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The Annals of Glen Forkovian

Shadowdim 4: Treasure Tithing?

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It's the second day that Dorn, Exie, and Aele have been together. They have arrived on Level 3 of Arden Vul and are currently dealing with a shakedown attempt by Phlebotomas' halfling thugs.

Dorn has just shot his mouth off to Roskelly: ""How do you do? Where are your parents? We'll speak to them." There is a non-zero chance that one or more thugs will fire on him for this insult. Oracle says nah.

"Ah, the brash adventurer speaks," says Rosk. "My fellows and I are halflings, as I think you likely know quite well. My fellow halflings, if the bald one here doesn't tame his salty tongue, fill him full of crossbow quarrels. Now, back to business. Nobody goes any further into Arden Vul without an explorer's license, and that is twenty-five gold coins for each of you. Oh, and if you want to use this route to exit the dungeon — assuming you live long enough to exit &mash; there is a tariff of 10% on your treasure haul."

Options: considering what coinage Dorn has stolen from the Blackfist Mercs, not to mention the treasure the party acquired from the goblins, the party can afford this. Dorn is seething, Exie is anxious, and Aele's expression denotes thoughtfulness.

"How long are the explorers' licenses valid?" Exie asks.

"Why, until the next time we meet each other, of course," says Rosk with an evil grin.

"We cannot possibly afford that," Aele lies. "But I am a priest of Cromm. If you have any vials or flasks, fill them with water and I will turn them into healing potions."

"A generous offer," Rosk concedes, "and healing potions are in very high demand here. However, given the loss of immediate income, we would have to charge you 20% of the value or any treasure you may seek to exit Arden Vul with; is that acceptable? But I will first need proof that you can do what you claim." He produces a canteen of water, and an empty vial, then fills the vial with water.

Moving up to the priest, he hands him the vial and says, "Let me see your hand." When Aele complies, the halfling takes his dagger and slices a small cut on the back of the priest's right hand. "Now, turn this vial into a healing potion, then drink it."

"Very well," Aele agrees, taking the vial. "Cromm, aid your servant, that healing may come," he says, passing his other hand three times over the vial, which he then turns up and quaffes. After a couple seconds, Rosk sneers. "Aha! A charlatan, I se—"

"A few moments more," Aele advises. And then before everyone's eyes, his hand heals.

"Hmppf!" says Rosk. "Very well, then. Three vials of water turned into healing potions, and we will let you pass. Only you owe us 20% of the monetary value of any treasure when you come through our territory to leave the dungeon. And believe me, this is the only safe ingress and egress."

"Twenty percent the first time we come back through here, then the standard ten percent after that. You said yourself that healing potions are in high demand," Exie counters.

"And I myself get to select our 20% cut," Rosk adds.

"Agreed on one condition," Dorn says. "If we cannot agree on what constitutes a twenty percent cut, you will accept one hundred gold coins instead of a cut."

"One hundred twenty five," Rosk counters.

"One hundred fifteen. Final offer," Dorn growls.

After the space of five hearbeats, Rosk says, "Agreed!" Coinage changes hands, and all three companions contribute their remaining carried wealth to come up with the agreed upon sum. Aele is now truly broke, but Exie manages to keep the 10-gp value blue quartz hidden. Dorn has a gold coin hidden in the tongue of each boot.


"Well, shit!" Dorn says, after the party has left Rosk and his halfling thugs behind. He begins to say more, but catches a hand movement by Lexie and dampens the amount of light coming from his lantern. Lantern Usage Check: 3 (all good). Lexie is no longer anywhere in sight, but then she comes back into the lantern light, frogmarching a halfling ahead of her, a dagger to the thug's back.

"Truce!" the halfling cries. "I mean you no harm. I am Sulla. Sulla Tradewell. Rosk sent me to offer my services as a guide. I know the dangers on this level pretty well, and I would welcome the chance to stretch my legs."

"And to report back to him later on everything we've said, everywhere we've gone," adds Exie coolly.

"He will ask, yes; and I will tell him, but a halfling facing the dangers of Arden Vul cannot remember every detail," she says, coyly. "And one who seeks more out of life than a base career of thuggery might prove herself loyal and valuable, no?"

Dorn looks from Sulla to Aele, and the latter arches an eyebrow to accentuate a shrug.

"What's to say you're not just trying to insert yourself into our group in order to lead us to our doom?" Exie asks.

"I understand your distrust. But given that distrust, would it not be better to have me with you where you can keep an eye on me, instead of me following your trail, which is what I must do if I do not join you? Give me three hours to prove my worth."

Dorn waits until Exie shares a look with him before saying, "All right. Performance is the prover. But you will fight for us, you will not abandon us, and you will have only half a share in any loot after we get first pick."

Sulla smiles. "Agreed! And here is a flask of oil for your lantern." She hands it over. The brings extra oil up to four lantern-refills.

Sulla Tradewell female halfling thief 2 Hp 7/7 AC 13 short sword +2/+2; saving throws per class and level.

Sulla apparently takes her duties as guide seriously: "If we encounter beastmen, don't freak out. Just stay calm and follow my lead."

"Calm, yes. But following? You'll have to prove yourself to us, first," Dorn says.

