The Cult of the Gol'Goroth

Chapter Six

The Keymaster

15 Elient (The Fading) 1484 DR / Day 6

The Lair of the Gol'Goroth, northeastern Neverwinter Wood

With Arlathan on the mend and the other three having eaten and feeling somewhat rested, the companions gathered their gear and prepared to continue their journey through the Lair of the Gol'Goroth. Two paths lay before them. A solid iron door was to their left. Its surface was smooth and unyielding, with a round slot just beneath the handle roughly an inch in diameter. Otherwise, the path continued around a corner to the right. The choice was theirs on which to take.

"We should try the door first," Varan suggested. Arlathan, Krom, and Zelyra agreed. There was no use in leaving a stone unturned, after all. But when the ranger turned the handle, it did not budge. He turned to the others and confirmed, "Locked."

"Of course it is," Arlathan sighed. "Otherwise, it would be too easy."

Zelyra stepped forward, curiosity gleaming in her bright green eyes. "Hold on, let me take a look," she said as she knelt by the door. The half-elf scrutinized the slot and the handle, then pulled a set of finely crafted thieves' tools from her pack. Arlathan and Krom exchanged a dumbfounded look. Both were unaware that she possessed such skills. But Varan's face was a careful mask. "I didn't know you had those," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"There are many things you don't know about me," Zelyra replied softly.

The mask cracked, and a harsh frown pinched the ranger's features.

"Since when do you have thieves' tools?" Krom pressed.

"And know how to pick locks?" Arlathan added.

The druid shrugged. "I've had them forever."

"They originally belonged to her brother," Varan revealed.

"Zelphar?" the half-giant echoed in surprise.

Zelyra nodded and continued fiddling with the lock, eager for the distraction.

"Still doesn't explain the lock-picking thing," Arlathan said.

Zelyra sighed. "It's a skill I picked up long before coming to Taras Aldar," she said cryptically, not wanting to get into her past at present. "The life that my brother and I lived back then…we did whatever it took to survive, even if that meant stealing. But that was a lifetime ago. I've left that behind."

Arlathan and Krom nodded solemnly while Varan continued to scowl at the door. The mention of his former best friend and his thieving ways always left a sour taste in the ranger's mouth. Zelyra might have left that life behind, but her brother never could—never would. He was in too deep.

"Guess that's the kind of skill that can come in handy," Arlathan said lightly.

Zelyra turned and gave the moon elf a half-hearted smile. "It has its uses. Like now," she said before returning to the door. But despite her best efforts, the half-elf found the lock impenetrable. The intricate mechanism defied her every attempt. "It's no use," she finally said, putting away Zelphar's tools. "This lock isn't like any I've seen before."

Krom gave the door a few solid pushes and kicks, but the iron didn't budge an inch. "We could try breaking it down, but I doubt even I could make a dent in this thing," he confessed.

Arlathan peered at the slot beneath the handle, her brow furrowed in thought. "It looks like something specific is meant to fit in here," she mused.

Varan nodded, agreeing with her assessment. "Whatever it is, we don't have it," he said. "There's no use in wasting more time on a dead end. Let's just go."

The party reluctantly turned away from the iron door and continued down the path that disappeared around the corner to the right. The tunnel was narrow and winding, and the faint glow of the torches cast eerie shadows on the walls. The scent of damp earth and decay filled the air, and the sourceless whispers grew louder as they pressed forward.

As they walked, Zelyra felt a pang of discomfort. She had never spoken to anyone aside from Laucian about her childhood and the skills she had been forced to learn to survive. But Varan seemed to know more than she initially believed. Perhaps Zelphar had confided in him all those years ago? But there was no time to ask the ranger about that now. Their mission came first.

The companions followed the tunnel for another thirty-some feet before it opened into a medium-sized area that bore the signs of a makeshift living space. A rotting bed stood against one wall, its wooden frame splintered and sagging. Beside it, a nightstand held a nearly melted candle and a small green dragon statue. At the base of the bed sat an old treasure chest. Its surface was covered in a thick layer of dust. A pile of decayed scrolls lay scattered nearby, at least twenty in total. Their parchment was brittle and yellowed with age. In one corner, a broom was propped against the wall, and scraps of cloth were strewn across the floor.

Varan, ever vigilant, cautiously crept into the space first, his keen eyes scanning the shadows for any hint of danger. Hayth moved silently beside him, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. Arlathan, Zelyra, and Krom followed, their senses also heightened. But unbeknownst to them, the danger lay in wait above them—not below.

Two large, dark shapes clung to the ceiling, perfectly still and camouflaged. These were darkmantles, creatures of the Underdark that could pass themselves off as stalactites or lumps of stone until they fell upon unsuspecting prey. What they were doing on the surface could be anyone's guess…

The creatures held fast to the ceiling, their bat-like wings folded tightly against their bodies and their many tentacles coiled and ready to strike. Their rough, stone-like hides blended so seamlessly with the stone around them that they could easily be mistaken for harmless stalactites. But as the last person entered the room, they revealed themselves as the monstrosities they truly were. The chamber suddenly turned black as pitch as the darkmantles dropped from the ceiling in a swift, coordinated strike.

