Previously…

As the last time they quarreled over his curse, Derendil refused to meet her gaze. Zelyra swiftly stood and began gathering up her supplies. She'd done all that she could for his wounds. As the druid quietly walked back to her bedroll, the prince immediately turned over in his. But no sooner did Zelyra sit her supplies down did Kazimir's panicked voice ring out through the chamber.

"Guys, we've got a huge problem," the tiefling announced. "We think the Deepking gave the Empty Scabbard Killers a hit list…and Blackskull's name is on it."

Chapter Thirty

The Smell of Brimstone

1485 DR / Day 35

Cairngorm Caverns, Gracklstugh

Fraeya and Zelyra immediately rose from their bedrolls and hurried over to join Nine, Fargas, and Kazimir, where the trio sat around a pile of letters, jotted notes, and dried fish skins. Derendil was slower to follow. When the others were gathered around, Kazimir pointed to a cut of fish skin nearly twelve inches in length. Scribbled words were inked upon it, but Fraeya and Zelyra could not read them.

"It's in Dwarvish," the prince said, his self-loathing now replaced by curiosity.

"Nine and Fargas translated it. And I cast a language comprehension spell on myself to confirm. Not that I didn't believe them! I just needed to read it for myself," the tiefling said grimly.

"Well, read it for us then!" Fraeya urged.

Kazimir dramatically cleared his throat and then began to recite with vibrato…

"Faster this time. Faster, I say! I want to hear heads rolling by the time the ink dries on the tip of my quill! Veins bursting with black poison, lungs filling with water, or faces melting in forges… I don't care how you do it! Just do it faster!

THANGUS IRONHEAD—how dare he try to encroach on my family business? BOIL HIM! Boil him in oil and feed him to the roaches!"

"Must you shout?" Fraeya interrupted.

Kazimir halted midsentence and snipped, "There's a lot of exclamation points and capital letting. I'm merely reading with the tone as written." He continued, "WERZ SALTBARON—the sniveling, squealing, writhing little rat! BIND HIS FEET AND THROW HIM OFF HIS PRECIOUS DOCK!

CAPTAIN ERRDE BLACKSKULL—I've smelt treason on her since she was but a lass. She's always had an eye on my throne, but she'll never get it. PUT A KNIFE THROUGH HER EYE! SHE'LL GET WHAT'S COMING TO HER. Yes, that's what she'll get!

HIS ARROGANCE, HIS ROTUNDITY, THE PAMPERED, PORTLY, SCHEMING RED—how many names must we give him? FREEZE THE WYRMSMITH until his heart turns crystalline, then smash it to bits!

LINGRICK XARDELVAR—my most gaseous ally!"

Kazimir paused for dramatic effect before concluding, "It ends there, but I have no doubt there is probably more to this."

"And how do you know it is a hit list from the Deepking?" Fraeya asked suspiciously.

"See for yourself," the tiefling said as he shoved the fish skin into the drow's hands. "It has the official city seal. Only the King should have access to that."

Fraeya shoved the skin back into Kazimir's hands without giving the seal more than a passing glance, "That seal means nothing to me. How do we know if it's legitimate?"

After a stretch of silence, Fargas spoke up, "It's legitimate. I know what the official city seal looks like. I've done plenty of work in Gracklstugh over the years." And before his companions could jump to conclusions, the halfling held up a hand and said, "I see the looks that you all are giving me! As Nine and I have told you before, our employer enjoys anonymity. So, please, no questions. Just know, due to my background in…treasure hunting…she has employed me to locate rare items. There has been a time or two when her dealings have led us to work with the grey dwarves. People on the surface like rare items from unfamiliar worlds. Just as the people of the Underdark horde treasures from the land above. She likes to work both fronts."

Fraeya's expression turned roguish. "You work the Black Market, don't you?"

"What makes you think that?" Fargas replied innocently.

"Just a place you once mentioned…" the drow mused knowingly.

"My background doesn't matter," the halfling maintained. "What does matter is that I can verify that the official seal of the Gracklstugh is stamped on that hit list. This means either the Deepking or someone close to him is involved."

"My first instinct is to say that we should take this list to Blackskull straight away, but—" Zelyra chewed on her lip. "We need to make sure the others are okay. If Eldeth and Sarith were to encounter any of the savants alone, especially with the sprouts and the egg…."

The druid let the implication hang awkwardly in the air.

"They wouldn't stand a chance," Fraeya said bluntly. "We already know the savants have no qualms with the phrase shoot first, ask questions later. They'd be dead in minutes."

"So, we wait to reveal the hit list, at the chance of Blackskull's life, to return to the tunnels?" Kazimir asked for clarification.

"One of them versus one of us? What do you think?" the drow barked.

"One of us?" the tiefling echoed curiously.

Fraeya crossed her arms and glared at Kazimir.

"Look, I'm not disagreeing! No one is more worried about poor Stool than me. I'm just surprised you're the one who said it," said Kazimir.

The drow's scowl only deepened.

Sensing the need to mediate, Zelyra asked, "Did you find anything else?"

Nine shook her head. "Nothing more shocking than what was already revealed when we spoke to Hgraam." The ranger shot an accusing look in Kazimir and Fargas's direction. She sorted through the pile of paper before pulling out one specifically and said, "The only other thing is this. We think it's another contract, but not with the assassins. It's more of an agreement amongst the Council of Savants. It has every one of their signatures on it."

Derendil took the letter and quickly skimmed it. "I can't read it," he said with disappointment.

"Neither can I!" Kazimir revealed.

"But your spell—"

The wizard shook his head in frustration. "I know! I should be able to read any written language, but that's just it! This is not language. It's a code! The only thing I can decipher is the signatures." Which he then read off, one by one…

Narrack.

Pliinki

Zubriska.

Uskvil.

Aliinka.

…for a total of thirty-six.

"Maybe Blackskull will have someone who can decode it," Zelyra said.

"One can only hope," Nine mused. "One last thing. There is also a letter from Narrack to Pliinki asking, 'How goes the Prince's gift?'…" she let the implication weigh in the air.

"Sarith told us Demogorgon is called the Prince of Demons," Derendil reminded the group.

