Seeking a way to better assess the situation, the team realizes that they may be able to position themselves upon the shoulder of rock that gives the path its dogleg nature. Davros, a skilled climber and all-around stealthy individual, climbs the stone face and over the top. That gives him a view of the path where it turns and climbs a broad staircase toward a pair of heavy double doors. He sees no sign of hobgoblins, so he returns to the other side, secures a rope, and assists his colleagues up to the top. Wicklow is an awkward and uncertain climber. He loses his grip and falls on Mishok waiting below. He tries and falls yet again before finally gaining the top. Once the entire group has established positions on the far side of the rock outcropping, they find stable spots to wait and watch. It is not long before a trio of hobgoblins opens the door and begins heading down the path. The adventurers are exposed on the rock face, but far above eye level. They remain still and quiet, and hope to remain undetected. This is not to be. A couple of pebbles shift and tumble down the wall – perhaps Wicklow’s nerves were to blame. The hobgoblins are on high alert, so the slightest sound catches their attention. The grab their bows and start firing at the men clinging to the wall. They return fire, and leap down into the fray. They manage to fight their way through the hobgoblins but also attract fire from arrow slits in the walls. Mishok moves close to one of the slits, and he can see the hobgoblin lurking back there. He calls on Divoc to neutralize the threat, and the hobgoblin archer erupts in flame.

They move their way up the stairs and through the open double-doors, into a cavernous space bisected by a wide chasm spanned by a rope bridge. Two braziers flank the doors, and their fire illuminates the room. Across the chasm, two hobgoblins step out from behind stone pillars and hurl javelins at the explorers. They respond with arrow fire, but they are soon engaged by additional foes who burst out of hidden doors. It is close quarters, so Cycek decides to cross the bridge and take out the javelin-throwers. The crossing is perilous enough on the spindly bridge, but one of the hobgoblins takes an axe to the supports on the opposite side, neatly severing the rope and nearly pitching Cycek into the abyss. He can hear the sound of water rushing below.

Sartan shoves one of his foes into the crevasse, then slays another one and pushes his way into the passageway from whence it came. He explores an abandoned passageway and finds the stations where the hidden archers had fired at them from arrow slits. He soon comes to the end of the corridor where it appears that a concealed door has been left slightly ajar. He is unaware of the dire situation developing back where his teammates continue to fight.

The team stands in a precarious spot, on a trail winding up the side of the Stone Tooth. A sheer cliff drops off to one side, down to the forest below, while on the other side the stone face of mountain rises nearly straight up. They have decided to replace Wicklow’s wooden shield with the battle-ready steel of their fallen hobgoblin foe. They are about to hurl the body off the side of the cliff, when they receive twin unexpected alerts. Wicklow whispers to them, “Guys, I think something’s coming up the trail!” At nearly the same moment, Sartan hears the familiar voice in his ear, of Demon’s Bane, “Hey, boss… I’m not sure… but I’m catching a little whiff of demon. It’s faint, but it’s making me hungry!”

The group crouches and looks down at the trail below, where it snakes through the forest before climbing up the face of the Stone Tooth. Sure enough, in the gathering gloom, they spot what appears to be a group of four figures, on foot, dragging a fourth. As they wait, uncertain of what to do, they pick up the sound of rough voices. Davros is the only one who can understand. “They’re speaking goblin,” he reports. Roughly translated they are speaking about having been in a fight while being out on patrol, and bringing back something interesting for the Great Ulfe.

Pinned between going back up the trail where the other guard had fled, and directly confronting the approaching patrol, they again decide to try and hide in the cave-like depression they had found. It is a very tight fit for all of them to get out of the line of sight and into the shadows. But, as the patrol climbs wearily past them, it seems as if their stealth might work. All the veterans (and the dead hobgoblin) remain quiet. But, Wicklow, in his nervous excitement rattles his shaking sword against his new metal shield and gives the party away. Four surprised hobgoblins turn in alarm, but before they can draw weapons, the party attacks.

It is a short but fierce fight. The adventurers dominate the hobgoblins who have clearly been in a scrape already. They are battered and weary, and three of them fall quickly. Cycek grabs the uselessly flailing Wicklow and swings him like a ram. He collides into one of the hobgoblins hard, knocking him into his fellow. The two hobgoblins fall to the ground, where they are easily overpowered by Davros and Mishok. Their leader is another matter. He is larger, stronger, and more skilled. He takes on Sartan in one-on-one melee. Cycek comes to his aid. He runs and springs up off one of the fallen corpses, attempting to kick the goblin patrol chief down. He slips in the blood, flying clumsily through the air, and delivers a much less effective attack than hoped. But it is enough. Sartan delivers the killing blow. A moment later, Wicklow steps out and awkwardly slashes at the dead hobgoblin with his sword. Sartan, exasperated, chews him out.

Again surveying the aftermath of a skirmish, they are surprised to realize that the hobgoblins had been dragging the hewn body of a demon… of a kind that they had encountered before. It’s what they knew as a cackler… a small creature outfitted with barbed chains, which when killed would emit a hellish, disturbing peal of laughter. It is slashed up and it appears dead, but Demon’s Bane is uncertain. “Just let me stab it, to be sure!” the sword pleads. But Sartan has another idea. Grabbing the creature and bearing it like a shield, he moves up the trail to explore what is around the corner. Rounding that shoulder of rock where the other guard had fled, he sees rough stairs leading down into darkness. An arrow whistles out of nowhere, but misses him. He determines that it has come from a small opening in the stone wall. He moves as close as he can to the wall, so as to get out of the line of sight. He heads down the stairs into darkness, and another pair of arrows whistle past him from unseen sources. As he prepares to dump the demonic body, another arrow strikes it, and the demon, apparently not having yet died, released a blood-curdling horrific laugh. Sartan puts his hands to his ears and flees back up the stairs. He reports what he has seen. It is clear that stealth is no longer an option. That laugh did not go unnoticed.

