Luke Gearing

THE
ISLE
2
THE
ISLE

3
Written by Luke Gearing.
Edited by Jared Sinclair.
Graphic design by Micah Anderson.
Published by Spear Witch.

Copyright 2021 Luke Gearing.

This product is an independent production of

Spear Witch.

Redistribution without prior written consent is

prohibited. Permission is granted to photocopy and
otherwise reproduce for personal use. The author
retains the right to be identified as such. In all cases
this notice must remain intact.

TVG0002

4
Assumptions
The monks are modelled on a Catholic island
monastery, as existed on Skellig Michael. Their religion
is left vague to more easily adapt to the nearest
analogous religion in your game world. Alternatively,
run this as history—a Viking raid or a mission from
the Catholic Church.
Value is in hacksilver—convert this to whatever your
primary measure of wealth is. The dungeon relies
heavily on supplies and practical solutions using rope,
iron spikes and the like.
Room elements marked with a “⊙” indicate things
known to intruders before they enter.

5
The Isle
The isle is tiny, a mere 40 acres of forbidding rock and
low grasses. Seen from the sea, the monastery buildings
stand adjacent to the peak of the isle, lit by a fire atop
a tower. The monks never let the fire go out.
Cliffs rise above the bitter sea, mauled by waves
and weather. Fallen stones jut like Frisian horses, big
enough to skewer whales. The abbot knows this,
because he has seen it.
Pulling a boat close to the cliffs is nearly impossible.
Climbing the stone—though difficult—seems quite
simple in comparison.
Boats accessing the isle use one of the three coves,
each without the fearsome spikes found elsewhere and
able to fit a single-masted ship. From each cove, steps
cut directly into the stone and fringed by hardy plants
lead upward.
Once a month, Cioran—a fisherman from the
mainland—delivers supplies, messages, and oil to the
isle. He does this for salvation—he killed his father to
inherit the boat and her crew. At night, he listens as
the wind moans for revenge, and the sea beckons.

6
 N

CUT STONE PATH

CLIFFS

a
3
4

7
a. Seal Cove
The widest and most accessible cove, and the only
sandy beach. Its fat seals stare at visitors. For most of
the year, they bellow and bark but do nothing unless
attacked. During the spring, however, the adult seals
become aggressive and territorial to protect their
young. They have suffered the depredations of trappers
too long. The monks leave them alone, quietly hoping
for good relations with their only neighbours.

b. Abbot's Cove
This shallow cove shows extensive signs of recent
improvement—some stone removed and a wooden
jetty installed. The stairs are worn, but notably clean.
The monks keep a stockpile of stones near the top to
roll down the stairs in the case of an attack. The monks
watch this cove closely.

c. Moss Cove
Much tighter and narrower than the other coves, the
walls and stairs here are coated with thick, spongy
moss. Highly absorbent, the moss ensures the stairs are
perpetually wet and slimy, making climbing them
dangerous. Upon arrival, there is a corpse bobbing in
the cove, and gulls fighting over it. After three days it
drifts off to sea, denied burial. When the spirit of the
corpse finds its way back, its haunting begins.

1. The Graves
Low pilings of rock—the traditional drystone cairns of
the mainland. There are seven, currently. If any of the
party die and their bodies recovered, the monks offer
to inter them here. The graves are neither named nor
marked, though the monks are able to recite the
history of each, bar the seventh. They staunchly insist
you have miscounted.

8
 • An Abbot, Tiarnach. Died of old age, having
forgotten the mainland. Buried 200 years ago. His
grave contains golden religious items worth 450 hs.
• A monk, Déaglán, his head crushed by a rock.
Buried nearly 150 years ago.
• A shipwrecked sailor. Despite the monks’
ministrations, he died having never spoken to
them. Buried 120 years ago. Grave contains a
curved blade of steel, far superior to local efforts,
worth 400 hs.
• An Abbot, Labhrás. In truth, isolation drove him
to leap from the cliffs into the sea. The official
narrative is he slipped. Buried 100 years ago. The
grave contains nothing. An empty pile of rocks.
• An Abbot, Tighernach, penitent thief. Died of
boredom. Buried 50 years ago. His grave contains a
vellum map of a cathedral on the mainland,
marked up for a heist. A benign hobby.
• A monk, Tiarnach. Stung to death by bees. Buried
25 years ago. Everyone confuses the grave for that
of the other Tiarnach.
• A thief, Muirgel. She prowled to the isle, seeking
wealth, until the Abbot killed her with a dinner
knife. Buried about a year ago. The grave contains
all of her worldly possessions, as well as the knife:
a poor short sword, 20 arrows, 50’ of silk rope, a
grappling hook, 50 hs in mixed coinage, a set of
ruby earrings (500 hs), and a charm of yew wood
to grant strength in adversity.
Should they find the graves disturbed, the monks
become incensed and inconsolable. Only the sincerest
of apologies could mend such a transgression.

9
2. Auld Tree
An ancient tree, warped by the wind, the trunk almost
perpendicular with the rock, like a dog about to
pounce. The branches sprout cruel thorns. The monks
use them as needles and fish hooks.

3. Hollow Outcropping
A squat formation of forbidding stone, 32’ high. Deep
scars mar the surface, and bird shit streaks down the
edges. Climbing seems easy, but sea winds blow strong
enough to knock unsecured climbers loose, dashing
them against the rocks below.
A tight, claustrophobic shaft runs from the top of
the outcropping into the heart of the island—one
clambering down finds themselves in Floor 2, Room
20. The monks do not know of this entrance.

4. Collapsed Building
A rough tumble of stones, a loose pile of rubble. Close
inspection reveals a doorway and windows carved into
the buried central rock. Within the ruin, several
skeletons lay trapped beneath fallen stones, their
segmented armour rusted and useless. Several hours
searching reveals a small goat-hide coin purse
containing 350 hs in ancient coins, minted far away.

5. Hidden Stash
Hidden amongst the rocks, within a small hollow, hide
four bottles of hard liquor from the mainland. One is
half empty. On summer nights, Sioda clambers up
there. He takes three drinks, to remember.

10
6. The Monastery
The buildings of the Monastery stand next to the peak
of the isle—itself a spear-like protrusion of black rock.
Six round huts surround a large domed structure, and
the Tower stands nearby. All are made of local stone.
Atop the Tower is a brass bowl, and fire within. It
is fuelled by whale oil drawn from a giant tank
beneath the Tower. Beside, a heavy iron lid opens for
refilling the tank, and a wooden ladder. If set alight
and quickly closed, the tank explodes, killing everyone
atop the isle.
Nearby are four stone beehives and a respectable
vegetable patch—carrots, turnips, and cabbage.
Each of the huts sleeps two, uncomfortably. Their
floors are straw, with two sets of sackcloth bedding, a
fishing rod, a candle, two robes, and two wooden
bowls with wooden spoons.
The monks use the central structure for everything
but sleeping. When they are not gathering food or
repairing something on the isle, they are here. The
floor is made of tight-fitting wooden planks. Below
them is the Seal. There are twelve low, wooden stools
and a wooden chair. 18 sea-bird eggs hang from the
ceiling, and 11 smoked fish. A golden religious icon
(250 hs) on the wall is the only valuable item.