"Beastmen have shaggy fur and their heads usually resemble a wolf but sometimes might be a cat's head, or that of a ... what do you call them on the Surface? The four-legged creatures that produce milk?"

"Cows," Aele supplies.

"Hmm, no, not cows..."

"Goats," Exie says with confidence.

"Yes! The goatses, right. The beastmen have a truce with u— um, with Rosk, so we usually leave each other alone. But it is an uneasy truce. It would not take much for it to—"

"— 'go sideways', as we like to say on the Surface." Exie grins, simultaneously chiding herself and trying to hold on tightly to disliking this short woman.

"There could be goblins. We know some went out this morning on patrol. They probably will attack us if we come across any — the halflings and goblins have been ambushing each other a lot lately. They won't hesitate to kill me but would probably try to capture you, hoping to take prisoners to their king. And then there are skeletons, and sometimes blood-birds. We can probably take them. Now follow me," she says, and taking her torch she heads east.


You stand in a great hall carved out of the limestone. This two- or three-story hall is filled with broken pillars and strange statuary. "Follow carefully, there is much crumbling stone here." And she leads the heroes through the hall, west to east.

Exie approaches Dorn. "Let me borrow the lantern a minute? I need to relieve myself." True to her word, she is only gone a minute, and comes back with a cherubic smile and — though nobody notices — a slight bulge in her pack.

As the foursome reach the end of the great hall, Sulla says, "Okay, we can begin angling southeast and will wind up in the mushroom forest. It's a good source of food, but there are myconids. Or, if we move north, we will enter a section of the level that was once home to priests of Thoth. It has rotting murals, statues, and some crypts, most of which were looted long ago. So, what'll it be?"

"Nort—" Aele ejects.

"—Southeast!" both Dorn and Exie say speaking over Aele.

Dorn turns to his old friend. "Let's visit the forest and acquire food first, and maybe other useful things, then we'll head north and explore thoroughly."

Aele nods. "Makes sense."


Ask the (Playing Cards) Oracle: Does the party have an encounter enroute to the Mushroom Forest?

Result: Yes! — 9 skeletons suddenly converge on the party, drawn by its hateful positive energy! Hp 3, Ac 12, Atk +1 Dmg 1d4

Dorn shouts, "Aele, can you banish them!?"

"No, I'm not strong enough yet in my faith!" And with that, Aele pulls his mace from his belt and prepares to do battle.

"Shinker's Scabies!" Exie curses. "I don't have a blunt weapon!"

"Use the flat of your sword, like a club!" Sulla shouts, and then the skeletons are upon the heroes.

"Well shit on a slick stick," Dorn curses under his breath, limbering up his sword arm.

Rnd 1: Dorn misses, Exie hits and destroys a skeleton. Sulla misses. So does Aele. Three skeletons attack Dorn. The first one crits him for 4 damage (he's at 7/12 hp). The second and third fail to hurt Dorn. Two skeletons attack Aele: one of them hits him for 4 points (he's at 3/7 hp). Two attack Sulla, who dodges both attacks deftly. The remaining skeleton attacks Exie: a miss!

Rnd 2: Dorn misses, burns a Fortune Point to re-roll his attack, and misses a second time! He burns another FP and re-rolls: a crit, and that skeleton goes down! Exie's attack hits and another skeleton goes down. Sulla attacks, shattering a skeleton. Aele uses a Surge, 2d6 equals six, and directs that positive energy at one of the remaining skeletons, obliterating it. Four skeletons remain. Two hit Dorn, one critically, and staggers (1 hp left). One attacks Sulla, the other Exie. Their armor saves them.

Rnd 3: Dorn lashes out with fading strength, shrewdly targeting the skeleton north of Aele, destroying it. Exie targets the skeleton southwest of her position: a hit and she destroys it. Sulla steps north and helps Dorn down a healing potion. Dorn's eyes widen as his wounds close. And Aele uses his second Surge of the day to heal himself.

Rnd 4: The two remaining skeletons attack Dorn: a hit and a miss, and Dorn is 8/12 hp. His companions make quick work of those two remaining foes and combat ends.

PC HP Surges Left FP Left
Dorn 8/12 n/a 1/3
Aele 7/7 1/3 3/3
Sulla 7/7 n/a 3/3
Exie 8/8 n/a 3/3

As the party scans nearby quickly, following defeating the skeletons, they luck out and happen upon a false section of flagstones slowly sliding into place again. "Block it. Don't let it close!" Sulla says forcefully. Aele manages to prevent it closing completely with his mace. Then his and Dorn's combined strength manage to reopen it. While they ensure it stays open, Exie and Sulla go down crumbling stone steps and lug up a heavy chest. Sulla gets a cut while assuming the risk of opening the chest. Luckily, if it once had poison on the trap, it has long since lost its potency.

Exie is smiling like a chesire cat when she emerges and explains, "There's a mechanism down there that can open the trapdoor. We can use this as a safe place to rest!"

"Test it!" Dorn says, peering down into the space while Aele tends to Sulla's cut. Sure enough, after letting the trapdoor completely close, Exie waits a full minute and then, faintly her voice can be heard, muffled even though she's yelling, "I'm going to try it now!" It works!

"Did you know this was here?" Dorn asks Sulla.

"No, Dorn. I swear, I did not. And I'm confident none of the other halflings know of it."

