2024-04-27 - Out of the Fire
Afternoon, 9th of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
From the shadowed corridor came a man’s voice, calling out, “May I draw near? I seek to… parley.” The words echoed off the stone walls. As the party turned their gaze towards the sound, peering into the darkness, a figure cloaked in dark robes emerged from the shadows. With measured steps, the figure emerged into the flickering torchlight, his features obscured by the hood of his robe.
”Did you ambush our patrol one week past?” He continued, “Felok recounted that his patrol had slain the followers of the Blighted, yet as they were lured southwestward by stirrings in the shadows, they were assailed by a band of adventurers from whom he alone only narrowly escaped. We found their charred remains.”
Norlar and Ulfstor confirmed witnessing this patrol engaged in combat with an opposing faction, and pondered that it might have been Sly’s party with whom they later clashed.
Appearing content with this, the dark elf inquired, “What is it you seek here? You intrude upon our halls, yet we needn’t be enemies. We pursue knowledge and, indeed, power, yet we have inflicted no harm upon you, and those who aid us shall reap rewards beyond imagining.” He pressed on, “Wealth, knowledge, power—all can be yours. You need only align yourselves with us,” he proclaimed.
Norlar responded that he sought only balance, and to liberate this place from the shadow that afflicts it.
The mage replied, “Then, cousin, our aims are aligned! For we, too, endeavor to discover the origin of this power, that we may remove it from this place.” He continued, “A proposal, then,” he continued. “You lend us aid against the plague worshippers in the eastern tunnels, and in return, you may move about these halls freely, claiming what treasures you find as your own, so long as you refrain from meddling in our affairs.”
Receiving the party’s cautious agreement, he pressed on, “An exchange, then, to bind our pact. You place the fair-skinned musician in our keeping, and in return, you may take our comrade Merrill. The surface poses no discomfort for him, and his knowledge will be invaluable in navigating these labyrinthine halls.”
Another figure, garbed in robes of similar fashion but fair of skin—presumably Merrill—emerged into the flickering torchlight.
In that moment, Ulfstor hesitated, suggesting that the dark elves take Fionn instead, a proposition that unsettled the veteran fighter. Nevertheless, Fionn muttered that he had endured the company of goblins for much of the previous winter, so enduring a spring among dark elves seemed grimly fitting.
As Fionn started to approach the robed figures, Norlar and Ulfstor swiftly reconsidered their course of action. In a heartbeat, they assessed the threat posed by the dark elf and his companion and decided instead to attack!
Seeing the shaman’s expression flash from uncertainty to grim resolve, the mage acted swiftly. He gestured toward the shadows behind him, and from the darkness poured forth waves of skeletons, armed with swords and shields, their bony forms cackling with malevolent glee. They surged toward the party, filling the hallway, their ranks pressing tightly together as they strained to attack, followed closely by two additional robed dark elves.
Norlar called upon his druidic magic, causing spikes to sprout from the catacomb floor. Several more skeletons, in their mindless charge, rended themselves against the spikes, shattering into splinters.
With a whispered incantation, Norlar called upon the primal forces of nature, causing the very stone beneath the skeletons’ feet to rebel. Spikes erupted from the ground, gleaming in the torchlight like the fangs of a vengeful beast, eager to rend flesh and bone. Yet more skeletons, rushed forth from the darkness in a blind fervor and were torn asunder by these erupting spikes, their shattered remains littering the floor.
Aggrieved by the spectacle, the dark elves unleashed curses upon the party, afflicting them with a magical malady that sent them into violent shivers and caused them to hemorrhage blood. Norlar, overcome by tremors himself, faltered in his concentration, causing his spell to weaken and the spikes to wither and disappear.
Despite the affliction, Fionn valiantly cut down the cackling undead, who persisted in their relentless assault. He then sought refuge in the safety of the eastern corridor.
With his path cleared, Weg charged into the fray, brandishing his shield and invoking the power of Brell Serilis, the Duke of Below, to repel the skeletal horde. Only one of the mindless abominations resisted this divine force. Enraged by this defiance, the dark elven wizard unleashed a furious lightning bolt that arced between the bodies on its path up the north passageway. The bolt obliterated his cowardly skeletons into bone fragments and sent Weg, Maerwynn, and Norlar seizing and tumbling into unconsciousness.