It is getting dark. The team is still crouched on the mountain path, and must decide what to do.

Concerned of the possibility of other hidden adversaries, the adventuring party very cautiously takes stock of the situation. Sartan used his sword to nudge the coins in the bottom of the fountain. They appear to be real, and no ill results seem to come of their having been disturbed. He wades into the ankle-deep water and gathers a collection of mostly copper pieces, but also some silver and gold coins, seemingly offered ages ago by some nameless visitor of generous means. Most of the coins are not of the typical Provincial currency in common use. They appear very old and bear no marks of any regional, contemporary mint. Two of the gold coins bear the royal mark of Tethyr, and bear the graven image of the present-day Queen, an anomaly among the collection of antique coins gathered from the fountain.

The group decides to descend the ancient cracked and twisted stairs to see what lies below the fountain. Mishok leads the way, followed by the others, except for Davros, who remains topside to guard against unwanted visitors. Water has flowed down the stairs from the breached fountain. The group passes through a rusted iron door that hangs ajar, to find a small, stone utility room, awash with water. Wading in, they discover a central stone column fitted with four tarnished but sturdy brass crank mechanism, one on each side of the column.

Testing one out, Cycek gives it a few cranks. He hollers up to Davros, “What’s happening up there!?” 

Davros reports that water has begun trickling from the gargoyle’s mouth again.

Mishok, Sartan, Cycek, and Wicklow all grab a crank and turn, and the fountain gargoyle spits a correspondingly voluminous flow of water.

While cranking, Mishok notices words crudely scratched into the column above the crank. He reads an odd bit of rhyming verse:

 Down in basement where it’s cold and dank
We sit and sing and turn the crank
So the boss does not get pissed
And turn us back to shapeless mist

At the mention of this, his cohorts examine the stone surfaces by the other cranks. They find the following verses, as read by Sartan and Cycek.

We’ve been summoned here to work
And our jobs we shall not shirk
We just sit here on our rumps
And turn the cranks that run the pumps

It is not to much to ask
To execute this simple task
Yes it’s boring and it’s dull
But we got to keep the fountain full

Wicklow finds lettering as well, but with some chagrin reports that he cannot read it. The others come around to see. All the lettering thus far has been written in common, and as they examine Wicklow’s verse, they see that it is in common as well. Wicklow, again with some embarrassment, reports that he has never learned to read. “It’s a small town. Not many of us know how to read.” The others translate for him:

It’s a privilege, not a curse
If we don’t comply it will be worse
We’re Grover Elmo Ernie Bert
And we turn the cranks until it hurts

The four wonder about who the “boss” is and why these creatures were tasked with filling this fountain, but can see no apparent answer. They feel uneasy about being down here. Before leaving, Cycek takes another careful look around and finds bobbing in the water a small metal pocket-sized flask. It is engraved with simple icons depicting the figure of a swimming man, among a number of fish. He uncaps it, examining the fluid within. It smells vaguely of sea water, with a bit of sweetness, and a slight sting of alcohol. It appears perfectly clear, and shimmers slightly. The group surmises that is very likely a potion of some kind. Davros is dimly aware of a substance known as gillyweed which, upon consumption, yields the ability to breathe underwater. He speculates that the potion, based upon the iconography, may deliver a similar effect. Cycek pockets the flask, and the group proceeds on their journey.

Though a bit banged up from their encounter at the fountain, they travel through the day. They cover substantial ground without incident. They camp for the night, patching their wounds, and preparing for the coming day, which by Cycek’s reckoning should bring them within reach of the Stone Tooth.

Cycek’s expert guidance through the woods does indeed bring them near their destination by late afternoon of the following day, They have traveled through dense woods, but following Cycek’s unerring guidance, they have made good time, and have remained under cover from any potential prying eyes. They have also seen no sign of others having recently traversed these lands. They only tracks they have seen have been those of the local fauna. They emerge from the woods near the shore of a lake. Its dark waters reflect the clouds and a sun that is begining to descend toward the mountains to the west. Across from the lake, silhouetted by the lowering sun, stands the Stone Tooth, reaching upward like a fang. To their southwest, the group spies a column of smoke emerging from a smaller stone outcropping. They decide that this is the place to begin their investigation.

Although the effort consumes some of their precious remaining daylight, they climb this jutting peak of stone and make some noteworthy observations.

Mishok has a deep knowledge of stone: both the working of it and its origins. Considering that smoke is billowing from a fissure in the stone, the natural query has arisen, “Is this a volcanic area?” He reports that, no, this is not volcanic rock. Upon reflection he realizes that this outcropping is quartzite, a sedimentary rock believed to be formed by untold eons of pressure upon ancient sands. This may be one of the oldest stone features in this world, shaped, moved, shoved upward, broken and eroded after immense measures of time.

Cycek also notices that the smoke, smells like wood smoke. “Why would there be wood smoke coming up from a hole in the stone?”

Cycek figures that he could fit down the crevice to investigate, but amid debate, the idea is dismissed by the team. From their elevated vantage point, they can see what appears to be a trail, cut through the woods, and winding up the flank of the Stone Tooth. They decide that exploring the path before the sun goes down would be a safer course of action.