"It's a chance we'll have to take. Everybody inside," Dorn barks. "Let's rest, eat, get some sleep, and then make some plans..."

*Defeating skeletons, obtaining food, obtaining makeshift torch material, forging an ally in Sulla: 1,000 XP. No level-ups. Total treasure value in the chest:

1. The Monetary Wealth

The bulk of the treasure is loose, spilling out of a rotted leather sack resting atop the chest:

  • 2,400 cp: Tarnished and green-edged, featuring the profile of a forgotten tyrant.
  • 800 sp: Polished and bright, minted by a mountain dwarf clan.
  • 450 gp: Heavy, square-cut coins known as "Beholders," stamped with a central eye.

    2. Objects of Art & Curios

    Spread around the base of the chest are items used in forgotten rituals:

    An Ivory Drinking Horn (Value: 150 gp): Carved with scenes of a Great Hunt. If used to drink wine, the user feels a momentary surge of unnatural bravery (+1 to Saves vs. Fear for 1 turn).

    A Silver Filigree Mask (Value: 250 gp): Shaped like a weeping face. It is cold to the touch and weighs more than it looks.

    Three Blue Spinels: Small, sparkling gems worth 50 gp each.

    3. The "Main Attraction" (Magic Items)

    Hidden inside the chest, wrapped in moth-eaten velvet: a small, spiked shield +1 ("The Sun-Blinder") made of polished bronze. Once per day, the wielder can command it to flash; all enemies within 10 feet must Save vs. Spells or be blinded for 1d4 rounds.

    Potion of Gaseous Form: Contained in a fragile glass vial shaped like a cloud. It tastes like wet fog.


    Deep within the humid gloom of Arden Vul’s third level, the Mushroom Forest unfolds like a fever dream of alien biology. Towering, shelf-like caps of colossal Agarics reach toward the vaulted ceiling, their stalks thick as ancient oaks and slick with a pale, weeping nectar.

    The air here is heavy and sweet, shimmering with a suspended haze of bioluminescent spores that drift like embers in colors of toxic violet and neon emerald. Underfoot, the floor is a spongy carpet of mycelium that sighs and yields with every step, occasionally rupturing to release puffs of pungent, mustard-colored gas.

    A rhythmic, low-frequency hum vibrates through the damp air, seemingly pulsed from the gills of the largest fungi. Clusters of fist-sized puffballs line the cavern walls, glowing with a rhythmic internal light that mimics a slow, steady heartbeat. Every surface is coated in a fine, slippery dew, and the silence of the halls is replaced by the unsettling, wet "thwip" of distant fungal growths expanding in the dark.

    The party stuffs their packs with edible shrooms, as well as some sort of greenish plant that might be Underworld asparagus or hogweed. And Sulla shows the party a dark, oily vine that can be wrapped around a stick or club and makes a decent torch.

    Shadowdim 3: Well, Rats!

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    Ask the oracle: does the party make it to the cliff top without mishap/encounter (somewhat likely)? Answer: No! Let's see what happens to Dorn, Exie, and Aele.

    It's a goblin patrol! Ask the oracle: how many (2d4); Answer: 5. Great, we're outnumbered! Still, the tunnel isn't terribly wide. Exie gasps, "We've got company!" Light flares as Dorn unshutters his lantern fully. "Blinded goblins. Let's take advantage of that!" he yells as he sets his lantern down, rips his sword from his scabbard, and advances.

    Checking initiatives, the goblins all have 1, Dorn is 3, Aele is 1, and Exie is 5. The goblins are AC 14 and +1 BAB with short swords. Exie gets an additional +1 bonus this round because the suddenly flaring bullseye lantern is painfully distracting to the goblins. Exie's normal full attack bonus is +2 (0 BAB plus a +2 mod for Dex 17). She'll get +3 now, and her d20 roll result is a 19, a strong hit. Damage is 1d6 with shortsword, then +2 bonus from Strength 16. Damage 1d6+2 results in 2. The southwesternmost goblin is now at 2/4 HP. Dorn, with the next best initiative, feints toward the goblin directly in front of him, but then thrusts his long sword at the goblin that Exie has injured. Dorn is specialized in the longsword, +4 to both hit and damage, and he'll get another +1 this round due to the sudden lantern light's effect. His attack roll vs AC 14 is only 11, however (a miss). Aele launches a Spirit Bolt (when a PC's iniative ties that of a non-boss foe, the PC acts fractionally faster) at the injured goblin, dealing it another 4 damage, killing it.

    Now the goblins act. The one closest to Dorn attacks him. Dorn has AC 14 and the goblin gets +1 to hit. It's attack roll results in 20 (natural 19) — that's a hit, for 3 damage, dropping Dorn from 12 to 09 hp. A second rank goblin steps forward past the corpse of its slain fellow and attacks Exie, with a to-hit result of 16 versus her AC 14, a hit for (fortunately) just a single point of damage, dropping her to 7/8 hp. The remaining second rank goblin lunges past its fellow with a spear, attacking Dorn with a to-hit roll of 6 (a miss). The rear goblin doesn't have a projectile weapon, and is too far away to bring its spear to bear. Round ends:

    Round 2. Exie leads the action, stabbing at her immediate foe: she misses. Dorn attacks his nearest foe, killing it, and another steps forward, taking it's place. That's 2 dead goblins and our heroes are only scratched. Rear goblin needs to make a morale roll, and remember that other than to-hit and saving throws, we want to roll low; it gets a result of 1 — cool as a cucumber. Aele launches another Spirit Bolt for 6 damage to the goblin menacing Exie, killing it, and giving the rearmost goblin an opening to step forward into the fray. A goblin attacks Dorn: miss! The other attacks Exie: a hit for 3 damage, dropping her to 4 hit points.

