Doom of the Savage Kings, Chapter 7

On By MagicJMSIn Dungeon Crawl Classics, Tabletop Roleplaying

Haffoot’s bravado proved warranted. The halfling sheathed her two blades, handed her tricorn hat to Erin, and scurried up the stone wall easily to the gap above.

“Sure enough,” she called down in a loud whisper. “It’s carved into the stone and goes for a while. Not big, but enough to crawl. I’m gonna toss a rope down. It’s tight for you bigguns. Leave your backpacks there.”

Soon the knotted end of a hemp rope slapped the floor, scattering the dried snakeskins around its impact.   

“I don’t like leaving our belongings unattended,” Erin frowned up at the dark gap.

“I don’ like tryin’ to navigate a crawlspace with this large a group,” Umur agreed. He turned to the Hirot villagers. “Alright, listen: We’re going to see if that gap leads to the real tomb. You can come if you want or stay here to watch the gear.”

“Do we… all have to go up there?” Hilda asked, pursing her lips.

“The four of us, yeah,” Umur sighed. “Don’ know what sorta monsters or traps might be guardin’ the spear if we find it. Your magic might be needed, lass.”

At that statement, the villagers all decided to stay. Erin, Umur, and Hilda removed their packs, though the wizard kept one bulging satchel close. Umur, with the help from others, strapped his shield to his back. Hilda reluctantly left her staff with Joane, who was equally reluctant to receive it. Then, one by one, the companions gripped the rope and scaled the rough stone to the gap above.

Umur was the last to perform the task. As he placed his black boot against the wall, he looked back at the six villagers–Joane, Briene, the dwarf Tor, the girl with the oversized helmet, and two rough-looking human men whose names he couldn’t remember–and nodded reassuringly.

“Those gray things were nasty business, but we haven’t heard or seen anythin’ else in here. You should be safe.” He cleared his throat, and then added. “Just, uh… don’t go wanderin’ and keep your eyes sharp.”

“May the gods light your way,” Briene nodded to him.

With that, Umur grunted and pulled himself up. Thanks to his scaled armor and broad frame, it took some work. Eventually, however, his legs disappeared into the crawlspace and the villagers were left alone and wide-eyed, listening to the echoed, murmuring voices above and standing in a room littered with discarded skin.

“All I can see is Hilda’s feet,” Umur complained. The passage, stone but with a ceiling of branches and roots, fit each of them and allowed them to move single file, but it was cramped going. There would be no drawing weapons or casting spells in this narrow passage, something they all realized warily. “What’s ahead, Haffoot?”

“Continues for a ways and bends to the right,” the halfling whispered back. “Let’s go.”

Haffoot led the way, followed by Erin, Hilda, and Umur. For the wizard it was a terrifying journey, not only for the feeling of stone and earth pressing down on her from all directions, but also because she was the only one of the four unable to see in darkness. Hilda pushed forward on hands and knees, sweating and frequently bumping into Erin’s boots for fear of being left behind.

The crawlspace indeed continued to the right. Shortly thereafter, it opened to a room beyond.

“It’s here!” Haffoot called. “The tomb!”

Thankfully, the passage ended at floor level to the tomb, which made exiting head-first considerably easier than if there had been a drop. Haffoot, Erin, and Hilda emerged one by one upon their hands, rolling free and standing. The room before them was modestly sized and square, with a high-vaulted ceiling. A large stone column rose from the center, decorated by numerous carvings of wolves dying in numerous ways–by arrows, spear, fire, and sword.

“Look there,” Haffoot pointed for Erin once she’ stood. Well off the ground, perhaps halfway up the column, a long spear and bronze shield hung from leather straps.

Midway down the crawlspace, behind a hastily assembled cover of branches and roots, is a chimney in which hides the third tomb ghoul, who was once the graverobber Kej. He watches hungrily as the four adventurers pass beneath him. Kej witnessed the demise of his two companions, so knows that these four are dangerous, far more so than the Hirot villagers. That said, as a ghoul he hates the living and wants them purged.