They descend the hill and head west, moving quietly through the woods, emerging onto a well-crafted trail. It appears to have been here for quite some time, but also recently maintained: trees show the signs of recent cutting, brush has been cleared, and furthermore, their are clear signs of recent foot traffic. Cycek notices booted humanoid footprints headed in both directions along this path. The most recent appear to be three days old and they lead down-slope, away from the Stone Tooth.

The group, in the waning rays of sun, climb the trail, following cutbacks, as it climbs its way steeper and steeper. They find themselves on a bare shoulder of rock, with the stone flank of the pinnacle rising on their right, and a sheer drop to the forest floor on their immediate left. Their attention is suddenly caught by the sound of voices. Huddling against rock wall, and hiding in the shadows the best they can, they try to discern what, or who, is ahead. They can see the trail climbing steeply ahead, and then cutting back to the right and out of view behind a fold in the rock face. Standing at that juncture are two large humanoids. They wear armor, bear shields slung across their backs, and carry long swords at their belts. They speak in a coarse language unfamiliar to most. But Davros understands. These are hobgoblins. Davros whispers a rough translation of what they are saying. The two hobgoblins are complaining about being on guard duty. They complain about some ranking authority figure named Ulfe. The two guards, Wark and Thark, would rather be out on a raiding party. Thark argues that Ulfe is foolish to have them sitting under this pile of rocks. “How does waiting here help the war? We should be moving east!”

Eager to explore further, the party wants to neutralize these guards and move forward up the path. Mishok pulls out one of his clockwork spiders and sends it stealthily up the trail. It approaches Wark unnoticed, and bites his ankle, injecting venom into the wound. The startled hobgoblin shouts in pain and looks down. Seeing a strange brass spider, he stomps an iron boot upon it. Spings, wires, and gears burst out of the smashed spider and the injured Wark shouts, “What the hell was that!?” Alarmed, they look around, realizing something is afoot. Wark runs down the trail towards the party, and Thark runs the other way, rounding the bend and out of sight. As he disappears around the corner, he lets out a yell.

Davros reports, “Guys, he’s sounding the alarm.”

Cycek sidles back down the trail, staying close to the wall, and seeks a place the rest of the team can tuck themselves into. He finds a small cleft in the stone wall, and ushers his companions into the shadows, hoping to stay hidden from the approaching hobgoblin. He then moves into position, staying hidden, and hoping to ambush the oncoming foe. Soon, Wark runs by and Cycek springs out. He makes an acrobatic move, kicking out at Wark’s legs, and sends the hobgoblin sprawling with a shout of surprise. Sartan immediately rushes forth from this hiding place and runs the hapless guard through with his sword. Wicklow follows, flailing tentatively at the dead or dying adversary. Sartan looks at the inexperienced commoner with exasperated disdain.

Now, with a slain hobgoblin at their feet, and another one having shouted a warning to who knows how many allies, the team debates what do do next. They consider disguising Sartan as a hobgoblin guard and using him to gain entry to the hobgoblin’s lair through deception. Alternately, they consider simply stripping the guard of his chainmail and shield, to better equip the vulnerable Wicklow. With no conclusion having been reached, they team realizes the imperative of deciding quickly, lest they find themselves confronted with another situation before they are ready.

Having returned from their rather eventful hunting trip, Wicklow and the boys try to downplay the filthy, disheveled, and wounded state they are in. Wicklow chalks it up to a run-in with an aggressive wild boar, a half truth that his mother readily accepts. She has been preparing a feast with the supplies that the team had purchased for them. Shadwick returns home from the mine and they all sit down for dinner. Wicklow asks the team for stories of their adventures, and the family is horrified by what they hear: boastful tales of sexual exploits, murder, spiteful urination, and worst of all, encounters with demons and gateways into the Abyss. They have deep misgivings, but their son is an adult and they wish him to make his own decisions. 

The next morning, the family has a tearful but hopeful parting. Wicklow’s mother asks them to do their best to teach him and protect him. Sartan assures her that they will, but if the worst happens, then according to the customs of his people, he will return the head of their fallen companion as a sign of respect. Wicklow’s mother blanches in dismay, and gives her son a tight hug before releasing him to his fate.

They travel through woods and hills under an overcast sky, for what proves to be an uneventful first day of travel. As night falls and they make camp, and Cycek climbs a tree to gaze out to the west. He sees moonlight reflecting off of water in the distance. He estimates it to be several hours distant. They decide to rest for the night and investigate it tomorrow, for they know that a lake lies just east of the Stone Tooth.

After several hours of travel the following morning, they find themselves on part of an ancient roadway. The dirt has eroded away and they can see flagstones revealed beneath their feet. They come into a clearing strewn with broken stones, apparently part of ancient ruined structures. Among them is a curious fountain. It stands in what may have been a plaza ages ago. It has a 3-foot high stone encircling wall and in the center is a stone gargoyle, spitting water. Cracks in the wall allow water to trickle out, but the level is constantly replenished by the gargoyle. A set of crooked stone steps spirals down steeply to a door below the base of the fountain.

Mishok is distrustful of the fountain. He asks Divoc for guidance to help detect any traps. He feels that they should be cautious but is certain that no trap that has been lain. Curious, the others fan out to explore. Sartan and Wicklow throw rocks into the water from afar, and they see an odd disturbance… a stirring of the water that they cannot understand. Davros and Mishok stand a safe distance away, but Cycek and Sartan move in closer to see what happens if they continue to disturb the water. They see a movement in the water… a wake as if something moves below the surface. The bottom of the fountain is filled with coins. They toss one more rock into the water. In a flash a snake-like column of water bursts from the fountain and bashes Sartan with tremendous force. It appears like a serpent, but shimmering and translucent, like water brought to life. All the explorers fall back to what they think is a safe distance and fire arrows at the creature. Those that connect make little impact. Wicklow, from the shelter of a large rock, and looking to Sartan for guidance, takes several shots, missing every time. As the melee continues, Mishok tries bashing the side of the fountain with his war hammer. He cracks a chunk of stone off the lip of the basin and water begins to pour out. 

