Broccli_Head
Explorer
So is Eli dead?
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Sniktch's Story Hour Prelude - From the Beginning (UPDATED 04/22)
- Thread starter Sniktch
- Start date
Sniktch
First Post
No, Eli survived the battle too; he is the "stricken friend, who still needed rest and healing." Perhaps I have a vague pronoun reference in the paragraph, I apologize if the results weren't clear. I will be very clear if and when a character does die - these tend to be rare and momentous events in our game.
In purely game mechanic terms, Eli was very close to death when Jack found him in the darkness - the darkmantle knocked him down to -6 hp before Jack came to his rescue, and he bled another 2 rounds before Jack found him and cast cure light wounds. The healing spell stabilized him but left him at negative hp, thus the unconscious elf had to be carried back upstairs, and the group decided to go back to town for a couple of days until everyone was at full hp again.
At this point everyone was very close to achieving third level
In purely game mechanic terms, Eli was very close to death when Jack found him in the darkness - the darkmantle knocked him down to -6 hp before Jack came to his rescue, and he bled another 2 rounds before Jack found him and cast cure light wounds. The healing spell stabilized him but left him at negative hp, thus the unconscious elf had to be carried back upstairs, and the group decided to go back to town for a couple of days until everyone was at full hp again.
At this point everyone was very close to achieving third level
Sniktch
First Post
Around town, part 2
Filthy Ike woke up early in his room at the Foaming Mug and dressed quickly. He had plans with how to spend his time before they went back to the mines. His anger at Lord Travens had only grown during the last couple of days, and he planned to find a way to make the aristocrat pay for his callousness and snobbery.
A half an hour later found him crouched in the branches of a thick fir tree, giving him an excellent view of the Lord’s manor while concealing him from casual view. He studied the house intently, looking to establish the early morning routine of the household and determine of an opportunity existed to break in.
A rustling in the branches alerted him to the presence of another a few seconds before a small, agile form bundled in thick furs clambered up and sat on the branch next to his. Welby tossed a dead chicken over the limb he sat upon and began devouring another.
“Welby, I’m trying to avoid notice!” Ike hissed.
“No worry, Ike. No one see Welby. Chicken?”
Ike turned down the offered hunk of raw meat. “So what do you want then? I don’t have time for games right now.”
“Welby want be sneaky. Like you. You teach Welby?” The halfling focused his cherubic face upon Ike hopefully.
“Is that it? Sure, Welby, I’ll teach you how to be stealthier. Meet me behind the inn tomorrow morning after your chicken run and I’ll show you all about it.”
The small barbarian beamed happily at Ike for a minute before dropping back out of the tree and loping back toward the Inn. Ike shook his head in amusement and went back to studying the silent manor house.
*****
Artimas had also risen early, but spent the first hours of his day in prayer to Arawn and deep in the study of his spellbooks. Finally, hunger roused him, so he grabbed his sketchbook and journeyed downstairs to break his fast. The Crow greeted him groggily, raising a steaming mug of tea in salute and motioning for Artimas to join him.
“Morning, Art,” he mumbled amiably. “Glad to have the company. Eli isn’t quite well enough to get out of bed yet, and as you know, Jack stayed up most of the night, deep in his cups. Our furry barbarian and our friend the half-orc have, as usual, already headed out, leaving yours truly to eat a sad and lonely meal.”
“You take that back, Royston!” Ned chimed in from behind the bar. “If my company means so little to ya, you can cook yer own breakfast from now on!”
“Sorry, Ned. What I meant to say, Artimas, is that were it not for our esteemed and congenial host Ned here, I would have eaten a sad and lonely meal.”
Art laughed at the playful banter and took his seat, ordering a hot cup of water and a bowl of oatmeal from the proprietor. He wolfed down the cereal before it could grow cold, then mixed his tea and leaned back to relax and enjoy the companionship. He chimed into the conversation from time to time, but primarily he focused on the pad before him and concentrated on finishing a portrait of his half-elven friend.
The tavern stayed quiet; due to the cold weather the regulars would not begin arriving until the late afternoon, if at all, and the companions were the only travelers currently staying at the inn. Ike and Welby returned after a while, Ike joining in the idle chatter, while Welby ordered his customary stack of pancakes and started digging in.
Shortly before noon the front door opened and admitted two strangers. When they removed their winter gear, the two newcomers were revealed to be a female dwarf with gold thread and jewels braided into her long, luxurious beard, and a tall, muscle-bound half-orc wearing a simple monk’s outfit. Everyone in the room merely gaped at this strange duo, and even the incessant chatter of Ned ceased momentarily. The half-orc stooped to whisper to the female, waving tree trunk arms in the direction of the friends’ table. She responded with a nod, and then the pair hesitantly approached.
*****
Quinn Hammerknell started having the dreams at the onset of winter.
At first the dream had been simple. She would see the land spread out below here as if she were standing on a tall peak or flying on the wings of a bird, and the shadow would spread over the land. Soon, even though the sun still shone bright in the air above her, the land below would appear cloaked in darkness except for a few bright motes of light which were overwhelmed and extinguished one at a time while she watched.
These dreams always left her feeling tired and chilled the next day, but she could not make sense of the vision and simply ignored it. The dreams persisted and evolved as snow began to layer the ground. She began to zoom in closer to the ground on her nightly flights, and she saw that the darkness was really a rolling mass of orcs, goblins, and the other evil races, lead by towering, terrifying behemoths of demonic visage. The lands they passed over remained dark, stained with rivers of blood. She would wake from these dreams in a cold sweat, heart pounding beneath her blankets.
The church elders could not explain the visions, but they did not try to deny their significance. “Quinn,” they told her, “we have long feared the return of the forgotten evils that destroyed the civilization of before. We fear that your dreams are a sign from great Dumathoin warning us that this indeed is coming to pass.”
“But why me?” she asked them. “Why has Dumathoin in his wisdom chosen me to receive his blessing? I am a mere novice; wouldn’t he have chosen one of the more experienced brethren?”
“You are right to question but do not try to understand. Your faith is the answer and should be all you require until great Dumathoin sees fit to reveal more. In the legends of the lost times it is foretold that when the shadow creeps once more across the land each of the good powers will select a champion to combat the darkness. Perhaps you have been selected as Dumathoin’s champion – we have always believed that you were a special daughter of the church.”
The dreams continued, always growing in scope and detail. Finally, the elders met and decided to send Quinn out into the world to find the meaning of the dreams. “Our course is clear,” they told her. “It is obvious to us now that the forgotten evils have entered or threaten to enter our world again. It is also clear to us that Dumathoin has selected you to perform some special task in the dark days that lie ahead of us. You are to go out into the world to try to find the purpose you have been given and fulfill it. Find the roots of the wickedness spreading through our land and pull them into the light, where they will wither and die.”
So Quinn left, accompanied only by her “adopted” brother and constant companion Grick, the half-orc monk. Once on the road, the visions altered, and now Quinn saw far off places and individuals, and felt she came to know these other people, and felt she needed to see these other places. Some of them it was her job to befriend and some she would need to thwart. It was all jumbled, surreal imagery she could not exactly make sense of, but she knew all would be made clear when the time was right.
The dreams led them slowly eastward, and finally one morning, into a small village nestled between a great forest and a steep range of craggy hills. Quinn and Grick strolled down the road leading into Travensburg, confident that their purpose, for now, lay in the sleepy village.
And now, in the Foaming Mug, she found herself face to face with three of the strangers who nightly filled her dreams.
“Your pardon, ma’am, is there something I can assist with?” came the friendly and polite question from the balding, bespectacled gentleman. Yes, here was the one with the hidden heart, the good man who lived in the shadows. And across from him the savage child, and next to him the forgotten one. She did not recognize the fourth, a half-orc like her Grick, but that hardly mattered. Here were the strangers who were meant to be here friends and traveling companions.
