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Introduction:

The below are the journals of Eracuss, PC of David Wolin, Hero of the Gem, and Archmage and Ruler of a Canton of Slumber. These are in Eracuss' own words and are written by David Wolin. They are currently incomplete, and as other journals are uncovered, they will be added to those below - - Devin Cutler

The Journal of Ventures
By Eracuss Alvari du Vindar du Onlore

I have begun this journal as I have suddenly found myself to be in the midst of a series of rapid paced and confusing events, and as Herr Vinduem, my engineering instructor proclaims, "That vhich is not recorded ist forgot." I will attempt to record all things of relevance both to aid us in our journey and in hopes of redeeming this work for class credit to compensate for the time I will no doubt miss from the University.

Date Uncertain

This night on the Airsail Discovery, my fortunes seem to have taken a rather disagreeable turn. After the usual nightly drinking and sport with the lads, I was struck with a contrary stomach. While disgorging its contents over our ships rail, I slipped and fell to the hills below.

The quick use of a feather fall spell seems to have saved my life, although how I managed to cast it in my condition is beyond me. Upon landing I found myself on a steep slope that left me sliding and bouncing to its base.

Date Uncertain

I awoke this day in a universe of discomfort. Not only was my belly still rolling, but my head was throbbing, and the sun was glaring in a most obnoxious fashion. On top of it all I awoke to find myself on a beastly mound of rocks and dirt, bruised and tattered with someone screaming at me! Looking at the unwashed, ragged and bloodstained band before me, I thought myself beset by brigands. But as they sheathed their weapons and began talking among themselves, I realized, to my amazement, that fortune landed me in the company of goodly folk who were both adventurers and countrymen. The knight who led them bore the crest of a family from Algol, a days journey from my birthplace.

They informed me that we were in the West Mountains, the northern region which is occupied by the forces of the Accursed Empire (my head spun at this idea, how could our instructor bring us to such a hazardous region so close to the Deciever's lands?). The five of them had just escaped from a border fortress were they had lost two of their comrades. They were certain that orc patrols were hunting for them and might be less than an hour behind; so they were searching for a passage underground that their fallen friend, a dwarf, had told them of. As I was unprepared for any venture on foot in the mountainous wastes, and these adventurers offered to assist me in a journey to the south and safety, I agreed to join them and lend what aid I could.

A few hours into our rigorous march we happened upon a wild bear engaged in a brutal struggle with a great mandibled insect of monstrous size. After a few minutes of struggle, and some frivolous spellcasting by the elf to amuse himself, the bear managed to kill its foe and began its feast. Rather than kill it for its warm pelt and possible food, the knight insisted we press on, as he feared our hunters may not be far behind.

We traveled a few more hours until darkness made it impractical to press farther. To me this was a particular blessing, as the fine riding boots I was wearing, not intended for walking such long distances, left my feet raw and bleeding, I dropped from exhaustion and slept.

Date Uncertain

I was rudely jostled into a wakeful state before the sun had even come up. The weather had been cold the day before, but today it was positively frigid The adventurers feared a fire in the dark would attract attention from our pursuers. The lout who awoke me informed me it was my turn to "stand guard," although what that entailed I had no idea. The hunter who accompanied the group was "guarding" with me, so I simply stood there, confused, listening to the distant howl of wolves, unable to see a thing. When daylight arrived I took the opportunity to begin study.

After dawn a fire was lit to cook by, and the hunter ask me if I wanted some "food." My rumbling and two day empty stomach and I immediately agreed. But when I saw the scorched thing on a stick he was offering, I declined. I informed him, " I wouldn't feed that thing to my father's dogs, and my father would have me whipped if I did!"

The carcass was cleaned by the others, who were licking their fingers before I finished my sentence. I asked politely if they would provide my portions in the future uncooked that I might prepare them myself. My stomach is quite raw with hunger.

A short time after we resumed the march we heard the clamor of arms and armor in the wooded area ahead, and found ourselves being charged by a troop of orc cavalry. Twelve goblins on wolves came bounding out of the brush ready for battle. The adventurers charged forward to engage them as I began a spell to send their right flank to sleep. We made quick work of the riders and their mounts fled.

Following the skirmish, we resumed our grueling hike, and I began to learn the identities and habits of the adventurers:

Cromwell Disraeli Undergrants ( I believe this is an Algolian variant of De S'raeli Un Du Grands - "The one who stands among the Great" or Des Rallei Du Une De Grantes - "The one who rallies greatness " (a title held by an Illigori family who won great fame during the Fourth War 4063-4065):

A knight and the apparent leader of this band, Cromwell is a holy warrior of Meredros, the Patron of Truth, Loyalty, Oaths, Justice, Honor, and Vigilance. As a Paladin he is dedicated to war upon the followers of the Deceivers. He drives his companions relentlessly, although under the circumstances it is understandable. He has a grim determination, and a father's love for his page Linjo. His weapons are off the shelf and almost an embarrassment, and his armor, though heavy and unstylish, seems to serve him well. He is rude to his companions and polite to his enemies, even by Templar standards, but clearly has the makings of a heroic leader.

Heywood Allen (Cromwell's Elven Jester):

A cheerful and scatterbrained fellow who frolics about the party. He seems to me to be a bit unstable. When I had told him my name for the third time, he replied, "Yes, I know your name is, Eracuss Alvari du Vindar du Onlore, but what do I call you..."

I gave him an even look and responded,"...Sir."

He has some small skill with spellcraft, but seems to use his magic primarily for his own entertainment. This seems to visibly provoke Cromwell, and more than once the knight has threatened him with grim consequences. As a scout however Heywood is unsurpassed; he has an unsettling ability to vanish without effort. This seems to be a skill of his people aided by a cloak of shifting colors he carries. He does have an eye for archery as well, and the one time I saw him use a blade it was to deadly effect.

Morg (The Highlands Warrior):

When I first saw this scruffy brute I took him to me a mere hired guide or pack handler. The sight of him in combat changed that perception at once. He is as deadly a swordsman as Cromwell, fast and savage in a fight, but with a blade skill that his appearance belies. He carries a dozen holy symbols of different faiths.

Swift (He will not give his real name of course):

A sword-carrying student of the College of Creation (if I were a member of that slack-wit club of would-be world shakers, I'd carry a sword). Inter-school rivalry aside, he has without doubt exhibited more physical courage than most magic-users, stepping into the brawl when his spells run out. He carries a bow as well, and uses it as well as can be expected for a wizard. His truly astonishing ability is his namesake, for he can hike and jog tirelessly without rest, and when he sprints I must say, I have seen none faster. Of course, if I were a member of that slack-wit club of would-be world shakers, I'd learn to run too...

Linjo (Initiate of Meredros and page to Cromwell):

Just a young lad, particularly for such a dangerous mission, Linjo is a brave and strapping boy for his age. Carrying a full pack and driving on without complaint, this fellow has seen more fighting and hardship than many twice his age yet takes it all in stride, following his master with dogged loyalty.

The War Priest Korvar (Cleric of Aghorrit):

A skilled warrior and capable healer, the Korvar seems to be in his element, with battle around the corner at every turn. After a battle he has a most agreeable temperament, yet possesses a grim resolve when facing the enemy.

----

After a few hours of rugged travel the adventurers fears were realized, as the horns of hunting orc patrols began sounding in the distance. Over the next few hours these became closer and more threatening.

Soon we heared the sound of a melee in the distance. After a quick advance we found a band of hobgoblins in a deadly fray with a lone dwarven warrior standing over the fallen bodies of his comrades. At once we attacked. I sent forth a sleep spell to stop three of the hobgoblins, while the adventurers charged forward to slay the rest.

The dwarf sang a death-song of his people as the last of the hobgoblins fell. He then hailed us, and finding that we were likewise enemies of the orcs asked us to help him cover his fallen brothers in stone.

Glumz-Kuldum then introduced himself, as a dwarf, an axe for hire, and an enemy of the Deceiver and all who follow him. We spoke of the Dwarven Road that passed beneath the mountains and he agreed to help us find it. In fact, he was intending on going that way himself. He told us the tale of his clan stronghold. The adventurers and I listened with growing apprehension as the sound of horns drew nearer and began to sound as though they were surrounding us.

The day continued as a running battle. Goblins mounted on wolves, orcish infantry, and warg riders patrolled the land and tried to cut us off, steer us toward their masters, or kill us. We destroyed troop after troop, suffering from injuries and fatigue.

Nearly an hour past mid-day Heywood the elf returned from a brief scouting sortie. He ran with blind panic and was trembling and ashen faced. "An army...a vast army...orcs...thousands of them, and worse...demons!"

We fled. We ran as though hell itself was behind us, which turned out to be close to the truth. As we continued to fight troops of orcish scouts, we were attacked by a fiend of diabolical shape. It appeared as though from thin air, towering above us nearly nine feet in height. Thick plates, like living armor protected it and a great hooked tail like a scorpion swept above it's back. It lashed out furiously at Cromwell, who found his sword was useless against it. We struggled to find its weakness. I loosed a spell to turn the ground beneath it slick as ice, Morg hammering relentlessly with his blade that carried a magic aura strong enough to harm the creature. Holy water caused it to smoke and bleed. In the end it fell, twisted and smoldering, and I was able to gain a sample of it's blood and a plate of it's bony chitin. (Exhibits 1a and 1b)

We pressed onward, cut off again, this time by warg riders that hurled javelins as they came. Several of the band were bitten by the darts; poor Linjo was struck in the neck and died where he stood. Cromwell fell into a berserk rage and waded among their numbers butchering any who stood to fight against him.

