Session 227 - Frost and the Barrowmarsh

Deep Frost and Dead Men’s Dust: Tales from the Barrowmarsh  

Gather 'round the hearth, dearies, and mind your elbows—old Vilma’s got a fresh story to spin, and this one’s got a bit of a chill to it. No, not just the draft coming off the duck pond, but the kind of cold that settles in your marrow when you peer into places best left forgotten.

Our lot—Feno, Arnd, and the rest of those brave (or perhaps just foolish) souls—spent their morning at the Foaming Mug. Now, Feno’s a curious one; he spent his breakfast figuring out why Orlane needs three inns. It’s all about the coins in your pocket, he says. If you’re a fancy officer, you go to the Golden Grain Inn; if you’re a merchant, the Serpent. But if you’ve got mud on your boots and a bit of iron in your hand, the Foaming Mug is where you rest your head.

But it wasn't just ale and town gossip. There’s a sadness in the air, my loves. Jack the cat—aye, the little three-legged fellow—was looking for more than a scrap of fish. Through young Nikki, the poor beast spoke of a cursed ring and a missing paw. Veyda and Nikki have taken up his cause, bless them. It’ll take a trip to a Greater Druid Grove to set that spirit right, and a reckoning with some nasty necromancers to get his trinket back.

The Crispy Road to the Tomb

They set off at eight bells into air so cold it was "crispy," as they say. But the frost wasn't the only thing bothering the bones. All along the road, the farmers were doubling over with a dry, staccato cough—a sound like snapping dry kindling. Even the Dim Forest is feeling the rot; limbs falling without a wind and the trees weeping sap that smells of old graves.

By midday, they reached the Tomb of Incubalos. Now, you’d think a group of seasoned adventurers would know better than to settle down for a quiet lunch on the steps of an ancient barrow, wouldn't you? But there they were, Veyda lost in her crystal meditations, when a Giant Scorpion decided it wanted a taste of Armatzi!

It was a short-lived scuffle. Armatzi shrugged off the sting like it was a common wasp, Nikki landed a solid thump, and Sergius—oh, that boy moves like a shadow—slipped behind it and ended the thing before it could blink its many eyes.

What Lies Beneath the Stone

Once they stepped inside, the air got heavier. They found the sarcophagus of one Varius, a high priest of that nasty Cult of Incubalos. Arnd stood ready, cloaked in prayers and protection, as they heaved the lid aside.

Out burst a Barrow Wight, all thin, puckered white skin and the color of a fresh bruise. It tried to lock Sergius in its gaze—to freeze his very blood—but the boy’s got a strong will. Arnd and Sergius laid into it with steel and grit, and finally, Feno and Arnd delivered a blow that crushed the life (or the un-life, I suppose) right out of the wretch.

They didn't come away empty-handed, mind you. They found an old leather scroll and some fine vases. Deeper still, in a chamber where four mummies sat watching in the dark, Arnd used a clever bit of luck and a ten-foot pole to fish out a bowl of platinum. Thirty-five shining coins! And thank the stars, the mummies decided to keep their long nap.

A Cold Return

By the time they trudged back into Orlane at seven, the frost had settled thick. The town is still coughing, poor souls. Feno tried to get the local smith to fashion a "respirator" to filter the stench and the sickness, but our smith is a man of hammers and horseshoes, not tinkery. They’ll have to head to Hookhill for such magic gadgets.

But it’s not all doom. Feno’s put a tidy sum of platinum toward Arnd’s forge to craft a suit of jousting armor. A fine investment, if you ask me—gold is good, but thick steel is better when the world starts to rot.

So, drink up, lasses and lads! Be glad you’re in here by the fire and not out there dodging scorpions and breathing the dust of Varius. Tomorrow is another day, and I’m sure the mists will have more secrets to tell.

Session 226: Books, bottles, and Sergius is poisoned (again)

There are seven slain coffer corpses on the ground and Sergius wants to check them for loot. Unsurprisingly, there is none to be found. Tatania, Arnd, and Sergius look at Titus, Maeve, and Veyda and decide that the party is perhaps not equipped to enter the highly dangerous barrow mounds. The party decides to explore the marshes instead and see if there is an unexplored mound that might be more their speed.

Dwerom and Niki join up with the crew and together they move southeast. They encounter a tall cliff wall that looks inhospitable to climbing. Next they find an unexplored barrow that is covered in dirt. The dwarves examine it and declare that it could be unearthed, but even with their exquisite skill, the task would take hours and might attract some unfriendlies with the noise. As Arnd is debating the merits with the group, Sergius circles the mound to make sure there are no alternate points of entry. Titus muses that it looks like Sergius is doing a pee-pee dance. This gets a chuckle out of everyone else and they decide to pass on this particular mound today. Moving further east, they encounter another mound, this one also sealed, but not so thoroughly. It can be unearthed in just a few minutes. The dwarves get down to business and do just that. Luckily, it is such quick work that no unwanted attention is attracted. A short stone staircase is revealed. Torches are lit and the party descends into the darkness.

Veyda and Maeve wonder aloud if this will be a good burial mound or an evil one. Soon enough, that question is answered in the form of walls decorated with horrid murals of rot and death. Niki notes that this place is dedicated to Incabulos, the deity of pests, famine, nightmares, drought, and disease. What a rotten deity to worship when you could instead look to the bounty and nourishing gifts of Merrika!

Further exploration presents a passageway that smells a little gross. There is a door that Sergius willingly opens to reveal a room fitted with bookshelves. The shelves are filled with small to medium books, scrolls, and large tomes. Most of them are treatises to Incabulos. Arnd sets up as a guard outside the room while the rest set to examining the shelves for anything useful. Sergius finds a book with pictures. Veyda inspects it and decides it could be useful as a means to gather information about repelling Incabulos. The party takes a break to eat and hear scratching noises in the distance. They are set upon by giant scorpions! Sergius is struck with one of the creature's poisonous tails. He begins to froth at the mouth and takes on a pale greenish pallor. The scorpions are slain by the rest of the party and Niki rushes in to cast neutralize poison on poor Sergius. He coughs up some dark sputum and seems his old self. One wonders what can be done to keep the lad from being poisoned so often. Perhaps nothing.

Arnd sets up outside of the room again to act as guard while the rest search through the shelves once again. Arnd hears a schlopping noise, like wet feet on the ground. Before he can even send out a warning, he is beset by a pair of giant toads. Has the God Toad sent more of his children to seek revenge? Arnd retreats to the safety of the room to set up an attack with his fellows. The toads are unable to harm him as he deftly escapes their terrible tongues. In proper formation, Niki slays one toad and Arnd the other. Dwerom disembowels the giant toads, but doesn't find anything of interest in their bellies.

Veyda insists on an exhaustive search of the room, which yields three more discoveries of valuable treatises, including one that details constructing mummies and imbuing them with undead force and using slime in combat. With the entire room checked, the party moves on.

They encounter a room with a large ornate sarcophagus, broken and rotting baskets, and urns. There are unholy symbols on the sarcophagus and after the book they just recovered about creating mummies, more than one member of the party is hesitant to touch the sarcophagus or any of the accoutrement in case a dangerous mummy is is within. It's unknown if this party could fight off such a lethal foe. Instead, they turn their attention to another door. Sergius opens this one as well and reveals another room of shelves. This one, however, houses all manner of jars and bottles. The group does a meticulous inventory and collects four interesting specimens. There is a vial of ointment, a jar with gray dust, a jar with lighter gray dust, and a long jar with four sticks. Dwerom casts identify on the sticks and discovers that they are meditation sticks that can be used by clerics and cleric subclasses to intensify and maximize their spells. Maeve is weary of any objects found in this evil place, but that doesn't seem to persuade those who could actually use them. Niki, Veyda, and Titus are all very interested in trying out these new magic items when the time is right. The other items will have to be identified another day, because it is now time for the adventurers to come home to see me, the faithful storyteller,

Vilma 

 

Session 225: The price of shirking your duty

It is the late afternoon of Day 11 of Sunsebb and the adventuring party of Tatania, Aila (carrying the body of Lalie), Armatzi, Sergius, Maeve, Veyda, and Titus find themselves in the aftermath of the battle with the giant toads. The God Toad, a giant spectral amphibian, hovers above the group, lets out a low "ribbit" and disappears. The party finds themselves unsure of what that might portend, but decide to head back to Orlane.

