Bymill (I) - Wagon Woes

In my view, dungeon mastering involves walking a fine line. On the one hand, there are the “shit happens” DMs, who craft a story and base their “myth arc” dungeons and various random encounters on the preplanned story line, with the result that encounters are determined by the broader world and the plot rather than an exquisitely-crafted near-Party level EL. These DMs tend to let the story dictate the encounters, and let the chips fall where they may. This may result in a high-level party plowing through a batch of starving, one-legged orcs; or it may lead them into a totally inappropriate Ancient Green Wyrm’s convention.

On the other side, of course, are rules-mongering nimrods who design every last encounter to within an angstrom of perfection, make the PCs roll Diplomacy checks when renting a room, Will saves to avoid cowering under the blankets during a thunderstorm, and Balance checks while walking on an uneven sidewalk. In THESE worlds, the ELs are so carefully crafted that the PCs always know that no matter HOW scary the dungeon looks, they always have a precisely-calculated 50/50 shot at defeating whatever’s inside and walking away with level-appropriate loot.

Trying to hit the mid-point between these two extremes can be fun, because even with a bevy of lower-level foes, you can still serve up a little learning. Role-playing and tactics are the heart and soul of this game, so it’s always more interesting when the PCs run afoul of life due to their own choices than due to the random fall of the dice (or to the blood lust of a hate-crazed DM who thinks that EL stands for "Exterminate Losers").

Bad things do happen to good people, of course – but they are more likely to happen when good people make bad decisions. Joraz’s player has been taking a lot of flak from the rest of us for the quixotic behaviour that led to his untimely demise, but everybody makes a bad call every now and then. I think it’s even more fun when the bad call results from role-playing that is one hundred percent in character. I like to use the phrase “stupid ought to hurt”, but stupidity isn’t always necessary; sometimes nature is enough. There’s nothing like tripping up a PC by appealing to his better angels, and even after a few short sessions, you can get enough of a feel for how a Player RP’s his PC to be able to set him up for a fall.

That’s how I nailed Bjorn.

* * * * *

When last we left our intrepid band of adventurers, they had just parted company with Apstrasys, the Wilder Elven Ranger whom they had healed, and in whose company they had taken on and defeated an enormous, diseased Dire Bear, as well as the nine feet of moaning nastiness that had been possessing it – a Pain Devil, one of the Meindraugrin, a fiendish creature of the Dark. The PCs found a few tasty morsels scattered throughout the pus-drenched foulness of the bear’s cave, then returned to their wagon and horses, waved farewell to the Wilder Elf (because nobody spoke her Sylvan tongue), mounted up, and hied them onwards to the promised delights of Bymill. They reached the town after a few hours easy riding, under a bright, cloudless sky, early in the afternoon of 16 Lastreap.

Now for a little exposition:

The Sweetvale River valley is a glacial spillway, a deep gorge averaging 60’-100’ deep below the “uplands” to the North and South of the vale. In most places the valley is less than half a mile wide, but at Bymill, it broadens out to nearly a mile. The surrounding terrain consists of rolling hills and dense mixed forests, most of it virgin, gradually trending higher and rougher towards the Dragonspine Mountains another eight or nine leagues further west.





Bymill is a relatively young town, and it shows. Originally a central collecting point for the surrounding farming settlements, it has retained that role; there are hundreds of small farmsteads on the Uplands to the North and South, all located within 10 miles of the town. The town proper snuggles tightly into the river valley, filling it from the south to the north side, more or less following the River Road. At the east end of town, a heavy stone bridge traverses the Sweetvale River, giving access to the newer buildings on its southern bank. There is a large market square where the River Road, flanked on both sides by tightly-packed three-story buildings, runs through the centre of town. To the North of the square is an enormous, fortified stone manor house, and immediately beyond that, an imposing cathedral marked by a massive tower, which stands against the northern cliff. The upper reaches of the tower are crenelated like those of a fortress, and ravens circle and wheel around them – a sure sign that this is one of the Halls of the Allfather.

South of the river the buildings are sparser; but it is easy to see the dam and water-chutes leading down to the enormous mill after which the town is named. A little southwest of the mill, further back on the Uplands, there is a small keep; and beyond that, another imposing manor house, partially concealed by trees. There are a few differences between the two banks of the river; the north side looks older, well-worn, and most of the buildings are of stone or half-timber construction, whereas the south side looks newer, with brick buildings as often as stone. Interesting.

Bymill is a bustling town; the streets are filled with passersby, many of them pulling handcarts. Horse- and ox-carts abound, filled with agricultural products and finished goods. Here and there, houses and even brick and stone buildings are being repaired, and new ones are going up. The townsfolk, in general, seem chipper, well-dressed, clean and busy. There’s a lot of activity, and the market square seems busier than you would expect of an afternoon. Then you remember: the Harvest Festival takes place tomorrow, a rite lost in the ancient years of the Yonarri settlers who colonized most of Erutrei, leaving the roots of their language and the rudiments of their faith behind. All Sons of Esu celebrate the Festival, from east to west, and from north to south; there will be fair food, ale and games; bright clothing, goods to buy, songs to be sung, and pretty girls to be kissed. Something to look forward to.

Things seem pretty cosmopolitan in Bymill; there are more than a few Elves, Dwarves and Halflings scattered through the crowds, and even a few Half-Orcs can be seen here and there. Clothing styles include outrageously modern fashions, and some folk appear to be wearing elaborate hats, shoes and jewellery. Obviously there is a lot of money flowing through Bymill.

(Exposition off)

The Party’s pace slowed to a crawl as they rode into Bymill’s bustling streets. Although cobbled, the roads were still somewhat uneven, and the wagon shook and jostled as Bjorn tried to avoid pedestrians, peddlers, horsemen, pig-drovers and a tinker pulling a jangling handcart overflowing with pots, pans and tools. Breygon, his nose burning and eyes watering from the unaccustomed concentration of charcoal and wood smoke, coughed slightly, and raised his voice to be heard over the tumult. “Any idea where we’re going?” he shouted.

Bjorn shrugged. “I’m taking our passenger to the Great Hall,” he said, nodding at the recumbent form of Ankallys, who lay blanket-wrapped in the wagon bed, staring at the sky with vacant eyes. “The sooner we see to her, the sooner we can expect some answers. Why don’t you see to quarters?”

Breygon turned to Gwen and Lyra. “Can you handle that?” he said. “I’m like to go with Bjorn and meet this ‘Father Hardfist’.”

“No problem,” Lyra answered.

“Olgin mentioned a couple of places just off the town common,” Gwen shouted. “We’ll try them first. If we can’t find anything, we’ll meet you at the temple.”

“Well enough,” Breygon acknowledged. He turned his horse’s head to follow the wagon, which Bjorn was attempting to wrestle through the insane bustle of the town square.

Gwen, Lyra and Joraz found a pair of large, imposing inns just off the square, fronting on the River Road. The first one they tried – the Iron Caravel Inn – featured a large dining and drinking hall, but did not have much in the way of accommodation. They had better luck a little further along; the Stag’s Head Tavern was ideally suited to them. For the princely sum of 20 gold per night, they were able to rent the Traveller’s Suite on the inn’s second story: six single rooms off a large dining and living room, with its own back entrance and stairway leading down to the riverbank – and with meals included.

“That should make Bjorn happy,” Lyra murmured.

On the north side of the square, Bjorn and Breygon parked the wagon outside the entrance to the massive and imposing Great Hall of the Allfather. From close up, it looked even bigger – particularly the tower, built of close-set granite blocks, which seemed to lean out over those standing at its foot. “Just like home,” Bjorn said happily, throwing the catatonic Ankallys over one shoulder. “Follow me.”

The pair were welcomed profusely and, having introduced themselves and explained their mission, were conducted into the presence of Haugulf Hardfist, Cleric of Esu, and Prelate of Bymill. Hardfist was as imposing as his temple’s tower – a tall, strongly-built man with waist-length braids and a vast, unruly beard. He welcomed Bjorn like a long-lost son, and was duly courteous to Breygon (whom he recognized at once as a follower of Larranel). He gave Ankallys a quick once-over and recognized her problem immediately: her mental faculties had been entirely drained by her contact with the foul and deathless denizens of the Aether. Without demur, he agreed to restore her mind that very evening.

“But I’ll ask you to be present to lend me your assistance, young Bjorn,” he added gravely.

Surprised but flattered, Bjorn agreed. “Be here at moonrise,” Hardfist ordered. Bjorn thanked the Prelate profusely, and turned to leave.

As Bjorn returned to the wagon, Breygon caught Hardfist’s ear, explained his own predicament, and made a request. Hardfist listened impassively, then told Breygon that he would undertake that rite at moonrise the following evening – but that he would be asking a service of the Ranger in return for his aid. Breygon agreed with a nod, then rejoined his comrade outside.

The pair found the Stag’s Head without difficulty (one corner of the building was, in fact, visible across the town square from the Great Hall), and were delighted by the quarters that the ladies had arranged. Bjorn suggested delicately that, after the morning’s activities at the bear’s cave, the first order of business might be to squeeze in a bath before dinner. Inquiring at the front desk, he determined that there was, in fact, a large and luxurious public bath house in Bymill, and suggested a visit en masse, looking forward to a good soak. The remainder of the Party agreed, and they all mounted up, Bjorn driving the wagon, so as not to leave it, and it’s enormous cargo of silver bars, sundry coinage, and magic items, unattended.

The bath-house lay among a cluster of newer buildings at the west end of Bymill, south and west of the Great Hall, and not too far from the town square. It was one of the newer structures, with lower walls of stone, and upper walls of an artistic mixture of stone and grey brick. The roof was of slate rather than thatch, and enormous chimneys pumped vast quantities of shimmering heat and smoke into the sky. But there was one hitch: no valet parking.

The adventurers looked at each other for a few moments, until at last Bjorn sighed. “I had a bath two days ago,” he said mournfully. “You go ahead; I’ll wait.” His colleagues were happy to take full advantage of his generosity.

While the other four splashed happily in the (segregated) soaking tubs and strigiliae (scraping of the oiled skin with a brass strigil, an Ekhani custom that had made its way to Zare, and that Breygon found extremely peculiar), Bjorn sat glumly on the buckboard, his mood swinging between grumpiness at the fact that he was stuck outside, and grumpiness at the fact that he was grumpy because he was missing out on a bath. “I’m going soft,” he murmured to himself. “What would my father think of me? ‘A bath when you’re birthed, and another when you’re laid out, will see thee into the Endless Hall’. Hah!”

He was still meandering in thought when one of the town’s commoners bolted past, panting and sweating profusely, and yelling, “Help me! Help!” in a terrified voice. Before he could so much as jump up, three other men, armed with cudgels, came chasing after the first man.

Bjorn snarled, his lip curling behind his beard; one of the pursuers was a half-orc. Clambering back over the cargo, he untied his horse’s bridle from the tail-post of the wagon, leapt into the saddle, unlimbered his hammer, and went pounding after the running quartet.

As he came out of the alley beside the bath-house, he saw the pursuers disappear down another side-street, and dug his heel’s into Sleipnir’s flanks. Hooves sliding on the damp cobbles, the great beast turned the corner, and then another, and then another, until Bjorn reined him in sharply.

There they were, a few paces down a fourth alley, clustered into a barrel-jumbled nook behind what smelled like a tannery. The three thugs had the fourth man at bay, his back to the tannery’s wall; and as Bjorn leapt from his saddle, he saw the half-orc fetch his quarry a vicious thump to the stomach with his cudgel.

The priest stepped up behind the half-orc’s two accomplices and gave each a gentle tap with his hammer. One of them went down immediately; the other required a second tap. This gave the half-orc the opportunity he needed – and he ran for it. Really, REALLY fast. Bjorn contemplated chasing him, but decided to check on the fallen victim first.

The man was shaken, but not badly injured; Bjorn muttered a brief prayer to the Allfather and healed the fellow’s wounds. In gratitude for his rescue, the man stammered out his thanks, along with an incoherent story about owing gild to the half-orc, monies that he had borrowed to purchase medicines for his sick wife.

Bjorn gave the fellow a stern lecture about the unwisdom of having financial dealings with unsavoury characters, and gave him a handful of coins from his own purse. The fellow teared up, thanked the priest profusely, and stumbled away.

Satisfied at having done a good deed, Bjorn jammed his hammer back into his belt, climbed back into Sleipnir’s saddle, and rode quickly back to the bath-house. And then he started cursing.

The wagon was gone.

* * * * *

The look on Bjorn's player's face was all the reward I'll ever need. It didn't quite make up for the time when (in a different campaign) they killed my boss demon by throwing an Alchemist's Fire down its throat with rolls of 20, 20 and 19 - but it came close.

A Bear in the Hand

As dawn broke over Ganesford on the morning of 15 Lastreap, the Party got a taste of what autumn in the Bjerglands was going to be like. A suddenly chill wind whistled through the shutters covering the second-story windows of Malryn Olgin’s house, driving raindrops between the cracks as the PCs hunched over their gruel and “coffee” (which, in Northern Zare, generally consists of a hideous decoction of burnt bread crumbs sweetened with honey). Their fast broken and ablutions done with, the Party bade farewell to Olgin, loaded their wagon, saddled their steeds and rode over to the Tankard where, the previous night, they had seen the Dwarven Chanter perform.

Bjorn had had a much more pleasant night, wrapped in layers of wool and down-filled cotton, and had woken to the tantalizing odours emanating from a silver tray loaded down with plenty of roasted this and baked that. Well-fed, brushed, combed, and smelling vaguely of attar of roses, he met the rest of the Party in the stableyard of the Tankard, and wished them a cheery “Good morning” as they rode together to the Hospital of the Hand, where they recovered the still-comatose Ankallys from Gyle Fanwaith and his healers. Settling her carefully in the bed of their wagon, well-wrapped against the rain, they turned their faces to the west, and rode along the narrow River Road into the Sweetwaters Vale.

The day passed without incident. The more adventuresome and less patient of our heroes chafed somewhat at the slow pace of the wagon horses, but it was not to be helped; they Party was still transporting more than a thousand pounds of silver, armour, sundry weapons and other brick-a-brack that they had recovered from the wreck of the Sea Wyrm and the Broken Temple of Karg. Not everything was in the wagon, however, Bjorn looked resplendent and awe-inspiring in the ancient, Dwarf-forged armour bequeathed him by the ghost of Ekruhalagar, while Breygon carried the odd little shortsword they had found in the shipwreck. Very little of this was apparent to the casual onlooker, of course, as the adventurers rode wrapped tightly in their oilskin cloaks, hunched over the necks of their horses against the penetrating drizzle.

