The Party, Greyhawk’s most popular crystal ball and magic mirror show, tackles one of their most dangerous assignments in next week’s episode: “Slavepits of the Undercity.”

Deep beneath the despoiled city of Highport lies a pit of slavery, evil, and decay. A pit where ghouls and ghasts wait patiently. ever so patiently, for the one false step that will lead to disaster. A pit where orc and half-orcs wield whips and where half-dead female elves suffer their bite. Into this looted, burned, and ill-kept fortress comes The Party.

Led by their stalwart fighting team of Elwita and Ogre, The Party comes to kill at will. Be dazzled by the tricks of Phanstern the Illusionist, be protected by the Cleric Karraway, be calmed by Eljayess the mystic. Stare slack-jawed in amazement at the theiving skills of Blodgett and the sorcerous power of Dread Delgath. This is The Party that no half-orc, goblin, or gnoll wants to crash.

Can The Party overcome the dread power of the Slavers? Will they escape the tricks and traps of the Undercity? What terrible secret will they find? Turn in this Waterday to find out.

Not this party, The Party

A1-A4 hold a special place in the heart of this Perverse Osmosis member. When I was but a mere henchling, the rural nerds that I played with managed to spend one summer playing fighting the Slave Lords, going Against the Giants, descending into the earth to battle gogglers, assaulting the drow, and then heading into the Abyss to give Lloth the old one-two. It was certainly the summer where I forever plane shifted into the world of Greyhawk.

A1-A4 also have some excellent names. There is Slave Pits of the Undercity, Secret of the Slavers Stockade, Assault on the Aerie of the Slave Lords, and In the Dungeon of the Slave Lords. The last one sounds like a Mentors album or something that Dave Brockie would have released. The album cover would have a shirtless El Duce standing in front of a couple budget-looking stocks with topless, not particularly attractive women in them. The Aerie of the Slave Lords is a middle-period Iron Maiden album, somewhere around Seventh Son or Fear of the Dark.

At the time, I had a bit of a stuttering problem [who would have guessed; it went with the headgear], and I often would pronounce “Slave Pits” as “Sl-a-a-ave Pips.” The assassin and fighter that I played that summer never spoke for a reason.

This kid had less ance.

While my adventuring companions may say otherwise, I do have some taste when it comes to members of the opposite-enough sex; sure I’ve gotten down with a goblin or two, “dated” an annis, sucked face with both ettin heads; for that matter, Hamor and I once double teamed a drunken water naga when we vacationed in Relmor Bay, but I take it as a badge of honor that I have never knowingly made out with the undead. I use knowingly because, well, because I failed a saving throw and got charmed. There, I said it; I rolled a two right then and there and the charming began.

Don’t get me wrong; it is not like I don’t think the undead are attractive. Show me a pasty, shapely vampire or a pale, skinny ghoul, and I can certainly find the beauty in it. If that same shape was filled with actual life, no matter how disgusting, stupid, or evil it may be, I would be all over them, using the old “Do you know I’m a name level fighter?” or “I know a guy who can cast dimension door; ever made it between the angles?” lines. But in order to be undead, this cutie first had to be dead, and that pretty much ends the party. The undead are useful for guarding troves, doing bidding, and acting as temporary sword sheaths, not for playing pelvic pinochle with. It is not like it is hard to find a willing living companion, especially if one can flash a little yellow around.

The Caverns were no joke: even some fairly jaded individuals like ourselves were impressed with the dracolich, the imaginary treasure, the stone golem, and the giant doors. Cilcilre, who claims to have seen it all in her 200 years as a elf, mentioned that she felt “stressed” at points. When we broke into the final room and saw the sleeping maiden, we were all a little suspicious. I mean, we had just slaughtered a dracolich; if that doesn’t get the old blood pumping, then nothing will. Of course, it is all easy to say this in retrospect; at the time, it must not have mattered because I still got charmed. I went into that room knowing something was up and still fell for the “Hello, rescuers, thanks for saving me from this evil place. How can I reward you?”

Next thing I know I am walking towards the unknown superbabe, completely oblivious to two obvious clues: her teeth. To make matters worse, I dropped my trusty longsword +2 that I looted from the tomb of the lizard king; I can think of no other time I treated Stabby show poorly, dropping it there on the floor like some kind of goblin mace. In my defense, she was an attractive vampire, with all the standard vampire looks: pale face, red lips, raven tresses. Also in my defense, I was charmed. I walk up next to her and go right for the breastplate; she gives me that vampire smile and moves in for a kiss. At the time, I thought this was a sign that she was easy; I mean, she is coming on to me. Again, in my defense, I was charmed.

It was certainly not the best kiss I ever had; it doesn’t even make the top ten, but that stupid kiss cost me 18 months of adventuring. That is roughly how many experience points I lost when little miss vampire drained a couple energy levels out of me. A guy goes into the Caverns as a ninth-level Lord and comes out a measly 7th-level Champion, all because he cops a feel. Thankfully, the whole time this little seduction was going on, Hamor and Faragon were fishing out the holy water and arrows of vampire slaying that they had stolen from a couple clerics on the way here. I have little recollection of what happened next: Hamor tells me that my groping actually helped in the melee’ but I suspect he is trying to spare my feelings.

On the plus side, she did have some incredible treasure: a couple Manuals, three or four Tomes, and one Demonomicon. And boobs, firm, chain-mailed boobs. But I stand by my original statement, I only make out with the undead when charmed or when I’ve had too much to drink.

They want to suck our blood

As part of our commitment to diverse academic views and institutions, we present part of some recent scholarship from Keoland University concerning mental abnormalities in clay golems.

Mental abnormalities in golems do not appear to be a localized phenomenon; the research team uncovered cases in Furyondy, The Wild Coast, in the Hold of the Sea Princes, and the Bright Desert. Nor does golem insanity only strike older golems; there were two independently documented cases of newly formed golems berserking their creators, both times with considerable loss of life and property.

Of course, the most famous case of an unstable clay golem is the one found in section 3 of Tsojcanth Caverns. More than 20 encounters with this creature have been recorded; while many of these encounters differ in small details [see appendix A], an overwhelming majority are consistent in important factors. The golem used its natural coloration to hide; the golem attacked immediately with the appearance of light; the golem used its inherent haste ability as soon as possible. All three of these factors lead the research team to speculate that, although unstable by any legitimate metric, this golem, and, by extension, others like it, are possessed with something close to reasoning. This capability of reasoning leads to interesting questions about the magic used in creating these servants, the risks inherent their creation, and, most importantly from the research team’s view, what other cognitive skills these golems may possess.

1% chance of going insane

If an adventuresome party decides it is time for a little hacking and slashing, they can do much worse than the Craggy Dells encounter that occurs immediately before the Caverns. Not only are there some enslaved hippogriffs but there are also a 350 g.p.-earring-wearing-poisoned bolts-shooting-half-orc assassin, a 7th-level fighter, a witch doctor, 22 brigands, 16 orcs, and a partridge in an ironwood tree.

I give the orcs, half-orcs, bandits, and witch doctors this: they have free market capitalism figured out. They found a way to capture the local hippogriff population, train/enslave them, and then sell them off to “certain powerful individuals.” It takes a special kind of low end to run a subdued hippogriff ring. And people complain that half-orcs have no work ethic.

If the party has some lawful or good types, they can get some of the hippogriff fledglings to come along, given they feed and (in a terrible module typo) “provides” the griffs. But not me; I never think that far ahead. Catch and release is my motto. Well, that and stolen gold spends like earned gold.

About the cost of one hippogriff