As they make their way down the familiar path through the dark forest, several members sense a dark presence to the north. Feeling weary and bloodied from their harrowing battles (and one party member down), they decide to ignore the looming evil and press on back to town. Everyone feels a collective and oppressive force fall upon them. Their feet feel a little heavier, their minds a little slower. It's unknown if they realize it, but old Vilma knows that a Curse of Misfortune has been placed upon them for ignoring the evil presence they had felt.

Back in Orlane, Aila sets about preparing the body of Lalie for travel back to Veluna. Veda runs off to fetch Colette, the lady's squire, and a ceremony is cast on the body to preserve it to travel home. Aila and Colette wash up, and say their goodbyes to the party as they plan to leave at first light. The journey will be a long and no doubt somber one.

After a good night's rest (and a round of healing spells from their cleric) Veyda, Tatania, Maeve, Sergius, Titus, and Armatzi meet up with their funny friend Myr. They present to him a variety of food and drink that they have collected for him as repayment for guarding some of their treasure. Myr seems most pleased with the spread and immediately tucks in to a rather fancy meal.

The group decide to take a day restocking supplies and relaxing for a day in town. Slowly, they feel themselves unburdened by the Curse of Misfortune. Fortunately, it was somewhat short-lived. This time.

Come the next morning, they recruit Arnd to join back up and head toward the barrow marsh. Once again, they feel a disturbing presence. Instead of fleeing, the party brace themselves for battle. Out of the forest emerge seven coffer corpses. Maeve attempts to injure one with a dart. The dart hits and sticks in the shoulder of one of the corpses, but the undead creature seems to take no damage. It is quickly deduced that these brutes can only be harmed by magical means. While the monsters present a challenge to the party (one manages to grasp Arnd by the neck in its strong grip), there is enough magic present in weapons and Tatania's magic missiles to dispatch all seven with no casualties.

What a thrilling end to the vision witnessed by your faithful storyteller,

Vilma

Session 224: To Every Undead: Turn, Turn, Turn

I see them, my beloved Saviors of Orlane. But are they the Saviors of Orlane? The members of this adventuring party are ever changing and there is not one among them that were responsible for slaying the vile Naga Explicitca Defilus. However, I do spy one who was present at the battle of Orlane and helped to repel the necromancers and their ilk. Regardless, this heroic bunch ever pursue the quest of vanquishing evil and sending the undead back to their realm. So I am happy to call them and any who join in their cause the Saviors of Orlane. 

My heart is heavy as I behold Lalie on the ground lifeless. Her companion, Aila, seems wholly focused on recovering her body. I suspect she knows that Lalie comes from a wealthy family who will pay the high cost to have her resurrected. I hope we do see the cavalier again, reanimated with the breath of life. I hope she will take care in the future though, because who can tell the limits of magic and what multiple returns from the spirit plane would do to a person?

The remaining heroes (Titus, Veyda, Tatania, Maeve, Niki, Aila, and Sergius) dig deep to fight the evil undead. Titus and Aila both attempt to turn the undead and send them fleeing. Unfortunately, they are young in their powers and unable to do so. Tatania, however discovers she is quite adept at slaying creatures with her staff sling. A hurled metal bullet tears through one creature, slaughtering it immediately. Sergius takes a nasty bite from one of the foes and becomes paralyzed. The filthy creatures see him as an easy target to attack. In a stealthy move, Veyda pulls Sergius away from the fight and mortal peril. Dwerom appears and aids in the battle. Then from deep in the barrowmaze, a horde of zombies push up against the back of the evil undead and the odds become more bleak. A vial of lit oil is tossed onto the zombies, but they are terrifyingly immune to flames. The group is making some progress against the enemy, but there begins to be talk about abandoning the fight and fleeing to see another sunrise. However, the grim reality is that they would not be able to retreat swiftly enough while carrying two bodies (one dead, one incapacitated) and sacrificing their lives (or second life, in Lalie's case) was too high a cost. In a moment of desperation and despair, a familiar glow is seen from the rear of the party. The holy light from the gauntlet of St. Cuthbert is a beacon of goodness that lifts every heart. With a mighty and authoritative voice, Armatzi commands the undead to flee from before him. Only one creature is affected, but it seems in turning its back, the battle also begins to turn. Maeve strikes an enemy with her axe and Tatania hits again with her staff sling. On his next attempt, Armatzi is able to turn eight more creatures. This creates an interesting standstill as the fleeing enemies and the engaging zombies effectively block each other. The party is able to hack at the backs of a few creatures. When Armatzi's third turn undead spell fails to reach any further creature, the party decides to retreat while the dangerous villains are held at bay and before the magic wears off.

A hasty retreat leads the party to the gloomy barrow marsh. Armatzi has a spell that lifts the paralyzed condition from Sergius. And just in time, too! The group finds themselves being surrounded by a group of hungry giant toads! Niki casts an extremely powerful lightning spell, which slaughters two immediately. Maeve uses her rope to entangle a toad that is then killed by Dwerom and Titus. The rest of the toads are taken care of handily and the group finds themselves tired and more than ready for the journey back to Orlane.

I will recount these visions as often as they appear. Until next time I remain your faithful storyteller, 

Vilma

Session 223: In a fight for their very lives!

Back again, we are, in the barrowmaze. It is a gloomy place and fills me with dread to experience it. Titus, Lalie, Aila, Armatzi, Maeve, Tatania, Sergius, and Veyda are all present and prepare themselves well for whatever it is they may encounter behind this brick barricade. They know it will be something terrible, based on the awful moaning they can hear coming from behind the wall. Sergius and Aila grab sledgehammers to bash through the brick while Armatzi casts prayer and Veyda casts bless. With each swing, the moaning and thrashing seem to intensify. The wall comes down to reveal a disgusting zombie and two ghasts. Quickly, Maeve dispenses the zombie with her axes. The ghast gives off a noxious and ghastly odor that effects Titus and makes him nauseated. Sergius is attacked physically by one of the remaining ghasts and is paralyzed. Lalie dodges an attack by the other and in turn swings on it with her holy mace, aptly named Grace. It is such an effective weapon against the evil ghast that one hit causes the creature to be destroyed in a puff of holy flame. What a display! Armatzi attempts to turn the remaining ghast, but is unsuccessful. Tatania blasts it with her unerring magic missiles. Maeve attempts to hit it with a dart, but strikes Sergius by mistake! Feeling terrible, she retreats from throwing missile weapons. Lalie moves in with Grace and deftly dispatches the ghast in another burst of holy flame. Armatzi heals Sergius of his paralysis and the party moves on.

