The Tomb of Ethelred the Sober: A Dungeon for Dolmenwood

The Tomb of St. Ethelred the Sober

What follows is a dungeon I wrote using inspiration from the Dolmenwood campaign setting and the Barrowmaze adventure tome. I also received considerable inspiration from Indiana Jones: The Last Crusade. Not to spoil anything for those of you following my Dolmenwood campaign logs, but my players went through this last week and suffered many deadly experiences (though they may not have resulted in death… you’ll have to wait and see)! The first section of this post details the dungeon, while the second provides the backstory to the dungeon your players might unearth if they do some research beforehand. Let me know if you run it or have any suggestions!

Squares are 10ft. The squiggly lines represent the carved numbers on the walls.

1.      Offln’s Tomb: Stone steps descend into a dusty crypt. The air hangs silent and still. Along one wall lies a stone sarcophagus. Its lid lies open, revealing skeletal remains inside. The numbers “2:85” are carved above it in imposing lettering.

• Wall: One 10ft. section of the wall sounds hollow, opening into the passage beyond. Explorers may break the false wall down to access the next passage.
• Sarcophagus: Plain and unadorned white marble. Looted of all valuables.
• Skeletal Remains: A human male, obviously old. Belonged to Offln, shieldmate of Ethelred the Sober.
• Numbers: This verse from the Book of Light says, “The faithful shall crumble the walls of falsehood and reveal the truth beyond.”

2.      Test of Humility: An eerily quiet passage, 10ft. wide. Along the far wall, the numbers “7:41” are carved in imposing lettering.

•  Passage: A thin razor wire is strung across this passage at neck height, almost invisible to the eye. It will sever the neck of those who walk into it.
• Numbers: This passage from the Book of Light says, “The humble shall kneel before holiness.”

3.      Test of Faith: An eerily quiet passage, 10ft. wide. Along the far wall, the numbers “8:97” are carved in imposing lettering.

• Passage: The floor here is thin enough that the weight of a person stepping on it will cause it to break. A pit 10ft. wide and 20ft. deep filled with spikes lies beneath
• Numbers: This passage from the Book of Light says, “Leap with faith, and angels shall carry you.”

4.      Test of Willpower: The passage opens into a 30ft. square room. A heap of gold and silver coins lies along the eastern wall. Above it, the numbers “10:12” are carved in imposing lettering. The passage continues to the north.

•  Passage: The floor between the entrances and the heap of gold is thin enough that the weight of a person stepping on it will cause it to break. A pit 10ft. wide and 20ft. deep filled with spikes lies beneath.
•  Gold and silver coins:  these wooden coins are painted with a veneer of gold and silver. They are worth far less than real coins.
• Numbers: This passage from the Book of Light says, “Those who give in to temptation shall fall.”

5.      Test of Charity: The passage opens into a octagonal room 50ft. deep and 30ft. wide. A table lies in the center. Six skeletal men and women sit around the table, each dressed in armor and carrying weapons. On the table in front of each lies empty wooden plates and cups. A seventh skeletal man sits at the head of the table, dressed in a paladin’s armor and clenching his hand around a silver chalice. Behind him on the wall, the numbers “5:46” are carved in imposing lettering.

• Skeletal men and women: these are the shieldmates of Ethelred the Sober, while the man at the head of the table is Ethelred himself. If the heroes defile a skeleton, take the chalice before serving each skeleton, or attempt to take back the food and drink they offer, the skeletons rise and attack.
• Empty wooden plates and cups: if each plate and cup is filled with food and drink, the skeleton at the head of the table releases the chalice.
• Silver chalice: This is the Everflowing Chalice of Ethelred the Sober, which never runs out of drink and always pours the perfect drink for the occasion.
• Numbers: This passage from the Book of Light says, “Blessed are those who serve others before themselves.