Varan's instincts kicked in as the dark engulfed him. "Ambush!" he shouted, drawing his blades.

The others scrambled to respond, but their sight was totally obscured. Even darkvision could not pierce through this kind of night. But the darkmantles had no such weakness. They relied on echolocation rather than sight. And they immediately sought the two tallest targets within the space.

Varan felt a heavy weight slam onto his shoulders, followed by the sensation of tentacles wrapping tightly around his head and upper body. The creature's grip was like iron, squeezing with a crushing force. His blades clattered to the floor as he staggered, trying to free himself, but the absence of light made it impossible to see or coordinate his movements. Meanwhile, Krom was an easy mark for the second darkmantle. It dropped onto him with a thud, its leathery wings swiftly enveloping his giant head and neck. The barbarian roared in frustration and tried to pry the creature off with his bare hands, but its strength surprised even him.

Zelyra and Arlathan stood frozen. They heard the sharp ting as Varan's blades hit the stone floor, the sounds of struggle, and muffled cries, but they had no way to pinpoint the exact location of their friends. The magical darkness was all-consuming, making it feel like the Abyss itself had swallowed them.

"Varan? Krom?" Arlathan tried. "Where are you?!"

Krom roared again, his powerful frame thrashing as he tried to dislodge the darkmantle that had latched onto him. The barbarian stumbled into her a moment later, sending Arlathan sprawling to the floor. The druid landed on her hands and knees with a shrill screech.

"Arlathan? Krom? Varan?! Oh gods, I can't see any of you!" Zelyra cried, panic seeping into her tone. She reached out for someone—anyone—but her hands met only empty air. "I don't know how to help!"

The darkmantles clung tightly to their victims, their tentacles squeezing tighter with every passing moment. Varan managed to get one arm free. He drew a dagger and slashed at the tentacles binding him, feeling grim satisfaction as the blade cut through leathery flesh. The creature hissed in pain but did not release its vice-like grip. He did manage to peel a tentacle away from his face long enough to shout—

"Arlathan! The driftglobe! Use the driftglobe!"

"Of course!" Arlathan muttered from the cavern floor. Her heart pounded as she fumbled in her pack for the magical item given to them at the start of their quest. As her hands blindly closed around its smooth, glass surface, the druid was beyond thankful for Master Naitha's foresight.

"Daylight!" she cried in Druidic.

The driftglobe flared to life, emitting a blinding, sunlit glow that filled the chamber. It cut through the magical darkness and revealed the grotesque forms wrapped around the upper halves of Varan and Krom. They were like a fusion of bat and octopus, with compact, muscular bodies covered in a rubbery hide marred by dark, pulsing veins. Thick, writhing tentacles extended from their bodies that were lined with barbed suckers that tapered into sharp, claw-like points.

The darkmantles held fast to their prey, and the warriors' movements became increasingly sluggish as their air supply dwindled. It was only a matter of time… The druids had to react fast.

Zelyra thrust her hands toward the ground, summoning a surge of primal energy. Thick, luminescent vines erupted from the rocky floor, writhing with a life of their own. They snaked across the cavern with relentless speed, honing in on the monstrosities that clung to Varan and Krom's faces. The enchanted vines wrapped around the darkmantles' tentacles, their thorny grips overpowering the creatures' barbed suckers. Then, with a powerful, coordinated pull, they yanked the darkmantles away, ripping them from their victims' faces with a loud, suctioned release. [1]

The monstrosities hissed and writhed as they were flung across the cavern, where they slammed against the wall and fell prone. Hayth lunged for them in their vulnerable state, his powerful jaws quickly finishing one and then the other. The chamber then fell silent.

Zelyra released her spell and rushed over to Varan. "Are you okay?" she asked in a rush, her hands rapidly poking and prodding at the strange suction-like wounds that now marred his face and neck. The ranger responded by tiredly dropping his sweaty forehead to her shoulder. The conjured vines had also left their mark, but he figured a brush with thorns was a small price to pay in lieu of suffocation.

"I'm fine over here, thanks," Krom blurted.

The druid turned a guilty look his way. "Oh, Krom! I didn't mean—"

The half-giant gave a bellied laugh. "I'm teasing you, Z. See to the puny ranger."

"Hey!" Varan croaked in protest.

"To me, you elves are all puny," Krom said with another laugh. He then shook his head and muttered, "Who would've thought when I left the Northlands that I'd end up surrounded by elves…" [2]

Zelyra and Varan chuckled before turning back to each other.

"Come here, big guy," Arlathan told Krom with a coy grin. "This puny elf has healing magic, too."

The druids quickly saw to the warriors' wounds, and then they all took a moment to bask in the warm light of the driftglobe. It provided a brief reprieve from the oppressive darkness of the lair. But it really was a brief respite…for the light also revealed a figure near the left of the entrance that the party had not noticed. The man had a long, white beard and brittle hands, and he wore a grimy set of muted robes. His eyes were bloodshot and empty. He sat cross-legged on the floor, staring up at the light-filled ceiling as if it were filled with stars, utterly oblivious to the impromptu battle that had just taken place.

Varan recognized him immediately, though the man had aged considerably since the ranger had last seen him. "Erstod?" he called gently, hoping to avoid startling him.

