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Aele steps out from the sub-vault stairs, the silver moonstone of his staff casting long, regal shadows across the stacks of the Grand Archive. He raises the Silver Signet high, the ring catching the light.

The Social Check: High Thothian Command Aele’s Charisma is 12 (+0), but he has several situational modifiers:

• The Silver Signet: Status of authority (+2)
• High Thothian Language: Native-level command of the "Master" tongue (+2)
• The Staff of the Silver Tongue: A magical implement of persuasion (+1)

The Roll: 17
The Modifiers: +5
Total Result: 22

Aele speaks with a voice that carries the resonance of a cathedral. "Warden of the Silken Veil! The Architect's rhythm has failed, but the Golden Spark has been restored to the Aerator. We are the Overseer's agents. Open the Archive passage and resume your vigil. We depart to ensure the Pump Station's integrity!"

The White Silk Warden’s head tilts with a slow, dry sound of shifting linen. For a moment, its red eyes flare, analyzing the frequency of Aele's voice and the magical signature of the Signet.

The Warden bows its head in a stiff, mechanical gesture of acknowledgment. It steps back three paces, merging into the shadows of a massive stone shelf dedicated to Applied Necromancy. It emits a low, synthesized rasp:

"The... breath... must... continue... Proceed... Magistrate."

Cabe lets out a long whistle of relief. "Magistrate, huh? I could get used to that."

Dorn doesn't lower his shield, but the tension in his shoulders eases. "Don't get too comfortable. Let's move while it still thinks we're the bosses."

The trio marches out of the Archive and back into the main hallway. They pass the Armored Warden, who remains perfectly still in its alcove, surrounded by the charred and broken remains of the Beastmen. The bronze giant does not even twitch as the obsidian-clad Dorn and the staff-bearing Aele pass by.

The heroes reach the threshold of the Pump Station. The air here is noticeably fresher than it was ten minutes ago. The erratic sparks and violent shaking have been replaced by a deep, rhythmic thrum—the Active Soul-Core Aele slaved to the desk is working perfectly.

However, the heroes see that the rising water has left a slick of black sludge across the floor. More importantly, the central cooling tank is venting a strange, pale-green vapor.

Aele cross-references the visual of the vapor with his knowledge of Thothian Alchemy and his active Detect Magic.

"It is not a poison gas in the traditional sense," Aele explains, his voice muffled behind the crook of his elbow. "It is Chlorine-Ozone exhaust. The Soul-Core is forcing the ancient pumps to work harder than they have in centuries. The 'Architect' we killed was a biological buffer; without him, the machinery is 'sweating' this corrosive byproduct to keep from melting down. Probably not deadly, but could be quite uncomfortable if we stick around."

The "Great Aerator" is humming with a power it hasn't felt in an age. The Soul-Core is pulsing with a deep golden light inside its housing, and the air flow to the upper levels of Arden Vul is actually cleaner and stronger than when our heroes first arrived. They have successfully "saved" the life-support of this sector of the megadungeon.

Cabe looks at the green mist curling around his boots. "So the air is good, but the floor is melting. Standard Arden Vul hospitality. What's the play, Dorn?"

Dorn looks toward the exit leading back to the "marbled halls" and the Overseer’s Sanctum. "We have the gear, we have the keys, and we have the Archive's secrets. But the air is only stable as long as that Soul-Core holds out."

The green vapor is beginning to sting the heroes' eyes, and the "Manual Override" at the Overseer's desk won't last forever. The Archive is secure for now, but the Beastmen were just the scouts.

Dorn looks at the circular iron lift plate. "Aele, use that golden stylus. If we can get this lift moving, we can bypass the main halls and strike at the heart of the Goblin level. That’s where the real treasure—and the XP we need—is hiding. But before we try to repair the lift, let's spike open the stairs to the armory, so that the entrance doesn't close behind us."

Dorn pulls two Iron Spikes from his pack. He jams them into the seam where the lapis lazuli floor meets the stone housing of the stairs. With a few heavy strikes from the pommel of his sword, he wedges the mechanism open. The stone floor groans, trying to slide back into place, but the spikes hold firm. The "Thothian Armory" is now a secured bolt-hole.

The party returns to the circular iron lift plate in the sub-vault. Aele kneels, the Golden Stylus (Wand of Mending) in one hand and the Copper and Brass Keys in the other.

Aele inserts the keys into their respective slots—the cogwheel and the leaf. As he turns them, he feels the rusted tumblers resist. He touches the Golden Stylus to the central axle of the lift plate. A warm, honey-colored light flows from the stylus, seeping into the iron like oil.

The Repair: The screeching of metal-on-metal softens into a smooth, rhythmic click. The Mending magic knits together the hairline fractures in the ancient chains and clears the centuries of calcified dust from the gears.

The Power Source: Because Aele slaved the Soul-Core to the Archive's grid earlier, the lift plate begins to hum. A series of Thothian runes along the edge of the platform glow a faint, ghostly blue.

The party retreats from the lift platform for a moment, sliding back into the Thothian Armory. With the stairs spiked open and the Silver Signet still marking this as "Authorized Territory," the heroes are able to settle into a deep, restorative sleep amidst the racks of ancient steel.

The silence of the armory is profound. Aele spends the time in meditation, realigning his spirit with the "Great Breath" of Thoth.

