Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aftermath
1485 DR / Day 41
The Hold of the Deepking, Gracklstugh
The hatch slammed shut with a resounding—bang—and with it, the weight of all that occurred in the past few hours fell heavily on the Grey Warriors' shoulders. The mutated dragon egg had been destroyed, Shal was revealed to be a succubus who served the mysterious 'Dark Prince,' and the red dragon, Themberchaud, had razed the city before ambushing the Hold of the Deepking. They'd lost two of their companions in the ensuing battle…
The surviving party members escaped the collapsing royal chamber alongside Deepking Horgar, Captain Blackskull, and Broot via a secret passageway beneath the throne. They found themselves in total darkness, unable to make out even the slightest detail of their hand when held just inches from their face. Fortunately, their other senses made up for what they could not see. A blend of earthy odors hung in the air. The atmosphere was chilled and stale, but it also felt heavy. Somehow, the stone-shattering din of the collapsing room above them was absent. The only sound that reached their ears was the scrape of their boots against the stone and the occasional rat scurrying by.
Kazimir was seconds away from summoning his dancing lights when Deepking Horgar struck a flint against an oil-filled channel affixed to the wall. The duergar alone had the sense to shield his eyes as a long line of blinding flame raced down the chute, filling the space with heat and bright light. Sarith hissed, and black spots danced in Prince Derendil's vision. Captain Blackskull and Broot also turned their heads and shied from the flames. But Fraeya appeared only as affected as the surface dwellers among them and blinked hard—once, twice—before settling. Horgar thought that was odd for a drow but left it alone. [1]
"Follow me," the duergar said as he descended the staircase. His impressive, black fur cloak swept the dusty floor behind him.
The stairwell descended approximately fifty feet across two landings, where the second ended abruptly at a plain, iron door. It was the only simple thing about the passage. Unlike the rest of Gracklstugh, which was universally utilitarian and unadorned, the firelight revealed a myriad of intricate carvings on the walls, symbols and runes suggesting forgotten lore and knowledge.
The City of Blades was founded in −3717DR, nearly five millennia before. Many Deepkings had come and gone before Horgar Steelshadow V took the throne. Who knew how many had tread this path before, leaving secrets for only the future rulers of Gracklstugh to find… It should have fascinated them, but the companions were too lost in their own heads, mulling over injury while simultaneously overcome with grief and shock. No one dared to comment on the carvings or the heavy aura of magic that pulsed in the air. They did not ask where they were, much less where they were heading.
Balasar and Eldeth were dead.
Nothing could change that.
Even Captain Blackskull kept her lips smashed together in a fine line as nausea churned in her gut and bile rose in her throat. How faired her guards outside the palace? Did the civil war among clans still rage? Was Amber Thrazgad and her army still engaged with derro in the West Cleff? And what of the Council of Savants? Her perfect plan had been foiled by a dragon. How many innocent lives had been lost?
The people of Gracklstugh needed the solidarity of their leader right now. But what if his return had come too late?
One by one, the group quietly trailed after the Deepking—who now purposely strode across the second landing. Broot was first, followed by Nine, then Zelyra supporting Fraeya, Sarith, Kazimir with Fargas, Prince Derendil, and lastly, Blackskull.
Kazimir, unsurprisingly, was the only one to pay any real mind to the carvings. But for once, he did this out of the need for a distraction than actual interest. The wizard would have jumped at such an opportunity any other day. Today, however, it fell short of the horror he'd seen—
His friends burned alive. Just like his adopted father and mentor, Soveliss…
It hit too close to home.
So, he distracted himself by silently scanning the walls, picking out bits and pieces of runes he thought he recognized. And if his eyes did not deceive him, he also noticed a faint glimmer of magic on the landings. They flared as the Deepking stepped onto them, then settled. Perhaps an adjuration spell had been placed on them to discourage intruders.…
Now that the wizard thought back on it, a similar manifestation had occurred when Horgar first touched the locked hatch under his throne.
