At
the time we played the first session of our game, there were only three player
characters: Lord Easton Greymane, Lord Bentar Smakserbotom, and Theren Wanakin
(non-affectionately called Elf!). But by the time we were getting ready for our
second session, another friend wanted to join the game and had made a character
that would fit in with the group. Thus, this second session was an opportunity
to expand the party with another character, the Dragonborn Bard, Stethaniel
Kensington III. Enjoy.
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Dusk had settled into the mountains
surrounding the small hamlet of Phandalin. The setting sun dipped low behind
the northern mountain peak of Wyvern Tor; the peak was capped in snow despite
the mild winter brought by the warm winds running from the Swordcoast. Along an
old dirt road, the sounds of a bumping wagon traveled through the stillness.
At the head of the wagon, a pair of brawny oxen pulled the overloaded wooden
wagon. A long length of well-worn leather ran from the yoke to the hands of
Bentar Smakserbotom, seated on the driver’s seat. Bentar’s head was bent low,
weariness straining his tanned and weather-worn face. The brown-haired human
was clothed in dented and muddied chain mail worn over a torn black woolen
doublet. A large rent in the armor over his left shoulder exposed newly regrown
flesh from a wound taken earlier in the day. From ahead Bentar saw the smoke
from several small fires rising into the clear air. About time, he said to no
one in particular. Bentar sighed. He was glad this day was finished and hoped that
he would be in a warm room and an even warmer bed in less than an hour’s time.
He turned to view his companions walking
next to the wagon, guarding its contents. To his left walked Theren. The elf
had also been hired to transport the wagon-load full of goods to Phandalin. The
elf walked stoutly despite his small frame. Piercing eyes surveyed the road
ahead and behind for any signs of trouble. It looked like the elf was taking
his scouting duty extra vigilantly. Bentar suspected that this was to make up
for the elf’s earlier failure to spot a goblin ambush that nearly got the elf killed
and the wagon stolen. Only the goblin’s poor accuracy and Bentar’s own strong
arm had turned the ambush back against the thieving creatures. And, he thought begrudgingly,
the magical abilities of his other companion on this journey.
Bentar looked right and examined the other
human hired by the dwarf Gundren for this job. The young fellow looked
malnourished and gaunt despite his noble upbringing. Easton Greymane, second
son of a fellow noble family from Waterdeep, walked with his nose buried in a
book appearing completely aloof from the terrain around him. The man’s black
hair and fine black cloak trimmed with silver stood in stark contrast to his
pale white skin. The youth was clearly a scholar, having never left a sheltered
spot for something open and underneath the yellow sun. Bentar shook his head.
His family knew the Greymane’s well enough, but he had never known Easton
himself. The boy was just a babe when Bentar himself was coming of age. And he
had left Waterdeep nearly a decade ago to make his own fortune when it became
clear that his family would not be able to provide him, the fourth born son,
with the lifestyle he desired.
A
loud fit of coughing brought Bentar’s attention back to the wagon. Behind him,
laying on top of the various goods and crates being carted by the wagon,
roughly slept Sildar Hallwinter. Theren and Easton had rescued the old man from
a cave overridden by the goblins that had tried to ambush them earlier in the
day. The man had been badly treated and was severely beaten. Bentar was
surprised the older man was still alive after seeing the marks of torture etched
into his flesh. But alive he was, though definitely not in the peak of health.
Bentar hoped that the old man’s claim of shelter in the town were true, for the
old man’s sake. Night was beginning to descend and with it the temperature fell.
Bentar doubted Sildar would survive if they were forced to make camp outside
the town. He turned his reflections inward, still disturbed by the near mortal
wound he had taken beneath a bugbear’s sword and turned to face their
destination.
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A
mile ahead of the travelling group stood the small hamlet of Phandalin. Once a
thriving frontier mining town occupied by dwarves from various tribes and
humans from most of the major nations, the town had fallen to orc raiding a few
hundred years ago. With the destruction of the town, the entrance to the ancient
mine was lost and over the centuries has become little more than wishful rumor.
