There was no mistaking when the company had reached the edge of the Barrowmoor. As the ground grows more marsh like, the landscape becomes noticeably quiet, all sounds of animals, insects, and even the wind fading from hearing. Soon, a cold mist settles over the terrain, reducing the adventurers’ visibility to a short distance ahead of them.

Valorin, the elven bowyer, draws his cloak more closely around his lean frame. ”The mist is always present,” he explains, ”Regardless of the time of day, or the season, it lingers.”

Tamson, the expedition’s other guide, nods in agreement. As they had loaded supplies into the cart at Turgen’s Trade Goods earlier that morning, the  adventurers had learned that the young man was the son of Helix’s miller, who is a retired ranger. Tamson had taken more interest in his father’s former career, rather than his current one, though he continues to work at the mill, primarily in ensuring that shipments of lumber safely reached other destinations within the Duchy. In the prior year, the young ranger had been instrumental in setting an ambush for a band of marauding lizard men who had been attacking merchant caravans moving in and out of Helix.

Tamson points ahead. ”The barrows,” he says simply.

Through the pale fog, the adventurers can see several dark mounds ahead, rising up out of the marsh. At this distance, they appear to be constructed entirely from shadow.

Tamson raises a hand, signaling the expedition to halt. Lampert, tasked with driving the cart, tugs gently on the reins to bring the horse to a stop. The animal nickers softly.

Kraomar, the half-orc sometime bouncer at the Brazen Strumpet, who had agreed to Sir Dryvyk’s offer of employment in hopes of paying off some recent gambling debts, shifts the warhammer he is carrying from one shoulder to the other. Searlait, the mercenary from the guild who accepted the company’s offered contract, finds a spot of solid ground and sets down the haft of her halberd upon it.

”Mazzahs had stated that you would most likely be interested in the underground tombs,” Tamson says, addressing the company, ”Not far ahead, there is a pathway, marked by a series of cairns on either side, that leads to an entrance into the tunnels below.”

“If you’re wishing to try to enter one of the barrows, we can take you as far into the moor as you like. A few of the tombs have been opened, but most have not. They’re quite numerous.”

”Should you elect to open one of the undisturbed tombs, know that it will require quite a bit of effort and labor,” Vanorin interjects, ”Most appear to be well sealed. Breaching one with hammers and iron bars can be a noisy process. It may attract attention.”

”The dead are always about,” Tamson cautions, ”but they tend to be most active in the late afternoon and evening. One should always be watchful. Should you keep a fire going at your camp, it will serve to keep many away. They do not care for open flame.”

From somewhere out on the moor, a stone tumbles from its place, the noise easily heard in the pervasive silence.

”So, where am I leading you?” the guide asks.

Dax jumps slightly at the sound of the rock falling.

"The tunnels seem to be the place to start, don't you think?"

With his skin tingling with the excitement of being so close to so much, Barnabus does not notice the cold mist dampening his cloak and mail.

"At last, at last, at last," he repeats as if this were the very stuff of prophecy. Turning to Tamson, he answers, "Take us there." There is no question of where there is.

Sir Dryvyk stretched, the leathers of his banded armor creaking from the swelling due to increased moisture in the air. He drew his sword and knelt facing the Barrowmoor. Bowing his head against the hilt, he intoned a brief prayer.

"May our path be safe, may our steps be guided, may our strength not fail, and may our endeavors be fruitful..." He then arose and spoke quietly with his squat squire.

Ol' Gib was a small fellow, but he had the presence of someone much larger than his diminutive stature might generally command. He carried a large crossbow, likely of his own making, and was draped with a heavy woolen cloak the color of healthy forest boughs, a color seemingly absent in the misty moors. At his belt was a large dagger, and opposite was a quiver of perfectly fletched quarrels. His beard was well trimmed and almost pure white, his balding head covered with a tall hat. His brows were thick and prominent, his nose likewise, his eyes deep set, broodsome, wise.


The squire nodded and turned to the hirelings, giving directions to set up camp.

"Tamson and Vanorin, if you would lead us yonder please, Lampert we'll need you as well. The rest of you, after camp has been set up, Ol' Gib here will direct the establishement of whatever defenses might be erected quickly. We'll likely make our first excursion a short one. Stay alert, and by all means, get a fire going!" Dryvyk patted his squire on the shoulder and then joined the others.