Definitely abjuration magic, he repeated to himself.
Kazimir was so wrapped up in those musings that he misjudged his step and nearly sent himself—and the barely conscious halfling he was carrying—tumbling down the stairs! It was by the grace of the goddess Tymora herself that Prince Derendil had enough awareness to catch the wizard by the back of the robe before setting off the most unwanted domino effect.
Kazimir paid closer attention to his footing than the walls after that.
When the entire group finally joined Deepking Horgar on the second landing, the duergar reluctantly produced a key for the plain door. The amount of confidence he was putting in an odd adventuring party—surface dwellers working alongside two drow elves and a quaggoth; now Horgar had officially seen everything—not to mention the Captain of the Stoneguard and Clan Cairngorm's warforged berserker probably had the Deepkings before him rolling in their graves.
But what other choice did they have? The structure of the Hold was compromised. This was the only safe route out. And despite his disinclination to share the palace's secrets, Horgar recognized that he owed the adventurers, Captain Blackskull, and the stone giants of Cairngorm Caverns a blood debt. Pride and a sense of duty won out.
Thus, the key was turned, and the plain door opened to reveal a vault with five sealed chambers. Each bore a different symbol. The first on the right depicted a squid. The second appeared to be a deep dwarf withstanding a dragon's breath. The third door on the left showed a pile of coins, while the fourth told the story of a dwarf felling a giant in battle. But the fifth, sitting dead center in the vault, displayed a strange motif—three inverted triangles arranged in a long triangle. It instantly drew Kazimir's attention.
Asmodeus.
Lord of the Ninth.
The damned brand on his palm began to burn. Not in an unpleasant way, as when Shal mocked him with her dying breath, this heat was warm, focused, familiar. He briefly closed his eyes, yet the sigil remained—seemingly carved behind his eyelids and burning, like living, breathing fire. It wasn't Her mark, but perhaps Her interest meant that Asmodeus was someone She allied with in the Nine Hells. He wouldn't know. Anything concerning Her was something Kazimir avoided like the plague.
Gods, as if demon lords were not enough, he thought to himself as his stomach churned with dread, already suspecting. It should not have come as a surprise, considering the Deepking's cursed weapon. Still, the tiefling sighed. Thank you, Fate, for possibly throwing archdevils into the mix as well…
He was starting to think the party had overstayed their welcome in Gracklstugh. They had gotten what they came for and then some. It was time to move on. Kazimir had good reason to believe that the others would think nothing of the strange symbol unless he gave away its origin. Perhaps they were just better off not knowing…
While their wizard companion privately brooded, the others watched Deepking Horgar as he moved to the center of the chamber, where an unassuming carpet lay. He swiftly removed it, revealing yet another symbol. This was a dwarven battle axe crossed with a two-headed hammer and a greatsword split down the middle—the king's mark.
"Stand clear," the duergar warned as he stepped from the emblem to the wall, where his fingers found a hairline fracture in the stone. The symbol on the floor abruptly folded in on itself like a trap door, revealing yet another dark space. But as Horgar took a torch and held it aloft the opening—there were no stairs. It was a sheer twelve-foot drop into a natural earthen passageway that had not been touched by the hand of any smith. "This is our path out of the castle," he said briskly, without offering any information about where the tunnel fed out.
"And I suppose we're supposed to just take a leap of faith to get down?" Zelyra asked tentatively. She sighed when the Deepking nodded.
Nine rolled her eyes. "It's not so far."
"For those who are not seriously injured, maybe," the druid argued. "But we have some with us who are. Fraeya can barely stand—"
"Can so," the drow stubbornly cut in, even as she contradicted herself by leaning more heavily into Zelyra's side.
"—and Fargas is barely conscious!"