They were all staring at her and she realized she had not answered the question. “Yes, I’m sorry, its just that – well, I feel like I know you from somewhere. My name is Quinn Hammerknell, and this is my associate Grick. We hail from the fortress of Dun Akbar to the west. We came to Travensburg following a series of dreams I experience nightly.”
She described her dreams to them, adding the interpretations of the elders. The companions were silent until she finished, then Ike broke the spell, “Well, then, it seems the two of you will just have to join us.”
*****
They stayed in town for three more days, until Eli was fully recovered from his wounds and could travel again. Jack and the elf were introduced to the two newcomers, and while Eli seemed unimpressed, Jack was overjoyed to have another dwarf in the party, spending long hours with Quinn swapping tales by the fire. Ike and Welby met every morning to work on the finer points of stealth, after which Welby returned to the inn for his customary stacks of pancakes and Ike continued his surveillance of Traven’s manor. Artimas buried himself in his books and his sketchpad and the Crow convinced Ned to teach him how to cook.
Winter moved along outside, each day bringing them closer to the spring thaw. A couple of days were even warm enough to melt a good bit of the snow blanketing the ground. Finally, the day after Eli left his bed and joined them downstairs, they knew it was time to return.
On a crisp, sunny morning when the westerly breezes hinted of spring they returned to the cursed mines of Duernfast.
Filthy Ike woke up early in his room at the Foaming Mug and dressed quickly. He had plans with how to spend his time before they went back to the mines. His anger at Lord Travens had only grown during the last couple of days, and he planned to find a way to make the aristocrat pay for his callousness and snobbery.
A half an hour later found him crouched in the branches of a thick fir tree, giving him an excellent view of the Lord’s manor while concealing him from casual view. He studied the house intently, looking to establish the early morning routine of the household and determine of an opportunity existed to break in.
A rustling in the branches alerted him to the presence of another a few seconds before a small, agile form bundled in thick furs clambered up and sat on the branch next to his. Welby tossed a dead chicken over the limb he sat upon and began devouring another.
“Welby, I’m trying to avoid notice!” Ike hissed.
“No worry, Ike. No one see Welby. Chicken?”
Ike turned down the offered hunk of raw meat. “So what do you want then? I don’t have time for games right now.”
“Welby want be sneaky. Like you. You teach Welby?” The halfling focused his cherubic face upon Ike hopefully.
“Is that it? Sure, Welby, I’ll teach you how to be stealthier. Meet me behind the inn tomorrow morning after your chicken run and I’ll show you all about it.”
The small barbarian beamed happily at Ike for a minute before dropping back out of the tree and loping back toward the Inn. Ike shook his head in amusement and went back to studying the silent manor house.
*****
Artimas had also risen early, but spent the first hours of his day in prayer to Arawn and deep in the study of his spellbooks. Finally, hunger roused him, so he grabbed his sketchbook and journeyed downstairs to break his fast. The Crow greeted him groggily, raising a steaming mug of tea in salute and motioning for Artimas to join him.
“Morning, Art,” he mumbled amiably. “Glad to have the company. Eli isn’t quite well enough to get out of bed yet, and as you know, Jack stayed up most of the night, deep in his cups. Our furry barbarian and our friend the half-orc have, as usual, already headed out, leaving yours truly to eat a sad and lonely meal.”
“You take that back, Royston!” Ned chimed in from behind the bar. “If my company means so little to ya, you can cook yer own breakfast from now on!”
“Sorry, Ned. What I meant to say, Artimas, is that were it not for our esteemed and congenial host Ned here, I would have eaten a sad and lonely meal.”
Art laughed at the playful banter and took his seat, ordering a hot cup of water and a bowl of oatmeal from the proprietor. He wolfed down the cereal before it could grow cold, then mixed his tea and leaned back to relax and enjoy the companionship. He chimed into the conversation from time to time, but primarily he focused on the pad before him and concentrated on finishing a portrait of his half-elven friend.
The tavern stayed quiet; due to the cold weather the regulars would not begin arriving until the late afternoon, if at all, and the companions were the only travelers currently staying at the inn. Ike and Welby returned after a while, Ike joining in the idle chatter, while Welby ordered his customary stack of pancakes and started digging in.
Shortly before noon the front door opened and admitted two strangers. When they removed their winter gear, the two newcomers were revealed to be a female dwarf with gold thread and jewels braided into her long, luxurious beard, and a tall, muscle-bound half-orc wearing a simple monk’s outfit. Everyone in the room merely gaped at this strange duo, and even the incessant chatter of Ned ceased momentarily. The half-orc stooped to whisper to the female, waving tree trunk arms in the direction of the friends’ table. She responded with a nod, and then the pair hesitantly approached.
*****
Quinn Hammerknell started having the dreams at the onset of winter.
At first the dream had been simple. She would see the land spread out below here as if she were standing on a tall peak or flying on the wings of a bird, and the shadow would spread over the land. Soon, even though the sun still shone bright in the air above her, the land below would appear cloaked in darkness except for a few bright motes of light which were overwhelmed and extinguished one at a time while she watched.
These dreams always left her feeling tired and chilled the next day, but she could not make sense of the vision and simply ignored it. The dreams persisted and evolved as snow began to layer the ground. She began to zoom in closer to the ground on her nightly flights, and she saw that the darkness was really a rolling mass of orcs, goblins, and the other evil races, lead by towering, terrifying behemoths of demonic visage. The lands they passed over remained dark, stained with rivers of blood. She would wake from these dreams in a cold sweat, heart pounding beneath her blankets.
The church elders could not explain the visions, but they did not try to deny their significance. “Quinn,” they told her, “we have long feared the return of the forgotten evils that destroyed the civilization of before. We fear that your dreams are a sign from great Dumathoin warning us that this indeed is coming to pass.”
“But why me?” she asked them. “Why has Dumathoin in his wisdom chosen me to receive his blessing? I am a mere novice; wouldn’t he have chosen one of the more experienced brethren?”
“You are right to question but do not try to understand. Your faith is the answer and should be all you require until great Dumathoin sees fit to reveal more. In the legends of the lost times it is foretold that when the shadow creeps once more across the land each of the good powers will select a champion to combat the darkness. Perhaps you have been selected as Dumathoin’s champion – we have always believed that you were a special daughter of the church.”
The dreams continued, always growing in scope and detail. Finally, the elders met and decided to send Quinn out into the world to find the meaning of the dreams. “Our course is clear,” they told her. “It is obvious to us now that the forgotten evils have entered or threaten to enter our world again. It is also clear to us that Dumathoin has selected you to perform some special task in the dark days that lie ahead of us. You are to go out into the world to try to find the purpose you have been given and fulfill it. Find the roots of the wickedness spreading through our land and pull them into the light, where they will wither and die.”
So Quinn left, accompanied only by her “adopted” brother and constant companion Grick, the half-orc monk. Once on the road, the visions altered, and now Quinn saw far off places and individuals, and felt she came to know these other people, and felt she needed to see these other places. Some of them it was her job to befriend and some she would need to thwart. It was all jumbled, surreal imagery she could not exactly make sense of, but she knew all would be made clear when the time was right.
The dreams led them slowly eastward, and finally one morning, into a small village nestled between a great forest and a steep range of craggy hills. Quinn and Grick strolled down the road leading into Travensburg, confident that their purpose, for now, lay in the sleepy village.
And now, in the Foaming Mug, she found herself face to face with three of the strangers who nightly filled her dreams.
“Your pardon, ma’am, is there something I can assist with?” came the friendly and polite question from the balding, bespectacled gentleman. Yes, here was the one with the hidden heart, the good man who lived in the shadows. And across from him the savage child, and next to him the forgotten one. She did not recognize the fourth, a half-orc like her Grick, but that hardly mattered. Here were the strangers who were meant to be here friends and traveling companions.
They were all staring at her and she realized she had not answered the question. “Yes, I’m sorry, its just that – well, I feel like I know you from somewhere. My name is Quinn Hammerknell, and this is my associate Grick. We hail from the fortress of Dun Akbar to the west. We came to Travensburg following a series of dreams I experience nightly.”