    Round 3 begins. For map clarity, I'll hide the slain goblins. Also, I forgot to give Exie her specialization in short sword, and have corrected it.

    Exie misses, rueing the cramped space. Dorn hits and kills his goblin, at which point the remaining goblin tries to turn and flee, only to be taken out by Aele's Spirit bolt.

    End of Combat Report: Dorn at 9/12 hp, Exie at 4/8, Aele at 7/7. Five goblins slain. Total party XP gained: +75. Adding that to the 400 XP for negotiating past the ropers, total party XP now is at 475. Chaos Factor drops back to 5. Danger Dice pool now at 3. Lantern usage die d10, Aele's remaining daily Surges: 0/3. Let's see if the goblins have any valuables: 50 cp and 210 sp, plus a blue quartz worth 10 gp.

    Our three heroes patch one another up as best they can, deciding to forego using the only three healing potions that Aele is carrying. Exie 5/8, Dorn 10/12, Aele 7/7.

    Ask the oracle: any more encounters between here and cliff top (Very Unlikely)? Answer: No. Good deal! They make it to the top of the cliff and begin to make camp.

    "Keep an eye peeled for goblins. Those in the tunnel may not have been alone," Dorn says, pounding a tent peg into the hard clay.

    Aele glances skyward. "It'll be dark soon, and it will snow tonight."

    "How do you do that?" Dorn asks, shaking his head.

    "Do what?" Exie inquires.

    "Korvin has the touch when it comes to weather. He's never wrong."

    "One of my many talents," the wizard-priest says as he continues setting up tinder and kindling for a fire.


    Not long after, the three are sitting around a crackling fire. "So who keeps firewood stocked here on the tree-less cliff top?" Aele asks.

    "There's a group out of Gosterwick that frequents this area in the Spring and Summer, catering to adventurers. They keep potable water, firewood, stuff like that in good supply up here as a courtesy for the Exarch's approval for them to conduct business here. There's a dungeon entrance nearby. This whole cliff-top was once the site of a thriving city," Dorn expounds.

    "You hear that rushing sound?" Exie asks Aele? That's the Arden-Flow River waterfall about a three miles from here. The river flows out of the Dragon Peaks to the northeast."

    "Oh, I've sent it from the Valley before," Aele says, nodding. "I've just never been up here on the clifftop."

    Dorn nods. "I wish we had more of that wine you brought, Zorvin." The big balding man is using the priest's familiar name simply to encourage Exie to do the same — even though their long association enables Dorn to use 'Aele' without giving offense. "The tunnel we took from the Mouth of Arden travels underneath Burdock Valley, so we bypassed it entirely."

    "I'd like to see it, someday," Exie says, breaking cured meat and other hardtack out of her pack, and passing it around.

    "Oh, it is truly magificent," Zhorvin says. "The falls are two hundred yards across, and bounded by the Colossal Defenders — the largest statues in all of Arandia."

    "I thought the river was named The Swift," Exie says.

    "It is," Dorn replies, after the Falls, but upriver from there, it's called the Arden-Flow. Don't ask me: I didn't get consulted on that or a good many other choices." All three chuckle at this, and then Exie asks, "So tell me more about the area. I've not been more than a stone's throw from Prelm in the last decade."

    Dorn continues, "The old Imperial Road runs along the east side of the Swift River and eventually leads to Newmarket. It is made of large rectangular cobblestones, and originally boasted curbs and drainage. Today it is largely overrun, cracked, with grasses and small shrubs growing out of it. Within five hundred feet of the Falls it is slick and treacherous."

    Ask the Oracle: do the PCs have any overnight encounters on the plateau atop the cliff (unlikely, given that it's the cold season — but, then again, the goblins in the tunnel probably came from up here)? Answer: No.

    The Next morning dawns windy and with three inches of snow as our companions emerge from their tents. They retrieve heavy woolen cloaks from their packs and don them, then quickly break camp. "We can eat while traveling," Dorn decides. "We're lucky to have been unbothered during the night." Each had spent four hours tending the fire and keeping a lookout.

    "Which way?" Exie asks.

    "Follow me," Dorn says, and the three head off across the plateau, the noise of the waterfall slowly receding behind them.

    Some ten minutes later the trio draws up abruptly as a vast edifice seems to emerge loomingly from the blowing snow. The Pyramid of Thoth rises majestically amidst the surface ruins of Arden Vul, its ancient stone façade adorned with intricate carvings that depict hieroglyphs and celestial motifs. This monumental structure, dedicated to the god of light, healing, wisdom, magic and knowledge, serves as both a shrine and a gateway to the mysteries hidden within the megadungeon’s depths.

