In celebration of exapnding the list, here's a little story I had set in 
the Forgotten Realms setting, though all the main characters are 
originals. You don't need to know anything about the FR to understand 
the story. As always, any C+C would be appreciated.


Sewage



Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sewers, Throngar Ironbow decided, were the worst places in the world.

Orc lairs were dirty and smelly, just like their owners, but the 
creatures had some sense of value. Gold, silver, and other precious 
metals could be found strewn through the refuse that lined their homes. 
Kobold lairs held less valuables and more smell, but there were always a 
few coppers and sometimes a decent weapon or two. Even dim-witted 
owlbears liked shiny objects, which meant an occasional gem might be 
found when digging through their caves.

But when it came to sewers, there was nothing but garbage, all of it 
unwanted and shoved out of sight from the city above. Tons of waste 
without a single item of value to be found. And the stench! It would 
take weeks to remove the aroma of trash, and other far more unpleasant 
smells, out of his leather armor. At least Throngar had possessed enough 
sense to wear his older set. In the worst case it could be tossed out� 
probably ending up in a sewer.

As Throngar walked (and lamented) though the muck, he passed a bloated 
corpse floating on top of the knee-deep water. He stared at it 
impassively, walking past and saying, "Remind me why I'm slogging my way 
through this cesspit."

The question was directed to his companion, Artemis 'the Dashing', who 
led the way bearing a torch in one hand and a short sword in the other. 
The warrior looked over his shoulder and smiled. "You're here for the 
reward Lady Embeth will give us for the return of her stolen precious 
family heirloom. Father Gorpa divined its location as somewhere in this 
area of the sewers. His divinations are rarely wrong."
"Isn't he the one we hired to locate that stolen statue and ended up 
directing us to a medusa's lair?"

"Well, there were many statues there, so it's an understandable 
mistake," Artemis assured him.

A cheery voice behind them declared, "Oh, look, I think that's a corpse."

Throngar's teeth gnashed together. He fingered his battle axe grimly as 
he shot a scowl over his shoulder. Even with the dull illumination 
provided by Artemis's torch, the young man dressed in bright yellow 
robes and a hot pink headband wrapped around his forehead, practically 
glowed in the dark. He looked like a giant banana.

Throngar hated bananas.

"Remind me again why he's tagging along," he grumbled.

"You know what they say, you can never have too magic on your side, and 
Welleby is a powerful apprentice who comes with the highest 
recommendations," Artemis explained.

"Why yes, it is a corpse. A very smelly one, too."

"He's an apprentice of Yorkon Aurion, one of the more powerful mages in 
Waterdeep. Welleby is by far the brightest of his pupils. The only 
problem is he's been ensconced in labs, libraries, lavatories, you know, 
wherever it is wizards learn magic. What he needs now is field 
experience to add a little seasoning."

"It appears he's been gnawed on a great deal."

"When he heard I was setting off for the sewers on a quest, he begged to 
come along."

"I've never seen a corpse before. I mean a fresh one where rigor mortis 
hasn't set in. I've dealt with dead bodies, of course. Can't very well 
learn necromancy without a corpse or two hanging about. I'm just not 
used to them being so� gooey."

Throngar held his hand to his head, wishing his headache, the one that 
had started the instant he entered the sewers, would go away.

After Welleby examined the corpse for a minute, the trio moved on, 
slogging through the collective refuse from over a hundred thousand 
members of the variety of races that resided in Waterdeep. Garbage 
seemed to be a universal byproduct of any intelligent race.

The silence started to weigh down on Throngar. "You still haven't told 
me what this item looks like."

"It's a family heirloom," Artemis said.

"Yes, but that doesn't answer the question. What sort of heir--"

Throngar was cut off as Welleby shouted, "I've found something!"

The warriors moved toward Welleby, who was crouched over a narrow, 
semi-dry ledge along a wall. As Artemis brought the torch closer, 
Throngar saw the wizard scrounging through an unremarkable pile of 
refuse. "What is it?"

Welleby fished something out of the pile and held it up high. "It's a 
dagger. Honest to goodness booty."

"Booty is a nautical term. On land we call it treasure," Artemis pointed 
out.

Throngar examined the dagger in the light. It was more rust than blade, 
judging by the dark splotches along the length of the blade. It was 
worse than worthless given the sorts of diseases one could contract when 
cut by a rusty weapon.

"I'm so excited about finding treasure. I assumed we'd have to fight 
some monstrous creature with several mouths filled with sharp teeth to 
get any, but there it was, just lying there." Welleby's delight turned 
to concern as he looked at his two companions. "But there's only one of 
it and three of us. How do we split it?"

While it would be easy to snap the neglected weapon in three, Throngar 
decided to humor the useless mage to keep him quiet. "Tell you what, you 
can have that one, and the next couple of rusty daggers we come across 
will be ours."

"I doubt we'll come across any like this," Welleby said.