Niki and Dwerom join the group. The party seems somewhat aimless and meanders around into places that some swear they have already explored. They encounter a worship room with a stature of Nerul (ugh) and another room that had once held a plinth dedicated to Polis, but is now nothing but blackened and shattered debris (oh dear). Maeve points out a room she wants to explore. It is in disrepair with crumbling walls. The group does not move fast enough, and a large chunk of ceiling collapses. All of the party sustain some damage, but Maeve is completely crushed and loses consciousness. She is revived by the healers of the group, but begins to act strangely. She is babbling incoherently and has a wild look in her eyes. The party tries to question her about her behavior, but Maeve becomes very defensive and shuts them down. Nobody in the group has a good handle on what her typical behavior is, so they chalk it up to her being a little odd (she is wearing the motley clothing of a jester, after all). 

The group next encounters an archway dripping with ooze. They discuss how best to navigate the situation when Lalie just goes for it. She gets a little slime on her arm, but is not negatively affected in any way that anyone can perceive. So, the rest of the team walks through with some getting "slimed" and some coming out clean. Regardless, there is no harm done to anyone. Lalie pauses and detects evil coming from behind two closed doors, one to the right and one to the left. The party forms a plan to hide out in two rooms further up the hall and send one person to draw out whatever is in the rooms back so that they will be forced through the bottlenecks of the doors, as there is insufficient room to battle more than two across in the hallway. The flaw in the plan is that Lalie volunteers herself as the "bait" to draw out the creatures. She is clad in heavy armor and therefore moves quite slowly. The folly of the plan becomes apparent when the doors burst open and Lalie is met by a horde of evil undead. She attempts to draw them back to the rooms where the rest of the group lies in wait, but is quickly overtaken by the swift moving creatures. She raises a cry and the adventurers move out to assist, only to see her paralyzed and killed. Their initial plans scuttled, the brave band engages with the evil undead horde. Will they rise to the occasion and avenge brave and righteous Lalie? We shall see!

Your faithful storyteller,

Vilma

Session 222: Charity and Kindness

It happened again. Sometimes it happens multiple times a day. Sometimes days or even weeks pass without it happening. But every time, it is the same. For me, it's not unlike the sensation of falling asleep, this strange power I have been given. The noises around me dampen, my attention drifts, then I fall into a reverie and see a scene before my eyes, the exploits of our dear Saviors of Orlane! It is so real: I can smell odors, hear sounds, sometimes even taste flavors! I have been told that my appearance looks odd to observers. My head lops to the side slightly, my mouth droops a little, and my eyes slip out of focus then go completely white. I don't know which deity has bestowed me with this gift, only that it feels divine and important to share what I see. So I retell it to any who will listen. Such as yourself...

Although our heroes are far away in the city of Hochoch, I can still see their goings on (even when they are not very exciting). I perceive Armatzi, Niki, Lalie, Titus, Lhoss, and Gnorcia. They are buying fancy food and drink for their treasure guard, Myr. Myr is a funny little creature. I have come in contact with him only a couple of times, but he is shrewd and all business. Finished with their business in town, Armatzi, Niki, Lalie, and Titus head out for Orlane (after Titus purchases a horse to ride out on). Lhoss and Gnorcia stay behind to train in their chosen specialties. 

Along the road back to us in Orlane, the party happens upon a group of downtrodden refugees. They are fleeing after a giant attack in Geoff. The poor dears ask to be accompanied on their journey to Ironguard Mott. The gracious and generous Saviors of Orlane oblige and then show themselves to be true heroes. Titus notices a man with a broken leg and cures it. The man is much relieved and quite thankful. Armatzi casts a spell to create food for all of the weary travelers and Tatania offers them some dried fruit from her stock. They all accept and eat their fill. Armatzi then offers a gold piece to each adult in the party which causes the grateful crowd to burst into hymns of St. Cuthbert. Tatania offers a glass bead to each child. Their spirits bolstered, the remainder of the journey passes with much more optimism that had been felt before encountering this benevolent group.

Back in Orlane, the group decides to venture out to that old place of death and danger: the barrowmaze. Upon departure, they are joined by two new party members, Maeve and Vayda. This group is a mix of seasoned and inexperienced adventurers. What horrors await them?

Midway through the Dim Forest, the group hears the distinct sound of footsteps. Not those of an animal or a large troop of people, but a disturbance in the brush from... who can say what? Lalie is able to detect evil at any time, simply by concentrating. And by Jove, she detects evil in this place. The sound of movement comes and goes. Lalie is determined to investigate, so she moves in the direction of where she senses the evil. Overhead, some branches break from their trees and ooze off. Lalie feels a wave of nausea at the sight. She momentarily loses her balance and drifts to the side, attempting to catch herself on the trunk of a tree. Instead of a solid tree to brace against, Lalie's hand pushes through into a rotten center. She pulls her hand out to find it covered in writhing maggots. Absolutely horrified and disgusted, Lalie shakes off the insects and rejoins the crew. She directs them to leave this place and move on to the barrowmaze.

Seasoned party members direct the newcomers to an entrance, but make no effort to show anyone how to solve the little puzzle that would allow entry. Maeve is a curious little jester and steps to the front. With a little manipulation of a prominent skeleton head, she reveals a staircase. After some walking, the group encounters a bricked off wall with loud moaning behind it. Lalie, the righteous cavalier, is determined to bash down the wall and face whatever is behind it!

The vision departs and my normal sight returns. I will go about the rest of my day, but I shall forever be your faithful storyteller, 

Vilma

Session 221: Whispers from the Hearth: The Light and the Soot

Day 6 - 7 Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ’round, if your boots aren't too muddy and your ears aren't too full of the winter wind. Old Vilma has seen the shadows lengthening over Orlane, and oh, how the "watchful and strained" air of our little village ripples when the restless ones pass through.

The high-and-mighty ones have moved on, their horses’ breath steaming in the sharp morning light as they rode for Hochoch. But before they left, there was quite the stir at the Slumbering Serpent. The new one—the Paladin, Lalie, refused to share a roof with the "Fearsome Five". She says she detected a foulness in them, an evil that would not let her sleep. She’d rather tuck into the Golden Grain than breathe the same air as a black soul, and so she moved her retinue in the dead of Sunsebb.

They’ve reached the stone walls of Hochoch now, a place that feels stable, though perhaps just as strained in its own way. They’ve been frequenting the Green Dragon, where the floors are swept but the eyes are just as guarded.  

But listen to what the birds tell me about the Temple of St. Cuthbert! Rosalind Greenshield, the High Priestess, nearly wept to see what Lalie carried in her hands. A relic lost to the records—a mace of disruption pulled from the "Barrowmaze". It’s a terrifying thing, blessed to blast the walking dead into nothingness with a single strike. The heavens seem to be arming their soldiers, for the paladin was told to wield it and smite the unrighteous.

Yet, where there is brilliant light, there is always soot. Armatzi, that cleric who usually knows better, has draped himself in darkness. He wears cursed plate mail now, a black skin imbued by necromancers. The Priestess says it’s a magnet for the enemy — that the dead can see him through it, like a beacon in the night. He’s walking a narrow bridge, that one, needing to slay twenty "enemies of the cloth" just to atone for his vanity in putting on a suit of mail without asking the stars what it was first.

And then there is the fire. Lhoss has laid claim to a staff that once belonged to a pyromancer named Pinto. It’s a hungry thing, filled with fifty-three charges of "burning hands" and "continual flames". It even tastes of gold — requiring a heavy price in coins and materials just to keep its fire fed. 

The party grows heavy with treasures — rings of protection and books of fire. But even as they sharpen their steel in Hochoch, the Barrowmarsh still thins its needles and peels its bark, waiting for the corruption to spread. 

Be careful, travelers. A mace may break a bone, and a staff may light a fire, but the shadows of the maze have long memories. Now, leave an old woman to her tea. The fire is getting low, and the wind is starting to howl.

