Previously…

"We have seen first-hand what terrible damage a demon lord can wreak—how they can turn the most ordinary individuals into monsters. I would not so idly dismiss this threat. Destroy the egg and be rid of it," the drow concluded.

For a moment, the Deepking appeared conflicted. But then Shal sidled up to him and whispered a few words in his ear. Something about that action hit home for Nine, and her gut told her that Shal was not all she claimed to be. Her suspicion proved correct as the Deepking's eyes glazed over very unsettlingly. But before the ranger could warn her companions, Horgar swiftly reached for his warhammer as Shal's artful words took hold.

"You know too much about my city for my liking…."


Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Grey Warriors

1485 DR / Day 41

The Hold of the Deepking, Gracklstugh

"You will not be leaving the palace," Deepking Horgar Steelshadow V announced as his hand closed around Brimtongue, the enchanted warhammer that had been in his possession for decades. He muttered its command word under his breath, and the faint runes began to burn red hot. Kazimir immediately recognized them as Infernal.

"That's not good," the tiefling muttered.

"But that's even worse," Fargas said as the iron door to the throne room swung open. The eight Stoneguard waiting outside marched in to join their counterpart. They held loaded crossbows in their hands, which they promptly pointed at the cornered adventurers.

"We knew what we were getting ourselves into," Balasar said gruffly as his eyes darted around the room, seeking a secondary exit. There were none that he could see.

"But did we?" Kazimir yelped.

"The egg must be destroyed," the dragonborn answered.

"And the people of Gracklstugh need capable leadership," Fraeya added sharply.

Zelyra rested a comforting hand on the tiefling's shoulder. "We're doing the right thing," she said.

Kazimir sighed in defeat. He knew they were right—but why did doing the right thing consistently land them in 'chance of certain death' scenarios?

The wizard quickly relayed the spiraling situation to Captain Blackskull via sending stone. Shal was an obvious threat, and the Deepking was not in his right mind. It was enough for Blackskull to surge forward with her coup. But the captain blatantly recommended that the companions not engage the Deepking until she was present. But more than fifty Darkhafts, the Deepking's secret police, stood between Errde and the throne room. It would take time for the captain and her honor guard to work their way in and for the word to spread amongst the Stoneguard to break their cover. For now, the adventurers were on their own.

"Bind their hands!" Horgar commanded.

The guards began to quickly advance.

But the companions had no intention of going willingly.

Zelyra was the first to react. The half-elven druid made a forceful sweeping motion with both arms and a long wall of raging wind rose from the palace floor to cut off the guards. The Stoneguard fired stunners from their crossbows, but it was useless. The winds conjured by the spell deflected the bolts upwards.

The druid had hoped the wind wall would be enough to discourage the Stoneguard from advancing, but they had a cover to maintain. The duergar activated their innate magical ability to enlarge themselves and tried to force their way through instead. But those who succeeded were met in a slightly staged, rough-and-tumble melee by Sarith, Fraeya, Eldeth, and Fargas. Meanwhile, the Deepking and Shal silently watched the chaos unfold from their perch on the royal dais.

"What's our main objective?" Derendil asked the remaining party members—Balasar, Nine, and Kazimir.

"Destroying the egg," Balasar repeated as he unsheathed Dawnbringer.

"We need to break whatever enchantment Shal just placed on the King," Nine added as she drew her longbow and swiftly fired at the female duergar. At first, her aim appeared true. But as the projectile rapidly approached the dais, it struck an invisible wall of force and clattered uselessly to the ground. The ranger frowned, "Add dispelling whatever that is to the list."

"That thing is close to hatching," Kazimir countered as he pointed to the corrupted dragon egg. "Immediate threat first, then worry about the Deepking and Shal. They look like they're enjoying the show anyway," the tiefling added sourly.

"Shal isn't what she claims to be," Nine argued.

"How do you know?" Derendil asked.

The ranger scowled. "I can sense it!"

"Leave the egg to me and Dawnbringer. Just provide us with cover," Balasar interrupted. His companions took up defensive stances around him. But when Dawnbringer erupted with bright, radiant light in preparation for the task, Derendil hissed and shielded his eyes.

"Sorry, prince," the dragonborn apologized. "I guess your curse passed on a quaggoth's sunlight sensitivity."

Derendil shook his head, hoping it would clear the black shapes dancing in his vision. It didn't. "Perhaps I would be of better use to the others," the prince said, blindly fumbling for the shortsword and parrying dagger he'd taken from the Stoneguard's armory. He left the range of Dawnbringer's light and joined the melee just in time to intercept a javelin by relying on his bestial senses in lack of clear sight.

The javelin's intended target—Zelyra—shot Derendil a smile of thanks and made another sweeping gesture with her arms to maintain her wind wall.

The party made short work of rendering their opponents unconscious even though the duergar fought in an enlarged state. Neither side was trying to mortally wound the other, but they had to make it look real enough to convince the Deepking that the Stoneguard were still on his side. Thus, the companion's victory came at a cost. Eldeth took a brutal hit and favored her shield arm. Fargas had somehow twisted his ankle. Fraeya and Sarith sported multiple cuts and bruises of their own.

Zelyra knew she could not heal them all, not without dropping the wall of wind. Shouting and sounds of combat came from the hallway outside the throne room. The druid was sure they were about to face another round of guards. But to her surprise—and everyone else—the fight was about to take an unexpected turn inside the chamber…

As Balasar lifted Dawnbringer and prepared the killing blow for the dragon egg, a flurry of movement on the Deepking's dais grabbed his attention instead. Horgar's cloak swirled around him, and the duergar disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, only to reappear in a twin smoke cloud directly before Balasar. The smolder was so thick and acrid that everyone within range—Balasar, Nine, and Kazimir—began to wheeze and cough. It was precisely the distraction the Deepking needed. Balasar could not parry the two swift attacks from Brimtongue, Horgar's two-headed legendary warhammer, nor could Nine and Kazimir avoid the duergar's third and fourth attacks, which came from his concealed dwarven thrower.

For a brief second, Balasar felt a strange tug on his naval as Brimtongue struck him. But then Dawnbringer flared in righteous fury, and like Derendil before him, the Deepking was blinded by her light.

Horgar stumbled back, the red cloak draped around his shoulders billowed, and he disappeared into another plume of smoke. He reappeared, this time in front of Eldeth. The Deepking had almost gone after the quaggoth but abandoned that notion after observing its fighting form. This beast lacked the uncontrollable rage and bloodlust of a typical quaggoth. After the dragonborn, the shield dwarf fighter was undoubtedly the next most significant threat.

As the Deepking swung Brimtongue and the magical weapon slammed into Eldeth, its Infernal runes flared to life, and tongues of flame shot out from the twin hammerheads. Her expression crumpled with unsurmountable pain before she abruptly blipped from existence.

As Eldeth disappeared, all Zelyra could think of was seeing Derendil and Fraeya similarly disappear during their battle against Narrack and the other unnamed savant. And she was right to relate the two scenarios. Kazimir had seen the runes on Brimtongue up close enough to recognize that they were a means of banishment—but not to a harmless demi-plane.

