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Reaping 6, 595 CY
We all clambered through the face’s mouth and into a short hallway beyond—a hallway that ended, soon enough, in a room so mystifying and horrifying that none of us initially wanted to set foot within.

The room was long and rectangular. Our hallway opened into the chamber not at floor level, well above a huge mound of hundreds, if not thousands, of fist-sized metal spheres heaped below us in a pit. A three-foot-wide bridge of petrified wood extended across the room from our landing to a door at the far side. Dozens of tiny holes festooned the walls to either side, holes just large enough that any of those metal spheres below would fit inside just right. From other holes, a tangled network of light beams sparkled, the dust in the air catching the rays.

I told Dram to go in there and check it out, but he initially balked at the prospect. I tried to get Taan or Vyth to go in there and explore, and that did the trick. Dram swung down under the plank and clambered along under it, avoiding the beams of light with ease and reaching the other side. Unfortunately, the door over there was stuck fast and he couldn’t figure out how to open it. He then heard a strange rustling noise somewhere else in the room, down in the giant heap of metal spheres. He got scared or something and was whining for other people to come in and save him or something. I figured he got in there on his own and that it’d be a disservice to his manly ego for a woman to go save him so I didn’t budge.

The others weren’t so compassionate and caring about his self-esteem, though, and they began clambering into the room to explore. Taan asked to borrow my shield and I let him, figuring he just wanted to be more protected than normal. I thought about reminding him to cast his mage armor spell but then he went and stuck my shield into the room, using it to break one of the beams of light. There was a hollow “THOOK” noise as a huge number of iron balls shot out of the walls and slammed into my shield! Ack! I paid good money for that! It wasn’t without a bit of satisfaction that I noted one of the iron balls hit Taan in the side as well. He teetered, but didn’t fall, and I was able to get my (now dented) shield back.

Dram said something else about weird noises again, and suddenly I heard a weird, whispering voice... “What are you doing here! This is my place!” I called out to the voice and asked who it was; it sounded like a young boy. The voice claimed his name was Alastor Land. I demanded that he stop hiding and show himself, as Demon Boy stepped onto the plank to try to spot him or something, and suddenly there he was!

A wondrous phantasm wafted up from below, a writhing column of ectoplasmic mist that rose up to the plank and coalesced beautifully into the shape of a young boy... a ghost boy, with claws for hands and hatred for a face. It was amazing! I’d never seen a ghost before. On one level, I knew I should run for my life, but on the other, I simply couldn’t look away. The ghost Alastor then possessed Demon Boy and used his body to caper out on the plank. He was promptly shot by iron balls; one hit him in the head and knocked him prone before the ghost vanished.

After some stimulating conversation, we learned that Alastor wanted little more than to go home. He felt sorry for running away from home, and wanted his bones to be buried on his family plot. If we would do him this favor, he promised to help us open the door at the other end. But first, we had to find his bones. As the others started digging and I watched from my safe perch on the landing above, Alastor’s giggles and titters grew louder. “This is gonna be exciting!” he said. And with that, a horrific leathery green slug burst out of the balls. Four long tentacles unfurled around its beak, and it immediately began to attack Taan, Gar, and Vyth. They looked like they were actually having some trouble and when I ran out of daggers to throw, I decided to clamber down into the pit to help. Unfortunately, this was my first attempt at climbing ANYthing unaided by others, and my poor delicate hands weren’t up to the task. I fell, but fortunately didn’t break my fool neck. I tried to brain the slug with my morningstar but it seemed to shrug off my attacks with ease.

Things were starting to look grim. And that’s when Dram scampered up from the other side of the room. He somehow managed to bound over the unstable ground with grace and ease, danced up to the slug, and effortlessly ran it through with his spear. The thing died immediately. That Dram... turns out he’s handy to have around!

We found Alastor’s bones and some treasure a few minutes later and made our way back to the abandoned mine office. Fortunately, there were plenty of people there to help me climb up and down the vertical portions of the cairn...

Reaping 7, 595 CY
I woke early the next day and went alone up the hill to practice my violin playing a little more. I’ve always loved the haunting sounds a skilled violinist can produce; we had a particularly talented player named Garissa in the carnival. That is, until that giant frog bit off her hands. Anyway, the last time I practiced playing the result was horrifying. I’d never played in front of others before, and it unnerved me.