Will Kej decide, then, to attack Umur from behind while he is still in the crawlspace and unable to use his longsword and shield, or will he double back and see the villagers as unprotected sheep ready for slaughter? Either is a fine choice, so let’s flip a coin: Tails it’s Umur’s butt that gets attacked, and Heads is a tomb ghoul to the face of the villagers (see what I did there?).

Heads. Our six villagers will need to defend themselves from the last tomb ghoul with the heroes unable to help them. I have a feeling that our halfling merchant Avel won’t be the only casualty of this little Funnel-within-the-adventure.

For now, knowing that Umur is safe, let’s return to the tomb.

Umur rolled free of the crawlspace clumsily, cursing. Hilda, holding the glowing orb they had taken from the portal beneath the Empty Star, helped the dwarf rise. She pointed out the spear and shield above as he took in their surroundings.

“Always with the false tombs,” he grunted, but with a note of satisfaction. “Well, we’ve found it, then. How do we get them down from there?”

“I climb again, yeah?” Haffoot grinned. Without waiting for confirmation, she rubbed her hands together and approached the column, studying its surface for hand- and footholds. With the stone carvings across its entire surface, there appeared to be no wrong choice.

The column is easy to scale, but the items are far above. I’ll require her to make two DC 5 Strength checks to successfully do so. A failure on the first won’t incur any falling damage, but a failure on the second will.

The first roll is a [5+0] 5. Whew.

The second roll is [4+0] 4! Oh no! Haffoot will burn another point of Luck, increasing her roll by +2 and succeeding, but dropping her Luck score to 9 (of 12).

This time, the halfling’s bravado may have been ill-placed. The way up was cunningly treacherous, and several times a hand or foot would slip and make those below catch their breath. Tongue protruding from her lips in concentration, Haffoot said nothing as she focused on the task and, increasingly slowly, she made her way to the leather strap and dangling weapons.

“Spear first, yeah? I’m dropping it,” she called down with a voice strained by exertion. With a grunt, Haffoot pulled the spear free…

…and the entire chamber immediately began to rumble.

Trap time! Anyone who disturbs the column or the arms causes the column to collapse, crashing to the ground and triggering a cascading series of effects. The mechanics here are fun… the party rolls for initiative, and something happens every 5 initiative counts down, starting at 20. Let’s hope for luckier rolls than Haffoot’s climb checks, especially because anything below a 5 initiative is going to likely be killed. Spoiler alert: Anyone still in the room at Initiative 0 dies, no save.

Initiative 20: Stone column pieces rain down from above; DC 10 Reflex save or 1d6 damage.

Haffoot rolls a nat-20! For her crit, I’ll say not only does she take no damage, but is able to get to the floor anime-style without taking any damage, spear in hand.

Umur rolls a [13+1] 14.

Hilda rolls a [10+1] 11.

Erin rolls a [6+0] 6, taking 4 damage (down to 6 hp). Ouch.

Initiative 15: Haffoot goes first and, miraculously unharmed, dives into the crawlspace and shimmies her way to safety. In addition, a massive slab of rock crashes down from above; DC 5 Reflex save or 2d6 damage. I’ll roll randomly to see who it targets: Hilda.

Hilda rolls another [10+1] 11 and the slab misses her.

Initiative 14: Hilda’s turn. She’s outta here and follows Haffoot.

Initiative 10: Rubble falls from above, striking all in the chamber for 1d4 damage. PCs must attempt a DC 10 Fort save or lose 1d7 from their initiative count (and again, anything below a 5 is likely fatal).

Umur takes 3 damage and rolls a nat-20 on the Fortitude save! For his crit, I’ll allow him to push Erin, either halving the damage she takes or giving her a +2 to the Fortitude save, whichever is going to most help her.

Erin takes 4 damage and rolls a [16+2] 18 save. I’ll halve the damage thanks to Umur’s crit, so she takes 2 damage and is at 4 hp.

