HTMLy

Dorn has opened the secret sliding panel door. It opened in complete silence. Rather than a poisoned needle or a puff of toxic gas, Dorn encounters the smell of oil and he can now hear the rhythmic, swooshing sound that Cabe had described a few moments earlier.

"On me. Aele, stay between the two of us on the descent if you can. Be ready to trigger your rituals." He glances at Cabe. "You picking up anything else?"

Cabe makes a face. "I thought maybe I detected a heartbeat, but I can't tell. The noise is interferring."

Dorn goes down first, his heavy boots clanging rhythmically against the iron rungs, his shield slung over his back to keep his hands free. Aele follows, carefully managing the new weight of the brass cogwheel, and Cabe brings up the rear, his eyes scanning the shadows above and below.

As the party reaches the floor, the temperature drops and the humidity spikes. A greenish light comes from thick, bioluminescent moss clinging to the damp masonry. Huge bronze pistons—the size of siege towers—groan as they slide in and out of stone housings, driving the water of Arden Vul upward.

Cabe takes two steps and freezes. Amidst the mechanical thump-hiss of the pumps, he detects two heartbeats. They are slow, deep, and rhythmic—much larger than the rats but not as massive as the baboon. They are located behind the primary piston assembly to the south. The air is thick with the smell of wet scales and old swamp water.

His magical blade Swift pulses with a steady light, reflecting off the slick, wet floor. Dorn spots a cluster of large, webbed footprints in the silt. He turns to his fellow delvers and sees the anxiety written on Cabe's face, if not on Aele's. "We aren't alone down here."

Cabe nods tensely. "You're right. I've got the heartbeat of something big that likes the damp. And when I say 'big', I mean big in comparison to a certain apple-eating baboon."

Is it possible that Dorn turns paler? Impossible to tell in the green-hued light. "Are you up for stealthily scounting ahead?" he asks Cabe. "It'd be good if we knew what is behind the pump, and whether it's sleeping."

The blood-binder nods. "I'll scream if I'm about to be killed." He stalks noiselessly through the silt. Even were he plodding along, it's likely nothing would hear his approach, given the noise of the pump.

Cabe dissolves into the shadows with an ease that borders on the supernatural, his movements perfectly timed to the rhythmic thump-hiss of the massive pistons. The silt on the floor, wet and heavy, swallows the sound of his boots.

As he stalks closer to the southern assembly, the smell of wet scales and stagnant marsh becomes overpowering. He rounds the edge of a brass housing and freezes.

Behind the primary piston, nestled in a hollow of damp stone and glowing moss, are two crocodilian humanoids — Lizardmen.

They are massive—nearly seven feet long from snout to tail-tip—with mottled, olive-green scales and thick, corded muscle. They aren't sleeping; they are hunched over a large stone basin, their movements sluggish and ritualistic. One is sharpening a crude serrated spear made of scavenged bone, while the other appears to be feeding small, wriggling pale fish into a drainage pipe.

Cabe’s Observations:

Equipment: They wear loincloths of cured hide and carry heavy shields made from the shells of giant tortoises.

Status: They seem "at home" here, treating the pumping station as a larder or a sanctuary.

The Heartbeats: Their pulses are slow and steady, typical of cold-blooded predators in a resting state.

The Environment: The floor around them is treacherous—slick with algae and littered with the bones of whatever they've been eating.

Cabe retreats as silently as he arrived, merging back into the green-tinted gloom where Dorn and Aele wait near the ladder. He leans in close, his voice a mere vibration beneath the roar of the machinery.

"Two of them," Cabe whispers. "Lizardmen. Big ones. They've got bone spears and tortoise-shell shields. They’re alert, but they haven't caught our scent over the swamp-stink of this place yet. They’re guarding—or living near—a basin to the south."

Dorn grips the hilt of Swift, the magical blade pulsing in his hand. "Lizardmen in the machinery. They won't be as reasonable as a priest’s baboon. If we want to move past them, we either have to clear them out or find a way to distract them into the water."

Dorn whispers just loudly enough to be heard, testing the edge of his blade with a thumb. "Still got the hum of the magic in the steel. If we're going to move on these lizard-folk, we should do it while the blade is still warm. What's the call? Do we use Aele's new tuning fork to lead them on a ghost hunt, or do we take the bridge?"

"Let's ambush them," Aele advises. "We'll have the element of surprise. For all we know the tuning fork wouldn't be heard over the pump, and what if it triggered the pump to flood the area with water?"

Dorn looks to Cabe, who says, "I agree."

The decision is made with a grim efficiency. The roar of the pistons provides the perfect auditory cover as the trio prepares to strike.

Dorn leads the way, keeping his shield close to his body to prevent any accidental metal-on-metal clangs.

Cabe circles wide to the left, his eyes fixed on the lizardman sharpening the bone spear. He can feel his Red Frenzy boiling just beneath the surface, his blood singing in anticipation of the strike.

Aele stays ten feet back, mace in one hand and his holy symbol in the other, ready to drop a Radiant Surge if things turn sour.

Because the Lizardmen are distracted and the pump noise is deafening, the party gains Surprise. They get one free round of actions before initiative is rolled.

---

Surprise Round

1. Dorn’s Attack:
   
   Dorn lunges from behind a brass housing, Swift glowing with an aggressive white light.
   Attack: 1d20 + 7 = 26(Critical Hit!)
   Damage: 1d8 + 7 (doubled for crit) = 22 Damage.
   Result: Dorn’s blade catches the lizardman feeding the fish squarely across the back, cleaving through scales and bone. The creature collapses into the drainage pipe without a sound. (1 Lizardman remains)
   
   2. Cabe’s Attack:
   
   Cabe triggers Red Frenzy as he leaps.
   Self-Damage: 1d4 = 1 (Cabe is now at 29/31 HP + 2 Temp).
   Attack: 1d20 + 3 + 2 = 18 (Hit!)
   Damage: 1d4 + 3 + 2 = 7 Damage.
   Result: Cabe’s athame sinks deep into the shoulder of the second lizardman just as it begins to turn.
   
   3. Aele’s Action:Aele moves into position, preparing to support his allies.

Aele sees the surviving creature fumbling for a signal horn and knows there is no room for error. He raises his holy symbol, and a searing bolt of white-gold light streaks across the damp chamber.

Aele's Action: Radiant Surge
Damage: 1d6 + 3 (Aele is level 3) = (Rolled a 6) + 3 = 9 Radiant Damage.
Result: The light strikes the lizardman in the chest just as its lips touch the horn. The creature is blasted backward, the horn clattering uselessly into the silt. It doesn't get a sound out.

Combat Over

The pumping station returns to its steady, mechanical thump-hiss. The two lizardmen lie still—one cleaved by Dorn, the other scorched by Aele and punctured by Cabe.

---

Post-Combat Recovery:

Cabe's Regeneration: He recovers 1 HP at the start of the next minute of calm, returning to his maximum of 31.

Cabe's Temporary HP: He still has 1 Temp HP remaining.

Dorn's Status:

He remains at 35/34 (+1 Temp).

Current Party Status

Hero	Hp	AAC	Resources
Dorn	35/34	21	1 temp HP, 3/3 Fortune Points
Cabe	32/31	17	1 temp HP, 3/3 Fortune Points
Aele	27/27	15	1/3 Surges, 3/3 Fortune Points

The lizardmen were guarding a large stone basin filled with clear, oxygenated water. The pool contains dozens of the pale, wriggling fish they were feeding. Beside the basin is a tattered leather bundle. Dorn checks it for traps.

Beyond the basin, the room ends at a heavy iron door with a wheel-lock, leading south. There is also a dark drainage pipe large enough to crawl into that leads east.

Dorn checks the leather bundle for hidden triggers or nested pockets within the hide, then empties its contents.

Inside the bundle, the party finds:

• A set of high-quality Thieves' Tools: Made of dark, tempered steel.
• A small ivory statuette: Carved in the likeness of a many-limbed aquatic deity (Value: ~25 gp).
• A dried bladder: Containing a thick, pungent grease (likely used to lubricate the bone-spears or the wheel-lock door).

Dorn looks up, his fingers deftly testing the tension of the lock-picks. "This changes things. If that south door is locked from the other side, I might not need a key or a battering ram anymore. I'm going to investigate this pool. Cabe, will you check the corpses and see if either lizardman was carrying any other items?"

Dorn steps to the edge of the stone basin, the white-gold light of Swift refracting through the clear, churning water. He grips the hilt firmly and plunges the blade downward.

The basin is deeper than it initially appeared. Dorn’s arm goes in up to the elbow before the tip of the magical longsword scrapes against the bottom. The water is approximately three and a half feet deep. It’s not just stone down there. Dorn feels the blade clinking against something loose and metallic. As he sweeps the glowing sword back and forth, he pushes aside the pale, panicked fish.

At the very bottom, half-buried in a layer of fine silt, lies a large, rusted iron ring attached to a heavy stone slab. It’s a submerged trapdoor or a drain plug. He lies down and extends his left arm as deep as he can. He can feel suction where the trapdoor's edges are.

"There's a submerged trapdoor in the pool with a pull ring. I think water is leaving the pool through the trap door. Good to know. Cabe, anything on the bodies of the lizardmen?"

While Dorn is busy fishing with his magical blade, Cabe rolls the heavy, scaled bodies over with his boot to see if they carried anything more than just basic survival gear.

Aside from the bone spears and the tortoise-shell shields (which are cumbersome but sturdy), Cabe finds a few items of interest tucked into their hide loincloths and a small pouch:

• A Polished Malachite Stone: Roughly the size of a walnut. It has been smoothed by water and constant handling (Value: 15 gp).

• A "Stink-Bomb" Gland: A preserved organ from some swamp creature, stitched shut with sinew. Cabe's Blood Scent tells him that if this were punctured or thrown, it would release a cloud of incredibly foul, distracting musk.

• A Copper Key: It’s shaped like a stylized fish and is remarkably free of rust, despite the damp environment.

Cabe shares his findings with Aele and Dorn.

Cabe holds up the Copper Fish Key, letting it catch the green bioluminescence of the room. "Dorn, before you pull a muscle or get your armor rusted in that basin, you might want to see if this fits the slab... or that door over there."

Dorn looks from the submerged iron ring to the heavy wheel-lock door to the South. Wiping the water from his arm, he examines the copper fish-motif key. He looks at the heavy iron door to the South, noting the fish-shaped indentation in the center of the wheel.

"The lock on the door matches the key perfectly," he says, stepping toward the southern exit. "If we're heading deeper, this is likely our path. Though that submerged slab in the basin still has me curious—it's a classic escape route or a way into the cisterns."

Cabe stands between the door and the basin, his hand on his side where the Stink-Bomb Gland is stowed. "The heartbeats are gone for now, but the water in that pipe to the East is still flowing. We should decide if we want the 'front door' or the 'secret way' before something else smells those lizardmen. I want to show you both something before we move on." He leads them back to where they entered the Pump Station then squats and beckons Aele to bring his lantern closer.

"Remember this track?" Cabe asks. "Look how deep it is. And whatever made it was heavy enough to compress the silt in the bottom of the track."

Dorn whips out a knife and probes. "You're right. There is probably a sizable predator nearby."

"All the more reason for us to move on," Aele suggests with an upbeat tone.

Cabe leans over, his Blood Scent flaring. He ignores the metallic tang of the lizardman blood and focuses on the older, colder scent lingering in the deep print. "It smells like... old copper and stagnant pond muck, but stronger. Much stronger. Whatever this is, it didn't come here to feed the fish. It came here to hunt the things that feed the fish."

Aele looks at the east-flowing pipe—the drainage tunnel. "The tracks lead toward the water, Dorn. If there’s a 'Grandfather' to these lizardmen, or something worse like a Giant Crocodile, it's likely using the cisterns as its territory. The pipes and the trapdoor in the pool may either one or both lead to a cistern where Big Bad Ugly likely is. I say let's try the key in the iron door."

"Agreed," Cabe and Dorn both says at the same time.

The eastern corridor ends here at the rusted grate. The grate is pretty massive, and badly rusted. "Looks like this is the end of the line for this corridor," Dorn says.

Aele examines the silver scroll tube. "These engravings are old Archontean pictograms. The scroll tube is easily worth twenty-five or thirty imperials, but would fetch four times that if we can find a collector. I'd estimate its age at three centuries."

"What's inside?" Cabe asks.

Inside the ornate silver tube, Aele finds a single sheet of translucent, high-quality vellum. He unrolls it and studies it by lantern light. "It isn't a spell or a deed—it’s a detailed architectural blueprint of the Gosterwick Town Council Hall. Dorn, bring Swift close to the back side of the map, would you?"

