Excerpted from the journal of Etaf Gerin
April 16, 1376 (The Year of the Bent Blade)
The day dawned bright and
clear over Shadowdale as we prepared to leave on our quest to find Randal Morn.
Lhaeo had provided mounts for our party, all six of which had passed Ahmed’s
critique as ‘adequate’ – high praise from the ranger when it came to
horseflesh. Badaxe refused to even attempt to ride his own horse, so Ahmed
pulled the dwarf up behind him and we used the sixth animal for our extra
equipment and supplies. Ahmed guided us out of the city and onto the Tethyamar
Trail, which would lead us toward the
Shortly after leaving the city
gates, we encountered a group of warriors guarding a merchant caravan. As we
approached, it became obvious that several of the warriors were injured,
including their captain. A short conversation revealed that they had skirmished
recently with a half-dozen Zhentarim riders, though it had been surprisingly
easy to drive the Zhentarim away from the caravan. “They must have been a
long-range patrol, looking to make a little extra gold from an unguarded
merchant caravan. When my men and I resisted, they fled quickly, “ said the captain.
“If there had been a large group, we’d all be dead now.”
Francis, soft heart that he
is, decided to take a few minutes and tend the wounds of the warriors. The rest
of us, cheapskates that we are, went to the merchant wagons to see if they had
any exceptionally good deals. A half hour later, with the wounded cared for and
no amazing bargains found, we continued on our way.
The rest of the daylight hours
were uneventful. We did pass a granite hut at one point, surrounded by
well-tended trees and gardens. Francis recognized it as a wayfarer’s stop,
blessed by several gods of nature. Finding nothing of interest there, we moved
on.
Near sunset, we passed through
a gully with hills on either side. Without warning, a group of small humanoid
creatures popped up from the ridgeline on one side, and hurled a wave of
javelins at our party! “Kobolds!” shouted Ahmed as he spurred his horse
directly up the hill toward them (with Badaxe barely clinging to the saddle).
Helieos and Francis followed him while Omiata and I stayed at a distance.
Kobolds are not generally
brave creatures, and these were no exception. When they saw that we meant to
fight, they scattered back toward a nearby wood. We brought several down before
they could flee, though, in large part due to some impressive horsemanship from
Ahmed. Unfortunately those fancy maneuvers also caused his dwarf passenger to
take some hard knocks, eventually falling off the horse to land unceremoniously
on the ground. A few harsh words were exchanged, eventually requiring the
intervention of the Friar to prevent injuries. Badaxe rode with Francis from
then on.
A short way up the road, as
the dusk deepened into full night, we encountered a simple campsite. A small
boulder provided a windbreak for a lean-to and firepit. A figure lay in the
lean-to, and as we approached we could see it was a half-elf – but lying far
too still for natural sleep. A horse lay similarly still and silent behind the
boulder. Ahmed checked for signs of life, finding none. Something had killed this
traveler and his mount, but left no visible wounds.
Suddenly a sickly glow
emanated from the top of the boulder. Looking up, I froze in fear at the sight
of two Thought-Eaters. These planes-walking creatures fed on the intelligence
and psychic power of their prey, and as the only psionically gifted person in
the party, I would be their prime target! Before I could move, one of the
creatures leapt close enough to touch my arm. Instantly I could feel my psionic
abilities drain away; I felt tired and exhausted, as if I had used my powers to
their fullest. I saw the creature gather itself for another assault, but before
it could approach again, it vanished under a massive axe-blow. While I had been
dazed by the attack, my companions had disposed of the other creature as well.
Shaken by the attack, we
decided to spend the night here and continue our journey in the morning. The
location should be fairly safe – few other predators would have remained near a
Thought-Eater. After burying the unlucky traveler and his horse, we made camp
for the night.
April 17
Shortly after resuming our
journey the next morning, we came to a stone bridge across a steep gorge. The
usual sounds of nearby animals and the spring-time wind seemed to fade as we
approached. You could almost feel a sense of danger in the air. Ahmed
dismounted and moved cautiously forward, testing every step, as the rest of the
party glanced around nervously.
A few minutes of this was
enough for Badaxe. Leaping down from Francis’ horse, he stomped his way across
the bridge with no ill effects. “Good stone!” he called back to us, motioning
us all to follow him. The bridge had been perfectly safe all along. Feeling a
bit sheepish, we rode across and moved on.
Around mid-morning, Ahmed led
us off the Tethyamar Trail and struck out overland toward the foothills of the
“Sturges!” cried Ahmed. “Bloodsuckers!
Fire your weapons, we may be able to drive them off!” He acted on his own
words, fitting any arrow to his bow and letting fly. All of us with ranged
weapons did the same, but only Ahmed scored a hit, and his was only a glancing
blow. Before we could fire again, they were upon us!
The sturges were small and
fast, difficult to bring down. Several of them went directly for Helieos, and
attached themselves to his exposed skin like so many giant mosquitoes. Francis
and Badaxe fared better, each bringing down one flyer after another, and turned
to help the others. One sturge flew away back to the trees, but we caught and
killed all the rest.
