Getting His House in Order

 It has been several weeks since the Magician, Riverborn Scamandros, last ventured into "the Complex" (a somewhat disastrous occasion), and longer yet since he led an expedition in pursuit of the Imperial Mother's his own designs exploring the Great Cavern. ... Even longer since a dispute over a book, and since the Magician's own outlay of cash and capital to create the humble homebrewed wine-shop Riverwine, located in Old Orm near the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun.

Alas! after initial enthusiasm, the place was allowed to languish, between Scamandros' slow recovery from his bout of the Yellow Fever--and after that, his stint as captive within the Complex, "guest" of the Imperial Mother herself! For a time, the Magician seemed often distracted, and with only Kiddo to maintain the stock (wiping dust off old bottles that continued to not sell), the institution suffered.

But after paying his double-tax of 1) a crate of autumn's young elderberry wine, cinammon-spiced fall apple wine, and classic mead, to Orm's Year-End celebrations (and alas! not participating, being low on funds); and 2) delivering a copy of his personal treatise on the Soothill Gnomes' history and legal claims to inheritance of "the House of the Fathers, titled τραχεις τῶν τοῦ καρβονωλόφου γνωμῶν  (Deeds of the Soothill Gnomes); Scamandros endeavored with the coming of the new year to reinvigorate his sidelined projects.

To this end, he begins with the hanging of the old crown of cherry blossoms from last year's celebration of the vernal equinox at the threshold of the humble Riverwine in hopes that its presence may come to some fruition of new beginnings.

Thereafter, he begins organizing some of his outlaying interests:

Firstly, he directs Kiddo to continue with the copying out of the portfolio of strange Elvish notes and drawings retrieved from the Complex and housed at the Athenaeum, if it is not already complete. The project could have been completed weeks ago--if perhaps Kiddo were diligent enough to have kept at it, even while Scamandros moped about! If more work is needed, he suggests that they take turns at the work, considering that Kiddo still has yet to learn her first second level spell! And perhaps, if nothing else, he can finally teach her one of his own (ESP in particular, if so).

Secondly, he renews his aspirations to make something of Riverwine. In this, he attaches a note to a crate of wine that has been set aside: "τόις ἀδελφόις" (for the Brothers), remembering his commitment to get it down to the Brewtent. Next, he essays to the market to purchase further brewing vessels, many pounds of honey, and rising yeasty dough from the bakers, and begins a fresh batch of mead to be ready in early spring (50 gold spent).

Having done this, he also organizes a proper set of prices, rather than relying on mere haggling as was done before (that, and allowing "credit" but failing to follow up with debitors to retrieve money!):

Riverwine's Finest Country-Wines and Meads

• Honeywine (classic mead, year-round) 5 sp / pint
• Dandelion (spring) 10 gp / bottle
• Rhubarb (summer) 1 gp / bottle
• Blackberry (summer) 5 gp / bottle
• Rosehip (autumn) 10 gp / bottle
• Crabapple (autumn) 1 gp / bottle
• Elderberry (autumn) 12 gp / bottle
• Redcurrant (autumn) 10 gp / botle
• Cinnamon-Spiced Apple Wine (winter) 5 gp / bottle
• Mulled Wine (winter, in-house only) 4 sp / mug
• Mulling Spices 1 sp / packet

"Not everything guaranteed in stock. Ten times five and twenty for the vessel with the pestle."

Perhaps overly ambitious, but it serves as a reminder of all that he can brew.

Thirdly, he returns to the Burning Witch, from which he has been absent a little while, and begins again to listen to the stories and rumors that always swirl about the place, even as does the wine. He wonders greatly at the tale of loss and being lost along the Twilight Shores!--and though greatly does he wish to return thence, nevertheless he begins attempting to gin up interest in the Great Cavern as before.

"There's a whole jungle down there! Just think of the wondrous fruits that must grow in its vastnesses. Think of the tropical wines we could make--the trees we could tap for their sap to make palm-wine! Or even just to sell here in the market, the kind of fruits that only galleys to the distant equator might possibly deliver! And the psilerium--whatever wondrous element that is--we must return thence! To adventure!" And he raises a cup once more, eager to return to the Complex!

Certain Notes Scribbled and Forgotten at the Bar of the Burning Witch

 Where are they?

Joined another expedition into the Complex to seek the Pool of Life to examine the dragon guarding the Imperial Mother's "territory" sanctum ... Prosperity Sphere.

Dogmouth wanted to free it [the dragon], claiming to abhor slavery. Bard Fancy, ever eager for another delve, was hanging around the Old Witch; and the Vat-Spawn Copra Kaan, who sought out Crannoc (and myself) to ask help for an upcoming venture to accompany those of the Dun Crow to deal with Valtropis who must be destroyed a certain Sorcerer King--still controlling the Pool of Life? Where did they go?

Must keep things straight, stop agitating. It's hard to concentrate. is it the poison?

It burns! Smaugma knows it! It's hard to think straight. Probably the new barkeep. She must be serving stiffer stuff, I'll have to cut back. But not just yet.

Anyway, the dragon wasn't very forthcoming. She's unhappy guarding. Or is that unhappy? Glared at my branded hand, anyway. I tried to point out that I was unwilling to receive the Mother's mark, but, uh ...

I still haven't delivered that deed to Big Phreeta. I don't know where they went.

Well, anyway, we dis-covered the Imperial Mother's Arena in our explorations; and probably the combatants too. Copra Kaan seemed very intent on staring them down, even though they were in glass boxes.

Meanwhile, the Brothers seem to be Fancy's especial bane in the Complex. Erasing his markings around that trap that Kiddo swears will cut a hob in half ... Mako will tell you about it ... Yeah, and I bet they've washed away his "Jerks Inside" graffiti too. Must destroy Valtropis They interrupted us ...

Anyway, Dogmouth actually saw her! I pity envy his vision of her sagging flesh wondrous beauty!! We stumbled into her (her very own!) bedchamber, wondrously adorned, and he (Dogmouth) did reconnoiter a certain passage, only to come back to us pallid and paralyzed. I imagine only such a sight of the goddess hag herself in her exquisite nakedness could cause a man to freeze up like that ... I remember her on the throne ... her voice burns, her eyes burn, her skin! 

I've got to seek out the Golden Goggle. I've heard they've moonshine. I need something stronger than what's here at the Old Witch ...

Doggerel Left at the Bar of the Burning Witch

A stair in Orm-That-Was may lead you down

To places long unlooked for save by ilk

Of Soothill and surround--na Egra folk--

Unless ye be one seeking gold's renown,

Aye, such as we from Burning Witch's eaves

Departed--Fancy, Crannoc, many-eyed

Abraxis, and myself Scamandros-hight

(and Kiddo too)--in seek of Zotul's naves,

Who liberated Ankhegs' chit'nous shells,

Then sought and pressed the trice for deeper hells,

& 'hind doors adamant discovered ichors reeking

Acid, seeking flesh to burn, while sneaking,

Darkling, grays and devils (ven'mous fell!)

Attacked--but we with spells and fire-nets wreaking

Laid to rest our foes, but ay! what next?

Scamandros, pricked by fang of devil-bairn

Reeled pale as one should need a burial cairn--

'Til Fancy, soother of batrachian breast

Command his toad vampiric blood to draw,

And sich corruption in Scamandros' veins,

Then purge the poison from its gulping maw

While I from Death's Door gasping hencely came--

Thus I this verse to Swamp-born Fancy dedicate

(and twenty gold); Were't not for him, I'd passed that Gate.

Scamandros to Big Freeta, a letter

 Scamandros to Big Freeta of the Rootless,

------

Nigh five weeks have passed since I came before you with the hope to reconcile your old claims to the Halls of the Ancient Fathers and the present situation for you within those halls.

You asked two things of me in hope for your deliverance from the straits of hardship into which you and the Rootless have been thrust:

First, to deliver a letter from you to the Imperial Mother, seeking a reconciliation between your people, their ancient claims, and her "imperial" airs;

Second, you gave me a certain amount of gold to acquire insect repellent in the markets of Orm, thus to shield your people from the bloodsucking swarms that hound you, there in the depths of the Ancient Halls.

Allow me quickly to dispose of the second question: Bartamus Fludge, proprietor of said repellent, has not since returned to Orm, and thus have I not spent anything given me for the sake of acquiring that repellent. Therefore, I return the gold, not even a penny touched; and further, I would have you know that I have embarked on a process of research and manufacture myself, in order to create a salve of equal potency against the insectile devils. I hope soon to be able to provide you with a supply that will secure you against the bloodsucking swarms crafted by my own hand.

As to the first question, it may also be a means of deliverance from the horrible insects: for the Imperial Mother has granted you and your kin vassalage, that is, the possession for yourselves of a certain territory within the Halls of the Ancient Fathers in return for your fealty. This "holding", centering around a so-called "Pool of Life" (as named by my comrades), was formerly held by a rebellious sorcerer-king, now dispossessed and exiled (I do not know the particulars of his fate).

This vassalage seems not of little importance to me, centering around the aforementioned Pool; it seems indeed to possess strange power over the vagaries of life itself. And let me also say that I belief this "fief", as it were, should be somewhat secure against the foul insects that plague you, as the sorcerer-king and his minions who once held it were able to keep it secure against the swarms for themselves.

------

Now, as to how this offer of the "fief" and attendant "vassalage" came to pass, allow me to explain.

In the company of my associate Journeyman Crannoc (and his raptor-retainer, Plumes); Wolfgang the swordfighter; Betina the Blind (and an amazon hireling); the Bard Fancy and his cat-and-dog companions; and GaWoosh, Champion of Gnomes; we descended into the Halls of the Ancient Fathers seeking the Imperial Mother to deliver your letter and seek resolution of your claims.