11
The Monks
Eleven monks and the Abbot live on the isle. Though
they are bound to give hospice to travellers, this is not
their purpose. As long as a fire burns here, what lies
below cannot leave. Only the Abbot knows.
Their main concern is Conall’s disappearance—
despite searching, they have been unable to find him.
They have nothing to offer for his return but thanks.
The Abbot, Caoinleán, remains spry at 72 years old.
He fears Conall’s disappearance has far darker
implications. Under the circumstances, he could be
goaded into divulging the true nature of the
Monastery: it was founded in the early days of the
Church, sealing away the last of some ancient enemy.
He was told that the defence is two-fold—as long as
the seal remains intact and a flame burns on the isle,
the enemy may not leave. This is not true.
He would sooner die than allow someone to go
below without permission from the Church. Such
permission is easy to fabricate—it has been decades
since the monks last heard from the mainland. They
are eager to believe they have not been forgotten.
1. Cairneach, 56. Cares for the bees. If the Monastery
comes under attack, he throws chunks of the
beehives at attackers.
2. Mochonna, 43. Has one leg, the other lost in the
wars of the mainland. He handles much of the
cooking when his deep bone infection doesn't
keep him in bed.
3. Fínín, 23. Was a shepherd. He reveals nothing else.
4. Muiris, 45. Raised in a monastery orphanage. He
has known no other life.
5. Declán, 36. Trained as a soldier. Unbeknownst to
either of them, he caused Mochonna to lose his
leg, having fought on the other side.

12
6. Carhal, 29. Resents the Church for sending him
here. His previous monastery was dissolved for
their lack of temperance—especially where the
nearby convent was concerned.
7. Fínán, 31. A fisherman and a sailor. He handles
most of the fishing. The Abbot thinks he loves the
sea more than the Church. He is right.
8. Sioda, 61. Formerly a troubadour. He fled into the
monasteries to escape debt. That was thirty years
ago, now.
9. Brine, 52. Suffers from atmospheric headaches.
Long ago suspected of water-witchery, and
exonerated. He still bears the scars of investigation.
10. Beacán, 50. Raised in an older, indigenous
religious practice. In his heart, he never let it go.
11. Conall, 34. Dead. He fell while raiding bird's nests,
and is currently floating in Moss Cove. Gulls eat
at his body.

The Seal
A convex disc of bone-porcelain rests inches beneath
the floorboards. It is paper thin and minutely
inscribed with prayers.
A good strike shatters the seal easily, revealing a
plunge into darkness—a shaft, 15’ across and 40’ to the
bottom. The air in the room is sucked inside, and
extinguishes all lights in the building. The isle drawing
a pained breath. The smell of mould and salt wafts up
from below.

13
Floor 1
Unless noted otherwise, surfaces are rough-hewn from
the stone of the isle, glistening in the dark. Salt forms
swirling patterns crusted on the walls.
The air is cool, foetid, and moist. The smell of salt
is intense, masking other odours. The waves produce a
low crashing and roaring, carried through the stone.
Normal speech is audible, whispering just barely.
There is no light.

14
Roll 1d20 on the encounters table every 10 minutes. In
rooms 1-10, ignore results above 3.
Column A is a sign. Column B details what the
next room or passage contains.

1d20 A B
A sudden
1. cessation of Nothing.
waves. Silence.
A howl of wind
2. Nothing.
from behind.
A groan, metal
3. Nothing.
under stress.
A single Witness,
4. An ochre glow. staring in a random
direction.
A pair of Witnesses,
5. An ochre glow. staring eye-to-eye,
unmoving.
1d4 Bonded Dead,
clutching their skulls,
6. Nothing.
still. Loud sounds rouse
them to violence.
2d4 Bonded Dead, in a
The crack of
shield-wall. They
7, 8. brittle bone
march to the nearest
against stone.
exit and guard it.
2d6 Bonded Dead, each
The rattling of wearing an iron collar
9. chains, the moan with a rusted chain.
of rust. The chains lead to a
ring in the ceiling.
10.+ Nothing. Nothing.

15
Witness
Take a child on the cusp of adulthood. Use an iron
chisel to empty and expand the eye sockets. Fill the
cavities with molten glass.
As the body cools, a dull, ochre glow emerges from
the false eyes. The Witness sits, hunched and
motionless, until something touches them or moves
within their illuminated cone of vision—then they
begin shrieking.
When they shriek, all monsters up to 3 rooms away
move to investigate. Roll 1d10 on the encounter table.
They are heavy. Make a Strength Check to move
one unassisted.

Bonded Dead
Bonded to the invaders by their ancient defeat, they
are set to guard what lies below—even beyond death.
Skeletons, rich of beard (another dishonour inflicted
after their defeat), their bones bearing blue-black
stains in swirling patterns. Unless specified otherwise,
they wield spears and swords of green-blue bronze and
wear no armour. They are silent, but work as a team.
HD 1. AC 1. Ignore damage rolls of 5 or less from slashing
and piercing weapons.

16
Note: Rooms 4, 5, and 6 and all
hallways leading to them begin flooded.
12 14

5 15

6
11 13 16
D

4 7
17
9
a
18
S
D

10 19
L 3 D

D DOOR
D
L LOCKED
2 1 8
S SECRET

17
1
Porcelain shards cover the floor. Above you, a disc of
light. The only sound is the distant sea.
North: A rusted iron door, eaten away by salt,
horrendously loud when opened.
West: Another room. A mound visible on the floor.

2
⊙ The stink of rotting sealife.
A mouldering mound of dead crabs.
East: A room with porcelain shards on the floor.

3
⊙ Cold air moves east from this room.
Dominated by the door to the west. The door is
encrusted in verdigris and cold to the touch. Moisture
beads on it. To open it, remove a pair of large bolts—
the water on the other side explodes inward
immediately. Those within the room Save to avoid
being washed to the north. Those failing also take 1d6
damage from being pummelled. All unsealed
equipment is soaked through. The onslaught lasts five
minutes, as chambers 4-6 drain.
The floor slopes downward to the north.
East: A room with porcelain shards on the floor.

4 (drained)
Walls and floor covered in mussels. They could be
gathered in an hour—enough for 12 rations. They spoil
in 48 hours once cooked, or in 24 hours stored raw.
Water drips from the porous, stone ceiling.
North and South: Puddle-ridden corridors.