"I sincerely hope not." The headache became worse.

Welleby accepted the decision and placed the dagger in one of the few 
empty slots on the brace across his chest.

It was then Throngar's curiosity got the better of him. While he 
wondered why a mage would go about with so many daggers, there was 
something else that had been gnawing at him like the rats on the corpse 
they had left behind. "Why are you wearing that ridiculous headband?"

Welleby darted to the headband as though he had forgotten it was there. 
"What? This? It's not ridiculous." For the first time since they had 
entered the sewers, the wizard did not sound like a child that had been 
given permission to run rampant through a candy store.

Artemis shook his head. "I wondered about it, too. It clashes terribly 
with your outfit. I can give you fashion tips if you like. They don't 
call me 'The Dashing' for nothing." He posed as best as he could covered 
in muck. Surprisingly, he managed a fair job of it.

Offense entered Welleby's tone. "I'll have you know this is a magical 
headband. It protects the wearer from fire. It was a gift from one of my 
master's friends, Finny. Well, Finnegan is his proper name, but he 
insists I call him Finny. We get along quite well. Anyway, when he heard 
I was going on an actual adventure, he insisted I take it since it could 
mean the difference between life and death."

"Finnegan the Flamboyant?" Artemis asked. "Effeminate wizard? Has an 
affinity for bright, sequined outfits? Serving staff composed of only 
handsome young men? That Finnegan?"

"Why yes. Do you know him?"

Artemis shifted uncomfortably. "He tried to have me work for him when I 
was younger. I chose not to since we travel in� different circles. Very 
reputable wizard, though."

"Can we get on with this?" Throngar snapped.

"Right." Artemis took the lead once again with Throngar close behind and 
Welleby taking up a position farther to the rear, partially by design, 
but mostly because of his tendency to gawk at everything they walked past.

The warriors passed by a 'T' junction. As Welleby, who had fallen a good 
ten meters behind them, walked past, he stopped and said, "Wait a 
moment. I think I see several people down there." He waved his hands in 
the air and shouted, "Excuse me! Perhaps you could help us!"

Throngar froze. "Tell me he didn't do what he just did."

Welleby cried out in alarm as several objects whizzed past him, 
clattering against the stone wall of the sewer.

"He did it."

Artemis crouched next to the largest pile of nearby rubbish. Throngar 
joined him. Welleby made it a threesome a moment later.

"They shot at me!" the wizard complained.

Throngar resisted the urge to toss Welleby back out in the line of fire. 
"Let me explain something to you. No one comes down to the sewers to 
meet new people and engage in witty banter. They do it because it's an 
out of the way place to conduct things in secret. They value their 
privacy highly, so highly they are frequently willing to kill to keep 
it. Stop writing that down!"

"Right." Welleby returned the quill and paper back into the folds of his 
robe.

Throngar peered over the edge of the pile. "Still, these guys might be 
the ones who stole the heirloom."

Artemis said, "I doubt that. What race were they?"

"Human," Welleby said. "I'm certain because I placed a darkvision spell 
upon myself. Bright as day down here. I can even see the ale stain on 
your collar."

"It isn't the thief then." Artemis rubbed at the stain.

"How do you know?" Throngar asked.

"I was there when it was stolen. The thief wasn't human and he wasn't 
the kind to give up the item."

"You didn't mention that before. What race was the thief then?"

Artemis made a silence gesture with his hand. "Listen."

The sounds of multiple feet splashing through sewage reached the trio. 
The reverberations echoed off the walls, making locating them 
impossible, though some sounded as though there might be coming from 
behind them.

"I think they're trying to flank us. We'd better change our position." 
Artemis backed away from the debris.

Throngar conceded the point. Their foes would undoubtedly know these 
sewers better than any of them, and he didn't like the idea of getting 
caught in a crossfire on an enemy's terrain.

The trio ran quickly, opting for speed over stealth. They fled straight 
down the passageway, splashing through the refuse. Throngar made it a 
point to not look down at what they were stepping on. There were times 
when ignorance was a reward greater than gold.

After running the length of what felt like half the city, the trio 
stopped in front of a particularly large pile of garbage, gasping for 
breath.

"I think we lost them," Throngar said, inhaling deeply of the heady 
aroma of sewage and wishing he could sear his lungs.

"Right," Artemis agreed. "We can--"

The rest was cut off as the large pile of garbage suddenly rose up from 
the fetid water, revealing a creature whose skin was dark and rough 
enough to look like a pile of rotted waste. Large tentacles the 
thickness of a man waved back and forth in the air.

"Otyugh!" Throngar brought back his battle axe to unleash a mighty swing.

"Neo-otyugh!" Artemis wielded his short sword while waving the torch 
before him like a second weapon.

"Look this way!" Welleby shouted.

Both warriors reflexively obeyed. A spectacular explosion of light 
flared from the wizard's hand, catching both men fully in the eyes.

