The Vault of Vraath Keep

The oppressive heat of the Witchwood combined with the utter and complete stillness caused the sicky sweet smell of fresh blood to hang heavy in the air. In the courtyard of the keep, bodies lay strewn about, each in its own pool of crimson and swarmed with its own personal swarm of flies. Inside the Keep’s tower, both Dirk and Pierre sat wearily on the massive bed – panting with an exhaustion brought on by magically induced weakness.

Triana, now returned to her human self, stood by the door watching as Malak dug at something covered by years’ accumulation of sediment – a hidden hatchway in the floor. “I’m sort of amazed that they didn’t find this. But then, I guess we knew to look for it – and they didn’t.”

Even as he speaks, the hatchway clicks and opens, revealing a long shaft with an iron ladder running down into a dimly illuminated room far below. The four exchanged anxious glances and in one accord began to descend into the depths. At the bottom of the ladder, they found themselves in a small room, perhaps 15×10. It was dimly illuminated by runes etched into the worked stone of the walls. Despite its simplicity, the room was elegantly appointed and spoke of great value. Three alcoves with iron gates marked the walls, and a human skeleton – still dressed in battle gear – lay against the far wall, a giant arrow protruding from its chest.

The party was initially silent, perhaps with awe or reverence, but the silence was broken by Pierre, “Well, eh, I suppose we now know the end to the story of, eh, Amery Vraath. No?” He chuckled to himself and swaggered forth to look behind the gates. “These locks, eh, they are verry good! I think, however, that I can remove them with some work, eh?”

Malak, for his part, approached the body of Amery Vraath and began to search it for any valuables, “No point in leaving anything here. It’s not doing him any good, and I doubt he has any kin to speak of.”

It took several minutes for Pierre to open all of the gates, but true to his word he got them open (though secretly he was sufficiently impressed with the locks and would not want anyone to know how difficult it was for him).

Looking at the combined treasure amassed, Malak broke out into a hearty laugh, “Do you realize that we are getting PAID to find this?”

The Not-So-Calm Before the Storm

Beads of sweat trickled off of Malak’s eyebrows and into the corner of his eyes, causing him to wince involuntarily. He glared up at the threatening sky briefly before turning his attention once more to the broken terrain through which he was moving.

“Bad enough, the heat, before this damnable storm front comes rollin’ in. I don’t care who you are, no simple trail-shelter’s gonna stand up to THAT.”

And so he pressed onward through the bracken, heading towards the cliffs to the north of the Dawn Way, hoping to find shelter more substantial than mere canvas and construction. It took nearly an hour, once he had made the cliff, to find what he was looking for: a large cleft in the rock with shelter from both rain and wind. It was large, and had clearly been used by travelers in the past – likely in a similar event. Malak made haste to gather firewood, and by sheer luck stumbled upon and shot a brace of large Jackalopes. All the while the thick, sticky air clung to him like a wet blanket, and the black wall of low clouds rolled impendingly closer.

The darkness began to grow, bright orange bolts of lighting broke through the clouds – repeatedly stabbing the ground ahead of the stormfront. As Malak completed his last forray for firewood, they skies fell…