The fog and the mirror Report

General Summary

Previously: A Wizard's Retreat.
The previously human thug called 'Elf' asked Anathema for a favour. She listened carefully to Elf's tale of woe, and promised to pass on his regrets to Sildar Hallwinter, the sheriff we met in Phandalin, who is apparently Elf's father. She promised let him know what had happened to the boy. She also left him with a pack of cards, to keep himself amused.
The mirror was identified by the delicate 'FR' engraved into the base. It turned out to be a powerful magical device created in Neverwinter by a company called Arcane Acquisitions. An enchanter known as Flinar Ralolar and his goblin assistant Gigz are known to churn out large batches of the same magical items for sale to the rich of Neverwinter. They tend to install standard traps and passcodes on their devices, which can then be personalised by the final owner. Thieves and rogues memorise these default passcodes knowing that many customers never bother to change them.
The mirror was turned into a magical doorway by running one's fingers down the righthand side of the frame.
As a safety precaution, thinking something might be hiding in the mirror's pocket dimension, we tied a cloak around the mirror with rope to stop things getting out.
The ward spell we activated had made it very foggy for about a mile in all directions. Tharg could feel the natural magic flowing through the ground and we followed these 'ley lines' round the hill. We paused when we encountered light shining through the swampy fog. We discovered a cave, clearly lit, but with cobwebs hanging from every surface. The light flickered like fire, but there was no sound and no smell from such a flame. The cave merely smelt of cobwebs, must and decaying swamp vegetation. Tharg noted a boot mark in the muddy ground, but it wasn't fresh, maybe even months old. The track suggested some had fled into the cave. There is no sign of the person exiting again. Anathema and I took covered positions at the mouth of the cave, while Tharg yelled into it. There was a return cry requesting aid from the depths of the cave, with a Neverwinter accent. Anathema recognised it as the last of her missing gang members, Brag.
Cautiously, Tharg headed into the cave, with Anathema watching his back, and Herdyr on lookout at the edge of the cave. Anathema related her history with Brag, his job of curcumventing magical traps, and his general attitude (which lived up to his name). He was a male Tiefling magic user.
While Tharg continued inside, he observed that the illumination was set from torches in sconses, at various places along old, broken walls, with a spell similar to continual flame. Tharg took one of the torches off the wall and put it in his rucksack.
Smiles woofed, expressing that he smelled spiders at the back fo the cave, and drew our attention to the ceiling, where there was plenty of room for an eight legged climber of great size to sneak up or lie in ambush for two legged humanoids such as ourselves. Knowing my own god, Corellon, has an intense antipathy for the Elven god of spiders, Lolth, I eagerly sent my spiritual weapon soaring down the tunnel. I may have been overeager, however, and narrowly missed hitting my allies as it bounced from wall to wall.
Meanwhile, Tharg approached a giant spider's cocoon where Brag hung. "Hurry and cut me down." he said. "I've been here so long that I can't even feel my legs." At this point we noticed his pale skin tone and rotted limbs. Brag was undead, but with a strange sense of vitality to him. From his comments, I was sure that he hadn't realised he was dead at that point. We fought off spiders as Anathema dragged her previous comrade from the cave. It looked like he had one working hand left, while his other three limbs were rotted away or otherwise missing.
Next: Corpse and Soul.