Throngar recoiled, disoriented. "You idiot! I can't see a thing!"

"Sorry! I was calling out to the neo-otyugh and hoping to blind it. Only 
I don't think I did since it's still coming after us."

He was dead. Throngar knew it. Battling a neo-otyugh was bad enough, but 
to do it sightless with only another blind warrior and an incompetent 
mage on his side? No, his deeply unsatisfied life as a mercenary was 
over, never having made the big score that would have left him with an 
early retirement and enough gold to enjoy years of wine and women. He 
would end up devoured by an irate garbage eater. But if that was his 
fate, he would take the one responsible for his death with him into 
Cyric's dark embrace.

The sounds of the angry neo-otyugh were right on top of him, but Welleby 
was still babbling an apology, and Throngar could locate him over the 
din. He brought back his axe, hoping the mage was within blade's reach.

As he swung backward there was a thud as the axe became embedded in 
something thick and meaty. A loud roar of pain came from directly behind 
Throngar, and then it stopped abruptly. The axe was wrenched out of his 
hand as something heavy landed in the water next to him, producing a 
wave that nearly bowled him over.

A pinpoint of light formed in the darkness as Throngar's vision slowly 
returned. Welleby's slightly nasally voice could be heard. "By Mystra, 
you brought him down with one blow. Or maybe it was a she. Perhaps it's 
asexual. I'm not sure when it comes to neo-otyughs. I shall have to ask 
Master Yorkon about that."

A hand fell on Throngar's shoulder. "That was amazing, my friend. I had 
no idea you could fight blind."

Throngar blinked a few times. Surroundings became light enough to form 
outlines. He squinted at Artemis's silhouette. "Yes, well, it takes a 
lot of practice to get that good with an axe." It wasn't so much lying 
as it was being polite in not disillusioning his old comrade. Friends 
did that for friends.

As Throngar recovered his axe, and his vision slowly returned, his 
hearing remained a touch more acute than usual, thanks to his temporary 
blindness. That was why he was able to hear multiple splashes bearing in 
on their position before his companions. "They're coming again. They 
must really be worried about being identified if they're this 
persistent. Let's keep going." Luck against one creature was one thing, 
but Throngar was damned if he'd count on bringing down every one of 
their attackers with random swings.

Once again the trio ran quickly down the main passageway, avoiding any 
larger piles of apparent garbage. Almost immediately a mist appeared 
ahead of them. It was wispy at first, but it became thicker the farther 
they traveled, until eventually it seemed to form a wall.

"That's weird." Artemis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I need to shave," 
he added.

Throngar wielded his axe warily. "What's that doing down here?"

"Temperature variations frequently produce mists," Welleby said. "It's 
perfectly natural. Nothing to fear." He entered the mist.

"At least compared to what's behind us," Throngar agreed, entering the 
fog with Artemis following close behind.

It didn't take long for the mist to become so thick the trio had to stay 
within arm's reach of one another to keep from separating. Even the 
ancient stone walls of the sewer seemed to fade away, leaving the 
impression they were walking through an endless limbo. They continued on 
at a slow pace for nearly five minutes before Throngar's patience grew 
thin. He was about to suggest doubling back when several blood-curdling 
screams echoed through the passageways behind them.

"What was that?" Welleby asked, hands held up in preparation to cast a 
spell.

"It sounded like several people in a great deal of pain, though not for 
long since the cries died so abruptly," Artemis said.

"That�s not a good thing, is it?"

"No, it's not," Throngar answered. "I've had enough of this. First way 
we find up to the surface, we take it. No reward is worth getting killed 
over."

Welleby said, "What if it was a resurrection scroll and ten thousand 
gold? Would that be worth getting killed over?"

"Shut up!"

Despite the question, or perhaps because of the lack of a convenient 
resurrection scroll, Welleby moved just as fast as the warriors as they 
continued onward at a more hurried pace, still making certain to stay in 
sight of one another. Suddenly the sound quality changed. Instead of 
noise echoing through tight corridors, it seemed to travel much farther 
than before.

"I believe we're in a cistern," Welleby explained. "It's a junction of 
waterways in a sewer. Some of them can be quite large, especially in a 
city as old and storied as Waterdeep. Some are probably hundreds, if not 
thousands of years old."

"Let's go back." Throngar started to turn around when he spotted a 
movement in the fog out of the corner of his eye. It was slight, but 
seemed to move against the flow of the mist around it. Years of fighting 
made him instinctively tense up and bring his axe back. Better to draw a 
weapon on an ally than have it sheathed against an enemy was his motto. 
His allies didn't tend to care for the saying, though.

The hazy outline of a humanoid emerged from the mist. It moved slowly or 
else it would have already been on them, given how limited visibility 
was. The others caught the movement as well. Artemis brought his sword 
up while Welleby looked curiously at the rusty dagger in his brace. He 
drew it and examined the blade. Throngar felt like strangling him for 
his stupidity. Even a greengrocer should know better than to fool around 
when an attack was eminent.