"Do not let that weapon touch you," the tiefling warned. "It can banish you to the Nine Hells!"

Zelyra abruptly dropped the wall of wind.

And in its place, rageful moonfire descended upon Horgar.

Kazimir threw up his hands in defeat; so much for not engaging the Deepking until Blackskull arrived. But then again, the wizard also acknowledged it would be silly to take hits lying down.

Balasar looked between the Deepking, the empty spot where Eldeth had formerly stood, and the dragon egg with indecision. It was not an easy choice. But as much as he desired to avenge his friend, the dragonborn knew the egg took priority.

As the Deepking was distracted by Zelyra's spell, Balasar swung Dawnbringer in a two-handed arc. The first strike barely cracked the surface. And so, Balasar tried again, doubling down on his effort. This time, Dawnbringer sliced through with a satisfying craaaack—shattering the shell into hundreds of tiny pieces. As sickly green amniotic fluid poured onto the ground, Balasar made a third vicious swing at the curled-up, two-headed red wyrmling within. Nine then shot two more arrows to ensure it was dead.

Horgar's eyes now seemed to glow with the same hellish fire as Brimtongue. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he bellowed at the adventurers.

The duergar hurled his dwarven thrower at Kazimir in retaliation. It caught the tiefling in the stomach, sending him flying back toward the throne. But as he crashed into the wall of force, his magical cloak seemed to wrap itself around him of its own accord, cushioning him from impact. The fall nor the blow hurt quite as much as it should have, but that was of little comfort to the wizard.

"I told you all this was a mistake!" Kazimir shouted to his companions as he scrambled to his feet.

Perhaps he was right. The party soon found themselves wildly outmatched against the enraged Deepking. And there was not much they could do to subdue him. Ranged attacks from Fargas, Fraeya, Sarith, and Nine did little against the duergar's adamantine plate armor. Non-magical swords were no better. Dawnbringer was the only one who could land a solid hit. But the Deepking could seemingly teleport at will! As soon as he came into the range of Dawnbringer's light, he would disappear and reappear to attack someone else. The companions quickly weakened to his surprise attacks—with no end in sight! They were trapped. The party's best chance of surviving the fight was relying on their spellcasters, who tag-teamed their efforts, and Horgar's aversion to Dawnbringer until reinforcements finally arrived.

All the while, Shal grinned smugly as she watched the chaos unfold behind the safety of the invisible wall of force.

Nine noted that with increasing suspicion. The half-elven ranger sought cover behind a nearby pillar, briefly closed her eyes, and slowed her breathing while extending her primeval awareness.

Her eyes opened with a start, not a moment later. "Go for Shal!" Nine shouted to the party. "The Deepking has been charmed by her!" She shot another arrow in the throne's direction—to the same effect. It struck the invisible wall of force and clattered uselessly to the ground.

The ranger's warning and failed attack got Shal's attention. The duergar touched a finger to her temple, and in the next breath, the Deepking lowered Brimtongue and ceased his attacks. The throne room fell utterly silent, and the adventurers used that unexpected respite to catch their breath.

Shal gave them all an alluring smile as she took a few steps forward, mindful of the barrier of her wall of force. This was confirmed as Nine angrily shot another arrow toward the throne that subsequently missed.

"Why fight me? I am not your enemy," the duergar cooed.

"That's not your true form. You're a fiend," the ranger hissed in reply.

The revelation sent shockwaves of embarrassment through the party. Of course, Shal was some sort of shapechanger. Why hadn't they thought of that before? It made perfect sense.

Kazimir scooted closer to Zelyra. "You can't cast through a wall of force, but you can center a spell on a point you can see," the wizard quietly advised.

"In other words—drop some moonfire?" the druid whispered back.

Kazimir nodded.

But before Zelyra could complete her casting, Shal mysteriously added, "After all, my master thinks very highly of the Grey Warriors…."

Zelyra briefly lowered her hands. "The Grey Warriors?" she echoed in confusion.

Shal silently gestured to the group, but they were just as taken aback as Zelyra.

"Who is your master?" Fraeya demanded.

Shal cocked her head. All the while, the enchanting smile never left her lips. "You've already met Him—or rather, He's met you—some of you, give or take two or three," the fiend chuckled as she appraised each of the adventurers individually. "The Grey Warriors! How cute. Your story is already written in the Halls of the Future…"

Her dark gaze seemed to linger on Kazimir during that final line as if that was supposed to mean something to him.

It didn't.

"Speak no more riddles! Who is your master?!" the tiefling shouted.

"This was a test of ability," Shal continued, unfazed by the party's increasing frustration. The fiend bent slightly to fiddle with the hem of her dress. "While I'll admit our little tussle has been fun, He is watching and would be disappointed if I—"

Whatever Shal was about to say was cut off by a wraithlike shriek as moonfire erupted all around her. Zelyra had run out of patience. The guise of the duergar burned away under the pale light of the spell, and a slender yet curvaceous demon standing approximately six feet tall took her place.

The creature would have been pretty if not for the rage she now exhibited. Truthfully, the adventurers were almost embarrassed to look upon her. In contrast to the shining, mithril dress Shal had donned, the succubus wore practically nothing. Everything about her screamed seductive grace. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her hair flowing and deep ebony black, and her dark eyes were large and expressive.

Fortunately, Zelyra's attack had broken the demon's concentration on the wall of force. Shal was now exposed. But now that she no longer donned the guise of a duergar, the succubus had a different manner of protection. Dark blue bat-like wings with thin leathery membranes were folded against the demon's back. Those wings opened—flapped once, twice—and Shal shot into the air to hover menacingly above the Deepking's throne.

Balasar was so entranced by the transformation that he did not even see the Deepking's attack coming until Brimtongue clipped him on the chin. The dragonborn went soaring. In a second sweeping assault, Horgar hurled his dwarven thrower at Zelyra. The druid rolled and threw up her shield to block. The hammer then turned to mist and reappeared in the Deepking's hand.

Whatever truce they had was over.

. . .

She was falling or perhaps being thrown.

Eldeth didn't really know.

All she knew was that she was in a world far from hers. Colors passed by at the speed of light. The shield dwarf only caught brief glimpses of one horrifying realmscape before she was sent hurtling on to the next. But one thing remained the same: she could hear malevolent whispers and haunting cries echoing in the distance.

The first layer was filled with thick, choking smoke and acrid fumes backlit by a red, starless sky. Second, a dark, mechanized landscape. Third, a toxic swamp with winding black rivers. The fourth world was a place of intense heat, with swirling rivers of magma and smog that threatened to burn her lungs. Fifth, she plunged into icy waters so cold that it zapped all the strength from her body. The sixth had an essence in the air that threatened to scramble her brain. Seventh, vapor-polluted skies. Eighth, raging ice storms. Ninth was an endless void.

The descent was over in less than a few seconds but felt like a lifetime.

By the time she reached the ninth layer, Eldeth was no longer fighting to find the tether to her own world. There was no escape.

She was utterly lost in the dark.

And prayed for the sweet mercy of death.

. . .