18
5 (drained)
A raised stone sarcophagus fills the room. Upon it,
chain motifs overlap in a chaos of repeating hoops. The
lid is heavy, and held in place by the wax-filled
interior—a combined Strength of 24 can pry it free.
This reveals a field of cream-yellow beeswax, and the
shadow of a figure just visible within. The wax has
bonded with the desiccated flesh. Melted or scraped
away, the wax reveals the corpse and grave-goods
interred within.
The corpse is that of a woman, wearing damaged
iron chainmail of an archaic design. She holds an
unblemished bronze longsword (350 hs) and nine
beaten gold rings (900 hs total). The tall ruff of her
undershirt hides a dull iron collar.
South: A wet stone corridor.

6 (drained)
Snarling, mocking faces—all hairless—painted on the
wall in pitch.
West: A wet stone corridor.
East: A tangle of seaweed. A southern bend.

a
A huge door interrupts the wall in this passage—the
twin of the door in Room 3, and with identical effects
if that door is still closed. The passage slopes down to
the west.

19
7
⊙ All passages leading toward this room slope down
about 15 degrees. A slight breeze from the chamber
heads to the south.
The floor here is hewn much smoother. Closer
inspection shows a gap between the wall and floor—a
hair’s breadth, but visible. The entire room is a trap:
the floor is a platform, weighted to sit level. Once a
weight exceeding 50lbs crosses the chamber, the floor
tilts to the north, revealing a plunge into darkness. The
smooth floor makes finding a grip difficult, and the
(false) door on the north wall is greased.
Those unable to save themselves fall to Floor 2,
Room 12. Those falling into this chamber take 1d6
damage. Falling flames and light sources have a 90%
chance of going out.
North: A rust-free iron door, glistening.
South: An open passage with a slight incline upward.

8
A rusted iron door, left ajar. Within rests a pile of
bones, decayed fabric, and metallic ornaments. A
mosaic covers the southern wall—a stern man with no
beard, beams of white light pouring from his mouth
and eyes.
Sifting through the bones reveals a ruined iron
short-sword with a decorative gold handle (150 hs) and
a pair of silver pendants filled with coloured-glass
beads (120 hs as a set, 50 hs each).
North: A rusted iron door.

20
9
A pit, 15’ wide, bisects the room. Illuminating the pit’s
interior reveals its floor—15’ down, studded with 3’
iron spikes—and the scattered bones of 2d20 skeletons
strewn among them. Falling deals 2d6 damage. The
bones below gather into animated skeletons and
attempt to finish off anyone who survives the fall.
If two or more characters attempt to cross the pit
using a makeshift bridge, the skeletons animate and
stack four-high upon one another in an attempt to
pull down the bridge. When stacked this way, they
are able to clamber out of the pit.
North: A pair of open passages. The left passage has a
faint stench. The right has green, metallic flakes on
the floor.
West: A downward-sloping passage.
South: An iron door, bent and damaged.

10
A grandiose carving of a doorway dominates the
eastern wall. There is no door, just smooth stone.
West: An open passage.

11
⊙ A faint smell: cold, wet, salt, rot.
Across the threshold, the stench intensifies—it is
definitely coming from the north. Upon entering, roll
1d10 on the encounters table.
North: An open passage. The smell of decay and sea.
South: An open passage.

21
12
⊙ A powerful stench: salt, damp, and death.
The rotting carcass of a dead seal, blood pooled and
hardened beneath it. It was stabbed to death. It is four
days old at most.
South: An open passage.
West: An open passage. Echoing, subtle clicks.

13
A large fountain of rusted iron. Nothing flows from
the spout. Cream-yellow smears mark the central
bowl. A small valve, hidden at the base, controls the
flow—adjusting it starts a spurt of lamp oil, rendered
from whale fat. There are five pints of oil in the
system, endlessly recycled.
North: Subtle clicks from an open passage. The faint
smell of rot.
East: Corridors to the north and south.

14
⊙ Quiet, subtle clicks emanate from this chamber,
and the stink of rotting flesh. As light enters, you
notice a rising hiss and the suggestion of shadowed
figures moving.
3d6 Bonded Dead march in an endless circle, carving a
groove into the floor. In the centre of the circle, a
figure crouches, concealed beneath draped red fabric.
They wear an iron mask, cherubic and peaceful. As
light passes over them, they hiss. If fully illuminated
(e.g., if a lantern is brought into the room), they
gesture weakly at the light source, and the Bonded
Dead move to kill the light-bearer and extinguish the
light before returning to their march.

22
 If anyone touches the fabric upon the figure, it
collapses into a heap—there was nothing beneath. The
Bonded Dead retreat to Room 16, forming a schiltrom
around the stairs.
Bonded Dead must make a morale check to attack
anyone wearing the mask. Legionaries, however, always
attack the wearer.
East: An open room. A metallic glint in the light.
South: An empty passage.
West: The stench of decay and salt.

15
At the centre sits a mixture of goat, swine, and pony
skulls poured over with gold and silver, fusing them
into a glittering amalgamation. This makeshift statue is
3’ tall, and balanced atop a 2’ plinth. It is heavy, and
anyone holding it can carry no other weight (1000 hs).
100 taut steel wires, each coated in a clear serum,
run from floor to ceiling in a circle around the
desecrated idol. If a wire is touched even lightly, it
immediately snaps—roll an attack (AV 11) against the
one who broke the wire. On a hit, the wire strikes
them, leaving a shallow cut. As the poison serum
enters the wound, Save or die gradually over the next
24 hours, vomiting bile and phlegm with the texture of
spent coffee grounds.
For every 5 wires broken at once, the attack has +2
AV and the Saving Throw has -2 ST.
The poison is not native to these lands—any
attempted cure with local remedies has only a 10%
chance of working. Anyone can suck the poison from
the wound, but they must make a Saving Throw or
become poisoned themselves. It tastes of unfamiliar
flowers, sweet and alcoholic.
North: Subtle clicks from an open passage. The faint
smell of rot.
East: Corridors to the north and south.

23
16
⊙ Air moves out of this room, gently to the south.
A stone-lined pit, 15’ in diameter, fills the room. 20’
down, it opens into Floor 2, Room 1.
West: A long corridor.

17
An ornamented chariot of ancient design rests in the
centre of the room. The spokes on the wheels are
damaged—even if one could fit the chariot through the
doorway, it is clearly useless. It takes about an hour to
remove all valuable metal from the frame (350 hs).
West: A long corridor.

