Chapter 60
As the companions make their way through the Evernight version of Neverdeath Graveyard, Elden Keyward, a renouned scholar of the outer planes, explains the concept of a crevice of dusk.
“It’s essentially a weak spot between two specific planes of existence, the mortal world where the Neverwinter we know exists and this gloomy world, called Shadowfell. Everwinter is basically a twisted, demented mirror image of Neverwinter. A crevice of dusk acts as a portal, a doorway if you will, between the two worlds. Most of them are transient in nature, not staying in place very long. You often find them appearing in back alleys, dank cellars, or even closets. A few of them are stable and hold their position over long periods of time, but they’re hard to find and closely guarded secrets.”
Mond listens intently, captivated by the description—and the potential of traveling between different planes of existence. Less entranced by the scholar’s lesson, Dolor suggests they find a place to take a long rest.
“I estimate we’ve been at this for a day, if not longer, and I’m weary.” Mond and Bilwin nod their heads in agreement. “Let’s find a mausoleum that has enough space for us and with a defensible entrance.”
It doesn’t take long for them to come across a crypt that fits their needs. Grindlefoot opens the door and enters, seeing a single casket in the middle of the ten by ten foot room. He walks over and taps several times on the lid, then cocks his head listening for a response. Gven, who entered behind him, knocks softly on the wall next to her in response.
“I heard that,” the halfling says to Gven with a grin. “All clear, the current occupent is either out right now or still dead.”
The group is able to sleep undisturbed for eight hours, a refreshing change from the day’s challenging events.
Long rest….
They wake to a desolate quiet outside the crypt, consume dry rations and water, gather their belongings, and leave the small building to make their way towards the market. They pass through the graveyard entrance, which is similar to the one they entered in Neverwinter, except for the decaying vegetation, pitted stone work, and rusty metal gate hanging by a single hinge. Dolor notices there are no guards, likely unnecessary in Shadowfell.
Several minutes later, they make their way eastward through the town’s streets, noticing the buildings in various states of decay and overgrown with seemingly dead vegetation. It’s as dark as night and the sky has heavy clouds, but they have no idea what time of day it might be. They hear ghouls and other creatures off in the distance, yet none bother them or come into sight. The eerieness plays on their nerves, making each of them a bit jumpier than usual.
“They call this the City of Eternal Night, because the sun never rises here. Look, there’s the market.” Elden stops and points down the road they’re traveling, where the others can see a bustling market with plenty of tented shops and all manner of undead and otherworldly creatures walking alone and in pairs.
With her eagle eyesight, Gven can see a few humans mixed amongst the moderate-sized crowd. “We should walk in pairs, I don’t see any groups larger than that.” Seeing Elden pull his hood up and close, then smear some dirt on his face and cloak, she continues, “If our luck holds, we can disguise ourselves enough to blend in and find what we need. Elden and I’ll go first, you follow in pairs close enough to keep us in sight.”
Thirty seconds after Gven and Elden enter the market area, Mond and Bilwin follow. The pair attempts to peruse the vendors’ wares, but discover that the merchandise is disgusting or beyond their comprehension. They can’t tell what much of it might be. Dolor and Grindlefoot follow the half-elf and dwarf, giving them enough lead time to appear unconnected. Of all of them, the tiefling appears to blend in the most with the crowd because of his infernal bloodline’s physical stature, horns on his head, four foot long tail, and pointed canine teeth. His calm demeanor brings some amount of truth to the facade, as well as instills confidence in his halfling companion.
Meandering through the market, quickly looking over merchandise and the sellers, neither Gven nor Elden see anything or anyone that might be helpful in their search. Passing by a booth with shelves of vials and jars containing different shades of red liquid, the shopkeeper points at them.
“You don’t belong here, do you?” It’s a statemtent, not a question.
Gven looks to Elden, who silently shrinks behind the larger half-orc, then answers the shopkeeper. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, my dear, it’s quite obvious. At least, to those who pay attention.”
Gven hesitates to respond and takes a moment to assess their situation, along with the discoverer. An old woman, hunched over and moving slowly, seemingly weak and frail. Yet Gven can tell that she moves with a smooth agility that betrays the underlying strength and speed with which she could respond to any threat. Garbed in a long robe with a deep cowl that rests along her back, her thin, bony hands move to hidden pockets, grasping at unknown treasures within.