"But Orcus is also known as the Prince of Undeath," Fraeya argued. "It could be for either one of them."

Kazimir shook his head. "No. I think Demogorgon is the likely culprit, based on the two-headed nature of the symbols on the letters."

Zelyra shivered. "Either way…we need to determine whether the experiment was successful. And then we need to decide how we're going to handle that. I don't think Gartokkar will be pleased if they lose their replacement for Themberchaud."

The group continued to debate the evidence for a time, but as there was no other pressing news to deliver, the group disbanded shortly after. Bedrolls were laid out, blankets fluffed, and the companions lost themselves to the world of dreams one by one. Despite the troubles hanging over their heads, in their exhaustion, they rested well that evening as they knew they were safe and sound within in the quiet halls of the Stonespeakers. But as for their four companions trapped within the tunnels…

They were not so lucky.

. . .

Hours later, the six companions were awoken by the sudden shaking of stone. They reached for their weapons out of sheer habit, only to find Rihuud and Broot entering the chamber. The space suddenly felt much smaller, with a fifteen-foot giant and an eight-foot-tall machine occupying it.

"Have you gotten your rest?" Broot asked the waking party impatiently.

Fargas yawned and wiped the sleep away from his hazel eyes. "Well enough… I assume you are ready to go," he said. Under his breath, the halfling then added, "What is sleep anymore? What I wouldn't give for a lie-in."

"I've been ready, tiny man," the warforged replied.

Fargas quirked an eyebrow. "Did you just…did you just call me a 'tiny man'?"

Broot leaned down to the halfling's level and evaluated him. "By my assessment…you are a tiny man."

Without his darkvision goggles, Fargas was blind in the dark. And so, when he angrily addressed the warforged, he faced the wrong direction. "I am no man. I am a halfling, thank you!" The halfling's posh accent came out all the clearer in his irritation. [1]

"I think I'm going to start calling you that," Nine drawled with a sly grin.

"You most certainly will not, lemon-face!" the halfling shot back as he swatted at the ranger uselessly in the dark. Then, in a rare moment of cordiality, Nine retrieved Fargas's darkvision goggles, which had gotten kicked aside in the night. The halfling slipped the magical item over his head and breathed a sigh of relief to be able to see again.

Rihuud made a low groaning sound, something between a sigh and a hint of a laugh, before sobering. "Take no offense. Most warforged have never encountered a halfling, let alone a stone giant, a duergar, or a drow. Broot is unique and may not…" the giant paused, trying to find the right words. "He might not have all the social cues you and I might have."

Fraeya slapped a hand to her forehead. "Great."

After mulling over how much he was to reveal with his response, Kazimir added, "Warforged were created in the Nine Hells for war and only war. They were considered expendable…their only function was to destroy demons in the Blood War. But the devils didn't consider just how much destruction these machines of war could wreak…and that they could form their own ambitions, thoughts, and desires. So when they became too hard to control, the devils destroyed them." When his companions eyed him in surprise, the tiefling wildly gestured to his form and said, "Look at me! Do you not think I would do extensive research into my own bloodline?! I know things…but that doesn't mean I have anything to do with them."

"We weren't judging you, Kazimir. Only curious," Zelyra said gently. The druid turned to Rihuud and Broot and said, "If you'd give us a few moments, we'll gather our things, and then we can be on our way. We'll eat our morning rations as we walk."

The stone giant gave a silent nod before exiting back into the main hall. Broot remained, eagerly stalking back and forth, as the adventurers gathered their bedding and packed their bags. But as Kazimir went to shove a blanket into his pack, he remembered the crystal that Hgraam had gifted him. He'd spent the previous night looking through evidence rather than attuning to the magical item.

"WAIT!" the wizard exclaimed. "I'm going to need an hour of study!"

"WHAT?!" Fraeya and Broot exclaimed simultaneously.

Kazimir removed the brilliant crystal from its cloth covering and said, "I forgot to study this last night."

"No more delays!" the warforged argued. "I have waited long enough!"

"I actually agree with him," Fraeya said.

"But this may be of use to us! I just don't know what it does yet," Kazimir opposed.

Broot sighed. "What must you do?"

The wizard cringed. "Essentially, sit and do nothing but concentrate on its magical properties for an hour."

"Then I will carry you so you may study," the warforged said. "No more delays."

"Carry me…as in…a piggyback ride?" Kazimir asked, his face lighting up with childlike impishness.

"Whatever it takes for you to attune to the crystal and for us to move forward," Broot replied.

Fraeya crossed her arms across her chest and muttered, "A machine after my own heart."

Once Kazimir was safely affixed to the warforged's back with the mysterious crystal in hand for study, they were on their way. There was no sign of Hgraam, Dorhun, or any other unknown stone giant as the adventurers left Cairngorm Caverns—only Rihuud. Once again, the stone giant stood guard near the entrance to the main hall. But unlike his initial greeting, the giant offered the party a slight smile and a wave at their parting. Secretly, the apprentice enjoyed seeing light brought to their dark and solemn dwelling.

The trip back to the entrance to the Whorlstone Tunnels was not a long one from Cairngorm Cavern. In fact, the adventurers only had to pass the Thrazgad clan dwellings and turn west to reach the abandoned watchtowers leading to the West Cleff district. And so, to give Kazimir more time to study the crystal, they walked at an excruciatingly slow pace. It gave the adventurers plenty of time to appreciate the scenery—or lack thereof. The duergar had no use for decoration, only practicality.

Once they reached the abandoned watchtowers, Zelyra activated her cloaking spell. The party, sans a drow, a shield dwarf, and two sprouts but with a warforged berserker added to their ranks, pressed forward into the West Cleff district under cover of silence and shadow. It was just as revolting as the adventurers remembered—loud, dirty, and disgusting—truly the slum of slums. Immediately, the smell of squalor hit them. As before, mounds of trash littered the sides of the streets, but thankfully, the piles of fecal matter had been cleaned up, and the excavated trenches of urine had been flushed out. So, it seemed there was at least some order to all the chaos.