When Dorn complies, faint "ghost lines" appear in shimmering ink. These lines reveal a hidden sub-basement and a tunnel system that connects the Council Hall directly to the cellar of the party's own townhouse in the burgeoning town of Gosterwick.

Aele notes that in the bottom-right corner, a name — well, actually more of a designation — is etched in elegant calligraphy: 'For the eyes of the Master of Keys only.' "This map couldn't be more than twenty years old, twenty-five at the outside. But the chest itself, and this scroll tube, are much older."

Dorn moves to study the map over Aele's shoulder. "So someone added the map to the scroll tube only a few years ago. Probably an adventurer stashed it here for safe-keeping, then got themselves killed in the dungeon, or forgot about it and never returned. Look," he says, pointing with his index finger, "this route bypasses the main guard stations. If we ever need to reach the town’s inner sanctum secretly, this is our secret route."

Cabe touches the map, thinking. "We can't assume that nobody else knows about this, but you're right: it's probably not common knowledge. There is a residue here, cold and coppery. This map was once kept in a room where someone’s heart stopped suddenly."

Dorn eyes the blood-binder. "Your powers are that precise?"

Cabe shrugs, "Educated guess, but yeah that's what my pact powers reveal."

While Aele and Cabe continue to study the map, Dorn goes back to the chest. Several bundles of heavy, embroidered silk are used as padding for the coins; the silk itself is of high quality. "I'd say we could get forty imperials for this silk from Creon, or maybe from another merchant on the Street of Silks."

Dorn digs further in the chest, then holds up a heavy brass key ring with three keys on it. "What do you want to bet one of these fits a secret door in our townhouse cellar?" Aele surrenders the vellum map to Cabe and joins Dorn in studying the keys. The second key has a small sunburst engraving.

Aele points to the second key. "This sunburst suggests the key may open a room or chest somewhere in one of the ancient administration buildings of Arden Vul. "

Dorn singles out the third key, which is much smaller and more delicate. "This one may go to a diary."

Aele concurs, "Yes, or to a jewelry box or other curio."

The wizard-priest digs further in the chest and produces a small, leather-bound book. Aele’s Intelligence (12) allows him to quickly scan the first few pages. It isn't a diary, but a private record of "donations" and "expenditures" related to the early construction of Gosterwick. There are mentions of "Theron" (likely Theron Glesteon, the administrator of the House of Coins). "This journal records payments made for 'tunnel reinforcement' beneath Gosterwick. How much do you want to bet that said tunnels do not appear on official town records?" He shakes his head, bemused. "We need to be very secretive with this, and with the map." These are secrets that someone doesn't want revealed."

Next, Aele scrounges around in the chest and produces a gold ring set with a dark carnelian stone, carved with the image of a scales and a sword. "Hmm, probably several centuries old." He hands the ring to Dorn.

Dorn turns it over, studying it by the light of his sword. "We could probably get fifty imperials minimum."

Aele nods agreement, "Yes. And likely twice that from a collector."

Dorn says to the wizard-priest, "What troubles you. You look like someone just forced you to eat something unpleasant."

Aele arches his eyebrows. "I think it's likely that a previous owner, or maybe the architect, or our Gosterwick townhouse is the person who placed the map and this journal here for safekeeping."

"Not good," Dorn decides. "That would mean there may be someone who could enter our townhouse without our knowledge."

Cabe has rolled up the vellum map and returned it to the scroll tube, which he hands to Aele for safekeeping.

"Gentleman, what's your pleasure?" Cabe asks, looking at the heavy grate to the east versus the passage west back to the intersection.

"I'm not sure we could break or move that grate," Dorn says. "There's a bit of clearance at the bottom. You could fit, Cabe, but I doubt Aele and I could while wearing our armor. I suggest we go back to where the halls meet."

Presently, the party return to the intersection. Dorn wipes a speck of rat gore from his greaves. "The doors to the north look like they lead to the 'big chairs.' The blue light to the west... well, that feels like more of those brass clockwork things. Or something stranger."

Cabe closes his eyes, focusing his Heart Thrum once more. "I'm picking up muffled, steady thumping from beyond the doors. It isn't a heartbeat—it’s too mechanical—but it’s heavier than the spindly whatever you called it that we passed earlier."

"An automaton," Aele says.

Cabe reports, "To the west we've got blue light and I'm getting a faint, high-pitched humming vibration that makes my jaw ache."

Aele has been listening at the double doors. He stands up now and nods to acknowledge Cabe. "I'm picking up magical energy from the west, yes. Most likely a workshop or some apparatus of the past age. The heavier thumping beyond the double doors to the north is steady and unchanging, probably not an immediate threat. I say we go west. We shouldn't tarry. The automaton we inactivated may wake up and realize there are intruders here."

Dorn and Cabe acquiesce and the trio moves that direction, drawn by the high-pitched hum and the flickering cerulean glow. The air grows noticeably drier, and the scent of ozone—the same smell Cabe noted on the lens earlier—becomes thick enough to taste.

The hallway opens into a circular chamber about thirty feet in diameter. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling brass conduits and glass tubes that pulse with that strange, blue light.

In the center of the room stands a luminous font: a waist-high stone basin filled not with water, but with a swirling, liquid-like energy that casts dancing shadows across the vaulted ceiling.

Hovering three feet above the font is a spherical brass object. Unlike the spindly automaton bypassed earlier, this is smooth and polished, with four retractable mechanical arms tipped with different tools. It isn't patrolling; it is slowly rotating, dipping its tools into the energy of the font.

"Why does it keep dipping its tools into the ... magic swirly stuff?" Dorn asks. Aele glances down at his boots, supressing laughter.

"Well, it sure as hell isn't stirring it, that's for sure," Cabe decides.

The high-pitched vibration is coming from a cracked conduit on the far wall. Sparks of blue energy jump from the crack to a nearby pile of discarded metal. Cabe says as much, then adds: "But no heartbeats. I don't scent any blood, just that hot copper smell and a hint of an odor like ... burnt hair, maybe."

Aele nods. "That's caused by the energy discharge. I've seen Athelbyn reproduce it in his lab." When Dorn and Cabe give him blank looks, he explains, "Oh, a friend of mine. He's an apothecary in Newmarket."

Dorn keeps his shield up, squinting against the glare. "That's a lot of power in one room. Aele, is the font dangerous, or is it a prize?"

Aele ponders for a moment. "It may be both," he decides. "This is likely a recharging station for automata. If we can figure out a way to safely interact with the font, it might be useful, possibly a key to other locations on this dungeon level. The cracked conduit on the wall looks unstable."

Party Status:
Hero    HP  AAC Notes
------       ---   ------       -------
Dorn    35/34   21  1 Temp HP.
Cabe    33/31   17  2 Temp HP.
Aele    27/27   15  2/3 Surges.

Dorn says, "I'm going to walk the perimeter, see if I can detect any other exits from this chamber, or perhaps a secret door. Aele, see if you can figure a way to stabilize that cracked ... whatever that is sparking on the far wall."

"It's a conduit," Aele says.

Dorn begins a slow, methodical circuit of the circular room, keeping his back to the wall and his buckler raised. His eyes, trained by years of looking for structural weaknesses, scan the brass-lined masonry for the telltale signs of a hidden seam or a recessed lever.

Meanwhile, Aele approaches the cracked conduit. The blue sparks jump with a sharp snap-crack, casting erratic, jagged shadows. The air here is thick with the smell of scorched air.

Aele realizes that the Luminous Font is the heart of this room's power, and the cracked conduit is a "bleeding" artery. If it isn't stabilized, the build-up of static could eventually discharge in a dangerous arc—or worse, alert the floating drone to their presence.

The wizard-priest moves closer to the sparking conduit, but doesn't approach closer than two arm spans. He begins formulating the idea of using the silver scroll tube to short out the circuit, thus stabilizing the overall mechanism.

As Dorn reaches the far side of the room, near the discarded pile of metal, he notices something interesting. The floor dust is disturbed in a straight line, parallel to the wall.

Dorn succeeds at a Perception check: He taps the stone with the pommel of Swift. Thud. Thud. Hollow. "There's a secret door here, tucked behind a section of brass piping."

The spherical drone continues its slow rotation over the font. It has noticed the party, but because they haven't touched the basin or attacked, its central eye remains a neutral amber. However, as Aele gets closer to the sparking conduit, the drone's tools stop moving. It is "observing" the wizard-priest closely.

Aele asks Dorn and Cabe, "Do you think we could use the silk we found in the chest to insulate this conduit?"

Cabe stands close to the hovering drone, his athame ready in case it takes any hostile action.

Dorn says, "It could work. Also, I have fifty feet of silk rope in my pack. It doesn't catch a spark like wool or dry cotton might." Dorn tosses the coil of silk rope to Aele. With Cabe watching the floating drone with white-knuckled intensity, Aele approaches the brass pipe. He uses the wooden handle of his mace to carefully press the loose end of the silk rope against the cold brass, then begins to wind it in a tight, overlapping spiral. The blue sparks hiss against the fabric, turning the silk a shimmering, translucent violet, but the snap-crack noise dies down.

The humming in the room drops an octave. The high-pitched vibration that was making Cabe’s teeth ache subsides. The spherical drone watches for a moment longer, its amber eye pulsing once, before it returns to dipping its tools into the Luminous Font.

With the room stabilized, the trio gathers by the section of wall Dorn identified.

Dorn: "The secret panel is right here. It’s a 'push-and-slide' mechanism. Where do you think this might take us, Aele?"

Aele shrugs, "I'm not sure, but from my recent reading and research, it may lead into the Logistics Archives."

Cabe leans his ear against the stone panel, activating his Heart Thrum ability. "I hear something. Not heartbeats... it sounds like running water. But it's rhythmic, like a pump."

Aele returns the hank of silk rope to Dorn, minus approximately five feet of it that he used on the conduit. "Before we check out this hidden panel, let me have a look at the pile of metal near the font." Aele sifts through the cold brass and oxidized copper, and finds (per Spark table):

• A solid brass cogwheel about the size of a dinner plate, etched with the numeral "7" in Thothian script. It’s heavy and perfectly balanced.

• A small, cracked crystal housed in a lead casing. It no longer glows, but Aele senses it once held the "instructions" for a mechanical servant.

• A tuning fork made out of some strange material — a dull, grey metal that feels strangely heavy. When Aele accidentally taps it against his mace, it emits a low, resonant tone that causes the blue energy in the Luminous Font to ripple in synchronicity.

Aele bundles these three items into his pack then joins Cabe and Dorn. The big fighter says, "No traps as far as I can tell. But just in case, stand back while I trigger this panel's catch."

In the previous Actual Play, the 13th write-up in the Shadowdim series, our heroes descended in a part of Arden Vul colloquially called The Basement. They encountered a massive grey-and-white furred baboon, one whose head nearly scrapes the ceiling when he stands; one that weighs more than our heroes do collectively.

Dorn stands alert, buckler and his magical longsword Swift posed for readiness, should the massive creature violate the seeming truce that Aele has managed to establish.

"Amazing!" Aele says, still head craned at an odd angle, one eye pressed to the aperture between door and jamb.

"What is it!?" Cabe queries.

"I see a long, narrow stone hallway, lined with copper pipes and valves." The light from Aele's lantern reflects off a moving object roughly twenty feet down the hall.

The wizard-priest sees a Clockwork Custodian—a spindly, three-legged brass construct about five feet tall. Instead of a head, it has a rotating glass lens that emits a faint, flickering blue light. One of its arms is a specialized pincer, currently holding a heavy iron wrench.

Aele relates to his companions what he is seeing. "Does it look dangerous?" Dorn asks, impatiently? "Perhaps less dangerous than your sacred friend here?"

The machine is moving in a fixed, ten-foot loop. It stops at a specific valve. It makes three distinct clink-clink-clink sounds as it tightens a bolt that has likely been tight for centuries. It turns with a heavy, grinding slide of its brass feet and walks five paces back to its starting point.

Aele relates this, then: "Now it's repeating the same pattern, again. That's four times in a row."

"What else? Every detail may matter," Cabe encourages.

"Hmm?" Aele asks. "Oh! Well ... it's hard to tell in the dim light, but it looks like the floor is littered with copper shavings and small bits of debris."

"Bits of what?" Dorn asks.

Cabe supplies, "Detritus along the passageway," and then notes the elevated rate of Dorn's heartbeat as the big fighter restrains an urge to decapitate the blood-binder. "Trash, junk in the hallway beyond. Garbage."

"Perhaps I could take a look?" Cabe asks. They switch places and Cabe studies what is beyond the crack of the door carefully. After a few seconds he says, "It looks as if the hallway seems to open into a larger chamber, beyond the ... construct."

"Yes, that would be the Administrative Loop. I learned about it while researching the ancient ruins during our last Downtime in Gosterwick, Why, did you know that—"

"—Recommended actions?" Dorn interjects, and though he carefully modulates his tone out of consideration for the great ape, his impatience makes itself known.