• Aele's Surges: Fully restored to 3/3 Daily Surges.
• Aele's Rituals: He prepares Thoth's Balm
• Aele's Rituals: He prepares Thoth's Comfort
  • An extra activation of Thoth's Balm is available via Aele's magical armor
• Dorn's Fortune: Restored to 3/3 Fortune Points.
• Dorn's Health: He draws Swift upon waking, gaining +1d4 Temporary HP (Current: 34 + 3 Temp).

The lift settles into a torch-lit cavern (Level 4). The four goblins by the fire pit have just enough time to look up—their yellow eyes widening at the sight of the Obsidian-clad Dorn—before the heroes act.

Aele raises his staff and says, "Peace! Do not attack, for we are ambassadors sent to bring a gift to your king!" Aele’s voice carries a practiced weight, utilizing his Staff of the Silver Tongue to amplify his presence.

The cavern falls into a sudden, tense silence. The four goblins, who were scrambling for their jagged spears, freeze mid-motion. The sight of a shimmering moonstone staff and a man clad in obsidian glass is enough to give even the most bloodthirsty goblin pause.

The largest of the four, wearing a Thothian bronze bracer as a belt buckle, lowers his spear slightly. He squints at the Silver Signet on Aele’s hand. He doesn’t know what a "Magistrate" is, but he knows that ring looks like the "Old Bosses" who used to run the deep halls.

"Ambassadors?" the goblin rasps in broken Common, his tongue flicking over yellowed teeth. "The king does not like... surprises. But he does like gifts."

He looks at Dorn's Aegis of the Firmament shield with unconcealed greed, then back to Aele. "What gift you bring? Shiny? Gold? Meat? Or maybe... more of the Golden Sparks?" (He points toward the lift, likely sensing the power Aele used to activate it).

The surprise round has effectively ended, transitioning into a social encounter. However, the goblins haven't sounded the alarm yet. Behind them, you see a rickety wooden bridge spanning a dark chasm, leading toward a larger, flickering glow—the goblin "city."

Cabe keeps his hand on his quiver, whispering to Dorn: "Ambassadors, huh? Hope you brought something better than a 'hello' in your pack, because if that gift isn't good, we're going to be fighting a whole tribe on a bridge."

Dorn lifts the suit of gleaming chainmail, which he no longer needs thanks to his plate armor. "For you," he says while looking at the goblin who is wearing a bracer, "we bring this shiny armor. It was once worn by a great hero. For your king, we bring a gift which we may only reveal to him." Dorn surrenders the chainmail armor, laying it reverently between the heroes and the goblins.

The lead goblin’s eyes go wide, the pupils dilating until they are nearly all black. He looks at the Chainmail, then at his own "belt" made of a single bracer, then back at the gleaming links of steel. To a goblin scavenger, a full suit of human-sized chainmail isn't just armor—it’s a treasury.

He creeps forward, his long, spindly fingers twitching. He touches the cold metal, his breath hitching. "Shiny... heavy shiny," he whispers. With a sudden shriek of command, he barks at the other three goblins. They scramble forward, picking up the mail with exaggerated reverence, though they nearly trip over the weight of it.

"You... you are big-gift-bringers," the leader says, bowing so low his nose nearly touches the cavern floor. "I am Snik. Snik leads you to the Great Hall. King Bugthrak will see you. But..." He eyes the weapons. "King is... nervous king. He has many biters. You keep steel in skin-bags (sheaths) while we walk?"

Cabe looks at Dorn and Aele, his hand hovering near his flaming arrows. "In their dreams. But we can keep them sheathed for the walk, as long as they don't get 'sticky fingers' on the way."

"Sure," says Dorn. "We'll keep our weapons in our skin bags, unless we are attacked. But we will never surrender our weapons. Our king so commands."

Snik and his crew lead the heroes across the rickety wooden bridge. Far below can be heard the rush of an underground river. The cavern opens into a massive grotto where the goblins have built a literal shantytown into the ruins of ancient Thothian cisterns.

As our trio walks with their goblin escort, the "Magistrate" aura of Aele and the "Obsidian Giant" presence of Dorn keep the hundreds of lurking goblins at bay. They hiss and whisper from the shadows, but the sight of the gleaming chainmail being paraded as a "Hero’s Gift" creates a path of awed silence.

The trio passes through the great elephant-carved archway. The atmosphere here is thick with the smell of roasting mountain-goat and the copper tang of goblin-steel.

King Weskenim does not sit as a typical gluttonous chieftain would. He is wiry, his skin the color of bruised plums, and his eyes possess a cold, calculating intelligence that is rare among his kind. He sits atop a "throne" composed of stacked stone tablets and scavenged Thothian architectural fragments. Beside him, the Shaman—Griz-Maw—stirs a pot of bubbling, phosphorescent lichen.

"Snik!" Weskenim’s voice is like the crack of a whip. "Who are these tall-things? And why does one wear the skin of a shadow?" He gestures a long, dirt-caked finger at Dorn’s Obsidian Plate.

Snik drops the chainmail at the King's feet with a heavy clink. "Ambassadors, Great Weskenim! They bring 'The Hero’s Skin' for us, and a Secret Gift for you!"