After a short break for
Francis to tend the wounded, we explored the trees. Ahmed found a cave hidden
under a tree root, but the entrance was too small to safely explore. Badaxe had
no such trouble, and soon had entered the cave and discovered the last sturge,
full and sleeping. After disposing of the sturge, he explored the cave and
found a small cache of valuable items that the sturges had collected over the
years – including a magical bag of holding, an extremely useful tool for
adventurers.
It was only a short distance
to the valley where Shraevyn’s Tomb waited, and we approached the entrance
early in the afternoon. A glowing stone marked the entrance, which I determined
was not dangerous – only a marker stone. Entering the valley, we immediately
saw three men on horses, wearing robes that marked them as wizards or
sorcerers. Upon seeing us, they immediately wheeled their horses and rode away.
“Zhentarim scouts!” Ahmed made
as if to give chase, but Francis called him back.
“Those look like magic-users,
and both Etaf and I are tired from our previous battles. Do you really want to
face them with no magical support?” Caution won out, and we let the men go
while we approached the tomb.
The tomb had been placed
directly into the side of the mountain – whether by wizardry or simple
expansion of a natural cave, it was impossible to tell. Two tall stone statues flank
a metal door, which is shut tight. After a short discussion, we decided to rest
before entering the tomb in the morning. Before we settled down, though, Omiata
investigated the statues. In the base of one, he found a small alcove, which he
opened easily – but triggered a trap! We could only watch helplessly as a huge
fireball erupted from the base of the statue where Omiata had been. But
miraculously, the elf rolled away from the statue just out of range of the
fire, emerging with singed skin and no eyebrows, but otherwise unharmed.
“That wizard had a twisted
sense of humor” Omiata growled to us as he joined us in our camp. “I had just
enough time before it blew up in my face to see that there was nothing in that
alcove but a small plaque reading ‘Hope you enjoy the show’.”
After that excitement, we were
all ready for some rest. We set a guard against any incursions from the tomb or
the surrounding area – Zhentarim reinforcements were always a possibility – and
settled down to sleep. The dangers of the tomb would be faced on the morrow.
April 18
We passed an uneventful night.
After breaking camp, we approached the door of the tomb – slowly and carefully,
especially so in Omiata’s case. No fireballs awaited us here, though; instead
the door began to glow with an unearthly blue light and a voice, dry as the
grave, spoke to us. I cannot recall its exact words as I write this. I do know
that it asked us a riddle, and we found the answer, but neither I nor my
companions can remember it. Perhaps part of the magic of the door clouds the
memory, so that no one may give the answer to others and render the guardian
spells useless. We must have answered it correctly, though, because the door
opened. Cautiously, we entered the tomb.
The entryway was a fairly large
hallway, and lit by a red glow from floating orbs hovering near the ceiling.
Two murals depicting an epic battle covered the walls to the north and south.
Further in, we could see a large room, but before we reached it we found a door
on one side. Ahmed opened the door – and released a cloud of poison gas!
Luckily it was as old as the tomb itself, and had lost enough potency to cause
nothing more than a coughing fit.
Careful to avoid any more
traps, we entered the room, which was filled with books and scrolls, lying
everywhere on numerous shelves and desks. As soon as we all crossed the
threshold, we heard a scuttling noise, and from the shelves came a dozen
skeletal spiders – small creatures but deadly poisonous. The fastest of us to react was Francis, but
rather than using his weapon, he cried out in a loud voice. “Lathlander, turn
this evil from us!” Instantly, eleven of the spiders crumbled to dust! Helieos
stepped on the last with a satisfying crunch.
“Well done, Friar!’ Ahmed
spoke for all of us – except possibly Omiata, who was already poking around the
room looking for useful items.
Francis smiled, then bowed his
head. “The credit belongs to Lathlander, not I. His power is such that the evil
undead cannot stand to be near it, even filtered through such an unworthy
vessel as I.”
In the room we found a few
useful items, including a book on magical weaponcrafting, which I was happy to
take for later perusal. Moving on, we headed back to the hallway and then into
a large room. On either side of the room were five small alcoves, each
containing a golden urn. The far end of the room was barred by a large metal
door, with no visible means of opening it. The center of the floor was marked
with a large circle, with eight small indentations evenly spaced around it, and
an arcane symbol representing the sun in the middle.
Ahmed, Francis, and Omiata
moved to the alcoves and approached several of the urns. Each urn reacted
differently: one disappeared for a moment, then reappeared; another shocked
Omiata’s hand, numbing it; yet another turned into a snake which spoke to
Francis, then cast a spell that caused flowers to sprout from his foot! I began
to recognize a pattern.