But the derro themselves were no less crazed. In fact, their erratic behavior seemed to have escalated in just a matter of days. Presently, a cluster of thin, white-haired humanoids were causing mayhem on a nearby street. They were rioting against their own! Hundreds swarmed the thoroughfare, shrieking, starting brawls, smashing windows, and breaking into buildings.

"What is happening?" Zelyra exclaimed. "They're destroying their own property!"

It was Fargas who answered. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said with a slack jaw.

"We can use the commotion to our advantage. Be quick but quiet," Fraeya hissed.

Everyone turned to look at Broot as the drow said this. His steps were thunderous, even with Zelyra's cloaking spell. Fortunately, the din of rioting derro drowned much of that out.

"Quick but quiet," Broot repeated.

"In other words, tip-toe fast," Kazimir advised from where he was perched at the warforged's shoulder.

Again, Broot echoed the words as if acknowledging a command. He took an experimental step forward and then another, adapting to the situation and now mindful of the sound of his own footfalls. They were not as loud as before.

The group slunk through the maze of streets until they reached the outer wall. Here, they skirted it and kept an eye out for the piece of rotting fabric that concealed the entrance to the tunnels. After only a few minutes of searching, Nine's keen gaze spotted it off in the distance. When they were upon it, the ranger swept the filthy cloth aside and gestured for everyone to enter.

"Have you had enough time to study the crystal?" Derendil asked Kazimir. "If it was a tough squeeze for me to enter the first time, it will be the same, if not worse, for Broot."

The wizard nodded excitedly and hopped down from Broot's back. "I'm starting to understand it better. It's called a Stonespeaker Crystal. It allows its wielder limited communication with plants, beasts, and the dead while also aiding in one's investigation skills," he exclaimed as he tucked the crystal into his belt. It looked almost like a shining dagger.

"I wouldn't wear that so openly," Fraeya advised with a wry grin as she noticed a certain sly halfling accept an unspoken challenge. "Sticky fingers could easily swipe that."

"I doubt it! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of—"

Kazimir's retort was cut off as Fargas quietly made his move. The rogue effortlessly plucked the crystal from the wizard's belt and twirled his prize, bearing a grin mirroring Fraeya's. Kazimir could only stare down at Fargas in astonishment. He hadn't even sensed the halfling's approach! If not for a slight tug on his belt—which the rogue had done purposely—the wizard would have been none the wiser.

"Conceal this in your pack, my friend," Fargas said as he freely offered the crystal back to his companion. "Fraeya is right. You need to exercise more caution."

"You mean you weren't trying to swipe this for your employer?" Kazimir taunted as he snatched back Hgraam's gift.

Fargas held up his hands. "I do have standards, you know! That wasn't mine to claim. I was just helping the drow prove a point," he said.

Kazimir tucked the crystal into his pack with a grumble and swept past Nine to enter the tunnels. One by one, the others followed him. Derendil and Broot went last. As before, the quaggoth had to turn sideways and suck in his stomach to quietly squeeze through the fissure. Broot tried to do the same, but an earsplitting screech of metal scraping against rock echoed through the entrance chamber. The adventurers threw their hands against their ears to protect them from the piercing sound.

Before leaving the entrance chamber, Kazimir checked to make sure Droki's severed head and body were where they had left them—they were. The group then swiftly moved on. Fraeya was happy to reclaim her spot as scout alongside Fargas while Nine walked in the back again with Zelyra. Broot made a point to walk just behind the scouts. But when they came to the split in the path where the way forward led to the diseased pool and the tunnel on the right to Buppido's lair, Broot told the adventurers to take the tunnel while he went on ahead.

"But that water is poisoned!" Zelyra exclaimed.

The construct shrugged. "Poison has no effect on me. I will take the path untraveled."

"Just let him do what he wants," Fraeya told the druid. "We've wasted enough time as it is."

The party parted ways with Broot then and retraced their steps. Buppido's lair was just as foul as they remembered. The adventurers held their cloaks against their faces and gagged at the smell of the rotting corpses. All took gulps of clean air when they crossed into the next chamber, where they had encountered Voosbar and the strange, dancing myconids. Fortunately, the space was empty this time, and the fungal wall was undisturbed.

So far, all had been quiet. But when the group reached the tunnel wherein Zelyra placated the thick fungal patch, Prince Derendil quietly alerted their point guards to a strange sound up ahead. "It sounds like something is moving through the patch," he whispered.

Fraeya silently motioned for Fargas to stay behind as she alone sleuthed ahead to investigate the sound. But moving through the abundant plant growth silently was no easy feat. The drow quickly found herself out of range of Zelyra's cloaking spell. Trudging through knee-high fungi took time, and the sound was growing louder and closer. So, instead of pressing forward, Fraeya hunched down in the thicket and waited. Before long, five figures came into view. But as they neared, the drow realized that it was only four individuals and that the fifth shape was some sort of contraption.

The makeshift sling of cloaks and wood blocks held a familiar-looking dragon egg…and the four figures were their missing companions! Relief flooded through the rogue. They appeared unharmed, but their steps through the fungal thicket were labored and sluggish.

Without thinking twice about the action, Fraeya leapt from her hiding spot to greet them.

Sarith and Eldeth immediately took up defensive positions.

Realizing her mistake, the drow held up her hands. "It's okay! It's just me!" she called out.

"Fraeya? Is that you?" Sarith asked tiredly.

"Yes, and the others are just behind me. Are you guys okay?"

Eldeth grunted, "Fine—just exhausted." When Sarith raised an eyebrow, the dwarf irritably said, "Don't try telling me ye aren't! This thing is not light, and we haven't slept a wink."

"Set it down and rest. I'll get the others," Fraeya told the pair. The drow did not even allow a chance for a reply before hurrying back the way she came.

When Fraeya led Derendil, Fargas, Kazimir, Zelyra, and Nine to where she had left Eldeth and Sarith, the adventurers found their missing companions sitting around in a heap, resting, just as the drow had advised. Stool immediately popped their head out of the fungal growth and released a bright yellow spray of rapport spores. As the spores opened a telepathic link for the party, the companions' heads were filled with excited speech. Stool was relieved to be reunited with their friends, but the sprout quickly shared that they had a hand in the sling's design.

