The Underworld: When the parasitic Taxacaran first came to Iterum 981 they built continent spanning complexes deep underground, interlinked megadungeons known as Deeps. In the excruciatingly long millennia before the Exodus, these Deeps housed millions of enslaved humanoids, livestock for the dying Taxacaran to experiment on and consume in their horrifying quest for immortality.
In the modern era, the network of Deeps is simply known as the Underworld. A place where aeons of experimental science and magic have warped the very fabric of reality. A place spoken of in hushed tones, where forgotten horrors lurk and ancient, malevolent entities stalk the endless, echoing corridors in search of prey.
Once the fighter is back in her armour, the characters quietly leave the cistern and follow the long passageway north, stopping outside the only door along its length. All seems quiet, so Mira grips her sword, raises her shield and enters.
She moves into a 40’ by 45’ room containing thick stone pillars and a 20’ alcove on the north side. Weapon and equipment racks line the walls and columns, filling the space with an abundance of steel glinting orange in the torch light.
Q – Is anyone here?
A – Yes (1d8 guards).
Q – Are they guarding the armoury?
A – No.
Q – So, is this a shift change? Are they changing out of uniform?
A – Yes.
2 x Guards: AC 6/8. HP 3/5. Sword (1d8). One guard is halfway undressed.
Round 1
Mira runs at the nearest guard, who is busy removing his armour. Startled at the sight of the warrior bearing down on him, he scrambles desperately for his sword, but is too slow. Mira’s blade pierces his chest and exits through the shoulder in a spray of blood. Before his body hits the ground, she spins on a heel and faces the other slaver, shield raised and weapon ready.
The remaining guard, eyes wide, begins to retreat towards the door, unaware of the other characters. Bordan heaves his battleaxe aloft and charges. Subira fires her crossbow, the bolt taking the slaver through the bridge of his nose and punching him off his feet, sending him crashing into a rack of spears.
The barbarian slows his charge and lowers his axe. He looks back at the bald, willowy cleric and she smiles at him.
Dragos quickly relieves the nearest corpse of keys and locks the door. He turns and stares at all the equipment, a broad grin on his face.
Mira breaks the silence. “Let’s be quick. Weapons and armour. Clothes and bags. Go!”
The characters fan out, searching the room for usable equipment. They find plain fabrics and clothes in the northern alcove, alongside some leather sacks and backpacks. The racks are filled with basic but sturdy armour and weapons of all shapes and sizes.
Lana finds a small coin pouch on a dead guard, and a dusty vial of liquid in the alcove. Ostrik recognises it as a healing elixir, which the group gives to Bordan. He immediately gulps it down, the liquid burning his throat and infusing him with vigour. The worst of his wounds begin to knit together, and colour returns to the barbarian’s face.
“If we can find food, we could take the captives and try to escape through the cistern,” Subira says as she adjusts the buckles on a set of scale mail.
Bordan nods. “Make our way south.”
Mira tests the balance of a bastard sword and shakes her head. “No, the southern routes to Sokol are lawless and wide open. It would be better if we travelled to Vulk,”
“Vulk’s a shithole.”
Dragos finishes strapping on a set of dark leather bracers and looks up, confused. “Shithole? Really? I love that place.”
Divested of their filthy rags and patchwork gear, the characters finish dressing in clean clothes and liberate an assortment of equipment before moving on.
Bordan and Dragos scout ahead, investigating the junction at the end of the corridor. The orcan rightly realises they are now on the other side of the workshop they discovered earlier, and this must be the location of the patrol Lana heard.
They beckon the others to follow, and the group slowly makes their way west.
Featured Image by Jeff Brown.
Derelict Otherlands 
Leave a comment