As the party entered the teeming kobold market, it wasn’t long before the scaly proprietors started to give them clandestine glances and whisper amongst themselves. The massive slain lizard that Grumble and Krunk carried was attracting attention. The party paused, debating on which stall to approach with their 400 lbs. of lizard meat, but were interrupted by a quartet of bugbears pushing their way through the crowd. The largest of the goblinoids, a mangy specimen with a scarred face and a dead eye, gruffly informed them that “Trustee Sniv” wanted to see the party—now.
The adventurers were led from the marketplace, the bugbears falling into flanking positions, and brought through a storeroom filled with crates, barrels, and other containers of trade. Numerous kobolds swarmed over the stacks, taking inventory and sorting items for some unknowable purposes. The bugbears guided the band down a side corridor and through a barracks holding a half-dozen oversized kobold warriors. After knocking on a set of sizeable double doors, the party was brought into a blood-stained, bodyguard-filled audience chamber, its far wall obscured by a tattered curtain of red velvet.
With the sound of a squeaky pulley, the curtain parted to reveal the fattest kobold the party had ever seen. Perched atop a wooden throne, the kobold wore a rodent fur coat and sported a crimson fez atop his scaled head. He glared down at them through a brass monocle while stroking a hairless rat of unusual size. This was Trustee Sniv, leader of the Stonehell kobolds.
Sniv wasted no time in chastising the party. He was displeased with their slaying of “his dragon,” a creature that he had acquired some months ago and installed in a disused cave in order to use its presence to control his less than devoted subjects through fear. With it now dead and its corpse viewed by numerous kobold underlings, he would have to find a suitable replacement. But first, the party had to pay a sizable fine for dragoncide: 100 gold marks to be exact.
Unfortunately, a little success can really go to the adventurers’ heads. Despite being flanked by the bugbear brute squad, and a dozen kobold bodyguards, the party—Kaldar in particular—decided that this would be the perfect time to try and dictate orders to the kobold regent, demanding that the party be paid to replace the dragon. When he missed the not-so-subtle clues that they really weren’t in a position to negotiate, Kaldar pressed the issue to the point where Sniv simply pointed at the half-elf and said, “kill him.” A bugbear stepped up to do just that.
At this point, I laid out the room and the position of the kobolds, bugbears, and the party on the battle map. It was only after doing so and them remembering that they had naught but daggers and arrows (without bows) to defend themselves, that the players realized how screwed they were. But, leave it them to go with their original plan. As they quickly declared their intentions before rolling for initiative, Pete stated that he was pulling out his money sack and offering to part with some cash. The rest of the players suddenly jump on this idea and, with a hasty but loud call of “Parley!”, combat was averted. All Sniv wanted was a bribe in the first place.
After forking over the cash, the party was told that they had an hour to conduct their business in Barkruf-Yip-Yip, the jewel of kobold culture, before they were effectively banned from town—until they found a replacement monster for Trustee Sniv, that is. The party, having heard of a “tavern” next to the kobold market, stopped in to see what they could learn about the Quiet Halls, their next intended destination.
The tavern was little more than some battered tables and chairs thrown haphazardly about a 20x30 room. A menagerie of patrons sat huddled over skull tankards, drinking whatever it was that passed for libations down in Kobold Korners. A group of crazed gnolls barked amongst themselves at one table, while a pair of lizard men devoured a meal of meat and grubs at another. Two twitchy-looking men dressed in leathers watched over the room with red eyes, and another human male, with pale blond hair and light blue robes, sat in hushed conversation with five hobgoblins. Somewhere, Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes played. Amidst this sea of villainy, however, was a human male dressed in dirty robes that looked ecstatic to see the party. He lost no time in introducing himself. He was Korlack Nightspring, the sole surviving member of an adventuring band who met their demise—coincidently enough—in the Quiet Halls. He had lost his bearings in the dungeon fleeing from ghouls and found himself at the back gate of Barkruf-Yip-Yip. Taking shelter in the kobold Casablanca, Korlack was desperate to find an adventuring band bound for the surface. The Society of Planewalkers fit that bill and the relieved mage joined them on their return to the sunlit lands.
