The stone walls of the Barrowmaze pressed close around Bancroft and his companions, their only known exit sealed shut by mechanisms beyond their understanding. Behind them, the chittering of giant rats grew louder, echoing through the narrow passages like the whispers of death itself. With nowhere to retreat, Bancroft hefted his sword and shield, calling upon Sylvanus for strength as the party formed a defensive line. The rats, however, seemed to sense their desperation. As the adventurers stood ready for battle, the vermin’s courage faltered. One by one, they melted back into the shadows, leaving only the sound of distant scurrying and the party’s ragged breathing.
Tohru pressed her ear against the cold stone of the sealed door, her circus-trained senses straining for any hint of the mechanism beyond. “I can hear gears,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above their heartbeats. “Something’s moving back there.” The party quickly inventoried their tools—crowbars, hammers, whatever they could use to break through stone and reach the mechanism that held them prisoner. But before Tohru could begin her work, the grinding of gears echoed through the chamber once more. Someone else was operating the door from the outside.
The portal swung open to reveal another group of adventurers, their torches casting dancing shadows on the walls. After a tense moment of mutual recognition and hurried explanations, both parties agreed to part ways peacefully. Bancroft and his friends emerged into the blessed daylight, grateful to escape their stone tomb.
Needing coin and seeking easier prey, the party made their way to a barrow they had explored before. Bancroft remembered the vase that lay tantalizingly beyond a pit filled with yellow mold—a prize they had been forced to abandon during their previous visit. Perhaps torches could burn away the fungal growth and clear a path to the treasure.
But as they approached the entrance, voices drifted up from the depths below. Tohru volunteered to scout ahead, her small frame and circus agility making her the natural choice for reconnaissance. She returned with troubling news: eight tomb robbers had claimed the barrow for themselves, methodically searching the very chamber that held their prize. Discretion proved the better part of valor, and the party withdrew to wait in the shadows.
An hour passed like a held breath before Tohru ventured inside once more. The barrow lay silent and dark, the tomb robbers having departed with whatever treasures they could carry. But something new caught her attention—a blue glow emanating from what appeared to be a secret door they had never noticed before. Beyond the hidden portal, a chamber opened to the west, and within it stood a statue of an elven warrior, a glowing sword raised triumphantly above its head. The warrior was surrounded by three lizard statues, their stone forms locked in eternal battle with the elf, their claws stained with ancient blood. The knee-deep water that covered the chamber floor was tinged red with the same crimson, and scattered throughout the flooded space were the remains of those who had come before—adventurers who had sought the same prize and paid the ultimate price.
Irulan stepped forward without hesitation, her half-orc strength serving her well as she scaled the statue’s carved form. Her fingers closed around the glowing blade just as the chamber erupted into motion. The three lizard statues surrounding the warrior came to life with grinding stone and malevolent purpose, their sudden animation nearly causing her to lose her grip. She recovered quickly, leaping down into the bloodied water that covered the chamber floor, splashing past the scattered bones of previous victims. The landing twisted her ankle, and she limped desperately toward the door as the stone guardians began their pursuit, their blood-stained claws reaching for fresh prey.
Bancroft charged forward to cover her retreat, his sword whistling through the air only to strike empty space as the lizard statue twisted away with unnatural grace. He planted himself between the creatures and his fleeing companion, determined to fight a rearguard action. The first statue’s claws raked across his shield, the stone talons leaving deep gouges in the wood. He parried desperately, then watched in horror as his shield shattered under the impact of the second blow. The creatures’ glowing blue eyes seemed to slow time itself, making every movement feel like swimming through thick honey.
Druidly’s voice rose in arcane incantation, and a bolt of pure magical force streaked across the chamber to strike one of the statues. Stone chips flew from the impact, but the creature barely seemed to notice as it continued its relentless advance.
