The Underground River

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The Underground River

Skill challenge Results - Evidence of Ambush

The Path Forward

Monsters in the Dark

Mutts Gambit

Marching in the Underdark

Player Replies

Underground River

The party gathers near the underground river, the cool air heavy with the sound of rushing water. The cavern stretches wide and deep, with faint ripples glinting in the party’s lantern light. Kelda and Gorrick stand by the boat, their faces somber as they listen to Mutt’s plea for them to continue onward.

(Persuasion: 9)

Kelda shakes her head slowly. “This far in, the Deepfrost is no place for us. Our maps don’t show what lies beyond this chamber, and the tremors… they’re worse the deeper you go. We’ve done our duty leading you here, but pressing on into uncharted territory isn’t something we’re prepared for.”

Gorrick adds, “If Hruna’s out there, she’s lucky to have you lot lookin’ for her. But if we head further and get caught in a collapse or ambush, we’d be a burden, not a help. We’ll report what we’ve found to the others back at camp. You’ll have to decide what’s next.”

Orin inspects the water’s edge, searching for any clues about Hruna’s path, but finds only faint smudges leading to the river. He frowns, glancing back at the group.

“Whatever choice we make, it has to be quick. The river could carry us further, or we go on foot through the current. Either way, Hruna’s team didn’t turn back.”

As the group discuss what to do and which direction to head, Azalie investigates the small boat. It floats motionless, with a rope tied to a rock. Azalie sees another rock ahead by a body’s length. Some scratch marks against the rock gives the impression of another boat. She listens as the others “request” the assistance of Kelda and Gorrik. They are obviously under the directions of their leader. She glances at Mutt and chuckles at his attempt to convince Kelda to stay.

“Let’s head out of here. The boat is a sure thing. Dwarves don’t float and they aren’t much for endurance swimming.” Azalie jumps into the boat and flawlessly keeps her balance. “This boat is floating, and there’s a paddle. Who’s rowing? I’m more of a navigator.” “Why are you all just standing there? Let’s go! The dwarves should go tell the others. There seems to be a lot of activity down here. It won’t be long before the sound draws these beasts upwards.”

Azalie jumps back onto land and trips over a small crack. She is only slightly embarrassed.

Fizz, focused on the water, investigates its depth and clarity. Despite its still surface, the current runs strong beneath.

“The boat’ll hold,” he announces. “If there’s anything living down there, I’ll find it. Shrimp, maybe?” His grin falters as he turns back to the group. “Well… or something bigger.”

Dorf surveys the chamber for more signs of Hruna’s team but finds nothing definitive beyond the tracks leading into the water. He sighs, glancing at Kelda.

“Your kinfolk are out there. How can you leave now?”

Kelda and Gorrick exchange a look, their expressions heavy with conflict. Kelda steps forward first, her voice steady but tinged with regret.

"Dorf, don’t think this is easy for us. We’d follow Hruna to the ends of this mountain if we could. But we’re no warriors, and going further into these uncharted depths would only slow you down. You’ve got a solid group here, and we trust you’ll do right by our kin. We’ll hold the way back safe for you. We need to report back to Thrain, so he knows Hruna went past the north pool, and into uncharted tunnels. She wouldn't go this far without good reason."

Uptharr, seeing the group’s determination, steps forward to steady Dorf. “The way forward is clear, Dorf. We’ll take the boat and keep going. Hruna needs us to move quickly.”

The party climbs aboard the dinghy, carefully settling into place as the boat sways slightly under their weight. The cold water laps softly against its sides as Azalie takes her place near the bow, eyes scanning ahead, while Fizz positions himself to guide the boat with a paddle. Orin’s lantern casts long shadows over the dark surface, while Mutt keeps his crossbow ready, glancing toward the cavern’s edges.

The current pulls the boat gently into the northeast tunnel, the party disappearing into the blackness as the sound of rushing water grows louder. The flickering lantern light dances along the rocky walls as the group ventures deeper into the mountain, their destination unknown.

The River Fork

The boat glides through the narrow, winding tunnel, the sound of rushing water gurgling and lapping on the boats hull. Ahead, the current slows, revealing two distinct forks where the water splits. Orin’s lantern casts flickering light across jagged stone walls, catching glimmers of damp rock and uneven surfaces at each branching path.

Near the left tunnel, Fizz notices a metallic glint on a flat stone. As the party paddles closer, the light reveals a dwarven mining lantern sitting deliberately atop the rock. The glass is cracked, but its placement feels purposeful, as if it were meant to guide those who follow.

It’s clear this is a marker—a sign left by Hruna’s team. The choice to follow the left channel seems logical, but the silence of the tunnels, broken only by the occasional tremor, keeps a sense of unease in the air. As the boat drifts into the left fork, the shadows seem to close in tighter around you.

The Cavern of Five Paths

The boat drifts into a massive underground cavern, the narrow tunnel behind you giving way to an expanse of still, dark water. The air feels cooler here, and the gentle sound of ripples echoes faintly off unseen walls. Your lantern’s glow barely reaches the rocky shoreline ahead, casting long shadows that shift with the boat’s motion.

Beached on the shore is another dwarven boat, splintered and lodged awkwardly into the gravel. It looks like it was driven ashore in a hurry. As your own boat grinds to a stop alongside it, the silence of the chamber presses down, broken only by the crunch of boots on gravel as you step out.

Scattered supplies litter the ground near the waterline—a torn sack spilling chunks of ore, a dented mining helmet, and a broken pickaxe haft. Tracks lead away from the shore in every direction, heavy bootprints mixed with dragging marks. The scene suggests a struggle, but Hruna’s team is nowhere to be found.

The cavern stretches wide and high, but much of it is lost to shadow. Five tunnels that you notice, lead out of this chamber, their entrances spaced unevenly along the cavern walls. Some are wide, others narrow, all dark. The tracks scatter and fade into the gravel, offering no immediate clue as to which way Hruna’s team went.

Skill Challenge Rules

To determine what happened here and choose the correct path, the party will need to complete a Skill Challenge. Each player may choose a skill to use, but the group must meet three successes before three failures to solve the mystery and identify the correct exit tunnel.

