The weary men marched onward on the swamp road, racing ahead as the shadows grew longer and the night crept closer. Several times the sounds of the swamp were pierced by the howls of a lone wolf, a sound most strange in such environment. Speaking little, the Nemedians pressed onwards, followed by the stench of death and decay. They were a dirty lot, covered with tomb-dust, mud from the swamp and dried blood.

As the Nemedians arrived on the first wooden bridge crossing one of the many deceptively deep swamp streams, they noticed that it had collapsed. After a short discussion, the men decided to build an improvised bridge. Alcemides and Noam instructed the others in felling a few trees, which were then tied together with ropes and pushed over the stream. Luckily, the bridge had been short and they could cross the stream without problems. Yet manufacturing the improvised bridge wasted valuable time and sunset was closer still.

After an hour of walking the sun was about to sink beneath the horizon and the men reached another broken bridge. It was obvious that someone – or something – was moving ahead of them and creating delays. Noam leaped across the swamp stream to investigate the bridge, which had not been completely demolished, but had been broken off at the far end, leaving it halfway submerged. Leaning to inspect the damage, he noticed that the supporting pillars had been obviously cut with a tool – most likely an axe. As the woodsman was kneeling on the edge of the stream, a lean figure appeared from the bushes, bull rushing him over the edge and diving after him into the murky waters.

As the others rushed to the edge of the stream, Noam fought for his life, trying to reach the surface. The being that had attacked him swam away, nimbly avoiding the bolts launched after it. Finally the Nemedians managed to pull Noam away from the waters with the help of a rope and many pairs of sturdy hands. Luckily, the woodsman had not been wounded in the previous fight. Otherwise the murky water would surely have infected his fresh wounds with some wasting disease. Now keeping a close guard, the men once again constructed an improvised bridge and pressed onwards as the sun fell underneath the horizon. As the dark fell, the lone wolf howled again, somewhere out of sight.

The weary men were only an hour away from the lights of Kordava, when their pursuers caught up with them. Ghouls lunged from the undergrowth, some of them brandishing weapons, followed by the woman-like being from the tomb. Alcemides had barely enough time to shout a warning before the creatures were upon them. The sheer numbers of the beasts threatened to overcome the Nemedians, but all stood their ground, brushing off the horror caused by their inhuman enemies with sheer determination. Hard blows were exchanged and blood flowed, staining the road. As a lucky hit split the skull of the female creature, its body exploded in a fetid shower of rotten bone and entrails.Seeing the creature die by mortal hands, the ghouls lost their appetite for a fight and fled to the undergrowth. Honest steel had overcome the ancient horrors.

Resting their aching bodies, the Nemedians debated on what to do next. finally, they decided to head back to the tomb and loot it thoroughly instead of waiting for the next day. Setting their broken bodies back in motion, the men marched back to the entrance of the tomb, with their greed having overcome their pains. Descending back to the bowels of Earth, they pried forcefully open the sarcophagus in the inner chamber. Portrayed upon its lid was a fierce looking man with a long beard knotted in an eastern fashion – yet inside there was no corpse to be found. Instead they found an iron strongbox and a large plate made of silver. Inscribed on the lid of the box was a symbol the sorcerers recognized – the glyph of Skelos!

While the rest were searching the tomb for loot, Alcemides spotted a cool draft in the chamber. Inspecting further, he found a hole in one of the alcoves with the armoured skeletons, large enough for man to crawl in. As the Nemedians inspected it in detail, they noticed a horrid stench emanating from it, and the tunnel beyond seemed to continue as long as they could see with the light of their lantern. Dionysos spoke aloud what everyone thought: That the tunnel might very well lead straight to Hell itself. Not wishing to tarry any longer in a such accursed place, but neither wishing to risk hazards of the swamp in the dark, the Nemedians decided to barricade themselves in a hidden chamber within the upper tomb. Breaking open the iron box, the men found twenty scrolls in ivory tubes and another twenty covered by black leather. Ecstatic, the two sorcerers wondered if they had actually found the Book of Skelos. The rest of the night was spent in restless slumber, The very presence of the nearby tunnel creating an atmosphere of tension. Yet the morning came and the men left for Kordova, reaching the great city without further complications. A new kind of confidence bolstered their spirits – they had, for the first time, faced beings not born from the loins of a woman and bested them in mortal combat.

Reaching the capital of Zingara, the weary warriors bathed thoroughly and recovered from their wounds in the inn. Soon they received a message from Thothmekri, who was anxious to see them. As the Nemedians dragged themselves to the seaside tavern, the Stygian met them again in the dusty cellar. He asked to see the silver goblet and to investigate it for a moment in another room, while a servant would bring fruits and wine. Although suspicious, the men agreed and Thothmekri disappeared to another underground chamber behind a well-hidden doorway. After a while he returned, handing back the goblet. The Nemedians inspected it suspiciously but it seemed to be the same item. The Stygian spy instructed them to give the goblet to the young Korzetta as they had agreed – and reminded them again that he would need to come with the Nemedians to the mysterious meeting Korzetta was arranging. The Nemedians agreed to the plan and left for more rest – they had arranged another arena fight for themselves in a few days time and prepared to put all their coin in one great bet, in an effort to win great riches.

Next morning Dionysos delivered the mysterious goblet to Korzetta in the temple of Ishtar, where the young noble seemed to spend all his time. Obviously very relieved and happy to have the item, Korzetta was quick to agree to the request to bring one extra guest to the party. He told that there would be a week before the party would take place. Dionysos sweet-talked the nobleman, obviously distracted by the silver item, to promising to handle all the bets in the arena for the Nemedians, in such a way that they could bet large sums of money without drawing too much attention to themselves.

The Nemedians spent the following days resting and recuperating from their hardships, preparing for the upcoming fight. They would be facing a pair of fighters, a woman from the Black Kingdoms and a Shemite man who fought as a team. They had a reputation for acrobatic agility and dirty tricks. Dionysos and Tyrus concentrated on examining the mysterious scrolls. Although they had no time to decipher them at any great degree, they came to the conclusion that they had two of the six books of Vathelos the Blind in their hands. What the mark of Skelos on the iron box meant, they did not know, but even incomplete, the set of scrolls they had was priceless. The two scholars agreed that they’d examine the scrolls in more detail during the long sea journey from Kordova to Messantia.

As the day of the fight approached, Baron Castante renewed his invitation to the party that would take place in his manor after the arena events. Alcemides decided to bet all his money on the upcoming match, even loaning more coin from Dionysos and Barathus to make a greater bet. The othera put great sums of silver into play as well, but none as much as the half-pict. As the day of their battle came, the Nemedians had many reasons to feel excited. Not only were they going to step before a cheering crowd once more – they had a chance to make themselves rich.

Dressed up and prepared as in their last fight, the men stepped on a sand that had already been blooded by lions that had teared up prisoners before their match. Cheers of the crowds were loud enough to hurt ears, as five men prepared to face a man and a woman. Careful circling lead in to a fast exchange of blows, as their two faces tumbled with blinding speed through their rows. A quick kick by the black woman landed between the legs of Barathus, immediately removing him from the fight in a flash of pain. Yet Alcemides and Tyrus managed to maneuver the Shemite between them. The fists of the half-pict were guided by fate, as his stealthy attack brought the dark-skinned man down with one loudly cracking blow. The crowd howled in ecstatic cheers.

