m just lucky that one can’t throw!”

“Why would you help us? Your kind has just sent ten to kill us?”

“Yes, ‘my kind’. But there is more than one loyalty here,” the Duergar spat.

“Explain,” Tarquin said.

“I will not. Go talk to Grandolpha, and stop attacking me!”

“Where is Grandolpha?” Octavian asked.

“She’s up there,” the Duergar said, pointing up and to the east.

“And what are the two loyalties you talk of?”

“Well to Xardorok and Grandolpha.”

“And you support…Xardorok?” Tarquin said cautiously.

“Are you stupid as well as bad with a dagger?” the Duergar spat. “Who do you think let you in? Who do you think ignored that ridiculous illusion you put out there? Who do you think talked down Xardorok’s muscle?” He lifted his pick-axe again and jerked it at Tarquin. Tarquin whipped out his rapier.

“Oh! Do you want some of this?” the Duergar grinned hungrily, hefting his weapon.

“Just calm down,” Octavian said in Undercommon.

“Tell your puppy to back off,” the Duergar snarled.

Morgan had heard enough, and understood the body language well enough. He stepped directly behind the Duergar and made his very physical presence known. “You’re going to take us to where Grandolpha is,” he said softly.

The Duergar snorted. “And this one too,” he said, jabbing a stone-hard elbow into Morgan’s chest.

Morgan wrapped his massive arm around the Duergar’s throat and hauled him back into a choke-hold. The Duergar gasped as his throat was throttled. “I’m a bit tired of your prattling,” Morgan snarled as Octavian ran over. “So you’re going to take us to Grandolpha, or I’m going to snap your neck. Drop the pickaxe!”

Despite his predicament, the Duergar gripped his weapon ever tighter. Morgan increased the pressure drawing another choking gasp. The Duergar’s grey face faded greyer still. Octavian raced over and put a hand on Morgan’s arm, trying to quell the mounting fury. “Don’t kill him! We need him!”

“You old fool,” Tarquin said, embedding a psychic nightmare into the Duergar’s mind, “Don’t you understand?” The Duergar writhed in pain and now fear.

Jankx watched everything unfold with growing disquiet. “The enemy of our enemy…” he implored.

Morgan leaned down again. “Drop. The. Pick.”

The Duergar did. Morgan grabbed the javelin and tossed it away, then pushed the Duergar free. Octavian tried to prop him up as he staggered forward, but he was shoved away. The Duergar spun to Morgan and spat at his feet. “You’d kill a defenceless man! Be on your way, I should never have defended you! I have no interest in you any more.”

“You didn’t hear what I said,” Morgan growled, “You’re going to take us to Grandolpha.” The Duergar ignored this and walked over to grab his pick. Morgan intercepted him before he could. The Duergar gave Morgan a look of disgust. “Leave my weapon alone,” he said with a low rumble. “I’m not attacking you, you’re the one’s attacking me. I’ve not done a single thing to any of you. I’m one man. Who are you? What kind of people are you? You have no honour!”

“Actually I restrained myself,” Morgan said. “If I wanted to kill you—”

“WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?” the Duergar shouted, exposing his badly bruised and damaged neck.

Morgan shrugged. “Sir, if I wanted—”

“Stop talking, boy.”

Morgan put his foot on the pickaxe.

The Duergar stepped forward to be face-to-face with Morgan. “Coward,” he said softly.

“Let’s just kill him,” Tarquin said.

The Duergar didn’t take his eyes of Morgan. “That would be the coward’s way. An unarmed man.”

Arlington grabbed Eearwaxx. “Do something — now!”

Eearwaxx nodded and spoke a quick spell then walked over to the Duergar. “Hello! My dear friend, come over here, no need to be upset.”

The Duergar shook his head as if to free something from his mind, then glanced over to Eearwaxx. “Finally a friend,” he said through gritted teeth. He bent to pick up his weapon, saw Morgan standing on it, and shrugged.

“Here’s some bread for you,” Eearwaxx said.

“Thank you, I was hungry,” the Duergar said. “My name is Dreck.”

Eearwaxx loved this. “And I’m Eearwaxx! I have something to show you,” he said, reaching for the dragon in his pocket before thinking better of it. “Maybe later! Listen, my friends want to meet Grandolpha, is that something you can help with?”

“Would you like me to introduce you to her?” Eearwaxx clapped him on the back and nodded.

“Where are my weapons?” Dreck said, looking over to Morgan. “I’ll bring it,” Morgan said, hefting the weapon. Dreck’s eye twitched, then he nodded his thanks.

He led everyone along the east corridor, Eearwaxx enjoying a rolling conversation, showing off Horseradish. “She’s inside here, would you like to go in?” Dreck asked at a set of double doors set in the north wall.

“Before we do,” Octavian said, “These other corridors — where do they lead?”

“That’s Nildar’s room down the end, and Durth’s up to the north. Haven’t seen them in some time though,” Dreck explained.

“And are there more soldiers?”

“Not up here. Just an armoury to the south. Captain of the guard was here but she’s been taken,” Dreck scowled.

“When you say taken — by who?” Jankx asked.

“Xardorok got her, more’s the pity. Nefrun was her name. Accused of disloyalty — rubbish!” Dreck spat. “I’ve never served a more loyal captain, and her reward was to be called traitor and tortured. It’s why I changed my allegiance,” he confessed quietly.

“Are there other’s who’ve turned?”

“To Grandolpha’s cause? I should think so.” Jankx nodded slowly — this was maybe an opening that could be exploited.

Arlington was standing a portcullis that stood in front of a large shaft, thirty-feet wide and twenty-deep, that dropped deep below and rose high above. Heat and smoke billowed from below, and at the top Arlington could see the ‘skylights’ that Meepo had pointed out. “What am I looking at here?” he asked.

“Well that’s the chute,” Dreck explained. “Leads down to the forge and up to the sky.”

Jankx listened at the door that led to Grandolpha. There was movement, clanking of equipment and the odd low voice. There was also the heady aroma of hot food. Jankx licked his lips unconsciously.

“If you’re lucky you’ll get to eat with her,” Dreck grinned. “Ready for an introduction?”

Jankx nodded and Dreck pushed his way inside, Tarquin reflecting that Dreck was the first Duergar that his company hadn’t killed on sight. Though it had been a near thing.

Three braziers heaped with glowing-hot coals illuminated and heated a long hall. A hexagonal stone table sat surrounded by six stone chairs, and seated in the chair facing the door was a haggard old Duergar with long black hair streaked with ribbons of white and fingernails like shards of iron.

---

She was devouring a hearty buffet of cooked meats, mushrooms, and strange Underdark fare. Lurking next to her was a small mechanical dragon made of chardalyn, the spitting image of the giant one seen in the valley below.

Hunched over a hot stove in the west side of the room were three Duergar cooks. As Dreck led the company inside they drop their utensils and reach for their weapons, but the old Duergar said something that kept them at bay. She took another mouthful of her meal then leant back in her chair.

“Finally! It sounded like you were having an interesting time out there. My name is Grandolpha Muzgardt — please, sit, and share this meal with me.”

---

Grandolpha Muzgardt

Tarquin gave a grand bow and took a seat immediately next to Grandolpha, Arlington following suit and flanking her on the other side. Octavian, Jankx, and Eearwaxx were rather more hesitant but took their places cautiously. Only Morgan refused to sit, crossing his arms and frowning.

“Dreck, we need two more seats, be a dear and go fetch them would you?” Dreck nodded and headed out into the corridor, closely watched by Morgan who wasn’t sure if Eearwaxx’s spell had infinite range. Dreck returned with two seats, taking one, but Morgan refused to sit, standing near the door instead.

“Hot and freshly stewed by my cadre of expert chefs,” Grandolpha beamed, indicating the meal proudly. Atop the round table were mounds of unidentifiable meat that steamed temptingly, bowls of slimy mushroom and fungus, and other assorted Underdark fare.

Octavian recognised most but the centrepiece confounded him: a brain was stewing in the upside-down carapace of a creature with four clawed legs. “What exactly is…that?”

“Ah you have a good eye for what is best I see,” Grandolpha said, rubbing her hands. “You are lucky to be here when I am serving this.”

“Perhaps you could let us in on the provenance?” Tarquin asked hopefully.

“This? This is pure intellect. The minds and memories of many of its victims are stored within that brain.”

“I don’t recognise this creature,” Tarquin said warily. “What is it?”

“Ah, that would remove some of the mystery, would it not? Suffice to say that when alive it devours intellect, but now dead it is perfectly safe,” Grandolpha smiled.

“Is there a…consequence to eating it?” Arlington asked.

“I find it rather invigorates my mind for several hours after eating it, insights that were otherwise hidden become crystal clear.”

Arlington stuck his fork into the mound of brain and shovelled it into his mouth. It took some chewing. “Al dente,” Grandolpha grinned.

Jankx blanched at the stench from the varied foodstuffs. Some looked safe enough, and he glanced for Octavian’s subtle nod before gingerly trying one of the mushrooms. He used his best sleight of hand to fake eating the brain, and was relieved to not be caught. Arlington, whose mother had raised him on all manner of exotic fare, loaded his plate.

Eearwaxx wouldn’t eat. He poked around for something fresh, vegetables of fruit, but everything looked dreadful. He poked his fork around miserably. Octavian and Tarquin, who knew the rules of etiquette in such situations, tried to distract Grandolpha from noticing with grunts of enthusiasm as they ate, but it didn’t work.

“You will not eat?” Grandolpha asked Eearwaxx, and glanced toward Morgan. Morgan didn’t move and Eearwaxx shrugged apologetically.

“It is not often that someone refuses my hospitality,” Grandolpha said softly.

“You must excuse my young colleagues,” Tarquin said, “We’re not often confronted with such an…intimidating host.”

“Nor as intimidating food,” Arlington added.

“You invade a fortress full of Duergar armed to the teeth, but you will not eat my food? No matter, I will not take it as a slight. Luckily for you,” Grandolpha added. She turned to Dreck, who was smiling warmly at Eearwaxx. “Now Dreck, I would feed you, but what of your other ailment?”

Dreck looked down at his stomach and rubbed it gingerly. “It’s not better. In fact after what just happened…”. Dreck slowed down, looking confused as he rubbed his red-raw neck, “Well, something attacked me and I would say now it feels worse.”

Seeing Dreck’s confusion, a look of understanding crossed Grandolpha’s face. She looked at Eearwaxx. “You should release him. It is not kind — he is not a toy.”

Tarquin swallowed. “He was being a little difficult, so we thought it best for his own well being.”

“My Dreck was being difficult?”

“He’s a rather cranky fellow,” Tarquin said weakly.

“Aren’t we all,” Grandolpha snorted, amused. “What happened to his neck?” she added, noting the results of the tussle with Morgan.

“Yes, he appears to have been injured,” Tarquin explained, hackles slightly raised at her game-playing. “Fortunately we withheld the full brunt of our effectiveness, and here we are. We thought it best to seek his aid by coming to find you.”

“He’s not as badly off as the others,” Arlington added.

“Yes I saw you made short work of my erstwhile colleagues outside — what was the meaning of that?” Grandolpha asked. Tarquin

“We were invading,” Arlington explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to assault a Duergar stronghold.

“Invading! All…six of you,” she said counting and laughing.

“We had to start somewhere,” Tarquin smiled.

“And how many of them are dead?” Arlington said.

“Did you count?” Grandolpha asked.

“We lost count,” Tarquin quipped. “Ten? That’s all we’ve found so far.”

Grandolpha laughed again. “Well I will grant it is an impressive start. Ten of them. How do you think you’d go against forty?”

“Are they all coming through the same door, or are they all in the same room?” Tarquin asked.

“Same room. Just hypothetically.”

“Well obviously that would present more of a challenge,” Tarquin conceded.

“Do you have a room with forty that need killing?” Arlington asked.

Grandolpha smiled. “Well I don’t. This is not my fortress — I am merely a guest here,” she said, stroking the chardalyn dragon.

“Who are you a guest of?” Octavian asked.

“Xardorok of course. He built this edifice to his madness, and along with his sons it is is base of operations on the surface. He gave me this dragon, which is really quite something don’t you think?”

Eearwaxx nodded enthusiastically, toying with the smaller model in his pocket. “How do you control it?” he asked, wondering how it was animated and if his could be given the same power.

“With my mind,” Grandolpha said, raising her pale eyebrows enigmatically.

“Are you friends with Xardorok?” Octavian asked.

“Friends,” Grandolpha paused to consider this. “That not quite how I would have put it. He wishes to make an alliance, hence the gift,” she said, stroking the dragon. “I am quite impressed by it, but he’s not going to win my hand,” she said dismissively.

“Oh it’s a marriage?”

“That’s what he wants, but won’t get.”

“If he wants to marry you, why are you up here in the guardhouse,” Arlington asked suspiciously.

“I’m playing hard to get,” Grandolpha quipped, drawing a chuckle from Tarquin who knew all about that game. “Look, it wasn’t our intention to come in find ourselves embroiled in an internecine conflict within the bounds of this fortress,” Tarquin waxed lyrically, “But it seems, from what we’ve gathered and the fact that we are sharing this meal with you, that this doesn’t trouble you? The fact that we’ve come here and killed a whole bunch of your compatriots?”

“You have quite a tongue on you, don’t you young man?”

“Why thank you!”

“To answer your question — no it doesn’t trouble me. In fact I’m fascinated that someone would try to invade this stronghold. And, so far, succeed it would seem.”

“Wasn’t very difficult, if I’m honest,” Arlington said, sucking the (rather tasty) marrow from a knuckled bone.

“Ha! And confident,” Grandolpha chuckled. “I like you. I like you a lot.”

“Then what do you want from us?”

“Nothing! Just to share my food, it is a lonely place.”

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Tarquin decided to be more direct. “Would it be in your interest for us to help you out of your difficult engagement?”

“I can handle that just fine,” Grandolpha smiled. “Let me ask you a question: why are you here?”

“We had an inkling of what is going on.”

“Which is?”

“Well we don’t live underground, we live above ground,” Tarquin explained. “And we have a feeling that what is happening here has great import for the Ten Towns.”

“And what do you think is happening here?” Grandolpha probed. Her eyes were sharp as she looked around the group.

Octavian understood this was some kind of test, that she was looking to see what Arlington’s crew knew before she would offer anything more. “Well…” he said, and nodded at the dragon.

“My dragon?”

“No. The big one,” Octavian said.

“Ah. Xardorok’s very special project. You know about that?”

Tarquin saw what was going on. “We have come across some indirect evidence, and some rather more direct, that there will be some apocalypse rained down from above upon the Ten Towns. By virtue of a metallic, mechanical, dragon. Which seems increasingly realistic, although it did seem at the time to be quite a fantasy.”

Grandolpha’s smile sharpened. “Your information is very good, I must say. I am surprised you have uncovered so much — it is not widely known. I would venture only those in this fortress are aware…”

Tarquin answered the hanging question. “Xardorok should check in with his sons,” he said simply.

Grandolpha narrowed her eyes. “We have not seen them for some time.”

“I wouldn’t be holding my breath,” Tarquin said, meeting her gaze.

Grandolpha leaned back in her chair. Everyone could see the change in her demeanour as the meaning of Tarquin’s words sunk in. Octavian watched closely, seeing her calculations change. She wasn’t upset, she saw opportunity.

“So we shouldn’t expect Durth and Nildar back, is what you are telling me?”

Tarquin nodded. “Not in the greater reckoning I wouldn’t think, no.”

“And do we have…you to thank for that?”

“It depends whether we deserve thanks,” Tarquin ventured.

“Would you thank us?” Octavian asked.

“I would,” Grandolpha nodded slowly.

Tarquin grinned. The game had changed.

“Which side are you on?” Tarquin said.

“I think I am on your side,” she said, leaning forward and taking a chunk of brain. Her demeanour had changed from gentle mockery to serious and calculating: the six invaders were now six soldiers she could use. She looked to Dreck. “Shut the doors and stand guard - no-one enters.” She turned back to the table. “Xardorok is a paranoid fool, driven insane by his thirst for chardalyn. Much as he loves them, he even sent his sons away for fear of being usurped — a decision he will rue. You are right: he plans to destroy the Ten Towns, to make Icewind Dale a home for his Duergar.”

Arlington raised his eyebrows. All the cards were on the table now, it appeared. “Why does he want a home on the surface?”

“To spread his realm. He believes that with Auril’s aid he can create an aboveground Underdark. Madness, of course. That is why he called me to join him, to help with this insanity. I suspect he is being guided by someone else but I do not know who. "

“As a representative of other Duergar, what is the opinion of his ‘quest’?”

“I am no mere representative,” Grandolpha frowned, affronted. “I am the Grand Dame of my clan.”

Arlington realised his mistake. “Of course, my apologies. But you are all we have got at the moment.”

“As I have said, my opinion is he is a fool. He may succeed, but at what cost.”