1. Investigation (DC 15): Analyze the scene for subtle details about the struggle or evidence of Hruna’s team’s actions.

2. Survival (DC 14): Examine the tracks and environmental clues to deduce where Hruna’s team may have gone.

3. Perception (DC 16): Scan the cavern and tunnels for faint signs, such as distant echoes or other subtle markers.

4. History (DC 12): Recall knowledge about dwarven mining operations or possible threats that might have ambushed Hruna’s team.

5. Insight (DC 15): Infer the intentions or actions of whoever or whatever caused the struggle based on the evidence at hand.

Players may suggest additional skills if they justify how they are being used.

Each of you must choose which skill you will roll for. Discuss in chat and come to a consensus on who rolls what. You need to succeed on three of the five above to pass the challenge. The next narrative will be shaped based on your successes and failures.

Consequences of Success or Failure:

• Success: The party identifies the correct tunnel Hruna’s team entered and avoids drawing attention to themselves.

• Failure: The group is unable to determine the path and risks alerting Underdark dwellers. A failed skill challenge will force the party to choose a tunnel at random, with a chance of an encounter along the way.

Additional Details

As you begin to investigate, the faint drip of water echoes through the cavern, joined by the occasional groan of shifting stone high above. The air feels heavy, almost alive, as if the mountain itself is aware of your presence. A subtle vibration rolls through the ground—a faint tremor like those you felt earlier in the mines.

Then, faintly at first but growing clearer, the clicking sounds return. They seem to resonate from the darkness around you, bouncing unpredictably off the cavern walls. The noise is irregular, almost teasing, and it’s impossible to pinpoint where it’s coming from. Whatever made those sounds earlier hasn’t forgotten you.

30 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 4:55 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

Skill Challenge Results - Evidence of Ambush

As the party fans out across the cavern, their efforts reveal a grim tale, pieced together by their combined skills—though not without gaps and unanswered questions.

Mutt: Mutt carefully scans the area, his eyes darting across the gravel and broken tools scattered near the shoreline. Unfortunately, his footing falters on the uneven terrain, and a small cloud of dust kicks up as he nearly stumbles over a loose rock. Whatever details might be present seem to elude his distracted gaze, leaving him frustrated.

Azalie: Azalie steps lightly among the tracks, her keen instincts honing in on the story left behind. She crouches near a cluster of heavy boot prints, her hand brushing over drag marks that cross the gravel. The arrangement suggests a sudden ambush—a coordinated attack that overwhelmed Hruna's team before they had a chance to organize. A faint, unsettling feeling washes over her as she notices faint, circular impressions near the edges of the scene, as if something far more dangerous than simple miners was present.

Orin: Orin kneels near a shattered mining pickaxe, his brow furrowed as he inspects the jagged break. His mind turns to his knowledge of the Underdark, recalling stories of subterranean ambush tactics. Duergar dwarves often strike from hiding, and their presence is betrayed here by the heavy boot tracks and unmistakable remnants of their tools. However, what catches Orin's attention most are faint scorch marks near the shore and the peculiar, alien texture of slime on a nearby rock—indicators that something psionic or magical may have been at work. His thoughts drift to the eerie reputation of Mind Flayers.

Fizzbum: Fizzbum pokes through scattered supplies, his hands rifling through a torn sack of ore. While he uncovers no decisive clues, he notices something odd: a few scattered mushrooms that grow in the deepest parts of the Underdark. The find, while not entirely illuminating, suggests that Hruna’s team was dragged deeper into territory rarely ventured into by surface dwellers.

Dorf: Dorf studies the tracks with a practiced eye, focusing on the way the gravel has been disturbed. He picks out signs of a desperate struggle—one set of boot prints is erratic, as though someone tried to fight their way free before being dragged toward one of the tunnels. The sharp, purposeful movements of the tracks suggest military precision, likely the work of Duergar. But there’s something else—lighter, more graceful footprints alongside them, accompanied by faint scratches in the stone, as though clawed hands or thin weapons accompanied the attackers.

Summary of Findings:

The story becomes clearer as the party shares their findings. Hruna’s team was ambushed as they disembarked, overwhelmed by a sudden, precise attack. Evidence points to Duergar dwarves as the primary attackers, but additional details—slime traces, scorch marks, and claw-like scratches—hint at the presence of other, more sinister forces.

The tracks lead directly into one of the five tunnels, the largest and most ominous of the exits. The faint signs of dragging marks and scattered debris suggest Hruna’s team was taken deeper into the mountain, their fate unknown.

The cavern falls silent again as the group absorbs the gravity of the scene. The clicking sounds echo faintly from somewhere deeper within the mountain, a chilling reminder that the dangers of the Underdark are far from behind them.

Treasure Added and available to claim:

2 gold Nuggets

3 Iron Ore

2 Mithral Shards

1 Titanium Nugget

3 Whitecap Mushrooms

3 Sulfur Ore

2 Ironwood Logs

2 Glowfungus

Decision Point: Will the party pursue the tunnel where the tracks lead, or will they explore another path in hopes of gaining more insight or finding another way to rescue Hruna?

Map Updated with Quest Objective path.

20 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 5:15 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

The Path Forward

As the party gathers themselves near the rocky shore of the cavern, the air feels heavy, the clicking sounds faint but persistent. The uneven glow of Orin's light reflects off jagged walls and the beached boat's battered hull. Shadows stretch long, giving the impression that unseen eyes may lurk just beyond their reach.\

Azalie:

Azalie’s sight reaches past the darkness as she finally spots the shore. A faint glimmer of light enters her eyes as she strains to see further into the caverns. She treads carefully on the stony ground beneath her feet, realizing that the taken could have been unconscious—or even…

The shore comes into clearer view as the boat grounds with a soft crunch. The faint outlines of tracks and scattered debris seem to confirm Azalie’s fears: Hruna’s team didn’t leave this area without a fight. The faint clicking noise, once distant, is now barely perceptible, like an unwelcome pulse beneath the still air.

She won’t let that thought cross her lips. Instead, she watches Dorf as he slips through the scene like a weasel, every step deliberate, not stirring a single speck of dust.

“What do you see, Dorf?” she asks, hoping he isn’t seeing what she is: signs of a struggle that lasted only moments. Hruna and her team had no idea what they were chasing, likely distracted by distant noises from unnamed monsters.