The evening’s camp was a more pleasant affair. The tents they had been carrying since Fort Ryker gave the Party a dry place to sleep, although there was little possibility of drying their clothing overnight. They set a watch, but nothing disturbed their slumber. Breygon, during his watch, thought that things felt a little “off” in the woods, but it was nothing more than a feeling; mere passing megrims that did not justify disturbing anyone’s well-earned rest.

The following morning brought similar weather, although the rain had been replaced by a chill fog flowing like smoke down the river valley, and clinging to the trees like wisps of spun wool. The mist reduced visibility to the point where Breygon, riding point as usual, heard the commotion long before he saw what was causing it: stamping, shuffling, thumping, and at last, the comforting whinny of dozens of horses. He and Gwen rode on ahead to find a trio of ranch-hands attempting to maintain control of a small herd of horses, jostling each other near where a long lake approached the road. Much to Breygon’s consternation, their leader was a half-orc – a gruff fellow who, despite his looks, spoke fairly, introducing himself and his crew as employees of Sieur Varlgant bringing a herd in to Bymill. And then he pointed out the problem: a small, huddled form curled up on the ground, unmoving, and slicked with blood.

In a flash, Breygon was off his horse. The injured creature was a Wilder Elf, a female, one of the wild tribal scions of the ancient days of Harad. They were not a common sight anywhere in the world, but they still haunted the wild lands here and there. This one was badly wounded; her leather garments were torn to rags, and the flesh beneath them had been savaged by the claws of some fell beast. As the wagon rolled up, Breygon called to Bjorn, and in a trice, the cleric had healed her.



Trouble was, nobody spoke her language (which, of course, was Sylvan). After a few attempts at communicating by hand-signs, Bjorn called upon Esu to grant him the power of comprehension, and he was soon translating her liquid speech for the rest of the Party. Her name, it transpired, was “Apstrasys”, which Lyra recognized as a contraction of the Elven word accipitraces, meaning “Eyes of the hawk”. She had been serving as rearguard for her tribe, the Pardugentis (“People of the leopard”, said Lyra), as they undertook their annual migration southwards, when she and her companion (a snow leopard called Fithayar), were attacked by an enormous bear. The creature, she recalled, shuddering, behaved as no bear should, but was foul-smelling, slavering and insanely vicious. The tribe’s mightiest warriors had already passed, protecting the non-combatants, and with the remainder of the younger warriors, she and Fithayar threw themselves into its path to allow them to escape. Many of the younger warriors were killed; but Apstrasys, more skilled than most, survived, although she does not know how she escaped, or indeed how she ended up near the River Road.

At this point, the Half-Orc leader of the horse wranglers spoke up. “Belike she came downstream,” he grunted, pointing to the far end of the lake, where a quick-running river splashed down out of the hills. “The water’d break her scent-trail, and it’s running fast enough to bear a little tyke like she a goodly ways.” Then he eyed Breygon warily and added, “We’re behind our time already, sirs. If you’d take it from here, I’d be obliged.”

Breygon, who recognized a story hook when he saw one, nodded curtly and replied, “Be on your way, then.” As the wranglers rounded up the horses and moved off westwards, the Party continued questioning Apstrasys. She had no idea what happened to her tribe, although she assumed that they went on, or her companion, Fithayar. Despite her fatigue and remaining wounds, she adamantly insisted on determining the answer to both questions. Ever alert to the importance of maintaining the natural balance of the world, Breygon agreed with her, although more out of a concern about finding out what was wrong with the bear that had attacked them than for any other reason. The rest of the Party was amenable, and so, ranger and Wilder Elf in the lead, and working on the assumption that Apstrasys had floated downriver after being wounded, they circled the lake, and after parking the wagon, camouflaging it, and hobbling their horses, they began moving up the creek and into the woods.

It turned out that the half-orc’s surmise was correct (always trust the DM to have a NPC ready to point out the next step in the adventurer when the party is standing around trying to figure out where to go next); Apstrasys had indeed floated down the swift-running creek. Breygon found blood smears on some of the rocks, and they followed the mountain stream uphill for the next hour or so. More bloodstains showed where the Wilder Elf had crawled into the creek, and a few moments later, they picked up the bear’s backtrail.

Breygon immediately noticed something wrong: the bear was sick. It’s trail was marked with a lingering stench of disease and decay, and fouled with the odd blob of greenish pus. This was an easy trail to follow, and after a half-hour’s climbing, they reached a low cliff opening that could only be the creature’s lair.

Weapons drawn, the Party advanced to the cave. Breygon and Gwen led the way. The cave mouth itself was relatively low, only about 5’ high and 15’ broad, but the cavern beyond was much larger. It was not a pleasant place; the stone floor was befouled with patches of dried blood and the same sort of viridian ooze that they had found marking the bear’s trail, and clots of fur clung to the rough stone walls. Even to the uninitiated, the atmosphere was horrid; dank air, the stench of rotting flesh and foul water…and something else: a heavy, oppressive feeling, as if something was drawing the very life out of the air in their lungs.

Stepping over a wrack of torn and sundered bones representing the gnawed carcasses of deer and other forest animals, Breygon and Gwen probed deeper into the cave. A gleam of light caught their eyes and they veered right, entering higher cavern containing a broad, shallow pool of greenish, moss-laden water. Drops fell from the tips of limestone stalactites far overhead, their splashes falling dully into the thick air rather than echoing. The Party examined the pool, finding only skeletons and half-rotted carcasses and a few coins; nobody cared to look any more deeply than that. Bjorn muttered a prayer to the Allfather, begging the ability to see the vestiges of evil with the eyes of the world, but saw nothing in here.

They then proceeded to the west side of the cavern, where things were more interesting. Here they found two large piles of debris: branches, leaves, earth and shrubbery piled high and worked, through long use, into the shape of a bear-bed. That this was the bear’s lair was so patently obvious that Breygon began to get nervous about being caught with his back to a wall, and so he concentrated momentarily, and cast a divination that would allow him to sense the approach of animals.

The heaps were unbelievably foul, containing rotting corpses as well as vegetation – but they caught the eye, for here and there bits of metal gleamed through. Gwen, Lyra and Joraz spent a few moments poking through the debris, coming up with a few odd items here and there, including a scabbarded sword on a gilded belt, and a long, curved staff topped with a razor-sharp blade, that Lyra instantly recognized as a Falx Altus, the Grand Glaive of the Royal Guard of Elvehelm. Bjorn, however, with Breygon behind, followed his divine vision to the far west end of the cavern, where a strange niche lay tucked against the rough stone wall. It was almost like a cage: a small hole, no larger than a wine-cask, had been carved into the stone, so long ago that the dripping water had formed bar-like stalactites over the opening. Peering through the rough stone bars, Bjorn was able to discern an object in the niche: a large, heavy river-washed stone, with a curled fist of black rock perched atop it. The heavy sense of foreboding and doom seemed strongest in this part of the cave.

At precisely this moment, Breygon’s head snapped up. His divine senses had twinged; something was coming, something very, very big, and it was only moments away. The Party disposed themselves around the cavern, spreading out to avoid being taken in one fell swoop. Apstrasys armed herself with her knife and a broken tree-limb, and Gwen concealed herself behind an outcropping of stone. They waited silently. A minute later, they heard a heavy tread, a deep snuffling, and the scraping noise of something forcing its way into a too-tight opening.

When the bear came around the cave wall, they saw at last how big it was: the most dire of Dire Bears, fully 20’ long, and weighing several tonnes at least. And it was in dreadful condition; it’s fur was matted and half-fallen out, blood and pus oozed from suppurating gashes and wounds, and a thick, white ichor dripped from it’s eye sockets, where tiny, blood-maddened orbs gleamed redly. It roared and charged at the intruders that it could smell clearly, but only barely see: Breygon and Bjorn.

The next few moments were chaotic. The cleric and the ranger held the beast largely at bay, aided by Joraz, while Apstrasys and Lyra sniped at its flanks. Gwen darted in behind the beast and landed several cunning blows. At length, after an exhausting minute or so, the creature lay dead, and the Party leaned on their swords to rest and catch their breath.

And then it happened. The bear’s carcass began to twitch, its dead flesh bubbling and roiling, and then burst apart in a welter of blood, shattered organic refuse and maggots. A fell red light glowed from within the sundered corpse, and out of this light a diabolical figure slowly unfolded itself: a man-sized, man-shaped figure, bald and with blank, staring eyes, clad in elaborate, black and green armour festooned with long, razor-sharp spikes. Its hand ended in massive, three-pronged claws. It raised these to the ceiling, and a blinding wave of agony washed over the adventurers, staggering them in their tracks. It stepped menacingly towards Bjorn and Breygon, and the fight was on again. As it raked at them with its claws, Bjorn clubbed the towering creature mercilessly with his hammer, and Breygon hacked methodically at it with his swords. It shrugged off the wounds, moaning with soul-wrenching glee. Lyra spent her last few spells launching Magic Missiles at its back, and Apstrasys threw herself into the fray, and was clubbed to the ground for her pains. Gwen stepped in, slashing at its thighs, and received similar treatment. The Party was in dire straits, until Bjorn landed a final blow with his blessed hammer; and with a deafening shriek of rage, the fiend collapsed in upon itself, and vanished in a hiss of flame, leaving naught behind but the stench of brimstone. And, of course, a lot of rotting bear guts.

(It was this event that is satirized in this little Order of the Stick rip-off).

That pretty much wrapped up the side quest. Bjorn broke out the rest of his healing spells and got everybody sorted out, including Apstrasys, who had taken a few bad hits, both from the diseased Dire Bear, and the nasty fiend they had fought at the last – which, with a quick Knowledge (Religion) check, Bjorn determined to be an outsider known as a Meindraugr – a “Pain Devil”, one of the minions of the Dark, a creature answering to Lycenyllona, the Avatar of Agony.

Holding their noses, the Party then rifled the bear’s bedding one more time for good measure. In addition to the Grand Glaive (an enchanted weapon with the name Novacumactabilis inscribed on its blade) and the gilded sword belt and scabbard containing a number of emeralds (and a broken Masterwork Longsword), they found a few dozen gold pieces; a beaten copper scroll tube; and a small leather-and-wood pouch holding three vials filled with a syrupy white liquid. A few moments of effort also enabled them to wrestle the giant stone hand out of its stalactite cage. Nobody really wanted to take it along, but Bjorn insisted, arguing that it had detected as strongly evil, and he didn’t intend to leave it behind to work more mischief. So along it came.

The trek back down the hillside went a lot more quickly. They found their wagon and horses undisturbed (after all, they’d only been gone a couple of hours), and prepared to depart for Bymill. Apstrasys thanked them for their aid in destroying the wounded bear, and bade them farewell. She would have added that she was going to try to find Fithayar’s body before following her tribe, but by this time Bjorn’s Comprehend Languages spell had worn off, and nobody was good enough at improvised sign language to be able to manage complex sentences, so she simply bowed, and loped off into the woods.

The Party made it back to the River Road without further incident, and continued westwards. Around about noon, they came over a slight rise, and there before them, gleaming like a pebble in a setting of purest brass, lay the town of Bymill, throbbing like a pustulent canker...sorry, I meant 'gleaming jewel'...in the bosom of the Sweetwaters Vale.

But more on that later.

* * * * *

THE BEAR CAVE

1. Exterior

High, steep hill; lots of trees, vines, etc.

2. Cave entrance

Cave opening is 20’ wide, 12’ high, overhung with roots. Stench of death and decay; piles of bones and stripped, rotting carcases outside.

3. Foul pool

Pool is 2-3’ deep at edges, 10’ deep in centre; fed by slow spring. Stagnant, foul, filled with bones and discarded carcases. Several skeletons with rusted armour; several weapons, mostly rusty and rotting. One MW Light Mace and about 25 GP, 150 SP at the bottom (takes some doing to find – Search DC 20).

4. Bear’s Lair

The bear’s lair is full of dung, garbage, bones, rotting, torn-up carcases and various detritus. There is a 50% chance the bear is absent. If present, it will attack anyone or anything who enters.

**********
POSSESSED DIRE BEAR – CR 9
(Huge Dire Animal: 20’ long, 10’ high, 6,000 pounds)
HD 12d8+48 (102 HP)
Init +5 (+1Dex, +4 Improved Initiative)
Speed 40’
AC 17 (Size -1, +1 Dex, +7 Nat)
Attacks: 2 claws +18 melee, bite +13 melee
Damage: claw 2d4+10, bite 2d8+5 + disease
Face/Reach 10’x20’/10’
Special Attacks: Improved Grab (if hits with claw attack, gets automatic claw damage next round); Disease (Filth Fever DC 12, 1d3 days, 1d3 Dex/1d3 Con)
Special Qualities: Scent (Detect opponents within 30’); DR 10/+1; SR 15; Fear Aura: 20’ radius, Will DC 14 or flee for 1d4 rounds.
Saves: F+12, R+9, W+9
Abilities: Str 31, Dex 13, Con 19, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 10
Skills: Hide +3, Listen+7, Move Silently+6, Spot+7, Swim+13
Appearance: Bear is enormous, dead black, with spiky, filthy hair matted with blood and gore; foaming at the mouth, eyes are glowing green, with green pus dripping from them; in addition to growling, makes horrific, deafening, shrieking noises.
**********

Bear’s bedding and crap contains:
(1) Search DC 12: a +2 High Elven War Scythe
(2) Search DC 14: a gilded swordbelt and scabbard bearing 8 emeralds (150 gp each) and a broken MW longsword).
(3) Search DC 16: a rotting leather pouch containing 75 gp
(4) Search DC 18: a beaten copper scroll tube containing a Scroll of 3 Spells (Fly, Charm Monster, Stinking Cloud)
(5) Search DC 20: a small, wood-reinforced leather “potion pouch” in good condition, containing 3 Potions of Daylight (if broken, Daylight as cast by 9th level Wizard).