Fate seemed then to turn against the Nemedians, as the nimble woman landed blow after a blow, stepping aside from their attacks and even leaping over them in stunning jumps. Dionysos staggered and fell before her strikes, followed by Noam. More through luck than skill Alcemides and Tyrus brought the she-devil down, staggering and barely standing themselves, staying on their feet only through the last shreds of their willpower. The crowd greeted the victorious fighters with thundering roars, as the standing and unconscious gladiators alike were taken to the underground quarters to rest their injured extremities.

As the arena events were nowhere near ending, the fallen Nemedians had plenty of time to recover enough to rise back on their feet – yet all were badly beaten and barely capable of walking on their own feet. The exotic couple they had faced came to greet the victors in their quarters, congratulating them for a victory well earned. A more welcome visitor was the young Korzetta with several purses full of coin. True to his word, he had arranged bets for the Nemedians and they were now all at least a hundred silver richer. A black carriage decorated with silver awaited them outside the arena, sent by Baron Castante to take them to his mansions. Deciding to nurse their bruised bones with alcohol, the men climbed in the carriage, heading to one of the largest manors in Kordova.

The young Korzetta explained that he was suffering from an ailment of some sort and did not expect to live longer than a year or so. There was, however a way to cure it. In the great Zingaran swamps lay the burned ruins of an old manor and in their grounds was a hidden tomb, untouched and unlooted. If the Nemedians could locate the tomb and bring a specific goblet for him, they could have any other items they could find – as well as receiving an invitation to a “very special party”, that would bring interesting opportunities for them all.

Tipsy and dizzy from smoking lotus, Dionysos accepted the offer. The Nemedians would need to find a Zingaran veteran, known for his crippled legs, who was supposed to have the map to the tomb. Thus, next morning, the men went off to scour the slums of Kordova looking for the man. Splitting into two groups, the Nemedians set off, questioning the orphans and beggars. In the evening they met again at the inn, sharing the information they had received. It seemed the cripple they were looking for had not been seen for a few days, although one old drunk had claimed to have seen him being abducted by armed mercenaries with a gilded palanquin.

Frustrated and empty-handed, the five men sat in sullen silence when a dusk-skinned messenger entered the inn. He had a scrap of parchment with him, the handwriting of Thothmekri easily identifiable. He asked to see them in a specific harborside inn and promised to help them in their troubles. Although suspicious of the good timing of the message, the Nemedians still made their way to the harbor. If nothing else, at least they could down a few ales tonight.

The seaside tavern was full of dirty men and loud noises. The tavernkeeper, a dark-skinned man of questionable descent, guided the group to the cellar of the tavern. Inside sat Thothmekri behind a wooden table, reading a papyrus. Wine and fruit were brought to the group as the enigmatic Stygian welcomed the men into his den. With hushed tones he explained that the offer Korzetta had given to Dionysos had drifted to his ears. The Stygian offered his help in finding the tomb, if in exchange, the Nemedians would arrange him to accompany them to the meeting Korzetta had offered as a reward. He would as well wish to see the goblet Korzetta wanted before it was given to the Zingaran.

After a short discussion, the Nemedians agreed. Thothmekri explained that the map they seeked was actually branded on the skin of the veteran and that the man in question had been abducted. A local noble, Don Estebio, was a man of questionable taste and unquestionable wealth. He had a strange habit, the collecting of madmen. The veteran they seeked was the newest prize of his collection. Thothmekri told that the Nemedians could either try to break in to his manor or try to convince him to let them see his collection. The fortified manor was located half a days ride away from Kordova on the seashore.

Leaving for their inn, the Nemedians started making plans for their trip to the Estebio Manor. Dionysos and Barathus convinced the others to choose a diplomatic approach, at least as a scouting foray. They would introduce themselves as foreign nobles interested in Estebio’s bizarre collection, while the others would play the part of their entourage. Next morning, they set forth from the gates, changing their travel-stained clothing in to court outfits once the manor was in sight.

The Estebio Manor had once surely been a magnificent sight – a walled manor of white stone surrounded by orchards and overlooking the sea from a high cliff. Now time had taken its toll and the walls were ruined, the manor itself obviously lacking in maintenance. Yet still armed men seemed to patrol the crumbling walls and the advancing Nemedians were soon challenged by the nobleman’s soldiers. Stating their wish to see the master of the manor, they managed to talk their way inside.

The splendid main hall of the manor did not share the disrepair of the outer walls, being full of finely decorated furniture and art. Don Estebio turned out to be an obese nobleman in his late fourties. His features had perhaps once been strikingly handsome, but now bore the marks of decadence and a touch of cruelty. After offering some wine to the Nemedians, he listened to their elaborate pleas and agreed to show them his collection. Taking the men upstairs, Estebio entered a room full of old pottery, glowing with pride. The confused Nemedians were taken to a tour of old pots, none of which seemed particulary valuable or exotic.

Barathus, Dionysos and the rest followed the noblemans tour politely, before finally admitting that they had come to admire a collection of another type entirely. Seemingly triumphant, Estebio admitted that he had been only testing them to see if they had come to appreciate true beauty. Almost dancing his way down, the Zingaran lead the Nemedians downstairs to the cellar and then towards stairs leading underground. The dark entry was guarded by two huge Shemites leaning on tulwars.As the nobleman opened the heavy gate leading downwards, shrill, barely human shrieks pierced the air. Obviously, the true collection was located there.

The stairs ended in to a huge cavern, only partially lit by torchlight. A strong smell of salt pervaded the air, suggesting that the cave was connected to the sea – although it was almost overwhelmed by the stench of unwashed human bodies. A few massive Shemites seemed to be guarding the cavern, on the walls of which were cell doors of reinforced wood. Estebio sat in a decorated chair in the middle of the room, declaring that he would spend a moment enjoying the music his collection produced. He invited the guests to take a look at his treasures through the viewing slots in the cell doors.

In each of the small cells was stuck one to three human wrecks, some free and others chained to the walls. Various maladies of mental nature apparentally troubled them all – some were shrieking madly, others sobbing in corners and one man was drawing furiously on the walls with his own blood. The Nemedians could hardly hide their shock and disgust from their host. Yet, in one of the cells they found a man matching the description they had been given. The men asked Estebio for permission to look at some of his prisoners more closely.

After some flattery, the Zingaran agreed and one of his minions opened doors to the cells the Nemedians wanted to inspect. Wishing to hide their intents, the men first spend some time with other prisoners. As they came to the veteran with the map, Dionysos and Barathus drew away the attention of their host while Tyrus quickly sketched the map burned on the back of the poor cripple. Leaving the mansion behind, the men stopped to argue on the way back to Kordova. Barathus wanted to go back, slay the collector and release his prisoners, but others convinced him that it could wait untill when they’d be ready to leave Zingara once and for all.