And there was a third point that the druid did not dare voice aloud. Her gaze cut nervously to the other drow in their troupe. Sure, Sarith could walk independently, but the steps were shuffled. He lacked his usual rigid confidence, and by the way he agitatedly rubbed his temples while muttering nonsense, Zelyra privately feared he was nearing the brink of another manic episode—that was the last thing they needed. She unwittingly reached out to Eldath, the nature deity of comfort and peace, silently asking the goddess to lay a calming hand upon the warrior and temporarily stay his madness.
It might have been her imagination or just plain wishful thinking, but the crazed look in Sarith's eyes diminished after a few breaths. He took in a shuddered gasp of relief. Slowly but surely, his back straightened.
Zelyra's heart thundered. Did I do that? She was sure that her magical well was drained. But no one else paid the change any mind, and Sarith refused to look at her. Thus, she was the sole witness to the strange phenomenon as the controversy concerning the 'lack of stairs' continued.
"We could use a rope to scale down," Derendil suggested.
Kazimir snapped his fingers and pointed at Nine. "Hey, you had climbing equipment for the tomb, didn't you?"
"Fargas and I both did," the half-elven ranger admitted. "And we left it all back at the Lair, along with anything else deemed unnecessary for today's task."
"Looking a bit 'necessary' now, isn't it?" the tiefling scoffed.
Nine's lip ticked upwards into a vicious sneer rivaling one of Sarith's.
As the ranger and the wizard dissolved into childish bickering, the others watched with exasperation but were too exhausted to intervene. None of them noticed Broot approach the pit's opening. The warforged briefly considered their options and solved the problem for everyone as he took the leap of faith into the tunnel. He landed hard, rock crunching beneath his metallic feet, but without incident.
The group surged forward, squabbling promptly forgotten, and crowded the opening. As they peered into the gloom, they found Broot safe and sound, looking back at them. "Secure a rope around the injured and lower them down. I will catch them," he shouted.
"At least one of you can act decisively," Captain Blackskull muttered. Kazimir and Nine both flinched, their cheeks coloring with shame, and knew what the duergar left unsaid. Now was not the time to be bickering. It was better to set aside differences and work together.
Fargas and Fraeya were carefully lowered first—though the latter continued to insist that she was fine when, in fact, everyone knew the drow was not. Broot caught both at the bottom, true to his word. The rest followed, each scaling down the rope without incident. Then they were marching on again, slowly picking their way over rocky, uneven terrain. Kazimir found this particularly burdensome as he was carrying another's dead weight. When he stumbled for the umpteenth time, Fargas slurred, "Mmphf…quit…jostlin' me."
"Sorry," Kazimir apologized. "Glad to hear you finally talking, though."
"S'tired."
The wizard cringed. "I know, buddy."
Fargas had hit the stone pretty hard after Themberchaud's wing attack. Fraeya and Sarith did too. But the halfling was only afforded the minor health potion that Kazimir had on his person, whereas the drow elves received magical healing from Zelyra. A skilled hand made all the difference…
Kazimir was no healer but knew enough about injuries to recognize that Fargas was likely concussed. "I wish you were coherent enough to appreciate this," he gushed on a whim—anything to keep the halfling from dozing off again.
"What…?"
"The Deepking is escorting us through a secret tunnel beneath the castle."
"Secret…tunnel?"
"Yeah."
Kazimir prattled on, quietly detailing the party's daring escape from the collapsing throne room for a rogue explorer who was too out of it to take notice of his surroundings.
Much later, when Fargas rested and felt more like his rambunctious self, he would thank the wizard for the consideration.
. . .
After nearly thirty minutes of walking, the group reached what appeared to be a dead end. Deepking Horgar was not deterred. Like in the vault before, he crossed to the wall and found a hairline fracture within the stone, revealing yet another secret door that slid open with a dull groan. Upon exiting, they found themselves in a solid stone dwelling that had miraculously survived Themberchaud's assault on the city.
When asked, Horgar briskly explained that it was a storage house belonging to Clan Steelshadow, the Deepking's clan. It was crowded with primarily mundane items—supplies, tools, rations—but in one corner were several stacked Darklake stout casks marked with Clan Muzgardt's seal.
