05/06/2026: The Fire

The contract room is on fire. The contracts themselves — thousands of them, the accumulated debt of the damned — are burning beautifully. This is not ideal, mostly because Murlack is in the contract room. He is also burning, but likely would not describe the flames that are engulfing his legs as “beautiful,” by any stretch. If anything, there is an urgency to put the flames out.

A familiar face appears on the hallway side of the wall of flames. Hope rises in Murlack. It is Newt.

Newt, a determined expression on his face, prepares to race into the room. From somewhere, and he is not really sure who shared this, Newt is almost positive that he can hatch the baby griffin egg with flames.

He races through the wall of flames in the doorway, launching himself into the contract room as though he is vaulting a gate.

Murlack watches the knight leap through the flames. Newt disappears momentarily in the blaze, then Murlack hears the crash. 

Newt is now laying on the floor of the contract room, prone. He is also on fire. The frying pan with the egg within, pried from Newt’s hand, floats serenely above, exactly ten inches above the tallest flames. Newt can hear the egg rattling around within.

⚔

Across the corridor, Tall Glumbo has been swallowed to the waist by what appeared to be a dresser. It is not a dresser. It is a mimic, and it is furious — at being interrupted in the first meal it has had in a while, at being pounded and bitten from the inside by Glumbo, at the general indignity of so many creatures crashing into its personal space while it tries to enjoy its meal.

And there are quite a number who have crashed in. Close to the mimic, Nequo. Cornelius. A bit further in the back, Tick and Lynx.

They all can see Glumbo’s legs, sticking out of the drawer, kicking, but weakly now. A slobbery large tongue slips from the drawers and more securely settles Glumbo in its depths. As the paladin’s air runs out, the kicking slows even more, then stops. Cornelius, finally scraping up the courage, tugs on Glumbo’s ankles. He pulls hard. Nothing happens. He keeps yanking. He tries his best. He does not succeed.

⚔

To the south of this fiasco, there is also the devil.

Krasnyy can clearly see it through the sliver of the door she has opened. Behind her, Freda demands, impatiently, “What’s in there?”

The rogue hesitates, realizing the devil is aware of her standing just outside the partially opened door. It looks up at her hopefully, eyes brimming, and asks “Will you be kind to me? I recognize that I do not deserve it.”

Distracted by the drama of the thing, Krasnyy opens the door a bit wider, but does not step inside. “Why wouldn’t I be kind to you?” Freda can clearly see into the room, just past Krasnyy’s shoulder.

“Oh, you know. Things. Past transgressions.” The devil looks off into the middle distance before brightening. “But I’ve tried to make it up to you. I’ve found you a gift. I hope you will like it.” The devil smiles.

His smile is too wide. It begins in the usual place and continues past the point where smiles usually stop. “I have,” he says, “been waiting for you. I would like to be kind, to make amends.”

He rummages in the bag on his lap and Krasnyy steps backward, unsure.

The devil draws out a key. Long, ornate, infernal in design. It is large, its iron rusted. It appears to have some marks etched upon its long barrel. The key hangs in the air, between the devil and Krasnyy, who eyes it suspiciously, not moving. 

The devil pushes the key it clutches toward Krasnyy. With reproach, with what sounds almost like hurt, it whines, “I’m just trying to give a gift. To be nice.”

Before Krasnyy can say, “I don’t trust anyone,” Freda shoves her way into the room, grasping the key and bubbling, “I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”

She peers at the key closely. The arcane works written upon it are familiar to her…Freda puzzles, then comes up with what it might say:

Teleportation.

The devil has handed them a Key of Teleportation.

If she uses it, she can go home. Maybe more than just herself. Maybe she and at least a few of the others. They can leave Stygia.

Krasnyy enters, glaring at Freda and rubbing her shoulder where Freda barreled into her, says, “This is a powerful one. It’s good for a dozen teleportation journeys.”

“Or twelve one ways to wherever. Back to our own world. Out of Hell.”

The pair blink at one another. This is fantastic news.

Freda pockets the key and departs, wordlessly.

⚔

Far down the corridor, things have not improved in any appreciable way.

The mimic is still attempting to swallow Glumbo. Tick arrives, panting from the run, and pulls at the paladin. Glumbo slides only a few inches toward Tick, then is sucked back into its mouth. He remains stubbornly stuck. 