She described her dreams to them, adding the interpretations of the elders. The companions were silent until she finished, then Ike broke the spell, “Well, then, it seems the two of you will just have to join us.”
*****
They stayed in town for three more days, until Eli was fully recovered from his wounds and could travel again. Jack and the elf were introduced to the two newcomers, and while Eli seemed unimpressed, Jack was overjoyed to have another dwarf in the party, spending long hours with Quinn swapping tales by the fire. Ike and Welby met every morning to work on the finer points of stealth, after which Welby returned to the inn for his customary stacks of pancakes and Ike continued his surveillance of Traven’s manor. Artimas buried himself in his books and his sketchpad and the Crow convinced Ned to teach him how to cook.
Winter moved along outside, each day bringing them closer to the spring thaw. A couple of days were even warm enough to melt a good bit of the snow blanketing the ground. Finally, the day after Eli left his bed and joined them downstairs, they knew it was time to return.
On a crisp, sunny morning when the westerly breezes hinted of spring they returned to the cursed mines of Duernfast.
Sniktch
First Post
Return to the forges. Jack gets a new toy.
They returned to the forges. The area was still, the only change since they left the rotting stench of the darkmantle corpses. Something had dragged one of the noisome squid-like carcasses about halfway across the cavern and eaten a large portion of it.
Ike prodded at the stinking pile and snorted, “Looks like our choker friend got a meal after all.”
They spent hours searching through the small buildings, huddled together and alert against another attack. In each they found the same collection of rusting tools, the same anvil; in other words, they found nothing. Finally, in the southeastern most pair of rooms, Eli made an exciting discovery.
“Look everyone!” he caught their attention. “The anvil in this area is on a sliding base. If we find the catch and trigger it I believe we’ll find a hidden compartment.” He groped around the base of the anvil, then, “Ah, here it is.” A faint click followed, and then the anvil slowly slid away, revealing a small shaft leading downwards, a series of iron rungs arranged in parallel lines one foot apart providing hand and foot holds for easy climbing.
It was a tight fit, but Jack squeezed into the opening and lowered himself to the bottom of the shaft. “There’s a passageway down ‘ere, but it’s a tight fit fer a dwarf ta squeeze through, so I’m not knowin if’n we’ll all fit.”
Ike thought for a few seconds. “How about Quinn and Eli join you and you see where the passage leads. The rest of us will wait for you to return.”
Eli nodded and started climbing down the shaft with Quinn behind him. When they both reached the bottom, Jack started down the tunnel, leading them in narrow single file into the gloom. The light from the lanterns died as they moved further into the cramped corridor, and Eli was forced to call a magical light so that he could see. After thirty feet the tunnel opened into a small, round chamber six feet in diameter. In the center of the chamber lay an ironbound box detailed with a series of dwarven figures in assorted positions.
Jack checked the chest and tried the latch. “Not locked,” he said, then, “Yeowtch!” He stuck his finger in his mouth and began sucking at the tiny wound, then gazed fearfully at the small needle sticking halfway out of the latch.
Eli pulled the needle free and stared at it for a moment, then started to laugh. “I think you will survive, Jack, unless you bleed to death. Look.” He held the pin forth for them to examine; while at one time the trap may have been deadly, it had been set so long ago that the poison had long ago dried off and flaked away.
Jack started laughing too, a deep, rumbling chuckle that sounded like water rushing over stone, and knelt back in front of the chest. Lifting the lid revealed a beautiful weapon, a steel battleaxe covered with inlaid runes of silver and gold that covered every inch of the blade. The shaft was also all steel and decorated with circular gold runes spaced every few inches down its length. The last part of the shaft was wrapped with a grip of landshark hide, and a steel ball with a single silver rune was attached to the very bottom. The symbol was in dwarven script and Jack made it out to read “Voltare.”
Eli invoked a spell of magic detection, then cried out and fell back shading his eyes. The elf babbled senselessly for a minute, explaining once he recovered. “The axe is enchanted, and stronger magic than I can currently comprehend. I was stunned when I tried to discern what sort of magic the weapon might be imbued with.”
At that moment Quinn, who had been keeping watch, shouted in alarm. A strange creature had crawled into view, dropping from a large crack in the ceiling of the tunnel they had not previously noticed. It was about four-foot long and covered in a glistening, rubbery green hide. The slug-like tail and body ended in a head straight from nightmare, a sharp, curving beak, two beady eyes imbedded in the flesh above the beak, and the whole head ringed by four tentacles covered with razor sharp barbs.
The beast undulated into the cramped confines and attacked. Quinn smashed it with a powerful blow from her heavy mace, but the weapon simply bounced off the rubbery hide. It responded by tearing into her with its tentacles, digging terrible wounds in her flesh and flinging her to the side. Quinn collapsed against the wall, moaning and bleeding. Eli did not have space to safely cast a spell, so he stabbed with his rapier. The blade stuck the thick skin and bent, unable to penetrate. Eli staggered back to the wall, a long gash running the length of his forearm.
Jack yelled a battlecry and grabbed the axe from the chest, moving to confront the beast. It slashed at him with its tentacles, one digging painfully into his side and two others shredding the skin from his shield arm. He struck it a glancing blow in return and was relieved to see that the axe did bite into its flesh, green blood welling up and oozing from the cut. It screeched in pain and renewed its attack upon him, scoring several more hits on his midsection and tearing a flap of his cheek away. Jack struggled to remain conscious and alert through the pain.
Remembering the rune he had read on the steel ball, Jack raised the axe and shouted “Voltare! Strike true an’ cleave the beast dead!” As he spoke, the axe flared into life and the dwarf felt a tingling, numbing sensation running up and down his arm. Sparks and glowing arcs of crackling energy began leaping along the spidery runes traced all along the blade and shaft, surrounding the weapon with a blue nimbus of electricity.
Jack swung the sparking weapon with all his strength, driving it into the monster’s head. As electricity conducted itself through the creature’s body it exploded, covering the three injured heroes with a layer of green ooze and cooked monster flesh. Jack said ”Voltare” again and the blade returned to normal. He turned his new weapon over and over in his hands, exulting in his newly found power.
*****
Meanwhile, the others were growing bored. They had been waiting long minutes for the Eli and the dwarves to return, and they had begun discussing sending the halfling down the hole to make sure nothing had happened. Welby really didn’t want to go; the dark hole made him feel claustrophobic. None of the others could really fit comfortably, and the argument was now several minutes old – Grick and the Crow pleading with Welby to see what was taking the others so long, and Welby steadfastly refusing to enter the black shaft.
Artimas, tired of the argument, wandered off to inspect some of the forges on his own, and Ike tailed him to keep an eye on him. The mage was inside one of the buildings now, poking through the rusty tools while Ike waited outside, watching for any signs of the choker. Suddenly he heard a gasp from inside and a clattering. Spinning around and peering into the room, he saw that the choker had moved onto the roof of the building and attacked Artimas, and was trying to pull the struggling wizard up through the aperture.
Ike shouted to the others, raising the alarm, and charged into the building. The choker bruised his ribs with a crushing slam, but he continued forward and hit the beast on the tentacle wrapped around the kicking Artimas, forcing the choker to drop him. Artimas rolled into the corner and sat up, pointing his finger at the monster. He shouted a series of arcane syllables and a ray of blackness shot out and hit the beast. As the spell of enfeeblement took effect the choker’s muscles sagged and wasted away right before the astonished half-orc’s eyes. The creature screamed in terror and pain and tried to flee once again.
Grick heard Ike’s shout and reacted immediately, leaping to the roof of the closest building. He saw the beast crouched on a nearby hut, engaged with someone inside of the building. As he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, closing the distance, it let out a shriek and tried to flee, but it did not see the swiftly approaching monk. Grick saw it heading towards a large pile of rubble in the southern portion of the cavern and angled to intercept.
