The Chronicles of Kvothe: Into the Sunless Citadel

Ah, Fallcrest—a town on the edge of civilization, where the people are tough, the ale is passable, and opportunities for fortune and glory are always just a job away. That’s where our little tale begins, with none other than Banner, leader of The Riders of the Watch, coming to us with a problem. Three of his Riders—Braford, Sharwyn, and Rylan—had gone missing while looking into livestock getting torn up south of town near Kuiper’s ranch. Sounded like easy coin to me.

We headed south, had a chat with Kuiper, and got word that some kobolds had been sneaking around the Kalton Wood across the White Rock River. Seemed like a lead. The road wasn’t without its troubles, though—twig blights ambushed us one night. Nasty little plant creatures with claws sharper than you’d expect. We hacked them apart, but had no idea what they were at the time. Another mystery for later.

Following the trail south, we found a ravine with the ruins of an old sunken fortress: the Sunless Citadel. As soon as we got inside, we found a huge locked door covered in dragon markings. Promising, but sealed tight. So, we moved on and ran into the local kobold population. That’s where we met Meepo. Poor sod was barely respected by his own kind, but he saw us as a way back into the tribe’s good graces. He took us to their queen, who made us a deal—find their missing white wyrmling, stolen by goblins, and she’d reward us. The goblins were also where the missing Riders had last been seen. Convenient, no?

So we did what any brave and noble band of adventurers would do—we went to war with the goblins. There were traps, patrols, and a nest of giant rats. That’s where we found Rylan, or what was left of him. The rats had dragged him there, but whether they killed him or just scavenged the remains, we couldn’t say. We took his Rider’s Ring to bring back to Banner.

Pressing forward, we found the wyrmling in a goblin storeroom, free of its cage and making a mess of the place. It took one look at Meepo, decided it wasn’t fond of the little guy, and tore him apart before anyone could react. Quite the dramatic exit for Meepo, really. The rest of us put the dragon down, boxed it up, and dragged it back to the kobolds. The queen was thrilled. She paid up, gave us the key to the dragon door, and confirmed the Riders had gone deeper into goblin territory.

Now, I don’t like goblins. Never have, never will. So when we stormed their little stronghold, I was all for wiping them out. The warriors fell quickly, and the survivors—including the women and whelps—barricaded themselves in a room. I wanted to finish the job, but Agatha, ever the pious one, wasn’t having it. She preached about Torag, mercy, and not butchering those who weren’t actively swinging weapons at us. The others didn’t care enough to argue, so Agatha won the day. The goblins fled, and I still say we’ll regret that later.

With the goblin forces broken, we found a pit leading even further down. With our Riders still unaccounted for, we did what we always do—tightened our belts, checked our blades, and made the plunge into the unknown.

After a well-earned rest, we descended into the pit. Down there, things got nastier. We ran into undead—a sure sign that whatever we were dealing with had long since left the realm of natural order. Worse yet, we had a run-in with a bugbear, and not just any bugbear—this one was swinging a magical longsword that crackled with lightning when it hit. It took some effort, but we put him down, and I claimed Stormcaller Blade for myself. A fitting weapon for someone with my particular flair, if I do say so.

The goblins were still a problem, but it was mostly the undead keeping us busy. In our exploration, we found a shrine dedicated to Ashardalon, some long-forgotten dragon of legend. More interestingly, a library next to the shrine contained a book on dragon lore, which we figured might help us later should we need to know more about dragons.

But all of that was just a prelude to what came next—the Sunken Grove. That’s where we finally found Sharwyn and Braford, but they weren’t themselves anymore. They had been twisted, enthralled by a druid serving a Gulthias Tree, surrounded by twig blights.

The battle that followed was nothing short of brutal. By the end of it, only one of us was still standing. We managed to kill the druid and destroy the blights, subduing Sharwyn and Braford instead of cutting them down. Once the fighting was done, we holed up in the grove to recover.

That’s when we found it—a golden apple growing from the Gulthias Tree. It seemed powerful, but none of us liked the look of that accursed tree. So, naturally, I burned it down.

As the flames consumed it, the tree split open, revealing a stone sarcophagus underneath. Well, I’m not one to ignore an interesting find, so I opened the lid. Bad call. Inside was something ancient, something that woke up with an ear-splitting shriek, transformed into mist, and vanished through cracks in the ceiling.

Agatha, ever the master of understatement, muttered, "That’s not going to come back and bite us in the butt or anything." Sometimes, she’s painfully right.

With the Grove behind us, all that remained was the return to Fallcrest with Sharwyn and Braford in tow. We also had unfinished business with the sealed dragon door, and I had every intention of seeing what lay behind it.

With the Grove behind us, we turned our attention back to the sealed dragon door. With the key in hand, we unlocked it and faced the Dragon Priest, some kind of undead horror that had been entombed for who knows how long. After a tough battle, we put it down for good and claimed the treasure inside. Among the spoils was a particularly fine Phoenix Cloak, which Agatha took as her own.

Finally, with nothing left to explore, we made the long journey back to Fallcrest. We had Riders to return, loot to sell, and a well-earned rest waiting for us. But something told me this wasn’t the last time we’d be dealing with the horrors lurking below.