"Let's head for the tunnels, if we find success down there, perhaps we'll undertake an excavation of a barrow in the near future."

Tamson leads the adventurers further across the moor, the cold fog seeming to cling to them as they traverse the uneven, damp terrain. Soon, the cairns that the young ranger mentioned come into view, neat stacks of smooth stones that are almost disturbingly symmetrical. They continue to appear alongside the disused path as the company progresses, seemingly spaced apart at precisely measured intervals.

Ahead, a large burial mound comes into view, mottled brown and dark green foliage covering most of the low hill. Built into its side is a tall portal, an entrance into a dark tunnel framed by ancient stone. A slab of gray rock, which once sealed the opening, lies a few feet away from it, partially claimed by vines.

The mound is encircled by a group of standing stones. Each of the menhirs is shaped differently than its fellows and all stand roughly eight feet tall, their surfaces carved with symbols that have been heavily eroded by time and the elements.

Within the opening into the tomb, the adventurers can see only darkness.

Menhirs had not been on Mazzahs's list, but the mystic can't help peering at the nearly faded runes. He doesn't hold out much hope that he'll recognize them but might another?

"Malivoire? Dwarf person?" he beckons, as he leans in closer to examine them.

Ishmael wanders about, letting the others who seemed more inclined to set up camp and attend to the various sundries that always seemed be needing messed around with.

As they approach the entrance, he adjust his pack.   He walks up to the stoop, and looks into the darkness.  "Want me ta take a look first?" he asks.

The name comes back to him.

"Ishmael, up here. See if you can recognize these runes," Barnabus requests. He adds, "No, I think we should stick together in the underground."

The elf mage's dark hair glistened with moisture and he pulled his robes more tightly about himself as barrow's entrance came into view.  The aura of the place was ominous, the cairns they passed like counting stones of those who had dared to tempt fate beneath the surface of the burial mound.  Or so Malivoire imagined as they made their way close to the dark, beckoning entrance.

The elf joined Barnabus at the nearest menhir, his attention already snagged even before the mystic called him over.  "What do you make of it, Barnabus?" he asked, looking up at the worn runes in the hopes of making sense of their faded meaning.

Moving further into the moor, Dax pulls his cloak closer to ward of the chill from the mist. His eyes dart about as he takes in the alien landscape and the barrows and mounds all about.

As the gnome and the hired guards start setting up the camp, the ranger ensures all of his weapons are prepared. He also decides to leave almost all of his trail rations and his bedroll behind.

~No need for the extra weight,~ he thought.

While Malivoire studies the stone pillars with Barnabus and Ishmael, Dax takes up a position watching the the opening will soon enter, just in case something inside decides to come out! His arm rests on his scabbard, and his fingers quietly tap on the hilt of his sword.

Sir Dryvyk spent a little time with Lampert, helping him situate things in order to best do his job. He made sure the steel, flint and tinder were easily accessible as well as an extra torch tucked into his belt for quick access if more light was needed in a hurry. Dryvyk gave the lad, who was probably not much younger than the young knight himself, a pat on the shoulder and then stood near Dax ready to proceed when the examination was complete.

"No gold in old runes." the dwarf comments, but he come to look just the same.

” I’ve no trouble standing watch through the night,” Searlait informs the squire and Kraomar as she assists in unloading the supplies for the camp, ”I’ve stayed up through the dark hours quite often.” She grins and adds, ”Part of the glorious life of a soldier.”

”I’m not certain any of us will get much in the way of sleep,” Kraomar says, taking in the field of barrows surrounding them. Grimacing, he sets to work digging a fire pit.

Lampert makes ready as Sir Dryvyk instructs, casting a curious look at the open tomb as he tucks a spare torch in his belt.

The meaning of the faded runes carved into the surface of one of the nearby standing stones is not immediately clear to the adventurers who gather to examine them, though the imposing menhir does make an impression on each of them.






