1: Monastery of the Iron God

Day One. Early Morning. The Lowwater Road.

The rising sun brings about a new day, a day of adventure. Throughout the planning of the night, the group of adventures bent on looting the depths of the monastery of the Iron God had learned several key points of information. First, that the tombs contain Sacred Catacombs, which are deadly to those who enter without the proper reverence and rituals. Second, that the monastery itself was located nine miles up the Lowwater Road, a dangerous path that followed the coast of the Sinnar Ocean. It would take a day of walking to reach the ruins.

The morning travel is without issue, truly a blessed start to this expedition. Around high noon, a small troupe of minstrels pass from the opposite direction. They give a wide berth, but are friendly enough. Given the direction and armament of the group, they surmise that you are heading to the monastery and provide for you a cryptic warning to not attack the Guardian in Darkness. They also offer more advice at the cost of two gold coins per tidbit.

The day continues to pass as you trudge along, expecting (based on the reputation of the road) to cross paths with some danger, bandits or worse. But several hours after you encountered the minstrels, you pass only a mounted patrol of a bakers dozen soldiers. They question your intent, but determine that you are not bandits and continue on their way. It would seem they have more important duties to attend to, more dangerous foes to stand vigilant against.

Finally, as the day begins to come to an end, you find yourself at the base of a hill with a ruined cobble path leading to the site of what must have been the monastery. Not a tower nor wall was left standing, and the destruction is unnerving to see. You now have a choice. Do you camp outside the monastery for the night and venture forth come the morning, or do you head onward with weary legs? Either way, you suspect it will be dark as the darkest night within.

Day One. Late Evening. The Monastery of the Iron God.

Derrick can feel the bags under his eyes and his moustache drooping as the night closes in. "It is important to be alert when facing possible agents of the dark, I feel we should rest the night."

Czespecem chuckles. "Well, men, here we are. On site for your first day of work - tomorrow!"

Rogar and Brogan seem happy with the choice for rest. The former, dark-haired Rogar, drops his pack and draws the mace and shield to set them down as well for easy access. Fair-haired Brogan does the same with his pack and spear. "We should find somewhere hidden, and set watch."

While Lith did not offer to pay for the men-at-arms, seeing himself as something of a hired help himself, he was intrigued by the advice provided by the minstrels and happy to invest in the mission's success.
"Please, feel free to share more folk knowledge with us," he says as he reaches for his coin purse.

The minstrel speaking takes on a grave face when he passes along some wisdom to Lith. "Iron allies await those who carry the three signs." If asked to elaborate, he shrugs and explains that he repeated the saying just as he had heard it.

Benetolio had agreed to help pay the retainers' wages and readily commits coin to the cause.

He also jots down the minstrels' warnings onto a sheet of parchment that he retrieves from a rolled map case. Carefully replacing the cap onto a bottle of ink, he slides a quill and the bottle into the case and buckles the case shut. "Thank you kindly for the advice," he says.

The young apprentice is quite fatigued at the end of the day and hastily throws in his vote for taking rest. "My feet are killing me and I could use a good night's rest before continuing." Looking around, "I suppose we all could for that matter."

He considers the matter settles and tries to locate a suitable place to put in for the night. He doesn't know the first thing about such matters though and wanders around aimlessly for a time before tossing his sack down and taking a rest. He digs into his sack and begins to joylessly munch on a dried biscuit and a hunk of sausage.

"Do any of you know where we might make camp? Close to the road maybe?" he asks.

OOC: Will take the DM up on the offer to provision. Purchased 5 days of trail rations to go along with the 5 days of dried rations I had previously purchased.

Benetolio has 17 gp to chip on retainer fees. Just let me know how much you need him to contribute.

The sturdy dwarf sits down with his back against a boulder and begins to gnaw a thick strip of tough bacon. In his other hand he has hard cheese. He sips from his water skin. "Did anyone see a spring to fill our water?" he asks. "Though I reckon there must be a good well in the ruins, they say lightning struck water is purest."

Day One. Late Evening. The Monastery of the Iron God.

Wise enough to set up a watch, the group finds themselves sleeping a cautious sleep. Even hidden away from the road, there was a sense that at any moment something terrible could happen. And so that feeling remains all the way until the sun is peeking over the hills, and dawn arrives. A time for breakfast, praying, memorizing, and sharpening. Torches are checked, steel is tested, and hearts are resolved.

