Shadows Over Phandalin - A Dungeons & Dragons Audio Story - Episode 3: The Cragmaw Lair

The clearing exploded into motion. With a thunderous dwarven battle cry, Tordin and Jerry burst from their cover, charging across the stream and sending sheets of water flying.

"FOR GUNDREN!" Tordin roared.

The two goblins snapped awake, their lazy boredom instantly replaced by wide-eyed panic. They scrambled for their bows, but it was far too late. "Wha--?! Grolka! Intruders!" one of them shrieked. From across the water, Nysse pointed a slender finger. "Glacea!" she commanded. A beam of intense, white cold shot from her fingertip and slammed into the dozing goblin. Ice bloomed across its chest and legs with an audible crackle, freezing it to the spot in a shell of frost. At the exact same moment, Kyria lunged from the thickets behind the other guard. She was a silent, crimson blur. The goblin barely had time to turn its head before her daggers struck, a swift and lethal pair of blows that ended its life before a cry could escape its throat.

Tordin, now across the stream, brought his great axe high above his head and let out another roar. "I'LL SPLIT YOU IN TWO!" The axe came down in a brutal arc, shattering the ice and the goblin within it in a single, devastating explosion of force. The fight was over in less than ten seconds. Kyria wiped her blades clean as Tordin stood panting over the grisly remains of his victim, looking immensely satisfied. Nysse and Jerry crossed the stream to join them, their expressions all business. "The entrance is clear," Jerry said, his eyes already fixed on the absolute darkness of the cave's interior. "Let's move before they send someone to check on their lazy friends. Kyria, Tordin, take the lead."

As they regrouped on the narrow path leading into the gloom, a new sound echoed from the depths. It was the low, menacing snarl of a predator, followed by the unmistakable clink and rattle of heavy chains. Horrors were stirring in the darkness ahead, and they were stepping in to meet them. The party advanced from the entrance into the main body of the cave. The passage sloped steeply upward, the air growing colder and thick with the smell of damp stone and goblin filth. The stream they had crossed outside rushed and gurgled down the western side of the tunnel, its noise echoing in the enclosed space. Kyria moved in a low crouch, her daggers held loosely, while Tordin followed close behind, his axe at the ready.

"I can't see a thing," the dwarf whispered, his voice a low rumble. "Smells like wet dog and goblin stink. Let's get this over with."

Kyria froze, holding up a clenched fist. The others stopped instantly. She pointed to the east wall, where a few uneven stone steps led up to the dark opening of a side chamber. A wave of foul, animal stench, thick with the scent of decay, washed over them from the opening.

"What is that stench?" Jerry whispered, wrinkling his nose.

"Animals," Nysse murmured, her hand covering her mouth. "Unwashed ones."

Kyria crept up the steps and peered cautiously into the chamber. She ducked back a second later, her eyes wide. "Wolves," she breathed. "Three of them. Chained, but barely. Looks like the goblin's kennel." The sounds from within grew louder as the beasts sensed their presence—a chorus of savage snarls and the sharp rattle of chains. The party gathered at the bottom of the steps, listening to the fury above.

"Kennel guards. A classic goblin trick," Tordin declared. "I'll handle them. A few swings and we'll have three new wolf pelts."

"Hold, Tordin," Jerry urged, placing a hand on the dwarf's arm. "They are beasts, not goblins. Enslaved and poorly treated, by the looks of it. There is no honor in slaughtering captives."

"They are also an alarm system," Nysse pointed out. "A battle would be needlessly noisy. Goblins might ignore their usual snarling, but not the sounds of a full fight."

Tordin gestured angrily towards the chamber. "So what do you suggest, Paladin? We ask them nicely to let us pass?"

"Perhaps," Jerry said, his expression calm and resolute. He handed his torch to Tordin, removed his helmet, and walked slowly up the stone steps, his hands held open to show he carried no threat.

Two massive, filthy wolves lunged the moment he reached the top, their chains snapping taut just inches from his steel boots. They barked and snarled, spittle flying from their bared teeth. Jerry didn’t flinch. "Easy now," he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "We are not your enemies. We are not the ones who bound you in this filth. Shhh. Calm." His calm words had the opposite effect. Goaded into a greater frenzy, one of the wolves planted its feet and pulled back with all its might. The iron rod securing the chains groaned, and the stone around it cracked audibly as it shifted in its mooring.

"Jerry, it's not working!" Kyria hissed from below. "They're trying to break free!"

As Tordin prepared to charge, Nysse stopped him. "Wait," she said, her eyes fixed on the animals. "They are not just angry. They are starving. Their ribs are showing. Paladin! Do we still have the salted pork from our rations?" Understanding dawned on Jerry's face. With a slight nod, he slowly reached into his belt pouch while the wolves continued to lunge. He pulled out a strip of dried meat. The change was instantaneous. The wolves' rage was eclipsed by ravenous hunger; their snarls turned to whines, their eyes locking on the offering.

Jerry tossed the meat onto the floor between them. They fell upon it, tearing and gobbling with ferocious speed. He threw another piece to the third wolf lurking in the shadows, then slowly extended an empty, open hand. "There," he said softly. "You see? We mean you no harm." This time, his calm was met not with rage, but with a cautious whine. The immediate threat had passed. The party filed carefully into the room, Jerry keeping the wolves calm while the others passed. Tordin looked particularly disgruntled. "Wasted good pork on a pair of mutts," he muttered.

"Better than wasting your energy, dwarf. Look," Kyria said. She stood at the back of the small cave, examining a narrow fissure in the east wall. A cool, faint breeze issued from the opening.

"It's a natural chimney," she announced, running her fingers along the rock. "It goes up. We could climb this. It might be a way to bypass whatever is down the main passage."

