The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Demon in the Dark

Beneath the ruins of Minas Mellon, the party explores, looking for clues to the location of the Mithril Room.  They find evidence of the excavation of Prince Braegil a few years ago, but something awaits them in the dark.

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Beneath Minas Mellon

Gwirith 4^th, 1410.  Spring

Valandil

“All right, everyone, stay calm,” the knight declared beneath the flicker of his torch.  He needed to get a handle on what had happened.  He looked into the panicked eyes of the workers and knew he had to take charge.  Haedorial and the workers continued to mutter and fret until Mercatur stepped in.

“Shut the hell up!” the mercenary bellowed, letting the fires reflect off of the blade of his axe.  Valandil looked at him and a smile escaped from his lips.

He definitely has his uses.

The workers were silenced by Mercatur’s now echoing voice and the mercenary pointed back down the tunnel.  “You people stay here.  Valandil and I will go look for Bova.”

The knight nodded and reached out for Firiel.  “If anything happens, take everyone and get back to the surface.  If something gets by us…well, just get out.  I won’t let anything happen to you while I can still swing a sword.”

Firiel took his hand for a moment but could not speak. Valandil released her reluctantly and headed off behind Mercatur.  Within fifty feet they came across Bova’s head.  The mercenary shone the beam of the lantern on the bloody object and the worker’s face was frozen in horror and agony.

“What do you think?” asked the knight.

“Well, I think he’s dead.”

“Yeah, I can see that….  What do you think got him?”

Mercatur shrugged.  “I dunno.  I’m just a dumb mercenary.  Demons, they said, huh?”  He hesitated for a moment as if remembering something and then a look of concern came over his face as his brows furrowed.  “We best get back to the group.  We have to head back…now.”

Valandil knew something haunted the mercenary from the Battle of the Tirthon.  He fell in beside Mercatur as they strode quickly back to the group.  “Hey, I know a bit about your last venture in Rhudaur. I know you fought against something demonic, and it shook you up pretty bad.”

Mercatur stopped on a dime and turned sharply.  His eyes were huge, full of fear.  Valandil knew that even a horde of orcs wouldn’t shake his friend like this.  “You don’t know anything about that,” Mercatur hissed.  “It was…nevermind.  Let’s just move on, shall we?”

Just then, an inhuman shriek echoed down the tunnel toward them and the air became chill.  Valandil swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.  “Yes, let’s keep going.”

In the dim lantern light, Valandil could see Firiel and Haedorial’s eyes wide with mouths open.  “What was that?” the bard asked, voice trembling.

“No idea, but we need to move,” the knight answered and ushered the group further into the ruins.  They hustled to the end of the corridor where another stairway led down. At the base of the stairs, Mercatur swung the lantern about.  The mercenary was clearly nervous.  “Hey, I see some arrow slits.  There must be an old guard room behind these walls.”

Valandil stood guard at the rear of the group with Firiel right behind him, short bow held ready.  “Check it out,” said the knight to Mercatur, “and be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Mercatur inched up to the wall, axe drawn while Haedorial opened a tome under his torch light.  The mercenary took a quick peek into one of the arrow slits.  He cried out in surprise and fell back with a splash into a puddle of water.

Valandil turned.  “Are you alright?  Talk to me!”

“Angmar’s bones!  There’s something in there.  Red eyes!” Mercatur shouted and quickly got to his feet.  There was the sound of something scurrying beyond the arrow slits and then all was quiet.

The mercenary grunted and shook seawater and sand from his trousers.  He picked up the lantern and moved ahead.  Rubble from the ceiling clogged the tunnel, making it difficult to proceed. Valandil watched as Mercatur picked his way through the stones, followed by Haedorial and the frightened workers.

The lantern cast an eerie glow over the walls and various openings on the left side of the tunnel.  “I think those are guardrooms,” said Haedorial quietly.  The tunnel grew gradually narrower as more and more rubble choked the area and Mercatur had to hug the left wall.  Valandil could see the mercenary’s breath come in vents of steam.

“It’s getting colder,” he told Firiel.

Just then, something reached out of one of the openings and seized a worker in a red shirt.  “Wicks!” they yelled as the man vanished amid screams.  Valandil rushed up and shoved his torch into the opening, letting his hearing guide him to the screams.  The flame danced on the walls of the narrow tunnel, and he could hear the sound of Wicks being dragged away.

“Hang on,” he shouted and moved into a wider room, sword held with point forward.  What he saw froze his heart.  “Dear Varda….”

Mercatur

The big mercenary turned back to see the man in the red shirt vanish.  On instinct, he rushed back past Haedorial just as Valandil ran down the side tunnel. He looked at Firiel.  “Wait here!”

Not again…not another damn demon.  I’m not going out like the Easterling mage.  I’m not.

He took two steps into the tunnel when he saw Valandil come running back.  “Get the hell out of here!  It’s a demon!”

Shrieks and cries echoed down the tunnel as the knight pushed Mercatur back into the main corridor.  “I took a couple of swings at it, but my sword had little effect!”