"Huh, I guess the guards at the gate were right," Kazimir muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Horgar asked.
The tiefling waved him off. "Nothing—just admiring your vast collection of Darklake Stout."
"Take one as part of your reward," the duergar replied.
"Part?" the party echoed in surprise.
Deepking Horgar rolled his shoulders. "We will discuss the specifics another time. For now, you may rest here and see to your wounded," he told the exhausted companions. They surveyed the unideal space and then looked back at the duergar in shocked silence, but Horgar's attention was now fixated on Captain Blackskull. "You and I have much to discuss, but we should see how our people fair first."
"I couldn't agree more," Blackskull replied.
And before the party could fully make sense of the situation, both duergar exited the storage house, leaving them in the cramped space with Broot.
"Uh, yeah, okay, we'll just wait here…" Kazimir muttered.
"In a tool shed!" Zelyra gasped.
"In a storage room," Derendil corrected.
Nine crossed her arms across her chest. "As if that's much better! Some hospitality…we save his sorry skin from a succubus, and this is our thanks!"
"He did promise us a cask of ale," Kazimir said.
"It's probably poisoned," the ranger spat.
When the wizard rolled his eyes and said, "It's like you always anticipate the worst in people…" Fargas let out a weak chuckle. That was Nine in a nutshell.
"There's not even chairs," Fraeya whined as she continued to lean on Zelyra for support.
"Use a barrel," Sarith said dryly, but the jab fell flat. Any other time, Fraeya would have relished engaging in verbal combat with her fellow drow, but she did not have the energy for it now. Every bone in her body ached, and she was almost sure she'd cracked a few ribs during her fall.
The rogue finally pushed her pride aside and asked for Zelyra's assistance. But to her disappointment, the healer said, "I…nearly pushed myself into a burnout getting you and Sarith out of the throne room. I need rest before I can cast again."
Fraeya quickly schooled her features to hide her surprise. All she could think was, why didn't you just leave us? It's what any drow would have done. But then the rogue reminded herself Zelyra was, in fact, not drow. She had been raised differently—to act selflessly, to not turn her back on the weak, to trust. Drow elves considered those weaknesses, but Fraeya was starting to think they might be wrong. Maybe there was strength to be found in true company. After all, she would not have survived the fight today without it.
"Thank you," the rogue muttered.
Zelyra shrugged as if it were no big deal.
But it was…
To both drow elves.
Sarith remained silent, but the half-elf begrudgingly had his gratitude as well. He did not know how, but he suspected she had something to do with silencing the whispers that plagued him in the tunnels.
"Guess that means you can't do much for this one either?" Kazimir said, lifting his arms slightly to emphasize Fargas. The wizard's arms were starting to shake from the physical effort. "Pretty sure he's concussed," he added.
"I wish I could, but I'm drained," Zelyra repeated miserably. "And there is not much I can do for fractured ribs and concussions without magic. The best thing for both Fraeya and Fargas is to rest until I replenish."
Fraeya clicked her tongue as Fargas slurred, "M'fine."
The druid shook her head almost fondly. "So stubborn, the both of you! Lay Fargas out, Kaz, and I'll look him over the best I can. He's talking, which is a good sign…" she muttered, more to herself than the group.
"Yeah, and sounding like he's already consumed the entire cask of Darklake stout the Deepking promised us," the tiefling said as he lowered Fargas to the floor like Zelyra requested, mindful of the halfling's head.
After she guided Fraeya to a seated position where the storage shed wall would support the drow's back, Zelyra tiredly flitted over to Fargas's side. As she began to poke and prod at his battered body, all but ripping his darkvision goggles off his face to properly view his eyes, the halfling suddenly sputtered, "Do'ya think there's…a…Valhalla?"
Zelyra's hands stilled.
"What?"