The wizard's head snapped away from the ceiling at the sound of his name, and his wide eyes fixed on Varan. "Who... who calls the Keymaster?" he rasped, his voice trembling with fear and insanity. He peered closer at the ranger and then chuckled quietly. "Oh, ho! You…I know you…"

Varan's eyes widened in turn.

Erstod clamored to his feet and grabbed the ranger's chin with gangly fingers. Varan flinched but remained frozen as the wizard carefully inspected his face. "Yes…yes," the wizard muttered. "Hm, got your father's look about you…funny. I always suspected you would take after your mother."

Varan shuddered but still did not pull away.

Arlathan, Krom, and Zelyra exchanged uneasy glances. The man clearly knew Varan and the ranger seemed to know him in turn. But whether he was a friend or foe had yet to be determined. The two druids and the barbarian silently agreed to proceed with caution.

Krom took an aggressive step forward. "You're Erstod?" he demanded.

"Erstod, they called me once," the man said as he abruptly released Varan's chin and averted his eyes. "But no more! No, now I am the Keymaster!" he cackled. "At last, I have a purpose in this backwards, ill-gotten town… He knows! Yes, they hated you too! Didn't they?"

The ranger staggered back, straight into Krom's broad chest. The half-giant steadied his friend with a firm hand and glared at the wizard. He already thought the man had an ill-favored look about him, but anyone who could unsettle someone as unyielding as Varan Fenhirel was someone to watch closely.

"We're here to help you, Erstod," Zelyra tried.

The man chortled, the sound sending shivers down their spines. With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the driftglobe, plunging the room back into darkness only broken by the torches that lined the walls. "Help? There is no help for those who serve the Gol'Goroth! But perhaps...perhaps you seek answers. A riddle, then. Solve my riddle, and I may share what I know."

"Or how about I crush your pathetic skull instead? You cultists are all the same," Krom growled as his hand tightened around his warhammer. The runes etched upon its head and handle began to glow faintly in response to his rising anger. But Varan swiftly clamped a hand down on his wrist, and to Krom's complete surprise, the ranger pleaded, "Don't—listen to what he has to say."

Krom reluctantly backed down.

Erstod leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mad excitement. "Good! Very good! Listen well and answer me true: I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?"

The tension in the room was palpable as the companions considered the riddle, each weighing the possible answers.

"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears..." Krom muttered, his brow furrowed in thought.

"I come alive with the wind…" Zelyra mused.

"But have no body," Varan added.

Arlathan's eyes lit up. "An echo," she whispered. "It's an echo."

Erstod's bloodshot eyes gleamed with approval. "Yes, yes! An echo!" he exclaimed. "You have answered correctly. Now, listen well, for the path ahead is fraught with peril."

The elderly wizard began to flit about the room with surprising agility and enthusiasm, grabbing scrolls and lighting stray candles. His excitement was almost infectious. "You seek the inner sanctum," he said, his voice hushed. "I have been placed in this room to ensure that only those worthy of the Gol'Goroth may pass. It's an honor! A true, true honor! Our lord is magnificent—truly, truly magnificent!"

Erstod's rambling trailed off as he gazed upward, lost in reverence.

From the corner of her eye, Arlathan noticed Zelyra's fingers twitching at her side. "I don't like this," she signed over and over and over.

"Me either," the other druid eventually signed back.

Zelyra's fingers paused.

And then, "Be on your guard."

"Way ahead of you."

Erstod continued, oblivious to the druids' silent conversation. "The Gol'Goroth wishes for only the strongest of mind to enter his sanctum," he announced. "To test your worth, you must solve a puzzle."

"But we already answered your riddle," Arlathan said out loud with a frown.

"Oh! But that was just the first test!" Erstod cried with glee. He observed each of them closely, his eyes gleaming with curiosity before muttering, "Yes, I think you four will do—you will do nicely!" The sweet scent in the air grew stronger as the wizard ranted and repeated himself. It was almost sickly now, filling the companions' nostrils and making their heads swim. "This room contains all the clues you need to pass through the door behind me. Just say the passphrase, and it will open with ease. And then… Down in the pit, amongst his children, lies the key to the sanctum."

The wizard then leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially as he cocked his head, "Words are but interesting little creatures. Sometimes, they are well-behaved and keep themselves in line... but other times, they are a bit more adventurous and find new ways to arrange themselves. dooG kcul, ehseor!"

With that cryptic hint given, the Keymaster fell silent. The adventurers knew they had a challenging task ahead of them. They spread out, searching the room for clues that might help them decipher the password.

Krom approached the nightstand beside the rotting bed. He picked up the small green dragon statue and examined it closely. Beneath it, he found a piece of parchment with a strange message written on it: "Betrayal - be-tray-al - eb-yart-la - ebyartla." The barbarian frowned as he turned the paper over in his hands.

Meanwhile, Varan sifted through the pile of decayed scrolls. Each one seemed more brittle and illegible than the last, but he persevered, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together the text fragments. One scroll caught his attention, with the words "Consequence - con-se-quence - noc-es-ecneuq - nocesecneuq" barely visible through the grime.

