Party:
Rattlebones (Sorcerer 1)
The Quiet Breath (Normal Man 0)
Rattlebones (Sorcerer 1)
The Quiet Breath (Normal Man 0)
The Plumage of Spring (Sorcerer 1)
The Meek Sun (Thief 1)
The Eyes of True Men (Fighting-man 1)
Slough (Halfling 1)
Travel took them into a valley hugged east and west by hills, and underfoot the telltale rumbling of a giant worm. Food enough for a lifetime, but how would they catch it? They could not.
The river proved too much for Plumage of Spring again and she gladly traded a flint sword for her life and moonlight-pale blade. Such struggle made the case to create a raft or canoe for the party’s ease—alas, for the riverbanks gave up no straight boughs with which to make a raft large enough. Faced with another ford or the hills everyone gladly took the hills and the sun-bright afternoon that lit them, for the following day the hills were bountiful with edible mosses for four rations’ worth.
Confidence rose and they marched south from rocky hills into sweeping grasslands. On the horizon they spotted a dome rising up against the sky, and closer a plume of dust headed their way. Two thirds of the party having been enslaved already, they thought of running. They also thought of burying their treasures in case the worst happened, and did so quickly and disguised their work poorly with brush and tall grass.
Upon them rode seven Blue spearmen astride giant caterpillars, who lowered their spear-points and declared a toll for those who would pass by the Alabaster Palace. The party pled poverty and turned up their palms, and the spearmen called for them to pay with their labor instead. The party pled weakness and incompetence, and poor morale besides, but made to offer a last ration to the leader on the sly.
“Woe if you are seen again, but food stands nicely for labor this time.” And the spearmen dismounted and ripped the flint blades and clubs from the hands of the party and rode off again.
And the party swore and dug up their goods again and set off west, despising the Alabaster Palace and the people in it. West took them to the shores of a swampy lake all ringed with mangroves and twisted willows and hanging ivies. In that lake there were teeming fish that came to nibble at the ankles of the party, and it was so these fish seemed to almost want to be caught. Unnerved but happy the laden party was set upon by another small group of Grey Men, a frame of bamboo on each back and a wicked knife of iron on each hip.
The two groups eyed each other but it did not come to violence: the strange couriers were bringing “material” up north through the mountain pass, but would not elaborate. Rattlebones warned the couriers about danger in the passes from Spawn, and the destruction of a slave caravan she had “stumbled into,” and Plumage of Spring spoke earnestly about the rumored village.
The couriers then gave directions, to follow the lake coast to its southern tip and the river thereafter. And they parted ways and the party made good on the given route.
Out of the swampy ground they discovered a bustling settlement raised up on bamboo piles and stout wooden walkways. All around the earth and into the riverbanks were rows of leafy hemp—attending those rows were horrific mutants, twisted and misshapen. Rattlebones told that mutations were an auspicious sign but would not elaborate. So the party entered and found the place bustling with work and smothering with a thick, hazy smell that clung to everything.
Together they occupied a corner in a drinking pit, counted treasure behind the privacy of a beaded curtain, and shared bowls of whiskey mixed with sweet water until talk flowed loose and comfortable. They learned of the exacting ruler, The Judge of Stones, and how they might purchase canoes upon the river and where they might rouse rough and fearless folk to travel with them. Being drunk and chomping on fragrant green cigars and paying in coin they attracted the attentions of an enterprising Grey pair: filth-crusted fighting-man The Eyes of True Men and face-painted thief The Meek Sun. Both wore outlander furs and felt no strong bond to the settlement. For a promise of treasure both would follow to glory and death.
Rattlebones revealed the map and their ultimate plan to burn out the Old One temple. Meek Sun proposed a rumor-finding mission and after some drunken debate the party decided to do just that—delegating her as the least drunk to do the talking. She saluted and left to pry information out of those stilt-raised huts and suspended walkways.
Rumors came to be:
The settlement’s leader was to summarily execute someone blamed for terrible theft, the following morning;
The top of an old hill to the south had opened up from being struck by lightning, not a day away;
An extremely valuable velvet worm had escaped from a breeding pit and fled into the rice paddies.
