ROBILAR REMEMBERS

The City of the Gods

Tales from the Green Dragon Inn

Robilar Remembers: Journey to the City of the Gods

by
Robert J. Kuntz

Based on a Blackmoor Adventure undertaken by
E. Gary Gygax as "Mordenkainen" and Robert Kuntz as "Robilar."

DM Comments by Blackmoor's Designer, David L. Arneson.

Copyright © 1997, Robert J. Kuntz, All Rights Reserved.

Those tradenames used herein are TM their respective owners. No infringement is intended by their use.

I. TWO HEROES

The arm missed him.

The tall fighter untangled his sword and rolled left while dodging the out-thrust arm. He'd ducked the net thrown at him by the automaton and fouled its attempt to throttle him. His roll had put him to the right of the large table and away from this adversary, but in front of yet another.

Lord Robilar brought his sword up in a great sweeping arc to deflect the next robot's lunge. The effect of the impact was startling: the robot's green torso was cloven and its various insides--bolts, gears, wires and an odd green-glowing gem-- emptied from the gash. Its knees buckled and it fell to the floor, there to spasm and emit sparks and smoke.

Robilar wasted no time. He leapt across the room and then turned to look. He smiled. The other robot had become entangled in the net. This would be too easy, he thought. He then looked at the far wall and up its length: it rose to a domed ceiling of beveled mirrors that reflected the image of the room--a room replete with furniture, weapons, and a tapestry of three green dragons. His sqaurish face, pierced with two blue eyes and a sweat-streaked mane of blonde hair, stared back at him. He smiled hugely; and raising his sword he defiantly shook it at the mirrored ceiling.

Just then a sliding door behind him opened and five more robots piled in in a mad rush. They separated and made for him. The netted robot had untangled itself and was now holding a chair.

Robilar cursed as he vaulted to the large oak table and then jumped from it to a sofa against the far wall. There he grabbed hold of the dragon tapestry and started to climb. He'd reached the base of a mirrored section just as the first robot reached for his feet. The others started to pull at the tapestry. Robilar kicked his first assailant and leveled it. But he felt the tapestry starting to pull apart under his weight. Positioning himself he quickly swung his sword upward; and the leather girdle about his large frame seemed to stretch with the effort. Robilar bellowed as the mirror section broke, which sent silvery pieces everywhere but revealed a walkway behind it. Just then there was a rending noise. He grabbed the overhead railing with his free hand and pulled himself up and onto the walkway as the tapestry was jerked down behind him.

Robilar regained his footing after slipping on some mirror fragments. He was on a walkway circling the room below; and much to his consternation he saw a man approaching him from the left. He spun to confront him, and thrusting his blade outward he motioned to him--almost accusingly. But the rotund man only hobbled closer. And as he drew alongside Robilar, he laughed. His green eyes blinked as he turned to look behind him. There was an echoing laugh from down the walkway. Robilar looked. Standing before a doorway was a figure in gray robes leaning upon a staff of ironwood.

"You have a guest, Lord Robilar," spoke the rotund wizard as he idly scratched his balding pate.

Robilar stared at him. "Why wasn't I informed, Otto?"

The wizard shrugged and looked at one of the many rings adorning his pudgy fingers and then began polishing it with a section of his vermilion robe. His green eyes sparkled like those of a sprite making merry and his thin lips hardly seemed to move as he said, "Mordenkainen thought it best that you learn of his visit at the proper time."

Robilar smiled as Mordenkainen the Mage walked up to him and bowed courteously. His old friend had not changed much since their last meeting: Brown eyes a little more worn wise from experience and always used for effect by way of his sidelong look; a face slightly withered by time but still engendered with spirit; and black hair streaked with silverish-gray. Mordenkainen leaned upon his staff and eyed him with a mirthful yet curious look. Yes, he was robed in simple gray, thought Robilar, but that is where his friend's simplicity surely ended.

"So you thought to make me dance? A likely duet, you two." Robilar looked over his shoulder at the automatons below. One had almost gained the railing of the balcony. It clawed for a hold.

"A bit too effective today, Otto." He looked at Mordenkainen and then gave the robot a swift boot. It fell to the floor of the practice room with a great crash. "One would think that I was being tested to battle the Gods themselves."

"Ah, but you were, dear Robilar," offered Mordenkainen.

Robilar stared first at Otto, who was now fingering his right ear as if to dislodge something, then back at Mordenkainen. He smiled awkwardly as the two wizards chuckled.

"You say that this city--City of the Gods--is beyond Blackmoor then." Robilar had directed his question to a tired Mordenkainen, who lay curled up by their camp fire. The evening air was brisk, as was the fighter in his questioning. Mordenkainen sat up and looked at him.

"Dear Robilar. Friend. You will not unravel anymore about what I've told you tonight. It's been a long journey so far. There are many leagues before us 'til we see that fabled city. Rest!"

"But what if it is true? What the tales speak of, Mordenkainen. I am no coward mind you. But gods, Mordenkainen, that is no jesting matter. Or one for the ignorant. What if there are gods there?

"And what of the dream--the one you told me about? A city of gold and silver, Mordenkainen. Surely no one but the gods themselves could have built it."

Mordenkainen was fully awake now and staring at the fighter like a child mesmerized by some fairy tale. He then looked past him and up at the dark sky. As he did, a shooting star fell eastwards. Both were silent for a time after this. Then without a word between them they made to sleep, though neither did.