Their attention is drawn by a hissing voice. A small, hazy creature has fluttered on diaphanous wings, up from the stairs, and excoriates the group for disrupting the fountain. “Whaaaat the hell is going on up here!? Go away and leave us alone! Don’t bother the boss!” The vaguely humanoid creature has elongated facial features, skinny arms and legs, and long, wickedly clawed fingers.

Davros argues back at this strange, misty being. “Who’s your boss? I’m your boss You tell that water snake thing to knock it off, or I’ll kick your ass!”

The creatures clenches its tiny fists in fury and brandishes its spindly arms. “I’d like to see you try! Now, get out of here!”

In a flash, it flies to Davros and whistling like a piping hot tea kettle, it exhales a blast of scalding steam in his face. Davros curses in pain and rage. Meawhile, Cycek runs past the fountain with a small cooking pot. He hastily scoops a pot of water and races to put distance between himself and the fountain. His action draws the ire of the snake-like water creature. It bashes him, grasps him, and drags him over the lip of fountain and into the water. Thinking fast, he deploys the immovable rod, and tries to hang on to it. But the creature is too strong. His hand slips and the inexorable force pulls him under. Sartan runs to the fountain and, inspired by Mishok’s actions, hacks at the stone with his battle axe. A chunk of of the wall breaks away and Sartan is knocked flat by a torrent of water and stone. The creature, still bearing Cycek in its grasp, also surges through the breach. Sartan quickly grabs Cycek and, supported by Mishok, braces his feet against the broken stone, heaves with all his might, and draws Cycek along with the writhing creature fully from the fountain’s confines. Davros yells at them, “Why are you messing with this thing anyway!? What’s in it for us? This is a waste of time!”

Davros, furious, battles the fluttering steam creature, and manages to seriously wound the thing. It flees, flying up and away just as three similar creatures emerge from the stairwell. They are all in an uproar and immediately disperse to engage the party. Sometimes employing scalding steam breath, and other times scratching with sharp claws, these beasties harry anyone they can reach, causing burns and cuts. The party fights back and one at a time manages to dispatch the strange creatures. Cycek performs exceedingly well, positioning himself strategically, and aligning his arrow trajectories to penetrate two of the translucent opponents in a single shot. In dying, each of the creatures explodes in a scalding burst of steam, inflicting additional wounds on anybody nearby.

Finally, they turn their attention back to the writhing, weakened water creature. Sartan hacks into it with his axe. It shudders, flails, and unleashes a wet, gargling scream. It seems more susceptible to damage now that it is out of the fountain.

Wicklow, having failed to connect with any arrows, and having received minor burns, steps out from behind his hiding place, and sends a single point-blank arrow into the water-creature. The weird serpentine creature bursts like a water balloon. Steaming water pours out over their feet. Wicklow leaps into the air, whooping and hollering in excitement at having delivered the killing blow. Sartan is particularly annoyed at this, given the fact that Wicklow had made such a poor showing, despite previous claims to be a capable archer.

They pause to take stock of the situation. All is quiet at the moment. The fountain has emptied of water, and the gargoyle is no longer replenishing the water level. There do not appear to be any more adversaries at the moment.

Wicklow returns from work and reports that he has quit his job and he is prepared to join the band of adventurers. They decide to spend some time in training. He and Satan grab a couple of broom handles and spar. Sartan easily bests the young man, but Wicklow does show some aptitude. He is strong and reasonably dextrous, despite his lack of technical prowess.

While they are loitering about the town square, they are approached by Constable Dara Whitewood. She has known Wicklow most of his life, and is not keen on his going away with this group. Nevertheless, she knows of his desire to live a life of adventure. She bestows the gift of a chainmail shirt and a wooden shield. She is clearly misty-eyed as she bids Wicklow farewell and wishes him good fortune. She admonishes the team to watch over him.

The party decides to further test his mettle by going on a hunting trip the following morning. They travel a couple hours west into the wilderness, and find a likely location in a swamp. Utilizing Gothic G’s talents, they have the rag call in turkeys, while Wicklow readies his bow. It takes a couple of shots, but he does bag a bird.

Finding another spot takes them further into the swamp. Their trail wends its way between boggy areas and pools of stagnant water. The air is fragrant with decaying vegetation. Suddenly there is a commotion in underbrush and a wild pig charges at them from under a tree. It tries to gore Sartan but fails and continues running. Wicklow tries to take it down with a bow shot, but misses. Two more hogs emerge a moment later, and run amok amid the party members. One manages to gore Davros. In a fury he tries to kill it, but it eludes him. They manage to kill the other one, but a greater threat is immediately revealed. From under the tree, the source of the pigs’ terror shows itself. Preceded by a redoubled aroma of rot and decay, a shambling mound of leaves, vines, moss, and slime lumbers forth on stumpy but powerful green-brown appendages. Partly engulfed in this monstrosity is a squealing, thrashing pig. Hungry for more, this horrid thing moves ponderously toward the group. Wicklow fires an arrow at the creature, but in his haste and fear, he misses it entirely. It lashes out at them with massive limbs. Luckily it is slow and mostly inaccurate, for a direct hit may very well prove lethal. The adventurers attack it with blade and arrow and find that their efforts are mostly ineffective. Sartan realizes that to confront this monster is a dangerous risk and a waste of their resources. He recommends that they retreat. He is particularly insistent that Wicklow get behind him. He recognizes that the lad is no match for this green abomination. Mishok calls upon his god, Divoc for assistance. His prayer in answered in the form of a magical spray can of weed killer. This floating can of herbicide causes more damage than the many arrows have done, and the creatures gives up the fight. It trundles into a pool of of swamp water and disappears, gurgling beneath the green scummy water. The group crosses open water on a fallen tree, and they pause to regroup.

