Sheira swiftly descended the old school fire escape on the side of the building and joined them. Blue sparks shot from the dead master’s body like a little kid’s handheld firework. Hank looted him for a handful of coins, a rusty dagger, and a couple Mana potions. The kobold divvied things to everyone involved in the kill. Though he grumbled begrudgingly as he approached Sheira.

The dusk elf waved him off. “Keep it! You did most of the work!”

Hank said something along the lines of damn straight, but inverted the phrasing, as he often did. Gunnar took a potion, and a few coins, then retrieved his dropped saber.

“The Rogue went into the sewers,” Sheira said. “Right before you got here.”

“You were here the whole time?” Gunnar asked.

Sheira shrugged. “I knew you’d handle it.”

“And still you steal our kill.”

Sheira grinned unashamedly.

All four of them eyed the sewer grate. It was like a lattice work of wrought iron, grimy with shreds of something like seaweed dangling from the thin rods of metal, taunting their imaginations with all the disgusting possibilities that might lurk beneath.

“Nothing for it,” Gunnar muttered, stooping down to hoist the grate off the opening.

“You sure about that?” Grippa asked.

“She’s only a couple minutes ahead,” Sheira said, helping Gunnar lift.

“And you have kobold!” Hank said eagerly. “At home very much underground.”

The grate slid aside, not having been fixed firmly back in place. The mouth of the sewers gaped open before them. Dripping water echoed from below, though the stench wasn’t too god-awful. Yet.

Gunnar could see the bottom about ten feet down. He led the way, lowering himself down until he hung by his fingers, and dropping the last few feet. The others quickly followed. Grippa caught Hank, as the drop would have been a bit much for the short creature.

The passage was tight enough that Gunnar was forced to crouch, which made for slow progress early on.

Hank led the way, his Dark Sight quite a bit stronger than the rest. They moved as quickly as they could through shallow water and areas lined with sludge. As they went they debriefed in the party chat.

Sheira: That master was placed there on purpose. Probably the hobos too.

Gunnar: You think the Rogue saw us?

Sheira: Probably not. She acted too casual once she was clear of the Nighthawk compound. I think she was just covering her ass.

Grippa: But they were expecting us.

Sheira: At the very least, they knew someone would be watching.

Gunnar: Leilani knows I’m dumb enough to try to botch her plans.

Hank: If guards are put above, what about down here?

That was what they were all worried about. It was impossible for Gunnar to move silently, though his Stealth at least helped create softer splashes.

Hank, on the other hand, was built for this kind of environment. The kobold was short enough, he could actually run down the corridor, and the others could only try to keep up. Grippa brought up the rear, and resigned himself to practically crawling at the rear. His hulk of a body was not built for such a constrained space.

Hank slowly pulled ahead as he went, pausing at an occasional intersection in the passage to sniff at the air.

Sheira: Can you actually smell her?

Hank: We were on trail for much time in world above. I have good taste.

Grippa: So says the creature who eats sewer rats.

Hank: Mmm! Delicacy!

Gunnar chuckled softly to himself. It was a welcome distraction to the direness of this situation. He knew the likelihood that they would find the Rogue was not promising at this point, no matter how good the kobold’s sense of smell was.

But it was their only shot. If this didn’t lead to something, the Crypt Keeper would move their crypt away from Thailen. And with the empire pulling out of the city and a guild war brewing, Gunnar couldn’t blame her.

Up ahead, Hank held up a scaly fist, and they all froze.

The kobold sniffed the air at another intersection for several long seconds.

Hank: Come. Slowly.

The three approached, careful not to splash too much in the shallow gunk that lined the floors. This intersection joined a much larger corridor that stretched the length of several football fields, dozens of smaller tunnels all ferrying water and sewage. The main corridor was sloped inward and downward. Water pooled in the middle and gently flowed down to three mid-size tunnels, where all the shit in the city was carried away to who knew where.

Remarkably intricate, Gunnar thought, considering we don’t even have to take a dump in this game.

The first tunnel hadn’t smelled too terrible, but the stench at this convergence was palpable on the air.

At first Gunnar didn’t realize why Hank remained frozen in place. He’d forgotten he wasn’t using Dark Sight, yet could make out the basic structure of this man-made cavern.

Then, he noticed the flicker of sapphire light about halfway down the chamber.

The Rogue stood in front of a small circular portal, the source of the glow. It looked like a sort of sorcerous window, though the kind that was fogged over to prevent you from seeing any actual detail.