Removing one hand and gesturing towards a shelf with small cups of the red fluids, “Might you be interested in buying some, ahem, drinks for yourself and your petite friend? I am Sangora, and these are Sangora’s Sanguinaries.”
Understanding that she’s offering a way for them to buy her silence, Gven decides to be direct. “While I’m sure that you offer the highest quality merchandise available, we’re more interested in information. We will gladly pay in gold coins. One as observant and wise as you, must be privy to knowledge unknown to others.”
“Ah, your flattery is noted, and appreciated.” The diminutive woman smirks and nods her head to Gven, “And you are correct, I know many things.”
“I’m thankful to hear that, and for your willingness to do business. We search for a crevice of dusk, one stable enough to provide passage back to Neverwinter.”
“I know not why you, or anyone, would willingly travel to that forsaken place, but I know of what you seek. It shall cost you two flagons of blood, at 50 gold coins each. Would you like to choose or shall I?”
“We’ll give you 150 gold coins for the information and you can keep your flagons. Deal?”
The shop keeper’s eyes betray her greed, “Yes, I’ll make an exception for you.” Her gaze shifts to Gven’s side and then to somewhere behind her. “Your other friends might as well come closer, a momentary gathering won’t create any suspicion.”
Bilwin and Mond were already standing at the edge of the shop, listening to the conversation. Dolor and Grindlefoot were slightly further away, pretending to watch the passersby.
Dolor approaches Gven and Sangora, “Let’s be clear. For our payment, you must provide us with accurate information for how to reach a stable crevice of dusk.”
“Agreed. Are you sure you want to go to that nasty town? You fit in here rather well.” The tiefling declines the offer. “Oh well, I could find work for you.”
“Alas, your answer lies in a story. There was once a powerful, noble family in Neverwinter by the name of Dolindar. They craved power and wealth by any means, as their like often do, and attempted to trap the souls of their ancestors for nefarious purposes. Their necromancy was discovered and as punishment, they were exiled to our world, Shadowfell. Here they were surrounded by undead they could not control, ever reminded of their failure and banishment. The sorrow they felt was overwhelming, driving them to lives of solitude and confinement. It is whispered that this devastating sadness powers a stable crevice of dusk somewhere in their tomb, in Neverdeath Cemetery. That is where you will find your portal.”
“Thank you for your time and information, dear lady.” Gven pays the elderly woman the gold coins and turns to leave.
“Are you sure that you wouldn’t like to try a taster?”
Bilwin’s curiosity gets the best of him, “Do you have any fermented, like beer?”
“Why yes, I think I do. Let’s see, over on this shelf, I believe.” She moves towards the other side of her small booth, looking through the flagons. Gven grabs the dwarf’s shoulder with a firmness that can’t be argued and begins walking away, back towards the cemetery.
“Thank you, my lady, looks like it’ll have to be another time.”
Returning to the graveyard and following Sangora’s guidance, they eventually find a crypt with “Dolindar” etched in stone above a wooden door. Grindlefoot approaches first to examine the door and hears the light whispering of an evening breeze. Looking down, the weeds in front of the small structure remain unmoving. “That’s odd.”
As the halfing turns to tell his companions, four female creatures glide around the building’s corner and surprise the adventurers. They’re wearing tattered dresses, have long claws for fingernails, eyes that glow a deep yellow, and canine teeth protruding from their mouths.
Mond sees the four vampiric females approaching them, raises his hand, and gestures towards them. They immediately slow to half their previous speed, the anger and fury at being impaired is evident in their expressions.
Not one to miss a fight, Gven takes a look at the attackors and decides to invoke her barbarian rage. Drawing Tempest Edge from its sheath, she swings wide on the first strike, but it lands true on her second, slicing through one of the creature’s arm.
Already slowed, the injured spawn pauses to look at Gven and the wound in its arm gets smaller, as though it regenerated to some degree. Even slowed, its attack is fast enough to get beyond Gven’s defenses and it scratches the half-orc along her shoulder.
Another of the spawn attacks Grindlefoot, but the halfling is able to jump away and evade its slashing claw.
Unexpectedly, one of the attackers is able to grapple Mond, holding the sorcerer in its undeadly grasp and preventing him from moving.