The wizard then spoke, “Shall we bring this charade to an end? There is yet a chance for cooperation! Have you satisfied yourself that you have no other option?”
Ulfstor surveyed his fallen companions, then turned to Fionn, acknowledging their defeat. Accepting surrender, the dark elves permitted the duo to attend to their injured comrades. Ulfstor propped up Weg and gently tilted his head back, administering a healing potion down the dwarf’s throat. The dwarf stirred groggily, then regained his feet and mustered the last remnants of his divine magic to restore a measure of vitality to the party. In turn, Norlar applied a dollop of his strong-smelling ointment to his own wounds, furthering his healing process.
With the situation firmly in hand, the dark elf spoke once more, his words dripping with contempt. “We shall be taking the bard,” he declared. “Why? Because you were so hells-bent on not giving her to us, and you must learn your place.” Pausing for effect, he then added with a smirk, “Oh, and we shall also be retaining our comrade.”
Norlar protested, demanding assurances of Maerwynn’s safety and well-being.
The dark elf’s voice turned cold as he replied, “It is through our mercy alone that any of you yet draw breath—and because I believe you may still be of some minor use to us. Her safety is assured because I have decreed it, and because you will obey."
"You are charged solely with harassing the followers of Bertoxxulous in their eastern tunnels. See to it that they, and yourselves, do not impede our endeavors,” he commanded. “Until your inevitable demise.”
Sensing Norlar and Ulfstor’s mounting anger and frustration, he pressed on disdainfully, “Do not be aggrieved,” he taunted, “It is a rare gift to discover one’s true purpose in this world, and that is precisely what I have given you. Your purpose is to serve.”
Maerwynn timidly advanced toward the dark elves, her expression fraught with absolute terror.
Ulfstor’s bile rose once more. As Maerwynn positioned herself between him and the dark elves, he swiftly conjured a dense cloud of fog and seized Maerwynn, turning to flee northward.
Mere feet into their desperate flight, the entire party was plunged into darkness as they were blinded by a globe of shadow conjured by one of the dark elves. Aiming into the obscurity behind him, uncertain if his companions yet retained their sight, Norlar once more invoked a growth of spikes to stymy the dark elven pursuit.
Reacting swiftly, Norlar aimed into the obscurity behind him, uncertain if his companions yet retained their sight, and once more invoked a growth of spikes in an attempt to stymie the dark elven pursuit.
The blinded party pressed onward and emerged from the perimeter of darkness to the north, their ears filled with the enraged screams of the dark elves behind them. As the dark orb dissipated, it was replaced by Ulfstor’s billowing fog, which continued to spread through the catacombs, obscuring their escape.
In a sudden and blinding flash, another bolt of lightning leaped from the southern corridor, abruptly silencing one of the screaming voices and sending all but Ulfstor and Fionn crashing to the ground. With Norlar rendered unconscious, the growth of spikes once again faded away.
Overwhelmed by the desperate situation, Fionn initially moved to flee, but he regained his composure as he witnessed Ulfstor desperately tending to his fallen companions. Working swiftly, Ulfstor concealed the magical torchlight with his cloak and administered healing to his companions before the dark elves could emerge from the wall of fog.
With everyone except Weg back on their feet, the party pressed on with their escape, heading north before veering westward. Norlar and Maerwynn took the lead, lighting the retreat, while not far behind, Fionn assisted Ulfstor in dragging the unconscious dwarf along.
As Norlar and Maerwynn rushed foward, their eyes strained to pierce the shadows ahead. Suddenly, the ground beneath them gave way with a sickening lurch. They plummeted into the yawning darkness below, their cries of surprise abruptly silenced as the trapdoor swung shut with a resounding thud. The floor, now back in place, appeared undisturbed, giving no hint of the pit that lay hidden beneath. The rest of the party stood frozen, stunned by the sudden disappearance of Norlar and Maerwynn into the depths below.
As the sounds of the dark elves’ approach grew louder from the south, Ulfstor sprang into action. He swiftly administered Fionn’s last healing potion to Weg, then, with a desperate strength, lifted himself and the barely conscious dwarf onto the trapdoor, with Fionn close behind. With a heavy stomp, the trapdoor gave way beneath them, sending them plunging into the darkness below.