THE STONE HAND

In a rough stone niche along the west wall of this cave is an enormous petrified hand, a clenched stone fist rather three times than a human hand; it looks like it was broken from a larger statue and fixed to a smooth river stone. The hand radiates strong but ancient evil and conjuration magic. This is the Hand of Baalgezael, an evil Cloud Giant sorcerer, an acolyte of Gargarik who lived millennia ago, and who was a specialist in conjuring fiends (Baalgezael was slain by an Ekhani wizard, who turned him to stone, and then smashed the resulting statue apart; some of Baalgezael’s minions made off with the hand, and enshrined it as a holy artefact). It’s only power is that it serves as the focus for summoning devils. Once per year it has a 5% chance of Gating a devil from the Infernal planes into Anuru (roll randomly).

BACKSTORY ELEMENTS

The Hand was enshrined here by the acolytes of Ballgezael during the Eon of Darkness, more than 2000 years ago. They have long since vanished. Some years ago, the Hand Gated in a Meindraugr, and the Dire Bear, who had since moved into the cave, killed it; but its diabolical spirit then possessed the Bear. The Hand can only be destroyed by having Remove Curse (or equivalent) cast on it in a Consecrated area by a Good Cleric. Anyone doing so must make a Spellcraft check of DC 25; failure means that a backlash of profane energy will do 8d6 Vile damage in a 20’ radius, and have the effect of a Desecrate spell of CL 15.

Ganesford

Hello again. I see that it’s been a good long while since I wrapped up the tale of what transpired at the Broken Temple of Karg. It’s time to move on and recount what occurred over the next few days.

Today’s subject is the town of Ganesford. Ganesford is pretty much a one-horse whistle stop whose only reason for existence is the fact that it’s located at the easiest place to cross the Sweetvale River, one of the major tributaries of the Stjerneflåde. The Sweetvale is cold, fast and in most places deep, but it shallows out where it has to cross the granite escarpment that parallels the great river and the Nordvej. There’s no bridge here and no need for one; the Sweetvale never gets above two feet deep even during the spring thaws, and while the bones tend to chill in the crossing, there are warm fires and cold ale to be had on both sides.

You’ll recall that, on 12 Lastreap, the newcomers (Bjorn and Lyra) joined the rump of the original Party (Breygon, Gwen, Joraz and Greywind) at the site of the earthquake, near the broken temple of Karg. They also met Ankallys of Vejborg, who was busily scrabbling in the detritus for signs of her master and colleagues. The follow day they entered the temple, and scared up some of its denizens; and Ankallys provoked a major crisis by breaking into the tomb of the former high priest, resulting in a wave of Allips that was only resolved when Bjorn agreed to be possessed by the Ghost of Ekruhalagar.

Well, as you know, the Party survived, but seeing as how there was a town only a mile or so up the road, they didn’t feel like spending the night sleeping in tents. They mounted up, rode for Ganesford, and reached the south bank of the Sweetvale by mid-afternoon. They took rooms at the Traveler’s Rest Inn (see below) and slept the night. The following morning, 14 Lastreap, they crossed the Sweetvale and entered the town proper, and began looking around, trying to find out where their designated contact, Malryn Olgin, lived. Gwen and Joraz dropped in on Eldred Wainstik, the leatherworker, while Breygon, Lyra and Greywind visited Telchin Manor – only to discover that Sieur Telchin had a Half-Orc door-warden, an inauspicious occurrence given Breygon’s choice of favoured enemies.

Bjorn took the wagon, with the comatose Ankallys aboard, to find the Temple of the Hand, and made the acquaintance of Gyle Fanwaith, Priest of the Healing Hand, and his acolyte, Eloan Wood. They advised Bjorn, much to their regret, that they did not have the skill or power to restore Ankallys’ mind, but they further informed him that the Fist of the Allfather in Bymill stood high in his church’s hierarchy, and could no doubt perform the necessary rites. In the meantime, they agreed to take Ankallys under their care while the Party was in Ganesford.

By this time, Gwen and Joraz had figured out where Olgin lived. The Party met at the town square, then sauntered over to his house and banged on the door. They were admitted by his housekeepers and greeted by the Master himself, both sides repeating the Draconic incantation to prove their bona fides. Bjorn was invited to take a seat in an antechamber, with apologies for the necessary secrecy, while the Brothers met to discuss the way ahead.

Olgin then gave the rest of the Party a tour of the Chapter House – a modest affair, but one that contained all of the requisite areas and amenities for such a small place as Ganesford. He then sat them down in the kitchen for tea and cakes, and gave them their mission.

“Take a look at this map I’ve had drawn up for you,” he said. “I apologize for the garish colours; the only scribe in town here is excellent, but he’s an Elf, and you can’t part him from his paint-pots.

“Here’s what I want you to do. Travel west, up the valley, until you get to Bymill. There’s a horse trader there, name of Varlgant, and pay him for two stallions he’s holding for me. They’re a gift from the Brotherhood for a noblewoman in Ellohyin, north of here a ways. She’s done us a service and we always pay our debts.

“Before you come back with them, though, there’s something else I’d like you to look into. I’ve been hearing rumours about problems at a mine a little further up the valley, north of a town called Lucky Lode. Nothing specific, just some odd injuries. Check it out. Before you leave Ganesford, you might want to look up Rauf Toldner; he’s the guild captain of the miners here in town, and he might have heard more than me. You can trust him; he’s a good man.

“A couple of housekeeping details. First, among the Brethren we are all equals, but every mission needs a leader; otherwise you’ll dissolve into a mob at the first sword-stroke and you’ll be lost. Our tradition is that leadership among Brothers falls by lot. Therefore, cast the dice and determine who is to be charged with leadership of the Party in the matter of Varlgnt’s stallions; and who is to be charged with investigating the rumours about Lucky Lode and the mines.

“Second, since you’ll be back this way soon, there’s no need to make your tithes to this Chapter House today, unless of course you have a burning desire to rid yourself of some coin. But I’ll expect an accounting when you return with the horses. And if you’re looking for a worthy charity in town for that part of your obligation, Brother Fanwaith at the house of the Hand is an honest man, and his healers do good work. One of them saved one of that fool wizard’s shovelmen a week or so ago. They aren’t of our order, but they’re worthy, and could use the money.

“I hope that’s all clear. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I failed to enjoin you to remember your oath and your obligations: loyalty to Brotherhood, courage in battle, and mercy to the helpless. Leave nothing evil or unexplained in your path.

“Before I forget, there’s something happening tonight that I’d like you all to see – a special event for a pisspot little burg like Ganesford. And I’d like to buy you a drink. So come along and join me for the nightmeal at the Tankard at dusk. It’s the big inn just the other side of the Square; you can’t miss the sign. Incidentally, given what I think we’re going to hear tonight, we’ll forego The Tale; but you should all get into your books when you have the chance, and peruse what you find there. You’re all new, and you have much to learn.

“By the way, bring your big friend, the priest; I like the look of him. I’m going to send word to the Hiltmark in Ellohyin; once you get there drop in and see him. He may elect to bring your friend aboard. The Fists of Esu are always welcome among us.

“Speaking of Ellohyin, with any luck, you’ll be there in time for the Solemnity of Harad. It’s the single most important day in the calendar of the Brotherhood, and the Ellohyin Chapter House is a far better place to celebrate than this modest accommodation.”

“Well, that’s enough from me. Make yourselves free of this house; elsewise, I’ll see you at the Tankard at dusk.”

With that, Olgin went back to his study, leaving the Party to their own devices. They split up again and spent the afternoon checking out different parts of the town. They first went back to the Traveler’s Rest, recovered their wagon and horses, and moved them to Olgin’s house – except for Bjorn, who took a room at the Tankard and spent the afternoon soaking in an oak tub full of rosewater.

Gwen went shopping and made the acquaintance of Dannik of Dunholm at his general goods emporium. Intrigued at meeting another Halfling, she spent some time in conversation with Dannik and learned many interesting things about the town and its inhabitants. Most interesting, however, was the fact that Dannik was still owed 200 GP by the wizard Oras Rathorn for a truly bizarre special order: a hundred small silk bags containing a mixture of earth and fine clay. Gwen looked one of these over, but couldn’t figure out what they were for.

Meanwhile, Lyra, Breygon and Joraz ambled over to the Hardin’s Hammer Tavern, looking for Guild Captain Toldner. Being the sort of establishment it was, there was no shortage of patrons even in mid-afternoon, and Lyra wasted no time trying her wiles on the cadre of drunks, endeavouring to charm some information out of them, while Breygon and Joraz hung back nervously, waiting for the inevitable fight to break out. They learned a little bit more about the goings-on at Lucky Lode – about miners being brought out of the deepest pits, babbling about “monsters”, with weird, triangular bite marks on their legs and arms.

After a few near misses fight-wise, the three left the Hammer, returning to the town square, where they met up with Gwen and headed for the Tankard, joining up with Bjorn at the vast – and already very busy – dining hall.

Olgin joined them there as the sun was going down, and the six dined in companionable silence. Breygon and Lyra both found themselves noticing an odd occupant of one of the busy tables: a dark-skinned, white-haired woman of obvious Shadelven origins, surrounded by a coterie of ladies-in-waiting and hulking bodyguards. Their attention was diverted, however, when a half-dozen elderly dwarves shambled out of the shadows, led by an extraordinarily ancient and decrepit dwarf bearing a traditional iron tambour.

The tale of what happened next is recounted in one of the synopses given the Party after the event.

* * * * *

Harweac

Night comes early in the Bjerglands in autumn. Breadan drops behind the western peaks, and the weary farmer homeward wends his way, picking his steps carefully across the furrows, heading unerringly for the welcoming firelight in the doorway, a simple meal, and a mug of something cheering. The chill of evening settles into the branches, browning leaves and hearts with trepidation at the nearness of another mountain winter.

Evening in town comes, by contrast, with more light, more cheer, and considerably more noise. As the party tucked into the hearty fare bearing down their trenchers (and banked the fires of spice with foaming mugs of local ale, happy to have left the cider of Bornhavn behind them), they eyed the teeming humanity roundabouts: miners with black dust of their trade ground into the creases under their eyes stumbling over shit-smelling farmhands eager to spend a week’s wages on a night’s debauchery; drovers jostling against caravan teamsters, sizing each other up for the fight that would be inevitable once both sides were sufficiently lubricated; a gaudy merchant and his equally gaudy whores seated next to, and contrasting wildly with, a trio of solemn Servants of Vara, the Healing Hand black against robes of grey; and all around and among them, the flotsam and jetsam of Erutrei. Scores of the local people provided the backdrop against which more unusual characters were unusually obvious. A Gnomish tinker, fiddling with some unidentifiable gadget; three men of the Watch tossing dice in a corner and throwing back outsized piggins of some sort of locally-distilled horror; a richly-attired, dark-skinned Shadelven maiden of extraordinary beauty, surrounded by a host of grim-faced, heavily-armed attendants; a fanged, bewhiskered caravan guard with more than a jot of the Uruk in his lineage, who gnawed absently on a partially-cooked leg of something-or-other; two gentlemen adventurers of the Holbytlan persuasion, attracting more than their fair share of attention by arguing over ownership of a purse that obviously belonged to neither of them; and various and sundry other denizens of Anuru, that wash up nightly on the shores of the Great Road.

Tenscore faces, tenscore stories; but that night, they all had one thing in common: they had come to hear Harwéac, the venerable and world-renowned Dwarven chanter. Word had gone around that the old fellow was on his last pilgrimage from the Deeprealm to Vejborg, to visit Leif Ironfist, his old comrade-in-arms, upon his deathbed. It was said that he had sworn that on this, his last journey, he would sing of nothing but the deeds of his friend, and of their blood-brothers long dead, and their many triumphs and sorrows. Such was the rumour of Harwéac’s skill that those who came to listen were content to hear whatever tale he might choose to tell.

A door opened at the rear of the tavern, and the roar of conversation faded into chatter, and then to a low murmur. The old dwarf appeared from one of the inn’s guest rooms and shuffled into the firelight, accompanied and assisted by a trio of apprentices – each of them a virtuoso in his own right who could have made his fortune in the wider world, had he been willing to leave the side of the Master. At the front of the room, near the hearth, Harwéac settled his old bones slowly into a tailor’s seat on a simple chaff-filled cushion laid on bare stones, while his assistants formed a standing semi-circle behind him. The instruments they held were strange to most of the onlookers: a set of iron bars riveted to a heavy metal frame, and played with tiny bronze hammers; thin-walled stone bowls with covers of animal skin stretched and tightened with thongs; a long, narrow horn that wound around and around the player’s neck, gradually forming into a gleaming, hammered bell, engraved with intertwined serpents and dragons. Harwéac himself bore nothing more than a simple tambor of hide stretched on an unadorned wood and metal frame, and a broad bronze striking paddle, worn smooth and gleaming by long use.

Silence fell; a respectful silence formed in equal parts of anticipation and curiosity. None of those in the tavern that night had ever heard Harwéac’s voice before; nor was there any who had failed to hear his name. Into the well of that silence, the ancient dwarf, without a word of explanation or introduction, plunged like a spelunker bent on exploring caverns and subterranean vistas never before seen. With short, arrhythmic strokes of his bronze rod on the taut skin of the tambor, he evoked a slow, deep rumble, as of long ages spent beneath the Earth. Almost imperceptibly, he joined his heavy voice to the song of the drum, layering words onto the rhythm like the tumble of stones against the deep heartbeat of a mountain.

Ic áwrecan ymbe æðeling;
æðeling isengrǽg, ísenheard
Isenfýst, carlmann, gástberend, gumþegen,
Isenfýst, ceorlmann, guma Ekhanni
I-Esu yrfeweard, I-Esu gástsunu,
Isenfýst, gígantmæcg,
ǽgðer fréond, gebróðra mé.

Ic áwrecan æscþracu, níðweorc, gárgewinn;
Ic áwrecan æsctír, gúðsweord átǽsan...

(Editor’s Note: This is the song Léoð ymbe Isenfýst, “The Lay of Ironfist”, which may be found in the Tales of the Wyrm, and has been published elsewhere on this blog.)

Those in the audience familiar with the speech of the Deeprealm heard the words, and understood them; those who did not merely listened, spellbound, captivated by the rhythm. No one attempted to render the words into the Common Tongue, for any translation could only cheapen the Master Chanter’s incomparable composition.

Thus it ran, and the audience was captivated by every word, locked into an involuntary, inescapable embrace by the Master’s rumbling eloquence. Such was the power of his song that none noticed when his accompanists joined in with horn, drums and bells; these remained far in the background, the merest hint of honey-glaze layered imperceptibly upon the incomparable confection of Harwéac’s masterpiece. In his words, they saw the incomparable beauty of the precious gemwork of the Underfolk; felt rivers of gold flowing through their fingers; and heard the slow, unbearably heavy heartbeat of the Mountain.