18
Two shelves hang on the southern wall, each filled with
numerous statuettes. The lower shelf is blackened with
soot and ash. Its statuettes are carved from wood or
bone, depicting eight figurines. Each is about 8” tall.
1. A one-eyed figure, beard and with a crown of
antlers. They wear a dress.
2. A nude, heavily pregnant figure in a cloak of birds.
3. A shirtless figure, forcing their own jaw open with
their hands. A grotesque tongue extends outward.
4. A leering, hanging figure in a sackcloth robe.
5. A crouched, emaciated figure with an iron collar.
They hide a long, thin knife.
6. An inhumanly muscular figure tearing a horse in
half above their head.
7. An elderly figure, smiling warmly, holding soil and
plants like a baby.
8. A faceless figure, supporting their huge erection
with both hands.

24
 To a collector of antiquities, these are worth 800 hs
as a complete set, or 50 hs each.
The upper shelf is clear of soot. Its statuettes are
carved from white marble. One figure, blank of face,
leads a host of thirty winged soldiers in banded
armour, short blades, javelins and square shields. The
blank-faced figure holds a flaming torch aloft. The
leader is 12” tall, and the soldiers are 4”. The set is
worth 1200 hs. Alone, the leader is worth 400 hs, and
the soldiers are worth 20 hs.
If all twelve lower figures are removed and the
upper ones remain untouched, the secret door to
Room 19 noisily rumbles open.
West: A long corridor.

19
⊙ A slight movement of air carrying a foetid note up
the corridor.
A lever inside controls a secret door hidden behind a
false wall—a spiral staircase leads downward. A
creeping slime coats the stairs. Ten buckets of water
would be enough to clean them, otherwise any
individual moving down the stairs must Save or slip and
fall, taking 2d20 damage. It leads to Floor 3, Room 16.
North: A long corridor.

25
Floor 2
Unless noted otherwise, surfaces are rough-hewn from
the stone of the isle, glistening in the dark. Salt forms
swirling patterns crusted on the walls.
The air is cool, foetid and moist. The smell of salt
masks other odours. The crash and roar of waves
carries through the stone. Normal speech is audible,
but whispering is not.
There is no light.

26
Roll 1d20 on the encounters table every 10 minutes.
Column A is a sign. Column B details what the
next room or passage contains.
1d20 A B
A sudden
1. cessation of Nothing.
waves. Silence.
The distant smell
2. Nothing.
of vinegar.
A ghost of
3. Nothing.
incense.
A single Witness,
4. An ochre glow. staring in a random
direction.
A pair of Witnesses,
5. An ochre glow.
staring eye-to-eye.
2d4 Bonded Dead,
forming a shield-wall.
The crack of They march to a
6, 7. brittle bone random exit and guard
against stone. it. They bear either the
mark of Dainéal or the
mark of Fionn.
A grinding 2d6 Gelt-Promised,
8.
shuffle. hands outstretched.
A powerful stink
9. 2d6 Vinegar-Drinkers.
of vinegar.
10.+ Nothing. Nothing.

27
Gelt-Promised
Rotting flesh clings to them, bloated with greed. They
bulge around the thick gold rings that mark them as
traitors. Those left here await payment still for their
treachery—3d20 hs owed to each. If paid, the corpses
fall down, finally inert. Their wealth becomes tainted
and worthless. Their rings are worth 1d100 hs. Time
and rust has ruined their equipment.
HD 1. AC 4.

Vinegar-Drinkers
Bones enamelled a thousand times over, stained to
black-beyond-red. Each clutches a number of wine
bottles, carefully doling out pitiful measures of putrid
vinegar. Mercifully, their tongues were the first of
them to rot. Ale, mead and beer offend them, driving
them wild—they attack twice per round in their fury.
Wine distracts, placates. Distilled spirits destroy them
utterly. They use empty bottles to bludgeon, then slice.
Those in mêlée with them must Save or be
nauseated by their stench—roll with -2 AV and ST.
HD 2. AC 1. Ignore damage rolls of 5 or less from
slashing and piercing weapons.

The Brothers
Two brothers, equal heirs to a forgotten kingdom on
the mainland. The invaders promised each of them sole
rule if their father was slain. While the other remains,
neither can claim the throne—punishment for
patricide. Each demands adventurers to slay the other,
requesting their head as proof.
Should one meet his end, the surviving brother
assembles all Bonded Dead, Gelt-Promised and
Vinegar-Drinkers and marches them to the surface,
then to the mainland to reclaim their kingdom. They
slaughter the monks as collaborators. They have a 50%
chance to succeed, but it takes years.

28
Dainéal Ó Ceannaigh
In life, Dainéal was huge—both physically and
charismatically. In undeath, he is a withered,
immaterial shade, held together only by his need to
rule. To an unassisted eye, he is little more than
burning eyes and gilt jewellery dancing in the darkness
beneath the isle. His Bonded Dead wear rank, sodden
furs (AC 2).
HD 2. AC 1. Deals all damage directly to Flesh,
bypassing Grit. Incorporeal, can only be harmed by silvered
weapons and magic.
Fionn Ó Ceannaigh
Sly, quiet, weaselly. His skeletal frame retains a shock
of spiked hair, white from liming. Once, he schemed
with words. Now, in undeath, his lies live on as
countless leeches. They speak with his voice, a
slithering chorus. They fill his skeleton, and those of
his Bonded Dead. They squirm and cling to the
pitted bone.
When a damage roll against them shows only 1,
leeches slither onto the attacker’s body. The leeches
deal 1 damage per round until removed. It takes an
entire round to remove them. They leave open wounds,
ripe for infection.
HD 3. AC 4. 1d6+1 damage. Ignore damage rolls of 5 or
less from slashing and piercing weapons.

29
 D
D DOOR
S 21 L LOCKED
20 D
S SECRET

D 19 D

16 17 18 D
D D

13 14 15

1
11 D
12

D 3 D
4 L

2
D

D 9
5 7 10
L
D S
D
6 D 8

30
1
Stacked skulls grimace from the walls, empty sockets
drinking in the light.
North: An open passage with a distant orange glow.
Warm air moves into this room.
South: The stink of vinegar.

2
⊙ The rancid stench of vinegar, the grind of old wood
on stone.
Pools of spoiled vinegar, disturbed by the bone feet of
2d6 Vinegar-Drinkers. As light approaches, they
drunkenly stand to attention and begin their assault.
East: A short corridor ending in a bronze door
decorated with a repeating “X” glyph.
South: A damaged iron door. Another corridor
bending to the east.

3
A tight chamber filled with a thicket of X-shaped
wooden scaffolds. A rotten human figure is nailed to
each. All are denied death, but have long since
destroyed their vocal cords.
East: A bronze door, marked with the stylised figures
of dozens of warriors.
West: An unmarked bronze door.

31
4
Filled with bodies, each split from crown to arse.
The halves lay in piles on opposite sides of the room,
leaving a gore-walled corridor from one door to the
other. The bodies are fresh, their organs pulsating
gently. The figures all wear ruined, archaic armour.
North: A wooden door carved with a weeping face.
West: An unmarked bronze door.