Between the Deepking and Shal, the Grey Warriors were already in an outmatched fight. So, when a sudden commotion came from the entrance chamber, they nearly wept, thinking their luck was about to turn from bad to worse. More guards were coming! The stone began to rattle ominously as something heavy pounded against the door rhythmically. But there was another strange noise that accompanied the hammering. It was faint at first but quickly grew in power.

It was a song!

"Gory, gory, what a horrible way to die!" the words were.

The companions had heard such lyrics once before in the Whorlstone Tunnels. And what's more, the voice that sang them was also familiar. It was mechanical, like grating metal.

"Gods, I've never been so happy to hear a construct sing," Fargas cheered.

And his companions celebrated right alongside him. Because sure enough, when the iron doors to the royal chamber were forced open, they were treated to the sight of a familiar warforged berserker riding—most bizarrely—a giant scorpion as a mount.

The party had no idea how or why Broot had come, much less when he had acquired a giant scorpion… Now was not the time for such questions. They were just thankful to finally see an ally.

As soon as he entered the space, Broot leapt off his strange mount and sent it into the outside hall to fend off the pursuing guards. The construct read the room, saw the weariness on the adventurers' faces, and threw himself into the fray without hesitation.

"Hgraam sent me! The stones told him you needed my help," he explained to the grateful but bewildered party. "I'll hold off the Deepking! You all focus your fire on the demon!"

But Balasar had other ideas. "No, I'm coming with you!" the dragonborn announced. This would be Bunrick's Champion's finest battle.

The warforged was not about to argue with backup—especially from a champion fighter. In typical Broot fashion, he let out a fierce war cry as he charged the Deepking with his maul. Balasar echoed it with a challenging bellow of his own. But the Deepking stood his ground. In fact, the duergar was so enraged and proud that he willingly endured Dawnbringer's light to challenge the two brutes. Dawnbringer and Brimtongue met with an explosion of sparks while Broot followed up with a vicious upward swing of his maul.

Meanwhile, the demon that was Shal sent the adventurers on a wild chase through the throne room. She bobbed and weaved, elegantly spun, and twirled away from arrows and bolts from Fraeya, Sarith, Fargas, and Nine's ranged weapons, but ever Zelyra's moonfire hunted her. At last, Nine sent a bit of magic into one of her arrows. A mass of vines sprouted from the shaft as it pierced the demon's right breast. The seeking tendrils snaked around her wings and legs to trap Shal within their thorny grasp. The adventurers watched with expressions of disbelief and awe as the succubus dropped from the air—

—and crashed to the ground directly at Kazimir's feet.

The wizard let out a startled 'eep and fumbled to redirect the crackling orb of lightning that he had initially intended to send the Deepking's way. But Fraeya was quicker. The drow unsheathed her rapier and crossed the distance in a blink of an eye with her silvery hair streaming behind her. She halted directly before Kazimir and the entangled succubus, grasped her rapier's dark hilt with both hands, and plunged the sword into the demon's heart.

The lightning abruptly fizzled out in the wizard's hands.

"Hey! That one was mi—"

Kazimir's angry retort was cut off as the succubus inhaled sharply. Her head lolled to the side to look directly at him, and with her last breath, she spoke in Abyssal. "Be sure to give your mother the Dark Prince's regards," she mocked.

The brand on the tiefling's palm burned. It was as if She somehow also heard the words and was none too pleased. Kazimir clenched his fist. "Thanks. I won't," he hissed.

"What did she say?" Fraeya asked curiously.

Kazimir opened his mouth to repeat the succubus's message but then thought better. He'd made the mistake of telling Zelyra about his fiendish heritage once in a moment of weakness. But even though the druid had not judged him harshly, it was not something he wished to repeat. So, instead, the tiefling settled for a half-truth. "She wished to pass on the Dark Prince's regards," he said.

Fraeya's stark brow furrowed. "Who is the Dark Prince?"

Kazimir shrugged. He had never heard the name before.

"Some sort of devil?" the drow reasoned.

"I don't think so…" the tiefling said skeptically, though that was a logical assumption given the nature of the Deepking's weapon. "She spoke to me in Abyssal—not Infernal."

The rogue hummed thoughtfully in response.

As the light drained from the succubus's eyes, so too did the rage on Deepking Horgar's face. Their connection was severed. Brimtongue fell to the ground with a clatter, and Eldeth reappeared in the very spot she had disappeared from in a burst of infernal flame and smoke. The shield dwarf swayed dangerously on her feet. Balasar halted Dawnbringer mid-swing and disengaged from Horgar to rush to his fellow fighter's aid. The dragonborn caught her just as she was about to collapse.

"Are you okay?!"

Balasar knew it was a silly question when it left his mouth. Of course, Eldeth was not okay! She favored her shield arm and likely had a few cracked ribs from Brimtongue's strike. The dragonborn could tell just by her pallid complexion alone that she was in tremendous pain. But to his utter shock, tears rapidly formed in the stoic dwarf's blue eyes.

"It was awful," she muttered, quickly becoming hysterical. "There were huge cities of fire and brimstone, ice, pure darkness, toxic gas—but one thing was constant. The voices of hundreds, maybe thousands, cryin' out fer help and wailin'! It felt like something was chiselin' into my skull! I tried to find my tether back but fell into the void! There was no escapin' it!"

With a surprising amount of tenderness, Balasar shushed her and brushed loose pieces of hair away from the shield dwarf's freckled face. For her sake, he did not wish to tell Eldeth that she had very likely been hurtling through the Nine Hells. Instead, he said, "You're safe now. That's all that matters. Do you have a health potion?"

Eldeth shook her head.

"Neither do I. But we'll get you some healing," the dragonborn promised. Truthfully, he could use healing himself, but Eldeth was his priority. He scanned the expansive chamber and found Zelyra squatted next to Fargas. Healthy, spectral vines had latched around and slowly healed the halfling's ankle. "Zelyra! Eldeth needs you! Fractured arm and broken ribs, plus I suspect psychic damage," Balasar medically advised.

Zelyra cringed. That was a wide array of injuries. "I'll be there as soon as possible!" she replied.

Meanwhile, Horgar Steelshadow V looked around the throne room with confused, bleary eyes. Broot had lowered his weapon and stepped back to give the duergar some space. He, and everyone else, were still on high alert. But the Deepking did not attack, nor did he speak.

"It is normal to need time to adjust after a long-term possession," Broot assured the weary adventurers. "I will keep an eye on him. Take your time to heal."

So, the injured party took the chance to similarly gather their bearings and seek out potions of healing. Kazimir took a moment to use his sending stone to ask Captain Blackskull to call for a ceasefire on the palace raid—Shal had been eliminated, and Deepking Horgar was slowly returning to his senses. But aside from a bit of hushed conversation between the companions, the throne room was quiet.

When Zelyra finished with Fargas's ankle, she began digging through her healer's kit for something that might help Eldeth's fractured arm and broken ribs. Given the vast array of injuries the shield dwarf had sustained, magical healing would only go so far. It might heal the mind but not the body—or vice versa. There was no way for Zelyra to know. Magic could be unpredictable.

"I think I might have something in my bag to use as a splint," the druid muttered to herself.

"Anything I can do to help?" Fargas asked.