“Why then is he a fool?”

“Because who wants to live on the surface? This is not our place.”

“But is his plan doomed to failure?” Arlington questioned.

“I don’t necessarily think so. I think that dragon could — and will — wreak havoc.”

“Who supplied the dragon to him?” Octavian asked.

“He built it himself. He may be mad, but he knows his furnace and has some of the best smiths the Underdark can muster.”

“How much of the infrastructure required to build that dragon lies in this fortress? And how much is deep underground in the Underdark?” Arlington asked.

“Most is here. He has a forge of some reckoning installed just below. Some materials were sourced from the Underdark, but the chardalyn was mined here — your Icewind Dale is the only source, he tells me. He has built that dragon here, and he has his finest smiths working on it day and night.”

“And I’m sure he guards his engineering and blacksmithery secrets closely,” Tarquin observed.

“Of course he does.”

“So if those smiths were to find themselves…dead, that would be that then,” Tarquin said.

“That would indeed be that,” Grandolpha smiled.

“And where stand you with building alliances with those on the surface?” Tarquin asked. “With the druids?”

“I know nothing of and care nothing for the druids. I do have an interest in trade, however,” Grandolpha said, her eyes glistening with what Tarquin instantly understood as greed. “I see an opportunity here that Xardorok does not in his chardalyn madness.”

“What have you got?” Arlington asked.

She spread her arms over the table. “I have this—”

“Brains?” Arlington asked.

Grandolpha ignored the jest. “I have foods you will not find anywhere else. But more importantly, I have the finest ale the Underdark produces.”

“We have both those things on the surface already,” Arlington observed.

“But you don’t have my brew. Muzgardt Darklake Stout. If there is one thing an isolated, frozen community appreciates it is a strong brew.”

Arlington found he couldn’t disagree with that assessment.

“It is like nothing you have ever tasted, brewed from the finest Underdark fungi,” Grandolpha said proudly. Octavian nodded — he knew of this famous brew, renowned and much sought after in the Underdark. Wars had been fought over the secrets of its concoction. Incredibly alcoholic, incredibly potent.

Grandolpha summoned one of her chefs, who planted a small cask on the table and drew six tankards of thick, black, heady ale. “This as much as anything is why Xardorok wanted me up here.”

Tarquin took a cautious sip. It was really something. A little too much something if you weren’t careful, he thought, taking a larger swig. He nodded at Grandolpha. “You may be right. So you’re interested in expanding your market?”

“Correct.”

“Well if I know one thing, from the histories, it’s that war is bad for business.”

Grandolpha chuckled. “Particularly if that war destroys all of your customers under the breath of a chardalyn dragon.”

“Have there been any outsiders up here, apart from us?” Octavian asked. He wanted to find out if the ceremorph captain was being held captive.

“I have seen none. Not many are so foolish…or brave. Xardorok has been bringing up creatures from the Underdark to help with his campaign.”

Octavian’s ears pricked. “Like?” he said in Undercommon.

“An umberhulk—”

“—shit!” Octavian blurted.

“—quaggoths, And he recently raised an impressive spore creature of some kind.”

Octavian blanched. This was not good.

“Can we cut to the chase?” Arlington said, not understanding a word of Octavian’s question but noting his demeanour, and finding his own stomach starting to object to the challenge of digesting the weighty meal and brew. “You would like us to stall his advance toward warfare with the surface, so that you could advance your commercial endeavours with that same surface.”

“Very well summarised, sir.”

“Well how can you help us?”

“As I have asked, how would you go fighting forty ravenous Duergar? Plus his various pets from the Underdark?”

“We’d be fine,” Arlington said, though he was not at all certain this was true.

“We’d prefer to fight them eight at a time,” Tarquin added.

“What if I were to reduce that number by a quarter and have that quarter fight alongside you instead? Many remain loyal to Xardorok, but some — like my friend Dreck here — have sworn their allegiance to me.”

Octavian and Tarquin nodded slowly, liking the improvement in odds. Jankx wasn’t so sure — that was still thirty or more crazed Duergar, and merely ten had managed to finish off Octavian.

“If the numbers do fall in our favour, where are your people located?” Tarquin asked.

“Throughout the fortress, though right now, other than Dreck and my personal guards, all are below in the forge.”

“And how would we ensure that we are not involving them in friendly fire, as Dreck was almost the victim of?”

Grandolpha smiled. “I will give you a code word, should we strike a deal. Which will let my people know that you fight with them.”

Suddenly Morgan walked over the table, fists clenched. “Is the dragon still here?” he growled, staring at Grandolpha.

She leaned back. “I believe that it is, my angry young friend.”

“How much time do we have?” Octavian asked.

“I am not sure. But if Xardorok is to be believed, it nears completion. It has been flying freely, and is likely soon to be released.”

Octavian translated this, causing Morgan to pull up a chair and sit absolutely still while he waited for more information.

“This is all very useful for us in what appeared to be a weighty endeavour,” Tarquin said, “But increasingly seems to be achievable.”

“I would estimate the scales are still tipped in his favour, but the balance has certainly changed,” Grandolpha nodded.

“They always nay appear to be that way,” Tarquin agreed, “But he would certainly be secure in the thought that we are not storming the fortress? So we do have the element of surprise — thanks in no small part in the service you provided in ensuring the alarm was not raised.” Dreck smiled at the compliment.

“Would that element give us eight hours?” Octavian asked.

Grandolpha considered this. “I could perhaps give you ten, if I delay the guard changes and mix them with my own people — he will not question me, not while he awaits my acceptance of his offer.”

“Then it seems our paths have aligned,” Tarquin smiled. “But again — how is the dragon controlled? Because if we go down there and the dragon should leave the fortress, how might we ensure it doesn’t follows its path around Ten Towns and destroy your willing customers?”

“I regret to say the mysteries of Xardorok’s dragon are somewhat beyond me. But my understanding is that once it is set on its path, it follows its path. It follows the orders it has been given, and how to react to events it might encounter. It is not controlled from here, and there is no way of controlling it once it is unleashed.”

Tarquin nodded. “We have seen the table and map, and model,” he said with a glace at Eearwaxx, “So it can’t deviate, it has no mind of its own?”

“As far as I am aware, it does not,” Grandolpha confirmed.

“Does it have any weaknesses?” the great hunter asked, ever looking for the soft underbelly of his foe.

“Ask Xardorok.”

“I don’t know much about…what did you call it? Mechanicals? But my only experience is by poking stuff into them from the outside,” Arlington said.

“If there are weaknesses, I think that they are here. Not once it has started moving around. Not once the button has been pressed, the lever has been pulled, the small chardalyn dragon has been set on its path,” Tarquin riffed, trying on descriptions for a later poem and once again looking to Eearwaxx who smiled innocently back.

“It is weaker here,” Octavian simplified.

“Before we do anything we need rest,” Jankx said quietly. “We are being offered a partnership that spreads the risk, but without our spells the risk is still too great.”

Arlington agreed. “I’m not agreeing to anything that doesn’t start with a good kip.”

“Ten hours is all I can give you. Beyond that Xardorok will become suspicious,” Grandolpha warned, then grinned. “You can sleep in his sons’s rooms given they will no longer be needing them.”

“There is a certain narrative sweetness to us taking one of the son’s rooms. How an we trust you?” Tarquin asked, imagining murderous blades in the dark.

“You have no choice,” Grandolpha smiled.

“Sounds like a deal,” Tarquin laughed.

Morgan glowered as he clenched his fists atop the table. “We don’t have the time,” he growled softly. “If the dragon leaves, we can’t stop it before it destroys the towns. How are we going to catch up with something that flies?”

“That is true,” Tarquin conceded. “We need to get ahead of the beast before it leaves.”

“And apparently its weakness lies here,” Arlington added encouragingly.

“But you are talking about sitting around for eight hours and not doing anything,” Morgan snarled. Everyone was used to Morgan being a serious young man, but there was a new barely contained fury bubbling. “It has already done a flight outside, it could leave any time. And once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

Arlington and Tarquin swung their heads to Grandolpha. “My good host,” Tarquin said, “You have offered to help us catch our breath. But as our esteemed companions points out, we wouldn’t want anything to happen while we sleep. I assume that, in Xardorok’s fervour, you would be invited to any grand moment that would signal the dragon leaving? Perhaps you can ensure that we are not asleep should it happen?”

Grandolpha nodded slowly. “Your young man is right to be concerned. And you, my well spoken friend, have read Xardorok well. It seems very likely that he would summon me — another opportunity to show off and press his undying love,” she laughed. “I will rouse you if he chooses his moment.”

“That way we would be no worse,” Octavian appealed to Morgan, “And we would be much stronger in stopping the dragon here once we find it.”

All eyes turned to Morgan. The warrior stared down at his hands. He wanted to fight. Now. But Octavian was right. He sighed, pushed his chair back, and walked outside to Nildar’s room.

Octavian breathed a sigh of relief. He needed rest, and he needed his spells. He wandered over to the corner near the cook’s fire, curled up, and instantly fell into a deep sleep. Thirty seconds later Arlington kicked him in the ribs and commanded him to join the company in Nildar’s room.

Morgan was sitting inside, crossed legged, watching the door. Everyone else slowly made their way inside, Arlington’s eyes wide when he saw the many preserved creature heads mounted around the room. He counted a crag cat, a male drow (which was rather disturbing), a troglodyte, a wolf, a peryton, and a number of Underdark monstrosities he did not recognise. He called Octavian over who named them one-by-one: a female grimlock, a grick, and a kuo-toa.

Arlington was impressed, though he knew all too well the habit of nobility to mount trophies they could not claim as their own. Unlike his own taxidermy collection which was all hard earned. Or mostly. “One thing I regret is not bringing a big enough sack,” he muttered, eyeing the grick.

“But these aren’t for you collection as you didn’t kill them?” Octavian said, still half-asleep.

“Who’s to say who killed what…”

---

Jankx woke first, noting Morgan hadn’t moved. He glanced at the stone trunk at the foot of the bed and decided against it. “Worked out so well last time,” he sighed.

“But now you know what to look for,” Morgan replied quietly. Jankx shook his head.

Arlington did a quick count and was relieved to find everyone was still here. He pushed into Grandolpha’s room to find her chowing down on a potent smelling breakfast. “Ah you are up. I did not receive the summons, so did not wake you. I did however have a chat to Dreck,” she said. The no-longer charmed Duergar was sitting just as Morgan had the night before, two fists clenched, barely restraining his anger. He glared daggers as each weary traveller pulled up a chair, but didn’t move.

“It is good to see you have sway over your turncoats,” Tarquin said, drawing a small growl from Dreck.

Grandolpha rested her hand on Dreck’s shoulder. “He is a loyal one. He wasn’t pleased with what you did to him, but he understands the bigger picture.”

“Well now we’re all on the same team I’m hoping he can let bygones be bygones.”

Dreck scowled again, then suddenly grabbed his abdomen and grimaced with pain. Grandolpha left her hand in place and let a slow smile spread over her face, watching everyone do their best to ignore.

“So, my new allies. What do you need to know?”

“A full schematic for this fortress would be a start,” Arlington said, chewing on a morsel of questionable origin.

“Three floors. One above us, one below. Above are the controls for the gate, one east side and one west. That is how the dragon leaves the fortress. And below is the foundry — a huge main chamber with the forge and several guard towers, and where the dragon rests.”

“Is there a back door apart from the dumb-waiter?”

Grandolpha shook her head. “Just the dumb-waiters…unless you want to travel up from the Underdark. And I suppose the chute?”

“How far down is the chute,” Arlington asked, as he considered the low odds of a surprise attack from an elevator.

“150 feet.”

“Seems a good option,” Tarquin said. “Perhaps you can help us — if you can secure the chute so that if the dragon should be launched it cannot escape.”

“It’s a good idea,” Arlington agreed, “But why don’t we do that ourselves. Let’s go up there and deactivate those doors.”

“I should say the doorways are made of ice. Very thick ice, but ice. So even closed the dragon may be able to break through,” Grandolpha warned.

“How do they know when to open the gates?”

Grandolpha shrugged.

“And how many guards are there above?” Tarquin asked.

“Only four, maybe six.”

Arlington turned to Morgan. He was concerned about the escalation in Morgan’s countenance. Even after a night of rest the young warrior retained the tension from the previous evening. “Morgan — I assume you would be happier if we disabled the doors to the best of our abilities?”

“Well it’s a way to stop the dragon from at least flying out at will,” Morgan nodded sternly.

“So if we were to replace the troops with loyalists, and disable the machinery, and perhaps get Calcryx to be alerted to the possibility — would that satisfy your misgivings?

“Anything that stops the dragon leaving her, or gives us maximum warning, is good for the Towns.”

“Our first step is to go up then,” Tarquin declared, also pleased to have Morgan’s blessing. He turned to Grandolpha. “Could we take some of your forces to assist?”

“Let’s just go,” Morgan snapped before Grandolpha could answer.

Arlington agreed. “Why are we thinking so hard about this, it’s the hardest we’ve thought about anything.”

“Very good,” Tarquin shrugged.

---

Everyone moved to Dreck’s elevator and crowded in when the carriage next arrived. It was an very odd experience to be clanking upward as the gears slowly rotated. Octavian gripped the sides of the cage, amazed at the technology but not trusting it for a moment. It didn’t feel safe.

Tarquin was perfectly happy, having seen and toured similar contrivances as a younger actor on the stages of Baldur’s Gate. It was used to particular effect during the Skyreach Castle segment of a performance of The Fury of Stormwatch (a segment which would be frankly unbelievable if he hadn’t heard the story himself from the primary sources). As the contrivance lifted he took a scan of the back of the cart and fashioned an image in front to make it appear empty. A small element of surprise would help, as would the bolster of inspiration he whispered to Morgan.

The elevator clanked its way to the upper floor, the noise of machinery working getting louder as it lifted. Eventually the floor of a large room became visible, followed by a pair of mail-shod feet leaning against a door. Tarquin’s illusion meant there was no alarm or reaction: Ezra appeared directly in front and plunged his blade into its belly with two quick thrusts just as Arlington knelt and loosed a bolt into the widening gap. Before the lift had even stopped the Duergar guard fell to the floor with a crash.

Morgan hauled the elevator gate open. The noise drew a response from behind the lift-chamber, another Duergar guard rounding the chamber corner and grunting with surprise. He swung his pick at Morgan but it clanged harmlessly off the metal cage. Morgan retaliated by burying the sanguine blade deep, twisting, and severing every internal organ he could find. The guard dropped as quickly as the first.

Jankx exited the lift and moved immediately to the northern corridor, finding it empty. Arlington followed him, stopping to admire several gigantic cogs that obviously powered both the lift and the gates hidden above. He didn’t have long to appreciate the workmanship — two doors opened on the far side of the room, and a rather more threatening mechanical marvel lumbered out from behind each door.

They were Duergar, but encased in plates of armour that appeared to be welded shut and fused to the creature within. Their faces were etched in agony as their helmets somehow automatically closed. One hand was hammer, the other a ragged claw.

---

“So much for ‘just a few guards upstairs’,” Tarquin grunted.

The first man-machine crunched Morgan with its hammer, Morgan’s pain echoed by howls of pain from within the caged Duergar. It used the momentum from the hammer to force Morgan into the path of its claw, which closed with a machine-like inevitability, crushing Morgan’s torso before he shoved himself free.

Jankx sprinted back into the room and fired his crossbow, finding a tiny gap in the metal plating. Tarquin decided to take advantage of the metal cage that surrounded the Duergar. He recited a particularly nasty quip that compared him to a tin of preserved fish about to be eaten, making the hammerer hammer his own head to try and get rid of the verse. Eearwaxx saw the effectiveness of Tarquin’s couplet and chose the perfect spell for the occasion. A deathly toll sounded inside the helmet, creating a chain reaction that and ended with the sickening sound of a brain exploding inside a tin can. The machine stopped moving, inert.

The second one was still going, however. It hammered Morgan too, but the warrior was alert to the claw manoeuvre and avoided the follow through. The Duergar wasn’t so lucky, its agony doubled by Morgan’s double blow. A blink of an eye later Morgan and Ezra switched places, much to the surprise of everyone watching. Ezra tried to finish the creature, but the relocation seemed to surprise even him. More of a surprise was Arlington flubbing his kill shot and sending it through Ezra (who vanished) instead.

Arlington didn’t miss a beat, his second show now clear with Ezra gone. The machine dropped to its knees, head slumped. The only noise now was the massive cog sending the elevator descending. Arlington busied himself reloading his crossbow to avoid Morgan’s withering gaze — though it was slightly harder to ignore Ezra who had appeared directly in front of him radiating his displeasure through his ghostly eyes.

“They didn’t look happy did they,” Tarquin observed.