Those who have gathered near the tomb entrance can see, within the gloom, that a set of stone steps lead down a short distance into a stone chamber which is roughly sixty by sixty feet. Four huge square columns support the ceiling and bones litter the floor. Positioned in the center of the pillars is a rusted tripod which stands six feet high, with block and tackle suspended from it. The hanging rope descends into a wide hole in the floor. Within the hole, the explorers can see only shadow.

After tracing the stone-set symbols with a forefinger, Barnabas concedes that there is no vein of gold to be chiseled out.

"But there is a god, an old one, older than mine," he pronounces with all the fervor of a true believer although which god, exactly, is the foundation for that belief he leaves unsaid.

With space enough to admit them all, he hurries the others down the steps and into the entrance chamber. He encourages Dax to borrow the linkboy's torch to have a look about (peek down the side passages and into the excavation hole).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:08, Sat 13 Nov 2021.

Dax takes torch from Lampert, but instead of walking into the chamber, he squats at the bottom of the stairs and examines the floor.

"Boot prints...several sets...probably plunderers. And, here," the elf points with his right hand, "more prints...but not booted...oddly shaped...they weren't walking normally...shuffling or limping. My guess would be the dead that walk coming to defend their resting place."

Dax stands up, and draws his sword, before moving to the right side of the chamber. He moves forward, allowing his torch to illuminate the area behind the pillars. Once he reaches the centre of the room, he will move to the left side to check behind those pillars.

If there are no issues he will signal the group to join him at the block-and-tackle.

"Perhaps it is a god's magic, perhaps not," Malivoire vacillated while staring at the imposing menhir with its worn runes, "but I have no doubt the power is malevolent.  I can practically taste it in the air.  We should take care with these about."  He was more than happy to follow Barnabus and Ishmael back to the barrow entrance where the others waited.

Despite the mystic's enthusiasm to enter the tomb Malivoire took his lead from Dax and paused near the top of the stairs while the ranger completed a cursory examination of the room.  The elven mage edged down the stairs the further Dax moved into the room, finally joining the others when it seemed the space was secure.

Gwendolyn follows along with the others of their merry band. She keeps alert. Her eyes keenly watch the mist and darkness for dangers, her ears listen to their surroundings. She even sniffs the air cautiously. While gold and riches are all fine, her primary goal is to return to Helix alive and well...even if empty-handed.

She keeps her bow at the ready, and arrow nocked, but not drawn back. She treads quietly, her small feet making scantly a sound as she steps along.

Sir Dryvyk gave Dax his space and then proceeded to enter the chamber. He tried to see into the gloom below, wondering at the attempt that was made by some industrious robbers, and perhaps more important, what had become of them...

Grugar's mood had grown sour as the gloom seemed to close in around them, but the thought of fighting the living dead put him even more on edge. He refused to let any fear show. The half-orc loosened the leather retention on his scabbard and drew his sword as he followed the others. "Let 'em come" he growled.

"I've seen the runes before, but doan know what they might read." he confirms.

The dwarf descends when called, in takes the time to inspect the sturdiness of the block and tackle apparatus while the others look around.

Dax finds nothing lurking within the gloomy chamber. Barnabus moves among the pillars, thoroughly examining the space, but finds no other doors or connecting passageways. The room’s only exit, aside from the doorway through which the adventurers entered, is the hole in the center of the floor.

Ishmael examines the block and tackle, quickly determining that it is quite sturdy, despite the spots of rust. He feels certain that it could bear the weight of even the largest among the company. The rope, however, seems fragile, rot having weakened its strands. Feeding a fresh rope through the pulley should prove a simple matter, taking no more than a few minutes.

Peering into the hole itself, the explorers can see that it opens into a chamber with a vaulted ceiling, the floor of which lays roughly thirty five feet below. Worn frescos adorn the walls, though what they depict cannot be easily discerned. Bones and debris litter the floor and the scent of dampness and decay is strong.

It appears that a portion of the lower chamber’s western wall has collapsed. A lone tunnel leads out of the room, heading eastward.

"The frame will hold, but needs new rope.". Ishmael pronounced.  He spends a bit of time nothing the size and state of the room so he can make a map.

Sir Dryvyk removed his pack and rummaged for a coil of stout rope which he handed to the dwarf who probably knew better of such things than did the young knight.