Chapter 3 / Episode 87 – The Ruins Below the Battlefield
Date: Planting 11, 576 CY — Afternoon
Region: Drachensgrab Hills, south of Highport — broken ruins along the slave road
Weather: Cold drizzle. Low clouds. Mud and mist clung to stone and bone alike.
Players
Dog the Ranger
Irving the Reluctant (with Harvey the Hare)
TerryOr the Cleric
Silversun Ubermage the Magic-User
Slash the Bard
Lady Morwen Ellisar (NPC)
Planting 11 — What the Pond Was Hiding
The battlefield above lay quiet at last—trampled grass, broken shields, and the shallow pond stained dark with churned mud and blood. It was Dog who noticed the disturbance in the water first. Not ripples. Not fish. Something wrong beneath the surface.
Slash and Dog waded in, boots sinking deep as their hands brushed cold metal buried under silt. Whatever it was, it wasn’t debris. Flat. Broad. Heavy. Too heavy. They tried to lift it once—then again—until Dog finally shook his head.
“Door,” he muttered. “Or close enough.”
Terry knelt at the pond’s edge, rain tapping softly against his helm. He ignored the object at first, studying the broken stone pillars that jutted from the water like rotted teeth. On one, nearly erased by time and algae, he found it—a skull motif, its eyes deliberately scored out. Not decoration. A warning.
Lady Morwen watched in silence as the group debated ropes, leverage, and whether disturbing the thing was wise. Her gaze never left the water.
With a final effort, the light war horse was used to pull open the portal.
The Descent
The pond concealed more than metal. A submerged passage opened into a flooded cavern beneath the ruins. To test its depth—and its welcome—the party lowered a dead hobgoblin on a rope. It vanished into black water and did not return intact.
Dog and TerryOr went down next, breath held, faith tight in his grip. Below, the cavern widened into a water-filled chamber where an archway rose from the stone like a ribcage. At its peak: the same skull, eyes crossed out in defiance or denial. Beyond it, darkness sloped downward into worked stone.
They secured the surface and committed.
Torchlight and Traps
The corridor beneath the battlefield was not crude. It was deliberate.
TerryOr instantly cast Find Traps.
Eight feet wide. Twelve feet high. Domed ceiling. Torches lit at precise intervals—magically lit. Terry advanced carefully, the others following once the depth of danger was clear. At the first intersection, the walls themselves shimmered faintly under divine sight.
Traps. Old ones. Still hungry.
Irving stepped forward instead, hands steady. Pressed on the left doorway.
A dart trap triggered without warning - piercing Irving and TerryOr.
They pressed on.
The Skull Chamber
The corridor opened into a wide chamber—sixty feet square—its ceiling lost in shadow. Pillars ringed the room. A dry well yawned at its center. Skulls were set into the stonework, each carved with cruel precision, each socket holding a ruby that caught torchlight like a watching eye.
24 zombies approached the party and with the power of St. Cuthbert allied with TerryOr, they instantly disintigrated.
Silversun found the secret door between two pillars, perfectly balanced, untouched by time. Slash checked it—once. The odds weren’t good.
He opened it anyway.
The scream echoed through the halls.
The Throne Below
Beyond the door lay a throne room swallowed by age and corruption. What ruled there was no king—but it had ruled once.
A ghostly figure with a crown and sword in his hand.
The fight was brutal and uneven. Slash and Dog were caught, locked down by fear and foul magic. Irving charged alone, steel ringing as his blade struck true. The creature answered in kind. Irving bled. Terry called on St. Cuthbert and was met with resistance. Not all evils fear the gods anymore.
Silversun waited. Watching. Measuring.
In the end, righteousness and stubborn survival won out. The creature fell—but not without cost.
The Price of Victory
Time itself struck back.
Irving aged forty years in moments—his hair graying, his face sharpening with hard-earned wisdom. Terry aged twenty, joints stiffening, breath heavier than before. Both remained standing. Both accepted the price without complaint.
Upon the throne lay the rewards:
A jeweled crown.
A finely wrought sword.
Both radiated chaos.
No one celebrated.
Outcome Notes
XP Awarded: 7,000 XP each
Major Effects:
Irving aged 40 years (now middle-aged)
TerryOr aged 20 years (now mature)
Items Recovered:
Chaotic magical sword (unidentified)
Jeweled crown with chaotic aura (unidentified)
Next Steps
Irving:
Update age to 58
Apply middle-aged adjustments (+1 INT, +1 WIS, −1 STR, −1 CON)
Learn one new language (INT increase)
TerryOr:
Update age to 47
Apply mature adjustments (−1 STR, +1 INT, +1 WIS)
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