Session #43: Into the Crypts of St. Clewd

TL:DR Exploration of the Abbot's quarters reveals a staircase to the crypts below.  The mighty thews of Grak the Orc grind open a stone door to reveal a hidden sanctum of worship, full of ancient living worshippers, sonic fluctuations, a dimensional wormholes in the armoire, and a mysterious tale.

Dolmenwood and the Crypts of St Clewd are found in the Wormskin zine.

An uncomfortable but eventless night was spent dreaming of goats, ghosts and impotent rage.  Clonin found himself sitting on a cloven skull with gold teeth.  All woke early, eager for daylight.

Overgrown with moss, fungus and creeping vines, the old abode of the abbot was hardly more than an enclosed set of crumbling walls, though a sodden bookshelf told of a once erudite establishment.  The scrolls and tomes were long since victims of time and weather, but some fortuitous poking around revealed the tell tale sign of a hidden passage to the veterans of the barrow campaign.

Leaving above the sons of Heggid and the three rescued children (one named Violet, no doubt the scion of Harrowmoor), the intrepid adventurers descended in single file, the light of Erik's glowing sword dimly leading the way through a narrow winding passage in the rough direction of the Chapel.  Stepping over an underground stream that crossed the corridor, they turned and found themselves at a stone-filled arch with a bronze lever.  The lever cracked the door, but there was something heavy behind and it took all the strength of Grak and Danforth the Dangerous to shove it inward.  Passing within, it seemed that a large armoire had been shifted out of the way.

The room was furnished with pews, lamp light, frescoes and shrines but the sound in this place bent, reverberated and amplified in an unholy manner, sounding nothing so much like the opening notes to a drug filled nightmare.

The mind bending cacophony reduced all but Clonin to agonized writhing so that only he was alert enough to recognize and hail the group of clerics who then entered the chamber, demanding explanations for their presence even as the sounds returned to normal.  "Whence came ye to these protected crypts of St. Clewd and how do you ye bring with ye the chaotic happenings of the eastern halls?"

Even as the party attempted to get explanations of their own for these archaic monks, the weak reality in this place sunder once again, this time the armoire doors burst open to reveal a swirling dimensional portal forthwith flew a gargantuan pink and yellow worm, all eyes and mouth.  The clerics fled in terror.  Aliontus pulled out a Scroll of Wall of Iron, quickly spoke the eldritch syllables and a gate of solid metal crashed down, sealing off half the room, and the exit as well.

In the fracas, a further concealed corridor was discovered in a fresco of heaven's gate.  A short stair lead to a hidden library, where a single half blind scholar, related a story of ancient tragedy to the wondering party, now trapped in these crypts.

"Long ago, St. Clewd returned to us, but corrupted by chaos, which came with him.  The eastern crypts, where the chaotic effects of the dimensional cataract are still prevalent.   In the western crypts, wherein the Order of Wardens dwell to this day,  guarding the sealed tomb of St Clewd, who remains demented and warped. The monks have survived underground for three and a half centuries, renewed by the waters of resurrection, searching the archives for a ritual to resolve the chaotic energies..."

Dolmenwood and the Crypts of St Clewd are found in the Wormskin zine.

Session #42: Drinking in Prigwort and a visit to the Abbey of St. Clewd

TL:DR Via Prigswort, the travelers in Dolmenwood begin to explore the ruined Abbey of St. Clewd, encountering a necromantic gloam of blackbirds in a belfry.
Dolmenwood and the Crypts of St Clewd are found in the Wormskin zine.

The Company of the Font passed a pleasant evening in the refuge of St. Keye.  Keye was an innocuous saint of chroniclers and scholars, but the monks of this spartan place had made a point to study Keye's "Chronicles of the Brewmasters" and now produced a high quality, subtle flavored farmhouse ale.  The nightly meal was hearty, though accompanied by the liturgical reads from the Book of St. Keye.  