5
⊙ The smell of dead fires seeps from under the door.
Mounds of old ash and charcoal. The walls are coated
in it. Sifting through, they hide scraps of wooden
beams, cooking pots, cutlery, charred teeth, and bones.
North: A damaged iron door. The stench of vinegar.
South: Another iron door in much better repair.

6
Filled with dead too miserly to relinquish their flesh.
2d12 Gelt-Promised face the intruders, palms
outstretched. Each awaits 50 hs owed.
Each wall of the chamber bears a life-sized stone
face. The northern wall has the face of a bloodied,
unbearded warrior. They appear defeated. Close
examination reveals a hairline crack tracing a secret
door frame around the face. Several hours of work
with a sledgehammer and crowbar could open it.
The eastern wall shows a bearded face with a tall,
conical hat. They appear satisfied.

32
 The southern wall has a bearded face with a wolf-
skin hat. They appear to gloat. Close examination
reveals that the beard is unconnected to the face—
tugging it opens the secret door on the north wall.
The western wall has a weeping face, downcast. Its
hair is full of snakes.
North: An iron door.
East: A wooden door.

7
Heaps of once-valuable items—time erodes all things.
Tainted bronze icons, fused and rusted coins, tattered
armour, spoiled drink. Sifting through the outer layers
of detritus reveals a core of salable goods—gold and
silver items simply in need of cleaning. There's enough
to fill a backpack (5000 hs).
South: A doorway, open to a wide room.

8
⊙ The sound of dry, crinkling paper from the other
side of the door.
A man’s undying carcass fills the ceiling. He is
stretched taut on hooks set into the walls. His entrails
hang free and loose. His stretched skin bears the mark
of Dainéal repeated in woad, the blue faded now to
dark purple. He breathes with a dry, rustling heave—
his lungs have long ago dried out.
North: A rusted iron door, locked. Beyond it, the
distant echo of water.
East: A wooden door carved with serpents consuming
rivers.

33
9
⊙ Water lapping on stone, an echo.
A large stone platform, raised an inch above the floor.
Under a weight roughly equal to that of a small
human, it depresses with a click. A distant grinding
sounds from the east—the southern door in Room 12
raising, the flood-water rushing out. If the weight is
removed, the door lowers again. Room 12 remains
drained either way.
West: A long corridor.

10
⊙ The stink of wet animal fur. 1-in-6 chance of
incoherent yelling through the door.
Smashed and rotting furniture fills the room—much of
it coated in gold. Among the wreckage, 3d6 Bonded
Dead wear the rank furs of Dainéal Ó Ceannaigh. His
voice emanates from everywhere in the room, little
more than a hiss at the edge of hearing. First he
attempts to cajole adventurers into killing his brother,
claiming that it is Fionn’s malign influence that taints
the isle. If this fails, he promises all the wealth that lies
beneath the isle. Finally, he threatens to tear out their
very souls. If they still refuse, combat begins—the
Bonded Dead tie up the most threatening figures while
Dainéal hunts the weakest of the party. After each kill,
he offers the deal again.
The jewellery binding Dainéal together is worth
2000 hs. There is a further 1500 hs in discarded gilt
goblets, plates and rings among the debris.
If the door to Room 12 has been opened, water
comes above the ankles here—the Dead go first in
initiative, as their bones slice easily through the water.
North: An iron slab, carved with fanged teeth. It has
no visible opening mechanism.

34
11
⊙ An orange glow. Warm air.
A large wooden coffin. It weeps tar in a large black
puddle on the floor. Opening the coffin releases a
torrent of molten tar and reveals the corpse of King
Ceannaigh, slain by his sons. His form is warped, yet
preserved by the thick black liquid. Glittering rings are
threaded through his stained beard (3000 hs as mere
valuables, 9000 hs to someone manufacturing a claim
to his fallen kingdom). The rings cannot be removed
without the consent of King Ceannaigh. A would-be
thief hears a thick, gurgling voice emanating from the
tar itself: “Wealth mine in death! Released only by the
blood of rebellious sons!” This is all he may do, but he
is true to his word.
North: Heat and orange light.
East: A wooden door, featureless on this side.

12
⊙ The smell of brackish seawater.
This chamber is flooded, and set lower than the
passage to the north. The water is old, brackish
seawater—rotten, black, foul.
2d4 starved eels, eyes milk-white and huge, move
through the water. They smell flesh, and move to feed.
They take no penalties for fighting in darkness. Each
successful eel-attack past the first in a Round has a
1-in-6 chance of dragging the victim under, giving all
others +4 AV against them.
HD 1. AC 2.
North: A raised corridor that can be clambered into.
A slight orange glow.
South: An iron slab. No visible opening mechanism.

35
12 (drained)
Those falling into this chamber take 1d6 damage.
⊙ The smell of brackish seawater.
A thin veneer of mud and pools of water. Blind eels
writhe as they die.

13
⊙ Warm orange light radiates from this chamber.
An intelligent flame in a cage of blades. It moves
silently, like an apex predator. It observes, flickering
and raging. As one approaches the cage, the flame
diminishes to a warm, inviting glow. A decorated
helm, full-faced and unmarred, is visible in the flames.
The blades of the cage are of ancient make, short and
leaf-shaped—a simple pull is enough to disassemble it.
Released, the flame explodes forth to attack at full
force, desperate to feed. The flame crackles like
laughter. Successful strikes hit the lump of blazing coal
at its heart.
HD1. AC 8. 1 Flesh, 0 Grit. All nearby take 1d6 damage
each round from radiant heat. On a damage roll of 6, its
target is set ablaze.
The helmet within is fireproof (1000 hs). Twenty
swords comprise the cage (15 hs each).
East: An open passage.
South: The smell of rich tar.
West: Corridors to the north and south. The sound of
distant grinding.

36
14
Two empty bookshelves carved of heavy stone rest
against the walls. A rusted but usable hammer and a
bag of iron spikes lay in a corner.
East: A corridor leading to a junction.
West: Heat and orange light spill down the corridor.

15
⊙ The smell of old seawater.
A slope, curving downward into stone, bearing faint
marks of worn-away stairs. Anyone moving down the
ramp at speed must Save or fall its length. Leads to
Floor 3, Room 1.
Downward: The smell of old seawater.
West: A crossroads.

16
⊙ The smell of old, wet horses. The sound of dry,
grinding teeth.
The walls are marred and worn. An amalgam of pony
teeth forms a ball which rolls aimlessly about the room
chewing air and stone, many-mouthed, without lips or
tongue. As soon as any living thing enters the room, it
veers towards them, seeking meat. It attacks as an HD
3 creature. Attacking it is useless—the teeth are
knocked loose, but quickly skitter back together. 10
damage in one round is enough to scatter the teeth
temporarily, leaving the ball unable to attack for 1
Round while it reassembles itself.
It does not leave the chamber.
North: A slight breeze. A glimmer of sunlight.
East: A door marked with a herd of horses.
South: A warm, open corridor. A dim, orange glow.