Several other outlines emerged from the same direction as the first, 
shuffling forward slowly, just like the original figure. A knot formed 
in Throngar's stomach. That gait seemed familiar in a bad way. A very 
bad way.

"Zombies!" Throngar shouted a moment before a large number of the undead 
monstrosities emerged from the mist.

"I'll handle this!" Welleby bellowed, brandishing his dagger like a 
wand. In a deep, sonorous voice that held the weight of command he 
shouted, "I am the invincible mage, Welleby Wellington the Second, the 
Doombringer of Zaguth! Tremble in fear before me lest I turn thee into 
stone for all eternity!"

"They're totally mindless, you idiot! They don't understand a word 
you're saying!" Throngar shouted.

"You have to admit, his posturing was quite good," Artemis said, 
brandishing his short sword.

"Don't encourage him!"

The zombies were upon them. Throngar noted they came in a wide variety, 
some in a very advanced stage of decomposition that made them appear 
more like skeletons than zombies, others that hadn't been dead for a 
week. All of them were deadly since their teeth and club-like arms were 
intact. Luckily, an axe was a fine weapon against them. Finesse weapons 
were next to useless against creatures that could feel no pain, but an 
axe could lop off a head, a few limbs, even break a back or two. It 
caused, as Throngar's mentor had dubbed it, 'catastrophic structural 
damage.' Not many warriors used that term, but most hadn't been 
architects before taking up the sword.

Throngar's first blow decapitated the lead zombie. It fell to the floor, 
more lifeless than ever. Out of the corner of his eye Throngar saw 
Artemis dodge an arm and lop it off at the elbow. That was probably the 
best he could do with a short sword. Artemis ducked low and whirled as a 
second undead assaulted him. This time the sword bit into the back of a 
leg, causing the zombie to fall. Not enough to destroy it, but he was 
making it difficult for the undead to inflict harm.

Throngar's second blow took the next walking corpse in the side near the 
hip. The flesh was so decomposed that the blow cut it in half. The 
creature didn't even react. It simply fell over in two pieces.
It was then Throngar noticed Welleby trying to ward the closest creature 
off with his dagger. The fool. Previous attempt to kill the wizard 
forgotten, Throngar shouted, "That won't work! Use a spell! Try one with 
flame!" He fended off a forearm aimed at his skull.

Instead Welleby thrust forward with the dagger, sinking up to the hilt 
in the undead's chest. Rather than lurching forward, the zombie gave a 
decidedly human scream that sent chills down Throngar's spine. The 
zombie remained impaled on the small blade, its flesh desiccating until 
it looked like burned paper. The force animating it was no match for 
magic as it fell to the muck, a charred, unmoving husk.
Welleby admired the blade. "So, it's some sort of undead bane or 
negative energy drinker. Most interesting and valuable. No doubt the 
appearance of rust was meant to camouflage its true abilities. That 
would also explain why it was abandoned, someone not realizing its true 
nature. It was a good thing I was able to sense the magic in it."

"Less admiration, more killing!" Throngar struck a larger, fresher 
zombie in the chest with less dramatic results than Welleby. The axe 
remained embedded in the chest as the undead surged forward, pinning 
Throngar against a wall. He was jammed so close to the wall that bracing 
himself was impossible, and he couldn't force the creature back on 
muscle power alone. Even when he put both arms on the axe and pushed 
forward, he was barely able to keep the creature's teeth from tearing 
out his throat.

"Here you go." Welleby slashed the zombie across the back, a blow that 
would barely draw blood on a human. The undead howled, reaching behind 
where the wound had been inflicted. Throngar used the opening to pull 
the axe out of his foe's chest. It tore free with a slurping noise, 
allowing a host of internal organs to spill out. Prepared for the sudden 
loss of pressure the warrior used the momentum to spin the axe around 
and neatly decapitate his foe. The zombie stopped clutching at its back, 
falling to the ground.

"Thanks," Throngar gasped out.

Welleby pointed at the fog with his dagger. "Ooo. Look, a second wave."

Throngar swore.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Isebert Darkstone, middling priest of Cyric, gazed upon his realm with 
an imperious eye. Such as his realm was, consisting of a sewer. But what 
lay within the sewer was his key to victory and moving up the Zhentarim 
food chain. The cistern, at three stories high and fifty meters across, 
was the largest in the forsaken deeps of the miles long cesspit. More 
importantly, it was filled to the brim with zombies. Thousands of them. 
They were so thick one could walk across the tops of their heads from 
one side of the chamber to the other. Well, almost. They were several 
areas free of them. The altar for one, which was seated next to 
Isebert's throne (which at one time had been a discarded tavern chair, 
but now held the honor of being the seat upon which Isebert's glorious 
posterior resided). Also it was one of the few dry spots in the chamber, 
which made it worth its weight in gold. Still, he made plans to buy one 
gilded in platinum with ruby inlays when his plan saw fruition.

