[August 05, 2025]

Excerpted from the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

My eyelids were heavy, my face and head throbbing, as I crept back toward consciousness. I opened one eye and winced at the brightness. Memories of the battle came flooding back. The church was a wreck. The body of Red Hoof lay in thirds around us. The church floor was soaked in blood, singed by fire and littered with debris. My friends eyed me warily as I struggled to sit up and regain my bearings.

I remembered clearly what I had done, attacking my own brothers in arms, but I could not explain what had compelled me to do it. It had been as though someone else were steering my actions and I was only too glad that the impulse seemed to have been knocked out of me with that final blow to my head.

We had all seen Madame Primm abscond with a large volume from the altar. She’d run to the heavy wooden door at the rear of the dais, cackling all the way. My foggy mind couldn’t even begin to make sense of that.

Looking toward the gaping hole in the wall of the church and the figures silhouetted against it, I recognized Imp. It was then that I recalled seeing him just before I was wrapped up by Drakon and the world went black. What was HE doing here? And where had he been all this time?

As though he had heard my inner musings, Drakon suddenly looked at Imp and asked him exactly where he had been all this time. Imp grumbled and said, “Just trying to live my life, and then all of a sudden, I felt a shift in the air, in the very energy of it. I should have known it was you idiots.” With that, he dragged his gaze directly to my own. He exhaled heavily and narrowed his eyes, “And you. What have you gotten yourself into? Were you even thinking? Probably not.” Properly chastised, and aware I may have bitten off more than I will prove able to chew, I kept quiet and busied myself with standing and dusting myself off.

Imp wanted to know who the cackling madwoman was and what our relationship to her was. My friends explained the connection just as a loud banging erupted on the enormous doors at the front of the church. It was the sound of numerous fists pounding, demanding entry. A loud, low rumble began in answer, echoing through the church. The hole that Imp and his two goblin sidekicks had made in the exterior wall began to collapse even further. It was clear that a hasty retreat was in order and we quickly agreed that we had no choice but to follow Madame Primm down into the tunnels beneath the cathedral.

We passed through the door at the rear of the dais - the same door through which we had entered the church not long before. But the tunnels had changed. They were damp and musky; foggy with moisture and filled with an overwhelmingly earthen stench. They twisted and turned, the floor sloping downward in uneven pitches. These tunnels felt much more cave-like than the crafted dungeon tunnels we’d climbed earlier. Claera and Shaun both lit torches, but they made little dent in the fog. We could only see 10 or so feet ahead. Imp picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it forward. We heard it ricochet off the stone for what could have been 60 or 70 feet before the sound faded into nothingness. Drakon pointed out that some of the walls were outfitted with a strange metal latticework, and that in many places, they were coated in what looked like blood. I tried not to think about what that could mean.

Slowly, the racket of heavy footsteps, numerous heavy footsteps, made way to our ears. It was difficult to discern where the sound was coming from, but it seemed most probable that they Tales of Amn - Season 3 were above us, likely in the church. They were muddled at first. Perhaps the owners of the pounding fists had made their way into the cathedral and were examining the mess we’d made. But soon they coalesced into the sound of marching, and we feared whoever they were, they had made their way into the tunnels in pursuit of us. Wordlessly, we all quickened our steps.

With the muffled sounds of the troop behind us, it was difficult to pick up, but every so often we could hear the echo of a distant cackle from up ahead. Madame Primm was somewhere in these tunnels and she likely had a destination in mind. It was the only thing that reassured me that we might actually heading somewhere worthwhile and not simply descending into a pit of rotten, stinking death.

Small recesses in the stone and clay walls led to what were likely catacombs, but for whom the graves were dug was anyone’s guess. At one point we nearly tripped over what would be best described as the husks of two former guards, rotting on either side of a branched tunnel entrance. There was little left to identify their loyalties or their breed. A shiver ran through my bones. The air was getting thicker and heavier all the time and nothing about this tunnel seemed safe. I felt my breath quicken and a dull ringing in my head intruded on my thoughts. I shut my eyes and tried to focus, but it was becoming harder and harder to stay calm.

Shaun suddenly stopped short and looked quickly up and down the tunnel. Those of us behind him struggled not to crash into each other and Imp, who was in the lead, heard the commotion and turned. “Did any of you hear that?”, Shaun asked. We all replied negatively. “I heard a voice say, ‘All is Ash.’ None of you heard it?” Again, we denied hearing anything. Meanwhile, Claera started muttering to himself “All is Ash,” he said aloud, “I like that. All is Ash… All is Ash, Let’s have a bash.” A small smile crept onto Imp’s face for the first time since he’d rejoined our ranks as he said slyly, “ Don’t be rash.” Claera and Shaun smirked at him and chuckled lightly.