One of the farmhands, a dolt named Dellrimple, who passed his days shovelling horseshit for one of Varlgant’s overseers, had never learned a single letter of the complex Dwarven tongue; and yet the next day, the stablemaster overheard him muttering the exact words of Harwéac’s ballad under his breath; in a tuneless baritone, perhaps, but with an accent that would have marked him instantly as a denizen of the Deeprealm. And yet he had no idea what he was singing. Such was the especial magic of Harwéac Hargóin, Gamolfeax-láruw, the Great Teacher, Master Chanter of Nondelvin.

None knew how long the song lasted; they only knew when it was over, because Harwéac was sitting still and silent, his hoary head bowed nearly to his breast, the plaits of his long, silvery beard lying coiled on his knees. The muted thunder of the tambor had faded, and the hall held its collective breath. No one moved; all were hoping that it was merely a pause, but they knew that it was not, for they could see that Harwéac had spent himself for them. For the briefest of moments, each man and woman in the audience felt as though the Lantern had been extinguished forever, and all would henceforth be doomed to live in eternal darkness; and at the same time, none feared any darkness that could produce such a singer as this.

A vast sigh gathered, and from more than one eye, tears fell like silent rain. Two of the Servants of Vara were praying, eyes cast down, their lips moving soundlessly; the hobbit adventurers stood spellbound, the purloined purse forgotten on the floor between them; and even the regal Shaldelven maiden sat motionless, a stunned but appreciative smile fixed upon her glistening lips, while her retainers blinked owlishly, as if emerging from a deep slumber.

So sat they all – until the Master Chanter’s spell was broken by a sudden, deep-throated cheering and thunderous, one-man applause. The half-Orc caravan guard was an ardent aficionado of all things musical, and liked a good tune, especially one with martial overtones. Harwéac’s song was, in his educated opinion, the finest thing ever written or performed since the dawn of time. Never one to refrain from physical expressions of approval, in a moment he was capering and clapping wildly, his matted hair swirling around his scabrous head, and saliva flying from his fangs as he swung his half-eaten lamb shank in glorious tribute, forgetting his badly-accented Common in his excitement, and yelling, “Multe, multe, mai multă!” in his barbarous mother tongue.

Harwéac raised his head and smiled at this heartfelt tribute from such an unexpected quarter. He nodded acknowledgement and thanks at Krumlich’s frantic gestures and grunts of approval. The half-Orc’s antics quickly lifted the awed paralysis gripping the crowd, leading first to laughter, and then to cheers and applause. One of the old dwarf’s assistants leaned down and whispered in his ear; Harwéac shook his head slowly and motioned to be helped to his feet. The horn player took the old dwarf’s other arm, and the trio began to shuffle slowly back to the guest room.

The third assistant, bearing his rack of bells, waved for silence, and the crowd, and even Krumlich, gradually subsided. “Many apologies,” the dwarf said, his deep voice thickly accented, “but that is all for tonight. The Master is very tired, and tomorrow we must resume our travels. He thanks you for your most kind welcome, and has asked that I wish you, as we say in our tongue, hléowne ysen, ælceald ýð – ‘hot iron and cold mead on the morrow’.” With that, the fourth dwarf bowed and followed the other three to the back of the inn, pursued by thunderous applause.

* * * * *

After the Dwarves had left the dining hall, Olgin bid the Party good evening and left. Lyra, hoping to find out more about the mysterious dark spectator, approached the Shadelven woman, smiling her way past the bodyguards. Before she could speak, however, the dark elf fixed her with her gaze and stopped her in her tracks; and Lyra simply stood, dumbly fascinated, while the Shadelf gathered up her entourage and returned to her suite.

While this was going on, Gwen slipped out of the crowd, snagged a look at the registry behind the front desk, and located the room that had been rented out to Oras Rathorn. The lock on the door was no match for her nimble fingers, and she was inside in two shakes of a manticore’s tail. Some hurried rummaging yielded a few maps, several books and Rathorn’s cloak, then she slipped back out in silence and returned to the Party.

They spent the night at the Chapter House under Olgin’s eye – all except for Bjorn, who luxuriated beneath a down-stuffed tick, and fell asleep looking forward to the traditional Zaran fried breakfast, and another decadent rosewater bath, on the morrow.

* * * * *

The Town of Ganesford

1. Sweetvale Tavern (Link Weathers: Average, Cheap)
Very pleasant fellow, caters mostly to farmers and travellers. Average quality, low cost. Remembers Oras Rathorn and party; they turned their noses up at his accommodations.

2. Traveller’s Rest Inn (Mance Mandrill: Good, Expensive)
Supercilious, officious, very busy; greedy. Very nice accommodations but three times normal cost. Remembers Oras as a reliable paying customer with a large party (Wizard, Apprentice, Factor, three geographers). Still has a lot of Rathorn’s dunnage locked up but won’t release it until back-lease is paid on rooms and supplies provided to the party (225 gp).

3. Smithy (Elgor Nale)
Taciturn but not unpleasant. Mostly does tools. Not good with weapons or armour, but covers up inability by being gruff. Wife is Selma Nale, very attractive; haunts the town’s bars and flirts with anything male (inevitably results in conflict with husband). He remembers Oras Rathorn; provided him with a dozen picks, mattocks and shovels, and two wheeled carts.

4. Tollhouse (Liam Trotter)
Enormously fat and cheerful; talkative but forgetful. Doesn’t remember anything. For a bribe, will forego recording names and crossing dates, as is his duty.

5. The Ford and Bridge
Ford is 2’ deep, easy for horses and wagons, not too hard for pedestrians, hard for small creatures like hobbits. If it is raining, difficulty level rises. There are nets spread 20’ downstream to catch anyone who loses their footing.

6. Fish Smokehouse (Llanor of Erdallen)
Exudes stench of smoked fish, but quality is high and it will keep indefinitely. Llanor is an ex-member of the Watch, and will provide any serving member with a week’s worth of dried fish rations free of charge. But boy, does he smell bad. He remembers Oras; sold him 6 barrels of smoked Giltscales a month back.

7. Miner’s Guildhouse (Guild Captain Rauf Toldner)
Rauf Toldner is a retired hard rock miner from Lucky Lode; he still has contacts there and has heard rumours of trouble in the mines. He knows Rathorn quite well; asked for “every experienced miner I could lay my hands on”. Thought Rathorn was a fool; he offered meagre pay and “a share in the profits”

8. Mining Supplies Store (Parag Sakonure)
Parag is a Half-Elf from Celenora, a long way from home. He is reasonably friendly but expects money up front; Rathorn cleaned him out and still owes him more than 500 gold for tools, rope, torches, lumber and so on.

9. Merchant’s Manor (Lars Telchin)
Telchin is a grasping, greedy absentee landlord who normally lives at his castle in Bitterberg. His manor is usually empty and locked; there is only a 20% chance per week that he will drop by. His Seneschal, Yancey Mealerger, comes by a few days in advance to open the place and air it out.

10. General Merchandise (Lars Telchin, owner)
The store is run by Ulgric Bugbane, a half-orc Warrior 6 who keeps this job to remain respectable (nobody messes with one of Telchin’s people) and pay the rent. He lives here, receives shipments of goods from the north, and sells them to all comers. He is rude , uncouth and likes teasing people, but hasn’t had to fight in quite a while. Any violence against him will eventually result in a visit from some far worse people on behalf of Sieur Telchin.

11. Gane’s Tankard Tavern (Alonon Payne: Good, Expensive)
Alonon Payne runs a good, but overpriced, establishment. The gentry come here to impress each other; smarter folk go elsewhere for better food at lower prices. He remembers Rathorn, who had a standing account at the Tavern, and whose tab (for fine brandies and delicacies) stands at 181 gp, 9 sp and 4 pennies. Rathorn's room is at the front of the lower floor, and has not been disturbed (except by the bucket boy) since Rathorn last slept there a week ago. It contains his maps, a large number of journals and books, some cash, and his cloak.

12. Market Hall
A large, open-walled timber structure with a thatched roof and room for two dozen market stands. Open on weekday mornings for food market; Great Market on Sian Barraj. Most common equipment items can be bought on the weekend market day.

13. House of the Hand (Gyle Fanwaith, Cleric 8, Vara)
Gyle Fanwaith is a competent cleric and an expert healer; he has three 2nd-level apprentices. One of them (Eloan Wood) was at Rathorn’s camp last week to treat a worker who had had a large stone crush his foot. Wood thinks that Rathorn is a tyrant and a fool.

14. General Store (Danik of Dunholm, Halfling)
Danik of Dunholm is a clever businessman that sells excellent quality goods and specializes in hard-to-find items. He will report that Rathorn owes him 200 gp for spell components, but will add that “It doesn’t really matter, since I made twice that off him in profit already”. One of the ingredients he provided was a special mixture of earth, sand and loam in small silk bags (Spellcraft DC 15: “Move Earth” components).

15. Malryn Olgin (Retired Fighter 11)
Olgin is a retired fighter who is living off his earnings and enjoying his retirement as a hunter, general problem-solver and local celebrity (he is famous for having killed a giant bear with a tree branch some years ago). He is also the local Superior Brother of the Brotherhood of Wyrms. This is the fellow that the exiled Watchmen are expected to contact. Olgin will treat them as seasoned professionals, explain the codes, rules and benefits, and order them to investigate the rumours that Toldner, Guild Captain of the Miner’s Guild, has heard about in Lucky Lode. They are also ordered to pick up a brace of fine stallions in Bymill and bring them back to Ganesford, before delivering them to the house of a noblewoman and friend of the Order in Ellohyin. But more on that when they return with the horses.

16. Leatherworks (Eldred Wainstik, leathercrafter)
Eldred Wainstik is an associate of Sharoom Pardo, the Bornhavn leathercrafter. He contracted with Rathorn for a variety of leather products, and is still awaiting payment on a bill of “several hundred crowns.”

17. Meat Market (Olgar and Olga Thorssen, butchers)
Fair merchants, who have never heard of Oras Rathorn. But they do have kin in Søby, south of Ellohyin, who operate a cattle farm – and last week, a herd of cattle being driven south to Ganesford (and supposed to go on to Bymill) went missing on the Nordvej, somewhere between Steenby and Ganesford. They theorize that a band of Orcs may be running a cattle rustling operation somewhere in the hills.

18. Hardin’s Hammer Tavern (Tug Wylkyn, ex-miner; very rough, very cheap)
Tug Wylkyn is a retired Warrior 4 who served 20 years in the Guards in Ellohyin. He knows the city like the back of his hand, and has contacts in the Elloyhin underworld. He runs a very rough, very cheap place that the local miners like. The rumours about the Phoenix Mine at Lucky Lode have reached this tavern; one or two of the patrons will tell a tale that arrived only this week, about a miner’s corpse being found, bitten in half at the waist.

19. Shrine to Vara (small)
This is a small, one-room shrine built out of the local limestone, with a thatched roof. It is maintained by Fanwaith and his apprentices, and like all shrines to Vara, it contains a large, carved stone vessel of water that is Blessed daily, and that petitioners toss coins into (at any time it will contain 1d100 copper, 1d20 silver and 1d4 gold pieces). It is not policed or patrolled, but during day there is an 8 in 20 chance that someone will be praying here (the chance drops to 1 in 20 after dark). This is a Consecrated location for Vara, her Servants and her Avatars.

20. Leagor of Ellohyin – retired expert historian (K-Hist 22), Reeve of Ganesford
Leagor is an elderly human who lives for books. Once the Chief Librarian to the Count of Ellohyin, he gave up his sinecure a decade ago and built a quiet home here on the banks of the Sweetvale River, filling it with fine furnishings and books. He is compiling a comprehensive history of Zare, and is presently writing Volume 16 (volumes 1 through 15 are available at the Bookbinder’s, for 100 gp per book – each one takes a month to read, and will give the reader +1 Knowledge-History). His knowledge is encyclopaedic, to the point that it is difficult to keep him from diverging into tangents. He knows Oras Rathorn, but dismisses him as “an amateur – a typical wizard, more concerned with twiddlings and twinklings than actually KNOWING anything.” They squabbled over an ancient book in Leagor’s possession (the Varata Ikivanha Maailma, a Draconian text, the “Book of the Ancient World”). Leagor will part with it for 1000 GP (Oras offered him that amount, but promised only 250 gp in advance and the remainder “in a few months”). Studying the book uninterrupted for 1 month will give the reader an inherent bonus on Knowledge(History) checks of +5.

21. Scrivener’s Shop (Iltoeyna Paloyina, Elven Expert Calligrapher 16)
Iltoeyna is an Elvish calligrapher, magnificent with the pen. She hired the copyists to produce Leagor’s magnum opus, and illuminated them herself. She also produced a number of detailed maps of the banks of the Sweetvale between Ganesford and Bornhavn for Oras; he still owes her “more than 100 gold” for the work.

22. Bookbinder’s Shop (Royaur Desfitylna, Elven Expert Bookbinder 14)
Royaur is an associate of Iltoeyna’s, and a solid devotee of Leagor’s writing. He has nothing but praise for the sage, and shares his contempt for Rathorn’s “lack of historical knowledge.”

Dungeons that Never Were: The Longbarrow

Like most DMs, I have a giant heap of miscellaneous dungeons, all developed and kicking around, that I'll never get to use. In some cases, you just don't feel like upgrading them from 3.0 to 3.5, particularly if your party is now several levels too tough to make it worthwhile. In other cases, maybe you think you've thrown one too many ghouls at them already.

(If, that is, you believe that there can be such a thing as "too many ghouls".)

Anyway, just to mix things up a bit, I thought I would throw a few of them up on the blog, if for no other reason than to give readers and idea of the sort of things they MIGHT have had to face. To get the series started off, here's the very first dungeon I threw together years and years ago using the (then) new 3.0 rules. Readers familiar with my usual brand of nonsense will probably recognize elements of the current campaign, albeit in embryonic form.

As you can probably tell, it had been quite some time since I'd drawn up a dungeon, so please excuse the (obvious) faults.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is "The Longbarrow".

* * * * *

THE LONGBARROW

Argument: The mining town of Ekhalifundo lies somewhat off the beaten track, in the alluvial plain below heavily wooded foothills. The miners are a hard-bitten lot who scrabble for iron ore and smelt it on-site; heavily-laden wagons traverse the rutted valley trails back to the High Road, mostly heading south to the great market at Baltrecheg, a three-day journey. In town, the men are hard, and care for little other than food, ale and rough company. Prices are high and the money flows freely. But the people are afraid.