While the rest of her companions marveled at the ingenuity of the makeshift sling, Fraeya filled Sarith and Eldeth in on everything that had occurred in their absence.

"Now that you've found us, where do ye plan to go?" Eldeth asked.

Fraeya shrugged. "Try to find Broot, I guess… We need to know more about the egg's mutation and how the savants cursed Dorhun. Hgraam asked us to 'ensure it never happens again,'" the drow quoted. "Which means we're probably going to have to find Narrack. According to the letters, he seems to be the head of the entire operation."

"What do we do with the egg?" Sarith asked.

"It's not the most portable thing," Eldeth agreed. "And we can't just leave it now that we're found it."

An idea formed as Fraeya looked at the thick plant life around them. "Sure, we can!" Then, when Eldeth and Sarith looked at her like she was insane, Fraeya brightly said, "The nature freak influenced this mess of fungi once. I'm sure she can do it again."

But when the prospect of asking the fungi to conceal the egg was brought up to Zelyra and the others, the druid sheepishly countered, "Or Kazimir can use his new crystal. That way, I can save my magic for the task ahead."

Kazimir shrugged. "I can certainly try."

The wizard withdrew the Stonespeaker Crystal from his pack and held it in hand. He concentrated on its properties, drawing upon the part corresponding to nature. As the crystal activated, the fungi around the wizard and his companions began to sway as if pushed by some sort of unknown breeze—they had been awakened. Wispy, half-formed speech filled Kazimir's head, almost like a fever dream. He sensed every thought and emotion of every living plant near him. They were curious…but there was also anger, for they remembered him.

"Hi," Kazimir bumbled. "Listen…I'm sorry for setting you on fire a couple of days ago. Can we let bygones be bygones? The one who spoke to you last time has made me see the error of my ways."

The fungi reacted by swaying lazily. Kazimir hoped it was an acceptance of his apology. He cast a flustered look in Zelyra's direction, to which the druid rewarded him with a thumb's up. It seemed to be going well.

"I was hoping to ask you a favor. Would you conceal this dragon egg and make sure no one else but those present access it," the wizard bade. As the request was made, Zelyra idly traced a hand against the cavern wall and muttered a guiding prayer to aid Kazimir in persuasion.

After a brief hesitation, the fungi swayed lazily and came alive to swallow up the egg and its makeshift sling. Not even a red-speckled hint remained. Kazimir and Zelyra beamed and high-fived each other. It had worked! And what was more, without prompt, the rugged terrain parted to allow them unhindered passage.

"Thank you," Kazimir told the plants before carefully placing the Stonespeaker Crystal back into his pack.

The group moved on after that. But instead of going the way they'd gone before upon reaching the split in the fungal path—the direction Sarith and Eldeth had just come—they turned left. But the further the adventurers traipsed down the tunnel, a sound reached them. And it was such a strange sound, for it sounded like someone was singing! So Fraeya and Fargas signaled for the rest of the party to hang back while they went to investigate.

As they inched forward, the strange sound became apparent. It was indeed a song.

"Glory, glory, what a horrible way to die!" the words were. The voice was mechanical, like grating metal, and Fraeya and Fargas recognized it.

"Looks like we found Broot," Fargas quipped.

"Indeed," Fraeya said with disapproval. "Not very subtle…is he?"

After signaling the rest of the group to come forward, the adventurers quickened their pace to catch up with Broot. They met up with him at yet another split in the tunnels. Broot stopped short as the group filed out. He had not heard their approach—though it had been a hasty one—thanks to Zelyra's cloaking spell.

"Ah, told you we'd meet up again," the warforged said in greeting. But as he evaluated his new companions, Broot's expression became drawn, for he now sensed something among them that he had not before. "There are more of you," he observed, his unnatural gaze settling on Sarith, Eldeth, and the sprouts.

"Yes," Fraeya answered. She introduced the new arrivals to Broot before explaining, "We were separated by a teleportation spell that went awry and are just now reconvening with them."

Broot eyed the myconids curiously before reaching down and picking up Stool. He rotated the poor sprout at all angles, analyzing them in close detail. "What is this? Looks like troll dick with nubby legs," he said brazenly. [2]

Fargas exploded into childish laughter, but for once, Kazimir remained sober. Both Rumpadump and Stool had released a spray of red spores the moment Broot picked up the younger sprout, which showed that they were very distressed by the action. The tiefling came to his little buddy's defense. And strangely, so did Nine. The ranger swiftly drew her longbow and knocked an arrow at Broot. The entire situation escalated in a matter of seconds.

"Hey man, you can't just pick people up without their permission! Put Stool down!" Kazimir told Broot irritably. "And they're not a troll dick! Stool and Rumpadump are fungus-folk."

"Never seen one of you before," the warforged replied with wonder. "I meant no harm. No need for violence—not that an arrow could pierce stone anyhow."

"Oh, it'd pierce," Nine growled as she eyed vulnerable slits between the worn, mix-matched plating on the body of the warforged.

Broot carefully sat Stool down, and though he wanted to pick Rumpadump up and similarly observe them, he refrained. He wondered—how could two creatures of the same supposed species look so different? Rumpadump was three-and-half feet tall and green with an elongated torso, while Stool stood barely two feet tall, pale colored, and was short and squat. The comparison to a troll dick sounded accurate in Broot's head.

Nine lowered her bow as Stool rushed to Kazimir and hid behind the wizard's crimson robes. The warforged assessed Eldeth briefly before his gaze locked on Sarith. Warforged and drow held a tense staring contest for more than a minute. Then, surprisingly, Sarith was the one to break contact. The warrior looked to the ground and scowled.

"Very well, they may come," Broot announced.

Fraeya folded her arms across her chest. "That was never up for debate," she muttered.

With Broot now returned to their ranks, the adventurers pressed forward in the direction the warforged had been traveling. This time, instead of following behind Fraeya and Fargas, Broot swapped places with Zelyra to walk at the back of the line. But before departing, the warforged gestured for Kazimir to stay behind with him for a moment. They waited until the others were out of earshot before speaking.

