Ahead, fifty paces you see an entrance of what was once a tomb or somesuch dug into the hillside. Once there were wooden double-gated doors to the entrance, but they had been ripped from their hinges, and now lie moldered beneath the vines and mushrooms near the entrance. The 10’ by 15’ high opening looks sealed with blue-toned stones, fitted flawlessly. There were scorch marks across the face of the stone wall and near the right corner you see that an opening has just been forced. A man stands before it, seventeen others, some with torches stand back and away, watching impassively. Suddenly a nimbus of pulsing fire shifts over the figure, illuminating the surrounding clearing and path with pale red light. There’s a crackle of sound and suddenly part of the stone wall is rent inwards. There is no dust or cascading sections of wall. Merely a black opening, barely 3’ paces high and 2’ wide. The wall around the opening looks scorched.
“Na-chabra! Vo fam edor,” calls the man. His body is draped with a deep crimson cloak. He motions for one of the men to come forward. The figure does and bows, then takes an object from the man’s hand, straightens and moves to the opening. Three others join him, and one after the other, torches sputtering in the stale air, disappear through the opening.
It’s then you catch sight of him. He stands to the side, his black beard glistening with oil in the torchlight. He wears a Memondalan farmer’s cap, but beneath, his body is covered in black leather and chain. A wicked axe and short blades hang from his belt. He stands, arms folded, gazing impassively at the proceedings. You see the wicked scar across the right side of his face, the missing ear. It’s him for certain. Ghis. Ghis the Butcher. Murderer of friends, Deceiver, Sadist and rapist. Follower of Joffer. Four others stand behind him, their clothing a motley assortment, though all dressed in dark shades. They stand in contrast to the others before the wall, each garbed in a grey cloak, conical helmet or sadap covering heads.
Deciding to investigate further you find the camp of men two hundred yards further west along the edge of the hill in a washed out ravine. You dispatch the guards (similiar to those who came to the Inn), and finding little, return to the forced entrance. The men below are all gone…
You entered the hillside:
The air is warm, musty and with the sharp stink of minerals. Beyond the opening is a tunnel leading into the hillside. Following, it opens into a large circular, domed room. The walls were once decorated with plaster frescoes, but they have been scorched beyond recognition and covered by a thick layer of soot. In the centre of the room is a great firepit, filled almost to overflowing with cinders and long-dead coals. A wide walk-way stretches around the firepit. There are doorways to the left, right, and across the pit, each revealing a broad-stepped staircase. The staircases to the left and right descend into darkness while the one directly ahead leads upward.
Wiping aside most of the soot from a location reveals unholy symbols such as a demon’s head or twisted human forms. The ashpit is filled with debris. The remains of ancient books, scrolls, table legs, and chairs all have been fed to the fire. Nothing is recoverable. Broken crockery shards, some marked with a demon’s head can also be see in the detritus.
Suddenly there is a shriek from the passage ahead, followed by distant shouting. A wave of heat-blasted air rushes down the passage, rustles the cinders and dissipates. You hear more shrieks and then the sound of heavy footfalls coming from that direction.
