They encountered their fourth group of Ratkin nearly three hours later.

They were deep in the tunnels now - tunnels that were low, narrow and filthy. All of them - even Milenna - were covered in blood and gore and soot, the last a result of a close-pitched battle, during which the sorceress tried her newest spell: fireball. The blazing ball of destruction was magnificent, exploding amidst a group of ten Ratkin, but it also ignited everything in the small chamber where the encounter took place. As it were, there was a barrel of oil in the chamber that the Ratkin used for who knows what purposes. The barrel exploded, further increasing the damage the Ratkin suffered, but also spreading flaming oil everywhere. The companions had to wait until the flames died out - only to discover that the only way forward was through a narrow tunnel that was now sleek, blackened and covered in soot. Turning back was no option - Ben was positive they were on the right track - so onward they went. Crawled, actually, for the tunnel was sometimes not more than three feet in height. To add insult to injury, the tunnel’s walls were far from smooth; sharp edges kept appearing every so often and soon each one of the companions was bleeding from the most aggravating places. Abandoning caution in favor of angry frustration, their curses soon echoed throughout the tunnels’ complex.

Ben thought about the last couple of hours as he moved along the tunnel on his hands and knees. Truly, it was a classic D&D experience. How many times did he find himself in such a situation during one of Noah’s adventures? ‘The tunnel is jagged and narrow’, their smirking DM would say. ‘Are you sure you want to go through here?’ Most times they would choose to brave the tunnel - only to discover some huge and angry spider blocking their way. Then Noah would declare all of them suffered unpleasant decreases to all of their stats, having to fight from such a disadvantage. They had always argued against the DM’s logic, of course - what player wouldn’t - but now, as Ben was feeling pain in places he didn’t know could hurt, he finally understood what Noah was talking about.

Still, these last three hours were amazing in terms of honest-to-god dungeoneering. The first thing they did was follow the trail of Yitro’s blood. An easy task for Ben’s tracking skill of 9, especially considering the numerous Ratkin footprints that he found as they exited the cavern and entered their first tunnel. By the time they had reached the Ratkin’s campsite, Ben’s skill rose to 11. He was a bit disappointed when no new power came after crossing the skill’s first threshold, but not overly so - he did get the passive ability to notice tracks that were older than one hour, which was exactly what he needed at the moment.

The campsite - if one could call a few scattered bags and bones a campsite - was abandoned, but it was obvious to all of them that this was the place the Ratkin and Yitro had come from. Ben pointed at a few splotches of blood and then followed the trail, voicing out loud what he thought had happened: how Yitro had sneaked into the camp, stealing the map fragment. How he had been spotted, how he fought for his life and fled. To Ben’s dismay, his tracking skill was not high enough to find out from where the half-elven necromancer - Dark Heart - had joined the fight. There were several tunnels branching out from the campsite and after a few tries he had to admit his failure - he could only guess that his virtual dice-throw was too low for comfort.

Fortunately, Milenna once again proved how useful her magic could be. Standing in the middle of the campsite, the sorceress had cast a simple detect magic spell - which, she promised, was not so simple after all. Apparently she had a special power that allowed her to alter existing spells and she used it to be able to detect lingering residual magic - long after it had been cast. It had worked: they could all see a faint aura coming from the shadows of one of the tunnels. When Ben examined this tunnel anew, his Passive Focus triggered and he could see what eluded him before - footprints that belonged neither to Ratkin nor dwarf. They had found Dark Heart’s trail.

From there, the chase was on and the four companions became hunters and predators. As it happened, the tunnels of the second level of the Dungeon of Dwarven Despair were crawling not with dead Duergar - but with numerous groups of Ratkin, who had turned the underground complex into their home, following the dark dwarves genocide so many years before. Ben’s scouting skills became their most valuable asset during these hours, as the party leader once and again had alerted them to enemies that were lurking in the shadows. Shiraz was also in her element, using her ability to merge with the shadows to gain them further advantage. More often than not, the party was able to surprise Ratkin groups that were twice and even thrice their number, enabling them to devise clever tactics and traps and reduce the fighting force of the rats and bring the odds to their favor before they engaged in melee attacks. After the fourth encounter, they had all gained the “Ratkin Slayer” title, whereas Ben’s own title had changed into “Ratkin Nemesis” - increasing his bonus damage against the rats to 35%.

