”Do as you have been,” Ironguard answers, ”You are already committed to a conflict. The most difficult and important of all in this region. Rooting out the evil in the tombs. Your efforts there will likely save us all.”

He sweeps a gauntleted hand at the soldiers gathered behind him. ”We are ready for the trouble that has arisen. The lizard folk. A group of them attacked Bogtown yesterday. Burned a few homes. The residents were able to drive them off but some lost their lives. There is no doubt that they will return in greater numbers, so we must ensure that the village is defended and the attackers driven back further into the marsh.”

He shakes his head. ”Apparently a caravan guard who joined in the fighting understood some of what the lizard men’s leader said. There’s long been rumors that a witch lives on the outskirts of Bogtown. Some go to her for cures and such things. Apparently, the commander was vowing revenge against the settlement for the witch having sent a creature made entirely of metal to attack them. He claimed that this huge monstrosity had slain a number of his people.”

“It’s the most ludicrous tale I’ve heard in some time. Clearly an excuse for them to raid and pillage. But we’ll set it right soon enough.”

Behind two of his guardsmen, Krothos Ironguard enters the square, struggling to hastily put on his gauntlets. The horse he is riding strays to the right, prompting the young man to almost fall from his mount, his helmet tumbling off of his head. Lord Ironguard sighs and shakes his head.

Even in his befogged state, Barnabus can tell that none of this hullabaloo has anything to do with him, so he slinks back inside for an eye opener. When he starts to feel normal again, he'll pay a visit to their patron.

Dax visibly pales as Ironguard mentions that lives were lost in Bogtown. He looks as if he will interrupt Lord Ironguard, when he somehow becomes even paler when metal man is mentioned. But the ranger steels himself, and speaks up.

"My Lord, begging your pardon, but I know the Toad Mother, she does sell curing potions to the townfolk, but I can't imagine she could create a metal man.

And...I...we...know of a metal man. One of the fell undead we met in the Barrowmaze...a priest of Set we think, it summoned a metal man that attacked us...but while we fought the undead priest the metal man ran off..."

Dax's head drops, but he adds, more quietly, "My Lord, I ask a favour, if possible, could you have one of your men...after the lizardmen are dealt with...check to see if Eliza Harewell, my mum..." the ranger chokes up, tears forming in his eyes, "...was one of the victims."

Malivoire stood alongside Dax and Sir Dryvyk, facing the Lord Viscount and his soldiers in the early morning light.  He too went pale when the cause of the lizard man attack was revealed, a memory of the mummy's golem fleeing across the moor immediately leaping to mind.  He had been naive to assume it would just disappear into the mists, and now they were dealing with more collateral damage from their actions.

Though fearful of the reaction it would generate, the elven mage was proud of Dax for admitting their part in unleashing the metal beast.  The truth was painful, but good decisions required understanding the facts beneath the situation.  Perhaps the lizardmen could be turned against the catacombs as a result?

Dax's final plea brought a sorrowful hollow to Malivoire's gut, and at the end of the ranger's request he gently rested a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.  "May the gods watch over her and keep her safe, Dax," he murmured softly.

”So, it came from the tombs,” Ironguard says with a slow nod, ”All the more reason we need you working to expel the evil that resides there. This is precisely the kind of terror it can bring upon us.”

“I’ve no doubt that the lizard men’s leader knows of the barrows. Perhaps there is a way to communicate what occurred to him so that further bloodshed can be avoided. I will do my utmost to bring about a negotiation. Thank you for telling me the truth of the situation.”

He regards Dax with a kind expression. ”It is my understanding that of the five who lost their lives, all were males directly involved in the fighting that occurred. Even so, I will inquire after her welfare. You have my word.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Lord Ironguard sees that his son has retrieved his helmet and joined the formation. The rest of the Helix guardsmen have also arrived. He regards the scene with a frown, his mouth pressed into a line.

”We must away. The sooner we can reach Bogtown, the faster we can see this conflict resolved. St. Ygg’s blessings upon each of you.”

”TO BOGTOWN!” he calls to the formation behind him.

With Kell Ironguard leading, the soldiers begin to ride out of the village square.

When the column of cavalry has departed, the adventurers make their way to Mazzahs’ spire. In the dimness of early dawn, the explorers can see a warm glow illuminating the tower’s upper windows.

Inside, the company finds the wizard’s laboratory quiet. Mazzahs himself stands at the southern facing window, gazing out at the moor, his hands clasped behind his back.

”Lord Varghoulis has departed the Barrowmaze,” he says, ”He left the tombs in the deep of night, riding northward. To what end, I do not know.”