It started a month ago. One of the town’s “Sallys” was found gutted in a ditch, savaged by some unknown but horrific creature; although her blood still ran warm when her body was found, her wounds were festering and rank with the stench of death. The Shovellers’ Council suspected a wild wolf, but a hunting party found nothing. Two weeks ago, it happened again, this time to a child sent to pick berries in the woods; and again, the corpse was torn and stank unnaturally. Finally, not three days ago, a third death – this time of one Ruttik, a miner of extraordinary strength and a mean temper, felled and butchered like an ox. The girl he was with was badly wounded, but before she died she spoke of pale, nightmarish eyes, and a horrifying stench of death.

Now the townsfolk bar their doors at night, the inns are losing commerce, and people fear to tread abroad after dark.

The party may have three allies in town:

1) Pellus of Gronby, sole proprietor of the Pickhandle Pub, is desperate; he has been losing money and will soon be forced to close his doors. Fortunately, he still has his courage, and his sword and armour from his Army days, and he has kept both bright. Moreover, he knows where to look for answers; his son recently married the grand-daughter of a local wise-woman who knows much about the surrounding area.

2) Sallen Brewer, an itinerant cleric and self-appointed Servant of the Light (which is to say, an Undead Hunter), arrived in town about a week ago, and has been poking around. He has a room at the Pickhandle Pub. If the party proposes to seek out the Mound and destroy the evil lurking around the town, he will volunteer to go with them.

3) Dagmar the Blind, an expert healer, is wise in the ways of the world, and may be able to explain what is going on in Ekhalifundo, and what to do about it. She will not accompany the party, but she will provide them with 6 Potions of Cure Moderate Wounds and a fully-stocked Healer’s kit. She will also help to heal any party members injured in fighting at the mound.

THE TOWN OF EKHALIFUNDO

1. Shrine (disused, dusty, disrepair)
2. Jambyron (woodcutter)
3. Guard tower (6 x War 1)
4. Sheriff’s Manse (Garn Weaver, War 1)
5. Factor’s residence (Expert accountant 7)
6. Miner’s Mission (HQ for mining company)
7. Huts for miners (20 per hut)
8. Graves for dead miners (some disturbed)
9. Pickhandle Pub (Pellus of Gronby, Ftr 5)
10. Felargus family (mine owners)
11. Beal Tollwyn (merchant ship owner)
12. Goodly Yard (clothing shop, good quality)
13. Bent Brandby (smith, good toolmaker)
14. Farmer’s Market
15. Loris Trent (general goods, brewmaster)
16. Dagmar the Blind (expert healer/historian)

GATHER INFO 14 / KN-REL 16 / KN-HIST 18
(1) On an isolated island just northeast of the mining town of Ekhalifundo, in middle of the Bard’s Bane River, lies a wooded hilltop that guards a mystery. Atop the hill is a long, broad drumlin-like formation. Although surrounded by trees, no trees grow atop it; only sickly scrub grass. The heavy forest crouches at the feet of the mound. Although there are signs of an old stone landing on the eastern side of the island, river boats and barges avoid it as an ill-favoured place.
(2) The mound is a barrow dating back more than a thousand years, to the earliest kingdoms of Ekhan, when the land was settled by Jarlin adventurers, prior to the worship of the Hand – a time when some men of the north praised totems and the gods of sky and earth, instead of the Aesir.
(3) The Long Barrow likely served this part of one of the early Ekhani kingdoms for centuries, until the arrival of the Clerics of the Hand and the Knights of the Orders arrived, replaced the local rulers, and stamped out shamanism and the Old Gods.
(4) (GATHER INFO ONLY) Some years ago, when the town first sprang up, a group of adventuresome lads crossed the river and climbed the hills, swearing that they would answer the mystery of the mound. None of them ever returned.
(5) (REL ONLY) The Earth Gods were not gentle gods; they demanded the sacrifice of enemies. As a result of the centuries of murder and death, the Barrow is an unhallowed place; fell spirits crowd the air, and the dead walk. It is a dreadful and horrifying pit, rife with peril for the unwary.
(6) (GATHER INFO / HIST ONLY) On the north shore of the south branch of the Whitewater lies a small shingle of shale. Hidden behind ancient oaks and clinging vines are two grim statues. Taller and broader than a man, carved from granite, they are hulking images of coarse, blocky creatures with low brows and mighty fists, now weathered and moss-encrusted.

GATHER INFO 18 / KN-REL 20 / KN-HIST 22

Nearly a thousand years ago, the Long Barrow was sealed and forgotten, and in the course of time, covered by the jungle. And while it has always prodded and mystified adventurers and the foolhardy (not least because of persistent rumours that fabulous wealth lies hidden within), few have penetrated its secrets – and none have done so, and come away unscathed.

GATHER INFO 22 / KN-REL 25 / KN-HIST 28

The Long Barrow is more elaborate than the Mounds of Earth that are normally found in modern times, but probably consists nonetheless of the five indispensable elements of a normal Barrow of the Earth Gods: the Shrine, the Halls of Heroes, the Bed of the King, The Crypt of the Commons, and the Pit of Enemies. . Finally, it is rumoured that a mighty and ancient weapon, a relic of the Jarlin royal family, is secreted somewhere in the burial mound.

NPCs

The Shovellers’ Council: A group of the 12 oldest miners that serves as a town government. Led by Fergus Weaver, First Shovel

Garn Weaver: Sherrif, Ftr 1, a political appointee (brother of Fergus Weaver); a coward, will refuse to aid the party

Pellus of Gronby: Owner of the Pickhandle Pub, Ftr 5; Str 17, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 11, Wis 12, Cha 12. Feats: Weapon Focus (Greatclub), Improved Initiative, Power Attack, Weapon Specialization (Greatclub), Cleave. MW chainmail, greatclub, shortsword, dagger. Longbow, 20 arrows. 2 potions of Cure Moderate Wounds, 1 potion of Bull’s Strength. HP 52, AC 15, Init +5, Speed 30’, Greatclub (1d10) +10/+5 damage, longbow (1d8) +7/+0, F+7/R+3/W+3, Climb +3, Jump +3.

Dagmar the Blind: Expert Healer (12 skill points, 17 wisdom; concocts and sells elixirs of healing for 25 gp each, each heals 0-5 HP (d6-1)); also knowledge of local history (14) and ancient history (7).

Sallen Brewer: Human Cleric, 6th level; Str 14, Dex 11, Con 15, Int 12, Wis 17, Cha 14. Skills: Concentration 9, Diplomacy 9, Heal 9, Knowledge: Religion 9. Feats: Combat Casting, Wpn Focus: Morningstar, Extra Turning, Extra Turning. Speaks Common, Elven. No devotion; Domains: Good, Sun. Spells: 5, 4+1, 4+1, 3+1. Chainmail +2, Circlet of Persuasin, MW Heavy Crossbow, MW Dagger, Morningstar +1, MW Large Steel Shield. Potions: Cure Light Wounds (3), Sneaking, Spider Climb, Lesser Restoration.

THE PICKHANDLE PUB

1. Great Room: 3d6+6 patrons, 1d4 Sallys, Sallen Brewer
2. Council Room: 25% Fergus Weaver
3. Single room: unoccupied
4. Single room: Sallen Brewer
5. Single room: Gale Fallows (ale merchant)
6. Double room: Wan and Lale Rider (horse traders)
7. Water closet
8. Double room: unoccupied
9. Single room: Betta Miller (top Sally)
10. Single room: unoccupied
11. Single room (small): Jade Miller (madam)
12. Larder: 12 kegs ale, dry goods, meat
13. Kitchen: 3 kegs ale, dry goods
14. Triple room: 3 Sallys - Frida, Helfrigg, Olga
15. Sextuple room: 4 miners on leave
16. Bunkroom (12 spaces): 8 miners on leave
17. Stable yard: 11 draft horses, 6 riding horses, 5 miners sleeping it off
18. Sheep pens: 212 sheep of all sizes

* * * * *

DUNGEON MAPS

General note: The unwholesomeness of the barrow is due to the lingering sensation of evil it exudes and the foulness of the air. Good characters must make a fortitude save (DC 12) every 12 hours they are in the mound, or be -1 on all attack, skill check and saving throw rolls. These losses are cumulative until the character spends 12 hours or more in the outside air.

1. The Path

On the north shore of the south branch of the Whitewater lies a small shingle of shale. Hidden behind ancient oaks and clinging vines are two grim statues. Taller and broader than a man, carved from granite, they are hulking images of coarse, blocky creatures with low brows and mighty fists, now weathered and moss-encrusted. Between them, a narrow path winds up the hill, between the boles of gigantic trees. Under the carpet of dead branches and rotting leaves, glimpses of a roughly-cobbled pathway can be seen.

(GOOD CHARACTERS) The air is still and silent; although the day is warm, you feel cold and have difficulty catching your breath. You feel as though something is watching you – a brooding, nameless repugnant evil, perhaps long dead, but drenched in blood nonetheless.
(EVIL CHARACTERS) The darkness beneath the trees is welcoming and restful, and pleasantly cool after the heat of the sun. There is power here, but it is old and quiescent, and no threat to you. This is a pleasant and comforting place; you’re glad you came. All the same, there is power here, and all would do well to be wary.

2. The Porch

As the path climbs the hill, you begin to catch glimpses of the mound between the trees. Far-off glimpses are deceptive; up close, it is truly a gargantuan land feature, hundreds of feet long, and many times the height of a man. Although the trees cluster closely alongside the mound, no trees grow atop it; it is adorned only with sickly patches of scrub grass, and blocky chunks of stone can be seen protruding from the overgrowth.

Approaching the mound, you can see, between the trees, that the path is becoming less overgrown and more distinct. Where it meets the mound, there appears to be a porch of sorts; the path climbs a few low steps to a broad, paved balcony where a heavy stone roof is supported by seven massive carven pillars. The shadows beneath the roof are heavy, but you can still see a number of huddled shapes strewn aboard the fallen stones.

Any character making a spot check (DC 16) from more than 100 yards will notice that there appear to be odd statues standing in front of three of the pillars. They look like humanoid skeletons, armoured and wielding long rusted scimitars – but much bigger than humans. These are unmissable (spot DC 10) from 20 yards away.

At the inner end of the porch lies the door to the barrow; it is wood reinforced with iron bands, and although it looks rotten, it is deceptively strong (unlocked, stuck; DC 28 to force, Hardness 10, HP 20). It is heavily carved with interwoven runic inscriptions, and bears a number of axe strokes. If the door is touched, the skeletons animate and attack anyone on the porch. Once everyone is dead or has left the porch, they return to their starting positions and de-animate.

OGRE SKELETONS x 3 (Large Undead)
HD: 2d12 (13, 16, 21 HP)
Init: +5 (+1 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative)
Speed: 40’
AC: 17 (+1 Dex, -1 size, +3 Natural, +3 rusty chainmail, +1 large shield)
Attacks: rusty battleaxe
Damage: 1d8+2
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 10’
Special Qualities: Undead, Immunities
Saves: Fort 0, Ref +1, Will +3
Abilities: Str 14, Dex 12, Con -, Int -, Wis 10, Cha 11
Feats: Improved Initiative
Alignment: Neutral (although residual aura of evil from being created)
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.
IMMUNITIES: Cold immunity; half damage from slashing or piercing weapons.
The skeletons are wearing rusted oversized chainmail and light helms, and a carrying decaying large wooden shields and rusty battleaxes. All of these items are in poor condition (1/6th value, -2 on all checks) and are unwieldy for medium-sized creatures.

The huddled shapes on the porch are three decayed human skeletons. All are clad in the rotten rags of peasant clothing; none are armoured. There are two scythes (one broken) and one woodsman’s axe (broken) nearby. One of the skeletons has a 50’ coil of hemp rope (poor condition, -2 on all checks); another has a belt pouch containing 6 cp, 2 candles, and a flint and steel, chipped and rusted.

A shattered ogre skeleton, clad in disintegrating chainmail, lies among them.

3. The Dig

Anyone attempting to circumnavigate the mound will find it rough going; the trees grow closely together and gaps are filled by brush and vines. Anyone forcing their way through the woods on the north side of the mound has only a 1/20 chance of coming upon area 3; elves, rangers and druids who come within 50’ of the area may make a spot check (DC 15) at +2 to notice that the area has been disturbed. Going over top of the mound, however, is much easier, and anyone near the top centre will probably notice disturbed brush at area 3 (Spot DC 12).

Close up the truth is revealed. Some time ago (TRACK DC 14) more than 200, less than 300 years), a party of adventurers attempted to circumvent the skeletons at the front door (and to get around the stone block at Area 4) by digging into the mound.

Anyone with wilderness lore can make a SPOT CHECK (DC 15) to notice overly large wolf tracks leading to and from the tunnel mouth. DC 18 identifies as Dire Wolves; DC 24 identifies one male, one female, and 1-6 cubs. The male and female wolves will attack if anyone approaches the cave mouth; the cubs will fight only if cornered.

DIRE WOLVES x 2 + 3 (Large Animals – 8’ long, 500-700 pounds)
HD: 6d8+18 (46, 36, 18, 14, 9 HP)
Init: +2 Dex
Speed: 50’
AC: 14 (-1 size, +2 Dex, +3 Natural)
Attacks: Bite +10 melee
Damage: 1d8+10
Face/Reach: 5’x10’ / 5’
Special Attacks: Trip (if hits with a bite attack)
Special Qualities: Scent
Saves: Fort+8, Ref +7, Will +6
Abilities: Str 25, Dex 15, Con 17, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 10
Skills: Hide+5, Listen+6, Move Silently+5, Spot+6, Wilderness Lore+1*
Alignment: Neutral
*+4 racial bonus to Wilderness Lore when tracking by scent.
The Dire Wolves have no treasure.

The remains of a small tunnel bear southwards into the hill, and the spoil of digging lies about, covered with leaves and long grass. There are also two picks and two spades tangled in the undergrowth, both with rusted blades and rotted handles.

