Plot runner:
Hernan (level 6)

Dramatis Personae:
Amir'a aka Faroud, human/veyshanti sorcerer level 5, HP 21, AC 14
Hilde, storm dwarf cleric/fighter level 4, HP 28, AC 22
Narah, highborn fighter/highborn level 5, HP 51, AC 23
Thistle, barbarian level 4, HP 42, AC 16

Average party level = 4.5, non-death consent

Four troglodyte zombies! (reskinned -- these are former adventurers, using 'greatclub' attack for the slam; the better stats tweaks them more toward this

party's power level)
CR 1 each, total encounter level of 5.


It is late evening in the Mayor's house, in Diamond Valley. One of the Groaning Valleys, valleys at the foot of the Groaning Mountain, part of the

easternmost spur of the Redridge Mountains in northeastern Alexandros.
Thistle and 'Faroud' have enjoyed the meager hospitality, now supplemented by their recent... hunt. The sausages are surprisingly good, the mystery meat pies

are tolerable, but the 'giblets and stuff' stew is best passed on.
The valley has seen the arrival of a small band of infantry from Alexandria, on their way back from Solmnus further north. While the halfling herders and

farmers don't have much, they share what they can with the heroes.
Pendleton is there, tall and rather haggard-looking, sharing a fine variety of ales he has had shipped up from Alexandria. He smiles at the crowded room,

tall strangers amongst the diminutive locals.
"An excellent first assay, my friends," Pendleton says to Thistle and Faroud. "I believe you were very close to finding the great room of that dwarven ruin.

From the information I have, the great room sits at one end of a long underground road to the main hold in the mountain. I will entreat with you to travel

once more, and find the great room, and any other information you can have."
Mayor Ferning, a halfling of middle age and long luxurious wavy hair, despite the signs of belt-tightening, adds softly, "And eliminate any ankheg and

spiders you see along the way, please."
Pendleton glances at the mayor, nods. "Yes. You will, of course, be compensated."

Food is food, yes?
Then why does Faroud push around most of 'his' meal?
Sure, he has nibbled on this and that, and even managed to eat a complete sausage, before gulping down some more drink. Dark eyes glance between the

Mayor and Pendleton more than once, before Faroud nods. "Whatever is fair, and no more," murmurs the Veyshan.

Thistle seems to be having no problem with the food. The little barbarian puts it away happily, and while her appetite is small, like her it's robust for

it's size. She even finishes her stew. This might be to be polite, but she doesn't once complain, and the bowl is cleaned out with bits of pie crust. The

northerner hasn't really adjusted yet to the south and it's relative plenty. While she ate, she regales the halfling children with stories of their

adventure, with goopy webbing and the exploits of her companions in horrible detail, filling in the details of what she couldn't see by just making stuff up.

Thistle now nurses a glass of milk, looking like she might have eaten more than she meant to. But in a good way. "All horrible crawlink, spittink thinks will

be killed," she agrees, pleasantly.

Hilde smiles at Amir'a, well, technically she smiles at everyone. She's not too particular about who she distributes those things to. "How exciting!

Discovering dwarven history together with good friends. Just delightful!"

Narah is seated on a low bench near one of the walls, a halfling child on either knee, apparently finding it thrilling to even be near a woman of the

tallfolk who's so, well, tall. And dark. Most halflings come in the shades of 'alabaster' via 'rosy' to 'faintly tanned'. "Horrible crawling, spitting

things? Sounds positively thrilling." The Highborn woman had arrived only a little earlier, one of the fresh reinforcements from the Adventurer's Guild.

Faroud ducks his head towards the Highborn woman, "The spiders we dealt with were not ... small," the lad murmurs in that unfortunately high voice.

Perhaps it will eventually deepen as time goes on. Still, Faroud seems to avoid looking at Narah directly, before nodding again to the Mayor. "We'll take

care of things," he murmurs softly.


The next morning the group is lead by Grig, a young halfling lad with bright brown eyes and bundled against the damp chill of the fall valley air. The trees

are afire with the flames of autumn on the high ground, with the valley gently sloping down to the south, the thin flashing thread of the Groaning River

winding along farms and grazing fields.
Grig, true to his name, hops and capers like he has ants in the pants, and eagerly shows the new folks all the various old ruins, stony shapes cloaked in

turf and weed. He is sure each is the ancient slumbering secrets of dwarven-kind, and keeps looking to Hilde for confirmation, not really grasping the

'storm' vs. 'mountain' distinctions of dwarves.
Soon, the group arrives at a cave mouth, one of many dotting the ridges, familiar to Thistle and Faroud. There are dried bits of gore on the ground, ichor

ground into slide patterns from the previous adventure. Inside, the cave can be seen to resolve into the square shape of cut, fitted stone.