Trekking back to Kordova, the Nemedians planned their next move. They’d have to go to the ruins of a burnt out mansion located in the Great Swamp and locate the crypt following the sketches they had made. The men decided to leave fr the tomb right away and spend the night in the swamp. That way they could arrive at the ruins at dawn and have a full day at their disposal to rob the tomb. Looting the dead at night did not seem like a good idea to anyone. Crossing the Black River, the Nemedians headed for the swamps, marching until darkness fell on them like a black blanket. Taking the midnight guard shift, Noam was startled by a sound strange in such anenvinronment – the distant howl of a wolf. Yet nothing came from the darkness to interrupt the sleep of the weary travelers, other than tiny insects thirsty for their blood.

In the morning, the men continued their journey after a meager breakfast, dirty and itching from countless insect bites.In a few hours, they arrived at the ruins, now reclaimed by the swamp. Following the instructions on the sketch from the back of the madman, they soon located a sealed entrance to a family tomb, well-hidden among the trees of a deserted orchard. Forcing their entry with sledgehammers, the Nemedians descended into dusty darkness that had not been visited by mortal men in generations.

A steep stairway lead to a circular burial chamber with eight sarcophagi crafted from stone. Korzetta had instructed Dionysos that the first burial chamber would be a decoy and a secret passage would lead to the true tomb. After a few moments of rest followed by intensive searching, the men found that one of the sarcophagi could be moved. Contents of all were a disappointment – mere bronze jewelry, which the Nemedians nevertheless looted. Pushing the sarcophagus aside, they revealed another stairway descending into darkness. A putrid stench surged forth from the tunnel.

With a sense of dread, the tomb robbers proceeded now with weapons at hand. A narrow tunnel lead ahead, ending in to a sharp turn. The men pressed onwards and the two sorcerers were met by a disturbing sight. The walls, ceiling and even the floor of the tunnel were decorated with haunting, vile images of cannibalism. Both men and human-like monsters feasted on the flesh of the living and dead in unholy revelry. Tyrus managed to turn his gaze away, but Dionysos was filled with a strange sense of hunger and morbid fascination with the tasting of human flesh. Their companions, without sorcerous sight, only saw bare, dust-covered walls, listening to the description offered by the two sorcerers with unease.

The twisting tunnel ended at another sealed doorway. As Dionysos stepped forward to examine it through sorcerous means, a large slab of stone crashed down from the ceiling. Narrowly avoiding being crushed to pulp, he was still badly bruised. After a while, the slab rose back to the ceiling, pulled by rusty chains. Once his injuries had been tended to, the men decided to spring the trap again and this time cut loose the chains to prevent it from rearming. A new session of hammering followed, as the sealed portal seemed impossible to open without brute force.

As the pounding of sledgehammers faded to silence and the dust settled down again, the flickering light of their torches revelead to the Nemedians a hallway lined by recesses with an armored skeleton in each, eternally guarding a sacrophagus at the end of the hall. On each side of the sarcophagus there was a stone pedestal reminiscent of an altar. On the right was the dark goblet they desired and on the left a goblet made of silver. On the base of both goblets was a crown, on the left of black stone and on the right of untarnished silver – almost like the male and female version of the same item, one light and the other heavy and rugged in construction.

The Nemedians went ahead, eyeing the ages-old skeletons in their rusted gear warily. Suddenly Alcemides spotted a hidden figure, hiding behind one of the skeletons. As he cried a warning, a most unexpected sight stepped away from the shadows. An old woman, dressed in mouldy rags, peered at the men from the darkness. Speaking in broken Zingaran, the hag asked what the men were doing in the crypt. As the Nemedians expressed that they only wanted one of the goblets, the crone promised that they could have it and more – if they just left for the night and came back in the morning, allowing her and her “children” to leave the tomb. As the discussion carried on, Alcemides got too frustrated to merely wait and shot his crossbow at the crone. Springing to action, he rushed at the other altar, grabbing the black goblet in his sack.

As the crossbow bolt hit the old woman, blasphemous shapes stepped forth from the recesses they had been hiding in. Monstrous mockeries of the human form with canine-like faces and rubbery skin stepped forth, assaulting the Nemedians fiercely. Alcemides, Noam and Barathus were overcome by terror and fled, but Alcemides was caught in the slavering fangs of one of the ghouls, preventing him from fleeing. The hag herself laughed with an inhuman voice and ripped her rags away, revealing tentacles and a monstrous mouth in her belly, towards which the tentacles started dragging their unfortunate victims. The fight was vicious and seemed to be going against the mortals, until Barathus, overcome by shame, returned to the battle. Managing to free Alcemides the men fled as Tyrus beheaded one of their pursuers with a lucky blow from his greatsword.

Outside, the Nemedians tended to their wounds and planned for their next move. It seemed obvious that the abominations in the crypt would not come outside during the daylight hours. Thus, they decided to start jogging towards Kordova. With luck, they would have enough of a headstart before the monsters started to pursue them that they might just make it. There was neither time nor breath to lose – at least they had the goblet they had come for. With luck, they might yet have their skins as well in the next morning. Grim and silent, the Nemedians started marching away from the tomb that was left open, ready to belch its horrors to the World outside once the sun would set.

The moment of temptation seemed to drag on forever. Dionysos and Alcemides were especially keen to cut the throats of the unsuspecting crew and claim the ship for themselves. Finally, Barathus convinced them otherwise through simple logic – none of them were sailors. Thus the crew was woken up and the journey commenced next morning. After a few days, they saw the walls of Kordova on the horizon.

The city seemed exotic to the Nemedians, who had not visited other foreign countries than Aquilonia. Thothmekri seemed to be right at home after they had entered the capital of war-torn Zingara. The mysterious Stygian recommanded an inn for the weary travelers, promising to send some people for the corpse of the Acheronian sorceress and bring the silver promised. With those words, he disappeared into the crowd. Alcemides went forth to deliver the orphans to a local Mitraneum, paying the priests handsomely in exchange for promises of taking care of the children.

The Nemedians were soon taken in by the lures of civilization, busying themselves in whoring, gambling and drinking. The Stygian was true to his word, as the silver coins he promised were delivered to their inn by mute slaves, who took the corpse with them. The temple of Ishtar came especially familiar to the wanderers, thanks to its temple prostitutes. The priestesses claimed that they had never heard of the woman that had attacked the Nemedians aboard the river barge. Soon enough the Nemedians realized that they were both rich and poor at the same time. They had plenty of Acheronian gold from the chest they had mysteriously received, but exchanging such cursed currency to normal coinage would be hard. They’d have to find some way to pay for their booze and rooms untill the sea voyage promised by the Stygian would be arranged. Soon enough they were drawn in to fighting at a local arena for both glory and wealth.

The common fights went well and a local arena manager suggested that Alcemides would put together a group to take on a special challenge – a group of amateurs in unarmed match against a professional gladiator Thorviga the Red. The half-pict accepted, thinking of the glory and the possible wealth from betting. Alcemides had an idea – the group would fight dressed and painted like Picts for extra effect from the crowd, with the pale Dionysos being “an Acheronian Witch-king” for their amusement. He even hired a “shaman drummer” to pound Pictish drums in the background. Noam and Alcemides came up with an idea of seeking helpful herbs from the nearby swamp to use in the upcoming fight.

