Wyz
Before setting out, Alandor tucked his precious “gryphon egg” beneath his bed, hiding it among the dust and shadows where prying eyes wouldn’t think to look. The old man had grown attached to the thing, whatever it truly was.
The trouble began at the village gates. Two guards in the livery of St. Ygg blocked Alandor’s path, their eyes fixed on his shield.
“That serpent,” one said, jabbing a finger at the coiled symbol. “That’s the mark of Set. Death cultists. You’ll not be carrying that into the barrows under our watch.”
Alandor’s shoulders sagged, but the old man had a gift for looking pathetic when it suited him. After much pleading and protestation of ignorance, the guards relented—partially. They took the snake shield and pressed a replacement into his hands, this one bearing the holy symbol of Ygg.
The road to the barrowmaze offered its usual hospitality. Giant scorpions burst from the tall grass, pincers clacking, stingers dripping venom. The party scattered and ran, legs pumping, lungs burning, until the chitinous nightmares gave up the chase.
They found an untouched mound and set to digging, shovels biting into ancient earth. The work had barely begun when more scorpions emerged, drawn by the noise or the scent of warm blood. Once again, the party fled.
Later, they encountered a band of eleven strangers, their leader clutching a sealed clay bottle. “Magical,” he promised, showing off the arcane script on the label. “Essence of ghost. Eighty gold.”
Wyz examined it with a scholar’s eye. The magic was real enough, but eighty gold might as well have been eighty thousand. They declined. The strangers left with suspicious haste, and Morrigan—ever watchful—slipped into the shadows to follow.
She returned with grim news. The strangers had descended into a familiar tomb, the one where ghouls made their lair among gnawed bones. Three had stayed outside to keep watch.
By the time the party arrived, the guards were gone. Only blood remained—dark smears and drag marks leading down into the darkness. Morrigan crept to the entrance and pressed her ear to the cold stone. From below came wet, crunching sounds. The ghouls were feasting.
“We should make noise,” Alandor said, stroking his beard. “Draw them out. Count their numbers.”
Wyz’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I refuse to participate in your plan because it is stupid.”
The old man sputtered. “Now see here—”
“Are you really so eager to find out what happens when ghouls chase you and you don’t get away?” The goblin’s voice was flat, utterly without sympathy.
Alandor fell silent.
They tried digging once more at a different mound, but skeletons on patrol caught their scent. Bones clattered. Empty eye sockets fixed upon them. The party ran yet again, and when they finally stopped to catch their breath, they found themselves standing before a barrow they all recognized—the one that held the mysterious book.
Wyz studied his companions’ faces. “Perhaps it’s time we tried again.”
They formed a circle, hands clasped, maintaining contact with one another. Wyz whispered the words to Mage Armor, feeling the invisible shield settle over his skin. Then, together, they reached for the book.
Only Wyz vanished.
He found himself in a place of darkness and shadow, the air thick with the smell of old dust and older magic. Before him stood a figure in robes, already raising its hands to cast.
Both wizards moved at once. Syllables of power tumbled from their lips—but Wyz had a trick. His free hand whipped forward, launching a pebble at his opponent’s face. The stone struck true, and the other wizard’s spell dissolved into a startled curse.
Neither surrendered to the other’s magic.
Then came the darts—bolts of pure arcane force that screamed through the darkness like angry stars. They struck flesh, blasted it to bloody mist, left both combatants staggering and gasping.
In the end, it came down to steel. Wyz drew his dragonbone dagger. His opponent produced its twin. They circled, feinted, struck.
The goblin in the robes fell at last, dark blood pooling beneath him. With his final breath, he spat curses in the black tongue.
One by one, the others followed. Alandor touched the book and vanished. Then Perch. Each faced their own trial in that place of darkness. Neither emerged.
Morrigan and Aura remained in the chamber, staring at the now-closed book. They exchanged a long look.
“So,” Morrigan said quietly. “What now?”
Morrigan #
Ygg paladins stopped Alandor and questioned the old man about the snake shield. They said it was a symbol of Set, a death cult. He asked if he could keep it and we could try to infiltrate the Set cult, but the paladins scoffed and said they were an order of taking action, not subterfuge. I had to bit my tongue or I would have muttered “yet you sit here in the village and let us go kill the dead things and monsters.” They confiscated the shield, but were moved by the old man’s piteous pleas, and gave him a St. Ygg shield.
We headed out to the barrows and encountered what looked like a big mound but turned into two scorpions. We ran and it was a close thing, but we managed to lose them. We stopped by a buried barrow (D26) while Aura and Alandor shoveled while the rest of us kept watch. Less than an hour later, we were accosted by 3 giant scorpions. Apparently it’s bug day. We ran again, stopping at another buried barrow (D13) at the edge of the swamp. Again, only half an hour in, a group of 11 approached and waved at us. The leader wanted to sell us a sealed clay bottle that he said had magic writing on the label. Wyz said it said “essence of ghost.” He wanted 80 gold for it. I laughed. They abruptly left, acting suspiciously.
I followed them surreptitiously. They jigged and jagged and stopped at a the ghoul barrow (D20). I watched them talk for a bit, and three stayed outside while the rest lit torches and went inside. I went back and told the group. They decided to follow the other group, take out the 3 outside, and wait for the rest to come out, or die from ghouls. I approached from stealth. The rest approached with the ruse that we pooled the money together. By the time we got there, nobody was out front. I snuck up to listen at the doorway, but I saw blood and drag marks. I heard munching noises from inside. I went back and told the rest that the ghouls got them. All 11 of them, including the guy in plate mail. Alandor and Perch discussed throwing something in the barrow to try and draw the ghouls out, but Wyz said that was stupid. We went back to digging (D26) while Wyz supervised me on worked on making his rope ladder longer so we could go down the main barrow.
Three skeletons on patrol headed for us. We ran again. Wyz mentioned investigating the magic book since we were close to that barrow. Somehow the plan morphed from Wyz checking it out to all of us touching the book and each other. A bunch of people disappeared when they touched the book in previous groups. This seemed like a horrible idea. But, peer pressure, I went along with it. Nothing happened, but the goblin disappeared and the open book snapped shut. The insanity continued, and Alandor said he’d touch the book while we all touched him. He disappeared into a shadow that got sucked into the book, even though the rest of us were touching him. Perch touched the book and disappeared. Aura and I, left to our own devices, came up with a new plan. We would shoot an arrow with a rope attached at the book, and covering our hands with a cloak, and drag the book to Mazza. He would either kill whatever was inside or get sucked in and we would be free to loot his tower.