The choker vaulted from the last building, its mind clouded with fear and pain. If it could just reach its lair in the fallen debris it could hide from these hated intruders until they left again. In midair a large form crashed into it, driving it earthward. Grick grappled the small, slippery creature by its neck with his powerful arms and twisted sharply. He was rewarded with a loud, sharp crack. He landed on his feet and let the monster’s corpse fall from his fingers to the floor.
*****
Eli and the dwarves returned from the shaft once Jack had finished binding and healing Quinn’s wounds and she had returned the favor. He showed off his axe with pride, yelling “Voltare!” once and swinging the crackling blade through the air. The others congratulated him on his find; surely this weapon would prove very useful in any future battles.
They found nothing else in the forge area, and no way to proceed, so they returned to the hallway and prepared to enter the eastern passageway for the first time. The tunnel turned south and continued fifty more feet before it ended in a large, ornate stone double door. The door had been sculpted in the image of Moradin, chief of the dwarf gods, the crack separating the two halves running down the center of the god’s features. In Moradin’s right hand he gripped a bar carved to resemble a mighty warhammer. The head of the hammer rested in the god’s left hand, effectively barring the door shut.
The companions contemplated the sturdy portal, wondering what trials and adventures awaited them beyond.
Next: the Hall of Dwarven Kings
They returned to the forges. The area was still, the only change since they left the rotting stench of the darkmantle corpses. Something had dragged one of the noisome squid-like carcasses about halfway across the cavern and eaten a large portion of it.
Ike prodded at the stinking pile and snorted, “Looks like our choker friend got a meal after all.”
They spent hours searching through the small buildings, huddled together and alert against another attack. In each they found the same collection of rusting tools, the same anvil; in other words, they found nothing. Finally, in the southeastern most pair of rooms, Eli made an exciting discovery.
“Look everyone!” he caught their attention. “The anvil in this area is on a sliding base. If we find the catch and trigger it I believe we’ll find a hidden compartment.” He groped around the base of the anvil, then, “Ah, here it is.” A faint click followed, and then the anvil slowly slid away, revealing a small shaft leading downwards, a series of iron rungs arranged in parallel lines one foot apart providing hand and foot holds for easy climbing.
It was a tight fit, but Jack squeezed into the opening and lowered himself to the bottom of the shaft. “There’s a passageway down ‘ere, but it’s a tight fit fer a dwarf ta squeeze through, so I’m not knowin if’n we’ll all fit.”
Ike thought for a few seconds. “How about Quinn and Eli join you and you see where the passage leads. The rest of us will wait for you to return.”
Eli nodded and started climbing down the shaft with Quinn behind him. When they both reached the bottom, Jack started down the tunnel, leading them in narrow single file into the gloom. The light from the lanterns died as they moved further into the cramped corridor, and Eli was forced to call a magical light so that he could see. After thirty feet the tunnel opened into a small, round chamber six feet in diameter. In the center of the chamber lay an ironbound box detailed with a series of dwarven figures in assorted positions.
Jack checked the chest and tried the latch. “Not locked,” he said, then, “Yeowtch!” He stuck his finger in his mouth and began sucking at the tiny wound, then gazed fearfully at the small needle sticking halfway out of the latch.
Eli pulled the needle free and stared at it for a moment, then started to laugh. “I think you will survive, Jack, unless you bleed to death. Look.” He held the pin forth for them to examine; while at one time the trap may have been deadly, it had been set so long ago that the poison had long ago dried off and flaked away.
Jack started laughing too, a deep, rumbling chuckle that sounded like water rushing over stone, and knelt back in front of the chest. Lifting the lid revealed a beautiful weapon, a steel battleaxe covered with inlaid runes of silver and gold that covered every inch of the blade. The shaft was also all steel and decorated with circular gold runes spaced every few inches down its length. The last part of the shaft was wrapped with a grip of landshark hide, and a steel ball with a single silver rune was attached to the very bottom. The symbol was in dwarven script and Jack made it out to read “Voltare.”
Eli invoked a spell of magic detection, then cried out and fell back shading his eyes. The elf babbled senselessly for a minute, explaining once he recovered. “The axe is enchanted, and stronger magic than I can currently comprehend. I was stunned when I tried to discern what sort of magic the weapon might be imbued with.”
At that moment Quinn, who had been keeping watch, shouted in alarm. A strange creature had crawled into view, dropping from a large crack in the ceiling of the tunnel they had not previously noticed. It was about four-foot long and covered in a glistening, rubbery green hide. The slug-like tail and body ended in a head straight from nightmare, a sharp, curving beak, two beady eyes imbedded in the flesh above the beak, and the whole head ringed by four tentacles covered with razor sharp barbs.
The beast undulated into the cramped confines and attacked. Quinn smashed it with a powerful blow from her heavy mace, but the weapon simply bounced off the rubbery hide. It responded by tearing into her with its tentacles, digging terrible wounds in her flesh and flinging her to the side. Quinn collapsed against the wall, moaning and bleeding. Eli did not have space to safely cast a spell, so he stabbed with his rapier. The blade stuck the thick skin and bent, unable to penetrate. Eli staggered back to the wall, a long gash running the length of his forearm.
Jack yelled a battlecry and grabbed the axe from the chest, moving to confront the beast. It slashed at him with its tentacles, one digging painfully into his side and two others shredding the skin from his shield arm. He struck it a glancing blow in return and was relieved to see that the axe did bite into its flesh, green blood welling up and oozing from the cut. It screeched in pain and renewed its attack upon him, scoring several more hits on his midsection and tearing a flap of his cheek away. Jack struggled to remain conscious and alert through the pain.
Remembering the rune he had read on the steel ball, Jack raised the axe and shouted “Voltare! Strike true an’ cleave the beast dead!” As he spoke, the axe flared into life and the dwarf felt a tingling, numbing sensation running up and down his arm. Sparks and glowing arcs of crackling energy began leaping along the spidery runes traced all along the blade and shaft, surrounding the weapon with a blue nimbus of electricity.
Jack swung the sparking weapon with all his strength, driving it into the monster’s head. As electricity conducted itself through the creature’s body it exploded, covering the three injured heroes with a layer of green ooze and cooked monster flesh. Jack said ”Voltare” again and the blade returned to normal. He turned his new weapon over and over in his hands, exulting in his newly found power.
*****
Meanwhile, the others were growing bored. They had been waiting long minutes for the Eli and the dwarves to return, and they had begun discussing sending the halfling down the hole to make sure nothing had happened. Welby really didn’t want to go; the dark hole made him feel claustrophobic. None of the others could really fit comfortably, and the argument was now several minutes old – Grick and the Crow pleading with Welby to see what was taking the others so long, and Welby steadfastly refusing to enter the black shaft.
Artimas, tired of the argument, wandered off to inspect some of the forges on his own, and Ike tailed him to keep an eye on him. The mage was inside one of the buildings now, poking through the rusty tools while Ike waited outside, watching for any signs of the choker. Suddenly he heard a gasp from inside and a clattering. Spinning around and peering into the room, he saw that the choker had moved onto the roof of the building and attacked Artimas, and was trying to pull the struggling wizard up through the aperture.
Ike shouted to the others, raising the alarm, and charged into the building. The choker bruised his ribs with a crushing slam, but he continued forward and hit the beast on the tentacle wrapped around the kicking Artimas, forcing the choker to drop him. Artimas rolled into the corner and sat up, pointing his finger at the monster. He shouted a series of arcane syllables and a ray of blackness shot out and hit the beast. As the spell of enfeeblement took effect the choker’s muscles sagged and wasted away right before the astonished half-orc’s eyes. The creature screamed in terror and pain and tried to flee once again.
Grick heard Ike’s shout and reacted immediately, leaping to the roof of the closest building. He saw the beast crouched on a nearby hut, engaged with someone inside of the building. As he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, closing the distance, it let out a shriek and tried to flee, but it did not see the swiftly approaching monk. Grick saw it heading towards a large pile of rubble in the southern portion of the cavern and angled to intercept.