THE TALE OF SAINT ETHELRED THE SOBER

from Parables of the Angel Ecanus

penned by Scribe Modestus at the Priory of Syner

            The Woldish did not always know Saint Ethelred the Sober as Ethelred “the Sober.” In fact, the Woldish once knew him as “Ethelred the Staggered,” due to his propensity for drink. Ethelred once challenged a dwarf Meister to a drinking contest; the contest ended in a tie because the Halls of Havenhome ran out of ale. When raiding the stores of the frost giant jarl Scravensbjane, Ethelred dove into an open barrel of mead the size of a bedroom and drink his way to the bottom. When he fought in battle, Ethelred’s smell intoxicated his enemies and rendered them defenseless. Woldish men even said Ethelred defeated a vampire by letting the creature drink his blood and die from catastrophe of the liver.

            Ethelred fought in the Wold’s wars against Lord Fragglehorn’s hordes of wild goat-men. Ethelred esteemed himself in the eyes of heaven by valiantly defending the priory of Syner from a band of goat-men vandals. Just as today, the Angel Ecanus watched over the priory.

            The night after the battle, Ethelred reveled himself to sleep. As Ethelred dozed in a drunken stupor, the Angel appeared before him in a dream. The Angel promised to reward Ethelred with anything the Divine could bestow. Ethelred asked the Angel to give him a tankard that would never empty.

            When Ethelred awoke the next morning, he found a silver tankard at his bedside. It remained full of drink, no matter how much he swallowed. When he poured it upon the ground, it splashed indefinitely. Its taste and temperature changed with the seasons, always manifesting as the perfect beverage for the time an occasion: mulled wine in the winter months, blonde beer in the summer. He always kept it close by his side. It was his most prized possession.

            Ethelred used his ever-flowing tankard to reach new heights of depravity. Late one night, after Ethelred had spent himself cavorting, goat-men attacked his camp. Ethelred’s banner-men raised the alarm, but Ethelred remained asleep in a drunken stupor.

            Ethelred’s banner-men fought bravely and repelled the goat-men, but at heavy cost. When Ethelred awoke the next morning, he surveyed the corpses and wept. He fell to his knees, distraught, and pleaded to the Angel to take the ever-flowing tankard back.

            “Curse all drink!” Ethelred cried. “Were it not for my drunkenness, these men might still be alive. Please, Angel – take this temptation from me. When I claimed it as my reward, I knew not what I asked for.”

            The Angel appeared before Ethelred. The Angel told him, “CAST IRON IS COLD AND BRITTLE, YET GROWS STRONG BY BATHING IN FLAME AND FEELING THE HAMMER. DESTITUTE MEN CLAIM THEY DO NOT HOARD WEALTH.  EUNUCHS CLAIM THEY DO NOT FEEL LUST. YET, THEY DO NOT HAVE TRUE STRENGTH OF WILL, AS WILL GROWS STRONG FROM RESISTING TEMPTATION. YOU HAVE DRANK FROM THE BOTTOMLESS CUP AND TURNED FROM IT. I WILL NOT TAKE THIS CUP FROM YOU. KEEP IT AS A MIRACLE OF GOD. LET THESE WORDS BE KNOWN, SO THAT ALL MAY BE ENLIGHTENED.”

            Ethelred the Staggered then rose to his feet as Saint Ethelred the Sober. He kept his tankard by his side until the end of his days. He never thirsted again, not even for water. He built an honorable tomb for his shield-mates who died. Ethelred preached the words of the Angel Ecanus until the end of his days and, when he passed, asked his steward Offlin to bury him with his dead shield-mates and cursed tankard. Saint Ethelred asked Offlin to ensure only a pious man who knew the Words of Light could one day claim his tankard, as such an artifact in the wrong hands could cause unbridled destruction. Offlin did as Ethelred commanded.

            LET THESE WORDS BE KNOWN, SO THAT ALL MAY BE ENLIGHTENED.

Dolmenwood Campaign Diary: Part 6

This is the sixth 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).

Grendel faced forward. In front of him, a massive blob of yeast towered ten feet out of the pool. Its only distinct feature was a blubbery maw that opened wide, forming a massive bubble. The bubble grew. It continued to grow. It kept growing until it almost touched Grendel’s astounded face, then suddenly popped. Its discharge sent yeasty air and little flecks of dough blowing past the adventurers.