"The dark one with the ill-favored look, who is he?" Broot asked the tiefling.

Kazimir's white brows rose in surprise. He'd suspected the warforged would ask him questions about Stool—not Sarith. "But we've already given you his name!"

The warforged tried again. "Not his name, but who he is. There is evil present now that wasn't with you before."

"Sarith is…" Kazimir hesitated. As much as he didn't trust Sarith, he wasn't sure he should air the drow's dirty laundry to a machine he'd just met. And yet, the tiefling knew the function of creatures like Broot. They were meant to detect and destroy demons. If Broot sensed evil on Sarith… That meant something. After a tense silence, the tiefling finally settled on, "Sarith has experienced a few episodes of violence, particularly when there is a strong presence of faerzress. Otherwise, he is sullen and keeps to himself. Zelyra has wanted to look at him, but he won't let her—or rather, Fraeya won't let her. I think Fraeya knows more than what she's letting on."

The warforged hummed thoughtfully.

"Are you going to take him out?" Kazimir asked, surprised that a tinge of fear entered his tone at the prospect.

"My detection is unmistakable. But…Sarith might not even know that something is influencing him, or if he does, he might not know that presence is. I won't kill an innocent. Best keep a vigilant eye," Broot warned Kazimir.

Kazimir let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. But all the same, the tiefling's gaze bore into the drow warrior's back as he walked alongside Nine, some twenty feet ahead. "Don't worry. I will," he said firmly.

. . .

Once they came to yet another split in the tunnel where one could continue forward or turn left or right, the party elected to take the left tunnel after Fraeya and Fargas discovered fresh tracks in that direction. This would take them into the northwestern ward of the Whorlstone. Eldgrim had warned that these caverns were prime Grey Ghost territory. And so, when Fraeya and Fargas spotted two derro standing guard on either side of a crevasse, they did not hesitate. The rogues drew their shortbows and fired off two silent attacks. Both met their mark, and the two guards slumped to the ground without a sound.

"Something is ahead. Fargas and I took out two derro—both Grey Ghosts," Fraeya relayed to Sarith via sending stone. "Hold back until we see what they were guarding."

But once Sarith passed that information on to the rest of the group, Broot boldly announced, "This is my task! I will go!"

"What is that smell?" Zelyra asked as she curiously sniffed the air. It smelt as if something was burning—but nothing natural, not like wood or oil. Instead, this was foul, more like sulfur.

Broot, likewise, breathed deep and immediately recognized the ill stench. "Brimstone," the warforged hissed evocatively as if that meant something to the rest of the group. He then surged forward before anyone could stop him. [3]

"Broot apparently has other ideas," Sarith told Fraeya dryly.

The rogue growled as she noticed the warforged charging in her and Fargas's direction. Fortunately, for his fast pace, Broot made little sound. His entire demeanor had shifted, turned almost…wrathful. Because as Broot drew nearer to the room, his innate sense to detect evil grew. The presence of brimstone was damning. Something wicked dwelt inside.

When Broot reached Fraeya and Fargas, a short, quiet argument ensued. It concluded with Fraeya surrendering her sending stone so that Broot could communicate with Sarith as he scouted out the evil room. Fraeya could follow in at his signal. It was an arrangement that the headstrong drow agreed to with much reluctance.

The warforged exercised a measure of caution as he entered the unfamiliar space. He skirted the outer wall rather than walking straight in. Immediately in view, perhaps thirty feet ahead, were a series of cots with four derro lying in them. A cage was pushed against the lefthand side of the wall, which housed a two-headed sleeping dog with shaggy black fur. Another chamber lay to the right of the cots. The smell of burning brimstone drifted from that direction. There was also a sound coming from that space that the warforged was familiar with—a strange cadence resembling the drone of ocean waves mingled with a swarm of stinging insects.

Abyssal.

When Fraeya entered behind Broot—at his signal, as they agreed—she spotted a pit trap he had just narrowly managed to avoid. Not trusting Broot to think to reveal the trap's presence to the rest of the party, the rogue used a series of Thieves' Cant hand signals to convey the trap's presence to Fargas and asked him to pass it on. Everyone needed to skirt the wall to avoid activating the pit trap. The halfling rushed back to inform the others.

Broot reached the end of the wall to peer into the secondary chamber without waking the sleeping derro or the two-headed dog—a feat in itself—only to find a scene that made his blood boil. Two additional guards and a two-headed monstrosity of giant proportions attended to a pair of derro mages wearing shabby black robes. One male stood chanting before a stone monument in the middle of a ritual circle. The other was female and tended to the chalk outlines.

But the warforged also recognized that the statue in the middle of the ritual circle was not just any monument. It was considered a rite of passage for the Stonespeaker apprentices to carve their likenesses into stone. This statue, and one other, had been missing from Cairngorm Cavern for weeks! Looking around the room, Broot saw another sculpture, similar in size and make, lying in broken pieces in a corner.

"Dorhun…and Rihuud!" the warforged hissed as understanding washed over him.

Broot quickly assessed the situation—the stolen statues, the male derro chanting in Abyssal, the female connecting chalk outlines—and knew he could wait no longer. The savant was trying to curse Rihuud! And so, to Sarith, Broot telepathically conveyed, "Calling forth all units! Enemy in sight! Prepare to engage!" Then, with a fierce battle cry which startled everyone in the room, from sleeping derro to stealthy drow, Broot drew his hellish maul and shield and prepared to unleash the wrath of his accursed brethren upon evil.

Fraeya dove into a dark corner of the room as the sleeping guards sprung from their beds and scrambled to open the two-headed dog's cage. It burst forth with a vicious growl. Meanwhile, the two-headed guardian, an ettin, cut off the warforged's charge to the statue. It came at Broot with a morningstar in one hand and a battle axe in the other.

The ettin was a monstrous thing, standing nearly thirteen feet tall, and resembled more of a hill giant than their stone cousins. From its neck sprouted two heads, both unkempt and filthy, and it had a mouth full of rotten yellow teeth. Its whole body, in fact, was covered in dirt and grim, as if it had never bathed a day in its life. But beyond that. Broot saw a possible weakness. The creature was strangely lopsided, with its right side being more muscular than the left, though not enough to detract from its barbaric image. Perhaps that could be used to his advantage.