    Surrounding the pyramid, the remnants of crumbled buildings and tangled vegetation hint at a once-thriving civilization drawn to the pyramid's allure. Dorn says, "The Temple of Thoth. Inside, adventurers discover a series of chambers filled with eerie silence, punctuated only by the soft echo of their footsteps on the granite floors."

    "Oh my, you'd make a great tour guide," Exie says, slapping Dorn on the shoulder. Aele hasn't spoken. He's moved apart from the other two and is staring up at a massive statue of a baboon who holds a staff in its right hand. An ibis perches on the baboon's left shoulder. A carved necklace rings the baboon's neck, and from it an ankh depends. "It's Cromm," Aele breathes in awe.

    "If you say so," Dorn says, stroking his chin stubble. "But scholars say this depicts the ancient god Thoth." Aele turns to his old friend. "I was trained that Thoth is one of the Twelve, and that he is no more. But this is his iconography — all of it. Strange, and now that I see it I recall an argument years ago among two factions of the temple. One insisted that Cromm is the ancient one, Thoth..."

    "Well, you did say yesterday afternoon that you sought answers to questions, in joining us. Perhaps we'll learn more inside. Lead us in, Dorn."

    The group picks its way around snow-covered statuary, fountains, other plinths and plaques, but none as large and imposing as towering statue of Cromm/Thoth. Just before they enter the great pyramid, Aele looks back at it, and it seems the baboon stares into his soul. The priest steadfastly ignores his hindbrain as it screams that the statue has turned to look at him.

    Inside, Aele lights one of the bullseye lanterns and turns up its intensity, holding it aloft and close to the walls as he studies the glyphs. He moves slowly, reading carefully. Exie draws breath, perhaps to encourage haste, but Dorn lies a hand on her shoulder and when she looks at him, he shakes his head no, give the priest some time...

    Here and there amid the carvings in the walls are chalk or charcoal writings, added centuries after the pyramid was constructed, some of them perhaps in just the last few years. One reads: "Beware the smithered fecking half-men!"; another "The secrets of the Paleologue will not remain hidden. Look to Gog for directions." As the group approaches the chute-link, time-worn stone steps to descend, Aele reads another piece of adventurer-penned graffiti: "The feathery blessing of Maat fends off the walkers! Do not ignore her soft offering!"

    Aele shakes his head ruefully. "I wish I had brought parchment and charcoal, to record these, make rubbings of engravings..."

    Dorn nods and says reassuringly, "Perhaps we can find such supplies within, and no doubt we will make trips to Gosterwick from time to time, to consult sages, to hopefully sell valuables, and to rest."

    And to pray someone there can remove curses Exie thinks, but does not say aloud. Regretfully, the wizard-priest turns down his lantern as Dorn takes the lead with the other lantern. "Now, to find a way down," Dorn says. But ten minutes later no way downward has been found. Exie sees the tension on Dorn's face and wisely says nothing.

    After a few moments, Aele says, "Oh, the statue, of course!" and leads his two curious companions back to the baboon and ibis statue. "I should have thought of this earlier. Cromm loves trap doors. Try moving the staff. Exie, try one leg. Dorn, help me with this free arm. One of the statues' arms moves grudgingly a few inches as both Dorn and Aele apply their strength, and a square section of pavement slides aside behind the statue, revealing a set of stairs leading downward.

    They are steep and cramped. They descend more than thirty stories. The stairwell walls are blackened with soot, grime, and desecration. Little meaningful is left to decipher, and in many places the touch of living hands has deposited oils which over time has faded whatever writings may once have been here.

    Finally exiting the staircase, the three find themselves in a long pillared hall. It is not well-lit, but further into the hall are four burning torches, placed on sconces about three feet above the floor. Dorn decreases the flame intensity in his lantern. Usage check on d10 results in 4. All three heroes are back to 3/3 Fortune Points. Overnight, they each regained 2 hit points: Ale 7/7, Dorn 12/12, Exie 7/8.

    Intelligence checks to fathom the significance of the torches' sconce heights. Aele - 20, Dorn - 8, Exie - 20

    Dorn cautions, "Watch out. Others are here, or nearby," he says, nodding toward the torches.

    Ask the Oracle: Is the party surprised by the three giant rats that attack from the shadows? Answer: Yes! Giant rats have been semi-trained/tamed by the halfling thugs here to act as guards and shock troops. Dorn and his companions have been set upon from all sides. And not only are they outnumbered, but they're also surprised. The rats are a single hit point each and inflict 1 damage on a hit, with a 10% chance of passing disease the first time a foe is bitten, and 5% each time thereafter. They have AC 12.

    Dorn and Exie each get bitten once, and somehow Aele doesn't. Neither contracts disease.

    On the first non-surprise round, Dorn kills a rat, as does Exie, but Aele misses with his mace, then the rats attack: everybody's getting bitten. Nobody contracts disease. First regular round is over. On to round 2: all three PCs miss with their attacks. Aele gets bitten twice more (no disease, though). Round 3: Dorn misses but Aele and Exie each kill a rat, and then the remaining three rats attack: Dorn gets bitten and drops to 8 hp; Aele gets hit with a critical for 2 damage and drops to 2 remaining hit points!

    Round 4: Dorn kills a rat, Exie misses, and Aele cries out to Cromm (Thoth?) for healing and regains five hit points and is back at maximum health. Two rats remain. One bites Dorn for another point of damage and the other misses Aele. Round 5: Dorn misses, but Exie hits, killing the rat that attacked Dorn. Father Truemas kills the remaining rat, and the PCs are victorious!