"Valhalla. The place with never-ending mead and feasting, where the spirits of true warriors go? From your song," Fargas said through straggled breaths. It did not help that the words came out a slurred mess, so it took Zelyra a moment to connect the question to the song she had taught Fargas, Derendil, and Kazimir at Ghloroborn's Lair following their successful meeting with Amber Thrazgad.
It was too rousing of a song for the hurt Zelyra felt at present, but she pondered the question itself for a long time. Fargas was not in any shape to sit through a longwinded spiel about the god Kelemvor, lord of the dead, much less a depressing lecture on the moaning masses of the Fugue Plane. For now, she could indulge him in fantasy. The druid suspected Fargas wasn't seeking an honest answer anyway. He simply wanted to make himself feel better about the loss of two friends. She then recalled another ballad of Krom's, one that had a far more sober message—
"No regrets we went out to war and strife,
To protect king and country.
Victory honor those who gave their life,
Willingly we will not grieve.
Raise your horns for brave fallen friends,
We will meet in Valhalla again." [2]
The druid mulled on that for a while and finally said, "I learned that song and many others like it from a friend who hailed from the Northlands. Krom…he…well, he believes in different gods and goddesses than we do on the Sword Coast, puts stock in different beliefs. But he was adamant that there was a heroic realm somewhere in the Great Wheel Cosmos that warriors could eventually call home, a place where those who fell in battle could eternally feast with the Allfather and where the goat, Heiðrún, ensured their cup was never empty."
"Sounds'like…great place," Fargas garbled. "I hope…"
"If there is such a place, Eldeth and Balasar more than earned their seats," Zelyra interrupted with conviction even as her eyes welled. Fargas sniffed and tried to dab at his own, but his reflexes were not there. The druid took pity and carefully swiped the tear trails away before the halfling poked his own eye out.
Their conversation had not been a private by any means. Dawnbringer tried to offer words of comfort, but the others still felt Eldeth and Balasar's loss in their own way. They helplessly stared at their boots, the wall, anything—
"Do you think Hgraam is okay?" Kazimir suddenly blurted to no one in particular.
It was Broot who answered. "Stonespeaker Hgraam is one of the strongest individuals I know. If anyone could have survived the collapse of the Hold, it is him," the warforged said resolutely. But then he added, with less certainty, "It is the other stone giants that I fear for. We were not expecting a focused attack on Cairngorm Caverns… The Council of Savants must have somehow anticipated Captain Blackskull's plans and decided to use us as a diversion or—" He paused. "Maybe it was meant as a counterattack. Rihuud was…not well…when Hgraam sent me to aid you."
The party realized then that they knew very little of the battle that had waged outside the castle. Themberchaud razed the city and attacked the Hold, yes. Blackskull had also briefly mentioned something about several clans turning on one another. But how did the stone giants become involved? Stonespeaker Hgraam had promised that Clan Cairngorm would remain neutral. So, what drew them out to fight? There were so many questions to be asked, yet no one had the heart to voice them aloud.
A drained silence fell. Who knew how long Deepking Horgar and Captain Blackskull would be gone? The companions resigned themselves to waiting. In the meantime, they bound whatever wounds they could without magic, took healthy drags from their waterskins, and shared a well-deserved breather.
But when several hours passed without word, their bellies began to growl with hunger, and all but Fraeya and Fargas—both of whom had fallen asleep at some point—began to grow restless. Kazimir and Derendil curiously poked through the room's stores. There was only so much one could do to entertain themselves in a storage shed, after all. They looked wantonly to a nearby crate filled with wheels of cheese, the dried jerky that hung from the ceiling. Surely, Clan Steelshadow would not miss a few rations…
Prince Derendil was mere seconds from ripping into the cheeses when Zelyra's sudden cry staid his hand.
"Oh gods! Stool and Rumpadump!"
As one, the party cringed, their hunger abruptly forgotten.
"We left them at the Lair! They would have been all alone when Themberchaud attacked the city—"
Surprisingly, it was Sarith who cut off the druid's panicked rambling. "Ghohlbrorn's Lair is below the city's surface," the drow reminded her.
