From the memoirs of Hamis Wattleby, halfling vagabond and tomb raider: We arrived in modest weather, though it threatened to change. I didn't realise it at the time, but it was an omen of the ill times to come. Skogenby is nothing much to talk of; a small, grim, pitiful settlement amongst dark, morose surroundings. We'd have paid it no mind at all had the locals not made their troubles ours - not leaving us in peace, but instead sending us off to solve an issue they had neither the conviction nor courage to face. In short, some children playing in a nearby glade had discovered a tomb or crypt or some such place and disturbed the denizens within - the village was now under threat and people there were being slain by forces unknown. The mystery seemed to intrigue my companions and I was eager for a challenge and the chance to discover some forgotten trinket (or trinkets) of value. We agreed to investigate, the four of us, after a few poorly thought out questions and some hastily drawn directions. Ebelmis -I have no idea what became of him now I think on it- had drawn a map to guide us based on the prattling of one of the children supposed to have witnessed this place. The child was clearly frightened, though it could as easily been the presence of us as some supernatural threat. Naturally, between the tear-stained scrawl and our general lack of familiarity of the area, we became lost. This would turn out to be a minor setback all things told, but it was the beginning of my mistrust of practitioners of "the Arts" as Eblemis would so smugly refer to himself. A myriad of pointless wondering would lead us to the crypt entrance, a dead tree (undead perhaps even) atop a cramped hole in the earth, beset on each side pillars encased in runic symbols that not even those most scholarly gents could make head nor tail of their meaning. What was clear however, was the weather moving in; the dark approaching and that our way was onward or to quit before we had started. Emir was perhaps a braver man than bright. He gave us leadership though, where we would have bickered endlessly, and I found myself wanting to show that I was as brave and able as he. And so we descended, myself a small creature, leading so as to ensure there was room enough for the others to follow. Down into the depths of the earth. Down into the darkness. The smell of ages and death. Lescroe. What happened to him? He was there for the fight though and probably saved my life even as much as he endangered us with his recklessness. For when the first of those skeletal beings with fire-lit eyes stalked out at us from the shade, we froze in indecision where that homicidal manic acted. Afterwards as we rested I became aware that we'd been left to fend for ourselves by that accursed wizard (or mage or whatever he called himself) -such might! Distracted with our wounds, when I looked up, it was just myself and Emir. The others had vanished. Two more turned up shortly after. Another wizard -Kl'varic or some such- I distrusted him instantly; and "Lord" John the elf. I didn't know elves could be lords. Or that lords would have the time to scrounge around in the shit with us common folk. Learn something new with each new day. They claimed to have been sent down here to help us, though I suspect they'd been hoping to loot our corpses. Maybe that's what happened to Lescroe? No, no, I'm becoming jaded - they could have waited outsider for us if they'd wanted to murder us. Instead they joined us. First mistake. Pleasantries and warnings of the undead aside, we pressed on. The pool room - I'm sure it has a further purpose, but we never found it clear - was host to a number of items of interest that I wish we'd been able to recover. Copper scrap would have made my injuries worth it. Not that it mattered, the inhabitants of the room - some sort of light spirit, lured the weaker wills towards the pool to drown. I was surprised the elf was affected - but then I was just as surprised that an elegant creature like that would wear boots, so perhaps it's just the case that boots are boots and will stomp loudly into trouble no matter what. We averted the disaster and retreated, but from that point my cries to focus on looting the place fell on deaf ears. The ash pit -I remember laughing to myself as they muddied themselves in it- was used for some ritual or another. The detail I must admit was lost on me, other than that it pertained to immortality and ascension to the immortal lords themselves. I've never considered myself a very religious sort, but I know enough to not mess with the lords. We found a censor -worthless sadly- and little else. Except half an elven ear in the ash pit. We pressed on. Somehow Emir had convinced John to be our canary. Exploring the bone decorated burial