"Yes! Go easy on that ankle," Zelyra chastised.

The halfling gave her a half-salute in reply. "You may just have to carry me around then," he said with a playful wink.

"Now, Fargas, let's not get ahead of—"

The druid abruptly silenced herself as the Deepking finally found the strength to address them.

"I must…thank you. The demon has…had control…for so…long. She came…in a dream…and…never left…" he said haltingly, still winded from battle. The adventurers were bloodied, but Deepking Horgar had not come out unscathed either. Balasar and Broot had delivered some solid hits to him.

Kazimir wrung his hands. "Understood, but now that you're you again, there are some important matters we need to revisit," he advised. "Demons, or rather, demon lords, are at the top of that list."

But Horgar ignored him. Instead, he looked around the throne room and gasped, "Where is Olna?"

"Olna?" Derendil echoed.

"My daughter, heir to the throne," the Deepking sputtered.

"According to Stonespeaker Hgraam, no one has seen or heard from the princess for some time," Broot relayed. "But then again, you have refused to meet with the Stonespeaker, or anyone else, for many tendays. Our information may be inaccurate."

"Okay, but we really should discuss the threat of Demogorg—"

Kazimir's plea was cut off by an accusatory remark from Deepking Horgar. "And what of my guards," he asked the party while gesturing to the slumped bodies in various parts of the throne room.

Fraeya held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "Just unconscious," she promised. "They should come to momentarily."

Deepking Horgar glared at the drow and stood a little taller. "Then we will all wait—as we are—until your statement proves true," he announced sternly.

As Horgar returned to his senses, so too did the intimidating air of a strong and uncompromising leader. He was suspicious of these outsiders, particularly the drow elves. The adventurers recognized that even though they had done him a great service, Deepking Horgar was not yet their ally. They would have to prove their worth, as they had with Captain Errde Blackskull.

Zelyra shot Eldeth and Balasar a silent look of apology. Apparently, even healing was out of the question for the time being.

The wait was tense but true to Fraeya's word, the guards slowly began to stir not a few minutes later. As the duergar sluggishly climbed to their feet, Deepking Horgar wasted no time demanding, "Up! On your feet! I want the Hold searched from top to bottom! Princess Olna must be found!"

The poor guards fumbled into formation, but unfortunately, the search for Olna—and Eldeth's healing—would be put on permanent hold.

The adventurers knew very little of what was happening outside the palace. Kazimir might have requested Captain Blackskull call for a ceasefire at the Hold, but the armies led by Amber Thrazgad and Grinta Ironhead ruthlessly surged forward in the West Cleff and the heart of Gracklstugh. The duergar were itching to eliminate the lesser derro once and for all!

But the battle currently waged with no clear victor. The Council of Savants retaliated by disrupting neutral points in the city. Cairngorm Cavern was one, thus dragging the stone giants into a conflict they had no desire to join. The other was aimed at an individual Captain Blackskull had initially considered during her planning—but whose actual involvement slipped through the cracks in the thrill of battle.

Her warning came too late.

A frantic message came through Kazimir's sending stone, but the tiefling did not have a chance to relay it before the room's ceiling was violently torn asunder! Huge chunks of rock, iron, and wood mercilessly rained down on the room's inhabitants. Everyone who was able dove for cover—such as it was. There really was none, and Eldeth was in no shape to run. Still shaken from her time in the Nine Hells, the shield dwarf watched the falling rock hurtle towards her with grim acceptance.

But Balasar turned on his heel and used his full movement to tackle Eldeth to the ground so he might take the brunt of the beating. It would ultimately be the last selfless act that Bunrick's Champion would ever commit.

The pair were quickly buried under rubble.

Even as the dust slowly cleared, Balasar's vision swam. All that he could see was a flash of red. Thundering footsteps that shook the stone warned of a colossal beast. And some primal part of him recognized that Eldeth lay beneath him, unmoving. He heard Dawnbringer's voice. She begged him to find his strength, but the dragonborn had none. He did not even have the conscious thought to call out for help.

Balasar suddenly felt very tired.

More rock came, and his vision faded to black.

Dazed and confused, the rest of the companions and their allies scrambled to orient themselves while freeing themselves from the rubble. There was much-panicked shouting, lost communication, and a lot of coughing. But Kazimir frantically clawed his way out of the rock to name the beast.

"DRAGON!" the wizard shouted.

By then, the dust had settled enough to reveal the creature that had barreled straight through the throne room ceiling. It was indeed a dragon. The adventurers had only seen Themberchaud up close once before, but there was no mistaking him. With crimson scales that reflected the fire in the room and burning, ocher eyes that radiated intelligence and malevolence, a red dragon was not one to underestimate. They were arrogant, shrewd, and vicious. [1]

After months—no, years—of biding his time, the red dragon, Themberchaud, recognized that his hour had finally come. The duergar thought him fat and lazy, but that was all part of the ruse of his master plan. He knew that his keepers wanted to replace him with younger blood, but the adult red had no intention of going down quietly. With the armies of Gracklstugh otherwise distracted, the castle breached, and the Deepking visibly wounded, the City of Blades was just within his grasp. The duergar would kneel to Themberchaud! And the palace would become his new lair!

But there were others in the throne room that the dragon did not expect. Themberchaud lowered his long neck and tilted his head to better observe them. "Hello again," he suavely greeted the stunned adventurers—in Undercommon. Common was beneath him. "I remember your reeking group. You were asked to perform a task for me, but you did not deliver… Instead, I find you here, conspiring with the Deepking!"

As before, the voice which surged forth was thunderous, seeming to bounce and echo off every stone in the vicinity. It was still bewitching and luring, but there was an added veiled threat in the dragon's tone that had not been there before.

"He's angry," Fargas quietly told Zelyra, knowing the half-elf would not understand.

The druid frowned. "Why?"

"I suspect he thinks we were trying to double-cross him."

Zelyra shot the halfling a look that said, 'But isn't that precisely what we did?'

"How can we possibly fight a dragon?" Fargas grumbled.

The half-elf extended her hand and quickly helped the halfling to his feet. "Maybe we won't have to," she said with false bravery. "But we can't just lie around and wait for him to roast us."

The pair climbed out of their debris pile just as Themberchaud reared back and unleashed the full brunt of his intimidating presence. He wanted the room's inhabitants to cower and kneel, especially the group of pathetic reg-tag adventurers he knew had tried to deceive him. But the companions did no such thing—thanks to the Heroes' Feast that Captain Blackskull had arranged for them. They were emboldened with valor and readied themselves for what was sure to be the fight of their life.

Likewise, Deepking Horgar had no intention of yielding to a dragon. The duergar had seen much in his lifetime. Themberchaud was not the first wyrmsmith, nor would he be the last.

"Sir, you should leave!" one of the guards boldly advised. "Retreat to the royal vaults!"

Deepking Horgar unleashed the full weight of his stare upon that soldier for such sacrilegious language. "Fall into formation! Crossbows and javelins at the ready!" he shouted instead. "Bring it down! Bring it down!"