"Do you know any command words that might disable it?" the blood-binder asks the Thothian.

"Good thinking!" Aele says. "Try the word 'Aval'..."

Cabe does so; after a few seconds: "No, that didn't work."

"Try 'Tacere' then," Aele suggests.

Cabe slips into the hallway beyond the door with the silent efficiency of a shadow, his hand hovering near his Ritual Athame just in case the brass construct reacts with hostility. The door opens surprisingly silently, thanks to recently oiled hinges. He times his movement perfectly, stepping over a pile of copper shavings as the automaton begins its three-beat clink-clink-clink ritual on the valve.

He stands roughly five feet behind the spindly machine and speaks the word: 'Tacere!'

The effect is instantaneous. The automaton’s pincer arm freezes mid-turn. The constant grinding of internal gears dies down to a faint, high-pitched whine. Its rotating glass lens, which had been flickering with a restless blue light, dims to a soft, pulsing amber.

The machine remains standing on its three legs, but it has apparently entered a "Standby" or "Maintenance Pause" mode. It no longer patrols; it simply waits for the next command or for its internal timer to reset — not that our heroes realize that.

Dorn and Aele move into the hallway behind Cabe. Dorn gives a low whistle of appreciation, eyeing the intricate brass work of the construct. "Are we safe from the guardian?" Cabe asks.

"It was eating the apple. We should move along. It might want more," Dorn answers.

"Nice work, Cabe," Dorn whispers, tapping the hilt of Swift. "Saved us some noise and a lot of dented armor."

Aele, however, is looking past the machine. He takes several steps on down the corridor with his lantern in his off-hand, his mace in the other. When he returns he reports: "About thirty feet ahead, the hallway opens into a four-way junction. Faint light, similar to the blue glow of our mechanical friend here, spills out from the left corridor."

"Cabe, take point, please. Aele stay between the two of us, single file."

The trio reaches the four-way. The smell of stagnant water and wet fur drifts from the right, Cabe's delicate senses inform him. Past the intersection, the north-running hall ends in a pair of double doors, much more ornate than the one they just passed. The doors stand closed. They are carved with the image of a giant ibis holding a scroll.

"I've got three faint hearbeats coming from down that way," Cabe says, pointing along the eastward hallway. "Small, maybe the size of small dogs. Call it, boss."

"Go right. I don't want to leave unidentified creatures at our backs," Dorn decides.

The party pivots toward the east, the smell of wet fur and stagnant water growing more pungent. Dorn takes the lead, the glow of Swift dancing off the damp, stone-blocked walls. The floor begins to slope slightly downward, and a thin film of dark, greasy water covers the flagstones.

About fifteen feet down the eastern hall, Cabe’s Heart Thrum begins to pulse with urgency. The three rapid heartbeats he detected are no longer stationary. They are moving—fast. He raises his left hand. "Heads up," Cabe whispers, right hand tightening on his ritual athame. "They're coming from the shadows ahead. Low and quick."

Dorn jerks his shield up just as three shapes launch themselves from the darkness where the wall has partially collapsed into a sewer pipe.

These aren't your average wharf rats; they are the size of badgers, with mangy, gray-white fur and eyes that reflect the lantern light with an unnatural red glint. They are starving and desperate.

Initiative Check:
Dorn: 1d20 + 1 (Fleet) = 16
Cabe: 1d20 = 12
Aele: 1d20 = 9
Rats: 1d20 = 11

Dorn steps forward into the greasy water, positioning himself as the vanguard. He swings Swift in a wide, horizontal arc to clear space.

Attack: 1d20 + 7 = 22 (Hit!)
Damage: 1d8 + 7 = 11
Result: Dorn cleaves the lead rat nearly in half. It lets out a wet squeal and dies instantly.

Cabe lunges past Dorn’s shield, his Beast-kin reflexes kicking in. He targets the second rat.

Action: He triggers Red Frenzy (Suffer 1d4 damage to gain +2 Attack/Damage).
Self-Damage: 1d4 = 2 (Cabe's HP: 29/31).
Attack: 1d20 + 3 + 2 (Frenzy) = 17 (Hit!)
Damage: 1d4 + 3 + 2 (Frenzy) = 8

Cabe’s athame pierces the rat’s skull. It drops motionless into the muck. The final rat, seeing its pack-mates slaughtered, goes into a frenzy. It leaps at the nearest target: Dorn.

Attack vs Dorn (AAC 21): 1d20 + 2 = 9 (Miss!)

Result: The rat's yellowed teeth scrape harmlessly against Dorn’s chainmail greaves.

Dorn: 35/34 HP (3 Temp) | AAC 21
Cabe: 29/31 HP | AAC 17 (Will regenerate 1 HP next round)
Aele: 27/27 HP | AAC 15
Enemies: 1 Giant Rat remaining.

Aele, seeing the creature already harried by his companions, decides to conserve his divine favor. He steps forward, raising his heavy mace, the metal head gleaming with the reflected azure light of Dorn's blade.

Attack: 1d20 = 13 (Hit!)
Damage: 1d6 = 4
Result: With a solid thwack, Aele brings the mace down on the final rat’s back. 
The creature is crushed against the damp flagstones and lies still.

With the rats cleared, the trio stands in the shallow, greasy water of the east wing. The light from the lantern reveals that this corridor ends in a heavy grate that has been rusted through at the bottom—likely where the rats entered from the sewers.

Cabe surveys with his Heart Thrum ability. The immediate area is now clear. Aside from the metallic tang of the rats’ blood, Cabe picks up a sharp, chemical odor coming from nearby—it smells vaguely of acid or caustic soda. Cabe turns, pivoting and taking in scents, trying to pinpoint…

While Dorn fishes the chest out onto the passage floor, Cabe surveys with his Heart Thrum ability. The immediate area is now clear. Aside from the metallic tang of the rats' blood, Cabe picks up a sharp, chemical odor coming from nearby—it smells vaguely of acid or caustic soda.

"Hmm, what's this?" Dorn says. Just to the left of the grate, there is a partially submerged stone chest. It is covered in a thick layer of black slime and appears to have been washed into this corner by a long-ago flood. As he leans down to retrieve it, Cabe says "Wait!" Dorn turns inquisitively.

Cabe approaches, squats down and sniffs, then quickly backs away. "Don't get close to it. The chest has some sort of slime on it." Dorn looks at him questioningly. Cabe continues "Wanna lose a hand? This would be a good way to do it."

Dorn backs away, eying the chest — or rather, the mostly transparent slime coating it — with newfound respect. "I hate to leave behind possible treasure. We could certainly use some funds. Someone desired to spend most of our gold the last time we were in Gosterwick," he says, then cuts his eyes at Aele.

"Okay, okay," Aele raises hand. "Stand aside. I can take care of this." Dorn and Cabe share a glance, but stand back. After several seconds, Dorn says, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm already doing it," the wizard-priest says. "It's just going to take a minute. I'm focusing radiant energy on the surface of the chest. Most slimes are killed by fire, by heat. I ... think this is a slime-mold variant, a caustic organism. It's probably been feeding on the chest for weeks."

The black slime hisses and boils as Aele continues to focus radiant energy on it, turning into a foul-smelling gray ash that flakes away. The caustic substance is completely neutralized in a wide circle around the latch. Dorn then uses a dagger to flick the latch after doing his best to check the chest for traps.

Finally, the chest is opened, and nobody has lost a hand or a weapon doing it. Inside, protected by a lead lining that kept the dampness out:

A Heavy Leather Satchel: Containing three glass vials filled with a clear, bubbling blue liquid.

A Silver Scroll Tube: Engraved with the symbol of the Administrative Loop.

A Purse of Ancient Coinage: 85 Silver Pieces (SP) and 12 Gold Pieces (GP) minted with the face of a forgotten Archon.

"Let's take a different approach this time," Dorn decided, "instead of the secret stairway down to Level Three. Unless you have a better idea by way of long association?" he asked, glancing at Cabe Eveda, Pact-Sworn to The Whispering Beast.

"I can't say I do," Cabe answered. The surface ruins of Arden Vul near the descent into "The Basement" were a grim testament to the city’s shattered grandeur. The air here was often heavy with the scent of ancient dust and damp rot, a stark contrast to the Blood Scent or Heart Thrum which Cabe might pick up in more populated sections of the ruins.The air near the massive, cliff-side ruins carried a faint whiff of ozone.

Dorn's hand rested on the pommel of Swift, his chainmail armor gleaming under the pale sun.

Cabe stood at Dorn's side, his Heart Thrum already pulsing as he scanned for the hidden heartbeats of whatever lurked just past the threshold.

Aele stood just behind them, the metallic dust for his rituals partially consumed, though he had plenty for the next few days. These two are scrapping for a fight; I, however, hunger to uncover the secrets of the Progenitors.

"You're sure this is the right spot?" Dorn asks Cabe. Vedecab Dorn reminds himself. I am Thrangir, the wizard-priest is Zorael, and our new friend is Vedecab Eeii. The false identities were, in Dorn's mind, absolutely essential, given the price on his head put there by The Blackfists.

Cabe looks at the ancient stone of the decrepit administrative building. "It's the only structure with a chimney within view and which is near to the pyramid," He answered, indicating the nearby great pyramid of Thoth. To their left, the roar of the Long Falls was a constant, white-noise rumble.

Aele feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up when Dorn draws Swift, his magical longsword. This was the first soul-bound weapon the priest had ever encountered. His Thothian sight saw much that others missed, and Aele had quickly realized that the spirit of their slain former companion — Exodore, Dorn's lover — had invested the blade, choosing it as her eternal home; or, if not eternal, probably at least for the remainder of Dorn's life. Let's hope that isn't unfortunately brief.

Dorn had been quietly pleased to see that his blade had developed an enchantment. Here in the afternoon sunlight, it was still apparent that Swift gave off a pale blue luminance. Down below, that illumination was better than that provided by a torch. It could not be blown out by a breeze, extinguished with water, or become spent like a torch. Nevertheless, Aele carried a bullseye lantern in his off-hand, right hand gripping his (sadly) non-magical but nevertheless trusty mace.

Dorn felt a warm, comforting weight on his mind, now that Swift was in his hand. He liked to think it was Exodore, watching over him. He was more correct than he knew. He gains 1 (1d4) temporary hit point: 35/34; AC

"What do you see?" Dorn asked Cabe. The Pact-Sworn sighed. "As I've explained, I don't see what is ahead, not unless I am able to see through the eyes of some creature I have wounded. What I am doing right now is sensing the thrumming of beating hearts. Yes, there are living creatures below, but we are yet too distant for me to discern anything more specific."

The area surrounding the stairs is a jagged landscape of collapsed masonry and choked courtyards. Once-mighty obsidian and granite pillars lie toppled like the ribcage of a dead giant. Many are carved with fading bas-reliefs of the Archons, though moss and lichen have claimed most of the detail.

As Aele brushes away centuries of grime and thick, grey moss from the stone lintel above the stairs, several distinct markers become visible. These aren't just decorative; they serve as a warning and a map for those who know how to interpret them. An engraved eye is surrounded by three concentric rings. Dorn looks a question at the wizard-priest and Aele says, "A ward, but no longer active. For centuries, though, it would have permitted the priests of Thoth to survey those entering and leaving this stairwell."

Our three heroes begin their descent. Where the surface ruins are weathered and airy, the stairs downward consist of tighter, more utilitarian stonework. The transition is sharp; the wind whistles through the broken archways above, but it dies into a heavy, stagnant silence the moment Aele has passed the fourth or fifth riser. I'm not afraid. I've survived a beastman ambush. We're too close to the surface to encounter anything substantial Aele decides.

The three come out into a chamber. The smell of lichen and algae and something else registers. Cabe signals quietly toward a collapsed wall of masonry to the north. Something alive there. Dorn nods, his grip tightening on Swift. The magical blade pulses with a steady, pale light, casting long, dancing shadows against the damp masonry.

The rubble to the north consists of massive limestone blocks that once formed a grand archway, now a jagged heap of stone and dust. Dorn shifts his buckler forward, sword raised, and advances to the north. Cabe extends his senses forward. The heartbeat to the north isn't the rapid, fluttering beat of a bird or a small animal; it’s slow, heavy, and resonant. It sounds like something of significant size—or something very calm.

As they reach the edge of the rubble, the light from Swift and Aele’s lantern spills over the top of the debris, revealing the chamber beyond — the remains of an old scriptorium. Rotting wooden desks are overturned, and the floor is carpeted in a thick layer of pulpy, decomposed parchment.