“I’m getting the impression that’s people who have failed in some capacity,” Morgan agreed. He pushed open the other two doors in the room. A messy workshop lay beyond, heated and illuminated by braziers of glowing-hot coals in the corners. The room was furnished with stone tables and cabinets. In the middle of the room, surrounded by twisted bits of metal, was a half-finished exoskeletal construct, an in-progress replica of those worn by the now-dead hammerers. Octavian scouted the room, grabbing a few sheets with diagrams of the mechanics of the machine-suits.

Jankx moved back to the northern corridor to scout, noting also a large metal crank-wheel. “I suspect this would open the dragon-gates,” he said to Tarquin who stood by his side. Tarquin nodded agreement: “And the cogs engage with the elevator when required to send it up and down.”

Both glanced around to check Eearwaxx hadn’t seen it yet. Unfortunately the young wizard was already gleefully stepping toward the cogs and levers to try and decipher how they worked. He agreed with Jankx and Tarquin’s summation, and set about working out how to disable the gate mechanism.

“Don’t touch that!” Octavian hissed as he saw Eearwaxx about to interfere with the cranks.

“Touch what? What are you talking about?” Eearwaxx said distractedly as he continued to tinker.

“We don’t know what it does, can we just make sure we’re safe,” Octavian pleaded.

“Eh? What are you pointing to?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” Octavian growled. For a microsecond a thorn-whip appeared in Octavian’s hand before he brought his frustration under control.

“Oh! This?” Eearwaxx grinned as he pointed at the crank. He was attempting to remove the crank handle, thus rendering the gates unopenable, but it appeared to be one solid chunk of metal, as impressive as all the other Duergar metalcrafts.

Jankx shrugged and moved down the long corridor leading east. At the far end the corridor turned south. He leaned carefully and saw an echo of the other elevator room. A Duergar guard was moving rapidly toward him. He spun and signalled to those following and then stepped into the combat. Jankx spun to find Ezra suddenly in front of him. For a second he hesitated, not wanting to follow in Arlington’s Ezra-slaying footsteps, then fired anyway. He was pleased to find he missed Ezra but not the Duergar. The guard grunted in pain and swung his pick at Ezra, who easily avoided the blow. — and followed through with two brutal swings that killed the guard instantly.

There were no other exits from the room, which meant (pending any surprises) the floor was now secure. This room had arrowslits to the valley below, and another elevator. Arlington was momentarily confused as there had been no second elevator on Grandolpha’s floor, but then he remembered the unexplored armoury that Dreck had described. There were also duplicates of the huge cogs, and another crank.

“Give me a second,” Morgan said as he moved toward the arrow holes. “I’m going to manifest Ezra outside to see if the gates are open or closed.”

Arlington was impressed. “That is a useful trick.”

Ezra vanished and a moment later was outside. He floated up to the top of the fortress and reported his findings: “Both gates are closed, and Meepo says hello.”

---

Discomcogulation

Morgan relayed the news. Arlington nodded and tilted his head to the series of enormous cogs that drove the elevator and ice gates. “Is the plan here we just do catastrophic damage to these cogwheels? Would that make you feel happy, Morgan?”

“Anything that will prevent them from opening easily is probably good. At the very least the dragon will have to burst its way through, and we might have an opportunity to do something before it just leaves — plus it might damage itself in the process.”

“Well. If we were to just pull one or two of them out, they will have a hell of a time putting them back into place.”

“We haven’t seen the mechanism that’d driving the elevator,” Tarquin added, “But we’ve got the mechanism that engages the cog to open the gates via the elevator’s drive. Just like stage craft: Here the operator would be ready to engage,” he said pointing to the rotary iron handle Eearwaxx was investigating, “And when he did, the gates would open as if by magic! Trust me, it’s a very dramatic operation.”

Arlington pulled out his pipe and listened with amusement as Tarquin demonstrated. “This main gear is perhaps a little large for us to work with, but this horizontal one — not currently turning, you will note — that is something we can pull out.”

“I know that you are a lighter weight man, so I understand where you are coming from,” Arlington mused, “But the greater effort we put into pulling it apart, the greater effort they will have to put into putting it together.”

“Couldn’t we just wedge it?” Octavian offered.

Arlington rolled his eyes. “If you wedge it, they will pull the wedge out. If we remove the little wheel they will put it back on.”

“Of course,” Tarquin agreed, “We don’t just take it off, we take it off and we throw it out.”

“But they will get another one!”

“The translation is he is calling you a lightweight,” Jankx summarised, grinning at Tarquin.

Tarquin stepped back with a flourish, “Please, the big cog is all yours.”

Morgan shook his head. “These are solid iron, the larger ones will weigh tonnes. Even I am not that strong. The only realistic hope we have is, if we all got together, we might be able to lift the little one out of place.”

“Why don’t we just kill the dragon?” Eearwaxx suggested.

“We think that might be very difficult,” Octavian said, “But this might, with little effort, mean that we are controlling it’s ability to escape. If the cogs are too heavy to shift, couldn’t we just destroy the handle?”

“We can, but a two-pronged approach will slow them down even further,” Arlington pushed.

“One prong is better than none,” Octavian muttered. “We have a lot to do, let’s get it done.”

Morgan nodded, walking back to the workshop and retrieving a collection of tools — chisels, hammers, and a large saw — and returned. He planted himself at the handle and started working on detaching it from the wall. It was forge-hardened metal. “This is going to take some time,” he said as he worked.

Eearwaxx and Octavian discussed using spellcraft to make the process quicker — freeze or heat the metal — but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the cost. And Morgan was making good progress. “Save your spells for when we need them,” he grunted, “If we can cut them off with just work, then we will just do it with work.”

Arlington was still obsessed with the cogs, studying them carefully. “It strikes me that these cogs must come off. Someone has to repair and service them — there’s a nut that comes off with a locking washer. We could take it apart and disable it in the same time it will take Morgan to finish his work work.”

“If we unscrew it and hide it, that would be enough to slow them down significantly,” Octavian nodded.

“The reality is if we take the cog off the spline there, and hammer the spline, they wouldn’t get one back on for four days,” Arlington said pointing. “They will more likely address the handle problem with some kind of backup plan they have because they are smart — this brick comes out and you can screw in a workaround. These are dwarves, this is how they think!”

“I still say we just kill the dragon,” Eearwaxx repeated quietly as everyone over-thought the cogs.

Arlington lent down and started trying to unscrew the nut sealing the cog in place, but he had no idea what he was doing. It didn’t budge.

Tarquin glanced over at Jankx and handed him a wrench. Jankx hefted the wrench and stepped forward.

“Not only am I too dim to see how to take it apart, I am too dim to realise we have a specialist in taking things apart,” Arlington acknowledged as he stepped back.

A moment later Jankx had the nut released and the cog stood ready to lift. “Once we get it off, the one thing Arlington was right about is we have to get the spindle off-kilter,” he said matter-of-factly. “But if we make a mistake getting the cog out of position, there is a chance that we could disable the entire elevator mechanism. Which would be a problem, obviously.”

Arlington and Tarquin nodded — he was right. The precision Duergar engineering meant that the tolerances between the systems were very tight.

“At the risk of derailing this whole discussion,” Jankx continued. “What we’re doing here is very obvious. Another way to do this is we fuck it up, but you can’t tell that just by looking. Then when they go to use it — it breaks.”

Morgan paused his endeavours. “Great idea. I’ll saw just enough to leave this attached, but when they try and turn it, it will snap off.”

“Right, which will delay them further — else they will pre-emptively fix it,” Jankx nodded.

“Okay, do that,” Arlington agreed, “But we should also do something to it that makes it not something they can fix even if they do see it. Hammering the spline or the thread for example.”

Morgan nodded. He was reaching the point where the handle was ready to shear off. He slowed his work and decided just one more draw of the blade would do it.

Plonk.

The handle flopped down at a forty-five degree angle, hanging, barely, by the remaining sliver of metal. “Oops,” Morgan groaned.

“What we need is someone to mend that,” Jankx said with a straight face.

“It’s too heavy to mend,” Eearwaxx grimaced. He hustled over and shoved the handle back upright, but it slumped again, this time at ninety degrees.

Morgan shrugged, put down his saw and walked over to the cog team. “It’s going to need all six of us to lift,” he said as he tested the weight.

“This won’t be my first time on a spanner team,” Arlington said as everyone positioned around the cog.

“I hope that’s not a euphamism,” Octavian said as he braced himself.

“It almost certainly is,” Jankx smirked.

“On five,” Arlington said. And on five the cog was lifted. It came off the spindle cleanly, well greased. But as everyone started to shift it off to the side the weight overwhelmed Jankx and Eearwaxx who were somewhat foolishly next to each other. The cog slipped down and jammed itself in the elevator mechanism. The lift shuddered to a halt with a groan of stressed metal.

“Get it out!” Arlington cried urgently.

Everyone scrambled into position and shoved the cog. It felt impossible, but at the last moment Arlington and Morgan risked a hernia each and the cog freed itself, crashing onto the floor with a thud.

For a moment the lift mechanism didn’t move. Then with a rattle the chains started to move and the gear re-established normal service.

Morgan dusted his pants off and studied the now exposed spindle. It was as solid and well made as everything else the Duergar had crafted. “Thinking about the blacksmithery back home, if you did anything to bend this like pound it with a hammer, the sound will carry through the metal to wherever the metal ends up.”

“And that will be right down there where all the bad guys are,” Arlington agreed pointing to the floor.

“What we can do,” Jankx said, “Is fuck up the thread. That we can do, and that’s enough.”

Morgan picked up the nut and tossed it through an arrow slot, never to be seen again. “I’m going to start work on the other handle,” he said, walking out of the room as Jankx went to work on the spindle.

A short while later Morgan was confident he’d judged it right on the second handle, leaving it attached but on the verge of breaking. He studied the cut. Tested the wheel. Decided on one last careful incision.

Just as he was about to cut he felt Jankx lay a hand on his and shake his head, pointing to a hidden weak point. Morgan nodded and stepped away, the handle looking as good as new but ready to snap with the slightest provocation.

---

The eastern elevator popped everyone out in a hitherto unvisited training room. Well beaten wooden, straw-stuffed dummies sat around the walls of the room, as well as four plate-shod duergar-sized models. Eearwaxx was curious of the plate dummies, but careful not to touch. They didn’t look like anything special, the armour dented and dull from the attention of many Duergar warriors.

Arlington hustled everyone out of the room, nodding sagely to himself. He felt a swelling pride that no-one had fucked anything up in what was obviously a trap room. Not even Eearwaxx who had quickly looked back on his way out trying to catch the armour unawares. “I saw a talking fish once,” he muttered. The armour didn’t move despite this revelation.

Arlington pushed into Grandolpha’s room, finding her once again eating. “And here you are again, how was your visit upstairs?”

“Can we get you to station a couple of your people upstairs in those room?” Arlington asked.

“To replace the two who came down in the elevator?” Grandolpha said with a sly smile.

“Pardon?” Arlington blinked.

“Don’t worry, Dreck took care of them for you.”

“Permanently,” Dreck grunted, arms folded. “A couple of mechanics came down in the west elevator. I guess you missed them.”

Morgan gave Dreck a respectful nod, warrior to warrior. Dreck raised an eyebrow. “Oh it’s respect now is it? When you’re done with your business downstairs, let’s you and I have a one-on-one — no weapons, just like you prefer.”

Morgan smiled, then nodded.

“It is good to see our partnership is bearing fruits already,” Tarquin said with a small bow.

“Lucky for you,” Dreck said.

“Lucky for us all.”

“You know would also be lucky?” Arlington interrupted, “A map. Of the forge.”

“A map? I would love to!” Grandolpha said, clapping her hands and clearing a space on the food-laden table in front of her.

“This is the forge, big room with guard towers, and over here there is a throne room — Xardorok’s, obviously. Then there’s a temple? And here’s where they mine the chardalyn and iron. There’s a passage to the Underdark from that cavern. I think there’s a prison somewhere — maybe here? And a barracks. Oh and a treasure room!”

The worst map Tarquin had ever seen was slowly sketched out by Grandolpha. He did his best to prompt Grandolpha for more precision, but she was very pleased with her work. “And where’s the dragon,” he sighed.

“In the forge. Always in the forge — too large to go anywhere else.”

“Is there anything peculiar about the forge?” Morgan asked.

“It is one of the great forges, that’s what Xardorok tells me.”

“It truly is,” Dreck confirmed. “Powered by something that can turn anything to molten glory.”

“What is it that powers it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Some kind of magic?” Jankx asked.

“Magic or no, it is something,” Dreck shrugged.

“And that’s where the dragon is worked on?” Morgan said.

“That’s where it’s kept, that’s where they built it.”

“And when it’s not outside, is it mobile or does it just sit there like a lump?”

“Whenever I’ve seen it it’s a lump,” Dreck said.

“There’s going to be shenanigans afoot,” Arlington speculated, “Whereby we will reroute rivers of molten metal by pulling a series of levers…”

“Tremendous!” Tarquin exclaimed.

“Judging by our cog problem solving, that should take us a minimum of twelve hours,” Octavian groaned.

Grandolpha added more to the map. “The chute it uses is here at the back of the forge,” she said scribbling a rough outline. “And he had a room for me, somewhere he wanted me to sleep. But there was a lot of screaming so I decided to sleep up here.” She looked at her masterpiece and scratched her head. “I don’t know, I’m not one for maps.”

“Clearly,” Arlington muttered as Tarquin added some rather florid illumination to denote the rooms.

---

“How many does Xardorok have down there?” Morgan asked.

“Thirty, give or take. Some are mine but the majority are his.”

“And you said he has some other creatures? Quaggoths?”

“Yes, and the Umberhulk.”

Octavian started shaking his head glumly hearing this news again. Umberhulks were not fun. Arlington noticed and interrupted. “Hey hey hey, this is just about logistics. We just don’t want to face them all at once, right?”

Tarquin nodded. “Speaking of which, where are your people?”

“Some of them are in the forge, in the guard towers. And some in the barracks, on rotation.” At Tarquin’s glance, Dreck nodded confirmation.

“Madam,” Arlington said, “When we see your people how will we know them?”

“You won’t. I will give you a word.”

“And the word?” Tarquin asked.

“Gracklstout!”

Arlington sighed. “Could they not give us a sign? I hate to be as close as is required to say that word to know if they are friend or foe.”

“No. And in any case, once you are seen there will be no time for subtlety.”

“What is your people’s symbol, a gesture, a salute? Perhaps that would work,” Arlington tried again.

“A mug of ale, raised,” Grandolpha grinned.

“That I can easily remember.”

“Don’t forget these are recent recruits to my cause and we needed something quick. If it was my own clan from below we would have a far more sophisticated system.”

Arlington glanced at his comrades. “You’ve got to work with what you’ve got.”

“There will be some ad-libbing,” Tarquin grinned, “But we will go with the spirit of the prose. Gracklstout!”

“It’s simple,” Morgan said, “When we encounter any Duergar downstairs, before we engage we just say ‘Gracklstout’. Some of them might start fighting with us, some of them may not.”

Grandolpha nodded. “If I know Xardorok, he’ll either be in the throne room or the forge. Or the temple. He might be admiring his treasure. Or perhaps the prison? One of those places,” she said firmly.

“Not the best bit of intel you’ve given us,” Arlington said.

Tarquin wasn’t so sure. “My feeling is that if there is any place that he would be alone, it would be the temple.”

“Then let’s kill him at church.”

“Send him on his way to his maker, as it were.”

“Is there a priest who manages the temple?” Morgan asked.

“There is a shadowy someone down there that he wouldn’t let me see. Who I think has more influence over Xardorok than Xardorok realises,” Grandolpha mused.

“So are we going to go straight to the temple and try and front load this, or do we sneak around through the back way, through the mines?”

“Let’s take it to the temple, we’re going to get married,” Tarquin almost started a well-known rhyme before stopping himself. “Let’s engage so that when the battle comes to a head, we call ‘Gracklstout’ and that becomes the diversion if we need it, to, um, continue dealing with the big—”

“Stop it, stop it,” Arlington waved his hands, “You won the argument with your opening couplet. Let us go, east elevator it is.”

“I would probably want to go through the throne room first,” Morgan countered.

“Okay!” Arlington said. “Westward ho!”

There was one other unchecked room behind the west elevator. Jankx checked the doors and found them clear, so Morgan pushed them open. A small, unlit rectangular room stood with a stone desk and single chair. Octavian checked the papers on the desk, finding a scratched guard roster that matched the numbers encountered so far. A name was signed at the foot of the page: Nefrun.

“It’s signed ‘Nefrun’,” Octavian reported. “That was name of the Captain of the Guard that Dreck mentioned — taken and tortured for disloyalty. Though Dreck said she was anything but.”

“Nefrun will be in the prison,” Tarquin said.

“No, Nefrun will be in the corner where the screaming was coming from,” Morgan said to general agreement.

“Either way, let’s not kill Nefrun, until such time as it becomes absolutely necessary,” Arlington said. He strode toward the elevator.