While the other prepared for the arena match, Dionysos had got himself acquainted with local nobility as he spent much time in the temple of Ishtar. A young Zingaran nobleman by the name of Korzetta seemed to know people interested in Acheronian coins. He spent all his days and nights in the temple, spending coin liberally on both lotus and prostitutes. He confessed that the rest of his family had left Zingara and he was the only one left after the family had abandoned their castle. Dionysos and the young Korzetta seemed to have much in common, at least in their decadence. Indeed, Korzetta came up with an invitation to “an interesting party” after the upcoming arena match, which he would come to watch. Dionysos even convinced him to arrange the bets for the group.

The Nemedians set themselves up for the upcoming match with great care. They had been promised a bonus if they’d put up a good show and they spent much of their wealth in placing bets for themselves. As the gates of the main arena opened, they were greated by thundering roars of the bloodthirsty audience. To their surprise, the gladiator they were supposed to fight with turned out to be a huge Nordheimer woman. Despite the odds, Thorviga wrestled and tossed the men around like children. Only after a heavy beating she did fall. By then both Dionysos and Alcemides were unconscious on the sand, the rest barely standing on their feet. Yet still, they had won and won both large amount of silver and the thundering cheers of the crowd.

A splendidly decorated carriage awaited for the victorious fighters. Dionysos and Alcemides were reinvigorated back to their feet. Korzetta joined the group , delivering them the silver they had won from their bets and congratulating them for their victory. The carriage started surprisingly towards the harbor instead of the more prestigious districts of the town, entering a shady harbor warehouse. Masked servants lead the celebrants to stairs that descended undearneath the city, into the infamous ruins known as the Pit. Yet the corridors they travelled were lit with torches and guarded by masked, armed men. Despite the ill omens, the Nemedians and the Zingaran nobleman arrived safely in a great underground, perhaps underwater, hall that was full of people dressed in rich livery.

Drink and food flowed freely in the party, which was not without its charms. Plenty of young noblewomen were interested in the exotic, victorious gladiators. Korzetta was happy to introduce Barathus and Dionysos to the local nobility. The party dragged on to the small hours. A veiled nobleman who introduced himself as Baron Castante showed special interest in the Nemedians, trying to loosen their lips on the subject of Thothmekri. However, the Zingaran was blunt in his attempt and the foreigners denied knowing the Stygian at all. The enigmatic baron invited the group to a party he would hold in his mansion in a weeks time and showed interest towards buying the Acheronian artifacts they possessed.

The morning was hazy and noisy, as the men tried to sleep off the unfortunate side effects of the party and the arena match.Korzetta met Dionysos in the temple of Ishtar and made him a very interesting offer, that would have more significance than either could even guess…

The river barge floated downstream towards Kordova, carrying the quickly bored Nemedians onboard. The journey would take a week or so, as the ship had to anchor each night. The barge was transporting tin bars to the sea harbour downstream, her crew and captain happy to accept passengers for some extra coin.

During the first days of the trip, the Nemedians just let the days slip by, engaging in petty gambling and chatting. More out of boredom than true necessity, they started taking part in the night watches. The children stayed silent and closed, yet Alcemides was determined to take care of their well-being. Onboard, Thothmekri told a bit about himself and his past. He had been a street urchin and a thief, untill a burglary went wrong and he was caught. Instead of a gruesome execution he was taken as an apprentice and servant to a powerful wizard. In a few years, he had become the unnamed sorcerer’s assistant and spy in the World beyond Stygia. It seemed that the Stygian enjoyed his role as a proxy of some powerful master in shadowy games of espionage.

On the fourth night of the trip, Tyrus was sitting on the deck as a night sentry when he heard cries of help from the shore. An obviously female voice screamed for help, before being suddenly cut off. Sentries among the crew heard the cries as well, going to wake the captain. He decided that the trouble on the shore was not his problem. Worse yet, it could be some sort of trap by river pirates. Tyrus was not happy with that and instead went to wake up Noam and Barathus, explaining them the situation. They decided to take one of the ships rowboats and go to check the shore, something the captain grudgingly agreed to. They reasoned that Alcemides and Dionysos would not be interested in the plight of a stranger and went on their excursion without waking the two other Nemedians or the Stygian.

As they beached the boat, the trio almost immediately spotted a fire on top of a hill nearby. Against the flames three silhouettes could be seen, clearly visible in the dark night. Tyrus and Noam went sneaking ahead, Barathus following behind them in his brigandine. On the hill seemed to be a camp some sort, with three rough looking men with wild beards and dirty clothes sitting on logs. On the ground was laying a woman in colorful robes, tied and gagged with ropes. The three Nemedians decided to attack without a warning, making short work of the (apparent) bandits.

As they returned to the boat, carrying the gagged and tied woman with them, shadowy shapes followed. Just as they had started rowing towards the ship, crossbow bolts started raining after the men. Instead of rowing to safety, Barathus intimidated the others to turn the boat and return to the beach, setting himself in the front with his shield up. As they reached the beach, the three men and the wardog started giving a chase to elusive, ragged forms, of which some seemed to be women. The frustrating skirmish in the dark forest seemed to carry on and on, although they managed to incapacitate at least one of the attackers. Finally the three decided to retreat, instead of hunting bandits all night long and risking getting lost in unfamiliar terrain. Meanwhile, the sounds of battle had woken up everyone aboard the ship.

As the trio finally returned onboard, the woman was freed from her restraints. Untied, she turned out to be a stunning Shemite beauty. The woman explained that she was a priestess of Ishtar, who had been enjoying the hospitality of a local baron. As she went to the local woods to look for herbs, she was attacked by bandits. Only through sheer luck she managed to escape for a moment later on to shout for help when she saw the lights of the ship. She was not very fond of the baron however, and made it clear she would prefer to journey to Kordova with the boat. The captain was glad to grant her that request. Her presence seems to have an electrifying effect on all the men, and the captain invited her to reside in his personal cabin.

The next few days passed by as before, although the priestess wandering through the decks always caught the attention of the crewmembers and the Nemedians alike. It seemed she sought out the ones easiest to manipulate and then extracted information out of them – something that became obvious only later. The third night before arriving at Kordova the priestess announced that at midnight, a special ritual for Ishtar would take place. All of the group, except Thothmekri and Noam, made sure they were on the main deck as the midnight came closer. As the priestess started dancing, wearing only transparent silk, they forgot the absence of their friends – as well as the fact that no crewmembers seem to be in sight anywhere.

Suddenly Alcemides noticed that something seemed to be wrong. There were rope ladders set against the sides of the ship. Just as he started moving towards them, there was a glint of moonlight on steel and the first of the attackers jumped on the deck. Soon the “priestess” was on him, fighting barehanded like a devil and pricking his skin with a ring, armed with a hidden needle coated with poison.

A brutal combat ensued on the deck, which was soon slippery from blood. Attackers armed with cutlasses and arming swords swarmed over the sides, while the treacherous woman seemed as dangerous with her bare hands and feet as an armed man. Luckily, the noise awoke Noam and Thothmekri, who charged into the fray straight from their hammocks. Finally, Dionysos was reduced to a desperate measure, releasing his arcane energy in a shockwave of death, killing foes and Noam’s faithful warhound. As the remaining aggressors started to withdraw towards their boats, Alcemides and Barathus jumped on the other boat straight from the deck. At the same time Noam peppered fleeing enemies with arrows. As the bloody night was finally over, blood and corpses covered the deck. A few floated in the river, with arrows in their backs, including the corpse of the treacherous woman. Only a few attackers had managed to flee. Yet the Nemedians were badly wounded as well, especially Alcemides, who had become paralyzed by the poison coursing in his veins.