However, were humans once lived, humans would again settle and a small
community calling itself Phandalin had sprung up in the ruins of the old town
in the last few years. Hardy settlers have moved into the area to carve new
farmsteads and livelihoods out of the lush forest that runs through the hills.
With the hard work of a few dozen settling families, Phandalin has grown from
the ruins of the old settlement and is now home to farmers, woodcutters, fur
traders, and even the occasional prospector drawn to the area by stories of the
gold and platinum that existed in the foothills of the mountains surrounding
the town.
From
the ridge of the hill the party looked out over their destination. Below the
wooded hillside was a scattering of simple log buildings spread out from a
central junction of two dirt streets. Several of the buildings were dilapidated
and run down, the inhabitants having either run off or died. Though more than
twenty - from Easton’s quick count - sprouted light grey smoke from chimneys used
to keep the night’s chill away. The majority of the town’s buildings lined the
cart path as it widened into a functional street the closer to the center of
town it ran. At the sole crossroad of the town rose a tall building built with
wood and stone on the solid foundations of the town’s prior ruins. The sturdy
building was bright with light and the sound of raucous music that carried
lightly to the group’s ear. The distant sounds of music roused Easton from his
book. “Ah, that must be the local inn,” he said. “I could use a small drink
after today’s adventures.”
“Sure,”
nodded Bentar. “A place of rest after this trying day would be welcome.”
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The interior of the inn was brightly lit
from a score of torches ensconced around the room. In the left wall was a deep
stone fireplace. A strong blaze burned deep in the hearth, warmth spreading
from the ancient stones into the room. Outside hung a sign calling this place
the Stonehill Inn, a plain name for a
plain inn. Theren spun to take in all the sights and sounds and smells assailing
his elf senses. A dozen circular tables were spread throughout the room with
patrons crowding the tables nearest a small wooden stage built into the room’s corner,
across from the fireplace. A bar ran along the back wall next to the stage. A large,
well-muscled dwarf pulls drinks from beneath the human sized bar and places the
ale-headed mugs on a round serving board for the waiting serving lass to take to
the tables. As the lady walks by Theren he inhales deeply and immediately
coughs, the perfume of the young lass too strong for such an enclosed room. Beside
him, Bentar moved towards a table while Sildar and Easton made to converse with
the dwarf. Theren sat next to Bentar and turned his attention towards the live
entertainment.
Atop the stage stood a tall Dragonborn
garbed in bright and flowing colors. The creature’s brass talons grasped a
burnished metal instrument. The Dragonborn’s lips caressed the top piece of the
long curved instrument, blowing into it like it was a song horn or flute.
Theren overhead from a nearby table that the creature called it a “saxophone,”
but Theren had never seen the instrument’s like in his limited travels. Mesmerized
by the creature’s talons moving quickly over the instrument and the whimsical
tones emanating from the metal end, Theren was surprised to see that Easton was
now sitting at the table with a round of drinks. “Rooms have been acquired,”
said Easton. “I do not know how long we will be in town, but I was able to
barter three rooms for however long our stay may last.” Easton took a short
draw on the Dwarven ale in front of him. “We have much work to do tomorrow. The
wagon is secured for the night, but I want to deliver all that equipment first
thing in the morning.”
“And Sildar?” asked Theren.
“Sildar
has retired to his own room but wishes to speak to us after he has rested. Don’t
stay up too late.” Easton rose and looked over at Bentar. “And if you are going
to stay up try and keep him out of trouble.” Easton turned and disappeared upstairs
without ever so much as looking at the musician up on stage. Theren shook his
head. That poor boy, he thought to himself, missing something as wonderful as
this hypnotic music. Theren sipped his drink and turned his attention back to
the captivating creature up on stage. Many more cups passed over the next
several hours before Theren stumbled his way to his room and into his bed,
collapsing onto the hard packed pillow without even removing his travel
encrusted boots.