Dorf moves through the chaotic scene, his sharp eyes catching details that confirm what Azalie suspects. Scattered supplies and deep boot tracks, mixed with dragging marks, tell a grim story. His voice cuts through the silence, low and steady. “Duergar.”

Azalie flashes back to the memory of Nildar hacking at her midsection with his axe. “Puny axe it was,” she mutters aloud, not caring who hears. She still bears the scar from his last blow. Rubbing it stirs memories she tries to drown—she never fell, not even to her knees.

“Duergar, you say?” Azalie stands slowly, her gaze flicking to the darkest shadows. “We need to tread lightly… lighter than air. They are masters at traps. They also may already know we are here."

As Azalie speaks, the air feels heavier, as though the cavern itself is listening. The scratches on the walls, uneven and haphazard, seem more purposeful now, like they were carved with intent rather than carelessness. The faint tremor in the ground almost mirrors the tension in her words.

She turns her attention to spotting any traps. “Orin, can you fire up your magic detector?” she asks, tense at the thought of fighting another wizard.

“Who has the lantern that finds chwingas? Maybe we should turn it on.” During their last encounter, the chwingas had gathered around the chardalyn shards. Azalie hopes she won’t see any this time; she shivers at the thought of the horrors from the last outpost. Her thoughts going to Orin and his lost friends. She doesn't want to make the same mistake.

The scene remains eerily silent, save for the occasional soft creak of shifting stone overhead. No traps reveal themselves yet, though the unnerving emptiness of the area seems like a trap of its own. The scratches along the walls almost resemble the chaotic markings of something clawing to escape.

Azalie resumes her search for traps, clues, or anything that might indicate how many creatures were here. The scratches on the walls puzzle her—why would they swing their axes that way? She stretches, mulling over a plan and reminding herself this is still a rescue mission.

Glancing at Mutt, she notices his face seems frozen in time, a strange grin on his lips. “Mutt, it’ll be okay,” she says reassuringly. “Let’s focus on the positives. We have our new friend Orin to help us out, and Dorf is going to rage all over their asses.” She pats Mutt on the shoulder. “Don’t forget they’ve got Hruna too. She’s not a dwarf to be trifled with.”

Azalie's humor is a cover. She is afraid for Hruna, her friends and herself. They barely survived their last encounter with the Duergar, but they did. She pulls her hand away from Mutt's shoulder so he doesn't feel her trembling.

“Okay, Howlbears,” she says, “let’s get going.”

ORIN:

Orin runs his fingers over the broken pickaxe before glancing toward the faint scorch marks and slimy residue. He nods at Azalie, his tone measured,

"You’re right to be wary. The signs here suggest more than just Duergar. Magic or psionics, perhaps. These scorch marks and the slime... I’ve read of such things in tales of mind flayers and their thralls, but it’s hard to say for sure."

The pickaxe, shattered as if struck by immense force, seems out of place against the crude remnants of the struggle. The scorch marks glisten faintly in the dim light, and the viscous slime clinging to the ground exudes an unnatural aura. Whatever passed through here wasn’t just a simple skirmish—it was something far more sinister.

He stands, brushing dust from his hands, and lets his gaze settle on the largest tunnel. "I’ll do my best to deal with any traps or spells, but for now we’ll need sharp eyes and our wits to spot them, as I don’t have magic prepared for detection. I’ve focused on countering and dispelling such threats, if we are met with them."

The largest tunnel looms ahead, its gaping maw a stark contrast to the more confined side paths. Orin’s light spell reflects faintly off jagged edges in the tunnel’s opening, hinting at the care they’ll need to proceed safely. The faint vibrations in the ground seem to grow stronger here, as if the mountain itself reacts to their presence.

Orin quietly refreshes the Light spell on the coin kept tucked into his belt, casting a soft radiance. "The way I see it, we have two options: follow the tracks directly, staying close on their heels, or take a parallel path to avoid walking into an ambush, or perhaps to catch them off guard ourselves. Both choices have their risks."

The tracks leading into the main tunnel are clear, their heavy impressions in the gravel an ominous trail. The idea of a parallel path lingers for a moment, but the lack of clear alternatives and the group’s determination to find Hruna makes the decision feel weighty. The cavern’s oppressive silence feels like an unseen enemy watching their every move.

Orin steps back, his hand tightening around the lantern’s handle. “I’m ready to follow whichever path the group decides. Either way, we’ll need to stay together and stay sharp.”

The soft glow of Orin’s lantern bounces off the uneven ground as the group takes stock of their options. The air feels heavier with each passing moment, as though urging them to act. The choice ahead is clear, yet fraught with danger: follow the tracks and face what lies ahead, or risk losing Hruna’s trail for the chance of avoiding a trap.

MUTT:

As the dwarven boat slides down the blackened tunnel, Mutt keeps a death grip on his crossbow. He tightens his grip on the newly repaired stock, doing his best to hide the nervousness and apprehension gnawing his stomach. He's sure every bump and jostling of the ship is some subterranean beast, about to drag him down to a cold, watery grave in the endless dark.

The boat bumps lightly against unseen obstacles beneath the water, sending faint ripples through the tunnel. The sound of the current reverberates off the stone walls, creating a hollow echo that only deepens the eerie stillness. The darkness ahead feels like it could swallow the faint glow of the party’s lanterns at any moment.

When the boat reaches shore, Mutt's relief is palpable. He leaps from the boat and jogs ashore, eager to have firm earth under his feet again. Feeling a bit more secure, he looks back down the tunnel they just came through. He laments not being able to convince Kelda and Gorrick to come with them. Having to travel back against the current without a good idea of which way to go to get back...

The faint outline of the boat fades into the shadows behind them as the tunnel curves away. The current’s steady pull suggests a daunting journey back if they fail to find Hruna’s team. Every so often, the ground shudders with a low tremor, as if the mountain itself were reminding them of the stakes.

Mutt looks around the ambush site for clues as to what happened to Hruna's team. He sees the broken pickaxe, the marking on the ground, but being so distracted by how they're supposed to get home...Mutt can't make any sense of it. He shakes his head to clear the darkening thoughts. One problem at a time. They will have to deal with that once they manage to find Hruna.

The scattered debris tells a clear story of chaos and urgency, but no singular detail reveals itself to Mutt. The faint drag marks and heavy bootprints lead deeper into the cavern, but his mind is too preoccupied with the daunting task ahead to make much of them.