Arlathan examined the treasure chest at the foot of the bed. "It's locked, but there might be something important inside," she told the others. "Zelyra, can you use your tools to open it?"

The half-elf nodded and pulled out Zelphar's tools as she knelt beside the chest. After a few moments of precise fiddling, the lock clicked open. Inside, the druids found more scraps of parchment. One read, "Determination - de-ter-min-a-tion - ed-ret-nim-a-noit - edretnimanoit."

Hayth sniffed around the room and nudged a piece of cloth aside, revealing a small, dusty book. Arlathan brushed away the dirt and found more encrypted messages inside. "Words are interesting little creatures... adventurous ways to arrange themselves," the moon elf muttered as she read them, recalling Erstod's hint.

The party regrouped and laid out all the fragments they had found.

Zelyra frowned, her mind racing. "This is just reversing the letters in individual syllables, not the entire word," she said.

"That's what I thought as well!" Arlathan exclaimed.

"Betrayal. Determination. Consequence. Those are just individual words," Krom pointed out. "Erstod specifically said passphrase, not password."

Varan nodded, his eyes already scanning the room for more clues. "It must be around here somewhere. We just need to find the right words and apply the pattern."

"Let's look again," the half-giant suggested.

Erstod's smile widened as the companions renewed their search. They carefully sifted through the room a second time, reexamining the rotting bed, the nightstand with the green dragon statue, the pile of decayed scrolls, and other scattered items. Nothing seemed to fit. But then, at last, Varan found an etching on the side of the nightstand that read, "Good luck, heroes." Its placement was just…strange. But it also shimmered with a faint hint of light, like a rune, making the ranger believe it might have magical significance. And so, Varan pointed it out to the others. When Zelyra and Arlathan reversed each syllable's letters, it read as "dooG kcul, ehseor."

Zelyra suddenly began laughing.

Could it really be that simple?

"What's so funny?" Arlathan asked, genuinely puzzled.

"He gave us the correct passphrase right from the start," Zelyra answered. She turned to Erstod, who was already grinning. "Am I right?"

"I suppose I did, didn't I?" the wizard replied mysteriously.

Arlathan shook her head lightly and held the parchment containing the transposed passphrase out to Krom. "Do you want to do the honors?" she asked.

"Me?" the half-giant echoed in surprise.

Zelyra shrugged. "Why not?"

"Varan found the inscription. Zelyra and I transposed it. Seems only fitting that you have a part to play as well," Arlathan said.

Krom smiled and took the parchment from her hand. He cleared his throat and bellowed, "dooG kcul, ehseor!" The iron door behind the Keymaster clicked, and the companions exchanged triumphant glances, knowing they had solved the riddle.

Erstod clapped his hands in delight. "Yes! You are worthy! Worthy, indeed," he exclaimed. "Now, don't forget, there is one more step. Down in the pit, amongst his children, lies the key to the sanctum!"

With a final, crazed laugh, the wizard stepped aside, allowing the group to pass through the now-unlocked door. Here, a stairwell descended twenty feet into the depths of the lair. The companions cautiously descended, their steps echoing in the confined space. At the bottom, they found themselves on a stone platform, with the rest of the chamber opening up thirty feet ahead of them.

Zelyra and Arlathan approached the platform's edge, but Krom clamped a hand on Varan's shoulder to hold him back. The barbarian allowed the druids to walk forward several paces before asking, "Are you okay?"

Varan frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Krom gestured sharply to the stairs they had just descended. "Because what just happened up there was all kinds of strange. You're still with us, right? That wizard didn't do anything…unnatural…to you, did he?"

The ranger sighed. "No, he didn't."

"Then mind explaining what that was?" the barbarian pressed.

"Nothing, I just…" Varan paused. "I pitied him, is all."

"You pitied him?" Krom repeated with a furrowed brow.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?"

Krom cocked his head. "Strange that you didn't pity any of the other cultists." The pair stared at one another with hard eyes until finally, the half-giant broke and said, "You grew up here, didn't you? These are your people."

Varan said nothing.

"And they cast you out," the barbarian continued.

Still, silence from the ranger.

"They didn't like the wizard either. Because he was different, right? I imagine this town is full of suspicious, hard-headed humans who don't take kindly to magic. Boy, I bet a half-elf and a mage living among them would have made them squirm—"

"Enough!" Varan shouted.

It cut through the other sound in the room and was certainly loud enough for their druid companions to overhear. The pair shot concerned glances Krom and Varan's way, but the warriors ignored them. After another bout of intense quiet, the half-giant eased his grip on the half-elf's shoulder but did not let go. "I know something about leaving a place because folk don't agree with you," he rumbled. "And I reckon that Zelyra and Arlathan both do, too. For all their secrecy, the Circle of Swords has a fine way of picking up people with nothing to lose, giving them a home and purpose—something to finally fight for. Don't they?"

After a breath, Varan nodded.

Krom sighed. "I understand your pity for Erstod," the barbarian started. "I truly do. But he didn't side with someone like the Circle of Swords. He sought comfort in a cult, and he's using your pity for him to draw you in." Varan's head dipped slightly, but Krom poked his chest, forcing the ranger to meet his gaze. "You can't let it," he said pointedly.