“Wait,” Octavian said. “Looking at the map, we want to come down on the right side, the eastern side.”

“But the temple might have the evil cleric in it!” Arlington cried.

“Maybe so. But let’s take him when we are at full power.”

Everyone paused on the threshold of the lift on hearing this excellent logic.

“You’re right,” Jankx agreed.

“Good point,” Morgan nodded.

“We are nothing if not easily swayed,” Arlington observed. “To the east!”

As the team passed Grandolpha’s room, her voice called from within. “Do you want Dreck with you?”

“Yes!” Arlington cried, not stopping. Dreck popped out of the room, nodded to Morgan, and fell into line.

“This is good, we’ve got one with us already,” Tarquin said, slapping Dreck on the back.

“Just point me in the direction you want me to fight,” Dreck scowled.

---

The Temple

The elevator descended slowly but surely as everyone prepared themselves for battle. Morgan and Jankx stood in the frontline, Dreck and Arlington close behind (Morgan quite happy now to have both at his back, despite recent events). The descent bought more smoke and more heat as the forge drew closer.

After 150 feet of travel, dim light heralded the arrival — and the presence of a sole Duergar Hammerer. Morgan instantly summoned Ezra who appeared directly behind and drove his sword into the creature’s back. Before it could react Arlington had lodged two bolts between the metal plating killing it.

“And that’s the way it should be — that’s clean,” Arlington nodded as he reloaded his crossbow.

Morgan yanked the lift open and everyone piled out. Arlington turned to Dreck and pointed to Morgan. “Where he runs, you run.”

“Right, understood. Following the young man…the coward,” Dreck grinned. No-one took the bait. “Just listen to him,” Octavian snapped in Undercommon. Arlington made a point of keeping Dreck in front of him, trying not to be too obvious about it.

It was a small room with double doors to the east and single north. Jankx and Eearwaxx both tried the east doors and found them locked — but neither could nut out the combination. Eearwaxx started lobbying for another ten minutes to figure it out, but Tarquin hissed and pointed to the north doors: “temple.”

Tarquin’s entire demeanour had changed: no longer the jester, he now had his game face on, standing tall and strong, forthright and still. Morgan’s lip curled in what was almost a smile — or was it a smirk. Everyone else bolstered themselves for what lay ahead.

Jankx moved quickly to the single door and confirmed it both untrapped and unlocked. He stepped aside and Morgan pushed it open. Tarquin and Dreck were right.

Standing in the middle of the room was a seven-foot-tall statue of a female duergar in a scale mail robe. The top of its head above the eyes was sheared off, making a space for a stone brazier that gave off a flickering flame. Chained to the statue’s pedestal was an emaciated, malformed gnomish mind-flayer with rubbery, purplish-grey flesh, and a bulbous head with a metal plate bolted to it.

The rest of the room was empty, with double doors north and south-east, and singles to the east and west. Jankx called Octavian in and pointed to the chained mind-flayer. Octavian hustled over, realising this must be the pilot from the Id Ascendant. “We are friends, we have been sent to find you. What is your name?”

F’yorl slowly lifted his head. Octavian almost felt sympathy when he saw that its face tentacles had been sheared off, and the metal plate barely disguised whatever brutal surgery had occurred. Its eyes were dull and clouded. “F’yorl,” it answered inside Octavian’s head. Octavian turned to his companions: “This is the pilot.”

“I’m going to kill it,” Dreck growled, hefting his hammer.

“No! We want to keep him alive,” Octavian said. “We need this one.”

“He’s desecrating our temple,” Dreck snarled, bowing his head to the statue. “I may be on Grandolpha’s side, but both sides kill these foul creatures.”

Arlington’s crossbow alternated between Dreck and F’yorl.

“Work with us, work as one,” Tarquin said softly, setting his shoulders and locking his gaze on the angry Duergar. Dreck fought it for a moment, but Tarquin’s power of persuasion overcame that with little trouble, and for the second time Dreck’s mind was manipulated back to calm.

“Do we need to take the plate off your head,” Octavian asked.

“It is too late for that, they have taken my power and my mind,” F’yorl said grimly.

“Don’t be silly,” Eearwaxx said cheerfully, looking at the head plate. It was bolted roughly in place, covering and sealing the damage beneath. “Could be worse,” he said.

“It’s possible it could be worse,” Jankx said, “But you’d be hard pressed to find it.” He knelt down and quickly released the chain that was holding the flayer captive.

“Do you want to come with us, is there anyway you can be healed?” Octavian asked once F’yorl was free.

“I am no more,” F’yorl said, shaking his head. “Save my crew, I assume it is they that sent you.”

“Where will we find the power source they need?”

F’yorl nodded his head to the northern doors. “Through there.”

“We will try,” Octavian vowed. He looked at the half-dead creature and sighed. “Do you want us to put you out of your misery?”

“I will walk out of here if I can, I would not die here. One thing I would ask — kill Klorndorn, it was he that did this to me. And he enjoyed it.” F’yorl lifted a weak arm and pointed to the doors to the south. “Be careful.”

Octavian nodded and gave the details to the group. “He says the cleric — Klondorn — is extremely powerful. Do you know that name, Dreck?”

“That would be Xardorok’s priest. We never talked to him, wouldn’t let us.”

Arlington lent over to Morgan. “Is there a reason you hate these guys, other than our recent meeting? Do you know them from before?”

“No, but they eat intelligent races brains as food,” Morgan said.

“I’m not talking about the squid guy, I’m talking about the dwarf guy.”

“Duergar,” Octavian corrected, unable to help himself.

Morgan looked surprised. “Is there a reason I hate Duergar? No.” He tilted his head toward Dreck, concerned.

“We all hate Duergar,” Octavian added, also confused at Arlington’s line of questioning and not at all worried about offending Dreck.

“I hate them because of that one from Good Mead, he was dirty,” Eearwaxx piped up.

“That was a Dwarf,” Octavian corrected again. Eearwaxx shrugged.

“The only problem I have with Duergar,” Morgan explained, “Is that all of the ones we’ve met so far — present company excepted — have wanted to do something that I really don’t want happening. The ones in the Sunless Citadel were doing experiments on people, and this lot here want to have a dragon destroy the Ten Towns. If they didn’t want to do that I could care less.” He looked over to Dreck and then at F’yorl. “And for what it’s worth, I agree with you, I want to kill that thing.”

“Well let’s do it then,” Dreck nodded. He tried to step forward, then felt the attention of Tarquin and stood down just as quickly. “A joke, just a joke.”

Octavian scowled and helped F’yorl out of the line of sight and fire. The flayer could barely stand and walk, such were his injuries. Klondorn obviously knew his work, and it was brutal.

Eearwaxx moved to the doors F’yorl had indicated and listened. There was some scratching as if rock on rock from within, but it was otherwise quiet. He called Jankx over who confirmed the door was unlocked. “If this cleric is inside we need to be ready.” Morgan took one door, and Dreck the other, and they popped both doors together.

The square room beyond was filled with stacks of granite tablets. Behind them lurked a long-bearded Duergar wearing black robes and a tall black miter, with chains around his neck piercing red eyes.

---

He saw Dreck first. “What are you doing in here—” he started to say, then saw everyone else piling in behind. “Oh I see,” he smiled menacingly, changing to Common.

“Gracklstout!” Arlington cried half-heartedly, more in hope than belief.

“Gracklstout? Ha ha ha,” Klondorn laughed. He reached up and threw the miter to the floor. As it fell the Duergar transformed, revealing its new form: a seven-foot tall devil covered in barbs and spines, with long claws and a sharply pointed tail.

---

“What kind of a fookin’ creature is that?!” Dreck swore.

Eearwaxx reacted fast, instantly directing a bolt of flame that exploded directly on the devil’s chest. It cackled with delight as the flames roared around it and it stepped through undamaged. “You’ll need to do better than that!”

Octavian sprinted through into the room, screeching to a halt as he suddenly remembered what happened last time he got too far ahead. He snapped his fingers and sent a thunderous bolt across the room toward Klondorn, but it shot harmlessly into the wall behind. Octavian cursed.

“My problem with having the greatest kobold on your team is just that. It’s just having the greatest kobold,” Arlington said to no-one in particular as he calmly fired his crossbow into the devil, landing both bolts. Jankx copied Arlington’s angle and he too shot true.

Morgan pushed past Octavian and struck once, hard, but missed with his second swing. Ezra sheared off more barbs with a swing over its back.

Klondorn snarled under the assult. “You may kill me, but Asmodeus will win this fight,” it hissed at Morgan. It raked a one claw over Morgan’s chest, but Morgan dodged the second. Unfortunately for Morgan the claw had been a diversion — Klondorn grinned evilly as he drew his tail back and whipped it deep into Morgan’s neck. The pain was enormous, but Morgan barely reacted, forcing the agony away.

Dreck watched Morgan’s stoicism and couldn’t help but admire his courage. “Well taken, lad!” he yelled, gripping his warpick and charging in. He swung hard but missed and uttered a shower of curses in response.

Octavian, on hearing Asmodeus’s name, reacted without thinking. He lifted his frozen hand and impulsively shot a cone of frozen magic into the devil. Fingers of frost briefly covered the spines but quickly faded.

Tarquin glanced at Octavian with concern — it seemed almost as if the druid was being controlled. But there was no time to deal with that. He shimmied across the room and buried his rapier in the devil, surprising himself with how effective it was. He was back, baby! He reached a healing hand to Morgan in celebration.

The devil’s spines were now shattered and torn. Eearwaxx had learnt his lesson, electing a Toll instead of fire, but Klondorn smirked again. “Second time you’ve missed, boy!”

Morgan took advantage of the distraction to thrust his blade into Klondorn’s back. It staggered back into Ezra, who was suddenly Morgan as the two swapped places. Klondorn blinked with surprise. “Nasty trick,” he snarled. He looked past Ezra and met the gaze of Arlington.

“No one move,” Arlington said softly. Thunk. Thunk. Two bolts, right between the eyes.

Klondorn vanished in a cloud of black smoke, his voice echoing as he disappeared: “Levistus’s schemes will come to naught! Asmodeus knows all!!”

Tarquin grimaced, glancing around his companions, then lent down and picked up the miter. “One down,” he shrugged.

“Surely that guy wasn’t running the show,” Arlington said doubtfully. It had been too easy, despite Morgan’s wound.

“Henchman or not, I think he was running the show,” Tarquin said. “Asmodeus’s spawn are always in the thick of things — in the classics, that is.”

“If he was we can just waltz through the rest of it.”

“No — what about Xardorok?” Jankx said.

“Klondorn was controlling things—” Tarquin started.

“—Influencing the chieftain,” Octavian finished.

“Well what’s worse and where is it?” Arlington said, reloading his crossbow.

Octavian inspected the tablets. They were solid granite, a foot wide, and inscribed on each was writing in what he recognised as Infernal. There were dozens of them, maybe even one hundred. “Does anyone know Infernal?” he said without much hope.

“I do!” Eearwaxx said happily.

“You can?” Jankx said with surprise, before realising of course he can. Octavian raised a concerned eyebrow.

Eearwaxx started poring over the tablets. They were written with a religious fervour, often non-sensical and full of rantings and prophecy. Slowly a picture started to emerge that Eearwaxx conveyed:

Klondorn had used his devilish influence to convince Xardorok that Deep Duerra, the Duergar deity in the temple, would reward any who could destroy the Ten Towns. The reward would be a realm of permanent darkness and ice, and that realm would be created by Auril. Klondorn manipulated Xardorok with that promise, allegedly under Asmodeus’s direction.

“I doubt Asmodeus was personally involved,” Eearwaxx said warily. “There’s another name in here that I keep finding: Hedrun. These say Hedrun is the one who promised Auril’s favour, that she is Auril’s messenger and that only through her will Auril’s glory and Xardorok’s triumph be realised.”

“But we’ve met Hedrun,” Morgan said, “She resurrected us. And she told us the exact opposite — that she was fighting against Auril.”

Eearwaxx and Jankx nodded — that was their recollection too. “She said she was the only one that could stop Auril,” Jankx said. Something was badly amiss.

Octavian was having his own recollection. The mention of Deep Duerra made him finally recognise the half-headed statues scattered throughout Sunblight. Deep Duerra was a Duergar warrior queen who led her troops to numerous victories against the surface dwarves, the drow, the illithids, and other Underdark races. During her centuries long reign, the empire of the grey dwarves expanded to include vast reaches of the Underdark. Tales of dubious authenticity related how Deep Duerra overran a city of mind flayers and wrested from them numerous powers of the mind. Her command of psionic power was so great that she dominated a mind flayer colony and turned the illithids into her slaves.

He relayed this to his companions. “And her priests are now devoted to finding and annihilating mind flayer colonies or turning mind flayers into their thralls. Which explains the skulls.”

Everyone glanced at Dreck. “Like I said, we kill them,” he shrugged.

---

With the threat of Klondorn removed, everyone became aware of a deep background noise that had been sounding ever since entering the temple.

Thoomp-thoomp
Thoomp-thoomp

A heartbeat was resonating through the temple every thirty seconds, that sent a shiver down the spine. Jankx walked softly to the northern doors, listened, and nodded — the source was beyond the doors. As was the sound of heavy industry, a forge being worked with hammers and sweat.

Tarquin glanced at Dreck. “What’s the heartbeat?” he said with trepidation.

“That’s the forge,” Dreck said with some pride.

“Oh no,” Octavian groaned. “I think we should get back in the elevator.”

“I think I need another sleep,” Arlington agreed.

Tarquin laughed and, despite many hands reaching to stop him, plonked the miter onto his head. Nothing happened. But he could feel something. “It doesn’t match my outfit, but there’s something to this,” he grinned, and, feeling inspired, whispered a tiny sonnet:

“To those of a charitable nature and versed in poetry, can I point out that Morgan is pissing blood at the moment,” Arlington said, “Or rather he has a horrible black wound in his neck — blood seems in short supply.” Tarquin nodded and gave Morgan a quick boost that Morgan enhanced with his own healing.

Grandolpha’s map showed her rejected (due to the screaming) rooms were on the right wing of the forge, so Jankx checked the doors on that side first, hoping to find a way there before having to confront the forge-proper. It was clear so Jankx pushed his way inside, forgetting Morgan’s edict of never being in front. A small room was filled with Duergar weaponry — pick-axes, javelins, and heavy crossbows. More interestingly there were two arrow slots in the north wall that looked out into the forge. The sound of hammering and low voices leaked through, as well as wave of heat.

Tarquin quickly erected an illusion to hide everyone in the room. Jankx stepped up to an arrow-slot, careful not to dislodge any weaponry. At the centre of the huge chamber was Xardorok’s forge: a ten-foot tall stone edifice shaped like a pyramid with its peak sheared off. Ripples of heat rose from the cavity, along with flashes of firelight. And the heartbeat was coming from the forge: thoomp-thoomp.

It was feeding a glowing hot trough of molten iron or magma bubbled in the centre of the huge chamber, dark iron anvils lining either side. A lone Duergar was hammering something, barking orders to a hunched fur-covered beast that was assisting.

---

“A Quaggoth,” Octavian whispered.

“How scared should we be?” Jankk asked.

“They’re a bit scary, but not Umberhulk scary.”

“Is it tougher than that spiky-devil thing?” Morgan asked.

“One is okay. But they run in packs which is trouble. Think of it like a humanoid wolf — very quick, multiple attacks. They carve people up,” Octavian explained.

“So we don’t want get surrounded by them,” Jankx nodded. He peered through the other slot and saw the towers Grandolpha had spoken of. There were two hard up against the east wall, twenty-feet tall with several Duergar guards stationed atop. Another lay against the north wall with a set of stairs leading up.

“I can’t see how to get up to the eastern towers,” Octavian said, looking to Dreck who shrugged. “I’ve never had to man them, and wasn’t allowed down the eastern corridor, but that’s where the access must be?”

“Do you recognise any of your men on top of those towers?” Tarquin asked.

“Maybe one or two, yes.”

“That’s good news.”

As he walked from the room Morgan noted a nicked great-axe that was far too large for a Duergar. He hefted it carefully — it was nothing special, but he knew what it was. “This is a Goliath weapon, from a Reghed tribe most likely.”

Tarquin eyeed the crossbows on the way out. He hadn’t handled one in years, but he knew the fundamentals and had seen how effective Arlington and Jankx were at range. “Is it unreasonable for me to pick up one of these?”

Arlington raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I don’t know — do you think you can handle it?”

Tarquin smiled and picked one up.

“I can fire twice in six-seconds, how about you?” Arlington smirked.

Jankx moved to the western door. “I think this is a mirror,” he said, pushing it open. It was very similar, but full of cold-weather gear instead of weapons. An immediate problem was that the light from the statue was flooding through the arrow-slots into the forge. Jankx yanked the door quickly closed, then pulled out his bedroll and draped it over the doorway. He then carefully slipped through into the room, Tarquin’s illusion in place.