37
17
⊙ The faint smell of burning.
A burnt figure, huddled by the eastern doorway. Now
barely recognisable as human.
North: Corridors leading west and east. A putrid,
permeating stink.
East: The smell of oil.
West: A door marked with a herd of horses. A faint
animal smell. A distant grinding.

18
⊙ The smell of lantern oil and charcoal.
Thick soot blackens the walls and floor. Beneath the
soot, a glimmer—high-friction material. Any metal
moving against this surface creates sparks.
The ceiling has many fine holes bored into it,
nearly impossible to see. The floor is made of four
pressure plates—if activated, high-potency oil sprays
from the ceiling and coats the room. Any sparks ignite
the oil, causing a conflagration. Those inside as the
room flares up must Save or die in the flames—on
success, take 2d6 damage instead. Those near the
doorways Save or take 2d6 damage.
North: A long corridor stretching into darkness.
East: A door marked with images of coiling serpents
falling into a pit.
West: The faint aroma of burning.

38
19
⊙ A choking stink that coats the back of the throat.
The smell of burning tyres and rotten flesh.
The doors into this chamber are thick stone, and
carved with images of cauldrons filled with people. As
soon as a door opens, the contents of the room flood
outwards—a thick sludge of earth, rust-red and black.
The smell is debilitating—Save to take any meaningful
action. The fumes are thick enough to extinguish
flames. Those caught in this flow for 1d6 Rounds lose
consciousness. The sludge recoils from soap like a slug
from salt.
At the centre of the room, beneath the foulness, is
a witch-knife carved from the antler of a poached royal
stag. The wielder can forever send dreams to those they
have struck at least once with the knife.
East: Corridors to the east and south. A pervasive
smell of burning.
West: A low, grinding sound.

20
⊙ The howl of distant winds. A slight breeze. A glow
of light, dim and far away.
The suggestion of sunlight from a cold fireplace.
Leeches cling to 2d6 Bonded Dead, glistening in the
dark. Among these dead is Fionn—his shock of white
hair nearly glowing. He quietly invites the party to
stay a while, so that he may learn of their troubles. He
listens attentively while leeches dance in his followers’
rib cages. He draws parallels between the party’s
troubles and his own, then asks them to kill his
brother, Dainéal. He offers them all the wealth on the
isle and free use of the hidden passageway in the
chimney. Those who refuse he allows to leave freely—
they will return when they are sufficiently desperate.

39
 If combat does occur, Fionn strikes the strongest
while his Bonded Dead act to separate the others.
Fionn adorns his body in golden rings (1000 hs). An
ancient tattooist’s set (1000 hs) hides on the stone
shelves—the first to be tattooed with it gains either +1
AV or +1 damage permanently. Further tattoos provide
no such bonus.
If it is raining, the floor of this chamber is wet. A
puddle spreads from the fireplace.
Up the Chimney: A long climb to the surface leading
to the Hollow Outcropping.
East: A shuffling sound.
South: A grinding sound.

21
⊙ The sound of shuffling, crawling. The stink of decay.
Three emaciated ponies—legs cut off at the knees, eyes
and teeth removed—shuffle endlessly around the
room. They swing their heads toward sound and nuzzle
like puppies. Their flesh is rotted—an uncareful touch
and they burst, spraying all in the room with foul
gobbets of flesh. Any caught in the stink attract the
attention of the living and become ill if not cleaned
before a few hours pass.
East: Two doors, both rough wood. The southern door
smells of burning.
West: A slight glimmer of light.

22
⊙ The faint smell of burning.
A burnt figure, huddled by the eastern doorway. Now
barely recognisable as human.
North: Corridors leading west and east. A putrid,
unidentifiable stink.

40
Floor 3
Unless noted, surfaces are rough-hewn from the stone
of the isle, glistening in the dark. Salt forms swirling
patterns crusted on the walls.
Water pools in all rooms, making stealth difficult
and irritating the feet. The air is cool, foetid and moist.
The smell of salt is intense, masking other odours. The
sound of waves is very distant, and echoes strangely—
this floor lies below the water-line.
There is no light.

41
Roll 1d20 on the encounters table every 10 minutes.
Column A is a sign. Column B details what the
next room or passage contains.
1d20 A B
Thrumming call,
reverberating low
1. Nothing.
through stone—a
whale passing by.
Rush of water,
2. Nothing.
cut short.
Lingering stench
3. Nothing.
of rotten fish.
2d4 Legionaries in the
nearest corridor,
4. Armour rattling.
blocking access. Passive
until you try to pass.
1d6-1 Marine-Bound
5. Wet slithering. Minds lumber towards
you, menacing.
2d6 Gelt-Promised,
6, 7. Grinding shuffle.
hands outstretched.
Guttural croaks.
8. Wet slapping 2d6 Sea-Things.*
on stone.
Wet squelching,
heavy breathing.
9. 2d4 Sea-Things.*
Wet slapping
on stone.
10.+ Nothing. Nothing.
*If the breaching clamp (Floor 3, Room 4) is detached
or destroyed, ignore all Sea-Thing encounters.

42
Legionaries
Left behind by the invaders as a guarantor of
incarceration, their families were venerated for
sacrifice. All are dead now. They wear banded armour,
each helm with a set of bull horns. Porcelain wolf
masks hide their faces. Each bears a large, rectangular
shield and a short sword, and a heavy gold medallion
imprinted with a man's face in profile (worth 100 hs to
a historian). Beneath their equipment, nothing. They
throw javelins before closing into mêlée.
HD 3. AC 3.

Sea-Things
Cadaverous, with faces protruding from a tangle of
spines. Still draped with the caul from their birth
under crushing black eternities of ocean. Washed up,
grown and fanged, on some unknown submarine
shore. Touched only by the light of their own glowing
blood, ever-seeping from raw, ugly gills.
HD 2. AC 4. 1d6+1 damage.

Marine-Bound Minds
Consciousness spreads like a disease. To ensure
continuity, minds sometimes adhere to the things of
the sea. Complex amalgams of starfish, seaweed,
barnacles and crustaceans retain a vague memory of
humanity—a chaos of wet life, teeming with purpose.
Language has long forgotten them.
HD 4. AC 2.

43
 D

a D DOOR
4
S SECRET

D
3 2

7
6
5
8
9 1
b
10
11
D
D 12
13

14 D 16 S
15 D
D
17

20 S 19 18

44
1
A long flight of erstwhile stairs. Brackish seawater
comes up to chest height. Above, a slope leading to
Floor 2, Room 15.
North: An upward slope into a natural cavern.