Thank goodness for those Fortitude save rolls!

Initiative 9: Erin drops to her hands and knees and gets the hell out of there.

Initiative 6: Right before the whole ceiling comes down, Umur makes it out.

So cool. I love DCC.

“Get out!” Haffoot called. She could feel the column swaying and beginning to topple. With a deftness borne of desperation, she launched herself from the collapsing stone at the chamber’s nearest wall. Down she fell, and as she hit the stone surface she pushed with one leg, aiming at an angle towards the floor. All in one motion, she struck the floor, rolling, and then disappeared into the crawlspace faster than any of them would have thought possible.

The halfling’s agile descent distracted the others from reacting as quickly. Sections of the stone column cascaded on them, and a fist-sized rock struck Erin’s armored shoulder, throwing her to the ground.

“Look out!” Hilda yelled, and dodged to the side just as an enormous slab of stone thudded into the floor where she had been standing. Cradling the glowing orb protectively, Hilda pushed her way into the gap after Haffoot.

“I don’t… what?” Erin shook her head, dazed, as rocks continued to fall.

“Go, lass, go!” Umur yelled into her ear and pushed her towards the crawlspace. Dumbly, the white-mailed cleric followed Hilda’s disappearing feet.

Rocks battered Umur’s helmet and armor, and he spared a glance up. The top half of the stone column was gone, and with it the ceiling was collapsing. Wide-eyed, he dropped to his knees and pushed Erin forward.

“GO!” he bellowed, and with a roar threw himself into the open space ahead.

Just as the dwarf’s boots pulled into the gap there was a deafening crash as the chamber beyond filled with debris.

Thanks to the cacophony of destruction, none of them heard the Hirot villagers screaming in pain and terror.

“When will they return?” Maly Peabrook asked in her squeaky voice. She was the apprentice to Hale the Crane, Hirot’s armorer, though the man often complained about the arrangement. It was well known within the village walls that Maly was a terrible smith, ruining as many pieces as she helped create. Her prized creation was a misshapen, battered iron cap, too large for her head, that she wore proudly, along with mismatched pieces such as a single shoulder pauldron, shin guard, and bracer. Each piece displayed her shoddy craftsmanship, yet these, at least, had survived the forge.

“Either there’ll be the chief’s tomb at the end of that crawl or death,” the dwarven carpenter, Tor, growled at her. He was a proud member of the Hirot crafts guild and had no love for the human he considered a blight to his fellow guildmembers. “So either soon or we leave.”

“They won’t die,” Joane admonished, frowning at Tor and then flashing a grin at the armorer’s apprentice. The two were peers in age, but Joane was by far the more confident and, thus, seemed like an older sibling. “Which means soon, Maly.”

As if her words had summoned the heroes, there was a rustling from the darkened gap above. The villagers’ eyes all followed the noise expectantly.

The remaining tomb ghoul has crept from its hiding place in the chimney and stalked to the room containing the villagers. It will get a surprise round and pounce on the man sitting below the crawlspace, the urchin Omulf. The ghoul rolls a nat-20, dealing 5 damage and would have drained Stamina points from its crit roll had it mattered, but Omulf has only 2 hit points so is very dead.

Tor is standing right next to the ghoul and will swing his dagger-like chisel, rolling [14+1] 15 and hitting, dealing [3+1] 4 damage. A good start!

Joane is next and runs up behind the dwarf, stabbing with her pitchfork over his shoulder to roll a [9+0] 9 and hit the ghoul’s 8 AC. She deals 3 damage, half of its remaining hit points.

The ghoul gets another attack, and swipes with its claw at Tor, who it sees as the biggest threat. It rolls a [10+1] 11 and hits, dealing 5 damage and killing the dwarven chestmaker.

Anthol the gravedigger, who we’ve not gotten to know at all, swings his trowel and rolls a [7+0] 7, missing. Maly Peabrook follows that up with a [6-1] 5, missing with her smith’s hammer.

