Our return to Red Larch wasn’t greeted with the sort of hero’s parade that I had been hoping for, but at the very least I got a nice smile and greeting from Kaylesa, although not as much fussing as when I was at death’s door the previous time. Mayhap I should ensure at least a minor flesh wound on each outing. Anyhow, we decided that we would have some of her fine ale, and maybe even attempt some of the food to rebuild our strength for the morrow. While we were so engaged, and I was regaling some of the other patrons with tales and discussions of my derring-do and general heroism in leading and protecting my Amazonian companions, I noticed a lone dwarf sitting in the corner of the bar, nursing a mug of ale with a look of deep distaste and poking nervously at one of the more dubious offerings from the grill outside, which appeared to have been transmuted into some sort of carbon elemental. The dull shimmer of chainmail was obvious under his cloak, his helmet sat on the table next to him and a great Dwarf-axe rested against his pew. These subtle clues let me to suspect that he might possibly be a warrior of some kind, and it seemed from our exploits of the afternoon that while we were a winning combination of quick wits and beauty, it was possible that our small party lacked something in the way of brawn, and as we all known, dwarves are very much focused on that side of development. Having seen him therefore, and shaking off the crowd of admirers for a few seconds, promising to return before any of the young ladies died of a broken heart at my absence, I grabbed a fresh pint of the better ale for him and sidled up to his table and clambered onto the stool. “Morning shorty” I said with my most winning grin, for he was probably only eighteen inches taller than me, and got ready to leap for cover in case he over-reacted in any way. His hand shot out for his axe, but then he realised just who was addressing him, and broke into a broad, but still quite frightening, smile. I proffered the flagon of ale that I had brought across, and assured him that this was the stuff that they reserved for customers who they liked and who insisted on ale that had not already been filtered through several sets of kidneys. He accepted it, and so, feeling safer, I outlined a proposal to him. I explained that we were in need of some muscle and pointed out the other members of my party to him. Since he was a dwarf, I didn’t dwell on the obvious advantages of adventuring with such beautiful companions, their long tresses, the delightful contrast of taut leather and soft skin, the delicate swell… but I digress… and instead dwelt on how hard-working and aggressive they were, which I know are attributes that dwarves value highly. He seemed interested, being somewhat short of ready money like the rest of us, and I offered him a sixth share of everything we found together. Unfortunately, and against expectations, it turned out that he could count higher than three, so we were forced to settle on a fifth of the proceeds of our endeavours. We shook on the deal as partners and I introduced him to the ladies. The rest of the night passed in carousing and general revelry.
The next morning, having found my clothes and my room and freshened up, we decided over something that was loosely described as breakfast that we should return to Lance Rock and have it out with the necromancer for once and for all, boosted in confidence by the presence of the dwarf, Thorg by name, who still wished to accompany us in the cold light of morning. Accordingly, we set out, and within a few hours were back at Lance Rock. Our approach was untroubled, and so I crept silently into the first chamber. It was much as we had left it, save that there was no corpse in the entrance passage now, and no zombies waiting for us in the niche above the entryway. I crept further into the mortuary, to find that there were now but nine bodies in there, not the twelve of before. Three were missing, all skeletal, so I surmised that the necromancer must have raised those three into an unholy semblance of life to act as reinforcements for his depleted hordes. The others now caught up with me – Thorg is slow and noisy unfortunately, but then dwarves and subtlety are rarely bedfellows (indeed dwarves rarely have bedfellows at all or so I have heard it told) – so I continued into the next cavern, which also proved empty. The cavern beyond that containing the chests also proved unchanged, and in climbing to the peep-hole I could see that little of the great cavern beyond could be seen, and that that could be seen, while still lit by flickering torches, contained nothing of interest.