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Easton rose early, as was his custom, and headed down to the common room looking for a bite to eat. He found himself surprisingly hungry after the prior day’s journey. He arose refreshed; his mind clear. But he was also strangely excited. Yesterday was the first time he had called upon arcane energy outside of the University and seeing the destruction his official and personal studies had wrought in the real world delighted him. He had never known such power before, having been born weaker and frailer than the other noble families’ children around his age. Their hateful bullying still replayed itself occasionally in his dreams. One day, he thought, he would make them all pay. One day!
Grabbing some honeyed bread off one of the
tables Easton headed outside to take in the hustle and bustle of the small
hamlet. Outside his breath steamed, the cold chill of the night hanging heavy
in the air. Despite the early hour Easton spied several townsfolk weighted down
with farming tools headed off towards the various farms dotting the southern
edge of the town. Easton moved beside the inn, quickly looking over the wagon
to make sure that none of the goods had been disturbed during the night. Good,
thought Easton, noticing nothing out of place. He did not want to have to track
any missing goods this early in the morning. And definitely not alone and
through an unfamiliar town, where he was most vulnerable. He may put on noble
airs and bravado in dealing with others, but Easton was not stupid. His magical
abilities were still limited and he could not protect himself from something he
could not see. And a knife in the back was, well, a knife in the back.
Spying a well down the street, Easton
moved to fill his water skins for the day. He was disappointed to discover,
however, that the small stone well had been sealed up with old cracked boards
placed over the well’s opening. The wood bleached grey from months of exposure
to the sun and the elements. Clearly, Easton thought, this well had run dry
sometime before the townsfolk resettled the area. Turning back toward the inn
Easton stopped when he caught the muffled sounds of conversation coming from a
small stone temple next to the well. Curious, Easton moved to listen next to
the temple’s door in an attempt to overhear if anything interesting was going
on in the town. Pressing his ear to the door Easton was suddenly and forcefully
pushed away. The door to the temple swung outward, nearly knocking over the
curious youth. A tall Dragonborn cloaked in a multi-colored bards cloak walked out
from the darkened temple and into the morning light, a highly polished comb
held in its hands. The creature turned back towards the temple. “I expect
payment when I get back from this delivery. It’s expensive to travel and I want
out of this small, uncultured and hostile town. None of you appreciate my
genius.” The Dragonborn grabbed a pack up off the ground by the door and
started down the street. A voice from inside the temple called back, “Bring
back the book, or at least knowledge of its whereabouts, and you shall have
your money traveler.”
Easton hastily followed, suddenly excited
by the prospect of another person looking for adventure, or at the very least,
work. His new business venture with Theren and Bentar would need others if it
was going to become profitable enough to finish putting him through University.
He stalked after the Dragonborn, calling out, “Excuse me, good sir. I am Lord
Easton Greymane. I overheard bits of your conversation in the temple. It
appears you are looking for work, yes?”
The creature stopped and turned toward
Easton. “Yes, of course,” replied the Dragonborn, slightly curious as to where
this conversation might be going. He arched the scales over his eyes and
extended his hands outward. “Who isn’t looking for work in a place like this.
This place is far too small to find a patron and having to play every night at
that inn just for a free room – a small, smelly room clearly built for a Halfling
rather than a normal creature – is humiliating for a bard of my talent.”
“Well, then you are in luck,” said Easton.
“I am the founding partner in an adventuring company and my partners and I are
looking for a few more brave adventurers to join us at this early creation of
our business. We would welcome your services and should be able to provide you
with consistent employment and the opportunity to leave this town in the
company of others, rather than alone. The surrounding area is fraught with
danger as my compatriots and I recently discovered.”
“Sure,” said the bard, excited at the
prospect of any help in escaping the sad state he had fallen into. “Anything to
get me out of here and a place where I might find a patron for my music. But
first, I must finish this delivery. I should be back here around mid-day and
can be found at the inn in the evening. We can talk more then.” The bard then
turned and headed off down the street towards a small path running into the
darkness of the forest to the North.
“Wait, fair sir,” called Easton. “I did
not get your name.”
The Dragonborn turned with a flourishing
bow, his multi-hued cloak floating behind him, “I am the majestic Stethaniel
Kensington III, bard extraordinaire. Master of the magical saxophone and teller
of tall tales. At your service.” With proper introductions made, he turned and
sauntered off still clutching the comb in his hand.