Narah is many things, but quiet and stealthy she is not. She's swept a cloak over her shoulders, but her armour, brightly polished and shining with embossed

golden images of Daeus' holy symbols, the Sunburst prominent in the middle of the front of the breastplate, rattles and clanks as she walks, plates on plates

and chain. She's loosened the peace-knot on that great, curved blade she wears strapped across her back, and looks ready for trouble, several unlit torches

bundled together and slung over her shoulder. Clearly the Veyshanti Highborn believes in coming prepared. "Well," she says, studying the marks of battle, "it

certainly looks like you had an exciting time the last time you were here. You are expecting more of the same?"

"Is very good, Grig," Thistle says to the tiny boy, grinning eagerly. "Maybe there is future for you in expeditionink." Rubbing a bit at her shoulder where

the spider bit her the other day, she bounces on her toes, causing the fringe of her serape to dance. Limbering up. Twin machete sheathes show with the

motion of the heavy garment, strapped to her thighs. There's a spear in her other hand now, it's head bound about with leather and stone beads. The clatter

sweetly together. "Oh hopefully," she says to Narah, excited.

Faroud moves along with the others, slinking ever closer and closer to the dwarven woman Hilde. "There are some interesting things to look at. When

we have time, you should," notes the Veyshanti lad - hey, dwarven architecture is interesting to dwarves of all kinds, right?
The lad then slips as softly as he can towards the entrance of the cave, before pausing, and patting Grig on the head. "If it gets dark, go on home,"

he notes with a hint of companionly affection.
Then Faroud looks over at Narah's knees and bobbing his head up and down. "N'mmm," murmurs the young man, before scuffing his booted toe on the

ground.

Hilde is no sneakthief either, and she bounces along with everyone with a great deal of clattering and when the clattering isn't enough to banish any

semblance of silence, she chatters away. "Oh my oh my. Fighting right from the get go. It must have been quite exciting for you all." When they reach the

entrance she unlimbers her enormous hammer and lightly swings it about, careful of bashing poor Faroud. "Oh I will. I do love me some archy tecture. Not that

I've any skill with it. But I always thought I'd have made a good builder if given a chance."


Grig waves cheerfully as the group heads in.
The trip into the ridgeside is uneventful. The tunnel is in good condition, the ceiling is, at 6 feet, a little oppressive to the taller folks, and Narah has

to proceed somewhat stooped over. There is a cold, damp chill in here, somewhat unpleasant but not horribly so.
After a bit the tunnel expands to a more comfortable size. Eventually the group reaches an intersection, stinking with the ichor of (now absent) monstrous

spiders. The party, after a good hour or two of wandering through tunnels, avoiding collapsed floors, and peering into various empty rooms, finally reach a

large room, a good 50 feet in diameter, with a vaulted ceiling.
The floor of the room is covered in jewels, glittering in the torchlight, amidst countless statues of finely dressed figures, elf, human, and dwarf, all in

poses of dance. It is a strange ball, silent whitened figures mid-cavort to music no one hears, dancing eternally through a field of diamonds. Diamonds?
A second glance reveals the 'diamonds' are actually broken glass, some at the edges in large fragments, while those closer to the center of the room are

smashed into finer pieces.

Thistle blinks as they come into this last chamber. To the nearly blind barbarian, it's a bit like they've just stepped outside by the increase in glittering

lights. But she passes a hand over her eyes and feels the way carefully with her feet and the butt of her spear, feeling the glass and carefully not to step

on it. Surely they're still in the caverns. In fact, she nearly bumps into a stone Dwarf and starts to mutter an apology to Hilde before doing a double-take

and peering with intense concentration. Now, she normally isn't /that/ grey.

Stumbling into the large room, Faroud blinks glancing around, dark eyes wide in awe at the room. Swallowing, Faroud still steps carefully, glancing

at Hilde, then over at Thistle and Narah. "Watch your step, Sydty," is noted. "There are shards of glass here." As if it weren't obvious.

