I am quickly learning what the master meant when he sent us to gain knowledge and prowess. The world of man is so full of dangers that one can hardly expect to walk a mile on a clear path without being attacked. I can only assume that those who are used to such things travel only in large, well-armed groups. I hear of trade between the towns. The large numbers of people that must be required for such endeavors might explain why some common items like ink are worth more than their weight in gold.
The experience I gain from facing the challenges of this world has been stimulating. I find that, out of necessity, I study my spells with more intensity, and wield my staff with more desperation, than I ever did in the monastery. Despite the little time I have had to rest, I've completed research on two new spells that would have taken me months to learn had I not been faced with such danger.
It did not take long to find the kobolds, although, had my advice been taken, we never would have found them.
After searching the forest for some time, I spotted some camp fires that had been burnt out and hidden a few weeks past. These led us to some ruins, and a great chasm. I wonder that there are so many ruined villages here. Perhaps this land used to be more populous, and was depopulated by some catastrophic event, or perhaps minor dangers and inconveniences resulted in a slow emigration.
A long rope was tied to a pillar near the chasm, and had already been lowered into its depths. The others immediately wanted to climb the rope, although I advised against it; it would be too easy to become trapped, and we could not be certain that the rope led to the kobolds. Fortunately for our current quest, my advice was not heeded, and the others began to climb. The rope could only support three of us at a time, so the halfling went first, carrying a long-lasting magical torch, followed by the Infiltrator and the priest (I have been calling him the healer until this point, but 'priest' is a more correct description).
Upon reaching the bottom, the halfling was surprised by three giant rats, who must have been waiting for him, perhaps recognizing the room as a good source of food. I started down the rope, ready to help, and when I was close enough, I felled one of the rats with a magic missile. By the time I reached the bottom, the halfling and the Infiltrator were both down, and the priest was healing them with scrolls he had bought. I killed another rat with a strong kick – it must have been already weakened – and one of the others killed the third.
The rats had attacked on a stone ledge, thirty feet wide and extending fifteen feet into the chasm. It could only have been artificial, and its construction must have been a considerable undertaking. Although I have no skill in masonry, it cannot be easy to extend a stone slab fifteen feet out of a stone cliff without it falling. A staircase went down off of one end, which led to another ledge with another staircase, and two more after that. I don't remember how deep we were by the end, but the sun was no longer visible. The final staircase landed at the top of a sunken tower, which was softly lit by torchlight. The entire structure, including tower, chasm, ledges and staircases was of such immense proportions, and was such an extreme of architecture, that I can not imagine it being built without the help of magic.
If there were kobolds anywhere in this chasm, the tower was a good bet.
The top of the tower was covered in crumbled masonry, giving the impression that it had once been even taller and had collapsed, but it looked far too sturdy for that to have been the case. A single door led from the roof into a covered room, and it was this that led us to the kobolds' lair. The halfling nearly fell into a rectangular pit that opened up near the door. After that, we were all more careful where we placed our feet.
Only one event of real significance to our mission occurred on that region of the tower, but I will fill in the other details in case they become important later. That first entrance hall was littered with dead kobolds. They all wore medallions, but not of a dragon. The image was that of a kobold holding a spear above his head. Although it seemed of little significance, I took one medallion with me. While I was examining the dead kobolds, the Tracker made a far more important discovery. On the wall behind a kobold who had been hung by a spear, he saw the name of our enemy, the dragon.
There is no longer any doubt that our master placed us precisely when and where we could best fulfill our mission. We appeared in this land just in time to rescue the coach, without which we would not have had a sufficient reputation to catch the ear of the mayor. Then our travels were timed precisely so that we were ambushed by the drow, which made the mayor nervous enough to set us on our current course. Then, in the kobold tower, we saw the name of our enemy. I feel as if we are close enough to smell the dragon.
The room had a secret door. When we entered, undead skeleton archers rose from the floor and attacked us. The Tracker killed one, and the priest drew on his power to destroy the rest. His powers have already been helpful more times than I need count.
Our continued movements through the tower were exceedingly cautious. We had already fallen victim to two traps, and more were no doubt waiting for us. Soon, we spotted a kobold, alone in a room and crying. The Infiltrator caught him, tied him up and questioned him. He spoke the tongue of dragons, which only the Infiltrator and I understood. The kobold was terrified of us, and could answer none of our questions. He said he did not even recognize the dragon medallion, which, we discovered later, was probably a lie. The only thing he could tell us was that other kobolds had come and stolen his clan's pet dragon. Given the size of the cage in the room, it is clear that this was not our enemy, though perhaps, if we find him, he can lead us in the right direction. After all, our enemy is also the enemy of all dragons.