The wounded guards scrambled to obey the order. But Themberchaud's nostrils flared portentously, and fire built in his belly. When he opened his maw, the temperature in the immediate vicinity rose drastically as the dragon gathered the elements within his body. Then, with a mighty belch, he unleashed a scorching torrent of flames strong enough to melt steel and incinerate entire structures in moments. It was a weapon of immense destruction meant to consume everything it touched.

There was minimal cover, nowhere to hide, and the palace floor was a maze of rubble. Themberchaud had all the advantage. Still, those that were free from the wreckage sought what shelter they could to avoid the blast.

Against her better judgement, Fraeya stood her ground and called out to the prideful giant. "STOP! The egg has been destroyed as you asked!" she pleaded.

But still, the flames burnt on. Themberchaud either did not hear—or did not care.

Another dark body abruptly collided with Fraeya's. They went toppling to the floor and rolled several feet before coming to a halt, just inches from the onslaught of flame. Her first instinct was to scream at Sarith for assuming she could not handle herself. But as the drow recovered, she realized that Kazimir, of all people, had been the one to collide with her—and had used his own body to shield her from the fire. The tiefling was now patting out small bits of flame from his robes. Fraeya's unjustified anger was doused in an instant.

The smell of burnt flesh hung heavily in the air, but Fraeya only had a split second to survey the room. Themberchaud was already on the move. The injured guards had been directly in the blast's path—they never stood a chance. Nothing but dark-colored ash and a bit of bone remained. Deepking Horgar and Broot were burned but standing and were going on the defensive. Zelyra had protected Fargas by pinning the halfling between her new fire-resistant armor and the floor. [2] The druid's wooden shield, however, was scorched beyond repair. Nine and Prince Derendil were further from the blast and had sought cover behind stone pillars. The last standing person she saw was Sarith. The bottom half of his long, silvery hair was singed, but the warrior had somehow managed to avoid the worst of it. Fraeya breathed a sigh of relief.

But then Kazimir choked, "Gods, no," and pointed to two smoking corpses buried beneath the fallen rock. Fraeya inhaled sharply. A familiar sun blade lay amongst the rubble, abandoned, her light extinguished.

"No! No, no, no!"

Fraeya vaguely recognized that someone was screaming. Zelyra, the drow thought, but in her shock, she could not make sense of the words. She could only stare in horror at the spot where Balasar and Eldeth had stood, wounded but alive, minutes before. Unwittingly, the drow's eyes began to burn with silent tears.

"Zelyra—do something!" she pleaded.

But there was nothing the half-elf could do. "I can't bring back the dead," she sobbed.

Meanwhile, the rest of their companions experienced a similar storm of emotion. They could barely act, let alone think. They had just watched two of their companions, individuals they had spent nearly every waking moment with for forty-one days now, turn to ash in the blink of an eye! How does one recover from that?

The truth is—you don't.

But vengeance could be sweet.

With tears spilling down her cheeks, Zelyra stepped back and turned her eyes to the chamber's broken ceiling. She took a hiccupping breath and reached upwards with a single hand. Wisps of cloud formed in the exposed sky, some one hundred feet above them. They quickly darkened, mounting into a swirling storm. The druid then let out a heart-wrenching scream as she made a forceful downward gesture with a clenched fist—thunder rumbled, and a bolt of blinding electricity arced from the cloud to strike Themberchaud.

Once more, the companions were vastly outmatched. The dragon would surely come at them with all-consuming fire, gnashing teeth, vicious claws, and sweeping tail attacks, but the Grey Warriors could stand and rally for their fallen companions.

Following his fellow spellcasters' lead, the air around Kazimir became electrically charged, and his silvery eyes flickered with a blue-white hue as he channeled his fury into the raw elemental chaos that hung in the air from Zelyra's spell. Electricity built and crackled in the wizard's steepled hands. He gritted his teeth and made a sharp forward gesture to release a bright bolt of blue lightning that shot across the room with incredible speed. It struck Themberchaud with a blinding flash of sparks.

The dragon swiveled his long neck to glare at the two grieving spellcasters with annoyance and disgust. Their pathetic display of power was almost amusing. He was content to let them continue to drain their small cash of resources, and when they had nothing left, that would be his time to cut them down!

But Nine shadowed the lightning strikes with some close-kept magic of her own. As the ranger drew back her bowstring, the missile nocked within began to glow a vibrant green hue. She let her fingers fall slack and sent the enchanted arrow hurtling through the air toward Themberchaud. The primal energy triggered a rapid growth of thorny vegetation, which sprouted from the arrow like a blooming flower, and then burst mid-air to unleash a deadly torrent of thorns. The piercing barbs showered Themberchaud, relentlessly cutting through flesh and scale alike. The dragon roared in pain and viciously pursued the ranger in retaliation.

Fargas beheld his traveling companion with bewilderment. He had seen the ranger's ensnaring spells before, but that was minor compared to what she had just unleashed on Themberchaud.

"You know more magic?! Why don't you use stuff like that in life-or-death scenarios more often?!" the halfling exclaimed.

"Now is not the time, Fargas!" the ranger shouted irritably as she agilely leapt out of Themberchaud's path. She raced along the outer wall, finding more cover behind some surviving stone pillars.

Fargas followed the ranger's impressive attack with a sad, non-magical arrow from his shortbow. But it bounced off the dragon's hard scales and clattered to the ground—to little effect. Themberchaud did not even bat an eyelash. The halfling sagged in defeat and limped to find better cover. This was one instance where he was not about to get close in melee.

Sarith held off his attack and looked to Fraeya. In Drow Sign, he said, "We need to leave."

Fraeya ignored him.

She saw the same thing that Sarith did. Their weapons were ineffective against the dragon's natural armor. This was the time for big magical hits, even more so than their fight against the Deepking. But the rogue had little to offer in that regard. Even Nine was a more accomplished spellcaster than her!

But then Fraeya remembered the Neckless of Fireballs she took from Archpriest Ploopploopeen's horde. She had expended two of the beads on Buppido, but seven remained. The drow quickly fished the magical object from her leathers. One bead had caused a wealth of destruction. What would happen if she threw the entire strand? Throwing caution to the wind, Fraeya did just that. [3]

Her aim was true. All seven beads soared through the air and detonated, one after another, directly over Themberchaud.

The breathtaking explosion shook the very stone around them and was just as devastating as the dragon's breath weapon, if not more—for everyone but Themberchaud. If anything, the flames only spurred his hatred for the puny insects scrambling below him. Themberchaud laughed and retaliated with a sweeping tail attack aimed, yet again, at the party's spellcasters. He sensed that they were the most significant threat. Kazimir and Zelyra scrambled to dodge out of the way.

"I don't understand! Why didn't it work?" the rogue cried in outrage.

"Red dragons are immune to fire," Sarith deadpanned as he released a bolt from his crossbow, aiming for one of the dragon's eyes. He cared little for the fate of the others. But if Fraeya would not retreat…well, she was a confusing, different matter altogether.

The dry comment was met with a snarl from Fraeya. She had just wasted the only magical item she possessed! And now had no choice but to follow the warrior's lead and switch back to her shortbow.

Sensing her frustration, Sarith said, "Our non-magical bolts will not pierce Themberchaud's scales, but we can aim for the fleshy parts."

