Episode III — Never Trust a Dwarf
The caverns beneath the Osweg coast did not yield their secrets quickly.
In the aftermath of the wasp attack, Gravos Etnad searched one of the shattered nests and uncovered a desiccated corpse—once a gnome, now little more than bone and tattered cloth. A small pouch remained intact. Inside were fifteen gold coins, their markings unmistakable.
They bore the sigil of the The Free City of Gax.
The coins were divided without ceremony. Fractions went, appropriately, to the halfling.
After a brief rest, the group pressed onward. Basarios Heros, restless and eager, urged movement. Caution prevailed only barely.
Ropes were secured. ChoRoke and Thorin Windfurrow took positions to assist. Grimgrun Blunderforge lingered in the rear, boots still faintly clean thanks to Zovis.
The tunnels grew treacherous.
Quicksand lurked beneath innocent-looking stone. Old mine cart tracks cut through the cavern floor, leading to an intersection where daylight filtered down from holes in the ceiling and the distant sound of surf echoed below.
It was there that the ground betrayed them.
Basarios sank without warning.
Gravos reacted instantly, producing rope and shouting warnings that came a moment too late. Bas flailed, attempting to use his shield as a flotation device. It did not work. The shield vanished beneath the surface as Bas sank to his neck.
It was Vincent Slag who secured the line, looping it around himself and hauling Bas free by sheer determination.
Gravos, watching closely, decided Vincent did indeed look strong.
Farther on, Vincent heard something that did not belong in a mine.
Mewling.
The rattle of chains.
He sent Gravos back to gather the others while he advanced carefully.
Elsewhere, Grimgrun discovered a tunnel thick with bat guano and made the correct decision to retreat.
When the party regrouped, Vincent revealed what he had seen: an elf woman, filthy and chained, weeping for help. Rusted barrels stood behind her, leaking faint purple light.
Vincent borrowed Zovis’s spear, its tip glowing with light, and stepped forward.
Then the illusion broke.
The “elf” twisted into something blue-skinned and terrible—a sea hag, her beauty false and her gaze laden with fear. And she was not alone.
A massive tentacle lashed from the water, dragging Vincent into the pool.
The fight was chaos layered atop dread.
Thorin advanced without hesitation, resisting the hag’s frightful presence before diving into the water to pummel the unseen creature below. Gravos, glimpsing the hag’s true form, recoiled in terror, hurled a dart, and fled.
Grimgrun unleashed eldritch power at the creature in the water: a giant octopus. Zovis struck the hag with ice. The hag answered with claws.
The octopus wrapped Vincent and dragged him deep—fifty feet down into darkness.
Vincent stabbed blindly, driving Zovis’s spear into its eye.
Above, panic mounted. Gravos shook off his fear and dove after them. Zovis and ChoRoke followed, magic flaring. Basarios crossed the cavern, discovering he had little magic left to give.
The hag tore into Gravos. The octopus crushed Vincent until he went limp.
The beast began to flee.
The chase went into the water.
Basarios seized a shard of dragonglass and dove after the octopus. Grimgrun’s eldritch blast tore a tentacle free, releasing an inky cloud. Zovis hurled ice into the depths. Thorin finished the hag with a flurry of bone-breaking strikes, then turned to find most of the party gone.
They were after Vincent.
In the submerged cave beyond, the octopus squeezed again.
Vincent did not die.
Grimgrun’s magic finally struck true, blasting the creature apart in a wash of ink and blood.
Thorin forced air into Vincent’s lungs at the cost of his own breath. Basarios laid hands on him. Gravos dragged the priest’s limp body upward inch by agonizing inch.
They all reached the surface.
Barely.
Afterward, Gravos returned to retrieve Zovis’s spear. Barrels of dragonglass were examined. Among them lay the remnants of past victims—a slipper, a blue-and-gold scarf, forgotten lives.
Basarios found two potions. Zovis tasted them. One was spinach. The other cinnamon.
Their purposes were noted.
Then a voice echoed down from above.
He had rigged pulleys, ropes, a cart lined with sand, and a donkey to pull it. One by one, the barrels were hauled up.
As they began escorting the cart back toward the Golden Circlet Colony, Zovis and Vincent noticed movement on a distant rise.
They were being watched.
Back in the colony, Zhellin promised fish stew.
There was no stew.
There was no Zhellin.
Footprints led into the forest. Lan confirmed what should have been obvious: Zhellin was a bandit. Vile. Connected to The Krakens.
Gravos nearly detonated the inn in frustration, but Zovis intervened. The elves would not allow violence within their home. They were trying—still—to repent for ancient sins.
Gravos settled for looting supplies and destroying anything dwarven he could find.
Elsewhere, ChoRoke tested a single piece of dragonglass in the woods.
The explosion was immense.
Enough to level the inn.
Enough to devastate the village.
They had avoided catastrophe by chance alone.
The decision was made.
The dragonglass would be removed. Zhellin’s cart—now under different stewardship—was turned inland. Basarios led. ChoRoke followed. Zhellin’s donkey pulled. Grimgrun rode in back, a shard of dragonglass tucked into his pack.
Their destination lay two weeks away: the capital of Osweg.
They carried nearly fifty pieces of dragonglass.
And fewer illusions than they had before.
Recorded Consequences
- Zhellin exposed as a traitor and bandit
- Confirmation of dragonglass’s destructive scale
- External observers confirmed
- The Golden Circlet spared—but only narrowly
Connected Entries