[Diary Entry To Be Added]

The room beyond the dragon doors was constructed of the same large square stones, but was much smaller with a single torch burning in a metal bracket and a stone pillar in each corner. There was a single door in the back wall next to one of the pillars.

In the centre of the room were two rats feeding on what looked like a pile of raw meat. But they weren’t ordinary rats, they were massive, nearly two feet tall even sitting hunched over as they were, their hair mattered and balding in places. At the sound of the group’s approach they raised their furry heads, whiskers twitching in their direction. The creatures sniffed the air a few times before deciding the group wasn’t of interest and returned to their meal.

“What are they?” whispered Cathran, sounding disgusted.

“Dire rats,” replied Calan’dal. “Probably some normal rats, or the descendants thereof who’d come afoul of wild magic or some kind of powerful toxin. You tend to see dire creatures around places of high arcane concentration. Their bites are toxic by the way, so be careful of that. It’s strange, dire creatures are usually driven man and bloodthirsty by their affliction.”

“They don’t seem interested in us though,” said Arahn. “Do you think they’ll attack if we try to walk past them?”

“I won’t give them the chance,” Morvar growled gripping his mace tightly.

“Try not to die,” said Calan’dal as the troll stalked towards the giant rats.

Morvar raised his weapon above his head and brought it down on top of one of the creature’s heads. There was a sickening crunch which made Cathran wince, the rat’s body flopping to the side with a soft thump. The other Dire Rat reacted immediately, shrieking and lunging at Morvar who raised his arm to protect his face. The moment the rat tried to sink its teeth into the troll’s rock hard flesh it shrieked in pain and jumped back, leaving Morvar free to strike another deadly blow.

As the second rat fell lifeless to the stone floor the sound of slow clapping filled the small space. Looking around Arahn noticed movement from a crack in the pillar closest to the door, high up near the ceiling.

“Well done,” came a sarcastic voice once the clapping had faded. “You killed some big rats. You must be so proud!”

“Who’s there?” Morvar demanded and to Arahn’s surprise the creature moved forward, sticking its red reptilian head through the hole. It grinned with sharp teeth, yellow eyes glinting mischievously. Behind it Arahn could make out the gentle swish of a scaly tail.

“Kobolds,” said Calan’dal, sounding unimpressed. “Dragon wannabees. Ignore the pest and it will go away.”

“Pest!?” the kobold squawked offended. “I’ll have you know Miirik is descended from the noble dragon flights! Tch, and after Miirik came all this way baring greetings from his Mistress!”

“Mistress?” asked Cathran confused.

“Ignore it,” said Calan’dal dismissively. “Kobolds are delusional, talking to them is useless.”

“What if he knows some secrets of the Abyss?” asked Cathran. “Wouldn’t it be better if we had as much information about where we’re going as possible?”

“Fine,” the elf acquiesced. “Talk to him if you must.”

The girl stepped forward. “Umm, sorry, Miirik did you say your name was?”

“Yes, but Miiriik doesn’t know if Miiriik wants to talk to you anymore,” the Kobold said pouting.

“I just wanted to know who your Mistress was?”

The kobold suddenly brightened at the mention of his Mistress. “Miirik’s Mistress is beautiful and kind!” he gushed. “Mistress rules a garden on this floor. Mistress sent Miirk to invite you to come and stay in the garden. There you will be safe and happy in service to the Mistress.”

“That’s, very generous of your Mistress,” said Cathran carefully. “I mean, I’m sure we’d all love to meet her but first maybe you could tell us what you know about the Abyss?”

“The Abyss?”

“Well you live down here don’t you?” she said her tone flattering. “Surely you would be far more knowledgeable than us.”

There was a moment where Miirik looked surprised before he glanced away embarrassed.

“Well,” he said slowly. “Miirik has been travelling these floors a long time before meeting the Mistress.”

“So you can tell us about it then?” Cathran asked eagerly.