The choker vaulted from the last building, its mind clouded with fear and pain. If it could just reach its lair in the fallen debris it could hide from these hated intruders until they left again. In midair a large form crashed into it, driving it earthward. Grick grappled the small, slippery creature by its neck with his powerful arms and twisted sharply. He was rewarded with a loud, sharp crack. He landed on his feet and let the monster’s corpse fall from his fingers to the floor.
*****
Eli and the dwarves returned from the shaft once Jack had finished binding and healing Quinn’s wounds and she had returned the favor. He showed off his axe with pride, yelling “Voltare!” once and swinging the crackling blade through the air. The others congratulated him on his find; surely this weapon would prove very useful in any future battles.
They found nothing else in the forge area, and no way to proceed, so they returned to the hallway and prepared to enter the eastern passageway for the first time. The tunnel turned south and continued fifty more feet before it ended in a large, ornate stone double door. The door had been sculpted in the image of Moradin, chief of the dwarf gods, the crack separating the two halves running down the center of the god’s features. In Moradin’s right hand he gripped a bar carved to resemble a mighty warhammer. The head of the hammer rested in the god’s left hand, effectively barring the door shut.
The companions contemplated the sturdy portal, wondering what trials and adventures awaited them beyond.
Next: the Hall of Dwarven Kings
Sniktch
First Post
The Crypts
Ike inspected the door carefully for several long moments before he declared it safe. Beyond the door they found an octagonal chamber thick with dust. The walls were lined with statues of stern dwarves, each with the same crown affixed to his head. Plaques below each statue proclaimed these figures to be the great kings of Duernfast, and every king was represented, from the first to the twelth. Directly across from the entrance was another door exactly the same as the one they had just opened.
Ike found that door to be safe also, and they stepped through it to find themselves in a great crypt, the walls lined with niches piled with bones and crisscrossing tunnels honeycombing the area. They stayed on the main thoroughfare, and soon they came to a four-way intersection. The left passage seemed to lead to more of the same – more confusing intersections and niches piled with bones. The right passage was lined with doors. A brief inspection of the nearest pair of doors revealed inscriptions bearing dwarf family names, “Ironfist” and “Hammerhelm.” Jack said that these were most likely family vaults for the noble houses. Directly ahead of them the main passage terminated in a third set of double doors bearing the graven image of Moradin.
“My guess’d be that we should stick ta the double doors,” Jack stated.
“I wouldn’t mind checking some of the doors in this hallway. If they are the family crypts of Duernfast then valuable treasures might be interred with the remains,” Artimas replied.
This statement put Jack into an immediate foul humor. “Ye’ll not be disturbin any more o’ the dead here, wizard,” he snarled.
Artimas raised an eyebrow, “Oh, no? And you will stop me if I do, I suppose?”
Jack ran his thumb down the blade of his new axe. “Try me, wizard.”
Eli stepped in. “Remember, Jack, we are looking for clues. It might be a good idea to examine every nook and cranny, or can we afford to risk missing something that would aid our quest?”
Quinn also entered the argument. “Jack, you must take the high road and be more tolerant of others. How can we expect to accomplish anything of good if we are constantly bickering amongst ourselves?”
Outnumbered, Jack simply snorted and sat in front of the double doors. “Fine,” he spat, “But I still reckon the double doors are the way ta go, an’ I ain’t helpin’ to loot dwarven tombs.” He glowered at Artimas when he finished speaking.
Eli nodded and turned to Artimas. “Feel free to explore some of the side doors if you want. I’ll wait here with Jack and any others who wish to remain behind and wait for you to finish. We could use the rest, actually, my arm is still hurting from the the gash I received from that creature in the shaft.”
Welby stepped up next to Artimas and nodded to the Crow to join him. The half-elf shrugged and sauntered over. Ike chuckled, said, “I suppose someone should tag along to keep you out of trouble,” and also stepped down the right passage. Quinn indicated that she could use a break, also, and Grick would not leave her, so the quartet began to methodically open the doors and explore the small tombs.
They found nothing in the first dozen rooms they went through, simply coffins stacked upon coffins containing skeletal remains. Artimas was nothing, however, if not thorough, and insisted upon continuing their search until all of the crypts had been checked. Soon they had moved out of sight of the other four, who remained camped at the intersection in front of the double doors.
Not long after, Eli began to hear noises from the left hallway. It was a faint, stealthy sound, but he was convinced that something or someone was moving toward them from the other passage, and taking pains to conceal the sound of their approach.
“Did anyone else hear that?” he asked, rising and moving in the direction of the passage.
Jack and Quinn had been having a heated discussion since the other half of the party had moved out of sight. They quieted and looked to see what the elf was doing. Eli cocked his head and then paled noticeably, drawing his rapier and running back to join them.
“Ghouls!” he cried. “Sounds like a whole pack of them!”
Entering the hallway behind him were indeed a half a dozen of the undead creatures, gnawing on old split bones and gazing at the companions with baleful bloodshot eyes.
*****
Welby was getting tired of searching these little rooms. They had opened at least a dozen of them and found nothing more interesting than old coffins filled with bones, rats’ nests, and cobwebs. He was getting ready to tell Artimas to stow it, and he could tell Ike and the Crow were feeling the same way. Just one more room, he told himself, and then I quit.
The chamber he entered looked like all the others he’d seen thus far. Coffins were stacked in a moldering heap and scattered bones were strewn in the thick dust covering the floor. He heard a rustling sound from the stacks of coffins and moved in for a closer look. More rats, probably.
He was not prepared for what happened next. The stack of coffins fell over, crashing just to the side of him. From behind the pile came a hideous creature - a long, segmented worm with many sets of legs and a head ringed with hundreds of tentacles. Welby yelled in alarm and settled back into a defensive stance.
*****
“Voltare!” Jack roared and charged toward the nearest undead. Grick was faster and leaped into the fray, delivering a solid jump kick to one ghoul that slammed it back into the closest wall. Jack arrived just behind him and chopped into a ghoul at its armpit, driving his axe entirely through the creature. It dropped on the ground in two twitching halves. He continued his powerful stroke into the next ghoul, which raised an arm to ward the blow, but Jack cleaved right through the arm and smashed into its chest, driving into the ground. He delivered a quick overhead chop before the ghoul could recover and it lay still.
Two ghouls pounced onto Grick, drawing several long scratches on his arms with their filthy claws. The one he had attacked ran past him, but Eli shouted a spell and a missile of force slammed into its skull, finishing it. Grick went into a blur of movement, launching a flurry of punches at one of the ghoul’s heads that shattered its skull, but the other grabbed his shoulder and bit deep into his arm, paralyzing him. At the same time the last undead clenched Jack’s weapon arm in its hands and bit into his wrist, freezing the doughty dwarf in place.
Quinn strode forward into battle, brandishing her holy symbol and calling on Dumathoin to banish these creatures of the night. The ghoul attacking her half-orc friend let go and ran back down the tunnel gibbering in terror, but the one that had just injured Jack snarled in hatred and bounded towards her. Eli sunk an arrow into the beast before it crashed into her, its wicked nails scratching uselessly at her strong splint mail coat. She pushed it back with her shield and bashed it repeatedly with her mace until she was sure it would not rise again.
*****
The Crow was the first to arrive in response to Welby’s shout. He found the halfling standing rigid and stiff, a weird, man-sized worm encircling his small body, mouth open wide to feed. Royston shouted and lunged forward, sticking the beast with his rapier and attracting its attention. Multiple tentacles brushed against him as the monster scuttled forward and he felt his body growing numb.
Ike and Artimas were next on the scene, crossbows in hand, and they discovered both of their friends standing paralyzed, the monster prepared to start feasting on the Crow. “Carrion crawler!” Ike exclaimed. “I used to hate these things in the Ravensdale sewers!”