Later that day, Taan, Dram, and I decided to head into town to sell some of the treasure we’d found. I of course changed into my courtier’s outfit; no need to stagger around town looking like a thug or mercenary! I decided we should go to the fletcher’s store rather than the Captain’s Blade. Turns out, the woman who runs that store is quite pleasant. Her name is Venelle. First Allustan, then Venelle. Had I been wrong on my appraisal of Diamond Lake’s populace? I’d always assumed they acted the way they looked: crude, uneducated, and mean. But the first two townsfolk I really spoke to at length turned out to be quite the opposite.

Our loot sold, we went on to speak to Allustan to find out if he knew where Alastor Land’s family holdings were. He didn’t know but said he’d look up the info for us. He seemed particularly interested in Taan, and asked him about someone called the “Black One.” Listening in on their semi-cryptic conversation, I suddenly realized that Taan actually hailed from the Valley of the Mage! I’d read that the Valley was ruled by a powerful wizard, and that recently it had fallen into conflict with some necromancers. The thought made my skin crawl. Arcane magic has no place amongst the dead, and I hope some day to be able to educate all those disgusting necromancers the error of their ways, Wee Jas willing.

As we left, I asked Taan a bunch of questions about the Valley but he didn’t seem interested in answering. I gave up, for now, but I’ll get the information out of him somehow. This group’s turning out to be full of surprises. A dwarf who knows all about magic and might have a magic book... an elf who just happens to have grown up in the shadow of one of the most mysterious wizards of the time... a freakish halfling with strange infernal powers to breathe fire... Makes me wonder what kind of secrets Vyth, Daejin, and Dram are still hiding.

Speaking of Dram, he volunteered to go up to the garrison to see if he could find out where Alastor Land’s home was by looking through his dad’s maps. Seemed like a good idea, because it was! Not ten minutes later, we had found out all we needed to know.

A few hours later, we had all regrouped and had arrived at the small farmhouse north of town. The place looked run down and deserted. More so, when we got to the front door, which had been knocked down completely. I called out for the inhabitants but got no reply. We went inside, and found the place to be in ruins. I walked around the corner, and into an abattoir. And not the good kind of abattoir!

There were several dead beasts sprawled on the floor, hulking monsters with the bodies of bears and the heads of hideous owls. A man’s severed arm lay on the floor, and only a few feet away a wounded but still horridly alive bear-owl loomed! I immediately returned the way I came, reporting the situation to the others who did the exact opposite. They barreled around the corner to attack!

Even though (or perhaps because) wounded, the bear-owl was a horrific combatant. It knocked Vyth on his ass with one swipe. That poor guy’s too fragile... maybe he should think about going back to the monastery he came from to be a gardener or something. The bear-owl also nearly killed poor Gar, even though I had called down the blessings of the Witch Goddess to protect him. I healed him just in time, long enough for him to be savaged some more. Fortunately, my healing kept him alive long enough to deliver a killing blow to the beast. Wee Jas be praised!

Upon looking over the place, we found two things of interest. First, the severed arm bore a strange tattoo, one that looked vaguely familiar. Dram wasted no time cutting the tattoo off the arm and stuffing the wet glistening patch of flesh into a pocket. Disgusting, but whatever works for him, I guess. Hope he remembers it’s in there before it starts to turn. Second, one of the bear-owl cubs still lived. The wretched thing was mostly vermin, beak, and claws, yet Gar still took an immediate liking to the beast and scooped it up into a bag for keeps. Taan got a familiar glint in his eye. It certainly didn’t surprise me when he wondered out loud how much a bear-owl cub could fetch on the open market. The question seemed to horrify Gar.

We wandered back outside and over to the family graveyard, where yet another wretched surprise awaited us. Someone had dug up the bones of the Land family and made off with them! They were but poor dirt farmers, so it seemed that the only explanation was that the grave robbers had pilfered the bones for some foul necromantic use. I glanced over at Taan to see if he had anything more to say about his ties to necromancy which I’m more sure by the minute do indeed exist, but he said nothing. There was some pointless discussion about whether or not we should bury Alastor’s bones anyway. Pointless, I say, because I was carrying his bones and had no intention of putting him to rest next to his mothers violated empty grave.