Mutt mills around while the rest of the party pieces together what happened here. He stops pacing when Orin mentions Mind Flayers.

"Hold on. Mind Flayers? You're telling me they're real? Men with squids for faces that have psionic powers and eat brains? They're not just some story told to frighten children?"

Mutt's mind recollects his mother telling him a story of Mind Flayers eating the brains of little half-elves that wouldn't go to bed when they're told and makes a mental note to bring that up with her when he sees her again (she's not dead, he keeps telling himself).

The mention of Mind Flayers hangs heavy in the air, drawing a momentary silence among the group. The slimy residue and faint scorch marks lend weight to the disturbing possibility. Orin’s calm explanation does little to soothe the unease that prickles at the edges of everyone’s thoughts.

"Duergar I expected down here, but Mind Flayers? Dorf, are you sure this is worth...?"

 “You don’t have to come, but I am not leaving without her. I don’t care how many Duergar or any other nasty creatures I have to tear through to find her. Any that are able to run away from me will remember the day a Halfling visited their world!”

Mutt looks over and sees Dorf's glowering expression and holds up his hands in appeasement. "OK, OK. Just had to ask." Mutt sighs and looks around at the branching tunnels.

The tunnels yawn like gaping maws, the oppressive darkness within each one promising danger. The faint impressions of tracks heading into the largest tunnel make the choice clear, but the looming unknown sends a chill down everyone’s spine.

"We know which way they were taken so it seems like the most obvious path to take. If we're lucky, they're not too far ahead. They probably don't know they're being followed, so they may be taking their time getting back to ... wherever they're going. I can go ahead and scout for traps, but I'll need help with any magic guards we come across." Mutt looks pointedly at Orin and nods.

Mutt sighs again and looks down the large, dark tunnel.

"I'm ready to go whenever the rest of you are."

The faint vibrations in the ground grow slightly stronger as the group gathers their resolve. The tracks leading into the dark tunnel beckon, but the air itself feels heavier with each passing moment. Somewhere deeper in the mountain, Hruna’s fate awaits, and every second counts.

FIZZBUM:

Fizz is excited about his find of the sack of ore and mushrooms, and spends several moments carefully trimming the mushrooms, packing them away for later. Satisfied that they won't be damaged during the rest of the journey, Fizz turns his attention to the rest of the crew that is scanning the cavern.

The mushrooms are vibrant, with faintly glowing caps that pulse softly in the dim light. As Fizz carefully trims and packs them away, he notices that the soil clinging to their roots has a strange, metallic scent—an odd mix of earth and ore. It’s a small reminder of how alien the Underdark can be.

Fizz's eyes are pretty good, but he feels like he's missing something. Something about those clickity-clack sounds keeps distracting him as he's looking for clues. Coming up with an idea, Fizz summons a small flame and sends it upward to the roof above their heads, looking for any indication that there might be creatures above them along the ceiling or crevices in the rock.

The small flame flickers as it ascends, casting dancing shadows along the jagged ceiling. The uneven rock above is riddled with crevices, some deep enough to vanish entirely into the stone. The flame doesn’t reveal any immediate threats, but the unsettling clicking sound persists, echoing faintly from somewhere deeper in the cavern.

Seeing the party start to focus on the larger tunnel that is Hruna's likely path, Fizz heads that direction, and attempts to get his flame to follow for a peek at what's down the tunnel.

The flame hovers near the entrance of the larger tunnel, its warm glow barely penetrating the dense darkness within. The tunnel stretches forward, wide and imposing, with no clear end in sight. The faint tracks leading inside confirm this is the way Hruna's team must have gone, but the oppressive atmosphere seems to deepen with each step. The clicking sound fades, replaced by the soft echo of dripping water, as though something deeper in the mountain is watching and waiting.

DORF:

Dorf scouts for signs on what happened here, he’s glad he can’t find any blood.

The scattered boot prints and signs of a struggle confirm that Hruna’s team fought hard, but the absence of blood suggests the battle was swift, with the attackers taking prisoners rather than leaving bodies behind. The faint drag marks reinforce this grim conclusion, pulling Dorf’s thoughts to Hruna’s fate.

He will distractedly pick up a couple items not really looking at them before throwing them in his pack. The mithril reminds him of mining with Hruna. He quickly blinks away a tear and dons his goggles to hide them, and follows Mutt down the tunnel trying not to miss anything in his rush to save Hruna.

As Dorf picks up the mithril, the cold, smooth metal stirs memories of better days working alongside Hruna. The familiar texture is both comforting and bittersweet. The tracks into the large tunnel remain faint but unmistakable, leading him onward with purpose. Each step feels heavier as the enormity of the rescue sinks in.

The Long Dark Tunnel

The party follows the winding main tunnel, their footsteps crunching softly on scattered gravel as they move deeper into the mountain’s shadowed heart. The tracks they’ve been following grow more scattered but remain visible, their uneven pattern suggesting a hurried pace. The oppressive weight of the mountain presses down on them, the air growing damp and cooler with each step.

Collapsed side tunnels appear intermittently along the way, jagged edges suggesting they were torn apart rather than naturally caved in. The distinct, gouging claw marks etched into the stone walls near these tunnels hint at something large and powerful—something capable of tearing through solid rock. A faint tremor ripples beneath their feet, stirring loose pebbles that clatter into the darkness.

As they continue, Mutt catches a peculiar detail: a smooth, almost unnatural circular indentation on the tunnel wall. Its edges are clean, almost surgical, as if something had burrowed or drilled with precision beyond ordinary means. Near it, faint trails of slime glisten under the lantern light, their origin unknown. The silence grows heavier here, the absence of the clicking noises now replaced by a quiet so deep it seems to seep into their bones, amplifying every sound they make.

Each step forward feels like walking into a growing tension, the mountain's silence more oppressive than the echoes of its previous tremors.

Passive Perception 17

Mutt, ever watchful, slows his pace, his sharp eyes catching faint disturbances in the tunnel ahead. Small, subtle signs—scrapes on the stone walls at irregular heights, disturbed gravel where the tracks suddenly scatter, and the faintest indentation of boot prints that seem fresher than Hruna’s team’s trail. Something isn’t right.