The kobold did not seem to understand the concept of pronouns, though his language supplies them liberally. Instead of “I,” he said “meepo,” as in “don't hurt meepo” or “meepo will take you to the leader.” I realize that, to any who know the word, my usage will seem incorrect and perhaps even comical, but I will call him meepo until I learn a more appropriate description. Meepo took us to his leader, a large kobold who wore the same spear-holding kobold medallion. The leader told us he had seen the adventurers we sought. They had received safe passage from him on their way to the lower floors of the tower, but had not since returned. He offered us the same, in return for a service.
The service that the leader requested gave us some insight into the dragon medallion. His mother, he said, had turned against him, and taken several dozen kobolds deeper into the tower. They now wore the fire-breathing dragon as their symbol. I can not help but link his description with the events involving the lost adventurers, and I am beginning to suspect that enchantment magics are involved.
The kobold leader asked us to kill his mother and her kobolds, and return the dragon. As his request was aligned with both of our missions, we agreed, and hastily left his miniscule realm for rooms further into the tower. I didn't see us as having any real obligation to him, but if his good will would be helpful to us, then let us maintain it for as long as possible.
The next couple hours were a flurry of activity, fighting kobolds, chasing those who escaped, and working through a maze of rooms and floors full of caltrops. In one room, we found a magically sealed door, which was trapped with a powerful blade that nearly sliced the Tracker in two. In that same room was a stagnant fountain carved from stone in the shape of a dragon. At first, this seemed like it could be pertinent to our mission. It had an inscription that read “let there be fire,” so the Tracker tried every way he knew to light it on fire, but nothing happened.
We fought so many kobolds that I quickly lost count. Those who kept better accounts, later claimed we had killed two dozen. The fight ended in a large room crowded with pillars, and full of suffocating yellow smoke, which accumulated from the torches secured to the pillars. At first, I stayed back with meepo and another kobold I had magically charmed, but once the others all ran into the smoke-filled room, I decided it was wisest to follow. Suspecting a trap, I held the door open, but soon I was needed in combat, so I left my post and hurried to help.
The battle was bloodier than I ever could have suspected. We cleared a side-room of nine kobolds, even as the many other doors of the smoke-filled room opened up. The charm broke on my kobold before I could interrogate him, and the Infiltrator put an end to him. I yelled to everyone to pull back into the cleared room, but it was too late. They were already fighting off innumerable kobolds, and were having enough trouble holding their positions. The Tracker, Infiltrator and Empty Hand each guarded one door, and the priest and halfling watched the last door. A fifth door led out of the small room we had secured, and I braced my foot against that, and held back the handle.
Kobolds were slashed down as rapidly as they came in. Some kobolds were different than any we had seen before, as large as a man and far more fierce. These new kobolds, along with at least sixty normal ones (two thirds of whom were non-combatants), appeared before the Tracker. The Tracker's door opened into the central lair, and soon, we caught the attention of the highest ranks. The kobold we knew as Mother appeared, along with several of the larger kobolds, and one of enormous proportions, nine feet tall, and winged.
We held off the kobolds for quite some time, as they continued to pour in through every entrance but mine, until the Infiltrator and the the Empty Hand fell. Kobolds swarmed in until their stink overwhelmed that of the smoke, and although we continued to fight, it was clear that we had lost. Finally, Mother demanded that we surrender, and we did, seeing no other option.
We were stripped of everything we carried, though somehow the halfling managed to hide his thief's tools, and the giant kobold took us to a small room and locked us in. They took my spellbook and my staff, making me powerless to fight except with my hands, and, more importantly, they took my journal. When we first entered this place, we saw the name of our enemy carved on the wall. If he finds my journal, he will be alerted to our presence. We must recover that scroll-case. I've wondered this past day why I continue to write, knowing from experience that these writings are not secure, and I have trouble finding an answer. Perhaps I want a set of notes to read, so that I may improve myself based on experience. Perhaps I want a record when we succeed in our mission, to show our master. It is really him who I wish to please, more than anything. From where did this loyalty come? I will ponder this question, and perhaps come up with an answer later.