Nysse studied the dark crack. "It would be a difficult climb. And we do not know where it leads."

Tordin peered into the fissure, then glanced back at the wide, dark passage from which they'd come. "I'd rather face a hundred goblins head-on than get myself stuck in a rock chimney like a cork in a bottle." The heroes stood at a crossroads. Before them lay two paths: the wide, direct, and certainly guarded main passage, or the narrow, unknown, and claustrophobic chimney. In the depths of the goblin warren, their choice would set the course for all that followed.

"That chimney is an unknown risk," Jerry decided, his voice echoing slightly in the damp air. "We have a clear path ahead, even if it's the obvious one. Let's stay together and press forward." Tordin grunted in agreement. "Good. My axe isn't made for climbing, it's made for cleaving." The party descended the steps from the now-quiet kennel and continued their ascent up the main passage. The climb was steep and treacherous, the rock slick with moisture. The roar of the stream beside them grew louder, a constant, churning noise that drowned out any lesser sounds. The darkness ahead was absolute, pushed back only by the small puddle of light from Nysse’s faintly glowing staff.

"Wait," Nysse said suddenly - the others froze. Her elven eyes, more accustomed to the gloom than the others, were looking up into the oppressive blackness of the high ceiling. "Up there. I see something."

They followed her gaze. High above, barely a silhouette in the shadows, was a rickety bridge of wood and rope. It spanned the width of the passage, a flimsy spider's thread connecting unseen tunnels twenty feet above their heads.

"A goblin overpass," Tordin spat. "I hate fighting things that are above me. Can't get a good swing."

"They have the high ground," Jerry stated, his voice grim. "We're completely exposed down here."

Kyria flattened herself against the cavern wall, her eyes tracing the length of the crude structure. "There's a guard," she whispered. "Hiding on the far side, behind that outcrop."

As if sensing their scrutiny, the goblin sentry’s head appeared over the edge. For a tense second, they stared at each other across the gulf of darkness. Then, the goblin’s eyes locked onto the faint glow of Nysse's staff. It ducked back, not shouting, but making a series of frantic, slashing hand gestures into the tunnel behind it.

"It saw us! It's signaling for something!" Kyria snapped.

"Take it out! Now!" Jerry commanded.

Nysse reacted without hesitation. "

Missilia!" she cried, and three bolts of pure, white magical energy erupted from her hand, streaking upwards. Simultaneously, Kyria’s arm blurred as she threw a dagger, a silver glint spinning through the air. The three missiles of force slammed into the goblin's chest, throwing it backward with a strangled cry. Kyria’s dagger sank into its shoulder, pinning it against the bridge’s rope railing.

Mortally wounded, the goblin clung to the rope and let out one final, piercing shriek of warning that sliced through the roar of the stream and echoed deep into the caves. At the same time, a new sound began—a low, grinding rumble from the high tunnel, as if a great stone sluice gate was being opened.

"What in the Nine Hells is that sound?" Tordin roared.

The answer came a second later. A massive, churning wall of white water erupted from the upper tunnel, pouring down into the passage in a catastrophic flood. The goblin on the bridge vanished into the torrent, which crashed onto the cavern floor with the force of a tidal wave.

"FLOOD!" Jerry bellowed. "BACK TO THE STEPS! THE KENNEL!"

The surge hit them like a battering ram, the water rising instantly to their chests. Nysse and rogue, lighter on their feet, scrambled desperately back towards the relative safety of the kennel steps. But Tordin, caught in the main current, lost his footing, his heavy armor a deadly anchor.

"ARGH! Can't--!" he yelled as the water pulled him under.

Jerry, planting his feet like an iron pylon, lunged and grabbed the dwarf's arm, his muscles straining against the incredible force. "I have you, Tordin! Hold on!"

For a moment, he held fast. But a heavy log, caught in the current, slammed into Jerry’s side, making him stumble. The water’s pull was too great. With a final, desperate cry, Tordin was ripped from his grasp.

"JERRYYYYY!"

The paladin watched in horror as his friend was swept away, tumbling end over end in the churning, debris-filled water before disappearing into the darkness downstream.

The flood subsided as quickly as it had come, its roar diminishing back to the normal rush of the stream. The passage was now slick with mud and freshly strewn with wreckage. From their perch on the kennel steps, the three heroes stared down the dark, wet passage. Tordin was gone. Above, the bridge was empty. They were separated, exposed, and the entire goblin warren now knew they were here.

The three heroes stood on the kennel steps, staring into the dark, wet passage where their friend had vanished. A silence settled between them, heavy with worry.

"He was washed back towards the entrance," Jerry said with strained voice. "We have to..."

His words were cut off by a distant sound from the direction of the entrance—a faint crash, followed by the unmistakable sound of a dwarven curse, punctuated by the high-pitched shriek of a goblin. Kyria’s tense posture relaxed, and a rare, small smile touched her lips.

"He’s too stubborn to drown," she said.

"And he’s found some company," Jerry added, relief evident in his voice.

Moments later, Tordin came stomping back up the passage. He was a vision of dwarven fury, soaked to the bone, his armor newly dented on his side, and a fresh cut bleeding freely on his forehead. He limped slightly, but his grip on his axe was firm as he dragged the limp bodies of two goblins behind him.

"Found the welcoming committee," he growled, shoving the corpses aside. "They weren't very welcoming."

Jerry clapped a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are you alright? That was a nasty fall."

"Just a scratch. And a wet beard," Tordin grunted, though he leaned on his axe for a moment to catch his breath. "Nothing a good fight won't fix. Let's keep moving. I've got a score to settle with the whelp who pulled that lever."

Reunited and with their resolve hardened, the party pressed on.