Varan averted his gaze as he considered his past. "Yes," he said haltingly. "But you must also understand… I care nothing for this village. But Erstod? He was the only one who—"

I did not know him well. But he was the only one who showed Mother an ounce of kindness, the half-elf could not bring himself to say aloud. And for that—

"I would—"

"Save him if you could," Krom finished.

Varan nodded.

"Very well," the barbarian said and left it at that.

The pair finally met back up with Arlathan and Zelyra.

"You two done with whatever that was?" the moon elf asked with an inflated gesture.

Varan and Krom exchanged a nod.

"Yup," the ranger answered shortly.

"And I'm guessing you won't tell us what it was about?" Zelyra surmised.

"Sometimes men just need talk to man to man," Krom said.

Both druids huffed but accepted it. Sometimes, they felt the same, only in reverse.

"Well, while you were chatting, we've been staring at this lovely view," Arlathan said as she gestured to the pit. It was a twenty-foot drop shrouded in impenetrable darkness.

The croaking of hundreds of frogs filled the air, creating a cacophony of sound that echoed from the depths below. The darkness was not natural—the druids had already tested that—it was magical and would extinguish any ordinary light that attempted to pierce it. Only a spell as powerful as Daylight might reveal what lay hidden within.

With that established, the four companions stood in silence, listening to the rhythmic croaking and the unsettling sounds of frogs hopping and crawling across the stone.

"Well, that's the pit Erstod mentioned," Krom said.

"And that's definitely the Gol'Goroth's children down there," Arlathan added.

"Which means the key to the sanctum is somewhere down there, too," Zelyra concluded.

All three of them grimaced.

"I'll go down," Varan volunteered when it became apparent that no one else would.

Zelyra's head snapped to him in alarm. "What?! No!"

"Someone has to," the ranger argued.

"But remember what Hal said? Their tentacles have a paralyzing touch!" she cried.

"And those that fall under that paralysis find themselves at the mercy of the Gol'Goroth. His children desire flesh, and in its absence, their god plants his seed…" Arlathan quoted with a shudder. "Ugh, still so creepy."

"Tell me, how are you getting in and out of the pit without touching one of those demons?" Zelyra snapped at the ranger.

"Would you rather Krom or Arlathan go in? Do you want to send Hayth?"

"No!" the druid sputtered.

Varan folded his arms across his chest. "Well, someone has to enter the pit to find the key, and I'm certainly not letting you do it. So, it seems we are at an impasse," he replied.

Zelyra angrily stomped her foot. "This is complete madness! There must be another way!" The half-elf looked at Arlathan and Krom and demanded, "Why aren't either of you protesting?"

Krom scratched his chin. "Because he has a point…" he said.

Arlathan grimaced and made an awkward gesture of agreement.

When the druid huffed, Varan reached out and gently took her hands. "I'll be fine. I've faced trials far more perilous than this. And besides," he added with a hint of humor, "there are worse things than losing an eye."

"An arm. A leg. Your tongue…" Krom listed on his fingers.

Zelyra heaved another heavy sigh and glared at both males.

Arlathan sniffed the air. "Maybe no one has to lose anything…" the druid said thoughtfully. "I've been wondering about these shifts in scents. When the air is foul, we are at each other's throats, we're uneasy, and everyone else is too. But when the air is sweet, everything's fine. Just think about it—the albino squirrels didn't attack us until the scents changed!"

"The air is sweet now," Krom pointed out.

"So, theoretically, as long as Varan enters the pit when the air is sweet, the frogs won't attack. It matches everything we've experienced thus far," Arlathan suggested.

"But the scent can change at random!" Zelyra argued.

"Then there is no time to waste," the ranger said. "Just be ready with that driftglobe, Arlathan."

The moon elf grabbed the sphere from her pack. "Ready!" She whispered the command word and the driftglobe flared to life, casting bright, magical sunlight that pierced the darkness below. The pit was revealed to be teeming with frogs, their slimy bodies glistening in the light.

Zelyra's gaze cut back to Varan. She searched his face for the slightest hint of hesitation but found none. With a soft sigh, the druid relented. "Just…be safe, alright?"

The ranger gave her a small, reassuring smile. "I will. I promise."

Zelyra nodded and squeezed his hands briefly before letting go. "Alright. We'll be right here, ready to help if anything goes wrong."

Varan took a deep breath and began his descent, using rope to carefully lower himself down. The frogs squirmed and croaked as he landed amongst them, but as Arlathan predicted, they did not attack. Instead, they roamed and climbed on him, their cold, clammy bodies brushing against his skin.

Krom clamped a hand on Zelyra's shoulder. "Don't worry, even if the rope were to fail, he's got his magic boots."

"I know. But it's not the rope I'm worried about…" the half-elf muttered.

Varan made his way around the pit slowly, methodically, using his keen senses to sift through the frogs. But each time he thought he saw something noteworthy, it just turned out to be another frog or a piece of debris. Minutes passed. Time was slipping away, and the sweet scent in the air grew fainter. The ranger knew he had to hurry. He focused his mind, concentrating on the task at hand. Then, his fingers finally brushed against something smooth and hard. He carefully lifted a frog to reveal a glass eye beneath it.