Moments later, they crashed into icy water, their armor weighing them down as they struggled to regain the surface. When they finally emerged, gasping for air, they spotted their two companions treading water nearby, still lit by the continual flame from Norlar’s walking stick.
2024-04-13 - Voices in the Dark
Morning, the 17th of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
Norlar took the ruby he had acquired from Huffnpuff and, with care, ground it to dust. Through ancient rites, he enchanted the tip of his trusty walking stick with a flame that would never wane, encasing it in a small leather cap to conceal its glow at will.
Ulfstòr and Norlar invited Maerwynn to join them, alongside Weg and Fionn, in their return to recover the 2,980 gold pieces stashed within the burial mound they had exited through a week prior.
On their journey, they noticed where, amidst the downpour, their path had veered from the main trail. Opting to adhere to their original plan, they continued along the main path.
As they reached the barrow, a foul odor of charred flesh and decaying bodies emanated from the entrance, growing stronger as they ventured inside, the scent drifting from the descending stairs leading into the catacombs.
Norlar retrieved the large sack of coins and dragged it outside. Then, transforming into a mule, he aided the party in transporting their haul back to town.
Huffnpuff fumed as a mule entered his establishment, but his demeanor swiftly shifted when Norlar resumed his elven form and proffered the coins. Huffnpuff gladly accepted the deposit, deducting his customary 10% fee for large transactions. Preferring not to risk the moors at night, the party opted to return to the Brazen Strumpet and retire early.
18th of of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
The next morn, the fellowship ventured forth anew, returning to the selfsame burial mound whence they had liberated their gold.
After scrutinizing the chamber, Norlar disarmed the ancient skeletons, extracting both spear and shield and casting them aside. Ulfstòr then invoked a spirit who recognized the ornate, jeweled broadsword resting on the altar as enchanted to enhance its wielder’s offensive abilities. Norlar seized the sword, which, as he had foreseen, reanimated the decaying bones, prompting them to attack with their bare hands.
They directed their ill intent towards Norlar, as he had touched the sword, aiming their attacks accurately. However, lacking weapons, they posed little more than an inconvenience, and the party’s attacks swiftly reduced them to splintered bone and dust.
The group descended once more into the depths of the catacombs, the odious stench thickening around them. Their exploration led them to a door north of the staircase, beyond which could be heard the faint echoes of water trickling and dripping.
Entering the chamber, they beheld a once-bricked archway positioned in the middle of the eastern wall, along with a slightly opened door in the southeastern corner. Venturing towards the partially open door, they observed dense spiderwebs beyond its threshold. Proceeding with caution, they shut the door gently, prompting a reaction from the unseen inhabitant who, for the present moment, was unable to pursue them due to the barrier.
This chamber’s walls were lined with dozens of burial alcoves, left unexamined by the party.
They emerged and turned south, facing a rusted steel door that proved firmly locked. Lacking the means to pick it, they proceeded onward, exploring the broad hallway where the acolytes of Bertoxxulous had clashed with the followers of Innoruuk the week prior.
As they passed into the hallway, the scent of burnt flesh faded, replaced by the reek of decay. They noted several sets of footprints heading in the opposite direction, and one lone set returning northeast, which they pursued. Soon, they came upon the aftermath of the clash: pools and streaks of congealed blood, and amidst it all, a swollen, decomposing corpse, so mutilated by rodents and other creatures that its features were unrecognizable. Norlar searched the body, but any valuables it once possessed had already been plundered.
They pressed on, tracing the grim footprints as they continued northeast, then eastward through an arched doorway into a long, slender passage.
They proceeded eastward and arrived at a crossroads. Choosing the northern path, they soon encountered yet another locked door barring their way.
They then turned eastward, and subsequently south, traversing a brief corridor until they arrived at a shut door. Ulfstòr, listening intently, discerned no sounds from beyond. Upon opening the door, they beheld a moderately sized chamber, apparently devoid of contents, with another door situated on the opposite wall.
They retraced their steps northward and observed that the door ahead of them was off its hinges, resting loosely in the frame.
They raised the door out of its frame, placing it against the stone wall of the hallway, and then entered the room, discovering it, too, was vacant.
