Pansy got pretty drunk last night. She was not used to so much adoring attention. She really got going on telling stories; you vaguely remember her getting a real laugh out of the story with the dead necromancer in the closet and speculation about what he was doing in there. How she never heard a dwarf squawk before. Speculation on why we don’t play football with brute heads. How stuffed fang pouncers would be great lawn darts. Rothchilde was—was he singing? Could that be right? If it was him he has a fine tenor. There was certainly… dancing. Yes. Lots of dancing. Anyway, it’s a little vague. For some, because they retired early and only heard muffled sounds. For others, because the drink left them hazy on the details.
The gate warden looks worried this morning as you head out with your wagons and troop. “Just thought you should know,” he says, uncomfortable. “About fifteen strangers left last night, through the gates, quiet as they could. Several had heavy backpacks. I didn’t like the look of them. But they headed towards the mountains.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Left about midnight. Thought you should know.” He looks at his feet. “They was armed. Armed to the teeth, they was.” He turns and goes back into his post and closes the door firmly.
The porters and guards exchange an uneasy glance. Then the horses pull the wagons forward.
Let’s see what’s waiting up there.
Lunthres 4, 1230.
They took 2 wagons, 4 men at arms, and 4 laborers with them to haul away their treasure. Upon seeing that the front gate was guarded, they waited until nightfall; the wait was punctuated by a brief fracas with a wandering hungry bear, mowed down in short order. Upon approaching the door under cover of darkness, Tory’s expertise got them through the barred dwarfgate without the guards seeing them enter.
Of course, when they started the melee with the brute zombies inside, that changed dramatically. After a brief brutal fight that started in the dark and ended with the invaders inside, the zombies down, and the door closed behind them, they had gained entry.
Tory found the secret door that led to the area overlooking the approach, and Bob drew fire as Rook hacked the guards down. They prodded for another secret door, finding their way back into a familiar area of the complex that way rather than risking the rope bridge over the chasm.
There was evidence corpses had been moved. And the guards wore holy symbols of Nuzagoth, god of the undead. So they were careful as they continued on, noting a distressing lack of corpses as they headed down the Grand Stair, back into the lower level.
Landru could read the dwarf script on the 3 occupied coffins in the crypt, and he helped Tory get into one of them before they continued on. They found the door to the dwarf forge had been chopped out of the rock by a work crew too unskilled to open it. Following, they found traps triggered by zombies, who were discarded in the corner. Finally, they approached the dwarf hall, discovering a zombie boggiebane, skeletal boggiebanes, zombie wolves…
Tory went for cover to the side, drawing out a pack of zombie dwarves. He ran for cover on the other side of the room, drawing out a pack of skeletal dwarves. Meanwhile the rest of the party met the boggiebanes and wolves of death, hacked them down, and aimed for Tory’s dwarven finds as leftovers. A heartstopper came out to face them, charging, and Bob chopped it down at once.
Breathless at the end of the fight, they followed a sound behind the throne, and found the necromancer and a guard. The result was rapid, if messy, and the invaders stood victorious again.
As they went about the grim business of making sure the fallen would not rise, Tory and Landru approached a big double door leading out of the hall. Landru read that it was Durgeddin’s Forge, Doom of the Sky People. Tory figured a quick look would not hurt. He stepped into the forge, glancing around, and exchanged words with something dark that did not come into the light; it was pleased the necromancer was dead, and let him live. He retreated gratefully.
Scant treasure in hand, and Bob carrying the defeated heartstopper, they wound their way back out of the mountain. Bob buried the remains, the party split up their meager take, and they headed back to civilization with wagon loads of basic caravan supplies from the brute halls.
The grateful guilder representative awarded them each 25 sina for defeating the necromancer (whose head they threw down the chasm with the rope bridge.) Again heroes, they can revel in their glory even as they bask in the rumination on the treasure that may yet be down there undiscovered.
Adapted from material in the Forge of Fury module.