Untamed Land Session #2 - Unexpected Dungeoneering

 In my last Untamed Lands session, I ran into an expectedly unexpected turn of events: my players wandered off the path I had expected them to follow for the day, into hexes I had not yet finished detailing. That is to say, I knew what the hexes had in them roughly, but I hadn't finished fleshing them out. 

Specifically, after yet another unsavory deal with the dust witch Majda (during which Majda got herself a vulture-headed creature to slay and use his organs for rituals; and the party got themselves an exploding potion of Sleep), the party wandered into a border hex which, in truth, I didn't ever see my party entering. What reason have they to venture so far south, I wondered? I hadn't expected them to choose to follow a river downstream in hopes of finding a bridge, rather than simply crossing it by swimming (Note to self: when drawing rivers on your maps, consider where if at all, there are bridges to cross it).

And so they happened onto a hex which had the following notes on it (all more or less randomly determined by rolling on The Black Hack's tables): River with small waterfalls; No natural wildlife - not even fish; Ruined Zereti Stronhgold - at night song is heard from there (1d6 chance of finding randomly; automatically found if explored). I highlighted the line about the stronghold orange in my notes , a reminder to myself that I still need to decide what the hell was in it.

And of course, the party explored. They were chasing a bounty on some bandits - they had to explore. And they found the stronghold. 

Now I could have gone the easy way out, and said all that was left of the ruined stronghold was some ramshackle walls. But I knew that in my heart of hearts I wanted a small dungeon there. So when the party inevitably searched the ruins, I told them there were a pair of heavy stone doors, leading to stairs going underground. They entered, I bit my lip, and called for a 15 minute break.

During that break I quickly opened the ever useful One Page Dungeon, played around with some tags until I got myself a nice little set of rooms that could reasonably be cleared in a single session. Then I rolled on some random Maze Rats table for inspiration, combined that with the randomly generated notes from One Page Dungeon, jotted down some short-hand stats for a handful of monsters I peppered in a few rooms, and a quick (albeit admittedly lazy) 1d4 random encounter table - and voila, The Stronghold of the Grey Beast was born. There was just over an hour left to the session, and whatever they didn't explore today, I realized, I could flesh out before next session.

What ensued was some of the most enjoyable OSR dungeoneering I've ran yet - at least on my side of the GM screen. My players seemed to enjoy it too, and I'm not even sure they realized how improvised most of it was. 

I'll write a future post detailing the Stronghold and some of my thinking, but for now, enjoy the unfortunate side-track of a group of adventurers who simply sought some bandits (which itself was a side-track from seeking a spell, which itself was a side-track from seeking the Caves of Mumtal [AKA the Caves of Chaos]). 

Jules Louis Coignet - Ruins in Baalbek

 

The Blade of Temptation

Untamed Lands - Session #2

Attending: Biz, Culk, Kaleb, Ram

 

Biz kicked one of the crates with his sandal, and three rotted planks crumbled instantly. “Nothing,” he said, “a whole lot of nothing.” He looked around. The grass stretched nearly as far as the eye can see, save for an occasional tree - and the river gleaming in the morning sun over the horizon. It was a welcome sight after days of nothing but barren hills and endless fields of thorns and shrubbery, with no sign of their prey. He breathed in the scent of the soil, still damp from last night’s drizzle, and whispered a short prayer of thanks to Hadad. 

“Here too!” Ram called out from the other side of the ruined, sandstone wall, which provided some shelter from the cold, biting wind. Kaleb was standing next to him, peering over a few shattered jars. “Most likely whatever was once here was looted decades ago. Possibly centuries.” Kaleb examined the walls closely, “Where did they bring the sandstone from?” He wondered out loud. “Mountains up north,” Ram said simply. “Ah… Must be a Zereti stronghold then…” 

“What about there?” A voice came from the western edge of the ruins, facing the river. The rest of the group circled the ruins and arrived to find Culk standing before a pair of heavy stone doors, one of which was slightly a jar, hanging off only one hinge. Beyond it, they could see stairs leading down into a dark basement. Just to the right of the entrance was a thin pomegranate tree, old, bent and twisted. Its roots had grown into the wall and pushed through some of the stones.

Ram looked about anxiously, making sure there was no one in the horizon. He then took a deep breath and placed his hand on the tree, rubbing his palm against the bark, closing his eyes as he tried to look into the tree’s past, to see what it had seen. He opened his eyes, noticing some scuff marks on one of its roots. “Someone’s passed through here not one week past…” He said. “You really want to go down there?”

“”If I were a bandit looking for a warm place to stay in between raids, that’s where I’d go, wouldn’t you?” Culk asked, smiling, and pushing the door further open with his hammer. Even after two days of travel with him, Ram still found the sight of a man no taller than a bar stool carrying a hammer over half his size ridiculous. He could hardly believe he was capable of wielding the thing. But Kaleb vouched for him, and Ram trusted Kaleb. And besides, any man who survives to forty with that many scars must know his way around a battlefield, regardless of size. 