They climb down the ladder and find the body of the guard they had thrown down the waterfall. They shove it out into the river, allowing it to be swept away out of sight. Before long, the dragon emerges from the river and confronts the party, demanding proof that they have succeeded in their task. They show her Goerth’s head, and she is duly impressed. Cycek informs her that the Duergar will probably soon be along to see her dead body – since they had enlisted them to attack her. She laughs at the futility of the notion, but is also incensed that they should dare raise a hand against her. She tells the party that they are free to wipe out the Duergar if they wish, in fact she will look kindly on it if they prove themselves to be worthy foes of the dark dwarves. She swallows the head and disappears into the river.

Shortly, they hear voices. Someone is coming down the ladder. They take strategic locations and wait to see who appears. To their surprise, it is two hobgoblins in the company of Ghared and her guard. One of the hobgoblins spots the party members and recognizes them. He yells, “There are the dishonorable wretches who left me tied up! They killed Ulfe! They killed Grandmother!” It is the hobgoblin warrior they had captured and bound a couple of days previously. He has evidently been discovered and rescued by another hobgoblin, and brought to confer with the Duergar. Ghared adds, “You killed the hobgoblin chief, and now we find our own chief dead! It was a mistake to get involved with you!”

Mishok responds, “No, look – we killed the dragon. Follow me and I’ll show you!” He moves off, running toward the Black Lake. Ghared and Yarig are not having it and they attack. The two Duergar crouch behind the stone walls of the bridge, taking cover between ranged attacks with crossbows and javelins. Cycek is again seriously wounded, and he falls unconscious. Sartan, meanwhile, had hidden himself toward the back of the cavern, and he is able to attack from his concealed position. He kills two of the hobgoblins with well-placed arrows, and wounds one of the Duergar as well. Nightscale, having seen that the party has fought on her side, emerges from the water and turns her piercing, baleful gaze upon the Duergar. She berates them for their audacity in opposing her, then she opens her mouth and sprays the two Duergar with her caustic breath. The guard is instantly dissolved into smoking ruins, but Ghared manages to throw up her shield and fend off some of the acid. Nonetheless, she is horribly scalded and she shrieks in agony. Her pain is short lived, as is she, because Davros fires an arrow and kills her dead.

Nightscale is delighted with the outcome. She praises the team for providing an opportunity for such delicious violence. While she is gloating over the deaths of the Duergar, Davros provides first aid to the fallen Cycek. Sartan asks Nightscale if she might be willing to reward them with something to help their fallen comrade. She is magnanimous in her willingness to provide them with some healing magic, but when they ask for additional treasure, her greedy nature reveals its ugly self. She suggests that they not push their luck. The wicked creature dives back under the water and swims away, leaving the party wondering if they should wait, or if they should make themselves scarce while they have the chance. They wait, and wait… and after an uncomfortably long time, they detect something coming their way along the riverside path.

A small, frail, bearded figure shuffles along, holding forth a glass flask that glows faintly amber with the captured torchlight. It is an aged dwarf clad in torn trousers and a filthy tunic. The group watches suspiciously as he draws near.  He speaks wearily in a halting, raspy voice, “I can’t believe she let me go…” He casts a fearful look over his shoulder, and continues, holding forth the flask, “She sent me with this.” Mishok and Sartan examine the flask, and they believe it to be an authentic healing potion. They pour it into Cycek’s mouth, and he groggily opens his eyes.

Mishok looks upon this bedraggled dwarf and asks, “Who are you?” He responds in an unsteady gruff whisper, “My name… it has been so long since I used my name. I am Krago… of the Mountains.” At this, Sartan steps forward. Krago sees him and appears confused, then says, “Sartan… is it you? The others…. they’re all gone! Our last adventure, it all went wrong, so many years ago.” Sartan informs him that they had found the remains of what they believe to be Lefto and Ahura Mazda. Krago tells him that they encountered horrible monsters and they got separated. Their elf companion went mad, and Xodar found some magical bauble that he fancied, and then abandoned them. He pales as he recalls traumatic memories, and concludes his tale with a fearful warning, “I’ve been kept prisoner and mistreated by Nightscale so long….” He looks nervously over his shoulder again, and says, “Don’t trust her. She’s evil… she’s toying with us… we should get out of here.”

The party heeds his advice and they climb the ladder back up to the shelf near Goerth’s chamber. Sartan asks Krago if there are any Durgeddin weapons in Nightscale’s hoard. The veteran adventurer rues the day that he and his former colleagues had taken up the mission of seeking those very same weapons, as that mission led to the downfall of his companions, but he confirms that yes, the dragon did have a number of quality Durgeddin weapons in her treasure hoard. They discuss what to do next, contemplating how they can get rid of the dragon and get at her treasure. First, Mishok reckons, they need to figure out how many more Duergar there might be around, and what to do about them. He wonders if there is any way they can use the Foundry to fashion something to help them slay the dragon.