Weskenim leans forward, his gaze ignoring the chainmail for a moment to lock onto Aele’s Silver Signet. He knows exactly what that ring represents: the old masters of the upper halls.

"Secret gifts are the only ones worth keeping," Weskenim rasps. "Speak, Magistrate. You have brought a bribe for my sentries, which shows you have coin. You have brought armor for my guard, which shows you have sense. Now... tell me what you bring for a King who already claims the dark as his own. And tell me what you seek in return. Gold? Safe passage? Or perhaps the heads of your enemies?"

Cabe shifts his weight, his hand inches from his Sun-Scribed Quiver. He whispers to the group, "He’s smarter than the ones at the gate. Be careful what you promise him."

Aele draws himself upon and speaks. "Great king, we are from the Surface Lands, as you can see from our pale skin. "I am a servant of the god Thoth. I am known as ... Zorael. My shadow-wearing companion is Thrangir, and my other companion is Vedecab. We learned that the few surviving overseers and magistrates planned to enslave your people. Toward that end, they had conspired with beastmen to assault your kingdom. We have slain those evil men, and now we have traveled here to offer our swords to you, against the beastmen. We have brought a valuable gift, though not as valuable as you deserve. But your wisdom is known throughout the lands. We felt it more prudent to offer a token gift and our support of your rulership than to attempt flattery."

And with tha, Aele produces the semi-precious stone, kneeling and offering it to the king.

Aele’s performance is masterful. By adopting the name Zorael and weaving a tale of preemptive liberation, he flips the script: the heroes are no longer intruders, but the "liberators" who stopped a Thothian-Beastman conspiracy.

The mention of the "Great King's wisdom" and the "token gift" strikes the perfect balance between respect and the hard reality of subterranean life.

The Social Check: The Magistrate's Gambit Aele (Zorael) uses his Staff of the Silver Tongue and his Silver Signet to sell the lie.

• Base Charisma: 12 (+0)
• High Thothian Eloquence: +2
• Staff of the Silver Tongue: +1
• The "Malachite Stone" Offering: +1
• Dorn (Thrangir's) Presence: +2 (Intimidation/Awe)
• The "Flattery" Narrative: +2

The Roll: 19 Total Result: 27 (Critical Success)

King Weskenim remains motionless for a long, agonizing minute. His eyes move from the Polished Malachite Stone to the obsidian-clad "Thrangir." Finally, he bursts into a sharp, barking laugh that echoes through the assembly hall.

"Beastmen and Magistrates! They always forget that the Goblins are the roots of the world," Weskenim snarls, his voice dripping with satisfied spite. He reaches out and takes the Malachite, turning it over in his long fingers. "Zorael... you speak with a silver tongue indeed. You say you bring your swords? Good. My scouts tell me the 'Ruin-Walkers' have been gathering near the Cistern of Skulls."

He stands up, his tattered red cape fluttering. "If you are truly my friends, you will go where my warriors fear to tread. Clear the Cistern of these 'saboteurs,' and I shall name you Brothers of the Deep. You shall have safe passage, and I will open the Vault of the Elephant to you."

Major XP Milestone & Level Up!

The sheer audacity of Aele's bluff and the successful negotiation with a King of Arden Vul is a monumental feat.

• Diplomacy & Deception Bonus: 1,200 XP
• Discovery Bonus (King's Court): 500 XP

Total Award: 1,700 XP (Divided by 3 = 567 XP each)

As the Goblins cheer for their new "ambassadors," a surge of power and experience washes over the trio. The have attained Level 4.

Aele's Level 4 Hit Point Increase

Rolling for additional hit points with Advantage (rolling two dice and keeping the higher result) and adding the Constitution bonus, here is the calculation for Aele:

Die Type: d8 (for Aele)
Advantage Roll: [6, 3] -> 6Constitution Bonus: +4 (Constitution 18)
Total Gain: 10 Hit Points
New Maximum Hit Points: 31 (Level 3) + 10 = 41 Max HP

With the addition of the 'Defensive' Knack at Level 4, Aele (Zorael) has learned to better utilize his movements and his new Scribe's Linothorax to deflect blows.

Recalculated AAC: Aele (Level 4):

Component	Value	Notes
Base AAC	10	Standard base
Scribe's Linothorax	+3	+1 magical Leather equivalent
Dexterity Bonus	+2	From his Dexterity of 14
'Defensive' Knack	+1	New level 4 benefit
Total AAC	16	Permanent status

Aele's New Level 4 Stat Block:

• HP: 41
• AAC: 16 (17 with Comfort)
• Surges: 4/Day
• Primary Weapon: Staff of the Silver Tongue
  • (+5 to-hit / 1d6+4 dmg)

Dorn's Level 4 Hit Point Increase

• Die Type: d10 (The Bastion)
• Advantage Roll: [9, 4] → Retain 9
• Constitution Bonus: +3 (Constitution 16)
• Total Gain: 12 Hit Points
• Dorn's New Maximum Hit Points: 34 (Level 3) + 12 = 46 Max HP

I have updated both character sheets to reflect the hand-off of the magical shield. Dorn has fully committed to the obsidian heavy-plate style, while Aele (Zorael) now carries the spiked buckler to complement his staff and linothorax.