We passed a strange chamber containing a one-eyed gaoler abusing (demonic?) snake-tailed women of many arms with a magical flail. He helpfully gave us directions to the Imperial Mother's territory; alas, our progress was impeded by a trap that ended with an arrow through the heart of Plumes, instantly killing the huge raptor.

A detour was agreed on--to seek the Pool of Life, and attempt to restore Plumes to full verve within its depths. It was explained to me that certain mercenaries once employed by us had observed the servants of the sorcerer-king who had possessed the Pool dipping comrades into its waters to restore them from death, and had thus restored several of their own ranks by imitation. (Such is the strange power over which you might soon hold fief).

The Pool was quickly come by; Plumes dipped into it; and lo! the terror bird came forth, though a little daft for the experience of death.

Thence we returned to our purpose, seeking the Mother. Through twists and turns, we came to a library containing certain of her servants; they directed us to her throne room itself; and therefore we came before the great Mother in all her regal glory, flanked by Imperial guards with the regal heads of great lions.

I presented your case, in conjunction with Crannoc and Betina; unfortunately, the grandeur of the Imperial presence intimidated GaWoosh, and he offered the Mother insolent reply. From her throne, she ordered him reprimanded, but I took the reprimand myself, I being he envoy, and he coming along at my behest (you may see the result of the reprimand in the black eye I still bear; I find it unwise to insult a ruler upon her throne).

Despite the proffered insolence; and I hope in large part because of our arguments for your people, the Imperial Mother thence relented to offer you the terms presented in this companion letter, bound by a strand of her own hair, offering you the fiefdom around the Pool of Life.

I hope that you find the terms acceptable! But I am willing to champion you and yours regardless, however you best find yourselves and your home within the Indos na Egra Eithog.

Your friend,
Riverborn Scamandros
Σκαμανδρος Ποταμογεναιος 

Certain Notes Hastily Scrawled by Scamandros, Glimpsed by Fellow Burning Witch Patrons

[the map attached to these notes--all absently left at the table by Scamandros as he and Kiddo (and others?) collect another round at the bar of the Burning Witch before returning to rehash what transpired--anyway, the map is clearly incomplete, and merely adds to one already sketched by Scamandros on his first foray into the Complex in the area near the Auditorium and the black vines and fruit (once?) guarded by Cronk]


Phasmo advocates for adamantium doors with cranks on 2nd level
Shadow monkeys and mosquitoes potential obstacles
Crannoc--take the grain ladder down, approach doors from north, maybe miss monkeys
I offer 3 z. insect repellent (hope Fludge returns soon) to deal with mosquitoes

Stairs into Complex have new look ... edgy (not unlike Frim); Phasmo interested in black grass, reveals he was recently robbed--strange
New door blocks way--Crannoc familiar with it as Brothers' work
Piked heads by stairs are gone; Crannoc collects nearby slime at my behest
Thru arch & north, 4 suck-clouds block way; confusion; retreat to elevator
Collect black fruit (10 altogether, Phasmo has 1; will petition party for fermenting some into more wine)

Further north, urbane ghouls eating gnome; claim bibulous nose as most delectable, but the gnome is not Brian
Avreml offers beets, ghouls disgusted; conversation distracted by memories of Brian and his involvement with the "Evil" Stump (possible new avenue of research?)
Accord reached by offer to return with a corpse; thru corridor, adamantium doors, black jungle beyond & S.
E. door filled with coppery machinery, tubes; W door too; a beet is placed into one machine; investigations interrupted by Valtropis' minions; diplomacy prevails
All investigations for naught; egress by grain ladder agreed

doomed!

Not quite doomed. Lion-automatons now leading us thru complex. Phasmo suggested surrender. Diplomacy worked before

1/2Elves=peace?

1) Gnomes
2) Red Hive
3) Valtropis

[afterward, a series of phrases written in Gnomic, possibly relating to Scamandros' known research into the Gnomes of the Complex, their claims within, and the "Clause of Abandonment"]

Scamandros to Kiddo, who has been healing this past week

[At the Burning Witch tavern, Scamandros and Kiddo share a pitcher of chestnut ale, and the Seer relates to his young lictor something of the deeds done Friday last, while Kiddo was resting a-bed to the heal the hurts that nearly laid her low last expedition they'd shared within "the Complex"]

Well, the stairs don't meet as you'd hope they do, between the first level of the Complex and the underground shore of the lizards. There's some kind of gate, and demi-Dwarfish warnings to "Keep Out" if Fergus is as fluent as he claims to be. Whoever was behind was cooking up a stew and otherwise most unpleasant, and would not allow us to pass. Fancy, with some chalk, added some edification to the gate for future expeditions if they pass by.

No, not "the old familiar suggestion", something milder. Though I wish you'd been there to suggest it!

Anyway, that meant the same as last time--ropes lowered into the same well to the water, and clambering down and all, and with the added awkwardness of the canoes. Yeah, we had three of them, all told, in part because of the addition of Fancy's lot to our crew--you remember them, Turq, Terwin, and Glys. We'd lower a canoe, lower its crew, and then the next boat. I think we got a neat order to it, before all was done.

All said, I'm glad that three sufficed! Pak-Pak didn't want to row (nor would I want it, him being a kobold with little leverage for a paddle), but was pint-sized; and Hate Pit the vatspawn possessed the strange power to acquire the properties of something touched by their hands, thus able to become buoyant cork with a mere wine-cork! Marvelous indeed.

The waters weren't quite the subterranean lake I was expecting; they branched here and there, with various shores. A maw opened into the depths on one beach, but we agreed to continue our watery explorations instead. On the next beach we heard skittering footsteps--

--you guessed it! When Betina called for him, Brian the Gnome answered. He was wary at first, but warmed up quickly to our company when I offered him some wine (he admitted to a fondness for strong drink, and his great nose shining in the lantern-light confirmed the truth). Well, Betina and I pressed on him our former brief acquaintance, and he admitted some information: over yonder, and across the bridge, we might find certain "lovely ladies" to admire (and why not, when come all this way??)

I made certain arrangements with him, concerning the Indos etc.--we'll hash them out before our next delve, when you're all healed, I expect.

Anyway, after that we followed Brian's guidance and came to a bridge overarching above the water, with ingress from the southern shore. Landing our craft there, we crossed the bridge north and discovered a chamber filled with wonderful statues of the Empire-that-Was--in particular of ladies and ladies-in-waiting, all in their finery, cut most exquisitely from finest stone-and-marble, and all covered over with the growths of algaes and other slimes.

Fancy expressed a general distaste for the images, the algaeic coverings, and the suggestion of the gnome that brought us thence; and my comrades were eager to depart for more interesting parts; but I persisted in inspecting the statues, and though I did not dis-cover the secret door, I did detain us long enough that it be discovered.

For of course, amongst such a display, some secret must be found; and what was found was a sarcophagus, ancient and reptilian. Banx (the illusionist in service to Hate Pit), possessed of witch-sight, was able to discern a corpse within the sarcophagus. All was made ready, as well as possible, for the inevitable animation of the horror, and lo! it did arise with pale fires in its eye-sockets, and a pale sword in its hand, when Fergus ventured to overthrow the lid of the sarcophagus.

Our weapons found no purchase against it as it arose, but Fergus was able to smuggle the sword from its hands before it could react, and pass the pale blue blade to Hate Pit. Hate Pit then struck the horror, and the sword bit as others did not, but to little avail. Then Fancy, taking up a vial of holy water from his pack, smashed it well against the thing's skull, and the water hissed most vilely, staggered, and collapsed.

But of course you'll receive some of the lucre from this adventure! Do you think that I, Riverborn Scamandros, am stingy with lucre well-won? Only heal well, and together, we will dis-cover ever greater treasures, both material and immaterial!

Rosey! Another pitcher! And share out a bottle of your finest for those in the house tonight!

A Will, Proffered by Scamandros to the Impossible Fortress and the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun

I, Scamandros--borne of the ancient River Scamander through my great-great-great-etc-grandmother, the Naiad Idaea, mother of Teucer--acknowledging that I am sound of intent, mind, and body, do set down this living will, in full understanding that continued delves into the area known locally as "the Complex" may result in my death, or worse, dismemberment, and that my interests may best be guarded in this writing.

To this end, I declare the inheritors of my worldly lucre, goods, and possessions thus:

1) A tenth portion of the value of my chattel goods and liquid lucre shall be delivered to the Rani of the Impossible Fortress, in tribute to her Excellence, and for surety in the discharge of this document.

2) A tenth portion of same (goods and lucre) shall be reserved for funereal purposes, including the costs of woods for the pyre, the purchase of a fine silver funereal urn for the ashes, and the disbursement of much wine for those attendant. It is hoped that enough lucre be acquired that some form of games be contested, and a fine prize be offered the winner, in keeping with the ancient ways of fallen Heroes

3) A fifth portion of same (goods and lucre) shall be reserved for the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun, of which I, Scamandros, am a "founding member". The use of these funds is left to the final decision of the remaining members (Phasmo, Journeyman Crannoc, and the Half-Elf Sergio Cankersore), but I would urge those surviving me to use them in the further development of our library, e.g. the acquisition of new works, the preservation of those possessed, and perhaps even scribal copyings for the expansion of the Athenaeum.

4) A fifth portion of same (goods and lucre) shall be paid to one "Kiddo" (an orphan[?] of Orm) whom I, Scamandros, have taken into service as retainer. Well has she served me as lictor and spear-arm! The usufruct of what I leave her is hers alone (though I do hope she aims rather for the philosophical and metaphysical, and not the crass material, in her use of it).

5) Finally, the remaining two fifths of same (goods and lucre), plus the fruits of any personal projects I have engaged in, as well as the capital I have in invested in for the brewing of interesting drink, in addition to the copy-right to any left-over notes (including in my spell notebooks) I leave behind, as well as any extraordinary items that have come into my possession during expeditions into "the Complex" or beyond--all this I leave to my Cousin.