Greasy Rag takes a deep breath, bids a possible farewell to his new-found friends, and plunges into Lolly’s bucket of suds. The water sloshes, sizzles, and foams. Multi-colored fumes rise from the surface of the noisesome water. A few bubbles grow and burst and then all is still. Cycek reaches in, grabs the limp rag, wrings it out, and plops it on the bar. All is quiet as the onlookers wait for a sign of life. Even Skids and Shaggi take an interest. Skids sighs, and says, “well that’s that… seems like the ‘ol bath did him in!” when suddenly the damp rag pops up into a heroic stance, and the familiar voice blurts out, “Haaapppyyyy Biiiirthdayyyy!!!”

Greasy Rag, still stained with who-knows-what, is no longer saturated with disgusting, smelly substances, yet he remains a sentient piece of barroom cleaning-up material. Everyone is thrilled. Except for Skids, who simply loses interest and goes back and drops into a chair next to Shaggi.

That done, the team decides that there is no point is waiting around before embarking upon their journey. Eager to earn some money toward the rehab of their decrepit bar, they decide to head out immediately. They discuss plans with Lolly. In their absence, she will pursue work estimates as agreed upon, and she will firmly supervise the otherwise somewhat lazy Skids and Shaggi. Their conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door. Two young acolytes (Tivai and Horgas) from the Church of St. Terragnis meekly open the door and announce that they are here to present a blessing of gratitude on behalf of the church, brother Tibalt, and the rest of the acolytes. Unfortunately, they also report that Father Baird has not returned to his old self and is, in fact, doing worse. He is combative and must be restrained. Tibalt is staying by his side in constant prayer, and the guards are keeping careful watch over their prisoner. Tivai and Horgas present the four each with a silver chain bearing the linked-rings, the holy symbol of St. Terragnis. They each accept the gift, but it is only Mishok who dares to wear his. His companions are simply too suspicious. They simply say their thanks and pack the items away in their travel bags. A few rather risqué remarks by Cycek leave the two acolytes feeling quite uncomfortable, so they take their leave as quickly as possible.

The four take their leave of the bar, intending to find horses to speed their travel, when they encounter Bontelan Wright coming up the street. He is heading to the Stoneyard, where he will pick up a wagon and draft horse to bear him south to Rennet’s Cove. The first day of his journey coincides with the route the party will take to reach Blasingdell, so he encourages them to join him on this, the first leg of their journey. He helps them secure horses from the Stoneyard stables (the foreman, their mutual acquaintance, is helpful in making this happen) and they set out through the south gate of the city.

The first day of their travel is uneventful, but they try to use their time with Bontelan Wright to their advantage. The ask him about what to expect in the coming day. He tells them that the road they will take into the hill country is much less traveled than the main road they are currently on, but it is not completely devoid of travelers. Blasingdell is an old, poor mining town. It once produced material for the gem market, particularly uncut sapphires that would then be processed in Shadowfurst (the famous Shadowfurst sapphires). But their resources dried up, and now they produce primarily marble for speciality building purposes, and artisanal salt from their salt mine. Neither venture is terribly lucrative, but they keep the town afloat.

When asked about Khundrukar, Bontelan reports that it is not clear where the entrance truly lies. Its proximity to the Stone Tooth is merely legend, but the fruits of his research suggest that the legend has some truth. To get there, they will need to travel through some true wilderness beyond Blasingdell, which lies at the western frontier.

Before they part ways, Mr. Wright leaves them with this piece of wisdom, “Be wary of strangers, yet not so untrusting as to turn your backs on potential allies. You may need assistance along the way, and it would behoove you to carefully discern friend from foe.”

With that, the companions turn from the main road, and they watch Bontelan Wright’s wagon disappear around the next bend. They head up the much narrower and less-well-maintained cart track up into the western hills. The terrain varies between forested areas, open meadows, and rocky outcroppings. There are ruined remnants of Azarumme visible here and there. Sometimes old pavers are visible beneath the dirt and gravel of the road. Bits of fallen walls, and parts of old statuary lie about in the underbrush, now covered with vines and worn from the passage of time. Around midday, they come across an unusual artifact: a strange statue of a peasant, rendered with exquisite realism and detail. The stone man stands with an almost confused look upon his face. His mouth hangs slightly open. He wears patched beeches and a simple tunic – the clothes of a commoner or farmer. He stands just off the trail. The statue looks like it was crafted recently, for it shows none of the marks of age, as do the prevalent ruins and artifacts in the vicinity. It reminds Cycek of the statue of a hunter that he encountered west of town earlier in the summer. They find in the grass nearby, a small leather pouch containing 7 silver pieces. Davros speculates that this is not a statue at all, but rather a person turned to stone by perhaps a medusa – a terrible creature of legend. They decide to maintain high degree of alert in case there is something dangerous lurking in the area.

They bed down for the night in the safety of a clearing and continue traveling the next morning. This day too passes without incident, except for the chance meeting with a traveler headed the other way. This is a man named Hilbert. He is driving a cart ladent with salt blocks from the Blasigndell salt mine to Shadowfurst for sale and distribution. He is nervous of the party, particularly due to Cycek’s impertinence. Hilbert tries to be polite and friendly, but Cycek toys with him, putting the poor man on his guard. Nevertheless, some productive discussion does emerge. The team learns that they should visit an inn called “The Salt of the Urth” and they might also consider getting to know the Shadwick family, a well-known family of locals who work for the mine. Wicklow, in particular, is a good young man. “Talk to Wicklow and thell him that Hillbert sends his regards.” The conversation becomes a bit awkward, as Cycek pulls out Greasy Rag (now dubbed Gothic G) and gets him to prattle inanely at the increasingly unnerved cart driver. Finally Davros interrupts, “What the hell are you doing? Just let the old guy go deliver his salt! He doesn’t have time for this and neither do we! He’s just some guy delivering salt… leave him alone and let’s go!” Much to Hillbert’s relief, the group decides to do just that. They take their leave and proceed up the road.