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It was late in the morning, the sun steadily rising in the sky, when Theren awoke from his slumber. His head ached and his mouth felt dry and parched. He rose to dress himself for the day but quickly realized he had failed to take his clothes off before falling asleep in the early morning hours. Or did he fall into unconsciousness? He was not sure. Theren couldn’t remember entering his usual nightly trance after his night of drunken revelry listening to the bard play his fascinating instrument. Theren stretched the muscles in his taught neck. And he definitely did not feel any of the trance’s tranquil effects on his psyche. Groaning, he cleaned his face and hands with a bowl of water beside his bed. He grabbed his limited gear off the floor and headed for the door. Theren stumbled down into the common room glancing around for his companions, who were nowhere to be found inside. He was growing impatient when he was directed outside by the still heavily perfumed serving lass clearing the last remnants of the inn’s breakfast off the tables. Theren’s stomach growled and he shifted irritably that he had missed breakfast after his night of heavy drinking. Theren slowly walked outside, shielding his eyes from the bring sun, and moved around the corner of the inn.
“Nice of you to join us Elf,” said Lord
Easton, perturbed at Theren’s inability to join the group at a more proper
hour. “We have much to do today, so if you are ready?” Easton pointed towards
the wagon, “we can get going.”
“You missed breakfast. I saved you some
bread,” said Bentar tossing a hard loaf of heavily crusted bread to Theren. “It
tastes burnt and is as hard as a rock. But you should eat, you look horrible.”
Bentar laughed and stepped up into the seat of the wagon, gripping the oxen’s
reins with his left hand.
“Assholes,” muttered Theren under his
breath. Couldn’t they see he simply enjoyed a night of living after yesterdays
near disastrous ambush? He took a bite of the hard bread, grateful to have
something in his stomach. He turned to follow his companion out into the street
under the late morning sun. A crisp chill settled into Theren’s weary bones.
Winter was finally beginning to fall across the land despite the lateness of
the season and Theren was sure that snow was not far off. Around the corner of
the inn stood Easton looking over the wagon’s cargo.
“Let’s go,” Easton said snapping his
fingers. “We have goods to deliver and payment to receive. The innkeeper said
that the provisioner is down the cross-street to the left and I saw a sign
bearing the mark on our extra cargo further down the main thoroughfare earlier
this morning.” Easton eyed Theren, annoyance for starting so late in the day
plain on his face. Bentar nodded and whipped the oxen into a slow step through the
town, turning left following Easton’s directions.
Several minutes later the wagon pulled in
front of a large single-story wooden building. The sign over the door read
“Barthen’s Provisions.” A heavy door laced with metal crosspieces led into a
large store room with a small desk by the door. Well-stocked shelves peppered
the room, offering a panoply of useful travelling goods and basic supplies. A
lean, balding man stands behind the desk with a small smile at the sight of
newcomers, particularly as these newcomers look in need of his supplies.
“Welcome, welcome,” the old man kindly says. His arms go wide to showcase his
store. “I am Elmar Barthen. What can I do for such fine adventurers as
yourself? Anything I can help you gentlemen find that you might be in particular
need for?” His voice carries an edge of excitement at having customers. Though
the shelves are well stocked, a lawyer of dust is beginning to coat some items,
speaking to a lack of customers Barthen’s Provisions has had in recent days.
Easton stepped forward, speaking on behalf
of the group. “Good morrow, fine sir,” Easton replies, bowing slightly. “We
were hired by Gundren Rockseer, a dwarf of this town, to deliver a wagonload of
supplies to you. We have then outside. Though,” Easton says surveying the room,
“we may have need to restock a few of the essentials.”
“Ah, yes, yes,” Elmar says. “I was
expecting you yesterday, but no harm in the delay so long as all the goods have
arrived. I was growing worried when you didn’t arrive yesterday and thought
those blasted Redbrands had taken the supplies for themselves.”
“Redbrands?” inquired Easton.