Once again we ran and all about us the orcish troops pressed nearer; we caught glimpses of them on distant hill tops and nearby cliffs as they searched us out. We rounded a ridge line to the canyon which Glumz-Kuldum was sure contained the portal we sought. As we entered my heart fell into the sink of despair as there to greet us was a long line of great orcs, mounted on great wargs. I looked at them and thought us doomed, for even if we were fresh, they had such a weight of numbers as to crush us. I even turned to Cromwell and ask if they might be bribed or give us terms of surrender.

He spit his back, "Surrender to them is worse than death, and if you wish to surrender now, the orcs are welcome to have you, but we will fight to the death."

As we stood there waiting for the final charge to wash us away we began to notice something strange about the charging orcs, and as they were beginning to draw near they seemed unreal, as if not really there. When the riders struck they floated through our ranks like mist, for they had been mere figments of magic. At once we were attacked from behind by a strange diabolic beast. It had the form of a huge ape, but long taloned fingers and sharp hooked fangs, it flooded the air around it with fear. The adventures strove to kill it, all within arm's reach flailing at it mercilessly, and in the end it went down to magic bolts from Swift's wand, which crumbled into dust as it spent it's final power. I quickly took fingers from the beast, as well as a sample of it's blood (Exhibits 2a and 2b) while Cromwell screamed for us to hurry.

Hurrying to the end of the gorge we scrambled to assist the dwarf, finding only a dead end! The dwarf calmly searched about though, and in minutes we discovered the secret door and were in! Sealing it behind us, we climbed down into the darkness beneath the mountains.

We stood in perfect darkness. No sound but our heavy breathing and the muttering of Glumz in Dwarf speak, too low to understand. The darkness was tangible; after the booming of the heavy door I began to feel the weight of it about us. Sir Cromwell panted, "We must press on, we must put distance between ourselves and this place."

I had collapsed to the floor, and thought it impossible to rise. I could hear the others fumbling in their packs for lamps, oil, flint and steel. Glumz muttered again, then spoke up, "Ve pless un, at bottom of stair is chamber. There ve rest safe. "

First began a bright white spark of the flints, then the dim orange glow of a tinder stick, and after a moment the warm flicker of lamp wicks. Once their lenses were in place the lanterns each gave a strong beam of light. We could see now the room's only exit, a long flight of stairs leading deep beneath the mountain.

I kept marching as best I could despite my sore and swollen feet and the burning of my legs. I was thankful that my pack was light and I wore no armor as I watched the others struggle with their loads on the steep stair. Also I was glad that the dwarf now led; he moved with great caution, and his shorter legs set a much easier pace to follow.

After what must have been hours we reached the chamber and I collapsed as the others talked of setting watch. I was well asleep before they finished.

Date Unknown

I was awakened this mourning (?) by Morg. I rose to find myself a bit stiff but quite well rested. Glumz was awake and checking his armor and weapons. A stone plug had been removed from the wall and a number of items were laid in order on the floor. Glumz was muttering as usual, counting on his fingers as he ate one of his course little food bars. Seeing me up, he pushed one to my hand without a word and went back to his thoughts. Not having eaten for days, my stomach at once demanded filling and I gobbled and choked the thing down in full before noticing the gritty texture and rather offensive blend of flavors, likened to moldy cornbread mixed with rancid bacon fat and some pungent mushrooms, one would under normal culinary circumstance cast aside as suspicious. The whole thing seemed a bit stale and was soaked in wax. If this was a preservative, it did not seem to work. If it was a wrapper, such as would be used for cheese, I did not see Glumz cast it aside. Despite the foul oral experience, it settled in my stomach in a most fulfilling brick-like manner, and with a quick rinse of brandy, my mouth was fit to do something besides pant and gag. Knowing this would be the constant fare on the journey south I reminded my self to save a cantrip for dinner.

After breaking fast and studying for the day, I offered an armor spell to Swift which he accepted (leave it to the school of evokers to teach a student to use a sword but NOT an armor spell!). I then joined the others in planning the next leg of our journey. The stone plug had concealed a hidden cache of supplies, and we took what we needed: food, lamp oil, hammers and stakes. The War Priest took a scroll. Morg said to leave the water behind, raising his flask in a "see-what-I-mean way". I didn't see, but I followed instructions. After stowing the gear, we left the chamber. We found more stairs, and passed deeper into the underdark.

The darkness and curve of the stairs was disorienting, how much time we traveled or how far I have no way of knowing. After a long travel without rest we reached the base of the stair. Before us loomed a great dark passage, the lanterns barely reaching the far wall. The ceiling vaulted above. We rested for a short time. Glumz then rose, pointed with his axe and said, "South."

We began to march again. This passage Glumz called the Dwarven Road and it was in fact much like a well made surface road. Nearly 50' wide and vaulted far over-head, our lanterns seemed to barely light our way despite the bullseye lens. The path was smooth and paved with cobbles, so marching became easier.

I began to mark time by the burn of the lamps, two hours for each flask, perhaps a little more with the wicks down to save fuel. Six hours of march brought us to a wide natural cave, as we entered our light fell on to a great mass of strange purple mushrooms, half the height of a man, that crowded the cave. As the lamp light washed across them they began a most shrill and piercing keening, loud enough to drown out the shouts of the party and no doubt warn every creature within miles that we were here. As we crossed the cave, after passing one Glumz had obliged me by killing, I took a flask full of spores from beneath its cap (Exhibit 3.)

Our next encounter was not so passive. We wandered into an intersection of half a dozen smaller side passages, and before we knew it we were under a most fearsome attack. If my studies serve me the creatures were hook horrors, and never was a beast more aptly named. They would have taken us by complete surprise if it had not been from the excited cricketing and clacking of their chitinous appendages. This sound was startling as the hulking creatures tumbled out of the passages around us, looming nearly twice the height of a man and covered with glistening plates of armor that grew from their bodies.

One of these alien things above us made a weird croaking sound, like canvas tearing, and launched itself toward Glumz. Before it could strike, I cast like a whip crack and caught it in mid-air with a feather fall spell. It had looked at first as if it would flatten our dwarven friend, but now it drifted softly above him looking quite silly and I must say, surprised. Glumz took its amusing predicament and turned it deadly with a mighty swing of his battle-axe that sent the creature sprawling to the wall. As the other insectoids engaged our party, their buzzing and clacking echoed about us. It became quite nerve rending to hear their strange noises, catching only glimpses of their inhuman forms in the frantic waving beams of the torch light. Sir Cromwell, Morg, Glumz, and the War Priest were all beset by the monstrosities. Thrashing upon them with axes and swords, we drove the creatures back, and finally slew them. The elf, Heywood, scouted the side passages, and one led nearly strait up, along which he heard more of the same creatures. We withdrew from the passage, and continued along the Dwarven road.

Date Unknown

After traveling a good distance from our fight with the horrors, we stopped to rest. I spoke with the War Priest, who's name was Korvar. "Battle is my life, in the service of Aggorit, I am proud to be called by the name 'War Priest!' Korvar is only a name I was given as a child, I left it behind with my childhood."

I used a flavor cantrip with my next meal of dwarven rations. I tried pork pie with red currants and cheese. The result was surprisingly good; the texture was still that of beach sand in candle wax, but one must cope.

We began again pushing the dark before us, as more darkness trailed behind. In a few hours we came to a rough cavern, filled with strange geologic growths, stalactites, stalagmites and columns. The cavern was so wide the beacons from our lanterns could not pierce to the far side. It occurred that if we followed the road through the center of the vast cave that any creatures that might lurk within may set upon us from all quarters. I counciled Sir Cromwell that we should rather make our way along the wall, circling the cave's perimeter, as we could keep our backs safe. When we had made nearly a third of a circle we spotted a strange movement, a dark spot sliding against the darkness of the caves rocky formations. Upon a closer viewing I recognized it as some unidentifiable ooze, one of those formless and shifting nightmares that puddle about in the dark places below the ground, waiting to envelop the unwary and consume them.

Unwary we were not, for upon discovering it we hastened along until we rejoined the road and pressed on.

Our next encounter was far more unsettling, though it began innocently enough with a glimmering pool of water in a small niche beside the trail. I began by examining its color and the shifting lights that played about it's surface. Taking one of my sample containers from my pack, I carefully took a sample of the liquid. After this I instructed the others to be ready to pull me back in the event of something untoward happening as I dipped my finger in the liquid. The colors danced about the tip of my finger. As I pulled out my finger, I examined the drop of water that clung to it, only mildly phosphorescent now.

My curiosity then got the better of me. I tried to catch the scent, but it had none. I carefully touched the tip of my finger to my tongue and at once a terrible sensation washed over me. My muscles shook and became sore, my skin seemed to loosen itself and my companions looked on with dread as I seemed to age before their eyes!

For a few seconds I could do nothing. Panic took me, then in time reason returned. I took a second sample, hoping within there may be some way to reverse the process, and the clue to do this may be within the liquid. There was a rippling flash that spread out from the pool as I did so, and then it darkened. I packed the flasks away and we marched on, my discomfort and misery now complete as I pondered my years, lost for nothing.