Aele Truemas: Updated AAC (Level 4)

With the +1 Spiked Buckler and his new 'Defensive' Knack, Aele's protection has reached a formidable level for a scholar.

Component	Value	Notes
Base AAC	10	-
Scribe's Linothorax	+3	+1 magical Leather equivalent
Dexterity Bonus	+2	Dexterity 14
Defensive Knack	+1	Permanent
+1 spiked buckler	+2	+1 magic bonus
Total Standing AAC	18

Tactical Note: When Aele triggers Thoth's Comfort (Bonus Action if via linothorax), his AAC rises to 19. He is now nearly as hard to hit as a standard knight.

Dorn Stelgaard: Level 4 Definitive Snapshot

With the Aegis of the Firmament and his Obsidian Plate, Dorn is effectively a walking fortress.

Component	Value	Notes
Base AAC	10	-
Obsidian Plate	+9	Thothian heavy plate equivalent
Aegis of the Firmament	+3	+2 magical Kite Shield
Swift (Longsword)	+1Bonus	when weapon is wielded'
Defensive' Knack (x2)	+1	Permanent Level 3 bonus
Dexterity Bonus	+0	(Heavy plate limits Dex, usually +0).
Total Standing	AAC 25	AAC 26 when 'Swift' is drawn

The heroes return their focus to the Salt-Sealed Door. Dorn’s hand is on the latch. Aele’s mental shield from the Silken Oil is humming in the back of his mind, and Dorn's blade, Swift, illuminates the fine white powder on the floor.

Dorn’s grip tightens on Swift. With the party now perfectly in sync, he looks to Aele, who gives a solemn nod, his mind bolstered by the Silken Oil.

Dorn doesn't bother with a gentle nudge. He knows that once the salt seal is broken, the protection—or the containment—is gone. He shifts his weight and delivers a powerful front kick to the center of the door, just above the latch.

The wood groans, the lock clicks open, and the door flies inward. The fine white powder at the threshold is scattered into a chaotic cloud by the sudden rush of air.

As the dust settles, the light from Swift reveals a room that looks more like a mummification chamber than a living quarter. The walls are draped in yellowed linen bandages that hang like weeping willow branches. In the center of the room, three stone slabs are tilted at 45-degree angles. Two are empty, but the third holds a figure wrapped tightly in grey resins and salt-caked cloth.

There is no "hum" here. Instead, there is a low, wet sound—like someone trying to breathe through a sponge.

Aele’s Detect Magic flares blindingly. The necromantic haze isn't just a leak; it is a thrumming tether connecting the ceiling to the wrapped figure on the slab.

The figure’s head slowly tilts toward the door. Two pinpricks of baleful red light ignite behind the linen wrappings.

Cabe feels the blood-bond throb with a sudden chill. "It's not a specimen," he hisses. "It's a sentry."

Initiative! Dorn has a +1 bonus from his Fleet knack.

Initiative Rolls:
Dorn: 8 (+1 Fleet) = 9
Cabe: 7
Aele: 4
The Wrapped Sentry: 3

The door has been kicked wide, the salt seal is shattered, and those baleful red pinpricks of light are locked onto Dorn. The wet, spongy breathing sound grows louder as the figure on the slab begins to strain against its resin-soaked bindings.

Dorn readies Swift, the blade’s light pulsing in rhythm with his heart. Aele raises his holy symbol, the Silken Oil keeping his mind clear and cold. Cabe tenses, feeling the hunger of the room's necromancy trying to gnaw at his blood-bond.

The party has the jump! The Sentry is still partially adhered to the stone slab by the hardened resins, giving our heroes a precious moment to strike before it fully detaches.

Aele’s mind, steeled by the Silken Oil, slices through the instinctual terror of the red glare. He focuses his Detect Magic and his deep knowledge of Thothian funerary rites, looking past the resin and bandages.

As the figure strains, Aele realizes this is neither a classic "undead" mummy nor a simple corpse. The resins are still tacky in places, and the "wet breathing" sound isn't an illusion—it is coming from a throat partially preserved by magical salts.

This is a Living Mummification. The individual is being held in a horrific state between life and death, preserved by the necromantic tether in the ceiling. The baleful red eyes are likely the result of the soul being compressed and forced back into the meat of the brain.

The energy flowing from the ceiling is "feeding" the body. It isn't just a sentry; it's a Warden in Stasis that has just been forcibly awoken.

"It's not dead, Dorn!" Aele yells. "It's being kept—a living anchor for the room's magic. If we sever the tether or the resins, the shock might end it, but while it’s connected, it’s drawing power directly from the Archive's core!"

Dorn’s instincts as "The Bastion" shift from slaughter to surgical precision. He recognizes that the figure on the slab is merely the terminal for a much larger power source. Lunging forward, he ignores the grasping, resin-coated fingers of the warden and brings Swift upward in a shimmering arc, aiming for the thick cluster of salt-caked bandages descending from the ceiling.

Dorn's +7 to-hit (including the 'Great Strike' bonus) bites deep. Swift lives up to its name, the +1 magical edge singing as it passes through the necromantic tether.

The blade shears through the resin-hardened wraps like a hot wire through wax. As the last strand snaps, a discharge of dark, violet energy erupts from the ceiling—a magical "short circuit." A wave of cold force washes over the room.