That evening, the group ride into Blasingdell. The town is sparse, dusty, and comprised of a loose collection of wood and stone houses, and very few shops. The few folks they see on the dirt streets look at them curiously and then continue on their way. Before long, they see warm lights glowing in a wooden building bearing a rough sign that reads “Salt of the Urth Public House.” They open the creaking wooden door and enter the establishment. The interior is far from fancy, but it is clean snd tidy. Oil lamps glow here and there and candles flicker on the tables. A dozen or so common folk sit scattered about the room, chatting with each other. A large man with a bushy grey beard and a bald head wipes glasswear behind the bar. He welcomes the party vigorously, “Come in, guests! We don’t have travelers here often, but it is good to see some fresh faces. Make yourselves at home! My name is Urth, the owner of this establishment!” Introductions are made, and Urth offers them the first round on the house. Cycek reveals Gothic G, and although the other patrons are shocked by this strange creature, it turns out that Urth is in fact acquainted with the greasy rag. He explains that he is familiar with the Yur Inn (an atrocious place of ill repute that he views an embarrassment to the profession of pub ownership). He was no fan of Yuri, but he did travel to Shadowfurst from time to time to do business. As much as he did not care for Yuri Rattal or his establishment, Yuri did have a line on some specialty liquors that Urth would make a special trip into the city to purchase for his own patrons. Thus he got to know the strange little talkative rag. Gothic G, for his part, leapt onto Urth and hugged his big grey beard.

Urth encourages the four newcomers to be at their ease. He informs them that his clientele consists of hard-working locals, who may be a bit shy, but he assures them that they are all good people. To break the ice, he announces them to the room, encouraging his patrons to join him in showing them the hospitable side of Blasingdell.

The struggling Father Baird is soon subdued by the adventurers. They cram a rag (Greasy Rag to be precise) in his mouth to prevent his casting spells. They dispel the zone of silence and the fog cloud and tie up the fallen priest. Mishok investigates the mysterious one-eyed skull. He knocks it from the brazier and then, with the help of Sartan, pries the emerald from the socket. Baird struggles, clearly distressed by this. The green glow subsides, and Baird slumps, hanging his head, defeated. Mishok pockets the emerald and leaves the skull.

They haul Baird up the well and bring him out into the church. All the acolytes have left, and only Tibault and a quartet of city guards remain. There is much discussion about what to do with Father Baird. Tibault is distressed by the state of his mentor, and asks to be given care of the priest, to try and nurse him back to health. This makes the team suspicious, as they take his concern to be complicity. Davros suggests that they simply kill the priest… he is obviously evil. But Tibault insists that Father Baird is sick and in need of  help. They settle on turning Baird over to the custody of the city guards. They must imprison him for his crimes, but they agree to allow Tibault to watch over him. They all leave the church and head across town to the guard house. At the steps of the guard tower, just before they Baird is taken to the dungeons, Thbault turns and thanks the team for their help.

They take their leave and walk over to the Three Javelins to sleep for the night.

In the morning, they converse with Randall Roanstall about their potential cross-town inn partnership. Cycek shares a recipe for a delicacy with the strange name “Scotch eggs” suggesting that this item would make a great addition to both inn’s breakfast menus. They enjoy their breakfast and take a basket of Scotch eggs to the Guard Tower as a gift for the countess.

They find the tower under an augmented guard, which they find strange, but they have a productive meeting with the countess, mayor, and Bontelan Wright. They break the ice with the gift of Scotch eggs. Luckily she is much pleased with the eggs as it helps lighten her mood, and makes her more tolerant of the appearance of the all-too-chatty and stinky Greasy Rag. Before long, they get into the nitty gritty of the job in question. They consider and then ultimately sign the contact that Bontelan provides. Upon their acceptance of the terms he advances them each 50 gold pieces as agreed upon. The contract stipulates that the party will recover whatever Durgeddin weaponry they can, to be delivered into the custody of the Countess, who will pay fair market value for them depending upon the quality of the blades. (Weapons of such quality can fetch a high price indeed).  The terms of the contract assert that they must sell these to the countess alone.  Bontelan will pay them an additional 150gp apiece for credible evidence of the fate of the previous expedition. They may retain any other proceeds they come upon.

Bontelan himself announces that he intends to travel to Rennet’s Cove in the south, with a stop to visit some old friends at the Tyr Monastery. “It will take 20 – 35 days depending on my route. Once there, I will rendezvous with the Ruby Clipper and return to Stihlport.”

He provides them a map of the vicinity of Blasingdell. It lies about three days journey through the blufflands and into the foothills. It is one of the farthest west outposts of civilization. Beyond that lies the foothills and the true western wilderness. It is another 3 days beyond that to the Stone Tooth. It is there that the reputed entrance to Khundrukar lies.

The meeting comes to an end and the party takes their leave. Bontelan tells them, “You are professionals. Equip yourself as you see fit. And travel at a time of your choosing, but I urge haste, because we do not know what kind of trouble may be massing. It is best if we act before our enemies can establish a stronger presence.”