Crouched in the far corner, partially obscured by a heavy stone table, is a singular, massive figure. It stands nearly seven feet tall, covered in matted, grey-white fur. It has the muscular build of a man but the elongated snout and sharp canines of a baboon. It is hunched over a pile of what looks like scavenged metal, its eyes reflecting the lantern light with a dull, silver glint.

The trio freezes at the edge of the light. Aele raises a hand, signaling for Dorn and Cabe to hold their steel. He recognizes the creature—one of the "White Ones," an ancient lineage of baboons that have inhabited these ruins since the time of the Progenitors.

Aele closes his eyes, focusing his will to bridge the gap between human intellect and the primal, sacred mind of the beast.

The creature remains hunched over its scavenged metal, its back to the party. It is preoccupied, perhaps picking through the debris for something specific. It is completely unaware of the three adventurers standing in the pool of lantern light. Still, Dorn is surprised that the combined illumination of the lantern and longsword haven't broken the massive creature out of its preoccupation.

Aele steps forward, keeping his movements fluid and non-threatening. He doesn't speak aloud; instead, he projects a sense of calm, reverence, and purpose. He invokes the "Scholar’s Peace," a mental signature recognizable to those creatures that have lived in the shadow of Thoth for millennia.

The creature’s ears twitch. It slowly stops its picking and turns its massive, silver-maned head. It sees the armored warrior and the blood-scented stalker, but its gaze settles on Aele.

It lets out a low, vibrating huff—not a bark of aggression, but a sound of deep uncertainty. It rises to its full height, knuckles resting on the stone floor, its silver eyes searching Aele’s face for the mark of the temple.

Dorn stands braced and ready. If that "huff" turns into a roar, he is positioned to take the charge.

Cabe's Blood Scent picks up the smell of old copper and ozone coming from the metal the baboon is holding. His Heart Thrum confirms this is the only oversized heartbeat in the room, though there are tiny, skittering beats (likely rats) in the walls.

Aele’s movements are agonizingly slow, designed to avoid any sudden shifts that might trigger the creature’s predatory instincts. As the holy symbol—a stylized ibis on a moon disk—swings into the dim light of the lantern, it catches the glow of Dorn’s magical blade.

The baboon’s nostrils flare. It recognizes the geometry of the symbol.

Since Aele’s hands are full, he cannot perform the complex manual mudras of the Thothian liturgy. Instead, he performs the "Scholar’s Bow": he keeps his hands exactly where they are—lantern and mace held wide and low to show he is not bracing for a strike—and slowly tilts his head at a 45-degree angle, exposing his neck slightly while keeping his gaze respectful but firm.

Reaction Roll (Modified by Aele’s Charisma 14 and Holy Symbol):

The creature’s posture shifts. The tension in its massive shoulders ripples and then subsides. It lets out a shorter, softer huff and retreats two steps toward the side, clearing the direct path to the northern door.

It crouches back down, but its eyes remain fixed on Aele. It is no longer a guard, but it is an observer. It seems to be "granting passage" to the Priest, though its gaze toward Dorn and Cabe remains suspicious.

As the creature moves, the "scavenged metal" it was huddled over is revealed. It isn't just scrap; it appears to be a broken bronze gears and a fractured lens from some ancient astronomical device.

Cabe’s Blood Scent confirms the ozone smell is coming from the lens—it still holds a faint, static charge of ancient energy.

The northern door is now accessible. It is heavy wood reinforced with iron bands, likely leading to the "Administrative Loop" of The Basement.

The huge white baboon has adopted a neutral posture. Aele offers a silent prayer for his companions: grant them the wisdom not to touch or approach the guardian's treasure...

Cabe senses that the heartbeat of the baboon has slowed to a steady, calm rhythm. However, he now hears a faint, metallic clinking sound coming from the other side of the northern door. That circular component with the crack in it: I am certain I sense some energy contained within...

Without taking his eyes off the baboon, Dorn slowly moves closer to the door to the north, then listens with his ear pressed against it. Aele silently applauds. He slowly puts his mace back through a loop on his belt, then carefully and slowly rummages within a belt pouch and produces an apple. This he sets on an overturned nearby pillar, then glances at the baboon, noting its keen attention.

As Aele places the apple on the fallen limestone pillar, the White One follows the movement with its large, silver eyes. Once Aele retreats a few steps, the baboon lopes forward with a silent, knuckle-walking gait, snatches the fruit, and retreats back to its bronze "treasure." It doesn't eat it immediately; it sniffs it deeply, then lets out a low, satisfied grunt.

Pressing his ear to the cold iron bands of the northern door, Dorn holds his breath. He hears a rhythmic, mechanical clink-clink-clink followed by a heavy, sliding sound—like stone dragging over stone. It sounds repetitive, suggesting a trap, a machine, or something pacing a very specific route.

Cabe closes his eyes and filters out the baboon’s calm pulse. Beyond the door, he detects nothing. No heartbeat. No blood pumping. No warmth. He draws a deep breath. There is no scent of sweat, musk, or decay. Instead, the air leaking through the door-frame smells of old oil, cold iron, and scorched copper. Whatever is making that noise behind the door is not alive. When Dorn looks to him in silent question, Cabe points to his own chest, then makes a negating motion with his head. Dorn nods once, understanding.

Aele slowly eases toward the door, intent on searching for any inscriptions. Even as the White One investigates the apple, its sheer muscularity is intimidating; a single swipe of those silver-furred arms could indeed end a scholar’s career. Dorn shifts his weight, his heavy chainmail clinking softly as he steps into the line of sight, a human wall of steel and muscle protecting the priest.

Aele holds the lantern high, letting its warm light wash over the door's surface. He ignores the rusted iron and focuses on the wood and the stone frame.

The Inscription: Faded but still legible in the lintel above the door is a line of Middle Thothian script. It reads: "Maintenance and Logistics – Authorized Custodians Only. Silence is the Handmaid of Precision."

Aele notices a small, circular indentation near the handle—not a keyhole, but a receptacle for a signet ring or a specific amulet. However, the wood around the latch is splintered, suggesting that over the centuries, the locking mechanism has been bypassed or forced.

While Aele reads, the sounds from within grow more distinct. Without the distraction of the baboon's breathing, the trio can identify the clink-clink-clink as the sound of metal articulating against metal. Cabe, still watchful of the baboon, draws close to his companions and says in a soft voice, "The coppery smell is getting stronger, but the noises are regular. They don't vary."

Aele nods. "Could be an ancient automaton or golem, still doing the same thing it was doing millenia ago. Look here at the latch. It's busted and the door isn't latched. See that hole?" He holds the lantern close while first Cabe, and then Dorn, take turns having a peek. "Probably made for a signet ring or amulet to act as a key," the wizard-priest surmises.

Dorn says, quietly but distinctly, "All right. This door is our only way forward, unless we want to return to the surface. Cabe, see if you can find any hinges. I have oil in my pack. Do what you can with it, then see if you and Aele can get a peek at whatever is on the other side. I'll keep our overmuscled friend here company while he contemplates his apple."

Cabe moves with the predatory grace of the Beast-kin. He takes the vial and approaches the heavy door. His Blood Scent is overwhelmed by the metallic tang from within, but his focus remains sharp.

Cabe locates the three massive iron hinges. They are caked in centuries of dust and orange rust. He carefully tips the vial, letting the oil seep into the dry joints. He waits a moment for it to penetrate, then places his hand on the wood to feel for vibrations.

The Peek: With Dorn acting as the anchor, Cabe and Aele lean in. Cabe applies pressure with a single finger, easing the door open a mere half-inch. Aele holds his lantern light up to the narrow aperture and strains to discern what lies beyond. He freezes, and his mouth goes slack...

To Be Continued...

The former Set cultist pulls back the hood of his red cloak, revealing himself. "Know that I am no longer a slave to Set. My pact is with The Whispering Beast. For months I have been His. Of late, certain outward characteristics have made it impossible to continue to feign loyalty to the snake god." And indeed, Aele can see that this is no Set cultist, for they either have human or snake-heads — sometimes in bewteen if they are of intermediate rank.

"You are blood-fused with The Whispering Beast?" Aele asks with incredulity. "Things among the Set cultists must be even worse than I could imagine. Can you explain what a blood-binder is doing with a Setite and these beastmen?"

"I can and will, but first things first." He stoops down and places a clawed hand on the fallen Set cultist's chest. Cracking and popping sounds ensue, and the dead cultist's chest implodes inward. The man (beast?) with the wolf's ears casually gestures at the two beastmen and they choke. One panics and bolts for the forest, the other drops to its knees, clawing at his throat. Soon, neither moves, and Dorn thrusts Swift through each's chest just to be extra sure, before returning to face this interloper.

"Who are you?" Dorn asks.

"My name is Cabe. I was a loyal follower of the snake god for three years, and even advanced a couple of ranks within the Halls," he shares, referring of course to the Halls of Arden Vul. "I rose in the ranks of the Fangs of Set, then was promoted to work under Heker-Set, the Keeper of the Scales. He was ... abusive. A year ago, I was able to obtain a long-term assignment monitoring Surface operations for ... as you call it, the cult of Set. But I must tell you, Set is very much alive. His followers are no mere deluded cult, destined to die out in due time."

"I believe you," Aele says, "for I have learned in recent weeks that my own god, Cromm, is but an aspect of the ever-living Thoth. Something is very much amiss, for we have been grossly misinformed here on the Surface in recent decades." He glances at Dorn, who is examining some coins and trinkets that the beastmen were carrying, then turns his attention back to Cabe.

"Cabe who?" Aele asks. "What is your surname?"

"Aveda; I hail from Beretun. My father is a hops farmer there, and mother works at The Bailiff's Truncheon in Gosterwick."

"I know that place," Dorn adds. "Still doesn't explain how you kept your ... tranformation a secret from the Set cult."

"In truth, I am not certain it remains a secret, though I hope it is. I have not been back within the Halls in a little over a year, making my reports to Heker-Set through the usual channels, at the appointed times. I have no indication that he suspects anything is amiss."

Aele interjects, "Explain the cooperation between the cultists and the beastmen." He gestures at the two beastmen that Cabe has slain. "And how did you kill these two?"

Cabe nods and answers the second question first. "I sampled those two's blood and have since sung their heartsong to The Whispering Beast under a full moon. Thus I controlled their beating hearts."

Aele looks at Dorn, whose stoic expression perhaps conceals his own concern about this sort of power. The wizard-priest figures the fighter's thoughts are strolling down the same lane as his own. What sort of boon might this ... man-beast be to us in the megadungeon, if we can trust him?

As darkness falls, the three sit round a campfire laid on a knoll almost a mile west of the road, and half a mile past the defiled shrine where they fought earlier in the day. Dorn has carefully stacked stones in a wall round the fire, partially hiding its light, and they are roasting a brace of rabbits over hot coals.

"So," Cabe ventures, after polishing off rabbit meat, a thick hunk of bread, and an apple, "tell me more of yourselves." Although he has offered to pass around a wineskin, Aele and Dorn have declined. They have accepted the apples and bread, after Aele examines them with the enhanced sight granted him by Thoth.

"You must understand that we do not yet fully trust you," Aele states. "For while my knowledge of Set suggests you have probably been truthful about your history with the cult, that is no guarantee that you aren't playing both sides. Perhaps, in addition to having made pact with your master, you are still willing to play the cult."

"Your suspicion is warranted, and I can tell you that I am wily, shifty, and too clever by half. However, it so happens I'm being genuinely honest for a change. I grow tired of even deceptively serving Heker-Set. I would see him suffer and be brought low. And although the odds of that happening are low, adventurers like yourselves will likely be his downfall, if it happens at all."

"It will happen, for I have sworn to bring the Halls low," Dorn says, staring into the fire.

Cabe arches an eyebrow and seems ready to ask another question, but Aele subtly warns him against pursuing it. Instead, he asks, "Might I offer assistance in your efforts to cast down that dungeon to the north?"

Dorn throws the pit of his apple into the fire, then looks at Cabe. "You killed two beastmen. You can't be all bad..." And the three of them chuckle.

"Perhaps there is something I can do that may demonstrate my usefulness," Cabe ventures.

"So long as it doesn't involve blood binding us," Aele says, curious.

"In this particular case, it does not. You are both still a bit worse for wear after our skirmish earlier today," he observes, noting scrapes and bruises and the occasional bandage. "I can share a small portion of my ... vitality to restore you, if you will permit it."

"I enjoy being injured; makes me fight meaner," Dorn says.

Aele grins, then sobers and says, "you may do so with me, but be warned" — and here, Aele's eyes momentarily light up an eldritch blue — "I shall know by the wisdom of Thoth if you seek to be in any way duplicitous."

Cabe nods. "I believe you. Very well then. I will open myself to you. Take only what you need. The Whispering Beast provides the bridge."

And sure enough, a cut on Aele's hand heals, and a bruise on his temple disappears. After a few seconds, fully healed, Aele says, "Remarkable. I would not have thought miraculous healing possible, except through the gods."