He turns to face the adventurers and smiles. ”I am glad to see you all well. There was a terrible explosion out on the marshes. It was felt all the way here in Helix. Do you have any knowledge of what occurred?”

Either the corpse of the tattooed priest has proved heavier than the inebriate priest had remembered it to be or he is not at full capacity this morning, having been woken early from an entirely inadequate pekoe-ravaged sleep, for he struggles to lug it up the curving tower stairs, with its head repeatedly crashing against the stone steps as a consequence. Consequently, its nose and few other parts of its face have just about been pulped by the time it and Barnabus finish their ascent.


Daintily, the junior undertaker sets aside the trophy before producing a response for their patron.

"Ah, yes, that was the slightest of mishaps, slightest of miscalculations by the greatest bombsman of our generation. It turns out, you see, that there are some highly combustible gasses in the moors," the apprentice fuseman says artlessly.

"It is true, yes, that not all emerged unscathed from the explosion," he allows, retrieving a bag of halfling bones from his pack.

"Poor star-crossed Labin Cinderbrand did not follow all of the safety protocols -- we rehearsed them, you can bet we did! -- attendant to the detonation of a Class BS Explosive device. Naturally, since he didn't follow the protocols, his widow and now fatherless children, the dear, little things, can not in good faith file a claim for the full portion of his death benefits."

"Alas, the master bombardier himself did not survive the blast either," Barnabus laments, producing the foot-in-boots from his pack for his patron's inspection. "I do intend to honor his legacy by employing another tutor in his image. And he left me a certain little legacy, still smoldering within Set's barrow."

Clearly, as an afterthought, he roots around in his pack until he finds the crystalline fragments from the mummy's box and the remains of the two small companion mummies.

"Three mummies in one blast! Now, that's the true legacy of Battist!"