The next day they reached the village of Blackmoor.

"There's a store over there," Robilar pointed out, as they walked their horses into the village square.

Mordenkainen nodded. He had been quiet for the entire ride here, thought Robilar. He probably needed to cast a spell or something, he thought.

They entered the store as Mordenkainen looked north towards Castle Blackmoor, another enigma of the North which for now would be left unplumbed by them.

Robilar was brisk with his dealing with the local merchant. Mordenkainen noted his friends tact when dealing with such transactions.

"Ah, of course we know good Baron Fant," spoke Robilar as he waved his gauntleted hand above the objects he desired to purchase. It had taken the storekeeper much time in ordering the objects that Robilar had requested: rope, caltrops, two bulls-eye lanterns, rations, water skins, oats, and wine.

"Of course," rejoined the beleaguered merchant. "Everyone knows Fant. And even he pays the prices that I set in my store. I do good business with adventurers such as yourself. Many would try to bargain away my profits while gaining their own from the Castle. Is that fair to me, Lord?"

Robilar tried his last gambit. "But you misunderstand. We are not borne for the castle but follow the roads that lead to the Gods."

At this mention the man started, paling like a drunk who had been made aware that he was dry and the next inn was eighty leagues distant. He quickly made a simple sign of the druids to ward spirits and cautiously asked, "The city, you do mean?"

Robilar nodded.

"Then you will need many such provisions and beyond that more than I can offer. And perhaps I can offer something in return.

Mordenkainen spoke. "And what could that be?"

The merchant swallowed, eyeing the wizard. "Well, no insult intended, Master. But you could store some of your valuables here, for a small fee of course. I am willing to relay these to any part of the land you so desire. And with any last messages you might have."

Robilar stared; and Mordenkainen blinked, incredulous.

"What's the meaning, merchant?" asked a greatly perturbed Robilar, who saw this subterfuge as but a way of stifling his bargaining advantage.

"Well," he gulped. "None return from that forlorn place, it is said. So it is best that they have their affairs in order before going there, that is all."

Robilar began to laugh but thought better for Mordenkainen's grim look. "How much merchant?" he said, motioning to the goods.

The man held high his hand. "They are my blessing to you and your friend. Take them, for your needs will be greater than mine come a fortnight from now."

With their provisions in hand Mordenkainen and Robilar walked back to their horses. They afforded a few scoffing smiles between each other as they road away from the village but soon both fell into an unwelcome silence, which made their trip across the nearby plains and towards the City that much more ominous.

II. INTO THE CITY

The two adventurers bade farewell to their steeds as they surmounted the stairs to the city. Robilar had been against letting them go, but Mordenkainen had convinced him: "'They cannot surmount the landing above, and they would fall prey to an animal or monster if we tether them. If we have great need to escape, Robilar, I will employ a spell of teleportation. Besides, to cross the plains again would be madness.'"

Robilar had given in to that line of logic. The plainsmen they had encountered while crossing the barren area before the city had been tenacious in their pursuit and always strong in numbers. And it had been tricky for a day or two while eluding them.

No doubt these would be watching for their return. Robilar did think it odd that their pursuers had not followed them to the city's outer precincts. Surely their scouts must have seen them finally approach the city and prepare to enter it. But none were to be seen. Robilar disliked his next thought: What sort of fear commanded this type of respect?

As for the city--it was all too much for them to take in in such a short time. Mordenkainen noted that the place had to be miles round, though Robilar contended that it was more rectangular. It had been hard to tell as they'd approached. Surely it was a sight. All golds and silvers, with towers and buildings of the oddest shapes and hues and sizes. Many towers seemed proportioned the same; but this in no way indicated mundanity, for surely the towers gleamed in morning's sunlight. Metal towers, and hundreds of them! Both Mordenkainen and Robilar muttered a few prayers to the gods of protection as they started along its strange streets.

After a moment they stopped before what appeared to be a tower that twisted like a plant to the height of at least a hundred feet above them. Its base penetrated a large chasm in the ground. Robilar peered into the hole but could not spot the stalk's base, for all below was obscured with mist. Robilar inhaled some of the warm air.

"Perhaps I should scout below?"

Mordenkainen shrugged, looking about, and particularly up the tower's height.

Robilar knew what this meant. Mordenkainen felt ill at ease and would not make a suggestion either way. A true neutral, Robilar thought. But over the years of their adventuring together, Robilar had learned that his friend communicated this way and no other. In effect Robilar assayed it as a "yes" if Mordenkainen looked anywhere else but at the ground immediately following any such suggestion.

"Earwig." Robilar whispered a magical word; and in half a moment he was propelled off the ground by his magical boots of flying. He guided himself with various thoughts; and the boots responded. And in no time he was entering the chasm, circling downwards about the stalk-tower.

At first the mist seemed a distraction; and he barely avoided colliding with the tower several times. As the moments passed, however, his vision adjusted slightly. Or the mist thinned. Either way he became aware that this stalk descended for quite some distance, and perhaps farther than he wished to plumb without conferring with his partner. He was just slowing his descent when noises from above made up his mind for him. He sped upwards towards the swirling light above. Unlike his descent, which had been slow and wary, his ascent was a great rush upwards. He dashed aside the mist, clove its fabric and broke to the surface with a whoosh, followed by trails of mist which were to quickly dissipate in the sunlight. To his amazement Robilar saw several figures fighting near the chasm edge. One was his companion Mordenkainen.