Kazimir threw up his hands. "That's even worse! They could be trapped…or dead!"
"That's a pretty big jump between assumptions," Fraeya muttered as she rubbed her eyes. Zelyra's shout had ripped her out of a pleasant reverie.
"They're probably terrified," the half-elf continued.
"If they're even alive!" the tiefling shrieked.
Fraeya viciously rubbed at her temples, suddenly fighting a headache. "Kazimir—"
"The sprouts are the equivalent of children! Have we not already had our fill of death today?!"
Something terrible and entirely unfamiliar flared in the rogue's chest. Was this what loss felt like? If it was, she wished someone could take it from her, make her ignorant again. In the throne room, she'd been too distracted, too injured to properly acknowledge it. But now…
"Okay, okay, calm down. Someone can go check on them," Fraeya conceded.
"I can stay with the injured," Broot offered.
"I'll stay as well," Nine seconded.
Sarith folded his arms across his chest. It was enough of an answer for him.
Zelyra looked to Kazimir and Derendil. "So, we three?"
"Are we sure it's safe?" the prince asked hesitantly as Kazimir said, "Let's go!"
But before they even made it to the door—
"The raid was…unsuccessful."
Captain Blackskull's voice was resigned as it forced itself into Kazimir's consciousness via sending stone. The wizard perked to finally hear it and then flinched as the implication of the short phrase just as quickly resonated. He stopped short in the doorway.
"Blackskull," he explained to Zelyra and Derendil's confused glances. Then, to the duergar, he asked, "How many dead?"
"Too many," was Errde's small response. "And the number only increases with each report. Clan Xornbane was charged with guarding the perimeter for the armies in the West Cleff but was overran by derro. Before reinforcements could arrive, the Council of Savants tore through them and escaped. It was a slaughter. Nearly half the clan, gone."
Kazimir cringed. "Amber Thrazgad and Grinta Ironhead—"
"Their whereabouts are still unknown."
The tiefling dug his thumb into his forehead. Blackskull had been gone for hours. How could Grinta and Amber still be missing?
"Hgraam?"
"He has returned to Cairngorm Caverns to see to the fallen. He has specifically requested your healer's assistance with a resurrection ritual. She is to go right away."
Gods—
Kazimir could not bring himself to ask whose ritual Zelyra was to assist in. Based on Broot's earlier report, he already suspected…
How had things gone so terribly wrong?
"And Themberchaud?"
"Inexplicably gone. The reports claim that the dragon has left the city entirely," Errde said bitterly. After a moment of tense silence, she continued, "The rest of you are free to return to your rooms at Ghohlbrorn's Lair at your leisure. The Deepking will summon you after his debrief with the Keepers of the Flame."
Kazimir could only imagine how that meeting was going, considering the party had all but thrown them under the wagon. Deepking Horgar had sounded furious to learn that the Keepers hid the fact that the dragon egg was missing from him… The wizard would not want to be in Gartokkar Xundorn's shoes right about now.
Blackskull continued, oblivious to Kazimir's inner monologue. "Fortunately, most of the Blade Bazaar was spared from Themberchaud's attack. Only a few buildings were lost. The brunt of the damage lies to the south of Laduguer's Furrow. Be careful as you pass through. There are still many fires that need to be put out…"
Kazimir quietly relayed the news to the group.
"Hgraam wants me to help with a resurrection ritual?" Zelyra blurted, her eyes wide. "But I'm not—I've never—"
The wizard shrugged. Who knew what the Stonespeaker had in mind? Hgraam was a bit of an enigma, constantly speaking in riddles. Aloud, he said, "We can swing by the Lair to check on Stool and Rumpadump, then go help the stone giants."
"Ghohlbrorn's Lair is in the opposite direction of Cairngorm Caverns," Broot said. "It would be faster for you to go straight there."
Kazimir's shoulders sagged. "Well, I'm not making Zelyra go alone, but someone needs to check on the sprouts."
