The townsmen would walk down to the trading town in the morning and open their market stalls, stables, inns and smiths to the public, leaving their sons to guard their women from the ever present dangers of the wild. It had become routine for the men to be away for most of the day, but Xaroth was still usually a hub of noise and commotion in its own right. Lately even the taverns of Xandir had become crowded and overused, and a few of the more daring families of Xaroth had opened the doors of their homes to those travellers laden with extra coin. While their husbands worked the stalls and stables of the larger town, housewives would accommodate travellers to earn what little gold there was to be found, be it through a warm room and a hot meal, or wares much less discussed and much more frowned upon. It had only taken weeks for word of such things to spread to all ears in Xandir, and now small markets and stores were springing up in every spare corner of the smaller town. Xaroth, it seemed, was doomed to the same fate as its cousin just down the hill.
Usually busy, but not today.
Another part of the towns’ short history was the vivid myths and stories about the hills it sat upon. Everyone knew that the wilds along the roughly charted roads between the southern reaches of Naggaroth and those more populated in the north were places of danger, even to merchants travelling with caravans of armed guards. The name of the towns Xaroth, however, held more cause for a chill down the spine than most. The long road from Naggarond and the trading town sat upon it was a busy one, but it lay on only one of the four sides of the town. Thanks to the steep hills of the surrounding area the town was quite cut off, even from the road and Xandir only a couple of miles downwind. Over the hills in one direction was a stagnant marsh, a bog filled with rotting trees and corpses. It was here that adventurous lads went missing, and if the rumours were to be believed sometimes returned in the form of spirits, ghosts and the walking dead.
North of the marsh and the town were found the ancient tombs and catacombs of a long forgotten race, a vast area that spanned an unknown distance both above and below the ground. Some claimed the tombs even ran underneath Xaroth, that the town had been cursed by ancient gods for setting its foundations on holy terrain. Whatever the stories, there was truth in the fact that even the town elders knew very little about the ancient catacombs. Few who ventured there returned, and those that did could only map the surface of the region. It was also said that malign activity was often spotted near the tombs by the watchmen and guard patrols of the town. Some claimed they had seen unnatural lights, others that they had stumbled upon the dark gatherings of cults of hooded men. There was one tale in particular that stood out however, told by the traders to scare and frighten weary travellers, the story of the tomb-daemon of Xaroth.
It was said that once a month an ancient being arose from the tombs and came to the town under the guise of a lonely traveller. He would seek out a family that were all too willing to take his coin in return for him lodging with them for a night, and some days later all that would be found of the unfortunates was bloodstains on the walls. Most travellers would leave the town with the story faintly on their mind, soon to be forgotten as they continued with their lives. For the folk of Xaroth it was very real however, something they had to be aware of at all times and try their best to overcome. The tomb daemon, as they had come to call the being, struck only once a month, so when numerous expeditions into the catacombs in search of him had failed, the town had instead taken to hiding. Once a month, when the moons were at their highest, the town would fall silent. No doors were opened, no strangers let in. Yet still, somehow, with the coming of each new dawn a family would be missing, the blood dried to the walls heralding their demise.
The moons were high. That night was approaching. The town was quiet.
***
"Well that's it, it's official, started one of the two caravan masters guards, "We're out of grub, or at least we will be by the time night falls."
"We've no gold left either!" shouted the other, panic seeping into his voice, "We're done for!"
Caravan Master Kudo span around in his saddle and addressed the pair as they led the precession of three wagons and nine mercenaries up the hill, "Silence yourselves, have faith in my direction. The road ahead will take us to a travellers town."
"And what will we do once there with no gold, resources are not free Sire!" exclaimed Raneth from the back of the line.
Realising his words had gathered the attention of the entire group, Kudo called the caravan to a halt and trotted his steed back down the line. The tall elf glared at them from beneath his dark crown of hair, his piercing green eyes seemingly sizing them each up individually. Kudo had been leading them for months, after hiring most of them at Naggarond before taking the road north. In that time they had come to learn of him as a good leader, both formidable in battle and wise like no other. They had also learned not to invoke his wrath, for the Caravan Master was rutheless and unforgiving. Now, however, he seemed to keep his anger tamed.
"Of course, I do not imply we will find residence and food without cost. What a mercenary can not pay for with gold however, he can pay for with muscle. I'll be damned if there isn't someone at the town with a job that needs doing, and if it means a hot meal and a warm bed, we'll be bloody doing it."
His word was final, and the caravan once again began moving onward.
***
They reached Xaroth just as night fell, a strong winter breeze resisting their every step as the hills surrounding them whistled their winter harmony. Kudo had led them first into the trading town, but with no sign of a place to stay or even hope to find a task fit for a mercenary, the nine mercenaries had left the wagons with his guards and followed him up the hills to the smaller settlement. Here they found many small Inns, mostly converted family homes, but all had an asking price. Without a gold coin between them, they had to first find someone that was willing to pay them to do what they hoped was nothing irrational. It made sense to begin their search at the nearby Tavern, so they eagerly entered the rundown building and approached the bar.
"What can I get you lads?" asked the barman, spitting into a glass and wiping it with a dirty cloth before placing it on a nearby shelf.