Mordenkainen was not taken unaware by the flying fighters as they landed. Though his hat lay cloven on the ground before him, he was still intact. He raised an arm as one of his steel-encased foes rushed him. It was a mad rush, much like he had witnessed during Robilar's robot encounter. But if it carried to him... Mordenkainen repeated the line of a spell, finishing his period with a single word: "Dust!" It was an outline of a form once powerful, once in heated motion, that collided with him. But it was as no more than a weak wave breaking on a rock and flowing around it. Mordenkainen had disintegrated his foe in time; and dust was all that remained of the fighter to be blown away at the wind's will.

It was then that Mordenkainen heard the whoosh and saw Robilar, like a skyrocket, shoot forth from the chasm and momentarily hover in the air. Surprised, the two remaining fighters stopped short in their charge towards the wizard and looked up. As they did this Robilar shouted, "Coming Mordy!" and plummeted towards them.

Mordenkainen had wasted less time than his foes; and even as Robilar sped ground-ward, the mage was upon the fighters, striking one with his ensorcelled staff. A solid hit propelled a fighter to the chasm's edge; and he would have fallen into it had it not been for a strange levitation power which allowed him to walk on the air. But the fighter merely turned and fought where he was. The mage danced around the chasm's edge swinging his staff mightily while the fighter floated and feinted, hacking at the mage's legs. A second later another crack from the staff decided the affair. The fighter fell out of sight into the mist below. Mordenkainen whirled about and saw Robilar overbearing his own opponent. He turned away as his friend finished.

Robilar brought the dead body of the fighter to Mordenkainen and dropped him at his feet. Mordenkainen smirked, for this summoned memories of a time in Greyhawk Castle where they'd fought an even tougher battle and barely survived. Robilar had guarded the mage for hours after Mordenkainen's spells had been exhausted, withstanding charge after charge of orcs and their ogre leaders. Robilar had piled their foes all about them until a hill of dead flesh existed and the remaining orcs had run away shrieking. They had not bothered checking the bodies for treasure on that occasion. But they were in the City of the Gods now.

Mordenkainen stooped over the body and softly spoke his spell designed to detect magic. He grinned and reached for the sword the fighter still had clenched in his gauntleted hand. With Robilar's aid he wrenched it loose.

"Let's see what they look like, these fighters of the gods." Robilar lifted the figure's visor and gasped. The armor's insides were empty.

Mordenkainen remained unmoved. "We shall no doubt see stranger things." He looked into the heart of the city. Nothing moved. It was a quietness that both felt, but because of their many strange experiences, did not mind. As Robilar stored the sword in his sack, Mordenkainen started to walk. Robilar followed, looking right and left--and occasionally affording a telling glance skyward.

It was because of Robilar's preoccupation with the sky that he noted a strange trapezoidal-shaped building differently colored than the rest. It was nestled amongst some towers which almost obscured it from their vantage point. But Robilar had looked over his shoulder and back, and in so doing had caught just a fraction of a glimpse of it. Mordenkainen agreed that this should be investigated, since it was an enigma, it not being a tower!

Minutes later they arrived before the structure and stopped to view it. It was like a pyramid tipped on its side, with red, white and bluish stripes coursing its entire surface. It was about half as high as the nearby towers were. And like all the other structures here--or so they were becoming too realize just now--there were no immediate entrances into it--no doors, no porticos, and no windows.

"Yet another oddity, Mordenkainen. I say that this is the City of the Dead, not of the gods. Those fighters were ghosts and the towers are tombs. Why else would there be no entrances--and no life?"

"There!" The mage was now wide-eyed and pointing at the odd-shaped building. Robilar had been lost in his rambling, but turned to look where the mage pointed.

"Where?"

"The crack. It just opened. Like a..." But it was too late. The largest giant weasel they had ever seen was upon them. It had issued from the ever-growing crack in the pyramid so fast that it seemed to pop into existence. Before Robilar could draw his sword he was borne aside. He rolled sideways, trying to absorb some of the blow. The weasel continued like a juggernaut and bore down on Mordenkainen. Its jaws were snapping wildly as it charged.

Robilar regained his footing in time to see the weasel reel under a flash of light which had issued from Mordenkainen's staff. It screamed in agony as the searing bolt fried fur, then flesh; and it raised up on its rear haunches and struck its head back. The head was aimed right at Mordenkainen. Robilar attacked its flank, hoping to at least distract the creature from its target. This worked too well. His blade bit deep and there was another flash--but this time from the weasel's insides! Robilar stumbled backwards, his mind stunned, his eyes filled with smoke of burnt fur. He dropped his sword and attempted to prop himself up with his free hand. Stand, damn it! Stand!

The monstrosity whirled upon Robilar and a claw connected, sending him tumbling across the pavement. A piece of his plate-mail, sheered from his breast by the impact, rattled along the street. The monster struck its head back and prepared to lunge. The second lightning bolt struck faster.