For myself, I am without issue, and without siblings, by whom I might leave all to Niece or Nephew. Therefore, it is only right that, should news of my (merely hypothetical) death be bruited about, that my nearest, eldest Cousin should inherit the greatest portion of my wealth.

Signed,
Σκαμανδρος Ποταμογενος

Witnessed:

"To the Company!" Scamandros Toasts the Dead and the Living

[Returning from "the Complex" after another successful expedition--the returns of which included the bodies of former adventuring-comrade Feeble Finn, and Finn's compatriot, the dragon-knight Castora--Scamandros organizes an impromptu wake for the fallen in the Burning Witch Tavern, spending 20 of his own gold for free-flowing drink, and inviting others to pitch in as they wish ...]

Let's pour one out for Finn, once Fleet-of-Foot, then called Feeble, and another for Castora, a Dragon-Knight I never knew! Aye, I doubt I'll ever see Finn's debt to me repaid; about 60 gold for arms and armor I bought him before our last venture into the Complex, because I was loath to venture in with a comrade denuded by carousing-debts. But double that would I have paid, for better armor, if only Finn were still here amongst us, and nor would I have asked him the recompense!

I was there when the Fleetfoot lost his right leg to un-dead corpse of Way-Loon, down there in the Complex, and after which he jokingly called himself "Feeble". But he sought out the services of one Dr. Fortunius, and soon had a prosthetic made for himself, and if he wasn't yet as quick on his feet as before, still, he was fine-footed! Finn was a fine adventuring companion, and I myself will sorely miss him amongst our company here at the Burning Witch. Here's to Finn!

Fancy, can you not recite Finn's "Ode to a Dwarven Foot"?

[and Scamandros pours out a glass of wine on the fire, which sputters, and then burns more brightly for a moment]

As for those who knew Castora--we presume the other body we recovered is indeed his--ye may add your recollections of him as you wish, but for myself, alas, I never ventured forth with him.

[an interlude for any who would so recount]

Well, we did dis-cover them on the shore of an underground lake on the second level of the Complex, them alongside the corpse of a terrible lizard some eight-or-more feet long. Our getting there was most circuitous, but of little consequence; know just that there is an open well, in the caverns north of "the Pit", which overlooks as it were a great underground lake.

By intelligent use of ropes and physics, my trustworthy companion Betina the Blind was able to swing herself to a near-shore. But no sooner had she secured the rope for others to follow (Frim Frimerson and Phasmo went next) did the fighting-woman call out, "There's something moving down here!" (she of course could not see it).

Well, with Phasmo's light, another--living!--lizard was seen creeping up to eat Betina! Fortunately, Phasmo was able to blind the beast with his magic, and as the rest of us descended (minus Ornie Coldcut, who remained above to watch our ropes), and we cornered the beast in a further chamber and slew it by main force.

That chamber yielded certain secrets to us (mainly enjoyed by Journeyman Crannoc, our expert Librarian of Licentiousness), but also included the pair of skeletons you see thrashing there in the corner, bound by so many feet of copper wire. Yes, they are indeed metallic, though who knows what substance in particular is alloyed to the bones??

Well, we managed to extricate all the treasure, ourselves, and the metallic skeletons by our ropes through the well above.

But almost we would have poured more out to another comrade, if not for the liberality of Journeyman Crannoc! For in our haste to egress from the Complex, we were ambushed as a party by a band of dog-faced kobolds--and though the magics of my companions, Phasmo and Crannoc, were able to throw the sands of sleep over the kobolds, it was not before the same wretched creatures had stabbed Kiddo fully through the midriff with their spears!

And she and I had only just crushed the black fruits of healing in my possession into a cask with sugar, to be fermented at the Athenaeum, over the course of a month! I cried out to my compatriots--"Can no one save her?"

But Crannoc stepped forth, with bread baked from black bananas within the complex, and the eating of it did magically close the wound and save Kiddo's life. Something he whispered into her ear in the last moment between death and life; certainly something to the effect of, "Scamandros looks out for you!" I am sure of it. For myself, my heart is glad that you, Kiddo, remain among us the living, to share in our joys, rather than eating the dust of the grave!

Well, I have gone on too long! Friends, eat, drink, and remember to yourselves Finn, Castora, and whatever others as you will--Kay Em Dee we should also recall, I fear that I did miss his death earlier--let us all live fast and hard! To the company!

(I lately remembered this excellent song which would be relevant: "Here's a Health to the Company"; I don't know the singer, but he's better by a long draught than even the professionals like The Chieftains)

The Agony of the Drow

I've been running a different game than usual, trying to drag the player-characters into the weird Underworld ... a new opportunity for this arose with the death of one character, and me suggesting that the player roll up a Drow as replacement.

Which means that suddenly I'm grasping through mists, trying to draw together something suitably interesting for a culture of Drow as I envision them, and for a PC to be embroiled in that society.

So I hit on the idea of repurposing the Ancestry and Birthright tables from AD&D Oriental Adventures, plus plundering the concept and table for Honor ... What I've put together is still just a rough draft, but I need to use it before the end of the week if I'm going to run the game this week, so I'm going to vomit forth what I have now for the player to use, and maybe return to write a new post later.

------

In Greek, an agon is a contest, often physical (a footrace, boxing match, or chariot race), but potentially literary, or otherwise. One in agony, therefore, is someone experiencing the contest as a competitor. I envision it as the pain or anguish one feels when uncertain of victory, or even the trouble at heart in knowing that someone else is better than you.

Thus "agony" for the Drow: the acute sense that all is conflict, and that every competition--even a simple conversation--creates the opening for victory or defeat, and that victory is rewarded with greater status and appreciation, while defeat brings revilement from those once deemed your betters or equals, or worse, those formerly beneath you! The honey of success is vanishingly sweet, while the gall of humiliation hangs bitter in the throat forever.

For a Drow, then, agony is an inverse score from 100 (essentially an outcast, reviled by everyone) to 0 (the height of status, envied by everyone--and the target of every assassin's blade ...). Individuals have their own personal sense of agony, but derive a base value from their House; the individual sisters mostly seek their own betterment, but clear victories on their own part also reflect well on the House, while terrible individual defeats also reveal to all just what a failure the individual's House is. Any change in agony during the course of adventure by a single Drow in multiples of ten reflects on her House in the same way (positive or negative) in increments of one (so -20 agony for the individual grants the House -2 familial agony).

For an individual, shedding certain amounts of agony come with rewards (and envy) ...

At 25 agony, a Drow is allowed to participate in the Troll-Bacchanals, rather than creating offspring merely through parthenogenesis or the use of male slaves. This increases the likelihood of "breeding-true" and having an actual Drow daughter to continue the House. Naturally, I'll need to write something like a carousing table for this, and it will involve bonus xp.

At 20 agony, she becomes "the talk of the town". Assassination attempts against her become more likely, and other Drow wishing to prove themselves may challenge her to duels or drinking contests, or whatever. The base suggestion from OA is a 10% chance per week.
Having written this after the table below, I'm already going to have to rejigger the table to include more of this, but not right now, because it's almost 2 am. Regardless, refusing a challenge causes a +10 increase in agony, while surviving an assassination attempt would naturally cause a decrease in same, depending on the potential effectiveness of the would-be-assassin and her plan.

At 15 agony, a Drow may be sought out by a cousin of a lesser House, or even one of the slave-races that serve the Drow, essentially to establish a patron-client relationship between the Drow and the person seeking her out. Recognized as a creature of status, the character basically has the sway to change the fortunes of those less glorified than herself. My immediate thought would be to create a relationship or institution which the character could begin to cultivate, and reap reasonable rewards from, so long as her agony remains low.

At 10 agony, a Drow is approached with various offers of alliance. These need not all come strictly from Drow Houses; there's no reason that Duergar or Serpentfolk wouldn't necessarily court powerful Drow for semi-mutually-beneficial alliances. The referee should make some interesting pitches from likely enclaves, and generally write them to be mutually incompatible. Accepting any one alliance should be beneficial in particular ways, but invite greater envy/enmity from other factions ... assassination attempts or open conflict could well follow!

At 5 agony, a Drow is able to cut herself off from her own House and establish a House for herself and her own descendants, if she wishes to cut ties with her own sisters, mother, and grandmother ... this is, of course, both dangerous and exhilarating! Creating one's own lineage comes with a variety of assassination attempts by those hoping to inherit/take one's possessions and inheritances for themselves, but also comes with the advantage of being the Great Grandmother of a House, and able to decide one's own path and alliances without the interference of older generations ...

Any Drow who achieves 0 agony and dies with the same is able to pass her success in life on through "genetic" memories to any newly created Drow character by the same player (or in the same House). There is a formula for this in OA that basically allows one to bump up ability scores and such, though no greater than +3 to any one roll. So that's the general idea there ...


Some ways to affect agony:

Agony --- Action
-5 --- avenging a Sister
-2 --- avenging a Cousin
-7 --- avenging an Elder
-1/HD --- taking a prisoner (Drow)
-1 --- taking a slave
+10 --- taken AS a slave/prisoner
-6 --- defeating an Ancestral Enemy / Feuding House
+3 --- calling in a Favor
+2 --- entering into Debt
-2 --- reaching Name Level
-2 --- being asked a Favor
-4 --- successful Assassination
-8 --- successful Assassination in-House
+8 --- failed Assassination
+20 --- failed Assassination in-House
-variable --- attaining Noble Title
+variable --- losing Noble Title
+4 --- losing House Heirloom
+6 --- causing a Feud through blundering
-3 --- creating a Feud strategically ...
+12 --- defeat by an Ancestral Enemy / Feuding House
-2 --- forging an advantageous Alliance
-1 --- acquiring Property
+2 --- losing Property
-1 --- lending Money
-1/2000 xp --- defeating a Monster
-1/coffle --- purchasing Slaves
+8 --- regularly associating with Slave-Races (non-Drow)

This isn't exhaustive ... like I said, it's a rough draft, and largely culled from the Honor table in OA. I expect it'll need fine-tuning with play, and expansion as the mists obscuring Drow culture clear for me through running this thing.

