We made good time up the steps and faced no troubles navigating the trapped hallway under Conan’s direction. Tom hadn’t returned home, not had his home itself returned. Despite this, someone had moved into his former space. Seven beautiful blonde maidens in long and thick woolen skirts now occupied the space.

I stepped forward to investigate while the others readied club and sword.

The women were all laying down or leaning against the walls. These were not the beauties of the Harem-King. There was nothing artful nor seductive about their pose. Whether it be the damp hair plastered to their face, pale skin, shaking limbs, or soiled skirts, none of them were doing well. Several groaned in pain where they lay.

Only one of them had the strength to lift her head at my approach, “Please sir, we are in dire need of your help. Something in this foul place has poisoned us. You must save us or I fear we will all succumb to disease.”

Erin began to lower her club, but Conan caught her wrist. He knew nearly as well as I how deceptive appearances could be under the Bleakfort.

“How did you come to be in this place?” I asked, “Did the master of this space give you leave to lie here?”

I was careful not to mention Tom Oldshoe by name. A promise was a promise. Not that I had any qualms about alluding to the hob. The problem with developing a reputation for deceptiveness was that you encouraged it in those who dealt with you in turn.

“Master?” she asked with confusion, “What master?”

Conan was looking askance at me as well. I ignored both of them.

“What happened here? What is wrong?”

Her strength was fading rapidly. Even as she began talking her head lowered back to the ground, “We do not know, Sir. We are guardians of this mountain, not taken to simple disease. But something in this air is poison, sir. It had polluted us. The pain is all around. It robs of us of our strength. It gnaws at our bones. Please sir, you must save us.”

Conan knelt by one of the women. Conan was short for a man, but the women were tiny, even for women. He towered over her. She was too weak to be intimidated.

“Did this come about all at once? Did you awake sickened? Eat or drink something strange or unusual?”

The woman merely groaned in response. The one I was talking to replied for her, “The air itself works against us. It must be the air. We were travelling through the halls of the dungeon. We all sickened at once as we entered the foul air of the room over yon,” she managed to point weakly at the door to the room where I’d before noticed the strange and stomach roiling scent, “this is as far as we managed to escape.”

“And from where did you come before you were sick?” Conan asked.

She pointed once more, this time to the west, through a door I hadn’t been through.

Now that I thought about it, I’d never explored two of the doors leading from Tom’s room.

Conan went over to examine the door. While he studied it he called to me, “Can you investigate the source of the sick air she speaks of? it doesn’t seem to be effect us as much, and I’d hope your magics could protect you besides. Erin and I will carry them from this room back to safety through this door provided I don’t find any traps.”

I wouldn’t be able to carry the women anyway so I rapidly agreed. The air had been strange before, unpleasant even, but I’d noticed no ill effects. If it had gotten worse I could always teleport back to safety. The spokeswoman was making enough noise to target my spell.

“No! No... don’t carry. Must not... our skirts. Drag us if...”

She was rapidly fading. I hurried through the south door.

The room smelled no better nor no worse than I remembered last time I was in it. That same unidentifiable odour hung in the room, that smell half way between human feces and orange blossoms, and yet unlike either in every way.

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If the women had met their end due to the spell, it was because of the their constitution, not because anything had changed.

Perhaps the smell only effected women, or perhaps the women weren’t as human as they seemed.

“All well, Conan?” I called, suddenly concerned.

“Just getting the first ones moved now now,” he called back, “They don’t seem to like being touched. Took a bit of negotiation.”

They were fine, and yet, and couldn’t help but feel paranoid.

“Keep making noise, just in case.”

Conan replied by launching into a song. An old Delta shanty by the sound of it. I didn’t recognize the words or the tune.

I popped my head back through the door to confirm it was him singing anyway. There were too many tales of creatures who could mimic another’s voice. Conan nodded at me as he dragged a woman away by her shoulders, but didn’t stop his song.

Confidence bolstered, I returned to studying the room. There were only two avenues I hadn’t explored. The strange script on the eastern wall—that had been there last time I’d visited—and the doorway directly across from Tom’s old room. The door had been there before too, but I’d never been through it. Perhaps it would lead me to the source of the smell.

Magic Swords III

I ducked back into the room with Conan and Erin as my swords went to work on the door. A moment later a spear flew through the doorway I’d just walked through and skidded to a halt midway through the room.

I peaked around the corner.

The remains of the far doorway lay piled around the body of a large spring. Another door trap, then. This one must have sent the spear flying nearly one hundred feet.

And yet the builders of this place couldn’t make a hinge which didn’t seize or a frame which didn’t get stuck. They should have gotten the trap builders to do it.

Erin and Conan had moved about half the women out of the room and into the hallway beyond. A quick peek down the hallway with one of my lights revealed it continued for another fifty or so feet to the south before ending in a door.

“Could you leave the light?” Erin asked, “We’d like to get them further away once we can keep an eye on them again, but our hands are too full for the torches. Your candlelight can at least guide us.”

“I can do better than that,” I replied.

Fireball II

Light flooded the hallway, as well as heat from the raging ball of fire. While it could have in theory been used better in a fight, the spell was a liability to keep in my head. Here, in a controlled fashion, I could put it to immediate use.

I sent the fireball to the far end of the hall. I’d have preferred to leave it at the middle, but the ceiling was too low to comfortably pass under the flaming spell.

“If you need it moved out of the way of the door just let me know. I’m going to keep searching for the source of the poison.”

Erin eyed the fireball leerily, but only nodded and smiled in response, “Thank you. Good luck.”

The spear trap and door it had been attached to had been guarding a small room barely wider than the reach of my outstretched arms in all directions. It seemed entirely disproportionate. There wasn’t even anything in the room besides the door at the far end.

The far (near) door was made of iron, but, strangely for the dungeon, it was slightly ajar so I wouldn’t have to waste time breaking it down.

How very suspicious.

It was too good to be true. I slipped around the corner into the stinky room and sent my swords to pry open the door.

No trap was set off. No creature stirred. No warlocks yelled in surprise.

“Anyone in there?” I called.

No reply.

“Last chance before I slice the place to bits!”

Still no one replied.

I’d done my due diligence. I peeked around the corner just enough to send my will-o’-wisps and swords in and started them slicing wildly in all directions.

Stone clanked and sparks flew, but no invisible monsters revealed themselves. Whatever had caused the door to be ajar (if it was anything at all) had moved on.

I peered fully around the corner to get a better look at the roo-

I knew this place. I knew this place though I’d

The depression in front of the iron door. The pitted and cracked floor. The towering metal-wrought altar in the shape of a twisted tree.

I think I knew the source of the women’s corruption.

The sun rose.

Sword Storm

It was time to find out.