    Slow, mocking, languorous applause comes from the shadows, and then mutliple halflings come into view. One steps forward, though not within melee range. "Welcome friends, my name is Roskelly; just call me Rosk." The other halflings spread out, and have crossbows trained on the PCs.

    Rosk continues, "I regret the loss of my pet rats, but it won't be difficult to acquire more. They're abundant on this level, and most fecund. Oh, some of you are bitten. My apologies. They aren't ... weren't ... housebroken. On behalf of my boss, welcome to Arden Vul. I just need to collect the appropriate fees and issue you your explorers' licenses. Let's see, there are three of you, so that comes to ... seventy-five gold coins."

    Dorn draws himself to his full six feet and glares down at Rosk. "How do you do? Where are your parents? We'll speak to them."

    Shadowdim 2: Taking Stock

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    It has been three hours since Dorn and Exie encountered Jorun Fielenghast and Vida Moinder in a large cavern of stalactites and stalagmites. Father Aele 'Zorvin' Truemas — a long-term friend of Dorn's — has stayed with them. They have eaten and are continuing to pass among themselves a two-quart wineskin. It is mostly now empty and has gone a long way toward easing tension, loosening tongues, and creating seeming warmth in the cool environs of the Deep Down.

    Taking stock

    Exie Swift has built a small fire with the limited fuel she carries. "That's it. That's all the kindling I brought with me. So enjoy the fire while you can. It may be a long time before we enjoy another."

    "It's chilly," Father Zorvin Truemas acknowledges. "But at least it's not likely to get any colder: down here we'll not be subjected to the snowstorms that will soon plague the Exarchate." He warms his hands before the flames, and asks, "How well are we provisioned?"

    Dorn grunts. "Well, we now have two bullseye lanterns. The one we brought with us is half-empty." Dorn has trimmed that lantern to a very low flame, given the illumination from the fire. "The other lantern is about three fourths full. And between the oil we brought and what you carried with you," he says to the priest, "we've enough to refuel each lantern three more times."


    Lantern Fuel: Usage die d12


    "We have two pounds of jerky, three pounds of cheese, and a dozen hard biscuits. That won't last the three of us long," Dorn says, then drinks again from the wineskin.

    "Yeah, sorry. I just didn't think to pack more provisions," Zorvin says.

    "It's okay," Exie shrugs. "Mobility is our first priority, so we can't be laden down. There's food to be had. Sometimes it can be hard to find, and sometimes when you do find it you have to take it away from someone ... or something..."

    Dorn nods. "There just wasn't time and opportunity to plan this out better, else I'd have stashed us a cache or two of supplies in some of the side tunnels we've passed. I spent some time down here about eight years ago, just before I joined the Blackfists. If I remember right, another half hour walking will bring us out into an immense cavern that contains a giant pyramid."

    "I'm glad you know a little about the place. I don't know squat about it," Exie admits.

    Zorvin accepts the wineskin from the young woman and thinks for a moment after savoring another swallow. "I've not been down here before myself, but I have treated adventurers who have been here, over the years. Two main differences here in the Deep Down: the Lost Races are here, and magic is alive here."

    "Lost races?" Exie clearly is intrigued.

    Dorn nods, "When The Disaster happened, untold generations ago, magic on the surface was suppressed; at least, in Arandia it was. I don't know about the other continents. Something else happened, but nobody really knows exactly when. It may have been right at the time of the Great Disaster, or a good while later."

    Father Zorvin takes up the tale, "Right. What we're pretty sure about is that many centuries ago, either as part of the Great Disaster or maybe a completely separate, unrelated event, something killed off the demi-races, those that were on the Surface, you understand? Halflings, aelves, dwarves."

    "I've never met a halfling," Exie says. "Or an aelf or dwarf."

    "The aelves may be extinct," Dorn said. "There's been no sightings for centuries. Or, some may have survived underground. The Glittering Canopy in the far northern Arandian forest known as Greatmoss is deserted. There are thousands of aelven skeletons. I saw parts of it as a recruit under Captain Ruven. Eery as fuck. I'm not superstitious, but I swear the place is haunted."

    "Interesting," says Zorvin. "I never knew you'd been that far north."

    "But magic isn't totally dead, right?" says Exie. "I mean, you can still heal people," she directs at Zorvin.

    "Well, that's not magic, that's faith. Magic is a ... a force that some lucky few are able to wield as a tool — a very powerful tool. What the Church clergy are able to do is by the will of Cromm, who Sees All."

    "Did the other gods die out, like the demi races?" Exie asks before tipping up and emptying the last of the wineskin into her mouth.

    "Nobody knows." Zorvin leans closer to the fire, which is beginning to burn lower. "Cromm must know, but he is silent on this, and always has been. In fact, he gets downright cross when asked about it, according to the Book of the White in Karstbridge Cathedral."

    Dorn finishes repacking his pack, adding, "If we survive long enough down here, we may learn some answers to at least some of these questions. Let's move on, now that we've eaten. Be on the lookout for any creatures, and be on guard. But remember, not everything down here has to be a foe. Some are just trying to survive and bothering nobody. Let's befriend them, when we can."