The continual light spells cast about the cistern illuminated the 
waterfalls that were formed by the raw sewage that emptied into chamber, 
and then continued flowing out to the ocean. Those areas were also free 
of zombies. The water eroded them like it would rock, only much quicker, 
and every zombie counted when one planned on unleashing an undead horde 
on Waterdeep.

There was also a path leading from the altar up a ramp to one of the 
high sewer ways, one free of falling water. That was the course that 
Isebert's Ravaging Horde (as he had named it) would take when they razed 
the city. Once the pathway was clear of obstructions, in any case. 
Isebert's acolytes were already clearing the way, removing the next to 
last barrier to the surface. Then the army would finally march.
Isebert had to hand it to himself, his plan was pure genius. True, he 
had stumbled on the magic altar when he had been forced to move through 
the sewers over a disagreement with loan sharks who refused to grant a 
soon to be high priest of Cyric an extension on a loan, but it was his 
superior intellect that had come up with 'The Plan'. Realizing the power 
of the altar allowed a single priest to create an unlimited army of 
zombies loyal to him, he began to use it for that very thing. He made 
his headquarters in the sewers, recruited several acolytes to Cyric, and 
began collecting every body he could find. It had taken every gold he 
could scrounge up. He had nearly every gravedigger in Waterdeep 
funneling bodies to him over the last six months. Those forces were 
bolstered by the zombies themselves as they came across people in the 
sewers that wandered too close to the altar. Every person the zombies 
killed became another recruit to the cause when their corpses were 
brought to Isebert and raised to a higher calling.

Now Isebert's Ravaging Horde numbered over two thousand, a force poised 
to strike in the heart of Waterdeep. The priest had discovered an old 
sealed off waterway that led to the grounds of Piergeiron Paladinson 
himself. There was nothing Piergeiron could do to fend off an army of 
undead thousands strong that was dropped right in his self-righteous 
lap. And when the zombies were through with that annoying leader, they 
would run rampant through the rest of the city, causing chaos in the 
name of Cyric and the Zhentarim. Why, Fzoul Chembryl himself would 
probably elevate Isebert to High Priest. And then that platinum throne 
with ruby inlays would be in his grasp.

And perhaps most importantly, Isebert would be out of this miserable 
sewer. He was fairly certain his ability to smell was ruined. But not so 
badly he was unable to notice the aroma of his surroundings.
Another hour, two at the most, and it would all be over. There was only 
one downside to everything. "I have no one to share my genius with," he 
sighed aloud. He wanted to boast, to taunt, to laugh uproariously as 
someone, anyone, applauded his intellect, but all that surrounded him 
were zombies. Oh, he had tried bragging to them, but it was like talking 
to a brick wall; useless and vaguely disturbing.

"Now I see why no respectable priest surrounds himself with only 
undead," Isebert grumbled. When he was elevated, he would keep at least 
a half dozen acolytes close at hand to brag to. They would acknowledge 
his brilliance, and if they didn't, he would assail them with spells of 
pain until they did.

A repugnant odor suddenly permeated the room. One so powerful it made 
even Isebert's weary nose recoil.
"What is that?" he thought aloud.

Surprisingly, it was answered by a voice coming from the passageway 
leading to Piergeiron's grounds. "Sewer gas, your eminence."

Isebert turned to see Tomas, one of his pair of acolytes, had returned 
from his mission. Dangling limply in his arms was Isebert's other 
minion, Lycas. "What has transpired?" He was boning up on his 
vocabulary. In times past he would simply have said, 'what happened', 
but 'transpired' sounded more imperious. Oh yes, he was learning.

Tomas answered, "The seal on the last leg of the passageway was 
airtight. When we broke it, we discovered that it was filled with sewer 
gas. Lycas succumbed to the fumes, I'm afraid, and I barely made it out 
alive."

"But the way is open?"

"All but the last seal which leads directly to the grounds of the 
estate. The army can batter down in seconds."

"Outstanding." Isebert sat back down on his throne and savored the moment.

Tomas coughed hard enough to nearly hurl up a lung. "I'm feeling quite 
woozy, your eminence. Perhaps you could spare a curative spell?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Isebert scoffed. "I'm a priest of Cyric. I poison 
people, not cure them. I would never pray to Cyric for the ability to 
cure anything."

"Ah, yes, your eminence. Forgive my impertinence. The gas must be 
affecting my brain."

"Success breeds forgiveness." As Tomas was about to learn. Isebert 
turned to his horde and prepared to command them to start their march 
upon the city.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Throngar ran through the fog, Artemis close behind. His comrade had 
dropped his torch some time ago, but the fog glowed, providing a dull 
illumination. Welleby was nowhere to be seen. Throngar figured he was 
probably still in that chamber, devoured by the undead.

"This is bad," Throngar said.

"At least the fog is thinning."