Not long after we continued our march, I was shocked as we were suddenly shrouded in darkness. At first I thought the lamps had gone out, then I could hear Cromwell and Swift calling for Morg and I to "come out of the darkness!"

Panic assailed me once again as I was sure we were beset by the dark elves that Glumz had warned us might lie ahead. Morg and I fled in opposite directions, but the darkness followed me! I began to fear I would get lost in this place, but my classic education came to my aid...I heard professor Tournos voice saying, "There is no trouble you cannot think yourself out of if you seriously try."

I sat down and began to think. No fighting sounds came from outside the dark; in fact the rest of the party seemed to see no adversaries. Morg called out for me to move away from the flasks. I took the samples from my pack and walked slowly away from them, finding myself exiting the darkness.

I began to think perhaps the pool had contained some magical creature which had become trapped in my sample bottles and now was trying to escape. Heywood and I tied the pouch with the two bottles in the middle of a rope so we could transport it between us, without having to walk in the darkness. We then began walking back to were we had found the pool, intending to return the water.

After getting almost half way back, the pouch began floating up, tugging the rope with it, Heywood let go, but I did not. The pouch lifted me by the rope until it came to a stop at the ceiling. I climbed the rope to the ceiling, carefully opened the pouch, rolling one of the bottles into my hand. Discerning it was not the levitating item, I called to Heywood and let it drop to him. Next as I began feeling the other flask, there was a flash and I found myself standing on the ground among the party. Cromwell's voice came from overhead, "Ohhh crap!"

We looked up to see that he and I had been magically transposed, he was now dangling at the end of the rope. I called up to him to jump, intending to cast a feather fall. He declined yelling back, "Forget that! Throw me a rope!"

Heywood obliged him by tossing up a rope, using a knot cantrip to secure it. After he slid down, I returned to the top of the rope, removed the flask from the bag and feather fell comfortably to the ground with my pack and the two ropes in hand. I retrieved the flask I had dropped to Heywood. And we continued on our way toward the pool.

In no time the confusion began again, as this time my head began throbbing and the others looked with amazement as my head began to grow. I at once emptied the remaining flask, quick to be rid of the accursed liquid. We returned to our original path south on the Dwarven Road. Some of the party found my three-times-the-normal-sized-head amusing. I informed them that, "Ten years ago, I too may have found it amusing, but ten years ago was THIS MORNING!"

In an hour's time, my head returned to it's normal size. I began to wonder if the water was some trick of local spell casting creatures. Perhaps instead it was Flupnir, who the party whispers "may be following us."

Then again the pool may have been a physical manifestation of Wild Magic, that dangerous force we were warned of in Summoning Class.

Date Unknown

After resting we continued. Several miles of travel brought us to another cavern. Glumz slowed, cocking his head to either side, an unusually grimmer look on his usually grim face. I strained to listen, but could hear only the rattle of the party's armor and weapons. I was startled as a small black shape darted by my head. I then heard a quiet but sharp screech as another shape flashed by. The lantern showed the cave ahead was vast and the screeching became a chorus. Glumz shouted something, Cromwell waved his arms and shouted, "Bat swarm, everyone down, quickly!"

A dark and fluttering cloud swept about us, flapping and chirping and scratching. It was disorienting and unnerving. I dropped to my knees at the wall of the tunnel and pulled my cloak about my head. I was giving a silent prayer to Meredros that there would not be among them any of those heinous undead things that are said to keep company with such nocturnal flyers. In a few heartbeats the bats left as suddenly as they had come, and we walked ahead though the cave, this time staying on the road through it's center, not daring to trudge through the knee deep piles of droppings that we spied about us, in which beetles swarmed and other nastier things might lurk unseen.

I voiced my offense regarding the smell coming from Linjo's corpse and pointed out the danger of it attracting wandering scavengers...or worse.

On and on we trudged, and after several more lamps, we stopped and made camp again. Cromwell left us for a time, taking with him a digging pick and the body of his fallen page Linjo. We heard the ringing of the pick for almost an hour, then the soft murmur of distant prayers. Cromwell came back sweating and exhausted, a heavy weight on his soul was felt by all. He conversed with the dwarf about coming back to this place some day that Linjo may be reburied in a more fitting place. We marked the wall with the sign of Meredros, then slept.

Date Unknown

I awoke, cold and damp as I had kicked off my cloak in my fitful sleep. I flavored another ration bar, this time lobster and shallots with creamy white wine, but the combination of flavor, texture and the cold temperature was not at all agreeable and I will remember to try more suitable tastes in the future. Morg seemed fascinated by the cantrip and ask if I could flavor his bar. I tried a ground grilled venison patty with wild sage, and although Morg does not strike me as a culinary expert, he did smile broadly and grunt appreciation as he sucked the crumbs from his fingers.

On our feet again and before long we began to hear in the distance rushing water. In time we arrived at a wide crevice, a wild torrent of water crashing along a narrow channel far below. Above, the ceiling vaulted up to a patchwork of ledges and cracks. A single wide stone span crossed the cleft at its narrowest point and the far side was barely visible in the distance.

"This smells foul of an ambush." I said.

Morg and Korvar nodded agreements and Cromwell looked to the elf and sent him ahead with a gesture. We watched nervously as Heywood approached the bridge, blending into the background as he moved forward silently. He returned in moments, pointing out a thin filament, similar to a strand from a spider web. I discussed this with the party, advising out that it may be a spider, or perhaps a cavern snare (a weird crustacean that uses sticky ropes like these, in much the way a fisherman uses a snagging hook). We decided if it was from a creature we would need to dislodge it before crossing. We all got hold of the War Priest's rope and threw the rope at the trap line. Giving a heave on the line, we first felt resistance, then the top of the line gave way. We then ran across, hoping to gain the other side before the creature could lower another line. Three of us were already across as the sound of, "Ptthhhhhhhhhhh" came from overhead and Sir Cromwell was narrowly missed.

As Morg was just getting across the bridge, "PtthhPtthhPtthhhhhhhhhhh" he was hit by one of three lines that shot down from overhead, and he began to get dragged back across the bridge. Sir Cromwell and Glumz rushed to his aid as I prepared a spell to grease the filament. Morg, it seems, needed none of this as a single sweep of his sword freed him with a flash.

After exiting the area of the rift, Korvar reeled in his rope, cutting the end where it had stuck to the sticky line. I took an empty oil flask and wrapped the trap line around it like a spindle, placing it into the my belt pouch which I had emptied. (Exhibit 4)

The rest of that day was unremarkable except for the dead body of a strange and alien creature which we found lodged in the center of the passage. If my memory of Elementalist Concepts class is not amiss, the thing was once a creature from the elemental plane of earth known as a xorn, or perhaps xeren. I retreived all nine of its strange triple digit fingers (Exhibit 5). It appeared to have been killed while phasing, most likely by the alteration spell phase door. This I found most troubling, as only a very powerful spell caster could hope to control such a spell.

[several entries are missing at this point in the journals]

Date Unknown

To prepare for a crossing of the lake ahead we needed rest, but before resting I pointed out to the others that we were beginning to run low on lamp oil, and we must be ready to supplement what we had left with magic. The War Priest Korvar produced from his pack a scroll; it was the same he had acquired at the beginning of our journey underground. "On this parchment is inscribed a spell which will produce a globe of continual light, we could cast it on a coin, rock, or what ever..."

"An arrowhead," Heywood stated in an unusually matter-of-fact tone. "We will be traveling by boat soon... and arrows float!"

The others voiced agreement. I could only nod, stunned momentarily by the elf's moment of lucidity. When I recovered my wits, I clapped him on the shoulder with pride. "That's first rate thinking there Heywood...good work!"

We ate our meals; this time I flavored mine as sweet rice cake with ginger duck, a marvelous feast washed down with cold fresh water from Morg's flask.

Morg had pulled out his sword and begun the slow, painstaking, and rather annoyingly loud task of honing the edge on a whetstone. I notice his sword was of unusually good craftsmanship but had been notched and dulled somewhat in the fight against the spider people. I ask him if I could be of assistance, and he handed me the sword. "Now, I may not know much about swordplay but I do know a good sword when I see one, and this is a good sword."

I noted also the sword had the soft sheen of a magic weapon. I used a mending spell to smooth away the notches and nicks and put a shine back on the blade. Morg looked suspiciously at me as I handed the blade back, but upon testing the edge gently with his fingertip and drawing blood, he gave a surprised grunt of approval and returned it to his weather beaten scabbard with a grin. Cromwell and Heywood assumed first watch as the rest of us drifted off to sleep.

I awoke disoriented to what sounded like Morg shouting, "Where is everyone?"

Heywood shook me by the shoulder whispering. "There is something coming from the cavern of the lake!"

In the glare of the continual light spell, I saw Cromwell had begun to advance toward an unseen enemy, sword raised, shield before him. Three figures advanced from the darkness, sweeping cloaks of black silk, blue-black skin, and darkly glittering chain mail and weapons. The others were grabbing weapons and shields when everything went dark; at first I thought I had been dreaming, but the sound of arms and accouterments continued so, after touching my nose without being able to see my hand, I felt about for my bandoleer of throwing daggers and readied two for close fighting.