In the end, we headed back into town. Along the way, the bear-owl cub continued to peck and scratch at Gar’s already lacerated flesh. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d used up all my healing spells... hopefully they’ll sell the feral runt off before it does for him. Upon returning to town, we split up. Dram mentioned something about going to the Emporium to ask about the strange rune on the severed arm we’d found and to ask about the going prices for bear-owl cubs. Turns out, of course, Dram had another itch he was looking to scratch…

Anyway, I figured that if Allustan and Venelle were nice and educated and pleasant, maybe someone at the Emporium would be the same. Turns out, Allustan and Venelle are the exceptions that prove the rule of Diamond Lake. The halfling who greeted us was both foul-mouthed and foul-spirited. I don’t remember his name, nor do I need to. I think he offered me a job upstairs. I suppose I was flattered and maybe even a little curious, yet still, it was difficult to resist the urge to hook him up with a personal introduction to Wee Jas via one of my daggers. When we asked about bear-owl cubs, he called down a shuddering behemoth of a man who claimed to be the one responsible for purchasing the beasts that the Emporium uses for attractions. He told us that bear-owl cubs, or owlbears, as they called them (that name certainly flows nicer off the tongue, at least) can fetch thousands of gold pieces! WELL! Hope Gar’s not too attached to the beast yet. We also found out that the tattoo is actually a brand that a now bankrupt mine manager used to mark indentured servants with. The guy went out of business, and ownership of these miners passed to others. Now, it would seem, these thugs and lowlives worked for a man named Balabar Smenk, one of Diamond Lake’s more prosperous mine managers.

By the time that Dram announced he was gonna get laid and get drunk (not necessarily in that order), I realized that the greasy halfling and the mouth-breathing beast-wrangler were leering at me in a most uncomfortable manner. I can’t hardly blame them for their interest, of course, since compared to the average pimple-encrusted, dirt-slobbering, hope-barren Diamond Lake skank I must have looked like a goddess to them. And as much as my shacking up with them would probably be the highlight of their miserable little empty lives, I just wasn’t in the mood for charity work so I took my leave of them and headed back to the Guildhall, as Gar has taken to calling the abandoned mine office we’ve been squatting at. Dram stayed behind at the Emporium. He was eyeing me too, come to think of it! Hmmm… wonder how I can use that…

Reaping 5, 595 CY
Spent most of today convalescing at the abandoned mining office north of town, although I did get a chance to head into Diamond Lake at around noon. Taan left to pawn a piece of elven jewelry we found in the cairn. He was headed to Tidwoad’s... I wish I could have been there to watch that interaction! But I had other plans.

I wanted to speak with a local sage and wizard named Allustan; I’d never met him before but knew his reputation. A reputation, I might add, for being an honest, clean, and intelligent man, three qualities in short supply in a flyspeck like Diamond Lake. I must admit that, at least on one level, asking him about our discoveries in the Whispering Cairn was little more than an excuse to introduce myself to him and size him up. Rumor holds that he’s a wizard, and also that he’s related in some way to the town’s mayor. Two more qualities that could be of great use to me in financing a way out of this pest-ridden wen of a village. Gar and Demon Boy came with me. I tried to talk them out of it but they seemed keen on going. I pointed out that Allustan was a wizard and probably of no real interest to a dwarf, but strangely, that just made Gar all the more keen to go.

We arrived at his home just after noon, and the man who greeted us was indeed clean. As we spoke, it quickly became clear that the rest of the rumors were fact as well. He seemed honest and quite intelligent, and reacted to the news of our discovery in the Whispering Cairn with great interest. He said that he needed to do some research in his texts to find out more about the place, so we left him with some of the fragments of relics we’d scavenged from the place, along with some sketches and rubbings we’d made of the runes and architecture.

As we were leaving, Gar stopped and asked Allustan a question about a book. He seemed a little evasive, but the nature of his questions caught my interest—Gar was asking questions only someone versed in magic lore would ask, and was asking them in a way that made it almost sound like he was more than just interested in arcana. It also seemed that he might have a copy of this book in that sack he’s always carrying around. I wonder what it could be?

We returned to the ruined mining office. Dram and Vyth had spent the day watching the cairn, making sure that no one messed with our claim. Taan returned some time later, grumbling about crooked gnomes and crooked games and some sort of rat game type thing. I gathered that he hadn’t got as much as he had hoped for selling the bracelet. Apparently he sold it to the Emporium and gambled up some of the winnings. He ended up with more than he thought he would, apparently, but still... I’m not sure I want Taan using loot from my expedition to the cairn to fund his gambling problem.

Daejin felt the need to return to the nearby enclave she belonged to. She came back with some healing potions for the others, but the smell of them turned my stomach so I opted to tend to my wounds myself. Daejin then returned to the enclave to give a more detailed report of our findings at the Whispering Cairn to her superiors—they seemed rather interested in it, which is all the more reason we should get back there and finish looting the place as soon as possible.