Session 220: A Hazy View from the Bottom of a Cider Glass

Day 6 Sunsebb CY 576

The wood smoke is thick tonight, and the smell of hearth-fire almost—almost—drowns out the lingering stench of the Barrow Marsh that clings to those poor souls who just wandered back into Orlane. I was just resting my eyes over a nice glass of cider when the door creaked open, bringing in a chill and the sort of stories that make an old woman’s head spin.

You should have seen them. Feno the elf looking like he’d seen a ghost (or at least a very angry statue), and that new Paladin, Laile, standing so tall you’d think she hadn't just spent the day wading through muck. They tell me they found a room in that wretched maze that smelled so putrid the whole lot of them lost their lunch—except for the little gnome Gnorcia and a few others with stronger stomachs. They even met a goblin in a gas mask acting like a polite construction worker! "Off limits," he says. Imagine that! A goblin with a union card.

They should have listened to the walls, though. They found a message scrawled in common: "Don't go on!" But do adventurers ever listen? No, they tossed a coin—or a poll, or some such nonsense—and marched right into a ceiling collapse that sealed the way behind them.

The most delicious part of the tale, if you ask me, involves the "Barbecue Room". Poor Lhoss tried to spider-climb her way to a treasure chest after a 10-foot pole turned to ash in a burst of magical flame. There was a metal cobra hiding in a box, clicking and hissing like a clockwork nightmare. It bit Lhoss, and she went all convulsive and foamy at the mouth. That’s when things got truly odd—Feno decided to use Gnorcia as a literal projectile, tossing the gnome across the room in a "Wolverine toss" to deliver the cure! Gnorcia took a bit of a singeing, but she’s a tough one.

They came back with a radiant mace of St. Cuthbert, silver-bright and etched with holy sigils. It’s a fine thing, though I hear the Paladin and the others are already bickering over whether to give it to the church or keep it for "justice".

But mark my words, the air in Orlane is getting heavy again. While Feno and Lhoss are busy splitting a bottle of expensive Elven wine and trying to forget the smell of burning hair, there’s trouble brewing at the Slumbering Serpent. A group called the Fearsome Five has rolled into town, and Lalie says she smells evil on one of them.

The cider is tart, the fire is dying, and the "shifty" folk are gathered just down the road. I think I’ll stay right here at my table. It’s much safer to tell the stories than to be in them—especially when people start throwing gnomes.

Stay odd, Orlane.

— Vilma

Session 219: A Tale of Scented Silk and Sour Stomachs

 Day 6 Sunsebb CY 576

Gather 'round, children of Orlane, and listen to old Vilma, for the air is heavy with more than just the usual winter chill. I watched them depart the inn at 9:00 this morning, a motley crew if ever I saw one, led by a new "Lady Lordship" named Leila. Now, this Leila, she’s practically royalty, they say, with hairs and curls and a monthly bill of a thousand gold pieces just to keep her "slumming it" lifestyle afloat. She brought along a young cleric named Aila, only eighteen and slight as a reed, and a squire named Colette Beaumont, who stayed behind to mind the horses and that fancy jousting armor.

But mark my words, the land itself is weeping. As they marched toward the Dim Forest, the elves among them saw what I’ve felt in my bones: rapid deterioration. The trees are rotting, the evergreens are shedding their needles, and even the woodland beasts have fled. It’s a grim, overcast day, and the forest feels like it’s exhaling a slow, chill breath of resentment.

They reached the Barrow Marsh, a place of wet earth and old rot, and ducked into the darkness of the Barrow Maze. It wasn't all just shadows and gloom, though. Deep inside, they found a room of roaring flames and geysers of fire—the burial place of Pinto the Pyromancer. While the others stood tentative, afraid of being burned to a crisp, the elf Lhoss took a leap of faith. With a spell of protection and also levitation, and some magical gloves, she crawled along the walls like a spider while fire erupted around her.

She reached a sarcophagus decorated in beautiful, enchanted flames and, after surviving a glyph of warding that scorched the air, she found the treasures. A ring with a ruby, a staff colored with flames, and a mysterious book. She was wise enough not to open that book, mind you—I reckon she remembers that nasty business with Tatania.

But the heroes’ glory didn’t last long. They moved to a door of wood and iron, and when they pried it open, a horrible stench billowed out, worse than a month-old corpse in a summer drought. It was enough to reset anyone’s "vomit clock". Poor Leila, for all her royal breeding, was the first to puke all over the floor, and a chain reaction followed until nearly the whole lot of them were losing their breakfast. Only Nikki and Dwerom seemed to have the stomach for such a foul odor.

So, they sit there now in the dark, clutching their new magical baubles and heaving their rations. Whether those treasures are greatly cursed or greatly blessed, only the next turn of the moon will tell. But for now, Orlane remains quiet, and I’ll just keep my eyes on the shifting mists.

Sessions 218: More ruminations in the barrows

Day 5 - 6 of Sunsebb CY 576

Greetings from the hearth of the Foaming Mug Inn, where the shadows dance a little longer and the ale tastes of ancient dust. I am Vilma, and if you’ll lend me your ear—and perhaps buy me a pint—I’ll tell you of the Saviors of Orlane and their recent crawl through the damp, dark heart of the Barrowmaze.

It was just the fifth day of Sunset when this motley lot—Feno the elven fighter, Arnd the dwarven hammer-swinger, Gnorcia and Chiki (a pair of gnomes with more tricks than a wizard’s sleeve), Lhoss the high elven thief, and Nikki, our half-wood-elf druid—descended into the deep. They began by silencing a vile greater crypt shade that spoke in tongues too dark for honest ears. After the shade was put to rest, they spent hours sweeping through no fewer than eighty burial alcoves. Most were empty or filled with the crumbs of the poor, but inside a heavy granite sarcophagus, they discovered a black metal coffer brimming with 200 pieces of gleaming platinum and a mysterious green vial.

But the maze does not give up its treasures without a price. They stumbled upon a tomb sealed with stone and ancient runes, the final resting place of Rathgar, a fabled ranger hero of the Northern Reaches. While they left the hero to his peace, they were not so kind to the nine necromancers of Set they encountered further in. The air turned cold with the chanting of those dark priests, but the Saviors were faster. Once the necromancers were dispatched, the party saw fit to sever their heads and dump the remains into a nearby pit, claiming their runed daggers as trophies of the deed.

The true horror, however, came in the form of the Sons of Chaos—shambling, rotting things infested with rock grubs. A magical fear gripped the group, sending even the sturdiest fighters cowering into the corners. Poor little Chiki found himself fighting for his life as the disgusting worms burrowed into his very flesh, forcing him to dig them out with his own blade. They only survived by discovering the creatures' weakness: fire and holy water. The Saviors watched as the monsters popped and sizzled like grease on a hot griddle.

Before they beat a retreat back to the safety of Orlane, they caught a glimpse of a chamber that looked like a nightmare from the planes themselves: a pit of intense fire shooting geysers of flame toward the ceiling. They wisely chose to return to the inn to lick their wounds and clean the slime and worm remnants from their armor.

So, here they sit tonight, weary and mud-stained, while I tell their tale. They’ve already been to see Alan Clayborn to hunt for the missing mayor and are busy having their staves nickel-plated at the blacksmith. The Maze is still waiting for them, and the fires of that deep pit are still burning. Sleep well, Saviors, for the barrows never truly rest.

Session 217: The Orlane Oracle: Shadows, Stones, and Greasy Bread

 Day 4-5 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ‘round, you wandering souls and tavern-sitters, for Vilma has seen the weary lot return once more! It was the afternoon of Sunsebb 4, when our local band of brave (or perhaps just lucky) souls faced the crushing weight of fate—specifically, a five foot diameter boulder that came barreling down a staircase. While most of them flew down the stairs like nimble elves to escape, poor Arnd, Armatzi, and Dwerom took a bit of a thumping. But the real tragedy, the one that brings a tear to an old woman’s eye, was the loss of the fishbowl and its resident carp during the chaos.