    Exie nods in agreement, adding, "And kill the rest."


    A few minutes later, the trio is another quarter mile down the Gullet, and perhaps four miles from Arden's Mouth, when there is a loud but distant rumble. All three freeze in midstride, regarding one another uncertainly.

    "Probably falling rock," Dorn opines. "Sure hope it hasn't cut off our route downward." Exie shivers and adjusts the short bow on her back.

    Lantern usage check on d12 (a 1-2 results in a reduction): 10. A die gets added to the Danger Pool. Danger Counter at 1.

    After a thirty-count with no further rumbling noises, Dorn quietly says, "Let's continue. Take vanguard, Exie. You're the quietest."


    Twenty minutes later the trio pauses at the opening to a large cavern. After listening silently for a full two minutes, Dorn speaks quietly, his words clear given the acoustics. "I'm going to turn up the lantern now and open the shutter. I want you to see what is in this cavern and listen very closely, because our lives depend on it."

    Add a die to the Danger Pool. Danger Counter is now at two. Rolled a 1 on Lantern Usage. Die drops from d12 to d10.

    "You see those stalagmites?" Dorn says, after sliding open the shutter on his lantern. "See how large they are in comparison to the stalactites hanging down from the ceiling? That's because they aren't stalagmites at all. They're monsters."

    "And you know this, how?" asks Exie.

    Dorn chuckles. "I'm forty years old, and I've only been in the Blackfists for the last eight years. Before that, I was an ... explorer. This is a location I explored about fifteen years back."

    Aele Zhorvin add, "What he means is, he was smuggling goods through here from Prelm to Gosterwick."

    "I never said I was only exploring," Dorn retorts. "These are 'ropers'. It is thought they are a side effect of The Disaster — one of many. If you look closely, you'll see what look like vines growing up around them. They're not vines, they're tentacles. And they are sticky as tripled tar. Aele, do you have a sharp blade?"

    "Yes, of course." The priest-mage produces a belt knife.

    Exie snorts, hands Aele an axe after untying it from her backpack. "Here, use this if it's needed."

    "Needed? Surely we aren't going in there?"

    Dorn looks at the other two. "When I was here years ago, there was a very narrow, unmarked safe passage through them. The problem is, it's been a long time. I believe they're taller than I recall, and that means their tentacles might be longer. I will try to thread through them. If I get entangled, I'm counting on you two cutting me free."

    "Without getting entangled ourselves," Exie adds. "Nothing simpler."

    "Are they vulnerable to fire?" the priest-mage asks.

    "Good thinking," Dorn says. "Yes, highly vulnerable." He nods approval as Aele retrieves flammable oil flasks from his pack. "Just don't use them if you don't have to," Dorn adds. "I'm vulnerable to fire, too."

    This calls for a good dose of luck, but also it's important to see if Dorn's memory is accurate. Let's make an Intelligence check against his INT 10: result is 11. That's a failure, meaning there is a 1 in 12 chance he remembers the safe path through the ropers wrongly. I rule that there's also a 1 in 12 chance the monsters tentacles have grown longer (they're abberant rock elementals, so growth is slow). So, d12 roll and let's hope to avoid a 1 or 2: result is 1. Shit! We'll sacrifice one of Dorn's Fortune Points to re-roll: result is 10. Whew! And Dorn's Fortune Points are 2 of 3 until after a long rest.

    "I'll go next." Exie lights a torch. "Ae—" She catches herself as she's about to use his intimate name. That'd be okay for Dorn to do that, but she's just met the priest-mage. "Zhorvin, if this goes bad, you bust a flask of oil on me and the roper."

    "You could burn to death!" the older man says, shocked. "Surely there's—"

    "You're a priest of Cromm. Heal me. Besides, you've got healing potions, surely?"

    "Three, only three." He sighs, nods his agreement. "I'll stand ready with the flasks." As long as Exie doesn't get a Critical Failure (a 20) on a Dexterity check: result is a 19 (that was close), but Exie makes it through. Aele is clearly unnerved as he watches the tentacles strain to reach the young woman ... and then she's through, safely, and snuffs out her torch, stepping closer to Dorn and the light of his lantern.

    "Cromm, preserve your servant," Aele prays. Dex check result: 18 — not a Critical Failure. a tentacle makes contact with the mantle of his robe, and he lurches onward, tearing it and leaving a strip of cloth with the creature. "Whew!" he says, joining the two fighter-thieves.

    "All right, good," Dorn assesses. "Just a short distance ahead, the tunnel forks. Going left leads to an underground lake, from which there is no known outlet — which isn't to say there isn't one someone underwater. We're going to take the right tunnel. It angles upward for three miles and exits atop the cliff of Arden Vul, fifteen hundred feet above Burdock's Valley. With any luck, we'll camp under the open stars tonight and then continue our journey tomorrow."

    Actual Play Reports

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    The Whispering Wind

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    When last we looked in on Stenn & Company, they had only just survived a Red Snow and The Reddening, that inevitable result - at least, for some - of The Undoer’s will directed against their Clan. We rejoin the scene several hours after Chief Hrowaka has revealed that he is in fact not Stenn’s father. It is early evening. The temperature in the frost-den is warm, while outside it is not intolerable.

