17 January 2022

Iron Dungeoneer: Ēlin : 1_The Burial Mound

 

An episodic adventure using 'Iron Dungeoneer!' rules.

*

 

By mid morning the next day Ēlin had removed enough rock and soil from the mound and reached the top of the tomb.
He smashed upon the exposed slab for hours with stones until it finally gave way, a jagged hole into blackness just large enough to squeeze through.

He sparked his only torch to life and gave it to the black.
It fell briefly then abruptly stopped.
A short drop, eight feet...maybe ten.

The youth did not hesitate and wormed himself into the hole, feet first working himself down until he hung on the edge.
As soon as his full weight was supported by his fingers he smoothly released and followed the torch to its resting place below.
He struck the ground with a little impact, absorbed the shock and rolled off to his side.
Detritus from the mound showered down around him.

*

 

Now self entombed, Ēlin recovers the torch from the floor reveling his confined surroundings.




Moving to the north west along an angular hall he sees fast, erratic movement, a Fruit Bat 'b', the common pest had noticed him before he noticed it. He steps forward to dispatch it.



 
Ēlin slashes at the blur with his dagger hitting it, the bat flits to the north west in retreat. A short chase and another hit from his blade and the first encounter is over. The rookie is unscathed.

 
 
 
 
Ēlin moves west following the hall then squeezes between a gap in the walls and spots a discarded torch '~' on the cobbled floor. A much needed piece of equipment.

 
 
 
 
As he secures the torch, a stretch of corridor is illuminated to the west. In the gloom Ēlin eyes an odd grey patch on the ground ','.
The corridor appears to open to a larger room but for now he decides to investigate his immediate area and moves off southeasterly.
 



 As he completes the circuit and the interior of the mound revealed, Ēlin concentrates his attention on the two doors along the inner walls.
Would the tyrant be interred within.

 

 

 

He moves to the south door, it opens readily to a small empty room.
Tucked in a small alcove he notices a vial, liquid can be seen through the dusty glass.
He enters the and approaches the alcove, lifts the vial and swirls it around. It appears ordinary to his eyes. He removes the tight stopper and wafts it beneath his nose.
Oil '!'...common lamp oil.
A useful item but certainly not entombed wealth.

 


 

As he places the oil inside his ruck he notices on the north wall, close to the ground a slightly larger block of stone with an outline of what appears to be a concealed entry.
Passage to the next chamber.



 

Pushing upon the low stone block it begrudgingly slides, then tumbles to the floor of the northern chamber.
He thrusts the torch through the entrance and peers into the room.
Only stale air and dust thank him for the effort in this long empty room.



 

He wriggles through and briefly collects himself. This was no tomb. He exits agitated, moving impatiently to the door in the outer hall and swings it wide...




More dust, a false room empty.





He returns to the hall and stares into the gloom wondering.
Were the old tales wrong about the burial mound, it did not feel like a tomb, where was the body?
Perhaps the old fiend arose and simply walked away down the hallway the red headed bastard now stared down.
Was this a way into Angband as the stories claimed or was that false as well.
Perhaps.

Certainly though the impatient Ēlin had spent enough time pondering such things.
He moved forward into the hall to investigate the strange grey shape
',' on the ground.



Angband greedily swallowed him whole.

14 January 2022

Iron Dungeoneer: Ēlin_Introduction

 

 An episodic adventure using 'Iron Dungeoneer!' rules.

*

 

Ēlin

 

*

The brash and overbold youth Ēlin sat atop the rocky mound, a shock of red hair stuck to his still perspiring brow.
He had made the mound in good time, the sun was just now midway in the sky.

The mound, sparsely covered in patchy tufts of stiff brown grasses wind blown up the mountain side from unknown plains, squat upon a level ledge of slope.
It looked like a hairy, broken fist, a lumpy collection of granite stones that formed grotesque knuckles and clenched, meaty digits.

Stories of the mound arose generations ago and were passed down the line, ghost stories and folklore of the superstitious.
Ēlin had heard them all.  
It was said that the mound was the resting place of a wicked pagan tyrant, a cruel man of dark, aberrant powers.
Ultimately he met his fate at the hands of the people he terrorized, murdered as he slept.
He was sepulchered close to the Iron Prison by his faithful cadre within a rough hune tomb upon the mountain.
Some time after the townspeople of Ēlin's home returned to the tomb and hastily covered it in stone and boulders in fear that he may again rise to avenge himself upon them.
It was whispered that through his tomb ingress to the ancient stronghold Angband could be had and that the old tyrant still stalked the deep dungeon.

The old tales swam through Ēlin's head as he dug and removed stones from the mound.

He was, possessed.

He would, find a way into this pagan tomb.

He continued to excavate.

*