Exiting the chamber, they were confronted by a skeletal figure cloaked in tattered robes, its movements unnatural and unsettling. With swift and practiced magic, Norlar and Ulfstòr dispatched the assailant before it could pose a threat.
Continuing southward, they neared the intersection they had traversed earlier. There, they observed torchlight flickering from the southern passage, accompanied by murmurs in a sinister tongue, which, to Norlar, sounded akin to a distant, dark cousin of his own language. The party’s own presence must have been detected as well, for the torchlight abruptly vanished, and the unsettling voices fell silent.
2024-03-30 - Unearthed Arcana
Evening, the 8th of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
The fellowship proceeded from The Rosy Quartz to The Brazen Strumpet, the inn now bustling with villagers. Taycee being occupied, the group was introduced to Merda, the half-elven barmaid, who appeared uncharacteristically cheerful amidst the evening’s hustle and bustle.
Upon completing his rounds among the patrons, the rogue Werner joined the table to share what he had learned that day: Alaster, once a skilled rogue, now lives as the village fool, his mind broken by traumatic experiences in the catacombs. He relies on the villagers’ charity for survival. Additionally, Werner mentioned the recent disappearances of teenagers from both Bogtown and the larger settlement of Ironguard Motte.
As the night wore on and the party prepared to retire, Sly and his Boon Companions made their entrance, appearing battered and covered in mud. Sly engaged in a conversation with Huffnpuff, after which Huffnpuff left with several of Sly’s men who carried bags of coins. Sly then approached the group, insinuating that he was aware they had taken the gold from his deceased retainers. He also needled them for overlooking a mithral chain shirt in an unsearched burial niche within the same chamber.
With the events of the evening concluded, the members of the party made their way to their respective chambers, seeking rest and respite from the day’s adventures.
9th of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
Norlar finished his meditative trance well before daybreak, uplifted by the sound of rain drumming on the inn’s roof. He then began writing a letter to the wife he had unexpectedly acquired after a night of carousing in Freeport.
In the morning, Ulfstòr ventured forth into the pouring rain, seeking solitude amidst the downpour to contemplate his developing shamanic practices and commune with the natural world. Meanwhile, Norlar partook of breakfast and engaged in conversation with innkeeper Bollo, who agreed to deliver Norlar’s letter to the The Silver Standard Company, whose runners journey thrice weekly to Ironguard Motte with correspondence and inventory requests. The Motte marks but the initial leg of the voyage to Freeport, so the missive’s delivery, though assured, shall not be swift.
In the common area, Weg approached Norlar and Ulfstòr, offering his services in the name of Brell Serilis in exchange for a half share of any treasures unearthed from the catacombs. With their party reduced in numbers, Norlar and Ulfstòr accepted his offer.
The rain, which Norlar found enjoyable while nestled within the inn, became decidedly less pleasant while the party ventured to reclaim the hidden gold. The downpour swiftly soaked through their clothing, rendering the four-hour journey a miserable and chilling ordeal.
As they emerged from a wooded copse into a grassy expanse, the rain had bent the stalks of grass, erasing the trail. The party relied on memory to navigate and eventually reached an exposed barrow mound, though it was not the one they sought.
The muddy ground revealed large, recent footprints of a bipedal creature or creatures, likely the same that had clawed and enlarged the mound’s entrance. A noxious odor of filth emanated from the opening. The party chose not to investigate and instead moved eastward.
Utilizing Ulfstòr’s owl for reconnaissance, they discovered a sealed mound featuring a verdigrised bronze door. Its unusual locking mechanism consisted of a scarab-shaped depression with a crane at its center. There were footprints here as well, booted and man-sized.
Venturing further eastward, they encountered another mound, seemingly devoid of entrance. After a thorough examination, the party identified the probable entry point buried beneath soil. Norlar utilized a cantrip to swiftly unearth the entrance, revealing a familiar coverstone atop a sealed barrow mound, which they shattered with hammer and spike to gain access.
Inside, they discovered a single large chamber housing an ancient bronze sarcophagus. Adorning the rear wall was a gleaming suit of scale mail and a shield bearing the heraldry of a green griffin.
Ulfstòr retrieved the treasures, then removed a polished skull from his belt and plucked a feather from his owl. Performing a ritual, he summoned a restless spirit into the skull. The spirit identified the items: both were enchanted to provide a substantial defensive bonus, and the armor to provide additional bonus to defense against spells.