“These urns represent the
eight schools of magic” I told my companions. “If we can place them in the
proper positions around the circle, the door should open.” Further experiments
revealed which of the urns represented each school (with no further vegetative
growths). It took some time while I searched my memory, but eventually I was
able to recall the proper order that would place the opposite magical schools
across from one another in the circle. When the last urn was placed, that dry
voice that has spoken at the entrance sounded again, congratulating us in a
mocking tone – and the door opened.
Down the hall, we found a
statue of a young warrior woman, wearing an amulet with the symbol of the
goddess Tamora. Francis moved close to investigate. “Watch it, Friar” warned
Omiata. “Statues around here aren’t always harmless, I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t plan to steal
anything” Francis replied levelly. “I expect the powers of this place can tell
the difference between mere curiosity and naked avarice.” Without waiting for
the rogue to reply, the cleric lifted the amulet and spent a moment reading the
runes engraved on its surface. Replacing the amulet, he rejoined our group.
“The amulet is engraved with a warning against greed” he told us. “Rather
fitting, considering what we saw outside the tomb – although perhaps the
warning should have come before the
fire trap.”
Moving on, we discovered a
room with a broken door and a dead body lying before it. The body was wearing
the uniform of Randal Morn’s personal guard, and the room had been ransacked.
Ahmed spent a few moments observing the scene, then explained to us, “It looks
like there was a trap on this door, which caught him.” Hi pointed to the
corpse. “Then his companions tore this room apart – looking for the Axe, I
assume. I don’t see that they left anything of value behind. Nothing of value
here, although at least from the uniform we know we’re on the right track.”
With nothing more to be
learned from that area, we moved on, hoping to find some more useful clues. The
last hallway we explored opened onto a large room with a coffin in the center.
An image of an old man, glowing with that same blue unearthly light we’d seen
at the tomb’s entrance, hovered in the air above the coffin. This must be the
final resting place of Shraevyn. The image looked like an illusion to me,
although in this place it was hard to be sure what was real and what was not.
The coffin itself had a separate glow coming from within, and as we approached,
we saw that the glow came from an Axe lying inside – this must be what Randal
had been seeking.
Before we could claim the
prize, the stone walls moved with a grating sound, and undead figures lurched
toward us from all sides! Six human skeletons, four ghouls which were dressed
in Randal’s uniforms, and two giant skeletons all came at our group. As one
man, we turned to Francis, and Omiata cried, “Not spiders this time, holy man!
Show us some real power!”
Francis was a bit slower to
respond this time, but no less effective. A few of the skeletons had time to
swing their rusty blades (including one that got me – ouch!) but then the
cleric’s voice rang out clearly. “I call on Lathlander to shed His light on
this evil – begone!”
All of the human skeletons and
two of the ghouls immediately crumbled to dust, and the other ghouls turned to
run. I summoned my psychic power to manifest a creature that distracted one
giant skeleton while my companions quickly dispatched the other skeleton and
the cowering ghouls. Then a mighty blow from Helieos shattered the final giant
skeleton, and we were free to take the Axe of the Dales.
I noticed a note attached to
the handle of the axe, and retrieved it quickly before moving away to avoid
being run down by Badaxe, who clearly did not intend to let anyone get between
him and the Axe of the Dales. The note was signed “RM” and said that the writer
could be found in the Spiderhaunt forest. It further exhorted the reader to
bring word of his plight to his sister, Silvermourne.
“I don’t like this” Helieos
said after I had shared the note’s contents. “If Randal was ambushed here, how
did he find time to leave this note? And why did his captors not take the Axe
of the Dales as well?”
“I agree – this smells like a
trap.” Omiata looked around, then started for the door. “But I don’t see any
other leads, and I for one plan to get that reward Lhaeo promised us.”
The rogue spoke for all of us
– we may be walking into a trap, but this was the only lead we had. Leaving the
tomb, we set up camp for the night. We would leave for the forest in the
morning. With luck, we would not be too late for Randal Morn.
Some random out-of-character comments:
What a marathon! Nearly 9
hours of gaming on 4/15, and all of it good stuff. We were finally forced to
stop around 1 AM when Dave told us that we’d adventured all the way through
everything he had prepared (here’s a
map of our travels that he was kind enough to scan). Despite some extremely
pathetic to-hit rolls, especially from me and Mike J., we managed to overcome
quite a few enemies. Mike J. also took some pictures, which we might decide to
display at some point if they aren’t too awfully embarrassing. Mike R. and his
power of Lathlander were clearly the MVPs of the tomb-crawl – it’ll be a long
time (if ever) before we stop hearing about the spider massacre at Shraevyn’s
Tomb – and he was appropriately rewarded with just enough XP to make level 3.
Mike E. made the rolls when it counted, nailing some good crossbow shots and
surviving that fireball explosion by the skin of his teeth. Chop’s fancy
horsemanship with no respect for his passenger led to my favorite line of the
night (from Demetrius): “I haven’t gone Berserk all night, but I’m about to –
on your ass!” Truly some inspired Barbarian roleplaying.
Last updated 04-24-2005 by Skip Franklin