Which leaves Briene Byley, the hero so far of this band of retainers. True to form, she steps up with her club and rolls a nat-20, doing [1+3] 4 damage, killing the ghoul, and forcing the ghoul serpent that bursts from its chest to drop to the bottom of the next initiative round. Briene… calm down, healer!

A gray-skinned humanoid figure in rags leapt, snarling, from the opening, its wide mouth open to reveal sharp teeth and a forked tongue. Claws outstretched on overlong fingers, it landed atop one of the human men. Omulf had lost his entire family to the Hound of Hirot, and with it his will to live. He had been a vagrant in the village the past few months, until the Graymoor residents had given him a spark of hope. That spark, it seemed, had led him to die screaming beneath an earthen mound far from his home. The creature spit and grunted and it rended Omulf apart in a matter of blood-soaked moments.

“What is this devilry?!” the dwarf Tor roared as he swung the dagger in his fist at the creature. It tore through the sagging flesh at its neck, spraying blood that was thick and black. The grotesque thing reared back in pain, its bulging eyes wild. With a backwards slash of its claws it tore out the dwarf’s throat, and Tor toppled, grabbing at his ruined neck, next to Omulf’s tattered corpse.

“No!” Joane shouted. She pushed her pitchfork forward, pinning the creature through its shoulder to the dirt floor below. It snarled and bit at her, distracted, allowing Briene Byley to approach and swing her club. The healer’s attack was wild and borne of horrified fear, but it caved in the creature’s head, killing it instantly.

A monstrous snake began tearing its way free of the sagging skin, but it seemed hampered somehow. Perhaps it was the pitchfork impaling a part of its serpentine body within, or perhaps it was less ready to be “born” than the other two who had emerged earlier. Whatever the case, as the human-like head with bulging eyes thrashed and chomped blindly with its shark mouth, the remaining villagers had time to attack.

Round 2, and it’s the ghoul serpent the Hirot villagers must now defeat. The good news is that Briene’s critical hit has pushed it to last in initiative order, but the bad news is that it’s AC is 14.

Thankfully, we have yet another nat-20 incoming (what is with the dice roller!?). Joane scores a critical hit to the face, inflicting 6 damage with her pitchfork and leaving the serpent with 4 hp. Can the others finish it off before it strikes?

Anthol rolls a [5+0] 5, again not warranting a mention in the narrative. Maly makes herself useful and rolls a [17-1] 16 with her hammer, but only manages a single point of damage. And Briene finally comes down to earth, rolling a [13-1] 12.

The ghoul serpent lashes out at (determining randomly with a d4) Maly Peebrook. It rolls a [12+4] 16, hitting her 11 AC. The bite inflicts 2 damage, half her hit points. She rolls a [8+0] 8 on her Fortitude save, saving her from a (surely fatal) bout of necrosis.

Round 3! Joane attacks again with her pitchfork, missing with a [5+0] 5. Anthol then makes himself useful with a [18+0], doing 2 damage with his trowel and leaving the ghoul serpent with a single hp. Maly then rolls another nat-20, and a solid blow to the torso that does an impressive [1+5] 6 damage and kills the serpent dead.

As always, I’ll tweak what happened in the rolls to tell a combat narrative that is easier to follow.

Shouting incoherently, Joane pulled her pitchfork out of the sagging gray skin and stabbed down on the serpent. It squealed and hissed in response, wounded and even more aggressive because of it.

Maly Peebrook, near paralyzed by fear and wielding a smithy’s hammer, swung at the squirming creature. Her blow caved in the chest of the humanoid thing, allowing the snake within to burst free. She yelled in shock as it launched itself at her, then again in pain as its sharp teeth sunk into the flesh where her neck met her unarmored shoulder.