They head back to their new stronghold, “The Yur Inn” and find that Lolly Oxcart is there beginning the hard work of cleaning up. Shaggi and Skids are there lazing around in the barroom.

They decide to make use of Lolly’s cleaning supplies to make Greasy Rag more presentable. He is frightened at the prospect of become clean… he doesn’t know if he can survive the removal of the substances that first gave him life. He stands uncertainly on the bar, wondering if he is standing on the brink of oblivion

Cycek goes back down the corridor and examines the niches containing the skeletons. Meanwhile Mishok explores the altar chamber, seeking secret doors or anything else unusual. He finds nothing. Cycek, on the other hand, tries pulling one of the skeletons free from it’s bindings. It springs to life and screams in his face. He yanks it forward, breaking its arms. It kicks away off of him, pushing open a hidden door at the back of the niche. The skeleton thrashes its torso, banging against the stone and shrieking. Cycek takes an arm bone from another skeleton and jams it in the mouth of the raving animated skeleton. This stifles the worst of the shrieking. He moves forward into a dark stone room. He can sense the age and the evil of this place. It is clear that no one has been in this place for a long, long time. Mishok and Davros join him in exploring the room. They notice an inscription upon this altar as well. It is an eight-pointed star bearing a demonic visage that they have seen before – engraved on the stone hatch through which they entered Xodar’s lair as well as the key they used to open it. Cycek continues to manhandle the animated skull from the skeleton that had been lashed to the hidden door. Mishok takes his stoneworking tools and chisels a depression into the stone altar that will hold the chattering skull in place. After 15 minutes of the banging of hammer and chisel, they party hears the sounds of creatures approaching.

Sartan inexplicably stands around the other altar heedlessly. Before long, responding to the noise, a group of additional ghouls and ghasts come rushing down the corridor. The group in the hidden chamber closes the door, and the mob of undead rush past, charging directly at Sartan. His fighter reflexes and armor keep him free from harm. His companions immediately throw the door back open and attack the ghouls from behind. The fight results in all the ghouls being cut down in short order.

Fed up with fighting ghouls, and doubting the use of this line of exploration, the group decides to return to the church proper. They are certain that Tibault must have some knowledge of this place and some insight into what is going on. Surely he and Father Baird were aware of these catacombs under the church. They climb up the rope, up the stairs out of the undercroft and into the church’s congregation hall. They find Tibault and the surviving acolytes performing a mourning ceremony over the body of the fallen acolyte. They question him about whether he and Baird knew about the danger lurking beneath the church. He assures them that he had no knowledge of anything below the church, but he is not terribly surprised as much of the city is built upon ruins. Father Baird, he asserts, was a scholar of ancient civilizations and religions. He believes Baird may have gone down the well in recent weeks to investigate the fouling of their water supply. Ever since then, Baird had seemed somewhat odd… distracted, distant, preoccupied. Mishok decides to trust Tibault, but insists that he and the acolytes should leave the church until it should be deemed safe. Thibault reluctantly agrees. He will send the acolytes back to their homes, and he agrees to take a room at the Yur Inn. They call in some of the guards from the square, informing them of the dangerous situation. The guards agree to watch over the church, meanwhile the party proceeds to once again go below and make a last ditch attempt to find Father Baird or the missing acolyte.

Exploring the passages that Mishok had previewed, they come upon a subterranean pond of sulphurous water. Cycek notices something white floating in the water, and upon investigation he discovers that it is the body of the missing acolyte. He manages to fish the body out, and soon finds that this young woman is still alive. She just barely breathes. Cycek conjures a handful of goodberries and coaxes the barely conscious woman to swallow them. She regains her consciousness and in a tremulous voice reports that she was taken by the ghouls before a man in black robes. She barely remembers, but they cut her wrists and drained her blood, before tossing her in the pond…discarding her like trash. They help the badly shaken woman back up to the relative safety of the church and then press forward in their explorations.

They come upon a large chamber dimly illuminated by a green light. Cycek, peering around a corner sees a man in a dark robe standing before a brazier in which a one-eyed skull blazes forth with a green light, emanating from large emerald affixed it its one eye socket. Four demonic statues surround this man and the glowing brazier. Each one holds a shallow bowl which overflows with trickling blood.

Cycek makes himself known, and is met by hostility from the black clad sorcerer. The man has dark circles under his eyes, pallid skin, and sunken cheeks. His teeth and nails are decaying and falling away. He shouts at Cycek, “Begone! Obey the commands of dear St. Terragnis. You don’t belong in this place!”

Cycek casts a magical fog cloud over the glowing skull, the demonic statues, and several sinkholes. He skirts the thick fog and approaches the sorcerer. At that moment the sorcerer speaks arcane words and gestures to the crumbling crypts behind him, and three animated skeletons come shambling forth.

A melee ensues around the perimeters of the magical fog cloud. The green glow from the skull dimly pulses from within. The sorcerer reveals himself as Father Baird. He conjures a whirling aura of evil spirits that damage all who come near. He taunts the explorers, lamenting that his minions were not up to the task of turning away the intruders. “Ghouls and ghasts may be good at obtaining some sacrificial victims, but clearly not up to the task of securing the area. But soon I will have better and stronger resources. For I have seen beyond the veil, and I believe I have some allies there. And I have seen the creature that seeks you. Ah yes… you have a dangerous enemy with a score to settle!”

The skeletons do some damage but are shortly cut down. Cycek spring up off one of the statues and knocks Baird to the ground. Mishok casts an spell of silence, preventing Baird from using any further incantations. Baird continues to struggle, resorting to flailing at his opponents with a dagger, to no avail.