A shadow flickers across the edge of the lantern light, gone before anyone can fully register it. Mutt’s stomach tightens as his instincts scream a warning.

“Mutt, what is it?” whispers Uptharr

The tunnel widens slightly ahead, branching into a small crossroads with shallow alcoves carved into the walls. The space feels oddly still, as though the mountain is holding its breath. The faint impression of movement lingers at the edge of vision, elusive and unsettling.

Call for Roll

Mutt, your sharp eyes pick up subtle signs—scattered gravel, fresher boot prints, and faint scuff marks on the walls. Something about this area feels off, almost too quiet. Everyone, make a skill check to gauge your awareness of the situation

• Perception or Investigation: To notice hidden details or movement in the tunnel.

• Insight: To sense an unseen threat or unnatural tension.

• Survival: To read the tracks and signs left by whoever has passed through here recently.

  
  

Your rolls will determine how much you notice and how prepared you are for what’s ahead.

35 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 5:50 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

Monsters in the Dark

Azalie notices the hairs on Mutt's arm standing on end. She feels a bit embarrassed, hoping no one realizes how often she glances at him. She gives the team a signal to hide, praying they understand.

Azalie’s sharp instincts guide her as she signals the group, her focus honed by years of experience. Her Stealth (21) ensures her movements are soundless as she glides toward the crevices, her presence melting into the shadows like smoke.

She senses danger. Pausing, she uses her nimble footwork to slip closer to the crevices. Suddenly, Uptharr’s voice seems to echo off the walls, even though he speaks only in a whisper.

The faint sound of Uptharr’s whisper carries unnervingly far, a reminder of how treacherous sound can be in these confined tunnels. Azalie’s ears strain against the silence, but the echo fades without any immediate reaction from the darkness ahead.

Azalie remains silent, blending into the shadows. She positions herself higher, knowing they’d expect her on the ground. She motions for Mellon to stay still and quiet. Spotting a small alcove with a perfect opening, she sets herself up there—able to fire arrows and then drop out of sight.

The alcove provides excellent cover and a commanding vantage point, a testament to Azalie’s tactical awareness. From her elevated position, she notes faint scuff marks in the dirt below—recent, deliberate movements, though her Insight (7) does not reveal the full intent behind them. The lack of clarity gnaws at her nerves, but the signs of activity are undeniable.

She takes a moment to lay out her ammo, smoke some Frosty Toby, and pray. She wants to stay hidden. The Toby’s scent fills the area, hopefully masking their presence.

The herbal smoke mingles with the damp, earthy air of the tunnel, creating a curious blend of scents. Mellon shifts slightly but obeys her command to remain still, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding darkness.

“Hide,” she whispers, barely breathing the word. She doesn’t want her voice to echo.

Her whisper is barely audible, yet the tension in her tone is clear. The oppressive silence of the tunnel presses down on the group, and Azalie’s preparations add a sense of methodical calm amidst the unease.

She glares down the tunnel, searching for any movement, body heat, anything alive. She watches as the others make their preparations. Hoping that they didn't just trigger their death.

Though her gaze pierces the dim shadows, nothing stirs ahead. The oppressive silence and subtle vibrations in the ground suggest that something—or someone—might be watching, just out of sight. The moment hangs heavy, charged with the possibility of unseen threats.

Fizzbum stops dead as they pass the spherical hole in the wall, staring at it in fascination. Suddenly, he begins to giggle, quietly at first and then growing in intensity as he continues to look at the depression in the rock. Looking up at the astounded faces of the Party around him, he bursts out laughing even louder.

"Oh... my lands..." Fizzbum gasps out between chuckles. "Don't... you see it!?"

Before he can finish his thought, Uptharr moves quickly, clamping a firm hand over Fizzbum’s mouth.

“Silence, little one!” Uptharr whispers urgently, his voice low but commanding. “Your laughter carries further than you know in these halls.”

Some muffled chuckles escape, but Uptharr’s intervention manages to stifle the worst of it. After a moment, Fizzbum regains enough composure to gently pull away from the paladin’s hand. He leans closer to the hole in the wall, his voice now a whisper.

"It looks... just like... a skunk butt,” he mutters, grinning mischievously but with considerably more restraint. He shakes his head, trying to suppress another fit of giggles, and begins examining the slime around the peculiar indentation.

Fizzbum’s Perception (23) and Nature (12) allow him to collect a small sample of the slime in a jar. It has a faintly metallic scent, mixed with something acrid and unfamiliar. Despite his knowledge of natural substances, the residue’s origin remains elusive—perhaps tied to creatures or methods alien to the surface world.

As Fizz pockets the jar, Azalie rolls her eyes and lets out a soft sigh, her tension palpable. She holds her breath, waiting to see if the momentary noise stirs anything from the shadows.

The air around the group feels heavy with anticipation. The faint tremor beneath their feet seems to hum in time with the tension in their nerves, but the silence in the tunnels remains unbroken—for now.

Mutt pauses at the edge of the crossroads, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He keeps a tight grip on his crossbow, signaling everyone to halt. His sharp eyes strain against the oppressive darkness, seeking any movement or figures lurking in the shadows.

With a Perception roll of 11, Mutt notices nothing immediately threatening, but the eerie silence and faint vibrations beneath his feet heighten his unease.

Hearing Fizzbum’s sudden burst of laughter, Mutt spins his head in alarm, his crossbow instinctively raised. His gaze snaps to the gnome just as Uptharr moves to stifle the noise. The muffled giggles only add to the tension, and Mutt’s jaw tightens as he scans the cavern for any signs of a reaction.

Despite his efforts, Mutt doesn’t detect any immediate movement in the surrounding darkness, though the unsettling stillness feels almost deliberate—like the calm before a storm.

Taking several cautious steps back toward the party, Mutt waits, his body taut with readiness. He glances at Azalie, noting her poised stance in the shadows, then toward Orin, whose lantern casts faint, flickering light on the rocky walls. His voice is low, almost a whisper, as he murmurs,

"Stay sharp. Something’s not right."

Orin lingers near the tunnel wall, his fingers brushing against the cold, rough stone as he examines the area for clues.

With an Investigation roll of 4, his efforts yield no new insights—the smooth, unnatural hole in the wall remains a mystery, and the faint tremor beneath his feet offers no further explanation. The uncertainty gnaws at the edges of his thoughts.