Allegiance instead of Alignment

I was asked today to brainstorm some ideas for "vows" for the Natural Cult like the three I wrote for the Good Cult of Alignment in my game some time ago.

I wrote up my ideas; I'll post them here soon. But first, the request and my daydreaming together led back around to my original frustration with Alignment as expressed in later D&D ... and with a new idea for something different: Allegiance!

Very original, I know.

I'm going to draw up some rough rules for one Allegiance here now, with suggestions for further types. The justification/argument will follow behind, in contradiction to the way I used to write things.

-------

"Allegiance" as written here is not a "moral" characteristic, but a metaphysical/eschatological choice for your character and whom they would back during the Final Battle at the end of time.

Today I'll be rough-drafting what Allegiance to Dragons could look like, given that just about all my characters worship "the Black Dragon" and so that's honestly what I've given most thought into when justifying my alignment, even before this "new" idea.

So:

Characters allegiant to Dragons prioritize the acquisition of wealth above all things, whether they merely find that admirable in itself, or wish to actually acquire wealth for some real or imagined Dragon, or even believe in their own possible "apodrakosis" in which they literally transform into dragons through their acquisitive nature.

To this end, a character so allegiant gains 1 xp for every 1 gp value of treasure nabbed above/beyond that nabbed by the player-character with the next highest gp count of treasure.

(Simple example: Xanthos, Henry, and Shoopie are on an adventure together. They find a treasure chest; Xanthos investigates it alone and finds it full of 1000 gp; secretly, he skims 100 gp, and reports back to his comrades the other 900. When they split the loot up back at town "honestly", each character gets 300 gp. At the same time, ostensibly, each character would earn 300 xp, but Xanthos will earn an extra 100 xp from the gp he "siphoned off" from the others. [My personal game would have slightly different xp, but the reasons create a math digression])

These characters are also incentivised to maximize (or steal) treasure because if they return from an expedition with more treasure than other characters (even if it's just 1 gp, or an item), they would then earn an extra 5% xp from the expedition as a whole, calculated the same way as a Thief with high dexterity, or a Fighting-Man with high strength.

But alas (and of course) these benefits come with restrictions: a character allegiant to Dragons cannot give away or lend wealth (unless the interest rate is ridiculous, like 25% or so, to be repaid in a month) or items, without reneging their Allegiance. Obviously, characters who renege cannot gain their associated xp bonuses; but they are also reviled by anyone else who may be allegiant to Dragons,  causing -2 on reactions with such (other than PCs, who can form their own relationships ... though other Draconic PCs would probably face social repercussions for continuing to associate with such reprobates).

Clerics would lose spells ... in B/X D&D I think the other classes would be generally unaffected, other than the social/xp troubles. Honestly, alignment/deity/allegiance is more of a cleric function anyway, so that's not unreasonable.

Atonement for such transgressions is of course possible, per the spell and D&D rules, and the terms would adhere to the severity of the transgression (10 gp is not 10,000 gp), and the nature of the particulars of the Dragon cult ...

So, this is already longer than I was shooting for, but I still want to say that declaring one's Allegiance to Dragons doesn't necessarily mean any Particular Dragon. My own characters generally worship "the Black Dragon". I made that up of old, in a moment, because a "Black Dragon" god was something I knew I could work with metaphorically.

My expectation/hope as referee would be to ask a player, "Your character is allegiant to Dragons; so is there a real dragon that your tribe worships, or is this some kind of metaphorical dragon-god? Or ... ? Who is it, what's the name, etc?" It doesn't matter much to me if you're the only worshiper, or if you claim to be one of an entire country, but the idea of "Dragon" is that you can at least narrow down some particulars of your cult to the idea of the Draconic, and act accordingly.

------

Allegiance in this sense is not merely the kind of obedience offered a liege by his vassal, but something of Cosmic significance. The kind of Allegiance under discussion here is eschatological; when the Rainbow Bridge is overthrown, when the Gjallarhorn is winded, when the Nailship sails from the Mist-Realm, your character's Allegiance determines whether he or she stands with the Gods and the Honored Dead, or if he or she marches with the Giants and Titans to overthrow the halls of the Gods--or if they stand aside altogether as the Final Battle rages, and instead look to the regeneration of the World Tree itself ...

I still don't give a crap as referee if you want to play a "lawful good" character but end up doing some larceny, or if you play a "chaotic evil" character, and lend a little charity to some orphans. What I want is for "alignment" to have some bearing on the world--and for characters to not have to worry about it if they don't want to!

And, if the players' visions of philosophy differ, for the "alignment" to be something "metaphysically true" in the game world that I as the referee can point to, regardless of what players may think, thus to adjudicate whether someone is acting "within alignment" or not.

I once considered abandoning the traditional Law-Chaos/Good-Evil schema of D&D alignment for completely made-up cults in my world, and decided that I liked the elegance of the traditional D&D scheme as shorthand for people familiar with it, and for those who have a vague sense of it.

"Shorthand" turned out to mean, in practice, that virtually everyone would write down their "alignment" on their character sheet as envisioned by themselves, and then ignore what I'd written for what that alignment actually meant.

"I'm Chaotic Good" they'd declare, and then neither seek (chaotically) to get ahead of everyone else in treasure or kills, and also not NOT get into fights (those who are Good are obliged not to start fights). "I'm Lawful Good," they'd say, but then not use the means laid out to gain extra xp by donations to either cult of  Law or Good. "Alignment" generally has continued to mean nothing other than something written on a "character sheet" for basically no reason.

Well, I once dreamed of writing a specific Cult for each of the nine possible alignments in AD&D. My frustration has driven me back to a version of that--getting rid of the "moral" dimensions of "Chaos" or "Good" will unfortunately cut out certain shortcuts that I liked, but those shortcuts turned out to be so particular to me as-such, that I think abandoning Alignment altogether and writing something new will actually be the most fruitful way to go about this kind of "fictional positioning" of characters.

------

"I don't want to have my character be part of a cult to be Good!" someone once said when I proposed my changes to alignment, back in the day. (what, 2012?)
I didn't make the argument correctly then; but the thing is, BE the nicest, best-mannered character you want in my game; BE unaligned, or be Good, or be Evil, or whatever.
But, after listening to (and causing, and I'm sorry) hours of arguments about "alignment-as-morality", I'd like to play a game where IF alignment matters (enough to put it on a character sheet) then it MATTERS, and there'd better be some rules about it.
Otherwise, who gives a shit what the difference is between Chaotic Good and Neutral Evil?
No rules? No worries. I'll be Chaotic Lawful! Or Good Evil. Who cares what I write on the character sheet when it's meaningless?

The Trivia of Names

This is self-indulgent trivia, but I think there's at least a couple friends who might also find it amusing.

Recently (in February or March?) I joined Nick's new game in the city-state of Orm, much to my pleasure. We who are participating were obliged to roll up new characters, to be native neophytes of the world under its dying sun. This was a great opportunity for me, something I've been wanting to do for a while--my other B/X characters are almost all mixed up with one another for various reasons, and it would be nice to have a fresh start separate from their interests.

I was hung up on the name. Almost all of my human characters have Greek-inspired names (Eleutheria, Ismene, Nebridius, Eleithiya, Aspasia, etc). There are a couple oddballs here or there: Jimmy Neckbeard (a halfling who claims dwarfish ancecstry), Laurantha (an Elf shamelessly named after Dragonlance's Lauranthelas), Goldilocks (an NPC orphan that one of my characters adopted, and I thence rolled into a character), Xev (semi-deceased, shamelessly ripped from one of my favorite sci-fi TV shows, Lexx).

So what could I do that's new?

Well, nothing new that I looked at hooked me; my smattering of basic Arabic left me uninspired, and it was the main source I was toying with. I haven't gotten much traction out of my thin German for fantasy names, and despite the seeming-medieval setting of assumed-D&D, I prefer the weirder bits of Classical and older pagan history for my characters and inspiration.

So alright, I think, why not re-tread old ground? I named my first B/X character Xanthos, explicitly out of the Iliad. He's still my main character; if I'm naming a new "main" character, why not do that again?

Technically, my inspiration for Xanthos was that that was the name of one of Achilleus' horses, the one that speaks to him (if I'm remembering right); but I also knew that the name was shared with one of the rivers that bordered the fields where the Achaeans and Trojans joined battle.

So, why not name this new character after the other river? Perfect! Same source-material, but a sideways justification. (I also considered using just any old name from the Iliad, like Meriones or Idomeneus--and specifically them, because I once had a wild-haired dream of writing a play using them, which was a bad idea, but I like those characters in particular--but I decided it would be better to use place names, so that I could win my own glory! rather than competing with literal heroes)

My memory was that there were two rivers on the plain of battle before Troy. The plain was sometimes called Scamander because of one of the rivers that bordered it; if Xanthos was one of the rivers, I reasoned, then Scamander was the other one. Hence the new character's name: Scamandros!

Alas, I clearly haven't reread the Iliad any time recently. Xanthos and Scamander are the same river, known to mortals as Scamander, and to the gods as Xanthos. The other river that I was thinking of that bordered the plain was the Simoieis ...

So now I've got two characters running around in different games both named after the same river, by different names. I won't lie that I briefly thought that they must be the same soul, transmigrated via the fantasy of D&D to occupy both bodies in wildly different places; eh, but better they're just two souls coincidentally co-named. After all, I was looking to branch out to begin with!

Returning From a Successful Expedition, Scamandros Recounts to a Friend

[Returning to the Burning Witch tavern after the most recent expedition into the Complex just outside the city-state of Orm, Scamandros and company lay out their loot to be divided amongst themselves upon a table. Like Scamandros, Fergus and Fancy appear unharmed; while Thea and the dwarf Feeble Finn both seem to have suffered prodigious nosebleeds (and earbleeds?). Of the four hirelings, Terk has one arm thoroughly wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak, while Kiddo and the others all seem as unscathed as the first three of the company.

