"Gentlemen, you would not believe. I barely did until I set foot there myself, not two weeks ago. The getting there was the easiest part; undead yeti and ettins and mist so thick you can cut it with a sword are nothing compared to what lay under that snow-buried entrance deep in the heart of those mountains that loom over your lovely town.
"Exaggerating, eh? Hear for yourself. A few of you have doubtless been up those slopes, heard the clatter of bones and seen the white shroud that coats one's view? I thought so. So you know that the trip there is days upon days of tedious climbing and icy cold. We took the route that got us to the werewolf caves with the least resistance. We may be foolhardy but we're not fools.
"The werewolf caves...oh no, not legend, they are there; so high up one wonders why they bother, unless their diet consists exclusively of mountain sheep, birds, and ice. They're clannish, hairier and whiter than their cursed lowland cousins, and some are quite a bit larger too. I swear to you if they'd only let us through, we'd have left them alone. But, like the creatures whose pack nature they twistedly imitate, they are territorial. We didn't seek out nurseries or any such as that, we were not on a mission to commit genocide, but those that attacked us we fought and we took them down.
"No, I was using my bow, why?
"I will have you know these slender arms conceal many a surprise to an unsuspecting enemy, sir. Yes I can use a sword! Well, a rapier - it's more a precis - it is most certainly not a pig skewer. Look, do you want to hear the story or not? And besides, my prowess with a
gentleman's sidearm would have only set me besides Vrebel here, and when he swings that bloody huge giant-chopper of his around in arcs you'd best get out of the way or be prepared for a shave and a haircut at the same time. You understand me? Alright then. Where was I.
"Werewolves, thank you. Have any of you seen those caves before? No? Tralek, you don't count. You either, Gunder. Put your bloody hands down. They have carved out or shaped natural caves for several levels and probably more we didn't see, but as I said, we were not there to start a war, only to get to the interior of the mountain range. I think if those werewolves had any capacity as arguably intelligent creatures they'd open up one tunnel that went from point A to point B and put a big sign up with an arrow and some pictures of adventurers. It would save them a lot of trouble.
"I digress. We....eh? Oh - it means I was distracted, but I now continue with my previous thought. Which you will now have to wait on because I need to light this cigar.
"There. And so we made it past the guardians of the caves, who I will add were nowhere in sight upon our return; it seems they either didn't expect us to make it past the spiders...I'm getting to them...or they had buried their dead and decided that that was enough for now. Either way I'm grateful we didn't have confrontation and I'm sure they are glad we didn't seek it.
"Spiders. Oh, yes, my friends - they live in the mid-slopes of the interior, natural creatures for all I can tell but fully adapted to the cold. I have to wonder if in addition to the goats and birds, werewolf is on their menu? They are huge, though not like the overfed monstrosities of the Deep. I'd say small pony size or very large dog size. Hairy buggers too, you could comb them although it would be a very short grooming. What's that? No, they're as any other spider, at least the times I've encountered them. Incapacitate, liquify, eat. Lacking the fear of us of course.
"So, below the werewolf dens and past the spiders lies another cave and as Ilsare...
ahh!...a moment...a twinge in my shoulder there. As She is my witness, I can't tell who would have carved them. The tunnels are very roughly done, no self-respecting dwarf or elf would put their name on it. A dwarf would have squared it off and put up better bracing and support, and an elf would have decorated at least. So I have no idea who made the tunnels or how long they've been there. This was my first trip. But wind through them and you'll find an interior valley with streams, a small forest, and a lake of iced-over runoff. I imagine during the summer months it must be particularly beautiful. Past the pond is dry land and the forest, and in that a circle of statues surrounding a huge stone archway; the entrance to the elven tomb of Le'Tennodin.
"You should shiver. The elven warriors and sorcerers entombed there are not the brittle bones you see when a young necromancer goes amok or even the skeletal remains of the horrors that roam the mountain's exterior. They are tough as mithril, and those that cast or sang spells in life are able to do so in death. No, it's worse than that - a number of those moldering spellcasters retain the abilty to
stop time. I do not jest, Milord! Nor do my friends here. You know those moments when you feel almost as if you're sitting outside the flow of things, that life is literally passing you by? And when you blink, things have happened and you don't remember seeing or hearing anything? Imagine someone able to do that on purpose. The most powerful wizards can, although it seems unobtainable to those of us who use magic from our gut instincts rather than study. A shame, I can think of where that would be blessedly useful, especially back when I drank...stars and song, my cigar's out. A moment.
"Where...ah yes, stopping time. Allow me to back this up a bit. Upon entering the tomb we had to pick our way past rigged stones and layers of magical traps, but only a mere single animated gargoyle. It seemed far too easy although from the moment we landed on the dusty stone I fancied I was hearing something. You did too? And you? Good, I worried it was just me.
"Oh, you pass it off at first. You look for natural, logical causes - wind, water, chatter from your group mates, that sort of thing. There are moments for concern but so long as you're thinking there must be a reason, you ignore the hairs on the back of your neck. It's when you are standing alone in the cold, still, dry air, with no water in sight, that you realize those disembodied hissing whispers are just that. You can't see them but the ghosts of the dead elves circle you, watching, always watching...and they don't want you there.
"But we imagine ourselves of sterner stuff, yes? So onward. The large entrance antechamber had a platform in the middle with several alter-like daises spaced apart, and I can step my mind through time and imagine crowds circulating to pay respects to a body or bodies lying upon those slabs. It would be an ideal place for large funerals. Below the platform are two staircases leading down and here is where we went, leaving our footsteps in the dust next to the few other souls who also braved the cursed halls.