I heard Heywood grunt as he ran toward Cromwell. Morg and Glumz pushed passed me as I made my way to the wall. I nearly tripped over Swift who was snoring away before me, and I kicked his leg to rouse him as I passed. As I got my back against the wall I found I had left my pack with my lantern and tinderbox somewhere amidst the scuffle. Before I could decide whether to press forward or go back I heard Heywood incanting, and four flickering globes of dancing lights appeared about the dark tunnel.

Four of our adversaries could now be clearly seen. These looked to be elves, they had the same build as Heywood, but there the likeness stopped. There faces had a sinister beauty with the same blue-black skin we had seen in the meenlocks' lair. Their eyes glinted with a strange fire, and their sneering cruel grins were frightening. The three that had first attacked were clad in chainmail and carried short slashing blades and small "buckler" shields. They were quick and agile, and they dodged and slashed at Cromwell, Glumz, and Morg who faced off with them. Morg and Glumz were quickly bleeding, as they had not the time to don their armor.

I found that in the dark and confusion I had walked passed the three fighting pairs and was in a strait line with a fourth elf, a female, who stood a dozen paces behind their ranks. She had an elegant but poisonous look to her, and when she gestured and waved at Swift he fell again to the floor snoring. I hurled two of my throwing daggers at her, one flew wide, the other bounced off of the silvery chain mail she wore beneath her robes. She turned her heartless stare at me and smiled in a bloodthirsty way and began to load a small crossbow that could be fired with one hand. I smiled back, drawing more quickly a second pair of daggers and told her, "Keep grinning, bitch!"

Heywood ran and roused Swift again as Glumz, Cromwell and Morg traded blows with their foes. The War Priest aided them by joining the fray. Heavy footfalls and the sound of clanking armor came from down the hall.

I hurled another pair of daggers at the elf-witch, and one struck a minor wound. Swift now on his feet evoked a magic missile spell and struck at her. They veered off into the darkness, the "never fail" projectiles failing. Seconds later he cast again, one missile vanished inches from her and the other veered wildly up into the dark, Swift watched in disbelief, unsure why his spell had not struck true, and he mumbled, "Blast!"

The fighters continued their brawl. The War Priest came to my side, and we saw charging from the darkness a dwarf who bellowed war cries in his harsh guttural language and swung his huge axe as he advanced. As I realized he was screaming something about, "death to the drow" and "battle for Weshta-Grum." I turned to Korvar and Heywood and said, "I think he's on our side."

A second later he slammed into the she-elf's flank, chopping furiously with his great double bladed axe. I drew two daggers and advanced with Heywood and the War Priest to engage her. Morg was dealt a vicious slash to his gut, and fell to his knees and then dropped. Swift leapt at Morg's foe before the elf could put the fallen mountain man to execution. Swift struck a mighty blow with his two-handed sword, and his opponent was bowled over backwards by the force of the blow but sprang to his feet before the mage could recover his heavy blade to strike another blow. Cromwell struck at his opponent left and right trying to get through the dark elves' guard, but most of the blows were deflected by sword or shield, and few that could pierce the defense could also pierce their elegant chain mail. Glumz bled from half a dozen wounds but fought on, his chants of battle blending with those of the newly arrived dwarf.

The dark sorceress pulled a flask from her belt and quickly drank it, healing her wounds, I snarled in anger, "Hey she just drank my potion!"

The War Priest, Heywood and I rushed the witch, trying to wrestle her to the ground. A short sword appeared in her hand and she raked it across our front, wounding us all and spoiling our attempt. The dwarf continued to hack at her as Swift's brutal sword work dropped the elf that Morg had been fighting. In seconds a blow dropped the sorceress, and the dwarf sprang forward to lop off her head. Without hesitation we joined the fight against the last standing dark elf, as Glumz staggered back clutching a wounded arm, dropping his hand-axe. Despite their fearsome armor, our numbers prevailed and they were slaughtered.

The newly arrived dwarf ran to Glumz and introduced himself as Kheldin, priest of Weshta-Grum, the Dwarven God of Mines and Mountains. He bent over Glumz fallen body and took from his pack bandages and salves. "I am a healer as well as a warrior," he said.

He tended to each member of the party in turn, as all had sustained at least some cuts and bruises, and most were bleeding grievously. Cromwell and Korvar aided him and used their spells and disciplines to heal the worst of the wounds.

Kheldin told us he was the sole survivor of a dwarven outpost that had been established to the south of here, the same outpost we were searching for. He told us how it had been overrun by the dark elves, the drow, and now they were his hated enemies. He had spent the past weeks searching for drow raiders to slay.

We stripped the drow bodies of their weapons and equipment. We found a platinum talisman that hung about the neck of the female. It had the shape of a spider but with the head of a human female. Glumz sneered at it, "A symbol of their unholy faith..."

I placed it in a small pouch while Glumz continued to stare at it. I smashed the bag repeatedly with the pommel of my dagger until I heard the jingle of broken pieces. He gave a satisfied nod and went about his business. Heywood found that the suit of chainmail worn by the toughest dark elf fighter fit him comfortably, and that like elven chain it was free fitting enough to allow him to cast spells and didn't interfere with the channeling of magic. I collected the hand crossbows and wave-bladed daggers.

We debated whether to stay and attempt to regain our spells or to press on without healing or spell support. In the end we found that rest was the only option, and luck saw to it that we were able to rest, heal, and rest again before we pressed on fully prepared. I took the opportunity to restore the armor spell that protected Swift and another for myself. Then I memorized a new set of spells ready to press on after a crushed pecan and berry omelet for breakfast.

Date Unknown:

After our battle with the drow and the subsequent resting and looting of the dark elves' bodies, we returned toward the docks. We brought the slain bodies of the drow with us, remembering the warning on the dock to "feed the Hungry One."

Tied to the dock we found a strange looking boat made of some kind of stone. It had the look and texture of pumice, but was quite buoyant. Chained to the bottom of this weird craft was the dead body of a dwarf. We decided to use the dwarven boat rather than this new craft

As we walked to the southern end of the shore, where we had found the hidden boat, Kheldin told us that the 9' tall statue was a construct of magic known as a Hammer Golem. The ancient Craft-Priests had built them as guardians, and they were mighty killing machines and invulnerable to all but the most powerful weapons and spells. This one had been placed here by the Priests of Weshta-Grum to guard the hiding place of the boat, and insure that none but a dwarf could remove it. We let Kheldin and Glumz get the boat. Then we put the body of the dead dwarf into the niche where the boat was hidden, as our two dwarven companions agreed that it would be an honorable resting place. Kheldin said some words to consecrate the sight. We then destroyed the drow boat by breaking it to little bits.

Before setting off across the lake, the warriors and priests removed their heavy armor, lashing it into the boat securely in case of an unexpected plunge into the black water; something that all of us held in greatest dread, even those few who had learned to swim.

We began rowing. Kheldin told us that the lake was between six and eight miles across at this point. After about two miles of travel we took one of the dark elf corpses and threw it overboard in an attempt to appease what ever lurked beneath the smooth and ebon surface. There was no sign of movement, nor disturbance around the body as we continued.

The longer we rowed the more unsettling the silence grew. Nothing could be heard beyond our breathing, and the steady splash, splash, splash, of our oars. No other sign of life, no fish, no bats, no other living things were apparent, and all around us was the dark. We could see no walls, no cavern ceiling, only the dark water glimmering with torch light and beyond that, stygian darkness.

Hours passed and I noticed Heywood cock his head, as if his keen elven hearing had caught a glimmer in the distance. I strained to hear, detecting at first only the echoes of the oars. Time seemed strange underground, with no day and night, and always dark...but on that vast lake it was even more disorienting. Seconds stretched on and I thought to catch a hint of sound, as if distant voices rippled though the dark. How far off and from what direction I could not tell. The others seemed to hear it now as well. One by one they stopped rowing to quiet the water and struggled with the sounds the mind creates to discern what could be out here.

We were miles underground in the middle of a lake that stretched off for who knows how far.

Slowly the sound got louder, or I should say sounds, for as we listened it was indeed voices that we began to hear. Voices and the sound of moving water came closer and closer to our island of light.

But whose voices?

One second I could have sworn they were human, chuckling and whispering. Then I thought an elf cried out, or perhaps a drow. A dwarven grumble could now be heard as well, along with a weeping woman. Another voice called out mockingly in the tone of a childish half-wit, but still no words could be understood. Other voices hooted and snorted as drunken sailors do. The sound of a broken song in a young girl's voice was joined by the cracking sobs of a tortured old man.

My head began to spin and my stomach turned sour as the sounds grew louder and louder. How could these people be here? It was madness; we were miles from shore and months from any civilized land, yet these sounds came nearer.

It did not make the sounds of a boat as it came, for there was no paddling. Neither did it sound like a swimming man, or a fish, or a water bird. The sound it made, as it came toward us was a loud churning sound, like a whirlpool or a treacherous rapid. But louder, much louder than the sound of it's conveyance were the terrible voices.

In the fringes of the lantern light it stalked, a wide white mass, spread boiling out of the dark. The voices came from it...the thing. A shifting quagmire of a thing. The color of a fish's belly, and the intestines of rotting pigs, and all over the thing that roiled and spat and choked and chortled and seethed toward us out of the dark were mouths! It had no head, or body, or legs, or face, but only scattered eyes... and mouths. Mouths that shrieked, and screamed, and jested, and spat, and cursed, and laughed, and bit, and whistled, and sucked, and shouted, and whispered, and beckoned, and drooled, and gagged, and begged. The voice of a new-born babe crying for it's mothers breast. The voice of a madman in bestial rage. The voice of a harlot in passionate embrace. The voice of a lost soul begging the gods for forgiveness.