Narah goes wide-eyed at the sight. "Gods above, that is glorious," she says, voice a little hushed as though in reverence for the artwork and craftsmanship -

or is that craftsdwarfship? - displayed. She takes a couple of steps closer to one of the statues, but pauses before actually stepping into any of the broken

glass. Her armour would doubtless protect her from the shards, but it may be something else stopping her from crunching her way in. She raises a hand as

though to touch the dancing figure, but stops again -- and raises the hand to the hilt of her sword, resting it there. Just in case, you understand. Healthy

paranoia. The woman has been in a state of high alert for the whole trek through the cavernous system, and isn't about to let statuary, no matter how finely

wrought, take the edge off that.

Hilde tramps along merrily, merrily, merrily. She does manage not to sing or hum any tunes to herself, as she nearly always does when travelling. Still, she

looks terribly excited by the whole exploration of dwarven ruins notion. "Looky there! Oh my! Althea be praised, look at that!" On and on she goes, though

muted from her outdoor ruckus. That is until they reach the room full of dancers and diamonds, "Althea! Would you looky there!" She takes a step forward to

avoid being bumped into by Thistle and her mouth drops open in the process, "Oh my oh my! It's so pretty! You can almost hear the music can't you?" She looks

up from the floor, looking for the source of the glass, thinking that is has fallen from the ceiling above apparently.

GAME: Thistle rolls will: (18)+1: 19
<OOC> Thistle does not touch the statue in the tried and true Mr Mgoo manner to make sure it isn't actually Hilde.

[RPOne] Narah says, "Also... 'sydty'?"
[RPOne] Amir'a says, "Arabic 'My Lady'."

The look upward confirms... at one point the ceiling seems to have been inlaid with countless panels of glass. There are also sockets that look like they may

have once contained mage lights of some kind, though if so they are nowhere to be seen now.
There are several archways leading in different directions, but a huge archway off to the left draws the eye. It takes up much of the wall, and above it, in

massive letters, is inscribed 'Khazad-dum Nivus Holvit.' To those who speak (or read) dwarven, this means 'Dwarf-hold of the Groin Vaults.'
It is at about this point that one of the statues off to the right turns its head toward the group.

<OOC> Hernan says, "Spot checks"
GAME: Hilde rolls spot: (3)+3: 6
GAME: Amir'a rolls spot: (3)+1: 4
GAME: Narah rolls Spot: (11)+1: 12

(DC is 10, zombies aren't very hidy, but the situation gives them a basic nonobviousness)

<OOC> Hernan says, "Everyone except Narah is surprised"

Faroud is staring at the large archway, staring at the inscription, his face screwed up in repulsion and confusion. "There ... there has to be

something wrong with that," notes the lad as he looks over at Hilde, then back up to the inscription. "That ... who would name ... ew."

===== Current Initiative Order =========
23 Thistle
22 Amir'a
17 Dancer2
8 Dancer3
6 Dancer4
3 Narah
2 Hilde
-1 Dancer1
========================================

"What? What is it?" Thistle asks. "What is so gross?"

Faroud motions to the inscription. "Dwarf-home of the Groin Vaults." There is a pause, before Faroud blurts out, "I'm /NOT/ taking the middle shaft."

Thistle blinks. "...Groin like..." Her white brows knit in concentration. "Like... you know..." She blushes, and whispers LOUDLY "Lady bits?"

"Uhm, folks...?" Narah is pointing, with a torch, at the statue that just -moved-. "I think we've got company."

"I am not wantink to meet anyone from place of so much dirty minds." Thistle announces archly.

Three statues start moving toward the group. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Once attention is drawn to them... yeah, they aren't statues. One is dressed in armor,

with a helmet, another in leather armor, and a third in robes. The outfits are worn, however, aged and somewhat damaged. The faces... leathery, withered,

eyeless faces. They reach out brown-black hands.

With a crunch and a tinkle of crystal, Narah steps right out into the field of broken glass, interposing herself between the oncoming 'statues' and her

fellow Veyshanti, pulling that giant, curved sword of hers out of its sheath and letting the torch fall to the floor, hopefully not to gutter and go out too

quickly. "Face me, then, whatever you are," she booms. Yes, booms; she's got a pair of lungs on her, voice like a sergeant used to barking out orders over

the din of battle, and the sheer presence to pull off a cheesy line like that. The sword is swung in a lazy circle, then held upright in a ready position as

the tall, dark-skinned woman readies herself against those... things. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get. But you may find us tougher sport

than you think!"

A fourth 'statue,' also in armor, shambles after the three friends, head weaving a bit, mouth working as if tasting the air. It moans softly.