Dorn must make a Saving Throw vs. Spells. Without the tether, the baleful red glow in its eyes flickers wildly. The "wet breathing" sound turns into a dry, rattling gasp.

The "Defensive" fighter’s training kicks in; he ducks his head behind his shield and leans into the blast. The cold, necrotic frost coats the rim of his buckler and the sleeve of his chainmail, but his iron constitution allows him to shrug off the soul-chilling effect. He stands his ground, breath misting in the sudden cold, but unharmed.

The creature collapses back onto the slab, no longer "powered" by the Archive's core. However, it isn't dead. The severance has left it in a state of Necrotic Shock. It is twitching, the resins on its body beginning to crack and flake away, revealing gray, withered flesh.

Cabe steps into the room, his hand on his dagger. "The tether's gone, but the 'anchor' is still kicking. It’s like a fish out of water, flopping around, but those claws still look sharp."

Aele, sensing the shift in the room's mana, sees the Necromantic haze dissipating, but a new aura is forming around the creature—one of Agony. "Cabe," Aele says, "put this creature out of its misery."

Cabe’s predatory grace shifts into a somber, swift mercy. He ignores the flailing, resin-caked limbs and steps into the creature's reach, his weapon finding the gap in the salt-hardened wrappings at the base of the skull.

Because the creature is Prone and in Necrotic Shock, Cabe strikes with ease. There is no resistance; the withered flesh parts like dry parchment.

As the blade strikes home, the red light in the eyes doesn't flare in anger—it expands for a brief second, reflecting the first bit of natural light (from Swift) it has seen in an age, before winking out entirely. The "wet breathing" stops instantly, replaced by the sound of crumbling salt.

Aele stands over the remains, whispering a brief prayer to Thoth to guide whatever remains of the soul to the Hall of Two Truths. "You’ve done a kindness, Cabe. That wasn't life. It was a sentence."

As the body collapses into ash and brittle linen, Dorn uses the tip of his blade to sift through the remains. Aside from the salt and bone, two items remain intact. There is a key, much larger than the copper one found earlier. It is stamped with a numerical '1' and a small cogwheel.

There is a ceramic cylinder, about the size of a scroll case; it is sealed with red wax. Through his Innate Detect Magic, Aele can see a faint Abjuration aura on the wax—a "Security Seal" to prevent unauthorized reading.

Dorn picks up the key, wiping the grey ash onto his tunic. "Another key for the collection. And this cylinder... it looks like a message that was never meant to be delivered," he says, handing the ceramic tube to Aele.

The other two stone slabs in the room are cold and bare, but they bear deep grooves in the stone—tracks for the same kind of necromantic tethers Dorn just severed.

Cabe looks at the ceiling, where two other clusters of bandages hang loose. "There were supposed to be three of them. If the other two slabs are empty, that means two of these 'Wardens' are already out there... or they were moved to a different post."

With the XP updated and the "Warden" laid to rest, the chamber feels heavy with the weight of ancient secrets. The flickering light from Swift casts long, dancing shadows across the bas-reliefs on the walls.

Aele holds his light source close to the stone, tracing the deep, sharp lines of the Thothian craftsmanship. "These bas-reliefs are not merely decorative; they are a chronological map of what we might term the Overseer’s Mandate."

The carvings are divided into three major panels, read from left to right. "This first panel depicts three figures—identical to the one we just laid to rest—standing in a row. They are labeled in Thothian as 'The Breathless Vigil.'"

Below them, a carving of a floor plan shows this very hallway. "Ah!" Aele exclaims, "these carvings confirm my fears: one warden was assigned to the salt-sealed room we just cleared, one to the archive entrance, and the third to the Overseer’s private sanctum."

Cabe joins Aele, who is now studying the middle panel. "It shows the Pump Station we passed through earlier, see?" Aele points out. And look here, 'Specimen Hearts' (like the Shaman heart mentioned in the lstone tablet log) being placed into a central machine to 'purify the air for the scholars.'"

"Fascinating," Cabe breathes. "And look here: a secret maintenance crawlspace connecting the Pump Station directly to the Grand Archive, bypassing the hallway doors."

Dorn joins them as they turn their attention to the third and final panel of engravings.

It depicts a tall, slender figure wearing the Silver Signet Ring and holding the Crystal Tuning Fork. This figure is shown standing before a massive, circular vault door that has no visible handle—only a series of crystalline teeth. Even Dorn seems taken in: "Well, now we know the tuning fork and the signet ring can be used together."

Aele points to the second panel. "Look here. The 'missing' sentries aren't wandering. They are anchored. One is likely standing right behind the Archive archway, and the other is guarding the Overseer. They are stationary until their threshold is crossed."

Dorn narrows his eyes at the map of the Pump Station. "That crawlspace... if we had found that earlier, we could have come up behind the Archive warden. But we're here now."

Cabe touches the carving of the circular vault. "That must be the 'Sanctum' behind the double doors at the end of the hall. The ring and the fork aren't just jewelry; they are the literal 'keys' to those crystalline teeth."

"Let's hole up here, eat, get some rest, then we can press on," Dorn says. He passes the ceramic tube to Aele. "I know you're dying to open this. It doesn't have any physical trap that I can find."

