The morning after their devastating encounter with the mimics found the survivors nursing both wounds and wounded pride. Druidly’s absence hung over them like a shroud, but the barrowmaze waited for no one’s grief. Bancroft had managed to recruit four new souls willing to risk their lives for treasure—though their qualifications remained questionable at best.
“Right then,” Bancroft announced with his characteristic optimism, shouldering a shovel alongside his sword. “Fresh start, fresh barrow. Sylvanus teaches us that from death comes new growth.”
Riyou, still bearing the acid scars from the mimics’ teeth, adjusted her pack with a wince. “Let’s just hope these new growth spurts don’t try to eat us.”
Their destination was a promising mound they had marked for excavation, but as they crested the hill, Bancroft’s face fell. A crude banner fluttered over their chosen barrow—the skull and crossbones of the Bastards of Bogtown.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Bancroft said with the same tone he might use to comment on poor weather. “I suppose we’ll have to find another.”
Irulan’s hand moved instinctively to her sword hilt. “We could always—”
“No,” Bancroft interrupted, cutting through any heroic notions. “We’re not starting a war over a hole in the ground. There are plenty of other holes.”
They relocated to a partially excavated barrow that showed promise, and the work began in earnest. The new recruits proved enthusiastic if inexperienced, their shovels biting into the ancient earth with the fervor of those who still believed treasure lay just beneath the surface.
The rhythmic scraping of metal on stone was interrupted by a sound that made everyone freeze—the distinctive clicking of chitin on rock. Two massive scorpions, each the size of a pony, wandered into view with the casual menace of apex predators.
“Nobody move,” Riyou whispered, her circus performer’s instincts recognizing a dangerous audience when she saw one. “They hunt by movement.”
The party crouched motionless among the scattered earth and broken stones, barely daring to breathe as the scorpions investigated their excavation site. The creatures’ segmented tails curved overhead like question marks written in venom, but after what felt like an eternity, they wandered off in search of more interesting prey.
“Right,” Bancroft said once the clicking had faded into the distance. “Back to work, then.”
Their digging resumed, but the barrowmaze had more interruptions in store. A chorus of deep croaks announced the approach of six giant frogs, their bulbous eyes gleaming with the same predatory intelligence that had nearly cost them Riyou’s life in the flooded barrow.
“Not again,” Irulan muttered, remembering their recent amphibian encounters. “I’m starting to take this personally.”
This time, discretion proved the better part of valor. The party abandoned their excavation and fled to another barrow—one that had already been opened, revealing a chamber dominated by a massive brazier surrounded by stone pillars.
As they caught their breath in the relative safety of the ancient structure, one of the new recruits—a thin man named Luxsley—began distributing small pamphlets from his pack.
“Brothers and sisters,” he announced with evangelical fervor, “have you heard the good news about the Sacred Toad? Through communion with nature’s most enlightened amphibians, we can achieve transcendence!”
Riyou examined the crudely printed pamphlet with the expression of someone discovering a particularly unpleasant surprise. “It says here that licking toads is a religious experience.”
“The toxins open the mind to higher truths,” Luxsley explained earnestly. “The Sacred Toad shows us visions of—”
His theological exposition was cut short by another chorus of croaks. More giant frogs had found them, drawn perhaps by some cosmic sense of irony.
“Well,” Bancroft said, hefting his sword with resigned determination, “Sylvanus works in mysterious ways.”
The battle was brief but intense. Luxsley, his eyes suddenly wild with religious fervor, charged the nearest frog with nothing but his shovel and what appeared to be divine madness.
“For the Sacred Toad!” he screamed, bringing his improvised weapon down on the creature’s skull with surprising effectiveness.
Bancroft’s blade found its mark with the simple efficiency that marked all his actions, while Irulan’s warrior training served her well against the amphibian assault. The frogs fell quickly, their croaks fading into the eternal silence of the barrowmaze.
“Right then,” Riyou said, producing her knives with the enthusiasm that had so disturbed her companions before. “Let’s see what these beauties have been eating.”
Her dissection technique had improved marginally since the previous encounter, though some of the recruits still found it necessary to look away during the more enthusiastic moments. Luxsley, true to his beliefs, actually licked one of the fallen frogs before anyone could stop him.
“Bitter,” he reported with the air of a wine connoisseur. “But enlightening.”
With the immediate threats dealt with, they returned to their excavation. Hours of backbreaking labor finally revealed their prize—a stone slab door set into the earth like a gateway to the underworld.
“Crowbars,” Bancroft announced, producing the tools with the satisfaction of a farmer who had brought the right equipment for the job. “Leverage conquers all.”
The door yielded to their combined efforts with a grinding protest of stone on stone. Torch light revealed a burial chamber containing two stone slabs, each topped with the skeletal remains of ancient warriors.
“I could try turning them before they wake up,” Bancroft suggested, his connection to Sylvanus extending even to the restless dead. “Prevention is better than cure, as my old da used to say.”
But Riyou was already creeping forward, her thief’s instincts searching for the traps that experience had taught her to expect. “Give me a moment to check for—”
Her words were cut off by the dry rattle of bone on stone. The skeletons rose with the inexorable purpose of the undead, their empty sockets fixing on the living intruders with malevolent intent.
“So much for prevention,” Bancroft muttered, raising his sword just as bony fingers raked across his arm. Without his customary shield, the cleric found himself at a disadvantage, crying out as ancient claws found their mark.
But the party’s recent trials had hardened them into an effective fighting force. Irulan’s blade shattered one skeleton’s spine while Bancroft reduced the other to bone fragments. The undead fell as quickly as they had risen, their brief resurrection ending in permanent destruction.
“Sylvanus preserve us,” Bancroft gasped, examining his wounded arm. His divine connection allowed him to channel healing energy into the injury, the torn flesh knitting itself back together with miraculous speed.
Batdwarf, who had taken a minor scrape during the battle, applied his ranger’s knowledge of herbs to the wound with the practical efficiency of one who had learned to tend his own injuries in the wilderness.
“Well,” Riyou said, examining the now-empty slabs with professional interest, “let’s see what they were guarding.”
Her search proved fruitful when Bancroft, leaning against the left slab to catch his breath, triggered a hidden mechanism. A concealed drawer slid open with the whisper of well-crafted stonework, revealing treasures that made their recent struggles seem worthwhile.
A small funerary figure depicted a child in prayer, its carved features worn smooth by centuries. Beside it lay a jeweled silver dagger that caught the torchlight like captured stars, and a scrollcase bearing arcane writing that spoke of magical knowledge.
“That dagger might be enchanted,” Luxsley protested as they prepared to leave. “The Sacred Toad teaches us that all things have hidden properties.”
But practical concerns outweighed mystical speculation. The dagger fetched ten gold pieces from a merchant in Helix, enough to fund their next expedition. The scrollcase they kept in reserve, hoping to find another wizard willing to translate its contents, while the figurine awaited magical examination before they risked selling it.
As they counted their modest profits in the inn that evening, the weight of their losses still pressed upon them. Druidly’s empty chair served as a constant reminder that the barrowmaze claimed its due from all who dared its depths. But they were alive, they were learning, and tomorrow would bring new opportunities for both treasure and terror.
“To Druidly,” Bancroft said quietly, raising his ale in salute to their fallen friend. “May Sylvanus guide his spirit to peaceful rest.”
The toast was drunk in silence, each member of the party lost in their own thoughts about mortality, friendship, and the price of adventure in the endless maze of the dead.