The party returned to Blackpool to heal and prepare for an expedition into the Quiet Halls. Poor Johan was bed-ridden upon return as Mars’ first round of healing was insufficient to revive him much. Luckily, Lyrax Tonn had purchased a “healing potion” at the kobold market for an unbelievable bargain price of 10 copper pieces. Of course, its thin oatmeal consistency and eyeball ingredients made it less than suitable for drinking consumption. Back at the Mad Manor, however, Johan, perhaps dazed by his wounds, was convinced to eat the stuff to aid his recovery. A bout of botulism later, Johan concluded that he had enough adventuring to last him the rest of his life and that he would be returning to Goodearth as soon as he had recovered. At least, that’s what he told his former comrades-in-arms…
Recovered and resupplied, Grumble, Krunk, Lyrax, Kaldar, Korlack, and Mars headed back to the dungeon. For this bout, Anwar has shrouded his fellow magic-user, Korlack, in invisibility. The band made it back to the first level unmolested and set off following Korlack’s directions. Heading north from the H room, the party returned to the rusty signpost that indicated the former dragon’s den and turned to the east. Immediately thereafter, they found a room containing piles of junked goods so battered that they had no resale value even at the kobold market. Grumble and Krunk turned up a nest of spitting cobras in their search of the room and the two delivered a second dose of double “natural twenty” fury upon the surprised serpents, thus confirming their tag-team status. I informed them that if they were able to do that one more time, I wound grant them some in-game mechanical advantage or bonus. We’ll see if they can pull that off.
Past the snake room was a chamber that bore the sooty silhouettes of human-like figures on the walls. Mars and Lyrax were reminded of the strange burns they encountered back in the Black Gut on their home world, but these seemed to be of a different, if not less mysterious origin. The party exited the chamber and made their way further east towards where Korlack told them the Quiet Halls were to be found.
A brief side excursion discovered an offal- and feces-filled chamber that contained a slimy staircase leading up, but, when giant centipedes began emerging from the dung heap, the party withdrew from the room to concentrate on their planned destination. They passed through a room filled with battered weapons, armor, and bones—a room unnaturally cold—before finding a pair of heavy stone doors adorned with a danse macabre. Beyond these doors, Korlack informed them, lay the Quiet Halls.
Past they doors lay a lozenge-shaped room that glowed with a pale red glow. Lichen encrusted pillars and fallen masonry filled the room. An eight-count of large beetles, their abdomens glowing with a steady red light, munched contently upon the lichen. The party inched cautiously into the chamber, causing some of the nearest beetles to begin vibrating their wing casings menacingly. Weapons were drawn and the party engaged the nearest four beetles.
The fire beetles (for that was what they were) proved to be tougher adversaries than expected (“I don’t remember fire beetles being so dangerous,” Jack uttered). One managed to take poor Grumble near death twice, and only Mars’ prayers were able to revive him before his face was chewed off by the enraged beetle. Deciding enough was enough (and expecting to encounter undead which greatly limited the spell’s potency), Kaldar dropped a sleep charm on the beetles, putting all but one into slumber. The fight was finished soon after and the party set about collecting the glowing glands and reviving their flagging spirits with wine.
Unfortunately, before they could benefit from the wine’s rejuvenating properties, the sound of moaning echoed down the hallway to the north. Assuming a battle stance, the party watched as a trio of zombies shambled around the corner and began advancing down the hallway towards them. Mars called upon the Spider Lord and turned away the advancing dead (as well as a few more around the corner), but Mog’s power was insufficient to affect all seven of the zombies that were bearing down on the party. The three remaining shambling corpses continued towards the band.
Grumble and Krunk stepped to the fore while the rest of the party prepared to pepper the dead with missiles and spells. The tag-team warriors managed to hold back the zombie for a round, but then the dead got the upper hand. Grasping Grumble, one zombie tore the dwarf apart, leaving his corpse to bleed out on the cold dungeon floor (a critical hit for 8 points dropped Dave’s EIGHTH character to -3 hit points, killing him). Krunk found himself under an assault that also dropped him to -1, and his unconscious but barely alive body fell to the ground beside his slain partner.
Uh-oh.
The zombies moved in to engage Lyrax, the archer, Mars, the weakling cleric, Kaldar, the other archer and sometime swordsman, and Korlack, the invisible mage. Not the heartiest of melee combatants to be sure.
Just when things couldn’t get any worse, Pete managed to latch onto a series of fumbles. Fumbles are very rare in the campaign, but the dice had it out for Pete this session. He broke the string on his masterwork longbow, forcing him to use Mars’ off-the-rack bow. With cruel irony, he almost immediately shot Mars in the back with his own bow when he tried to fire past the cleric at the advancing zombies.
Right about then, things started looking real grim for the remaining party members. They just couldn’t seem to inflict enough damage on the zombies to destroy them, and were continually forced back to keep their bows in play. Korlack’s magic missile was more tragic than magic, inflicting a bare minimum of damage. In response to all this, Mars decided that flight was better than fight, and fled the room with much alacrity, leaving his companions to deal with the dead. Finally, after some close calls, the resolute members of the party that held their ground were able to nickel and dime the zombies into a second death.
That was enough Quiet Halls for the party and, after feeding Krunk a potion of extra-healing to get him mobile, they collected Grumble’s corpse and returned to Blackpool. Again, they had suffered much at the hands of Stonehell’s residents with no treasure to show for it.
