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1.3.2 Scratching in the dark

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Opening Monologue

You are wounded, wearied… and worse, you are unclean. Blood and bile still cling to your blades, thick as tar. The stink of goblin filth and burning flesh hasn’t faded—it clings to your clothes like smoke after a funeral.

The last room was a slaughterhouse. Goblins twisted by foul hunger and a Barghest grown fat on elven corpses met your steel—and fell to it. But not without cost.

Riven bears a wound that will not close. Flesh knit by hands or herbs tears open again within moments, a sickly weeping mark cursed by that creature’s touch. Only magic holds the rot at bay, and each new dawn brings another chance to resist… or to fail.

Around you, the dead lie silent—elves, torn apart by tooth and claw and left in grotesque heaps. Some of the corpses with repugnant bites visible, their skin a pale white, their eyes, wide and glassy, their mouths caught in screams reflect a grim truth: **some of them were alive when they were torn into, consumed body and soul.

Now, deep beneath the earth, you all catch your breath. The campfire has burned down low and emits only minimal light. Strangely a vast column emits light, suffocated small shafts of light escape it as if fleeing the dark. The stone here is damp, the air metallic—tainted with the iron sting of old blood and the mold of long-kept secrets.

And out of the quick dark comes...
A sound.
A whisper of movement in the dark.
Steel scrapes stone. Scratching of steps on a staircase.

Scene: The Catacombs — The Arrival of Grukk One-Tusk

The torchlight comes first. A flicker of orange against the cold stone doors. Then, the sound—boots heavy on the flagstones, slow and deliberate. Armor clinks with practiced rhythm, and the low murmur of disciplined orkish voices echoes down the tunnel like war drums muffled by stone.

Then they come into view.

Six orks, all clad in chain and plate—no scavenged junk, but finely forged armor of iron and crude elegance. These are no street-thugs or pit-fighters. These are elite guards, marked by glyphs of their Orkish Clans. The Chosen escort them into the catacombs but these are, the Orkish elite enforcers of law and doctrine, some of the best the Horde have.

At their head stands a towering figure. Grukk One-Tusk.

His tusks are cracked and worn—one snapped halfway down—but his eyes are sharp with years of judgment and war. His voice, when it comes, is gravel pulled from a deep well.

Grukk:
"Hold."

The orks stop behind him in disciplined formation, weapons drawn but not raised. Their eyes flick across the carnage—the piles of elven corpses, the goblinoids and that creature..., the blood pooled like ink across the stone, and you, bloodied, wounded, still breathing.

Grukk steps forward, surveying the scene. His eyes linger on Riven’s cursed wound, then pass over the others, noting every nick and bruise.

Grukk:
"You picked a fine place to bleed, strangers."

A silence stretches—only broken by the quiet drip of blood from a blade.

"These catacombs are sealed. Chosen domain. You don’t belong here."

He gestures with a gauntlet toward the slaughtered elves.

"And you’re standing in the middle of a massacre."

He steps closer, his voice low and edged with suspicion.

"So… before we decide what happens next—you'll tell me who you are, why you’re here, and why I shouldn’t drag you up the stairs in chains."

Tension Options:

  • If the party answers calmly and truthfully, Grukk listens. He might interrupt with pointed questions—"Where did the Barghest come from?", "What cursed you?", "Why were elves down here at all?"

  • If they lie or evade, Grukk tightens his stance, and his guards step forward, tension rising.

  • If they try to bluff or mislead, roll Deception vs. Grukk’s Will DC (high) — he’s been lied to by worse.

  • If they grow hostile or mouth off, he raises a hand and the guards form a half-circle around them.

Resolution: (If PCs are cooperative)

Grukk spits on the stones, one eye still watching the cursed wound with suspicion.

"I don’t think you did this."
"You look like you crawled through the same hell these poor bastards died in."

He turns to one of his guards and grunts. They lower their weapons, just slightly.

"You're leaving. Now. The stairs behind you lead up into the crater in East Elvern Shallows. That’s your road."

He leans close—close enough they can smell iron, sweat, and blood.

"Don’t come back down here. Not unless you're a Chosen."

Then, looking distrustfully at the shadowy Chosen escort, almost as an afterthought, he adds:

"Don't much matter why they claim these tombs. They earned their prize. Just like we all did and now. We're stuck with each other."

He turns away, giving a hand signal. The orks move aside, clearing a path to the staircase.

Failure / Hostile Response:

If the players attack, refuse to comply, or mock Grukk’s authority, he gives one warning:

"You want to test your steel in these graves? Fine. But bleed knowing this—"

He raises his axe.

"You won’t leave this place with your name remembered."

Combat ensues. The elite guards fight in pairs, tactically and brutally. If the players survive or escape, they may be marked fugitives by the Pact and hunted in the future.

Session Notes

Killed the spider
Looted Heimdalls Chest
- Heimdall’s Lens
- Blessed Lightstone
- Sentinel Horn
Convinced Grukk One-Tusk that they were not to blame for elves and Rashan murders and that the creature they killed was.
Gunnar and Brawn both recovered from Filth Fever
Hantz progressed to Stage 3!
Party received 1 week downtime ( 7 days )
Transferred, striking rune to Riven, +1 armor rune to gunnar and brawn.
Treated Hantz twice for filth fever (10g x 2 = 20g) and received +4 circumstances but still uncured...
Hanzt spent 6 days of downtime getting new formulas and spent 8g
Party returned back to the Black Tide Tavern, had a drink and food with Varka and Balder and the other staff and heard the stories of Kvarrac and Brelka and how the Hand came to be. Varka said they would always be welcome at the Tide, no matter what.