“Aye. Ruffians. Bandits.” Elmar spits on
the floor. “About a month ago a group of ruffians calling themselves the
Redbrands marched into town and claimed that the town and all of us were now
under their protection. As if we
needed protection from anything before they came. Now these ruffians sit around
all day collecting tolls and taxes from the few citizens left in the town and
taking anything they might think has any value. Gold, coins, weapons.
Thankfully though, they do not care much for travelling gear and basis
supplies, as you can see,” he says showing of his shelves. “You would be well
to steer clear of anyone wearing a red sash across their clothing. That lot
brings trouble wherever they go.”
“Has anyone done anything about them?”
asked Theren perusing through a bin of leather and hide bits.
“Oh, some tried, I heard. But those few
haven’t been seen. Last to speak out was Woodcutter Dendrar after they tried to
intrude on his lovely daughter, Nilsa. Haven’t seen hair nor head of the man, or
his family, in fact, in the last few days. It’s a terrible time in town, truly
is. That’s why I’ve been expecting you some anticipation. I thought Gundren
would be with you and he is always good at dealing with these sort of problems.
But I have not seen him in several days.”
Easton pulled Elmar into a conspiratorial whisper
and told the old man about the ambush and how Gundren had gone missing. “Oh,
that’s just terrible.” Elmar replied. “That’s a two-fold loss to the town now.
A family of fine strong dwarves and the reopening of the mine. Gundren’s
brothers have also gone missing, you see, and no one else knew where the old
mine was besides the Rockseer brothers.” Elmar shook his old head before turning
back to the group. “Oh well, not much to be done about it now. Bring the wagon
around back and you can unload it in my store room. I believe that Gundren had
left payment for the delivery somewhere here. Just let me look through my
things while you unload the wagon.”
It was two hours of sorting, lifting, and
carrying by Bentar before the mining supplies and equipment was unloaded and
the wagon was heading back through town. Bentar’s left hand clinked the gold in
his pocket. He smiled and thought of the few months of fine living that this
gold would bring. He was leading the wagon towards their next delivery, the
Lionshield Coster merchant house, and expected an even bigger payday for those
goods. The Lionshield Coster was a newer merchant house, but it was a wealthy
one all the same. Wealth that could be put to his good use. Bentar turned the
wagon back onto the main road of the town and towards a long, wooden building down
from the inn. Bentar stopped the wagon outside an open iron-banded door beneath
a sign with the Lionshield symbol. Bentar hopped off the wagon and strode
through the open door.
In front of him, striding through the
shelves of the shop walked Linene Graywind, an inventory list and quill in her
hands. Her fair hair fell partway down her shoulders and onto a rough wool
dress the color of a summer sky. Bentar saw her and smiled brightly. Now here
was a lady worth his time. As Bentar’s heavy footsteps clattered on the wooden
floor boards Linene turned, clearly perturbed that someone was interrupting her
inventory work. “Excuse me, fair maiden,” Bentar says putting on his most
flirtatious and ingratiating smile. “Me and my companions came upon some
property yesterday, a handful of crates marked by this merchant house. I
thought you might like them returned to you.”
Linene suddenly perked up, eyes widening
at the mention of lost goods. “Crates? Marked with the Lionshield you say? Oh
heaven above, that is wonderful news.” Linene returned Bentar’s smile showing
small white teeth beneath supple pink lips. “We have lost several shipments of
goods as of late. I had assumed that the vile Redbrand bandits had waylaid the
wagons outside of town.” Linene began speaking rapidly, excited by the prospect
of the return of lost goods. “Where did you find them? Are then in good
condition? What shipments did you find?” She noted her own excitement and tried
to stop herself from speaking, pulling her hand to her mouth, drawing a shallow
line of ink across her chin. “Oh, excuse me, but where are my manners. I am
Linene Graywind, operator of this outpost of the Lionshield Coster.”