And closer it came.

Water splashed on me; one voice grew louder. The water again, and a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. The voice was Cromwell's, "Row, you bastards, row damn it!"

Slowly and with terrible effort I had to tear my eyes away from that horrible curse of fleshy abomination. Others were rowing, some hacking at the water as if it were a thing that could be killed, some dug at the surface as one would leisurely dig a grave. I glanced back and saw the thing draw nearer. The others shouted and ranted but their voices only added to the chorus of the thing which gained on us from behind.

Glumz stared at me blankly; his mouth moved, and it seemed as though a dozen sounds came from it. He jerked his head as if to indicate I should jump in, as one would invite a friend to try a warm bath. His mouth opened louder, and he pointed behind me. I spun expecting the thing had joined me in the boat, the way the cacophony jolted at my brain. Behind me, in the shifting water that had splashed into the boat by the panicked rowers, were the corpses of the three remaining drow.

I grabbed the top most body. Over the side I pushed, almost losing my balance and joining it, as it floated in the water to be left behind our boat. I clawed at the boat rails to steady myself, then grabbed another. Swift aided me as we struggled to add this carcass to the bait.

The first corpse had already vanished into the thing as a doll on a seashore might vanish into an unexpected wave, but the thing slowed, that it's sneering, shrieking, slobbering mouths could each fix upon the morbid meat it had enveloped. We rowed and rowed and rowed. None of us knew how long, and no one slowed their rowing, although some collapsed. Nor did any notice how much time had passed before the voices could no longer be heard, as they seemed to ring in our ears even after the lantern at the boats bow began to flicker for want of oil. Even though by then it was clear we had far out-paced the "Hungry One."

In time we reached the far shore. I dread to think what would happen without the dwarves' guidance, for we could have paddled in a great circle for hours and I would be none the wiser. The beach had a metal dock that thrust out andwe wasted no time in scrambling onto the dry sand. Never have I seen warriors don their mail with such speed. And all eyes looked back...toward the thing, that somewhere, miles behind, feasted, and gibbered and waited.

We looked out across the darkness of the lake for some time; how long I couldn't say. We then decided to conceal the boat in the event we would return this way and have further need of it, and to do so we took it to the southern edge of the sandy crescent, placed several rocks in the bottom and filled it with water a few paces from shore. This concealed it splendidly.

With the quick use of a cantrip my clothes were dry. Despite our sore shoulders and backs we were all ready to press on, our legs were still strong and all were ready to put some space between us and the water.

Three or four miles from there we camped. Glumz had taught me to count my steps to guess distance of travel. My fine dinner that night consisted of roasted beef cubes with tarragon and potatoes with a sprinkle of garlic and grated ginger-root. I offered a flavor cantrip to Kheldin but he declined with a snort and a smile.

When we awoke, a bit cold and damp, we traveled about three miles to find the passageway collapsed. On to our right was a side passage, and we also found runes carved in the wall next to the collapsed hall that Glumz said meant "Danger Beyond." Kheldin read aloud the rune next to the side passage as "Safe Here." I noted down both symbols for future reference. Kheldin told us he had been to this place before, and that some time ago a powerful demonic servitor of the Deceiver had been buried under several miles of collapsed passageway.

We took the side road, which was nearly 20' in width and 15' in height, Heywood seemed nervous about the confined space, but I was glad to be in a passage were our lanterns could clearly light from one side of the passage to the other, and clearly light the ceiling as well. This proved life saving, as a dozen spiders dropped silently from hidden webs above us.

Swift and Heywood shot two volleys of arrows as the dark, hairy, scuttling, creatures dropped toward us. I cast a spell to drop five of them into a deep sleep and then the rest were on us. One sunk it's venomous fangs into Morg, who howled with rage. The others were quickly killed and Kheldin used his training of herbs and curatives to extract the poison from Morg's shoulder. Luckily he was in time and soon Morg seemed no worse from the wound.

The passage beyond our ambush was choked with webbing and so we set fire to them. This caused the passage to be wreathed in an orange glow ahead, and the ceiling was soon obscured by roiling dark smoke. As the webs burned we heard a "thump!" from down the hallway. When the burning died down enough to press on we investigated the hall ahead with caution.

It turned out that body that had fallen from the ceiling when the webs which held it there had burned away. The body was small and strangely shaped and it had a pallid grayish skin with pale lidless eyes. Glumz called the thing a "derro" and said the things were known only in deep and remote realms beneath the earth. It wore only a harness of sorts, a sheath with a dagger crafted with a reservoir in its hilt, apparently for poison. Also it had a pouch with six gems and a flask. The gems appeared quite valuable and the flasks contained liquid that smelled of alcohol. I felt brave and foolish, in light of recent happenings, and so I gave the brew a sip. It had a rich earthy flavor and the taste of mushrooms, and after speaking with Glumz and Kheldin we identified it as mushroom wine, although it seemed more like a whiskey or vodka in its strength. I passed the gems around for each of the others to take and threw the wineskin into my pack.

We traveled for hours, and after many miles (I lost count) we rejoined the main passageway. Not long after this we saw in the distance a fearful sight, a strange glowing shape that stood in the hallway ahead. As we drew closer we witnessed what appeared to be some great dwarven siege machine, and crewing the machine was a team of dwarves working with grim resolve. The machine seemed to belch forth a great blast of destruction, but all the while the great weapon and it's crew were in perfect silence...and all bathed in that strange ghostly glow. Kheldin was the first to speak saying, "They are but the phantoms of the past. It is said they cannot be touched, nor can they harm us but be wary for I fear grim magic is at work here."

As we pushed by the scene, a huge ghostly hand as big as a hay-stack appeared out of the wall before us. It hammered down in silent brutality and destroyed the image of the dwarves and their great weapon and as this happened the hallway shook with the screams of the fallen. All of us held our hands to our ears. Kheldin and Morg, who were closest to the phantasmal scene staggered. The hand vanished, and nothing remained of the dwarves save glowing liquid pools. We moved quickly to leave this unnatural thing behind us, but as we looked back we saw the bodies of the dwarves rise again from the ground to replay the horrid tragedy. Kheldin paused to give a blessing in hopes of ending the eternal misery, but to no avail. We continued our pace, the loud scream which continued to sound in the distance every two minutes or so slowly faded. Kheldin and Morg who were deafened by the shriek slowly began to regain their hearing.

Finally, ahead we saw a huge archway covered in dwarven carvings. Flanking it on either side were two strong points, defensive stone fortifications built by the dwarven engineers and topped with forbidding tools of war. The great gates are battered in, the siege engines broken and the towers cracked and hollow.

We had reached the dwarven mines.

As we drew nearer to the great Dwarven gates we could see a tall, wide chamber and we could hear sounds of fighting. Heywood taking the lead, we crept nearer the cavern with great care to find over a dozen creatures arguing among themselves. They had the look of lizards yet stood on their hind leg as men, between 5' and 6' in height, save one who nearer 7'. They had scaly skin and barbed crests on their heads and arms, and they wore no clothing, only harnesses to carry their weapons. They carried clubs and spears of crude manufacture, and spoke to each other hissing with their clammy forked tongues protruding.

When Glumz saw them he began to growl, "Accursed trogs, they vill pay for vhat deh have done to my peoples vork!"

Kheldin cast a blessing quickly and the War Priest incanted some strange ritual at Morg who stood before him and began to froth and stomp. The next moment all was confusion.

Glumz, Cromwell and Morg charged in to battle as the rest of us advanced with caution, and a furious melee insued. The lizard-things began to raise their barbed crests and a foul musky smell filled the cavern. The warriors hacked mercilessly at the things as they exchanged blows. A group of four more creatures charged at us from the side and I laid a spell at their feet to make the floor as slick as wet ice and the four of them slid to a stop thrashing at our feet. Kheldin hacked one in half with his axe, and another was beheaded by Swift. I drew the daggers I had taken from the bodies of the dark elves, they were too unbalanced to throw but their sharp wavy blades made for deadly hand-to-hand work, and I amazed both my companions and myself by killing one of the "trogs" in single combat. Granted he was having trouble standing up strait at the time, and every attack he made on me left him prone at my feet!

Morg, with the red rage upon him from Korvar's urging, hacked a bloody path through them, and in a few moments, none were left. After the battle frenzy had ended Morg found a necklace on the biggest creature, 30 teeth with 30 small gems, one pounded into each tooth, and it seemed to suit him so he hung it around his neck.

There were two passages that lead out from the cave of the trog creatures. We passed into the northern tunnel. This is the last time I can say for sure which direction we were headed in as it began a maze of twisty turning passages that all looked the same. Someone carried an item they called a "Kwelsish Stone" and would on occasion consult with Glumz or Kheldin in low voices regarding were we should head. I frantically tried to keep a map (it seems the party's former mage was also a map maker) but after less than an hour all detail was lost and it merely became a scatter of lines,

Heywood and Glumz ranged ahead as a vanguard. Kheldin explained this was so the lantern would not spoil their "dark-sight", as the eyes of dwarves and elves were better able to detect the subtle blurs of heat and cold that to our human eyes were invisible.