“Miirik supposes, if Miirik wants you to live long enough to see the Mistress, then Miirik must tell you what he knows,” the kobold nodded to himself several times before clearing his throat. “The Abyss is very big, far bigger than any kobold could cross alone. Miirik sometimes sees surface dwellers that come down here. Miirik doesn’t like to linger, but sometimes he sees them die in terrible ways.”

“So there are monsters down here then?” asked Lem. “It’s not just stories?”

“Miirik has seen strange creatures on lower levels,” nodded Miirik. “Miirik doesn’t know what they are called, but Miirik tries not to be seen by them. The higher levels don’t have scary monsters in them though. The Masters don’t want you to die too quickly, would be boring.”

“Masters?” asked Calan’dal, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Miirik paused, mouth open as if realising he’d said too much.

“Please tell us,” said Cathran gently. “We really need to know.”

“Well, Miirik has heard it spoken in the lower floors of the Master’s that control the “Mind of the Abyss.” Miirik doesn’t know what this means, but the Mistress knows of many things that Miirik does not. If you speak with the Mistress, She may be able to help you.”

“Good, this is good,” muttered Calan’dal to himself. “Exactly what I need.”

“Thank you,” said Cathran. “When we meet your Mistress we’ll make sure to tell her how helpful you were.”

Miirik’s eyes lit up. “Miirik is most happy!” the kobold cheered. “Miirik will return to the garden and await your arrival.” With that he scampered off through a hole in the stonework.

“So now what?” asked Cathran once they were alone again.

Calan’dal was quiet for some time seemingly lost in thought. “Assuming the thing wasn’t making it all up, what he said matches some of what Lambourne wrote about in his journal. That he suspected there was something, person, mechanism, he wasn’t sure, but something in command of the Abyss. If that’s true—“

“Is that why we’re here?” interrupted Morvar. “Is that what you’re after, the thing that controls the Abyss?” When Calan’dal didn’t reply the troll took a step forward, towering over the elf, fists clenched. “Figure yourself some grand puppet master, ruling over a magic dungeon or whatever? And what, we’re supposed to die for you to get your crown?”

“You were already going to die,” said Calan’dal simply.

“Hey, should we be talking about this?” Arahn cut in when Morvar took another step forward. He wanted to avoid a fight but he was also feeling nervous about the idea that the dungeon was being controlled from the shadows by some unknown person.

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“You think we’re being watched?” asked Cathran.

“It’s certainly possible,” said Calan’dal. “The Kobold’s words suggested the Master’s would be bored if we died too quickly. Maybe they find our struggles entertaining but either way I don’t see how talking about them will make much of a difference. This Mistress, if she exists, seems to have survived with some level of knowledge, so I don’t see why we won’t be able to.”

“I don’t like this,” Morvar growled, fist clenched tight on his mace.

“I’m not that thrilled either,” admitted Calan’dal. “But I’ve spent more than enough time and money getting to this point, I’m not leaving now there’s a chance my goal actually exists.”

Morvar heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. “We’re all going to die for nothing.”

The door to the next room was plain wood and opened revealing a narrow stone corridor barely wider than single file. Morvar moved forward first, Arahn just behind him. They walked slowly just in case and as they walked Cathran took the opportunity to ask Calan’dal about Kobolds.

“Are they really related to dragons?” she asked.

“Technically yes,” the elf replied. “But they’ve inherited none of their ancestor’s strength or magic. They live underground mostly, burrows you know, they’re quite strong diggers. Which is probably the only compliment I can give them.”

“He spoke the common tongue though,” said Cathran. “Doesn’t that mean they’re intelligent?”

“Intelligence is relative,” replied Calan’dal. “Sure, that one might have been able to pick it up, but most Kobolds are primitive and superstitious. They worship their dragon ancestors and spend their time making graven images to the various Flights at their altars. I’ve heard stories about cannibalism and blood sacrifice, but I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt and say that’s probably just pro-culling propaganda.”

“How far do you trust Miirik then?”