One other thing… I heard some more rumors about some sort of cult of Wee Jas that operates in a nearby cairn. Interesting. I wonder what their story is, and if they’re interested in visitors? For that matter, I wonder what cairn they’re using as a temple? My studies of the Ruby Sorceress have been entirely self-taught, mostly using the books of death and magic that Rhiana kept in her big trunk back in my carnivale days. At the same time, I can’t ignore the stories I’ve heard about some of her followers being a bit more intolerant of outsiders. I don’t want to ruin my chances of getting in their good graces, so for now, I think I’ll focus on exploring the Whispering Cairn. Perhaps I’ll find something in there I can use to curry their favor…

That night, Gar used his sack as a pillow. Damn paranoid dwarf. I tried to sneak a peak inside the bag anyway, but he almost woke up and I decided to wait for a better opportunity. What kind of book does he have in there?

Reaping 6, 595 CY
We returned to the Whispering Cairn today, and explored the remainder of the beetle-infested holdings below the central chamber. Fortunately, there seemed to be no more beetles in the region. We recovered some more interesting pieces of loot and treasure, and found that one room seemed to have some sort of crazy stone slabs that issued a comfortable bed of air.

At the far end of the small complex, we found a section that had been flooded. The water looked far too cold and icky to interest me, but fortunately it didn’t seem to put off Gar and Dram. They roped up and dove in to explore; Gar left his sack with Vyth so I wasn’t able to go through it like I hoped. But when things turned bad for them down there (apparently, they riled up some sort of water elemental), and Vyth and Taan dove in to help, leaving me to hold the rope, I took the chance to look through Gar’s bag. I had to use my foot, and he had some sort of banner or horse blanket stuffed in the top, just over some unappetizing dwarf rations. I wasn’t able to get down to the bottom, where I could see the outlines of a large book pressed against the fabric, before they stumbled out of the water, covered with bruises and bleeding from the ears. Gar didn’t seem too happy to see my foot in his bag. I don’t know what his problem is. My foot’s likely the cleanest thing to ever touch anything he owns, ever. I fixed them up as best I could and sent them back in to finish exploring the flooded chambers below.

This time, Gar left his sack in Taan’s guard. He and Dram and Vyth dove back in, and Taan immediately started going through the bag and eating some of Gar’s food. I suddenly had a vision of him finding the book in there, realizing it was probably worth a fair amount, and then running back to the Emporium to sell it for more gambling chips so he could try to win it big at the rat game or whatever it was that he’d been so obsessed with in there. I couldn’t have that; if he sold it, it’d be out of my reach for good! So I took the bag away from him. He sputtered and complained a bit, but didn’t try to take it back from me. I suppose that means he’s got at least a few shreds of restraint and common sense bumping around inside him after all.

Gar, Vyth, and Taan were down there for an awfully long time, but eventually they returned to the surface… this time covered with scratches and bite marks. They reported that they were attacked by some sort of ghoul or zombie, but managed to destroy it. Damnation! I could have probably used that ghoul as a tool or something to help us explore the place. I wonder if I should tell the others to hold of on the attacking undead, at least until I have a chance to recruit some of them. People tend to react poorly to those plans, though. They see bone or some beautiful rotting flesh and they get disturbed, even though that same stuff’s inside them all and it’s where they’re going in the end. I don’t understand. I guess I’ll wait for the right moment… once they see how helpful a few enslaved undead can be, I’m sure they’ll come to their senses. And if they don’t, well, that’ll be their problem. It’s not like anyone else in this group can fix up their wounds like I can.

They did find another of those strange lanterns down there though. A red one; the only one that was missing from up above! We returned to the upper chamber immediately, lit the lanterns, and put them all in their place. As I suspected, it was little more than a complex magical lock. There was a click from the strange hallway up in the roof of the north east alcove. We all clambered back up the rope, and what do you know? The mouth of that strange carven face at the end of the hall had opened, revealing a shadowed hallway beyond.

Reaping 1, 595 CY
Whatever it was in that foul pit, making that horrifying skittering sound, it was coming closer fast. I called out to the others for help; they were still busy fooling around in the dead-end tunnel in the other alcove, but answered that they’d be down shortly. Meanwhile, Abelard told us he could sense something evil coming up from below. He, Demon Boy, and I formed a shaky, nervous rank at the alcove entrance, ready to bravely flee once whatever was on the way made its detestable presence known.

GAH! BEETLES! THOUSANDS OF SWARMING, ACID-DROOLING BEETLES! Like a clattery black carpet they vomited out of the hole, spreading across the floor in a shiny living stain. And then, something else clambered up into sight; a terrible spider THING with a single goggling eye for a body and long thin razors for legs. It scuttled up out of the swarm, onto the wall and regarded us hungrily. How such a monster could eat us I’m not sure... I couldn’t see a mouth on the loathsome mockery that was its body, but I do know the emotion in its single bloodshot eye/body was HUNGER.