Mercatur was about to speak when something large and hairy barreled into them.  It had a rank, fetid smell and red eyes burned in the darkness.  He landed on the wet floor with a grunt, dropping the lantern and all went black except for a couple of smoldering torches.  The thing was on his chest, and he instinctively drew his enchanted dagger and plunged it into the beast.

With a horrid shriek, it slithered back and Mercatur saw long fangs flash.  With the flat of his axe blade, he batted the snout away.  Valandil thrust his sword into the flank of the thing, but it knocked the knight back.  One of Firiel’s arrows sank into its mutated face.

It lunged at Mercatur, but he slashed it along a cheek, and it howled, snarling.  Then, it rose to its full height, two heads taller than the mercenary and it emitted an unearthly wail.

“Screw this!” yelled Mercatur.  “Press on!  I’ll hold him!”

If I gotta go, let me go like a warrior.

Firiel hustled the group ahead, but Valandil returned. He lunged ahead of Mercatur and stabbed into the beast’s leg.  It jumped back from the sting, but then got down on all fours again and began to observe them, looking for a weakness.  The mercenary quickly grabbed the lantern and together, they backed slowly away.

Soon, the creature faded from the light and Mercatur shuddered.

“You did good back there,” said Valandil.

“We’re not out of this yet.  That…thing is sizing us up.”

They retreated down the ever-narrower tunnel until Firiel could be seen.  “Thank Varda, you’re alive,” she said breathlessly.  She held up a rope.  “Haedorial and the workers went up ahead, but they had to swim.  The tunnel is flooded.  We’ve hauled most of the gear through.”

“Great, just great,” muttered the mercenary.  “How far?”

“Maybe thirty feet.  Give or take….”

Valandil nodded.  “Very well.  Firiel, you go.”

She shrugged and stripped off her tunic and breeches, revealing a form-fitting shift underneath.  Mercatur raised an eyebrow.  “Well, that’s worth living for.”

She smirked and then touched Valandil briefly before diving in. The knight then grabbed Mercatur. “You’re next.”

The mercenary shook his head.  “Not a rat’s chance in Rivendell.  I’ll be the last one out.”  His eyes told the knight that this was not open for negotiation.  Valandil nodded once and then grabbed the rope.

“You stay right behind me.”

“Yeah, yeah, just go.”

Valandil

Valandil took a deep breath and dove in, hauling himself along the rope in the pitch darkness.  The weight of his armor and weapons drew him down and the line became taut.  His feet touched the bottom which was covered in silt and one of his boots snagged on an object.  With one hand, he grabbed what felt like a dagger and stuffed it in his pouch. Just as the air in his lungs was about to give out, he was yanked to the surface.

Immediately, he began to cough.

“Don’t breathe too deeply,” Firiel said in a wheezy voice with her hand over her mouth.  “The air is rank.”  A torch sputtered in her hand, a sign that the air was indeed fetid.

He nodded, wiping the water from his eyes.  “I’ll wait for Mercatur.  You go join the others.”

She shook her head and started to answer, but the water began to roil up.  Great bubbles spouted from the hole and Valandil drew his sword.  Something erupted from the water and Firiel screamed.

“Whaddya screaming for?  It’s me!” groused the mercenary.  “Somebody get me outta here.”

Valandil pulled him up and he stared at the knight. “What?  You said stay right behind you.  You think I wanted to sit and talk with rat demon back there?  I’m brave, not stupid.”

Ah, the old Mercatur has returned.

Valandil chuckled and slapped Mercatur on the back. He cut the rope and then they crawled the rest of the way into a grand chamber.  There, Haedorial was looking at a stack of tiles in his hand.

“Thank Varda you are safe, my good friends,” he said. “Look what I have here.”

As Valandil and Mercatur piled rocks behind them, Firiel went up and looked at the mirrored tiles.  “What are those?” she asked.

“Well, good lady, I found them in yonder trysting chamber,” the bard said, pointing back to an open door.  “I suspect that this is the quarters of a Númenórean lord.  These tiles are quite valuable.”

Firiel pinched up her face.  “A trysting chamber?”

“A place where the lord could bed his mistresses,” Mercatur called out with a snicker.  He grabbed one of the mirrored tiles and held it up above Firiel’s head.  She looked up into the mirror and made an ‘O’ with her mouth.

Haedorial blushed.  “A very uncouth way of putting it, but yes…he liked to watch himself, I suppose.”

“Well,” Valandil said to the group, “These rocks aren’t going to stop that thing forever.  We need to keep going.”

“I was just getting to that, good knight.  If you look here on this wall, there is an engraving…very recent by the look of it.”

Everyone crowded around the wall as Haedorial continued, “I was mistaken earlier.  Look here, this is Prince Braegil’s sigil.  He did come this way.  According to him, there is a secret panel on this wall that leads to the Tiras Formen, or North Fort of Lond Daer…and beyond that is Aldarion’s House.”

“And the Mithril Room,” added Mercatur.