Being the continuing dramatization of six friends Dungeons and Dragons adventuring…

Click here to read the preceding chapters.

The northern door groaned open.

Beyond it lay another octagonal chamber—its angles sharp, its air thick with the same cloying, earthen scent that haunted all the depths below. No sooner had Valder stepped across the threshold than the dead stirred.

Two twisted twig-creatures lurched forward, their limbs cracking like dry kindling. Three skeletons rose beside them, rusted blades scraping against bone.

Valder roared and charged.

His axe swung wide.

And missed.

The creatures fell upon him all at once.

Claws, blades, splintered limbs—striking from every side. The barbarian staggered beneath the sudden assault, blows landing faster than he could answer.

“Now!” Alder shouted.

Magic answered.

Eric’s missiles streaked through the gloom, shattering bone. Alder’s spell dropped one of the twig creatures into lifeless stillness. Will raised his holy symbol, radiant power bursting outward, forcing the skeletons back as if recoiling from the light of a forgotten sun.

Valder found his footing.

With a savage cry, he brought his axe down in a brutal arc, cleaving through a skeleton’s spine. Its skull flew free, striking the far wall with a hollow crack before crumbling to dust.

Moments later, silence returned.

Broken bodies littered the floor—bone shards, splintered wood, and the remnants of things that should never have moved.

Then the air shifted.

A faint cloud drifted from the disturbed remains—fine spores, glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Out,” Valder growled, clamping his mouth shut.

He turned and strode from the chamber, slamming the door behind him. The others followed, coughing lightly, the door sealing the creeping dust within.

---

The Dragon’s Trial

They pressed onward.

The next chamber was quiet—too quiet.

Four twig-creatures stood motionless within, arranged like statues. The party slipped past them carefully, breath held, steps measured.

None stirred.

Beyond, a narrow passage opened into a chamber dominated by a stone statue of a dragon. Its carved eyes glowed with a steady red light, casting long, ominous shadows.

Before it lay a circular tile etched with ancient script.

Eric’s eyes shimmered with arcane sight.

“Magic,” he whispered.

Alder stepped forward, invoking a spell of understanding. The runes unfolded in his mind, their meaning clear.

He read them aloud.

As the final word left his lips, flame erupted—not burning, but enveloping him in a brief, searing aura. It vanished as quickly as it came.

Alder staggered slightly.

“I… feel different,” he said quietly. “Stronger… in spirit.”

Then the shadows moved.

A shape peeled itself from the darkness—a figure barely there, its form shifting like smoke, its eyes cold and endless.

Only Alder saw it at first.

He struck.

His blade passed through empty air.

The shadow struck back.

A blade of pure cold drove into him, draining warmth, strength—life itself.

Alder gasped.

“Something’s here!” he cried.

The others turned.

Steel and strength failed them—Valder’s axe passed harmlessly through the specter. Alder’s blade met nothing but chill air.

Only Will’s radiant magic struck true, searing the creature with divine light.

The shadow turned toward him.

It struck again at Alder, nearly felling him. Pale and shaking, he retreated into the adjoining chamber—a dusty library revealed by Isledie.

The specter followed.

It lashed at Will, but the cleric held firm, deflecting the deadly strike.

“Begone,” Will whispered, voice trembling but resolute.

Then louder—

“Away with you!”

Radiance burst from his mace in a blinding flare.

The shadow screamed—if such a thing could scream—and shattered into nothingness.

Silence fell once more.

---

Secrets of the Fallen

Eric, ever curious, noticed a loose stone in the wall. Valder pried it free, revealing a small cache—coins, trinkets, and two potions glinting faintly in the dim light.

In the library, Isledie uncovered scrolls and a weathered tome of dragon lore—ancient knowledge long forgotten.

They rested there, surrounded by dust and whispers of the past.

---

Belak’s Truth

A stairway led them onward—down into deeper darkness, then up again into a long corridor ending in two doors.

The first was locked.

Isledie tried.

Failed.

Valder stepped forward.

Once.

Twice.

The door gave way.

Inside lay a study—desk, scattered papers, and the unmistakable touch of deliberate thought.

Eric cast his spell.

Magic lingered here.

Among the contents they found a book—arcane, potent—and a journal.

Belak’s journal.

They read.

Of the tree.

Of its fruit.

Of the corruption it spread.

Of how twig-creatures were grown, not born.

And of two captives.

Talgen and Sharwyn.

Alive… at least once.

“We end this at the root,” Will said grimly.

A hidden compartment resisted all finesse.

Valder broke it open.

Gold and gems spilled forth.

---

The Last Door

The final door stood firm—but not against Isledie.

Her tools found purchase.

The lock yielded.

The door opened.

Four goblins waited within, bows drawn.

Arrows flew.

Valder grunted as one struck. Isledie cried out as another grazed her side.

A second volley nearly felled the barbarian.

Then the party answered.

Steel. Fire. Fury.

The goblins fell swiftly.

Eight more ears joined their grim tally.

---

The Gulthias Grove

Beyond the shattered southern wall lay darkness.

Vast.

Open.

A cavern stretched beyond sight, its ceiling lost to shadow.

And there—

Far in the distance—

A shape.

A tree.

Twisted.

Waiting.