Dorn’s suggestion is met with a collective exhale of relief. The mummification chamber, though macabre, is now the safest place in the complex—the "leak" is plugged, the door is defensible, and the "Breathless Vigil" of the other two sentries keeps them anchored to their specific posts elsewhere.

Summary: After regrouping at a central T-junction, the trio ventured west into a circular chamber housing the Luminous Font, where Aele skillfully used Dorn’s silk rope to insulate a sparking conduit and stabilize the room's volatile blue energy. Utilizing a secret service panel discovered by Dorn, the party bypassed the main halls and descended into a humid, subterranean Pumping Station filled with massive bronze pistons and bioluminescent moss. There, they executed a lethal ambush on two Lizardmen, clearing the room and recovering a variety of curiosities—including a Copper Fish Key, thieves' tools, and a malachite stone—from the corpses and a nearby leather bundle. However, the discovery of massive, three-toed clawed tracks in the silt suggests a much larger predator stalks these damp reaches, leaving the heroes to decide between the locked southern door or the mysterious submerged slab at the bottom of a fish-filled basin.

---

Dorn steps to the southern door, the Copper Fish Key gleaming in his hand. He slides it into the fish-shaped indentation at the center of the wheel. There is a series of heavy, internal clicks—the sound of counterweights shifting—and the wheel spins freely under his strength.

As the heavy iron door groans open, a rush of warm, dry air hits the party, a stark contrast to the humid, swampy atmosphere of the Pumping Station.

Beyond the door lies a long, vaulted corridor of finished white stone. Unlike the industrial, moss-covered rooms behind you, this area appears well-maintained, almost regal.

Sconces along the walls hold flickering, magical "ever-burning" stones that cast a soft amber glow. The deafening thump-hiss of the pumps muffles instantly as the door swings shut behind the party, replaced by a tomb-like silence.

Gone is the scent of wet scales and silt, replaced by the faint, dry aroma of old parchment and cedar wood.

About twenty feet down the hall, the corridor opens into a small foyer. On the wall is a bronze plaque inscribed in a dialect of ancient Thothian. Aele, with his scholarly background, leans in to translate.

"Access to the Grand Archive and Private Quarters. Silence is Mandated. By Order of the Overseer."

Cabe tenses, his Heart Thrum scanning the silence. "We’ve moved from the guts of the station into the head," he whispers. "The heartbeats of the big thing are gone, but I feel... a faint vibration. Not a heart, but a hum. Like the clockwork custodian back in the hall."

Current Party Status
Dorn: 35/34 HP (1 Temp). Hand on his blade.
Cabe: 31/31 HP (1 Temp). Alert and scanning for traps.
Aele: 27/27 HP (1/3 Surges). Translating the plaques.

The foyer splits into two directions:

The East Hall: Lined with heavy wooden doors, likely the "Private Quarters."

The West Archway: A grand, open archway leading into what looks like a reading room or library.

Dorn gives the scroll tube a dismissive pat. "No sense squinting at old ink when the doors are right in front of us," he grunts, though he keeps his shield raised. The transition from the grime of the pumps to the pristine cedar-scented hall has everyone on edge.

The amber glow of the ever-burning stones reflects off the polished floor, making the trio's muddy footprints look like a desecration.

Cabe holds up a hand, his head tilting toward the West Archway. "That hum I mentioned... it's coming from the library side. It's rhythmic, but not like a pump. It's more like the sound of a thousand bees, or a very large machine spinning at high speed."

Aele looks toward the East Hall and its heavy wooden doors. "Private quarters often mean personal journals, or perhaps the Overseer’s private stash of reagents. But if that hum in the library is a guardian, we might be better off exploring the living quarters first while we have the element of surprise."

The East Hall (Private Quarters): Several sturdy doors made of dark wood. Likely quieter, but potentially trapped or occupied by resting residents.

The West Archway (The Grand Archive): The source of the mechanical "hum." Likely holds the greatest concentration of knowledge (and danger).

Dorn looks at the fine wooden doors to the East. "I've got the tools for these locks now. We could clear the rooms behind us so nothing nips at our heels while we're in the library."

The trio turns away from the ominous humming of the Archive and moves toward the East Hall. The transition to the "Private Quarters" feels like walking into the home of a long-dead nobleman. The air is remarkably still, and the cedar wood panels are polished to a dull shine.

There are three doors in this hallway, two on the left (north) and one at the far end (east).

Dorn approaches the first door on the left. He doesn't just reach for the handle; he crouches, pulling out a slender probe from his new Thieves' Tools.

"Wait," Cabe whispers, his eyes narrowing. "My Heart Thrum... I don't feel a heartbeat behind this first door. But I do feel a faint, cold thrumming. Like something is vibrating against the stone floor inside."

Dorn's Thief Check (yes, he has the abilities of a moderately experienced thief):

Search for Traps: Success.

Observation: Dorn notices a thin line of fine, white powder along the threshold of the door. It looks like crushed salt or perhaps bone dust.

Aele leans over Dorn’s shoulder, keeping his light low. "A warding circle? Or perhaps just a seal against the damp? In Thothian tradition, salt is often used to keep spirits—or smells—inside a room."

