Wyz

Wyz the goblin waited by the side of the road, wringing his hands. His friends had left for the barrowmaze that morning as many aspiring adventurers did. That was hours ago. Now the slow trudge of discouraged feet returning to town rang loudly in his ears. There had been no sign of his friends. As each new group returned. Wyz clutched at sleeves, asked for news, collected whatever tales he could of the horrors that lay beneath the earth.

Our group went out to the barrowmaze. Two of my friends, Sidney and Khezzean, stayed to dig; Xanrion the haberdasher and I went to take a closer look at a tomb where others had found a pair of nice vases. That tomb contained a wicker frame surrounding a decaying body. One of the others, actually with a sword and armor, cut off its head. I expected it to rise up and kill us, but the body remained dead.