"In truth," Cabe says, "it is not miraculous. But it is a supernatural ability and certainly one that I would not have, had I not made Pact."

"What did you promise this Whispering Beast?" Dorn asks, bluntly, but Aele raises a hand palm out to forestall this line of inqury, and Cabe says, "I may not speak of it."

"In that case, explain why you would be willing to give of your lifeforce to another," Dorn demands.

Cabe nods, appreciating the question. "I recover vitality very quickly, much quicker than normal men. It was a sacrifice for me, yes; but a short-lived one."

The next morning dawns cool and with dew on the fields and on the knoll.

"Well," Aele remarks, "I see you decided not to flee us during the night, nor robbed us or attempted murder."

Dorn shares hard tack all around. "I told you, someone who kills beastmen can't be all bad." And he shares a grin with Cabe Aveda.

"No, indeed," Cabe agrees. "And had you been attacked in the night, I would have fought for you. Listen, I have a good idea who among Set's disciples ordered yon shrine to Thoth to be defiled. What say we travel together for awhile, jointly bust some skulls, and see if shared danger won't forge a bond? Regardless of your answer, I will seek to deliver the shrine defilers into your hands."

Thus far in Arden Vul, Dorn and Aele have fought skeletons, giant rats, and beastmen. Their friend Exodore Swift was slain in the battle with the beastmen, in which the trio of heroes were overmatched and outnumbered. Before Dorn and Aele could fall to the beastmen, all of the remaining combatants were rendered unconscious by a spore cloud emitted by multiple myconid men who were drawn by the sounds of battle so near to their fungal forest.

Thoth favored the two surviving heroes, for when they awoke as 'guests' of the huge myconid fungal king styling himself The Sovereign, the Thothian priest Aele was able to leverage his knowledge of Thothian beliefs and protocols to obtain a very positive reaction from the fungal ruler. After witnessing the agonizing transformation of the captured beastmen into fungal servants, the two surviving heroes were given the valuables the beastmen had carried and were then given a myconid escort to the great stairs, which they descended into Burdock's Valley, from thence to return to the town of Gosterwick.

During their Downtime in the boom-town, each hero leveled up to Level 3. Aele's mastery of Thothian spirit-magic has led to his healing surges and holy blasts of wrath going from 2d6 to 2d10. He also has learned a second ritual, 'Thoth's Balm'.

Dorn rolled maximum additional hit points for achieving Level 3. His new maximum hit points are 34, and Aele's are 27. Invested with the passionate spirit of his deceased lover Exodore, Dorn's sword, now a named magic item - "Swift" - becomes a soul-bound weapon that will reveal increasing abilities as Dorn continues to gain levels.

The pair of adventurers have spent quite a bit of gold in their second (and most recent) Downtime in Gosterwick. They've purchased fine clothes that enabled them to pass muster at the posh Inn of the Stunned Acolyte. They've also acquired very high quality, gleaming chainmail from Torunn the Smith.

They now return to the mega-dungeon, Arden Vul. Dorn has sworn death to all beastmen therein, but this will require overcoming their leader and creator, the witch Deino; our heroes may not yet be a match for her.

Two miles outside of Gosterwick as the pair make their way back toward the twin colossi at the falls of Arden Vul, Aele calls a short break. "I have not yet enacted my rituals today. It would be a shame to need them and not have them prepared."

Now that he's Level 03, Aele can prepare two rituals daily. He does so now, preparing Thoth's Comfort and Thoth's Balm.

"Thoth's most freely given gift, valued not nearly enough, is wisdom. Thoth's eyes are upon his faithful. His words chime in their minds like the tinkling of silver bells. May Thoth bequeath the hidden knowledge to his servants. O Logos En-Amenti, Thoth-Hermes, Psuche-Stratos—Vibrate the Hidden Key. O Silver Tongue of the Night, who restored the Eye of Horus when it was shattered—hear me. As my blood meets the earth, let thy wisdom meet our wounds. From the void of the New Moon, bring forth the fullness of life." Aele finishes praying and pricks his left thumb with his belt knife.

Dorn has looked on and listened. "You have to cut yourself every time you invoke these rituals?"

"For Thoth's Balm, yes; though not for Thoth's Comfort, no."

"It's good that you're not queasy, then."

"All good things require sacrifice," Aele quips, and then the two proceed along the road. "It's curious. As I was invoking the rituals and hanging their potential energy in the arcanic effluvium, I noticed a cold-spot off to the west there," he says, gesturing off the road. "That's abnormal. Parts of other planes of existence are leaking into our prime."

"I'm going to pretend I completely understand what you just said," Dorn replies drily. "Come on, let's investigate this cold-spot of yours," and with that the warrior-rogue leads them off the road to the west. In the next dozen minutes, the two men cover half a mile.

"Do you smell that?" Dorn asks.

"Hmm, yes: sulfur."

They continue and soon top a rise and see an old abandoned shrine to Thoth-Cromm. It is overgrown with weeds, and surrounding it for several yards is muddy ground where gas bubbles occasionally bloat out and then pop. "Whew, there's the source of the stench," says Dorn.

"What a travesty!" Aele says, with feeling. "Someone has let this shrine grow dilapidated, but there's more. It has been defiled."

"And soon, your corpses will add their own stench to this paltry monument to your weak god," says a scratchy baritone voice, and then a man in a red robe steps from within the shrine and to the side of the entryway. Immediately another red-robed figure follows him out and pulls back his hood to reveal a swarthy-faced red-headed and red-bearded fellow. He pulls the morningstar from his belt and whistles, and this signal is answered by animalistic cries from the nearby trees, where four porcine beastmen have emerged and are now running to close the distance.

"I do believe we have been lured into an ambush," says Dorn, drawing Swift. "But this time, the outcome will be different!"

"Eulogeson tou Doulous-sou, O Thoth-Amon," Aele intones stridently, followed by tracing a crescent shape in the air between himself and Dorn, and adding, "Lah!"

Please note: some of the places where I post this serial installment do not permit links or image attachments. If you would prefer to skip over the blow-by-blow, round-by-round account of this confrontation, then you can scroll down to 'A Summary of Battle' below.

Let's set up some tracking for this combat:

Dorn gains 1d4 temp hit points upon drawing Swift. I rolled 3, so his HP at the start of battle are 37. His AC while wielding Swift is 21 — pretty decent for a low-level character. Aele's Thoth's Comfort ritual adds +1 to our heroes HP, for 38 (Dorn) and 28 (Aele). It also bonuses their armor class by +1, for AC 22 (Dorn) and AC 18 (Aele). A +1 bonus also applies to their saving throws for the next three minutes.

The wizard-priest's Thoth's Balm still hangs, on a hair trigger that Aele can pull if he and/or Dorn need healing during this combat.

Combatant	AC	Hp	Surges
Dorn	22	38	0
Aele	18	28	3
Set Cultist #1	13	13	3
Set Cultist #2	14	12	0 (hurls flame for 2d6)
Beastman #1	14	20	0 (deals 2d4 dmg; atk bonus +4)
Beastman #2	14	23	0 (deals 2d4 dmg; atk bonus +4)
Beastman #3	15	19	0 (deals 2d4 dmg; atk bonus +4)
Beastman #4	13	21	0 (deals 2d4 dmg; atk bonus +4)

Round 1: Dorn takes a 5' step and attacks Cultist #1, rolling a 16 (he hits) and 12 damage, which converts to 4-HD, killing the cultist. He then moves into melee range of Cultist #2, but unfortunately Dorn gets a 1 on Fray Die, so doesn't deal any hit-die damage to Cultist #2.

Beastman #1 charges Aele, adding +2 to the attack roll. He hits, and inflicts 6 damage on the wizard-priest! Aele retaliates with fiery radiant energy for 9 damage, which converts to 2-HD of injury. Aele's Fray die cannot be of use against the beastman since it is 4 HD, so Aele uses it against Cultist #2, reducing it to 2 of 3 HD.

Beastman #4 moves to engage Dorn and, surprisingly, hits Dorn successfully for 4 damage.

Beastman #3 moves into melee with Dorn, gets a good hit roll, but not good enough to overcome his current AC. Beastman #2 move northwest to line up a crossbow shot on Dorn. Dorn loses Dex and shield benefit since he's facing other foes (effective AC 19). But the beastman's shot doesn't penetrate Dorn's chainmail.

End of round #1 (Cultist #1 slain and 3 of the remaining 5 foes are injured):

I can see, after this first round of combat, that the Fray die usage needs to be tweaked. So, I will do so in round #2.

Round #2: Dorn attacks Beastman #4, rolling a modified 11, a miss. He then uses his 1d6 Fray die against the 3-HD Cultist #2, rolling 4. Cultist #2 drops to 8/12 hp. That's it, for Dorn.

Next, Beastman #1 attacks Aele, rolling a modified 14. That's not good enough, and Aele takes no damage. Aele retaliates with a glob of fiery radiant energy that inflicts 15 unless the beastman saves for half damage (he doesn't). Beastman #1, already injured, drops dead. Aele then uses his Fray die on Cultist #2 but unfortunately it is ineffectual.

Beastman 4, 3, and 2 then attack Dorn. Dorn parries #3's attack, blocks #4's with his shield, and his chainmail stops the crossbow bolt from Beastman #2. Cultist #2 hits Dorn with glowing blue bolts of force for 10 damage, no saving throw, and Dorn drops to 24 of 38 hp.

Round #3: Dorn skewers Beastman #4 for 10 damage, dropping it to 6 remaining hit points. He then uses his Fray die against the remaining cultist, dropping him by 1 hp to 7 of 12 hit points.

Aele moves so that he is directly opposite Dorn and they flank Beastman #4 — giving them each +1 on their next melee attacks. He then reconsiders and uses his final daily Surge to deal 9 more damage to Beastman #4, kill it. Aele is now out of daily Surges, although he could sacrifice Fortune Points for more.

Beastman #3's attack is absorbed by Dorn's chain and mail armor. #2 charges him and hits for 3 damage, dropping Dorn to 21/38. The magic of Dorn's sword, Swift arcs out and injures Beastman #2 in retaliation, inflicting 3 points and dropping it to 20/23 hp.

The remaining cultist again peppers Dorn with glowing magic missiles, inflicting 7 more damage, and Dorn is down to 14/38. He grunts and stumbles then rights himself. "The Balm of Thoth restore thee, friend!" Aele shouts, and Dorn regains 17 hit points, putting him back up to 35/38 hit points.

Here is the heroes' situation at the end of round 3:

A Summary of Battle Injuries occur all around, but Dorn and Aele give better than they get. Finally, Dorn intimidates the remaining cultist into surrendering. Sure enough, the two surviving beastmen obey. Interesting...

Round #4: Dorn yells, "Call off your dogs and surrender, red-robe, and we will spare your life!" Dorn is skilled in intimidation and half of the Cultist's forces have been slain. Morale 8 and I'm going to rule Dorn's threat and the cultist's assessment of the odds drop that to a 6. If he rolls less than a 6, he'll continue the fight: result of 2d6 is 8.

"Back off!" the red-robed cultist screeches. "Back away! Now!!" And the two remaining beastmen take a few steps back and lower their weapons. "I will surrender if you will agree not to press charges or haul me off to a cell in Gosterwick."

"Not good enough," Dorn says, taking a step forward and staring down at the man. "You're going to help us with a little project in Arden Vul, and then we'll give you the choice of jail or death."

"Or ... " Aele interjects, greatly daring, "there might be a way for you to avoid both, if you convert to the worship of Thoth and tell us everything — and I do mean everything — that you know about the Cult of Set in the mega-dungeon."

***

On the eighteenth day since Dorn entered Arden's Mouth, so naively hopeful about the future, the fighter-rogue and his wizard-priest comrade return to Gosterwick. Dorn is grieving and furious at the loss of Exie simultaneously. What he doesn't yet realize is that, in a very real sense, she is still with him.

A farmer on the outskirts of the town sees their weariness and the body that they bear, and provides his mule and wagon so that Exie rolls into the town that she entered on her own two legs on her previous visit.

The two heroes turn their departed friend's body over to the local church clergy, who will prepare it for burial in the large cemetery northeast of the town proper, and who will arrange the eulogy ceremony (altogether, 53 gp).

An hour later, the two men are steaming in a lapiz-lazuli-tiled hot tub in their townhouse, and sipping Arcturian orojiam, a dark, smooth liquor with overtones of cinnamon, honey, and nutmeg.

They talk about various things — what to do with the wealth they've brought with them (about 845 imperials after the bilking they took at the local collector's shop upon selling off trinkets and art items acquired from the beastmen whom The Sovereign transformed into living beings of mycelium and compost). They also have sold Exie's belongings, including a statuette found in her pack that fetched 100 golden imperials.