"Rid him of his sight," Fraeya shrewdly deduced as she lined up another shot.

"Exactly," Sarith replied while jamming another bolt into his crossbow.

But while the others had used their mutual call for justice to rally, the rage was now strangely absent from Prince Derendil. He cowered behind his pillar cover and could only look upon Balasar and Eldeth's burning corpses with sorrow and regret. Dawnbringer lay unceremoniously between them, her light snuffed.

"Who now shall wield me?"

A familiar telepathic voice pushed unyieldingly into Prince Derendil's head.

"You? Who better, if not a champion fighter, than a warrior prince?"

"I am not a warrior," Derendil insisted. "I am a scholar! I study the sky charts and language, and I read poetry. My sister is the strong one. I am nothing but a disappointment to my father, my king."

"Perhaps. But not a disappointment to your friends," Dawnbringer sagely reasoned. "You asked for training. Would you not give your last for those you love as Balasar did for Eldeth?"

Unwittingly, the prince's eyes were drawn to Zelyra as she attempted to call yet another lightning bolt from her conjured storm while dodging a claw attack. Without her shield, the druid was left vulnerable. She took a solid hit to the chest and was sent sprawling back into a stone pillar. And yet, Zelyra weakly crawled to her feet and spit blood on the ground as thunder rumbled portentously in the chamber. Her storm maintained despite the hit.

Such tenacity was something to be admired…

Beneath all the fur, Derendil's face was flushed. He was thankful the conversation occurred in his head, so the others could not hear. Dawnbringer had just touched upon something inside of him that he was not quite ready to face.

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "I would."

"Then do not discount their memory for fear."

Dawnbringer hummed, and her light began to flicker on her own accord, just ever so softly. Derendil took a leap of faith and rushed across the chamber, narrowly evading a tail attack from Themberchaud. More rock fell from the chamber walls, adding to the precarious encounter. The dragon was relentless! But Derendil frantically climbed and dug through the rubble until Dawnbringer was within grasp. As his hand closed around her hilt, the sun blade erupted with pure, blinding sunlight. But wondrously, despite his curse, it no longer hurt him.

"As long as you are my bearer, my light will never harm you," Dawnbringer promised. [4]

The prince planted his feet and centered himself while adjusting to the sun sword's weight. Dawnbringer was a well-balanced weapon—she had been crafted by the legendary smiths of Netheril, after all. But it was a bigger sword than the prince had ever wielded. He took a few experimental, clumsy swings. All the while, Dawnbringer was there to patiently guide him.

A startled cry from Fargas turned the prince's attention back to the fight. The halfling had just narrowly dodged a bite attack from Themberchaud and was lying prone on the ground. Fraeya scrambled to his side and helped him to his feet. Together, they sought cover behind a nearby pillar while Sarith shadowed their retreat by invoking the only bit of spellcasting he knew—a conjured globe of inky darkness. All drow elves inherently knew such magic.

"Your friends need you," Dawnbringer told the prince.

Broot caught Derendil's eye from across the field. He knew a fellow berserker when he saw one. "Flank the dragon!" the hell-born warforged shouted. "You take left, I take right! Aim for its weak points; the underbelly and joints!"

The prince nodded and mirrored Broot to a favorable position.

And they were not the only ones.

"I will never yield my throne to a witless wyrm," Deepking Horgar raged as he closed in on Themberchaud from a third auspicious angle. He crackled his fists together and, with a flash of magic, grew twice in size—weapons included. The companions regarded the transformation with mixed expressions of terror and awe. If Horgar had used such magic against them, their marginal chance of subduing him would have been reduced to a flat zero.

Deepking Horgar, Broot, and Prince Derendil came at Themberchaud simultaneously from different angles, each seeking weak points on the dragon. Two blows from Brimtongue and a third from the Deepking's dwarven thrower struck the dragon's front haunches. Horgar sent his fourth attack hurtling towards the underbelly, where Themberchaud's breath weapon built. Two radiant slices were then delivered by Prince Derendil and Dawnbringer to the dragon's back left flank while Broot bashed his hellish maul into the right.

The coordinated maneuver left Themberchaud seething. He opened his mouth to unleash another deadly torrent of flame, but there were only dead sparks. He'd expended too much on his initial assault. So, instead, the dragon willingly took hits of opportunity from the three organized berserkers to take to the skies.

In a devastating show of power, Themberchaud flapped his wings in a single, mighty burst that produced winds stronger than anything Zelyra might conjure. It sent the adventurers and their allies tumbling. Even the Deepking fell prone. But when Fargas, Sarith, and Fraeya hit the stone, they did not get back up.

Themberchaud then shot across the room, hurtling towards two new targets that had slipped into the throne room unnoticed in the chaos of battle.

Kazimir was convinced that the wind blast and subsequent fall had somehow broken every bone in his body. His magic cloak had not been enough to protect him this time. His head was spinning. Everything hurt. But the tiefling still found the strength to force his eyes open to see what had drawn the dragon away. What he saw was a jump start to his system. Kazimir clamored to his feet and hailed, "Captain Blackskull! Finally!"

And not only that—

She brought reinforcements.

"And Stonespeaker Hgraam!" Zelyra cheered.

If the warforged's triumphal entrance had not been enough, the sight of the Stonespeaker Hgraam and Captain Errde Blackskull gave the companions a secondary sense of resolve. They were not alone. Somehow, in all this mess, the supposed Grey Warriors had managed to forge alliances that transcended the barriers that typically separated the ones who lived above from those who dwelt below. Together, they could take down Themberchaud.

Unfortunately, neither Errde nor Hgraam held such high expectations. They had already discussed their chance of success before even entering the throne room—

. . .

"We must protect the Deepking. If he is sane as the wizard claims and was merely the charmed puppet of a succubus, then we should preserve his rule. But even if none of that were true, I'd still prefer a corrupt duergar's governance to a dragon," Errde told Hgraam bitterly as they picked their way through the rubble in the palace.

She had every right to be bitter. Wyrmsmiths were not typically allowed to age to a point where they might be strong enough to rebel. But the duergar had made a mistake with Themberchaud. Every single one of them had foolishly let their guard down—to a tremendous cost. The dragon's handlers had pampered him. They fed and gifted him with nearly everything he asked for. And in doing so, the duergar had played right into his manipulative hand. The fat, lazy red had used them to subtly build his strength, intelligence, and influence for nearly two centuries—far longer than wyrmsmiths were usually left in service.

Themberchaud's attack on the Hold did far more damage than tearing a hole through the royal chamber. The dragon knew every city detail, down to the rock and stone. And he exploited that. He purposely struck a point in the palace that would create a domino effect, weakening load-bearing beams in many other chambers now on the verge of collapse. Thus, Errde and Hgraam were treading dangerous waters as they approached the throne room.

"And what of the adventurers you hired to overthrow him?" Hgraam said innocently. "What are your plans for them?"

"They won't survive this fight," the captain replied.

It was a harsh but pragmatic answer.

And not one that the Stonespeaker necessarily agreed with.

