A few rays of sunlight shimmer through the green canopy overhead as a breeze stirs the trees. The rays of light play over the fallen goblins, the singed manticore, the dead wargs, and the slumped minotaur where they lie in the blood and dust. Corrigan finishes the grim task of stripping the valuables from the corpse of the bugbear who called himself Wyrmlord Koth.
Valandil slumps against one of the mossy boulders where it stands against the crumbled wall of the old forest keep. He surveys the carnage with a sour look on his thin face.
Valandil: Serves them all right, the filthy goblin scum.
He spits.
Keith leans nearby.
Keith: You know, Valandil, you’ll never be able to see what a talented magician I am if you spend the battle unconscious in the mud.
Valandil scowls even more.
Jorr doesn’t say anything, but he smiles to himself while he checks his gear, perched atop another of the boulders.
Draggert sits in silence.
Throrin rolls his eyes at them all.
Corrigan finishes stripping the corpses and moves carefully around the keep’s grounds, checking for any more hidden dangers.
Keith approaches the treasure where it has been gathered into a small pile of glittering coins, tangled armor, and naked weaponry. He plucks a small wand from the pile and examines it.
Draggert points at the wand.
Draggert: That is wizard concentrated. Mystery stick.
Keith smirks.
Keith: Actually, Draggert, you are pretty much right.
Corrigan moves inside the doorway to the old tower that the hobgoblins emerged from. He turns back to the courtyard and beckons the others.
Corrigan: You’ll want to see this.
Keith, Draggert, and Throrin follow Corrigan inside. Valandil and Jorr are content to wait in the sunny courtyard.
The interior of the tower is hot, dim, and smells of smoke and sour sweat. The ceiling is supported by groaning wooden timbers. Rubble has been stacked into a firepit, and two dirty double-bunk beds are here. Another larger bed lies to the south. A crudely stuffed owlbear, its feathers burned and melted on one side, lies on the floor here. An old wooden door leads into another room to the southwest.
Draggert moves to stand in front of the owlbear. He inspects its shriveled eye sockets and cracked beak. He pulls a small knife from a sheath made of what looks like spider webs and begins to cut the taxidermy open.
Throrin: What are ye doing?!
Draggert: Enemy hide things where you expect most.
Throrin stares at the half-orc.
Corrigan presses an ear to listen at the southwest door, then he pushes it open. Keith follows close behind. Beyond is a circular chamber with a mix of furniture, including a large desk, an overstuffed chair, a massive four-poster bed, and a large easel holding a sizeable canvas covered with a sheet. A flight of stairs arcs up along the south wall to the upper floor, and a fair amount of rubble from a hole in the ceiling lies at the foot of the stairs.
Corrigan moves around the room slowly, examining everything.
Keith: I’d wager I know what’s behind that sheet. A red hand, you think, Corrigan?
He pulls the sheet back to reveal a half-finished portrait of Wyrmlord Koth hefting a Morningstar in his hand with one boot resting on a pile of white skulls.
Keith: Or…not.
Corrigan can’t help but grin.
Corrigan: I could not have guessed that.
Corrigan turns away from the painting to survey the room. He notices something and crouches low to the ground to examine the stone floor. He blows some dust from the stones and produces a small knife from his belt. He begins to test the cracks in the floor with it.
Draggert: There, now, Throrin! Treasure!
Draggert is holding an armful of yellowed cotton stuffing that he has pulled from inside of the taxidermy.
Throrin: What? Where?
Throrin pokes around inside of the owlbear shell with a look of distaste.
Draggert: Here, Throrin. Stuffing! A LOT! Very good in case of cold night!
Draggert begins shoving the stuffing into every pouch and pocket on his pack, anywhere it will fit, until his bag is bulging and fuzz is sticking out of every seam.
Throrin smacks his hand to his forehead and mutters about ruddy orcs.
Corrigan’s knife catches, and he nods to himself.
Corrigan: As I suspected, there’s a secret door in the floor, here. It’s very old, and it hasn’t been opened in a very long time.
Keith: Oh? Curious. Draggert! Come here for a minute!
Draggert squeezes his wide body through the door.
Keith: That story you told about Amery Vraath, the master of this keep. What happened to him, again?
Draggert: He disappear like ghost. Never seen again.
Corrigan: Or he got trapped in his own secret bolthole. You might all want to stand back.
Corrigan uses a long metal prybar to heave up a section of the stone floor, which he then shoves slowly aside with a visible effort and a loud grinding noise. The smell of stale, dusty air wafts through the room.
Throrin enters the room upon hearing the sound of grinding stone.
Throrin: Music to my ears!
Corrigan has revealed a square stone tunnel in the floor. A rusty ladder bolted to the tunnel wall leads down into darkness.
Corrigan: Who likes the dark?
Throrin: I’ll go. Though I’d prefer a please and a thank ye.
Keith is light on his feet with excitement.
Keith: I’m going with you, Throrin. And let’s hurry! We might have actually found Amery Vraath!
Throrin: As fast as me legs go, lad. You humans are always in such a rush.