A moment of levity that I’m sure was sorely needed by all of us, but I was in no place to hear it. My anxiety was mounting with every step and I felt ready to nosedive into hysteria. “YOU GUYS, WE GOTTA GO!” I screamed.

Silently, we continued headlong into the fog. It thickened around us, and at a certain point, I couldn’t even make out the front of our party. The disembodied voice of Imp declared that he sensed a deeply evil force at work in the mist. I could not disagree. As the moments passed, it became evident that I was no longer the only one made anxious by the increasing claustrophobia of our surroundings.

I wouldn’t realize until much later that what happened to us next might well have been a burst of wild magic brought about by Shaun’s anxiety and fear. As we hurried through the mist, delicious food began to materialize around us in the air. Sweets, pies, succulent roasts; all of it seemed as real and as tangible as any part of our own bodies. All reason and logic abandoning us, we stopped in our tracks and lost untold minutes as we attempted in vain to devour the hallucinations.

Much in the same way they had appeared before us, the false foods eventually dissipated into the mist and we were able to snap out of our reverie. As we all regained our wits, the footfalls of our pursuers became too loud to ignore. They were close. We had obviously lost much of our lead during our distraction.

I groped in my pockets for the prayer beads there and cast “wind walk” on all of us. With a loud puff of air, we all transformed into mist; suddenly, loosely configured versions of ourselves hovered above the ground. Imp ordered the misty forms of his goblin aides to stay behind and face the posse behind us. The rest of us shot forward in the tunnel. Able, in this incarnation, to travel much faster and farther than by foot, the walls became a blur of murky grey nothingness and the sound of marching boots quickly melted away behind us. We soon hit a wall and were faced with the choice of going either left or right. It had been a while since we had heard any sign of Madame Primm and so we had no clues to guide us.

The fog was much lighter here, and we could see perhaps 30 ft in each direction. Without the mist, it was easy to tell that our surroundings had changed. The cave-like walls had given way to piled fieldstone walls; constructed, rather than carved out. The walls appeared to be bleeding, different from the fluid we’d seen higher in the tunnels, this unknown viscous fluid oozed down the stone and puddled on the floors. Both paths looked similar enough and so we took a chance and went left. As we started down the new path, the spell of the beads wore off and we began to solidify.

Now back in solid form, Shaun’s curiosity got the better of him and he reached out and swiped a finger through the oozing sludge on the walls. He smelled it thoughtfully before licking it clean off his finger. He immediately stumbled and began retching. After a moment, he recovered and announced to us all, “Don’t lick the walls.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

After a few more minutes, the sound of the pursuant boots once again echoed off the halls around us. Somehow they had caught up to us again. Shaun had had enough of running and wanted to turn and fight them, but Imp declared that idea idiotic given that we were trapped like rats in a pipe. A distant cackle floated past us and I silently rejoiced that there was hope we may still find Madame Primm. Shaun ultimately acquiesced and we continued on at a hurried pace.

Finally we came upon a large set of beautifully stained, solid oak double doors. Ornate iron knockers were centered on each door. The sight of them incongruous with everything else we’d seen in these tunnels. Meep (as I’d begun calling him only in my head) surged forward and pushed through the doors. We all followed him into a brightly lit, dry, non-oozing, and fog-free room. The doors slammed shut behind us and a quick tug revealed them to be locked.

It was a small-ish room, maybe 12x12. It had no furniture, but it felt warm and safe. Although there was clearly some form of magic present, it didn’t threaten, and the feeling of dread that had been ever present in me since we’d left the church abated. As we took in our surroundings we saw that runes were scrawled on the walls. Claera read them to us. “Magic is Amplified here. Prepare for guardians with multiple eyes and one eye”. None of us had a clue what that meant, but any guesses we might have made were interrupted when we once again heard the distant cackle of Madame Primm. At this, the no-name halfling surged toward the double doors on the opposite side of the room, but before he could grab the handles, myself, Shaun and Drakon all yelled “WAIT!” This halfling’s propensity to swing open doors willy-nilly was beginning to grate.

