When last we left our yet-to-be-monickered band of hearty stalwarts – Napoleon the elven burglar, Hoko the cosmopolitan magician/law intern, Nyatar the half-orc adept of the Order of Horus (the Cosmic Eye), and Furok the outrider - they were accompanying Archibald, the somewhat spherical priest of Pluto into the untamed north… well, the outer suburbs, anyway. But it’s still kinda rough…
The group takes the main northern road out of Lyonesse, filing past market towns and outlying villages filled with wood smoke and late-spring mud, following the river Ebonflow towards the city-state of Imai. They journey for two days along the road before reaching the point where the Ebonflow meets the Mournwater as it gurgles southwards out of its origins in the Black Hills, now visible as a dark patch on the horizon.
Rather than following the Ebonflow towards the looming walls of Imai, the travelers now take a northeasterly tack along the Mournwater, leaving behind the bulk of the mercantile traffic. The passersby are now fewer, a more rough-and-tumble lot determined to reach the mining fields of the Faces, beyond the Black Hills.
After a leisurely day’s ride the road takes an eastward turn as it skirts the southern fringes of the Hills, and the young trio gets their first glimpse of the imposing mounds (minus Furok, who’s well-acquainted with the sight). The Hills rise abruptly from the surrounding plain, forming strangely regular hummocks (think the Palouse region of eastern Washington) ranging from 600 to around 1500 feet in height. The infertile soil is very dark brown in color, almost black, and the most common vegetation is thick stiff grasses and small, gnarled trees (manzanitas, etc). The overall effect is very bleak, leaving little doubt as to the origin of the area’s appellation.
After another day and a half of monotonous travel, the men reach a fork in the road; rather, they meet a much smaller and less-maintained road trailing to the left through a gap in the Hills. There is a crude sign at the intersection, with the letter “W” and a rough arrow branded into the weathered wood. “Yon lies the village of Willows, another two days’ journey,” says Archibald in his highborn dialect (I use Charles Laughton from Mutiny on the Bounty). “Our path separates from the road much earlier, though,” as he spurs his sturdy pony up the beaten track.
Indeed, before the day is out, Archibald consults with Furok and then takes the party off-road to the northwest, through the dark dales of the Hills. They camp that night in the wilderness, rising early and continuing on their way. Finally, in mid-afternoon, Archibald raises his hand and calls a halt. Glancing at his map, he leads them toward the base of a mid-sized hummock, finally pointing toward a bramble patch. “There…” he declares.
The undergrowth is cleared away, to reveal a crude set of stairs leading into a hold in the ground. The party glance at one another, tie off their horses, strap on their necessities, and light torches. As a misting rain begins, they start their descent into Pluto’s bosom…
(Just a quick DM note: I was very excited about this complex, as it was my first attempt at dungeon creation using the old “Central Casting” supplement by Paul Jaquays. As such, it’s a little disjointed, but actually turned out very satisfactorily. As you will hopefully agree…
And again, thanks to Matt Stater's Land of Nod, for the Lyonesse reference...)
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