"What in the world got into you with the Mushroom King? You played him like an Old Prelm bard plays a lute!" Dorn chuckles. Clearly, the liquor is effecting Dorn. And that's not a bad thing right now the wizard-priest thinks.

"Well, I've been talking to a lot of the Thothian priests, and reading whenever I get the chance. And Thalas had been bringing me up to speed on the Mad Wizard — that's Thalas' appellation for, as you called him, the 'Mushroom King'. Thalas holds that the myconid potentate is indeed in some sense a reincarnation of an ancient Thothian priest named Lycandrus. However, why and how did this reincarnation occur in the body of a myconid?"

"Go on," Dorn says.

"Well, this is a name you must never speak, or even think, if we are ever back in the Sovereign's territory. Psilofyr is an ancient god whose portfolio included all mycelial life. Thalas holds that the body is ultimately under Psilofyr's control, not the Sovereign's. Because I was well-versed and just recently well-read in this lore, I was able to leverage that knowledge and manipulate the Sovereign."

"And you did so masterfully," Dorn compliments, chuckling again. "So, it sounds like the [Sovereign][11] is one complicated customer."

"An understatement," Aele rejoins. "In some parts of Arden Vul, he is called The Mad Wizard. His connection to and mastery over the entire fungal forest and all its species does indeed give him what may appear to be wizardly powers. It goes without saying that he is exceedingly dangerous."

"I hadn't noticed," Dorn says sarcastically.

"We may be able to use him, play him, but doing so is dangerous. But if you are intent upon eradicating the beastmen, he could indeed be a very powerful ally."

Dorn sips more liquor. Then, "I am intent, fully resolved. But I won't stop with the beastmen. Arden Vul killed Exie. So now I intend to kill it."

Aele grins. "It's good to have goals."

That first evening back in Gosterwick, the heroes are simply too tired to do anything but bathe, salve their weary minds with liquor, and then enjoy the incredible luxury of a clean bed. On the second evening, they elect to dine at the most affluent establishment in Gosterwick, the Inn of the Stunned Acolyte.

Although Dorn thinks it is coin ill-spent, Aele insists that they first patronize [Creon's Curiosities & Fine Wares][8] on the Street of Silks. Creon, the proprietor, proves every bit as unctuous as the rumors make him out to be. They drop 123 imperials and leave with two sets of expensive finery wrapped in a tough, supposedly waterproof film. Dorn is sure he is developing an ulcer due to such profligacy, but Aele assures him this is necessary.

Next is a visit to The Silver Scale located not far from Creon's shop. There, Torunn the Smith fits both Aele and Dorn for quality chainmail armor. Because Gosterwick is a boom-town catering to adventurers bound for Arden Vul, Torunn has an unusually large supply and variety, and the two heroes leave the shop three hours later each sporting chainmail.

"We should've tried to sell our leathers," Dorn grumps, as they begin the walk back to Warden's Row and their townhouse.

"Yes, but not to Torunn. He would have been insulted. We can sell them at the weekly market. We'll leave them with Manfred at the temple, tell him he can keep 50% of whatever he gets for it as a temple offering."

"I have a better idea," Dorn says. "We donate the old armor to the town watch. Sure it's scuffed, but basically it's still decent armor, and we can make some friends among the local constabulary."

Aele regards his friend. "I do believe I'm starting to rub off on you. That's a smart notion!"

They drop off the donation armor and then head home, but not before selling off the potion of hill giant strength for 90 imperials. Once again, Dorn agonizes but Aele says, "We don't need it. We need gold. We have places to go, people to influence, Thrangir."

Their final stop is the offices of the local thesmothete, Theodora Komnene, where they pay taxes on their recent townhouse purchase, a ridiculous — to Dorn's mind, at least — 270 imperials! They sign the document Thrangir of Belaphas and Zorael of Archontos.

That evening, dressed in their new finery from Creon's shop, they dine at the upscale Inn of the Stunned Acolyte, where it turns out Aele has arranged for them to share a glass of wine with Aedelwine the Fair, Logothete of the Private House, who comes to understand just how 'terribly pleased' the two adventurers are with their new townhouse and how indebted to such figures as Aedelwine who 'selflessly pursue the common good and the economic fortitude of (get this: Aele uses the imperial name for Gosterwick) Vetucaster.' Successfully Groomed a Relationship. Tracker moves from strangers to acquaintances.

The heroes stay three days in Gosterwick. They have a small, quiet eulogy for burial for Surret of Arcturus. The priest of the local temple of Cromm-Thoth shakes Aele's hand afterward. "Well, Zorael, I am sorry for your loss. I hope that you and Thrangir are successful in your merchant ventures," he says, for the benefit of two acolytes who are listening.

Also during the three days, Aele/Zorael finds time to pray and meditate. With the Heart-Seed Scarab in his possession, he is able to learn a second ritual. This one is known as Thoth's Balm.

On day 3, Dorn says, "Finally! We need to get back to death and mayhem in the dungeon before you completely reduce me to poverty..."

In Shadowdim, heroes roll with Advantage when rolling for additional hit points upon level-ups. In going from level 2 to 3, Dorn rolled a 7 and a 10. Nice! Multiple perks for attaining level 3. He boosts STR to 18, saving throws improve, BAB improves, Dorn takes Defensive Knack, and see the result of Exie's passing.

Here's a snapshot of Dorn upon attaining Level 03:

PC	Level	Gestalt	Hp	Ac	Surges	Primary
[Dorn][1]	3	Fgt-Thf	34	20[21 wield]	0	+1 Longsword +8 hit (1d8+7)
Dorn	Saves	Poi 12(10)	Bre 15(14)	Poly 11	Spe 12	MagIt 13
Dorn	Equip	Chainmail	Shortbow	Longsword +1	knife	lantern
Dorn	Knacks	Fleet	Great Strike	Defensive	(none)	(none)
Dorn	Skills	Stealth x 2	Intimidate x 2	Fence x 2	(none)	(none)
Dorn	Init 3(4 via Fleet)	-	-	-	-	-

---

Aele in advancing from level 02 to 03 raises Con to 18, immediately granting 2 more hp (17 -> 19). Rolled additional hit points with Advantage, getting 3 & 5 (takes the 5 and adds 3 for 8 (19 -> 27)). No changes in BAB or Saving Throws. Aele takes Savant as 3rd level Knack. His heals and holy fires now do 2d10 (yes, I should have been using 2d8 instead of 2d6). Respect! The additional hitpoints help.

Here is his level 03 snapshot:

PC	Level	Gestalt	Hp	Ac	Surges	Primary
Aele	3	Wiz-Prst	27	17	3	Mace +1 hit/dmg
Aele	Saves	Poi 14(12)	Bre 15	Poly 13(11)	Spe 12	MagIt 11(9)
Aele	Equip	Chainmail	mace	torches	flasks of oil	buckler
Aele	Knacks	Tough	Adept	Savant	(none)	(none)
Aele	Skills	Cooking	Forgotten Lore	Social	(none)	(none)
Aele	Init 1	-	-	-	-	-
Aele	Known Rituals: 1	Thoth's Comfort	Thoth's Balm	-	-	-

This level-up and Downtime are brought to you by The Annals of the Simple Solo Roleplayer.

The heroes have just successfully figured out the puzzle and have triggered the jade elephant statue, which now slides slowly but smoothly aside to reveal a vault beneath.

The three heroes stand within the Vault of the Elephant, the stale air of the chamber shifting as the massive stone effigy grinds across the floor to reveal the sub-vault's entrance. The two rescued goblin captives hover near the heroes’ heels, their wide eyes darting between the newfound treasure and their "Ambassador" saviors.

The mechanism has functioned perfectly. As the elephant statue completes its rotation, a set of narrow, dust-choked stairs descends into a smaller, more secure chamber below the main vault.

Aele's heart-seed scarab pulses with a faint amber light, reacting to the ancient Thothian resonance in the secure sub-structure.

The captives whisper to one another in their guttural tongue, clearly hesitant to enter a place even their King, Weskenim, has not seen inside for generations.

Dorn commands the goblins to stand guard at the entrance to the Vault of the Elephant, and to raise a hue and cry in alarm if anyone approaches while the heroes are below in the sub-vault. Before descending, Dorn will use an iron spike to ensure that the elephant statue cannot move back into place, sealing the heroes below.

With the spike firmly set and the goblins keeping watch, the heroes turn their attention to the narrow stairs. The Heart-Seed Scarab around Aele's neck pulses with a warm, amber light as he approaches the threshold, its Thothian magic sensing the ancient secrets buried below.

With the spike firmly set and the goblins keeping watch, the heroes turn their attention to the narrow stairs. The Heart-Seed Scarab around Aele's neck pulses with a warm, amber light as he approaches the threshold, its Thothian magic sensing the ancient secrets buried below.

The heroes descend into the cool, stagnant air of the sub-vault in a tight tactical formation. Dorn leads with his shield, the Aegis of the Firmament, held high to intercept any physical threats , while Aele remains a half-step behind, shielded by the fighter’s obsidian-clad bulk.

Maintaining the Blood-Bond, Cabe ensures that any sudden trap damage is distributed across the party's combined health pool.

The Heart-Seed Scarab pulses with amber light. Aele is mentally prepared to trigger Thoth's Champion at the first sign of a guardian.

The stairs end in a small, circular chamber. The floor is covered in a layer of fine, white dust. In the center of the room stands a waist-high stone plinth holding a heavy, leather-bound volume and a small, ivory box.

Aele steps forward, his Silver Signet (Magistrate's Ring) catching the amber light of the Heart-Seed Scarab as he raises his Staff of the Silver Tongue. Utilizing his Thothian insight, he begins a methodical scan of the chamber. His senses are heightened by his specialized gear. He carefully parses the magical weave for any "Weight of Ma'at" seals or similar ritualistic traps.

Aele detects a faint, shimmering aura surrounding the stone plinth. It is not a trap designed to harm, but rather a Vocal Lock or an Identity Seal.

The Ivory Box: The box is protected by a thin veil of abjuration magic that will likely trigger a "Guardianship" spell if opened by anyone not recognized as a Thothian Magistrate or priest.

The Leather Volume: This book is saturated with ancient Thothian energy. Aele senses that the Heart-Seed Scarab is the physical key required to safely lift the "Seal of Silence" from its pages.

The Floor: The white dust on the floor is not mere age; it is finely ground limestone, a common Thothian deterrent for tracking invisible entities—or perhaps revealing the footprints of those who shouldn't be here.

Aele steps closer to the plinth, the Heart-Seed Scarab around his neck glowing with an intense, rhythmic amber light as it recognizes the ancient Thothian wards. He places his hand near the Leather Volume, the translucent green agate of the scarab acting as a conduit between the Scholar and the ancient seal.

As Aele brings the scarab into proximity with the book, the shimmering blue aura begins to harmonize with the amber pulse of the agate. Aele recognizes the specific magical signature as a variation of the seal he was told the scarab could bypass.

The Silver Signet (Magistrate's Ring) on his finger hums in resonance, signaling to the sub-vault's dormant logic that a recognized official of the Empire is present. With a soft click that echoes through the circular chamber, the leather straps on the volume unlatch themselves, and the veil over the ivory box thins into nothingness.

With the magical wards neutralized by the scarab, the contents of the plinth are now accessible:

Item	Description	Aele's assessment
The Leather Volume	An ancient Thothian tome titled "The Resonances of the Deep Pipes."	Grants Advantage on checks to navigate or manipulate the machinery of Arden Vul.
The Ivory Box	A small, cold box carved with the likeness of a lotus.	Contains three vials of shimmering liquid and a silver key.

Dorn remains at the ready with Swift and the Aegis of the Firmament, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room for any physical guardians that the magical silent alarm might have summoned despite Aele's bypass. Cabe maintains the Blood-Bond, his senses heightened by the primal energy of the vault. The sub-vault remains quiet for now.

Aele carefully reaches for the ivory box, his Silver Signet glinting in the amber light as he lifts the lid. Inside, the silver key and the three vials of shimmering liquid are revealed in the glow of the Heart-Seed Scarab.

Aele performs a quick scholar’s appraisal of the items:

The silver key is cold to the touch and engraved with a stylized elephant’s head; Aele suspects this is the "Master Key" to the deeper mechanisms of the Vault of the Elephant.

Aele recognizes the three shimmering vials as Thothian Elixirs.

Vial 1 (Pale Blue): An Elixir of Clarity, likely granting a temporary boost to Intelligence checks or mental saving throws.

Vial 2 (Deep Crimson): A potent healing draught, possibly equivalent to a high-tier potion of vitality.

Vial 3 (Swirling Amber): This elixir resonates with the Heart-Seed Scarab, perhaps used to temporarily empower Thothian rituals or surges.