Thankfully, the halfling did stop and turn around. Perhaps grasping at straws, Shaun suggested that Claera may be able to offer some sage wisdom. Claera took full advantage of the praise and launched into a monologue worthy of some of my most pompous tutors. Meep quickly grew bored and pushed through the wooden doors. Following him through into yet another dark and misty tunnel, the doors once again slammed shut behind us. They appeared different from this side. Inside the room they had been made of beautifully carved wood, but now they were heavy iron doors, looming menacingly at our backs. I instantly missed the warmth and security of our temporary haven, as we were once again surrounded by oozing walls and cold, damp, drudgery. This time the floor was thick with pooled viscous liquid that I chose not to identify; our boots sloshing through it was the only sound.

An eerie green glow was visible through the fog somewhere ahead. We headed toward it, but before we had made it very far at all, a loud hammering erupted from the iron doors behind us. Tired of running, Imp turned around and stalked toward the doors. He raised his sickle in the air and banged on the door with the butt of the weapon. The door exploded outward, knocking Imp to the ground.

A swarm of reptilian creatures, seven feet tall and fully armed and armored, burst through the door in the wake of the explosion. “Draconians!”, Drakon exclaimed. I had never seen draconians myself, but I knew that they were a distortion of Drakon’s proud race. A corruption of dragon eggs that led to these dark and twisted soldiers of evil before us.

Battles in tight quarters are rarely worthy of detailed retelling. Close proximity to both your enemies and your comrades necessitates careful and strategic use of force. Caught off guard and already heavily battle and travel worn since our last rest, we employed neither care nor strategy. Drakon breathed fire on the initial wave of draconians, causing them to scream and squeal before turning to stone and shattering on the floor. Wave after wave came at us. Shaun set thunder waves, Meep raged and swung his axe wildly at any draconian within reach. Imp and myself stabbed and slashed at anything we could hit, while Claera stood back and sent dissonant whispers at any and all reptiles he could see.

We all took damage - impossible not to in such restricted space. Had the battle continued on much longer, we may have found ourselves in dire straights. It was Drakon who finally recognized the leader of the horde. He charged at him with his glaive and with a direct hit to the shoulder, fractured his armor and sunk it deeply into his flesh. The reptilian screamed and fell to the floor. Shattering into a pile of rubble. Without their commander the rest of the army hastily withdrew and retreated back through the iron door. Kicking the rubble out of the way, we closed the doors, and turned around to resume our march toward the mysterious green glow.

A familiar pitter patter soon caught our attention. In the dim glow of Claera’s torch we were able to see that it was our old friend Daisy. Wherever she stood, the ooze on the ground receded. She walked right up and rubbed lovingly against Drakon’s legs several times before she meowed and turned back to the way she’d come. As we had done so many times before, we simply followed the cat.

As we followed Daisy, the tunnel somehow became even darker, the fog even thicker. We could no longer see the walls on either side, just the oozing liquid dripping past us from the ceiling. It smelled of iron and damp earth.

Finally we reached an archway, and beyond it the source of the green glow. It was a small orb, sat upon a red velvet pillow atop a crumbling pedestal. Hovering beside the orb was an odd creature. And one that was apparently fast asleep. It was spheroid with one large central eye, an enormous fanged mouth, and a slew of smaller eyes atop stalks protruding from its crown. Claera knew from his days at University that it was a beholder; a protector form often found in dungeons of this sort. As he whispered this to us, the beholder awakened. All of its eyes popped open at once and it zeroed in on all of us.

“Adventurers, pass through the arch,” it croaked. We all passed through the archway, save Imp, who hesitated to enter the space and remained behind. In typical fashion, Shaun marched right up to the beholder and announced, “Hi, Im Shaun!” The beholder looked down at the tiny halfling. “Greetings, one they call Shaun. I am Fozdrirq ne enthra, guardian of Athkatla. What brings you here?”

Shaun recounted our most recent travels and inquired about the orb. Fozdrirq told us that it was an Athkatla ancient. That it predated us all, and that the energy inherent in the orb reflects all that lies above. It told us that a perversion currently infects this land. “You work with the purple witch,” it said, “you corrupt this land. You must seek judgement from the dragon of Athkatla.”

At this the green glow of the orb swelled and filled the room, blinding us to our surroundings. When the light dimmed we had been transported. We were now in a cavernous, decaying lair. An obese and flabby red dragon lay atop a pile of hoarded treasure. His face was stained orange and he had an unkempt yellow mane twirled atop his head. Holding a reflective crystal in his shockingly small talons, the dragon was enraptured by his own visage and had not yet noticed us. The stark juxtaposition between the shining, glorious gold and the putrid, decaying hall was mind boggling. This had clearly once been a grand and beautifully ordained space, now simply a hole filled with detritus and the stench of dragon filth.