SPOT DC 13 - And a corpse, found pushed aside and trampled under the litter of the tunnel (human warrior, clad in badly-rusted and rotted scale armour and a helmet, and bearing the broken hilt of a longsword). If closely inspected, the helmet can be seen to be crushed inwards (as is the skull underneath), and the corpse’s shield arm is completely shattered. The corpse has a belt pouch containing 12 cp, 25 sp, 2 gp, two pieces of chalk, a small roll of twine and the stump of a wax candle. The sword hilt is grimy, but a spot check (DC 18) reveals that the hilt contains a cairngorm-cut topaz worth about 75 gp.

The tunnel is partially collapsed, but appears to be about four to six feet wide and the same high, roomy for a halfling, but a tight fit for an armoured human. One hours’ work with a shovel, or six hours without, will suffice to clear the tunnel and allow entry to Area 6.

4. The Entrance

Once the door from the Porch (Area 2) has been forced or destroyed, the true barrier is revealed: a massive stone block has been rolled and mortared into place blocking the descending staircase. 12 hours work with a hammer and chisel (Knowledge [Masonry] check to halve the time) or equivalent tool will remove the mortar, but then the stone remains. (Careful inspection shows that some of the mortar has been chipped away, possibly by a pick). A Strength check (DC 35) is required to budge the stone. It has not been moved since it was emplaced nearly 1000 years ago.

Behind the stone lies a tunnel, 10’ wide and 15’ high, built of heavy cut stones. Remnants of paint fleck the walls, although no images can be made out. The tunnel descends at a sharp angle (c. 45 degrees); the air is heavy, dank and smells of mold and decay. Here and there small roots have forced their way through the stones, and water drips from the ceiling, pooling and running down the stairs.

A dim light can be seen emanating from a chamber at the bottom of the stairs

5. The Shrine

Area 5 is the Shrine to the Earth Gods that was de rigeur for the religious practices of the day. It contains all of the mandatory elements of an Earth Shrine: The Pillars, The Lights, The Altars and The Guardians.

The pillars are massive, heavily carved, one-piece granite that support the arching stones of the roof approximately 25’ overhead.

The Lights are actually ensorcelled “Continual Flame” torches made of wrought iron; each is 4’ long and weighs 12 pounds, and may be removed from the sconces at the northeast and southwest ends of the chamber. They may be used as Heavy Maces +1. If they are removed from the barrow, their enchantment and bonuses will fail, and the flame will go out.

The Altars stand along the northwest wall. They are massive, waist-high tables cast in a single piece of bronze. Each weighs about 900 pounds. Both have grooves around the edges to catch blood, and a collection of corroded bronze blood-buckets stacked beneath them (11 in all, capacity about 1 gallon each). Both altars are heavily corroded and exude a brooding sense of old evil (and stink of old blood). The walls behind them are heavily carved with depictions of the Earth Gods and their servants, and are crusted with old blood.

The guardians are enormous, squat stone statues that appear almost dwarvish, except for being 10’ tall.

This room is full of heaps of foul trash, and is the home of 3 Ogre Ghouls.

OGRE GHOUL x 3 (Large Giant, Undead)
Hit Dice: 4d12+8 (51, 40, 29)
Initiative: +1 (Dex)
Speed: 30’
AC: 18 (-1sz, +1Dex, +5Nat, +3hide)
Attacks: 2 claws, +8; bite +4 melee
Damage: 2 claws 2d4+8, paralysis; bite 1d6+4, paralysis
Face/Reach: 5’x5’/10’
Special Attacks: paralysis, create spawn, stench of death, rend
Special Qualities: Undead, +2 turn resistance
Saves: Fort+6, Ref+1, Will+5
Abilities: Str 21, Dex 15, Con -, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 10
Skills: Climb +6, Escape Artist +7, Hide+7, Intuit Direction +3, Jump +6, Listen +7, Move Silently +7, Search +6, Spot +7Feats: Multiattack, Weapon Finesse (claws), Rend

The Ogre Ghouls at areas 5 and 6 will assist each other if they detect a battle; the Ogre Ghouls with Ogi obey him and remain with him.

6. The North Ossuary

This low (8’ ceiling) chamber is an ossuary – a place where the bones of common people were interred in honour. The walls contain numerous well-made stone cavities, each of which is full of whitened bones, stacked deep. The skulls are stacked along the edges of the floor (more than 600 in here, if anyone bothers to count). The tunnel dug from Area 3 enters this room at the northwest corner, near the ceiling, about 6’ off the floor; three of the stone blocks comprising the wall of the chamber have been forced out of place, and lie on the floor.

This room contains an Ogre Ghoul, who has made this chamber his home, as he does not get along with his fellows who live at Area 5, or those who serve Ogi. He will attack anyone who enters this room.

OGRE GHOUL (Large Giant, Undead)
Hit Dice: 4d12+8 (37)
Initiative: +1 (Dex)
Speed: 30’
AC: 18 (-1sz, +1Dex, +5Nat, +3hide)
Attacks: 2 claws, +8; bite +4 melee
Damage: 2 claws 2d4+8, paralysis; bite 1d6+4, paralysis
Face/Reach: 5’x5’/10’
Special Attacks: paralysis, create spawn, stench of death, rend
Special Qualities: Undead, +2 turn resistance
Saves: Fort+6, Ref+1, Will+5
Abilities: Str 21, Dex 15, Con -, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 10
Skills: Climb +6, Escape Artist +7, Hide+7, Intuit Direction +3, Jump +6, Listen +7, Move Silently +7, Search +6, Spot +7Feats: Multiattack, Weapon Finesse (claws), Rend

SPOT CHECK 16: Smashed into the rubbish behind one of the sarcophagi is a badly-gnawed skeleton; it appears to have been a female elf clad in once-elaborate robes SEARCH DC 12: The corpse has a well-made dagger in a jewelled scabbard (scabbard worth 75 gp) and is wearing a silver plated belt studded with green gems (sea opals, total value 250 gp). A belt pouch contains some elementary spell components, and a nearby backpack contains two pints of oil in stoppered clay jars; soap and a towel; ten sheets of parchment, two quill pens and a dried bottle of black ink; a honing stone; a small razor knife; a packet of dried apples and dried figs (inedible); and a small, bloodstained leatherbound spellbook.

SPELLCRAFT DC 19: The spellbook is trapped with MINOR WARD – ELECTRICITY and will do d4+3 electrical damage to anyone who opens it without speaking the password (reflex save for ½ damage; “Mialee”, the name of the dead wizard, is the password). The spellbook contains the following spells: CHANGE SELF(1), CHARM PERSON(1), FEATHER FALL(1), SUNLIGHT(1), MAGIC MISSILE(1), MINOR WARD – ELECTRICITY(1), TENSOR’S FLOATING DISK(1), FLAMING SPHERE(2), MAGIC MOUTH(2), SLEEP(2), WEB(2). Inside the cover is inscribed, in Elvish, the name of the mage: “Mialee”.

7. The South Ossuary

This room is identical to Area 6, save that it has never been disturbed. It contains more than 700 skulls, but has neither monster nor treasure. It is deeply shrouded in spider webs; and numerous small arachnids inhabit it. Anyone disturbing the skulls must make a reflex save (DC 12) every round to avoid taking .5 HP damage from spider bites.

8. The Crypts of the Commons

This very long corridor is 10’ wide and 10’ high; the walls and floor are smooth, made of well-cut and well-fitted stone blocks; the ceiling is ogive-arched and peaks to 17’ in the centre. Each of the crypt entrances is surrounded by stone engraving noting the names of the families entombed within (using old Jarlin runes). In front of each crypt entrance is a statue (KNOWLEDGE HISTORY DC 18) depicting the patron deity of each major family grouping, and the seven major Jarlin deities are all so depicted. (KNOWL HIST DC 22) From north to south, they are the gods of fertility; thunder; warriors; stealth; the underworld; trickery; and the hunt.

SPOT DC 16: The floor of the corridor slopes gently towards the south, and little rivulets of water can be seen trickling down it; all of the drip-water that enters the mound eventually flows this way.

Anyone succeeding at a LISTEN (DC 18) will hear a stealthy rustling and scraping a short way down the hall; if they succeed by 5 or more points, they will believe it comes from one of the crypts.

Each of the crypts is a 15’ x 20’ room with a ceiling that vaults from 10’-15’ in the center. The walls are solid. Each room contains five large, carved stone open sarcophagi; the bones of the various families are piled willy-nilly into these, along with a collection of copper and silver coins. The rooms are dank, damp, and clammy, and the stench of decay overlays everything; all of the bones are interwoven with cobwebs, crud, crap and decayed bits of word and small animal bones; and small spiders and scorpions abound. Anyone rummaging through the bones must make a Reflex Save (DC 15) every round ot take .5 HP from biting and stinging insects. None of the sarcophagi contains anything of value except where noted; there is a total of 10-40 SP and 20-160 CP per room.

8A. The Crypt of the Thunder God

The sarcophagus at the end of this room, if searched, will yield bones, decayed clothing, SPOT DC 18/SEARCH DC 13 and a well-made dwarven war hammer, steelheaded, steelhafted, and in excellent condition, although dusty (value 100%).

8B. The Crypt of the Stealth God

This room contains no treasure, but is inhabited by an OGRE ZOMBIE, which waits near one of the crypts.

OGRE ZOMBIE (Large Undead)
HD: 4d12+3 (27 HP)
Init: -1 (Dex)
Speed: 40’
AC: 11 (-1 size, -1 Dex, +3 natural)
Attacks: Slam +4 melee
Damage: Slam 1d8+4
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 10’
Special Qualities: Undead, Partial Actions Only
Saves: Fort +1, Ref 0, Will +4
Abilities: Str 17, Dex 8, Con -, Int -, Wis 10, Cha 1
Feats: Toughness
Alignment: Neutral (although residual aura of evil from being created)
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.
PARTIAL ACTIONS ONLY: zombies can move OR attack, but not both unless they charge
The zombie fights barehanded and has no treasure.

8C. The Crypt of the God of Trickery

This room contains no treasure, but is inhabited by one of the gangs of the mound: an OGRE WIGHT accompanied by three OGRE ZOMBIES. Anyone entering this room will immediately notice four enormous creatures and an overpowering stench of death.

This gang lives in competition with the Ogre Ghouls at 5 and 6; they avoid each other and will not offer assistance if attacked. The wight often leaves the mound alone to seek prey. The Ogre Wight will send his zombies into battle first, and is intelligent enough to attempt to lure powerful characters downstairs to the PIT HORROR at 9.

The Ogre Zombies have 41, 30 and 22 HP respectively. There is barely enough room for all of them in this chamber.

OGRE WIGHT (Large Undead)
HD: 6d12 (51 HP)
Init: +1 (Dex)
Speed: 40’
AC: 14 (+1 Dex, -1 size, +4 natural)
Attacks: Slam +5 melee or MW Greatsword (singlehanded)
Damage: Slam 1d8+6, energy drain, MW Greatsword (1d12+7)
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 10’
Special Qualities: Undead
Saves: Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +6
Abilities: Str 20, Dex 16, Con -, Int 11, Wis 13, Cha 15
Skills: Climb+5, Hide+8, Listen+8, Move Silently+16, Search+7, Spot+8
Feats: Blindfight
Alignment: Neutral (although residual aura of evil from being created)
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.
The Ogre Wight carries, and may fight with, a shining, heavy greatsword. If badly wounded, he will attempt to lure the party downstairs towards the Pit Horror at 9.

The greatsword is a special masterwork weapon (no attack bonus, but +1 damage bonus), with a heavy, 4’ blade carved (SPOT DC 16: there are tiny Jarlin runes on the blade that read “Ogi, Slayer of Frost Giants”), and a black iron two-handed hilt. Despite long years in the barrow, it is rust free. (CRAFT WEAPONSMITH DC 14: This is a MW). There is no scabbard for this weapon. An experienced fighter will recognize that this weapon is balanced to strike more effectively than a normal weapon. It is worth about 475 gp. Anyone carrying it will be immediately attacked by Ogi, who will attempt to recover his weapon.

9. The Pit of Enemies

The Pit of Enemies was an integral part of the worship of the Earth Gods; dead enemies (or bound enemies captured alive) were tossed into a pit to starve and rot to propitiate the Earth Gods and the Guardians of the Underworld. This was one of the largest and best-stocked pits in the history of early Ekhan.

At the west end of corridor 8, the trickling water pools against the iron-bound wooden door; at the door itself, the brackish, foul water is more than 2’ deep. The wooden door is jammed (FORCE DC 20, Break DC 28, HP 8, Hardness 8). The bottom 1’ of the door is badly rotten and has a break DC of only 16. If it is broken, the backed-up water will rush down the stairs.

The stairs beyond are steep; 45 degrees, and very slick, slimy and slippery. There are no handholds and a balance check (DC 14) is required for players to keep their footing. Anyone falling must make a reflex save or tumble down the stairs (1-3 damage). This corridor is 10’ wide and 10’ high. (Spot Check DC 14 it is no longer masonry; instead, it is carved out of the gutrock of the hill (granite). There are no decorations on these walls).

At the base of the stairs the water pools again, this time 6’ deep against the iron-bound wooden door. The water is black, filthy and brackish, and the bottom cannot be seen; anyone ingesting any must make a fortitude save (DC 15) or lose 1-4 constitution points for 2-20 hours (nausea, vomiting and diarrhea). The door is unlocked but jammed (FORCE DC 20, Break DC 28, HP 8, Hardness 8). The key to this door lies in one of the chests at Area 11.

If the door is opened or broken, the pent-up water will burst through and spill into the pit. Characters must make a spot-check (DC 20) to notice a shiny object spilling towards the pit; an astute character may make a Reflex save (DC 18) to grab it before it goes in. The object is a bright silver ring. This is a new magic item.

Ring of the Yeoman. This is a simple silver wring engraved with patterns of leaves. It gives the wearer +2 on all attack rolls with all bows and crossbows and confers the “Point Blank Shot” feat. If the wearer is 5th level or higher, it confers the “Far Shot” feat, and if 9th level or higher, it confers the “Rapid Shot” feat (if the wearer has these feats, this has no effect). If worn by someone who is not already proficient with at least one bow or crossbow, it simply confers proficiency with bows and crossbows, but no other powers. Value: 4500 gp

The chamber is roughly circular and 60-70’ in diameter, with a low-arched ceiling some 40’ overhead. It is dimly lit by two continual flame torches of the type found at area 5: wrought-iron, 12 pounds, may be used as maces. The pit is about 50’ in diameter and is full of water to about 1’ from the floor level. Against the walls are four bronze statues: The Guardians of the Underworld (from old Jarlin mythos), beasts with the bodies of bears and the heads of a lion, an owl, a stag and a fox. Each statue is about 5’ wide and 8’ high, and weighs about 900 pounds.