Elden looks at the vampire spawn who has seized Mond, speaks a few words, and a flame-like radiance descends upon the creature. It writhes in pain, but maintains its hold on the half-elf.
Lifting his magical stein high, Bilwin shouts, “Drink or die!”! Three of the undead spawn turn to flee, albeit slowly because of Mond’s earlier spell—and freeing the sorcerer from his grappled state. The fourth one remains, hovering close to Gven.
Charging with Gleaming Blade, Dolor stabs the creature clean through its midsection, yet it still stands.
Thinking that Gven could use some assistance, Grindlefoot casts Haste on the half-orc. Unexpectedly, it has no effect and the halfling stands there, wondering what happened. He shakes his head and casts Shillelagh on his staff, preparing for melee combat.
Gven remembers all too well the last time Grindlefoot hastened her actions and how it felt to be suddenly out of energy, unable to defend herself. While she trusts the halfing and is not afraid of magic, she prefers relying on her own strength, endurance, and rage. Her attunement with her body, abilities, and endurance is greater than most warriors ever reach. This sentiment is so engrained in her mind that she unconsciously refuses the halfling’s spell, leaving him confused as to why it failed.
Seeing three of the spawn retreating from the battle, Mond targets the sole remaining attacker with a blue-white beam of light. It’s thrown backwards a foot and appears to be even slower after the spell’s strike.
Gven reaches down into her rage and swings her greatsword with such force that it nearly cuts off the creature’s forearm. The barbarian’s backhand swing connects with its other arm, creating a lengthy gash from the shoulder to the elbow. It’s still standing, but looking haggard, and lashes out with a clumsy swing of its wounded arm, missing Gven.
“It’s our turn,” Bilwin whispers to his battle axe as he moves forward and swings wide, missing the creature. Dolor follows behind the dwarf closely, slashing through the spawn’s dangling arm with Gleaming Blade. It falls to the ground and the creature screams in anger at the tiefling.
Seeing it weakened and barely standing, Grindlefoot deftly moves behind the vampire spawn and swings his Shillelagh’d staff with all his might. The halfling looks as surprised as his victim when it cuts through their legs at the knees, dropping their torso to the ground in death.
Grindlefoot jumps towards the mausoleum, eager to be away from their deadly foes. He opens the wooden door, sees a steep staircase spiraling down, and takes the first few steps. Gven is close behind him, not wanting her smaller companion to face anything alone. Dolor, Elden, Mond, and Bilwin follow them into the crypt, crowding into the upper area.
Before anyone can touch the door’s handle, it closes.
Descending the tightly wound staircase, Grindlefoot, Gven, and the others come to a lengthy burial chamber. Along the walls, on each side of the one hundred and twenty foot long crypt, are carved images of people they presume are long dead members of the Dolindar family.
The one closest to them has a piece of paper attached to it. Grindlefoot makes his way to the paper and reads “Newmy’s room” when a ghostly elven face pokes its head out from the wall. “This is my room. Go away!” The blue elvish head retreats behind the wall.
The halfing is unwavering, “Hi, are you Newmy? We don’t want to cause any trouble, we’re looking for something and maybe you can help us. Then we can leave you alone.”
The blue, ethereal head returns, “You’re alive?”
“Yes, we’re alive and we’re looking for the crevice of dusk.”
“Oh, there’s dust in every crevice around here. No matter how much I clean and clean and clean, the dust reappears in seconds.” She gives them a look of exasperation and exhaustion, although it’s difficult to understand how a ghost might get tired.
“No, not dust. Crevice of dusk, with a K. It’s a gateway to another world, where we need to go.”
“Oh, I don’t know where that might be. But I don’t leave this room anymore.” She points towards the other end of the long chamber, “It’s scary down there, past the door with the puzzle buttons. I used to clean for the Dolindars when they were alive—they let me have this room all to myself. But now, they’re not resting right, like proper dead folks. You can go see for yourselves, but I’m going to stay here.” Finishing her sentence, Newmy shyly withdraws into the crypt behind the wall and the group is left on their own.
The companions continue down the long chamber, arriving at two sets of stairs further descending into the crypt. Looking back to the group, Grindlefoot nods towards the set on the right and begins down the steps.