Biz looked at Ram with a nervous smile, and pointed with his chin towards the stairs. “Well, big man? After you?”

Ram grunted but drew his sword and descended down the large stone stairs, the rest of the group right after him. 

They entered a wide rectangular room, dimly lit by the sun pouring in from the open door, casting grey shadows over the walls, on which were shelves and cupboards made of wood. Some of them were still intact. Each of the remaining walls had a door set in it: one made of heavy stone with a keyhole and handle, the other simple and wooden. On the floor was a strange dry, grey mass.It looked like a withered sheet. 

Biz approached the strange mass, but Ram walked right past it. “There,” he said simply and approached the stone door to listen in. “Don’t hear nothing…” He said. He tried to push the door, but felt something inside stopping it, and immediately opened his pack to look for something that can be used as a pick. 

Biz tried to lift the grey object on the floor, but it crumbled in his hands. He carefully tried to unfold it, revealing it to be the size of a large bedsheet, except it was brittle and papery in texture.

“Looks like a snakeskin,” Biz heard a voice behind him, and turned to find Kaleb hunched over his shoulder. “Maybe,” said Biz, leaning in to examine the sheet more closely. It did appear to be made of odd, grey diamond-shaped bits, but they looked more like whittled pebbles than naturally occurring scales. “No more than a week old in that case though.”

Meanwhile Culk began to examine the shelves. He found a dented copper helmet and a few handaxes still intact. He turned and approached Ram, who was cursing under his breath as he couldn’t get the pick in properly. Culk tapped his shoulder, handed him a handaxe without a word. Ram took it looking seriously at the little man, and nodded in thanks, strapping the axe to his belt. 

They spent the better part of an hour waiting. Biz stood behind Ram, watching him work as he chewed on bits of goat jerky. “I bet Ismail could open that, no problem.” Ram grunted, breaking another pink and cursing. “Well Ismail isn’t here, is he?”

Ram gave up, panting and wiping the sweat from his bald, gleaming head Culk took a running start and jumped against the stone, with a shout, throwing all of his small weight into the door. He smashed into it with a thump, making the door shake, but not break. “Nice try…” Ram said, as he moved to the southern door, made of wood. 

Opening it he saw more stairs leading down. “Hmm…” Kaleb said. “Hmm…” Ram seconded. 

Then he moved to the eastern wooden door. He could hear a faint buzzing noise from beyond. Opening it carefully, with his sword, he found a large room beyond, almost as large as the one they were in. It’s roof had collapsed, however, covering half of it in broken stones and soil. The rest had odd grey trees, just barely visible in the light coming from behind him. Trees with no sun? He thought. And just then he saw something dart around in the darkness. He strained his eyes - and realized it was flying. And there were more of them. Four or five, all fluttering and buzzing int he air - shadows the size of dogs. 

He gaped as he tried to close the door again quickly, but couldn’t manage it before one of the shadows darted out: a strange insect with grey skin and yellow stripes. It looked like a wasp, but was bigger than Ram’s arm. 

Ram shoved the door closed, and the wasp darted out - straight towards Biz. He tried to jump out of the way, bu the creature’s grey stinger thrust right into his vestments. They tore apart, but managed to protect his body. 

Ram spun around and slashed his sword across the bottom of the buzzing insect’s body. Biz tried to fling his hammer against it but it was too quick, flying around his head - before Culk leapt off the ground, spun his hammer round and smashed the bug against the wall. It twitched, slowly falling to the floor, its wings and body crushed, black bile spilling out of its ruined body.

Ram moved one of the cupboards and blocked the door. “Any objections to keeping clear of this one?” Ram asked. 

“Downstairs?” Biz asked, examining his torn robes with distaste. The rest nodded begrudgingly. Culk lit a torch, and down they went, feet shuffling across the heavy stone steps. The light showed the wall shifting from brown sandstone to immense blocks of grey stone. The reached another door. Culk sighed. 

Ram lay his ear to the door, his eyes opened wide.”Listen…” He whispered, and all four adventurers mimicked him - astounded by the sound they heard. It was a chant, but it was not sung by any human voice any of them had ever heard. It sounded like a wind whistling through the rock, but it was melodic, in a clear rhythmic and deliberate pattern. Culk looked up at the other three, and pushed the door open.

Before them was a wide but short hallway, leading east towards a few short steps leading into a neighboring room. But in the hall were four human-looking skeletons - standing up and moving of their own will. They were dressed in odd ceremonial garbs of grey and blue, carrying spears which they pointed promptly at the group, signalling for them to keep back, but not attacking them.

“Anyone speak Zereti?”, Ram asked nervously, taking a step back.

“No, but maybe they know Olamite…” Biz wondered. All three looked to him. He swallowed, turning pale but walking forward.

“Greetings fellow, erm… men. We wish passage to the other room. May we go there?” 

The skeletons stared at one another. Two of them opened their mouths and a strange blue fume poured out of both, mixing together while sounding that strange wind-like chant, that sent a chill down the backs of all who heard it.
After a moment the skeletons turned back to Biz. One of them lifted a single digit. 

