Dolmenwood Campaign Diary: Part 2

This is the second post summarizing a campaign I run for a group of three wonderful players.

·         Want to read the previous entry? Check out this post.

·         Want to learn more about the campaign setting? Check out Dolmenwood by Gavin Norman
(the Necrotic Gnome).

·         Want to learn more about the dungeon the players explored? Check out the Tomb of the Serpent
King by Skerples.

Gwomodom stepped into the chamber, his torch illuminating its walls. Grendel peered over
his shoulder. Boots leaned around the moss dwarf’s knees.

This chamber loomed much larger than those they explored before. Along the left side, three
sarcophagi stood embedded in the wall. Their stone lids, flush with the wall’s surface, bore
elegant engravings of goat-people. To the party’s right, the passage continued into darkness.

Grendel approached the sarcophagi, running his hands along is etching. The middle lid
depicted a nobly-bred goat-man grasping a scepter in one hand. The etching showed jewels
the size of persimmons embedded in the goat-man’s horns. The lids on either side portrayed
human brides with goatly features. Two knubby horns protruded from the brow of the
woman on the left; the woman on the right had hooves instead of hands.

“That one in the middle looks promising,” Grendel whispered to his companions.
“Let’s get it open.”

Boots dropped his pack and removed his tools. Grendel and Gwomodom pried the lid off the
center sarcophagus together. With a slam, it fell to the floor and summoned a cloud of dust.

Boots stepped atop to look inside, where the skeleton of a noble goat-man stood. The long
horns protruding from his skull boasted several glittering, ocean-colored gems. One of its
hands held a crystal-topped walking cane.

Boots raised up on his toes and reached for the cane. As he did, the goat-man turned its
cavernous gaze to him. In its eye sockets, Boots saw hateful pinpricks of red light. The
skeleton raised its claw and reached for the halfling!

Grendel yanked Boots away by the cuff of his shirt. Then, murmuring an incantation under
his breath, Grendel summoned fire from his hands and funneled it into the goat-man’s
sarcophagus. The skeleton’s mummified rags lit aflame. The monster gave an unholy scream.

After a few moments, the flames died. The goat-man’s screams faded. His rags burnt away,
but the goat-man remained standing. Soot and char blackened his bones. His eyes glowed like
red embers. He stepped from his tomb. The party stepped away, their mouths open in horror.

Thumping came from the coffins of the goat-wives on either side. Their lids fell to the floor.
The skeletal goat-wives stepped over them. Each of them wore the wispy remains of funeral
garb. Thread-like hair clung to their scalps.

Regaining his composure, Gwomodom rushed the horned goat-wife. Wielding his spear as a
staff, he swung for her skull. With a crack, he split her temple. She turned her face back
towards him, wearing a skeletal grin.

Boots scrambled to his feet and tried to lift the coffin’s lid, hoping to return the goat-man to its
sarcophagus. The lid’s heavy stone proved too heavy, however. The hooved goat-wive then
stepped next to him, brought a hoof down upon his head, and brained him.

Seeing his friend fall, Grendel screamed and summoned a blast of flame stronger than before.
Its heat consumed the hooved goat-wife. Her ashy remains fell to the floor.

The goat-man then approached Grendel, eyes blazing, and brought his cane upon Grendel’s
shoulder. Grendel fell to his knees. The goat-man raised his cane again and brought it down
on Grendel’s brow. Grendel fell.

Gwomodom retreated to the doorway, holding off the horned goat-wife with the remains of
his spear. His vines held the torch aloft as its flame began to die. At the edges of its light, he
saw the inert form of Boots growing cold and pale alongside Grendel. Grendel’s chest
stuttered with every breath.

The moss dwarf kept his back to the exit and dug his feet in. He swung at the goat-wife with
all his resolve. She tried to bat his spear away, but Gwomodom split her arm in two and broke
her spine. The goat-wife gave an ethereal gasp and fell to pieces on the floor. Across the room,
 the goat-man’s red eyes settled on Gwomodom in rage.

They charged each other. The goat-man swung for Gwomodom, his cane colliding with the
moss dwarf’s soft flesh. Gwomodom absorbed the blow and responded with his own,
splintering the goat-man’s charred bones with a single stroke. The goat-man vaporized in a
cloud of ash and dust.