"Blackskull said it's safe to return to our rooms, right?" Nine began. "So, there's no reason for us to stay here. If you and Prince Derendil wish to go with Zelyra, the rest of us will go back to the Lair."
"I will carry the small one for you," Broot offered, gesturing to Fargas, who was still out like a light.
Nine cracked the slightest hint of a smile. "That would be much appreciated."
Sarith rose to his feet and then offered Fraeya a hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked confusedly.
"Helping you up," the warrior said.
"What—you offering to be my support this time?" Fraeya teased as he carefully pulled her to her feet. Sarith rolled his eyes, but when he didn't make any move to shrug her off, the rogue assumed that meant yes.
An unsettling feeling washed over the group as they left the shelter and stepped out into the street, and it took them a moment to realize why. It wasn't the carnage—smoldering buildings, bloodstained cobblestone, and scorched earth; bodies strewn in the street, some turned to ash, others still burning, while some appeared to have fallen from your standard sword or spear; nor the horrible stench in the air—it was the silence. Never, not once, since the companions stepped foot into Gracklstugh had the city been quiet. It did not rest. It did not sleep. But on this day, this hour, the forges were still, and the people even more so. They walked around in a daze, whispering rather than shouting as they searched among the debris for their families, friends, loved ones—
The companions were also quiet as they picked their way through the fallout. For a moment, they forgot their own grief and instead focused on the gritty reality around them. For as many duergar bodies, there were just as many, if not more, derro. So much death, and for what? To reclaim some stolen ore? To put the derro back in their place? It did not seem either venture succeeded—if Blackskull's report was anything to go by.
With the exceptions of Sarith, a seasoned soldier, and Broot, an infernal machine bred for war, the rest of the party had never experienced war's brutal aftermath, much less a large-scale dragon attack. There was the memory of Sloobludop, of course, but that had been an active, present kind of thing. They had fled, leaving the brainwashed kuo-toa in the dust before Demogorgon could fully reach the shore and obliterate everything in his path. And they were long gone when he finally slithered back into the Darklake, and an eerie hush overtook the village…
Now, to see such a similar scene of mass destruction in yet another city incited so many emotions. Most of Gracklstugh was a stranger to them, but not all. Truthfully, the duergar city was not what the surface dwellers had expected. While the grey dwarves upheld some less than savory practices (i.e., slave trade), the companions had made important allies and even a few friendly acquaintances during their stay. Amber Thrazgad. Grinta Ironhead. Rihuud. Lizva. Young Vanum. Manitou and Brondiac. Gnaddne Tinmender. Not knowing if one—any—of those individuals had survived the assault could make one feel as though they'd aged twenty years in an instant. It made one feel small, hollow, brittle, and angry, but it could also inspire compassion and pity.
No one wishes to find a familiar face amongst the dead.
Perhaps the latter notion drove Kazimir to suddenly veer off course and crouch before a random duergar commoner he spotted out of the corner of his eye. Most of the group continued to the Lair, but Zelyra and Prince Derendil stopped to wait for him.
With most duergar, age was hard to tell unless they were truly elderly, but this male had a youthful face. He wore no armor and did not appear outwardly injured. But the thousand-yard stare in his eyes and the fact that he rocked back and forth as he huddled against the ruins of a shack drew the tiefling's attention.
"Hey, you okay?"
The duergar did not respond.
Kazimir waved a hand in front of his face.
"Hey, buddy, are you okay?"
Still no answer.
Kazimir turned back to look at Zelyra helplessly. The druid shuffled to his side and dropped to her knees while reaching into the last dregs of healing magic from the fey pool. The tiniest blackened vines, resembling a spidering crack, sprouted from her fingertips and curled around the duergar's forearm. A minute later, he took a shuddering breath and—
"It's all gone."
Derendil stepped in as a translator. Kazimir did not have enough energy left for a language comprehension spell, and after only a tenday of practice, his and Zelyra's Undercommon was still in the beginning stages.
