Episode 32 - Max Max Underdark Edition

When we last left our heroes, the party pressed eastward toward the dwarven city of Hammerhand. From afar, the Underdark reverberated with the clash of steel, the hiss of spells, and bursts of light that painted the cavern walls in fleeting brilliance.

Closer at hand, the aftermath of battle lay scattered across the stone. Dozens of skeletal warriors lay shattered, and one broken undead, its legs mangled, clawed pitifully across the cavern floor, dragging itself eastward.

Following and cresting a rise, the party beheld a strange procession: a caravan of dwarves mounted upon colossal tortoises, lumbering forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Their progress was harried by drow riders, who darted in and out of the shadows, loosing poisoned arrows in a deadly dance of predators and prey. At the rear of the caravan, a flame-haired dwarven commander barked orders with unwavering resolve, her voice carrying above the din.

The heroes surged into the chaos, steel and spells flashing in the cavern gloom. Somewhere amid the thunderous bellowing of tortoises and the hiss of poisoned bolts, Arys became a blur of motion—a force unto himself streaking through the fray. He vaulted from one massive tortoise shell to the next, flipping through the air with impossible grace. Mid‑spin, he loosed arrow after arrow, each shot released upside‑down, sideways, or in the split‑second weightlessness between leaps. Every shaft found its mark with surgical precision, dropping drow riders before they even realized death had arrived.

Had anyone actually seen the invisible ranger, the party all would have been inspired, and the dwarves would have sung ballads of his acrobatics for generations. Instead, all they witnessed were inexplicable arrow strikes, startled yelps from drow, and the occasional confused tortoise glancing around as if wondering what invisible sprite kept landing on its shell.

Ary, of course, stuck the final landing with a perfect superhero landing poise—still utterly invisible.

Eventually, the party scattered the drow and secured the caravan’s survival. In gratitude, the dwarven leader introduced herself as Myris Firebrand. Though her coffers were tied up in trading supplies, she bestowed upon the party a Writ of Favor and offered them passage—slow though it may be—continuing their journey toward Hammerhand, where the party now stands in front of its gates, but now at 8th level.