    If you are just joining the story, you have three options: you can go back and read the preceding posts using my index, or you can read a synopsis here and then return to this post. If you’d like, you can download a zipped archive of the first 7 posts by clicking here. Just unzip, keeping the folder structure, and launch the HTML file in your preferred web browser. In the unlikely event that my website is down, that archive is also downloadable using the following links: OneDrive, Box, or iDrive.

    The outside temperature is a balmy 37°, not that there are any instruments to measure it. The clan has gathered around the central bonfire, coming from various frost-dens. The Fireless have been gathered, eight of them: the dead lie (except for one), limbs folded, just beyond the firelight. The Clan is reduced from eighty-eight to seventy-nine. Four of those will stand guard over the Fireless this night, so that they make repose in defiance of the Whispering Wind.

    Chief Hrowaka emerges from his frostden, leaning slightly on Jenkla as they make their way to the fire. Behind them comes Stenn Bearclaws and Drogan Elkfist, bearing the body of Norda. They proceed slowly so that Ghindar the Shaman may wave his holy rock over the deceased. This he does, repeatedly, and then he moves to seat himself next to fellow clansmen on a log while Stenn and Drogan lower Norda next to the Eight. She makes nine Fireless.

    When everyone has joined together around the large fire, Chief Hrowaka accepts a dog’s skull from Ghindar and takes a long sip. As he does so, the fire grows brighter, flames higher, for a ten-count, then returns to its former intensity; the chief begins, remaining seated, and his voice is stronger than usual, resonant.

    “In the time before the Grandfather Sun was old, when the Ice-Giants still slept in the far lands, the world was filled with a great, warm breath. The First Fire, born from the belly of the Sky-Stone that fell, burned without end. Its flames kissed the trees, and green life burst forth in every valley. The aurochs were fat, their numbers beyond counting, and their wool thick against the cold. The salmon jumped in every river, their silver scales flashing like chipped flint in the sun.

    “The Great Hunter, whose name is forgotten even by the oldest caves, walked the land then. He needed little. The meat came to him, the tools sharpened themselves, and the skins never rotted. He built his shelter of great stones, and they stood firm, never shifting, never letting in the biting wind. The world was a perfect, full belly.

    “But then, a whisper began. It was not the howl of the wolf, nor the rustle of the leaves. It was the Whispering Wind, thin and cold, and it came from no direction, yet from everywhere.

    “First, the Whispering Wind found the First Fire. It did not try to blow it out, no. It merely sang its cold, quiet song around the edges of the flames. And with each verse, a tiny spark, no bigger than an eye-blink, would drift away, carried up to the vast, dark ceiling of the sky. The Fire did not notice at first, so great was its roaring heart.

    “Then, the Whispering Wind found the aurochs. It did not chase them or bite them. It merely breathed on their strong hides. And with each breath, a tiny strand of their thick, warm wool would detach, floating away like a dandelion seed, lost to the great plains. The herd did not notice at first, so many were their numbers.

    “The Great Hunter, though, began to feel it. His stones, once so firm, would shift. A tiny grain of sand would fall from between them, then another, then a thousand more. His sharpest flint axe would dull, not from striking bone, but simply from being. His kills, once so vibrant, would not stay fresh as long; the good meat would “turn” quicker, and the bones would crumble to dust faster than before.

    “He tried to gather the lost sparks from the Fire, but they were too many, too small, and too swift. He tried to catch the drifting wool from the aurochs, but the wind carried it to every corner of the world. He tried to hold the sand between his fingers, but it sifted out, no matter how tight he squeezed.

    “‘What is this magic?’ he cried to the sky. ‘What takes the spark, the wool, the stone-dust, and the good meat, and never gives it back?’

    “And the Whispering Wind, everywhere and nowhere, replied with its cold, soft sigh: ‘I am the Spreading Thin. I am the Letting Go. I take what is together and make it apart. I take what is warm and make it cold. I take what is firm and make it dust. I am the Great Ash-Drift, and I am the Bone-Cracker’s Hunger. I must touch all things, and all things must lend me a piece of themselves, to carry to the farthest, coldest corners of the world.’

    “And so it is. The First Fire still burns, but not as brightly, for it has lent so many sparks to the Whispering Wind. The aurochs still roam, but their herds are smaller, their wool thinner. The stones still stand, but they crumble slowly, grain by grain. And even the Grandfather Sun, in the highest sky, gives his warmth away, little by little, to the cold darkness beyond.

    “This is why we must always tend the fire, for its warmth is precious and ever-fleeing. This is why we must hunt wisely, for the good meat does not last. This is why we must build our shelters strong, for the stones themselves long to return to dust. For the Whispering Wind is always there, gathering its pieces, spreading thin the warmth and the firmness of the world, until one day, the last spark will be taken, the last bone will crumble, and the Great Ash-Drift will cover all.”

    After the chief lapsed into silence, Stenn rose. “The Great Ash-Drift will cover all - but not yet! And not within our children’s children’s lifetimes. We speak defiance to Herd Thinner. We resist Spreading Thin. We fight Spark-Stealer! I, Stenn Bearclaws, am given a Vision Journey by our chief. I will find and slay whatever Cold-Lover has made pact with The Great Devourer, that our people may be safe from the Red Snow for another generation!”

    Read onward...