As the wounded were tended to and the fallen inspected, it became obvious that all of the crewmembers were missing. A quick search of the ship revealed that they were all unconscious, from a sleeping draught slipped in the wine barrels. The passengers had been saved from that fate, as they preferred to consume their own rations instead of what the sailors had to offer. The bloodied men were facing a new temptation. As the wounded, exhausted Dionysos said with a rasping voice, they could just slit the throats of the sleeping men and steal the whole ship. Surely it would net them a princely sum of gold and silver.

The men and two children moved onward, leaving the mummified horses behind. The loot from the mysterious chest was inspected and removed, after which they buried the stone container in the ground. There was no point in dragging such a heavy object along, even if it was valuable. They could come back to retrieve it later, perhaps. After a while, Alcemides and Noam managed to convince Thothmekri that the corpse of the sorceress would need to be gutted if they were planning to transport it with them. After some persuasion, the Stygian agreed and went on to perform the grim business with Alcemides.

The wide valley turned back in to a mountain passage. Cold rain erupted from the sky, soaking the group. In the coming days it turned in to sleet and then to snow. The Journey onward in the mud was far from easy, especially when the Nemedians had no proper winter clothing. Finally, as the snow turned back to sleet again, a ruined fort came in sight, marking the border of Zingara. The promise of civilization nearby lifted their spirits, and the group camped in the crumbling fortress. Tracks inside the walls told that the Zingaran mercenaries had come the same way a few days earlier, along with their Nemedian prisoners.

Pressing ahead, the travellers set their foot on Zingaran soil, once beautiful but now ravaged by the vicious civil war. During the days that followed, they saw signs of past prosperity everywhere around them. Once lush orchards and fields had been left untended for years, farmhouses were looted and villages burned. Finally, they arrived at the fortified town of Jerida, built on the bank of the Black River. The town had seen better days and it was surrounded by a pitiful refugee camp. Even with its crumbling walls and hordes of beggars it was still a welcome sight. The thought of a warm meal, soft beds and perhaps a drink or two was on the mind of everyone, even the enigmatic Stygian.

Pushing their way through the ragged beggars preying outside the city gates, the men agreed to hold on to their Acheronian tresures untill they reached Kordova. They had some silver to spend, but the jewelry and strange coins would only attract unwanted attention. Besides, the sorry state of the town seem to tell that they’d fetch a miserable price for their treasure here. The group set up in the local inn, then went off to see what the town had to offer for them.

A few days of heavy drinking and relaxation ensured. Eventually the men ended up watching the violent entertainment of a local arena. A drunken thought lead to another and soon enough Alcemides had signed up in the unarmed amateur fighting. Alcemides won his fight, earning a few silvers and cheers from the crowd. Next morning the men started planning the journey ahead. They decided to sell their horses and buy a passage with a river boat downstream to Kordova with the money. The ship, Hawk of Kordova, would leave in five days, so they’d have time to enjoy the joys of civilization for a bit longer.

A few days and many punches later, the arena life seemed pretty good for the Nemedians. Alcemides and Noam had both their share of bruises and punches in the arena, earning more silver to drink through bets and participation prices alike. Indeed, for men with less ambition, living as an arena fighter might have been a good life. With good luck in betting, throwing and receiving a few punches was after all worth enough money to spend two days in drunken revelry – not to mention gaining a name among the ladies.

On their last day at Jerida before the ship was bound to leave, the men decided to bet large amounts of silver on the arena. Alcemides, Noam, Barathus and even Thothmekri decided to fight in the hopes of earning more money for new equipment and travel costs. Through both luck and skill, all four won, earning considerable amount of coin through well-placed bets. Despite their best judgement, an evening of hilarity followed as the victors were drawn in to celebrating their success.

Later in the evening, things started getting out of hand. Dionysos provoked a local mercenary with his arrogant behaviour, punches were exchanged and soon the whole drinking den was turned into one merry barfight. Stools were flying, tankards used as weapons and even a whole table thrown against another brawler. When the city watch entered the scene, half a dozen unconscious men littered the floor. Only the verbal talent of Barathus, the least drunk of the merry group, along with the exchange of a hefty sum of silver prevented the guard sergeant from hauling off Dionysos and a few others off to the jail. Next morning, only throbbing headaches reminded of the fray – and the discovery that the Zingaran prisoner had managed escape with a pouch of silver while the men were drinking themselves senseless.

Morbid and silent, the men boarded the ship, Hawk of Korduva, greeted by the captain. Barathus had asked around after the missing prisoner and found out that he had been sighted in the harbour with some local lowlives. The mercenary knew of the treasures the traveller carried – it was possible, even likely, that the journey to Korduva would not be entirely peaceful.

The morning was misty and silent. Thothmekri claimed that he had seen dreams of the time he was enslaved and now knew that the sorceress resided in some sort of tomb or temple, beneath the earth. The men ate breakfast in grim silence, mounted their steeds and prepared for the hunt. Alcemides and Noam set forth early to look for tracks, while the others stayed behind, scavening anything useful they could still find and turning the great hall into a funeral pyre for the dead villagers.

Alcemides and Noam followed the tracks, till they suddenly turned into animal tracks leading up towards the mountains. They waited there for the others, who left the village a few hours later. Together, the group set out to follow the tracks. As the path become steeper, the fog became thicker. Slowly, all sounds of life ceased and the horses started getting nervous. Some of the group heard malevolent whispering in the mists – too silent to hear words or meanings, but loud enough to make the spine crawl with cold fear of the unnatural.

Soon the trail turned in to a steep mountain path, too dangerous to ride. The men decided to leave the horses, children and the prisoner down while they would proceed ahead. The children were given poniards for self-defence and Noam left his warhound to protect and guard them. The thick fog made climbing the mountain path slow and tedious. Finally it ended on a small outcropping, where an entrance to a dark cave was visible. In the stone wall next to it was attached ancient bronze circles and to them tied two ragged, unkempt horses and the black stallion. The stallion seemed unruly and aggressive, so the men just crept on.

The cave was dark and the warriors proceeded carefully, their way lit by lanterns. The cavern seemed natural, continuing a short while downward before widening. There was evidence of digging – discarded tools lying about and a wall breached, opening into a gaping void. Apperentally the hole in the wall opened in the ceiling of a room with walls of worked stone and a floor full of sarcophagi. Soon enough all five were on the floor of the room, having descended there with a rope.

The room seemed to be an ancient burial chamber, now desecrated. Old bones were scattered about the room. Everything from walls to the ceiling was made of purple, almost crimson stone decorated with uncomfortable geometric designs. At the other end of the room were huge double doors, apparentally made of bronze. Tyrus and Dionysos deciphered the engravings on the door as a text stating the place to be a crypt and a temple, where an ancient Acheronian lord named Bhaal Xorat is set to “eternally guard the entrance to N’Kai”. Pressing onwards, the men arrived in a small corridor leading into a very large room. It was empty save for a hole in the floor with the likeness of a well, except no water was visible. Dropping a torch down it made it appear to be hundreds of feet deep – and the insides of the tunnel were decorated as well. The light of their lantern cast uncomfortable shadows on the strange architecture, giving the alien carvings a life of their own.