They immediately sprang into action. Gwomodom and Lambob rushed to Grendel’s side as he stowed his axe and began to murmur incantations under his breath.

The creature reached out with two pseudopods. Gwomodom ducked one that flew over his head, while the other struck Lambob. Sticky dough slammed into his chest and propelled him backwards into a tree, knocking the breath from him.

Grendel’s eyes lit as he finished his spell. He summoned a gout of fire from his hands that washed over the pseudopod sticking Lambob to the tree.

Smoke and the smell of burnt toast filled the air. The yeast pool’s surface bubbled with rage. It began to retract its pseudopod back into its form, dragging Lambob with it. Desperately, the dwarf clawed at the grass as he slid closer and closer to the pool’s edge. Digging his fingers into the dirt, he found purchase and held on. The dough sucked off him as the creature reabsorbed its burnt limb.

“Maybe we should’ve worn flour,” he called to his companions, pushing himself to his feet.

The creature lashed out at Grendel and Gwomodom with two mushy tentacles. Each of its arms slid by harmlessly as the adventurers dodged out of their way. Gwomodom turned and drove his spear into the creature’s soft form. As he punctured it, fermented air escaped and whiffed through his mossy beard.

Grendel prepared another spell, widening his stance. He shouted words of magic as fire leapt from his hands and wrapped around the mound of dough in the pool.  It quickly baked.

Clearly suffering, the creature attacked Grendel once more. Its pseudopod raised in the air and fell on him like a downed tree. Grendel’s body disappeared under the raw dough.

Lambob and Gwomodom each let out a cry. Lambob ran forward and attacked the mass atop Grendel. His hands and feet moved like pistons and fell like rocks, punching the dough. Gwomodom thrust his spear again and again into the creature’s other pseudopod, struggling to free it each time.

The creature retreated. Grendel’s body revealed itself as the creature’s tentacle lifted, stuck to its bottom like a squashed insect. Lambob latched onto Grendel. The tentacle raised Lambob into the air for a moment before he peeled Grendel away. He and Grendel fell back to the ground together.

Furious, Gwomodom threw his spear into the creature’s mass as the center of the pool. There, it caused a great percussion that sent yeasty wind through all the trees in the glade. For a few more moments, the pool bubbled like boiling water taken off the stove. It then fell silent with one last, wet “pop.”

Gwomodom rushed to where Lambob stood over Grendel. Brothy tears fell from his eyes. “Quick, we have to help him!” he urged.

Gwomodom tried to peel the sticky dough from Grendel’s form, but it was no use. Grendel wasn’t breathing. The moss dwarf pounded on Grendel’s chest. As he pounded, dough oozed in and out of Grendel’s mouth like an indecisive turtle’s head peeking from its shell.

They lingered there for what seemed like hours as the moss dwarf wept. When he ran out of tears, Gwomodom simply knelt by Grendel, contemplating his own life choices.

Lambob stood passively and watched. He eventually broke the silence. “That was stupid,” he observed.

Gwomodom rose to his feet. The vines sprouted from his chest and lifted Grendel onto his shoulder. Together, he and Lambob returned to the cottage.

The path led them from the trees to the cottage’s back door, where half a dozen women rushed outside and waited for them with hands clenched on their dresses. Looks of despondence washed over their faces as they saw Grendel on Gwomodom’s shoulder.

“Please, don’t bring him through the kitchen,” Mother pleaded. “We’ve got food in here.”

Listlessly, Gwomodom looked right and left, unsure of what to do with his friend’s corpse. He settled on propping Grendel’s body against the side of the house. Solemn, Gwomodom and Lambob followed Mother through the kitchen and returned to the living room. The daughters trailed behind.

As they entered the living room, they saw a halfling at Mother’s table where there was no halfling before. He had light brown hair and a cheery face. He wore priestly garments. Though all halflings were small, Gwomodom and Lambob could tell that the halfling’s legs were especially small. His atrophied thighs and calves seemed like they could snap under the weight of his feet.

The halfling cheerfully struggled out of his chair to greet them, but reconsidered when he saw the sadness on their faces. He sat back down, instead.