While Cabe keeps watch and Dorn remains braced behind the Aegis of the Firmament, Aele turns his attention to the ancient tome. As a Savant and Adept with the Heart-Seed Scarab, he decodes the Thothian script with remarkable speed.

Engineering Map: The volume contains a schematic of the Pipe Tunnels on Sublevel 4, marking the flow of the "Great Breath" and identifying hidden maintenance bypasses.

The Elephant’s Purpose: The book reveals that the Vault of the Elephant was originally designed as a pressure-stabilization chamber for the entire mega-dungeon's hydraulic system.

Ritual Instruction: Aele finds a passage that describes how to use the Silver Key to manually override the Cistern of Skulls floodgates, which could be a decisive tactical advantage in future encounters.

Aele carefully stows the ancient tome and the delicate ivory box into his gear, his Silver Signet glinting as he secures the new assets. With the Heart-Seed Scarab continuing to pulse with a steady amber light, the heroes turn their back on the circular chamber to follow the "Maintenance Bypass" path described in the text.

Following the schematics from the tome, the heroes ascend the stairs, retrieve the Iron Spike to free the elephant mechanism, and signal the goblin sentries to follow. According to the book, a concealed lever behind a loose stone in the main vault's northern wall reveals the Maintenance Bypass.

Dorn finds the concealed lever fairly easily. A narrow, vertical shaft with a rusted iron ladder descends deep into the mechanical "guts" of the Pipe Tunnels. This bypass allows the party to circumvent the main corridors, potentially emerging behind any remaining Beastman patrols near the Cistern of Skulls.

The ladder down into the Maintenance Bypass is slick with condensation and the smell of ancient oil is thick.

As the heroes exit the sub-vault and return to the Vault of the Elephant, something in the magical programming of this site is triggered, perhaps because the Sun-Pendant was removed from the jade elephant statue. Ghasts and the chamber's husks now attack.

Aele stands tall, his Silver Signet Ring catching the amber light of the Heart-Seed Scarab. As the wooden feline constructs tense their springs to leap, Aele strikes the floor with the butt of his staff, projecting a voice of magisterial authority that resonates with the ancient harmonics of the vault.

Aele uses his Advantage (Scarab/Lore) and his +2 bonus (Leather Volume/Thothian Mystery).

Roll 1: 18 | Roll 2: 14
Result: 18 + 4 (Int) + 3 (Proficiency) + 2 (Volume) = 27.

Success: The command is absolute. The feline husks, mid-pounce, twist in the air with impossible agility. Instead of landing on Dorn, they use the warrior's pauldrons as springboards, their wooden claws extending like jagged obsidian as they pivot toward the pale horrors climbing out of the shaft.

Aele has used his Action to dominate the constructs. Now, he utilizes the Scribe's Linothorax to trigger a ritual as a Bonus Action.

Ritual Triggered: Thoth's Comfort.

Effect: Aele, Cabe, and Dorn each gain +1 HP (instantaneous), and +1 to AC and Saving Throws for the next 30 rounds.

Scarab Synergy: Because this ritual restores hit points, the Heart-Seed Scarab triggers.

Aele feels the Heart-Seed Scarab pulse with a rhythmic, golden warmth as the Thoth's Comfort ritual takes hold. The amber light flows from the agate scarab into his chest, weaving a shimmering lattice of protective energy around his soul. Aele gains 5 (1d6) Temporary Hit Points.

Party Status

Hero	HP	Temp HP	AC	Status
Aele	41/41	5	16	Linothorax Active; Rituals are Bonus Actions.
Dorn	35/34	0	27	Swift is drawn (+1 AC); Aegis active.
Cabe	32/31	0	16	Bow drawn; Blood-Bond active.

Dorn draws Swift with a ring of cold steel, and stands as a bastion of iron and jade. With an AAC of 27, the Ghast's filthy claws (which usually require a 13 or 14 to hit a standard knight) now need a natural 19 or 20 to find a gap in his defenses.

Dorn steps into the Ghast's reach, using the weight of his +1 Plate to shoulder-charge the creature while swinging Swift in a brutal horizontal arc.

Attack Roll: 17 + 8 (Base/Knack/Str) + 1 (Thoth's Comfort) = 26 to hit.
Damage: 1d8 + 8(Str/Knack) = 15 Damage.
The Result: The blow is devastating. Dorn cleaves through the 
Ghast’s ribs, the magical edge of Swift cauterizing the necrotic flesh. 

Dorn follows through with a shield bash (Great Strike), forcing the creature to make a Strength save.

Ghast Strength Save: 8 (Failure).
Effect: The Ghast is sent reeling backward, 
tumbling over the lip of the shaft and falling 
30 feet into the dark. CRUNCH.

Current Tactical Standing Ghast #1: Being shredded by the 3 Feline Husks at the edge of the shaft.

Ghast #2: Fallen 30 feet down the shaft (Taking 3d6 falling damage).

Husks: Occupying the front line.

The Rear Door: The door behind the party has creaked open further. A third Ghast, wearing the tattered remains of a Thothian Priest's robe, is standing in the threshold. It is not attacking yet; it is staring at Aele’s Heart-Seed Scarab with a look of starving recognition.

The battle rhythm tightens as the party faces a pincer attack. Dorn stands as an iron wall at the central shaft, while Cabe and Aele pivot to address the robed horror at the rear door.

Cabe sees the Ghast-Priest staring at Aele’s scarab. Knowing that undead focus is often the prelude to a powerful curse or a lethal pounce, he draws his bowstring to his ear. The Blood-Bond allows him to feel Aele’s intent to channel, so Cabe times his release to disrupt the creature first.

Action: Ranged Attack with Longbow.
Attack Roll: 19 + 6 = 25 to hit.
Damage: $1d8 + 1d6$ (Fire) + 2 (Red Frenzy/if active) = 13 Damage.
Result: The arrow thuds into the Ghast-Priest’s chest, the fire igniting 
the ancient, dry silk of its Thothian robes. The creature screeches, its 
focus on the scarab momentarily broken by the searing pain.

As the Ghast-Priest reels from Cabe’s arrow, Aele steps forward. He raises the Heart-Seed Scarab high, its amber light flaring into a blinding, solar brilliance that fills the vault. He speaks a word of Final Rest in the Old Thothian tongue.

Action: Turn Undead.
The Check: Aele rolls 1d20 + 7 (Wis/Prof) 
with Advantage (Scarab/Lore synergy).
Rolls: 15, 19. Result: 26.
Effect: The Ghast-Priest’s milky eyes widen 
in terror as the holy light of Thoth washes 
over it. It isn't just turned; it is physically 
repulsed. 

The ghast scrambles backward into the dark hallway beyond the door, clawing at the walls to escape the Magistrate’s light.

Dorn maintains his position at the lip of the shaft. Below, he can hear the second Ghast groaning as it tries to find purchase on the mechanical rails to climb back up. Above him, the three Feline Husks have finished shredding the first Ghast into necrotic confetti and are now crouched at the edge, their wooden heads tilting in unison as they look down the shaft, awaiting Dorn’s lead. He plants his +2 Shield and readies Swift. If any creature reaches the lip of the shaft, he will use his Great Strike to send them back down.

• Ghast #1: Destroyed.
• Ghast #2: 30 feet down the shaft, injured (15 HP remaining), attempting to climb.
• Ghast-Priest: Fleeing into the rear hallway (Turned for 1 minute).
• Goblins: Pips is cheering from the scroll racks. "Big-light! The Magistrate brings the big-light!"

Dorn points a gauntleted finger toward the dark opening. "Down! Finish it!"

The Feline Husks don't hesitate. Their wooden frames snap with the tension of released springs as they launch themselves into the circular shaft. The sound from below is a chaotic mixture of splintering wood, the wet tearing of necrotic flesh, and a final, gurgling screech that echoes up the stone walls before abruptly falling silent.

The Shaft is Secured A few moments later, the only sound coming from the sub-vault is the rhythmic click-clack of wooden claws on stone as the constructs begin to prowl the lower chamber, awaiting further orders. The immediate threat from below has been neutralized.

The Rear Hallway Aele’s holy light continues to pulse from the Heart-Seed Scarab, creating a zone of sanctuary. The Ghast-Priest is gone, fled deep into the darkness of the marbled halls, its cowardly shrieks fading into the distance.

Pips hops down from the scroll rack, his eyes wide. "The Big-Man commands the wooden cats! This is a good omen, yes! Very good!" He scurries over to the edge of the shaft and peers down. "The way is clear to the guts of the world now."

Dorn grips the Copper Trunk and the Sun-Pendant, giving them a sharp, practiced twist and lift. As the keys clear the floor-slot, the vault responds with a heavy, grinding groan. The Jade Elephant begins to slide back toward its original position with a slow, hydraulic inevitability, and the circular shaft in the floor starts to iris shut.

"The cats are on their own down there for a moment," Dorn grunts, stowing the heavy keys and tightening the grip on his shield. "But that priest is too dangerous to leave at our backs."

Aele and Cabe nod, the Blood-Bond thrumming with the adrenaline of the hunt. The party turns away from the treasures of the vault and sprints toward the rear door, stepping over the necrotic remains of the first Ghast.

The marbled hall beyond the door is cold and opulent, lined with white stone pillars that have been stained by centuries of damp. Aele’s Heart-Seed Scarab continues to pulse with the fading energy of the Turn Undead, illuminating the hallway in rhythmic bursts of amber light.

The Trail: The Ghast-Priest’s retreat was anything but subtle. Pale, putrid ichor from its arrow wound streaks the floor, and the sound of its frantic, wet clawing against the marble walls echoes from around a corner roughly sixty feet ahead.

The Environment: The hallway opens up into a larger gallery with separate doors leading to the left and right. The air here smells of stale incense and dry rot. Finally, the corner the ghast in a hall with rooms along its sides. Aele makes a mental note to investigate the 'Chamber of Transition' and the 'Vestry of the Unspoken'. These are liturgical terms, suggesting this area served as a preparation wing for high-ranking Thothian priests before they entered the presence of the "Elephant."

The Ghast-Priest, its back turned as it frantically claws at the bronze door, is a sitting duck for a warrior of Dorn's caliber. Dorn doesn't just run; he uses the momentum of his heavy plate, launching himself into the air ten feet from the target.

Attack Roll: 18 + 8  (Base/Str/Knack) + 1 (Comfort) = 27 to hit.
Damage: 1d8 + 8 (Str/Knack) = 16 Damage.

Dorn descends like an iron comet. Swift bites deep into the Ghast-Priest’s shoulder, cleaving through the desiccated muscle and bone down to the sternum. The force of the impact slams the creature against the bronze door with a metallic GONG.

The Ghast-Priest let out a final, rattling hiss as the magical edge of Swift—imbued with the light of the vault—severs its connection to the negative plane. The creature collapses into a heap of tattered silk and grey, crumbling flesh. It is truly destroyed.

Cabe skids to a halt, bow still half-drawn, checking the shadows of the "Vestry" and "Chamber" doors. "Cleanly done, Dorn. But look at the door..."

The Bronze Door & The Mystery

The door the Ghast-Priest was trying to open is slightly ajar now, forced by the impact of Dorn’s strike. Beyond it lies not a room, but a steep spiral staircase winding upward. Aele notices a distinct lack of dust on these stairs; something has been using this passage recently.

Dorn says, "All right. Let's go back and investigate those jars and scrolls, then we'll return here, investigate a couple of rooms that seem to have attracted Aele's interest. Finally, we'll investigate this spiral stairwell, which shows signs of recent use."

This Thothian Ritual can only be learned by a Thothian wizard-priest of at least Level 4. The Ritual can be prepared by reciting a brief prayer to Thoth while touching a melee weapon or armor. When the wizard-priest triggers the effect of this ritual, either the wizard-priest or an ally he can see within thirty feet gains +2 to attack bonus and saving throws for the remainder of the current round, and for the next four rounds. These bonuses stack with any other bonuses that already apply to attacks or saving throws.

The brain is a marvelous, ineffable entity that is greater than the sum of its parts. And it is fallible. And it knows when to shut down, when to check out. Some indeterminate period of time after the battle with the beastmen, Dorn and Aele's brains began to take tentative sips of the that complex brew, Reality.

"Ughhh..." Dorn groans. "Exie? Exie, are you o— Recollection smashes into Dorn's brain and it gags and reflexively jerks away, and Dorn gratefully embraces blackness again. Aele looks over at his unconscious friend with remorse, with compassion, and yes — with somewhat of a fatherly affection for the younger man. "Old friend, I am so very sorry. Sorry for your loss, and sorrier still for the battle ahead of you. Exie was my newfound acquaintance, but very clearly she was your everything."