Searching the ruins ends up fruitless, as the amount of rubble would take a dozen dwarves a dozen days to sift through. No bodies are to be found, nor treasures. But this is not unexpected. Just a short distance from the end of the walkway, presumably in what may have been some sort of foyer, lies a staircase heading down into the dark.

This is a great, dark chamber dominated by a huge, iron statue of the Iron God. The statue holds a massive jar, tipped downward so that the opening is almost (but not quite) level with the floor The mummified head of a goblin sits on the floor in the center of the room. When you enter the room, the mummified head suddenly hisses: "Begone, tomb robbers, or you will all find your fate. Death awaits you."

Two short hallways begin heading diagonally from the chamber, but are immediately blocked by heavy doors. They do not look damaged, likely due to the strength of the structure belowground.Day Two. Early Morning. First Level of the Monastery of the Iron God.

Pulling out a torch and lightingit, Edgar quips,"Well this is a fine how do you do. We must be very cautious, lest we end up like that goblin over there. Who knows what traps these people have prepared"

Edgar pulls out his spear and shifts the Torch to his off hand. "i will stay in the middle of our group and provide light for those of us without dark sight. And with my spear i can stay behind others and still attack whatever comes our way. With this, hopefully i can provide both light and protection. "

From his short stature, Czespecem is well-positioned to peer into the Iron God's jar. He moves to do so, and gives the goblin head a solid kick as he passes it.

The jar leads into a chute large enough for a man, and seems to go to a sub-level. What this is for is Czespecem's guess.
As he looks to the head for a proper kick, Czespecem can see that the skin is marked with pinpricks in a shamanic pattern, and the bone needle used to sew the skin has been left in the last stitch. Regardless of these two facts, the head rolls without further comment.

Benetolio thanks Edgar for the torchlight and lets the party know he also has a lantern, should they have need of it.

He watches as the mummified heads careens off a wall and comes to a stop. Tilting his head, he ponders aloud, "Maybe the head might be useful as more than a football?" He slowly approaches the head again to see whether it has anything else to say. He keeps to what he judges to be a safe distance of about five feet while examining the head. He also turns his attention to the doors on either side of the chamber, looking for any signs of writing on the lintel or otherwise.

OOC: Prepared spell = Read Magic

The head seems to have said its fill, as it does not make a noise other than "thud" upon impact with the wall. Even when approached, it remains a lifeless head.

Czespecem's guess that others have been here recently is somewhat confirmed when an examination of the ground reveals that the movement of some strange, non-human creatures has disturbed the dust of the floor.

However, the walls have plenty to say. Epitaphs for thousands of people are inscribed on the walls in spider scratches under the dust. Some of the incisions are clearly the work of a professional carver, others are in a barely legible scrawl, some are in languages that appear ancient.

After a solid sleep and hearty breakfast, Derrick spends time grooming and dressing in his equipment with special care to his moustache.

Once ready he joins the band in their search, a serious look upon his face. Once the find the entrance he unstraps his shield and follows in giving a short prayer. "Oh Protector of Gods watch over this band and guide us to cleanse this place. This I ask in your service."

Once in the chamber Derrick examines the statue and attempts to recall any information he knows or researched upon the Iron God. Without taking his eyes from the statue he says, "I too have a lamp as we require."

Though he is not from these lands, Derrick had done his due diligence in researching just who the Iron God is, or perhaps was. The information was scarce, but seeing the statue of a warrior in ancient battle dress made entirely of iron brought back some recollections. The Iron God is not good nor evil, but instead stands at the precipice of death. It is he who oversees and protects the dead, though his role as a psychopomp has been replaced long ago by other gods. It would seem this monastery is one of only a very few places he is still worshipped.

After my examination of the statue I walk over picking up the mummified head, and carry it back to the statue checking if the head will slip between the the jar and the floor.
"The Iron God I believe guided the dead, maybe this was one who did not get to following. Though I believe the Iron God has not guided for a long time."

"A god of death you say? We had better be respectful lest he attempts to smite us like he did those monks. Though maybe we could avert his ire by sending him the souls of the wicked creatures that no doubt lurk here."

He cautiously moves toward the left door and looks it over. Trying to keep quiet he says, "can anyone check to see if these doors are trapped? It would be best to be overly cautious, better to be slow than dead.