Session 232: The Sealed Tomb of the Barrowmarsh

Day 26 Sunsebb CY 576 Tales from the Taproom: 

The Soggy Secrets of the Barrowmarsh Gather ’round, neighbors, and keep your voices low, for the walls of the Slumbering Serpent have ears, and some stories are best served with a stiff mug of ale. It’s the 26th of Sunsebb, year 576, and our quiet corner of the Gran March has been stirred by more than just the spring breeze. 

That band of travelers—you know the ones, with the dwarf whose hammer speaks of thunder and the elf who cleans his armor like it’s made of fine porcelain—has returned from the northern Barrowmarsh with swamp mud in their boots and quite a tale to tell. They found it, just as the old maps whispered: a sealed tomb. 

Now, most sensible folk see a granite slab and think "keep out," but these lot decided to bash their way through it. They tell me the air inside smelled of rot and the floors were flooded waist-deep in brackish, still water. Armatzi’s holy mace began to glow with a sickly light, and before they could even steady their footing, the dead began to stir from the muck. 

 It wasn’t just a simple skirmish. Armatzi called upon his faith to drive back the first wave of zombies, sending them fleeing into the dark corners of the vault. They even found a secret chamber—thanks to that elf Feno's keen eyes—where a trapped iron box held a pair of magical leather gloves. They spent hours sifting through what they called "pulp"—all that remained of ancient scrolls and books ruined by the damp—but they managed to pull out a scroll of Protection from Fire Elementals. 

 But the marsh never lets go of its treasures easily. On their way back to our dear Orlane, they were surrounded by no fewer than twenty zombies. It was a bloody business. Poor Sergius was nearly sent to his final rest, falling unconscious under the weight of the onslaught. If not for Armatzi’s healing touch and a series of devastating backstabs from Gnorcia, we might be mourning a few of them tonight. 

 They rolled back into town around 8:40 in the evening, looking like they’d been dragged through the bottom of a bog—which, let's be honest, they had. They’re currently huddled by the fire, filling their bellies and scrubbing the filth of the tomb from their gear. Thirty undead they put down today, or so the count goes. 

 So, if you see them, buy them a round. They’ve earned it, and I have a feeling the Barrowmarsh isn’t done with them yet. 

 — Vilma, your humble teller of truths (and a few well-earned lies)