Two arrow-holes looked westward where two more Quaggoth’s were dumping scraps of metal into a large metal cauldron.

A northern slot looked into the forge — and onto the chardalyn dragon. It sat ominously still atop a raised platform, with Duergar fussing around it. One in particular seemed to be ordering the others around. The dragon’s legs were chained, which struck Jankx as odd.

Eearwaxx looked at the dragon with awe, then noticed something that sent his mind spinning: with each heartbeat of the forge the burning light from within the dragon also pulsed. “The forge is somehow connected to the dragon’s heartbeat! Maybe if we put the forge out, we also stop the dragon?” he whispered with excitement.

“That’s a lovely idea,” Arlington said.

“You may not want to put all your money on that,” Jankx cautioned.

“Another dead end then,” Morgan said. “It’s either up and across, or we have to go into the forge chamber.”

“We have a decision to make,” Octavian agreed. “Do we try and clear out everything we can down here before approaching the forge, or do we go in now while we are strong? Because it looks like the forge is going to be tough. We don’t want to get half way through the forge battle and then reinforcements arrive.”

“If we evacuate up and come back down the other elevator, there’s every possibility the alarm will be sounded,” Tarquin said, glancing at F’yorl. “All we need is one to come in here and all bets are off.”

“If I were a sniper I would just sit in here and pick everyone off,” Arlington mused.

“You could start doing that,” Morgan said. “The door is a natural chokepoint.” Despite that he worried the Duergar would have a way to overwhelm any defences.

“What about getting atop the southern tower somehow?” Tarquin suggested.

“It’s a twenty-foot climb,” Jankx shook his head. “And we’d be vulnerable the entire time.”

“We should investigate the west side,” Octavian said. “We need to thin the numbers and reduce their options.”

“Then we need to leave now,” Morgan said firmly.

“I agree,” Jankx said. “We may end up with no choice, but we need to find out first.”

“The longer we wait the more chance they come in here,” Tarquin said, “But here’s the other piece: if we leave the brain-eater still shackled, there is no sign we’ve been here. The devil didn’t leave any residue, so who knows where the cleric has gone,” he grinned.

“I think that’s probably safe for him as well,” Octavian agreed.

“That’s remarkably clean,” Jankx nodded musing on the scenes of utter devastation the company normally left in its path.

“We’re going to reassemble your restraints,” Octavian said to F’yorl. “We’ll be back to get you, just stay quiet.”

“I have been freed only to be reinterred?”

“No. We are going to the other side of the compound and will fight our way back to you. But in the meantime we don’t want these people going crazy — we need that advantage.”

F’yorl’s mangled face was unreadable, but his tone was clear. “Chain me up. And kill me. I won’t lose more of my mind, won’t give them that satisfaction. Kill me.”

“We’re going to be back soon!” Octavian stressed, despite realising F’yorl was right. The chances of its survival were low at best. He sighed and handed the mind-flayer a dagger. Despite feeling no love for the flayer, Octavian felt the weight of the sacrifice it was making, with no benefit for itself.

“Fasten the chains so that I can use my hands.” Octavian nodded grimly, and asked Tarquin to use his stagecraft to make it convincing. With a last vaguely guilty glance at F’yorl, everyone moved back to the elevator.

---

Duergar on Duergar

On the descent in the western elevator, Octavian frowned at the miter perched rakishly on Tarquin’s head. “Won’t it be apparent to anyone that we have murdered the priest, with you wearing that?”

“That would be the case, yes,” Morgan agreed.

Tarquin grinned. “My guess is that as soon as we see anyone it will be apparent that we’re not meant to be here…”

“Fair enough,” Octavian conceded. Tarquin made a good point.

Somewhat surprisingly the room at the foot of the elevator was empty. “Dreck was invisible,” Tarquin warned, to general disinterest.

Jankx moved to the only doors, hearing movement behind them. “Dreck — I can hear something behind here, does that make sense to you?”

“We’re behind the Throne Room, I’ve never been back here, above my grade, but it seems likely someone would be in there,” Dreck said.

“We’ll just open the door, call the phrase, and then shoot,” Arlington said lining up his weapon.

“And who’s on phrase duty?” Jankx asked.

“I think this is the perfect job for a bard,” Arlington said with some disdain. “Perhaps the only time a bard is useful, ever.”

Jankx popped the double doors. Two Duergar spun to face the door and took a couple of steps toward the intruders.

“GRACKLSTOUT!” Tarquin boomed in his best stage voice.

The Duergar glanced at each other, then at Dreck who nodded quickly. “They’re good. It’s now or never.”

“My friends, it is time,” Tarquin added warmly, patting the closest on the shoulder. The Duergar shrugged the hand off with a scowl. “Who are you?” he grunted.

“I’m Tarquin. And we are here with a joint purpose.”

“You’re with Grandolpha?”

“We come directly from her.”

“Well lucky for you we’re with her too. I’m Skorn, that’s Throd.”

“We’re looking to end the rule of Xardorok,” Jankx said.

“It will be a good thing if you can. We’ll help you, but once we have — all bets are off,” Throd said.

“Fair enough. We’re used to that,” Jankx sighed.

“What’s through here,” Morgan said, pointing to a pair of northern doors.

“That’s the Throne Room.”

“Is that where Xardorok will be?”

“He’s not there now,” Skorn said.

“Any guards?”

“Oh yes. A bunch of Quaggoths — they’re torturing a myconid.”

Octavian raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get the myconid from?”

Skorn frowned. “Well where do you think?”

“Probably from the Underdark?”

“‘Probably from the Underdark.’ You’re a clever one,” Skorn spat. Octavian fumed but held his tongue.

“And any more of us?” Tarquin asked.

Throd shrugged. “Depends if the guard has rotated.”

“So if we open this door it’s on,” Jankx said to nods of agreement. Tarquin glanced at his companions, hoping they realised the coalition with Grandolpha’s troops was flimsy at best — things needed to get moving before it fell apart.

Morgan seemed to understand. He hefted his shield and nodded to Jankx. Everyone fell into place ready for a fight.

“What do you want us to do — kill everything?” Dreck asked.

“Absolutely,” Arlington said.

“Maybe not the myconid, whatever that is?” Morgan suggested.

Dreck rolled his eyes. “Tell us what then! Don’t just make it up — tell us!”

“Kill the Quaggoths,” Morgan nodded firmly.

“What about Duergar?”

“If they’re with us, then don’t. Otherwise, do.”

“And leave the myconid, it might have information,” Octavian added.

“Duerra almighty! So many changes — what do we prioritise you amateurs?” Dreck hissed.

“The Quaggoths—” Arlington started.

“The Duergar—” Morgan overrode.

“The Duergar, got it,” Dreck nodded.

“What?” Arlington huffed. “Why aren’t we prioritising the big furry things?”

“Because if there’s Duergar in there as well they can just take care of each other,” Morgan explained patiently.

“Duergar on Duergar action,” Tarquin agreed.

Arlington sighed, defeated. “Get on with it then.”

Jankx shoved the doors open and Morgan stepped through.

Inside was a large room with an arched thirty-foot ceiling and several doors to the north and south. Stone steps led up to a semi-circular dais against the south wall, atop which stood a misshapen throne crudely carved out of chardalyn.

Slumped near the east wall was a tall, bipedal fungus creature. Luminous spores floated in the air around it. A growling Quaggoth had torn off one of the creature’s arms and was holding it aloft while four other beasts, covered with fungal growths, tried to capture the floating spores in jugs.

---

Morgan held five fingers aloft for his companions, then charged across the room toward the arm-wielding Quaggoth. Everyone followed, the Duergar with battle cries and the crossbow aficionados — including new recruit Tarquin — with bolts. Ezra and Eearwaxx introduced their brands of havoc, and Octavian almost managed to stay out of the frontline.

The battle lasted only a few minutes, but to the combatants it felt like ninety.

At first things seemed easy — too easy — as the Quaggoth leader was killed before it could react. Several more went down in quick succession, landing only perfunctory blows in return. The Duergar made a lot of noise without much effect, Throd in particular not seeming to land a single blow, heightening Tarquin’s suspicions.

It was too good to be true, of course. The northern doors burst open and six Duergar rushed forth, all enlarged and all hungry for battle. Simultaneously four more Quaggoths growled through the southern door, emerging right on top of Octavian who took several heavy slashing blows before he could escape into the air.

Everyone knuckled down and fought for their lives. Morgan and Ezra held their ground, swapping and changing to confuse and confound their assailants. The Duergar held their own too, turning their attention to their hitherto allies who were caught by surprise by the turncoats. Arlington and Jankx peppered from the rear with great effect, saved several times by Octavian’s whip which finished off a couple of loose Duergar that were threatening to reach close-contact range.

And still Throd missed.

Eventually only two Quaggoth remained. Morgan and Ezra finished one just as it finished Skorn, and the other was reduced to a faltering stagger, singed by a barrage of Eearwaxx’s unforgiving firebolts and looking like a pincushion thanks to Tarquin’s surprisingly accurate bolts (that Arlington was too busy to notice, or so he later claimed).

Throd saw his chance. He gripped his pickaxe. Shouldered his way past Dreck. “For Duerra!!” he cried as he charged forward. Morgan stepped aside. Ezra sheathed his weapon. Arlington pulled out his pipe.

And Throd killed the Quaggoth. He let out a howl of bloodlust sated, veins popping and eyes aflame.

“Take it easy,” Arlington muttered.

---

Tarquin quickly healed as many as he could — even Dreck (who was on death’s door) and Arlington (who wasn’t but there was no-one else left). Dreck nodded his thanks.

Octavian walked over to the myconid, which had picked up its severed arm and was using spore magic to bind it back to its body. It started walking toward the unopened north doors, ignoring everything and everyone.

Octavian tried to talk to it in Undercommon, but the only response was a bubbling confusion, so he tried his druidic plant language. He knocked his staff to the ground and the creature turned. “Please stop — we can help you.”

A deep, rumbling voice spoke back. “I return.”

“What are you returning to?”

“Below. My home.”

“The problem, my kobold friend,” Arlington interrupted, “The problem with speaking to plants is basically right on the tin. You are speaking with a plant. I’ve been growing roses back home for a long time, and I get basically the same feedback.”

Octavian waved Arlington away. “If you stay with us, we can help you,” Octavian tried, not certain this was true but wanting to take the rare chance to talk to one of these creatures. “What happened to you?”

“They capture. And harvest my spores to animate their dead,” the myconid said slowly.

“Oh that’s bad,” Morgan breathed softly as Octavian translated.

It pointed to the spore filled jugs the dead Quaggoths had been using. “You use, if want. To animate,” it said, waving it’s healed arms at the bodies scattered around the room.

“Whoa,” Jankx said. This was some serious necromancy that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of.

“It’s a good thing,” Tarquin pondered. It was something he was sure he wanted to be part of.

“Ask it how we can use the jars,” Morgan suggested. Octavian did so but with little enthusiasm. He was with Jankx on this — raising an undead spore-Duergar was not on his list of things worth trying.

“Empty spores into corpse. Wait. Command,” the myconid explained.

“You use the spores, and somehow you animate the dead,” Octavian translated, emphasising his discomfort. “That’s how bad it is.”

Morgan, being from beyond the grave, had no such qualms. This was an opportunity. “And how do you control them?”

“I bet you can’t,” Octavian said, but he asked the question.

Instead of answering, the myconid held its hands aloft and slowly lowered them. A circle of glowing spores centred on it pulsed outward to encircle everyone in the room. And suddenly everyone could speak to each other telepathically.

“Get out of my head Arlington!” Tarquin cried instantly. The horror!

“Control them with your minds,” the myconid said by way of explanation. It closed its hands together and the wave of spores retreated back toward it. As they passed everyone felt a wave of healing elation.

“What happens when we’re not here — can we put them down again?” Morgan asked directly.

“You kill like you have killed. Or they stop, inert. They become plants.”

Octavian nodded his thanks to the creature, which turned away and stood waiting at the door.

“I didn’t think I wanted to get to know you guy any better than I already do,” Arlington said, aloud, “But now that I do it’s totally funky,” he finished telepathically.

“Can we not talk like this,” Jankx pleaded.

“Get out of my head Arlington!” Tarquin cried again. This was going to be a long hour.

Arlington smirked, then spoke with his actual voice. “Could not these spores that are floating out of this guy, and more importantly this guy himself, be a power source that those tentacle-faced guys could utilise to reanimate their space ship?”

Octavians eyes went wide. “Oh! So instead of the forge, you are suggesting we could use necrotic power because the ship is a living entity?”

Arlington nodded. “The spores, or the creature itself if we milked it in an appropriate manner.”

“So the myconid is being trafficked from one group of slavers to another?” Tarquin said with distaste.

“He’s got life-giving spores! Surely you could run a living spaceship with them?”

“We physically can’t get back to it in time,” Morgan said shaking his head, “So what are we going to do with the pots of spores?””

“Hold onto them at the very least,” Arlington said.

“We don’t have to hold onto them — we’ve got Duergar here.”

“Oh you think we should raise these ones?”

“Why not? We can try.”

“He’s saying we raise them necromantically,” Octavian explained.

Arlington looked taken aback. “I, well, I — I didn’t sign on for this.” He was very uncomfortable with the idea of leading an undead army of Duergar.

“It said they are just plants,” Morgan shrugged.

“We’re going to make zombies now as our allies?” Arlington said, frowning at his fellow post-death companions Octavian and Tarquin.

“Arlington,” Tarquin said, “Think of it not as allies, but as a distraction.”

“Slaves,” Eearwaxx corrected.

“They can’t be slaves, they’re plants,” Tarquin said.

“Plants are living. You’re enslaving them,” Eearwaxx emphasised. He was deeply unhappy with this idea — killing Duergar was one thing, enslaving them quite another.

“What are you?!” Tarquin exclaimed. “We’re people! They’re plants! This isn’t some high minded philosophical discussion we’re having here.”

Morgan stared at Tarquin and pointed to the dead Quaggoths who were covered in fungal growths. “That’s a plant. It was infected and raised. That,” he said pointing to the myconid, “That is a person.”

“What?!” Arlington was utterly lost.

Tarquin squinted his eyes, wanting to refute Morgan’s assertation but for once not finding the words.

“It’s not hard,” Morgan pressed, “The myconid is obviously intelligent because it’s speaking to us and has agency.”

Eearwaxx nodded, squatting as he watched the myconid reattach it’s arm, mycondril strands visibly growing and healing the wound.

Arlington threw his arms in the air. “What was I doing yesterday morning? It seems slightly unreal that we’re now down in a hold where fungus-men are being repaired while our wizard sits and watches.”

“This is where our life has led us,” Octavian smirked. “Debating philosophy while a myconid heals himself and fungal zombies await resurrection. And we have to work out if we want to embrace this future.”

“There were stranger things in the Sunless Citadel,” Morgan observed.

“I hear what you are saying,” Arlington said, “And in the immortal words of the bard, I’ll shake it off.” Tarquin placed a comforting hand on Arlington’s shoulder.

“We need to get moving,” Morgan glowered. “If we’re going to animate these Duergar we should do it now. As far as I’m concerned the more bodies on our side the better.”

“I agree with that logic,” Tarquin nodded. “Let’s break through this door, let this ‘fellow’ be on his way, and do our business.”

“Do we just pour the spores into their mouth?” Octavian asked the myconid.

“Ingest, wait, animate,” the creature’s bubbling voice replied.

“Wait how long?”

“One cycle.”

“Is that one turn of the world?” Morgan asked.

“Yes.”

“No point then, it’s going to take a day,” Morgan said.

Octavian gathered the pots and stashed them. “How long will they last?”

“Indefinite.”

“You can stay with us as long as you deem you should,” Morgan said to the myconid.

“My thanks for saving me. Now I return.”

“Stay behind, we’ll clear the way,” Octavian said.

“I wait.”

---

A simple plan

The middle doors to the north opened to a passage that ended in two more doors. The passage was lined with stone pillars that provided perfect cover for the guards that had been stationed in the corridors on either side of the main one. A murder passage for anyone approaching the throne.

The side passages had arrow slits that looked out into the mining site and into the forge. Arlington spied on the right side, spotting a forth guard tower inside the forge area. The tower looked out into the mine on the west side. He also found that the forge was separated from mine by a 15-foot wide, 10-foot high solid iron gate.

On the western side, Morgan looked out into the mine. Four Duergar were using ropes to restrain a hulking biped with a bronze insectoid body. A large sack had been pulled over the creature’s bulbous head. “Octavian — is this your Umberhulk?”

Octavian nodded, terrified, almost running away.

“I see why you would be afraid,” Morgan nodded. “It’s huge.”

“No, no. That’s not why I’m afraid.”

“They’re highly intelligent, from memory,” Eearwaxx offered, “So maybe we can communicate with it.”

