Shadowmaze -- Session 43

Bancroft

Bancroft

The jingle of coins in his purse was a happy, heavy sound, a promise of steel and safety. Bancroft, his mind as clear and simple as a summer sky, had a singular purpose. “I have enough,” he’d declared to his friends, his voice booming with the certainty of a man who has counted his treasure and found it sufficient. “We go to Ironguard Motte. I’m getting my plate mail!”

The road called. With Irulan at his side—her quiet strength a steady counterpoint to his boisterous enthusiasm—and three new sellswords from the Grey Company for good measure, they signed on to guard a merchant caravan heading in the right direction. The journey was a pleasant affair of rolling hills and fine weather until, with a sharp crack that echoed the breaking of their schedule, a wagon’s axle splintered. The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time repairs were done, leaving them stranded outside the motte’s closed gates. They made a rough camp with the caravan, the flickering fire casting long shadows that danced like the ghosts of the barrowmaze. The night, thankfully, passed without incident.

Morning brought the bustle of the town and the smell of hot food from the Bloated Halfling Inn, where they secured rooms and a promise of a good meal. But Bancroft had no time for comfort. He made straight for the clang and hiss of the armory, a forge run by a master smith named Keegan. While Bancroft eagerly made his purchase, Kafeelia, ever practical, saw an opportunity. “You need a hand?” she asked the smith, her dwarven eye assessing the quality of his work. Keegan, impressed by her directness, gave her a nod and put her to work.

Her hands, accustomed to the heft of a warhammer, were clumsy at first with the delicate task of fitting plates. Nerves frayed her focus, and she fumbled a pauldron, earning a sharp look from Keegan. But her dwarven resolve was stronger than any fleeting anxiety. She took a deep breath, muttered a curse at her own shaking fingers, and set to it again, this time with the steady, practiced rhythm of a true smith. By the time Keegan returned to inspect her work, the armor was not just repaired, but perfected.

Then came the moment of truth. Bancroft, stripped down to his gambeson, stepped into the suit of steel. Plate by plate, Kafeelia and Keegan strapped and buckled him in. The weight was immense, a solid, grounding presence that felt less like a burden and more like an anchor. He moved, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. The steel plates shone, reflecting a distorted, heroic version of himself. He grinned, a wide, boyish expression of pure joy. He felt invincible.

After a night of well-fed and well-earned rest at the inn, they took another caravan back to Helix, the steel plates of Bancroft’s new armor clinking a triumphant rhythm with every step. The next day, they returned to the barrowmaze.

They descended into the same barrow that had so recently offered up its glittering treasures. The entry chamber was just as they’d left it: silent, the four pillars standing like stark, empty hands. The three doors leading deeper into the earth remained closed, silent invitations to further danger.

“I’ll take the west,” Bancroft announced, his voice muffled by his new helmet as he pressed his ear to the cold stone. Irulan and the others did the same at the other doors. “Rustling,” Irulan reported from the eastern door. “Like something is shifting in there.” “Nothing here,” Bancroft said. A moment of tense silence passed. “Let’s try north,” Bancroft decided. Mirumi, her movements light and careful, crept forward to inspect the door. “There’s something on the handle,” she whispered, pointing. “A wire.”

A trap. They backed away, tying a length of rope to the handle. From a safe distance, they yanked. The door flew open with a crash, and from the darkness beyond, three crossbows fired in a deadly volley. The bolts thudded into the opposite wall and clattered harmlessly on the stone floor. They entered the small, musty room cautiously. At the back, a short, strange corridor led to a dead end. The only things of value were the crossbows themselves. Though in rough shape, they were functional. “For the new recruits,” Bancroft declared, claiming one for himself.

As they searched, Irulan held up a hand. “Listen.” From outside the room, back in the main chamber, came a low, moaning sound. “From the south door.”

A grim understanding passed between them. They set up a defensive line before the southern door, a wall of steel and resolve. Bancroft, feeling the familiar stirrings of his faith, raised his sword and prayed. “Sylvanus, grant us your cleansing fire!” His blade ignited, not with the warm light of a torch, but with an eerie, emerald-green flame that writhed and danced, casting ghostly shadows on the walls.

“Ready?” he asked Irulan. She nodded, her hand tight on the door. With a single, powerful tug, she ripped it open.

Bancroft and Irulan

Two zombies, their flesh sagging and their eyes vacant, stumbled through the doorway. Irulan’s blade was a blur of motion, striking the first one hard across the chest. Bancroft followed, his flaming sword scything through the air. As the green fire touched the undead creature, it didn’t just fall—it disintegrated, in a flash of emerald light, leaving only a puff of foul-smelling dust.

The remaining zombie clawed at Bancroft, its nails screeching against his new armor. He felt a sharp sting on his arm, a mere scratch where a moment before a fatal blow would have landed. He laughed, a short, sharp bark of surprise and relief. “It works!”

A sling stone from Mirumi whizzed past his head, and a dart of pure magic from Luxsley slammed into the zombie’s shoulder. As more of the shambling dead pressed forward, Bancroft and Irulan held the line, a bulwark against the tide of death. When four zombies clawed at their shields, Bancroft judged the moment to be right. He raised his holy symbol, the green fire on his sword flaring in response. “Be gone, foul things!” he roared, channeling the full might of his patron’s wrath. Two of the creatures were instantly consumed by the same green flames that had taken the first. The others, their dead minds somehow sensing the overwhelming power, turned and fled back into the darkness of the tomb.