Before the hirelings split, Scamandros produces a bottle of dark berry wine from his person, purchased some time ago when the merchant Bartamus Fludge came through town, and he also counts out 12 gold pieces from his purse.]

Hold up, comrades! Take this bottle of wine and this gold and split it up amongst yourselves for your valiant services today--and know that with future successes like this, the bonuses will only be greater. My thanks to all of you, and I'm sure that I speak for all in the company today. Now go, eat, and be merry!

Now, my adventuring fellows, my suggestion is that we take what we suspect to be enchanted to my compatriots at the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun to be identified. Our library of tomes in Old Imperialish (Phasmo's specialty) and Gnomish treatises (my own particular), combined with Crannoc's nose for dweomers will have every property properly understood in a trice, and for a pittance to boot!

And Finn--you may retain what you will of the equipment I purchased as you wish, or return it; I would simply ask that you pay me the coin that I used to purchase anything you keep, while anything returned will expunge the relevant debt to me. But count the arrows as free; oft have I heard the refrain from archers, "Love not thy ammunition." Altogether, I spent fifty-eight gold, not counting the arrows. (I can provide an itemized receipt if needed)

[And turning away from the wrangling over remaining particulars, Scamandros spots sometime-companion Betina the Blind among the other patrons of the tavern.]

O! Betina! Share a pint with me, won't you? I've just returned from the Complex. I'll tell our tale, if you regale me with the particulars of the white altar. (I'm sorry I missed that expedition, I got caught up in the mixing of alchemical reagents and completely lost track of time!)

--Friend proprietor! Bring us a pitcher of chestnut ale won't you? Here's four gold, I hope that covers it. (and I'm sorry I've forgotten your name, I'm sure I'll remember it next I'm in)--

So! I have vague ambitions to seek the rumored "Yeast Fields" within the Complex for the brewing of alchemical potions, but my companions seemed more interested in "reconnaissance in force" (and hopefully a bit of dis-covered recompense), and we opted to seek the rumored elevator. But we were sidetracked by a rumor of a recent expedition in the northwest of level one, and of certain places left unexplored therein.

Thence, therefore, did we march, past the staked-heads west of the Pit, and around through the secret door and under the great arch. Several paths lay before us at the next juncture, and we elected for the nearer doors.

The first door we opened led to others; the next revealed disappointment in an old storage room. But to our horror, Thea pointed out a translucent flowing amoeboid come through the door in pursuit! It descended on Finn, congealing around his head and extracting the fluids of his braincase most terribly. Fortunately, he was able to cast it off with his hands, and I darted in to strike its nucleus just right such that it "popped" and dis-integrated.

Relieved of that horror, we turned to the next door, and behind it found an octagonal room containing a singular chest. Certainly treasure was secreted within! But wary as ever, we held back from our enthusiasm, and Fancy the Bard gave his touching-pole to--Termin, I think was the name? A hireling of his, anyway--to prod open the lid. Well, that he managed to do, but not without the mishap foreseen! A dart was cast forth, and delivered what must have been a fine dose of poison to the poor man. He had to sit down and put head between his knees until his heart stopped "pattering", as he said (meanwhile, we were elated to find within the chest a reasonable amount of electrum coins).

Continuing to open the many doors before us, we next discovered a storage chamber, already looked-through by the three occupants, caught in the act of tapping on the walls in seek of secret doors. They attempted to mislead us by declaring a "musical" interest, but Fancy showed them real music, and two of the three became entranced. They revealed themselves as servants of the Sorcerer-King Valtropis, seeking certain treasures told to them by the Gnomes to be hid within that reach of the Complex. The armor we recovered (over there) is theirs; alas, they forced our hands, and we had to slay them, rather than remain cordial! Fergus' understanding of the dweomers of sleep proved his worth in this clinch of conflict.

Well, the walls didn't hold any secrets; I can't decide if the Gnomes gave poor information, or if the Vat-Spawn only poorly understood their intelligence? Regardless, we continued our investigations.

The next room contained nothing but alcoves and a dusty recliner, but two other floating amoeboids came on after us while investigating. Fortunately our combined arms proved their match, and they too were soon "popped" (I should not neglect to mention the bravery of our hirelings here, who were the ones to deliver the final blows to both horrors; I think Glys killed one all alone with her crossbow). Fancy, digging through his knowledge of lore declared the amoeboids were "metroids", whatever that may mean, but also suggested that we just call them "suck clouds" given their proclivities.

My astute observations and fine deductive mind next allowed us ingress through a certain wall formerly assumed to be true, but now found to contain a secret door. The first door within proved merely a closet; but our hirelings, set to guard, called out from the corridor, and filing out from our investigations, we discerned a fleshy tentacular horror squelching toward us from the darkness. This too fell before our arms, and I will not feign modesty that it was my own magic missile that dealt the killing blow (though Fergus did call out for it in the final act).

The last that we explored was another room, containing only a corpse, dressed in one of the finest shirts of mail that I have ever seen. Indeed, it is there upon the table, being wrangled over by my comrades! Fain, of course, were we to remove the armor from a dead man, and remand it to one of our own who would more happily use it ... but none of us wished exactly to be the hand that took from the dead. Terk was volunteered, much to his chagrin (as perhaps you saw).

He went as ordered, and returned after but a moment, and something was crawling in his arm, under the skin. The horror of it almost paralyzed. Fergus suggested cutting it out with a dagger; Finn suggested hacking the arm off entire with a falchion. Fancy blanched at both (as did Terk), but could not immediately recall whatever lore he was clearly seeking behind his eyes.

So! Terk we grasped, all of us, and held him down without analgesic, and Fergus applied his dagger in imitation of a surgeon.

To no avail! Blood poured, and the man howled, but the thing still writhed in his arm.

But, "Fire!" Fancy suddenly declared, and he lit a torch, and while continued to hold poor Terk down, Fancy applied the brand to the flesh, and forth came the grub, terrified like a tick from the flame, and Fergus cut it atwain with his knife.

Seeing all this, a light did we see in Thea's eye, and she muttered something to herself about, "The silent death," and went to the corpse. I know not what she did, for I was engaged with Kiddo consoling poor Terk and wrapping his arm; but when we returned to the corpse to retrieve its armor, Thea did declared it free of the wretched grubs, and lo! nothing further untoward occurred when handling it.

Well! Such are the deeds as we have just accomplished them. But I think I missed any true retelling of your own adventure to seek out the white altar. How is it that you came by your new unlooked for power of touch? And I think, also, that I have missed word of some of your other adventures, if you have any wish to expound on deeds of daring-do!

A Dialogue Between Scamandros and a Goat

[Scamandros the Seer, drunk on much spring wine, is escorted back to the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun by a goat blessed by the shepherds of Old Orm, to whom he expounds concerning his latest adventure within "the Complex"]

Well, my horn-ed friend, there we stood before the stairs descending to the seeming depths of greatness! Myself--Riverborn Scamandros!--and my companions ... allow me to count them if you would, while you chew your cud ... Betina the Blind, a fighting-woman whose sword I trust though her eyes are gone; Journeyman Crannoc and Phasmo, two fellow magic-users of the College of old, and now business-partners anew; and Frim Frimerson, a fighting-man of mien most dour. With us too were Kiddo, my trusted lictor, she bearing forth my partha shield with all the ancient Teucrian ancestry; and Veteran Ornie, once an oarsmen in the galleys of the Cerulean Sea, if I took his meaning right.

"Baa-ah!" what? And you also desire a name heroic, o! goat? Then here, take this crown of dandelions from off my brow, and I shall name you ... Anthouaix. Eh, be not ashamed! Thou art thus the Goat of the Flower!

Now ... We had come by way circuitous, half explained by Crannoc as he pored over his myriad maps. An elevator there was, would take us to the depths (though the lowest depths, they said, would split color itself!). We aimed to ride it down seeking fortune, but Crannoc's notes depicted a door unlooked-through, but of interest.

Well, looking through it was much blood, dried; and the next door held the same; but the next was always unexplored until a stair led down before us. Phasmo cried out in excitement--

Yes, this is where I tried to start, so stop your bleating! What's next begins adventure--

Anyway, we descended the steps, and found ourselves in a hall, flanked by painted statues of a man bearing a key, and a woman with a globe held high. Most interested in the key was Phasmo, but our investigations were cut short by the arrival of several beetles.

Very large beetles, with great scything mandibles.

Eschewing conflict, we tried a doorway in the corridor to the east, and opened it upon a roomful of pugnacious blue-furred beasts. Alas! they seemed intent on our flesh as delicacy, but Betina slammed shut the door, while Crannoc devised an ingenious plan to spike it shut, but with a rope coiled round the spike that we might pull it forth and release the hounds of hunger upon the beetles of our despair should they come in pursuit.

All followed per Crannoc's plan; we ourselves moved deeper into the complex.

(Very well, Anthouaix, I too require a moment to relieve certain natural pressures. Soon, now, we will arrive in Old Orm, and you will see our Athenaeum; I advise you not to eat of any tome.)

We entered into a star-shaped room; a set of stairs descended deeper into the Complex ... again, Phasmo cried in delight to discover a deeper truth ... but all that opened before us was a crescent-shaped shrine with an ancient altar. Its face was worn with the pawings of many a hopeless pilgrim, or so I surmise; for some reason my companions all knelt before the stone and placed their hands against it like--

--yes, like fools, I agree! "Baa-aah!" Very cutting, Anthouaix--

And before anything of value could be dis-covered, the skittering of beetle-legs was discerned upon the stair. Oil we spread, ready for fire, and Frim (son of Frimer Frimson, grandson of Frim Frimerson, if I got the lineage right ...) and Betina the Blind stood valiantly forth, backed by the spears of lictor-Kiddo and Ornie, and the sorceries of Riverborn Scamandros, Journeyman Crannoc, and one Phasmo!