Upon closer inspection (Spot check DC 14) human bones can be seen sticking above the surface of the water in the pit (water continues to trickle into it down the stairs but the level remains constant; there must be an outlet). The water is black and foul; nothing can be seen below the surface.

If anything living enters the pit, it will awaken the guardian: a PIT HORROR created by one of the High Priests of the Earth Gods. It has dwelt here for more than 10 centuries, lurking among the bones of those cast into the pit, surviving off vermin, and waiting for plunderers or more victims. The PIT HORROR is an undead cross between a gargantuan monster skeleton and an octopus, combining features of both. It will attack anything that even touches the water, and it can reach anything in the room with at least one of its articulated skeletal arms (if three or more players spread out around the room, only one arm will be able to reach each player each round). In order to hit the body with a meelee weapon, someone will have to enter the pit and balance on the bones (balance check, DC 12, each combat round), and be within striking distance of all 4 arms.

The Horror will attack anyone who remains in the room, but cannot leave the pit. It takes no damage from piercing weapons, and only half-damage from slashing weapons.

PIT HORROR (1 – Gargantuan Undead)
HD: 16d12 (104 HP) - Arms have 8 HP Each and are AC 15 (no size penalty); body 40 HP
Init: +5 (+1 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative)
Speed: n/a
AC: 13 (-4 size, +1 Dex, +6 Natural)
Attacks: 4 x Whipping with skeletal tentacles; bite
Damage: 2d6+6 bite arm, 2d8+6 bite (only if struck by two arms in same round and grappled for another, to be drawn into the pool)
Face/Reach: 20’x20’ / 40’
Special Qualities: Undead, Immunities
Saves: Fort +5, Ref +6, Will +10
Abilities: Str 22, Dex 12, Con -, Int -, Wis 10, Cha 11
Feats: Improved Initiative
Alignment: Neutral (although strong residual aura of evil from purpose of chamber)
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.IMMUNITIES: Cold immunity; half damage from slashing or piercing weapons.

If the pit is searched after the Skeletal Horror is slain, the following items will be found: 21 hardsilver pieces, 107 gp, 338 sp, 912 cp, pearl and diamond necklace (value 350 gp), three intact porcelain eagle figurines (2 pounds each, value 150 gp each), a bronze Wand of Magic Missiles (level 5, 5 charges left), a wax-stoppered bone scroll case containing 6 pieces of decaying parchment, including a Scroll of 2 spells: SUGGESTION, WALL OF FOG; and a small steel masterwork shield, in good condition, only slightly rusted.

10. Mortuary

The door to this chamber is unlocked; but if opened, it will exude a horrifying stench of blood, decay and death, and a hint of spice. At the bottom of the staircase is a 25’x30’ room with a slightly-vaulted ceiling, 8’-10’ high. The room is surprisingly dry. The walls of the room are covered with runic inscriptions; if read, these are passages from the holy writings of the Priests of the Earth Gods, and contain prayers, chants and procedures of preparing bodies of interment. Different instructions are given for the Crypts of the Commons, the Halls of Heroes, the Pit of Enemies and the Bed of the King.

The major feature of the room is a large stone table at the east end; it is waist-high and is obviously used for dismembering bodies and cleansing flesh from their bones. There is a cadaver upon the table in surprisingly good shape.

This corpse is an incomplete mummy, which will animate and attack anyone who comes within 5’ of the table. It was once one of the priests of the Earth Gods.

Incomplete Mummy (1 – Medium-Sized Undead)
HD: 4d12+3 (29 HP)
Init: -1 (Dex)
Speed: 20’
AC: 17 (-1 Dex, +8 natural)
Attacks: Slam +6 melee
Damage: 1d6+4 and mummy rot
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 5’
Special Attacks: Despair, mummy rot
Special Qualities: Undead, resistant to blows, damage reduction 5/+1, fire vulnerability
Saves: Fort +2, Ref +1, Will +7
Abilities: Str 17, Dex 8, Con -, Int 6, Wis 14, Cha 15
Skills: Hide+8, Listen+9, Move Silently+8, Spot+9
Feats: Alertness, Toughness
Alignment: Lawful Evil
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.
DESPAIR (SU): On sight, Will Save DC 15 or be paralyzed with fear for 1d4 rounds.
MUMMY ROT(SU): On slam, Fort Save DC 20; incubation 1 day or 1d6 CON damage +1 per day until death or a REMOVE DISEASE spell is cast.
RESISTANT TO BLOWS(EX): Physical attacks deal only half damage; apply before damage reduction.FIRE VULNERABILITY(EX): Double damage from fire attacks; save halves damage, failure doubles damage.

The room also contains two large, carved stone urns with stone lids closed by wax seals; if checked, these can be seen to contain strong lye solutions, and there are numerous bones in each urn. The solution remains caustic, and will do 1d4+1 damage to anyone splashed with it (2d8 damage if ingested). There is enough liquid in each jar to make 10 caustic vial grenades. The room also contains four large cabinets; one contains bags and containers of various chemicals and compounds used in preparation of corpses (all common and in poor shape); another other contains a collection of rags, knives, saws and axes, sharp and in good condition, but clotted with old, dried blood. A third contains a series of small clay pots and jars holding a variety of dried out spices and unguents.

SPOT DC 20: Behind the head of the table is a secret door; this is a wooden panel painted to resemble stone and can be slid aside to reveal a small chest (1’x2’x1’) weighing 30 pounds, and containing 5 pounds each of valuable anointing spices and compounds in clay jars sealed with beeswax: myrrh, aromatic spices, and ambergris. These are worth, respectively, 75, 125 and 300 gp.

11. Curate’s Chamber

This room is surprisingly dry as well; obviously drainage has been planned. It contains a small bed with a straw palliasse, unmade without sheets or blankets, as well as a wardrobe, a desk, a chair and two chests. The wardrobe contains robes, undergarments, an oilcloth cloak and some sort of ceremonial vestment that is made of heavy, dark wool, embroidered with gold thread, and bloodstained. It also contains two pair of used sandals.

The wardrobe has a false bottom that is easy to find (Search DC 18). It contains a pouch containing 50 gp and two 100 gp sapphires, a gold ring worth 50 gp, and a scroll case containing a diagram of the mound. The diagram shows all of the features of the mound, except for the actual Bed of the King (i.e. it does NOT show the secret door in Area 17, or either of Areas 18 or 19) – See Appendix A. It also does not show monsters or recent changes to the mound (e.g. area 3).

The desk contains several sheets of parchment and two books of the holy writings of the Priests of the Earth Gods (these weigh 10 pounds and are worth 10 gp each, but a sage specializing in such things would pay upwards of 250 gp each). It also contains more than 30 iron keys, badly rusted, which include the keys to the crypts in the Halls of Heroes. Each of these has a 50/50 chance of working or snapping off in the lock; a snapped-off key increases a lock-pick DC from 22 to 28.

One of the chests contains badly molded sheets and blankets; the other, a collection of rotten books, documents and parchment, none of which is legible. If this chest is lifted up, underneath will be found the key to the door at Area 9 (Search DC: 18).

12. The Halls of Heroes

Another feature of the worship of the Earth Gods were the Halls of Heroes – the individual burial chambers of the great men (and women) of the age. As with all religions, this started out being a noble exclusion, but ended up by being subject to purchase and bribery. Those, few of the crypts that lie herein are those of actual heroes; many are simply those of noblemen, wealthy merchants, or even famous courtesans.

In the north hall, farsighted characters can see some huddled forms on the floor. Far off down either hall, characters see a gleam of yellow light.

Each crypt is faced by a carved stone likeness of the hero in life; these are usually very well done. Each is gated by a rusty iron grillwork, all of which are locked, have a pick DC of 22, and a force DC of 30, and a break damage of 12 HP and hardness of 12. Each crypt is 20’ wide, 25’ long, and has a low barrel-vaulted ceiling arching from 10’-15’. These crypts are relatively dry, but cold. The wooden doors of the three southernmost crypts in the north hall have been bashed open.

13. The Crypt of Ogi

Ogi was one of the genuine heroes entombed here. Unfortunately, he was also an enemy of the Curate of the day, who cursed him after death. Ogi, therefore, has risen again as a MUMMY, who haunts this, his tomb, and who sorties from the mound by night to search for victims. It is his hunting, approaching the town, that has caused the townsfolk to worry about the mound again.

Ogi’s statue clearly depicts him wielding a large greatsword. SPOT DC 18: Close inspection of both the sword and the statue will immediate reveal that they are one in the same.

Outside of Ogi’s tomb lie two corpses. One is the body of a dwarven warrior, clad in dwarven chainmail (blued and rustproof, dwarf-sized masterwork chainmail), and bearing a large shield and a dwarven waraxe. The body is decayed but it is easy to see that the throat has been torn out. The dwarf’s pouch contains only the remnants of some dried bread and jerked meat; his backpack contains a small hammer, ten pitons, 50’ of rope, a set of locksmith’s tools (rusty), a honing stone (broken), a tinderbox (empty) and 10 extra crossbow bolts (with dry rot).

Near the dwarf is the body of a human male cleric, clad in rusted scale armour, and with a sundered large wooden shield nearby. A heavy mace has cracked in half, and a Sun Symbol of Pelor, shattered, lies near his outflung arm. His other arm has been ripped off, armour and all. The cleric’s pouch contains a small, elaborate scroll: a written commission from the Grand Temple of Pelor to one “Jozan, Cleric of the Almighty Golden Lord”, as well as three small vials: potions of cure light wounds (1d6+5 points each). He has no backpack; a heavy crossbow with a broken cable lies a little further down the hall.

Inside the crypt is the mummy that once was Ogi, and the three Ogre Ghouls that serve him (HP 38, 36 and 30). Ogi is a mighty and terrifying creature, man-sized, and clad in a gleaming silver breastplate and winged helmet engraved with Jarlin runes and the two-headed sea serpent of the Karnil clan (Masterwork Breastplate and Helm). The helm has a huge gash across the left temple, and the Ogi mummy has a heavy crossbow bolt protruding from its forehead. Ogi will attack anyone who enters the crypt, and will pursue any violators until all have fled or are dead.

If anyone is carrying Ogi’s Greatsword (from area 8C), Ogi will attack that individual preferentially, ignoring all others, in order to recover his sword.

Ogi the Mummy (Medium-Sized Undead, 5th level fighter)
HD: 6d12+3 (59 HP)
Init: -1 (Dex)
Speed: 30’
AC: 22 (-1 Dex, +8 natural, +5 MW Breastplate)
Attacks: Slam +10 melee
Damage: 1d6+5 and mummy rot
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 5’
Special Attacks: Despair, mummy rot
Special Qualities: Undead, resistant to blows, damage reduction 5/+1, fire vulnerability
Saves: Fort +2, Ref +1, Will +7
Abilities: Str 20, Dex 8, Con -, Int 6, Wis 14, Cha 15
Skills: Hide+8, Listen+9, Move Silently+8, Spot+9
Feats: Alertness, Toughness
Alignment: Lawful Evil
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.
DESPAIR (SU): On sight, Will Save DC 15 or be paralyzed with fear for 1d4 rounds.
MUMMY ROT(SU): On slam, Fort Save DC 20; incubation 1 day or 1d6 CON damage +1 per day until death or a REMOVE DISEASE spell is cast.
RESISTANT TO BLOWS(EX): Physical attacks deal only half damage; apply before damage reduction.FIRE VULNERABILITY(EX): Double damage from fire attacks; save halves damage, failure doubles damage.

The back wall of the crypt is covered with runic inscriptions detailing the life and feats of Ogi; apparently he was originally a Jarlin warrior who became one of the great heroes of the early days of Ekhan after he broke up a Frost Giant gang that had been raiding a fortress in the mountains north of Ekhan. (Decipher Script DC 17)

14. The Crypt of Mimias

This crypt contains neither treasure nor monster. However, if anyone is reading the inscriptions on the walls in the crypts (Decipher Script DC 17), this one will reveal that the occupant, Mimias of Fargaunt, was the architect of the Great Funerary Mound of Urgu (which is, in fact, the name of the Long Barrow), and gives some of the history of the mound (when it was built, under whose reign, who paid for it, number of works employed, number of years it took, etc.).

If the sarcophagus is searched (DC: 18), a small bone scroll tube will be found, disguised to look like Mimias’ right femur. It contains a parchment scroll giving a diagram and operating details for the stone block mechanism separating areas 16 and 17. It also contains a hand-written note, with no diagrams, giving instructions “for disarming the Spear Trap in the Hidden Bed of the King” (“Two right, three left, and in”). The instructions are a lie; they will disarm the spear trap at Area 18, but will activate the water trap.

Anyone reading the parchment closely will smell an old, dusty odor of lemons (the smell of a message written in lemon juice and allowed to dry) – Smell spot DC 15. If the parchment is gently heated, a scrawled message will appear in brown Jarlin runes: “I lie! Reverse my guidance, or die!”. Checking for hidden writing requires player initiative.

15. The Great Guardians

At the north end of the Halls of Heroes stand a pair of statues flanking an ornate wooden door. The ceiling arches to 20’ above floor level, and the two statues, Jarlin warriors bearing axe, helm and shield, are carved from black stone decorated with bronze, and stand fully 10’ high. The door, by contrast, is 8’high by 5’ wide, made of black wood bound with iron bands. An inscription in the stone arch above the door reads, in Jarlin runes, “Here sleeps Ulfgar, King of Ruq-Ekhan.” Opposite the door is another of the wrought-iron “continual flame” torches. An eldritch feeling of magic pervades the air at this point; “detect magic” will reveal hints of power from the door, the torch, and the two statues.

Touching the door activates an illusion that operates as follows: the statues, slowly and menacingly, appear to come to life (red eyes, howling, all that) and look for all the world like stone golems about to attack the party. This illusion requires a Will Check (DC 20) to disbelieve. Those who disbelieve ignore the illusion; those who don’t are automatically subject to a FEAR spell and will flee the area for 1d4+2 rounds.

Anyone searching the statues must make a Spot check (DC 25) to notice the concealed mechanism behind the southern statue (+10 if the characters have found the scroll of Mimias). Turning the statue’s sword from up to down and then rotating the statue’s roundshield will operate a pulley mechanism that will withdraw the stone block at the bottom of the stairs at Area 16, leaving a gap of about 18”; too small for an armoured human or dwarf to slip through, although equipped members of other races should be able to (the ancient operating cable will snap after the door moves this far).