Not more than five hundred paces and Heywood came running back, a pair of trogs in hot pursuit. He dodged into a niche in the wall, covering himself with his woodland cloak, and the stupid brutes charged right past him. As they approached I cast another grease spell, but before they reached the area it affected the pair caught sight of our party, turned and ran. I had no choice but to disperse the spell so that the others could pursue the monsters. Chasing the two fleeing trogs we found ourselves running headlong into a rough cavern filled with more than a dozen of the fiends...

In chasing the trogs, the party had become strung out along the route. Heywood was first into the cave and had the presence of mind to cast an illusion of a web spell before he was swarmed by the creatures. The image of a large wall of tangled sticky fibers gave the creatures pause, hesitating to become entangled in the seemingly unpasable wall. By the time the slower party members (that is the dwarves and armored warriors) reached the cavern the creatures had begun to sweep at the web with their weapons, and finding they swept through nothing but air began to advance. The fight was quick and brutal. Heywood was struck by two brutal blows and almost killed. Morg, despite his vomiting and weakness from the creatures' stench, stepped in and hacked the lizard things to pieces.

(Morg's personal note: " I think Morg was the only one sick by the stench 'cause everyone else has gotten used to the mighty smell of Morg and so were hardened to it." )

When the largest of the trogs fell, the few remaining fled. The party moved cautiously across the cave, checking the bedding and shredded skins the trogs had laid about the cave. Suddenly we were attacked again, this time near two dozen trogs that seemed to step out of the very walls, charging us wielding axes. We desperately tried to form a battle line but the shock of the attack was too sudden. I hurled throwing daggers at two of the reptiles that had come out of hiding between the War Priest and myself but one missed, one bounced off the trog's scaly hide and the third caused only a scratch. Glumz screamed, "An axe!," and charged forward to engage one of the beasts to get an axe for himself, to replace the one he had lost on the back of the rust monster, further weakening our defense. Morg was surrounded and the only thing that saved Swift, Heywood and myself from being buried by the creatures qas Heywood's grease spell. With that spell went the last of the parties pork fat... the necessary component for casting that spell.

The next event boggled my mind. Four huge trogs turned and charged the three of us, trying to drive behind the fighters and cut off our escape. Not seeing the slick floor caused by the spell Heywood had cast the four of them bowled tails over head and slid across the stony floor to land at my feet.

"Good, that should make it easier to hit you!" I exclaimed and proceeded to kill all four of them myself !!! Perhaps my father's exasperated attempts to teach me swordplay were not entirely wasted, although the keen edge of the drow daggers that I wielded in each hand certainly helped.

After a few desperate minutes of brutal hand to hand fighting, fourteen of the twenty two trogs lay dead. But six bigger trogs and one huge trog leader emerged from the dark beyond and the wavering trogs held their ranks. The leader let out a loud and ringing war cry that ended in a hissing, teeth baring, growl. Proud of my work in such unaccustomed close quarters, I shouted at him, " I don't know if you noticed...but nobody here is afraid of you!"

Heywood ,who was wounded and cowering behind Swift and Myself muttered quietly, " I'm afraid, I'm really, really afraid!"

The brutes seemed to ignore me, or not understand me, and they advanced on the party. Swift readied his bow and plugged the leader with two arrows before he closed with the War Priest who had managed to fill the gap between Morg, Glumz and the rest of the party. Korvar who was guarding as the leader approached, struck him with a mighty blow from his axe, staggering him for Morg who cut him down with a deadly strike of his own. Swift engaged the last of the trog bodyguards in melee, showing conclusively what a formidable weapon the two-handed sword really is as he dealt a mighty blow of his own to kill the thing.

After the fight was finished, for certain this time, we continued our search for loot. The leader trog wore a pair of bracers and a headband with a glowing green stone. Morg tried on the headband and it began to glow brighter. The group cast lots for the items, and Kheldin won the headband, but at the last roll, the headband flashed green, and Morg's die flipped to the highest number...Kheldin won the roll for the bracers.

In a small niche to the side of the cavern, we found a shrine that held a hideously evil spider idol, carved from obsidian. The clerics fell upon the blasphemous thing with hammers and axes, smashing it to splinters.

From here the dwarven mines became utter confusion. Twisting tunnels and dead ends were commonplace, and numerous foul creatures attacked us.

In a cave filled with a tangle of natural rock formations, columns, stalactites and stalagmites, we were debating whether or not to take another tunnel when a weird creature with a centipede like body and tentacled head lashed out of the darkness before us. Heywood and Swift were both struck by the dripping tentacles and they fell to the ground quivering and unable to stand or speak. We grabbed our fallen friends and ran, but it soon became apparent that the dwarves could not outrun the creature. We turned to face it, and were relieved when the thing died after a quick fury of blows from the dwarves.

We decided to get what rest we could in the hall before the creature's lair after scouting about to insure no others of it's kind were about. We made camp; my dinner was a roast hare with shallots (flavored at least), and I managed to mend two of the weapons that our party had nicked and dented in the fight. After 16 hours or so we had fully rested and healed, Korvar had used a spell and a handful of silver coins to craft a silver holy symbol of Aghorit.

We continued to explore the mines. We encountered rats, which Morg killed, spiders which Glumz killed, and more of the shrieking mushrooms which Swift killed. We also killed a half dozen huge firefly like creatures that Glumz showed us how to use as a light source.

We found an area of newer construction, which had scorched marks on the walls, and many skeletal dwarves. Swift and I agreed that magical lightning was probably the cause. We also found a pile of strangely shaped stone lumps, careful examination showed it to be a shattered statue of a dwarf. Well not exactly a statue, it had in fact been a real Dwarf who had been turned to stone and broken into pieces, it makes the skin crawl to think of what foul and evil creature could do such a thing...

After wandering the mines, for who knows how long, we came upon another chamber. This one was carefully shaped. In the middle of the room was a rune inscribed circle of warding. Within the circle was the most beautiful creature I have seen in my life. A lithe and sweet maiden, just across the threshold of womanhood. She had flowing hair like a golden cloud, and her skin was pale silk. Her lips were full and red and promising. From her back hung swept dove-like wings of pure white that hid only a little of her naked form. So vulnerable looking, she hung from iron chains that were anchored into the floor and vaulted ceiling of the room. As we moved closer she raised her eyes to us, her eyes were dark and seemed to burn with inner fire, and a sort of hope sprang into them as she saw us near.

The captive angel's voice was music itself, as she begged us, "Please, you must set me free, I have been imprisoned here by the Darkest Queen of the Drow. She has laid spells of helplessness on me and I am trapped."

I began to walk forward to do whatever this beautiful being bid me do, freeing her seemed such a simple task. I felt a flutter of love in my heart for her, and saddening pity for such a radiant creature to be bound so in such gloom. But as I began to step up to examine what spells might have been placed about her, Cromwel held up an arm to bar my way.

I looked at him in surprise. What was he going to do, lecture me about chastity or order her clothed before I perform my spell work? He looked at her with stern concentration. I pushed down his arm to get passed, and he pushed me back, stepping in front of me, he drew his sword and said simply, "She is evil."

I almost laughed, surely a creature of this beauty... but as I looked on her again, I could see a change come over her. The golden hair turned sable black. The dove-like wings crooked and kinked at the joints, their surface smoothing to black leather. From between her blood-red lips slid a delicate pair of needle like fangs. Her eyes... her eyes did not change, still sad and dark and glittering with inner fire.

Almost as terrible as her change was my reaction to it.

She did change. She was evil. She was so evil that her cold aura could be felt even beyond the circle of protection that bound her helplessly within the chains of cold iron. But her beauty did not change, if anything she was even more beautiful, with a sinister elegance added to the delicate form she feigned before. The love I had felt swelling in my heart did not vanish, but was replaced by something else. But it was not fear, or hate or revulsion, but a driving desire. A harsh and animal urging to take this other-world beauty and couple with her. A drive to take unspeakable pleasures from the touch of that silk soft skin, to coax passionate kisses from those ruby lips, to stare for hours into the deep and tempting fire of her eyes. I could not tell if the others were held in such sway by this sweet creature of darkness, but I for one was helpless.

Again she spoke, "I will strike a bargain with you...if you set me free from this circle and allow me freedom, I will hunt down and kill the Drow Queen for you. "

Cromwel turned to us, "Back!"

He shoved my chest with the flat of his blade. I felt someone grab me from behind and tug me along by my robe. Cromwell's voice urged us on, "Run, run quickly, she is cursing us."

I could hear her voice echoing behind us, shouting, "One day I will be free. I will be free from these chains and I will find you!"

Several hours passed. We found a cavern the center of which had been collapsed. The dwarves told us it had been a dwarven trap, meant to crush anyone passing through the room, but leaving the exits open. We picked our way carefully through the rubble and along the hall. After searching the mines beyond, we happened into a huge fungus filled cave. There amidst the large trunked mushrooms, some as large as apple trees, was a slug the size of an ox. The thing turned toward the glare of our lanterns and began to ooze forward, hissing and spitting a vile looking spittle. After a few switch backs, it seemed to give up the chase.

After more hours of searching we found a wide ramp that sloped up. This was the entrance, Glumz told us, to the dwarven settlement. We made camp again. After eating, salted trout with sweet potatoes, I stood guard duty with Glumz as the others slept.