As the brutes battled, the male savant continued his ritual, and the adventurers scrambled to enter the fray. All of them—minus the sprouts, who were instructed to remain outside—ran at full speed. In anticipation of battle, Eldeth and Sarith gained a second wind despite their exhaustion. But Zelyra had the means to buy herself more ground. Her bones cracked and popped as she ran, and her body effortlessly folded in on itself. What remained after the transformation was a lean-muscled, golden forest cat.

The transformed feline hurdled into the room like a shot and skirted the wall, just as Fargas advised. She met the snapping two-headed demonic dog head-on, and they collided in a mass of golden and black fur—truly resembling the dark vs. the light. Fargas entered the room shortly after and fired off ranged attacks at the guards, trusting Zelyra to handle the death dog alone.

Huddled, almost unseen, in the corner of the room, Fraeya provided the halfling rapid cover to advance. Fargas surged forward, continuing to fire arrows from his shortbow—which the derro returned with bolts from light crossbows—until he was within melee range of the first guard. Here he whipped out his black-handled dagger and made a vicious slash. The guard fell in one swift strike between the halfling's preemptive shots and Fraeya's.

The rest of the party entered the room then, and in their caution to avoid the pit trap, they clustered along the right side of the entrance chamber. The female mage that had previously been fiddling with chalk rushed forward and, with a wave of her hand, unleashed a deadly bolt of lightning that tore through the advancing adventurers. Prince Derendil, Kazimir, Eldeth, Nine, and Sarith were all struck in some capacity. The cunning mage even managed to aim the bolt just right to catch Broot and Fraeya in the line of spellfire. Only Fargas and Zelyra remained unscathed. Fargas scurried to Broot's aid against the two-headed giant while those in the entrance chamber recovered.

In all this, the male savant never once lost concentration on his spellcasting.

After shaking off the numbing pain of the derro's devastating spell, Kazimir became locked in a mage battle with the female savant. First, she took retribution from hellish flames for her attack against the tiefling. The pair then exchanged blows in the form of orbs of acid, streaking bolts of flame, rays of frost… Kazimir even dared to launch a deadly lightning bolt back at her—which hit, thanks to a certain wizard's pull on the Weave, at maximum capacity.

The female savant's eyes darted in terror. How much longer did Narrack need?! How much longer were they expected to hold the intruders back?

Prince Derendil threw himself at the three remaining guards in the entrance chamber, ripping and tearing with his claws and teeth. The guards fell quickly between the quaggoth's wrath and ranged support from Nine, Fraeya, and Sarith. The archers then joined Kazimir in focusing all their fire on the pair of mages. For every attack they made, the wizard, ranger, rogue, and warrior dodged retaliating crossbow fire from the two guards in the secondary chamber and orbs of acid from the female mage. The male savant still did not react to the commotion around him. His focus was entirely on the ritual.

Meanwhile, Eldeth stormed into the offshoot chamber and made two flanking strikes against the ettin. The blade of her axe sliced deep within the giant's filthy brown skin, and in retaliation, it swung its morningstar and caught the shield dwarf across the chest. The force of the blow knocked her clear off her feet, and her trusty battle axe slipped from her grasp. But Fargas slipped between the ettin's legs then and, in his signature stealthy style, sunk his black-handled blade into the creature's calf. The distraction gave Eldeth just enough time to right herself.

A poisonous bite from the death dog forced Zelyra to revert to her half-elven form. But in the haze of being ripped unexpectedly from that primal state, the druid's magic reacted accordingly. Her teeth and fingernails magically grew to sharp points, resulting in a corrosive partial transformation. When the druid struck out with bare hands to slice through the death dog, acid trails were left in their wake. The death dog let out a yelp of pain. And before it could make another attack against the druid, Prince Derendil tackled the shaggy beast and clawed out its throat.

The prince looked up at the panting druid and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Zelyra wheezed.

Inwardly, the druid was surprised to see the prince lucid after such a brutal attack but now was not the time to hyper analyze. The fight wore on around them.

With the first room now cleared of enemies, Zelyra's eyes turned to the secondary chamber. The two derro guards within were mostly unscathed, but the ettin was wearing to Broot, Fargas, and Eldeth's assault, and the female mage had just taken a devastating amount of damage from Kazimir's lightning spell. Her robes were singed, her hair was smoking, and she contorted and twitched as errant electricity arced through her nervous system. They were gaining ground.

As for her companions, all of them were bloodied. But they had been saved from falling under more spellfire by Kazimir's engagement with the female savant. As a result, he alone now took the brunt of her attacks. The others merely fell under the fire of crossbow from the guards, which was manageable—orstrikes from the ettin, in Broot, Fargas, and Eldeth's case. Zelyra sent a push of healing energy Kazimir's way.

But the male savant had taken no damage. Every arrow that came at him activated some sort of black, wispy warding—similar to the fiery effect that occurred whenever Kazimir was hit with an attack. The wizard had once referred to it as mage armor. The savant continued his chants, and though Zelyra knew not the Abyssal words, she could easily surmise the ritual's purpose. As Broot before her, she too recognized whose stone likeness stood in the center of the ritual circle.

"Rihuud! The toenails were just an ingredient. That's how they're really doing it!" the druid cried. "We've got to destroy his statue!"

"On it!" Derendil grunted and sprinted toward the ritual circle.

Seeing his quaggoth ally racing for the monument, Broot recognized the intent. It was what he had wanted to do before the ettin attacked. So the warforged shouted to Eldeth and Fargas, "Can you take it from here?" The ettin was slowly waning to attacks on three fronts, though the trio had taken quite the beating to get to that point.

Eldeth spat a mouthful of blood on the ground. "Reckon we can, Broot! Do what you need to do!" she said.

"Aim for the left side! He favors it!"

The warforged then shouldered his maul and shield and followed Derendil toward the stone giant sculpture. The two massive creatures reached it at the same time. And with a combined effort, they braced themselves against the stone and shoved with all their might.

"Narrack!" the female mage shrieked in alarm. "They're trying to destroy the statue!"