“Only one of us…” Biz said. Looking back, “any volunteers?”  None of the others put a single foot forward. Biz sighed, “Well, history won’t remember the timid I suppose…”

He moved forward, the skeletons directing him towards the other room. He lit up a torch of his own as he entered the darkness, and found himself in a small chamber. At its center was a stone sarcophagus, and all around were grey statues of men in various poses, surprisingly ornate for Zereti artists of probably two centuries past... Biz had never seen such proficient attention to detail. They were remarkably lifelike. “A little too lifelike…” Biz thought, remembering legends he heard as a boy. 

Still, he stared at the sarcophagus, and back at the skeletons. Why did they let him through?

He remembered the mysterious box in his pocket. And the ancient voice trapped within. With a quivering hand he lifted the box and placed it atop the sarcophagus lid - opening it. 

“Do you know what this place is?” Whispered Biz. 

There was a long, gruelling silence, before the voice spoke in its familiar but unsettling raspy voice, that reminded Biz of the coughing of a man dying of plague: “I know of the man buried in this place. I feel his presence. So many of my brethren slain by his hand, their sacred duty to awaken God-Grub interrupted, and their bones scattered to the four winds. Is it just that he rests peacefully while their souls wander eternally? Breach his tomb, priest, breach and defoul it.”

Biz picked the box back up, clutching it tightly. He glanced backwards towards the upper room, where he could hear the creaking bones of the skeletons, and the occasional nervous murmuring of his companions.

“History won’t remember the timid…” he said, as he turned back to face the sarcophagus, and began to push the heavy stone lid with both hands, leaning into it until it came crashing down to the floor with a loud, echoing bang, that startled Biz and made him turn back anxiously, expecting the skeletons to come rushing down.

And yet there was silence, they didn’t budge, as though unfazed by the apparent desecration of the tomb they were supposedly guarding. Biz looked down into the grave, and was shocked to see a man in his fifties or perhaps even sixties, with a grey, braided beard set with blue beads, and dressed in cloth robes not unlike the skeletons guarding him. What was remarkable was the condition in which he was kept. His flesh had not decayed or dried or turned feast to worms. He looked as though he had died not two hundred years ago, but two hours ago. 

Then Biz noticed something else. One of the man’s hands was folded atop his chest - clutching a strange blue hilted sword, with a thin, sickle-like blade. Etched along the blade was a series of small circular runes, each cut with a single line in a different angle. The bronze gleamed in the torchlight, and for a moment, it seemed to Biz, was almost see-through. He bit his lip, and reached down, inhaling sharply as he parted the dead man’s stiff, cold fingers, and carefully slipping the blade out from his grip lifting it out and examining it close to his eyes. 

Smiling, he turned back, only to freeze. “Oh no…” He stammered, “Oh, no, no, by Hadad, no!” He hissed, as his jaw locked, and he realized his mistake.

*** 

“It’s been fifteen minutes…” Culk said finally. “What do you figure that crashing sound was? I think it’s safe to assume he ain’t coming back.” 

Kaleb turned to him, opening his mouth as though to speak, only to fall silent as they saw two of the skeletons leave their post to go towards the east room. Then they heard the sound of heavy objects being shifted and moved around. After a few more minutes the skeletons returned, lifting their spears back up. 

“Yep. Ain’t coming back,” Culk said. 

Ram sighed, he stepped forward, carefully. “May I go in?” He asked the skeletons, signalling with his hands that he wished to move past them into the eastern room. One of the guards nodded, lifting a single bony figure, and pointing at Ram. 

“Only one may go…” Kaleb said. The three clenched their teeth, hoping it didn’t mean what they knew it must. 

Ram moved slowly, lighting a torch, just like Biz did before him. He approached the eastern wing with uncharacteristically soft footfall, descended the stairs, and paused at the sight of sarcophagus, its stone lid ever so slightly ajar. 

He cocked one eyebrow, looking around. He saw no sine of Biz, but he noticed a dozen or so stone statues spread around the room, along the walls, surprisingly lifelike, each set in a different pose, but their mouths all open, or teeth clenched, in an expression of shock or terror. Religious awe, perhaps? Wondered Ram as he examined them slowly. He was almost about to leave and call his companions when he noted that one of the sculptures was alarmingly familiar. He approached, carefully, his torchlight revealing that his initial feeling was correct: Biz was looking back at him in the form of a grey statue of solid stone. 

Ram’s heart sank, and his skin turned pale. “Idiot…” He muttered under his breath. 

He was about to leave, but stopped, eyes turning to the sarcophagus lid. He hesitated, but slowly pushed the lid back half-way, and saw the gleaming bronze sword, turning half-translucent in the torchlight. He rubbed his bald head nervously. He had heard tales of magic swords set with protective curses. 

He looked back to the petrified men, and to Biz. “Must be some sword to make so many men risk an eternity down here for it… Is it worth it?” He asked, more himself then the statues, tempted to try his luck. 

Just then he noticed something clutched in Biz’s hands. He approached, slowly, and removed the small black box from it. Slowly, he opened it.