A vicious battle followed! One of the two remaining insectile horrors was laid low by the swords and spears of my companions, along with my own magical dart!; while the other was stilled by the magical prism of Phasmo, illusionist extraordinaire. (I think that I must call upon my companions to learn more of magic, don't you think Flower-Goat?)

The still-and-sleeping beetle we fettered as a bull of old-and-ancient Minos ...

Ah, well, here we are--the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun. Ramshackle it may be, but it contains a wealth of ancient knowledge. Well, I guess it's time we parted ways and you went back to your--stop chewing on my cloak! I just had this made for the festival! Shoo! Shoo, you damn goat! If you eat this, how else am I again to impress Veturia??

[Reeling from an excess of drink, Scamandros tugs the tips of the cloak he spent some money on from the mouth of his attendant goat and sits down outside the portal of the Athenaeum of the Dying Sun to meditate on the missed opportunities of the night of the Vernal Equinox, when cherry-wine thickened his tongue and made twisted his advances to the maiden Veturia Casca ...]

Greyhame Game Expeditions 89 and 90

Expedition 89, 2 April's Roster:
Torrack, Gunther, and Thor (ogres)
Coball and Iliana (clerics)
Leafit (Elf)


Torrack is of such a level as to seize a cave or cavern system for himself and gather a band of ogres under him. His announced intent is to attempt to educate such a band of ogres and introduce them to civilization.

To that end, he gathered a group of comrades at the Waldburg, Kord's castle just east of Brakeridge, and the party set out toward the mountains to the east, hoping to find a cave. They didn't ask around about rumors or attempt to hire any guides, but just struck out into the wilderness, hoping to blindly stumble into success.

Well, some kind of disaster struck them down. A day after their departure, Iliana returned from the wilderness to Kord's castle, chattering about "tentacles from the dark" and "the stones themselves! The stones themselves had teeth! Everyone dead ..."

Guided by her, Ham and a larger party discovered a double-cavern entrance at the south end of a cliff-face set under and between the Whitecrown and Greyhame mountains. From within, they recovered the bodies of Torrack and his party, all badly mangled and partially digested. Over the next few days, with difficulty, Ham was able to raise from the dead all but Thor, whose body was just too far gone.


------


Expedition 90, 4 April's Roster:
Clark (paladin)
Mizer and Blackleaf (magic-users)
Koko (woman-ape)
Lucky Bob (travelling man)
Tiwo (thief)
Rolf Rolfson, Thorgil, Clothis (clerics)


Following up on two previous expeditions into the Howling Tower to discover what happened to Okok the Ape-King and to help him drive out the Getae holding the tower, the adventurers gathered in Brakeridge with the intent to delve into the Howling Tower Dungeon once more. On the 86th expedition, a number of slaves were delivered from the Tower, saved from servitude under the Getae; these slaves were able to offer a small bit of intelligence concerning the Getae, namely that the chief of the Getae, one Tamoric, was gifted by the Red King of the Getae with a huge red ruby that glitters of its own light, and which was set into the base of a huge axe; after this, according to the slaves, it seemed that certain vile sacrifices became more common.

Knowing that werewolves abound in the area, they bought up a bunch of wolfsbane (and noted that wolfsbane has become common in town, hung up over lintels and nailed to doors), Koko groused about not having armor and ordered a suit especially made for her ape frame from a local armorer, and then they set out.

Wolves howl in the wilderness; strange howling emanates once more from the Tower; the party gathered on the hillside by the secret insect-hole that leads into the Tower dungeons and sent Rolf in first. On the way in, they discovered a renewed number of large egg cases in the larger cavern outside the dungeon proper, and elected to smash them all before continuing.

Emerging once more into the crypts under the tower, the adventurers quickly made their way north to the door where they'd encountered large numbers of goblins before; listening in, they seemed to hear another such group of goblins and wolves. They briefly debated whether to clear them out again, but decided to move on.

At the next door down the corridor to the west, the party listened again, and heard ritual chanting and muted whining and howling. This seemed more interesting than mere goblins; because there were two doors into the chamber, the group decided to split up with Clark, Mizer, and Tiwo taking the south door, and everyone else at the northwest door.

The plan was that Clark should open the south door, distract those inside, and then while whoever or whatever was inside was distracted, the others would burst in from the west. This went down generally as intended--Clark opened the door and stumbled in, and found a little more than he bargained for.

A barbarian chief with a silver circlet at his head and a huge axe slung over his shoulder (giant ruby sparkling at its pommel) knelt before a statue of an Elf queen, a tripod smoking with incense at his side. Attending him were eight well-armed barbarian huskarls, a pack of wolves with intelligence gleaming in their yellow eyes and a horrible beast, its body like a hulking baboon, its head like a great shaggy wolf, and from its shoulders sprouting six swaying serpent heads.

The barbarian stood and turned to Clark and suggested that the paladin step in and disarm himself. Clark refused, denying the magic, but he did step in with his sword raised. "I challenge you, one on one," Clark declared confidently, and the barbarian chief smirked in reply. "Let us to the holmgang, then," the barbarian replied, and his huskarls drove daggers into the floor in an arena square. Hefting his axe, the chief stepped in, and Clark stepped in with his sword ... and the two set about to ineffectually swinging their weapons around as both player and referee rolled nothing but 3s and 5s for several rounds.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party decided they wanted in on the action, so in the door was kicked. Blackleaf bathed everyone in the room with a fireball, which both the chief and Clark shrugged off, but which knocked out some of the wolves. A web spell aimed at the eight huskarls by Mizer was fizzled by an axe thrown back at him; Koko charged in, sword flaming, and directly engaged the horrible baboon-snake demon, while Thorgil and Clothis closed with the wolves, and Lucky Bob, Rolf, and Tiwo stood back shooting crossbow bolts.

Koko's melee went poorly; though she snicked off a couple snake heads, the others got numerous bites in against her, and she felt fiery venom coursing through her veins, seizing her muscles. Blackleaf followed Mizer's web with one of her own, this one actually covering the barbarians and preventing them from joining the fray. Mizer covered himself with mirror images. Clark and the barbarian traded misses; Clothis and Thorgil knocked out some wolves.

Seeing this fight turning against him, the barbarian chief changed; his skin flushed bright blood red, from his shoulder sprouted a serpent's head, and from his mouth burst forth a full wolf's head. ... But even with all three attacks he still managed to miss Clark. Koko drank a potion of antivenin, and succeeded her second save with a natural 20, ending the threat of poison, while the rest of the party mopped up the chief's allies.

At this juncture, the chief attempted to escape invisibly, but Blackleaf had a wand of enemy detection which briefly set his outline alight before Thorgil dispelled all magic in the room with a dispel magic scroll. The chief was discovered in the corner, while the barbarians all were released from their webs.

Half the party crowded around the chief while the others meleed the barbarians. Surrounded, the chief sent forth a stroke of magical lightning which laid Blackleaf low and cooked Thorgil and Clothis without killing them. After another round, the chief again turned invisible, and the northwest door opened and closed.

Clark, Thorgil, and Clothis ducked out the door after the chief while the others dealt with the huskarls. Another stroke of lightning blasted through the corridor, but the adventurers had healed themselves enough with potions and lay on hands that they survived. Despite his regenerative abilities, the chief was at low hp at this point, and three characters whaling on him (including a critical hit, I believe) laid him low. But not dead--his body continued to regenerate even as he lay unconscious, an axe blade buried in his head.

The thing that finally ended his weird life was to divest him of everything on his person, including a fair number of gems, the silver circlet, and the axe. As the party was fairly well beaten up, they elected to gather the chief's body and possessions, and then return to the surface and the safety of town, to return to drive out the Getae another day.

Back in town, the axe was discovered to be magical (of course), and was proffered to Axxxl the Mask, local sage, to be identified. It is an axe +3, dancing, but Axxxl mentioned that there was something abominably evil about it and offered to pay 40k in gold to take it off their hands, not trusting it with them ... but they refused, and Clark won the argument to keep it.

So the chief of the Getae of Tower lies dead, his body in the hands of the adventurers ... but the Getae remain in their fastness, and Okok the Ape-King remains in the dungeons below ...

Greyhame Game Expedition 88

Following up on their re-explorations of the Howling Tower dungeons during expedition 86, the party attempts to clear goblins, wolves, and werewolves from the first level, discovers a mysterious stair down, and on the second level of the dungeon, claimed the treasure previously barred to them on the belly of the black dragon statue ...


28 March's roster:
Koko (woman-ape)
Clark (would-be paladin)
Lucky-Bob (travelling man)
Blackleaf, Merlin, and Mizer (magic-users)
Coball, Thaddeus, and Rolf Rolfson (clerics)
and Tiwo (Getae thief)


Before setting out once more for the dungeon-complex under the Greyhame Mountain, some rumor-mongering: First, the party hears about the appearance in town of Drang the goblin, his Elfin associate Stormy, and their entourage of ogre-servants. These individuals have taken up semi-permanent rooms at the Black Dragon's Mede, a local inn-and-tavern, and seem to be in the business of offering adventure hooks ... except that at this moment, another group of adventurers had earlier snapped up the hook and were off gallivanting in seek of it. Perhaps next week something will be available ...

Second, also currently at the Mede is one Xanthos, master-thief extraordinaire, magic-user unparalleled, and leader of the Cult of the Black Dragon. This Xanthos is a long-time dungeon-companion of Clark from of old, and the party agrees to pay him 1000 gp for information about the statue discovered in the dungeon last time, at a hint from Clark ... and lo, the dark-cloaked, dragonfire-scarred fellow explains, "That is an image of Anglamorath the Black, the Dragon of Night; she is the dark between the stars, and when the Rainbow bridge is thrown down, her wings will overshadow the world, and she will come again in power and glory and her enemies will fall before her, and her worshipers will glory in her vengeance. So--who wants to join the Cult?"