Mordenkainen had leapt aside upon first blasting the creature. And as it had turned to attack Lord Robilar, he aimed anew. He realized the chance of striking his friend, but under the circumstances action was needed. As the creature raised up to attack, Mordenkainen struck. The bolt flashed forth and up and across the creature's backside, searing fur and biting the creature deeply. It whirled again; and Mordenkainen prepared for the worse. But its motion wasn't guided, only instinctual. There was nothing left to its thoughts as it fell in his general direction and slumped to the ground.

Mordenkainen circled the creature with fast steps. His comrade was wounded--perhaps seriously, and perhaps more seriously than he cared to consider. As Mordenkainen circled he regarded the weasel: something was definitely odd about it. He had fought creatures like it, though these had been puny by comparison. And then there were the wounds. The bolts should not have sheered away so much flesh. But they had; and there the monster lay, as if it had been worked over by some boring instrument.

Upon reaching the fighter Mordenkainen knelt and examined him: He was breathing; and after a few moments he groaned and opened an eye. Mordenkainen smiled grimly. His friend's wounds were not light, but he'd live.

Robilar grunted: "My pouch... The green bottle."

Mordenkainen claimed the pouch, rummaged through it and brought forth a bottle which had on it a piece of paper with the inscription: "'Drink full dosage after any serious wound--Otto.'" Mordenkainen smiled and handed it to Robilar, who uncorked it.

"Here's to "Doctor Otto." Robilar imbibed the drought. Mordenkainen noted the immediate results. Robilar's exposed chest--a mass of blood and torn flesh--healed. The blood had ceased escaping and the flesh had mended. Robilar stood and fingered his chest.

"A nasty cut, that." He looked about for his cuirire, which with a section of his breastplate had been shorn away. He claimed the piece moments later and looked at it disgustedly. "Useless." He flung it to the pavement. And then with some spare leather strips he worked on reconnecting the torn chain beneath the breastplate. After a while of this he seemed satisfied.

In the meantime Mordenkainen had studied the weasel; and then he examined the crack from which it had emerged. Robilar was prodding the weasel with his sword when Mordenkainen approached.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good enough." Robilar didn't avert his gaze from the monstrosity before him.

"It's mechanical. Like the automatons Otto makes."

Mordenkainen shook his head, agreeing. "But much more sophisticated. Note the internal casings and wires."

They both looked at the gaping wounds which exposed the weasel's insides: A mass of fused wires and metallic constructions were noticeable. A spark suddenly leapt and the weasel's body spasmed.

"Let's move on," Robilar said, stepping back.

"No doubt a good choice," said Mordenkainen. "The crack revealed a space beyond, but considering the disadvantages..." Mordenkainen looked up for only a moment.

"Agreed. I have no desire to see whether this things lair contains relatives." His friend wouldn't hook him this time. "Unless, of course, you'd like to lead the way, Mordy?"

Mordenkainen snickered. "No. I think that tower, erh, there," he said, pointing towards the relative center of the city, "should suffice. It is the tallest."

"And the richest, eh?"

Mordenkainen walked away slowly, followed by his friend.

"A true neutral," mumbled Robilar.

They arrived at the tower's base minutes later. They stood there and gaped up. Robilar shuffled his feet and looked at Mordenkainen.

The mage was already looking at him. "How are you feeling now?"

"If you mean: 'Have I forgotten the command word for my boots?' then the answer's no, I haven't."

"I've a levitation spell." Mordenkainen said this rather defensively.

Robilar smiled. "Time's up. And so am I. If things get tough I'll drop in on you." Robilar spoke the command word and sailed skyward. Mordenkainen didn't even have a chance to tell him to be careful.

It wasn't until about a hundred feet up that Robilar felt the wind really start to jostle him. But after a few moments of this he regained level ascent and continued taking in the city. The panoramic view reminded him of several southern cities - domes of white, gold and silver, and shades in between were everywhere to be seen. He glanced down at Mordenkainen and saw that the mage was moving about, no doubt attempting to find an alternate way into the tower. Ever resourceful Mordenkainen!

Robilar put some distance between him and the tower: This gave him a better vantage point to view his ascent and, secondarily, provided a defense against any surprise attack that might be launched from within. He had by now dealt away with his deserted city theory -- cracks appearing from nowhere had really dispelled any other notion besides that of deliberate and purposeful attacks having been launched upon him and his companion by some sort of intelligence.

After a few moments Robilar noted a ledge of sorts just below the tower's crown. It seemed wide enough and looked to circle the entire top structure. He glided towards it and landed. He looked around for a space of seconds and then started walking clockwise on it. Every so often he paused and tapped his sword against the tower's dome. After a third such tapping he was startled to note a door slide open--no, actually two doors slid open at once, and silently. He paused and looked into the darkness. And noted a wavering light therein.

Suddenly, the light grew, like an approaching lantern in the dark of night. But then it expanded to fantastic proportions; at the same moment there issued a scream from inside which sent fear into him. The light had become a blazing fire, with smoke issuing before it and pouring out of the aperture and onto the ledge. Robilar stepped back as a flaming figure taller than himself leapt onto the ledge. In one hand it held a flaming sword; in the other a whip dangled, curling back and forth by the ministrations of the creature's ever-flexing wrist.

Robilar faced one of the most feared enemies of legend, and one he had never chanced to combat in the past: a Balor. Its wings spread high and wide and then its baleful eyes pierced him. Robilar winced, avoiding those eyes. He gripped his sword, awaiting the demon's rush. Its flames, even from the odd distance of ten feet between them, was painful to endure. Robilar thought of Mordenkainen. He did have a levitation spell...