At this, the male savant's gaze shot up from his spellbook, and his spellcasting died on his tongue. "WHAT!" he roared.

Narrack's previously calm visage soured as he surveyed the scene. He slammed his spellbook shut and let it clatter to the ground—the ritual would have to wait. The cult leader instead reached into his sleeve for a black-tipped wand and pointed it at the hairy beast. Narrack would ensure that the unruly quaggoth went somewhere far, far away.

As the inky tendrils of the Narrack's unholy magic enveloped the prince, Derendil briefly turned his head to look behind him. In the opposite chamber, he locked eyes with a certain green-eyed druid. Those eyes widened in panic as she saw the spell take shape. But before either could utter a word, Prince Derendil simply…blinked…from existence.

"NO!" Zelyra cried.

Before the druid could retaliate, Narrack made a secondary swishing motion with his wand. A blinding wall of flame tore through the ritual chamber, separating Broot from his companions. The warforged now stood alone with Narrack—the supposed leader of the Council of Savants. Anticipating an attack from Broot, Narrack levitated into the air with a snap of his fingers and hovered just out of reach. [4] But the warforged looked between his enemy and the stone likeness of Rihuud before him, and after only a moment's hesitation, he swung his great maul at the statue. It rattled the stone but did not break it. Not even a tiny crack formed. The warforged tried again with the same result.

Narrack cackled behind him. "A statue wrought by the stone giants does not easily fall," the cult leader hissed.

Broot ignored the taunting words and made a third swing. He poured every ounce of determination, every ounce of hatred into it. To both his and Narrack's surprise, a tiny crack formed. Resolve swelled through the warforged. The stone giants had restored him. He would not see them harmed.

The warforged swung his maul for a fourth time. Another crack formed.

A burst of blackened, eldritch energy erupted from the savant's wand to strike at Broot. But the attack only glanced off the warforged's thick metal plating. Narrack cursed and fired another blast. This one hit, but still, Broot mustered a fifth swing. The cracks began to spider…

Meanwhile, a wave of heat struck out from the outer side of the flame wall as it was cast. Those closest to it, Fargas, Eldeth, and the ettin, were all hit by wayward flames. Fargas and Eldeth rolled to bat them out. The ettin was not so lucky. The fire fed off the grime which covered his body—and he burned. The halfling and shield dwarf wisely disengaged and let the giant blindly charge straight into the nearby wall. After striking the stone with a resounding bang, it slumped to the ground and did not get up. The fire continued to consume, and a horrid stench soon filled the space.

With the ettin dispatched and burning away, the adventurers quickly took out the last two guards. All that remained was the female savant…and Narrack. They had all heard his name spoken by the female mage and knew who they were dealing with now. Narrack made their battle against Pliinki and Uskvil look like child's play.

Fraeya looked through the writhing flame wall and could barely make out the top of Narrack's head as he levitated on the other side—the side where the flames did not burn. But the drow carefully reached into a side pouch and plucked a single, magical red bead from a much longer strand. Fraeya held the bead in hand and remembered the last time she had used one…how much destruction it had wreaked against their traitorous former companion. She hoped this one would do the same.

The rogue tossed the bead in a wide, clean arc.

It detonated right atop the unsuspecting savant's head in a twenty-foot explosion. The heat even reached Broot, though he was spared from the brunt of the attack. All at once, the wall of fire, the levitation spell—everything dropped. Narrack came crashing down to the floor. The adventurers now had a clear sight of their enemy and Broot. All that remained between them and the leader of the Council of the Savants was a bloodied and twitching lesser mage.

Broot made a sixth swing.

The adventurers rallied then, for the tides appeared to favor them. Kazimir sent a final orb of crackling lightning at the female mage, which sent her sprawling to the ground. A well-aimed crossbow bolt from Sarith ensured that she would not get up. Finally, a pale beam of moonfire simultaneously dropped onto Narrack's form. As the ghostly, radiant flames burned away the derro's pale skin, he turned a crazed eye to the occupants in the room. His gaze singled out Fraeya, huddled in a dark corner, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the rogue blinked from existence much as Prince Derendil had.

Narrack futilely attempted to move out of the moonfire, but the beam followed him around the battlefield. The radiant flames burned hotter and brighter with each passing as Zelyra grew more distressed by Derendil and Fraeya's mysterious absence. Where were they? What had Narrack done to them? Meanwhile, a flurry of arrows, crossbow bolts, and yet another ball of fire—this time Kazimir's doing—dropped down on Narrack.

The cult leader went back and forth, sometimes targeting the adventurers with disastrous spellfire, other times aiming for Broot. Through it all, the warforged maintained his footing. Fargas fell, then Kazimir, and before long, Sarith too. But a mass of writhing, spectral vines ensured they got right back up. The party's healer held firm.

Broot made a seventh swing, and this time, all in the room saw the stone quake under the force of the blow. One more might do it…

Narrack screeched in outrage. His plan, his precious plan, which had taken months to enact, had come unraveled in a manner of minutes! Who were these people?!

Broot made an eighth and final strike. He was wearing to Narrack's attacks and could not hold out for much longer. But this time, as the construct's maul made contact with the rock, the most glorious sound echoed throughout the chamber—CRAAAAACK! Rihuud's stone likeness shattered and came tumbling down.

The adventurers cheered for their compatriot, Narrack cursed them to the pits of the Abyss, and Zelyra took a deep breath to focus as she unleashed her moonfire upon the cult leader one last time.

Narrack's screeches turned from rageful to panic as the druid's moonfire began to incinerate him. The ghostly flames tore into his skin, his innards. And even as he ran out of range of the pale beam, the moonfire did not leave him. Instead, it continued to wreak its radiant havoc. The derro fell to the ground, seizing. Zelyra could only look on in horror, for she'd never seen her spell overtake anything but undead until now. It was a dreadful thing to witness.

A crossbow bolt pierced the derro's forehead straight between the eyes.

The ungodly screams ceased, and the room fell into uneasy silence. Sarith carefully lowered his crossbow. He'd taken pity on the foul creature. Not that Narrack deserved sympathy…but the screams made Sarith's head throb. The stunned and disturbed looks gracing his companion's faces reminded the drow that surface dwellers were soft. If they would not end it, he would.