Meek Sun and Rattlebones, schemers both, suspected that the mutant workers of the fields may have known something of the latter rumor; they went unto the flooded fields and among the fungus-ridden and amphibious mutants with a jug of whiskey to encourage talk. In that torch-lit dusk they found only indifferent looks, quiet thanks, and no news about the velvet worm. So far no glory and no death.
The party woke the next day hungover but hustled to where the execution would take place; already many of the villagers gathered around a stone tower—the only one in the settlement—where atop a ladder sat a Grey woman with a beaded veil. Below her kneeling and hooded with obsidian blade at the neck was the accused thief.
“What crime?” Asked Quiet Breath.
“Grand theft against me.” Replied the Judge.
“And the price of theft is death?”
“Do you not enjoy the comforts of this place? Our flowing whiskey? The sublime taste of our hashish? Safety from the monsters that plague others? The freedom to walk among other men without fear of being robbed or beaten? Such is the price of what might shake the foundation from which our comforts spring. I have weighed the evidence, and my sentence is guilty.”
So saying the executioner raised his blade and Quiet Breath called out for another punishment—exile instead, to be led out of the settlement in binds and cast into the wilderness. His outburst only annoyed The Judge of Stones, who warned him against treachery. And Quiet Breath again talked back and argued death in the wilderness was as sure as death by a blade; would not the life of a thief be measured against the price of theft? Let him take the thief and earn back that price, in gold or food or artifacts, and so all parties would profit in kind.
The Judge’s face hardened and she ordered Quiet Breath beaten with switches. As he was beaten she declared to the party such as deal was amenable: a thousand pieces of gold were to be brought back within a week. Should they pay the thief would live—should they fail both the thief and Quiet Breath would be executed. Any excess wealth would belong to the party, and they would be permitted to rest in the settlement despite their insolence. Such was the fairness of The Judge of Stones.
Back in the drinking pit the party berated Quiet Breath, but appreciated the extra sword-arm. They became acquainted with the accused: a mutant who went by Slough, six eyes in irregular clusters on his head and his flesh jellylike and see-through, and who declared his innocence but was a teetotaler. He whispered a secret as payment for having his life saved: any small or weak-looking groups who stayed the night were captured and sold onto the hash and slave route to the north—it was luck that those five had come together before nightfall.
Moods turned then against anyone not in the party, and the barkeep was eyed with suspicion; Rattlebones asked what was to stay The Judge from taking their payment and enslaving them anyway?
The promise she had made, replied Plumage of Spring, who the others growled at and who fell silent. Such was the dilemma that faced everyone, for none knew of any other settlement to rest in while treasure-hunting.
Slough also spoke of the accusation, saying he was blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in his humbleness would never consider stealing. He spoke of The Judge’s great appreciation for velvet worms’ value—a demonstration to show their value compared to the life of a laborer was clear.
Under those clouds of uncertainty they marched south, towards a rumored lightning-struck hill and the twin promises of great wealth and humiliating death.
Half a day they marched past mangrove and creeping ivy, and the sun was clouded and the air humid and still as before a storm. On dusk Rattlebones’ unrelenting study of scraped bark and broken reeds led them onto a dry hill that sloped above the murky surrounds—atop the hill could be spotted crumbled cyclopean ruins, and the hint of campfire.
Plotting by stealth and not by force, a scouting party sought and found another entrance. A cave, hand-carved, led north through narrow crevasses and east down rough stairs. Venturing north one-by-one, the party emerged into the dark of a carved vault, the air damp and cold. Confident in their numbers they headed west where subterranean water gathered deep on the floor.
They were met by the lurking dead! Eight skeletons, trepanned and stripped of flesh, met them in the frigid depths of a high-ceilinged vault. By daggers thrown, axes and swords swung, and arrows let fly every member of the party slew the horrific visions in a single wave!
Quiet Breath was struck down by a retaliatory sword blow and dragged face-up out of the fray while the rest of the party made quick work of the remaining undead. He woke and asked for grog, and it was poured past his bloodied lips while he took a slouching rear guard along the sneering sorcerers.
Moving in those flooded depths made tremendous noise, and so Meek Sun was left to silently plumb the waters for treasure; she found none but rotted clubs and bone and chattering teeth. Not believing this Rattlebones rushed to pour over the remains for some cryptic signal.
Over her splashing the rearguard heard the faint mewl of a wounded person, begging for help. Had others come to this mound so quickly? Were there other horrors in those dark vaults?