Fizzbum’s sudden laughter breaks the heavy silence, echoing faintly down the tunnel. Orin’s eyes snap to the shadows, and he instinctively lowers his lantern, his free hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. The flickering light casts eerie, shifting shapes on the walls, but no movement reveals itself. Still, the sound lingers in the oppressive stillness, making every shadow seem like it could come alive.

Stepping closer to where Mutt and Azalie have taken their positions, Orin keeps his voice low. He glances between the two, their readiness a stark contrast to the tension in his chest. With a steadying breath, he channels his focus, preparing to counter any magical assault or raise a defensive ward if danger strikes.

Though the group remains quiet, Orin can feel the weight of their anticipation. Something is out there—it’s only a matter of when, not if, it reveals itself.

Orin stays close, trusting in the sharp instincts of his companions. He lets their signals guide him as he remains vigilant, his senses sharp, ready for whatever the dark might hold.

Uptharr steps forward, his flail in hand, his booming voice low and steady.

"Whoever or whatever you are, we’ll not be caught unawares. Show yourselves!"

Mutt, flanking the group, echoes the sentiment, his voice sharp and commanding. "We know you’re there! Step into the light before we come find you!"

A tense silence falls, broken only by the faint shuffle of feet. From the darkness, two figures emerge—sleek and shadowy, their faces obscured by dark masks. Drow. Their weapons gleam faintly in the dim light as they step forward with deliberate confidence.

Behind them, hulking shapes loom in the tunnel—two massive Umber Hulks, their insectoid frames bristling with latent energy, their glowing eyes fixating on the party.

One of the Drow steps slightly ahead of the other, her voice smooth but laced with menace.

"You’ve followed the wrong tracks, surface dwellers. Surrender now, and perhaps your Dwarven...", she pauses for a second then with a sickly tone continues... "friends —the female Dwarf and her kin—will not suffer for your stubbornness."

The Drow’s words hang heavily in the air, her threat unmistakable. The Umber Hulks shift slightly, their claws scraping against the stone floor as they wait for the command to strike.

The party stands at a crossroads: will they attempt to negotiate, prepare for a fight, or attempt something else entirely?

Azalie remains hidden in the rocks with her successful stealth check, she has climbed up several feet and can see the two drow and the two umber hulks from her position, the rest of the party stands in the passage, with weapons drawn.

Uptharr and Dorf are in the front

Mutt behind them, and finally

Fizzbum and Orin in the back.

5 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 5:55 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

Mutt's Gambit

Fizzbum nearly drops his staff in shock and looks up at the taller mage next to him.

"Drow, Mr. Orin! Drow! I never thought I'd see them in my life!" His voice is hushed, but the urgency is clear. Catching sight of the massive forms shifting in the darkness behind them, his stomach twists. "Umm... I don't like the look of their friends though. They look mean!"

The two Drow remain impassive, their expressions unreadable, but the slightest smirk plays at the corner of the female’s lips. The Umber Hulks shift again, their heavy limbs scraping against the cavern floor, the dim glow of their compound eyes flickering as they scan the party.

Fizzbum swallows hard, his mind racing. He'd read about Drow warriors, but these two were far more impressive than he ever imagined. And they knew where Hruna was. That part gnawed at him. Drow were slavers. They wanted the party to surrender.

"Ummm… Mr. Uptharr?" Fizzbum steps closer to the paladin, his voice lowering. "I don't think surrendering is a good idea. I can't live down in the dark for the rest of my life. No trees, no sun? I definitely would not like it!"

Mutt takes several steps back towards the safety of the group as the Drow and Umber Hulks emerge from the shadows. Dead, the umber hulks were impressive. Seeing their large forms lumber forward with their iridescent eyes was downright intimidating. Mutt looks around the chamber. Just because these two Drow made themselves known doesn’t mean there weren’t more lurking in the shadows. Mutt glances around, noticing Azalie missing for the first time. He silently wonders where she went and hopes she’s OK.

Mutt swallows hard and puts up a calming hand, his other still firmly gripped around the stock of his crossbow.

“Hey there! Sorry for intruding on your…lovely home here. We’re just looking for a friend that seems to have gotten lost down here. It sounds like you may know where she is which is great! That means we don’t have to keep wandering around looking for them. Our small, angry friend up there has been worried sick.”

Mutt shifts nervously and tries to inject some confidence in his voice.

“You’re obviously busy people and we’re grateful to you for helping us find them. If you could turn them over to us, we will be on our way and leave your lands in peace. No need for any more unpleasantness like we passed by on our way here. Terrible stuff. We’d obviously be willing to compensate you for your time and assistance.”

Mutt puts on a confident smile and beams at the Drow.

“What do you say?”

The male Drow tilts his head slightly, his cold gaze lingering on Mutt as if considering his words. Then, with an air of amusement, he exhales softly, a near chuckle escaping his lips.

"You surfacers and your pleasantries," he muses, the hand on his sword remaining relaxed but poised. The tension lingers, thick and unmoving.

Before he can speak further, the female raises a gloved hand, stopping him with a subtle gesture. Her eyes flick to Mutt.

"You are surprisingly diplomatic, surfacer. But you misunderstand—your friend and her kin are already far beyond your reach," she says smoothly.

Her eyes gleam with amusement, the only visible hint of expression behind the dark mask as she watches for the party’s reaction.

"You have but one chance to retrieve them. Come with us, willingly, and you may yet see them alive."

Uptharr narrows his eyes, gripping his flail so tightly that his knuckles go white. His voice, usually filled with mirth, is now a low, rumbling growl.

"We will not be handing over our weapons like some meek lambs walking into a butcher’s shop."

The male Drow clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed, but not surprised.

"Stow them, then," the female offers, crossing her arms. "You needn’t be fools about it. Carry them on your backs, in their sheaths, but do not draw unless you wish to meet the Umber Hulks in battle."

She steps forward, her tone becoming more deliberate. "We do not ask twice. Come, while your friend still breathes."

The Umber Hulks stir, their mandibles clicking, muscles tensing as if awaiting an unspoken command.