The Company were not the only patrons at the refuge.  There were woodsmen, travelers, and a beer merchant.  Tales were told of the outlandish breweries in the nearby town of Prigswort, of the curiously resident nature of hauntings in Dolmenwood, compared to the wandering dead of the Duchy of Aerik and the Barrowmoors, and most interestingly, the reward offered by the noble lady of Harrowmoor Keep for the safe return of her missing daughter, Violet.  

Nestled in a series of clearings in the deep woods, the Company of the Font came to the the town of Prigwort at the crossing of four of the largest roads which traverse Dolmenwood. Harne the Hermit told that Prigwort was the largest settlement within the wood, renowned for its breweries and distilleries, the like of which a common man has not encountered for which the rich and decadent pay much to sip. The wooden cottages and high-gabled inns — all decorated with colourful, heraldic imagery and elaborate wood carving — welcomed the thirsty travelers in. At the Oaf and Oast, the Company drank deep of the Lord Oberon's Ambrosial and caroused the night away, making fast friendships with the sons of Heggid the Brewmaster, who promised to leave their prosaic lives behind and bear torches to the ruined Abbey of St Clewd. Father Heggid was decidedly ambivalent about this development.

The following day dawned bright in the clearings of Prigwort and the Company dragged their aching heads out of the last soft bed the would experience for some days. A long dusty tramp along the Swinney Road with the Sons of Heggid (Harne the Hermit having stayed behind clutching a cask of saison) brought the party to the foot of a rocky hill, where the road split: a well-used track ran around the base of the hill to join Fort Road; and an overgrown path wound up, via a series of paved avenues and stairways, to the summit of the hill. "Up there," said the Sons, "is the Abbey of St Clewd the Righteous, but we have never been."

The way passed through the toppled frame of the old gate and into the former central courtyard of the monastic complex.  Most of the buildings were reduced to rubble, now so overgrown as to pass almost unnoticed. The main chapel, though heavily damaged, remained largely intact, as did a smaller stone building and a crumbling bell tower, which seemed to be the nesting place of a flock of black birds. The whole place had an eerily silent look and the hair stood up on the nape of every travelers' neck.

The explorers first decided to visit the ruined bell tower to get the lay of the land. Entering the dank and mildewed lower chamber they discovered a narrow stair above and three dirty faces staring from a small doorway below. The three face were that of little children, aged no more than a half-dozen summers who told a strange tale of their lives collecting bones and eating worms with their good friend Mr. Rag-n-Bones, who lived in the Belfry. Leaving the Sons of Heggid below with the children, the heroes ascended the stairs, which betrayed them, sending Grack tumbling down, broken but unbowed. Above there was a chamber full of strange ornaments made of small bones lashed together in the likeness of small manlike figurines. They made a diorama across the floor of an invading force descending upon a collection of small boney homes. Calling out to Mr. Rag-n-Bones, the searchers found no answer and so settled down to wait.

As dusk settled over the ruined hilltop, there was a bustling and squawking of birds which rushed into the room and coalesced into an unnerving figure of man made of beaks, claws and feathers. "Who are you who tarry so long in my chambers?"

The conversation that ensued was tense, meandering and strange. The gloaming creature claimed to have great knowledge of the wood but revealed little, claiming the small children as its friends and asserting its right to collect the bones of the dead supplicants of Clewd. Finally, its patience wore thin and it attempted to drive the interlopers from its home, but was surprised by the power of their arms and convictions, and soon a scattering of black birds was sent in retreat.

Session #41: Into the Dolmenwood, through the Wenchgate

Atanuwe, the Naglord

Updated: The whole tale told, 8/26/18.

Leaving the Barrowmounds behind, it's evil weakened but still lurking, the Company decided to visit the enchanted Dolmenwood, hoping to find a holy place in which to consecrate a new church.

Preparations for the journey were not auspicious:  The Company deposited the cursed relics of Dekeon in the Church vaults at Ironwood Motte, but refused to tithe the Church, which disappointed the Father.

In a final audience, the Company demurred when given the opportunity to pay monetary tribute to the Duke, who was enraged and banished them from Ironwood Motte, despite their heroic exploits saving his son the year before.
It seemed that tales of the wealth dragged out of the Barrowmaze had reached the ears of the great and powerful, and they expected their due, but the Company held tight to their hard earned gains and took themselves to the Road.