Returning therefore to my more sluggish and noisy companions, I therefore boldly, yet silently and invisibly crept into the main cavern and saw that in addition to the four skeletons at the very back, as before, there were now three skeletons at that strange stone counter three fourths of the way to the back, and they appeared to carry bows. I relayed this information to my companions, and suggested that we should use some incantation to prevent the skeletons with bows from shooting at us as we approached them up the cave. Fortunately, Sorrel has just such an incantation, so she invoked a great cloud of fog which blocked most of the view of the cavern from halfway along it, stopping the skeletons seeing us. I sneaked along the left hand side of the cavern while my companions boldly advanced up the centre. We emerged from the cloud of fog and started a two pronged attack on the three bow-armed skeletons. The other four attacked around the counter, while I scrambled across it and attacked from from the flank, throwing them into much confusion. They were reinforced by the four skeletons from the back of the chamber and I now saw the hooded figure of the nefarious necromancer back there, now completely undefended. Reasoning that if I were to kill him, all the skeletons would cease fighting, as surely his insane will must be all that was driving them forward, I started to sneak quietly towards him, but he took fright and rushed off down a passageway behind him.  I gave chase as fast as I possibly could, throwing all caution and self-preservation to the wind, but was unable to catch him before the tunnel split into two passageways. I followed one path, hoping it was the right one, but they rejoined as they entered a final chamber, hung with purple drapes, so it turned out that either path would have been the true path.  In the centre of the cavern was a strange glowing orb resting on a stand constructed entirely of skeletal human arms. Above the orb was a strange symbol.  I started creeping around the chamber, until my companions finally arrived, unfortunately having had a rather tough time of defeating the skeletons without me to lead and help them. As they entered the chamber, being unable to sidle quietly in as I can, they were obviously seen, for a voice rang our, telling them to grovel before the might sign of someone or other, obviously some weird fiend that this deranged lunatic purported to worship. Feyabelle obviously thought she could tell where the voice was coming from, as she fired an arrow towards the back of the chamber, but it was a foolish gesture and it merely snagged into one the hangings. In a moment of pure inspiration, I cast an illusion over the glowing sphere and symbol to make it appear that it was not longer glowing or present, respectively, and that obviously enraged the necromancer enough for him to burst out of his hiding place, waving a short bone wand, cursing and chanting enchantments which however seemed to be of little effect on us. Sorrell plugged him with a crossbow bolt in the centre of his chest though, and Arielle leapt forward and gave him a might blow with his staff. The necromancer staggered but was still standing and starting to raise his wand before a well placed slingshot from me caved in his skull, killing him instantly and saving my companions from his devastating magics. We searched him and the cavern, finding a considerable quantity of silver and golden coins, and some polished pieces of jet (enough cash for me to buy a light crossbow and some better leather armour when we returned to town, albeit not quite enough after that to settle either of my bar-tabs, let alone both), and an ancient leather bound journal. Taking these, and the bone wand and glowing crystal sphere, we returned to Red Larch, to tell all and sundry that the so-called Lord of Lance Rock was dead.
Our return to Red Larch was greeted with joy, and Kaylesa even gave us the money she had promised for dealing with the evil at Lance Rock, most of my share of which went straight back to her to settle some various outstanding debts for various services and sundries. Our tales were listened to well into the night, and it was the next morning before I was able to examine the journal that we had found. Unusually, it proved not to be a journal at all, but a seried of mysterious incantations. Looking at them, I found that some of the wizardly miscellany that I had picked up from my mother in my youth came back to me, and some of the incantations I could even understand. Among these, I found that some minor spells of mending, prestidigitation, and a useful sounding little cantrip for the secret sending of messages. Amongst more complex incantations, I found ones called Nystor’s Irrepressible Slumber, Ever-Faithful Flaming Bolt, Foldor’s Foggy Cloud (which sounded very similar to the incantation that Sorrell had used) and also some notes that I saw would allow me to generate a more potent form of the minor illusionary tricks that I had already mastered, in addition to two rituals, one for summoning a familiar from the upper or lower regions and giving it a form most useful to one, and the other for the understanding and reading of languages of utmost obscurity. All in all most useful, although the binding of the tome is in a leather the providence of which I suspect is most disturbing and which therefore I aim not to dwell upon at length.  In addition, arcane inquiry showed that the bone wand which we had found was capable of generating fiery arrows of its own accord, even up to 18 such each day, although it is slow to recharge its potential once exhausted, like a clock spring that has been overwound too often and then allowed to run long past its useful tension and is powering a clock three sizes to large for its own capacity.
Thus excited by these new found tricks and opportunities for entertainment, we spent a merry day appreciating the gifts of life, having so recently seen the contrary, and wondering what tomorrow will bring.  That said, I fear that my new found interest in all things magical and mystical means that I am unable to devote the time I heretofore was used to devote to practicing my card tricks and sleights of hands with which I was wont to delight the crowds.