2
⊙ Echoing drips. The smell of seawater.
A natural stone cavern, barely worked with tools.
Ankle-deep seawater, and fresh salt smell. A huge brass
door blocks the western exit. The metal is not
smooth—the surface is a tapestry of screaming faces
crushed beneath a rampant bull. Their blood forms a
wave, and the foam atop the wave is all wolf heads. The
heads pursue running deer, boar and cattle—crowned
and faceless. The metal is deathly cold to the touch.
Any naked skin freezes to it and tears when removed,
leaving open wounds ripe for infection. A wheel, 5’
across, juts from the door’s face. Turning it requires a
total of 20 Strength, and opens the door. The
mechanism is silent.
South: A flooded room.
West: A huge brass door.

3
Sixteen Legionaries dominate the room. They are
immobile, but block access to the south. Various pieces
of destroyed armour and 2d12 gold medallions cover
the floor. Among them, six Sea-Thing corpses—utterly
mutilated, their bioluminescent blood floating in
ropes on the water’s surface. The Legionaries attack
and pursue anyone attempting to move past them
unless they wear one of the gold medallions.
South: A flooded room.
West: A huge brass door.

45
a
The worked stone passage suddenly terminates in an
organic orifice, protruding from the stone with finger-
like appendages cased in orange chitin. The room
beyond is barely visible through the orifice.

4
⊙ Alkaline stink.
This chamber appears to be an inflated, rubbery
bladder, stretched taut against the walls of the natural
stone cavern. Ichor drips from the ceiling. The exit is a
clamped sphincter—it opens when touched, and the
room quivers.
Northeast: A sphincter of muscle—the breaching
clamp. Beyond, an umbilical of cartilage, leading to
Sea-Thing Growth, Room 1.
West A gaping, organic orifice into a stone passage.

5
⊙ Warm air, carrying the scent of fresh bread.
Shelves, carved into the walls, contain 12 bottles of
wine in thick glass, 10 loaves of unleavened bread and a
barrel of fresh olives. All are potable and in their
prime. Dust lays thick on their surfaces, but can easily
be knocked loose. If any of the rations are taken, the
Legionaries will never be passive, and will always press
the attack.
East: A corridor turns sharply upward.
South: Corridors to the east and south.

46
6
A series of interlocking sculptures. In the centre is a
model of a city—the streets rendered in silver, the
buildings in cream-colored soapstone. They are
obviously hollow, and contain tiny bells. Statues of two
large figures and eight smaller ones surround the city,
all nearly featureless. They appear to grow from the
city’s perimeter like a protective ring. Each figure bears
a niche where the mouth should be, streaked with
black marks. One mouth holds the stub of a candle,
waiting. As long as a candle remains lit in these niches,
the statues remain inert. Any attempt to remove the
streets (about 2000 hs worth of silver) while candles
are not lit in the niches causes the statues (HD 3, AC 3)
to animate and attack. Meanwhile, the bells in the
buildings ring impossibly loud—roll three encounters,
they arrive simultaneously the following Round.
East: A corridor to the east, echoing with distant
groans. A second corridor, turning south.
South: A corridor turning west. Warmth, the smell of
fresh bread.

7
⊙ Moans of pain, whispered words.
Steel frames fill the northeastern corner. Hooks hang
from the frames, and support a withered body. Draped
with faded crimson robes, moth-eaten, and wearing a
gilt laurel crown. Its skin is dry and cracked, and it
trembles with a perverse mix of pain and religious
ecstasy. Small votive offerings huddle beneath, the
candles long burnt out. A single blow would destroy
the installation and create a great noise—roll on the
encounter table. The hooked figure is insensible to the
material world. If smashed, the Legionaries will never
be passive, and will always press the attack.
South: A short corridor to an open chamber.
West: A long empty corridor.

47
8
Several mounds of wood, rotten and pulverised,
gathered along the walls.
North: Whispered words and low moans.
South: The clinking of a chain.
West: The ruddy glint of rusted metal.

9
A heap of rusted and ruined arms and armour, thick
with petrified mould—especially on the blunted and
broken blades. Nothing of use.
North: A short passage turns west.
East: A quiet chamber.
West: A long passage. The faint smell of warm bread.

10
A 10’ square wooden platform hangs by a chain over a
natural plunge, 30’ wide. It sits 1’ below the floor. The
chain is weak and rusted. The plunge is 200’ deep, the
walls craggy and sharp. It narrows to a point at the
bottom, the stone walls sharp enough to carve off a
limb. A hoard of treasure sits atop the platform—
heavy rings of gold, finely worked swords and shield
bosses depicting the faces of demon-swine. All
together, the treasure is worth 5000 hs, and fills five
backpacks. If the platform is tipped, the treasure slides
into the pit. Any additional weight on the platform
causes the chain to snap, and the entire platform to
fall. The platform and its load requires 40 combined
Strength to lift. If the platform or treasure falls, roll on
the encounter table.
North: The smell of fresh bread.
East: A passage to the south. The clinking of a chain.
South: A bored sigh.

48
11
⊙ A low muttering as if from many voices. The sound
of movement, and a rattle of chains.
A pair of chains emerge from the walls and connect to
an iron collar around the neck of the Story-Eater. A
writhing mass of fur, words and images bleed out from
between its bristles, and the bristles whip out and
snatch them back in. The words speak themselves as
they emerge, a perpetual susurrus around the Story-
Eater. Limbs form from words and fur as needed—like
a person draped in a sheet. The Story-Eater is ravenous
for stories, and histories are its favourite. It can reach
anywhere in the room. Books and bodies serve equally
well as bait.
Loosed from its chains, the Story-Eater rampages
up through the isle, consumes the Abbot, and swims
for the mainland.
HD 8. AC 6. Save or be grabbed, and lose 1000 XP.
Strength Check each round to escape, or lose another 1000
XP. May grab 1 person per round in addition to its normal
attack, and may hold up to 3 people at a time.
North: A short passage.
East: A door. The smell of brackish water.
South: A long corridor. The stink of decay.
West: Corridors to the north and south.

49
12
⊙ Wet sloshing. The slapping of fish-flesh on stone.
The chamber stinks of decaying sealife begrudgingly
forced out of the water. Paltry few artificial rock pools,
each filled with filthy seawater, litter the chamber.
2d12+6 Marine-Bound Minds scuffle and stoop to the
pools, attempting to rehydrate. Their blank, vacant
faces—unequipped as they are for perception, let alone
mammal emotion—peer at you as they move toward
you. Blood will slake them as well as water.
North: A short corridor.
South: The smell of decay.
East: A wooden door, muttering in a hundred
different voices on the other side.

b
This passage suddenly terminates into rough-worked
stone. The floor inclines slightly as it meets the end of
the passage.