They both fired their crossbows, and though Artimas’ bolt merely grazed the creature, Ike’s hit solidly and embedded itself in the monster’s flesh in the segment just behind the head. Ike dropped his crossbow in favor of his mace while Artimas backed off and started spellcasting.
The half-orc aimed his blow for the crawler’s head, but it dodged at the last minute and he only managed to crush a pair of its legs. A beam of negative energy streaked over his shoulder and drew a line of discolored, rotting flesh along the monster’s length. He tumbled backwards and just missed being hit by the questing tentacled maw, then rolled to the side and vaulted back in at a new angle. This time he hit it above its left eye, ruining its vision on that side. Unfortunately, this time the agile half-orc did not have time to recover from his swing and could only watch in horror as several tentacles wrapped around his forearm, immobilizing him.
Artimas was ready for this to happen. While Ike occupied the crawler in melee, he had cast his mage armor spell and surrounded himself with an invisible protective force. Now he cast his last spell for the day, firing a magic missile into the beast’s wounded eye. It didn’t slow, and he raised his walking stick, ready to smash it down when the crawler got close enough.
*****
A short time later Artimas and the others reappeared, looking slightly battered and worse for wear. They told their friends about their battle with the carrion crawler and how Artimas had brained it while the rest of them stood around unable to move. In return, they were told about the pitched battle with the ghouls.
“Too many critters down ‘ere that freeze ya, in my opinion,” complained Jack.
The Crow said, “I’m sure we’ll all laugh about this someday when it doesn’t hurt so much.”
His comment broke the tension a little, drawing several amused chuckles and grins from his friends. After the laughter subsided they pressed on, opening the double doors and stepping inside.
Ike inspected the door carefully for several long moments before he declared it safe. Beyond the door they found an octagonal chamber thick with dust. The walls were lined with statues of stern dwarves, each with the same crown affixed to his head. Plaques below each statue proclaimed these figures to be the great kings of Duernfast, and every king was represented, from the first to the twelth. Directly across from the entrance was another door exactly the same as the one they had just opened.
Ike found that door to be safe also, and they stepped through it to find themselves in a great crypt, the walls lined with niches piled with bones and crisscrossing tunnels honeycombing the area. They stayed on the main thoroughfare, and soon they came to a four-way intersection. The left passage seemed to lead to more of the same – more confusing intersections and niches piled with bones. The right passage was lined with doors. A brief inspection of the nearest pair of doors revealed inscriptions bearing dwarf family names, “Ironfist” and “Hammerhelm.” Jack said that these were most likely family vaults for the noble houses. Directly ahead of them the main passage terminated in a third set of double doors bearing the graven image of Moradin.
“My guess’d be that we should stick ta the double doors,” Jack stated.
“I wouldn’t mind checking some of the doors in this hallway. If they are the family crypts of Duernfast then valuable treasures might be interred with the remains,” Artimas replied.
This statement put Jack into an immediate foul humor. “Ye’ll not be disturbin any more o’ the dead here, wizard,” he snarled.
Artimas raised an eyebrow, “Oh, no? And you will stop me if I do, I suppose?”
Jack ran his thumb down the blade of his new axe. “Try me, wizard.”
Eli stepped in. “Remember, Jack, we are looking for clues. It might be a good idea to examine every nook and cranny, or can we afford to risk missing something that would aid our quest?”
Quinn also entered the argument. “Jack, you must take the high road and be more tolerant of others. How can we expect to accomplish anything of good if we are constantly bickering amongst ourselves?”
Outnumbered, Jack simply snorted and sat in front of the double doors. “Fine,” he spat, “But I still reckon the double doors are the way ta go, an’ I ain’t helpin’ to loot dwarven tombs.” He glowered at Artimas when he finished speaking.
Eli nodded and turned to Artimas. “Feel free to explore some of the side doors if you want. I’ll wait here with Jack and any others who wish to remain behind and wait for you to finish. We could use the rest, actually, my arm is still hurting from the the gash I received from that creature in the shaft.”
Welby stepped up next to Artimas and nodded to the Crow to join him. The half-elf shrugged and sauntered over. Ike chuckled, said, “I suppose someone should tag along to keep you out of trouble,” and also stepped down the right passage. Quinn indicated that she could use a break, also, and Grick would not leave her, so the quartet began to methodically open the doors and explore the small tombs.
They found nothing in the first dozen rooms they went through, simply coffins stacked upon coffins containing skeletal remains. Artimas was nothing, however, if not thorough, and insisted upon continuing their search until all of the crypts had been checked. Soon they had moved out of sight of the other four, who remained camped at the intersection in front of the double doors.
Not long after, Eli began to hear noises from the left hallway. It was a faint, stealthy sound, but he was convinced that something or someone was moving toward them from the other passage, and taking pains to conceal the sound of their approach.
“Did anyone else hear that?” he asked, rising and moving in the direction of the passage.
Jack and Quinn had been having a heated discussion since the other half of the party had moved out of sight. They quieted and looked to see what the elf was doing. Eli cocked his head and then paled noticeably, drawing his rapier and running back to join them.
“Ghouls!” he cried. “Sounds like a whole pack of them!”
Entering the hallway behind him were indeed a half a dozen of the undead creatures, gnawing on old split bones and gazing at the companions with baleful bloodshot eyes.
*****
Welby was getting tired of searching these little rooms. They had opened at least a dozen of them and found nothing more interesting than old coffins filled with bones, rats’ nests, and cobwebs. He was getting ready to tell Artimas to stow it, and he could tell Ike and the Crow were feeling the same way. Just one more room, he told himself, and then I quit.
The chamber he entered looked like all the others he’d seen thus far. Coffins were stacked in a moldering heap and scattered bones were strewn in the thick dust covering the floor. He heard a rustling sound from the stacks of coffins and moved in for a closer look. More rats, probably.
He was not prepared for what happened next. The stack of coffins fell over, crashing just to the side of him. From behind the pile came a hideous creature - a long, segmented worm with many sets of legs and a head ringed with hundreds of tentacles. Welby yelled in alarm and settled back into a defensive stance.
*****
“Voltare!” Jack roared and charged toward the nearest undead. Grick was faster and leaped into the fray, delivering a solid jump kick to one ghoul that slammed it back into the closest wall. Jack arrived just behind him and chopped into a ghoul at its armpit, driving his axe entirely through the creature. It dropped on the ground in two twitching halves. He continued his powerful stroke into the next ghoul, which raised an arm to ward the blow, but Jack cleaved right through the arm and smashed into its chest, driving into the ground. He delivered a quick overhead chop before the ghoul could recover and it lay still.
Two ghouls pounced onto Grick, drawing several long scratches on his arms with their filthy claws. The one he had attacked ran past him, but Eli shouted a spell and a missile of force slammed into its skull, finishing it. Grick went into a blur of movement, launching a flurry of punches at one of the ghoul’s heads that shattered its skull, but the other grabbed his shoulder and bit deep into his arm, paralyzing him. At the same time the last undead clenched Jack’s weapon arm in its hands and bit into his wrist, freezing the doughty dwarf in place.
Quinn strode forward into battle, brandishing her holy symbol and calling on Dumathoin to banish these creatures of the night. The ghoul attacking her half-orc friend let go and ran back down the tunnel gibbering in terror, but the one that had just injured Jack snarled in hatred and bounded towards her. Eli sunk an arrow into the beast before it crashed into her, its wicked nails scratching uselessly at her strong splint mail coat. She pushed it back with her shield and bashed it repeatedly with her mace until she was sure it would not rise again.
*****
The Crow was the first to arrive in response to Welby’s shout. He found the halfling standing rigid and stiff, a weird, man-sized worm encircling his small body, mouth open wide to feed. Royston shouted and lunged forward, sticking the beast with his rapier and attracting its attention. Multiple tentacles brushed against him as the monster scuttled forward and he felt his body growing numb.
Ike and Artimas were next on the scene, crossbows in hand, and they discovered both of their friends standing paralyzed, the monster prepared to start feasting on the Crow. “Carrion crawler!” Ike exclaimed. “I used to hate these things in the Ravensdale sewers!”