"You like her, ya?" He asked. I immediately knew it was him that dragged me along from behind, away from the chained winged woman. "Beg teats, huh! But she kill us iv she get out. She said she hunt us down."

"She was beautiful," was all I could say. I was a bit ashamed that he had noted the sway she held over me when we had stood before her. He smiled as if he knew my thought.

"Is fine, you young," he said. "You get old and mean like Glumz-Kuldum, you not vorry about pretty vimmen."

"Do you think the others noticed that I..." Embarrassment prevented further confession.

"Ha! No deh vere all running! Ha, Ha." Glumz made me smile despite myself. "I knew you skinny young magic users need looking out for."

"So she didn't... I mean, you don't,"

"Glumz a Dwarv, such charm is no good to us... Besides I vant voman vit meat on her bones... and short!" He showed a crooked grin and raised an eyebrow. Then he returned to his usual quiet reflections, sharpening the stone axe he had taken from his fallen foe.

Date Unknown:

The next day we continued wandering among the twisting tunnels and dark caverns. I soon began to notice subtleties in the rock walls, the texture of the floor, and the slope of the ceiling. Morg marked intersections with a hunk of chalk he carried in his slingbag, and as we found ourselves returning to the same intersections I began to understand the layout and was able to begin mapping at least in a crude way the areas we had been in, and those we had not.

We found a sloping passage that had gone unnoticed, and followed it. Suddenly a canopy of webbing fell from above! We scattered to avoid it, Swift leaping one way and I the other. Korvar however, was burdened by his heavy mail and unable to scamper aside, and he was enveloped in the billowing gossomer mass. Dark hairy spiders, larger than a man's fist, began dropping from overhead as Heywood the elf, did his best to incinerate the War Priest by setting fire to the webs.

One of the nasty little things managed to avoid our hurried defence and land on the evoker Swift, sinking in its fangs and flooding the poor wretch with lethal venom. Swift began to lurch and stagger as the poison started running cold in his blood. The paladin and Morg hacked right and left, 'till they had put the last of the eight legged pests to death. The War Priest (now free of the webs, and only a little worse for the scorching) produced from his pouch a salve which he used to draw the worst of the poison from Swift's body.

Swift, despite his wound, agreed to check the lair of the spiders. He managed to climb on Morg's shoulders and balance enough to look in the jagged hole above the passage. Inside he found hundreds of tiny baby spiders and huge clusters of egg sacks which he quickly immolated with the use of a torch and lamp oil.

We found in the passage a statue, that we saw to our displesure was in fact a real dwarf that had been turned to stone, his arms upraised as if to ward off some unseen evil.

As we journeyed further down the same passageway we found more and more spider webbing. A small cave rat got our attention as it struggled to free itself from a mass of webbing, Cromwell (no doubt feeling the kind of kinship shared by warm blooded creatures, sickend by these aracnid terrors) cut it free. The tiny rodent scurried away ahead of us into the darkness. A few moments later we heard a loud squeek, as if Cromwell's new found friend met with a foul end. We decided at this point to burn the webs, as they had grown so thick we could hardly make our way down the passageway without touching them. We did so only to find there were still more and thicker webs farther down. As the others began debating whether to press forward or turn back, something big started moving towards us through the webs, and moving fast!.

Out of the dark webstrewn tunnel ahead came the biggest spider I've ever encountered (and in light of the recent activities, let me assure you that means BIG!). The thing had legs as thick as tree trunks and touched both sides of the wide passage as it lumbered forward. Its fangs were like scimitars, and the two biggest of its eight starring eyes were as big as round-shields.

The warriors readied their weapons as the spider-thing came lumbering forward. Heywood began weaving an illusion to confuse and delay the creature as it struck. The fighters attacked the huge horror with fury, all of them landing blows, but the damage seemed slight to the creature that stood above the three of them, rearing and readying to strike. I quickly conjured a fearsome vissage to spook the creature and advanced. The creature, seeing the spectral phantasm stalking it hesitated...then turned to flee. The warriors, not ones to miss an opportunity, gave chase and hacked the thing down before it could get a dozen paces.

I collected carefully a few drops of poison from the thing's lethal looking fangs, and some webbing from its spinneretts(exhibit AR 1&2). Swift took one of the creature's great staring black eyes. We moved ahead a short distance only to find the passage dead-ended in the creature's lair. Dried and shriveled husks of various creatures hung about the place. The floor was scattered with the accoutraments of its victims. A scroll of priestly magic, some silver coins and a number of crossbow bolts werefound. After giving the place a thorough searching, we set fire to the remains and returned back the way we had come.

The last unchecked passage lay ahead and we followed it for some time we came to a heavy iron door of dwarven make. The elf examined the door for traps, and finding none began to work at the lock. As he picked and fiddled with the keyhole he turned his head and stopped...

"Whispering from the other side," he said.

Cromwell concentrated on the door but could sense no evil, possibly due to the material of the door. I stepped forward and in a loud voice, speaking the Dwarven tongue, I demanded, "Friend or foe?"

A moment later, I repeated the challenge in an Elven dialect. Still no answer, and still no result from Heywood's furious tinkering with the lock. I gave Swift a wry grin and advised him, "Get your lightning bolts ready."

Cromwell sounded a magical horn that created a cloud of fog to obscure the passageway. Swift used a mighty fist of stone spell to give the door a mighty blow that struck it off it's hinges.

Beyond the door was a wide chamber. The floor was spotted with 5' wide pits, and a stone table stood opposite the door. Caught off-guard by the door's quick collapse were six of the foul dark-elves!

Heywood quickly called a dancing lights forth to light the room clearly. The War Priest Korvar began to entreat his god to grant Morg battle fury. Cromwell and the dwarves advanced to engage the evil elves as Swift and I threw spells to no effect against these magic resistant foes.

Seconds later Morg charged forward howling and hacking furiously with his longsword! The elf began amusing himself with his spells as Swift and I lurched forward into the melee. I joined the paladin against his agile and well armored foe. He swept at the drow left and right but could not land a blow. I edged to the dark-elf's right and advised Cromwel to skirt to his left, so I could get around the drow's buckler.

Cromwell let me know in not-uncertain terms what he thought of that plan, "Thats not honorable you cowardly little bastard! When we get home I'm going to tell your father and he'll take a switch to your lilly-white ass!"

The drow seemed to take a great deal of amusement in this, and used the lull in swordplay to bash me in the face with his small shield. I responded by backing up and letting Cromwell continue his 'duel du honour.'

Morg was a killing machine; every drow he could reach was hacked down with only a blow or two. Korvar aided him in striking down another.

From behind us we could hear Cromwell cursing, still desperatly trying to land a blow. Swift moved forward to cut off the escape and Heywood frolicked over to the table to examine a chess set there. Glumz killed his opponent and went to aid Cromwell just as the paladin finally managed to land a hit with his mace. Morg advanced, frothing, on the sole survivor who is cowering behind the table. When the dark-elf saw Morg approching he cut his own throat with his wavy dagger after dedicating his soul to some one named "Loth."

Morg, enraged by being cheated of out of killing annother foe, smashed the chess set to pieces as Heywood leaped back in confusion. We gathered up what weapons and provisions we could and began traveling along the wide roadway that led out of the chamber.

After a short travel we came to a long wide ramp that led upward. Glumz sat down and looked upward as he dug in his pack for some food. We rested our feet and ate a short meal. Mine was a simple fare of cold mutton, green onions and cornbread.

Glumz spoke to me as I ate. "Ve now at the settlement, bellow the great caverns. Somever up der is the Anvil of Crafting, made by the Dwarven Lords of olt. Very great artifact of the dwarves. Kheldin has shamed himself by coming to this place vith the vons who took it from the Forge-Keep, and broght it here. They thought to use to build a new settlement, but instead it vas captured...ve are honor bound to recover dis anvil, that is vhy I have come to dis place."

As Glumz talked about the anvil, I began to wonder what secret horrors awaited. Horrors that could drive off or destroy a whole host of dwarven warriors, and that now guarded the thing we sought.

The next day meant climbing the long, wide ramp toward what we thought was the dwarven settlement. The same settlement Glumz told us, had been the last known home of the Anvil of Smithing, a great artifact of the Dwarves. Glumz said that he and Kheldin were honor bound to return the Anvil if it could be found.

Date Unknown:

Ahead of us lay darkness, behind us lay darkness. Despite the countless days spent below the earth, I have still not lost the unsettling sense of dread. The feeling that something is out there just beyond the range of our lanterns. Lurking. Watching us with hungry eyes.

The road before us led up, as if we were climbing a gentle hill, for Swift, Heywood and I it was a task of little difficulty but we could hear the warriors and priests struggling under the weight of their armor. We were within sight of the mouth of the tunnel, where it opened into a vast cavern when suddenly we were beset by drow! Half a dozen of the evil elves rushed forward to take us by surprise. At first I was startled by the speed and ferocity of their attack, but in less then a minute they were all dead. They had very little in terms of treasure, and their weapons we added to our own or destroyed.

The cavern ahead was vast, as big as the Vale of Thunder back on Onlor, far more impressive than the other caverns we had seen in our earlier travels (in which we were able to see only the tiny area lit by our feeble lanterns) .This vast vault was illuminated by a dull purple radiance that seemed to emanate from the walls itself, and so the mile wide cave was visible in it's entirety. Glumz informed us that there were other caverns as well, three more in fact, and they were arranged in the shape of a four leaf clover, and we had entered from the south-west. The south-east cavern held the temple of Weshta Grum, and (we hoped) the dwarven anvil. It was in that direction that we marched.