Ulfstòr removed his chain shirt and donned the scale mail. He then passed the shield with the black dragon emblem on to Fionn, a significant upgrade from the fighter’s mundane shield.
As they prepared to depart, the party was confronted by a colossal scorpion, the size of a horse, covered in mud and rain as it sought shelter from the elements.
During the intense battle that followed, Norlar vaulted onto the sarcophagus, causing the lid to jostle. After the creature was defeated, Norlar leapt down, inadvertently shifting the lid further and exposing the contents within: a skeleton grasping an ancient book which detailed the secrets of elven armorcraft, a knowledge known to very few in the realm today, even among his people.
Norlar secured the newfound treasure, and the party began their journey back through the pouring rain to Helix, eager to share the warmth of the Brazen Strumpet’s fire.
Arriving once more in the town, Norlar took a brief detour to The Rosy Quartz, where he acquired a small ruby, before rejoining his companions at The Brazen Strumpet for an extended and well-deserved rest.
2024-03-03 - R.I.P. Duncan
Midmorning, 8th of Feybloom, 5338 A.N.
Traveling west after the intense battle with the gemstone golem, probably still mourning the loss of young Duncan, the party encountered a group of beastmen who were flummoxed by the party’s arrival from what they knew to be a dead end, and ushered to speak with the beastmen’s leaders.
The fellowship conversed with the enigmatic figures known as “Horned-One” and “Liger,” from whom they gleaned details regarding the various factions within the dungeon’s depths. Initially, the Acolytes of Bertoxxulous had ventured into the subterranean realm two years prior, yet their presence proved feeble against the shadows that loomed. A year following, a cadre of necromancers descended into the depths. These dark elves cunningly captured the chieftains of the beastmen, “Crab-Claw” and “Sayer of the Truth,” among others.
Those who have fled captivity bring grim tidings: the necromancers are diligently searching for the wellspring of the dungeon’s malevolent energies, compelling their prisoners to toil in their service. Furthermore, they have indicated the whereabouts of the necromancers’ stronghold on your map.
Upon questioning the beastmen about an escape route, the adventurers were guided to a stairwell located south of the beastmen’s encampment. They were informed that the majority of surface dwellers were encountered to the west.
Liger then warned you of clandestine gatherings between the factions of the dungeon and mysterious denizens of the surface, advising vigilance in thy choice of confidants.
As they prepared to depart, Vangretor was bestowed with a key bearing a pentagram-shaped handle, with the cryptic message that it unlocked no subterranean doors but might prove useful above ground.
Journeying southward towards the stairs, the company encountered a staircase marred by partial collapse, allowing at most a halfling or gnome to pass through the debris. Realizing that clearing the obstruction would require days of labor with tools they lacked, the group retraced their steps to the north, only to discover that the beastmen had already departed from their previous position.
Pressing onward through the decaying corridors, the fellowship pressed northward and then westward, deliberately avoiding a foul-smelling passage reeking of decay. Their path led them to a substantial, corroded portcullis obstructing a southern passage, its mechanism long stripped of its wheel. With resolve, Vangretor imbibed his potion of Hill Giant Strength, empowering himself to hoist the portcullis with a mighty effort, wedging it permanently into its housing.
Advancing southward, the adventurers bypassed several doors lining the passage to the east and west. Their journey culminated at the southern end of the corridor, where they arrived at a doorway leading westward.
Throwing the door wide open, the company was immediately beset by giant, pallid scorpions. Without hesitation, Vangretor hurled his torch into the chamber, illuminating the fray as he led the charge. Maneuvering deftly to avoid the creatures’ deadly stingers and grasping claws, the party emerged victorious. In the aftermath of the skirmish, Vangretor noticed that the tossed torch had inadvertently ignited the garments of one of three corpses strewn across the chamber floor.
Prior to their encounter with the scorpions, the fallen men appeared to have fared well, as evidenced by the discovery of 5,309 silver pieces, 3,980 gold pieces, a pristine white pearl, and three vials of potion among their belongings. Utilizing the temporary strength bestowed upon him by the potion of Hill Giant Strength, Vangretor appropriated all of the treasure except for the silver coins.