Another cloaked figure stood facing the Rogue. They were far enough away Gunnar couldn’t make out any voices, but he could tell the second person was male by his height and build. Maybe it was Niall, but Gunnar couldn’t be sure. Unless this mysterious man was also a powerful dark mage, Gunnar expected Mistress Leilani was on the other side of the foggy window, controlling that portal.

The pair spoke for a few moments, then, exchanged a roll of parchment. The man withdrew, and the portal glowed brightly for a moment, swallowing up the strange man.

The Rogue woman backed away from the portal, but did not run.

Sheira: I think it’s safe to say, whatever they exchanged, it had something to do with the Grand Master.

Gunnar: Doesn’t do us a lot of good.

Grippa: Maybe the Rogue knows.

Hank: Why is blue bung hole still there?

Gunnar: Are you talking about the portal?

Hank: If that is what your people call a blue bung hole hovering in the air… then, yes!

Sheira: Why is she still here?

The Rogue paced silently along the edge of the flowing sewage in the center of the chamber.

A brilliant glow flashed across the cavern, so bright Gunnar worried it might give them away. But the Rogue was not looking in their direction. Her eyes were fixed on the portal.

A ferocious maw emerged from the glow, followed by a long snake-like body, with a dozen or more small legs. It was like some bizarre cross between a dragon, a lizard, and a centipede. The creature was at least twenty feet long, and its body was thick as a log. Gunnar hit it with Scan.

Slizzard

Level: 33 (Elite Beast)

HP: 270/270

MP: 140/140

Description: Voracious hunters of the under realms, these assholes are quick, can track scents for miles, and can most-notably constrain their bodies to fit through openings a fraction of their body’s circumference. You definitely don’t want to stand between them and their prey, or you’ll be next!

The portal slowly closed in on itself—thanks to Hank, Gunnar couldn’t stop picturing the contraction as uncannily butt-hole-ish.

The glow vanished, and the chamber plunged into near darkness. Gunnar activated Dark Sight, and held completely still. The slizzard tasted the air with its tongue, and Gunnar’s fingers hovered at the hilt of his saber. Between the four of them, they might be able to take this creature and the Rogue at the same time. But it would be a close fight.

The monster wriggled its long body, and then, leapt into the brown water, slithering lightning fast through the flow toward the three outlets at the end of the chamber. It plunged into the middle one and disappeared. The Rogue began to walk away, heading toward another tunnel.

“Well, shit,” Gunnar muttered aloud. He strode out into the chamber, all worries about Stealth vanishing in an instant.

“Gunnar!” Grippa said. “What’re you—”

“Where’s that bastard going?” Gunnar shouted.

The Rogue froze, spun, then turned and sprinted away down the corridor.

Grippa looked horrified. “Why the hell did you—”

Gunnar ignored the mountain orc. He drew his Arcane Blunderbuss and fired a blast that struck the Rogue in the back.

[You have dealt +50 Damage to Katana - Level 21!]

I knew I recognized her! Gunnar thought spitefully.

He hadn’t had many interactions with Katana, but she had given him an earful—er, DM-ful—of venom after she learned he’d supposedly betrayed the Nighthawks.

The Rogue splayed out on the ground and was slow to rise. Gunnar strode down the chamber and fired again, dealing another +60 Damage.

Katana’s Health hovered around 40%, but the stun of the attack had worn off, and she leapt to her feet this time, attempting to flee. Gunnar sprinted toward her, fired a third time, and tackled the Rogue as she tried to gain her feet. A blade plunged into his thigh as they scuffled.

He cried out in pain.

But didn’t let go.

Gunnar shifted his weight and threw Katana to the ground, facedown, pinning her down. She struggled and flailed against his weight, but he pressed down all the harder.

“Get her weapons!” Gunnar ordered.

The others hurried up behind him and emptied the Rogue’s Inventory.

“What about knife in your leg?” Hank asked.

“I’ll deal with that one.”

Gunnar ordered Grippa to take hold of Katana. The mountain orc jerked her up and held her with her arms behind her back, while Sheira tied her wrists together with a length of rope.

Meanwhile, Gunnar dealt with the dagger in his thigh. Barely touching the hilt sent jarring pain up his side. He was pretty sure he’d made the wound worse during his tussle with Katana. It might have only taken 20% of his Health, but it hurt like hell.

After two attempts to carefully remove the blade resulted in only more pain, Gunnar bit his lip to hold back the pain, and jerked the blade out hard.

“God, I hate the realism in this place!”

Sheira chuckled and patted his leg, which only added to the pain as he concentrated a Word of Healing spell.

When he finished, Gunnar rose to face Katana.