The Balor leapt. It was an incredible feat, for it adjusted for Robilar's dodge by using its wings to glide. The fighter swung at empty air. The creature landed upon the metal ledge with a sharp thud. Robilar wheeled left, attempting to flank it.

There was a cracking sound. Robilar thought of ducking, but the thought came too late. He felt a tug and he moved involuntarily. His sword arm was wrapped in the whip and he was being dragged towards the demon!

As Robilar struggled with the creature he thought of every wrestling match he'd won, from Greyhawk City to Narwell, to the courts of Ivid the Mad himself. But this was an inhuman strength he'd never encountered, and even his girdle didn't seem to matter.

Robilar was pulled closer until the smoke and flames were about him. He screamed, and wrenched at the whip. A sword cut through the smoke, barely missing his head. He had felt it pass--and too close. He let go of his own sword, heard it clang to the ledge as he took firmer hold of the whip. This steadied him for a second, but there was that damn flame again. It seemed to be feeding on him, growing more powerful as he remained in it. He grew faint, numb; and he barely felt his hands blistering while noting the distinct smell of burning leather--his gauntlets. His eyes swelled shut and he gasped as the flame heated his armor, branding his body. He was roasting! The accursed thing was roasting him!

Robilar desperately tugged at the whip. He could feel it give a little; but his grasp was slipping fast. His knew that his hands were charred; and he mentally fought to hold on--to tug.

Robilar arched his back and planted his feet. He tugged upwards with all his might. He screamed as he did so. The whip broke with a loud snap. Robilar tumbled backwards and fell from the ledge, cutting through the cool air like a stone. Unable to concentrate on bringing his boots to work, he plummeted toward the street below. Toward death.

Mordenkainen had been preoccupied with searching for secret doors for some time after Robilar ascended. Failing to find any, he had returned to his vigil of watching above. Minutes after Robilar had landed on the ledge, he had seen the smoke, then the flame. He was in the process of casting his levitation spell when a body appeared and fell groundward.

Mordenkainen adjusted the verbalization in time and cast the spell upon the body: it slowed but did not stop. It was all Mordenkainen could do to control the spell effect, bringing the body of his companion, who he now recognized, to a less than perfect landing on the pavement below, where it tumbled and rolled for a few seconds afterwards. Mordenkainen approached a dazed and burnt fighter. He shook his head in dismay.

Robilar sat up and shook his head, trying as he might to rid himself of his newest, bad memory. He then looked at his hands: the gauntlets were cindered. His hands were better off, and he realized now that the pain he had felt had affected his imagination somewhat. He was scorched, but not a burnt offering at least.

After bandaging his wounds as best as possible, Robilar explained the encounter to his friend.

"A Balor!" Mordenkainen was openly amazed. "In a city where the gods supposedly dwell!"

"Gods or demons. Little difference there," Robilar said.

"Well. I'll need your boots," Mordenkainen said, inclining his head upwards. "There's only one way to deal with this."

Robilar peered at his friend--and at the staff that was his "prop." He suspected the "one way" that the demon would be dealt with. He slipped his boots off and Mordenkainen put them on, tossing Robilar his own pair. Mordenkainen then sprang into he air and flew off.

"Hey! How'd you know the command word?! You couldn't hear it!"

Mordenkainen chuckled as he climbed, making sure to ascend from the opposite direction Robilar had. After a few minutes of flying he gained the tower's top and flew over it. If he'd estimated correctly, the ledge area where the fight had taken place would be directly over the other side. He continued to rise until he saw it. There, standing and looking over the ledge towards the ground, was the demon. It hadn't noted his approach.

Mordenkainen hovered where he was and pointed the staff. A white beam shot forth from it and struck the Balor square in the back. The creature, its flame now extinguished and its body wrapped in a sizzling mist, screeched. Turning, it spread its gigantic wings and leapt skyward towards the mage.

It would be no contest, however. Mordenkainen merely put some distance between him and his opponent and shot it with another frosty beam. The Balor screeched horribly as it died. Its wings collapsed in upon it, enwrapping it like a shroud. It fell like a shadow earthward, a stream of smoke trailing it, signaling its passing.

Mordenkainen landed on the ledge. The door Robilar had described was still open. A corridor led off to the north. Mordenkainen entered it and stepped ahead. He stopped and listened. Demons, he thought, were often summoned for some purpose--and he knew those who summoned them had to be powerful indeed. Mordenkainen softly spoke a word and his staff lit, shedding light for some distance down the passage. He continued walking.

After turning some corners he stopped. A set of stairs led down to his left. He had lost his direction sense, but he assumed that they led east. He stepped onto them and went down. After about twenty feet they emptied into a large room of the sort he recognized. Before him was laboratory. Tables filled with alchemical equipment were everywhere to be seen. Centered between these was a glass bowl, or vat, large enough to hold a man.