They both fired their crossbows, and though Artimas’ bolt merely grazed the creature, Ike’s hit solidly and embedded itself in the monster’s flesh in the segment just behind the head. Ike dropped his crossbow in favor of his mace while Artimas backed off and started spellcasting.
The half-orc aimed his blow for the crawler’s head, but it dodged at the last minute and he only managed to crush a pair of its legs. A beam of negative energy streaked over his shoulder and drew a line of discolored, rotting flesh along the monster’s length. He tumbled backwards and just missed being hit by the questing tentacled maw, then rolled to the side and vaulted back in at a new angle. This time he hit it above its left eye, ruining its vision on that side. Unfortunately, this time the agile half-orc did not have time to recover from his swing and could only watch in horror as several tentacles wrapped around his forearm, immobilizing him.
Artimas was ready for this to happen. While Ike occupied the crawler in melee, he had cast his mage armor spell and surrounded himself with an invisible protective force. Now he cast his last spell for the day, firing a magic missile into the beast’s wounded eye. It didn’t slow, and he raised his walking stick, ready to smash it down when the crawler got close enough.
*****
A short time later Artimas and the others reappeared, looking slightly battered and worse for wear. They told their friends about their battle with the carrion crawler and how Artimas had brained it while the rest of them stood around unable to move. In return, they were told about the pitched battle with the ghouls.
“Too many critters down ‘ere that freeze ya, in my opinion,” complained Jack.
The Crow said, “I’m sure we’ll all laugh about this someday when it doesn’t hurt so much.”
His comment broke the tension a little, drawing several amused chuckles and grins from his friends. After the laughter subsided they pressed on, opening the double doors and stepping inside.
Dungannon
First Post
I ask ya, is there anything worse than paralyzation? Ya stand, or lay, depending on your situation, completely immobilized but still fully aware of what's happening around you. Reminds me of a line from Jurassic Park, "The point is, you are still alive when they start to eat you." Just gives me the shivers.
Sniktch
First Post
The Tomb of the Dwarven Kings
The massive doors swung inward and the companions found themselves in a long tomb. Twelve immense stone sarcophagi rested on slabs, the covers carved to resemble the same dwarves that had been depicted in the statues from the octagonal room. Plaques at the bases identified each coffin as the resting-place of one of the kings of Duernfast. A bare slab lay next to the twelfth king’s sarcophagus, presumably prepared for the thirteenth king’s interment. Another door stood facing the entrance fifty feet away. It had also been sculpted to resemble Moradin, but had been defaced at some point and was barely recognizable.
Jack and Quinn were struck with a deep sense of reverence, but Artimas seemed unaffected. “Hey,” he said, “I bet they buried some good treasure here.” The mage took a step toward the nearest coffin.
“Ya touch one o’ these coffins an’ I’ll carve ya in half,” Jack threatened, and Artimas stopped in midstride.
“I do get a sense of peace here, and great sorrow,” Quinn informed them. “I believe that it would be safe to rest here for awhile, so that we can recover from our wounds and refresh our spells.”
The group agreed that they could use a break and set up camp. Jack and Eli sat with Grick and Quinn, passing a flask of beer back and forth and discussing their respective homelands. Welby hunted down several rats while Artimas built a small campfire and spoke with the Crow. The Crow’s amnesia fascinated him and the necromancer kept poking and prodding the half-elf to see if he would remember some clue about his true identity, but unfortunately the conversation had proved fruitless thus far. Ike kept apart from the others, remaining alert in case this room turned out to be less secure than Quinn had indicated.
Welby returned with half a dozen large crypt rats and tossed a couple to Artimas. Royston excused himself and went to stand with Ike, his companion’s eating habits making him slightly queasy. As the halfling voraciously tore into the raw rodent he held, the hairs on the back of his neck began standing straight up. He looked up in alarm and saw that the flickering campfire had taken a greenish hue, and that thick smoke was rising from it.
He screamed in alarm and hid behind the nearest coffin, while the rest of the group readied their weapons and turned to face the cloud of smoke as it resolved itself into the shape of a translucent aged dwarf. They recognized Bori Duerngar, the twelfth king of Duernfast, as the apparition raised its arms in a gesture of peace.
“Hold friends, Bori does not come to harm ye lest ye be seekin’ to disturb Bori’s remains,” the ghost informed them. “Many years have passed since last the warmth of the living graced our presence, and I be thankful, for I worried that the curse may never be lifted.”
Jack was in awe and fell to his knees in the presence of the ancestor. “Oh, great king,” he replied, “we are your humble servants. Pray tell us what we c’n do ta lift the curse of the hold, an’ we will be grateful fer the opportunity ta do good works.”
“Gather ye round then, and listen,” the spirit bade them. When all had been seated in a semi-circle at his feet, he continued, telling them the story of the fall of Duernfast. “Long ago the dwarves founded the hold of Duernfast, before the great wars that ravaged the land. We traded works of mithral and steel with our neighbors and our craftsmen were applauded across the globe for their skill and craftsmanship. The line of kings stretched twelve long, and we thought it would never fail, even after the darkness fell o’er the land.
“Unfortunately, me son was not the man his father was, nor would he e’er be the king I was. His heart was filled with cruelty and avarice, and possessed none of the qualities which make a dwarf a dwarf. I was long in beard when he was born, and I died before I could sire a rightful heir. Although many hinted that I had been poisoned, I do not know if this is true or not, my son was still crowned as the thirteenth king of Duernfast.
“To my people’s horror, my son Gregor promptly forged an alliance with the enemy and permitted them access to the hold. Needless to say the dwarves rose up against their unlawful ruler and threw him down, but the damage had been done. He had already given the details of the many secret ways into or out of the hold to his malevolent allies, and now he came back to the hold, leading large numbers of them into the mines and throughout the hold, slaying every living dwarf that stood against them.
“When the alliance succeeded in breaking the power of the dark ones and drove them from the world, a curse was laid upon the names of Duerngar and Duernfast. Gregor had never been made to pay for his crimes, and so the dead would not be able to rest easy within the hold until the changeling king had paid the price of his treachery and the taint he had brought with him expunged. The mines were sealed with Gregor still hiding inside, and few have braved the mines since. Ye are the first living beings I have spoken with since I found myself awake and unable to return to Moradin’s Hall.
“The task I would charge ye with is two-fold: First, my son Gregor still awaits justice. He died long ago, but the curse has kept him trapped in his shell, unable to depart for the spirit realms. He resides in the next room, the dreaded wight dwarf –“
The phrase seemed familiar and the Crow could not contain himself. “White Dwarf?” he blurted out. “Hey, I think I’ve heard of him!”
Bori frowned and shook his head. “Nay, not White Dwarf – the wight dwarf.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” the half-elf looked even more confused than normal.
“Nay, ye are thinking of the dwarf who is white, and I am telling ye about the dwarf who is a wight. Understand?”
“Uh, no, not at all, but please continue. I am sorry to have interrupted.” The Crow sank back down, looking disappointed. He looked at his friends’ faces and saw annoyance at the interruption, but also the same confusion he felt mirrored on their faces. Ah well, at least if he did not understand he was not alone in his misunderstanding.
Bori recovered and went on, “As I was sayin’, first the wight dwarf must be laid to rest. Second, Gregor brought an ancient evil into the mines with him, which avoided the destruction of the demon armies. It resides their still, devouring the souls of the few hapless fools that have braved the depths. Slaying Gregor will allow the spirits to rest again, but the hold will not be clean of the stain of evil. This other foul abomination must be destroyed before the living will be able to reside in these halls again.”
Jack strode forward and presented his hand. “We are honored to accept the task, great king. These halls will be filled with the music of the smith again.” He flushed in embarrassment and withdrew the hand as the spirit only regarded it mournfully.
The other companions all pledged their support and vowed to enter the next chamber after their rest. Bori thanked them and slowly faded from view. Jack turned to Artimas.