Bancroft’s sword was the only light as the party’s torches suddenly sputtered and died. He and Irulan gave chase, slamming the heavy tomb doors shut on the fleeing undead. He lit a fresh torch from his still-burning blade and passed it to Kafeelia, the green flames casting a sickly, flickering glow over their faces.

With the immediate threat gone, they turned their attention to the eastern door, where Irulan had first heard the rustling. Ignoring the faint, groaning sounds of stone from within, they pushed it open. The room was a mess of rubble from a partial collapse, but something glinted from within the largest pile of debris.

“Treasure,” Bancroft breathed, his earlier triumph making him bold. He scrambled over the rocks, his eyes fixed on the source of the light. He reached in, his gauntleted fingers closing around a smooth, cool object. A sapphire scarab.

The moment his fingers closed around his prize, the ground trembled. The glint of treasure had been a lure, and they had taken the bait. With a deafening groan, the rubble around them shifted, and rocks began to rain down from the ceiling. Bancroft threw himself backward, a desperate, clumsy scramble for safety. Heavy stones crashed down where he had been standing, bruising him even as he escaped the worst of it.

He looked back into the choking cloud of dust just in time to see Irulan, Mirumi, and Luxsley disappear under an avalanche of stone. The sickening crunch of breaking bones was lost in the roar of the collapse. Only Kafeelia, her dwarven senses screaming a warning moments before, had managed to leap clear.

“No!” Bancroft scrambled back to the pile, tearing at the rocks with his bare hands. “Irulan! Mirumi!” He and Kafeelia worked frantically, their hope dwindling with every stone they moved. They found Irulan first, pulling her limp body from beneath a massive block of granite. She was alive, but barely. Her breath was a shallow, ragged gasp. Bancroft, his hands shaking and his mind numb with shock, tried to summon the words of a healing prayer, but they caught in his throat, lost in a wave of horror and grief.

They pulled the others out, but it was too late. Mirumi and Luxsley lay still and broken, their adventures over. As Bancroft and Irulan knelt beside their fallen friends, lost in mourning, Kafeelia drew her warhammer. With a grim, practical finality, she brought it down on the heads of the deceased.

Bancroft recoiled, a protest dying on his lips. He understood the grim necessity—preventing them from rising again as part of the barrow’s legion of undead—but the brutality of it turned his stomach. Disgusted, but accepting, he helped carry the bodies.

They returned to Helix a shattered group, their number diminished, their spirits broken. In Bancroft’s hand, clutched so tightly his knuckles were white, was the sapphire scarab. A pretty thing, worth perhaps two dozen gold coins. He stared at it, the beautiful, dead stone, and wondered if it was worth the lives it had cost.

Irulan

Humbled by my companions’ aid, Bancroft healing me and Riyou making the creature let go of me, I vowed to be a better version of myself. I will strike truer from now on. I also vowed to get a magic weapon by any means necessary. Today’s card was the king of swords, calmly cutting through deceptions.

Bancroft wanted plate mail, I mean, who doesn’t? So we decided to go to Ironguard Motte with Luxely and his two friends. We got paid to guard a caravan on the way. About halfway there, a wheel axle broke and needed fixing. It put us too late to get into town, so we camped with the caravan outside of the walls, sleeping under the wagons when not on watch. Without tents, bedrolls, or rations, it was miserable. Kafeelia appeared from somewhere in the morning, so she must have hitched a ride on a wagon. She tried roasting a frog liver over a fire, but burned it. Must be very delicate and hard to cook.

Bancroft and Kafeelia wandered off to an armorer. I wen with the rest to the Bloated Halfling Inn, drawn by the amazing smells wafting from the door. We happily paid the exorbitant sum to eat now and at dinner, and to get a room for later. Luxely tried learning spells from the scrolls we found, but one paper poofed up in flames. I just hung out and enjoyed nothing trying to kill me. Bancroft came back with his shiny new armor. I’m jealous. Kafeelia worked with the armorer for the day, then went to the soup kitchen for the night, not having earned enough to afford the inn. After a delicious dinner and cherry handpies for dessert, we went to bed.

As we left, an old man told a story about a ruin to an old god in the Black Forest, in which there was a cave with secrets and treasure. I filed it away for later as a possible adventure. We got back to Helix without issue, and spent the night at the far less well provisioned inn. In the morning we went to the barrows, back to the one with the pillars, hoping the coffer corpses were gone. I didn’t feel the same heavy “nothingness” so should be good. I guarded while the others listened at the three doors. Mirumi heard rock scraping behind the east door. We decided to try the north door. It seemed to be trapped with something on the doorknob on the inside. We pulled it open with a rope from a distance. Three crossbow bolts hit the stairs. There was a narrow passage to the northeast that dead ended.

After searching, I heard moaning from outside the door. Nothing was found during the search. I was noisy and there was scraping at the door. I opened the door to two zombies. I hit one. But there were more coming. After killing some, Bancroft’s spell made some die and others run. We searched the east room with the rock scraping, because Bancroft thought it was a good idea. There was a cave in and more debris coming from the ceiling. There was a glint from the rubble pile. As we searched, the room caved in more and it went dark. When I came to, Luxsly and Mirumi were dead, and I was barely functioning. Bancroft did find one gem in the pile. We went back to town to rest up.