"We descended into a smaller antichamber. It would have only held attendants and a family of mourners, leaving the larger group above. The stairs wound around and therefore there was another doorway directly opposite rather than side by side, as one would think. I wonder if the family used one stair and the body was taken down the other? I'm woefully uneducated on elven funeral rites of Boyer's early periods. Regardless, we stood there now, imagining weeping relatives and staring at a stone maiden who embodies sorrow. A statue there, yes; I came to think of her as the Weeping Mother, she was carved so much larger than life and her arms were outstretched toward two doors blocked by runed wardstones. On this elven woman's face and carved down her body as a trail of tears is elvish writing, which I copied and have a rough translation of courtesy of our elven friend, here...oh hells! The charcoal's smudged, I was in too great a hurry. Tralek, when I'm finished can you translate this again? Much obliged, Milord. I must invest in some better quality writing materials.
"So in the small room we were able to move a wardstone aside, although it hurt to even touch it, and enter the tombs proper. We walked down a short tunnel, having chosen the left of the two doors, and out onto a platform with two bridges each spanning a chasm before us. Staying again to the left we encountered our welcome to this crypt; two skeletal spellcasters who each could stop time. You see how I brought that full circle? And let me tell you, defeating something that can walk around you and drop a meteor shower on your head without you able to do a single thing about it is frightening. And painful. Still, with these fine gentlemen you see dropping magics and swinging swords and axes, we were able to survive, although it made for a choppy and confusing battle.
"Past this, the halls of the dead. Why do they walk? I don't know. I've heard bits and pieces of stories, and a name - Essrantor. I'm not versed on that legend though, perhaps Tralek here will fill us in once this tale is finished? Well, I'm more a musical man, less an hang-around-the-town-crier-and-swap-stories fellow. But to return to Le'Tennodin, we fought our way from island to island; there is a lot of water deeper down, clear and cold, an underground stream or river. The dead are on stone islands connected by short arched bridges, this would be one flight down from the bridge chasm? I believe I heard water in that chasm so I'm certain I'm correct there.
"These fights were the hardest I've ever personally been involved in. First in the fact that they are risen remains; you can't hurt something that cannot feel. Undead do not ask for mercy or cry from wounds. And second because these remains seem to retain so much of what they knew in life, tactics and strategies...we pressed forward past the tombs, and battling even a singleton left our blood all over the stones. I was flinging potions and I wonder that my hands will heal at all with all the glass shard cuts I took.
"We passed tomb after tomb, looking for the chamber of the king...no, we didn't loot the tombs. Of course not! We're no grave robbers. Giving the undead a rest from their curse, hoping that in that destruction they might be able to find permanent rest, is a noble act. Tearing open sarcophagi and prying burial objects from rotting hands is not. Which isn't to say we didn't pick up coin left scattered on the floors from the walking dead...it's a fine line I suppose. But I again digress. We pressed on to a level below the channels, this room with a solid rock slab of a ceiling and moisture damping the walls but no standing water. There was beyond the initial entrance a hallway of many doors, and beyond that a large room that would have held court. What it was doing all the way down there I don't know. In a recessed part of the floor cut with short flights of steps there were statues although we were embattled and did not stop and examine them. Should I return I intend to have a much closer look; these statues were in a position of royal meeting or court and I would dearly love to know what moment in history they represent, especially as there are four dragon statues, one in each corner of the recess, overlooking.
"There was a staircase down past this room and we were wondering how very long this would take by now! Exhausted, running low on healing, we pushed on to find ourselves facing yet another long bridge. But this bridge...this span over yet another chasm, still standing after so long...was guarded at the end by such a multitude of things that we all stopped and took a few steps back. At least six dracoliches! Scores of undead sorcerers, clerics...does an undead cleric still believe in the god it worshiped in life? Would an undead cleric of Aeridin have an existential crisis every time it tried to call on it's spells? I'll have to ask my wife. Anyway...we had found the chamber of the King. Le'Tennodin.
"You know, I don't know. Again, I'm usually singing and playing my violin; not conducive to listening...although I'm better than I used to be, so I'm told. Do any of you gentlemen of our group know the story of the king, we can augment Tralek's story with that later.
"The battle with the dracoliches and undead was...well...
can you imagine standing in the center of a hurricane of magic? Spells and songs churning around, scraping across your skin, your hair standing on end as ice, flames, acid and lightning pound you; the cacophony of casting and screams from these men - bloody yes you were, I heard you - as enemy spells and weapons found soft tissue; the stench of rotten bodies being ripped apart, and undead dragons spilling dusty guts across your face. It was a bit like that. Only louder. You'd not have thought we could do it, defeat that many as tough as they were, and yet somehow by the grace of Ilsare - just...a moment...that twinge again...we dropped each and every one of them, may they break their bonds and go to final rest.
"Running up as the last few fell was skeleton who as a man would have clearly been royal and not just from the tatters of silk-coated armor he wore; there was something about him...a regal presence, yet twisted in unlife. Twisted in such a way that he attacked, repeating some long-ago scene the way undead so often do. I'm glad we were able to finally break the magic holding the bones together and I pray that old king doesn't return to this realm.
"From there, we had another look around, but only to see; the king's burial chamber was again large with more statuary, probably to represent his honor guard in death. We then took our leave and were only accosted once. We were also blessed to get out of the mountains with only a few skeletal ettins at our heels, so tired were we. And that my friends is our story! We have gone, and seen, and returned, but much lighter of healing and blood and much richer in history."