Titles were not the only thing they got. Ben gained a whopping 5,250 XP after all battles and skill increases were taken into account. He was now at 13,350 XP, which took him right into the fifth level and almost to the sixth. He was the first among them to gain a new level but he chose to delay reading the prompt that would take him to the interface until the others gained their level as well - thinking that he didn’t want the others to know how far he was above them. His motives were not entirely born of self-interest, though; he realized that waiting until each party member returned from his level-up would be a pain and a waste of time and told the others as much - on which they whole-heartedly agreed.

To his immense pleasure, he discovered what the others already knew: level 5 (and every five levels thereafter) gave him twice the number of points to allocate. Ben chose to invest 2 points in Dexterity, 2 in Constitution and 1 in Strength (he didn’t really need it, but couldn’t help marvel at how his body changed with each point he put to this physical characteristic). The remaining 3 points he allocated to his weapons skills - 2 to Crossbows and 1 to Daggers. He had discovered during the encounters with the Ratkin - and after a few embarrassing misses - how important it was to improve his fighting prowess.

His level-up aside, the various encounters also increased several of his skills simply by constantly using them - Perception, Tactics, Stealth, Acrobatics, Death Magic, Crossbows, Daggers, Dagger Throwing and even Backstabbing - the last after he surprised a Ratkin sentry and executed a perfect sneak attack, plunging his blade through the humanoid’s throat before the creature could utter a single shout of alarm.

They didn’t get so far unscathed, of course. All of them suffered injuries and Red had nearly died after he fell into a crude Ratkin trap that involved an exploding poisonous mushroom and a camouflaged pit with hive spiderlings that waited inside. As the warrior went tumbling down with a scream, seven Ratkin lunged at them in what became their most difficult and costly fight. Ben had no choice but to use his wand twice, knowing they would all get caught in the blast but counting on the Ratkins’ lower HP. The desperate maneuver killed three of the kin and bought the companions a few seconds to regroup before the battle commenced. Having lost Red to the trap, Shiraz bravely assumed the role of tank, darting in and out among the frustrated rats, while Milenna supported with her magic and Ben pulled the mercenary out of the pit and poured all of his remaining health potions into his throat in an effort to revive him.

They had won that battle, as well as another three encounters. After each fight, Ben had taken several minutes to check the different tunnels. He learned to recognize Dark Heart’s unique footprints and thus could easily decide where was the correct tunnel for them to follow. In fact, he started to suspect that he found the necromancer’s trail too easily. He shared his suspicions with the others, but they dismissed his concerns - not because they weren’t valid, but because there wasn’t anything plausible that could be done about it.

Ben let it go, moving on to another interesting revelation: judging by his scout’s friendly map, the path they were following took them in the same direction they would have to take if they chose to get to the treasure room. It seemed that Dark Heart somehow knew about the treasure’s whereabouts and that was exactly where he was headed. Either that or the necromancer accidentally chose to go through the specific set of tunnels that Ben would have chosen if the treasure had been his intended goal. Ben didn’t believe it an accident. Maybe it was his increased Wisdom score, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the player they were chasing was aware of the hunt. He had the sinking feeling that as they were burrowing deeper into the dungeon, they were also heading straight into an elaborate trap.

Such were the Scout of Sonadin’s thoughts as the narrow tunnel finally widened into a larger and taller one, allowing the companions to stand and stretch their limbs.