At the same moment, I heard a tremendous meaty explosion to my right. I glanced over and saw that while most of the group had managed to make it down the rope safely, Gar had not. He had plummeted down from the ledge above, crushing poor Dram to the ground with his dense dwarf body. Gar bounded wobbly to his feet, apparently none the worse for the event, but Dram stayed down... twitching.

And then... there are only fragments of memories. I remember Demon Boy breathing fire on the swarm, people attacking it ineffectually with weapons, Abelard bravely trying to stand in the swarm’s way to hold it back only to be engulfed in a wave of tiny black bodies and crumpling to the ground. And then they were on me as well, in my hair, their little dusty legs in my ears and mouth, their cool shiny bodies wriggling in under my armor against my skin. And the burning of their acidic tiny pinchers.

Suddenly, the beetles on me dispersed. I staggered back, covered with bites and acid burns, and saw that Gar, in a panic, was throwing bottles of acid into the swarm. I saw one of his bottles break open against Abelard’s body, which was on the ground now, and wreathed in a halo of beetles scrabbling for purchase on blood-slick stones. Suddenly, the eyespider loomed up in front of me. It already had some slashes on its body and a few arrows protruded from it, but it nevertheless went into a whirling frenzy of slashings and cuttings, clawing at everyone in reach. I staggered back, managed to hit it once with my morningstar, and then the pain grew intolerable and I must have passed out.

Reaping 2, 595 CY
When I woke the next day, it was to nearly unbearable pain. In a moment, I realized I was back at the abandoned miner’s office. I still lived, apparently.

Unfortunately, Abelard did not. I crawled over to the nasty stained blanket the others had draped over his body, hoping to see if I could help him with magic, but what lurked under the blanket was little more than a red skeleton.

The next several hours were a mess of half-remembered dreams and waking hours of pain. At one point, Taan came back with several priests, and they healed the others. One of them, Velias was his name, I think, seemed particularly broken up about Abelard’s death. The priests tried to heal me, but I knew that their magic would have the opposite effect on my tainted flesh. I knew that, eventually, I had to admit to my condition to the others, but I had hoped to be able to hold it off for at least a little longer. They reacted as I had feared when I told them that healing magic hurt—with narrowed eyes, soft-spoken whispers amongst each other, and disapproving shakes of the head. Pox on them all! Let’s see how they look at me when they’re the ones on the ground, bleeding out and begging for healing! Gar, in particular seemed keen on getting one of the priests to grope me with his filthy healing. Fortunately, I was not hurt so badly that I couldn’t convince the priest to leave me be. He seemed happy to do so, damn his eyes.

Reaping 3, 595 CY
I managed, barely, to heal my wounds enough today that I could finally move around and keep down my food. I was ready to pack up and leave town, but before I made my sentiments known, I realized that everyone else had decided to return to the Whispering Cairn. This shocked and surprised me. They had all very nearly died... indeed, Abelard WAS dead, yet they wanted to go back. Their greed for treasure had seemed to eclipse their common sense. So I remained silent, glad that they had not lost interest in helping me scour the cairn for loot. At least, the next time, we’ll know more what to expect within. And now, the treasure split would only go seven ways, not eight. Things were starting to look up!

We decided to wait another day, so I could heal the rest of my wounds. They obviously understood that my capability to heal their wounds was the most important thing in this venture, so hopefully they’ll do a better job next time preventing me from getting hurt. We’ll see...

Later in the day, the law came calling. It was Deputy Jamus. I recognized him immediately; there was no greater champion of graft and corruption in Diamond Lake than Deputy Jamus. As he started questioning us about what had happened, I could tell he wasn’t interested in our health as much as in our plans... if there was something out there worth us getting chewed by a swarm of beetles, he wanted it for himself! Fortunately, his intellect was as suspect as his honor, and I was able to throw him off the trail. Jamus returned to town thinking that the real treasure still lay in Stirgenest Cairn. Well and good.

Gar did come up with a name four our group. Abelard’s Band. Seems fitting that we should find common bonds of camaraderie in death. I approve.

Reaping 4, 595 CY
We wasted no time after returning to the Whispering Cairn. Taan proudly displayed all of the bottles of oil he bought to burn out the rest of the beetles, and within another few minutes, we were using them! We clambered down into the beetle swarm hole, finding another, hidden level below. And beyond, two more rooms, each infested with more swarms! We made short work of them with the oil, fortunately, but when a large number of hog-sized spit beetles clambered into view and started spraying us down with acid... things quickly turned bad again. With horrifying speed, the beetles (led by one that seemed particularly large and mean) cut us down, one by one. That big beetle nearly bit Taan in half!