Imp came forward and asked us what exactly had happened since we passed through the archway. Apparently some sort of divine barrier had blocked him from seeing or hearing anything that the beholder had said to us. He had only rejoined us in the cavern. Confused as to why we were now in the presence of a dragon, and whether or not my allegiance with Bane had caused any of this, Imp’s passion got the better of him and soon we had all raised our voices and drawn the attention of the dragon.

Although the dragon’s mouth never moved, we heard his slurred and droning voice as clearly as though he were actually speaking. Communicating telepathically, he pummeled us with questions but did not allow us the chance to answer before he launched into a diatribe.

“Who are you? Do you know who I am? Where you trespass? Have you any idea of my greatness? I can’t believe that you wouldn’t know who I am. Everyone knows me. This city, this whole state bears my name. I am the dragon of Athkatla. I am all powerful. I control the city. The state. The entire world. It all exists at my will. Everyone knows me and knows of my greatness. They all talk about how great I am. Constantly. But anyway, who are you?”

Shaun seemingly can’t help himself in these situations, “I’m Shaun!”, he answered.

“And what do you want, insignificant speck who calls himself Shaun?” The dragon asked as his gaze drifted back toward the reflective crystal.

“Only to get a glimpse of your greatness for myself, Sir. You’re right. Everyone knows how great you are. In fact, my friend Claera here has written an entire album about you.”

The dragon’s eyes snapped back toward Shaun. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” He said, “Everyone is in awe of me. Perform this art for me, one they call Claera.”

Ever ready to perform, Claera did not hesitate, he whipped his lute out from behind him and began to strum. Shaun grabbed two coconuts and joined in. The dragon was in awe as they improvised an absolute banger in his honor.

“That was very good.”, the dragon said, “of course, with subject matter as great as me, it practically writes itself.”

“I hate to tell you this, great dragon Athkatla, but there are some pretenders up there who doubt your power and influence. Not us, of course! But others.”

“Is this true??” The dragon boomed.

We all rushed to confirm Shaun’s story. “Especially this Galathor”, Shaun continued. “He is a pretender to the throne that rightfully belongs to you.”

Smoke seeped from Athkatla’s pores at this. His tiny talons trembled and shattered the crystal in their grip. “Enough! I am the greatest. And everyone knows this! Galathor is clearly a very stupid person if he’s saying that he is as great as me. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard and he must be stopped!”

“You two are good.” He continued, “Very good. Schmaera, you play really good lute, I want to give you this golden lute, so that you can go forth and sing about me to everyone you meet. And you, Han, was it? I’ll give you this golden pendant. It will help you channel magic or something, I don’t know. I have people who know these things. Just go forth and use them to keep Athkatla great.”

Amid my exaggerated eye roll at this point, I felt the hint of a breeze coming from behind the dragon. I also saw a pool of water and an iron gate with blackness behind it. The air was coming from somewhere, so I knew there must be another exit. I scanned the hall but it was too dark. Suddenly, my attention was drawn downward. Daisy rubbed past my legs before leaping up onto my shoulders. Taking that as a sign, I quietly crept toward the direction of the breeze.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t quiet enough and Athkatla called me out. His attention now fully on me, he sniffed the air dramatically. “You reek of Bane.” he sneered, “You are a fool. Bane’s power is just false propaganda spread by Galathor!” Launching into another speech about my stupidity and his intelligence, he threatened to harm me. I’d had enough and sent an eldritch blast hurtling toward him. It clipped him in the ear and he screamed and clutched at the appendage. He wailed and whined before he slid down into the pool of water and disappeared. Leaving the horde of treasure unguarded.

A flash of green light popped into sight and the Beholder appeared, rolling his giant magical eye, “This is not how this is supposed to go. You MUST receive judgement! The witch you aided corrupts and seeks power. You have influence you do not understand. Balance must be restored. You all still have a role to play.” With those words, the beholder looked at us all in turn and gifted us each with something to aid us in our quest.

To the Oathbreaker, Imp, weapons of divine power. Two shiny sickles, bejeweled, with red pommels and made with a magical alloy. They exude fury and seek righteous blood.

To the Warlock, Vadania, a simple wooden token that radiates energy.

To the Dragonborn, Drakon, a sword of power and justice, silver with an emerald green pommel. It emits a righteous glow.

To Shaun, the halfling, a more reliable channel for his power in the form of a gnarled wooden staff.

To the bard, Claera, a very snazzy hat. It is a greyish blue. A

nd to the no-name halfling, lovingly called Meep, a word of power to aid him. He was not given the actual word, but it will grant him furious power once it is revealed.