“Not too far. I’ll see whether or not this Mistress of his even exists first, but Kobolds are a cowardly lot. They’ll gravitate to whoever they think is the biggest bully in the playground but that doesn’t mean they can be trusted for loyalty. They’ll stab you in the back as soon as it’s advantageous for them.”

At the end of the hall there was a sharp left turn and another wooden door. Beside the door was a shiny metal plaque, engraved with neat lettering.

I move without wings, between silken strings,

And leave with my bite, a deadly delight.

“What does that mean?” Arahn asked leaning around Morvar’s shoulders to read it.

“A riddle I think,” replied Morvar.

“Why would there be a riddle here?” asked Arahn confused.

“Maybe it’s a warning?” Cathran suggested coming up behind them. “The answer’s pretty obvious though so it’s hardly a puzzle.”

“Well?” demanded Morvar impatiently.

“A poisonous bite and silk threads,” said Cathran as though both boys were thick. “Spiders.”

“Oh great, well that just sounds fantastic,” Evan piped up from somewhere around Arahn’s hip, sarcasm thick on his lips. “Your supplies include poison cure?”

“Sadly not,” said Calan’dal. “I have a basic med kit for emergencies, cuts and sprains, what-have-you, but no medicine.”

“Yeah because who needs medicine right?” said Morvar sarcastically.

“The premixed vials were expensive and probably would have expired by the time we needed them,” defended Calan’dal. “I brought a herbalism kit instead.” The elf looked expectantly at Cathran who paled.

“Well I, I mean I was only living with her for a little while, she didn’t really have time to show me more than the absolute basics.”

“I’ll go first,” Morvar grunted, the roll of his eyes audible in his voice. “Can’t poison a rock.”

He pushed open the door slowly, expecting at any second for many legged creatures to lunge at him. But nothing did. Stepping through, the group was met with a blank wall and a 90 degree turn to either side.

“Left or right?” Arahn asked looking up the hallway in both directions. There seemed to be a room at each end, but with no hanging torches the contents of the rooms were marred in gloom.

“Start with right,” said Morvar stepping down the hall. “If it’s a dead end we’ll go left.”

Together they inched up the corridor, Morvar in front, mace raised and at the ready. Edging into the small room at the end the troll let out a surprised grunt making Arahn tense excepting an attack.

“Spider web,” Morvar explained pulling the thick strands from his face.

The whole room was draped in webbing but much of it was torn, hanging limply from the walls and ceiling. Walking forward, they noticed the bodies of two wolf-sized spiders, legs curled and stiff in death.

“Looks like someone got here before us,” noted Arahn.

“Looks like it,” Morvar agreed before turning and shouting back up the hallway. “This one’s clear!”

The others joined them, Calan’dal bending over to examine the bodies, while Evan and Lem scampered about peering into corners.

“Looks like they’ve been dead for a while,” Calan’dal noted poking them with the end of his staff. “What remains is only their shell, the blood and soft flesh are long gone.”

“I didn’t think spiders had shells,” Cathran mused absently to which Calan’dal nodded.

“You’re average spider doesn’t but to grow this large without an internal skeleton they need shells,” he explained. “Think of them less like a traditional spider and more like a large venomous crab with eight legs.”

“Hey!” Lem announced suddenly. “We’ve got corpses over here.”

“Ooh,” said Calan’dal interested, moving over to where the goblin twins had uncovered two humanoid skeletons among the webbing.

They were adult human size, the bones of their bodies mostly clean but hair and dried flesh stubbornly clung in some places. The pair wore faded leather jerkins, threadbare cloth pants and heavy leather boots. At their waists were rusted iron weapons that had seen much better days. One had a pair of small daggers, the other a short sword and a broken wooden shield. The skeleton with the sword had a small cloth satchel slung over its bony shoulder.

“Score!” Evan cried enthusiastically grabbing the bag and starting to rifle through its contents.

“Oh great, now we’re robbing the dead,” said Cathran sounding appalled.

“And what good are material things to a corpse?” asked Calan’dal.

“Yeah whatever, it’s not like I can stop you.”