Finally, Gar snapped. He leapt out into the hall in a remarkable display of poor tactics and ill-planning, cried out to Moradin, and with an incredibly lucky stroke, crushed the huge spit beetle with one blow from his axe! The amount of beetle gore that spewed from the devastating hole in its head was unbelievable. Gar wasted no time. He began looting the two chambers with drunken abandon, heedless to the very real possibility of traps or filthy fungal contamination from the orange muck growing in one of the rooms. Finally, I managed to convince him to help me haul our unconscious allies back to the miner’s office.

Two attempts to explore the cairn so far, and two near catastrophes. Maybe we should revise our tactics. Then again, maybe we don’t need to. After all, I’m still alive, and I fared better on the second outing than I did on the first. And with a few more battles with beetles and hungry vermin, perhaps the final treasure split will grow even more generous!

Reaping 1, 595 CY
So Demon boy and I got to the mine office ruins this morning, only to find it crawling with a huge crowd of people! Dram was there, but so were four others. Dram had his bow drawn, an arrow aimed at some lanky blond elf guy. He was much taller than any elves I'd seen before, and seemed to be casually disinterested in the fact that Dram was aiming an arrow at him. There was also a goggle-eyed dwarf who was grinning like a fool. It was obvious he'd just bought his gear that morning… I recognized most of his armor and weaponry as things I'd seen time and time again on the shelves at the general goods store. And standing next to him was a half-elf woman who seemed intently curious on who might get shot by an arrow next. Also present was a strangely silent man who seemed to know Dram.

I admit, I was a little disgusted that Dram had apparently invited half the town on the expedition to the Whispering Cairn. I had hoped we would be splitting the treasure four ways, not seven. As it turned out, we weren't going to split the treasure seven ways, but eight, for a few moments later, another man showed up. I recognized him as one of the soldiers from the garrison.

As it turned out, Dram hadn't invited most of them; he'd just invited the soldier (a paladin of Heironeous named Abelard) and the dwarf (an exuberant fighter named Gar, named after the toothy fish that live in the lake, I assume). It was Gar who invited the others, in what amounted to a drunken haze. They were Daejin (the half-elf woman; a ranger), Taan (the tall elf, who turned out to be a sorcerer), and Vyth (the silent guy, who seems to be some sort of specialized monk or rogue). Dram (a scout and ne'er-do-well), Demon boy (a halfling sorcerer with a neat fire-breathing trick), and myself rounded the group out to eight. I managed to talk Dram out of shooting Taan, even though no one there knew him and for all I knew, he could be some sort of freaky stalker or murderer. Gar actually asked if any of us had any murdering experience, and no one confessed to having any skill at murder, so that's probably a good sign. Although I know that I lied when I confessed to the no-murder-history, so it's possible that some of the others lied about that… Gar also asked us to not tell his uncle that he was going adventuring. I was okay with that, since I didn't know Gar's uncle.

We set out for the Whispering Cairn, finding it with little trouble using the map Dram stole from his father. Some of the guys started clambering around on top of the cairn mound. I'm not sure why. I waited patiently for them to get bored; Dram found some weird vents in the hillside that seemed to whistle when the wind blew over them. That must be how the cairn got its name… so much for the Whispering Cairn being haunted by whispering ghosts!

Eventually, we entered the cairn. Inside it was full of dust and rubble, and little else. We found a partially broken frame that looked to have once been some sort of transportation portal. It was broken now. OH! We found some more dust, and some rocks, and a ratty bedroll some desperate miner probably left behind a few years ago after he was forced to slum in the cave after no doubt losing his bunk-money on loose women and looser cards. We did find a strange indigo lantern that seemed to radiate some sort of magic, along with a single finger apparently broken from some unknown statue’s hand.

Then I heard something. Deeper in the cairn, a furtive scratching. A shuffling. I realized then that Demon boy was whistling that obnoxious little tune they played during his show in town. I told him to shut the hell up, and not six seconds later a pack of starving wolves were thundering out of the darkness at us, howling and gnashing their cracked yellow teeth!

The resulting battle was fast, much faster than I'd thought it would be. I tried to crush some of the wolves with my morningstar, but didn't hit any of them. A particularly large wolf, obviously not starving, came in after them. He tore into everyone, nearly biting off Abelard's arm at one point, and at another tearing into Taan with such bloody savagery that, after it flung him across the hall and into the nearby wall with a meaty thud, he dropped to the ground, for all I knew, dead.