The silence hangs thick in the air, the weight of the Drow’s words settling over the party. The Umber Hulks shift restlessly, their claws scraping against the stone, their unreadable eyes fixed on the group. The masked Drow warriors remain still, awaiting an answer—patient, but not indefinitely so.

What will you do? Will you take them at their word and follow, keeping your weapons stowed but within reach? Will you press for more information, attempt to negotiate further, or test the truth of their claims? Or do you reject their offer entirely, forcing a confrontation here and now?

You may choose a skill to interact with the situation—insight to gauge their intentions, perception to catch any further details in the darkness, or another approach of your choosing. Or, if you wish, you may simply speak and take the conversation where you will.

5 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 6:00 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

Marching in the Underdark

Dorf tries to control his temper enough to think through this situation. If he can keep his weapons then there is always hope. And this is probably the only way to get to Hruna without serious complications. He will sheath his weapons and be as prepared as possible for any treachery from the drow.

Orin’s heart pounds, but his face remains composed, his eyes flicking between the masked figures and the hulking forms of the Umber Hulks looming behind them. The faint scrape of their claws against the stone echoes ominously in the silence.

He lets Mutt speak—right now, the bard’s silver tongue is their best hope. But his mind races. If the Drow don’t have Hruna, then who—or what—does? Were they hunting something else? Or was this always meant to be a trap?

When the female Drow speaks again, her voice sharp as a blade, Orin takes a slow, deliberate breath. The tension among his companions is palpable, but his gaze settles on Dorf, who stands unmoving, his posture signaling grim determination. Taking his cue, Orin shifts his weight, lowering his dagger—not in surrender, but in acknowledgment.

“They have little reason to lie to us,” Orin says softly, his voice calm and measured, just loud enough for the party to hear. “They hold the upper hand. And their terms… as they stand, are survivable. I believe we should take the offer.”

The dim lantern light flickers against the Drow’s masks, catching the barest movement in the female’s eyes as she studies him. Whatever thoughts lie behind that veil of shadow remain unreadable.

The Umber Hulks shift again, their heavy claws scraping the cavern floor, an unsettling reminder of the danger that lurks behind these negotiations. The male Drow exhales sharply through his nose, unimpressed.

“Finally, one who understands his place,” he mutters, his voice dripping with disdain.

Uptharr, standing firm beside Orin, crosses his arms, his expression set. “I don’t like it,” he grumbles under his breath. “But I like dying less. Stay sharp.”

Fizzbum nervously watches the exchange between Mutt and the Drow, hoping—really hoping—this doesn't end with him locked in some dark cell for the rest of his life. But the Drow’s offer gives him the slightest bit of hope. If they can go with them and keep their weapons, maybe things won’t be so bad.

He steps up beside Mutt, wringing his hands around his staff. “We do need to find Ms. Hruna, sir. I don’t know what ‘beyond our reach’ means, but if she’s hurt, maybe I can help? I’ve got some good herbs and potions that might make her feel better. Most of them have mushrooms in them from my swamp. You’re not allergic to mushrooms, are you? I could share some with you if you want to! I guess you have a hard time finding good herbs down here in the dark! I tried growing some in my hut once, but they got all brown and wilty, until I—”

A heavy clack-clack echoes as one of the Umber Hulks shifts its bulk, its mandibles twitching. Fizzbum freezes mid-sentence, his throat bobbing in a nervous gulp. He very carefully takes a step back and lowers his voice.

“I’ll go with ‘em, Mr. Mutt,” he mutters. “I think we’ll be okay.”

The female Drow remains unreadable behind her mask, but something in her posture shifts—was that amusement? Annoyance? Her attention flickers between Fizzbum and the restless Umber Hulks at her back.

The male Drow exhales a dry chuckle. “A surface gnome offering us mushrooms… how quaint.” His gloved fingers tap idly against the hilt of his sword.

The nearest Umber Hulk lets out a low, guttural chitter, its compound eyes catching the dim light as it seems to register Fizzbum’s voice. The little druid’s abrupt silence seems to satisfy it, and the beast settles again.

The female Drow lifts a gloved hand and gestures forward.

“Your herbs will be of no use. If they still live, it is not wounds you should be concerned with.”

Mutt’s presence beside Fizzbum offers a small comfort, but the air is thick with unspoken tension. Whatever the Drow want, it extends beyond polite conversation.

Mutt listens to his companions, his eyes shifting cautiously between the drow and the umber hulks. Mutt nods in agreement and slowly places his crossbow back in its sling. He flashes a reassuring smile at the drow and puts his palms up to show he's not armed.

"Fair enough. Lead the way. Just ... please keep in mind we've got some folks with short legs here. They may not be able to walk as fast as you're used to going." Mutt puts a reassuring hand on Dorf's shoulder and flashes him a "just go with it" kind of look. Turning back to the female drow, Mutt continues the conversation. "You mentioned our companions were already far beyond our reach. We know they were here not long ago. Where did they go?"

The female Drow tilts her head slightly at Mutt’s words, her silver eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Short legs or not, you’ll keep pace, or you’ll be left behind." There’s no malice in her tone—just a simple statement of fact. The male Drow scoffs under his breath, adjusting the grip on his blade but making no further comment.

At Mutt’s question, the female Drow exhales, as if indulging a child’s curiosity. "They were taken deeper, past where even we tread lightly. Your friends no longer walk freely, nor will you, soon enough." Her gloved fingers brush the hilt of a slender dagger at her hip. "Your place is not to ask where they are, but to decide if you still wish to follow."

Behind her, the Umber Hulks shift impatiently, their heavy claws scraping the stone as if eager to move. The sound echoes through the tunnel, reverberating in the party’s bones.

She gestures forward. "Enough talk. If you’re coming, then move."

The Drow seem to have little patience for further negotiations, and their willingness to allow the party to remain armed is tenuous at best. Whether this is a tactical decision or pure arrogance remains unclear.

Azalie clings to the rock, her heart pounding with worry. The Drow don’t seem to notice her—if they had, they would have flushed her out by now. She must stay hidden; it’s her only chance. After all, Drow hold no honor.

She watches Mutt take a few tentative steps backward, seeking some kind of comfort. Azalie wishes they had discussed their strategy before descending into the mountain’s vast depths. She’s never really shown her companions the extent of her stealth mastery. She can glide through any space, her body bending seamlessly with the shadows.