Carefully, the men proceeded to a staircase leading downwards. Now they heard chanting ahead, lead by a female voice. Alcemides sneaked to a door that was slightly ajar, spying ahead a room with an altar stone or a sarcophagus in a middle, the pale sorceress chanting near it, her back to the door. An attack plan was quickly formulated and Alcemides slowly opened the door… only to get hit by a greatsword, as an armoured Acheronian was standing in wait beside the door.

A fight ensued, a clash of steel and bone and fists. Thothmekri managed to knock his prey unconscious while the others fought with guards of the sorceress. Barathus and Dionysos were struck down, the other badly wounded – one of the Acheronians was left standing alone and yet almost defeated the brave group, enduring strikes that should have felled the man many times over. Finally a strong spear thrust by Thothmekri to his spine made the pale man fall, silently, without a sound – just like he had fought. It seemed they had won. The wounded were tended to and the area inspected. The altar was not an altar at all, but a huge sarcophagus, engraved with wicked runes and eldtrich symbols. In its open embrace was laid a skeleton of a very tall man, still draped in the remnants of rich robes and plentiful bronze jewelry. Around his neck was a bronze collar, identical to the one that Thothmekri had been forced to wear. In his empty eyesockets were two red gems, gleaming in the shadowy light.

Tyrus pried the gems off the skull, while Dionysos and Thothmekri started deciphering the runes on the sarcophagus. The collar of the corpse was as well removed. It seemed that the man lying in the sarcophagus was Bhaal Xorat, named as a traitor in the runes – cursed manyfold for untold sins and set in the chamber to guard the entrance to the temple of a great god, to wait the awakening of the deity in damnation. So powerful and wicked were the words that they might have made those faint of heart to shake in fear. Yet it seemed that there was a stairway in the room, leading downwards – two Acheronians had bursted up the stairs to join the combat. It was agreed that the badly wounded Dionysos and Barathus would stay behind to rest and guard the sorceress, while the other four men would descend the stairs.

The four men crept down the spiral stairs, which seemed to last forever. There was an unspeakable stench in the air, growing stronger by every step, faintly resembling that of a rotting corpse. Finally the stairs seemed to reach the bottom, leading to a corridor, and beyond that, a huge temple. Rows of stone benches lined the walls, enough to hold a hundred in some solemn ceremony. A huge brazier hung from the wall, it’s flame burning sickly green. Across the room was a huge statue of some forgotten god – a creature with toadlike features, squat and alien, like a twisted imitation of a human, covered with something that looked like short fur. Before the strange idol was a twenty feet wide pool of black, jelly-like liquid. On both sides of the statue was a doorway leading somewhere deeper inside the earth. The men stopped, looking at each other, then advanced slowly. When they came closer to the pool, the dark substance started to bubble viciously. They backed off and the bubbling ceased.

Finally, a jest lead in to another and soon Tyrus and Alcimedes were each claiming that the other would not dare to run across the room. Finally, when Tyrus bet 12 silver that Alcemides would not dare to do a such thing, the half-pict agreed. The other three men stayed back as he sprinted ahead. As he neared the pool it first bubbled – and then started moving. Tentacles and maws were growing from it, as it flowed from the basin, black as night and formless, some unnamed horror from times forgotten by men. They were all taken by a great terror – Thothmekri, Alchimedes, Tyrus and Noam, all four – terrified like hunted animals. Perhaps it was some racial memory from the time when the World was young, telling them to run and not look back.

They ran up the stairs and continued on, by their surprised comrades. Cursing, Dionysos and Barathus limped after their fellows, dragging the sorceress along. They did not know what the others had seen, but the look of horror on their faces was enough. They ran and clambered down the rope with the strength provided by pure terror. The Oothers continued on but some morbid curiosity made Tyrus stay back, on the edge of the cliff to see if something would come to the room below. It did not take long of him to run after the others.

They took the two horses, but didnt bother with the black stallion, as it was aggressive and would have required concentration. At the base of the cliff the four men who had been at the cavern forced the others to jump in their saddles and ride as fast as they could. The four of them all agreed that they would have to get as far as possible from the cave before darkness fell. They galloped like all the devils of Hell were on their tails and who knows – maybe they were.

Finally when darkness started creeping on them, Barathus made the others listen to reason. He convinced them that it would be better use the remaining light to find a good, defensible camp site in case something would come after than, rather than rush ahead in darkness. A camp was set up in the fog and this time, guards would do their duty in pairs.

Night crept on. As Dionysos and Noam were on the watch after midnight, the horses started getting restless. The warhound started growling at the darkness, although nothing was heard or seen by the sentries. Dionysos went to wake the other, but some dark slumber had taken over them. Barathus and Tyrus were awakened after much kicking and punching, but the others had been drawn to dark dreams that would not let their grasp loosen. The four men huddled together, drawing their weapons – and then they saw it, a tall, gaunt figure in the mist, walking towards them.

Terrible coldness fell upon them, all four. Dionysos, Noam and Alcemides fell at its grasp, collapsing as if dead. It was a large jagged rock that saved Tyrus and Barathus from the same fate – as they fell, they hit their heads against it, the sharp pain returning them to their senses. Seeing the gaunt figure approach they fled, sensing sorcery in the air. Barathus, seeing the sorceress tied on the ground, slit her throat with his dagger, hoping it to drive the apparition away. But alas, it was of no use and so the two half-naked men fled in to the dark forest, soon getting lost and leaving their comrades to their fates.

Morning came – first morning and then midday. Barathus and Tyrus wandered the woods, finally finding out where they were and heading back towards the camp. Back in the camp, the others awakened. They had seen dark nightmares they did not remember much of and were covered with frost, but were otherwise unharmed. In the middle of the camp site was a large chest, made of purple, almost crimson stone. Inspection revealed that it contained strange jewelry and black globes made of glass – and a silver mirror, decorated with snakes. It was Dionysos who said it aloud first – perhaps Bhaal Xorat was grateful to them, for some reason, perhaps they had released it from its servitude.

As the two missing men returned, the situation was assessed in detail. Tyrus noticed that the gems he had taken from the skull of Bhaal Xorat had turned to a fine dust. Barathus explained that the murder of the sorceress had been caused by sorcery, his hand forced by black magics. Thothmekri was furious at the loss at his prey – but then made a new offer. If the corpse of the woman could be transported to Kordova, he would pay half of the agreed sum as a reward. Strangely, two horses were missing. Alcemides and Noam followed their tracks a little while away from the camp, where they found the corpses. Two mummified remains of horses laid there, withered and dry, as if all liquids had been sucked from their bodies.

The stillness of the mountain night was broken by the sounds of war. Somewhere, not far away, steel clashed with steel and men cried out, in rage and pain and fear. The four men assembled, arguing what to do next. Alcemides, bored of the discussion, slipped away to scout ahead and keep an eye on the enemies. The sounds of battle continued to ring in the air. Sliding in the forest like a true Pict, he suddenly heard a different kind of clamour ahead – sounds of an armoured man forcing his way through the rough terrain. Hiding in the bushes, he soon saw a pale man, wearing anancient scale hauberk, leading ahead a loaded horse, in a great hurry. Not taking any chances, Alcemides assaulted him, battering the man unconscious and then dragging both the horse and the stranger to the camp.