Reviewing my past entries in my mind, I am not certain the loss of the journal was so devastating. I was careful to be vague in my first two entries. If an agent of our enemy finds it, and can read it, perhaps he will think it is nothing and throw it away, or perhaps he will be suspicious, but will read nothing which can prove our presence, or nothing which will help to track us. Still, I am writing this entry and will write every future entry in a cryptic combination of every language I know, including the magical letters of spells, and I am incorporating a shorthand which I will continue to obscure until it is totally incomprehensible. When I can, I will lock and trap my journal using whatever magical or mundane methods I can find. These pages must not be read by our enemy.
The prison already held four other inmates, and stank of months of their accumulated wastes. Three kobolds of the friendlier tribe were chained to the wall, but they were of no help. They did not even want to escape with us, when we gave them the option. The fourth was a gnome healer, who had been locked up in a cage for many months, and had used his magic to keep himself alive and free from whatever diseases the kobolds carried.
I must be forever grateful to the halfling. After the story that Mother told us, and the details filled in by the gnome, I could want nothing more urgently than the lock-picks the halfling had stowed away. The gnome told us of an outsider. From his description, the man was almost surely a drow, although the gnome called him a belak (perhaps that is the gnome word for drow). The outsider had come to this place in peace, and had offered Mother the opportunity to improve her tribe, if he could be allowed to use the tree. We were too far underground for a tree to grow, so the name must have been a symbol of some kind, but we had not been in a position to ask Mother what that symbol meant. It was the outsider who had manipulated Mother into abandoning her son, and it was the outsider who had enhanced the kobolds, producing the nine-foot winged monstrosity we had seen earlier, and his smaller compatriots. Now the outsider had issued a standing order, to capture any humanoids that could be found, so that he could implement similar improvements on them.
I doubt that is what our master meant when he instructed us to improve ourselves.
As for the lost adventurers, we learned that the fighter had been killed, along with the ranger, and that the other two had been taken by the drow to be improved. Nothing had been heard of them since.
Our escape need not be described in detail. In minutes, the halfling had escaped his manacles, and had freed the gnome, and was working on the rest of us. The gnome healed the Infiltrator and the Empty Hand, which woke them instantly. The halfling then picked the lock more quietly than I thought possible, and we ran, killing a couple of kobold guards on the way out with our manacles or our bare hands. We related our experiences to the other kobold tribe, which proclaimed us a failure and fled for the surface, leaving us to fend for ourselves. They left us some weapons of poor quality, which would have been of little help. After a debate which, I believe, took far too much of our time, we agreed to run back to town. The kobolds had not stolen our horses or the halfling's dog.
We arrived in town in the early hours of the morning, and slept until noon, having totally exhausted ourselves.
The mayor was unhappy with our failure, and was nervous when we told him that the drow and kobolds were working together, but was somewhat calmed when we said we would go back. Understandably, he did not offer us further assistance. The banker was distraught when she heard of the death of her son, and she passed out twice. People in the world of man are always weaker than I expect them to be. My experiences in the monastery did not prepare me for the fragility of normal people.
The others wanted to return to the kobold's lair. This time, I did not argue; I had to retrieve my journal. I would be nearly useless, however, without my spellbook, and this thought bothered me all through the morning. Most distressingly, my spellbook contained notes on two new spells which I had been trying to learn since long before I left the monastery. When I brought up the issue with the mayor, he told me to go to the temple. He did not want to be bothered with such things.
I did, in fact, visit the temple that afternoon, while the others were restocking, and I learned that the lost wizard had kept a spare spellbook in the temple. The priest offered me her spellbook, telling me it would add to the security of his town if an active wizard were with the party, but demanded a security of four pounds of gold, which would be returned when I brought back the book. The lack of transmutations and the proliferation of frivolous illusions could be a hindrance, but the book contained many spells I had not learned before, so I was eager to have it. Once the others approved my purchase, I agreed.
The Tracker and Empty Hand insisted that I acquire a crossbow. Admittedly, I've not been as effective as I would have liked in combat, but I have been training with the quarterstaff since the day I appeared in the monastery.
We argued for a time on when we should leave. I adamantly stood for an immediate departure, even though it means we will have to sleep outside, unprotected. Every hour we delay increases the chances that the few pages of my journal will fall into the wrong hands. The Tracker was equally adamant, but for different reasons. He simply was unhappy that his belongings had been stolen. I thought our master taught us not to put so much value in material goods. In any case, we convinced those who were opposed to the idea.
Now I must stop writing, for it is time to ride.