They’ve brought back more than just bruises, though. Young Armatzi has gone and draped himself in some unidentified black plate mail they found, a suit made for a human frame that he simply couldn't wait to test in battle. The rest of the lot—including that quick-eyed Feno and the ever-watchful Lhoss—spent their time poking and prodding at doors in the Crypt of Mahle Royc. Poor Chiki, that impulsive gnome, went racing down a hallway only to find himself at the bottom of a ten-foot pit. Luckily, it was a dry tumble with no spikes, just a bit of a jar to his dignity.

They didn't come crawling back to the Foamimg Mug Inn until nearly half-past ten at night, well after the kitchen had gone cold. Florin took pity on their haggard faces, though, and served up some complimentary bread with a bit of grease and butter—chicken fat. They didn't linger long in their cups, heading back out into the cold overcast morning by eight o'clock to return to the Barrow Marsh.

The woods are not kind these days. On their way, a glowing phantom was spotted lurking behind a large oak in the Dim Forest, though it vanished before Gnorcia could get a good look at it. They pushed on to a new entrance, a burial mound where a statue of Nerull lies defaced and toppled on its side.

Down in the dark, where the temperature dropped to a bone-chilling 20 degrees, they met a murmuring shade speaking in the black tongue. It was a short-lived haunting, however; between Feno’s holy water, Dwerom’s magic missiles, and the heavy strike of Arnd’s hammer, the creature was sent back to the void. Now they stand in a chamber of sarcophagi and burial alcoves waiting to see what else the darkness holds.

Keep your torches lit and your ears open, Orlane—there are secrets within secrets in those marshes.

Session 216: A Ball Trap

Day 4 of Sunsebb CY 576

Sit down, sit down, my dearies, and let old Vilma tell you what the wind whispered to her from the Barrowmaze on that cold Sunsebb afternoon. Our scrappy lot of wanderers — Dwerom, Niki the elf, Arnd, Gnorcia, Chiki the gnome, Armatzi, and Kyro found themselves deep in the muck and ancient stone.

They’ve been poking around things best left alone, I’d say, like that vial of blue liquid and a runic tablet they snatched up before a shrouded horror lunged at them from the dark. They spent quite some time scrubbing their boots of a peculiar-smelling muck in a room full of mossy, broken statues. Eventually, they climbed a staircase into a room where a statue of the god Nerull had been defaced, its face scratched out and covered in crude, incomprehensible sigils.

They even popped their heads out into the Barrow Marsh, discovering a new entrance, where the tall grass dies in the winter chill. Kyro thought the whole marsh looked like a "Scooby-Doo ghost" from above — whatever in the world that is! But the entry room the came from wasn't empty; five ravenous zombies followed them up from the depths, their eyes full of "ravenous glee" as they smelled blood. Armatzi’s gauntlet glowed with holy light to sear them, while Arnd threw his hammer. Armatzi was also using his new mace - I believe he calls it Margaret now—to crack their skulls.

But the real trouble, the delicious trouble, came later when they found a staircase of polished black basalt leading to a door: the Crypt of Mahle Royc. Above the door, the ancient words said: "Knock and pull to enter". There was some discussion, and Gnorcia examined the door carefully, and detected that there was a trap, and that it had something to with the number of knocks on the door. After much discussion, they knocked once, then pulled the ring, and — BOOM—the ceiling birthed a giant stone ball that came crashing down!

Oh, the chaos! They ran like mice, dancing and Armatzi was chanting as the boulder thundered behind them. Most escaped with their skins, but three - Arnd, Armatzi, and Dwerom - were crushed (not fatally) but their packs? Disaster! Five flasks of oil shattered, a precious healing potion was lost to the stone, and a bone case holding a scroll of "Animate Dead" was crushed into shards. But the saddest part—and let Vilma weep for this—were the six dead carp. Poor little fishies, their bowl was crushed on the stairs. A funeral in a crypt seems fitting, don't you think?

In the end, though, the brave (and very oily) souls found their prize inside a sarcophagus: the remains of a human clad in magical black plate mail. It’s a strange, light thing—weighs only 3 pounds and lets a man run as fast as if he were wearing common clothes.

They’re safe for now, resting their bruised bones, but the maze still has that faint, echoing cackle waiting for them in the dark. Keep your torches lit, travelers, and try not to get flattened by any more garden decor!

Session 215: The Whispers of the Barrowmarsh: A Tale of Shadows and Cinnamon

Day 4 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ‘round, ye restless souls of Orlane, for the winds of Sunsebb are blowing cold this year, and the tales coming out of the Barrowmarsh are enough to turn your milk sour. It is but the fourth day of the month, yet the air is thick with the smell of old stone and even older secrets. Our band of wanderers — you know the ones, that lot with the clanking armor and the plant that’s seen better days — have descended once more into the entry tomb.

They say poor Armatzi went looking for a bit of peace in the sanctuary of St. Cuthbert, but the maze has a way of eating peace for breakfast. He found only vile runes and gore, a place where the light had been squashed by a malice so thick it felt like a "pointy-haired boss" breathing down his neck. The poor lad took a literal beating from the air itself, slammed against the walls by an invisible rebuke that didn't care much for his prayers. It seems the Tablet of Chaos is still casting its long, wicked shadow over everything down there.

As they pushed deeper, they spoke of memories as holes as large as the ones in the floors — bless them, they can hardly remember what they did a month ago, let alone a year! They marched past dancing shadow figures, only a foot tall, shuffling on the walls like something out of a fever dream. Through the creaking of heavy portcullises and the flickering of guttering candles, they found their way by the grace of a burned scrap of parchment — a map to nowhere that led them right where they needed to be.

And oh, the things they find! Behind a hidden catch in the wall lay a room smelling of stale death, though some say there was a hint of cinnamon in the air. There was a blue liquid — magical, of course, because nothing in that maze is just a refreshing drink — and a runic tablet that holds the power of the Sepia Snake Sigil. Imagine, a serpent of amber force just waiting to freeze a body in time!

But the maze never gives a gift without a bite. When Gnorcia lifted a burial shroud, a zombie-like creature decided it was time for a jump-scare. It didn’t last long, though. Between the arrows and Chiki's "toffee blade"—named for a love of English toffee, if you can believe such a thing—the creature was nothing but dust before the echoes of its own screech had faded.

They rest now in the "room of the cursed dad," or so I’ve heard it called. What they’ll find when they wake, only the crows know. But keep your doors barred, Orlane. The maze is waking up, and it’s got a very long memory, even if our "heroes" don't

Session 214: A Winter’s Tale of Cheese and Gold

Day 3 - 4 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather 'round the hearth, you weary travelers and local folk! The frost is biting deep into the eaves of Orlane tonight, but the air in the inn is thick with the scent of adventure and something... well, something quite pungent.

The Stink of Success: Our brave band of wanderers—you know them: the stern wood elf Feno, sturdy Armatzi with his holy symbols, the sneaky gnomes Gnorcia and Chiki, and the rest—have returned from the cold clutches of Iron Guard Motte. They didn’t come back empty-handed, oh no. They carried a special request for their guardian, that toothy chest Myr who keeps watch over their treasures here in Orlane. They brought him a great wheel of limber burger cheese! Mir was so delighted he sliced it up right there with his own fork and plate, though I wouldn't suggest a taste unless you’ve a very strong stomach.