"I've got it!" he called up.

Varan slipped the eye into his pocket and rushed back to the rope. He began his ascent, climbing out of the pit with as much haste as he could muster. Krom rushed to help, but Zelyra beat him to it. The druid knelt at the ledge, twisted her fingers into the fabric of the ranger's cloak when he was within reach and pulled with all her might. Varan let her, even though he really did not need the extra help. He tumbled onto the platform a moment later, and as he did, the air shifted. The sweet scent was replaced by a terrible, foul odor that left the companions choking. The frogs in the pit began to croak more loudly, and their movements grew more frantic.

"Just in time," Zelyra breathed in relief.

"Told you I'd be fine, Z," the ranger replied softly.

The subtle moment was not lost on the others. Arlathan and Krom exchanged knowing glances, understanding the bond the half-elves shared. The trials that they had faced on this quest only seemed to reinforce it.

Surely, it was only a matter of time before one of them broke…

But it was not this day.

Varan rolled to his feet and handed the glass eye to Arlathan, who inspected it closely. "This must be the key to the iron door," she exclaimed. "Let's go!"

The party retraced their steps to the iron door with the round slot beneath the handle. They met little resistance along the way. The darkmantles lay dead, and Erstod was nowhere to be found when they passed back through the puzzle room. The companions wondered where the wizard might have gone, but that was an issue they would deal with later. For now, opening the door to the Gol'Goroth's sanctum was their pressing concern.

Arlathan carefully inserted the glass eye into the slot when they reached the door, and it settled with a click. The eye swiveled in the socket and looked carefully at each of the companions. Then the door opened just a crack. The eye blinked and then mysteriously disappeared into thin air.

"That wasn't creepy at all…" Krom said.

The others nodded in agreement.

The half-giant pushed the iron door open, revealing the wide-open chamber beyond it. A rocky stairwell, chiseled into walls of the chasm, led to the floor twenty-five feet below them. The companions quickly followed it. The air was damp and cool, and the dim light from torches on the wall reflected off the surface of a small lake of dark water that filled the center of the room. To the left, a smaller pool sat still and foreboding. The chamber had two other exits: one almost directly ahead across the water, obscured by yet another heavy iron door, while the other dipped off into darkness to the right.

Varan's keen sight caught movement in the central pool. Two large pairs of empty eye sockets, set against dark green skin, peered at them from the water. The ranger felt his stomach drop. These appeared to be a much larger version of the strange tentacled frog Krom that had killed in the forest. Varan could have fit the other in the palm of his hand. But these? They were the size of an ox—maybe even larger!

As the party reached the bottom of the stairs, one of the frogs let out a loud, resonant croak that echoed through the chamber. The sound drew the attention of a group of nearby cultists, who had set up a disturbing laboratory in an alcove that was not visible from above. Frogs hopped around in an aquarium, vials filled with dark-blue slime lined the shelves, bones soaked in the viscous substance, and a dozen books were stacked haphazardly around. A weapon rack filled with crude weaponry stood nearby.

The cultists' attention snapped towards the newcomers at the giant toad's warning croak. "Intruders!" one of the men shouted as he grabbed a rusted sword from the rack. The others quickly followed his lead, their faces twisted with manic glee.

"Sacrifices for the Gol'Goroth!"

"More test subjects!"

"Bind their hands! Bind them!"

The companions had no intention of allowing any of that to happen.

"Guess this is where all the people were hiding," Krom said grimly.

Varan drew his blades, his eyes locking with Krom's. "How many do you think you can take out?" he asked as a competitive gleam entered his dark blue eyes.

Krom hefted his warhammer, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll bet I can take down more than you, elf!"

The two warriors charged forward. Combat erupted. Soon, the air was filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and the croaking of the monstrous frogs. All the while, the cultists made disturbing threats and promises to the party.

"You shall be reborn in the Gol'Goroth's cleansing pools!"

"Give in to your urges, praise Gol'Goroth."

"Your eyes shall give birth to his children!"

Varan darted forward, his twin blades flashing in the dim light as he engaged the first cultist. His swift and precise movements cut down his opponent with deadly efficiency. "That's one for me!" the ranger called out.

Krom roared as he swung his warhammer. The massive two-headed weapon crushed through the defenses of two cultists at once. "Ha! Two for me!" the barbarian shouted back, his grin widening.

Meanwhile, Zelyra and Arlathan moved in perfect synchronicity. Arlathan's hands glowed with verdant light as she summoned thick, thorny vines that erupted from the stone floor to ensnare several cultists and one of the tentacled frogs in a web of nature's fury. Meanwhile, Zelyra summoned a bright, fiery orb to her palm and hurled it at the ensnared frog. As the flames engulfed its tentacles, the creature began to thrash wildly. But Arlathan clenched her fist, and her vines tightened their grip, preventing the creature from escaping the searing heat. Its pained croaks echoed through the chamber.

The druids' combined elemental assault left many of their foes entangled and wounded, setting the stage for Varan and Krom to quickly finish them. But unbeknownst to the party, the cultists had placed spike traps coated with primordial ooze throughout the chamber. In the chaos, Krom unwittingly stepped onto a concealed pressure plate. Varan noticed a subtle shift in the floor beneath his feet, then heard an audible click that sent a chill down his spine. His eyes widened.