But to Hgraam's surprise, Errde grimly added, "But it is also likely that neither will we. If they somehow manage to make it through, I will commend them for standing their ground in the face of not one but two greater foes. Persistence, despite an assumed defeat, is something any duergar could respect. That is why I hired them for the task in the first place."

The stone giant contemplated the candid admission for a moment before replying, "I think they will prove to be stronger than you think."

. . .

What Hgraam and Errde ultimately found in the throne room was nothing short of what they feared. Themberchaud was slowly picking his way through targets—taking out the lesser first, but the dragon seemed to be especially mindful of the party's spellcasters. He had just utilized a wing attack. Nearly all had fallen prone, some were not moving at all, and to the pair's dismay, there were far too many charred bodies.

It was not a scene that might inspire any sort of hope. But Errde fought to hold on to a sliver of confidence that her proposed invasion of the West Cleff fared better. Otherwise, what a fool she had been!

A perfectly crafted plan turned utter disaster

The City of Blades was in utter turmoil! Not only had Themberchaud used the distraction of her coup to overwhelm his handlers and raze half of Gracklstugh to the ground before heading to the palace, but the duergar common folk had descended into madness in the wake of it! Instead of rallying against the dragon, they had begun waging pity wars against their own. When he found her at the palace, Hgraam had warned that hundreds of dead bodies now lined the streets. But both had agreed that the chaos out there would have to wait. Their priority had to be the Deepking.

But there was little time for Errde to contemplate the city's misfortune further, for Themberchaud's primal instincts detected them then. The dragon shot across the room to meet the duergar and giant with snapping jaws and vengeful claws.

Errde reached deep within to channel innate duergar magic. As she quickly doubled in size, the captain fearlessly swung her enchanted warhammer and struck the dragon in the jaw with a resounding clang. Sparks flared in Themberchaud's maw, but he still could not summon his breath weapon.

Hgraam took up a considerable chunk of fallen stone and hurled it at the dragon. It struck Themberchaud with so much force he noticeably staggered for the first time since the fateful battle began. The dragon whipped his tail in retaliation and tried to throw the giant off balance. An entire portion of tile was carved up from the floor as Hgraam was pushed fifteen feet back—but he remained standing. Errde then delivered two more unforgiving blows with her warhammer.

Themberchaud was trapped between two fresh and unyielding targets. The distraction gave the wounded companions, Deepking Horgar, and Broot a chance to find their footing.

Horgar charged right back into battle as soon as he was standing, but Zelyra and Kazimir had enough sense to rush to the aid of their unconscious companions. Nine and Prince Derendil were a bit slower to collect themselves. They had been closer to Themberchaud when he made his wing attack and had taken a harder hit.

As the spellcasters rushed across the battlefield, Broot said, "Take your fallen and go! The battle is lost!"

"We can't just leave!" Kazimir replied irritably. They had sacrificed too much, and despite his earlier trepidation, the wizard was now committed to avenging his friends.

But Broot stood his ground. "Go now, or you will meet your end in Gracklstugh! There is far more work to be done!" he said enigmatically.

Warforged, such as Broot, were machines designed with one driving purpose—to root out corruption. And he knew something that the companions did not. What began in Sloobludop had not only spread to Gracklstugh but far beyond. Stonespeaker Hgraam had privately revealed that this group of strange travelers was destined to defeat it. Broot was now staunchly committed to making sure they lived to achieve that.

Zelyra tiredly met Kazimir's gaze. "Maybe Broot's right. I'm nearing a burnout," she admitted. The druid gestured to their unconscious companions and added, "I either get them up, or we make a last-ditch effort against the dragon."

"Save your magic for healing," the tiefling said. "I still have one bigger spell left for ol' Thunderchode!" Before Zelyra could respond, his hands came together in a disciplined motion, and when they separated, he sent yet another long line of crackling lightning toward the dragon.

But Themberchaud did not so much as flinch as the bolt struck him. Instead, he twisted his head to grin down at the puny wizard. It took far more than a mediocre spellcraft to slay a dragon.

"On second thought—let's just go," Kazimir hastily told Zelyra.

The tiefling scrambled to reach Fargas, the closest unconscious companion to him. He took the healing potion he helped Zelyra brew and dumped it in the halfling's mouth. Fargas stirred, but not enough to stand. So, Kazimir scooped the halfling up in his arms and made a mad dash for the doorway.

Meanwhile, Zelyra went for the drow elves. The druid got to Sarith first. Mindful of the onset of magical exhaustion, she hesitantly delved into that mysterious pool of fey energy that she still did not quite understand. As a blackened vine curled around the fallen warrior's ankle, Zelyra pushed another wave of healing Fraeya's way—to the same effect. Another black vine. But the druid did not have time to ponder it in that moment.

"Derendil! Nine! We're leaving!" Zelyra called out.

The druid did not have to tell Nine twice. Now back on her feet and seeing that Fargas was in safe hands, the ranger sprinted towards the doorway without a second thought. But Prince Derendil stopped to help Sarith to his feet as Zelyra wrapped an arm around Fraeya's shoulders.

"Why are we running?" the rogue asked sluggishly.

"So that we might live to fight another day," Zelyra said as the pair hopped along.

But then Fraeya mumbled, "What about Eldeth and Balasar…"

The druid noticeably stumbled but forced herself to keep going. She did not give the drow a verbal answer—the silent tears that began streaming down her cheeks said it all.

Broot covered the party's retreat as Deepking Horgar closed in on Themberchaud to reinforce Captain Blackskull and Stonespeaker Hgraam. But the dragon showed only pride and amusement at the pathetic display of rallying. He sensed that the innate duergar magic enlarging Horgar and Errde was almost expended. Soon, they would return to their actual size. It was another resource checked off the list. So, even surrounded, Themberchaud knew he would come out on top. He did not need his breath weapon to defeat a rag-tag group of adventurers and their allies!

The dragon gauged his long-awaited victory over Gracklstugh with utmost delight—

Deepking Horgar Steelshadow V would be unseated.

The Captain of the Stoneguard, the Stonespeaker of Clan Cairngorm, and a hell-born warforged berserker would fall.

The story of the Grey Warriors would end in the city of Gracklstugh before they even knew the scale of what had invaded the lands below and what threatened to spread to the sunlit world above. As Dawnbringer with Balasar's demise, a light of the Underdark would thus be extinguished.

—but there were higher powers at work.

The surprise spell attack came from an unknown point in the room. For good or for ill was anyone's guess, for it came from a source of chaos. A silken voice wormed its way into the dragon's head. "You would settle to roost over worthless duergar when there are far greater prizes worth taking?" it asked.

Themberchaud suddenly cocked his head mid-attack as if listening to something only he could hear—which, unknown to the rest of the room, he was. The honeyed voice played to the red dragon's vanity. It whispered promises of second chances, better heists. They knew of a far greater reward than Gracklstugh. And would share it all—

But only if the dragon left now.

"Come. Meet with me, and I will tell you everything."

"A red dragon never abandons a fight!" Themberchaud growled.

"It would be worth it. Just think—instead of a retched city, entire swathes of the Underdark could be yours."