Glimmer and Gold While in the Mott: the party spent their time counting coins and haggling over gems. I heard tales of a golden crown worth five hundred pieces of gold and an ivory comb that would make a queen weep. And remember those funerary urns Gnorcia insisted on dragging across the countryside? Everyone laughed, but the joke is on them—they fetched a tidy sum of over four hundred gold pieces!

Even the holy ones have been busy. Armatzi nearly let a gold symbol of St. Cuthbert go for scrap before deciding to buy it back himself to keep his god happy. He’s also found a scroll to animate the dead, claiming he’ll make "good" skeletons with happy smiley faces. We shall see what the heavens think of that.

A Turtle and His Hound: Now, the strangest sight of all is young Chiki. They call him "The Turtle," though he’s a gnome and has no shell to speak of. Perhaps he’s just slow of mind, or perhaps it’s an illusion. He’s no longer walking, though! He’s purchased a great beast of a dog—a German Shepherd named Crackle. Watching a gnome ride a dog across the winter mud is a sight that could cure the gloom of any season.

The Shadows in the Trees: But take heed, neighbors. As the party rode back through the Dim Forest, they felt a malice. The forest is dying, a dark presence creeping out from the Burial Marsh like a cold fog. They say the very creatures of the woods are frightful and disturbed.

Plans of Glass and Stone: Before they head back into the mists of the marsh, Nikki has sent a runner, Edric Vale, all the way to Hochoch. They’re looking for stone masons and glass-workers to build a greenhouse right here in our village. Imagine that! Growing things while the world freezes outside.

So, drink your ale and stay close to the fire. The vaults are full at the Temple of Merikka, the gold is being traded for platinum, and the dead are waiting in the marsh for their next visitors.

Until the next tale is spun, Vilma

Session 213: Iron Guard Motte

The Chronicles of the Crooked Spindle By Vilma of Orlane - Day 2 - 3 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ‘round, you weary travelers and moth-eaten scholars! Old Vilma has a tale that’s fresher than a winter frost and twice as biting. Our very own "Saviors of Orlane" have traded the damp gloom of the Barrel Marsh for the stiff-necked cobblestones of Iron Guard Motte.

They rode out at high noon, leaving behind the graves of companions to trek through the Dim Forest. But oh, the forest isn't what it used to be. It’s a dying thing, twisted and rot-touched by some fell, undead force that makes the very trees grow crooked as a crone’s finger. The birds have fled, and even the rabbits are gunshy—though I hear those elven folk felt the corruption right in their marrow.

When they finally popped out of the woods, they met the high walls of Iron Guard Mott—a place of wooden palisades and men-at-arms who look at a cheerful wave with more suspicion than a cat at a dog show. Before they could even tuck into a warm meal, they were hauled before the authorities and a man of the cloth to endure a "sooth tell"—a truth-telling spell to ensure they weren't just a pack of brigands in hero’s clothing.

And the laws! Gods preserve us from "structured" towns. In the Mott, you can’t even be "too silly"—meaning no dunking yourself in the town well—without risking a run-in with the law. They even tax the air you breathe—or at least any loot you're hoping to sell! Still, the city bigwigs gave them each an electrum medallion for their service to Orlane, though the things are enchanted so you can't go swapping them for ale money.

The party spent their time hobnobbing with the pious. They visited Frier Fergus at the Temple of St. Cuthbert, who was busy worrying about necromancers and ancient "Tablets of Chaos" hiding in the marsh. Then it was off to see Brother Titus at the Temple of Heironius—a man so handsome he’d make an elf double-take—who gifted them a scroll to remove curses.

But the real comedy, my dears, was the return of Chiki. He wandered back into the fold with his chicken, though I suspect the bird has more sense than he does. While the "sensible" heroes stayed at the Leaky Barrel, where the walls are clean and the guards are plenty, Chiki insisted on the Black Dragon—a seedier den of iniquity you’ll never find. He woke up nineteen gold pieces lighter for his trouble! Serves him right for sleeping in a room where the mice probably outnumber the blankets.

Before they rode back to us, they made sure to secure a ten-pound wheel of Limburger cheese for that greedy Myr. I can smell it from here! They’ll be back in Orlane soon enough, three-and-a-half hours by horseback, provided they don’t stop to argue with any more jewelers about tariffs.

Keep your hearths warm and your purses tucked tight—the Saviors are coming home.

— V.

Session 212: Frozen Sighs and Spectral Goodbyes

The Crone’s Chronicle: Day 1 - 2 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ‘round, if you can stand the biting winter air. It’s the first of Sunsebb, and the ground here in Orlane is as frozen as a miser's heart. You can see your own breath hanging in the pale sunlight like little ghosts trying to escape your lungs.

The village has been quite a theater lately. Our local band of "heroes" has been loitering at the merchants' stalls, haggling over baubles and trying to make sense of the junk they drag out of the dirt. I watched them whispering with that mysterious woman who identifies their treasures. She’s a sharp one—won’t use her own magic, oh no, she reads it all from scrolls, which is likely why she charges them enough platinum to make a king weep.

Speaking of weeping, poor Sergius has been out in the chill, training his dwarven bones until they probably rattle. He won’t be fit for anything but a warm hearth until at least the 8th of Sunsebb. Meanwhile, Gnorcia is busy scribbling away at her own book—The Book of Gnorcia, she calls it. I suppose if you don’t write your own legend, the crows will just pick it apart.

The real gossip, though, is what happened out at the Barrow Marsh. The party finally decided to do right by Sirius, who met her end some time ago. They hauled her poor, desiccated body—strapped to a horse, mind you—out to the burial place of Adelbertus. But the dead don’t always like company. A spectral dead rose from the mist, moving faster than a rumor.

It was quite the scuffle. Armatzi gave it a thumping with a newly identified mace they're calling "Skull Crusher". Gnorcia finished it off with a "stabby stab" that sent the spirit back to the ether. They eventually got Sirius into a crypt, though it cost them 50 gold pieces and a five-minute invocation to Saint Cuthbert to make sure she stays put.

What’s next for our wandering souls? They’re eyeing Iron Guard Mott. Is it for glory? For justice? No, it seems they’re going for cheese. Myr has a craving for a wheel of stinky Limburger from the north. Imagine facing down the spectral dead just to end up smelling like a foot!

In the meantime, Nikki is prepping a greenhouse on the frozen ground, which seems a bit optimistic given the frost. And Dwerom has developed a "taste for carp" while playing with magic.

Some say I’m a trickster, or worse, a demon from the netherworld. But me? I just tell the stories. And in Orlane, the stories are getting as cold and strange as the weather.

Stay warm, if the shadows let you.

— Vilma

Session 211: Worms, Whining, and a Whole Lot of Oil

Day 28 of Ready'reat - Day 1 of Sunsebb CY 576

Gather ‘round, you tavern-sitters and ale-soakers! Old Vilma has a fresh tune to sing, and if it’s a bit off-key, well, so was the screaming of that Spectre when the rangers finally put a magic arrow through its cold heart.

Our local "heroes"—you know the lot: Feno the elven fighter, Arnd the brave dwarf, Gnorcia the gnome, and that strange druid-ranger Niki —stumbled back into Orlane last night, smelling like napalm and greasy ash. They’ve been slogging through the Barrowmaze in the marsh, and by the looks of their muddy boots, the marsh was winning for a while.

They tell a foul tale of sons of chaos, disgusting wiggling things filled with worms that close their wounds even as you hack at them. Apparently, when these horrors showed up, half the party decided it was a grand time for a terror-fueled jog out of the dungeon. Even Sergius and Lhoss were seen booking it, though they claim it was a "strategic retreat". I call it running until you’re halfway to the exit.

But don't you worry, the little gnome Gnorcia and the ones who didn't lose their lunch held the line. They turned those worm-men into flaming popcorn with flasks of oil while the spectre watched on, held back by the heat. I’ve been singing about it all night in the common room, even if Myr is more interested in when they’re finally going to buy him that feast he was promised.