The chaos split the party as one statue broke away to pursue Irulan and Tohru toward the surface. Bancroft found himself moving as if through molasses, the magical lethargy making every step an effort of will. Tohru grabbed his arm and hauled him through the secret door just as Druidly slammed it shut behind them. The half-orc wizard immediately launched another Magic Missile at the statue chasing Irulan, more stone fragments scattering from the impact.
But the two statues that had been attacking Bancroft were not so easily deterred. They smashed through the door as if it were made of parchment, their stone forms unstoppable. One of them caught Tohru with a devastating blow that crushed her face and sent her crumpling to the ground, her beloved duck Kyo paralyzed by the same malevolent magic that slowed their movements.
Panic seized Bancroft as he ducked back into the statue chamber, slamming the door behind him in a futile gesture. Moments later, one of the lizard creatures burst through, its stone form inexorable in pursuit. Meanwhile, Druidly fled through the corridors with another statue close behind, the sound of grinding stone echoing through the passages.
Desperation drove Bancroft north, through a door that revealed a staircase descending into deeper waters. Below the surface, he glimpsed a stone slab decorated with frescoes depicting the same elven warrior whose statue had held the glowing sword. The lizard statue followed, but Bancroft managed to slam the door just in time. On the other side, he could hear the creature’s claws scraping against stone as it sought a way through.
Taking a deep breath, Bancroft felt the magical lethargy lift from his limbs like a breaking fever. With renewed vigor, he threw open the door and sprinted past the startled statue, racing toward the barrow entrance with the creature in pursuit.
Elsewhere in the maze, Druidly’s terror overcame his judgment. He cried out desperately, hoping to attract help from whatever denizens lurked in the depths. His whistling did indeed draw attention—two zombies shambled toward the sound, their rotting forms moving with mindless hunger. But the noise also revealed his hiding place to the pursuing statue, which struck him a glancing blow that left him reeling on the edge of consciousness.
The stone guardian made short work of the zombies, tearing them apart with casual brutality before casting a disdainful glance at Druidly’s semiconscious form. Apparently deciding the half-orc posed no threat and did not have the sword it sought, the stone reptile departed in search of those who did. Druidly lived, though barely.
Bancroft cast one regretful glance at Tohru’s motionless body before fleeing eastward toward the chamber with the vase. He leaped the pit trap just inside the door, holding his breath as spores from the yellow mold burst into the air around him. The lizard statue followed, making its way to the edge of the pit as Bancroft watched from the far side. Next to him, a pedestal held the vase they had come for—worth perhaps sixty gold pieces—along with a small clay tablet covered in ancient script.
The statue gathered itself and leaped across the pit with surprising grace, but Bancroft was ready. He intercepted the creature mid-flight, grappling with its stone form and sending both of them tumbling toward the deadly spikes below. The statue struck the pit’s edge, stone chips flying from the impact, but it was far from defeated. With inhuman strength, it climbed the wall and emerged to strike Bancroft with a massive stone fist.
The blow staggered him, and he tasted blood as he coughed. The statue’s magical aura reasserted itself, and once again he felt that terrible lethargy creeping through his limbs. Still reeling from the punch, Bancroft tried to grapple the creature again, hoping to send it back into the pit, but his weakened state betrayed him. Off-balance and desperate, he attempted to leap the pit himself in retreat, but his timing was wrong.
Bancroft plummeted into the spiked pit, the iron points finding gaps in his armor with cruel precision. Darkness claimed him as he struck the bottom, his body broken and bleeding among the yellow mold. The lizard statue peered down at his unmoving form for a long moment, noting that he did not carry the glowing longsword it sought, then departed to continue its hunt.
An hour later, consciousness returned to Bancroft like a distant tide. He lay at the bottom of the deadly pit, surrounded by the toxic spores of yellow mold, his helmet bearing a massive dent that spoke to how close death had come. Every breath was agony, every movement a monumental effort. He was at the threshold of death itself, balanced on the knife’s edge between this world and whatever lay beyond.
And yet, somehow, he lived. For now.