“No!” Octavian hissed with panic. “If that sack on its head gets removed, it will confuse and control everyone’s brains. And kill. Us. All. You do not negotiate with an Umberhulk!”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Eearwaxx said, oblivious to Octavian’s distress.

Tarquin studied the layout of the three corridors. “We should setup in here in the throne room. Put our crossbows in the guard corridors, our warriors here, and we coax them inside. Just like the Duergar planned.”

“How exactly do we coax them?” Arlington scoffed. “There is no cover out there.”

“Let’s let him shuffle off, and there’s our first distraction,” Tarquin suggested glancing back to the myconid.

“I think if the myconid heads up that way and they see it,” Jankx agreed, “They will probably come and have a look.”

“Bait you say? But we need to control the numbers somehow,” Arlington said. “We can’t just have him rousing the entire forge.”

“Then send Ezra,” Tarquin grinned.

Arlington liked this idea. “That’s very good. I saw at least three more guards, so there’s at least twenty in the forge. So do we need to front load against the Umberhulk? Take the slings and buffets as they come, or do we pick off the guards in the towers?”

“Is there a better place to kill an Umberhulk than in a murder corridor?” Tarquin asked rhetorically.

“Why do you want to kill the Umberhulk?” Eearwaxx asked. His success with saving the myconid made him confident he could do the same with the insect creature. How hard could it be?

“It will kill us, that’s all,” Arlington said.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, Eearwaxx. What do you mean?” Tarquin asked gently.

“It’s chained up,” Eearwaxx said. “You don’t kill a captive animal.”

“It’s not chained,” Morgan corrected, “It’s being restrained by ropes held by the Duergar.”

“And they’ll let it go as soon as they know we’re here.”

“We don’t want to kill it for sport,” Jankx agreed, “But if it attacks us we will be in a fight.”

Octavian suddenly had an idea. An idea that was sadly ignored given what followed. “If we could get that Umberhulk, and keep the sack on its head, and take it to that forge room…it would destroy everyone in there.”

Arlington shook his head. “Let’s just kill everyone we can see in the towers! And when we’ve thinned the opposition we can deal with the Umberhulk.”

“I’m just telling you what I know,” Octavian mumbled.

Morgan was getting impatient. “Work out what you want to do and we’ll do it. Where are we going to fight them?”

“We soften things up as they come down the corridor,” Tarquin suggested, “Then you bury your swords in what remains when they get to you. You hold the throne room doors with the Duergar.”

“There’s an elevator behind us,” Morgan reminded everyone. “They can get in behind us. We need to keep moving forward, that’s the idea.” Morgan’s heckles were up now, his thirst for battle becoming overwhelming. “We don’t take this place by hunkering down.”

“It will take them ten minutes to get up and down and behind us,” Tarquin said. “Enough time for us to be ready.”

“I agree,” Arlington said. “Let’s just make sure we get the Umberhulk dealt with by the time we’re finished with the charade in the cage here.”

“‘Get the Umberhulk,’ he says,” Octavian muttered putting his head in his hands.

“And what about Xardorok?” Morgan growled. “Can anyone see anyone out there that looks like a King?”

Arlington turned and squinted out the forge arrow slit. And instantly jerked back behind cover. “Yes!” he whispered. Stepping down from the dragon’s platform was an enormous, soot-stained, grey-bearded Duergar with a jagged black crown on his brow and an ominous spiky black gauntlet on one hand. His crown and gauntlet were obviously made of chardalyn. “He’s in there. And he has a very scary glove on.”

“We need to move forward!” Morgan hissed.

“Why don’t we just take the guards we can while we can,” Arlington said. “How are we going to be better set than being right here?”

“What are the rest of us going to do?”

“We take the first round from here, then we charge out,” Arlington explained, “Go gettem Ray! Get Ezra out there!”

“Okay get in position and let’s go!” Morgan said.

“Morgan! Slow down son,” Tarquin said. “Let’s not run out there and die.”

“Again,” Arlington added.

“Let’s bring some in here, solve an initial problem, and then go out,” Tarquin said.

“I think we should go out,” Morgan said, slapping his hand into his leg with frustration. “Those four Duergar look to me like they’ve got their hands full just containing that Umberhulk. And if the Umberhulk can do what Octavian says it can do, they’ve go no interest in take its hood off either because they’ll be subject to the same problem.”

“It sounds like a good idea,” Tarquin nodded, “So send Ezra out, not us.”

Jankx held his hands up. “Hang on. Let’s walk this through. We open the doors and the four Duergar with the captured Umberhulk suddenly see us appear. There’s a few things they could do at that point. They could hold the beast or they can attack us. If they don’t address us they definitely will die, and they know that. So if I was them I would let the Umberhulk go immediately. So now we have a loose Umberhulk.”

“I’m with Jankx,” Arlington said, “They’re going to drop the ropes faster than we’re going to drop them.”

Tarquin turned to Dreck. “That sound like how you guys operate?”

“Oh yes. That Umberhulk will be loose the second you step through that door,” he said matter-of-factly. Tarquin noticed a trace of fear in Dreck’s eyes despite the calmness of his voice. “They’re not keeping you safe from the Umberhulk.”

“So we’re going to get four Duergar and an Umberhulk, doing whatever Umberhulks do,” Jankx said.

“Psionics, they call it,” Octavian said quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Arlington said.

“It means they use their brain to control things, like how the plant is talking to you now.”

“Creatures of legend,” Tarquin said, recalling the theatrical horrors. “They bring madness, you lose control of your very sense of self. You must obey its orders but its orders don’t make any sense.”

“Very good. Let’s talk about what we can predict then,” Tarquin said. “The Duergar will charge us, right Dreck?”

“Well they won’t let you live if they can help it.”

“So we pop the door,” Jankx started, “And the Duergar see us and follow us in here. Oh. A wrinkle I’ve just thought of — they are aware this is a trap. Why would the come into an obvious trap?”

“They don’t know how many of us there are,” Tarquin said. “They will see one, or two, and not until they come in here will they realise their mistake.”

Morgan raised a hand. “I’m just going to suggest one more thing. We could go back to the other side and take our chances in the forge, rather than having to deal with the Umberhulk as well.”

“Because it’s locked out from the forge,” Arlington nodded.

“I hear you,” Jankx said, “But I think this might be more of a stepping stone than the forge.”

“I don’t know. I think Morgan might be right.”

Octavian shook his head. “I think the Umberhulk is a key to controlling the forge. If we can control this room, get the forge gate open, kill or co-opt the Duergar, and get the Umberhulk with the sack into the forge area. Remove the sack and then we kill as much as we can and let chaos do as much damage as it can.”

“Okay. We’re just going to fight it now,” Morgan shrugged. “Let’s get ready and I’ll send Ezra out.”

“I will and secure that door so they can’t send for reinforcements,” Jankx said. The guard tower that overlooked the mines would still be alerted, but at least a wave of Duergar couldn’t flood through from the forge.

Arlington positioned himself in the eastern guard corridor and Tarquin hid him behind an illusion. As he settled in Arlington suddenly realised there was a problem. A major problem. “They’ll hear us,” he said. “The forge is noisy but if we’re fighting right here someone will notice.”

“Maybe we all just have to go out,” Jankx sighed.

“If they come running in we kill them too? What’s the problem?” Arlington said.

“We just don’t want to have everything at once — it’s too much.”

“It is,” Tarquin agreed. “Let’s get out there and Gracklstout it.”

“There’s no good way, but I think that’s the best option of getting it done quick,” Morgan nodded.

“A nightmare, but we have little choice,” Jankx said.

“Are we taking the Umberhulk or the Duergar?” Dreck asked.

“Whatever comes closest,” Arlington suggested.

“I’ll yell Graklstout, and if they don’t respond—”

“What’s our priority??” Dreck interrupted.”

“The hulk needs to go,” Morgan said firmly. Then reconsidered. “Although — if they take the sack of its head, then it’s the hulk, if they leave it on the head—”

“Here’s the thing,” Tarquin tried. “If two of them run at us, then you two secure the Umberhulk—”

“Except if four or more come on the flank and two only approach from the front with ranged weapons—” Arlington considered.

Morgan groaned. “You know what. I’ll yell something to you when we’re out there.”

Dreck grinned and clapped Morgan on the back. “Okay young warrior! You lead, we’ll follow. I liked your work back there by the way. You may be a prick but it’s good work.”

Morgan half-smirked and readied his weapon. The ranged team prepped in the east and west corridors and the fighters huddled by the north doors.

---

Hulk Smash

Jankx popped the door. And was shocked to hear Arlington yelling “Graklstout!” into the forge!?

Two guards on the tower spun their heads toward the arrow slits but could see nothing. Arlington shrugged, guessed, and buried a bolt into the nearest guard who looked down in shock. A second later Arlington saw a javelin emerge from the guard’s chest as a new ally took his chance. Arlington grinned — he’d picked the right guy to shoot — but as he lined up to shoot a Quaggorth standing by the forge he heard a cry.

“Oi! Dickhead!! What are you doing!?” Tarquin hissed as loudly as he dared.

Arlington blinked. Spun his eyes around the forge. There were a lot of foes in there. Tarquin’s voice poked into his mind and he vaguely recalled the plan wasn’t to kill everything. Yet. He dropped his crossbow to his side ruefully and gave a small cough. He was somewhat cheered to see a third Duergar on the guard tower was now fighting his once-was-brother in arms.

Morgan charged out crying “Graklstout!” as he ran. One of the four nodded, but the others frowned, then vanished. The ropes fell to the floor and the sack was yanked free of the Umberhulk which was revealed in all its hideous glory.

---

In the doorway Octavian silently pissed himself.

The single remaining Duergar spun away from the massive beast and desperately covered his eyes. Morgan skidded to a stop as the beast was revealed and turned away as fast as he could. He manifested Ezra but resisted the urge to attack.

Ezra had no such qualms, stepping determinedly forward and striking twice.

Throd and Dreck followed close behind Morgan. Their battle cries faltered as they saw the Umberhulk, and Throd redirected his attack to Ezra instead, missing. Dreck glanced at Throd with surprise and dropped his weapon to his side in utter confusion. He stood mesmerised.

Tarquin stepped out next. And felt his mind melt. He attacked Throd but also missed in a welter of confusion. Morgan, standing nearby, started to understand why Octavian had been so afraid.

Eearwaxx has no more luck. He had planned to attempt to charm the Umberhulk, but instead found himself dropping his hands and questioning his purpose.

Octavian groaned. There as nothing for it but to enact his plan. He shifted into wildshape and took the form of a falcon. He raced into the room at ground level, hoping to reach the sack before the Umberhulk could control his mind, but the beast was in a fury and spotted the bird immediately. Octavian shot past, his mind no longer his own, and attacked the new Duergar ally instead, but also missing.

Jankx thought quickly. It was clear staring down the Umberhulk was a fatal mistake, so he pulled out a hand mirror and positioned it so he could see the creature reflected. He was pleased to find he could still think straight, so he did his best to aim his crossbow through the arrow slit and at the beast. The bolt flew close but not close enough. But he had a tactic. “Mirror!” he yelled, hoping someone else might figure it out too.

Arlington couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What was everyone doing? Why was only Ezra attacking the Umberhulk?? He grunted and loaded his crossbow, burying two bolts into the chitinous shell. Behind him a second guard was dropped by the Graklstout ally.

The Umberhulk roared with anger and slashed twice with its claws into the lone Duergar’s back. It closed its mandibles around the wound and ripped his back asunder, flesh and blood raining down on those close.

Morgan retreated as far as he could, keeping his eyes away from the Umberhulk but directing Ezra, who hit once. His second strike got stuck in the remains of the Duergar, thwarting his strike and slowing his next.

Throd panicked and ran north, Dreck wandered helplessly.

Tarquin had learnt from what was happening around him. He managed to push the confusion from his mind, resetting his thinking and finding clarity. He summoned a new illusion that surrounded the Umberhulk’s head, a translucent sphere that stopped the creatures vision. He prayed to the gods of the stage that it would work and stepped back for his colleagues to do their best.

It did — somewhat. Everyone felt their mind freed slightly, but they could still see and recall the creature’s piercing gaze. Eearwaxx couldn’t quite push the fear away and found himself wandering aimlessly in the western corridor. Jankx too missed again, the mirror proving just too difficult.

Octavian was far more successful. He found his mind and dived behind the Umberhulk to retrieve the sackcloth. He swooped up and dropped the cloth over the head of the beast, then latched his claws into the its head and held on for dear life.

The Umberhulk reacted with a furious rip, grabbing Octavian and tossing him into the wall. Octavian dropped to the ground, winded, and shifted back in kobold shape. It stepped forward and attacked Ezra, destroying him with its mandibles. It skittered forward toward Dreck.

Arlington shot twice again, landing once and chipping shell from the beast, then glanced back to the tower. The lone guard pointed into the forge, a clear warning that the alarm had been raised. Arlington sighed and reloaded.

Morgan overcame his confusion too, and charged to the Umberhulk. But despite the newfound courage, both his blows missed. He cursed as he summoned Ezra and backed off.

Throd was still a mess. He started running to the south, despite that bringing him nearer the beast. Dreck continued to stand stock still, staring at the Umberhulk with glazed eyes.

Tarquin was fully in control now. He rushed toward the Umberhulk and thrust his rapier but it sprung back of the hard shell harmlessly. Eearwaxx shook his head and finally found clarity. He tolled and the beast let out a shuddering groan.

Octavian jumped to his feet and cast a field of entangling growth at its feet, but he could instantly tell it had absolutely no effect. The Umberhulk was far too strong for even the magical vines. Jankx missed again, cursing and deciding next time he was going to take the risk.

Arlington watched Dreck and Throd wandering like idiots and reflected that it explained why the Duergar — and Octavian — were so afraid of Umberhulks. He was no such fool — it was only a beast, and killing beasts was his job. He was about to do exactly that when he suddenly experienced what everyone else had been. His mind blanked. All he could see were enemies. Kobolds, Duergar, and an annoying Bard.

The Umberhulk sliced its claws into Morgan, then dug its mandibles into Morgan’s chest. Morgan grunted but didn’t stand down — until he glared at the Umberhulk’s face and suddenly lost all purpose. Ezra glanced with concern but knew the best solution was to kill this thing and he struck hard.

Tarquin too was worried for Morgan. He sent a flurry of dissonant curses inside the creatures alien mind and was rewarded with a piercing shriek of pain as the Umberhulk got a taste of its own medicine. It staggered under the assault.

Eearwaxx tried another Toll, but the creature’s mind managed to recover and resist. Octavian saw the creature was on its last legs. He was ready to overkill it with a guiding bolt, but reconsidered at the last moment and summoned his whip. The change confused him just enough that the whip flew wide and the Umberhulk stayed alive.

Arlington could still only see annoying people. They were all annoying. He decided he was going to shoot one of them. The crossbow swung over each target, settling eventually on the ally guard in the tower. He fired true and the guard looked down in shock, a bolt embedded in his chest. Arlington shot again, but the guard was no fool and dropped to safety behind the battlement.

The Umberhulk slashed Ezra and banished him instantly, then turned back to Morgan. Everyone held their breath as it swung hard with its claw and wrenched with the mandibles, but Morgan somehow managed to avoid both blows. Blows that may have killed him if they had hit.

Jankx breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face the beast for the first time. He felt the power of the Umberhulk’s gaze but pushed it away. It had to die, and it had to die soon. He held his breath and stilled his trigger finger. The massive creature was locked in. He fired.

The Umberhulk shuddered as the bolt sunk deep into its insectoid eyes. A moment later it dropped to the ground, finally dead.

A further moment later the three hidden Duergar reappeared. A key turned in the massive iron door and it started to slide open, revealing a slavering Quaggoth with its Duergar masters close behind.

Tarquin spun to face them with a delighted grin on his face. “We just killed an Umberhulk!” he cried. “Who’s next?!”

---

The Forge

The shattered carapace lay at Morgan’s feet, but there was no time to celebrate—both he and Octavian nursed nasty wounds. Tarquin reactively healed Morgan and Octavian healed himself. As Tarquin cast he suddenly had a flash of insight: the miter he wore allowed him to disguise himself as anything he liked. That was how the devil in the temple had fooled Xardorok. Tarquin smiled and changed himself into an enlarged Duergar, figuring the more confusion the better.

Newly energised, Morgan surged toward the opening gate and materialised Ezra amidst the enemies on the other side. Neither hit their opponent, but Ezra’s appearance drew a lot of attention.

Arlington, still ensconced in the murder-hole, took advantage of the distraction to sink a bolt into the Duergar who was dragging the gate open. He could see more Duergar and Quaggoth racing forward, but smiled as he saw some were turning their attack on their erstwhile allies.

Octavian raced close to the nearest Duergar and lashed him with his whip. As he struck another Duergar leapt from the battlement above, crying “Graklstout!!” as he plummeted and buried his spear in the head of Octavian’s surprised foe. Dreck and Throd cheered and joined battle with their former brothers. Morgan was crushed by a double-strike, and Ezra vanished under the frenzied claws of an enraged Quaggoth.