I jumped between the wolves, barely avoiding their savage bites, and managed to reach the bleeding elf. He wasn't quite dead yet, and as the others stabbed at the wolves with their spears, I could see that Wee Jas didn't yet have need for Taan's soul. So I reached out and touched his wounds, channeling some of Her beauty into him and closing the wounds enough for him to gasp back into life. And not a moment too soon… he lunged upward with his sword and skewered the massive wolf right through its snout just as it had come up behind us to no doubt savage me.

I realized then why Wee Jas had no need for his soul at the time... she wanted me to heal him so he could save me from the wolf. Well and good.

In the aftermath, I did what I could to patch up everyone else's wounds (particularly the paladin's wounds... he looked particularly hot, all covered in blood!). I wasn’t able to patch everything up, but that’s fine. I wasn’t hurt.

We moved into the next room, finding a huge star-shaped domed chamber. A massive sarcophagus sat in the center, its lid shaped somewhat like an arrow and somewhat like a strangely-elongated humanoid form. The seven arms of the star ended in smaller chambers, many of which were decorated by hanging lanterns of different colors. It seems that these seven points corresponded to the colors of a rainbow, and the indigo lantern we found earlier was one of them. We hung that lantern and found that by rotating the central sarcophagus to point to different lanterns, small vaults would rise up from the floor. One of these vaults seemed to be broken; when we pointed the lid at it, the alcove only made a scary grinding noise.

Nothing was within the little vaults that rose up when the lid was rotated, alas, but someone did notice a strange door high up in one of the alcove ceilings. Half the group clambered up the rope to investigate; Demon boy, Abelard, and I remained on the ground floor. Not much longer Vyth found some sort of pressure plate a half-heartbeat before he stepped on it. Beyond was a strange carving of a creepy open-mouthed face. The face’s eyes had faint spiral patterns etched on them, and its mouth was open and big enough for a person to clamber into and sit in, so of course, that’s exactly what Vyth did.

Someone yelled down to us to start turning the sarcophagus again, so it would point toward them; they wanted to see if doing so would change anything in the hallway they were in, I suppose. I let Abelard and Demon boy try to move the lid for a bit, but finally it became apparent they needed one more to help.

Fortunately, with three of us, we managed to start turning the lid again. But just before we got it to point in the right direction, it got hung up. The alcove it pointed at started rumbling and shaking again, and before we were able to move it further there was a terrific cacophony as the alcove’s floor gave way. Dust billowed upward as the floor crumbled into an inky shaft below, and from within came an ominous chittering sound, as if a swarm of spiders had become riled by our clumsy tinkerings above, and now wakened, were shuddering their chitinous bodies upward toward us! Abelard, Demon boy and I made ready our weapons for whatever was about to clamber up into view, hoping it wouldn’t prove to be our doom.

Richfest 3, 595 CY
So I heard an interesting rumor today while I was in town, watching the hopeless mob try in vain to drown the truth of their sorrowful, shallow lives in cheep ale and desperate festivities for Diamond Lake’s Richfest festival. Normally I avoid the town during festival (too depressing and filthy), but this time, for some reason, I felt the need to at least go down to silently mock them. Seems some adventurers from Greyhawk showed up in town yesterday morning, spending money like royalty and asking about the cairns; Stirgenest Cairn in particular. Idiots. Only thing left in Stirgenest is dust and rubble. Even the bones were stolen! Disgusting scavengers. But it got me thinking nevertheless. If the lure of treasure is strong enough to call in adventurers from the Free City... maybe there's something to the stories. And maybe there's a cairn around here somewhere that's not been completely looted. I'm not sure how I feel about looting the dead, but I know how I feel about living in Diamond Lake. It's wretched, dirty, filthy, and depressing. The locals toil in mines all day long, come home not quite tired enough to curse and spend their meager, crusty wages on watered-down ale and stringy, desperate whores. I reckon the only excitement anyone gets around here is twice a week when the Feral Dog gets in some new mongrel and they can all descend on the fighting pits in the basement to watch some diseased and starving curs tear each other apart. And since I actually caught myself contemplating going down there two days ago to watch as well... I took that as a sign I needed to get the hell out of this town before I turned into one of these listless lowlives to whom hope is a dead dream and death is mercy.