On the first day of their journey, the Company met Harne, the Wild Man of the Wood, on the Horse Eye Road.  Harne told many tales of fungus, fairyies and mysterious stones.  He warned of the Nag Lord a many hoofed petty god, and other weirdness.  Harne also claimed to know the way to the ruined Abbey of St Clewd, so he joined the the Company in their travels.
Passing, farms, fields, and distant plumes of smoke without interest, the Company entered the Wenchgate by way of innocuous pleasantries.  Faces in the twisted wooden arbor spoke strange messages and prophecies.  Further, the Company met a talking tabby cat with wings.  It asked for help freeing Treemother from spiders but the travelers bade it fend for itself and marched on.
Near the end of the first day in Dolmenwood, the Company arrived at the Refuge of St. Keye, a simple monastery dedicated to brewing simple beers, a welcoming place.

Clonin the Bearer of the Font, spoke long into the night with the head monk of the refuge, Brother Alfred, and learned much.

The forest of Dolmenwood lies in the little-frequented northern reaches of the kingdom of Haven, under the rule of the Duchy of Ironwood. Though men, with their fortresses and cathedrals, now claim dominion over this stretch of tangled woods, fungus-encrusted glades, and fetid marsh, other powers held sway here in ancient times and — some would say — remain the true masters of the realm.

Within the forest, the magical and otherworldly are always close at hand — rings of standing stones loom in glades hallowed by pagan cults of yesteryear; the energy of ley lines pulses beneath the earth, tapped by those in possession of the requisite secrets; portals to the perilous realm of Fairy allow transit between worlds, for those charmed or fated by the lords of Elfland.  Even the herbs, plants, and fungi of Dolmenwood have developed in odd directions, absorbing the magic which infuses the place. Some say that the waters are enchanted. Some say the stones and the earth itself. Perhaps both are right.

Dolmenwood and the Crypts of St Clewd are found in the Wormskin zine.

Barrowmaze #39-40: Assault on the Pit of Chaos, Eye Tyrant Unleashed

TL;DR  The Bearers of the Font of Law closed the Pit of Chaos, then returned for the treasure of the Yellow King.

As the light of the Font of Law faded day by day, Clonin and his fellows determined to conquer their fear and head straight for the Pit of Chaos, the location of which they had discovered after the Yellow King had sent them to a far corner of the Barrowmaze.

Girding themselves for battle, the heroes of light entered through the mound of the forgotten throne and headed north, determined to avoid distraction.  However, in the pool room near the resting place of poor Sir Guy, the treasure seekers were tempted by the tilted tiles on the floor, topped by a gemstone.  They were soon surrounded by the groaning spirits of evil priests.  They coalesced and tried to choke the life out of Aliontus, Erik and the others but brave battling and magics swords broke the spirits.

The grand hall approaching the Pit of Chaos was littered with the corpses of strange and terrible creatures.  Things of tentacle and fur lay slumped against the walls.  A terrible green light from the massive double doors illuminated the abominations of nature.

A lone hero snuck in to take a peak.  He saw a massive chamber, vaulted ceiling held aloft by pillars made of the torment of captured souls.  Against the far wall a gigantic statue of Nergal, fat, complacent, naked loomed over the depression in the center of the room.  A pit from which seeped green luminescent wisps and crawled with strange creatures.  It was a crowded place.  A horde of shuffling, clattering undead milled about.  Looming over all floated an unreal creature of myth and nightmare, an eyeball some 6ft diameter, with a mouth and more eyestalks.  The thing cackled and muttered as it roamed, surely slavering at the thought of tomb robbers for a meal.

After urgent discussion, whispered planning and the casting of spells of blessings and protection, the heroes charged in.  Half broke left, half right.  The eyeball monsters spoke, its insane ravings that of a dimension and time lost maniacal intelligence, speaking of lands of undreamt of and centuries shackled to the defense of this chaotic pit.  It's eyes glowed with menace.  All magic in its field of vision ceased to function.