“About fucking time!” Growled Red as he laboriously extracted himself from the tunnel and straightened to his full height. The big man had it the worst of them; the tunnel seemed to have a personal vendetta against him - or so he said, more than once - and his bare hands were now full of deep scratches, along with his knees and the exposed skin of his neck. Fortunately for the mercenary, he had found a decent chain mail in one of the Ratkin loot bags that actually fit him. It was a fine replacement to his old and torn leather armor and it protected him from the worst of the tunnel’s vicious attacks. Red took off his helm and wiped sweat and soot from his face. “I’d rather face a hundred of these rats and not go through one of these filthy tunnels again,” he added - and Ben was reminded of the way the warrior had acted when they were back in the cell together and had to wear the guards’ bloody uniforms. Once again, the contradiction between the man’s bloodlust and his fastidious nature befuddled him.

“I don’t think you’ll have to,” said Shiraz. The vagabond shadow mage was nearly lost in the shadows, as far as she could from Milenna’s ball of white light. “Look. The tunnel ends.”

Ben cracked his neck as he moved forward along the tunnel to join Shiraz, the others following his lead. He already knew what to expect, having checked his virtual map, but knowing was one thing and seeing was altogether different.

“I’ll be,” said Red and whistled softly. “That’s… beautiful.”

The tunnel widened until it opened into a wide chasm - much wider than the one they had to descend in order to get to the second dungeon level. It was nearly 30 feet across, a perfectly circular room without a floor, that seemed to drop into an endless abyss. Several narrow bridges spanned the length of the chasm, all of them starting from where the tunnel ended, then zigzagging across the chasm, until reaching the other side of the room. There, as magnificent as the entrance to the mines of Khazad-dûm, stood a massive double-door that seemed to be chiseled out of the stone itself. It was 6 feet in height and decorated in the best dwarven fashion - with multiple symbols carved into the stone. As Milenna directed her ball of light into the air and increased its light, they could all see that there was one major symbol carved into the center of the door, dwarfing all other drawings: a broken arrow with a bloody tip. Flanking the massive door on both sides were two giant statues of Duergar warriors, clad in full plate mail and helmets. Both seemed to charge right into the chasm with great axes held up high, in an obvious warning: pass here at your own risk.

“Behold,” said Ben into the awed silence, “the treasure room of the Ironhead Clan.”

The silence stretched just a little bit longer before it was interrupted by Shiraz. “I’m assuming you wanted to say something dramatic, but all we heard was gibberish.” She smiled crookedly. Milenna snorted a burst of soft laughter.

Ben turned a quizzical look their way before it dawned on him: the words he spoke were in Nefereeth. Seeing the entrance to the treasure room must have sparked a foreign memory in his mind and he unconsciously spoke the ancient language of the Duergar. Ben smiled sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry about that,” he said in English. “What I was saying was,” he cleared his throat in an effort to gain some of the dramatic flare back, “behold the treasure room of the Ironhead Clan.”

The others gave him a long look. “Nah,” said Red. “You lost your momentum.” He winked and turned to look at the room again, focusing his attention on the bridges. “So what’s with all the bridges? Another cursed dwarven riddle?”

Ben exchanged one more look of mock anger with the two giggling women before he turned to join Red by the edge of the chasm. There were four narrow bridges, each one no more than one foot in width. Some of them interconnected as they crossed the chasm, suggesting one could move from one bridge to the next if need be. As he examined the bridges, the scout’s Passive Focus immediately triggered and he could easily see that each bridge had a unique carving - one had the image of a hand holding an axe; the second - a winged helmet; the third was adorned with a skull with a chain around it; and the forth - a broken arrow.

Red, who saw where his party leader was focusing his attention, crouched to examine the symbols as well. “Ah!” He exclaimed. “That’s easy. This right here - “ he pointed at the broken arrow - “is the same symbol that’s carved on that door we have to open. It’s also still on your forehead,” he added with a smirk. “Obviously, we should cross that bridge.” He straightened, immensely satisfied with himself.