It was impossible to keep the gate closed and soon the full scale of the battle was clear. Chaos, cries of “Graklstout!” and “For Xardorok!” echoing through the cavernous chambers, and over everything was the heartbeat of the forge: Thoomp-thoomp. Jankx and Eearwaxx added their firepower—Jankx literally as he downed his last potion of fire-breath—as both sides fought for advantage. Arlington’s bolts flew with deadly precision as Morgan and Ezra weaved webs of steel. Octavian’s whip whipped wildly and Tarquin viciously mocked his confused look-a-likes.

After downing the initial wave the company were able to press their way into the forge proper. Duergar were pouring into the chamber but at least some appeared to be on team Grandolpha. Bolts flew from the towers into the backs of growling Quaggoth and one-on-one fights were everywhere. The forge itself radiated intense heat, stopping anyone from getting too close.

Xardorok was a terrifying sight, standing imperiously on the dragon-platform, firing beams of eldritch devastation into the fray.

---

“Holy shit,” Tarquin muttered, then rallied himself and started fighting. Hard. His rapier immediately dropped a Quaggoth. Jankx and Octavian followed suit, taken care of the relatively meagre number of foes in the mine before sprinting into the forge. It was chaos, hard to tell who was for who. Morgan was having uncharacteristic struggles with his combat prowess, frustrated as his blows landed ineffectively. Thankfully Ezra had no such trouble, nor Octavian who had found his rhythm and range. Eearwaxx wanted to get to the dragon, but was forced to attend to threats closer at hand first.

Some nasty blows were taken, but the wounded were given a boost when the Myconid Sovereign shuffled quietly past and released a cloud of healing spores. “Thank you again,” it sounded wordlessly into everyone’s minds as it disappeared into the Underdark.

Intitially Xardorok’s troops had the upper hand, but slowly the battle swung every so slightly towards Grandolpha’s forces. Morgan, Ezra, and Tarquin pushed their way toward Xardorok, protected by a phalanx of allies, while Octavian, Arlington, Eearwaxx and Jankx peppered the enemies from behind.

Xardorok saw the tide turn and signalled to an especially large Duergar standing by his side. “Thontara! Release the dragon!!” he cried. She grinned, nodded, and raised a carved horn to her mouth and blew a deafening rallying call. Immediately a wedge of Quaggoth and Duergar formed a protective barrier in front of the forge, allowing Xardorok to stride toward the flaming edifice. He flexed his chardalyn gauntlet and reached into the forge.

Arlington raised a surprised eyebrow as he watched from his hide, then shot a brutal duo of bolts into the King. Xardorok growled as he was slammed against the forge and seemed to momentarily lose his grip on whatever he had been reaching for.

Xardorok pulled his hand out of the forge and held his prize aloft with a booming laugh: a massive flaming heart that beat relentlessly—thoomp-thoomp—in the cradle of Xardorok’s gauntlet. He closed his fist around the beating heart and moved back toward the dragon. On the platform his deputy Thontara was using a mechanism to pry open the breast-plate on the dragon’s flank.

“He’s going to put it in the dragon!” Octavian cried. “We need to stop it at all costs!!”

Attention immediately turned to getting to the dragon. The Duergar loyalists fought hard for their king, but Grandolpha’s traitors were just as enraged—and they had six heroes to back them up. Duergar and Quaggoth fell under the relentless assault, but somehow the living barrier remained long enough for Xardorok to remount the dragon platform.

As he strode toward Thontara, who had almost prised the dragon breast-chamber open, Ezra suddenly appeared between them. He buried his sword thrice into Thontara who staggered back in shock. “What manner of beast are you!” she cried. Morgan smiled grimly as he saw Ezra’s work, and that it had stopped the chamber from being fully opened.

Eearwaxx had been watching the heart, trying to work out what it was. He guessed it was organic but there was a chance it was crystal or stone. Either way he knew exactly which spell to use: Shatter. He spoke the words and a sudden, resonant ringing, painfully intense, erupted on top of Xardorok. The thunderous noise caused his allies to stumble and fall, and Xardorok was rocked into the dragon carapace. It caught him so much by surprise that he instinctively reached to brace himself and dropped the heart onto the platform. It immediately started to melt through the metal framework. Thontara stumbled too, losing her grip on the mechanism but happy to see the thunder destroy Ezra.

Eearwaxx beamed at the success of his spell, until he noticed hellfire exploding beneath his feet—Xardorok’s retribution. Eearwaxx instinctively leapt aside before he could be too badly burnt. It was harder to dodge the follow-up eldritch beam which knocked him back, and another hurtled into Morgan before Xardorok reached down to recover the heart.

At the foot of the platform Dreck was successfully fighting off several Quaggoth, but a cowardly spear in the back downed the mighty ally. Throd, so ineffectual in early battles, howled with fury at seeing his friend downed and charged in to brutally kill the killer. Octavian’s whip dropped another wounded Quaggoth. The numbers were thinning, but Morgan judged Xardorok had the edge—his forces were well disciplined and continually worked to protect their liege.

Xardorok recovered his equilibrium and turned to Thontara with the flaming heart, grunting as Arlington and Jankx sent two more precisely aimed bolts into his abdomen. Thontara shunted the panel fully open, ready to receive Xardorok’s gift. “We’re too late,” Octavian whispered.

Tarquin stepped forward and rested a foot on the body of a dead Duergar. He strummed his lute twice and sung a low, slow, and near irresistible dirge. On the platform Xardorok’s eyes widened as everything seemed to slow down. He strained his huge arms but couldn’t move the heart any closer to Thontara’s reaching grasp. Around him his bodyguards found themselves similarly restrained, moving in slow motion and suddenly vulnerable—a weakness Grandolpha’s forces were quick to exploit. The King howled with frustration.

“Save the King!” Thontara cried. She alone seemed unaffected by Tarquin’s magic, but even she hesitated as she reached for the heart—she had no gauntlet to protect her hands, and taking the white-hot heart would surely mean the end.

“Grandolpha sends her regards,” Duergar-Tarquin called out triumphantly.

As if on cue, Grandolpha Muzgardt herself stepped from the Temple, surrounded by her four bodyguards who bristled with weaponry and battle-hunger—there was only so much Intellect Devourer stew even the most disciplined Duergar could brew before patience wore thin. “Indeed I do, King Xardorok!” Grandolpha cackled with delight as she blew clouds of poison over nearby foes.

“The momentum is with her,” Jankx grinned as he shot Xardorok in the neck. The King turned ever-so-slowly to Jankx to try and rebuke him, but only tiny sparks spluttered harmlessly. A small smile crept over Jankx’s face—quickly dropped when he saw Throd finally fall under the attention of the few remaining Quaggoth.

Morgan summoned Ezra directly behind Xardorok and the ghostly warrior buried his blade in the huge Duergar’s back. Xardorok’s voice was slowed like his body, making his pronouncements and reactions unintelligible, but one thing was clear: he was angry.

Or he was until Eearwaxx decided to cheer him up. The young wizard chuckled under his breath, and the chuckle floated over the battlefield and infected the King. His fury transformed into deep peals of infuriated, hysterical laughter. He dropped to his knees unable to control his body as the hideous mirth overtook his body. He dropped the heart again, directly in front of Thontara. She took a deep breath and reached down and grabbed it, screaming in agony as unholy flame engulfed her hands and lower arms. But before they were gone she shunted the massive organ into the waiting cavity of the dragon before collapsing to the ground.

The dragon’s eyes snapped open, glowing brilliant yellow.

---

Ezra drew his sword back to finish Thontara, but before he could strike a ice-black gauntlet reached through his chest and ripped him apart. Xardorok had finally forced himself free of the laughter and slowness. “You will not stop my triumph!” he bellowed, “Fly! Fly!! Let destruction’s light shine!” He spun and blasted Eearwaxx and Tarquin, punishing those that would dare attack him. Octavian retaliated, giving Xardorok a taste of his own medicine with a bolt of radiant light that set the King aglow. And Octavian anticipated King’s hellish rebuke, quickly flying into the air before the flames could take hold.

The dragon’s mouth opened to release a breath of heated steam. “Rise! It is time! Xardorok’s reign of darkness begins!!” the King cried. The light from within the dragon’s chest glowed with increasing power, drawing a cheer and a surge of renewed determination from Xardorok’s forces.

Not for long. Tarquin met the glowing King’s gaze, tilting his head before speaking a simple three line poem:

The King’s mouth dropped open in horror, a truth revealed that he could not deny. He ripped the crown from his head and started at it in abject confusion. “But I am…the King…” he muttered as he fell to his knees, then toppled off the platform.

The King was dead. Long live the King.

The remaining loyalist Duergar froze, no need for a spell this time. “Nooooo!” Thontara cried, “My liege!”. Grandolpha howled with pleasure, chewing on a threadbare bone as her forces set about brutally killing the demoralised remnants.

But the dragon continued to move, snapping free of its bindings and flexing its giant wings.

Tarquin realised that Xardorok, in his fury, and Thontara, in her armless state, had failed to secure the dragon’s inner chamber. He closed his eyes and vanished into mist, reappearing on the platform. Thontara gasped, crying with agony as she forced herself to her feet and shunted her shoulder into the panel to try and slam it closed. Tarquin whipped his dagger free and jammed it into the hatch just before she could seal it—and the fate of Ten Town’s. Tarquin smirked down at Tarquin, reaching up to remove his hat to reveal his true self. Thontara looked confused, then resigned, and then dead as Jankx’s merciful bolt finally killed her. Jankx felt a moment of regret at the death of a worthy foe.

Morgan followed Tarquin’s lead, swapping places with Ezra to appear beside Tarquin. He kicked the dragon panel open and plunged the Sanguine Blade into the heart, trying to haul it free of the dragon. But the moment the sword struck it was engulfed in unfathomable heat, glowing white hot. Morgan gasped as he released the blade. He watched in horror as the weapon transformed into a molten pool of iron inside the dragon.

Eearwaxx had a different approach. He summoned the same servant that had swept Mishann’s temple in Bryn Shander and whispered a simple command: “Get the heart and throw it to me.” The servant nodded innocently and floated to the platform. It reached obediently inside the dragon, grabbed the heart, wrenched it free, and died instantly.

But the heart was out of the dragon. It burned through the metalwork and landed smouldering on the stone floor. The dragon slouched, slowly losing power and returning to its inert state. It was the final nail in the loyalist Duergar coffin, as the cry of “Graklstout! Graklstout!!” rung around the forge chamber.

At the back of the chamber Arlington finally emerged to find out what all the fuss was about, leaning nonchalantly against a wall and lighting his pipe. Jankx glanced over and grinned and even Arlington found himself smiling. “Just like we planned,” he nodded to Jankx.

“Morgan!” Octavian cried, “Use the gauntlet to get the heart!”

“You read my mind,” Morgan said, and Octavian was delighted to see a genuine smile cross the young warrior’s face. It had been a long time since he’d seen that. “He’s free of the sword…” he muttered as he returned Morgan’s grin.

Tarquin summoned a mage hand and lifted the gauntlet free of the King’s body. Morgan frowned for a moment, then beamed as Tarquin floated the chardalyn prize to him. He reached out and took the weighty armour, fitting it over his right hand. The gauntlet immediately shaped itself to grip Morgan’s fist, clicking into place like it was designed for him.

Morgan flexed it a few times, feeling the latent power. He walked over to the heart and reached down, wrapping the gauntlet around the beating flames. His first instinct was to crush it, but something held him back—there was more at play here. Instead he picked up the heart and held it aloft triumphantly.

Octavian’s eyes widened in shock. It was a red dragon’s heart.

Thoomp-thoomp

---

The Treasury

The second thing Octavian noticed was Morgan’s eyes flashing rapidly through a sequence of colours: red, white, blue, green, and black. The colours of the chromatic dragons. What was going on? Had the heart somehow changed Morgan?

As the heart beat in his hand, Morgan suddenly froze. A deep subsonic voice echoed inside his mind:

“The curssse is broken. An heir is found.”

Morgan quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had heard, but only Octavian stared back—seemingly equally shocked. Octavian approached Morgan and spoke with deep concern. “Do you know what you’re holding?”

“It’s a dragon’s heart, right?” Morgan said.

“Yes. A red dragon. A very specific red dragon.”

Morgan looked blank, then his eyes lit up. “Is it the red dragon from the underground citadel?”

“Ashardalon.”

“The one that had his heart replaced by a demon?” Morgan said quietly, staring at the heart with fresh awe. “What are we going to do with it? It’s really hot.”

“Well fire won’t kill it, obviously, seeing it’s a red dragon,” Arlington suggested.

“We should try and destroy it, shouldn’t we?” Morgan said.

“I don’t think there’s any way to destroy it,” Octavian said, “People have been trying for centuries.”

“What about that spell you can do?”

“What, ‘talk to plants’?” Arlington said, nonplussed.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “No, the frost finger thing.”

Octavian shook his head. “That will never work. My thoughts are that this is beyond black magic.”

“Well then what’s the plan?”

“I…I don’t…I have no idea,” Octavian said and slumped to his haunches. He felt, for what felt like the first time, at a loss. How do you deal with an ancient red dragon heart, an artefact of legend?

“Little fella, Octavian, people kill red dragons,” Arlington said ‘encouragingly’, “Their hearts do stop beating.”

“This is not a normal heart now.”

“It may not be now, but firing frost-rays isn’t normal either,” Arlington said weakly.

“What are you talking about?” Octavian groaned. “You are out of your depth—do you see that Morgan is holding the heart of Ashardalon?! And you’re talking about a frost-ray??” He started to fire random frost-rays around the chamber to demonstrate the absurdity of Arlington’s suggestion. The surviving Duerger ducked for cover.

“I think you need to calm down,” Arlington said. “This is why I don’t work with humanoids,” he sighed.

“Can I at least put it down,” Morgan said, “It weighs a lot.” Morgan guessed the pumpkin sized heart weighed at least 100 kilos.

“Pop it on the ground there and we’ll shoot it with our frost-rays,” Arlington muttered. “As suggested.” Morgan lowered it carefully, but there were no rays forthcoming.

Having observed this conversation with some amusement, Grandolpha approached, clapping her hands. “I must say when I first saw you I didn’t think you would amount to much, but here we are. You pulled off quite the triumph,” she beamed. She retrieved Xardorok’s fallen crown and plonked it atop her head. “What do you think?”

“Well his head was rather large,” Tarquin offered.

Morgan wasn’t sure a chardalyn crown was a good idea. “Lady Grandolpha, I think a crown does indeed suit your noble visage—but perhaps not this one?”

“Not this one,” Grandolpha nodded taking it off, “I agree. It didn’t do Xardorok much good,” she chuckled. She turned to the forge and lobbed it through the open top. The flames flared briefly, but there was no explosion.

“Thanks to you, all this—” Grandolpha spread her hands to encompass the forge and greater fortress, “—is now mine!”

Tarquin bowed low. “And what do you plan to do with it now you have it?”

“Redecorate to being with—I’m not a forge person. And all the forgemeisters are dead, in any case,” Grandolpha said, toeing the body of a dead warrior.

“And you’re not a chardalyn dragon person either?” Tarquin prompted.

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Tarquin smiled.

Morgan watched Grandolpha as she spoke, looking for any subterfuge—and he definitely saw it. “I don’t believe what she’s saying,” he whispered, alarmed.

Octavian frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous Morgan, this is serious.”

“I’ve taken care of all of Xardorok’s loyalists—they’re all dead,” Grandolpha said. “I’ve reprogrammed the crazy ones too, they’ll now answer to me. So everything is safe for you now. I invite you to a feast to celebrate our victory!”

“We would love to come to a feast,” Morgan said, somewhat surprising everyone who had seen him sit-out the first meal.

“We are a little bit worried about the dragon,” Octavian said. “We would like it destroyed, or incapacitated.”

“It doesn’t look very capacitated to me,” Grandolpha smirked.

Octavian nodded. “There are some of us here who live in Ten-Towns, which the dragon was designed to destroy, so we don’t like the idea of it remaining a threat.”

Grandolpha looked at the heart thumping on the stone floor. “Without that, this is never flying again. Unless you have another one?”

“They’re as rare as dragon teeth,” Tarquin said.

“Rarer—dragons have more than one tooth,” Grandolpha grinned.

“Forty-eight in a dragon’s mouth, from memory,” Arlington said precisely. “And only two dragons have two hearts.”

Octavian glanced at Arlington wondering who the second was, then turned back to Grandolpha. “We would like to store the heart somewhere and take it with us. Maybe your blacksmiths could build one for us?”

“All the forgemasters are dead,” one of the Duerger said. “We could try and fashion something but I couldn’t guarantee it.”

“There were none on your side?”

“Nope. Xardorok favoured them, and they were tight with him.”