16. The Stair of the Underworld

Another steep (45 degree) staircase; however, this passage is 7’ wide with a 10’ barrel-vaulted roof. The floors and walls are polished granite, slippery under a thick layer of dust and debris (Balance check at DC 18 to keep footing; if lost, reflex save at DC 20 to avoid falling down the stairs for 1d4 damage). The stairs are flanked by eight statues of stylized beast-warriors; the Jarlin Guardians of the Underworld. These statues are carved from wood and are gilded; a grand total of 1 lb (or 50 gp) worth of leaf can be obtained from each statue, although each will take 2-3 hours to strip.

At the bottom of the staircase a vast stone plug lies across the corridor; the stone is also polished granite, the front face of which is cut with intricate runic designs. It obviously moves in grooves cut into the floor, and fills the hallway up to the ceiling. It is impossible to tell in which direction it is intended to travel; and it seems immensely thick (Strength check of 38 to budge it; 45 to actually move it sideways). No creature larger than a mouse could slip past the stone in its grooves.

If the mechanism has been operated and the gap is 18”, then a STRENGTH check of 25 is required to move it another 6”, enough for an armoured human to slip past.

17. The Barrow of the King

If the stone at Area 16 is moved, a two-foot gap will appear, behind which will be found an iron door. Gold lettering on the door reads, in Jarlin, “The Barrow of the King.” This door is also unlocked, but (SPELLCRAFT DC 22/FIND TRAPS DC 28) is trapped with a FIRE TRAP spell that will detonate if the door is touched (3d4+4 fire damage to all within 10’, reflex save (DC 22) for half damage, ignites paper, cloth and other flammables).

Behind the door is a magnificent chamber, 20’ wide by 30’ long, with an intricately arched and vaulted ceiling. The walls are polished granite, with gold leafing and silver inlaid runes, most of which praise the Earth Gods and recount the birth, youth, battles and rulership of King Ulfgar. The very air in this room, however, seems frigid and lifeless, and everyone’s breath smokes in the air.

The room contains two plain stone sarcophagi, one on each side wall, and a large, black stone block at the far end, upon which is a magnificent golden sarcophagus, surmounted with a lifelike carved image of King Ulfgar, armed and armoured, and in his prime. The side sarcophagi are adorned only with runic inscriptions (indicating that these were Ulfgar’s wife and sister); the black block is unadorned.

Standing on either side of the door is a Skeletal Warrior, an especially potent skeleton armed and armoured like an ancient Jarlin warrior. Each wears chainmail and helmet, and carriers a large roundshield and a double-bitted battleaxe. The skeletons radiate potent and evil magic, and will activate if any of the sarcophagi are disturbed.

GREATER SKELETAL WARRIORS (2)
HD: 3d12 (30, 32 HP)
Init: +5 (+1 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative)
Speed: 30’
AC: 19 (+1 Dex, +2 Natural, +5 MW chainmail, +1 large shield)
Attacks: double battleaxe, shield bash
Special Attacks: Chilling Presence (Fort Save DC 16 or -2 on saves, attacks, etc. within 20’)
Damage: battleaxe 1d8+3, shield bash 1d2+3
Face/Reach: 5’x5’ / 5’
Special Qualities: Undead, Immunities
Saves: Fort 0, Ref +1, Will +2
Abilities: Str 17, Dex 12, Con -, Int 0, Wis 10, Cha 11
Feats: Improved Initiative
Alignment: Neutral (although residual aura of evil from being created)
UNDEAD: immune to mind-influencing effects, poison, sleep, paralysis, stunning and disease. Not subject to critical hits, subdual damage, ability damage, energy drain or death from massive damage.IMMUNITIES: Cold immunity; half damage from slashing or piercing weapons.

If the two Skeletal Warriors are destroyed, there is another surprise in store: the carven likeness of Ulfgar atop his sarcophagus will animate and attack as an Invulnerable Skeletal Warrior (same armour, no shield, 39 HP, Masterwork Greataxe, D/AT 1-12(+3)). However, this skeleton is gilded and ensorcelled, which gives it Damage Reduction 20/Silver or +1 (unless the gold coating is somehow removed).

The plain sarcophagi contain desiccate corpses of women dressed after an ancient fashion; their fine clothing is mostly rotted, but both wear elaborate jewellery of silver, gold and some precious stones; altogether 4 necklaces (80, 100, 125 and 150 gp), 8 wristlets (4 x 50 gp, 4 x 100 gp) and 8 rings (2 each of 50, 100, 200 and 300 gp). One of the rings is a Ring of Water Safety (+10 on Swim checks).

Ulfgar’s sarcophagus contains a desiccated mummy dressed in ceremonial armour: chainmail made entirely of silver, worth about 400 gp as an objet d’art, but if worn in battle, heavier than normal (-5 check penalty) and not effective as armour (+2 only on AC). With the body is a trapped magical objects: a heavily rune-carved, sharkskin hilted Jarlin Longsword of Clumsiness (-2 on attacks, -2 on damage). The item radiates strong magic, and the blade glows white and sheds tendrils of frost in the presence of enemies.

If magical detection is used, the body will be discovered to be that of Ulfgar, the king’s manservant.

Behind the head of Ulfgar’s sarcophagus is a cleverly-hidden secret door. It is only 2’ high and 2’ wide and because of its location, must be searched for; it cannot be spotted (SEARCH DC 24). A 6’ crawlspace leads into the head of the forbidden stair.

18. The Forbidden Stair

This corridor is 5’ wide and 7’ high; a rather snug fit. The walls and floor are rough, dug out of the gutrock of the mound, and unfinished; there are no decorations, carvings or other adornments.

The stair is extremely steep; close to 50 degrees; a balance check of DC 14 is required to avoid a fall (which will do 1-6 subdual damage unless a reflex check DC 14 is made).

At the first landing, a spot check (DC 18) will reveal a small stone plug, about 18” in diameter, set into the wall; this can be pried out with a Strength check of 22 and an appropriate too, but will reveal only a small trickle of water coming from a 1’ diameter pipe.

At the bottom of the last stair, the corridor is suddenly intricately carved with deep, sweeping Jarlin runes (a spot check DC 14 will reveal numerous, very deep 1” diameter holes all over the right-hand wall). At the end of the corridor is a low, dark wood door, banded with iron and entirely covered with gilt; the door is 4’ wide and 5’ high, and is emblazoned with the words “The Bed of the King” in Jarlin.

Immediately before the door is a pressure plate built into the floor, stretching back to the last stair riser. It is well hidden and covered in dust (Spot check: DC 18). If it is spotted, a Search check (DC 20) will reveal that it is designed to activate a spring-loaded spear trap set into the right-hand wall. It will also reveal a stone knob concealed among the runic carvings; this is the disarming mechanism.

If the plate is stepped on, the spear trap arms; thereafter, turning the doorknob activates the trap. The trap contains 24 spears, each of which does 1-8 points of damage and is coated with a poison that reduces intelligence by 1-8 points for 2-12 hours (fortitude save DC 16 negates). Medium or Large creatures will be struck by 1-4 spears (50% chance); small creatures by 1-2 spears (25% chance); a successful reflex (DC 15) save allows the character to avoid half the spears he/she would have been hit by.

Turning the knob at least one click in either direction will disarm the spear trap. This knob is also the disarming mechanism for the flooding trap. The disarming procedure for the flooding trap is to turn the knob to the left until it clicks twice, to the right until it clicks thrice, and then to pull it out. Doing anything else, including following the advice in the Scroll taken from the Crypt of Mimias, will arm the flooding trap, which will then activate if Ulfgar’s sarcophagus at Area 19 is opened.

19. The Bed of the King

This small room is richly decorated, and contains a large stone slab topped by a gilded bronze sarcophagus, and six richly-decorated oak chests.

The six chests contain the following items:

Chest #1: (LOCKED) A collection of silver (4), golden (2), porcelain (6) and 1 jade urns, each of about ½ gallon capacity, and each containing a human heart preserved in strong spirits. The jars are all sealed with beeswax and labelled with engraved golden tags; each bears the name of an enemy slain by Ulfgar. The urns are worth 50 gp (silver), 200 gp (gold), 100 gp (porcelain) and 2000 gp (jade). If the jade urn is opened, anyone making a knowledge check – alchemy or arcana (DC 26) – will identify the contents as the brain of a mind flayer, which a sage alchemist will gladly pay upwards of another 2000 gp for.

Chest #2: (UNLOCKED) A heavy, ornate fur robe, trimmed and lined with silk; once worth 1000 gp, now moth-eaten and mildewed.

Chest #3: (LOCKED) A collection of rich vestments, furs, robes and princely garments. These are dried, old and cracking, but still valuable; about 50 pounds worth of clothing, worth about 20 gp per pound that anyone sees fit to pack out. The chest stinks of camphor wood.

Chest #4: (LOCKED) A mixed pile of copper (750 cp) and silver coins (450 sp) scattered loosely about. (FALSE BOTTOM) A series of mildewed parchment scrolls which, if carefully handled and deciphered, constitute an historical record of King Ulfgar’s reign, including candid admissions about his many infidelities and the piles of bastards he sired.

Chest #5: (UNLOCKED, MAGICAL TRAP) This chest is trapped with a MINOR WARD – FIRE, and will do 1-4(+4) explosive damage to anyone within within 5’ in a 180 degree arc in front of the chest when it is opened. It contains paydirt: Ulfgar’s regalia and treasure. The regalia consists of a golden crown of ancient pattern surmounted with pearls and sapphires (value 800 gp), a gilded heavy mace set with diamonds (masterwork weapon, value 1450 gp), and a porcelain eagle, with sapphire eyes and gilded wings (value 1900 gp, but about 2’ wide and 2’ high, and very fragile, worth only about 100 gp if broken). Also in this chest is a small leather pouch containing 12 uncut rubies (50 gp each uncut, worth up to 200 gp each if properly cut).

Chest #6: (UNLOCKED) A heavy, mouldered pile of folded clothing, very rich but much mildewed. Under three tunics is a gilded leather belt containing a carved Jarlin long dagger with a runic pattern hilt and a pattern-welded blade (Dagger +1, worth about 2000 gp for gem and workmanship value alone; total value 3500 gp).

The sarcophagus of Ulfgar contains his desiccated corpse, but even this is a rich find; he is dressed in gilded masterwork chainmail and an elaborate winged helmet (masterwork, total value 1600 gp, both of ancient Jarlin pattern). He is clutching his sword, a Jarlin Long Sword that has a dark wooden hilt and matching scabbard, both carved with a pattern of vines. The hilt and blade are forged of pattern-welded steel, and appear to be etched with some kind of black dye. The blade is inscribed in Draconic runes on one side and Jarlin on the other: “Ciallas Wyrms-Bane”, and in tiny Jarlin runes near the hilt, “Bjergsen made me.” (A Knowledge-History check, DC 26, reveals Ingemann Bjergsen to be one of the great Jarlin smiths who lived more than 1200 years ago, in the early years of the founding of Ekhan; DC 20 will reveal that Ciallas was a Jarlin hero of the time, a descendant of the royal house of Jarla, renowned for slaying the black dragon Cynosuriak). The weapon is +1/+3 vs. Black Dragons.

If the sarcophagus of Ulfgar is opened without the flooding trap having been disarmed, two things will happen:

First, if the spear trap has not been fired and has been disarmed, opening the sarcophagus will automatically rearm the spear trap, so that if the plate is stepped on, it will function normally. This happens instantaneously.

Second, if the sarcophagus is opened there will be 10 seconds of clanking, whirring and thumping (make the noises and count down). At the end of the 10-second period, the plug on the stair landing (Area 18) will shoot out of the wall, propelled by water pressure from the cistern (2-12 subdual damage to anyone standing in front of it, reflex save DC 13 to avoid). This will increase the water level in Ulfgar’s tomb by 1 foot every 20 seconds; this means that in 2 minutes the entire tomb will be under water; in 4 minutes the second landing will be under water; in 6 minutes area 17 will begin to flood; in 8 minutes the stairs at area 16 will being to fill; by the end of 8 minutes, the water will reach the Halls of Heroes, and then stop, as overflow will simply drain back through the Shrine and down into the Pit of Enemies.

There is no way to reset the trap or empty the tomb; rainfall will replenish the cistern and the water level will remain stable forever after.

EPILOGUE

If the party makes it out of the tomb, the townsfolk will be grateful that the lurking menace has been lifted, but none too keen that the adventurers are “stealing” wealth that they consider rightfully to be theirs. The party will have to avoid the town, fight their way through it, or judiciously bribe numerous individuals to keep what they have won. Also, Ekhalifundo is a small place, and they won’t be able to do better than 25% on the price of any expensive item (e.g. anything over 100 gp) unless they can talk one of the wealthier individuals into purchasing it. Lord Kulkran, for example, will be interested in any objets d’art, but won’t pay more than 20-40% of their value; and while Tchufiss the Healer would love to purchase the Mindflayer Brain, he only has 300 gp to his name.

Note also that all of the coins recovered in the tomb are ancient Ekhani coinage. This makes them pure, but unfamiliar. If the players take them to a professional precious metals smith, they will realize 75-80% of their value; but if they spend or exchange them weight-for-weight, they will get ripped off, and at most get 50-60% of their value. However, if hardsilver coins are sold by weight to a reputable armourer or weaponsmith, the characters will receive twice the value (e.g. 20 gp per hardsilver piece).

If the party hangs around to try to recover treasure from the flooded Long Barrow, within 1-6 days there will be hordes of thieves, treasure-hunters, warriors, adventurers and even assassins pouring into the area. Unless they camp out on the Mound they won’t be able to prevent pilfering; and if they do, there’s gonna be fighting. If they stay at this 7 days or longer, the last group to show up will be an orc tribe drawn by the lure of treasure; this will be at least a dozen strong orc warriors accompanied by 20-80 subordinate warriors and at least one shaman. This will lead to war with the citizens of Ekhalifundo – and they will blame the party for attracting the orcs.

CAMPAIGN FOLLOW-UP

Unless the party makes friends or enemies in Ekhalifundo, there will be no campaign implications from this adventure.

However, if they obtain the magical sword Ciallas and wish to explore its history and any other powers it may have, they certainly may do so. It may have powers beyond those apparent to the naked eye.

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