"Krom, no!" the ranger shouted.

But it was too late.

The half-giant's heavy footfalls had triggered one of the spike traps, and it activated not under Krom but directly beneath Varan's own feet. With a sudden, terrifying whoosh, razor-sharp spikes shot upward, glistening with a dark, viscous substance. They pierced straight through the sole of his left boot and embedded themselves in the flesh of his heel. The ranger cried out in surprise and pain.

The strangled sound caught the attention of his companions.

"Sorry!" Krom quickly apologized, guilt evident in his tone.

"Not your fault," Varan returned with a grimace.

The wound was painful but not fatal by any means. The ranger gritted his teeth and pulled his foot free in a swift, practiced motion. The sting that came after was agonizing, but he could not allow himself to dwell on it. Injury could not—would not—slow him down. There was too much at stake. Varan staunchly adjusted his stance and threw himself back into the fray.

"Arlathan, Zelyra! Watch your step!" Krom bellowed the druids. "They've rigged the floor!"

"Varan, are you sure you're alright?" Arlathan asked as she cast a spell to fend off a lunging toad.

"I'm fine!" the ranger insisted.

"No! One of us really should look at it!" Zelyra said, her voice filled with urgency.

"Later!" Varan shouted back, parrying a blow from a cultist and countering it with a swift strike. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through him, but the ranger refused to let it show. Every moment counted, and his friends were relying on him. Lucky for him, Zelyra was just as stubborn. The druid sent a surge of magical healing his way. It was not enough to fully seal the wound, but the ranger could move more freely, at least.

Meanwhile, one cultist took cover in the back of the cavern and hurled glass vials filled with the Gol'Goroth's primordial ooze at the party. He took full advantage of Zelyra's distraction, and his aim was precise.

The vial shattered into a thousand deadly crystals as it struck the druid's shoulder, sending a spray of glass and blue goo into her face and nose cavities. Her every breath left her inhaling a toxic mix of shards and slime. A fog swiftly settled over her thoughts, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming compulsion to step forward and offer herself freely to the Gol'Goroth.

The others watched in horror as Zelyra walked toward the central pool with vacant eyes. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her face a mask of blank submission.

"Zelyra, no!" Varan shouted, slashing through a cultist in his attempt to reach her, but the battle and his damned foot hindered him.

The ranger was too far to reach her.

But Krom was not.

The barbarian smashed his warhammer into the nearest enemy and sent the man sprawling. "Back off!" he roared and then rushed to help Zelyra. His massive arm latched onto her shoulder, yanking her back from the pool.

"Zelyra!"

But it was like she could not even hear him.

The druid's face remained blank.

"Zelyra!"

Krom's gaze flitted desperately from Zelyra to his companions—and that's where the barbarian made a grave error. The spawns of Gol'Goroth had a terrifying ability of their own. One of them caught the barbarian's stare and locked him in place. Though they did not have an actual eye, the frog's empty sockets seemed to bore into his soul, and the barbarian felt his mind begin to unravel. He struggled against the mental assault, his vision blurring as he fought to maintain his sanity.

With Krom no longer holding her back, Zelyra drew closer and closer to the edge of the water, right into the path of one of the giant toads. Its tentacles greedily reached for her, ready to envelop her. But Arlathan summoned a shard of ice and sent it flying across the chamber towards the monstrosity. It sliced through one of the tentacles, severing it entirely, and then exploded outward in a flurry of frost and tiny jagged icicles. The frog recoiled and let out a long, wounded croak, but Zelyra barely reacted to the backlash of the spell.

"Snap out of it, Zelyra!" Arlathan shouted. "You're stronger than this!"

Inside Zelyra's mind, the charm was a suffocating fog clouding her thoughts and compelling her to surrender. The whispers of the toad filled her consciousness, promising peace and fulfillment if she would only give herself to it. The relentless voices drowned out her sense of self and connection to her friends.

Yet, somewhere deep within her, a spark of resistance remained. It was small, almost extinguished by the overpowering charm, but it was there—a core of her being that refused to submit. Memories of her companions began to surface, piercing through the fog. She saw Varan's determined face, heard Arlathan's wise words, and felt Krom's unwavering strength. These memories were like lifelines, pulling her from the brink of surrender.

"Zelyra!" Varan called again, his voice desperate and full of concern.

Her mind latched onto his voice, using it as an anchor. The fog began to thin, and the whispers of the Gol'Goroth grew fainter. Zelyra thought again of her companions. She remembered their journey through the Wood, their trials in the village, and now here in the cave… A bond had been forged that could not be broken. It gave the druid the strength to push back against the charm.

"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of battle. "I will not yield."

The Gol'Goroth's dark magic tightened its grip on her mind in response. But Zelyra's determination was stronger. She closed her eyes and focused on the names of her companions.

"Varan. Arlathan. Krom…" she murmured, invoking their names as a mantra.

With a final surge of willpower, Zelyra shattered the charm. The fog lifted from her mind, replaced by clarity and resolve. She stumbled back, away from the monstrous toad, and felt the warmth of her friends' presence envelop her like a shield. The druid then rushed to a more defensible position near the cluster of stalagmites.