Gwomodom and Lambob slid out chairs and sat. Mother settled herself down. It creaked under her weight as she leaned forward and slid a purse across the table to the two adventurers.

“Thank you for what you did. Here’s your payment,” she explained. “I’m sorry about your friend. He was very brave.”

Gwomodom weighed the purse in his hand. It felt light, compared to the weight the death of his friend exerted on him.

“At least we only have to split it two ways now,” Lambob offered.

“I know now might not be a good time,” Mother said tentatively, “but I might have other work for you, if you’re interested.”

Lambob’s ears perked up. “Does it pay?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mother confirmed. “Three-hundred gold pieces. Though it’s even more dangerous than some yeast monster.”

“I’m interested,” Lambob replied. “Danger’s the nature of the work. Gwomodom?” Lambob looked to the moss dwarf.

Gwomodom stared at the table.

“He’s in too,” Lambob told her.

Mother turned to the halfling seated at the table. “Copper, does it suit you if these two help with your job? Apologies if I spoke out of turn, but I assumed you could use the company.”

“Of course!” Copper the halfling replied, “I’m always open to making new friends.”

            “Very well. Copper here is visiting a creature named Farthigny. He’s a fiddler that lives on the east shore of Lake Longmere. You three will to take him this as payment for a special ingredient I need from him,” Mother explained. As she spoke, she removed a glass jar from one of the china cabinets. Three small gingerbread men were inside, apparently imbued with life. They tapped at the glass futilely and seemed to scream inside, though no sound issued forth.

            “This,” Mother continued, holding the jar aloft, “should buy us the feathers of twenty-four blackbirds slain by fiddle music. I believe Farthigny is the only one who can get this for us.”

            Lambob eyed the jar with discomfort. “Can do,” he said. “I’ve never been one for questions. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be going back to town.”

            “Good!” Mother exclaimed. “But before you leave, I have something for you. Amonie, can you bring in the cookies?”

            Amonie left to the kitchen and returned with a tray bearing a dozen cookies, each shaped like sliver moons.

            “I baked them just in case you got injured while working,” Mother explained. “Made them special.”

            “With love?” Copper asked.

            “No. Moonbright,” Mother corrected. “It helps injuries heal.” She looked with pity at Gwomodom. “I’m afraid it won’t do much for your friend, though.”

            Gwomodom nodded in understanding. Lambob immediately took some cookies from the tray and stuffed them in his mouth. He poured the others directly into his bag.

            “And I should say that this job is bound by the same strictures you swore for the last one,” Mother added. “You shan’t tell anyone the exact nature of what you’re doing, or why. Again, this secret ingredient is secret!”

            Lambob and Gwomodom then departed with their coin, the cookies, and living gingerbread men. Gwomodom slung Grendel’s body over his shoulder and they left for Prigwort. Copper limped alongside them.

            They hadn’t gotten far when they heard a whisper from behind.

 “Psst!”

The party turned. Cranduil the Bard crept up, giving furtive glances back towards the cottage.

“Friends,” he began, “I couldn’t help but overhear the job Mother gave you. I was pressed to the floor, and… well, never-mind. Listen, I wanted to tell you that Farthigny’s bad news.” Cranduil gulped, sweat visible on his brow. “I’ve heard stories about him, see… bad stories. Bad things happen to people who cross him.”

The party nodded. “Thanks for the warning,” Gwomodom offered. “We’ll keep that in mind.” They prepared to leave.

“It’s not just that,” Cranduil continued, licking sweat from his lips and sneaking another glance at the house. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but… there’s a bounty on him. Or his fiddle, you see. The Bardic Guild. They’re offering five thousand silver to anyone who brings it in.”

Lambob’s eyes lit up at the sound of five thousand silver. “Thanks for the tip,” he said. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Cranduil nodded. “Think nothing of it. Just one good-looking man helping another.” Cranduil winked, then turned back towards the house.

Gwomodom and Lambob returned to Prigwort. All the way, they schemed how to both win Farthigny’s help and rob him of his most valued possession.