Clonin charged in, terrified and vulnerable despite the protections of his god.  Weaving between pillars he found his path to the Pit blocked by half living zombies.  The Font of Law was dim in his hand as it passed before the eyesight of the all seeing guardian.  How to fight such terrors in such numbers?  Perhaps he did not need to.

Clonin threw the Font.

The glowing ball arced up over the heads of the undead army, below the terrible visage of Ibyx-Idyll, and dropped into the pit!   A flash of green light washed over everything and turned white.  A deafening explosion rocked the place.  When their vision cleared, the heroes found the monsters fled, an Eye of Terror now lurking these darksome halls, but the Pit was dark, the statue of Nergal toppled and fallen in, the terrible silence of these tombs returned.  Gathering what treasure they could find, the group returned to Helix to carouse!

Addendum: Some weeks later the Company returned, defeated the Yellow King and stole his treasure but not his boat.  They are rich with coin.  The Barrowmaze is quieter, yet evil still lurks within.  Meanwhile, the aggressive logging and assertion of power by Duke Ironwood seems to have angered the denizens of the mysterious Dolmenwood.  Reports of loggers and woodsmen attacked by goatment and worse have increased in number.  Spurred by rumour of a Church let go to ruin piques the interest of ambitious clerics.  Perhaps a claim can be staked within the wood, or the mystery of the pink comet revealed...

Barrowmaze #38: At the Mercy of the Yellow King, and Escape

TL;DR  The viking ship king teleported the party to another part of the dungeon from which they escaped.  What will they do next?  Finally assault the Pit of Chaos?  Attempt to plunder the ship of the Yellow King?  Explore some random barrows?

...

The yellow king spoke of his origin;  "Once I lived in the Devoured Land,  a distant, unfathomed place. They say the cleft peaks are the uneaten half left torn when the first Cannibal God bit the world. Things there are as things were in the day before all days, when all that is now knew a common tongue and a young, smoother moon hung pearl-like in a black bed gestating the unborn stars. The ice is clearer, the wind sharper, every sound echoes, and all time unravels with a clear and open order.  The shadow falls across the rock, and the rock despises that. The oldest witch is here, the proudest stag, the most vicious wolf, the fattest hog and most lustful goat, the most avid crow, the most resentful of rats.  There are trees that grew in first rain, and horses that have never known a rider, stones cut by the hand of the first women and recut by thousands after, there are fortresses buried since the first battle. It’s said time started and will end in this place."*

"Why are you here?" asked the trembling intruders.

"I was exiled by the Black Amazons of the Frozen North.  I was sent forth on my ship long before the founding of the kingdoms of men.  Now I rest here with the plunder of my lifetime.  But of late I rest no more, awakened by the persistent pulse of Chaos."

"What should we do?" asked the grizzled tomb robbers.

"I will send you forth."  

With that the small group was instantly transported to a place of stone, in fact a dungeon chamber with a treasure chest flanked by gargoyles.  The warriors approached the chest and were suddenly covered in green slime expelled from the static statues.  A suit of platemail and a magical hauberk of chain were destroyed before the slime could be burned away.  Moments later another walking dead approached but was summarily dispatched.  The chest itself was wizardly locked, but the torchbearer was happy to carry the heavy load.  

Low on spells, vigor and courage, the group searched for an exit to the foul place.  Finally they discovered a goatman cowering in a side chamber.  He spoke of blackmail against his Lord Malbleat in the Western Dolmenwood.  He also intimated the close proximity of the Pit of Chaos.  In exchange for a dram of wine and a bit of food the goatman, Billy, offered friendship and lead the group to an exit from the Maze, stopping along the way to swiftly Web a floating ball of eyeballs to the wall.  

Relieved and weary, the Company of the Raven collapsed in their beds, happy to have survived another foray, but concerned the light of the Fount of Law continues to dim.
*Words courtesy of Frostbitten and Mutilated by Zak S.

