Toilday 2nd of Sperraz 226 P.G.S
The Adventure Begins as most do with a tavern. Within the tall stately building known as Fourcap Tom’s a group of disparate men hear stories of dissent in local politics and highway banditry. A simple town official looses a battle of wits against a tattooed stranger. Plans are made, a local guide is hired and at sunset the group slips out of town having decided a night strike to be the most prudent.
Through the night they slip between bent boughs and tangled vines they climb ever trusting the local guide until he calls a stop. Ahead he motions at the top of the hill you will find the old pile of rubble that once was a fine manor house. Silver is exchanged and the cobbled together party is on their own. Night birds call out as the last leg is traversed through thick thorny brush and wet fir, at last the tall northerner spies the crumbled rocky remains cast in silver moonlight and deep shadow.
Alone he stalks forward, a slight orange glow emanates from within the ruin, a leftover campfire no doubt. He creeps forward through clattering rubble and open grass the only thing wise to his presence a whickering horse. Against the rubble he hides as snores drift on the wind. He returns to his restless companions impatient to act. Like clumsy wraiths they spread out into the night but good strong ale has befuddled the sleep of their prey.
Two slumbering men they find and on an accusation alone cold blooded murder is dispensed by the grim and dour Dun-Ador who performs a not so delicate coup-de grace by battleaxe. Old graves, a work horse and empty wagon are found and in the corner of the ruined tower an old wooden trap door. With haste the Nemmadian pair make for the door one encouraged by the other to open it and thus the alarm is sprung. From down below the metallic sound of a bell clattering against the floor has no doubt woken a nest of vipers.
Time does pass and options are discussed, the element of surprise is traded for the chance to warm themselves by a fire and hopefully smoke the rest of the brigands out. Pine boughs are cut, and sap is collected and all is tossed into the ruins cellar with loose dry wood and soiled bedding, pitch bombs are cast into the darkness and ignite the fuel into a sputtering smokey conflagration. The trap door is closed and more time passes but still no staggering and wheezing bandits appear and beg for mercy. Their defiant captive claims that he and his siblings are simply hunters that their has been an atrocious mistake.
Could it be mere coincidence, did these unlucky hunters make camp over a lair of desperate outlaws only to be murdered and captured in their sleep. A call to investigate the cellar is answered by Bolduin the Bloody Minded. The young Dun-Ador descends into the ashes and coals of the fire and discovers a couple of straw packed crates and an old curving stone stair that descends into darkness.
A torch is lit and the prisoner forced to follow as the team explores the cellar’s “cellar,” meanwhile the raven haired Nemmadian hauls the crates up to Iblis the exotic man whose facial tattoos are a mystery to all. More packed crates and barrels, as well as messy unmade sleeping pallets. The evidence stacking up against the surviving captive seems to incriminate him despite his whining and protest. The search continues down wide hall and empty rooms, more pallets are found but no bandits alive or dead. An ancient burial chamber whose walls are engraved in fine relief and tile depicts Saint Ulther proselytizing to the masses another depicts the man standing before a great engraved obelisk he seems to be waving his hands about it. Further in the chamber a closed stone sarcophagus rests while there are signs that this chamber has been disturbed the sarcophagus lid seems still tightly fit. None can make sense of the inscriptions and any secrets are left to the darkness. Another ornate stone door is found it looks as if it has been ages since it has been disturbed and the group decided that it should remain so. The Dun-Edor discovers and investigates a small what can only be described as a rat-tunnel perhaps the very tunnel the other bandits escaped from but his confidence falters and he deigns not to traverse the tunnel on his own.
What captured loot is deemed valuable is packed upstairs into the found wagon and as the sun crests over the eastern horizon the party descends the rough wagon path towards the Highway. Along the way the captive capitulates admitting that his companions were bandits, but that he himself is but a lookout not some kind of killer or outlaw, he attempts to trade information on the location of a larger bandit camp to the party for his freedom. While the group warmly receives his information the best they offer in compensation is to ask for some leniency in his punishment.
As morning creeps on into mid-morning the party arrives in the frontier town of Brindonford gaining as much attention for their outlandish appearances as they do for their captive and loot.