Sir Dryvyk had been busy glaring at Krothos Ironguard as the pompous son of the Lord Viscount hastily made ready. He nearly missed the comment made about the golem and its rampage against the lizard-folk. He tore his gaze away from his rival and took a breath to calm himself before adding a few apologetic statements of his own to those of Dax and Malivoire. He would have insisted to join the company, claiming the responsibility to help right the wrong they had put in motion, but that would mean riding beside Krothos, and that just wouldn't do. Sir Dryvyk intended to one day ride against the whelp, and to do so at a hazardous rate of speed, with a long and very sharp object pointed at Krothos's chest! Instead he saluted once more and turned on his heel to leave before the younger Ironguard's smirk would provoke a confrontation then and there. The Patrons Ironguard and Drakeholme might be old friends, but Dryvyk and Krothos definitely were not.

~~~

"How do you know...?" Sir Dryvyk began to ask Mazzahs but then he strode to the window as if that might do any good. "Northward. I wish I possessed the mirth to suggest he's been scared off, but in my gut I feel as if it might likely be quite the opposite!"

The Knight began pacing slowly, thinking. "I wonder if we might seize an opportunity? If the Dark Lord has left his tomb, perhaps we could cleanse it whilst he's gone! Unless he's left us a nasty surprise..." He wondered if it might be a ruse or plan to draw them back in. He almost wished for a moment that he'd decided to join the Ironguard lot after all.

When Malivoire heard that Varghoulis had left the catacombs he immediately thought of the ruins of the ancient temple to Impurax, a place they had briefly talked about exploring but in the end had set aside.

"He hasn't headed in the direction of that ruined temple, has he?" the mage asked, not fully remembering where the temple was located.  "The one purged by the Northmen ages past, that we debated exploring a little while ago?  I still worry about its significance."

In response to Sir Dryvyk’s half asked question, Mazzahs replies, ”The necrotic energy which the death knight exudes is strong. With the correct scrying tools, his movements can be tracked…to a degree. One must be careful not to let the warlord know that he is being observed.”

“I have not sensed his presence in the area of the ancient temple,” the wizard tells Malivoire, ”Not yet. But one must remember that, in life, Varghoulis roamed these lands freely. He fought many battles in and around what we now know as the Duchy of Aerik. I’m certain there are many secrets still concealed in the forgotten corners of this region.”

Upon seeing the deceased cultist of Orcus, Mazzahs sighs, extending his hand toward the body as he speaks a few words. For a moment, the corpse glows with a blue light. ”Some of the runes which the cultists of Orcus inscribe into their own flesh enable their fellows to discern their location. That way, they can come to one another’s aid. I am quite sure that they already know that I and the Church of St. Ygg are counted among their enemies.”

He contemplates Barnabus’ account in silence for a long moment. ”I think it best if these, including the follower of Orcus, be taken to the Shrine so that they may receive proper burial. Has anyone spoken to Guildmaster Osen regarding the fate of these two men?”

“I am very pleased that you were able to see the mummies eliminated. Their master, Set, invests some with great power in unlife. They are inevitably drawn to the living, draining their life essence like leeches in order to offer it to their terrible god. Killing them serves to protect the innocent.”

The wizard frowns. ”What precisely had Battist been attempting to destroy?”

”As much of the moor as he could manage,” Ynes volunteers.

Barnabus ejaculates: "A most cunning obstacle with wards of protection and warning, promising 'Doom' to any who bypass it! It was just for that very barrier that we had employed a sapper of Battist's pedigree. We brought the BOOM to the DOOM!"

Jumping back to an earlier statement, he presses Mazzahs, "He doesn't care if he's being tracked and wouldn't change his tracks if he knew he were being tracked. All the more reason to track him!"

Grinning, Barnabus urges the wizard to "never mind all of that anyway" and "feast his eyes" on this next treasure. First, he produces the various shredded garments and implements from the "Mouth of Orcus" chamber which they had "closed for good" as an aside of sorts, muttering that those weren't what he had been looking for.

He continues to root around in his pack, tossing aside a few greasy chicken bones and crusty tea bags, before remembering that he didn't have it.

"It's in here," he calls out triumphantly, relieving Dax's pack of the Briar Queen's tablet with its mysteries (formerly) lost to time and space.

He hands over the tablet, "You are familiar with the Briar Queen? She has become quite familiar with us; you could say that she and Dax, her hollowed champion even enjoy a certain intimacy."

Dax was quite silent while listening to Barnabus, Dryvyk, and Mazzahs discuss the group's most recent foray. Even the news that Varghoulis had left the Barrowmaze did not elicit a response from the elf.

But when Barnabus pulled on his pack, it jarred him back from his reverie.

"Do you know much of the Briar Queen? Mal and I both know that there are some that still worship her in the Thornswild. Many say she no longer exists, but her long dead clergy provided us with refuge, those bracers that Mal wears, and this blade."

Drawing the sword, Dax holds it before him so Mazzahs can see it from hilt to point.

"I swore myself to her service to remove the demon-spawn and the undead from the Barrows."

Sir Dryvyk looked to see if Barnabas would be concerned about the temple of his God, but when Mazzahs answered that their foe was likely not headed there, the Knight was relieved.

"Does it feel like we're doing much more harm than good sometimes?" he asked Malivoire, chuckling ruefully at their luck.

"Master Mazzahs, I realize this may be a question better posed to Brother Othar, but do you think the Dark Lord draws any power from his resting place in the Barrowmoor? If he's gone and we can destroy it, perhaps it will at least weaken him?"