Bentar pressed forward, smile widening even further. “Well met, Miss Graywind.” Bentar bent and kissed Linene’s hand. The warmth of her skin caused a rush to Bentar’s heartbeat and a flush to his face. “I am Lord Bentar Smakserbotom, of the Waterdeep Smakserbotoms. It is always a joy meeting a woman of such quality. I do not know about your other shipments, but this one,” he points outside towards the half-loaded wagon, “was captured by goblins. I found the crates after killing the leader of those vile creatures and removing their threat from this area forever. After such a heroic feat, I deemed it would be unchivalrous to fail to deliver the waylaid goods to their intended decision.” Bentar stared deeply into Linene’s soft blue eyes, flecked with hints of silver. This beauty, he thought, was worth the time he spent on this journey. Bentar opened his mouth and began to speak.
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Outside Easton was stifling a laugh in the
back of the empty wagon. “Did you expect her to take you to bed right there? In
the middle of the shop and middle of the day?” laughed Easton. Bentar’s face
was dejected as he led the wagon back towards the inn. “She was a true beauty,”
he said. “I thought she was falling for my charm.”
“She was excited to have her goods
returned,” said Theren, likewise sitting in the wagon. “Not with who brought
them back. At least she still gave us money for returning the goods after you
propositioned her like that. Though I must say that the look on her face when
you told her that a night with you would be giving her a reward, and the
resulting slap you received, will be with me forever. I will never forget that.
I now have a tale to tell my children’s children. Thank you.”
“And we will never let you forget it
either,” said Easton, laughing every time Bentar turned to face the wizard and
Easton could see the growing red welt across the other noble’s face. “Oh don’t
pout. We have more pressing matters than nursing your bruised ego. I may have
found us a new recruit for our company, that musician fellow from the inn. We
are to meet him at the temple by the old well this afternoon.”
Bentar grunted and the wagon sped forward. “Fine, but let us speak of this no more of this incident or so help me, you will rue your comments. Especially you, Elf.” Easton tilted his head back and another soft laugh escaped from his chest.
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Back at the boarded-up well, Easton saw
that Stethaniel was relaxing in the shade of the temple wall, apparently
waiting for his return. Easton introduced Bentar and Theren to the bard. Bentar
easily accepted the new member into their group, thankful that there would be
someone else to distract Easton’s constant conversation and debates. Somehow,
despite all the work they had accomplished so far this day, Easton had mired
Bentar in discussions about Waterdeep trade policies, the natural history of
the surrounding areas, the business structure of an ancient Dwarven empire, and
the tax implications of their adventuring company. Being with the youth was a
task in patience, even for one of his noble birth. Though he was slightly perturbed
that profits from the company would be split four ways instead of three, he also
saw the benefits of having a bard in the company as it would open doors that
would normally be closed to them.
Theren, on the other hand, was completely
enamored by the bard, deluging him with questions, asking the bard about the
places he had been, the people he had played for, what is was like to travel
the world, where he had learned to play his instrument. And on, and on. Neither
Easton nor Bentar had ever seen the usually silent and introverted elf so
animated and engaged with another person. Stethaniel was taken aback by the
onslaught of questions, trying politely to answer the questions only to be peppered
by even more questions. Easton looked at Stethaniel and just shrugged,
perplexed by the sudden admiration Theren gave to Stethaniel.
Bentar, unaware that the well had been
sealed, walked over to get a drink of fresh cool water. When he saw that the
well was boarded up his annoyance at being dismissed by Linene and at having to
deal with Easton all day boiled over. He angrily slammed the butt of his pike
into the old wood. The strength of his blow caused the wood to breakaway and
fall into the dry well. However, rather than a low quiet sound, the falling
boards crashed into the well floor with an echo that carried for several
seconds. Bentar listened intently, dropping another board into the well. The
same echoing sound carried for far longer than it should have leading him to believe
that there was a much larger cavern below the well. Interesting, thought
Bentar. He called Easton over and told him of his find. Easton, remembering
that this town was originally built to serve an old Dwarf mine, easily talked
the other noble into searching the well perhaps to find an entrance to the
missing mine. Bentar’s eyes gleamed with the thought of long-lost treasure as
he reached for his rope. While Theren was still pestering Stethaniel with
questions, Bentar tied the rope off the well and dropped into the waiting
darkness.