Mordenkainen stopped and examined a table. On it was a cross-like object the size of a battle axe. Next to this were several scrolls of vellum. He cautiously prodded the cross with his staff. It looked to be made of precious metals, some recognizable, but some, to his amazement, not so easily placed. He thought of adamant, and other god-metals. It was then that a hissing sound averted his attention from the object. He looked at the vat. It had had only a clear liquid in it moments earlier, but now, unmistakably, it contained mist. Mordenkainen stepped closer to examine it. The mist swirled when he did this. He peered closer. A face of some hideous horned creature formed before his amazed eyes. He stepped back as the mist started to rise from the vat's unstoppered top. It hovered above the vat for a second and started to congeal, to actually form in the likeness of some gargantuan creature with a leering face and spine-covered body!

Mordenkainen reacted swiftly. Thrusting his staff forward he sent ray after ray of frosty coldness into the manifestation. Each ray seemed to disperse part of it; but new mist rose from the container's insides, sustaining the reformation process. Mordenkainen sweated as he continued the attack. He thought he heard voices, and he cursed himself for not having examined the room, and its environs, more carefully. He was in it now, up to his neck.

After several more rays the creature began to dissolve and the mist ceased flowing upwards. He had stopped it, whatever it had been. But the voices were coming. He heard the swooshing sound of a door opening. Without thinking he grabbed the cross-artifact and scrolls and ran across the room and up the stairs He gained the outside ledge minutes later. Stooping, he claimed Robilar's sword. He looked behind him as he spoke the word which commanded the boots. As he flew down he looked back. He thought he'd seen a gleam near the ledge, but couldn't be sure that it wasn't part of the tower reflecting the mid-day's sun or a trick of his eyes. Robilar walked up to him as he landed.

Mordenkainen handed him his sword saying: "I heard voices up there, perhaps those that summoned the demon." He then recounted the tale about the strange vat creature and how he'd dispatched it. Robilar smiled.

"Do we stay? If we do, we should clear out of this general area at least."

Mordenkainen didn't need to look up. He nodded and then handed the artifact to the fighter. Robilar's eyes lit up just slightly as he placed it in his bag. They then exchanged boots and took to the streets again.

III. ESCAPE FROM THE CITY

Mordenkainen was panting as they approached a series of smaller buildings. These of course had been obscured by the other architecture around them, and it had taken some time to reach this point. Already the daylight was waning, and there was perhaps a few more hours of it left for them to be guided thereby. Mordenkainen halted and called after Robilar.

"How about those buildings there?" He pointed at a grouping of three one-story high structures. Robilar looked back at him.

"Do you sense something?"

The wizard smiled. "Not really. They're just close."

"You should practice--work out more often. If you follow Otto's school of thought too closely you'll be a tower-mage in no time."

Mordenkainen shrugged. "Quite the contrary. It's you who are in too good of shape. But let's continue." Mordenkainen lurched ahead towards the buildings. A smiling Robilar followed.

As the pair arrived before the nearest building's door--a wooden one of normal make--they noted many torches stacked neatly beside it.

Mordenkainen claimed a torch and looked at it, even sniffed it. He shrugged and placed it back in the stack.

"They were left outside for some reason. I suggest that we follow the example."

Robilar nodded; and before Mordenkainen could suggest a course of action the fighter slammed into the door with all his weight. The door was more fragile than it looked, and it easily gave way, even splintering in places. The two entered the building.

One room comprised the entire building. It contained barrels, small crates, and cabinets with bottles, some empty, some full. The wizard moved toward the latter as Robilar stopped to examine a crate filled with stoppered bottles.

Robilar opened and sniffed the contents of a bottle. It smelled of foul water. He spat and replaced the bottle in the crate.

"Don't light a fire in here." Mordenkainen stood before an open cabinet while sifting through various powdery substances. He then produced a box containing what appeared to be candles with short wicks. He scooped many of these candles into this pack whilst saying, "The chemicals here are highly flammable."

Robilar grunted. Though wounded and seared he had expected a fight, in fact had been itching for one after being beaten by the Balor. Standing about and examining wizard mixes was not to his liking.

Mordenkainen moved to him. He held a bag with the box of candles in it.

"Anything interesting?" The mage looked at the crates.

"If you like stagnant water." Robilar turned and walked from the building.

As they closed the door and stepped away from the building a bolt of lightning appeared from behind them. It was obviously mis-timed or hurried, for it missed them entirely. But it impacted on the building. Robilar and Mordenkainen were blown to the ground by the resulting explosion. It was still raining fragments of wood and stone as they rose to run from the area.

As they fled, another bolt impacted on their left. Mordenkainen pointed to the right and ran.

"There's a crack in the street back there."

Robilar was nodding and panting as he ran.

"Did you see it? The creature in the crack?"

Robilar merely nodded. They rounded more structures and then halted to collect themselves.

"It was octopoid, I believe. Three eyes. And one cast..."

"Yes. I saw it." Robilar was becoming perturbed again.

Mordenkainen gave him a sturdy look. "We could leave."

"That crack wasn't there when we went in." Robilar was now looking everywhere.

Mordenkainen had never seen him so agitated. But there was something to be said for his friend's concerns. Normally when Robilar showed such stress it was time to move on - fast.

Mordenkainen chose his next words slowly: "Perhaps we are being sought." Mordenkainen thought of the voices he'd heard in the tower.

Robilar laughed. It was a loud laugh but couldn't hide a tinge of suppressed fear. Then Robilar squinted, looking off into the distance past some smaller towers. He slowly raised his hand in that direction and pointed, shaking his finger up and down.