Next week, it looks as if the party might be checking out a rumor about a possible way to revive Grumble. Poor, poor Dave…
The corridor led them to an unremarkable door in the west wall before opening into either a very narrow chamber or wide hallway just beyond it. An overpass of sorts bridged the space and the party caught glimpses of doorways set atop the bridge. However, their monk, currently in training back in town, owned the party’s sole grappling hook and their 10’ ladder was too short to allow access to the high span above. Vowing to explore this more at a later date, the band opened the western door and discovered a befuddling sight. The 30’ square room held a shallow depression at it center, one that contained a flicker brazier some 5’ in height. On the floor around the burning ornament hopped nearly a score of 3” long red frogs, each of which was on fire, burning in a corona of lavender flame. These batrachians seemed to be birthed from the brazier itself, returning to the flames via one of the four holes in the basin’s footed base. So unusual was this vision that the Society merely scratched their heads, glanced about for obvious treasure (“Show me the money!” being the battle cry of the day’s expedition), and then shut the door.
Before they could venture further down the passage, they detected a crew of kobolds headed down the corridor. Dressed in work smocks and bearing tools, the scaly dog-men seemed off duty and Kaladar’s command of their language convinced them to stop and discourse. From these creatures, the party gained directions to the kobold market, a place they had heard of but never witnessed. They were also informed that a dragon lurked in the caverns to the north, and should they seek something to kill and rob, the kobolds could think of nothing better for the party to set their sights on. After a generous payment of 5 gold marks to the custodians of the dungeon, the party headed north, their eyes peeled for dragon sign which the kobolds assured them they’d find.
Assuredly enough, at the next intersection stood a rusty iron signpost with a wooden arrow pointed west. Scrawled upon the placard, in crude lettering, was “Da’ Dragon’s Den.” It was not the sign they expected, but it most certainly would do.
The western corridor quickly transformed from worked stone to natural rock, indicating that the caves they sought had been found. As they entered the caverns, the smell of ammonia and the chittering of bats were heard, and another band of kobold workers was encountered tiptoeing out of the caves with guano-filled buckets in hand. In whispers, the kobolds told the band that the dragon lay south before scampering back into the more civilized section of the dungeon.
The rocky passage opened into a larger space, one that bore ledges, stalagmites, and stalactites in great number. The demihumans stepped closer to the cave, moving far enough away from the party’s flickering torches to determine if any heat-producing life dwelled in the cavern’s gloom. A large splotch of red clung to the ceiling, its numerous legs identifying it as a spider. A volley of missiles was launched at the creature, but all failed to hit their mark and the spider scurried out of sight.
Moving together as a group, the party warily watched the ceiling, eyes straining to see their quarry in the flickering darkness. Despite knowing something was there, the spider—another of the dreaded crab variety—possessed the baffling ability to assume the coloration of its surroundings and was able to take all but Hoover unaware when it dropped into their midst.
The battle that followed was pitched and neither side could strike the other. Krunk, Grumble, and Hoover stood at the front of the line, barely dodging the spider’s venom-laden fangs and knowing that even the slightest of grazes could end their lives. Unable to strike the beast, it seemed that sooner or later their luck would run out and one of them would lie dead on the cold cavern floor. Then, in a flurry of blows, the berserker and dwarf struck!
The spider exploded under their combined attack, slewing ichor and hairy legs across the cave.
With the arachnid dead, the party spread out to search the cave, discovering the moldering bones of a dead adventurer and his rotted change purse. Several dozen coppers richer, the party considered the two exits to the cave: one headed west, the other south. A faint whistling sound, as if air blew past an opening, was heard to the south and the party went off to investigate.
The next cave contained a dark well that plunged at least 30’ into the subterranean depths. Despite some good natured threats of throwing a certain Spider cleric down its throat, the party pressed on in search of their wyrmish quarry. Another cave and tunnel took them back to worked stone passageways, and, by consulting their map, the party was able to pinpoint their location as near the poisonous fountain. Seeing they had bypassed their goal, the party returned to the western passage and slinked down its length.
The tunnel opened into a foul cave filled with bones, filth, and the stench of reptile. It appeared empty, but the players’ long suffering at my hands taught them to always look up and it was there they spied the 9’ long gecko lizard clinging to the ceiling and gazing upon them with a baleful eye. Arrows were fired, the lizard dropped from its perch, and battle was joined. In the end, the party’s overwhelming numbers defeated the much feared Dragon of Stonehell
With a mass of lizard flesh at their disposal and knowledge of a nearby monster market, one composed of creatures that feared said lizard, it was decided that the kobold settlement would be their next destination. Searching the cave turned up less than a hundred copper coins, but a gold filigree tiara was discovered in the deepest part of a cold, still pool. Perhaps its value might make this trip worth undertaking.
