The sun had dipped low over the Reik, its reflection a bruised smear of red and gold on the rippling surface, when the company made their uneasy camp upon the western bank. Across the water, the dwarves’ fires guttered weakly, a dozen huddled flames barely holding back the dark. They had fled the cursed tower—too many gone missing in the night, too many screams swallowed by the mist—and begged the adventurers to do what they could not: stand their ground until dawn.
The tower itself loomed above, its base of strange black stone veined with an unsettling sheen that drank the dying light. The dwarves had built their scaffolds around it in good faith, believing it an ancient relic worth reclaiming. Now those wooden frames hung empty and half-finished, a ribcage around a malign heart. The air smelled of damp earth and old stone, but beneath it lingered another scent—ozone and rot, the taste of sorcery long curdled.
Wanda, still pale from her earlier encounter with a restless spirit, sat silent on the deck of the Dandy Fraulein, polishing her blade with the rigid focus of one who refuses to tremble. Qavitrae stood nearby, peering toward the tower through the murk. She could feel it: the wind of Shyish whispering faintly across her skin, cold and hollow as grave-breath. Death magic pooled here, stagnant as a forgotten well. Even Thindruk’s jests came brittle now; the dwarven viscount’s laughter was a poor shield against the creeping wrongness that seemed to seep from the very soil.
Night fell thick. Watches were set—pairs of weary eyes staring across the dark water, the forest muttering beyond. When Qavitrae and Wanda took their turn in the pre-dawn hours, the moon was a pale coin hanging low and swollen. It was Wanda who saw it first: a seam in the black foundation splitting open, not with the grind of stone but with the silence of breath withheld. From the gap emerged a figure—humanoid, yes, but lean and wrong. Its skin clung too tightly to its frame, its movements too fluid, too quick. Orange eyes flickered in the dark like banked coals.
It turned its gaze toward the boat.
Qavitrae raised her arbalest, her elven eye tracking the unnatural grace of the thing as it moved. She felt Wanda’s shoulder beside her, the bailiff’s breath hitching as she sighted down her gun. The creature paused—then darted, not toward them but toward the dwarves’ abandoned camp. Silent as mist, it slipped among the tents and then, just as quickly, returned to the tower. The stone parted to receive it, swallowing it whole.
At dawn, the tale was told. The company gathered at the base of the tower once more, the dew clinging to their boots as they studied the place where the thing had vanished. The foundation stones showed no seam, no hinge, no weakness. Only when Qavitrae lifted the strange key they’d recovered—the black iron sigil that opened the upper door—did the wall shudder and bloom apart like a wound reopening.
Within, the air was stale and thick with dust. The chamber beyond was no craftsman’s work; its geometry seemed to shift and tilt, a place designed to confuse the eyes. Strange symbols crawled across the walls in patterns that refused symmetry. Three doors awaited them, seamless, each marked only by an engraved hexagram.
Caution warred with curiosity. Felrick, ever the pragmatist, muttered something about wizard’s folly and kept one hand on his pistol. Nora’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of action; she rested her hand on her claymore and stepped lightly over the threshold. Thindruk set a small fire behind them, as though mortal flame might grant them an escape should things turn foul.
Qavitrae pressed the key toward the leftmost door. The stone rippled, folded, and opened upon a dim chamber beyond. The smell of rot met them first. Then the shapes resolved in the lamplight—two figures standing motionless amid tables strewn with rusted implements and shattered glass. At first, they might have been men, long-dead artisans or guards preserved by the still air. But then one raised its head, revealing eyes like milky marbles, its jaw working soundlessly. The other was worse: hairless, its fingers sheathed in splintered arrows, the skin puckered where flesh met shaft.
The first fell to Felrick’s shot before it could take a step. The crack of his pistol echoed like thunder in a tomb, and the corpse dropped as if its strings had been cut, a neat hole drilled through its eye. The second shuddered but did not fall—Qavitrae’s bolt took it squarely in the brow, yet still it advanced, silent save for the rasp of bone against stone.
Nora charged, her claymore flashing in the lamplight. She slammed into the creature with the force of a battering ram, toppling it backward. The thing thrashed on the floor as she raised her blade for the killing stroke, and even as she hewed away its arm, it writhed on. Its mouth gaped in a soundless snarl, exposing gums black with dried blood.
The others closed in. Wanda’s hammer fell with grim finality; Felrick reloaded, his eyes calm and cold. When the gnome’s next shot took its chest apart, the creature finally sagged. Only when Qavitrae’s second bolt took the head clean from its shoulders did the twitching cease.