"And revealing more zombies!" There seemed to be no end to them. If it 
hadn't been for the fact a zombie's reaction time was on par with that 
of a geriatric tree sloth, they would have been ripped to shreds in 
seconds. Instead what they faced was an ever increasing parade of undead 
trailing after them, and while zombies might be slow, they were 
tireless. If Throngar didn't find the surface soon, exhaustion or a dead 
end would result in the end of him.

Artemis pointed ahead. "I see a light. There seems to be an opening of 
some kind. Perhaps it leads to a way out."

A zombie nearly snared Throngar by the collar. "Anywhere is better than 
here!"

The two ran into the light, then discovered a sudden a lack of flooring. 
As they plummeted downward, they had a brief vision of a huge chamber. 
Their flight abruptly ended as they landed in a huge pool of waist deep 
raw sewage, nearly breaking their legs. As they surfaced, spewing out 
the vile substance, they found themselves confronted by an army of 
zombies and a dark priest standing next to an altar that reeked of 
purest evil.

"Remember what I said about anything being better than back there?" 
Throngar asked.

"Yes."

"I take it back."

Isebert gazed over them with a curious eye. "Ah, a warm up. Oh boys, 
tears these two intruders to shreds before marching on the city."

As one two thousand zombies turned toward the men.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Welleby flicked his wrist, lopping off the approaching zombie's hands as 
if they were as solid as the mist surrounding them. Like all the others, 
it reared back in pain, trying to grab at either of its stumps with 
phantom hands. The wizard dispatched it like he had two dozen others by 
thrusting the dagger into its chest. It shriveled up and fell where it 
stood, becoming just another pile of garbage added to the sewer.

"I don't see what the stir is about zombies. They fall apart quite 
easily. I could destroy a hundred of them without working up a sweat." 
He held his hand to his chin in though. "Welleby, the Zombie Destroyer. 
Now that has a nice ring to it. Or perhaps Wellington the Undead Death. 
That's catchy too."

Welleby's nose crinkled up as an awful stench suddenly swept into the 
passageway. It wasn't like anything else he had smelled today, and he 
had encountered all sorts of odors that he had no idea existed. But this 
one was familiar. A laboratory smell? Did it have to do with methane?

Before Welleby could consider further he saw something that knocked 
every other thought out of his mind. It was the thief. Moreover, he had 
the purloined heirloom nearby, as though it was a trophy of honor. Well, 
he would show the little sneak what it meant to mess with a powerful 
apprentice come wizard.

"Have at you, you little rat." Welleby cast the spell which would make a 
fan of flames burst forth form his hands in a wide enough arc that his 
foe could not possibly escape.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Artemis stared helplessly at the approaching zombies. "It's been nice 
knowing you."

"I'd like to say the same, but since you're the one that dragged me down 
here and got me killed, no, it's not been nice knowing you at all."

Just as the zombies were about to tear them to pieces, a loud noise came 
from overhead. It was odd enough to capture even Throngar's attention, 
despite his impending death. "What is that?"

Artemis looked up, and then said, "Let's get down, shall we?" He grabbed 
Throngar by the head and submerged him into the waist deep water.

And then the fireball created by pent up sewer gas and a novice wizard 
reached the cistern.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Welleby put his arms through the cell's bars and waved. "Oh! Mr. Gaoler, 
Sir."

The beefy man scratched at the tabard that identified him as a member of 
the city's watch. "It's not gaolor. Guard will do. What do you want?"

"When are you going to release us?"

The guard laughed hard as he walked away.

"That doesn't bode well, does it?" Welleby asked his two companions.

"No. No it doesn't." Throngar affirmed.

Welleby slumped back on the single cot in the cell that held the three 
of them. "Still, it was a good thing I had my headband, else I'd have 
been burned to a crisp. You two don't seem to have fared too badly either."

"Aside from being boiled alive in sewer water, you're right. And who 
needs that first layer of skin anyway?" Throngar stared miserably at his 
reddened flesh.

"Look on the bright side, we couldn't have picked up any diseases from 
the water. The heat would have killed them," Artemis said.

Throngar's miserable stare went to his friend. "I thought you'd be 
bothered more by this. You look like a lobster."

Artemis examined his skin more closely. "I've been looking a little 
weather beaten lately. I've been getting too much sun. This will enable 
me to get my skin at just the right hue, not looking too pale or dark. I 
look best with a light tan, enough to say I'm an outdoorsman, but not to 
the degree of a ranger or druid."

Throngar sighed in misery.

After a handful of minutes that passed in silence, the guard returned, 
this time with an official-looking man dressed in black robes. Six 
guards escorted the figure, each one looking everywhere but in the 
direction of the robed man. Collectively they appeared powerful enough 
to wipe out a tribe of ogres and then take on a dragon for fun. And then 
have lunch.