She listens as the Drow speak of Hruna and thinks with relief, They know where she is. Just then, a small pebble dislodges and begins to fall—Azalie snatches it from midair in one smooth motion. I cannot be caught, she tells herself, sweat gathering at her brow.

Azalie can’t believe her elven ears. The female Drow just said they could keep their weapons…

How odd. It makes no sense. Why would they allow that? They must think the Howlbears pose no real threat. What pricks, Azalie thinks smugly, though she admits they would make a formidable foe. Still, could the Drow ever be trusted as allies?

Azalie’s sharp instincts keep her motionless, her breath measured as she remains hidden within the rocky alcove. Her Stealth (21) holds firm—no flicker of recognition from the Drow, no subtle turn of their masked faces that might indicate they sense her presence. If they suspect anything, they give no sign.

From her vantage point, she watches the exchange unfold, her mind racing. The Drow’s willingness to allow weapons unsettles her. Arrogance? A trap? Or do they simply believe the party is already ensnared in something far greater than steel can change?

The Umber Hulks stir again, the grinding of their claws against the stone setting her nerves on edge. She watches closely, looking for any telltale shift in their posture—anything that might signal whether they rely purely on their Drow handlers, or if they have some awareness of their own.

For now, the Drow show no signs of searching for hidden threats. But Azalie knows that if she moves too soon, the advantage she holds could be lost. For now, she remains unseen.

As Dorf puts his weapons away he complains, “stinking cold down here.” He pulls his yeti gloves on and then says, “well I’m not getting any younger, let’s go!”

The chill is different here. Not just the cold of deep stone, but something deeper—colder.

The female Drow’s masked face tilts slightly as she watches him. “Good.” A pause, then a smirk behind the cloth. “I’d hate to see you freeze before we’ve had the chance to see what you’re worth.”

She turns, striding forward as if the matter is settled.

The male Drow chuckles under his breath. "Though if you stumble, little one, the Hulks will be happy to warm their bellies with you."

Behind Dorf, the heavy click-click of the Umber Hulks’ mandibles echoes through the chamber, a slow, deliberate sound—like claws tapping impatiently against stone.

Marching into the Depths

The female Drow strides ahead without hesitation, setting the pace as she leads the party deeper into the twisting tunnels. The male Drow falls back, positioning himself as a silent shadow at the rear, his posture tense but relaxed—watchful, assessing. The two massive Umber Hulks lumber behind him, their mandibles clicking softly, the glow of their multifaceted eyes pulsing faintly in the dim cavern light.

With no other option, the party falls into a single-file march between their captors, moving through the increasingly narrow tunnel. Uptharr stays near the front, keeping himself positioned between the Drow leader and his companions. Orin and Mutt take central positions, their hands loose but ready to act if the moment demands it. Dorf trudges just ahead of the male Drow, keeping his weapons sheathed but his fists clenched and his Yeti claw gauntlets don'd, his every step charged with restrained frustration. Fizzbum scurries along just behind Mutt, occasionally glancing up at the hulking creatures looming behind them, his hands twitching as though eager to scribble notes about the bizarre chitinous behemoths.

Azalie remains unseen, moving parallel to the group along the rock face, her position unchanged from before. She watches the Drow carefully, studying their movements for any telltale signs they suspect she’s there—but they make no move to flush her out. She keeps her distance, sticking to higher ground where the shadows swallow her form completely. SHe keeps a distance behind the group, so as not to attract their attention, but she stays close enough not to lose them in the tunnels.

The Deep Tunnels

The air grows thicker as they descend, the damp chill seeping into their bones. The walls change—what was once solid, rough stone now glistens with slick veins of pale, shimmering minerals, some faintly glowing under the weak light of Uptharr's lantern.

Then, the clicking returns—erratic, scattered. Sometimes ahead, sometimes far behind, sometimes too close for comfort.

The male Drow casts a brief glance back at the sound, his masked face unreadable.

"Hook Horrors," he mutters, voice clipped. "Or worse."

The female doesn’t turn, her voice drifting ahead of them, smooth and unbothered.

"You surface folk assume the Underdark is just Drow and Duergar." She glances back, just slightly, silver eyes gleaming beneath her mask. "There are worse things. Older things."

Uptharr lets out a scoff, "We’ve noticed."

Mutt’s sharp eyes scan the tunnel walls as they walk, noting more of those strange, smooth drill holes—small, nearly perfectly round, their edges eerily precise. Unlike the first one he spotted, these are older, worn smooth by time, but still unnatural in their precision.

Then, after nearly thirty minutes of silent, uneasy travel… the air shifts.

(You may retroactivly make a skill check to interact with these holes again, if you desire)

The Silence Before the Whispers

It is not a sound that comes first—it is the lack of sound.

The distant drips of water fade. The clicking echoes vanish. Even the soft scrape of boots on stone seems to deaden unnaturally.

The air grows still.

Then—the whispers begin.

The Ghosts of the Fallen Duergar

It starts as a faint hum, something felt more than heard. A pressure behind the eyes, an unnatural pull in the very air. Then, the flickers come.

Figures appear along the tunnel walls, translucent shapes flickering in and out of existence like dying embers. Duergar warriors, their spectral bodies locked in battle, axes swinging through empty space, shields raised against unseen foes.

They do not seem aware of the party—instead, they are caught in a cycle, reliving their final moments.

A phantasmal warhammer swings downward—only to pass through thin air—and its wielder vanishes, his form consumed by a sudden burst of unnatural darkness.

More figures appear—their faces twisted in silent agony—before one by one, they dissolve, as if being consumed by something unseen.

The female Drow does not stop walking. She strides forward, her voice cold. "Do not linger."

The male Drow watches the figures dissolve with thinly veiled disdain. "Their minds were taken. Their bodies followed soon after."

Uptharr slows his pace, his jaw clenched. “What did this?”

The female Drow doesn’t look back. "A force far older than you, paladin."

Player Actions

• You may pose questions or make skill checks here to learn more, if you wish.

• Azalie - you can spend additional time investigating here, if you wish.

• Azalie - You must also refresh your stealth check here, please reroll it. The Frosty toby has worn off.

The march continues, but the ghostly battle lingers just long enough to remind them—this place has claimed many before them.

45 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 6:45 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 58°

Current Phase: Exploration

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