Session Two - With the Iron Owls

 

When we last left our four intrepid---and possibly experience-precocious---adventurers, they had spent a fitful night of haunted dreams at the Inn of the Tankards, a few miles north of High Hankle on the Tankards' Road.

Colly, the 15th, of Lillipythe, broke clear and cool. At 5am, the sun was just breaking the eastern horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling countryside.

Crump Tolmen, the four adventurers' new employer, rose with the sun, kicking Perrin, Gramorr, and D-Dane unceremoniously in the sides to wake them. It bears reminding that, up to now, Meowianne has remained entirely in her Chester form, spending the night curled up on Crump's ill-smelling feet, as a cat. As such, Crump seems unaware of her involvement with the party.

In the courtyard of the Inn of the Tankards, Crump gave brief instructions. He checked his new retainers had rations and water. Upon finding that the thief, Gramorr, didn't have a waterskin, Crump irritably snuck back into the inn and stole one for him.

Giving terse directions, the party set out, Crump following his three hirelings at a careful distance.

The party moved north along Capring Road, the Dolmenwood growing slowly larger, more distinct, more formidable on the horizon. Just before the road disappeared beneath the curling boughs of the trees, Crump directed the party off-road, into the wilds. For a time, they skirted the boundaries of the wood, before plunging beneath the tangled tree canopy.

Crump lead from behind, regularly consulting a small wrist-compass.

The terrain was moderate, tangled forest. Brambles and dry bracken littered the uneven ground. Ditches spread below the groundcover, treacherously lying across seemingly safe tracks and trails. Old foundations and the ruins of long-abandoned structures clung to ghostly existence beneath blackberries, ferns, and knotted willow tufts.

They moved slowly. Eight hours of travel (the entire 4 travel points the party had, due to D-Dane's movement speed of 20 in plate armor!) brought them to a clearing in the brambles.

Clump directed them forward, instructing them to earn their pay.

A vague path lead into an opening in the underbrush. Overhead, the great forest trees loomed together, creating an unnatural tangle of branches and leaves above the clearing, shutting out the better part of the sun's rays, although the stifling heat of the sticky summer day still penetrated the darkened glade.

In the center of the glade was a ring of menhirs. In the center of the ring was a round, flat stone, upon which some darkened form lay, twitching. Although a mere twenty-ish feet from the edge of the ring to the center stone, none of the party could clearly see exactly what lay upon the apparent altar stone. It didn't respond to thrown rocks, merely exuded a ghostly green haze.

Moss covered the menhirs. A faint path led to the stones, disappearing within, reappearing to the north where it ran for fifty feet to the base of a pronounced mound---according to Crump, the burial place of Sir Chyde.

Faint clanking caught the adventurers' attention. Looking up, they saw groupings of strange metallic owls, hanging by chains from the trees, clanging like dull windchimes. Over the course of forty minutes---involving climbing cats, ropes, and thiefly dexterity---they were able to cut down all these owls.

They were made of crude iron, and to touch them sent a cold snap through one's body. The eyes were graven pentagrams. Crump reminded the out-of-towners that owls were oft thought to be symbols of the 'hooded men of the wood,' the Drune... Feared, reviled, and begrudgingly revered among High Wolders.

They threw a few of the iron owls at the twitching form---nothing happened. They kept the rest, judging them probably cursed, for later. Never know when cursed owls may come in handy.

The mound itself was roughly a hundred feet across. A great stone slab sat sealing the entryway at the southern end. Near the northwest side, a hole was burrowed beneath the mound.

Using all their strength combined, the party toppled the granite doorway sealing the entry. As the door opened, the braying of hounds escaped from within, before falling silent on the dank, foetid air that swept out to meet them.

With a lantern, they again examined the burrowed hole, but left it when the light illuminated skeletal feet inside some stone chamber, twirling inexplicably.

Meowianne cast a glamor on an old tent, using it to create the illusion of the stone slab covering the doorway, and the party trepidatiously moved into the mound.

The room they entered had four plinths, each bearing holy objects. A holy book, written in liturgic. A carved cherub. A chapes engraved on a silver plate (which symbol they recognized from carvings they'd seen back at The Chantry, although its religious significance was lost on them). A large candle. Unfortunately, every player that entered the room was either Chaotic or Neutral, offending the Lawful objects, which attacked.

Using a combination of cunning (standing just outside the boundary of the room), good armor and parrying, dagger throwing, and archery, they 'killed' each object, which fell to the ground, shedding a mysterious cloud of unhealthy-looking spores.

They quickly spread out to explore the room. Double doors to the north. Corridors to the east and west. Meowianne looked west first, and spotted a tall, gaunt, pale robed figured, standing still within the distant room. She retreated and looked to the east---a mirror at the far periphery of the wall.

Meanwhile, Gramorr opened the doors to the north a crack, and saw, in the sliver of light, a set of spectral skeletons, hovering above the ground, locked in deathly embrace, twirling in a graceful ballroom dance. Only for a second, mind you, as they flitted through the shaft of light cast by the door.

Gramorr quickly slammed the door shut, and there we leave our adventurers.

A few statuses have changed, during the session.

• It became evident that any treasures looted, according to their contract, will be divided as per normal retainer rules, which means a third-share of treasure for everybody, and 5 silver pieces per day, with lowered XP gain. Plans were immediately made to murder Crump. The party currently has every confidence the hairy, gravelly-voiced thief will never make it out of the wood alive.
• During the fight with the Holy Objects, Meowianne took a single point of damage---she has four left.
• Also, Meowianne finally resorted to her Grimalkin form. Crump has seemed to distristfully accept the change in her station. We now know she has lustrous dark fur, stands roughly three feet tall, and prefers to wear her royally luxurious ermine cape. Her sword is just as tall as she is.
• The inquiries to buy the Inn of the Tankard were given details---Crump the Breggle confirmed that, stock and buildings combined, the inn is worth roughly 14,700gp, but he'd happily give it to investors for 10,000gp.
• Some treasure has already been found. The holy book, even with the arrow-hole that 'killed' it, is worth 75gp. The silver chapes plate is worth 200gp. The Iron owls, although lacking any clear monetary value, must certainly attract something of worth... right? Holding onto them could only bring good things... right? Right?

It is 3:10pm. The party's only lantern is burning strong, but will run out at 6:30pm. They have a few torches. Some water. Some rations. A single-person tent, nominally for crump alone. They have traveled long enough that any return journey this day will be impossible. Whether they know it yet or not, they will be spending the night in the wilds.

Will that first dark night under the boughs of the Dolmenwood, near a hazy-green circle of standing stones, beneath the occult gazes of the iron owls, bring them fortune? Or tragedy?

Only time will tell...