An image forced its way into the dragon's subconscious. Piles and piles of gold, jewels, and magical items, ten times the worth of Themberchaud's current horde.

"This is not abandonment. It is merely a grudge to be settled later. Trust me, dragon. You will get your revenge, but the time is not now."

Then came a secondary image of a tower engulfed in flame. The dragon spotted himself in the vision, accompanied by a drow and a secondary dark figure, perhaps some nine feet tall, that wielded a strange sword. Bodies littered the cavern floor around them. Some Themberchaud recognized. Others, he did not.

"Join me," the voice beckoned.

It did not take Themberchaud long to consider.

To the utter bewilderment of all, the dragon abruptly took to the skies and tore a second massive hole in the chamber ceiling. But there was little time for those below to ponder where Themberchaud was going or even if he was coming back. The dragon had made sure to strike another brace on his way out.

Rock and debris came raining down, and the entire palace shook. The Hold was now on the verge of complete collapse. Those trapped inside began to panic. It would take far too long to pick their way back to the receiving chamber, even at a full sprint. There was no way they would make it out in time.

Fortunately, Deepking Horgar knew of another way out.

"Quick!" the duergar shouted. "Follow me!"

He did not have to tell anyone twice. The companions had just reached the doorway, so they backtracked to join up with Captain Blackskull, Broot, and the Stonespeaker. Together, the group followed Deepking Horgar to the raised dais where his iron throne sat. With a mighty grunt, the duergar began to push the massive object aside. But it budged just inches at a time—too slow. The ceiling was coming down in larger chunks now. Hgraam shielded those around him to the best of his ability, but it was only a matter of time.

"Someone help the Deepking!" Zelyra begged.

The druid's panicked cry spurred Derendil into action. Broot too. Together, the three gathered around the throne and pushed with all their might. With their combined effort, the two-thousand-pound throne slid aside to reveal a locked hatch around five feet in diameter. [5]

Deepking Horgar produced a key from a pocket in his robes. But as he pushed it into the keyhole, the duergar paused to look at the adventurers and said, "What I am about to show you is not common knowledge. Consider it my thanks for releasing me from the succubus's wiles."

The companions swallowed heavily and nodded. They understood a veiled threat when they heard one.

"But what about the Stonespeaker?" Kazimir asked as he turned a panicked eye to the stone giant in question. It only occurred to him that the hatch was too small for Hgraam to fit through.

Hgraam answered, "I alone can weather this storm."

"But—"

Broot tugged on the wizard's sleeve. "We must go. Think of your companions," the warforged said, gesturing pointedly to the barely conscious halfling in Kazimir's arms.

But that was not the only thing the tiefling noticed. Broot was right, and Fargas was the least of it. Kazimir saw the blood dripping from Zelyra's nose as she supported Fraeya. He saw Nine favoring her ribs. He saw entire patches in Prince Derendil's fur that had been burned away. He saw how Sarith swayed on his feet and rubbed at his temples while muttering irritably. He understood what Hgraam left unsaid.

A stone giant might survive the collapse of the Hold.

But the rest of them would not.

"Lead on, Deepking Horgar!" the wizard said.

The key was turned, and the hatch popped open, revealing a stone staircase that descended into obscurity. Who knew where it would lead. The companions simply had to trust that the Deepking knew what he was doing. Horgar went in first, followed by Broot and then the adventurers. Captain Blackskull was the last one down. Errde gave Stonespeaker Hgraam a deep nod of respect as she went down the dark stairway. The stone giant slammed the hatch closed just as the ceiling finally gave way, plunging the group into total darkness.


[1] My only disappointment with the DnD movie was their portrayal of Themberchaud. Yes, the dragon is supposed to be beefy, but he was too bloated in the film. I mean, he literally rolledaround and could barely fly!

Was it a funny scene? Absolutely. I got a good laugh. But it didn't fit how I envisioned Themberchaud, given our crazy combat experience.

[2] This was the moment in-game when I was beyond thankful that I spent nearly every gold piece on Zelyra's person to buy that armor.

[3] In the player's defense, she was still new to DnD and didn't know that red dragons are immune to fire damage. Meanwhile, DM/husband, Kazimir's player, and I were *internally screaming* lol.

[4] Before I began chapter four, I had already decided that Derendil would take up Dawnbringer following this bloody battle. But when I finally started writing the culminating scene, I panicked. A quaggoth would never be able to activate her light property! So, I improvised that Dawnbringer's properties could do no harm to her wielder. In any other instance, Derendil will still experience sun sensitivity in his quaggoth form.

[5] Gracklstugh Revised says that the 2,000lb throne can be shoved aside with a DC20 strength check, but I'm sorry, there's no way a single person could do that. Hence, even Deepking Horgar needed help.


The Grey Warriors are level 7 and have officially been namedropped! We never could decide on a 'party name' in-game. I came up with The Grey Warriors after the fact. It all links back to the mysterious 'grey-cloaked warriors' seen in chapter four, which I did not make up.

Remember me mentioning that DM/husband ran us through a combat session that nearly broke the DDB encounter builder? This was it, lol.

/*SPOILERS FOR OOTA BELOW*/

Now that we're winding down the Gracklstugh arc, I can share Gracklstugh Revised! If you are running OOTA or even considering it, I *highly* recommend using this additional resource from DMsGuild. Note: it is designed for an average player level of 8, but given our numerous NPCs, allies, and guest stars, DM/husband was 'confident' we could run it at levels 5-6. (I still think he was trying for a TPK)

Interesting note on Brimtongue—

You may wonder why the Deepking has a weapon associated with the Nine Hells, not the Abyss. I don't know the author's original intent, but I have an idea. While doing prior research on the duergar prime deity, Laduguer, I came across this: "In 1383DR, Laduguer and Deep Duerra were both destroyed […] Most Worshipers of Laduguer did not realize this, however, as Asmodeus took up the guise of Laduguer to gain more followers. Duergar began making pacts with devils as a result, securing infernal power for themselves."

OOTA takes place 100 years later, but a sentient weapon sworn to Asmodeus could still be in possession of a duergar. And a calculating demon would love nothing more than to exploit and manipulate that. Sharp readers might have caught on to who that individual might be…

/*END SPOILERS*/

Note on Balasar's player character—

As mentioned in a previous chapter, Balasar became an NPC after his 'abduction' because his player had moved away. In the original combat, Eldeth sacrificed herself to shield him from Themberchaud's fire blast, and Balasar survived. After the battle, he split from the party to take Eldeth's body, battle-axe, and shield back to her people (hence, we also lost Dawnbringer!) Then, much later in the campaign, we had a *slightly cringeworthy* reunion where we met up with a severely emaciated Balasar NPC who had semi-successfully completed the three-month mission—alone, traveling through the Underdark(!). It was a surprising and funny reunion in gameplay, but I knew it would never hold up in a narrative.

After discussing the change with DM/husband, I made the tough decision early on to kill Balasar off in the siege of Gracklstugh for two reasons. 1) to give the player character a justified ending, and 2) to keep Dawnbringer in the story as a light in the dark. I never like writing the death of a character, but as with Jimjar and Shuushar, I hope it's done in a way that further drives the story.