Nequo tries a Thunderwave spell on the creature, hoping to knock the paladin loose. The mimic is unmoved. It absorbs the impact with the equanimity of a creature that has pretended to be furniture for its entire existence. Glumbo, inside it, is having a worse time than anyone.

Lynx takes a turn pulling on Glumbo’s legs, but also is unable to dislodge the paladin. He moves out of the crowded room into the hall, just as Murlack flings himself through the wall of fire that blocks egress to the contract room.

The warlock sits at Lynx’s feet, patting out the clothing that is still smoldering after a roll, and stands.

They are drawn to the one door in this corridor that has not been opened.

⚔

Unaware of this chaos, Freda pushes open a door she hasn’t explored yet. On the other side is not another burning room or a monster or a wall of contracts. On the other side is a chair. And on the chair, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, is a young man who looks so very familiar to Freda.

He looks up at her. He says, simply: “Oh. Hello.” He wipes at his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Freda tucks the key away.

“I’m missing my home,” he tells her. “Especially missing my dad.” His eyes fill again with tears before he finishes the sentence.

It clicks in Freda’s brain. This fellow looks exactly like the portrait in Cornelius’s ticket office — the one the party saw what feels like a lifetime ago, back in a place that wasn’t Hell.

“Do you know Cornelius? Cornelius Mallard?” Freda demands.

The young man brightens. “Why yes, that’s my dad.”

His name, it turns out, is Orion. Orion Mallard. Cornelius Mallard’s son.

He is the reason for all of it: the contracts, the betrayal, the nine souls sold into Hell so a father could bring his boy back. He is here. He is whole. He has been sitting in this room, in this chair, waiting.

And he does not know for how long.

⚔

First Lynx, then Murlack open the final door at the end of this hallway. Behind it: a canyon. Bottomless, or near enough — neither can see the far wall, and even with Murlack’s darkvision the bottom is a long way down. But the bottom is there, and what fills it is not darkness. It is luggage. Suitcases and bags and loose belongings in great drifting piles: lost shoes, wallets, rings, jewelry, homework assignments, coins and an extraordinary number of library books. And single socks. Many, many mateless socks.

The Cave of Lost Things, it turns out, has a basement.

It has been accumulating for a very long time.

⚔

Orion Mallard follows Freda up the hallway. Ahead, smoke and Newt’s shouting pour out of the room.

The contract room is still burning. Inside the smoke and the orange light, hovering ten inches above the fire on what turns out to be a magic frying pan, is a baby griffin. It is very small. It is peering out at a very strange and dangerous-seeming world. It cannot see Newt, who is beneath the magical skillet. Newt leaps and fails and leaps again to try to grab the flying pan.

Freda does not hesitate. She unfurls her wings and sails through the burning door to seize the pan’s handle. The tiny griffin goggles at the aarakocra. Both of them sail back over the flames into the safety of the hallway. They are followed by Newt.

The griffin props itself up on the edge of the pan and squeaks, “Mama!” at a very surprised Freda.

“No way!” complains Newt. Freda hurriedly hands the pan with the tiny baby to the angry Newt. As an afterthought, Freda also passes some of the cloaker meat she gathered earlier. 

Snatching it away, Newt also shares some of his rations with the baby, who horks everything down in several remarkably large gulps. It begins to purr when Newt picks it up for a cuddle. The baby griffin, improbably, has decided it has parents now. “Mama,” it sighs, face pressed against Newt’s cheek.

“I know what I’m going to name it!” Newt is captivated.

The baby griffin’s name becomes, of course, Griff.

⚔

It is Krasnyy who finally pulls Tall Glumbo free with the help of the devil. The devil has come with Krasnyy at her invitation — she grabs Glumbo’s left leg. The devil grabs the right leg.

They haul.

And this time it works. Tall Glumbo emerges from the dresser drawer in a soggy, slippery heap, sliding heavily to the floor. He is nearly dead, but nonetheless immediately back on his feet. He channels the spirit of Glumbo his God and lays hands on himself.

His bruises fade, the scrapes mend and Glumbo stands with the slightly startled expression of someone who was just eaten by furniture.

The mimic, unhappy about losing its meal, prepares itself to attack again.