The guard said, "All right, saboteurs, this is the magister that will be 
hearing your claims. Tell him what you told me. He's in need of a laugh 
with his wife having left him for a halfling and all."
The magister shot the guard a look that nearly struck him dead on the 
spot. Despite his still living state, the guard chose to position 
himself near the exit.

Artemis acted as spokesman before Throngar could react. "Basically, sir, 
there was an army of zombies led by some dark priest with an altar down 
there. We blew them up and saved the city. We should be heroes."

"I find that difficult to believe," the magister said. "An explosion of 
unknown origin backs up nearly every sewer in the city and the only 
thing to come out of said sewers alive was you three."

"But there was an army," Artemis insisted.

"Which was conveniently incinerated."

"Actually it's quite inconvenient since they could have proven our 
innocence," Welleby said.

The magister shot the wizard a withering glare at what would have been a 
sarcastic comment from anyone else. Not having the time to give an 
explanation the magister probably wouldn't believe anyway, Throngar 
kicked the mage in the shin. "Don't talk to him; you'll only make things 
worse."

The magister continued. "And we still haven't determined the cause of 
the explosion."

Welleby opened his mouth but before he could offer another comment 
Throngar whispered in his ear, "Don't make me rip out your tongue."

Artemis went ahead and did the damage. "It was sewer gas of some kind. I 
smelled it right before everything blew up. Take a whiff, some of it may 
still be clinging to me." He offered a hand.

"It smells like everything is clinging to you," the magister said. 
Unable to stand the odor any longer, he cast a spell which cleansed both 
the prisoners' skin and clothing. They smelled as fresh as if they had 
bathed for a week.

The magister turned to the guard. "It appears they are telling the 
truth. At least they believe it's the truth. There are no spells on any 
of them, and such an army might explain the disappearance of so many 
bodies of late. I will have some of my people search for this altar the 
men mentioned. Such an evil artifact might have been able to raise so 
many undead in so short a time, and even if it was destroyed, there will 
be remains. If it's there, we'll find it and validate their tale."

"Wouldn't it be wiser to wait until we find that stuff before releasing 
them?" the guard asked.

The magister shook his head. "Ordinarily, yes, but there is a noblewoman 
that's willing to vouchsafe for them. She has the favor of several of 
the Lords. That is sufficient bond in this case. Release them and give 
them back their belongings." He turned toward the trio. "But if I catch 
you blowing up any portion of the city again, you'll be thrown in a 
dungeon so deep you'll think you're Drow."

"We won't, my lord," Throngar assured him.

Welleby added, "At least not by design. Of course, we didn't plan this 
outcome either, but look what happened. Rest assured--"

An elbow to the gut, disguised as an attempt to prod the mage, shut him 
up. "Time to leave." Throngar led the winded Welleby out of the cell as 
the guard unlocked it.

The trio were allowed to recover their belongings and warned not to 
leave the city until the matter of the altar's existence was settled. As 
they exited the jail, they found a beautiful noblewoman waiting next to 
a carriage. The instant her eyes settled upon them, she waved.

"Lady Embeth." Artemis walked up to her and bowed deeply, kissing her 
hand as if she were empress of all the land. His grace and poise would 
have fit in the highest of any king's court. Welleby and Throngar were 
less flashy, opting for polite bows.

Artemis said, "Was it you that vouched for us?"

"I hope she did since she was the one that hired us," Throngar grumbled 
low enough not to be overheard.

"Yes, I did. When I heard what you had been accused of, I rushed to 
help. I knew you weren't responsible for making the city so smelly. 
Well, smellier than usual."

"Actually we sort of di--" Another elbow met Welleby's side. Throngar 
noted he was becoming adept at delivering them.

"You look even more ravishing than before," Artemis told her.

"And you look even more� crispy than before."

"You'll note I'm perfectly fine because of a magic headband I wore." 
Welleby proudly indicated the hot pink headband that was returned to its 
familiar perch.
Artemis reacted before Lady Embeth could. "In any case, I have a 
surprise for you."

He nodded to Welleby, a move that confused Throngar. Welleby handed 
Artemis a long, singed object whose identity was difficult to determine 
due to its damaged state.
"What is it?" Lady Embeth asked in distaste.

"The ribbon that was stolen from you the other day in front of the 
salon. You remember, the one that you dropped and that awful rat grabbed 
and ran into the sewer with."
A knowing light appeared in the lady's eyes. "Oh, that. I couldn't tell 
since it looks like it's been burned, gnawed on, and dragged through a 
sewer."

Unperturbed, Artemis said, "I remember you saying it was your 
grandmother's. I could hardly be considered a gentleman without getting 
it back for you."

"Oh, you shouldn't have bothered. I have several dozen from her. She 
collects them and gives them away. It's sort of a hobby of hers. When I 
mentioned I lost one, she gave me three more exactly like it."
Throngar appeared as he would throw up.

"Still," she continued. "Since you went to such lengths, I shall reward 
you."

The wave of nausea passed, replaced by delight.