"Nothing," said Kudo, bluntly as ever, "We need to find work. We are ten strong and experienced fighters. What say you to that?"
"You'll have to try down the hill, you won't find ought up here in Xaroth" the barman replied, almost turning away.
"You see," said Ubba with an angry hiss, "We'll starve here before we ever earn a penny."
"That may not have to be the case..." came the husky voice of a stranger, causing all ten of them to turn around in alarm, hands on the hilts of their weapons.
They were met by a hulk of an elf, dressed as one of the towns watchmen, carrying an old hatchet loosely over one shoulder. The grey haired elder seemed to relish in their suprise, smirking to himself before opening his free hand in mock surrender.
"A little jumpy for a band of brave mercenaries, are you not? Nevermind, I heard you seek work in the town. The barman did not lie, there is none. As you are adventurers though, perhaps you would be interested in a little story..."
And so, taking seats at a nearby table, thus started the tale of the Tomb Daemon and the reward on his head.
***
Dust and debris rained down from the low ceiling above them as the watchman shut the wooden hatch over their heads, leaving them shrouded in shadow for a moment. A sudden flash heralded the ignition of a brazier, and from the first several more burning torches were lit and passed around. Kudo still stood at the head of the group, a torch in one hand and his silver sword in the other. The caravan master looked around to check they were all armed and with light, before nodding his head in the direction of the passage ahead of them. The cold stone walls boxed them in and made them feel uneasy, but Kudo reassured them by taking the first step into the gloomy beyond. Before long they were following the mazelike web of tunnels and passages, through chamber after chamber, passing unusal obelisks and stone carvings at almost every turn. Some of them made a point of scraping a line in the softened stone beneath their feet as they walked, forming a lifeline back to the wooden hatch to the surface.
Quite what they were hoping to find in these long forgotten catacombs none of them were entirely sure, for the legend told by the watchman was no doubt riddled with lies and exaggeration. If there was a daemon or unholy creature of the night to be dealt with though, they were going to find it. The reward would pay them handomsly and see to it that the rest of their trip to Ghrond was undertaken with heavy pockets. They were almost invigerated by the prospect of a warm meal, having only been given several days worth of dry bread to see them through their visit to the tombs. The barman had claimed giving them food enough for a return journey would have been a waste, since nobody that came down here had yet returned to this day. A dark way of saying good luck to say the least, but they had not let it put them off. What choice did they have?
Following Kudo through the small antechambers of the underground complex of tombs and old statues, the group of mercenaries soon found themselves lost and without direction. If it wasnt for the lifeline they carved in their wake they knew they would never again see the light of day. Such thoughts were pushed aside as they stepped out into a larger chamber however, now an unknown distance underground thanks to the seemingly endless stairways and sloping tunnels. This chamber was dominated by a large sarcophagi, standing upright against the far wall and glistening in their torchlight. It was made of... gold! The ancient burial box was a beacon of wealth in the underground darkness, shaped to fit some unknown but seemingly tall humanoid body. Jewels and gemstones of blues, greens, reds and yellows called to them, almost making them lose sight of their goal in the catacombs.
Kudo approached the ancient sarcophagi, extending a hand and running his fingers along its smooth golden surface, his mouth gaping open with awe.
The change in Kudo was so sudden that none of them saw it coming.
The caravan master suddenly turned around, his eyes alit with hellfire, his voice now changed into something booming deep and ancient.
"You walk amongst the tombs of the ancients little Druchii, and for that you must be undone. I will use this body as a weapon to redeem you all of this sin!"
Kudo lunged, his blade outstretched, his eyes alit with madness.
Tarbo was too, jumping to one side and calling out in shock, just as Ubba and Deroth pounced on the caravan master and tried to wrestle him to the ground. They soon realised Kudo was full of inhuman strength, and he threw them off with an angry roar, swinging his blade around to clear the space before him and glancing left and right with hungry eyes. As one, the mercenaries sprang at their Master from every angle, raining down on him in a flurry of hands and blades, dodging his attack and pinning his limbs to his body, using their weight to drag him to the ground. It took all nine of them to bring Kudo down onto his back, and when his efforts to resist them suddenly ceased they released their grip and slowly backed away from him.
Deep red blood spilled from a dozen sword wounds, their combined efforts to stop the seemingly possessed Druchii having ended up taken his life.
Silence fell over them for a long moment, as if they were waking from a dream and only now trying to piece the fractions of the events together to discover what had happened.
"The door to the chamber!" called Drainial suddenly, "It's sealed us in!"
Left trapped within the burial chamber, Kudo dead at their feet, the mercenaries milled about in confusion for a moment, looking for another way out but finding none. When at last they gave in, they stopped and looked around at each other with paranoid glances.
The same dark feeling spread throughout all of their minds like cancer.
Whatever they had awoken, it was still amongst them.
________________
- Players
- Raneth
- Meteor
- Tarbo
- Deroth
- LordAnubis
- Vaari
- Drainial
- Sidorio
- Ubba
________________
With 9 players, 5 constitutes a majority.
It is now the Day. Due to a weekend away Day will become Evening Friday at midday GMT, and the Night phase will run over the weekend.