An audible pop brought the adventurers out of their daze. They turned in alarm, fearing more enemies. But instead, Fraeya and Prince Derendil miraculously reappeared in a heap on the ground, no more injured than when they were taken by Narrack's spell and conscious. Zelyra broke from her stupor and made a mad dash toward them.

"We should search the room," Sarith said to Kazimir, who was nearest to him.

The tiefling nodded. Though he also wanted to check on Fraeya and Derendil, Kazimir suspected that a wealth of evidence would be found in this chamber—especially if this was Narrack's place of study, if one were to call it that. Moreover, the rogue and prince were in Zelyra's capable hands. And so, the wizard followed Sarith, and the two began to sweep the ritual chamber. They found a chest tucked beneath a desk in the southeastern portion of the ritual space. But as the pair knelt to inspect it, Sarith recognized that not only was it locked, but it was also trapped.

"Don't touch it," the drow warned. "There's a poisoned dart…just there." Sarith pointed to the inconspicuous projectile, barely visible, in the keyhole. "If we attempt to open the chest without the key, it will activate."

Kazimir frowned. "But where would we find the—"

"Looking for this?" a sly voice asked.

The warrior and wizard glanced up, only to find Fargas standing behind them, bearing a cheeky grin. A brass key, attached to a leather cord, swung in his outstretched hand.

"Where did you get that?" Kazimir asked in bewilderment.

"Swiped it off Narrack," the halfling said with a shrug. "Along with this…."

Fargas unceremoniously tossed the savant's unholy grimoire upon the ground. It landed with a sickening squelch, for the strange spellbook was bound in trillimac cups. Kazimir immediately picked it up and tucked the grimoire into his satchel. He'd been right. The cult leader's spellbook! A wealth of evidence the chamber would wield, indeed. Blackskull couldn't deny that kind of evidence.

Once Fargas handed the key to Sarith, the drow unlocked the chest. Inside was a fair stash of gold, a small jar of ointment that smelled faintly like aloe, and an overwhelming pile of letters. After confirming with Sarith that the chest itself was not trapped, Kazimir eagerly dug into the pile. He waved a hand across his eyes, and the scrambled lettering upon the pages became clear. After only skimming a few, the tiefling was laughing, much to his companion's bewilderment.

"It's all here! All of it!" Kazimir exclaimed. "Plans to steal the dragon egg and its mutation, stealing the Thrazgad ore to repair the obelisk, cursing to stone giants to unseat the powers of—" he stopped short and took a deep breath upon skimming another letter. "By the gods…the egg wasn't Demogorgon's gift…."

"Then what was?" Fargas asked fearfully.

"The city…the entire city…" the wizard sputtered.

Even Sarith, who had no love of the duergar, couldn't stop the following valiant words from forming on his tongue, "We need to show this to Blackskull at once. I won't endure another Sloobludop. We've taken out the council's leader and three other savants…but that leaves 32 to plan their revenge against us."

The unlikely trio locked eyes and silently pledged another temporary allegiance to each other. As in every other case of their partnership thus far, Fargas, Sarith, and Kazimir could unite on one front. Survival.

[1] I tried to hint at this when Fargas was first introduced, but his character was voiced with an English accent…and so was Derendil. I don't know *how* DM/husband did it, but somehow, he was able to differentiate them. So, being reminded of this, I went on a (probably needless) deep dive.

To me, Fargas had more of a Birmingham accent. Think just a tad nasally with an up-and-down sing-song intonation. Derendil's speech would be more comparable to the Queen's English, maybe leaning more towards Conservative RP—every sound clear and articulated in its fullest form.

[2] Admittedly, actual RP. Poor Stool. I can't remember if Kaz came to the sprout's defense like he did here (or Nine, for that matter). But given the two characters are very close, I thought it was fitting to give our mischievous tiefling a serious moment.

[3] Supernatural (tv show) has a trope of demons smelling like sulfur. Doing more research into this… The term "fire and brimstone" is an idiomatic expression referring to God's wrath in both the Hebrew and Christian New Testaments. In the Bible, it often appears in reference to the fate of the unfaithful. Brimstone, an archaic term synonymous with sulfur, evokes the acrid odor of sulfur dioxide from lightning strikes. Lightning was understood as divine punishment by many ancient religions. Thus the association of sulfur with divine retribution is common in the Bible.

[4] Okay. Anyone familiar with the spellcasting rules in 5e knows that Narrack is doing a bunch of stuff he shouldn't be able to do. He has three concentration spells up at once, for pity's sake! Well, I can't answer for that other than saying…we were enacting this battle at 1am…after already playing for 6 hours. The concentration rule must have slipped past our notice in the heat of the moment. I'm unaware if DM/husband had some other reasoning. I assume he just made an oops.

According to our revised version of Gracklstugh, Narrack was supposed to be a Warlock of the Fiend 17th-level spellcaster. I think DM/husband scaled that down a tad… He was pitting the NPC against a level 5 party and had access to feeblemind, finger of death, and plane shift—none of which he used. Plus, we were fighting an additional derro savant (as per module), seven derro, a death dog, and an ettin! I'm telling you, my husband was continuously trying for a TPK. If you want to think that perhaps Narrack expended much of his magical power on the failed ritual, I could say that's a good excuse as to how he didn't outright murder us :D

I know the last few chapters have been very long. For those who prefer a shorter word count, please bear with me. As weeks can pass between postings, there is a specific feed of information that I think is important. Otherwise, certain plot threads/reveals would remain broken up and forgotten.

We've been in Gracklstugh for nine chapters now, which correlates to *6 months* of tabletop content from weekly 3–4-hour sessions! We thought we were never leaving Gracklstugh. SO. MANY. SIDE QUESTS. I'm condensing as much as possible (another reason for long chapters), and if I stick to my outline (*I'm trying SO hard*), the conclusion of this chapter will put us in a straightaway for the finale of the Gracklstugh arc. Approximately 6 more chapters left in this arc… Prepare yourselves… Shit is about to hit the fan :D