Artemis drew near, looking deeply into her eyes, "Your smile is more 
than reward enough."

Throngar made a choking sound as he nearly swallowed his tongue. Welleby 
began slapping him hard on the back, making catching his breath impossible.

Practically tittering, Lady Embeth said, "That's so sweet." She stood on 
her tiptoes and kissed Artemis on the cheek. "Thank you so very much. 
It's not often I meet a man who would go to such lengths for so little. 
Perhaps we shall dine some evening. Later this week?"

"I would be honored." Artemis bowed deeply again.

Lady Embeth gave him a coy look as she entered her nearby carriage. She 
smiled, then instructed the driver to return to her estates.

Once she had ridden out of earshot, Artemis turned to his companions. 
"Did you hear that? I've been trying to get her to go out with me for 
over a month. I knew if I could prove myself to her she'd give in. It 
makes everything we endured worthwhile."

Throngar finally recovered enough of his breath to talk, and finger the 
handle of his axe. "Let me get this straight. Lady Embeth did not hire 
us. There is no reward. The item we went to retrieve was ruined before 
we got there, and the thief was a sewer rat?"

"Not exactly," Artemis said.

Throngar briefly stopped caressing the haft of his weapon. "What part 
did I get wrong?"

"Lady Embeth gave us her goodwill. That's a reward that transcends money."

"No, it doesn�t! You can buy plenty of goodwill from women with gold! 
Let me take you to a bordello and I'll show you!"

"We did save the city from a horde of undead," Welleby pointed out.

Throngar turned in rage upon him. "Except no one knows about them, so no 
one will believe they were there! What they will believe is that we're 
responsible for backing up the sewers and making the city smell like a 
midden! So when you stop and think about it, that's not really an upside 
either!"

Welleby shrugged. "I did get my field experience, and I must say it was 
quite enjoyable. I'd call that an upside."

Artemis primped himself up like a peacock. A very singed one. "And I got 
a date with Lady Embeth, so I came out ahead, too."

"Well, I wasted an entire afternoon being chased by undead without 
earning a single copper." Throngar looked like he wanted to hack 
something to death. Something that stood on two legs and was very close 
by. Within axe's reach, in fact.

Welleby pulled out a purse and jangled it, making the coins clink 
inside. "How about if I treat you to all the ale you can drink at the 
tavern of your choice?"

Throngar's eyes became riveted to the purse and the siren call of money. 
"How about all I can drink for the rest of the week?"

"Done. I feel like celebrating for quite some time anyway. The first 
field work is the one with the highest mortality rate, and I passed it 
with flying colors. I didn't even need a priest to heal me afterwards."

"That should cover my expenses, barely." Throngar had been planning on 
drinking up a storm with his earnings anyway. How he got gold was 
irrelevant to simply getting it. He led the way to the tavern.
As they walked, Welleby said, "And we can begin planning our next 
adventure."

"There is no next adventure," Throngar informed him.

Artemis said, "I've heard tales of caravans being ambushed by a band of 
orcs. They're reputed to have a lair in the surrounding hills. There's 
sure to be reward money in that."

"I'm not going," Throngar assured him.

Artemis placed a friendly arm across his shoulders. "Fine, fine, but why 
don't we have a few drinks before making a final decision?"

Throngar smirked at the transparent ploy. "I'll drink all I can, but I'm 
not changing my mind."

"As immutable as stone," Welleby said.

"We completely understand," Artemis agreed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Remind me again why I'm riding in the middle of empty fields of grain, 
hung over so badly I'm ready to fertilize the crops with my breakfast?"

"The Lords of Waterdeep posted a large reward for bringing a band of orc 
raiders low," Artemis explained.

"Gold," Throngar grumbled. With gold he could hire a priest to banish 
the week-long hangover. Failing that, the priest could find a spell that 
would kill him. Anything to make the gnomes pounding inside his head go 
away.

Welleby reared up on his horse and pointed to their left, next to the 
rise of a hill. "Look, there's an orc now."

The others looked and sure enough, an orc dressed in leather armor with 
a bow in one hand, had risen from the cover provided by the wheat.

"Vicious looking thing, isn't he?" Welleby said. "The only orc I've ever 
seen was one my master turned to stone. He put it in his garden. He's a 
bit weathered now and decorated in bird droppings. Nothing covered in 
bird droppings is particularly intimidating. Since there's only one of 
him, he should be easy to dispatch, right?"

The orc raised his other hand to reveal a horn. He brought it to his 
lips and blew a long resounding note that seemed to carry to Chult 
itself. From over the rise of the hill there suddenly appeared a hundred 
orcs, all battle ready, practically frothing at the mouth as they looked 
for something to kill.

"Unless he's a scout for the main force," Throngar said.

It was at that moment the warrior had an epiphany, one he would have 
thought impossible a day ago.

Maybe sewers weren't such bad places after all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[End Story.]














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