Throrin tests the ladder carefully and descends below, his boots echoing on the rungs.
Keith waves a hand over his staff and it begins to glow with soft light. He slings it across his back with a leather strap and follows the dwarf.
Draggert calls after them.
Draggert: We stay up here in case entrance shut like cave at poison waterfall!
The walls of this small vault are of worked stone. The ceiling is just twelve feet high. The air is dense and stale. Three alcoves have been cut into the walls, two to the north and one to the south. Each alcove is blocked by an iron gate that’s locked with three chains and a formidable padlock. Beyond one gate are several shelves bearing no less than ten iron coffers. Beyond another is a small desk and chair, the desk piled high with papers and books. Beyond the third sits a large trunk. A human skeleton lies slumped in the southeast corner of the room. Still dressed in tattered chainmail and feebly gripping a sparkling greataxe, the skeleton has a massive arrow protruding from between its rib bones.
Throrin climbs down from the ladder and steps aside to make room for Keith. He crouches down to examine the skeleton in the corner.
Keith unslings his staff and carefully examines everything in the nimbus of pale light.
Throrin: This was once a human. He’s been dead for over a hundred years. Traces on the arrow suggest poison.
Keith whispers in wonder.
Keith: Amery Vraath. Fled to his vault and died here all alone.
The two share a moment of silence before Keith turns to gesture at the trunk and the coffers.
Keith speaks in dwarven.
Keith (Dwarven): It’s a gold mine, Throrin.
Throrin (Dwarven): Aye, lad. I think ye be right.
Throrin gently removes the greataxe from Amery Vraath’s skeletal hand. As he touches it, the axe suddenly glows with a strange blue light.
Keith moves to the padlock in front of the alcove stuffed with maps and scrolls. He lifts two fingers to the lock and whispers an incantation. There is a soft click as the lock pops open. Keith expends a good deal of effort pulling at the chains to free them from the lock, and it all falls to the floor with a metallic clang. He pushes the rusty gate open and begins to leaf gingerly through the pages on the table.
Corrigan shouts down.
Corrigan: How’s it going down there?
Throrin stands and holds the axe up where Corrigan can see it.
Throrin: I’ve got something the half-orc might wanna take a look at!
Keith mumbles to himself as he peruses the scrolls.
Throrin: A handy trick, opening the lock. Can you get into the others?
Keith barely looks up.
Keith: What? Oh, no. I only had one of those memorized. Best to get to the knowledge, though. It’s likely more valuable than any tangible treasure. There is a great deal of information here about Elsir Vale. Maps, historical records. Fascinating!
Throrin arches an eyebrow and frowns.
Draggert squeezes down the ladder and into the room. His wide shoulders crowd into Throrin and there is little room for the both of them to stand.
Throrin shoves into Draggert as he lifts his holy symbol.
Throrin: Confound it, you big cuss! Move over and receive Moradin’s blessing!
Throrin says a small prayer and touches the iron symbol of a hammer and anvil to Draggert’s bicep. Draggert feels much stronger.
Draggert looks around the room and sees the chains and locks.
Draggert: Oh, thank you Throrin dwarf. I see you want locks broken and treasure free.
Throrin nods, pressing himself up against the southern gate to give Draggert room to maneuver.
Draggert grabs ahold of two of the chains on the middle gate to the north. He heaves backwards, pulling on the chains with all of his might, veins surging on his mottled neck. Finally, there is a loud snap as the links break and the chains drop to the floor.
Draggert grins and wipes his bloody hands on his armor. He grips the last chain and breaks it, too, then he shoves the gate open.
Throrin nods, impressed.
Throrin: A job well done, lad. Only, your hands look a might cut after that. Try this on the last one.
Throrin hands the greataxe to Draggert. For a moment, the soft light goes out, but it flares up once more when the half-orc has a full grip on it.
Keith looks up from a large map.
Keith: I know you like mystery power, Draggert, and it seems that axe is enchanted.
Draggert: I do?
Draggert looks at the axe with approval.
Throrin steps into the alcove to inspect the big trunk and give Draggert room to swing.
Draggert cocks the axe back and swings it forward with great strength. As it connects with the chain, the head of the axe flashes blue and sends a burst of icy frost into the metal. Two more blows sever the frozen chains with relative ease.
Draggert: Oh! Coldfrost! This happen in fight with Memnor!
Draggert seems both startled and pleased.
Keith: An ice enchantment. A rare thing.
Throrin opens the unlocked trunk slowly and dramatically and peers inside.
The trunk holds a large reptilian skull with curved horns, several huge teeth threaded onto two necklaces, a beautiful polished birch staff, a sparkling silver breastplate, and a huge spiked gauntlet fit for a giant.
Throrin whistles low.
Throrin (Dwarven): A trove, indeed.
Corrigan squeezes into the room from the ladder.
Corrigan: I couldn’t bear to wait any more. It’s treasure, isn’t it? Tell me you’ve found a whole load of treasure?!
The group empties the vault of its treasures while Valandil and Jorr take turns shooting at birds.