Tiwo agreed to offer allegiance to Anglamorath, and in return, Xanthos taught him certain secret words and countersigns that would allow him to retrieve the treasure from the statue.

Lastly, rumors run through town of a "lost" expedition in the west, in which the half-Elf Cairn died of strange light, the ogre Torg met an unpleasant end digested in the belly of a monster, while their comrade JH barely escaped from the dungeon, bearing the body of Tarn, who had succumbed and drowned from the kiss of a nymph.

To the dungeon!

Descending into the Howling Tower dungeon by the secret insect-tunnels, Clark was leading, and he ran into three insectile horrors gathered in the central part of the tunnels--two of the horrors caught in the midst of copulating while the third waited on the side. In the short melee that followed, Clark was paralyzed by the poisonous tentacles of one, but the horrors were swiftly dispatched by a pile-on of dogs and spear-wielding Mizer (who learned the use of the spear through certain ancient rituals taught him while apprenticed to an ancient and powerful magic-user).

The party then dragged Clark into the dungeon and debated whether to carry him along or wait for him to be freed of the rigor of paralysis. Fortunately, the effect wore off even while they argued, and the expedition was able to continue in good time.

Guided to the door wherein they were surprised by a large group of goblins and wolves on a former expedition (#85, I'm not writing it now, sorry), the party argued as to whether to split up for a pincer-attack or not. Lucky Bob and co. argued "not" and as the rest of the party acquiesced, they turned to burst in the door to surprise whatever lay beyond.

Behind the door lay a large chamber, filled with goblins, wolves, goblin-detritus, and a few low fires for rat-cooking. Blackleaf and Merlin each got off a spell of sleep before the goblins could do anything, knocking out almost all of the goblins and even a few wolves. What followed was a chaotic melee as Clark, Koko and Thaddeus advanced to attack with swords and maces. The few remaining goblins attempted to get off their own magic, but while two managed to magically douse the party's torches, the other two were struck and had their spells fizzled.

The wolves then joined the melee, and it soon became evident that they were not mere wolves. But the party was well-equipped with magic and silver weapons and had no trouble dealing damage to the werewolves, though the creatures were not easily dispatched because of high hp rolls. Midway through the combat, the remaining goblin-leaders broke and fled, earning opprobrium from their wolfish companions, but the party allowed them to flee. Several rounds later, the final werewolf (of five) dropped its head and in Common growled, "Spare me! Mercy!"

Mercy was granted by the predominantly Good party; pumping their new captive for information, they learned his name, Vitrig, learned that the goblins and wolves still largely dominate this first dungeon level, and rediscovered the wolf-and-goblin altar in a secret room, covered anew with offerings of silver and gems. Tying Vitrig up, the party continued on their way to explore more of the first dungeon level.

Exploring the eastern boundaries, the party opened several empty tombs, and then finally a chamber seemingly guarded by two silver statues in the form of Elfin maiden-warriors. There were further doors leading from the chamber, but when the statues uttered a hollow challenge in Chaotic--one dissimilar to the countersigns taught to Tiwo by Xanthos--the party elected to withdraw rather than risk fighting golems.

Continuing exploration, the party entered a large hall with several pillars, and surprised about a dozen bizarre creatures clustered around one of the pillars ... Another sleep spell dropped a few of the creatures, but that led to battle as they turned to deal with the intruding adventurers. And so the party came face to face with strange things, goblin in shape, but with four long gangling arms from either shoulder, two vestigial arms from their chests, plates of black exoskeleton covering parts of their bodies, and two huge black multi-faceted eyes staring out from over mouths drooling and gaping around large fanged mandibles--spider-goblin-things!

Because of a good initiative roll and use of a web spell to immobilize half of the creatures remaining awake, and then a fireball spell that wiped out the webbed and sleeping creatures, the encounter passed quickly with the party triumphing. It was discovered that the creatures were, with their own webs, tying up the deceased body of an Elf-woman to the central pillar, whom Lucky Bob elected to take up and carry out of the dungeon to be raised from the dead.

About to turn back and return to town, the party was recalled to the lure of treasure by Blackleaf and Koko--to come all this way and forget about the treasure-laden dragon statue? Goaded on by this reminder, the party quickly found their way to the stair down to the second level. There, an encounter with wolves was avoided, and then the party found themselves in the great gallery before the shining black statue of Anglamorath.

Tiwo gave the countersigns and demanded in Chaotic that the dragon relinquish her treasure; then going up, he attempted to prize off the gems on the belly ... and nothing happened. Working quickly, and with the help of the Chaotic followers of Kord, Thaddeus, Coball, and Merlin, the party managed to prize off some two dozen gems and thousands of gold and silver coins. Fortunately, they had brought enough sacks into the dungeon in which to stuff all this treasure, and so they were able to haul all of it out, fireballing another small pack of wolves on their quick-march back to the surface.

Returning to town, only Clark and Mizer elected to carouse, and thus is word of their deeds and rewards spread throughout town.

Greyhame Game Expedition 87

A real-world two-part expedition, but interrupted in-game only by a pause in media res back at the camp outside the dungeon ...

The roster for 25 and 29 March:

Sten (halfling)

with Henry (magic-user), Tal (thief), and Foz (free goblin)

Nigel (16 year old boy-wonder magic-user)

Shoopie (dwarf)

with Zanatos (cleric)

Clark (paladin)

Tomu (dwarf) and Erbin (fighter)

and a small army of hirelings and dogs

At the Black Dragon's Meed Inn & Tavern back in town, a strange party arrives: a goblin, obviously the leader, introduced himself as Drang, his female Elf companion as Stormy, and the chief of his five-ogre entourage as Barduk; the four ogre-servants carried for their goblin-master a chest, obviously heavy, from which Drang counted out several thousand gold for a year's stay at the inn.

He then turned to the adventurers gathered in the tavern common room--Henry and Sten were holding a reunion of old friends with Nigel, Shoopie, and Zanatos--and the goblin Drang offered a further "obscene amount" of gold if these obvious ne'er-do-wells and adventurers would seek out a zone for him, lost of old under the Greyhame Mountain. A treasure map was offered--actually a letter and an account from the chronicles of the Brondings, which together suggested the location of the lost item--and a precise amount was agreed upon.

Thus offered compensation, the party acquired what they needed in town, and then set out for the Greyhame Mountain. Their clues led them into the Glimmervaults, those ancient caverns whose ceilings glimmer in the dark as if with the night's stars. Certain among the party had adventured in the 'Vaults previously (some so long ago as to have been in a previous incarnation of the dungeon, in a previous campaign!). Armed with their own map, they oriented themselves and then struck out into unexplored areas.

The caverns extended for a good way to the south and east; in a certain portion, the cave ceiling seemed to vanish into the night sky, though under constellations strangely distorted; and further on was discovered a great lake of dark waters glittering under stars. Another cave was found filled with a herd of giant pallid cave-locusts, while in one section stone doors were held closed by great iron bars warning with inscriptions of "the pollution of death is barred inside these halls."

While standing on the shore of the dark lake, the party was attacked by huge whited salamanders that swarmed out of the waters like slimy crocodiles; two of the dogs were slain here, but the foul creatures were driven back into the waters by a liberal application of flaming lamp oil. It was about this time that the party elected to return to their camp outside, uncertain of their prospects further in the dungeon without a little extra muscle.

The extra muscle came in the form of Clark, Tomu, and Erbin, whose players joined us on the 29th; and with their reinforcement, the party returned into the darkness.

Under a starry sky, the party discovered a secret cache of treasure in a stone tree; but were surprised from behind by a group of about a dozen corpses shambling toward them, corpses covered in growths of wispy grey mold, whitecap mushrooms, and other fungal growths. These did not turn away from Zanatos' holy symbol and prayers, but Clark was able to cause them to fight each other by the use of his ring of fungus control. But while the party argued as to what to do with the discovered treasure, they were interrupted again from behind by the snuffling and crunching of cave bears enjoying the surprise feast of fungal zombies.

----

"Yeah, we fucking killed those bears!" Nigel interjects into the midst of this accounting by the carousing characters.

"With the help of my ring of animal control," Shoopie adds; "But you should slow down on that beer, boy."

"Who are you calling boy? I'm a man! I'm sixteen--that's the age of majority!"

"Until you can grow one of these," Shoopie replies, tugging at his beard, "I'm afraid you're no man."

----

Continuing the account, the party found themselves in a cavern filled with stalagmites and stalactites; fortunately, Clark happened to look behind and witness one of the stalagmites shuffling and shifting just a little closer to the party. Alerting his fellows, he then advanced to investigate, followed cautiously by Sten ... and stepping within range, Clark found himself suddenly faced with an explosion of whipping tendrils from the weird stalagmite. Several latched onto him with glue-like secretions and then Clark found himself being dragged onward into the darkness and the suddenly revealed maw of stony teeth gaping from the stalagmite's side.

So began a desperate battle in the dark; as the party moved to Clark's aid, they found themselves accosted by two others of the stalagmite-horrors, the tendrils of which dragged a number of characters into the threat of crunching maws. Tomu and Erbin were two such caught, while Shoopie and Sten also found themselves struggling against the in-reeling tendrils. Each round in the grip of the tendrils while in melee range, the monsters were able to crush their victims in their jaws, and Erbin faced the swift death of his hireling, and then his own terrible death. Arakh the orc, Nigel's companion from adventure of old, also found death here, and Clark himself was brought low by too many rounds in the stony grip of his foe.

Nigel cast a lightning bolt spell to no effect, but Henry's fireball softened up two of the creatures, while Zanatos' cure spells helped bolster Clark long enough to heal himself further by laying hands on himself. Once the first of the three creatures was slain, though, its body oozing a foul yellow ichor, the party was able to combine efforts, and their various magical strength and swords were able to cut down the last two stony pillars of death.