Tying up both of their prisoners, the Nemedians decided to move their camp to a better location and to try getting some rest. The sounds of battle were already fading – they had tarried too long. It would be better to rest to recover their strength, interrogate the prisoners and avoid detection. That said, they laid down to ease their aching bodies with sleep, dreaming of wine and women. There were no further distractions and the tired warriors rested late in the next day.

In the morning Noam and Alcemides went hunting, while Barathus and Tyrus set to interrogate their prisoners. The pale youth, alost a boy, turned out to be a Nemedian like them, Dionysos by name, sent to Aquilonia just a short time ago. Although arrogant and aggressive, he was capable of convincing the two men to let him free. He had been with the larger group of Nemedians, when they had been attacked by jinettes. As the battle seemed to be lost – they had been taken by surprise – he had fled with as much equipment as he could carry. The Zingaran mercenary, Valenso by name, promised that there would be ransom for him in the nearest town across the border. He did not know anything useful, other than local geography and did not seem like a bad sort of fellow – just a man down on his luck trying to earn a living. The hunters brought back plenty of meat and the party decided to rest a full day, continuing their journey come next morning. As the woodsmen sneaked to the battlefield, they found only stripped corpses.

The next two days were uneventful. The Nemedians marched ahead, dragging along their prisoner, in the trail of the Zingarans and their prisoners. Valenso willingly told that the mercenaries planned to sell the prisoners as slaves, to gain some extra silver to spend. The passage widened into a valley, dominated by tall conifer trees. There were remains of a road running through the valley, a memory of the time when Zingara was not embroiled in civil war and merchants used the pass to transport their wares. As they made camp, Alcemides found a cobbled road, almost completely devoured by the forest, as he hunted for food. Curious and a bit bored, the men investigated, finding a once magnificent marble building. Searching the ruins it became obvious the place had once been a temple or a tomb dedicated to some fallen hero of Mitra. Somewhat alarming however was, that the almost intact statues and carvings of the place had been desecrated only a short while ago. Someone or something had been poking around in the ruins, obviously looking for something – and vandalizing the mausoleum while at it.

In the morning, the men continued their journey, keeping a slow pace to avoid running into any rear guard of the mercenaries. The suggestion of Alcemides to stay in the forest for a few days was rejected by the others. Although hunting might yield food, they had little in the form of other supplies. Besides, there was still a faint chance they could rescue their countrymen. After a few hours of travelling, the trail split in two. The mercenaries had went right and on the left seemed to be a village – a silent village, with the air of something being terribly wrong.

Alcemides and Noam went scouting. The village, surrounded by a circular palisade, might have been inhabitated by fifty people but now seemed almost devoid of life. Near the great hall in the center there were three horses – two starving wretches and a black stallion, great and powerful, with saddle and bridle enbroidered with gold. Guarding the horses were three strange men. Two were clad in ancient scale hauberks made of bronze, their leather parts rotting away, faces hidden beneath equally ancient helmets. The third was a black man, dressed in rags and holding a big club, drooling mindlessly, a bronze slave collar around his neck. Tattoos of snakes covered his body. Alcemides thought of stealing the beautiful horse, but it seemed that the black man spotted him through some unearthly means, letting out a terrible wail. The strange armoured men searched the village, but the scouts eluded them. From insade the main hall a female voice barked orders for them in an unknown language. Shortly after, another female voice begged for mercy, pleas ending in a gasp of pain and gurgling sounds. The scouts had seen and heard enough.

The five Nemedians halted to argue what to do next. They could just bypass the village – but on the other hand, they were short on supplies and curious about what was happening in there. Finally a decision was made. Alcemides and Noam would sneak inside the village and prepare themselves for sniping, if things would turn violent. A little while later, the three other men would ride inside with full gear, drawing all attention on themselves. They would try to negotiate first – but if that would fail, they were ready for battle. After all, they were in a desolate mountain valley and people of the border areas were often both violent and treacherous.

The two woodsmen sneaked inside without any problems, soon followed by the three mounted men. The number of strangely armoured men had doubled to four. When the three men rode to the centre of the village, one of the armoured men shouted inside. A woman emerged, dragging with her a terrified peasant girl, her face frozen in an expression of horror. If the woman had had some more flesh on her bones, she would have been a beauty. But now her skin was tightened on her bones like parchment, making her look like a living skeleton. Her skin was pale and hair black – she was obviously of Acheronian descent. In her hand she had a dagger made of bone, wet with blood, which she carelessly wiped at the tunic of the girl. A Fifth armoured man came out with him, brandishing an ancient bronze greatsword decorated with alien patterns.

Words were exchanged, the woman talking with Barathus but her eyes locked on Dionysos. Then suddenly, another voice intervened – a voice of a child, screaming and begging for help from inside the great hall. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Then Alcemides and Noam let their arrows loose from their hiding place. The woman screamed for his men to kill the others, but take Dionysos alive.

The fight was a prolonged clash of fury and skill. The armoured men all wielded ancient greatswords and attacked with insane abandon. When their scale hauberks were punctured and their flesh cut, they did not cry of pain, but moaned in perverse joy and pleasure. Tyrus was the first to draw blood, beheading a foe with one mighty blow, but when he closed on the woman, she made him fall into a helpless trance with her inhuman eyes. Barathus was struck down, with Tyrus and Dionysos wounded. A strange thing happened as well, another feat of vile sorcery, when an arrow from Noam’s bow hit true at the skeletal woman. As the woman fell to the ground, her form shifted to that of the poor peasant girl and the men heard a pounding of hooves, realising the sorceress was already on her horse, galloping away. Finally, all the armoured men had been struck down. Pulling off their helmets revealed Acheronian features.

The black man had not taken part in the fight, just standing still and holding his club. Once the wounded had been tended to, the Nemedians cautiously approached him. As he didn’t seem aggressive, they seized the man and following a flash of intuition, removed his bronze collar. The strangers eyes rolled over and he fell, unconscious. Inside the great hall the warriors found terrible carnage. The air was thick with the smell of blood and decayed flesh, the great hall full of corpses of men, women and children, brutally slain and worse, there was evidence of cannibalism. Two children whimpered in one dark corner, a boy no older than eight and a girl perhaps ten or twelve years old. The warriors laid down to rest and loot, Alcemides and the revived Barathus trying to take care of the children, who seemed withdrawn and fearful. Nothing of value or use was found in the village, other than some dried meat and the two nags.