Mordenkainen followed the action with his eyes and noted what the ever observant fighter was seeing. Off in the distance, perhaps 200 or more yards away but flowing steadily towards them was a stream. And upon it floated several bulbous plants. It shouldn't have been there, but there it was; and it was winding ever so slowly towards them.

"Being sought!" Robilar laughed again. "What would possibly make us think that!" Robilar drew himself up and hoisted his bag. He looked at Mordenkainen. They both ran.

They had covered some distance toward the stairs out of the city when Mordenkainen noted a new danger. From above came the flying fighters. Mordenkainen immediately started mumbling a spell.

Robilar drew his sword: "The same vermin!" He cursed, hacking at the nearest foe in bitter rage.

The fighter engaging Mordenkainen threw a spear at him which pinned the mage's robes to the pavement. But the wizard's spell had not been ruined, as his opponent could have attested to if it could speak, or walk for that matter. For there it stood, no more than ten feet from the mage. It didn't move. Mordenkainen walked past it towards the melee.

Robilar had easily dispatched the first fighter with three strokes, one which had dislodged his foe's helm, sending it clattering along the street.

"Now I'm even for the weasel!" Robilar shouted. The remaining fighter lifted off the ground and fled. Robilar bounded into the air after him, and felled him with a stroke which severed his mid-section. But even as the last fighter fell from the sky a high-pitched whistle sounded.

Robilar landed and both he and Mordenkainen assessed this new development.

"Something's stirring," said Robilar.

Mordenkainen looked off in the direction they'd fled from and noted many silvery objects floating above the rooftops and dipping lower to the ground on occasion. When the latter maneuver was performed, one or more of the objects would emit a colored beam of light, blanketing the area directly beneath and around it.

"The gods are curious today," the wizard said, after explaining what he'd seen to the fighter, who merely grunted. "If we are lucky our escape will not be barred."

After dodging in and amongst the structures of the city they arrived before the stairs out of the city. They halted and viewed their next predicament: Before the stairs was a mass of plant material, which drew itself up to about ten feet in height as they stood there.

"Easy enough solution," said Robilar. "We go around it."

They proceeded to the left of the creature, skirting its immediate vicinity by a good hundred feet. It didn't move. But Mordenkainen stopped Robilar before going too far.

"Something is not right here." Mordenkainen stepped forward and thrust his staff outwards. It contacted and stopped before an invisible barrier. He tapped it gently.

"A defensive precaution taken by the inhabitants. It no doubt encircles the entire city." He paused. "But don't be concerned." Mordenkainen turned to view the plant-monster, and raising his staff he said: "A well placed lightning bolt should rid us of that watch-dog; and then we'll see about the stairs." The mage concentrated for a space of a second and the bolt flew forth. The creature, hit dead center, exploded into many pieces, disintegrating before their eyes.

"Hurry. We've revealed ourselves." Mordenkainen ran towards the stairs. Robilar followed, looking around in all directions. Upon reaching the landing Mordenkainen shouted in dismay: "It is blocked here as well!" Mordenkainen withdrew a few paces, and aiming his staff at a spot further down the barrier's length cast another bolt. It merely ricocheted off. Mordenkainen was silent for too long a period after this.

Robilar had taken an interest in two short metal poles - striped white and red - to either side of the stairwell. He wiped a piece of plant matter from one and touched it, thinking.

"Something's coming." The mage looked behind him. Approximately 200 yards away were humanoid-like figures in strangely wrought silver armor. They moved in pairs; and Mordenkainen counted at least four sets of them approaching in a search pattern, covering the territory they'd fled.

"Teleport us out of here, Mordy." Robilar said this calmly.

"I can't!"

"Can't!?"

"I--erh--lied; just so you'd let the horses be."

"No-teleport-spell?"

"No--ah--passwall. It is a city, after all!"

Robilar jerked up as stiff as a statue as Mordenkainen finished speaking. The wizard looked at him quizzically.

"Passwall! My dear bumbler! Passwall!" Robilar grabbed one of the striped poles and hefted it up with all his might. There was a flash as he pulled it loose from the pavement.

"Smoke and wires, Mordy. Weasel stuff!" Robilar dropped the pole and reached out to feel for the barrier. It wasn't there.

"There's more than one way to skin a god!" And he said this while almost falling down the stairs in his mad rush ahead. Mordenkainen wasn't far behind him.

They ran far from the city and way on into the night before they thought it safe to rest. As they crouched by a stand of withered trees they heard noises in the distance.

Mordenkainen stood. "I recognize the speech--the plainsmen again. I'll return shortly." With a spoken word the mage disappeared. An hour later he returned leading two horses. Robilar examined them and chose the sturdiest of the pair for himself.

Robilar commented as they mounted: "It seems that you have a spell for almost every occasion."

Mordenkainen laughed: "And when I don't, I have you!"

They both laughed heartily; and spurring their horses they rode south.

CITY OF THE GODS
Dungeon Master Comments
(Arneson)

It is much easier to judge a situation from hindsight and especially so when one is the DM. The DM has access to all information after all. So in this instance judgments can be made about the conduct of this expedition that are not too pretentious.

One of the very first considerations for a party entering a new and unknown area should be to keep a low profile, i.e., keep one's eyes and ears open without drawing too much attention to oneself. In this expedition there was a rather indiscriminate and widespread use of lightning bolts which could be observed from a multitude of points throughout the city. The use of such pyrotechnics from a very early stage in the adventure was risky to say the least and was one of the reasons that more and more wandering monsters were encountered thereafter.