Richfest 6, 595 CY
Spent the last couple days exploring the wilderness, looking into all of the cairns I know about. They're all empty. Damnation! Tomorrow, I'll have to go into town and endure the ogling of those filthy curs again. I need to talk to Dram; maybe he'll be able to swipe some old regional maps from his father.

Richfest 7, 595 CY
I expected Dram to hem and haw about it, but he fell to the task of sneaking through his father's collection with glee. Seems he wants out of this mudhole as much as I do. He found a map within the hour, one that showed the location of something called the "Whispering Cairn." It doesn't show up on any of the more recent maps, so I'm fairly sure it's been forgotten. Dram seems interested in checking it out, and I’m sure Demon Boy can sneak out of his cage to accompany us. His fire-breathing trick should come in handy if there's any vermin or homeless miners living in the cairn. I told Dram to bring along one of his friends from the garrison, someone tough who can handle some muscle-work, I sure as hell don't intend on pushing any sarcophagus lids around.

Anyway, we're going to meet at the ruined mine office north of town tomorrow morning and set out from there.

Tyralandi Scrimm: Character Background
Tyralandi Scrimm was born dead.
Her parents were a husband/wife team of acrobats who worked for a traveling carnival, where they were billed as the “Famous Flying Scrimms.” Alas, Tyralandi and her mother died during her childbirth. Dad was despondent, and over the next few days sold all his belongings in an attempt to scrape up enough money to pay for two raise dead spells. Of course, that's a little over 10,000 gp per spell—a rough sum to raise for a carny. When it became apparent he had barely over 130 gp to his name, his thoughts turned grim indeed.
Yet as luck would have it, a strange and sinister Rhennee mystic came to his tent a few evenings later and offered to cast one raise dead spell for him. The only catch was that the priest would only raise his daughter, and only then if her father would name the daughter after the priest. The father would have preferred to raise his wife but he realized he had no choice and bitterly agreed to the deal. The mysterious Rhennee mystic smiled, cast the spell, and then returned on the barge she had arrived on, leaving behind only her name.
So, for the next 16 years, young Tyralandi Scrimm grew up, traveling the local Greyhawk circuit with the carnival. Her father lost the taste for performance, and became a roustabout and an alcoholic. Before long, Tyralandi was the one taking care of him, keeping him out of trouble and making sure his increasingly violent drunken binges didn't get anyone hurt or burn anything down. There were no other children her age among the carneys, and she looked on jealously at the daughters of nobles who came to gawk at the carnival. They were always dressed so nicely, and had such nice things. Not like the burlap dress she wore, or the rum-stinky wagon she lived in, or the vermin-haunted straw she slept on.
On her 16th birthday, a large group of Rhennee thugs showed up at the carnival. Tyralandi still doesn't know what caused it, but an hour after sundown a huge fight erupted between the carneys and the river gypsies. Her father's rum-soaked wagon caught fire and exploded (there was a lot of high-octane rum inside), spreading the fire all over. The animals got loose from their cages and went berserk. A leering Rhennee thug tried to jump her but she managed to knock him out with a piece of burning lumber and only got shived once for her trouble. Bleeding from a stomach wound and nearly blind from fear, Tyralandi tried to escape to the river and in so doing ran into a scary-looking Rhennee mystic who wore dark robes and carried a staff capped with a human hand clutching an eyeball. The priest immediately cast a spell on her, attempting to use his magic to tear open her gut-wound even further, but to both their surprise his inflict serious wounds spell actually healed her wound! So surprised was the mystic, in fact, that Tyralandi managed to hit him in the arm with her burning board. His robes caught fire and he dropped his staff into the water, just the distraction she needed to race up the riverbank and escape.
Days later, Tyralandi arrived at Diamond Lake. She took shelter in an empty vault in the cemetery at the edge of town, and for the next four years lived on the edge of town. She took care of the cemetery, keeping it nice and clean (a job that the current caretaker couldn't be bothered with). And she started having crazy dreams about a beautiful woman who promised her wealth, power, and luxuries if she would only do her a few simple favors. What those favors were, the woman wouldn't yet say. Tyralandi was told she'd know them when the time came to do them. In return, the woman revealed herself as a servant of Wee Jas, and soon, Tyralandi found she had developed the ability to cast cleric spells.
Today, she's grown tired of the festering town of Diamond Lake. Its dead are less noisome to her than its living inhabitants. At least the dead don't get drunk and carouse and make fools of themselves, and they understand that Tyralandi should be the center of attention, not anyone else. The locals don't really know what to think of the creepy girl who lives in the cemetery, but she seems harmless enough and keeps the place clean so they don't really mind that she's not paying anyone any rent.