Quiet Breath and Meek Sun dared to light a torch and use a mirror to cast light where the mewling came from; that small circle of red light reflected two milky red eyes in a face of gaping, fanged horror!
The horror leap into action against the rearguard with claws and teeth! Blinded and in slavering fury it missed everyone, the back and forth swift and terrible, and in the fray it struck Quiet Breath down once more as if by fate. Riddled with arrows the beast was felled, but Quiet Breath’s stiffened body was still as a statue.
None could be sure of his fate, and so the party retreated back to the hillside to wait in still quiet.
An hour passed, an hour and a half. When he went limp the Ulfire man had long been dead. All felt some low regret at the death of their most noble and foolhardy; Slough dedicated a swig of grog, passed around, to his memory.
They left a stone over the corpse’s chest and ventured back inside, bent on vengeance upon the creatures inside. Upon reentering they came face to face with four torch-lit, robed figures. Having marched so badly the two groups had intermixed and there was much jostling and confusion.
The robed figures asked if the party had cleansed the fane of horrors; upon assent they remarked a truce had been made earlier, and would be extended to the party as well. The conditions: leave well enough alone and venture no further west in that dungeon, and have free passage anywhere else.
The hooded figures were the Noble Chanters, and showed in that torchlight how the cyclopean walls were engraved in endless geometric alien glyphs. Neither sorcerer could decipher any meaning at first glance, but felt a great disquiet and suspicion.
And the party agreed to the terms and made gestures as to head out east into that dungeon; but silent nods of assent had Meek Sun the first to attempt a treacherous backstab. In all, flying stones and hewing axes only brought down one acolyte. The acolytes retreated, calling for blood and waving maces at the party. In a rush the party patted down the new corpse for any valuables (nothing but a mace of iron) and retreated themselves, not a soul among them relieved.
On the dark hillside they elected to push on through the night on forced march, lugging Quiet Breath’s corpse, back to settlement. Their deadline crept two days closer as they spent a day resting, binding wounds, drinking whiskey, and having their foolhardy friend buried under the roots of a mangrove.
Kills 8 skeletons (80 xp), 1 ghoul 1 (25 xp), acolyte (10 xp)
Book of The Dead
Travel took them into a valley hugged east and west by hills, and underfoot the telltale rumbling of a giant worm. Food enough for a lifetime, but how would they catch it? They could not.
The river proved too much for Plumage of Spring again and she gladly traded a flint sword for her life and moonlight-pale blade. Such struggle made the case to create a raft or canoe for the party’s ease—alas, for the riverbanks gave up no straight boughs with which to make a raft large enough. Faced with another ford or the hills everyone gladly took the hills and the sun-bright afternoon that lit them, for the following day the hills were bountiful with edible mosses for four rations’ worth.
Confidence rose and they marched south from rocky hills into sweeping grasslands. On the horizon they spotted a dome rising up against the sky, and closer a plume of dust headed their way. Two thirds of the party having been enslaved already, they thought of running. They also thought of burying their treasures in case the worst happened, and did so quickly and disguised their work poorly with brush and tall grass.
Upon them rode seven Blue spearmen astride giant caterpillars, who lowered their spear-points and declared a toll for those who would pass by the Alabaster Palace. The party pled poverty and turned up their palms, and the spearmen called for them to pay with their labor instead. The party pled weakness and incompetence, and poor morale besides, but made to offer a last ration to the leader on the sly.
“Woe if you are seen again, but food stands nicely for labor this time.” And the spearmen dismounted and ripped the flint blades and clubs from the hands of the party and rode off again.
And the party swore and dug up their goods again and set off west, despising the Alabaster Palace and the people in it. West took them to the shores of a swampy lake all ringed with mangroves and twisted willows and hanging ivies. In that lake there were teeming fish that came to nibble at the ankles of the party, and it was so these fish seemed to almost want to be caught. Unnerved but happy the laden party was set upon by another small group of Grey Men, a frame of bamboo on each back and a wicked knife of iron on each hip.
The two groups eyed each other but it did not come to violence: the strange couriers were bringing “material” up north through the mountain pass, but would not elaborate. Rattlebones warned the couriers about danger in the passes from Spawn, and the destruction of a slave caravan she had “stumbled into,” and Plumage of Spring spoke earnestly about the rumored village.
