Bancroft stood on the top of the borough and looked down upon the tilled earth with satisfaction. Weeks of efforts spent to uncover a fresh borough had finally paid off. Yesterday the door had been uncovered and opened. Revealing a space within filled with four sarcophagi and many more giant centipedes. The initial expedition had killed several of the centipedes. But not enough. And the entryway had been buried once again to prevent further interest. From other parties. Now it would be dug up again. The thin coating of fresh earth removed. The centipedes within slain if things went well. And whatever treasure the sarcophagi held removed and returned.
The rhythmic strike of shovels made short work of the loose earth, and soon the passage below was open.
The half orc Selfa whispered words of prayer and her shield lit with a holy light. She led the way down the stairs, followed by Gnarlgnasher with his bow out. Bancroft followed a few steps behind. With his sword and shield and leather armor, he looked more like an adventurer, but his hands still shook as he held his sword. His eyes flicked rapidly from point to point: the faint glimmer of light from Selfa’s shield ahead, the barely seen stone of the staircase below, the worked earth of the tunnels to the left and the right, and the ceiling above where centipedes had dropped upon the party once before.
The centipedes came for sofa first, dropping from the ceiling as predicted, several at once. Selfa let out an undignified screech as they landed upon her, but their poison could not penetrate her armor at first. She flailed wildly with her club, to no avail, and the light from her shield flickered and died as the acid ate through it.
Those closest to the entrance caught sight of Of Bancroft and rushed in his direction. With sword drawn, Bancroft slew the one who came for him with a single clean blow, then retreated to the top of the stairs. Staying out of the way of the more seasoned folks was the course of wisdom here. As another horrifying scream issued from Selfa within the dark, Bancroft wished her luck, And felt something within him stir. A moment later,Gravegnasher had lit a torch. Salfa was down, and Toru, the halfling with a frog fascination had disappeared in the moment of darkness. Not daring to run into the darkness alone. Bancroft pulled out his sling and sent a rock hurling towards. The centipede he could see. As it closed the distance toward the stairs. The rock struck its carapace and bounced off, leaving a crack.
Gravelgnasher was sending arrows into the fray, striking a few of the insects. Bancroft struck one more and the rest fled into some hidden crevice. Toru reappeared, having dragged Selfa’s unconscious body out of the barrow to the stairs. Selfa was at death’s door, still unconscious, blood pooling in her eyes. Somethign about her bleeding form, so close to death, so close to joining the long dead in the barrows, spoke to Bancroft’s soul in the same way that the plants and animals he cared for on his farm once had. While the others searched, the farmer took a few minutes to ask that the earth embrace and nurture Selfa as it did the others in his care. Selfa sighed in that moment, and opened her eyes.
One by one, the sarcophagi were opened and searched, yielding a pair of rings, a necklace, and a bone-handled dagger that Toru produced later and admitted to pinching for herself. Several creatures passed by while the search proceeded, including a trio of giant scorpions that took a body from the barrow but somehow managed to miss seeing any of us. The treasures brought in a dozen gold, and Selfa managed to walk back to Helix with us. She looked to be in bad shape, but at least she was walking.
Bancroft returned to the plot of land he had once farmed, looking out over the fields, feeling the connection to the earth, to the plants. Taking the small dagger he carried for such things, he found a small piece of firewood and began to carve a figure from vague memories of childhood stories – a wooden face, with leaves for hair, circled and crossed with a wooden frame and handle. Gradually his inspiration faded, but the carving remained, gently cradled in his rough-skinned hands.
After a moment more, Bancroft made up his mind, and dug beneath a large stone that marked the corner of the field. A leather bag was hidden in a small niche under the stone, the clink of coin coming from within it as Bancroft lifted it. With the coin from the day’s efforts, he could afford proper armor.