Mazzahs accepts the tablet which Barnabus extends to him with an attitude of reverence. Before examining it more closely, he says, in a concerned tone, ”Perhaps…it would be best if you remained here in Helix for at least another day. I think that some of you might benefit from further rest.”

He studies the tablet in silence for a time. ”This…does not belong to us. It was provided in a desire to grant aid to your efforts, but it must be returned once its secrets have been studied.”

Mazzahs smiles at Dax’s question. ”This tablet was inscribed by the Briar Queen’s own hand. It is of divine authorship.”

“Even as a young apprentice in Monlist, I heard tales of her. She is an ancient goddess of nature, a guardian of the wild places of the world. Some of the more arrogant practitioners of the arcane in that city claimed that she was long forgotten, but they could not have been more wrong. In some civilized places, she may not be honored, but here on the frontier there are many who know her, and call upon her favor.” He looks from Dax to Malivoire and back again. ”Here in the Duchy, the elven folk of the Wyrdwood and the Thornswild give her honor. They are not the only ones. To the east and north, there are many others.”

He studies the gleaming blade that Dax has drawn. ”She is the mortal enemy of any who would seek to destroy the natural order. Who would seek to decimate living things for their own evil ends.” He shifts his gaze back to Dax. ”And you are her champion. Do not think for a moment that your discovery of that weapon was the result of random happenstance. You were meant to wield it. I have no doubt that you will honor your oath, and I suspect that this is not the only blessing of hers that will find you.”

He places the tablet carefully upon his writing desk. ”I will endeavor to translate this as quickly as possible.”

The wizard listens attentively to the paladin’s question. ”It would probably be wise for you to pose the question to Brother Othar as well, Sir Dryvyk. I know that he has made a study of many of the known gods of death and I suspect that he could offer insights that I cannot. However…”

The wizard steps over to another table. Sitting upon it is the runic tablet which Malivoire had taken from the phantom’s tomb. A rolled piece of parchment sits atop it. Mazzahs unrolls the scroll. ”…I may be able to provide some valuable information on the matter, thanks to your courageous efforts.”

“This tablet contains an account given by an ancient follower of the god Crom. It concerns itself with the area we all know as the Barrowmoor.”

He looks again to the southern window, dawn having brightened the sky to a hazy blue. ”What was once there, at the marsh’s center, was a place that even the bravest of souls feared. Long before it became a vast burial ground.”

“It was the death god Nergal’s seat in this world. A direct conduit between this mortal land and the realm of the dead. It was shunned, as Nergal himself was believed to walk that dark, lonely place.”

“Those gods given to evil can be treacherous beings. And Nergal, even before Orcus and Set came into being, knew there were those that would covet his power. To embody mortality, to rule the dead and be privy to all of their secrets, is an unfathomable capability. And so, to ensure that his rule, his essence, remained even if he were vanquished by his foes, Nergal invested a portion of his own divine being into an object, a vessel which he crafted to contain a facet of himself. And he set a monstrous guardian, an ancient dragon wise in the ways of necromancy, to serve as its guardian.”

He shakes his head. ”These writings do not make it plain what the object is. The author seemed to be in fear of writing of it specifically. But rest assured, it lies somewhere deep within the catacombs. And all the dark beings that are gathered there covet it.”

“Does it provide Varghoulis with some of his life force? It very well may. But of this I am certain: the death knight will not leave the catacombs for long. His aim is to retrieve whatever this object is and see Nergal reborn. And he will not rest until that deed is accomplished.”

"Which will endear him even more to his dark God and make him even more formidable..." Sir Dryvyk mused. There were certainly increasing threats.

Barnabus smarts at this slight chastisement from their patron. It's as if he's being sent to his room and won't be allowed to play in the barrows. Well, it was true that the crusty wizard had not delighted in all of the light fingered priest's offerings, his fondness for corpses having appeared to decompose.

"These, too," he continues without flagging, handing the collector the offering bowls of the three ghasts (from #43).

"So you had encouraged us to explore the area on the map we had extracted...that's where we found the temple and shrine to the Briar Queen. But there were some odds and ends in that area as well, a series of small rooms and curtained rooms, separated by a secret door at the end of the southern hallway."

He proceeds to tick off his fingers in a pedantic fashion:

"One had already already been despoiled although, although the bones of its intended still rest upon a bed of burgundy silk and a bas relief of sunset behind a mountain pass still adorns walls."

Barnabus smiles. He knows Mazzahs relishes the details of these funerial practices.

"Two had the ghasts and their slabs and another bas relief, this time of a cloaked skeleton pointing to a portal to the ... land of the dead."

He fishes out the cracked tablet from that cell, "Oh, and this as well."

"Three appears to have been reserved for future use. I don't know."

"Four had already been plundered. Looked to be dedicated to Orcus."

Barnabus catches his breath and wonders why their patron never offers refreshments.

"Only every time we come back from that accursed place," Malivoire smirked a little, fully empathizing with the paladin's feelings.

He listened closely to the information Mazzahs provided on the Briar Queen, nodding along like an eager child.  Something about the feral queen of nature had struck a chord within him and learning more of Her was exciting.  He wondered whether the bastion of her followers withing the catacombs was done with a grander purpose to combat the evils that lay nearby.  Could that power be mobilized somehow to help their own cause of cleansing the barrows and defeating Lord Varghoulis?  It was certainly something to ponder.