“Could you rivet something with the scales of the dragon?” Tarquin suggested.

“I can’t work with chardalyn,” the Duergar said, “The secrets of forging it are heavily protected.”

Grandolpha stepped forward. “I have an idea that may solve this impasse. Xardorok maintained a treasury here which is full of all manner of temptation. I’ve seen some of it and I think you’ll like what you find. Because of what you’ve done for me I’ll give you a choice: you can choose one item—each—from that hoard, or—you can keep the heart.” She grinned knowing this was a near impossible choice, especially for Octavian.

“What are you going to do with the heart,” Arlington said after a pause.

“Throw it back in the forge I guess? Or, no, maybe I’ll take it back to the Underdark. It’s quite a trophy.”

Octavian thought on this for a moment—what would happen if Grandolpha took that kind of power to the Underdark? A number of possibilities sprung to mind: it could be used to power a fortress or citadel, to boil a lake dry, anything that needed an energy source that, as far as he could tell, was limitless. He shivered. The power was hard to fathom. The only thing that gave him some sense of calm was that he doubted Grandolpha realised what she had.

“Don’t we need the heart for the space-ship?” Eearwaxx popped up.

“Space-ship?” Grandolpha said with raised eyebrows. “And why does it need a dragon-heart?”

“Just something we passed, the crew were looking for a source of energy to be on their way,” Tarquin said vaguely, remembering the Duergar’s hatred for mind-flayers.

“It’s too late, they’re all dead,” Arlington added.

“But are they all dead?” Jankx said.

“They gave us forty-eight hours, and it’s been more than that now.”

“We can’t get back in time,” Tarquin agreed, “Unless we fly a dragon…” he said glancing at the dormant hunk.

“Lady Grandolpha, allow us to have a discussion about your offer—in private, if you don’t mind?” Morgan said.

“Of course, of course—join me upstairs for the feast when you are ready!” Grandolpha said. She turned to leave then stopped when she saw the body of Dreck. “Oh my poor Dreck,” she said as she knelt by his side. She said a few words under her breath then lent down and expelled that breath over Dreck’s corpse. A few moments later Dreck jerked and opened his eyes with a gasp. Grandolpha smiled widely. “Good boy. It’s not your time—and you still have that thing inside you.” Dreck closed his eyes as Grandolpha wandered away to direct her forces in the clean-up of the forge.

---

“Did she say ‘that thing inside you?’,” Arlington said nervously. “Never mind: treasure time!” he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

“There is no treasure that can equal the heart, we are privileged to hold it and will never see its like again,” Octavian said. “It is an artefact of incredible power, otherworldly power—if you can harness it. The problem is we have no idea how to do that.”

“That’s why we should get rid of it,” Arlington said.

“And there is no market for ‘otherworldly’,” Tarquin grinned, clapping his hand on Octavian’s shoulder.

“I understand,” Octavian said sadly.

“Let’s keep it,” Eearwaxx said. He too was in awe of the object and the possibilities it offered. “I’m worried she’s going to use the dragon.”

“Here’s a thought,” Tarquin said, “If we give her the dragon’s heart, one of us could pick the dragon as their treasure.”

“How would we get it out of here?” Arlington asked.

“Well that is the other question. But the point is if we could guarantee it was destroyed or dismantled, and they truly don’t have the lore to put it back together, at least we’ve solved the problem for now. It’s like if you buried that heart in a barrel with a skull and crossbones on it two-hundred meters below the earth, it would still be a problem.”

“I disagree that it’s indestructible,” Arlington said, “I don’t see where that assumption has come from.”

“The ‘assumption’ is from when Morgan’s incredibly powerful magic sword just got eaten by it,” Octavian said.

“I haven’t tried to really crush it,” Morgan said, flexing the gauntlet.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Octavian frowned.

“What are you afraid of?” Arlington said.

“I’m imagining some kind of explosion at that point,” Jankx warned.

“The only thing we know it can be used for is powering that dragon,” Morgan shrugged. He was with Arlington—nothing was unbreakable.

“It’s not even clear to me that it will last forever as a source of energy. It’s been sitting in that hot forge for a reason,” Arlington said, pressing his case.

“No, no, it existed before the forge,” Octavian said.

“I know that. But why did Xardorok put it in there? It’s a red dragon heart, the heat has got to have something to do with it.”

“No! Gulthias killed hundreds of people to energise the heart—necrotic energy, not fire.”

“You’re speculating,” Arlington snorted, starting to realise he was on thin ice when it came to the lore of this thing.

“I know this is what happened to Ashardalon’s heart!”

“How?”

“Because this is of the draconic knowledge!”

“Pfft.” Arlington’s dragonlore knew that dragon-hearts were often preserved as invaluable trophies. But they were preserved, lifeless. He had never heard of a living heart.

“I agree with Octavian,” Eearwaxx chimed in, “This can only have been made with extremely powerful magic because it is still beating. Whatever is keeping it going, it would take equally powerful magic to undo. Frost fingers are not powerful.”

“I knew of Ashardalon, I just never expected to see the evidence of it,” Octavian said.

Arlington rolled his eyes and strode off toward the treasure room.

Morgan hefted the heart and followed. “You seem to know more about the heart, Octavian. I am only concerned about the dragon, so if we destroy it, and Xardorok took the knowledge of how to build and power it with him, then maybe they won’t be able to make another one even if they did want to. In which case the decision about the heart rests with you and Eearwaxx.”

“I have told you all I know, but I don’t believe these Duergar will be able to use it on the dragon.”

Tarquin opened the double doors leading to the treasury. A short corridor beyond was lined with a dozen metal slabs bolted to the war, each eight-foot high and one wide. They emitted a low hum which stopped Tarquin in his tracks.

“What price do we have to pay to get in there?” Jankx said with concern. He called a nearby Duergar over. “What are the metal plates on the wall?”

“Certain death,” the guard said flatly.

“Ah. Can we deactivate them please?”

“Grandolpha! They want to turn off the lightning!”

Grandolpha made her way over and laughed. “Oh yes, I should have warned you about those. One moment.” She pressed a hand to her head, and a few moments later the sound of a latch being thrown sounded from beyond the corridor, and the low hum evaporated. “There. Anything else?”

Eearwaxx had been thinking about the heart conundrum. “Grandolpha,” Eearwaxx said, “Could your people drop the dragon in the forge? That would help us make our decision.”

Grandolpha frowned. “As I said we have no forgemasters, and I don’t know what would happen if we drop that much chardalyn in there. We could just dismantle it. Would that help?” Eearwaxx nodded and Grandolpha turned to her people. “Rip that thing apart.” The Duergar looked aghast for a moment—the dragon was the pride of the fortress that had been worked on for years—then shrugged and set about their task.

“They won’t be able to put this back together once they pull it apart, will they?” Arlington said quietly.

“I get the impression that they don’t know much,” Jankx said. “They’re either very good at being tricky or they don’t know much.”

“All our experience with these guys is that they’re very straight up and down,” Tarquin said, “So I wouldn’t expect tricks.”

“I think Xardorok and his lieutenant, maybe a couple of other people at the forge, were the people who knew how to do that. And they’re all dead,” Morgan agreed.

Morgan smiled as he saw the Ten-Town’s destruction being destroyed itself. A sense of relief flooded through him—he hadn’t realised just how much that threat had weighed on his soul.

“Can we look at the treasure now, please?” Tarquin begged.

---

A quick check of the rest of the forge found a barracks full of slain Duergar, Grandolpha’s abandoned bedchamber, and a nearby torture room with the bodies of two Duergar mind-masters and a guard captain—no doubt Nefrun, the leader who Xardorok had accused of being a traitor. Jankx found a secret door in the room that led to the chapel, groaning as he realised the advantage finding that earlier may have given. Then again, things had turned out rather well, he smiled to himself. Inside the chapel he found the mutilated body of F’yorl, and recalled this was the way Grandolpha had emerged into the forge during the battle. No doubt she had finished off the unfinished business—which made returning to the ID Ascendant seem even more of a moot point.

Finally the doors to the treasure chamber were opened. Two Duerger Hammerer’s stood guard but didn’t react to the new arrivals—Grandolpha was as good as her word. A portcullis barred the way into the room, but Morgan spotted a chardalyn panel to the side which had a large, hand-shaped indentation. He stepped forward and placed his guantletted hand into the pattern. The portcullis rumbled open, as did eight smaller barriers inside the room beyond. Behind each of those eight was an enormous iron treasure chests.

Tarquin grinned. “Gentlemen, start plundering.”

The treasure was astounding, and must have been amassed over generations. Amongst countless coin and gems were statues and jewellery of great beauty, including a stunning naked Statue of Duerra made of dark mithril. Eearwaxx blushed as he subconsciously slipped it into his pocket to rest with the chardalyn dragon, then blushed even further as he leafed through a tome that turned out to be full of blasphemous Duerra fantasies.

---

Of most interest were weapons, armour, and rings of great magical power. Matching black & white daggers, oiled black leather armour, shields and swords bristling with intent. And a set of magnificent bagpipes.

After some time spent goggle-eyed, it was decided Eearwaxx should invest a few hours in magically identifying a few favoured items. The young wizard set about his task with diligence, occasionally gasping at what he learnt and excitedly explaining the powers he discovered.

“Octavian, given what we’ve found here, are you happy to leave the heart in the forge here?” Morgan asked as Eearwaxx worked.

Octavian started to answer but couldn’t. The conflict was etched onto his face. “I think we should be taking it. And yet I have no idea what to do with it.” Eearwaxx nodded. He too knew the value. And he too knew the impossibility of the choice.

“If we leave it with her and it goes down into the Underdark,” Arlington offered, “It will start such a war amongst the various factions that we’ll never be troubled by them on the surface world again.”

Eventually decisions were made. Morgan barely needed telling before he selected a longsword cool to the touch that gave off a yellow-white radiance, with vapor wafting off the chilled blade. “Iceblink,” Eearwaxx called it. Jankx toyed with the matched daggers before choosing a pair of nondescript, well-worn black leather boots that Eearwaxx assured him would make him one of the greatest thieves to set foot in a room such as this. Arlington didn’t wait for Eearwaxx’s explanation when he lofted a weathered heavy crossbow with scenes of mountains etched across its stock. Looking closer he had noticed an adamantine grappling hook and cable built into the crossbow’s mechanism and grinned widely when he imagined the possibilities.

Tarquin was torn between a walloping tome that promised vengeance, the bagpipes, and an exquisitely crafted rapier. In the end he chose the rapier “Dirgeblade”, smiling as he drew it from its leather and silver scabbard. The blade glowed a faint stormy blue encircled by swirling wisps of clouds, and he could almost hear it sing. Eearwaxx himself chose an iron-shod wooden staff, heavily worn, the iron carved with imagery of doorways and portals. He wouldn’t tell anyone what it could do, but promised great things.

Octavian had the hardest time deciding. In the back of his mind he still wanted to claim the heart, despite everything. But he saw the excitement and joy the rewards were bringing his companions, and he knew in his soul that Ashardalon’s heart was too powerful. Even the greatest kobold had limits—for now. He vowed to one day find it again and unravel its mysteries. In the meantime, despite what Arlington had said about civil war, Grandolpha was probably the best caretaker he could find—someone with little interest who was likely to leave it buried and forgotten deep within her own vault. He sighed as he made his decision, reaching first for a robe that shimmered with colours. But at the last moment he changed his mind, not convinced that drawing attention mid combat was the best tactic despite his taller-than-average stature. Instead he chose a whip that was clearly made from a huge mind-flayer’s tentacle. He shuddered as he wrapped the weapon around his arm and it dug symbiotic tendrils into his flesh. “F’yorl’s Whip,” Eearwaxx told him, though how F’yorl could have already been weaponised made no sense to either of them.

---

Several hours later the company emerged from the treasure chamber weighed down with their new loot. The wings of the dragon had been removed, and much of the bodywork dismantled. Panels of chardalyn lay piled around the platform. Only the head remained intact.

Morgan looked satisfied. “I think it would be tantamount to impossible to put it back together. You have to do magical things when you’re putting stuff like this together.”

Octavian picked up a wingtip from the discard pile and wedged it into his belt as a souvenir. Morgan had grander plans. “Let’s get the head off.” The Duergar told him to remove it himself, smirking. Morgan stared at them, grabbed a hammer, and did just that. The Duerger were suitably impressed. Arlington, having lost the Moose head, pondered how a chardalyn dragon head would look mounted over mother’s bed.

After finishing his work, Morgan picked up the heart again. “My instinct is to leave this where we found it—in the forge,” he said.

“Throw it in the forge but take the glove with you,” Eearwaxx suggested.

“If Grandolpha lets you,” Octavian warned.

“No, no, that’s a trophy of war, that is Morgan’s to keep,” Tarquin said. “In fact it doesn’t look like he wants to take that gauntlet off.”

Morgan glanced at Tarquin then hefted the heart into forge. The heat was overwhelming as he drew close, singing his skin and clothing, but he managed to drop it inside. Octavian’s face was wracked with anguish as Ashardalon’s heart slipped from his grasp. He still couldn’t believe he was walking away from it.

Thoomp-thoomp

Morgan spun quickly to look at the severed dragon head, but it lay inert. He breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to Tarquin. “You’re wrong about the gauntlet.” He reached down to remove the gauntlet.

But couldn’t.

He strained hard but it was like it was melded with his skin. “I can’t take it off,” he said, his voice rising in panic as he looked around to his friends. “It won’t come off.”

Tarquin put a consoling—and encouraging—hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” He could see Morgan’s fear—but he’d also seen what Xarodorok could do with it. Surely it wasn’t that bad.

Morgan found himself looking at Jankx, the person he felt he could trust the most. “Help me,” he whispered.

“I will try,” Jankx said kindly. He could see the desperate pleading in Morgan’s eyes and knew the young warrior felt trapped. It was a bad feeling, so Jankx did his best, despite being sure it was futile. And it was. Strength wasn’t going to solve this.

“This is the price that is paid,” Tarquin shrugged.

“I’ve been paying a price already!” Morgan snapped. He’d finally been freed from the blade and now this. His mind was blanking with rising anger and fury. “I just lost one curse, I’m not wearing another. I’m done paying prices!”

Jankx continued to work, looking for a mechanism. “It’s no good,” he said quietly, “This is magic.” He looked sadly at Morgan.

Octavian stepped forward. “Let me try.” He focussed on the gauntlet and tried to unravel the magic that was binding it to Morgan. At first the resistance was too strong, then he suddenly felt a pathway open. He weaved the magic between the hold and felt the bond release. “Now!”

Morgan flung his arm out and the gauntlet slipped free and crashed into the wall. Octavian dropped to the ground, drained from the effort as Morgan beamed knelt beside him and hugged him. “Thank you.”

Octavian felt Morgan’s embrace suddenly freeze as Morgan heard the voice again inside his head: “The heir is wisssse.”

Eearwaxx wandered over to the gauntlet, wrapped it carefully, and magically checked it. “Definitely cursed,” he reported, dropping it into his pack.

---

Grandolpha has prepared quite the feast, and everyone—even Morgan—ate it hungrily. Morgan even asked to sample some of her infamous brew—Muzgardt Darklake Stout—and she was only too happy to oblige. She as right—it was good.

“I know some innkeepers who may be very interested in this. May we take a barrel?” Morgan asked.

“Take one,” Grandolpha grinned, “It will open the market for me. Make sure they know where they can get more.”

As preparations to leave were made, Morgan sought out a still recovering Dreck and shook his hand. “I’m very pleased that you’re still alive.”

“Barely.”

“But I owe you a bout, so if you want to fight I’m ready.”

Dreck laughed and punched Morgan weakly in the shoulder. “You can have this round. Come back when I’ve recovered and we can have round two. You’re a good lad.” He glanced over at Tarquin. “And you—stop stabbing people in the back.”

“It seems I was wrong about you,” Tarquin bowed, “Once again—I am sorry,” he smiled.

The frozen skies of Icewind Dale loomed as everyone gathered on the landing outside the fortress, a chill wind biting and reminding everyone of the long journey back to Easthaven that lay ahead. Morgan wanted to finally return the lamp to Caer-Konig, and then it was on to the Fallen Spire of Ythryn.

Everyone was relieved to find the dogs and Axebeaks unharmed, if ravenous. Octavian calmed and fed them as the dragon-head was strapped to the dogsled (much to Arlington’s dislike—where was he going to recline?).

Octavian prepared to lead the dogs away just as a muffled explosion—whoooomp—sounded in the far distance. A pillar of dark smoke rose into the sky to the west and drifts of snow slipped down nearby peaks as the shockwave echoed around the valley.

“I guess that’s the end of the space-men,” Arlington shrugged. “Mush-mush, Octavian!”

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Maps courtesy of TessaPresentsMaps

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Sessions played: Jan 30, Feb 6, 13, 28, March 6, 13, April 17, 24 2023