They didn't come back empty-handed, though. They found a glittering pile of treasure and a noted a strange four-foot plug with a ring made of cold iron in the floor. There was even a poem in ancient Elvish about "three souls' sweet breath" and "keys from ghosts set free". Sounds like a lot of work just to open a hole in the floor if you ask me.

The strangest bit? They brought back a silver crown that turns out to be a cursed crown of forgetfulness. Anyone who puts it on wanders off in a stupor, forgetting who they are. I told them they should’ve let a certain sneaky thief try it on, but they decided to play it safe.

So, if you see Sergius looking a bit taller today, it’s because he finally learned how to swing that specialized axe of his without hitting his own toes—he’s a third-level fighter now, though it cost him nearly every coin he had to get the training.

Stay tuned, Orlane. As long as there’s treasure to be lugged and spectres to be scorched, Vilma will have a story—and perhaps another round of Waterale if someone’s buying!

Session 210: The Tragedy of Sirius

Day 28 of Ready'reat CY 576

Greetings from the Foaming Mug Inn, where the stew is thick, but the mystery surrounding our local "saviors" is thicker still. It is finally the 28th day of Ready'reat, a month that has felt as long as a century to those of us watching the shadows grow. If you happen to be passing through Orlane, do watch your step—the air is chilly, and the travelers currently resting their weary heads here are laden with enough treasure to sink a barge.

I sat in the corner during breakfast at 7:30 AM, watching them squabble over their breakfast orders and their mounting debts. Poor Sergius is already deeply in debt for a magical battle axe, a burden of 1,100 gold pieces that weighs heavier than the steel itself. But money is the least of their worries. I overheard them whispering of hirelings—torchbearers and pack handlers—to carry the weight of their greed while they delve into the stinky, messy Barrow Marsh.

The highlights of the day, if one can call them that, were quite peculiar:

• The Identification: There was a great deal of fuss over a magical mace. They had to go to such lengths—a live carp and an owl feather from a bird named Apollo—just to learn that the weapon glows when undead are within 90 feet.

• The Ancient Map: They visited the scholar with priestly robes and an ancient burial map of the barrows. The map speaks of a portal or trapdoor in the far western tomb, leading to levels below that no sane soul should wish to visit.

• The Tragedy of Sirius: The most bitter tale involves their comrade, Sirius. They found her in the marsh, but not as they left her. Her neck had been slit, and she had been raised as a horrible, moaning undead with glowing eyes and talons. Through a "Speak with Dead" spell, she whispered a name that chilled the blood: Nathalus the Despicable, the necromancer who performed the ceremony of her end.

The party has now returned to the Barrowmaze, leaving their gold under the watchful eye of Myr. They have most recently breached a door only to find three disgusting figures with worms crawling in and out of their skin. The air turned cold, a scream echoed, and as they say in the old stories, the real nightmare has only just begun.

Keep your doors barred and your holy water close, for the ravenous dead are not the only things stalking the woods of Orlane

Session 209: The Whispers of the Barrow and the Heavy Black Box

Day 27-28 of Ready'reat CY 576

Gather ‘round, if you’ve the stomach for it! Old Vilma has seen many seasons in Orlane, but the air has been thick with the scent of old dust and ancient death lately. Our local band of "adventurers"—those brave, foolhardy souls—returned from the barrel marsh on the 27th of Ready'reat, and the tales they brought back are enough to make your marrow turn to water.

They spent their time in a dank, messy chamber where they slew eleven bloodthirsty spiders. Those nasty things turn on their own kind the moment blood is spilled, but our heroes stood firm. In the webs, they found more than just sticky strands; they pulled out a horde of 464 gold pieces, a fire opal, and even an exquisite ivory comb. There was also a map fragment, though what it leads to, only the gods—and perhaps a very patient librarian—know.

But the darkness runs deeper than spiders. They opened a door and were met by shadows. It was Kyro who proved the hero of that skirmish, his magic arrows flying true until every last shadow was destroyed. They thought the tomb was done, but as I always say, the dead are quite possessive of their silence.

Further in, they faced the mummies. Oh, the stench of old death flooded the chamber! The battle was fierce, and young Feno and Sergius felt the "dreaded mummy rot" creeping into their very bones. They started speaking in strange tongues—I heard poor Sergius couldn't even spell "potato" for a moment there. Luckily, Armatzi was there with his holy spells to cure the rot before their bones "quailed". Even little Gnorcia—would you believe it?—managed to land a backstab on one of those linen-wrapped horrors.

The prize for all this suffering? A massive obsidian coffer. It weighed some 210 pounds, a "tungsten cube" of a thing that nearly broke their backs carrying it back to Orlane. They brought it right into the Foaming Mug, where the food is finally starting to taste like food again—praise the chickens!

The next morning, the 28th of Ready'reat, they gathered in a private room to pick the coffer’s lock. It was trapped, of course. A poison needle pricked poor Lhoss, but she’s a tough one and shook it off. Inside was a king’s ransom: 1,848 gold pieces, enough to give each of them a heavy purse of 264 gold. They also found a glowing magical mace and some ancient priestly robes that haven't rotted away despite the centuries.

Now, Feno and Arnd are over at the barracks, talking to Constable Grover about training with the militia. Feno’s got it in his head to be Sheriff one day, and he wants our town to have stone walls instead of wood.

Bless their hearts. They’re getting stronger, especially young Sergius, who’s reached his "third level" of martial prowess. But as long as there are doors to be thrown open and mummies to be woken, old Vilma will have stories to tell. Just remember: if you see a heavy black box, maybe don't touch the lock.

Session 208: The Storyteller’s Stupor: Whispers from the Foaming Mug

Day 25 - 27 of Ready'reat CY 576

Gather 'round, or just lean in—my head is a bit like a drum today, and the light in Orlane is far too bright for a woman of my years who has enjoyed a few too many mugs of the good stuff. I was resting my eyes—passed out at the table, some might say—while the "Saviors of Orlane" stomped back into the inn, smelling of damp earth and the chill of the wilderness.

A Numb Arm and a Heavy Price: The poor dwarf, Sergius, came back with a shield arm gone all numb after their brush with the vile undead. They took him up to the Temple of Merikka, to see Misha Devi. It seems our Sergius is a follower of Dumathoin (just revealed) the keeper of secrets under the mountain, but secrets don’t pay the tithe! Misha asked for a "donation" of 350 gold pieces to fix that arm, and the poor lad only had a handful of silver and copper to his name.

The Girl Disfavored by the Goddess: But the real juice of the night wasn't the ale; it was that girl, Sirius. Misha Devi looked at her like she was a patch of black mold in a grain store. She told the group privately that Sirius is "disfavored by Merikka" and certainly no friend to the temple. There was a lot of whispering under the trees afterward. Sirius claims she’s loyal to the group, but she's got a temper as sharp as a barrow-blade and a hood she keeps pulled low to avoid the goddess’s eyes.

A Disappearing Act: By the time the sun crawled up the next morning, Sirius had vanished! The group went knocking on doors, only to find her room disheveled and her person long gone, even though she’d paid for the next few days. At least that scholar, Elowin, was still tucked away in his room, muffling his voice and claiming he was "studying" that ancient holy symbol they found. He’s a bit of a "nerdlinger," as the others say—always hiding in the back while the others do the hacking.