Milenna joined them and examined the symbols herself. “Obviously,” she echoed. Red smiled, but his smile vanished as the sorceress continued. “Obviously, we would cross that bridge and then it would tumble beneath our feet and send us to our deaths. It can’t be that easy.”

“I agree,” said Shiraz. “It might have been the solution in another quest… not here, though.”

Red frowned. “No? Then what do you suggest? There is no other hint around, unless I’m missing something.”

Shiraz turned to look at Ben. “We have with us a walking tome of Duergar knowledge,” she said. “What do you know that we don’t, Scout of Sonadin?”

Ben was already one step ahead of them, having searched his memories while the others talked. “This is the third tier of the Maten Ghoren,” he told them. His voice held the same strange quality to it and his eyes seemed far away as he thought back to memories not of his own making. “The Duergar that proved their might and bloodlust must go through here to receive the final reward. Only those who were found worthy were gifted with the four words that would enable them to cross the chasm… Johten. Berrom. Dulanee. Norrak.”

His eyes focused again and he frowned as he saw the displeased look in their eyes. “I…”

“Spoke gibberish again,” confirmed Shiraz.

Ben sighed, shrugged, and translated, finishing with the four words that granted the right of passage: “Fight. Fly. Subdue. Endure.”

From there, it was an easy task of matching the right image to the right word and choosing the right order of the bridges. The first three were obvious, and when Shiraz asked what was the connection between the last symbol to the word ‘endure’, Ben told her of an ancient oath that was dedicated to King Ghol. “The Ironclan Duergar swore they will forever endure, even after he was exiled,” he explained. “That was when they changed their emblem and added the bloody tip to the broken arrow.”

“Why was he exiled?” Asked Milenna.

Ben furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not sure. I know there was a fight between the king and one of his mortal enemies. The king lost... “ Ben shook his head. “My knowledge becomes fuzzy at this point. I think the king exiled himself, deciding to save his fellow Duergar other than himself. But it’s just hearsay. I can’t know for sure.”

Milenna regarded him thoughtfully. “That you know so much is a marvel by itself. I wonder how any other adventurer would be able to finish this quest without such knowledge.”

There was an uncomfortable silence after that, as such a thought apparently crossed all of their minds. Ben, instead of trying to give an explanation, pointed at the bridge that carried the symbol of the hand holding an ax. “I know of at least one who manages it without my aid,” he said quietly. “That’s Dark Heart’s footprint right over there. If I’m not mistaken, our prey - and Yitro - are waiting for us in the treasure room.”

All three of his companions turned grim after hearing his words. Milenna’s beautiful face twisted in anger and her fists clenched. “Then what are we waiting for? It’s time we finish this hunt.”

Red growled his assent. Shiraz nodded, shadows crossing her irises.

Without saying another word, Ben took the lead. His increased Acrobatics skill made the journey across the narrow bridges a relatively easy task, especially when no flying monsters appeared this time to block their path. He moved from the ax bridge to the one with the winged helmet, then to the chained skull and finally to the bridge with the broken arrow. The others were close behind and after a few minutes all four companions stood next to the massive doors, between the two looming statues of the charging Duergar.

When Ben looked at the stone doors - and what lay on the floor next to them - his heart sank. His suspicion - that they were knowingly walking into the belly of the beast - was finally confirmed, leaving no doubt in his mind whatsoever.

“Sonofabitch,” mumbled Milenna. Red’s lips twisted in rage, and Shiraz put a comforting hand on Ben’s shoulder.

The massive doors to the treasure room of the Ironhead Clan were slightly open, as if someone had left them so, making it convenient to anyone else wishing to enter. On the floor, spreading from the crack between the doors and nearly reaching the open chasm, was a trail of blood. Standing upright in the blood, pointing upward in a very grotesque resemblance to the ‘like’ emoji, was a severed thumb. A dwarven thumb, freshly cut.

Ben steeled his heart and pushed open the doors.