Tuesday

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.

The weight of debt pressed upon Bancroft’s shoulders like a funeral shroud. The church of St Ygg had demanded payment for their divine intervention—the Cure Disease that had saved him from the festering rot of a rat’s bite. Now penniless, the former farmer trudged through the rain-slicked streets to the soup kitchens, his chainmail gleaming incongruously among the ragged masses. His jeweled sword marked him as a man fallen from grace, a warrior reduced to begging for scraps.

Just as the party thought their situation couldn’t grow more desperate, the northern door burst open and two terrified townsfolk stumbled into their chamber—Ibri and Itchi, their faces pale with fear and their clothes torn from their own flight through the rat-infested passages. These were clearly not adventurers; their wide eyes and trembling hands spoke of ordinary folk who had somehow found themselves trapped in this nightmare maze. What business could have possibly brought them into these deadly depths?

The session began with an unexpected moment of levity as Irulan found herself locked in a battle of wits with Keelgo, a gruff dwarf from the Outriders of Uleck. What started as casual tavern banter quickly escalated into an elaborate exchange of “yo momma” insults that had the entire common room in stitches. By the end of their verbal sparring match, the two had developed a mutual respect and genuine friendship, proving that sometimes the best bonds are forged through good-natured mockery.

Bancroft and his friends searched the area once the strangers had left. One of the nearby rooms had a table with three polished skulls sitting on top — very strange decor. Druidly thought they might be magical, so the party kept them. A few minutes after they finished searching, a group of adventurers came from a door to the south. There was a tense moment, with Druidly moving his hand toward his pouch of spell components, but the newcomers left without a fight.

Bancroft contemplated the holes in his gloves from handling gold coins over the past few days and the heavy weight of almost 400 silver coins in his backpack. After some thought he spent 200 sp to buy a chest and a master lock, put his remaining silver in the locked chest, and left it in his room at the inn. Bancroft and his friends returned to the barrowmaze and descended the block and tackle into its center.

The scorpion grabbed at the sleeping toad with its pincer, but the claw splashed uselessly in the water. The stinger followed but was deflected by the toad’s tough hide. Somehow the toad slept on. Bancroft stepped in to swing at the scorpion but missed as the magical light from the last of Helfa’s stones faded. Lacking other options he moved toward the barrow entrance. Druidly cast Sleep blindly at the scorpion but it had no effect.

Bancroft stepped forward with his sling and delivered a rock into a vulnerable point in the scorpion’s chitin, which oozed greyish ichor. Furious at losing its meal and the injury, the scorpion advanced back into the barrow. Bruzra claimed the sling and bag of stones from Bancroft to use in ranged attacks while he prepared to defend with sword and shield. Bancroft followed his friends to the swamp barrow. They were fed up with rats, and with four fresh volunteers joining the group, searching the large flooded space seemed more feasible.

This time the plan came from Druidly: lure rats to the entrance one by one, put them to sleep with a spell, then finish them. The idea worked for precisely one rat; the rest fled deeper into the barrow. A few steps farther in they found more rats. Druidly’s attempts at communication were wasted — the party suspected the rats did not understand Common. He cast a magical missile to strike a sleeping rat he found, killing it.

One day of carousing quickly turned into two. Bancroft woke the next morning with his head lying on the dirt, a tuft of grass for a pillow. Despite the alcohol he felt surprisingly refreshed; a deeper sense of connection to the earth filled him. A night spent outside of town had done him good. The fog of alcohol blurred his memories of the prior night, but he had been separated from his companions earlier in the evening.