Conquering the Barbarian Altanis: Session 92


Character Class Description
Darius Cleric level 3 Follower of Dacron, God of Craftsmen.
Rorik Fighter level 3 A fighter.
Tarkus the Promising Cleric level 2 Follower of Bachontoi, God of Red Wisdom.
Beorg the Gravedigger Fighter level 1 Inspired to adventure after burying several adventurers.

Flowerbloom 15th, Spiritday

“I made a mistake.”

Dubalan of Midway sobbed to adventurers. Beads of sweat rolled down his puffy cheeks.

“The word of the great wealth you had recovered from the crypt spread like wildfire. And I agreed to lead some of the locals to it. They went missing! Oh, it's all my fault!”

“Common folk should go adventuring. It can be dangerous.” one of the adventurers said stoically.

It didn't take long for constable Wershaw to find the party and join the discussion. “I want to know what exactly did you find in that crypt! Spare no details!”

He listened with worried face. “You will join me to Lord Kyle and tell him that. He will judge accordingly.”

“Listen, we want to go to the crypt first to find these people. They might still be alive.”

Dubalan wept, while Wershaw agreed. It's been nearly a month since they went missing.

“Tell us more about them. How many? How do they look?”

“Three men, Oridus, Dardabus, and Cephantides. Two women, Timile and Mavaid. They are all young and strong, with mighty limbs and healthy gait.”

Flowerbloom 16th, Airday

“That's Oridus.”

Wershaw yelled from above.

The party had just descended down the shaft leading into the crypt and that's where they found a young man, broken and crushed under a pile of rocks. From the looks if it, a stone slab collapsed under his weight, and the man plunged into his death.

Rorik and Tarkus took the front line, with Darius and Beorg taking the second rank. Tia and Tailltala, two fresh women-at-arms recruited at Hara, acted as the rearguard.


First chamber, the one with eight tombs they've plundered before, was not empty. A dozen or so skeletons were sitting around the fireplace, gazing into the purple flame. Two human figures lay in front of them.

Adventurers turned half, and smashed other half. These skeletons looked charred, with splintered bones and burn marks all over.

Tia retched at the sight. A young man and women, faces of frozen terror, with broken limbs, torn skins, and exposed insides.

“Let's get them out. They should be buried properly.”

“Isn't that what we got hired help for?”

Hired help did not jump at the opportunity to carry horrifically disfigured corpses.

“Fine, we'll do it...”

“Watch out!”

A mere moments latter east doors flung open, revealing a familiar abomination. A mound of acidic, pulsating organs, ten feet wide; splashing and squirming and slowly rolling towards the party.

Weapons were drawn; stabs and slashes delivered; weapon tips and edges melted away and monster was reduced to nothing but a collection of hacked organs.

“These are Cephantides and Timile.” Wershaw identified the poor souls.

The party continued their exploration, opting for west doors. That lead them into a thirty by thirty foot chamber with two sealed doorways, and an open one to north.

The chamber was littered with scrolls, torn books, and writing paraphernalia. Whatever they touched would immediately crumble into dust.

Sealed doorways had text in auld common above them. The south one read “Scripter Morminoa,” while west one said “Court Arcanist Feraldi.”

“Let's move on. We have to find the remaining folks.”

“Or their remains.” was left unsaid.

North chamber was longer, and even more perplexing.

Three columns of altars ran along the long side, a dozen in each line. Atop each altar was a matching holy symbol and scripture. Tarkus and Darius did not recognise many of the symbols, perhaps they were of forgotten deities or some barbaric ones that only the locals know. Darius did find one dedicated to Dacron. He spent time to pray and tend to it thereafter.

Sealed doorway to the west read “Bishop Pormqui,” and sealed one to the north read “Avetrix the Zealot.” Corridor to the east was wider, and so were the doors.

They opened into a large circular chamber, some sixty feet in a diameter. It was dominated by a well spewing purple haze that covered the floor.

Beorg the Brave was the first to step into it. He used his polearm to test the ground before making any step. Others lined behind him and followed.