Before the party could depart, however, a heavily accented voiced rang out from the darkness and Snorri Broadshoulders, last seen documenting the wonders of dwarven architecture in Stonehell strode into the cave with his bodyguards. Expressing pleasure that “Da fookin’ elf” wasn’t with the party, Snorri and the Society got reacquainted. Although loathe to show them his mapping efforts, Snorri did clue them in to possibly rich treasure grounds to the east in a section of dungeon called the Quiet Halls. The kobolds shunned the place, so it stood to reason that any riches there would be undisturbed. The party made a note of this for later exploration.
Bidding Snorri adieu, the Society, dragging the dragon along with them, headed south towards where they were told they’d find the kobold market. After a long delay in bypassing the choke point pit (“Why would you put this thing here?”, Mars moaned), the band made it across with the four hundred lbs. of lizard and headed towards their favorite empty room to stash their ladder.
As they turned to enter the chamber, a band of gnarly, pale warriors struck out from the gloom, cutting Johan down with complete surprise. With Krunk and Grumble laden down with lizard and unarmed, the party faced a stiff and possibly final battle. Before the crazed descendents of Stonehell’s prisoners could follow up their surprise though, Kaldar waggled his fingers and sent all but one of the berserkers into enchanted slumber. The battle ended swiftly thereafter.
Mars Markus’ prayers were enough to restore life to the near-slain gnome, who wondered just what in the Pit had happened (“I saw a flash, felt a horrible pain, then nothing! When am I getting paid again?”). After collecting themselves and leaving their ladder in the room along with the dead bodies (including a note to the kobolds to leave the ladder alone), the Society pressed further towards their destination.
But the wandering monster checks had more in store for them.
At the second intersection they passed after the berserker ambush, the one that led towards the Ghost Beggar and mushroom caves, the party was again surprised by another band of Stonehell’s berserkers! Luckily for them, these depraved savages where also carrying cave crickets destined for the stew pot and were just as surprised to see the adventurers.
In the subsequent fight, Johan was again struck and sent to Death’s Grim Portal, reduced to negatives before the fight was resolved in the party’s favor. This time, the party chose not to expend healing magic on the now-stabilized gnome and Lyrax took up the burden of hauling his unconscious form along.
Remember, folks: When in a dungeon and something needs to be carried, make sure you primary fighters are regulated to the task so they can’t readily reach their weapons!
The party snuck past the former orc lair without incident—despite my best efforts to convince them to see if anything else had moved in during their absence—and came upon the octagon chamber that would lead them to the kobold market. Amidst the flaking frescoes of pleasant woodland scenes lay an unexpected resident: Hemlock, Lace’s brother and supposedly slain adventurer!
The lady assassin strode forth in relief to find her brother alive but pale. As her self-imposed task was to find the family crest that Hemlock carried, it seemed her search was over. Unfortunately, the crest was nowhere to be found and her brother’s body felt strangely cold and malleable. As Mars Markus approached (the rest of the party standing well back and getting ready for battle), Hemlock’s silent face took on a visage of pure horror. Opening “his” mouth wide, the thing that looked like Hemlock utter a screech of such mind-numbing terror that both Hemlock and Mars turned and fled. Hemlock rushed to the safety of her comrades, while Mars’ terror caused him to rush headfirst into a nearby portcullis, laying him out on the dungeon floor.
The Hemlock thing turned and fled, earning itself an arrow in the back from the now re-armed Lyrax. As it fell to the floor in seeming death, its body began to flow like warm wax and tendrils of smoke rose above the pooling plasmatic form. In moments, it was gone. Shaken, the party found themselves facing a most unearthly mystery—a mystery that would bear further consideration once they reached safety.
Following the directions given them by the kobold janitors, the party headed east and came upon an arrow-shaped room. On the northern wall was scrawled an arrow along with the message, “Dis Way 2 Da Markit.” They must be close! A gaze upwards, however, detected a strung square of canvas, painted gray and bearing an uncomfortable amount of rocks, bricks, and other painful-if-landing-on-one’s-head debris.
Lace carefully picked her way across the room, eyes peeled for tripwires and trigger plates, only to reach the room’s exit and find a trio of kobold guards watching her. One turned to another, grumbled, and handed over a few coins. The party had reached the outskirts of the market.
After voluntarily giving up all their weapons larger than a dagger, the party was granted entrance into a short corridor that terminated in the largest open area they had so far seen amongst the worked halls of Stonehell. Pillars supported a soaring ceiling that hung above a marketplace crowded with stalls, tents, and booths. The smell of roasting meat battled with fouler smells for room in the laden air. Numerous humanoid creatures strode their way through the chaos, and the party was able to spy humans, lizard men, bugbears, and, of course, kobolds in the crowd.
With a glance at one another, the Society of Plane Walkers strode into the marketplace…