“And ya wanted to open them coffins. Good thing someone with strong moral fiber is ‘ere to keep ya in line.”
Next: The White, er, wight dwarf
The massive doors swung inward and the companions found themselves in a long tomb. Twelve immense stone sarcophagi rested on slabs, the covers carved to resemble the same dwarves that had been depicted in the statues from the octagonal room. Plaques at the bases identified each coffin as the resting-place of one of the kings of Duernfast. A bare slab lay next to the twelfth king’s sarcophagus, presumably prepared for the thirteenth king’s interment. Another door stood facing the entrance fifty feet away. It had also been sculpted to resemble Moradin, but had been defaced at some point and was barely recognizable.
Jack and Quinn were struck with a deep sense of reverence, but Artimas seemed unaffected. “Hey,” he said, “I bet they buried some good treasure here.” The mage took a step toward the nearest coffin.
“Ya touch one o’ these coffins an’ I’ll carve ya in half,” Jack threatened, and Artimas stopped in midstride.
“I do get a sense of peace here, and great sorrow,” Quinn informed them. “I believe that it would be safe to rest here for awhile, so that we can recover from our wounds and refresh our spells.”
The group agreed that they could use a break and set up camp. Jack and Eli sat with Grick and Quinn, passing a flask of beer back and forth and discussing their respective homelands. Welby hunted down several rats while Artimas built a small campfire and spoke with the Crow. The Crow’s amnesia fascinated him and the necromancer kept poking and prodding the half-elf to see if he would remember some clue about his true identity, but unfortunately the conversation had proved fruitless thus far. Ike kept apart from the others, remaining alert in case this room turned out to be less secure than Quinn had indicated.
Welby returned with half a dozen large crypt rats and tossed a couple to Artimas. Royston excused himself and went to stand with Ike, his companion’s eating habits making him slightly queasy. As the halfling voraciously tore into the raw rodent he held, the hairs on the back of his neck began standing straight up. He looked up in alarm and saw that the flickering campfire had taken a greenish hue, and that thick smoke was rising from it.
He screamed in alarm and hid behind the nearest coffin, while the rest of the group readied their weapons and turned to face the cloud of smoke as it resolved itself into the shape of a translucent aged dwarf. They recognized Bori Duerngar, the twelfth king of Duernfast, as the apparition raised its arms in a gesture of peace.
“Hold friends, Bori does not come to harm ye lest ye be seekin’ to disturb Bori’s remains,” the ghost informed them. “Many years have passed since last the warmth of the living graced our presence, and I be thankful, for I worried that the curse may never be lifted.”
Jack was in awe and fell to his knees in the presence of the ancestor. “Oh, great king,” he replied, “we are your humble servants. Pray tell us what we c’n do ta lift the curse of the hold, an’ we will be grateful fer the opportunity ta do good works.”
“Gather ye round then, and listen,” the spirit bade them. When all had been seated in a semi-circle at his feet, he continued, telling them the story of the fall of Duernfast. “Long ago the dwarves founded the hold of Duernfast, before the great wars that ravaged the land. We traded works of mithral and steel with our neighbors and our craftsmen were applauded across the globe for their skill and craftsmanship. The line of kings stretched twelve long, and we thought it would never fail, even after the darkness fell o’er the land.
“Unfortunately, me son was not the man his father was, nor would he e’er be the king I was. His heart was filled with cruelty and avarice, and possessed none of the qualities which make a dwarf a dwarf. I was long in beard when he was born, and I died before I could sire a rightful heir. Although many hinted that I had been poisoned, I do not know if this is true or not, my son was still crowned as the thirteenth king of Duernfast.
“To my people’s horror, my son Gregor promptly forged an alliance with the enemy and permitted them access to the hold. Needless to say the dwarves rose up against their unlawful ruler and threw him down, but the damage had been done. He had already given the details of the many secret ways into or out of the hold to his malevolent allies, and now he came back to the hold, leading large numbers of them into the mines and throughout the hold, slaying every living dwarf that stood against them.
“When the alliance succeeded in breaking the power of the dark ones and drove them from the world, a curse was laid upon the names of Duerngar and Duernfast. Gregor had never been made to pay for his crimes, and so the dead would not be able to rest easy within the hold until the changeling king had paid the price of his treachery and the taint he had brought with him expunged. The mines were sealed with Gregor still hiding inside, and few have braved the mines since. Ye are the first living beings I have spoken with since I found myself awake and unable to return to Moradin’s Hall.
“The task I would charge ye with is two-fold: First, my son Gregor still awaits justice. He died long ago, but the curse has kept him trapped in his shell, unable to depart for the spirit realms. He resides in the next room, the dreaded wight dwarf –“
The phrase seemed familiar and the Crow could not contain himself. “White Dwarf?” he blurted out. “Hey, I think I’ve heard of him!”
Bori frowned and shook his head. “Nay, not White Dwarf – the wight dwarf.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” the half-elf looked even more confused than normal.
“Nay, ye are thinking of the dwarf who is white, and I am telling ye about the dwarf who is a wight. Understand?”
“Uh, no, not at all, but please continue. I am sorry to have interrupted.” The Crow sank back down, looking disappointed. He looked at his friends’ faces and saw annoyance at the interruption, but also the same confusion he felt mirrored on their faces. Ah well, at least if he did not understand he was not alone in his misunderstanding.
Bori recovered and went on, “As I was sayin’, first the wight dwarf must be laid to rest. Second, Gregor brought an ancient evil into the mines with him, which avoided the destruction of the demon armies. It resides their still, devouring the souls of the few hapless fools that have braved the depths. Slaying Gregor will allow the spirits to rest again, but the hold will not be clean of the stain of evil. This other foul abomination must be destroyed before the living will be able to reside in these halls again.”
Jack strode forward and presented his hand. “We are honored to accept the task, great king. These halls will be filled with the music of the smith again.” He flushed in embarrassment and withdrew the hand as the spirit only regarded it mournfully.
The other companions all pledged their support and vowed to enter the next chamber after their rest. Bori thanked them and slowly faded from view. Jack turned to Artimas.
“And ya wanted to open them coffins. Good thing someone with strong moral fiber is ‘ere to keep ya in line.”
Next: The White, er, wight dwarf
Lazybones
Adventurer
Just got caught up on this story; it makes a nice companion piece to the CotSQ story. Now I understand why Jack is reluctant to loot crypts (this does seem to be a recurring theme in your games ).
One question: you noted that the lower tunnels dated back to before the dwarves discovered writing. And yet there was writing above the arch, on the crypts, and on the haft of the axe. Was it just that the dwarves were just there a really, really long time, and developed writing in the course of their civilization?
). One question: you noted that the lower tunnels dated back to before the dwarves discovered writing. And yet there was writing above the arch, on the crypts, and on the haft of the axe. Was it just that the dwarves were just there a really, really long time, and developed writing in the course of their civilization?
Sniktch
First Post
Lazybones said:Just got caught up on this story; it makes a nice companion piece to the CotSQ story. Now I understand why Jack is reluctant to loot crypts (this does seem to be a recurring theme in your games
One question: you noted that the lower tunnels dated back to before the dwarves discovered writing. And yet there was writing above the arch, on the crypts, and on the haft of the axe. Was it just that the dwarves were just there a really, really long time, and developed writing in the course of their civilization?
Ah yeah, I'm afraid with Jack's sometimes rough manner of speaking that isn't very clear. In my setting written history only dates back about 1400 years, but that's because all earlier texts were destroyed in the great wars that savaged the civilizations existing in that time. Duernfast dates from before any surviving written history, but not before the discovery of writing (although it may, but no one alive could say). Sorry for the confusion
As for the crypts, yeah, I have to admit I like them. So does Artimas, and if he's willing to spring all the nasty undead and traps that you find in such places, I'm more than happy to oblige and put them there. Although at one point the group does hit the road and we avoid tomb raiding for quite some time.
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