1. North Door 1 (Current): Sealed with white powder. No heartbeat, but a strange "cold vibration" detected by Cabe.

2. North Door 2: Further down. Cabe senses nothing from this room—a complete void of sound and pulse.

3. The Far East Door: This door is larger, double-winged, and has a silver plate inscribed with a single word: "OVERSEER."

Dorn looks back at the group. "The powder seal on this first door wasn't put there by accident. Someone wanted to keep something in... or keep the rest of the hall out. I can try the lock, but we might be breaking a seal we can't put back."

Aele says, "Let's leave the powder-sealed room for later."

Dorn nods. "Fine. Cabe, choose another room."

Cabe moves past the salt-streaked threshold of the first door, his eyes fixed on the second door—the one that feels like a "void" to his senses. He stops in front of it, his hand hovering near the wood without touching it.

"This one," Cabe whispers, his voice sounding oddly flat in the silence of the hall. "My Heart Thrum usually picks up something—the scuttle of a beetle, the vibration of a pipe. But here? It’s like the room itself is holding its breath. It’s completely hollow."

Dorn steps up, his new thieves' tools already in hand. He checks the handle—it’s made of cool, dark iron. He places his ear against the wood.

He doesn't hear breathing or movement, but he does hear a very faint, metallic tink-tink-tink, like a cooling engine or a clock slowly winding down. The keyhole is complex, requiring more than just a simple turn. It’s a "tumbler" style lock, rare for this age.

With the +1 bonus from his high-quality tools, Dorn feels the pins click into place with satisfying precision. The heavy iron latch disengages with a soft clack.

Dorn nudges the door open just an inch. A puff of incredibly cold, dry air escapes. Inside, the room is dimly lit by a single, flickering blue "ever-burning" stone. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling glass jars, and in the center of the room stands a tall, brass-and-glass cylinder filled with a thick, viscous green liquid.

Floating inside the liquid is a severed, giant eye—large as a man’s head—its iris a vibrant, unnatural violet. It is not moving, but as the door opens, the pupil slowly dilates.

Cabe winces, rubbing his chest. "That's why there's no heartbeat. It’s alive, but it isn't... biological. It’s a preserved watcher."

Aele turns his lantern up as bright as it will go and focuses its light into the room.

Cabe says, "What is this place? a storage vault for biological samples, or a scrying room?"

Aele: "It seems to be reacting to the change in light or the opening of the door. Hundreds of jars containing everything from — I would hazard — preserved organs to strange, shimmering powders."

The repetitive tink-tink sound comes from a small clockwork device at the base of the eye's cylinder. "You see the mechanism that is making the noise?" Aele asks.

Cabe, grunts, "Yes. What is it?"

Aele ponders a moment. "Likely a filtration or preservation pump, helping to keep the big eye alive."

"We need to make a decision here," Dorn says. "If the eye is a guardian, it has already seen us, assuming it still has sight. But, it may not sound an alarm or try to harm us unless we cross the threshold."

Aele peers into the room, his eyes scanning the rows of glass jars that line the walls. He notices that many of them are labeled with the same Thothian script found on the silver scroll tube.

"Dorn is right," Aele whispers, his grip tightening on his mace. "If it were a simple alarm, the halls would already be ringing. This is a repository—a library of the flesh. That eye is likely a 'Living Archive', meant to record who enters or perhaps to maintain the preservation of the samples. Or both."

Dorn asks, "Cabe, are you reading anything?"

The blood-blinder's brow creases in concentration. "Despite the chill, the air doesn't feel malevolent, just... clinical."

The pupil has stabilized, fixed on the three of them. It doesn't move, but there is a faint, rhythmic pulse in the green liquid—a mechanical life-support system. On the shelf nearest the door, Aele spots several vials containing a bubbling blue liquid identical to the three unidentified potions found in the slime-covered chest.

Beside the central cylinder is a small desk with a stone tablet. Aele strains to make out details. "My eyes aren't as good as they once were. Is that a journal on the table?"

Cabe studies the object intently. "It's probably a log or inventory of the samples." The blood-binder remains in the hallway, his hand hovering over his heart. "It’s not attacking, but the Violet Eye is definitely watching. I don't like being looked at as if I'm a specimen in its collection. If we're going in, let’s be quick."

Aele steps forward slightly, his voice clear and resonant despite the oppressive silence of the hall. He speaks the ancient Thothian word for silence, the same command he saw inscribed on the foyer's plaque:

"Tacere."

As the word hangs in the dry, chilled air, the effect is immediate. The tink-tink-tink of the clockwork mechanism at the base of the cylinder abruptly stops. The rhythmic pulse in the green liquid ceases, and the viscous fluid becomes as still as glass.

The Violet Eye does not close, but its pupil, which had been dilating to track the party, suddenly snaps to a fixed, neutral position. It becomes less like a living thing and more like a decorative marble. The blue "ever-burning" stone in the corner dims to a soft, steady glow, no longer flickering.

Cabe exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "The 'Void' just got even quieter. Whatever you did, Aele, you just put the room on standby."

Dorn lowers his shield an inch. "I've seen enough of these 'Thothian' tricks to know that 'Silence' isn't just a rule here—it's a control word. If the room is 'silent,' it’s not reporting us."

With the guardian eye pacified, the heroes can now look more closely at the room’s contents.