At this point, much thought was given as to whether to retreat, but the call of sweet lucre proved irresistible, and the party moved deeper into the dungeon. Discovering halls of worked stone, decorated with imagery of Elves dancing under stars and trees of oak and firs, the party entered cautiously and discovered a number of fallen bodies, apparently killed of old by their own hands. These proved, as suspected, to be undead, which arose and drew swords of shadow from the empty scabbards at their sides.

And the danger of encounters with the undead was remembered here under pillars like stone trees, as Nigel and Zanatos both suffered the loss of life energy when struck by the cold shadowed swords. But the undead horrors were finally destroyed ...

----

At this point, the account is interrupted again as the carousing characters break into old reminiscences. "Yeah, seems like we might have to make another trip to Rix's dungeon, to bathe in the healing waters there," Shoopie declares.

"Rix!" Nigel says. "I still haven't forgiven you all for murdering Rix!"

"Forgiven us for that--what about all the other stuff we've done to you?" Sten pipes up from behind the bar. He has to stand on a barstool to see over the top, while he continuously pours his best stock of wine for himself and proceeds to guzzle it down. "Like when Xanthos paid for your 'lovely' wife to be raised from the dead?"

"Yeah, or when we sold you off to the Goblin King for a night?" Shoopie adds. Grinning evilly from behind his beard, he reaches out making a pinching motion with his fingers. "Beautiful boy!" he adds in a nasally imitation of the Goblin King's crooning.

"I will rip your head off and shit in the hole if you say that again," Nigel responds, totally dead pan, getting his fingers ready to cast fireball.

----

Anyway, hauling out all the treasure they'd acquired from halls of the dead, the party found themselves obstructed by the appearance of a gang of creatures, black-skinned, gangly-armed, and with greasy white hair. With hooked noses sniffing, they shuffled out of the darkness, ready to rend with outstretched claws.

A short round of combat established for certain the nature of these creatures, as the wounds cut by the adventurers' swords rapidly began to heal. Only Shoopie's sword versus regenerating creatures and Sten's flaming sword caused lasting wounds. But the punishment dished out by the party proved too much for the trolls, lasting or not; and in the end only one of the creatures escaped into the darkness, leaving its fellows on the cavern floor, covered in oil and set fire until burned to death by the characters.

So ended this expedition into the Glimmervaults--wildly successful if the amount of booze bought and drunk on the night of their return is any indication; and yet Drang remains at the inn, not entirely satisfied with the outcome of the expedition ...

Greyhame Game Expedition 86

It's been a long time since I posted regarding this game (Expedition 30, the killing of the Goblin King, was the last time). Actually, it's been since October last year that I've posted at all, but we're finally playing the Greyhame Mountain Dungeon itself again, so I feel the impetus ...

So ...

------

Much has happened in the time since the killing and capturing of the Goblin King. An entire year has passed, and another half a year beyond that. Many of the adventurers from the original expeditions have moved on or retired, but others are still in the thick of it, risking much for sweet, sweet lucre.

Kord the Half-Orc has captured the castle of Waldburg to the east of the original hometown of Brakeridge; Lailith the Matriarch has taken the castle of Drachenturm from a nest of wyverns and had it repaired.

The Goblin King was turned over to the Elves for a large weregild, and he has presumably been tortured and crucified, as the Elves swore they would do. The Lord of Werewolves has allied himself with Viteric, Red King of the Getae barbarians, and together they make war on the Elves. An undead dragon and its hoard were discovered in the dungeons beneath the Howling Tower. Another dungeon-complex entire was explored in the hills to the northwest, and the cult of Skotia, goddess of darkness and death, was driven out, while the shrines and burial halls of Law and Good within were restored.

New adventurers have arrived to join in on the exploration of the deeps seeking gold, power, and glory, and at long last, expeditions have returned to the Greyhame Mountain Dungeon, led by Koko the Woman-Ape, who sought Okok the Ape-Chief somewhere in the Howling Tower ...

------

the roster for 21 March:
Koko (woman-ape)
Torrack and Torg (ogres)
Mizer and Blackleaf (magic-users, Blackleaf formerly an Elf)
Alan and Rolf Rolfson (clerics, Rolf a Getae tribesman)
Lucky Bob (traveling man)
and four hirelings
and five dogs


During last week's session, Koko, Blackleaf, and others discovered that the Howling Tower was howling again--wolves have gathered in large numbers in the wilderness around it, as well as some eerie, eldritch howling from within--and more surprisingly, the tower had been surrounded by a stockade of wooden palisades and longhouses populated by a tribe of Getae barbarians and their wolf and goblin allies. Not much was discovered during this expedition, but a number of slaves were freed from within the tower's dungeon, and they were able to relate that Okok and the other apes were driven down from the tower into the depths of the dungeon.

With that intelligence, the goal of this week's expedition was to delve into the depths and discover just where Okok had ended up. Koko took the lead, taking the company of adventurers to the secret entrance on the side of the ridge that pierces directly into the tower dungeon without need to enter the tower itself (which remains fortified behind the barbarians' stockade). This secret entrance once housed terrible insectile horrors, but for now retains only their large, empty egg sacs.

Emerging from the tunnel into the dungeon, Koko and Alan pored over the maps from previous expeditions and agreed on the fastest route through the first dungeon level to the stair down to the second. To that end, they skirted around the perimeter of the level and avoided any encounters with goblins or wolves (which still inhabit the dungeon in large numbers).

Coming down to the second level, Alan pointed out that perhaps one of his dogs could scent out Okok and his apes. Having the dog sniff Koko, and then letting it sniff around in the corridors of the second level, the dog soon scented something and pointed the party through several corridors, south, and then west. They passed through the room with the star well, which seems open to the night sky itself, and then headed west through some chambers not previously explored.

The main chamber thus explored was a huge gallery with a glittering black statue of a dragon in the center of the hall, marked ANGLAMORATH in the Elvish script. The belly of this serpentine idol was studded with gems, gold, and other coinage. But as Alan reached out, hoping to pry off a gem, he recoiled in pain, and then looked in horror on the gaping mouth of the idol, from which a huge and terrible serpent of blackest hue was slithering its way out.

Alan attempted to turn the giant snake into a log with snakes to sticks, but it had no effect; neither did Koko's ring of animal control. Then the serpent was free to attack, and it chomped down hard on Alan, nearly killing him.

A short, hard battle ensued. Mizer and Blackleaf threw a number of magic missiles at the creature, while the ogres and their dogs joined Alan and his hirelings in melee. But the next round, the creature breathed forth a cloud of acrid, toxic vapors, and Alan and his hirelings fell dead in the midst. Blackleaf attempted to dimension door the creature away and over the star well down the corridor, but the creature made its save; then Mizer cast web over it, and the serpent was slain as it thrashed about trying to break through.

The creature's body melted into foul black ichor and roiling billows of acrid smoke; but alas, even with the guardian destroyed, the magic in the statue prevented anyone from seizing its treasure without taking damage.

Returning to their purpose, the party looked to their tracking hound. It pointed west; after a short series of corridors, and a room with a stair down to the next level, the party found itself in a series of natural caverns with formations of stalactites and stalagmites, and listening carefully, they could hear dimly the sound of a feminine voice raised in song to the south, and too, the huffing of apes.

At the end of these passages, the party found a large chamber, half-filled with a pool of crystalline water fed by a deep stream that cut between the corridor and the chamber. In the midst of the pool, perched on a rounded off stalagmite, a naked and beautiful naiad sang sweetly for an audience of six apes, one among them the great silverback Okok, chief of the apes.

Koko immediately moved forward to join Okok--they were previously on friendly terms, after an expedition long ago, when the party had granted Okok the red flower of fire in return for friendship and/or treasure. Plucking each other's fur for lice, they exchanged pleasantries; Okok boasted of his warrior apes, despite having been driven out of the tower by the Getae, and Koko offered the chance to make an alliance and drive the Getae out of the tower from below. Okok was quite happy to agree to this.

Meanwhile, the naiad was making eyes at the party, but she couldn't stop singing to talk without the other apes getting riled up. It seemed the apes were enjoying a feast of raw giant crawfish, fished out of the cave pool, while listening to the wonderful singing of the nymph. After some abortive attempts to draw the apes away or cast a magical sleep over them, Torrack the ogre finally offered the cask of wine he was carrying (and another crawfish that the party had slept when attempting to get across the stream earlier), all to be a feast if only the apes would lead them to the next chamber over where more of their fellows were resting. This finally won the apes over, so they all moved on, allowing Blackleaf some time to speak with the naiad alone.

She called herself Niriel, and declared that she had been swept down into the dungeon by the swift flowing stream, but unable to return up to her sisters in the Brokenbrand Falls because of the strong current on the one hand, and the dungeon full of wolves and goblins on the other hand, and by the gods! would she be grateful if the adventurers would help her get out of the dungeon, and please, please, I don't want to sing for these dirty apes anymore.

The apes perked their ears at the sudden lack of singing, but Okok settled them--"Don't worry, friends, once we've feasted here, we'll go out and squeeze her again to get her singing again," and the apes went back to feasting.

So; Koko had found Okok and made alliance with him at last. It was agreed that Okok would remain in the dungeon, and that the adventurers would return soon to begin their joint operations against the Getae and their werewolves. Meanwhile, Niriel was wrapped up in a spare cloak to hide her nakedness, and bundled out of the dungeon, protected in the midst of the party as they made their way out on the double. Outside, she took her leave of them (and their cloak), promising to tell her sisters of the favor done her by them, with the implication of a favor owed by the naiads if ever it should be called in.

Back in Brakeridge, Alan, Mizer, and the ogres caroused, and their drunken boasting is of course the source of the intelligence spilled above.