Later in the evening, the stranger came back to consciousness. It seemed he had no idea where he was, but as the Nemedians pressed on, finally started to tell his story. He introduced himself as Thothmekri, servant and spy of a Stygian wizard, sent to investigate the doings of Xaltotun and other Acheronians in occupied Aquilonia. Somehow predator had become prey and the Acheronians had captured him, putting him in a magical bondage of some sort. Quick-witted, Thothmekri offered the men a reward. He would arrange them a free passage on a ship to any port of their choice and a hefty sum of silver as well, if they would escort him safely to Kordova. Better yet, if they would help Thothmekri to track down and capture the escaped sorceress, then help to take her alive to Kordova, much more silver would be paid. Weighting their options, the Nemedians decided to accept, though still wary of the strange man. Still weak from the battle, they decided to rest in the village and in the morning start hunting for the sorceress. Alcemides and Noam were adamant on taking the children with them – to bring them to Zingara, perhaps giving them to some temple to raise, rather than selling them to slavery as Dionysos suggested.

Thus darkness fell upon the village, stained with blood – and with it rolled a wall of fog, descending from the mountains like a thick, wet blanket.

The battle was lost and the survivors fled the best they could. The file of Adventurers, already dismounted for combat, was broken under a charge of Aquilonian cavalry. Two men did exactly what their enemies did not expect – instead of running, they broke through the thin line of enemy troops. After running until their legs could carry them no more, they found themselves up in the mountains. Tyrus and Barathus were on foot, having lost their horses in the battle. They had seen others go the same way, mounted – well, now it was every man for himself. They stopped for a short rest, before they’d have to start jogging again. There were no signs of pursuit yet, but that didn’t mean they were safe.

Noam and Alcemides had been keeping watch on the flanks of the army, in case the enemy would try to encircle Nemedians. When they heard the inhuman cry from the hill where the tent of the sorcerer Xaltotun had been and saw the Aquilonian knights mow their way through Nemedian troops,they knew the day was lost. Making their way to the mountains, they stumbled upon the two resting Adventurers. Weapons were drawn, suspicious gazes and harsh words exchanged, but soon it became apparent that they were all on the same side. After a short rest, the march towards the passage through the mountains continued.

A day and a night passed, weary soldiers sleeping restlessly in a hidden camp amid jagged rocks. During the night, a group of armed and armored riders passed them, their identity impossible to discern in the dark. Another weary day of marching commenced, food already getting scarce. Then a lone rider approached – not from behind, but ahead. Getting closer, the men noticed the bright colours he was wearing. A Zingaran jinette, one of the mercenaries Conan had brought with him. The rider attempted to merely ride through the Nemedians, but Alcemides’ lucky shot from seemingly impossible distance brought him down. Now they had one horse.

The passage started to widen in to a valley and ahead glimmered a stream, flowing into a bright pond by some forgotten ruins. Thirsty and tired, the men staggered to drink and wash themselves, one keeping watch when the other three rested. It was then when four mounted men where sighted, this time coming from behind them. One of them turned and galloped back towards Aquilonia, while the three urged their horses onward. The Nemedians took refuge in the ruins, hoping the remains of the stone walls would negate the advantage horses gave their adversaries. Alas, jinettes, accomplished horsemen, merely urged their horses to jump over the walls. They had no intention of being stuck in melee – instead they tried to net their prey, pulling them with them on a galloping horse. Failing that, they had javelins. The fight was quick and brutal, but in the end, two of the jinettes had fallen and the third was galloping away. Three horses, four men – but at least they could now rest their feet in turns.

Knowing that the five jinettes they had seen had been just scouts, the men pressed onwards. Noam and Alcemides had spotted tracks – a large group of men, perhaps as many as a hundred, had passed this way a short time ago. Fleeing Nemedians, most likely, now hunted by the mercenaries on their way home. They pressed on, ignoring sidetracks and the harsh beauty of the mountains. Three jinettes they had been able to take – double the number might well be their doom.

The valley started narrowing to a passage again and rising steeply. The tired men staggered forward. They dared not to rest before a good camping site could be found, one they could hide. Finally, as darkness began to fall, they made a camp amidst jagged rocks, on a steeply rising hill. Their rest was soon interrupted, as the sentry heard a large group of horsemen moving slowly on the road. Noam and Alcemides sneaked to investigate – it seemed like a large number of mounted soldiers, jinettes perhaps, were leading their horses on foot. They had no lights and tried to move as silently as possible – perhaps hoping to surprise someone? It might be that the other survivors of the battle were closer than they had thought.

The main body of the horsemen was followed by a smaller group, perhaps securing the rear. Alas, as the scouts began to withdraw back to their camp, a loose rock clattered down the hill, hitting the trees. The noise was followed by the clang of a sword against stone, and the rear guard of the Zingaran mercenaries was alerted to their presence. One of thtem, apprentally a tracker, found with a lantern the tracks they had left moving to their camp site. Six of the enemies started climbing the hillside, lead on by their tracker, two staying behind to guard the horses. The Nemedians had now two choices – to fight or run. They decided to make a stand. That way, they might perhaps be able to run through a warning to the large group of their comrades, which the Zingarans seemingly sought to surprise.

As the Zingarans climbed up the hill, they were met by arrows from the undergrowth. All of the fighters were hampered by the darkness, but what they lacked in vision, they made up in ferocity. Soon the fight broke up into a series of duels, Barathus frustrating his opponents by striking blades from their hands through fancy swordplay. Bloodied and battered, the Nemedians held their ground. As Tyrus and Alcemides charged down the hill, hoping to capture more horses, Noam and Barathus gave chase to the last Zingaran, now trying to escape. Realising that he could not outrun the warhound on his trail, the mercenary throwed himself at his enemies mercy. A barked order from Noam stopped his hound just as it was about to sink its teeth in the mercenary’s throat. It took a longer while for Barathus to put down his sword. Tyrus and Alcemides had no success at the downhill – seeing enemies charging down the hill, the men left to tend the horses that had galloped away, taking the mounts of fallen men with them.

Wounded and tired from battle, the Nemedians began the grim business of looting corpses, the warhound keeping a watchful eye on their prisoner. It was then that the sounds of war started cutting the night air, not far away. It seemed that the Zingaran mercenaries had found their prey. Now the Nemedians would have to decide whether to hide or charge into the fray, perhaps only to die in vain.

This campaign chronicles the adventures of a rag-tag group on their quest for glory, wealth and power. The place and time is the Hyborian Age, as described by the great sage Robert E. Howard. All REH wrote has happened and only his writings are taken as canon. Supplements of Mongoose Conan d20 RPG are used in the game. Anything originating from pastiches is open to slaughter and mutilation without mercy. So if you are familiar with pastiches or Mongoose Conan supplements, don’t be surprised if they have been used for inspiration but vastly changed.

The game takes place immediately after the Hour of the Dragon. The original player characters are Nemedian soldiers, who flee the battlefield after the final battle is lost. During their desire to survive and get back home, they become entangled with ancient, sorcerous plots. Heroes fall and new ones join the group in struggle against a faceless enemy. At the same time, fortunes are made, ancient secrets revealed and souls lost.

Mood of the game is sword & sorcery spiced with Lovecraftian horror, moral dilemmas (being a bad guy is just easier) and occasional (mostly unintended) comedy. Some things are blatantly ripped off from Call of Cthulhu. So far the character have steadily fallen towards corruption and madness, turning more in to Howardian villains than heroes… but find out yourself by reading the stories! Check out the various house rules in Wiki, if you want to know how we play. Feel free to leave suggestions, comments questions and requests! The campaign page is both meant to be a tool for the players and entertainment to the rest of you.