The couriers then gave directions, to follow the lake coast to its southern tip and the river thereafter. And they parted ways and the party made good on the given route.
Out of the swampy ground they discovered a bustling settlement raised up on bamboo piles and stout wooden walkways. All around the earth and into the riverbanks were rows of leafy hemp—attending those rows were horrific mutants, twisted and misshapen. Rattlebones told that mutations were an auspicious sign but would not elaborate. So the party entered and found the place bustling with work and smothering with a thick, hazy smell that clung to everything.
Together they occupied a corner in a drinking pit, counted treasure behind the privacy of a beaded curtain, and shared bowls of whiskey mixed with sweet water until talk flowed loose and comfortable. They learned of the exacting ruler, The Judge of Stones, and how they might purchase canoes upon the river and where they might rouse rough and fearless folk to travel with them. Being drunk and chomping on fragrant green cigars and paying in coin they attracted the attentions of an enterprising Grey pair: filth-crusted fighting-man The Eyes of True Men and face-painted thief The Meek Sun. Both wore outlander furs and felt no strong bond to the settlement. For a promise of treasure both would follow to glory and death.
Rattlebones revealed the map and their ultimate plan to burn out the Old One temple. Meek Sun proposed a rumor-finding mission and after some drunken debate the party decided to do just that—delegating her as the least drunk to do the talking. She saluted and left to pry information out of those stilt-raised huts and suspended walkways.
Rumors came to be:
The settlement’s leader was to summarily execute someone blamed for terrible theft, the following morning;
The top of an old hill to the south had opened up from being struck by lightning, not a day away;
An extremely valuable velvet worm had escaped from a breeding pit and fled into the rice paddies.
Meek Sun and Rattlebones, schemers both, suspected that the mutant workers of the fields may have known something of the latter rumor; they went unto the flooded fields and among the fungus-ridden and amphibious mutants with a jug of whiskey to encourage talk. In that torch-lit dusk they found only indifferent looks, quiet thanks, and no news about the velvet worm. So far no glory and no death.
The party woke the next day hungover but hustled to where the execution would take place; already many of the villagers gathered around a stone tower—the only one in the settlement—where atop a ladder sat a Grey woman with a beaded veil. Below her kneeling and hooded with obsidian blade at the neck was the accused thief.
“What crime?” Asked Quiet Breath.
“Grand theft against me.” Replied the Judge.
“And the price of theft is death?”
“Do you not enjoy the comforts of this place? Our flowing whiskey? The sublime taste of our hashish? Safety from the monsters that plague others? The freedom to walk among other men without fear of being robbed or beaten? Such is the price of what might shake the foundation from which our comforts spring. I have weighed the evidence, and my sentence is guilty.”
So saying the executioner raised his blade and Quiet Breath called out for another punishment—exile instead, to be led out of the settlement in binds and cast into the wilderness. His outburst only annoyed The Judge of Stones, who warned him against treachery. And Quiet Breath again talked back and argued death in the wilderness was as sure as death by a blade; would not the life of a thief be measured against the price of theft? Let him take the thief and earn back that price, in gold or food or artifacts, and so all parties would profit in kind.
The Judge’s face hardened and she ordered Quiet Breath beaten with switches. As he was beaten she declared to the party such as deal was amenable: a thousand pieces of gold were to be brought back within a week. Should they pay the thief would live—should they fail both the thief and Quiet Breath would be executed. Any excess wealth would belong to the party, and they would be permitted to rest in the settlement despite their insolence. Such was the fairness of The Judge of Stones.
Back in the drinking pit the party berated Quiet Breath, but appreciated the extra sword-arm. They became acquainted with the accused: a mutant who went by Slough, six eyes in irregular clusters on his head and his flesh jellylike and see-through, and who declared his innocence but was a teetotaler. He whispered a secret as payment for having his life saved: any small or weak-looking groups who stayed the night were captured and sold onto the hash and slave route to the north—it was luck that those five had come together before nightfall.
Moods turned then against anyone not in the party, and the barkeep was eyed with suspicion; Rattlebones asked what was to stay The Judge from taking their payment and enslaving them anyway?