As the adventurers spent more and more time within the city confines they made little or no attempt to conceal themselves or their activities and so more roving creatures were drawn to their ramblings.

The lack of treasure found on the adventure was quite simply due to the party's failure to look for any. As in the case of the giant weasel, no effort was made to check the pyramid it had emerged from after it had been disposed of. The supposed reasoning behind this was the desire to avoid any other creatures that might be drawn by the fighting. A prudent but hardly remunerative attitude.

The adventurers were poorly equipped to operate together, showing greater willingness to take as much different equipment as possible. This resulted in their engaging in separate adventures such as "R's" flight to the tower while "M" was left standing around in the open doing nothing. Such action risked a double chance of encountering more wandering monsters while reducing their ability to resist such encounters. Also, since "M" did nothing in the absence of "R" there was no increase in the expedition's search capability for the increased risks involved.

The expedition's main claim to fame was their escape from the city when it appeared that the entire complex was searching for them. Why our two heroes were surprised that their activity had aroused the city, and that the Guardians had taken the elementary precaution of guarding the exits, was quite naive of them. They did, however, leave before it became impossible to do so, and they also kept moving rather than stand and fight (although they did consider doing so) their pursuers. This latter fault has been the downfall of other expeditions to the city where the desire for more goodies merely led to the loss of PC lives and all that they had found.

The heroes also showed uncommon wisdom in disposing of the goodies they had found--quickly. Whether this was motivated by caution or greed I cannot say, but it certainly saved them from the fate that overtook the unfortunate merchants involved. Again, when previous expeditions left the city they had desired to "take it (the treasure) home" and thus brought down doom upon their heads and castles.

In summation, this group engaged in highly visible activities but was reluctant to probe the lairs of creatures, with the result of a relatively poor (money- and experience-wise) adventure resulting. Our two heroes were clearly running scared at the end of the adventure, although they did manage to pick the right time to do so. This was rather surprising since things were quiet at the time they decided to depart the area of small buildings they were in, which should have drawn them into more exploring.

I must state that they did the best of any group that has visited the city to date, which means after some three years of existence. But I was not impressed by their highly visible exploration and devil may care style. This group could just as easily have been destroyed on a number of occasions, as been successful, as they ultimately were.

Afterward
(Kuntz)
Story Notes

This story is whole except in one aspect: the ending. The cross-artifact was disposed of in Blackmoor for an enormous sum of gold; the merchants who bought it were later slain by those from the city who came searching for it. The cross, it is assumed, was taken back to the city. I considered this part of the adventure anti-climatic to the story as written, so it was dropped as a source from the onset, but here you have at least the summary. The adventure took place in 1976 at TSR's Dungeon Hobby Shop. Gary, myself and Dave Arneson were the only participants. Dave's campaign had been running for some time previous to this and many adventures into that fabled city had taken place before ours. Dave had in fact published a Blackmoor piece with an accompanying map in the long defunct newsletter for the Castle and Crusade Society, "Domesday Book," issue #13, 1972 (Editors/Founders: Gygax/Kuntz). This article and map were referenced for the Blackmoor sequence in this story. To my knowledge this article was the first "published" occurrence of Blackmoor, though I might stand corrected upon divine intervention!

On Mordenkainen's and Robilar's Names

Gary chose Mordenkainen as his main character whilst adventuring in Greyhawk™ and my own World of Kalibruhn™. In those early days of adventuring yore, PCs flitted back and forth between worlds with few caveats except for what magics and monies they were allowed to bring back into the original campaign in which they had started. This caveat did not apply to Gary's adventures into Kalibruhn as this multiverse was considered an adjunct to Greyhawk. Mordenkainen's name is most certainly influenced by heroes from the Kalevala, that magnificent Finnish epic by Lonnrot, Vainamoinen being Gary's favorite hero therefrom. Robilar's name is derived from Gary's novel, "The Gnome Cache." Written prior to the formation of TSR, Robilar occurs therein as the baron who sends the questing Dunstan after the gnome treasure. Since I had contributed a minor sequence idea to the novel (wherein Dunstan, having succeeded, requires the Baron Robilar to uphold his part of the bargain by knighting him, which he does, quickly and without ceremony and then runs off to claim fame from higher-ups for "his", the Baron's, success) Gary later suggested the name for my primary PC in Greyhawk.

Miscellaneous Notes (On DM Style, Magical Items Allowed, New Items Found)

Dave Arneson was (and still is, for that matter) a grand DM. His toughness started at the onset of the adventure -- Gary and myself were allowed to choose only three magical items each. Dave thought our item lists were over burgeoned with goodies. Robilar: +3 sword, Girdle of Storm Giant Strength, Boots of Flying; Mordenkainen: Staff of Power, Bracers of Protection AC2, Ring of Wizardry (doubled 4th and 5th level spells). We were each allowed to bring one curative potion in addition. I will only add this closing note on Dave's style: he tended to scare the boohickies out of you. That is why Gary and I showed some (perhaps, too much) caution whilst this adventure unfolded. Though we carried off less loot than expected, we did do well. The cross netted over 100,000 gold; the scrolls were all clone spells (Dave's invention); and the candles were "Nobelite" (i.e, dynamite).

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