"I will be very interested in hearing what the tablet describes, once you have finished perusing it," he promised Mazzahs.

The history recorded by Crom's acolyte was equally interesting, although decidedly darker.  Malivoire's faced paled upon hearing the centre of the place was Nergal's seat of power and a connection directly to the realm of the dead.  That sounded bigger than anything a mortal could tackle, like trying to drain the ocean or stop the sun's progress across the sky.  Even finding and destroying the god's talisman wouldn't change something so fundamental, or so the elven mage despairingly thought.

"What could possibly be done to break that connection?" he moaned, eyes not focused on anyone in particular. It felt like their efforts were so trivial, like protecting a sandcastle against one onrushing wave only to see the endless replacements following in its stead.

Dax pondered the wizard's words, which mirrored what Barnabus had said in the tomb.

He sheathes the blade, and steps back to let the priest show all of the items that they had gathered on their latest foray.

He looks over to Malivoire, and taps on the bracers that were also a gift from the Briar Queen, "Looks like we have both taken on a holy mission, Mal!"

”These bowls are consecrated to Nergal,” Mazzahs says as he examines the vessels, ”As you travel deeper into the tombs, I do not doubt that you will find more things of this kind. Anything you can retrieve of this sort may yield valuable clues. But be wary. I doubt that you will be the only one seeking such objects out.”

He takes the tablet, examines it, then sets it aside. ”That tablet is written in a form of the dark speech, a dead language which saw use in the early history of the marshland. It was used between humans, orcs, and hobgoblins to give them all a common tongue to communicate with. Several petty warlords sought to recruit orcs and hobgoblins into their service for the purposes of their conquests. An unwise notion, to be sure.”

Turning to Malivoire, the wizard says, ”I intend to make the translation of that tablet my priority. I want to have discovered its full meaning by the time you next travel back from the tombs, so that you may return it from whence it came. I will gladly share all that I am able to learn from it.”

“And do not lose heart. You have encountered terrible dangers. But you have also made a powerful ally. I am convinced that your efforts will ultimately unravel the mysteries of that fell place and expel the darkness that has it in its grip. I have faith that such will be the outcome. Yes, you face great evil, but though you may not perceive it, be assured that the forces of good guide your steps.”

He pauses. ”However…perhaps it would be best, for the time being, to refrain from using explosive agents to breach any of the barrows.”

As if to punctuate this last thought, a loud report, like a deep thunderclap, sounds from the south in the direction of the Barrowmoor. A variety of yelps and curses can be heard from those gathered in the village square.

Barnabus listens to Mazzahs' final words and refrains from responding. It is true that the "art of the bombsman" is rarely understood even by those who would most benefit from it. He decides it would be best to discuss the matter again -- after he has had time to improve his own artistry in the matter of fuses and explosives.

He also refrains from speaking of the curtained rooms, whose occupants were obviously insignificant personages undeserving of further consideration.

He rises to his feet and thinks about asking someone to help him lug a corpse about.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Tue 04 July 2023.

"Gods! We forgot entirely to mention that another group, the Outriders of Uleck delved into the Barrows.

We think most are dead, their leader Grak the Half-Orc at the hands of Varghoulis or one of his minions.

The one survivor, Safherd, we are planning on taking her on. She worked with Grak only because she was indentured to him. She seems to be a good person.

We don't think that Grak got too far into the maze before meeting his demise. But we will ask Safherd to add to our map if she can.

Oh! We also found an arm that was missing from a statue of a gargoyle. We will try to reattach it on our next foray."

"If the Dark Lord is currently elsewhere, we could check that part of the crypts for the bodies of the others in Safherd's party who didn't make it. Mark that up in the column of reasons not to delay our return..."

In response to the map he said, "Hopefully her memory of the underground will be helpful to us."

Nodding to Dax, Malivoire looked at the horned vines interwoven about his bracers.  "It does seem that way, yes," he agreed, in a tone that sounded just a little bit proud.

Malivoire nodded gratefully to Mazzahs as the elder mage spoke encouraging words, though there was still thoughtful cast to the elf's expression.  He waited to see if Dax's late comments would elicit any further reply, before nodding at Sir Dryvyk's wisdom.  "That seems most prudent, as soon as Mazzahs has the tablet translated."

Sir Dryvyk nodded. "If one of you would like to help Safherd update our map, I'll take Andryr and go talk with Windroot about hiring on and getting him outfitted. I think I'll check in with Master Barrelgut to see if my boots have arrived and talk with Ol'Gib about sizing up Andryr for some better armor. Perhaps Master Turgen could fetch us something from Ironguard Motte, though I expect with the sudden prospect of fighting that supplies might be limited."

The Knight looked around to see if anyone had anything to add and then excused himself from the tower with a nod.

OOC: I believe Andryr currently has Scalemail armor, Sir Dryvyk will attempt to find and sell/trade/buy for Chainmail or Splintmail for Andryr. ?gp
Check to see if the swamp boots ever arrived. ?gp
Pay his tithes at the Shrine. 62gp
"Pay" for the horses he and Andryr have been riding all this time! 150gp
Buy Andryr a quiver of five javelins. 5gp
Buy a pouch of herbs for Windroot for fun ranger-healing: Belladonna (5), Feverfew (10), Garlic (15), Hollyhock (15), Rue (10), Sage (5), Spiderwort (15), Wolfsbane (5), Yarrow (15) totals to 14gp 5sp