Throughout the cavern ahead we could hear a weird cacophony, the sounds of buzzing insects, skittering rats, dripping water and other low unexplainable sounds. We moved carefully and as quietly as our armored fighters would allow through the cavern's jagged, rocky outcroppings and stalagmites. We passed the crushed remains of many dwarven dwellings, shops, and workhouses. As we made our way around a low tumbled block of mills and smith-shops, our foes leapt upon us! A dozen creatures had lain in wait for our approach, and when they struck, all was confusion.

They had the look of goblins, yet they were nearly a foot taller than big Morg. They shambled as they charged, in a swift bandy-legged gate, it might have even been comical, had it not been for their gleaming eyes and gnashing teeth, and their huge claw-like hands. They were dressed in scraps and bits of armor, chainmail, banded armor, splint mail, all tied together with wire and twine and bits of leather scrap. Their weapons were formidable as well, spears, axes and hammers that they hurled as they charged, and great clubs with spiked iron ends that they swung in close battle.

One of them, who kept to the back of their group, began gesturing, the next instant Glumz and Kheldin were held, standing motionless and unable to even defend themselves! I quickly cast a spell as well, a simple charm, hoping it would affect a creature so removed from humanity. Swift unleashed a hail of magic missiles, which again went awry. What the others did I couldn't see, as one of the great hairy creatures charged up and began swinging his mourningstar at me with hateful enthusiasm.

The shaman of their group began tugging on the arm of the largest of their number, waving frantically as if to call off their attack, which I took as a happy sign that my spell had worked!

I was sure the creature attacking me would pulp my head with the first blow he connected, so I was quite relieved when he fell, Morg's sword protruding from his chest. Without their spell caster, and with their leader distracted, our warriors made short work of the rest. When half a dozen of their kind lay dead, the leader and his guards that remained tried to flee, but my fast use of a sleep enchantment dropped them in their tracks.

As we caught our breaths, I talked to Glumz quietly, " Never have I seen goblins so big, and so fearsome!"

"Hya!" he replied, "dey grow dem beg down here, dose ver Bugbears!"

Cromwel began rooting among the dead creatures then he raised a large bone mace, "At last a weapon I'm skilled with. Since I lost my sword to that rust-beast, I haven't been able to hit a thing!"

Korvar the War Priest dug into his pack, "Oh... you can use a mace? Well I have this magic mace of Meredros that I have been carrying for the past month. I'm not proficient with it, why don't you take it."

Cromwell walked away shaking his head in disgust.

After an hour of travel from the fight, we had crossed about half the first cavern, when we felt a strange disturbance. A wave of wind washed over the party from the south, it was chilling cold and had a strange unworldly feel. Cromwell turned to face south, "There is a great evil this way, it has to be destroyed... I'm going this way."

He began to march south, and we followed.

After another hour of walking, we approached the southern wall. It towered over us for nearly a quarter mile before arching to form the ceiling above. Ahead we could see a strange archway that led directly into the face of the wall. It was ancient and cracked, and appeared to have once served as a temple to some long forgotten god. We saw signs of an ancient battle, bits of bone and scorch-marks about the entryway.

Deeper into the temple area there was a wide court with a fountain. The fountain consisted of a waist high wall, in an eight sided circle, twenty five feet across. In the middle of the dark water was a statue of some dwarven hero of old riding a war-pony and hacking down goblins. As we drew nearer, we saw a strange disturbance in the water...something large moved just beneath the surface and a weird watery tentacle lashed out, trying to snare Kheldin in its hold. Kheldin moved quickly enough to avoid the thing. Needless to say we gave the sickened water a wide berth.

As we walked around the pool to examine the passage ahead, we noticed something strange in the way our lanterns flickered and jumped. Too late we realized it was not the lamps that were amiss but the shadows of the room that moved with an angry life of their own!!!

Glumz shouted a warning that there were more behind us. I readied the magic daggers I had taken from the drow and began to slash at the shadows about me and each shadow I hit fell apart in screaming tatters of dark.

Korvar began a prayer and cast a spell to aid Morg. Swift cast a magic missile at the horrid things as Morg attacked one group, and Cromwell the other. Cromwell drew forth his holy symbol and held it aloft, and the sign of the scales began to glow with the power of Meredros and half the things began to flee, slithering back into the dark corners they had come from, but always lurking just out of sight, as if stalking us.

Heywood found himself backed into a corner by two of the foul beings, and seeing that I shouted, "I'll help Heywood."

Swift, who stood closer said, "No, I'll help Heywood."

At hearing that, Heywood said in a frantic plea, "Everybody help Heywood!"

Morg gasped as a fury of dark activity seemed to surround him, and he grunted desperately as their cold touch began to drain strength away from his very limbs! The War Priest and Glumz helped him kill the things that attacked him, then we made haste to follow the others that Cromwell had turned.

We followed the things down the hall until we lost sight of them. We could see a larger temple area beyond, dark and foreboding. It lay mostly in ruins, and bones were strewn about. We found a side passage that led past the gate, and into the wide hall beyond. The rooms to either side of the hall were filled with the fallen dead of ages past. Dwarves with gaunt shriveled skin and sunken eyes, drow mangled and withered, and other creatures scorched and broken in unrecognizable ways, shared a grim fellowship of the dead in this dark hall.

The hall dead-ended in a wide domed chamber, and on a dais in the center of the opposite curved wall was the source of the dreadful presence we had felt. A drow priestess knelt, unmoving, on the altar-stone. Between her upraised hands a round sphere of radiant darkness, three feet across, hovered menacingly. Behind her stood a line of six more shadows, and beside her stood a sight that set my brain wriggling.

The spectral shadowy form of the beast beside the sphere could not be seen for what it was, but rather what it was not. Our lanterns reflected dimly off the wall behind it, but it seemed to devour the light that touched its skin, if indeed it had skin. We saw in negative, that had the shape of a man, but it seemed to flicker and stretch in the torch light. It had the look of those foul lurking fiends that had drained Morg of his strength, yet it was much larger, and from its back stretched a pair of vast bat-like wings that reached up into the darkness above us. The only solid features it possessed were its eyes, that glowered like smoldering coals, slanted with wicked intent, and a thin wand of silvered metal, that it held in its smoke like claw. Its other claw made a sort of beckoning motion, and as I looked behind us, I saw that we were surrounded by more shadows, those we had driven off before.

Glumz, Heywood and Kheldin turned to face the shadows that closed from behind us, while Cromwell leapt into action toward the ominous fiend, Morg and Swift at his side. I stepped to one side to allow me to hurl daggers against the drow priestess, should she begin a spell, and that step no doubt saved my life.

There was a blinding blue-white flash and a low boom of thunder within the hall were I had stood a second before. As my eyes cleared, I turned back to see Cromwell staggering forward with blue fire coursing across his armor, the holy symbol he had held aloft seconds before was now a melted lump in his hand, and I could smell burned hair, scorched flesh and ozone.

I hurled my daggers at the drowess who was struck twice and stayed kneeling and unmoving. Then I drew my dark knives and charged the demon before Cromwell.

Kheldin broke off from the shadows he was fighting and started digging in his pack. The Shadow Lord then turned to face Morg and Swift, and again lowered the silver wand. A tremendous crash and a second bolt of lightning sparked though Swift and Morg. Swift fell in a heap as the bolt blasted him aside. Morg for an instant was incandescent as the bolt struck him squarely in the chest and tore through him. Heat poured off him as the power of the bolt melted his armor, weapons, and skin. I stood gaping in amazement as he fell to one knee, then rose again to his feet, blinded and in agony, but still alive and moving!

As Cromwell and I began fencing with this demon, Kheldin used a scroll to dispel the magic on the shadow-thing's wand, making it useless for the next few desperate seconds. Cromwell struck at the dark sphere, but as he did so it lashed out at him inflicting terrible pain. The dwarves made short work of the remaining shadows and the demon, without it's toy, it was remarkably easy to kill. Cromwell had softened it up for my killing stroke. The drowess, it turned out, was killed long ago with a crossbow bolt through the eye, her body knelt in mummified supplication.

As the fighting stopped, we rushed to aid our fallen friends. Morg and Swift were both alive, but barely. Swift had been badly injured but most of his equipment was intact. Morg had not only sustained near-mortal damage, but had lost his longsword, his armor, his clothing, his war hammer, his holy symbol of Aghorit, a potion of treasure finding, his backpack, food and wineskin, a periapt of wound closure and an amulet that had been enchanted to ward divinations.

Only Morg's holy symbol of St. Owen and St. Andrea, his boots and his decanter of endless water had survived.

We destroyed the sphere when Korvar hurled a flask of holy water at it. It sent a bolt of dark energy at him, injuring him, but then fell in upon itself. The drowess crumbled to dust as it happened. We retrieved the wand of lightning, and a large tome that had laid open before the drow conjurer. We also found when searching the rest of the temple a wealth of coins, over a hundred silver, gold and platinum, minted in some old dwarven foundry. Also we found a pouch of magic dust and a crushed scroll tube that we managed to open, containing a few priest spells.

We rested only long enough to catch our breath then pressed on.

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