“Well then, if they fit, maybe Arahn and Cathran would appreciate some shoes?” the elf suggested.

“Umm, eww?” said Cathran but took the dusty boots anyway when they were passed to her.

Both pairs were slightly too big on their new owners but it was a great improvement over walking barefoot across stone floors.

“Jackpot!” squealed Evan suddenly holding up a small leather bundle he’d pulled from the satchel. Unfolding it revealed a collection of metal instruments held to the soft leather with small cloth loops. “Lock picks! They’re a bit old, but they were wrapped so they’re not rusted through yet.”

“You expect to be picking a lot of locks do you?” Arahn asked as he tied the thin laces of his boots. It felt a little strange to be wearing a dead man’s shoes but beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers.

“Never know what you’ll find,” said Evan putting the bundle in his backpack.

Leaving the corpses behind they filed back out into the hallway, Morvar and Arahn once more in the lead. Together they edged back down the corridor and into the other room which was similarly draped with spider webs. The webs here seemed fresher though, not as torn but the room looked just as empty.

“It’s clear!” Arahn called back down the corridor.

Moments later the goblin twins scampered eagerly into the room, followed eventually by Calan’dal and Cathran. As soon as the last of them crossed the threshold, the air around them erupted into hisses and clicks as the spiders which had, up until that point, been hiding themselves in the high ceiling’s dark corners began to move.

There were dozens of them, descending from the webbed ceiling on shimmering threads, their mandibles clicking and large fangs dripping with venom. Cathran let out a frighten gasp while Arahn moved to stand in front of her nervously drawing his sword.

One spider dropped, landing on Morvar and attempted to take a bite. Its fangs broke off on the troll’s hard skin, but the sudden weight falling on his shoulders made the man stagger. He reached back and grabbed the nearest leg, wrenching it off him and slamming it onto the floor. He followed up with a swing from his mace with shattered the spider-crab’s shell with a wet crunch. The creature kicked futilely in the throes of death before going still.

Far from being intimidated by the sudden death of one of their compatriots, the rest of the spiders clicked furiously and began swarming more quickly down from the webbed ceiling.

“There are too many,” Morvar grunted backing up slowly, his free arm out guiding the others to move back into the hallway.

With a sharp hiss and click, three of the giant spiders dropped from the webbing right between them and the door.

“We’re trapped!” exclaimed Evan his usually permanent grin nowhere to be found.

“It seems like I have no choice then,” said Calan’dal with an irritated sigh before raising his staff.

Morvar flinched as the grooves along its surface glowed with deep red light. A second later there was a flash, then Calan’dal’s wrinkled hands were full of matching coloured fire. The flames exploded outward, filling the room and reducing the webbing to ash in an instant. The spiders shrieked and clicked in agony as their flesh boiled inside their shells. In minutes the group found themselves standing in a pile of charred remains.

“That was amazing!” cried the twins in unison.

Morvar muttered something under his breath, sounding slightly less grateful.

Calan’dal swayed on his feet gripping his staff tightly. Breathing heavily he staggered into the wall, leaning against the stones for support.

Arahn dashed forward to keep the man from collapsing. “Are you alright?”

“It’s been a while since I pulled off a flashy move like that,” said Calan’dal slowly his voice trembling. “This old body isn’t as good at casting as it used to be. I need water.”

Cathran fished around in her supplies bag but only came back with empty skins. “You forgot to fill them?”

“I didn’t want them leaking on the notebooks,” said Calan’dal. “A silly thought in hindsight.”

“We’ll just have to keep going then,” said Arahn. “And hope we find water somewhere.”

“I’ll be fine; I’m just wrecked from the mana loss,” said Calan’dal leaning heavily on Arahn, his entire frame shaking.

Behind the burnt webbing a previously concealed wooden door had been revealed, its surface slightly charred from Calan’dal’s flames. They moved forward, Morvar ever in the lead, pushing it open and going through into the next room. Arahn went next letting Calan’dal lean on him, with Cathran and the twins taking up the rear.