[Let's Play] D&D Solo Module XS2: Thunderdelve Mountain
Posted: Wed Dec 14, 2022 12:22 am
You settle your compact dwarf frame into a comfortable chair and kick your booted feet up on the table. Closing your weary eyes, you tip the chair back and let the warm smells of the inn drift over you. The last copper in your purse was just exchanged for a frugal meal, and you are wondering how to remedy your poverty, when you feel a tug at your bootstrap. You slowly open one eye and glare at the young boy perched nervously at your side.
"Excuse me, please," he whispers. "There's a dwarf gentleman in the back room who has asked to speak with you."
"What about?" you ask suspiciously.
"I don't know," the boy stammers, "but he told me if I didn't bring you he'd boil me for a pudding."
"Any other message?" you ask, closing your eye.
"He said it paid well."
You sit up and take your feet off the table. You didn't know there were any more dwarves in this area. You heard that the last was driven out years ago from a nearby ruin called Rumble Bell. Their clan was supposed to be extinct. Never one to let ignorance stand in your way, you rise to your feet and follow the boy into a small room. The boy leaves quickly, closing the door. The room is lit only by the flames in the fireplace. A boiling pot of beef hangs over the fire, filling the room with its rich aroma. Some broth boils over and, with a hiss, steams on the logs. Seated at the table before you is an ancient dwarf. His shiny black eyes are locked on you as he clenches his hands, then releases them. He motions you to a chair with a nod of his head. He opens his mouth to speak, and you notice that several of his old teeth have been replaced with gold.
"I've heard rumors," he says, "that you are a worthy fighter." You shrug your shoulders. He chuckles. "Good, you're tight-mouthed. My name is Nimron. I'm the Clanmaster of the dwarves in these parts."
"I didn't think there were any," you state bluntly.
"Oh, yes," he says, "though not as many as once. And the rest have been reduced to poverty. But once we were prosperous, and our goods were well-known throughout the world." His voice falls to a whisper. "Fifty years ago I was master of the richest dwarves in the realm. Long did we and our ancestors prosper in our home of Thunderdelve. The upper mansions were beautiful indeed and were called, in our tongue, the Halls of Paradise."
"Paradise," you sneer. "There's no such place. It's a legend taught me at my mother's beard."
"Legend!" snaps Nimron. "Speak not to me of legends! No, my young ignorant, Paradise is real enough. Our mansions were famed for their beauty and industry, and still they lie at Thunderdelve beneath the mountain outside this very town. There lie our mines and Forge. There rots our art and craft, all that is our love for home and stone. There indeed waits our paradise. Speak not to me of empty legends; I have walked within the reality."
"If it's so real, then why is it spoken of only as a pixy tale for young dwarves?"
Nimron's eyes flare up, then sink down to stare at the table before him. "My mines became the breeding ground for a hideous fyrsnaca, the giant flame serpents of the earth's heart. Whether it came by chance or was maliciously directed by an evil wizard I justly cheated, I do not know. Surely, though, its cunning and fury were well-planned. In sudden onslaught, the fyrsnaca ate the barracks, the Keeper's home, and much of my suite. It erupted from the mines, burying our forge, devouring the very stone of Thunderdelve, breathing fire, slaying my people, destroying Paradise."
He sits silently for a moment, then looks back at you. "In our panic, no proper defense was made. Nor was it possible! The fyrsnaca attacked, then burrowed back into the rock, then rose and attacked again! I barely escaped by secret stairs, the Keeper's babe in my arms, the fyrsnaca's fiery breath at our back. My own wife and children were lost."
"What became of them and the Keeper, I do not know. Every rescue party I sent failed to return. At last I could spare no more of our pitiful remnant. I raised the Keeper's babe as my own, training her for the day when revenge would ripen into action. She is Grona Marblefist, the Champion, hereditary Keeper of the Forge of Thunderdelve. Now she has ventured into the halls of Thunderdelve, and she too has failed. She is a captive. I ask you to bring her back."
He closes his eyes, bringing his hands up to his face and pressing his head against them. It seems at first that he is in danger of being overcome by grief, but you quickly notice that grief is not the emotion he is struggling against. He is doing his best to contain an anger that has been festering inside him for fifty years. Slowly, he lowers his hands and turns to stare into the fire. In a low voice, he resumes speaking.
"Several years back, the bandit, Redface, and his men took up residence in our outer halls. Somehow they have avoided the fyrsnaca's wrath. I ask you to rescue Grona from them. I do not ask you to drive the bandits out, just return Grona. All I require is Grona! You may keep any treasure that you find."
Nimron pulls a valuable ring from his finger and hands it to you without looking. "This ring I give you," he says. "It will outline all the secret ways of Paradise with a witchfire, allowing you freer passage." He pulls a small piece of leather from his pocket. "Here, too, is a rough map of Paradise. It will give you a general idea of your location. I believe that Grona is held in the servants' quarter."
Nimron turns back to you and smiles. "Surely this is a simple matter for one such as yourself?" You smile and nod. Nimron sighs. "I am glad you consent. It is unwise to venture beyond the bandits' confines. I am certain the rest of Thunderdelve is filled with evil beyond your ken. It is most important that you bring Grona back safely. Do not attempt more."
He gives you a bag of 100 gp and tells you of a secret door that will take you into the back halls of Paradise if the front gate is impassable. A strange gleam comes into his eye as he leans toward you. "If you fail to return with Grona," he whispers, "more than your own life is forfeit."