Opting against inspecting the burial alcoves, the group retraced their steps to the hallway and resolved to investigate the east and west doors they had earlier passed by. Encountering the first door locked, Van employed his augmented strength to forcefully kick it open, causing it to splinter, and sending shards flying inward. The disturbance stirred two ghouls from their rest, inciting them to assail the intruders. Despite one of the ghouls managing to claw Norlar, his Elven fortitude rendered him immune to its paralyzing touch. Together, the party dispatched the undead assailants.
With the ghouls vanquished, the adventurers took a moment to survey the macabre frescoes adorning the chamber walls, which depicted scenes of ritualistic human sacrifice.
Exploring the remaining chambers, the adventurers discovered a runic tablet supporting a human skull, along with two silver statuettes. Within the last room, they encountered incomprehensible script inscribed from floor to ceiling on the southern wall in charcoal.
Retracing their steps to the north, the party entered a dank passageway characterized by damp, stained walls and a floor coated with a fine layer of cracked mud. The corridor curved westward. As they progressed, their attention was drawn to a reddish-orange glow emanating through gaps in a door along the north wall, diverting their gaze from a bricked archway to the west and another door situated in the southern wall.
Swinging open the door revealed a group of large fire beetles, whose sudden appearance startled the party. One of the beetles scurried to the north, casting light upon its surroundings as it fled. Meanwhile, the sounds of combat reverberated from a broad corridor leading northeast. Taking advantage of his ability to Wild Shape, Norlar transformed into a fire beetle and skittered towards the commotion. There, he witnessed two groups of robed figures, each commanding their own undead thralls in a fierce battle, with spells being hurled between them.
With their torch extinguished, the party endeavored to stealthily circumvent the ongoing melee, moving approximately 60 feet to the northeast. They then slipped into a passage leading west, their progress guided by the touch of the wall in the pitch-black darkness.
Navigating carefully in the darkness, the party narrowly avoided stumbling into a concealed pit trap. Recognizing that they had traveled a sufficient distance, they decided it was safe to relight their torch. Pressing onward to the west, the passage opened into a sizable alcove. However, before the party could fully assess their surroundings, they were suddenly struck by a sleep spell. Fionn succumbed to the enchantment and collapsed to the floor, incapacitated.
The caster was revealed to be Sly of the Boon Companions, the individual who had guided the party to the Barrowmoor weeks earlier. In hushed tones, he hurriedly apologized for his attack. Sly and his men then assisted in moving Fionn to the southern part of the alcove, where they promptly roused him from his slumber.
In a brief exchange, after confirming that the party had not been observed approaching from the east, Sly disclosed that the skirmish they had witnessed was a clash between the rival factions: the acolytes of Bertoxxolous and dark elves aligned with Innoruuk. Sly also remarked upon the loss of three of his men, along with a substantial sum of coin, during an ambush by giant scorpions to the south, which coincided with the direction from which the party had arrived. However, the company remained tight-lipped regarding the origins of the most recent 3,980 of the gold pieces they carried.
Sly directed the party’s attention to a staircase situated to the northeast, mentioning that he had not personally investigated that particular exit. He informed them that he and his companions intended to stay behind, as they were determined to recover the gold they had lost during the ambush.
Ascending the stairs, the party arrived at a solid wall with a lever nearby, which they used to reveal an opening. Passing through, they entered an octagonal chamber reminiscent of other burial mounds they had previously encountered. Six vertical alcoves, each housing the skeletal remains of warriors armed with spears and shields, greeted them. The warriors were clad in rusty coifs and chainmail. At the chamber’s center, atop an altar, lay an ornate broadsword adorned with jewels.
At that precise moment, Vangretor felt the magical enhancement to his strength dissipate, leaving him with no choice but to conceal the majority of the recently acquired gold within the hollow beneath the stone altar.
Burdened by their newfound riches, the journey back proved far more arduous than anticipated, stretching well into the evening. Though they encountered no adversaries along the way, it was not until nearly 9 pm that the party finally returned to Helix. Fortunately, they managed to intercept the proprietor of The Rosy Quartz before he closed for the night. Harnold Huwen Reginald Huffnpuff assisted them in safeguarding the proceeds of their expedition, albeit with a hefty 10% transaction fee, much to the party’s chagrin.