Just as the party thought their situation couldn’t grow more desperate, the northern door burst open and two terrified townsfolk stumbled into their chamber—Ibri and Itchi, their faces pale with fear and their clothes torn from their own flight through the rat-infested passages. These were clearly not adventurers; their wide eyes and trembling hands spoke of ordinary folk who had somehow found themselves trapped in this nightmare maze. What business could have possibly brought them into these deadly depths?
The party found themselves trapped between converging threats—rats gnawing at the northern door while the sounds of battle echoed from the south, where the vermin clashed with something that sounded disturbingly like the shambling gait of the undead. In their immediate chamber, only one rat remained, and Irulan dispatched it with a swift, decisive blow. But the respite was brief; through the hole the rats had chewed in the northern door, another snout poked through, sniffing for prey. Despite the fever burning through his veins from his infected wound, Bancroft managed to drive his blade true, striking the creature cleanly.
Their precarious situation grew worse when their torch guttered out, leaving them in absolute darkness once again. The party’s light magic had already proven unreliable in these cursed depths, and none of them carried spare torches. Fortunately, the frightened townsfolk had brought their own light source. Bruzra and Oklahom both fumbled with flint and steel, their hands shaking too badly to catch a spark, but Irulan’s steady nerves finally coaxed flame to life, pushing back the oppressive darkness.
Druidly stepped forward and carefully opened the northern door, immediately weaving his sleep enchantment over the rats beyond. As the creatures succumbed to magical slumber, Bancroft swung his blade at the opening, but his fever-addled reflexes betrayed him and his strike went wide.
In a moment of desperate inspiration, Bruzra burst from the chamber and began an elaborate dance in the corridor, her movements hypnotic and strange. The rats that had resisted Druidly’s sleep magic found themselves transfixed by her performance, swaying in place as if caught in a trance.
Seizing the opportunity, Bancroft hoisted Druidly over his shoulder and stepped into the corridor, keeping a wary eye on the rats as they either slept or swayed to Bruzra’s rhythm. Druidly managed to stagger forward on his own after a few steps, turning to face the creatures with another spell ready on his lips.
But Bruzra’s enchanting dance faltered, and the rats’ fascination broke like a snapping bowstring. She immediately fled toward the rope with Oklahom close behind, their footsteps echoing in the narrow passage.
Bancroft began a fighting retreat toward their escape route, managing to land a glancing blow on one pursuing rat but knowing he couldn’t hold them off for long. Irulan stood her ground longer, trading vicious strikes with the vermin. Her blade found its mark, cutting deep into one rat’s flank, but the creature’s teeth found her in return, sinking deep into her arm. She felt the familiar burning sensation as infection took hold of the wound.
Tragedy struck as the party reached their escape route. Ibri, one of the terrified townsfolk, lost her grip on the rope during the frantic ascent. Her scream echoed through the chamber as she plummeted to the stone floor below, her neck snapping with a sickening crack that silenced her cries forever.
As their torch failed once again, Irulan and Bancroft found themselves groping through the darkness toward the ropes, guided only by the sounds of their companions above and the skittering of approaching rats. In the chaos, Druidly took another bite from the pursuing vermin, and he too felt the telltale burn of infection spreading through his system.
Bancroft hauled himself up the rope with desperate strength, his muscles burning as he climbed toward safety. Below him, the rats gathered at the base of the rope, their red eyes gleaming in what little light remained.
Working together, Irulan and Oklahom managed to pull Druidly to safety just as the last of their light failed completely, leaving the rats chittering in frustration in the darkness below.
The battered party retreated to town, their wounds festering and their spirits low. At the church of St. Ygg, they sought healing for their infected bites, but the clerics demanded payment of 30 gold pieces—a sum none of them possessed. With heavy hearts, they accepted that they would need to work off their debt through labor, adding yet another burden to their already dire circumstances.