"I'll get her," you mutter as you grab the gold and ragged map from the table. You leave Nimron's dusky room and go to the stable where you have been making your bed. You pick up your few belongings, don your harness, and head off toward the mountain outside of town. A short march brings you to the main gates of Thunderdelve, the entrance to the Halls of Paradise.
Character specifics and rules will follow.
"Excuse me, please," he whispers. "There's a dwarf gentleman in the back room who has asked to speak with you."
"What about?" you ask suspiciously.
"I don't know," the boy stammers, "but he told me if I didn't bring you he'd boil me for a pudding."
"Any other message?" you ask, closing your eye.
"He said it paid well."
You sit up and take your feet off the table. You didn't know there were any more dwarves in this area. You heard that the last was driven out years ago from a nearby ruin called Rumble Bell. Their clan was supposed to be extinct. Never one to let ignorance stand in your way, you rise to your feet and follow the boy into a small room. The boy leaves quickly, closing the door. The room is lit only by the flames in the fireplace. A boiling pot of beef hangs over the fire, filling the room with its rich aroma. Some broth boils over and, with a hiss, steams on the logs. Seated at the table before you is an ancient dwarf. His shiny black eyes are locked on you as he clenches his hands, then releases them. He motions you to a chair with a nod of his head. He opens his mouth to speak, and you notice that several of his old teeth have been replaced with gold.
"I've heard rumors," he says, "that you are a worthy fighter." You shrug your shoulders. He chuckles. "Good, you're tight-mouthed. My name is Nimron. I'm the Clanmaster of the dwarves in these parts."
"I didn't think there were any," you state bluntly.
"Oh, yes," he says, "though not as many as once. And the rest have been reduced to poverty. But once we were prosperous, and our goods were well-known throughout the world." His voice falls to a whisper. "Fifty years ago I was master of the richest dwarves in the realm. Long did we and our ancestors prosper in our home of Thunderdelve. The upper mansions were beautiful indeed and were called, in our tongue, the Halls of Paradise."
"Paradise," you sneer. "There's no such place. It's a legend taught me at my mother's beard."
"Legend!" snaps Nimron. "Speak not to me of legends! No, my young ignorant, Paradise is real enough. Our mansions were famed for their beauty and industry, and still they lie at Thunderdelve beneath the mountain outside this very town. There lie our mines and Forge. There rots our art and craft, all that is our love for home and stone. There indeed waits our paradise. Speak not to me of empty legends; I have walked within the reality."
"If it's so real, then why is it spoken of only as a pixy tale for young dwarves?"
Nimron's eyes flare up, then sink down to stare at the table before him. "My mines became the breeding ground for a hideous fyrsnaca, the giant flame serpents of the earth's heart. Whether it came by chance or was maliciously directed by an evil wizard I justly cheated, I do not know. Surely, though, its cunning and fury were well-planned. In sudden onslaught, the fyrsnaca ate the barracks, the Keeper's home, and much of my suite. It erupted from the mines, burying our forge, devouring the very stone of Thunderdelve, breathing fire, slaying my people, destroying Paradise."
He sits silently for a moment, then looks back at you. "In our panic, no proper defense was made. Nor was it possible! The fyrsnaca attacked, then burrowed back into the rock, then rose and attacked again! I barely escaped by secret stairs, the Keeper's babe in my arms, the fyrsnaca's fiery breath at our back. My own wife and children were lost."
"What became of them and the Keeper, I do not know. Every rescue party I sent failed to return. At last I could spare no more of our pitiful remnant. I raised the Keeper's babe as my own, training her for the day when revenge would ripen into action. She is Grona Marblefist, the Champion, hereditary Keeper of the Forge of Thunderdelve. Now she has ventured into the halls of Thunderdelve, and she too has failed. She is a captive. I ask you to bring her back."
He closes his eyes, bringing his hands up to his face and pressing his head against them. It seems at first that he is in danger of being overcome by grief, but you quickly notice that grief is not the emotion he is struggling against. He is doing his best to contain an anger that has been festering inside him for fifty years. Slowly, he lowers his hands and turns to stare into the fire. In a low voice, he resumes speaking.
"Several years back, the bandit, Redface, and his men took up residence in our outer halls. Somehow they have avoided the fyrsnaca's wrath. I ask you to rescue Grona from them. I do not ask you to drive the bandits out, just return Grona. All I require is Grona! You may keep any treasure that you find."
Nimron pulls a valuable ring from his finger and hands it to you without looking. "This ring I give you," he says. "It will outline all the secret ways of Paradise with a witchfire, allowing you freer passage." He pulls a small piece of leather from his pocket. "Here, too, is a rough map of Paradise. It will give you a general idea of your location. I believe that Grona is held in the servants' quarter."
Nimron turns back to you and smiles. "Surely this is a simple matter for one such as yourself?" You smile and nod. Nimron sighs. "I am glad you consent. It is unwise to venture beyond the bandits' confines. I am certain the rest of Thunderdelve is filled with evil beyond your ken. It is most important that you bring Grona back safely. Do not attempt more."
He gives you a bag of 100 gp and tells you of a secret door that will take you into the back halls of Paradise if the front gate is impassable. A strange gleam comes into his eye as he leans toward you. "If you fail to return with Grona," he whispers, "more than your own life is forfeit."
"I'll get her," you mutter as you grab the gold and ragged map from the table. You leave Nimron's dusky room and go to the stable where you have been making your bed. You pick up your few belongings, don your harness, and head off toward the mountain outside of town. A short march brings you to the main gates of Thunderdelve, the entrance to the Halls of Paradise.
Character specifics and rules will follow.