Then silence.
Nora’s breath came fast, her heart drumming in her ears. The air felt heavier, as if the death within the room had a weight all its own. Felrick muttered, “We’ll need to burn the bodies.”
But before they could, another door in the hall yawned open. The sound was sudden and wrong—a whisper of stone on stone, though no one had touched it. Thindruk turned just in time to see the same clawed horror from the night before dart through. Its movements were faster now, less hesitant, as though the darkness of the tower lent it strength.
He raised his burning brand by instinct, flinging it in defiance. The flame arced wide, landing against a gargoyle-shaped lectern that began to smolder. A heartbeat later, the creature was upon him, bone weapon flashing.
Then chaos.
Felrick fired again, the shot punching clean through its ribs but failing to slow it. Qavitrae reloaded and loosed in the same motion, another bolt sinking deep into the creature’s side. Nora shouted for space and barreled forward, the ground trembling under her boots. Her blade rang against bone as sparks leapt from her strike. Still it fought on, its flesh tearing, black ichor hissing where it splattered the stone.
When at last it fell, it did not fall alone. A second door burst open, and another shambling corpse lurched forth—a grotesque parody of the first, its sharpened bone still wet from prior kills. Thindruk tried to stand his ground, but the blow caught him hard, the sharpened point glancing across his face. He reeled back, blood mixing with ash, the beginnings of a black bruise spreading beneath his eye.
And then—the first creature returned. Its ruined head, half-sealed by dark sorcery, gleamed with new flesh. Whatever corruption animated it, death alone would not hold it long.
The group braced for another onslaught. The tower itself seemed to pulse, the air thrumming faintly, alive with the echo of some long-forgotten spellwork. Every breath felt borrowed, every heartbeat a wager.
By the time the sun rose, its light would touch this cursed stone. But until then, the company stood within its shadow—surrounded by the dead, haunted by the unseen hand that had called them here, and knowing that the true master of this place had yet to show its face.
The enemy within the tower had awoken.
Recap of prior findings and scene setup Identification and lore checks Education / Folklore / Wilds checks are discussed. Wanda’s practical wards: suggests salt (purifying, protective) and simple woven grass/stick charms for ghost-warding. Architectural oddity: the stone foundation is unusually tall (~12 ft); more than necessary, hinting at a sub-level. Plan for the night Pre-dawn watch and sighting Last watch (~4:00 a.m.): Wanda and Qavitrae. Qavitrae attempts a medium-range hard arbalest shot into the gloom — a shot is loosed but no clear impact is seen; they choose not to wake the others. Morning briefing and map Around 6:30–7:00 a.m., Wanda and Qavitrae report: humanoid, hairless, ragged, very fast and quiet; different door in the foundation, not the upper one. The GM sketches: Investigation at the base of the tower Nora performs an Awareness (standard) sweep: Qavitrae senses the winds: Tactical advice (in-character): against a wizard/creation, “stab it” (preferably when it’s distracted or asleep); arrows from afar are also effective. Preparing entry Debate about using the key (the same that opened the upper door) at the base: Exterior door wedged: Wanda uses an iron spike and mallet to quietly pin the exterior portal in the earth; the door slab floats/moves rather than hinging. Lighting: outdoor daylight spills in; lamp/torch used inside. Interior hall description Establishing a fire outside Tracks inside and initial door choice Room beyond the left door (first combat room) Furniture/fixtures noted: large tables with glass vessels, metal stands, odd clay jars; a gargoyle-shaped lectern. Two figures are present: Lore summary (Qavitrae’s Education success): Fear checks (upon seeing the undead) Party makes Fear tests: Pre-combat declaration Round 1 — Actions Thindruk (first): Felrick: Qavitrae: Wanda: Nora: Rear creature (amalgam): Zombie (prone): Round 2 — Setup and actions Thindruk: Felrick: Qavitrae: Nora: Wanda: Amalgam returns; new threat appears The other hall door (opposite side) bursts open; the amalgam returns and attacks. Thindruk: Qavitrae: Felrick: Nora: Wanda: Steps into the doorway beside Nora, attacks with the Morgenstern and hits (after reroll). Amalgam’s counterattacks The amalgam loops around via doors and re-engages: Bites Wanda: hit for 14 → only 1 wound after armor; Toughness (standard): critical success; a numbing tingling is felt in her hand where it bit, but no further effect. Stabs at Nora with the sharpened bone: Additional undead joins Because the party did not barricade the other interior door, a second zombie enters and attacks Thindruk: End of sessionSession Notes