As the bones of the goat-man settled, Gwomodom rushed to Grendel. With his mossy skin,
the dwarf mopped Grendel’s blood and treated the wound as best he could.

With Grendel stabilized, Gwomodom caught his breath and turned to Boots. The halfling’s
body sprawled on the floor, eyes open. Unwilling to leave his friend in such a state,
Gwomodom lifted the halfling into one of the sarcophagi and imperfectly replaced its lid - but
not before taking the silver serpent-ring the halfling had claimed. The moss dwarf also pried
six gems from the goat-man’s horns and thrust the crystal walking cane into his bag.

Gwomodom then staggered back to town with Grendel, following the narrow trail they took
that same morning. As evening set, they arrived at their home, Prigwort.

Prigwort was a quietly busy town at the crossing of the four most important roads in
Dolmenwood. Quaint, wooden cottages lined its streets. The whole town smelled of yeast at
due to its famed breweries.

Gwomodom carried Grendel to the chapel of St. Waylaine, a church in the center of town.
Gwomodom burst into the chapel. There, he found Priestess Eleanor Davenholme, an elderly
woman with tightly-bound hair and an erect posture, cleaning after vespers.

Gwomodom carried his friend inside. “Be careful with him!” Eleanor called as a look of panic
overtook her face. “I just cleaned the floor. I’ll bring a linen for him to lie on.”

Eleanor left, the click of her heeled shoes fading down the hall. Gwomodom struggled with
Grendel in his arms. He let his friend’s blood drip atop his feet, rather than the floor. After a
few minutes, Eleanor soon returned with a sheet under her arm and a scrap of parchment in
one hand. Eleanor spread the linen on the floor; Gwomodom laid his friend atop it.

She knelt down and surveyed Grendel with a practiced eye. “He needs care, assuredly. These
injuries are severe. He’s alive only by the grace of Her Blessedness.” Eleanor then raised her
gaze to meet Gwomodom’s. Her brow arched as she asked, “How did this happen?”

“It was the restless dead,” Gwomodom urgently explained. “Please, can you heal him? I have
an offering,” he pleaded, fishing one of the gems from his pockets.

Eleanor eyed the gem as it gleamed in the light of the chapel’s candles. “Most certainly I can,”
 she replied, obviously impressed. Eleanor eagerly took the moss dwarf’s gem, stuffed it in
her robes, and unfolded her scroll. Her eyes took on a vacant look as she read the scroll’s
words with profound authority. She finished the incantation and the scroll erupted into a
cloud of golden sparks. They fell upon Grendel’s form, healing his wounds wherever they
touched. Grendel’s eyes sprang open. Eleanor and Gwomodom helped him to his feet.

“The restless dead, you say?” Eleanor inquired. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we in the Church
have an interest in eradicating such abominations.” She fingered the gem in her pocket.
“We’re also interested in continued donations,” she added. “If you explore those tombs
further, laying the dead to rest and offering what you find, you will have the blessing of The
One True God and all the aid we can offer.” She then leveled her eyes at Grendel. “Just try to
be more careful.”

Gwomodom offered Eleanor another gem to heal his own wounds. He and Grendel then left
the chapel, emerging into sunset’s fading glow.

Grendel turned to his friend, then asked “What of Boots?” His voice shook under the weight
of its question.

Gwomodom shook his head, a look of regret crossing his face. “He’s gone,” the moss dwarf
replied. “Still down there, I mean… but gone.”

Grendel pursed his lips and gave a slow nod. A moment of silence passed as they stood in the
sunlight. “Perhaps we can go back for him,” Grendel pondered aloud. “I have no desire to
return soon, though. Losing one friend is enough,” he said, giving Gwomodom a shake on the
shoulder.

“How about gaining a friend?” a voice added from behind them.

Gwomodom and Grendel turned. Descending the steps came a poorly-dressed mountain
dwarf. Thick calluses covered his hands.“

Lambob Scrimbim, at your pleasure,” the mountain dwarf said. “I saw those gems you paid
the priestess with, moss-spawn. If there’s more where that came from, you can count me in.”

Gwomodom and Grendel looked at each other, then shared a shrug.

“I don’t know when or if we’ll go back,” Grendel replied, “but we’re certainly in the
gem-getting business, wherever it takes us. If you’re honest and good in a fight, we could use
someone like you.”

Such is how Boots met his end and Lambob joined the party.