"Who?" the tiefling asked quietly, already dreading the answer. Derendil repeated the question in Undercommon.
"My family. The missus. My wee ones. The house is ash."
All the while, he rocked back and forth.
"I'm so sorry," Kazimir blurted as Zelyra's hands shot to her mouth, and behind them, Prince Derendil turned his head.
"We had no warning." And then, "I heard their screams."
Oh, gods—
"Is there somewhere we can take you? Other family, or an allied clan—"
"Just leave me be."
"But surely there is something!"
Prince Derendil tried again, but the duergar was stringently silent this time.
"We should go," the prince said quietly. "Hgraam is waiting."
Kazimir hesitated. There was something about the empty look in the duergar's eyes, something he could relate to… If the tiefling could pull himself out of the spiraling abyss that was grief and loss, he had to believe this guy could too. Hundreds of others like this individual were mourning throughout the city, but the rekindling of hope started with one. On a whim, he reached into his satchel, plucked three pearls from the strand he'd claimed from Ploopploopeen's horde, and dropped them into the duergar's lap. It wasn't much, but it was something.
"May that help you get back on your feet," the wizard said as he rose. Zelyra quietly followed, and then the three went on their way. Their other companions were now long gone.
"That was very kind of you," Derendil said softly as they walked.
Kazimir shrugged. "Yeah, well, I know that pain."
The prince had the decency not to press, but Zelyra's heart squeezed in her chest as she suddenly recalled a detail of Kazimir's past that he once shared in confidence.
[1] I made my own vision ruling here. Most Underdark denizens have sunlight sensitivity, not light sensitivity. However, how often are they exposed to bright light? The Underdark is dimly lit by flame, magical lighting, or phosphorescent fungi. Bright light doesn't hurt as sunlight would, but it's uncomfortable and takes them longer to adjust.
[2] Lyrics borrowed from "Raise Your Horns" by Amon Amarth
The song Fargas originally referenced is "Brothers Unite" by Brothers of Metal
We never visited the royal vault in our actual gameplay, but after reading about it in Gracklstugh Revised, I wanted to briefly work into the narrative. The abjuration magic that Kazimir senses in the chapter is three separate Symbol spells that only allow Horgar and those he designates to pass (intelligence vs. insanity on the hatch, wisdom vs. fear on the first landing, and constitution vs. death on the second). The chamber containing the five vaults is locked, with a mass suggestion spell that compels all but the "ruler of Gracklstugh" and those he's appointed to rethink their intrusion, leave the vault, and turn themselves into the Stoneguard at Overlake Hold. As for what the five vaults hold…the symbols on each door are a clue to what sort of magical items lie inside. Hope it was a fun little side quest.
We're nearing 40 written chapters but have only reached the gameplay equivalent of session 31 of 118. As a single story, an entire rewrite of our campaign could easily breach the 800k mark, and I feel like that's excessive! I initially anticipated splitting The Grey Warriors into two parts, utilizing the natural break between chapters 7 and 8 of the OOTA module. But as I was writing this chapter, I felt like it was nearing a wrap-up point of its own. I've decided to split the campaign into three parts (not including Zelyra's Origins, which I really need to return to at some point…)
Otherwise, I know this chapter was depressing, but it had to be done. The battle of Gracklstugh wasn't a glorious endeavor by any means—ultimately, we lost—and I did not want to dismiss that grittiness. We still have at least one, maybe two more chapters left to wrap up things in the City of Blades, and then we'll be on to part two of The Grey Warriors saga! So, if you haven't already, please subscribe to me as an author to keep up with new updates!
Update 11/6: Has anyone else had issues with email notifications or viewing their stats on this site? I haven't been able to view my stats since mid-September, and when I emailed support about it in early October, they blocked off all email communications because, apparently, my 'provider' rejected their reply. Tried a second email yesterday with the same result... Hadn't had any issues with receiving emails from the site until that point...