Clerics felt like they've entered a place of death.

Round chamber had three exits: the west, which they came from; east, which looked very similar to the one they came from; and north, which was narrower and turned right at weird angle.

“Let's check east side first. It might loop back.”

A smell of rot assailed them the moment they forced their way in. The chamber floor was stained with ancient, dry blood.

Nasty meat hooks reflected their torchlight. A young woman hanged on one in the middle of the room. Her eyes were gouged out, and her entrails were prostrated underneath her.

At least two dozen hooks were visible. They hung from chains, that in turn hung from holes on the ceiling. No anchor point was visible. Hooks were hanging at various heights, with some as low as to touch the ground and some as high as if they were poking straight out of the ceiling.

“This must be Mavaid.”

“I really don't feel like getting hooked.”

“Let's check the other corridor and then we can figure out how to recover her.”

Purple fog continued down the north corridor. Turning to it, the party ran into four skeletons, which they immediately turned and forced to flee.

Moving on, they entered into a massive chamber, where all walls were dominated by small wall crypts. Some were broken, but most were still sealed. Sounds of flesh thumping against stone could be heard coming from within many of them.

“This must be the source of our skeletons...”

The party followed the right wall for a brief moment. They encountered an archway leading into a narrow tunnel, barely three feet wide. Forming a single file, they marched on.


Three wide stairs led to an dais atop which an altar depicting pulsating a person laying down before the red sun glowed gently. Dais had a large red sun painted on it.

Tarkus took a step towards it.

His mind was vacated, and he found himself in a vast black space, disembodied entity floating around.

An endless mass of men laid prostrated facing an impossibly large, blood-red sun.

Tarkus felt the urge to join them.

He stepped off the stairs and informed the party to move on.

Ten feet wide archway to the north led down another corridor. This one was sufficiently wide to resume in their standard marching order.

It was a long corridor. More worryingly, the further they went, the deeper they went into the fog. Was it a descent?

“Look ahead!”

A plated figure blocked their way. It raised its greatsword and marched towards the party. The warriors clashed against it, barely evading the swing of sharpened steel slab. Clerics attempts at turning had proven most impotent.

Darius cast Light on the creature's great-helm, turning it into a ferocious lighthouse. The plated warrior roared and smashed it sword against the ground, creating tremendous noise.


A horde of skeletons stretching as far as the light blocked their retreat. Clerics had to turn around and face their unrelenting assault.

Skeletons were easy to parry and block. But there was something attacking them below knees; something in the mist! They could feel something ramming them, followed by burning sensation.

Warriors quickly finished the lighthouse, and then swapped with the clerics. Whilst moving forward, they stomped heavily, crushing whatever might've been in the fog.

Through superior tactics, armour, and long reaching weapons, the party fought their way back, smashing a great deal of skeletons.

“How about we head back?”

“The last person is surely in the final room. Right?”

“Let's get back, rest, and then we return.”

And so the party backtracked into the red sun room, then down a narrow corridor—which was not the same as the one they came in through—and then ran straight into a gibbering ghost which made some of them lose their minds.

From then on it was an insane flurry of activity. First they chased the screaming ghost, only to find their weapons cut straight through its incorporeal form. Then they heard numerous sounds of stone seals breaking. Then they turned on each other, trying to subdue that one guy who still wanted to fight. And then an army of undead appeared at the edges of their light. So they all sprinted towards and exit.

“We will bury the dead in Midway!” they said to Wershaw, panting. “And return to seek others a bit later!”

Beorg had a slightly saddened facial expression.

“We will continue to explore this crypt, but my heart is no longer in it. I thought I would be slaying dragons and performing feats of derring-do such as the bards sing of. Instead, I find myself killing those who have already been killed before.”

Such were the thoughts of Beorg the Gravedigger.

Will the party ever find Dardabus and Mavaid?

Or will they let them rot in the ancient crypt?

Discuss at Dragonsfoot forum.

#Wilderlands #SessionReport

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