chamber's central sarcophagus he triggered some sort of spear trap, avoiding the activation more through luck than judgement. Kl'varic saw horror in the rune-etched floor and I would see the true face of magic - the runes shifted from the stone floor to John's skin as he tried to record them. The distressed Kl'varic tore up the remainder of the room and Emir decided to add to the chaos by knocking some laid bones off an altar. The bedlam was cut short. "How dare you defile my chambers?" We all heard it. Emir seemed to flinch as if rejecting some assault; then we saw the owner of that thunderous voice. A ghost? I know not; I couldn't think clearly in the moment and even now I question what I may have seen. The skeletal aberration cursed us as it withdrew and promised our deaths would be forthcoming. I believe this is the point at which we lost what little cohesion we had as a party, the stresses mangling the united front we'd held. Emir wanted to leave, convinced as he was the villagers had purposely led us astray. John and Kl'varic with no haul as yet from the expedition countered this idea strongly. I had only one conviction at this point; none of my colleagues were taking the threat of magic seriously enough and it was going to be our undoing. With the decision to stay made and no clear route to progress, we meandered for some time rechecking the rooms we had explored for any treasure or clues we may have missed. Ebelmis, ever capable of avoiding the worse, had reappeared and the wizards wasted ample time on magical theory, burning down our lantern oil to copy each others documents; the only mercy being this seemed to calm Kl'varic whose thrashing and cackling had been getting progressively worse. It was during this short downtime that Emir became unnaturally quiet. He'd been a very vocal leader - overly optimistic even. Yet here he sat, near hopeless as the party squabbled over what to do. Some might say it was valour, but I suspect it was greed and no small helping of ignorance that trumped our fears. Eventually returning to the spot of the spirit, Kl'varic's sight showed some hitherto unnoticed clue. John once again played his part as trap-bait while the rest of us took some semblance of cover. The blast shook the wizard and elf both to the ground, Emir somehow stoically weathering it and myself having simply chosen a more fortunate hiding spot were spared being flattened. A new dark corridor presented itself. I could not wait, the tension was too much and I was having increasing doubts about our failed scouting methods. Emir guarded the unconscious pair, while I -candle in hand- took to the passage as discretely as I was able. To the left a set of heavy double doors. To the right, more alcoves. Straight ahead, ever increasing darkness as the pitiful light I carried was simply swallowed by the hall. I feared encountering more skeletal foes alone and was more than certain the alcoves contained another half-dozen. The doors on the left were closer though and provided me cover as I peered within. A throne, seating a skeletal figure. A child astride his knee. Armed and armoured skeletal knights. And in the centre, sharing space with what I can only assume are it's remains upon the throne, the spectre. Silently I fled to the relative safety of the party who had begun to rouse themselves once more. I relayed a portion of the truth that I had seen. The void of leadership reared up and more time was lost, hunger setting in and panicked pressure pushing us to make poorly judged decisions. Recovering the bath was not the worst plan, but we should have prepared ourselves for the ordeal - instead we exhausted ourselves even further and when the groans and threat of chase appeared we were weakened and in ill-tempers. The retreat attempt was panicked and the way fraught due to the weather's turn. Rain turned the moderate earthy slope into a mud-slicked mess. Emir seeing the struggle we would have to ascend did his best to lead us up the slope, but the ghost had promised us death and it saw a perfect opportunity to deliver. Exactly what transpired I may never know, but I saw the change in the man who had lead us down and in my gut I fathomed he was gone - before us stood an impostor in his skin. John saw too and cast some curse which failed to take hold, then the warrior was amongst us and laid us out. I was simply lucky - the spectre hadn't noticed me by some fluke or twist of fate and so I heard and saw the others dragged off to a place I knew I could not go and return. My failure pains me greatly, yet I know that all I might have achieved is to add another notch to the belt of that unnatural horror. Before I am done on this earth however, I do so swear to worldly-folk and immortals both: I shall set your soul to rest Emir.
