Anthology - Untold Adventures - A Dungeons and Dragons Anthology

Before I say what happened next, there’s a thing or two you should know about Farrik and Gamlin. They’re twins-that’s been commonplace, among the dwarves, since the time of the Thunder Blessing. But although Moradin cast them in the same mold, they’re different as the surface is from the Underchasm.

Both of them are black bearded and heavy browed. And both are fiercely proud of our race. But Farrik’s not the cleanest, to put it politely. You don’t want to stand downwind of him. He’s always covered in dust, even when he’s not prospecting, and his beard’s always a terrible tangle. He says he’s just too busy to tend to it. That a man who works hard should look like he works hard-dirt under the nails, and sweat stains. But you’d think he could at least take a bath, now and again.

Gamlin’s the clean one. He was the one taught me to braid my beard like this-and to develop a taste for the finer, oak-barrel ales. Gamlin’s coin pouch is pretty flat, most days, because when he has coin, he spends it. Doesn’t matter if you’re clan or not-if you’re someone he’s taken a liking to, Gamlin’s always ready to fill your cup.

He didn’t like me much at first. Nor did Farrik. I could see that. But the motediscs I got for them fixed that, soon enough.

So there we were at the bottom of the shaft, sliding around in ankle-deep rotting fungus, our noses filled with the stench, but grinning away because each stubbed toe was another prize in what turned out to be the motherlode of rock gourds. I’d been able to spirit out six motediscs from the quarry and each was heaped high with rock gourds.

The twins insisted we collect every last rock gourd, until the motediscs were sagging under the weight. I thought that was foolish, that it would slow us down-but they were the prospectors and I was the lowly apprentice, so I did as I was told.

Farrik was tying the last of the nets in place to hold the rocks down, and Gamlin was off in a fissure in the wall, relieving himself of some of the ale he’d drunk along the march. I was bending down to pick up the rock gourd I just showed you. After I got my share, I’d hang on to it as a keepsake, I figured, of our expedition.

I was tucking it into my pocket when a crossbow bolt whistled past my ear.

My first thought, I’m ashamed to say, was that the twins had betrayed me. Then I heard Farrik cry out in alarm and clasp his arm. He’d been hit by a bolt shot from above. Even though it was a shallow wound, little more than a graze, the poison took him in a matter of heartbeats. He twisted, sagged, and splashed flat on his back in the muck.

I glanced up and saw a lone drow, levitating perhaps a dozen paces overhead. She shifted her wristbow, aiming at me. I dived under an overhang and heard the bolt splinter against it. I fumbled for my mace, praying to Moradin that I’d live long enough to use it.

Then the light pellet went off.

I’d been hoping Gamlin might surprise the drow from behind when she landed, take her down. She hadn’t seen him yet, after all. But when the light pellet exploded with such brilliance, I knew it was all over. Gamlin would be completely light-dazzled. Blind as a bat.

An apt comparison, as it turned out.

The overhang of rock blocked the drow’s aim; she couldn’t hit me without descending right to the floor. That would bring her within mace range, but trouble was, I still couldn’t see. My goggles were crackling with dazzle from the light pellet, and taking them off would leave me completely unable to see in the utter blackness. A dwarf I might be, but my eyes are still human, more’s the pity.

I wasn’t about to give up without a fight, however. As soon as I heard her squelch down into the muck, I leaped out of my hiding place. I swung my mace blindly in the direction the sound had come from.

I missed.

Her wristbow bolt took me in the thigh.

I staggered, my leg awash in pain. I crashed into the wall and my goggles were knocked off kilter. As my human vision returned, I spotted the faint blue glow of Gamlin’s spellscar; it crackled around his feet, which were buried in muck. He stood at the far side of the shaft, behind the drow, his eyes wide and staring. Streaks of blue fire raced across the floor as I watched, questing out the spot where the drow stood. Its light briefly silhouetted a large round object on the floor-a rock gourd we’d somehow overlooked. But that didn’t matter just then.

The drow spotted the streaks of blue fire just as Gamlin drew back his hand, preparing to throw a dagger. She whirled and shot a bolt. It plunged into Gamlin’s chest. His chainmail vest stopped it, but the point penetrated the links of chain just enough to let the poison enter his blood. He wavered, blinked-then fell and didn’t get up again.

His blue fire lasted a heartbeat more. Even with my weak human vision, the dim flicker was enough to show me where the drow was. I hurled my mace and shouted. Thunder filled the shaft as it connected with the drow’s head.

She died instantly, her skull shattering like lightning-struck stone.

I felt myself sagging. I managed to twist around just enough that I wouldn’t land face-down in the muck. That was no way for a dwarf to die, I thought. Then everything went black.

Rook? Yes, yes. Be patient. Her part in this saga comes next. Truly. But just one more ale…? Certainly this tale’s worth that?

Thanks.

So there I was, dead of drow poison. Or so you’d expect. But it wasn’t a lethal potion the drow had coated her bolts with-just one that places its victims in a deep slumber. She was after slaves, not corpses.

I woke up with a jolt, screaming at the agony of Gamlin binding my wound. The bolt had passed completely through the muscle of my thigh, he told me. I’d lost blood, but not enough to kill me.

As he worked on my leg, Gamlin gave me the bad news. While we’d lain unconscious, Araumycos had started to grow back. Already the upper portion of the shaft was thick with new growth that was starting to weave itself together up near the top. If we were going to escape, we had to hurry. Even with the magical rings that were shielding our minds-purchased at great expense, and with great complaint from Farrik-I could feel the tickle of Araumycos trying to take root in my thoughts.

Farrik, meanwhile, was beside himself. As Gamlin tended me, Farrik sloshed back and forth through the muck, shouting that I was in league with the drow, that I’d deliberately led him and his brother into a trap so I could claim all the rock gourds. I shouted back as best I was able, in my weakened state. If that had been true, I pointed out, I’d have helped her finish off the two of them, not taken a wound that came near to crippling me.

He shot back that I was a stupid human who’d underestimated my accomplice. That drow always turn on their allies, and can never be trusted. I shouted back that I was a dwarf. And so on.

It was Gamlin who told the two of us to shut up, that we were wasting valuable time. I glanced at where he was pointing. Above us, some of the strands of fungus had grown as thick as my arm. One had sprouted a puffball. As Farrik also turned his glance upward, it darkened from white to orange and then burst, releasing a tiny puff of spores. Each of us held his breath as long as we could, but eventually we were forced to gasp for air. The spores were spread pretty thin by the time they reached us. Even so, that gasp of breath had an aftertaste like blue cheese. Some of them rooted. I can feel the scars from them still, every time I draw too deep a breath, despite the healing draughts we drank. If I ever were to venture back into Araumycos, I’d wheeze like an old man. Like I was telling you when I first began this tale, even the smell of a mushroom All right, all right. Don’t be so impatient. Let me finish.