The Bouncer’s Grocery List: Before the group headed back to the barrow to face whatever else is lurking in the dark, they made a deal with our local bouncer, Myr. If you want a creature to guard your bags of gold while you're off playing hero, you'd better be prepared to pay in more than coin. Myr has quite the palate! He’s demanding river eel jerky, pickled wild leeks, and that thick dwarven brandy root from the Gran March. He even wants "contraband" cheese wheels aged in stone caves. A guard who eats better than the Mayor—that’s Orlane for you!

Spiders and Skulls: The lot of them have trekked back to the marsh now. I heard tell they stumbled into a nest of spiders—nasty things with white markings like skulls on their backs. Eleven of the leggy horrors! They say the spiders started eating their own kind as soon as they fell.

The world is a strange place, and the barrows are stranger still. But as long as the ale flows and the travelers keep bringing back stories, old Vilma will be here to tell them... once the spinning in my head stops.

Session 207: Vilma’s Whispers from the Shadows of Orlane

Day 25 of Ready'reat CY 576

Gather ‘round, if you dare, but mind the mud on your boots—I’ve just finished sweeping. The wind is biting tonight, as it should be on the 25th day of Ready'reat, and there is a smell in the air that wasn’t there this morning. It’s the smell of old dust, scorched bone, and the sort of luck that leaves a man’s arm feeling like a dead fish.

Our "heroes" have returned to Orlane, arriving just as the sun dipped low. They look as if they’ve been through a meat grinder, and frankly, some of them nearly were. They’ve been out at the barrows, poking things that were meant to stay quiet. I heard tell of funeral pyre zombies that don’t just walk—they pop and burst into flames the moment you strike them. One moment you’re swinging a sword, and the next, you’re covered in "exploding bone bits" and fire.

Poor Sergius—that brave, stubborn dwarf—found himself at the center of the heat. He was mauled by Ravenous Dead and scorched by the pyres until he was nearly a ghost himself, falling to the ground at minus eight hit points. He’s back on his feet now, thanks to Armatzi’s healing, but the price was steep. His left arm is numb and unreliable now, with a nasty habit of fumbling just when he needs it most. And Sirius, that poor soul, was touched by a Wraith; she’s lost more than just her strength—she’s got an infection and a weariness that reaches into her very spirit.

But oh, the things they brought back! My eyes aren't what they used to be, but I saw them lugging bags heavy enough to break a mule’s back—hundreds of pounds of gold, silver, and platinum. They found sapphires blue as a frozen lake and a shield etched with ghostly runes. There was a stick, too—only twelve inches long with blunt silver ends—and a holy symbol so ancient that even the scholar Elowin could only guess at its lost deity.

I watched Kyro from the corner of my eye; that one has a bow that speaks like the wind, slaying Wraiths and Shadows with arrows that never seem to miss their mark. And Gnorcia, quiet as a heartbeat, letting her dagger "Vengeance" do the talking in the dark.

They’re safe in the inn now, counting their coins and bandaging their wounds, but the shadows they fought followed them home. They even brought back funerary urns made of porcelain—fragile things to hold the ashes of the forgotten.

Sleep with one eye open, Orlane. When the dead start exploding and the survivors come home with "sleeping" limbs, the night is only just beginning.

Session 206: Battle at the old tomb

Day 25 of Ready'reat CY 576

Sit a spell, dearie, and listen to old Vilma. The shadows in the Barrowmarsh have been restless lately, and the whispers coming back to Orlane are enough to make your hair stand on end. A band of adventurers—you know the sort, half-brave and half-baffled—found themselves in the thick of it, wrestling with things that should have stayed buried.

It was a cluttered, rotting mess down there. The air turned thick enough to chew, thanks to the foul stench of a ghast that left even the sturdiest elves gagging and clutching their stomachs. Poor Sergius, a stout dwarf if I ever saw one, found himself frozen stiff by a ghoul’s touch, then later soured by a huecava's poison. He had to gulp down a potion of neutralized poison just to keep his knees from buckling.

But oh, the magic! Armatzi, a cleric of no small power, appeared on the field as if the gods themselves had dropped him there. With one flash of his holy symbol, he sent a horde of ghouls and juju zombies fleeing into the dark, though they got themselves all bottlenecked at the door like sheep in a narrow chute. He even pulled the paralysis right out of the others bones, though the shorter folk seemed to have a particularly hard time of it.

And that Gnorcia! A slip of a thing, really, but she has the heart of a mountain lion. She was seen leaping onto the back of a huecava, trying to drive her blade home while the beast flailed about. While she was playing rodeo with the undead, Kyro was busy being a sharpshooter, pinning those juju zombies to the shadows with arrows that bit deep.

The tomb itself is a puzzle of sinking doors and shifting shadows. Little Gnorcia—bless her sneaky heart—crept ahead while invisible to the dead and saw a glittering pile of treasure to the north. But don't you go dreaming of gold just yet; she also spotted big, scary zombies lurking in the alcoves, waiting for a fresh meal to walk through those strange doors that sink right into the ground.

The battle isn't over, not by a long shot. They’ve cleared the entryway, but there are more zombies stirring and doors bursting open, revealing even more horrors. It’s like a scene from those old tales—an army of darkness rising to meet the living.

Vilma will keep her ears to the ground. If you’re heading out that way, mind the pressure plates and keep your blessings close. The dead don’t like visitors, and they certainly don’t like to share their glitter.

Session 205: The Strange Whispers of Orlane: Frost, Fish Burps, and the Glass House

Day 25 Ready'reat CY 576

Gather 'round, if you’ve the stomach for it! It’s the 25th of Ready'reat, and though the sun tries its best, there’s an early frost creeping in the shade and a cool, steady breeze that warns of a long winter ahead for our rebuilding Orlane. I’ve been perched here at the Foamy Mug, watching the usual mixed crowd—soldiers, brawlers, and this lot of "heroes" who seem to bring the strange with them wherever they tread.

They spent their midday huddled over bowls of thick lentil stew with salt pork and mash with drippings. Not all was merry, though; that girl Syrius was in a proper state, barely looking up from her stew and snapping "none of your business" at anyone who dared ask why she was so surly. Perhaps she lost at cards, or maybe she’s just tired of the company she keeps.

The druid girl, Niki, has the oddest notions. She’s been pestering the innkeeper about building a "glass house"—a greenhouse, she calls it—to grow food right through the winter. Florin looked at her like she’d grown a second head, wondering why anyone would want a glass room they could see right into when we’ve perfectly good root cellars,. She even has a strange cat that she says used to talk all the time but now just demands fish and milk. I haven’t seen the cat speak, but in this town, I’d believe the stones themselves were gossiping if the wind blew right.

And the magic! That high elf, Dwerom, has been performing rituals that would turn a normal person’s stomach. He’s been using owl feathers and live carp to identify their treasures. I heard he even let out a great fishy burp after one spell. They’ve come into some powerful trinkets: a white gold ring of fire resistance and a massive, magical weapon they’ve named "The Stripes Axe". They spent a good deal of time squabbling over 1,540 gold pieces, nearly losing their minds over how to divide the shares (they decided to "give" the axe to Sergius, but he had to make a payment back to the party). 

But the road called to them again. They marched off toward the Barrow Marsh, hiking through the Dim Forest where the leaves are falling and the gloom never truly lifts. There are whispers on the wind out there—legends of groaning spirits, the ghosts of elven women who can slay a man just with a scream. I’ve heard those faint, wailing noises myself from the northwest.

Word travels back to the tavern fast, and they say the group found trouble soon as they touched the stone. They opened a tomb and were met with a horde of undead, ghouls that tear at the living. From what the birds tell me, poor Arnd and Kyro were frozen stiff by the touch of those rotting things. 

Will they return to finish their stew, or will they become just another story for me to tell? Only the mists of the marsh know for sure. Be careful where you walk, neighbors—the frost isn't the only thing that bites this time of year.