The cavern beneath the well was clothed in
darkness. Bentar could barely make out his own fingers from the limited light
provided from the opening in the well. He fumbled in his pack for a torch,
careful to stay quiet in case he was not alone down there. “Look out,” a
shouted someone from above. Bentar looked up, startled by the noise. He hoped
that someone had not slipped climbing down the rope. Instead, a bright light
was falling down towards Bentar temporarily blinding him with the intensity of
its light. A small rock, emanating a magical light that filled the cavern fell
besides him. “Your welcome,” shouted Easton. Bentar stifled an angry shout. Above
him he could hear the shuffling other others starting the climb down the rope.
The cavern was expansive and circular in
size and shape, roughly forty feet in diameter. The stone walls had clearly
been cut by pick and chisel, the marks of metal tools evident on the stone
face. At two opposite ends of the cavern ran two small entrances, large enough to
push a mine cart through, that led off into darkness. What luck, thought
Bentar. Perhaps they had actually managed to find part of that ancient mine.
Bentar picked an entrance at random and headed off alone, lighting a torch
before he lost the light provided by Easton’s magic. Behind him he could hear
his companions taking in the expanse of the lost cavern, wonder on their
tongues. Bentar moved through the entrance and found himself in another cavern,
though much smaller and rougher in appearance. The floor was bare except for
curious mounds of smelly white excrement. Bentar slowly lifted his gaze up beyond
the piles and the ceiling. Above him stood three dark shapes hanging upside
down from cracks in the rocks. Bentar immediately dropped the torch to the
ground sending up a slight hiss as part of the torch fell into a small pile of
guano. He pulled the pike from his back and yelled behind him, “Get in here. We
are under attack.” His shouts roused the giant bats who opened their eyes to
see the armored human beneath them. With shrill cries the bats extended their long
sinuous wings and dived towards Bentar. He sidestepped the first bat who had
brought a clawed foot in a straight oath for his eyes. Its flight carrying it
off through the door to the main cavern. The next bat was impaled on Bentar’s
pike, spitting itself with its momentum and driving the metal point through its
back, splitting its spine. The weight of the dead bat pulled the weapon’s point
down as Bentar struggled to face the other bat charging in on its own attack
run. Suddenly, two bolts sprang from the creature’s chest. The impacts drove
the creature into the ground where it slowly perished. Behind Bentar stood
Theren and Stethaniel, crossbows drawn and loosed. Behind them stood Easton
looking at the rapidly decaying remains of the other bat. Bentar cleared his
pike from the giant bat’s body and moved through the room hoping for something
worth his trouble. He was disappointed to discover that this room held nothing
but large piles of the giant bat’s guano. He then stalked off to the other
entrance, hoping for something to make climbing into the cavern worthwhile.
Bentar’s
hopes rose as he spied the other cavern. This room was more expansive than the
other caverns. Rectangular in shape, the cavern ran nearly a hundred feet at
its length. Both ends of the cavern were completely closed off by cave-ins, but
a mining track, though out of use and heavily rusted, still ran from one end to
the other. In the middle of the cavern stood a single mine cart, left from
whenever the mine had been abandoned. Easton and Theren moved off to examine
the mine cart while Bentar and Stethaniel moved to find anything of value.
Easton called that they had found nothing of value except for some old ore. But
Bentar would not be dissuaded, he searched from one end of the caver to the
other. His persistence was rewarded when he found, hidden beneath some rubble,
an old locked chest. He fished his crowbar from out of his backpack and pried
the lock off. Inside the chest the glow of several gems and old coins glittered
and shone from his torch. He could scarcely conceal his excitement. Shouting
back over his should he told his partners that their company was off to a good
start. Bentar smiled. Though this small chest was not a fortune, it would carry
him much further than Gundren’s small pay. Bentar pulled the chest back to his
rope and with the help of the others, they were all able to climb back out of
the well with the chest’s valuables split and hidden amongst their bodies. The
sun above them was still several hours off from setting. Perhaps Bentar could
find a few places to spend his new found wealth.
. . . To be continued in Session 3.
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