Barrowmaze #37: Death Ship of the Yellow King

As we began this session I was reminded that we had decided to play out the adventures of the lost party members.  I think the best way to describe this one is from the DM's perspective.
Grack the half-orc warrior had fallen into a magical pit along with a Blood Pudding.  They were teleported to another location in the dungeon.  Investigating, Erik the Red dangled a torch from a rope into the pit.  He and the rope all faded away. 

Discounting minor time discrepancies, Grack fought a round against the Pudding, stumbling into a corridor, his stone hammer ineffective against the pursuing blob.  Then Erik dropped out of the ceiling.  He attacked the thing with a magic sword while Grack ran away.  Erik followed and the bolted through a door and slammed it behind them.  They were in a large pillared chamber that had been previously explored, though not necessarily by these characters, and certainly the previous game year, so they did not recognize the place.  But they did choose the southwest door (although I wasn't giving them coordinates).  This decision more or less put them on a direct route to the original entrance in Room 1! 

The pair scraped around, looking and doors and resisting the urge to peek into side doors (except for one incident with a spring loaded crossbow) until they came to an intersection full of graffiti and markings.  Slowly it dawned on them.  They were near the entrance.  Scuttling west, the two warriors considered backtracking with their map and trying to find their friends.  Instead they climbed the rope and fell in with a party of tomb robbers heading home for the day from a day poking about the Barrow Mounds.

Just like this but without the windows.

Meanwhile, back in the dungeon... The remaining Company were facing a tomb full of Ravenous Dead.  Clonin the Cleric of Light held the zombies at bay with his holiness and the group retreated, using a Web spell to hold the door shut.  Further explorations revealed a massive tomb at the end of the hall.  After a desperate battle on two fronts against the Ravenous and a trio of Ghouls who slew a dwarven torchbearer, the group was able to investigate the grand tomb.

Within the vaulted many pillared chamber rested nothing less than a viking longship of blackened timber and tattered sail, it's deck piled high with mounds of glittering gold and silver.  As the Company clambered aboard the treasure ship they saw the Captain, a still silent form slouched in a lordly chair on the sternward deck of the vessel.

Barrowmaze #36: Of Pits, Perils and Blood Pudding

TL;DR Still thrashing around in the Haunted Tombs of Barrowmaze, searching for the Pit of Chaos and missing friends.

Our 36th session saw the adventuring pick up at the edge of a mysterious pit revealed when the reformed orcish band Grak fell through a trap door while battling a bloody slime creature and disappeared.  A dropped torch winked out before falling far.  A torch lowered on a rope faded out of present existence, along with the rope and the warrior Erik as well!  Now to two brave warriors were  missing.  Careful inspection of the perimeter of the pit revealed runes of transposition and dimensional doors.
The pair had fallen through some sort of teleport trap!
"Perhaps they are yet alive and nearby," speculated the zealot Aliontus. "But where?"
So the surviving band explored, first through hidden doors to the east, down elder halls until they came to a room of statues and chicken guano.
Spooked, the retreated, exploring west now, avoiding 10 holes in the floor, gathering gold from burial alcoves until discovered by Coffer Corpses, hungry dead who defied the lightning bolt of the Wizard Resper to nearly choke the life out of cleric and wizard.
Shaken, but desperate to find their friends and close the Pit of Chaos, the tomb raiders were stymied by a northern door, then chased south by a (returned?) Blood Pudding.  A Hold Portal spell covered the retreat.  Treasures were found, bronzed skulls and a golden bust of Nergal the Death God.  And a secret door concealing stairs down to the west.
Descending the stair, Danger Dan was very careful, measuring each step and studying the stonework of the floor.  And so he did not fall into the pit at the foot of the stairs and instead poured boiling oil on the Ravenous Dead below until the corridor was thick with smoke and the evil hunger quenched.
Beyond, octagonal crypts were explored, a sea-faring tomb depicting long boats rowed by horn helmed warriors, the frescos were of an ancient barbaric style.
Another crypt opened beneath the grinning deaths head visage of Nergal.  A richly preserved cloak tempted Dan within, but 7 Ravenous Corpses rose from their deathless slumber, eager to consume the living!