The Blue Vials: On the shelf labeled 'Spiritus Aqua', there are several more of the blue potions that the heroes found earlier in a wooden chest. Beside them is a small, inscribed tag: "Elixir of Breathless Rest." Aele suspects these are used to put subjects into a state of suspended animation, much like the eye.

The Log Tablet: The stone tablet on the desk contains a list of dates and names. One entry, dated only a few weeks ago, catches Aele's eye: 'Specimen 402: Beastman Shaman. Heart extracted for Pumping Station aeration.'

A Hidden Compartment: Dorn’s notices that the base of the eye’s pedestal has a loose brass plate.

Current Party Status

Hero	HP	Resources
Dorn	35/34	1 Temp HP; Thieves' Tools out.
Cabe	31/31	1 Temp HP; scanning for heartbeats.
Aele	27/27	1/3 Surges; using 'Tacere' mastery.

Dorn finds a plate at the base of the brass pedestal that has a minute seam in it. Soon, with his thief's tools, he has uncovered a recess. He produces a silver signet ring and hands it to Aele for closer inspection.

Dorn doesn't stop with the velvet-lined recess. Feeling the weight of the pedestal and noticing how it sits slightly unevenly on the stone floor, he uses his thieves' tools to probe the seam where the brass meets the masonry.

With a practiced twist, he finds a second catch. A narrow, curved drawer slides out from the very bottom of the pedestal—a hidden "toe-kick" compartment designed to be overlooked even by someone who found the first secret.

Inside, wrapped in a cloth of oil-treated silk, Dorn finds:

A "Soul-Core" (Active): Unlike the inert fragment found earlier, this brass-and-crystal sphere pulses with a soft, rhythmic golden light. Aele’s Detect Magic sees it as a dense knot of Evocation and Conjuration. It feels warm to the touch and hums with the same frequency as the great pumps.

Three Glass Vials of "Silken Oil": The liquid inside is iridescent and moves with a consistency that defies gravity, sticking to the top of the vial when turned. Aele identifies these as Oil of Slippery Mind, a rare alchemical substance that, when applied to the temples, grants a +2 bonus on Saving Throws against charms, illusions, and mental influence for one hour.

A Small Brass Tablet: Inscribed in Thothian, it appears to be a "Quick Reference" for the Eye's maintenance. Aele translates a line that makes his blood run cold: "In the event of total biological failure, the Eye will expend its remaining essence to animate the nearest three skeletal remains for local defense."

Aele retrieves the other signet ring, found earlier in the party's explorations — the bronze one. He compares the two rings:

"Look here. The silver signet has an eye on it. I bet you breakfast at the Broken Head Inn that this ring gives access to or somehow controls the Eye in the cylinder. The bronze signet ring we found earlier instead has a cogwheel emblem. My guess is that it grants access or gives mastery over the pump station we just cleared."

Aele continues, "Listen to this, from the stone tablet: 'In the event of total biological failure, the Eye will expend its remaining essence to animate the nearest three skeletal remains for local defense.'"

"That's not ominous whatsoever," Cabe says drolly.

Dorn weighs the Soul-Core in his hand. "This thing is probably worth a fortune to the right artificer—or it's the battery for something much bigger that we're about to run into."

Inventory Update

Item	Notes
Active Soul-Core	Pulsing with golden light; highly magical.
3 Vials of Silken Oil	+2 to Saves vs. Mental effects (1 hour duration).
Maintenance Tablet	Explains the Eye's "last resort" defense.

Aele, as he gazes at the two rings, feels a distinct, scholarly pull—a "temptation of utility" rather than simple greed.

His Innate Detect Magic highlights the rings' auras: the bronze one humming with the low-frequency vibration of the facility's physical infrastructure, and the silver one shimmering with the sharp, watchful essence of the Overseer. As a priest of Thoth, he is naturally drawn to the silver ring. The Violet Eye emblem represents the very thing he seeks: knowledge and sight.

He is tempted, but cautious. He suspects that sliding the Silver Signet onto his finger might not just grant him "clearance," but could also "link" his mind to the Archive’s scrying network. It’s an alluring prospect for a seeker of truth, though he wonders if his own will is strong enough to withstand the "gaze" of whatever ancient intelligence may still monitor these halls.

Dorn notices Aele’s lingering gaze. "You're looking at them like they're holy relics, Aele. If you think wearing one will keep that giant eye from blinking us into oblivion, speak up."

Aele recommends that they not yet risk wearing the rings. "I'd like to research them the next time we take a break from the dungeon."

Cabe smiles. "I like your optimism."

Aele’s scholarly caution prevails, and the rings are tucked safely away into a secure pouch. Cabe’s wry smile reflects the tension of the moment—the idea of "taking a break" feels like a luxury when surrounded by preserved giant eyes and ancient machinery.

"Right then," Dorn says, standing up and dusting the white powder from his knees. "The eye is quiet, the loot is bagged, and we have a word that keeps the peace. Let's not overstay our welcome in this specimen jar."

The trio exits the vault of samples and steps back into the silent, amber-lit hallway.

"Where next?" Cabe asks.

Aele points toward the door with the salt barrier. "I'm getting necromantic energies coming from behind that door. I'd say clear that room and then let's rest. We've been at this for hours. The three share trail rations and hydrate themselves, taking a short rest before continuing their delving.

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.

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."

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."

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.