<OOC> Narah says, "+1 to everyone's attack rolls from Narah being awesome and Highborn. Plus a +1 bonus on saves versus fear."

GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+12: (4)+12: 16
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d8+4: (5)+4: 9 (DR 5/slashing of the zombies reduces this to 4)

"HRRAAAAAGH!" Thistle wheels round with a flare of her heavy serape and leaps like a thing possessed over a mound of broken glass, driving her spear at one

of the shambling, groaning corpses, joy lighting her face. "SNEAKY!" She crows as the spear finds it's mark.

GAME: Amir'a casts Magic Missile.
GAME: Amir'a rolls 3d4+3: (7)+3: 10

As Narah points out the statues and steps in front of Faroud, the lad yelps, shrieking like a little girl (indeed, most unfortunate, the poor lad).

Holding out his hand in front of him, pointing towards the 'statue' nearest, the one Narah is facing.
A howling wind blows through the caverns, drawing up behind Faroud and whirling around his arm and wrapping around his wrist. Finally it is released,

three sparking orbs of force lash out into the ... creature.

GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (17)+3: 20 : slam Thistle succeeds
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d10+1: (6)+1: 7
GAME: Hernan damaged Thistle for 7 points. 35 remaining.
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (5)+3: 8 : Whiff
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12 : Whiff

One of the armored figures swings at Thistle, slamming her with surprising force. Up close, the smell from them... musty, corrupt. This close, the slight

wetness of slime mold quivers with each movement, the hairy patches resolve as mold, both on the skin and on the rotting cloth.
The two other figures swing at Narah, but their slow, clumsy blows strike nothing.

GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+11: (15)+11: 26
GAME: Narah rolls 2d4+8: (7)+8: 15

The sword goes up. The sword goes down. It comes away stained with ichor and mold and other, less identifiable substances. The tall Veyshanti woman yanks the

curved blade out of the gut of the horrible undead thing she slashed at, wrinkles her nose, and glances over her shoulder at 'Faroud'. "Back up a bit," she

grunts, positioning her blade to block another clumsy swing from the shambling figure. "Don't want to get you all torn up."

GAME: Hilde rolls weapon9+1: (10)+2+1: 13

Hilde rushes forward at one of the zombies behind her giant shield with it's blue rose of Althea. Her giant hammer wooshes through the air in the

most dramatic fashion as her booted feet crunch through the broken glass and when she plants her boots and brings that hammer down it is rather impressive,

though it brushes right past the zombie without hitting it. She does smack the floor quite soundly though. If that floor was a monster, it would be in

serious pain!

GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (6)+3: 9
The last figure senses Hilde, starts flailing at her. Which is about as effective as it sounds.

GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+10: (19)+10: 29
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+10: (11)+10: 21
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d6+4: (2)+4: 6
In a smooth action, Thistle swings the spear round and drops it to the ground behind her with a clatter and a smashing of glass fragments. Her hands

dissapear momentarily beneath her swaying serape only to reappear in the very next moment, flashing with cold bright steel. Snarling, she presses forward

again, hacking into the lumbering corpse with fervor. "Stinking corpses!" She shouts, her voice echoing in the frozen dancehall. Mouldering skin slashes open

and slowly calcifying bones shear and crunch under the attack. "RRAGH!"

GAME: Amir'a casts Enlarge Person.
Faroud looks at Narah's back, then at the woman's sword. Whispering in a mixture of Auran and the bedouin tongue of the Dune Sea, "ar-Ryah * Wmnh

Hdha Hdyh Llsydh Bldy al-Mharb," <<Wind, grant this boon to My Lady Warrior>>. Reaching out, the wind follows Faroud's arm, whirling up and around Narah with

electricity sparking periodically - extending Narah's reach, granting her arms strength.
Seeing the spell take action, Faroud starts to back up, slowly trying to find a way to settle in behind Hilde, even as he draws his own sword.

GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (19)+3: 22
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d10+1: (4)+1: 5
GAME: Hernan damaged Thistle for 5 points. 30 remaining.
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (12)+3: 15
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (8)+3: 11

The armored zombie moans, slamming Thistle once again. While it hurts, it ... could be worse. The stains each blow leaves on her armor may be more upsetting

to her in the long run...
The other two zombies claw at Narah, but are unable to connect solidly. Instead, a combination of wet smacks and screeching of finger bones against her armor

sounds out.

GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+11: (6)+11: 17
GAME: Narah rolls 2d6+9: (9)+9: 18
<OOC> Hernan says, "You kill it. Well. Derez it. ... something. ;)"
<OOC> Narah says, "And I've got Cleave. :>"

GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+12: (9)+12: 21
GAME: Narah rolls 2d6+9: (6)+9: 15

<OOC> Hernan says, "dancer 1, on thistle, is unhurt. Dancer 2 and 4 are heavily damaged, 3 is now gone"

With a horifying, wet -crunch-, that giant feck-off two handed sword of Narah's slices clean through the spinal column of the dead thing she's hacking at,

exiting through the otherside and, through luck or design, careens up and into the ribcage of the one next to it. Bone snaps, fetid flesh tears and partially

decomposed organs slither out as the now suddenly TWELVE FEET TALL Veyshanti woman lets that wickedly sharp blade's momentum spin her around to come back for

another swing. It's almost like watching a spinning dervish. A spinning dervish in full plate armour, grunting and spitting obscenities in an obscure

language while cutting dead horrors from beyond the grave into itty bitty pieces. Okay, not terribly dervishy.

GAME: Hilde rolls weapon9+1: (20)+2+1: 23
GAME: Hilde rolls 2d6+3: (4)+3: 7

Hilde ducks her head down behind her wall of Althea and starts her bulky form off to help Thistle. Crash, jingle, clatter, bounce! She comes up beside

Thistle, and mindful of her blind fury, she calls out, "For Althea!" She croquet mallets at the zombie in front of her and whiffs, but the followup brings

that hammer back around for a side crunching smack to the long forgotten dancer.

GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (13)+3: 16
The armored zombie sways a bit before swinging at Hilde. The blow glances off her, though she gets another close-up whiff. Uuuugh.

GAME: Amir'a casts Enlarge Person.
Watching Narah, Faroud turns to his dwarven friend, laying a hand on Hilde's shoulder. "I will do the same to you," is noted in a soft whisper for

Hilde. The next words from Faroud are, "ar-Ryah Tkbyr Sdyqy," <<Wind, enlarge my friend>>. Then the Veyshan lad steps back away as the wind blows and howls

past him, wrapping around Hilde, and playing the same effect on the Dwarven Priestess as the Highborn Warrior.

GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+11: (15)+11: 26
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9
GAME: Thistle rolls 1d20+11: (2)+11: 13
Thistle's machete cleaves deep into the corpse's sagging chest, arcing back out trailing feotid slime and curdled guts. She laughs and shouts: "Very good!"

At Hilde, hearing the passage of the Dwarf's hammer. She is enjoying herself deeply, horribly enough. Her second strike finds nothing but air, but she

doesn't seem to mind.

GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12
GAME: Hernan rolls 1d20+3: (2)+3: 5
The zombies claw at the air again, moaning... frustrated? Maybe not

GAME: Hilde rolls weapon9+3: (20)+2+3: 25
GAME: Hilde rolls 2d8+5: (6)+5: 11
Hilde's eyes go wide as she starts growing. That's a WHOLE lotta dwarf! Oh, and one gigantic hammer! Laughing with glee she whirls the hammer over her head

and bashes her shield into the zombie to set it up for a downswing from that huge weapon. She misjudges the swing but still connects, though mainly with the

haft, just behind the massive iron head. Luckily Narah is right there to finish things up.

GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+12: (15)+12: 27
GAME: Narah rolls 2d6+11: (8)+11: 19 <- drops one zombie, cleave...
GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+13: (6)+13: 19
GAME: Narah rolls 2d6+11: (10)+11: 21 <- drops another zombie, great cleave...
GAME: Narah rolls 1d20+13: (3)+13: 16
GAME: Narah rolls 2d6+11: (7)+11: 18 <- drops last zombie!

There are advantages to size. One is the sheer -carnage- that huge sword of Narah's can cause. She grits her teeth, bellows out something incomprehensible

but probably quite profound in her own head at the moment, and SWINGS the sword through no less than three zombies in a single fell swoop. There's... well.

More or less an explosion of gore, bits of bone and other assorted less identifiable substances... and then the tall Veyshanti woman is left there holding

her sword as if posing for an action statue, bearing a not very statue-like expression of 'did I do that?'.


After gathering their wits, the party rummages through the zombies. They appear to be former adventurers, and their mouldering pack nearby is gathered for

later perusal. Proceeding through the big archway ... the party finds that only a few dozen feet in the tunnel has collapsed, filled with dusty rubble. Alas!

Back to the Mayor's house... (and SCENE)