The promise she had made, replied Plumage of Spring, who the others growled at and who fell silent. Such was the dilemma that faced everyone, for none knew of any other settlement to rest in while treasure-hunting.
Slough also spoke of the accusation, saying he was blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and in his humbleness would never consider stealing. He spoke of The Judge’s great appreciation for velvet worms’ value—a demonstration to show their value compared to the life of a laborer was clear.
Under those clouds of uncertainty they marched south, towards a rumored lightning-struck hill and the twin promises of great wealth and humiliating death.
Half a day they marched past mangrove and creeping ivy, and the sun was clouded and the air humid and still as before a storm. On dusk Rattlebones’ unrelenting study of scraped bark and broken reeds led them onto a dry hill that sloped above the murky surrounds—atop the hill could be spotted crumbled cyclopean ruins, and the hint of campfire.
Plotting by stealth and not by force, a scouting party sought and found another entrance. A cave, hand-carved, led north through narrow crevasses and east down rough stairs. Venturing north one-by-one, the party emerged into the dark of a carved vault, the air damp and cold. Confident in their numbers they headed west where subterranean water gathered deep on the floor.
They were met by the lurking dead! Eight skeletons, trepanned and stripped of flesh, met them in the frigid depths of a high-ceilinged vault. By daggers thrown, axes and swords swung, and arrows let fly every member of the party slew the horrific visions in a single wave!
Quiet Breath was struck down by a retaliatory sword blow and dragged face-up out of the fray while the rest of the party made quick work of the remaining undead. He woke and asked for grog, and it was poured past his bloodied lips while he took a slouching rear guard along the sneering sorcerers.
Moving in those flooded depths made tremendous noise, and so Meek Sun was left to silently plumb the waters for treasure; she found none but rotted clubs and bone and chattering teeth. Not believing this Rattlebones rushed to pour over the remains for some cryptic signal.
Over her splashing the rearguard heard the faint mewl of a wounded person, begging for help. Had others come to this mound so quickly? Were there other horrors in those dark vaults?
Quiet Breath and Meek Sun dared to light a torch and use a mirror to cast light where the mewling came from; that small circle of red light reflected two milky red eyes in a face of gaping, fanged horror!
The horror leap into action against the rearguard with claws and teeth! Blinded and in slavering fury it missed everyone, the back and forth swift and terrible, and in the fray it struck Quiet Breath down once more as if by fate. Riddled with arrows the beast was felled, but Quiet Breath’s stiffened body was still as a statue.
None could be sure of his fate, and so the party retreated back to the hillside to wait in still quiet.
An hour passed, an hour and a half. When he went limp the Ulfire man had long been dead. All felt some low regret at the death of their most noble and foolhardy; Slough dedicated a swig of grog, passed around, to his memory.
They left a stone over the corpse’s chest and ventured back inside, bent on vengeance upon the creatures inside. Upon reentering they came face to face with four torch-lit, robed figures. Having marched so badly the two groups had intermixed and there was much jostling and confusion.
The robed figures asked if the party had cleansed the fane of horrors; upon assent they remarked a truce had been made earlier, and would be extended to the party as well. The conditions: leave well enough alone and venture no further west in that dungeon, and have free passage anywhere else.
The hooded figures were the Noble Chanters, and showed in that torchlight how the cyclopean walls were engraved in endless geometric alien glyphs. Neither sorcerer could decipher any meaning at first glance, but felt a great disquiet and suspicion.
And the party agreed to the terms and made gestures as to head out east into that dungeon; but silent nods of assent had Meek Sun the first to attempt a treacherous backstab. In all, flying stones and hewing axes only brought down one acolyte. The acolytes retreated, calling for blood and waving maces at the party. In a rush the party patted down the new corpse for any valuables (nothing but a mace of iron) and retreated themselves, not a soul among them relieved.
On the dark hillside they elected to push on through the night on forced march, lugging Quiet Breath’s corpse, back to settlement. Their deadline crept two days closer as they spent a day resting, binding wounds, drinking whiskey, and having their foolhardy friend buried under the roots of a mangrove.
Kills 8 skeletons (80 xp), 1 ghoul 1 (25 xp), acolyte (10 xp)
Book of The Dead
Boss - Abandoned in a temple
The Lurking Minion - Sacrificed for power
The Quiet Breath - Struck down by a ghoul
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