Beyond the depths of Arden Vul, dawn is breaking upon the Surface world; but in the subterranean environs of the dungeon, cycles of day and night become distant concepts. Here, it is sameness: cold, damp, uncomfortable, dangerous. Violence and death live here. Nine hours have passed since a force of myconid men ambushed not only Dorn and Aele, but also their beastmen foes.

Dorn has a headache, but he is sitting up, drinking water from his own waterskin, digging a biscuit from his own pack. He looks over at Aele. "They didn't take our stuff?" he asks, stupidly.

"No, and we seem to be in an old abandoned storage room." He indicates the closed door with a gesture. The door is of wood, banded in rusty but still very strong iron.

"Are we prisoners?" Dorn asks. He can faintly perceive the door. Luminous lichen provides some illumination.

"There are six myconid men beyond the door. Ask me how I know that..."

"How do you know?" Dorn asks.

"Because they very roughly insisted I stay put when I tried to open the door and take a stroll. It seems we are being held for some reason."

"I lost consciousness," Dorn says. "Near the end of the fight, when we were about to be killed. I seem to recall seeing you unconscious too, before I collapsed."

"You did. Somehow they rendered us unconscious. Us, and the remaining beastmen too."

"They killed them, I suppose?"

"No actually. They are being kept somewhere close by. I very clearly heard their howling and bleating an hour ago."

"These ... myconids. What are they? They're obviously intelligent."

The priest considers. "Indeed. That they have left us our weapons and other supplies seems to suggest that they perceive us to be of little threat, and that perhaps we'll be released soon. We can hope, anyway."

"All my hopes for the future have fled."

Aele squats down next to the fighter. "Dorn, listen to me. There are no words adequate for your loss, and I will remain your staunch friend, whether you rage or weep. But you must not give in to despair or apathy. Guard yourself against these, my friend."

Silence for ten heartbeats. "It is sage advice, old friend, and I take it to heart. I will rage and weep, perhaps both at once, but despair? Never. I will see Exie avenged. If we escape this present situation with our lives, I will make it my purpose to absolutely eradicate these beastmen. I will carve such a swathe of destruction through Arden Vul that they will sing about it when our bones have long since turned to powder."

A deep, resonant voice booms thunderously. "Bring me the Interlopers!" Aele and Dorn get to their feet as the door to their impromptu holding cell is opened. A man stands there — except, this is no man. This may once have been a man, but what stands silhouetted in the door frame is now something ... other. A bloated, grey-skinned corpse, covered in shelf mushrooms and pulsing white mycelium, beckons the two adventurers to leave their pen. They smell of damp earth and rot is strong. Worms wriggle through the wet, glistening compacted compost innards of this Fungal Servant.

It beckons, but it does not speak — probably cannot.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Aele says, and he adjusts the mace looped through his belt as Dorn follows him. They find themselves in the incomprehensibly vast cavern that is home to an entire fungal forest. Everywhere, there are luminous lichens growing on stone walls, while black, rich loam compresses under each footfall.

"Follow!" a bass, commanding voice says. Dorn cuts his eyes to Aele and they share a look. They've both realized it at the same time: the voice is in their minds. This vegetative abomination hasn't spoken.

"Lead the way, Cabbage Patch," Dorn says, and as they fall in behind Sir Slime the priest comments, "You do a disservice to cabbages everywhere." They are led for a couple minutes down a path that parallels a stone wall, part of the massive cavern itself. The ambient light from mosses and other biolumenescent organisms is considerable, perhaps comparable to a full moon on the Surface. They pass toadstools tiny, man-sized, and huge. The thing that leads them turns, taking a path through a forest of mushrooms a dozen feet high. Vines growing along the ground visibly move and slither. Here and there are groups of brightly glowing shrooms in clumps, sucking nutrients from the loam.

They pass phalanxes of mushroom men, seven feet tall, marching in the opposite direction. "How did they knock us out, I wonder?" Dorn says. "Poison? I don't recall any darts or —"

"— spores, most likely," Aele answers. "I imagine that—"

—"Be silent!" commands the deep, resonant Voice.

Now they turn a bit more rightward, perhaps moving closer to the center of the great forest. A shambling mound of vegetation blocks the path ahead, but moves aside — with a sound like a felled tree being dragged through a cornfield — after a few seconds of non-verbal communication with the heroes' fungal tour guide.

The air in the Fungal Court is heavy, tasting of damp earth and an overwhelming, bittersweet musk of ripening spores. As Aele and Dorn are ushered into the central cavern, the bioluminescence shifts from the faint green of the tunnels to a throbbing, rhythmic violet.

Massive, shelf-like fungi protrude from the walls like the balconies of an opera house, packed with silent observers. Myconid guards clutch spears of sharpened obsidian, their caps scarred and weathered. Slumbering in the shadows are bloated, beetle-like monstrosities and shambling mounds of sentient lichen that pulse in time with the chamber’s light.

At the center of the hall, rising from a throne of calcified puffballs, is The Sovereign. It is a titan of decay, standing twelve feet tall with a cap that spans the width of a small cottage. Its "skin" is a mosaic of peeling ivory and deep indigo veins, and long, translucent filaments drift from its gills like a ghostly beard.

The violet pulse of the chamber intensifies as Dorn and Aele are brought to the center of the court.

The Sovereign does not move, yet as the heroes approach, a pressurized hum vibrates behind their eyes—not a sound, but a psychic weight.

"Soft-fleshed walkers... you bring the heat of the sun-lit world into the cool silence of my garden. I am the Root, the Rot, and the Rebirth. You stand in the heart of the Mycelium. Speak your intent, before your breath becomes the very air my children drink."

Aele catches Dorn's eyes and the priest very deliberately draws forth the silvered ankh of Thoth, laying a finger aside his nose with a wink that communicates 'follow suit...

The rhythmic thrum in their skulls grows sharper as the heroes are forced to a halt by their myconid escort. To the left and right, the beastmen they were battling only hours ago are no longer the frenzied predators Dorn remembers. They are lashed to pillars of giant stalk-wood by thick, emerald-green vines that pulse with a sickening, peristaltic rhythm. The beastmen strain, their muscles bulging, but the flora holds with the strength of iron.

Above them, small, pale myconids drift like nursing ghosts, dusting the captives with a fine, shimmering powder. The Sovereign looks down at the struggling creatures with a cold, detached paternalism.

The Sovereign’s psychic projection shifts from a hum to a resonant, echoing baritone that smells of ancient papyrus and desert dust.

"Do not envy them, little strays. They are the fortunate ones. Their chaos will be pruned; their discordant screams will soon join the harmonious silence of the Great Compost. They go to a higher purpose—to serve the Root as they never could serve themselves."

The massive entity leans forward, its translucent filaments brushing the floor.

"You woke only because I willed it. You breathe only because I allow it. I am the end of all things, yet I remember the beginning. I remember the gilded halls of the Great River and the secrets of the Ibis. I am Lycandrus, returned from the soil of ages."

The psychic weight becomes a crushing pressure, and the heroes are forced to their knees.

"Give me your names, your purpose, and your absolute fealty. Tell me why I should not plant you alongside these beasts and watch you bloom in the dark."

Aele catches Dorn's eye once more before turning his attention to The Sovereign. The priest holds forth the silver ankh, cutting his eyes briefly to ensure Dorn is doing the same. "Great Lycandrus, we are humble acolytes of Thoth, assaulted without provocation as we sought to make pilgrimage to this hallowed forest, to offer our obeisance to you."

Ask the Dice: How well do the heroes sell this? Each burns a Fortune Point to gain advantage as they make checks against their Charisma. Answer: They sell it more than adequately. Dorn rolled his Charisma score, but Aele got a 4. Very convincing.

The crushing pressure of the telepathy immediately lifts. The Sovereign’s "voice" loses its abrasive edge, replaced by a haunting, scholarly curiosity. "We are pleased that you sought to make this pilgrimage. As Thoth's chief servant, I foreknew your peril as I saw you journeying from afar. Long have the servants of Thoth been menaced by the bestial once-men. Not to worry. They are being processed and will soon join my numerous Spore Servants. Long have these vermin troubled us."

Aele lets his head hang forward, eyes downcast in obeissance. Then, he slowly draws forth the necklace from beneath his hauberk, displaying the holy symbol of Thoth. "I have served Thoth for twenty seasons of the sunlit world. But this youngling by my side is a recent convert. He is overcome by your august presence, which accounts for his lack of speech. Great Lycandrus, your servant humbly requests your leave to briefly depart this hallowed place in order to take our fallen comerade to the Surface. We wish to resupply and then return to this realm, to fight your enemies."

The Sovereign’s massive, fungal bulk tremors, its cap tilting back as if gasping for air it does not need. The numerous myconid guards lower their obsidian spears in a synchronized, swaying motion.

The voice of The Sovereign is no longer a command; it is a trembling, ancient resonance, heavy with the weight of centuries.

"The Ibis... the Quill... the Infinite Librarian. That sigil... it is a spark of the Great Sun in this tomb of rot. Aele, is it? You carry the mark of the Master of Words. I see the ink of the Thothian scrolls in the marrow of your soul. Forgive the coldness of my welcome; the soil has made me forget the warmth of the temple fires."

The Sovereign—the spirit of Lycandrus—lowers its head in a slow, creaking bow.

"We are kin in the Great Work, Priest. You serve the Knowledge that creates; I serve the Knowledge that decomposes. Both are written in the Ledger of Thoth. Your request is granted. But first, while my servants collect valuables of the beastmen for your use, join me in the Ceremony of Decay."

As the Sovereign addresses Aele with newfound warmth, he gestures dismissively toward the bound beastmen. The "grace" he has shown the heroes is not extended to them.

The transformation is a slow, agonizing symphony of biological horror. The emerald vines aren't just binding the beastmen; they are feeding. The heroes watch as hair-thin tendrils, white as bone, begin to burrow into the beastmen's tear ducts, nostrils, and ears.

One beastman tries to scream, but only a thick, grey cloud of spores escapes his throat. His jaw distends as a shelf of orange bracket fungi bursts through the skin of his neck, hardening into a natural collar.

Their muscles don't just weaken; they begin to slough beneath the skin. The outline of their ribcages shift as the internal organs are slowly digested and replaced by a dense, fibrous mycelium.

The frantic terror in their eyes begins to glaze over, replaced by a dull, rhythmic violet glow. Their twitching limbs settle into a terrifying, mechanical stillness. They are no longer creatures of flesh and blood; they are becoming living compost, their nervous systems hijacked by the Sovereign’s hive-mind.

"Do not look away, Priest," Lycandrus whispers. "Observe the ultimate library. Their memories, their strengths, their very essence... it is all being indexed into the Forest. Nothing is lost. It is merely... archived."

Lycandrus leans his massive, shelf-like cap toward Aele and Dorn, the movement sounding like the rustle of ancient parchment. The violet light in the chamber dims, focusing into a tight, conspiratorial amber glow around the heroes.

The Sovereign’s psychic voice drops to a dry, raspy whisper, the mental equivalent of a scroll being unrolled for the first time in millennia.

"Because you carry the Ibis, I will give you a truth that the mindless crawlers of these halls have forgotten. You seek the deeper descents, do you not? You seek the heart of Arden Vul, where the stone remembers the stars."

He extends a long, spindly finger—more a cluster of rootlets than a hand—pointing toward the damp, crumbling floor of the court.

"Below us, where the Great Pipe heaves the breath of the mountain, there lies the Hall of Records. The beastmen and the scavengers think it a tomb, but it is a vault. There is a stone door there, marked with the Feather of Truth. It will not open for blood, nor for iron."

The Sovereign reaches into a cavity in his own chest—a hollow filled with a glowing, bioluminescent nectar—and withdraws a small, calcified object. It is a fossilized scarab, turned to translucent green agate by the fungal enzymes. He offers it to Aele.

"Take this. It is a fragment of my own calcified heart from the life before. When you reach the door of the Hall, place this within the eye of the Ibis carved upon the lintel. It will recognize the resonance of a true Priest of Thoth. But heed me, Aele: the secrets within are guarded by those who died refusing to forget. They may not recognize your face, even if they recognize your god.

He places the scarab gently in to Aele's quivering, outstretched palm. "Here, guard it well, loyal priest. My servants will escort you to a place where you can leave these Depths. Come to me upon your return, that I may learn of recent happenings in the Surface world and my task you with a special mission for Thoth."

Only a few hours later, Dorn and Aele stand in Burdock's Vale. They have fashioned a travois to bear Exie's corpse. They set out for Newmarket, each heeding the worries and broodings of a sorrow-laden heart.

P.S. this info not kept online, just locally: it's likely that the heroes at some point will use the Heart-Seed Scarab to access the Hall of Cylinders (i.e., the Hall of Records). The Sovereign will certainly attempt to manipulate them into doing so, for he cannot breach that location himself.