“No! No!” she screamed, battering at the scaled body with her hammer. Her efforts caused the creature to release its grip and fall, writhing to the floor. Maly rained hammer blows down until it was a black-blooded pulp. She kept striking until Briene firmly but gently pulled her away. The armorer’s apprentice dropped her hammer and collapsed into the healer’s arms, sobbing.

It was then that echoing sounds of a crashing avalanche reached them from the passage above.

“Back, back!” Umur yelled, though whether he could be heard above the ceiling’s collapse, or his companions needed the encouragement were both in doubt. The sound and vibrations from the rockfall shook their bones and rained twigs down over their heads as they crawled frantically away. The four of them moved through the passage as it jogged left, and then each bumped into the person ahead.

“Why are we stopping?” Erin said, speaking loudly and through teeth gritted in pain.

“I’ve, uh…” Haffoot said from the front. “There’s something here. And… oh! One of the villagers is crying! You all go. I’ll meet you soon, yeah?”

“Meet us?” Umur growled. “What does that mean? We’re in the same bloody crawlspace!”

“I’ll explain later,” Hilda said. “Follow me.”

The light of the orb pulsing a soft white, Hilda continued forward. Erin, still half dazed, followed. The two women pulled away as Umur shook his helmeted head, cursing in his native dwarven tongue. He followed as well, and soon found himself being aided by a number of outstretched hands to lower him from the opening to the false tomb’s floor. The dry snakeskin crackled underfoot.

“So where’s Haffoot?” the dwarf demanded, then blinked in surprise as he took in the scene. The dwarf, Tor, lay dead next to the body of one of the human villagers, both in a wide pool of blood. Nearby was the sloughed, gray skin of one of the creatures they’d fought before. Spattered gore was everywhere. Briene held the human girl with the large helmet, who was weeping inconsolably and covered in a mix of black, sticky blood and her own.

“What happened here?” he gaped.

Briene, holding Maly, is unable to heal 1hp using her medical skills, rolling a [6+1] 7.

Erin, meanwhile, is badly wounded. It’s time for her to call upon Shul’s favor and attempt a Lay on Hands roll. She rolls a spell check on a d20 -1 for her Personality +1 for her level. She is aiming for a 12 or better, and if she rolls a 1 or 2 will gain Shul’s disfavor.

She rolls a [19+0] 19, which means, as a Lawful character, she received 3d8 healing. Erin rolls 14, which is more than enough to recover her missing 6 hp and bring her to full health.

Umur is down 3 hp and Maly 2 hp. Does it make sense to risk her god’s disapproval for these relatively low numbers? This is the risk of DCC spellcasting that I love. Without Haffoot here to bump her success chance to 50% or better, I think for now she’ll hold off.

“One of those gray fuckers attacked,” Joane Cayhurst spat, planting the butt of her pitchfork into the hardpacked earth. “Jumped straight out of the hole up there. How did it get past you and to us?” the red-haired young woman challenged Umur, but her eyes darted mistrustingly towards Hilda’s impassive, hooded form.

“I– I don’ know, lass,” the dwarf sputtered. He removed his black, horned helm and wiped sweat from his brow. His craggy face was lined with weariness and confusion. “It was but a single passage to the real tomb. We couldn’ta passed the creature without seein’ it. And somehow we’ve lost Haffoot through the same mystery, and ‘twas she who had the spear.”

“The wrong spear!” a jovial voice called out from above. They all jumped and grabbed at weapons, heads snapping to gape as Haffoot’s smiling face peered down. “A second false tomb, Umur! Can ya believe it?”

“Haffoot!” Erin strode forward. Miraculously, she looked untouched by the ordeal from the column. Her white armor was again pristine, and the pale skin of her face and neck lacked any bruises or obvious wounds. “What are you saying?”

“I found the real tomb,” the halfling’s echoing voice chuckled. “Look out below!”

 A bundle thumped onto the ground from the opening, which the others gathered around to inspect. There, laying atop the dried snakeskin, was a bundle of silver fur, wrapped around a long, flat-bladed spear.

Doom of the Savage Kings, Chapter 8