Varan noticed the change in her demeanor immediately. "She's back!" he cried, his voice filled with relief.

Reinvigorated by Zelyra's return, the party redoubled their efforts. Arlathan shifted into the form of a dire wolf, her fur bristling as she leapt into the fray. Hayth joined in alongside her. The two of them moved as one, tearing through the ranks of cultists with tooth and claw. Hayth's powerful jaws snapped at a cultist's leg, pulling him down, while Arlathan, in her dire form, slashed with her claws and brought another to the ground.

The frogs, meanwhile, renewed their attacks on Krom and Varan. The giant amphibians broke free from their vined restraints and leapt towards them, tentacles flailing. Krom broke free of his daze just in time to instinctively swing his warhammer with all his might, crushing the burned frog with a single, powerful blow that radiated with thunderous energy. The runes etched upon his weapon now emanated a vibrant blue-violet hue, while the dark tattoos that covered his pale skin now radiated pale light. "That's six now!" the half-giant shouted to Varan.

Varan ducked and weaved, his blades slicing through the air. He managed to land several blows on the remaining frog, but the creature was resilient. "Just keep counting!" he yelled back, dodging another tentacle swipe. The ranger saw his opportunity a moment later. He agilely leapt onto the second frog's back and drove his blades into its empty eye sockets. The creature let out a guttural croak before collapsing.

"Six!" Varan called out, a grin on his face.

"You were just at four! How is that six?" Krom asked incredulously.

"One for each eye," the ranger replied wryly.

"Oh, come on! That doesn't count!" the barbarian cried.

Soon, only the cultist hiding in the back remained. He continued throwing slime vials, but Zelyra was ready this time. She summoned a thorny vine that snaked around the man's unsuspecting feet, gave a swift tug, and promptly knocked him flat on his back. His head smacked down against the stone floor, and he remained there, dazed. Varan closed the distance in an instant and silenced him with a flurry of strikes.

As the last of the cultists fell, the chamber fell silent. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift slightly, and the constant whispers that had followed them since the start grew fainter.

Breathing heavily, Varan finally allowed himself to take stock of his injury. The battle was over, and the adrenaline had worn off. He now felt the pain he had pushed aside tenfold. He limped over to Zelyra, who immediately knelt to inspect the damage.

"Let me see," she said softly.

When the druid carefully removed his boot to inspect the wound, she was met with a gruesome sight. Blood mixed with a dark, viscous substance that oozed from the puncture site. The surrounding skin was blistered and raw, with angry red streaks radiating outward, indicating the spread of a toxin. The sight was enough to make anyone wince, but Zelyra's hands remained steady.

"It's not too deep," she said, keeping her tone light. "But we'll need to neutralize the poison."

"Poison?" Varan echoed.

Arlathan shifted back to her elven form and joined them, her face serious. "Undoubtedly. If we let this linger, you might also find yourself throwing up a frog," she grimaced. "I can help. I have all the ingredients for an antitoxin in my herbs pouch."

The ranger wordlessly gestured for them to do whatever was necessary. He certainly did not want that. As Zelyra and Arlathan got to work, he looked to Krom as the half-giant hovered awkwardly nearby. "Don't blame yourself for what happened," Varan said, his voice steady. "The trap was meant to catch us off our guard. We handled it."

Krom nodded, though the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "Well, how many did you get?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

"More than you," the half-elf replied with a chuckle. [3]

The half-giant shook his head. "The frog still only counts as one!"

"I think this is the first time I've seen you two smile at each other. You should compete more often," Arlathan mused. She then gestured to the now quiet space. "And look, we cleaned house."

The smile quickly slipped off Varan's face. "Yes, we did," he said, appraising both druids. They had fought well, very well, in fact. The ranger gestured to the iron door on the other side of the pond and muttered, "But I fear there is more where that came from. Our path continues."

Arlathan heaved a heavy sigh.

"Great…more doors." [4]

[1] Again, I'm using flavor fighting for combat in this oneshot-turned-short-story, meaning I'm not paying specific attention to hit points, spell slots, or specific spell rules. I'm basing everything off the soddy notes I took from a session played over 5 years ago, lol. However, I will adhere to the kind of spells and the spell level that the characters can cast. In this instance, I've meshed a description of Thorn Whip and Entanglement.

Arlathan also uses Entanglement later in the chapter. I'm being liberal with its description as well in that she can control the placement of the vines and allow safe passage for her companions.

[2] Arlathan's player and I tend to gravitate toward elven-like characters for our games, while Krom's player likes to play off-the-mold ones (Triton, Kobold, Tortle, Sharkin, etc.) We used to joke our group name should be 'Surrounded by Elves.' This is my little nod to that :P

[3] The module calls for 1 Disfigured Disciple, 2 Giant Toads, and 2 Cultists to face an APL4 group in this chamber, and while that's fine for an actual DND game, I wanted a more climatic battle for the end of this chapter. So, I threw in more enemies and was purposely vague on their number. I'll let the reader picture that for themselves.

[4] Doors—the bane of every adventuring party! :P