The tunnel is rough, having been clawed out rather than dug. It would have been a tight squeeze for the wight but is reasonable for humans and a halfling to negotiate. At the bottom is a single chamber at the centre of the mound. The walls are made of large stones fitted together without mortar. The floor is bedrock, and there is a depression where the wight must have slumbered the centuries away. To one side there is a stone chest with a close-fitting lid, carved in abstract swirling shapes.
"Can you open it, Camlo? In case there are traps, we'll wait a bit up the tunnel."
"A moment."
Sefayll casts detect magic on the chest and studies any auras that might be in evidence before retreating down the tunnel.
Sefayll casts her cantrip and discovers that the chest radiates an aura of death magic.
"Give me a minutes."
Camlo carefully looks over the chest checking for traps, and then attempts to carefully open the lid.
Camlo carefully examines the lid. A quick sprinkle of copper dust shows the lines of magical energy, and after that is it a pretty simple job to neutralise them with a careful application of a charcoal stick and white chalk. There is a sudden whiff of rot as the necromatic energies dissipate, and the trap is disarmed. However, it requires the strength from everyone in the party to lever off the stone lid - there are some things a halfling cannot do on his own.
Inside the chest are a lot of ancient cloth and wooden artefacts which turns to dust as they are disturbed. However, there is also a thin gold circlet, a plain rod of shiny coppery metal, and some scattered coins.
"Phew... glad I didn't just open that thingy, looks like it could have hurt..."
Camlo will leave the appraisals to those better at it ;)
Sefayll nods, "Indeed. That sort of magic can do any number of nasty things to the unprepared. Well done. I suspect coins of such age are probably worth more than their face value to a collector." She casts her detect magic once again and studies the circlet and rod in turn.
"Well! It will require some research to be certain, but some of these appear to date back to the ancient civilization of Thassilon - quite a find! That could bring their value up to ten times their face value. And I might know a collector in Magnimar that would pay their true value."
"This adornment will emphasize the personality of the wearer. She gestures to the bard - much as your cloak appears to do, but this carries a somewhat stronger enchantment."
"This one escapes me. I recognize some of the symbolism and auras, but I'm not quite sure what it truly is..."
"Good job, Camlo. That smell did not bode well." Alwyn fiddles with the rod for a while after Sefayll is done with it. "I.... am not sure what this is either. Which, I will admit, just makes it more interesting."
"So, how about camping out here tonight? It's dry, comfy enough, and supremely defensible. Also, the last occupent is unlikely to mind us using it."
Illes looks over the doors and the depression where the wight slept and finally the chest hoping for some clue as to the identity of the barrow's guardian. "He was truly a warrior from another age. Alwyn should have a song for this."
When Alwyn hands him the headband he whistles low and unslings his cloak tossing it back to the warpriest. "I won't be needing this I think. Try it out."
"Yeah, Might as well take advantage of this place to rest."
"Aha! This rod cancels the magic, permanently, from anything it touches. It is powerful, but can only drain an item once. It makes for a nasty surprise against a powerful enemy."
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Despite Alwyn's desire to rest, the group decide to march on for a bit longer. With weary limbs they stagger for a few more miles through the forest and drizzle. The rain finally stops and the sky clears slightly, with low grey cloud scudding below a drab grey-white ceiling.
After an hour or two they finally leave the giant burial mounds behind and, a little further on, they reach the top of a cliff. A hundred yards to the right, a stream flows over the side to splash in a series of falls and pools down the side before snaking away. A series of rocky crags descend a few hundred feet a few tens of feet at a time like enormous steps, these ones natural rather than giant-made, down to a wide, flat-bottomed valley below. The floor of the new valley is carpeted with pine forest, and its walls are rocky.
The group has clearly wandered from the high peaks into a hanging vale from which they must descend. The precipices don't look too sheer and there may be a way to walk among them to reach the bottom without too much climbing - after all, the mammoths made it up here. But this might be a good place to rest and recuperate - Hudak looks quite ill after his exertions and the attentions of the wight, and it is getting late.
Camlo yawns, long and hard. "Any chance of a nice warm fire?"
"Yes. Oh, yes, we need a good campfire." Alwyn is looking haggard and is clearly slowing down, though he is better off than the pale and visibly reduced Hudak. "Illes, get the campsite spell going while Sefayll and Camlo get a fire running. Once I get out of my mail, I'll get a meal cooking."
Camlo will wander a little with Sef, but not too far, then head back to start up while she gets the rest of the wood.
The night passes without incident, the party esconced in Illes' magical bubble.
Illes sits on a boulder still looking bleary. "Bah. Relax little guy. Leave that to the wildmen over there."
"The Varision fop is correct. The power of Gorum will get us off these cliffs," Alwyn replies with a grin. "Same procedure as yesterday, though hopefully with fewer undead monsters."
Raised eyebrow. "Indeed."
Alwyn casts his spell and the adventurers walk through the air down the cliffs to the valley below.
The group touch down in a forest not dissimilar to the one they left on the cliffs above. Today is reasonably bright, but under the towering trees the light is cut out and instead the way ahead is gloomy, with unseen birds chattering eerily. But the forest is only thick in places, with open patches of bare rock and lighter stands of birches shivering in the breeze. From the air they saw a river following the valley floor, heading north.
The day passes relatively uneventfully. Following the river, the walk is relatively straightforward. The water is clear but bitterly cold, splashing over rocks and through gullies. The wooded valley lacks the lushness of those further south and west, but it is probably reasonable hunting country. Birds chatter and at one point a marten scrambles through the branches of the pines in pursuit of a squirrel. At the top of a low falls they also find a stone giant territory marker, but there is little sign of actual giants.
By evening, the travellers have made good progress and search for a suitable campsite.
"Now this is living. Fresh air and water, the forest full of game and forage, putting in an honest day's worth of toil... Much better than the pestilent cities of the Chelaxians. Waddya think, Camlo, the highlands, or Magnimar?"
"It's, ahhh, big. I suppose it's pretty, if you like that sort of thing. Magnimar has it's own beauties though. Inns, and Taverns, and rich people's houses with open windows..."
The following morning is overcast. The night was quiet and the travellers pack up and head on down the valley. The river has grown from a stream to a broad torrent as it has been joined by others, and it now flows through a gorge it has carved for itself. The adventurers pick their way through the open woodland above, though the incoming tributaries mean that from time to time they have to turn and head up the side valleys until a spot that can be forded is reached. This slows their progress, and the water is icy, but it happens often enough that recourse to magic is impractical.
"Now this is living. Fresh air and water, the forest full of game and forage, putting in an honest day's worth of toil... Much better than the pestilent cities of the Chelaxians. Waddya think, Camlo, the highlands, or Magnimar?"
"I don't know about this honest day's toil business, but it is beautiful. Mind you- in the kind of way that I will prefer as a memory rather than slogging through it."
"It is refreshing, but I have to agree with those that would rather look back on it than experience it."
The adventurers follow a wide trail by the side of the river, which churns twenty to thirty feet below them to the left. Ahead, arcing over the rocky gorge, is a sturdily-built bridge built of the same large stones as the giant monuments.
Suddenly, there is the sound of voices - grumbling, giant voices - up ahead on the other side of the bridge.
Sefayll pauses, looking to the stealthy rogue to see what he learns.
"Camlo," Alwyn says quietly, "can you sneak forward a little and see who the talkers are?"
"I'm useless at subterfuge. I'll stay right here in the middle of the road with Hudak; Illes and Sefayll, see if you can conceal youselves. Then we'll strike from ambush, if needed."