13
N.B.: The northern door does not open from the north.
An ugly lump of crude green glass sits in the centre of
the chamber, vaguely cuboid in shape, 1’ on a side.
Within it, a murky, indiscernible form. The glass cube
has 18HP, and without mitigation each strike produces
a low, resonant note—roll on the encounters table each
time after the first. The first strike summons the Lictor
and her Praetorians in Room 14—they will be hostile.

50
 The item in the cube is a chipped warhorn, banded
at each end with unadorned gold. If blown in the
presence of the undead on the upper floors, they snap
to attention, following orders for 1 year. If the horn-
bearer becomes King on the mainland, the dead will
serve them into perpetuity. This is revealed to the
horn-bearer over months as they carry it.
North: An unmarked stone door, heavily barred from
this side.
South: Corridors to the east and west.

14
⊙ Sighs of boredom. The occasional clank of armour.
Eight Legionaries stand guard, their golden masks
depicting vacant faces. The usual gold medallion is
replaced instead with a small silver icon. Beyond them,
the Lictor is lounging, utterly bored. She retains the
appearance of life, her robes of office untouched by the
years. She is delighted to have visitors. The walls and
floor of the room are thick with scratched words,
pictures and diagrams. The Lictor explains her role—to
maintain the seal on the Prisoner. She asks a few
questions to ascertain the state of the Empire—upon
learning of its demise, she smirks and dies. If lied to,
she becomes suddenly hostile, ordering her Praetorians
to attack.
Praetorians fight as 5HD Legionaries.
Lictor. Magic-User 5, with Domination and Illusion
spells. As she takes damage, she ages by decades
instantaneously.
North: A passage. A very faint smell of fresh bread.
East: Corridors to the north and east. A wooden
door, festooned with barnacles.

51
15
⊙ An occasional slow groan of stone. The distinct
smell of sealife.
A huge barnacle is clamped onto the floor in the
centre of the room. It is slowly forcing itself
downwards through the stone beneath—crushing,
dissolving, cracking. The maw-like opening at the top
of the barnacle is stained red. Every 1d10 turns, 2d6
Marine-Bound Minds remove a part of their body and
feed it to the barnacle. In five years, it will breach the
holding chamber below.
East: A barnacle-studded door.
West: A barnacle-studded door.

16
⊙ The stink of decaying vegetable matter.
The walls, floor and ceiling are coated in thick, green
slime. Those trying to cross unassisted Check their
Dexterity or fall, coating themselves in slime and
making a lot of noise—roll on the encounters table.
The slime drips from an opening in the ceiling,
revealing an abrupt end to a set of slime-coated stairs
leading up and away.
Above: A set of slime-coated stairs leading to Floor 1,
Room 19.
North: The stink of sealife. Wet, slapping sounds.
South: Heavy breathing.
West: Corridors to the north and south.

52
17
⊙ The smell of rich soil.
Both of the doors to this chamber are riddled with
barnacles, and the floor is set above the water level. It
is cramped, small, and unaccommodating. An earthen
ramp leads down to Floor 4, Room 1.
Down: A sodden, earthen ramp.
North: A barnacle-studded door.
West: A barnacle-studded door.

18
⊙ Heavy, laboured breathing.
A huge boar squats in the centre of the chamber. Its
back is studded with weapons, sticking out at every
angle. When someone enters the chamber, the boar
stands painfully and presents its back. Those placing
their weapons into its back it allows to pass through to
Room 19. Any attempt to do so without offering a
weapon it meets with violence.
The walls of the chamber are carved with abstract
diagrams—vague impressions of plants by one who has
nearly forgotten them.
HD 7. AC 8. Gore 1d6+2. If an attacker wishes, they may
risk damage from the innumerable weapons in the boar’s
back (as if they were attacked by an HD 1 enemy). If they
do, they attack as if the boar has AC 2 instead for the
remainder of the Round.
North: The smell of decaying vegetable matter.
West: A passage carved to appear as if it were made
of vines. The smell of sap.

53
19
⊙ The smell of fresh sap.
Hundreds of stone heads wearing Legionaries’ helmets
crowd the walls, all facing inwards. Each face wears an
expression of fear. They all appear to have been torn
from statues.
In the centre of the room, a huge leaf-bud, leaking
resinous sap. It is easily large enough to contain a cow.
There are subtle suggestions of movement within. If
touched, the young leaves rapidly peel back, revealing a
nude figure. They stand, the sap hardening against
their androgyne body, flowing tattoos of knotwork
animals dancing across their skin. Opening their
mouth to speak, only sap comes out. They watch you
with goat eyes. Those who meet their gaze must Save
or turn slowly to stone over the next 10 rounds,
suffering a cumulative -2 to all Attributes and AV for
each subsequent round. Killing the figure stops this
process, and restores all of the severed heads to flesh.
As they topple and fall, they reveal a hidden entrance
to Room 20.
HD 8. AC 4. Each round, one knotwork tattoo leaps
forth, fighting as an HD 2 boar, deer, wolf or fox. Those
attempting to fight them without looking at them have
-5 AV and -3 AC.
East: A passage carved to appear as if it were made
of vines.
West: A crawlspace into a hidden chamber.

54
20
A low, stone crawlspace, requiring a crouch. A leaf-
bladed sword, the blade stained a deep ruddy black,
lies discarded on the floor. The grip is made of vines
rather than leather. There is no sheath. If picked up,
thorns grow and painfully pierce the wielder’s hand—it
cannot be unequipped without losing the hand. The
wielder can make two attacks with it against human
foes each round, dealing 1d6+1 damage (against non-
human foes, as a medium weapon instead). A sage can
identify it as Abhartach, a revenant blade. If seen on
the mainland, the one-handed cult devoted to the
blade will follow the rumours.

55
 Sea-Thing
Growth
Unless noted, surfaces are made of flesh, cartilage and
bone. Passages are tight—attacks with swung weapons
have -2 AV here.
The air is cold and moist. An intense smell of fish
masks other odours. Soft, organic gurgles can be heard
everywhere, constantly.
There is no light.

56
Roll 1d20 on the encounters table every 10 minutes.
Column A is a sign. Column B details what the
next room or passage will contain.
1d20 A B
A horrid
gurgle—bitter,
1. stinking fluids Nothing.
issue from a
nearby opening.

The walls twitch

and compress.
2. The sound of Nothing.
muscle straining,
then it relaxes.

A horizontal
shift—the Thing
3. Nothing.
moves, and settles.
Save or fall.

Soft breathing. 2d6 Sea-Things at rest,

4-8. The sound of hugging the walls. They
teeth scraping. are half-asleep.
Pained, harsh
breathing. The 3d6 Sea-Things, actively
9-12.
sound of wet on hunting you.
wet slaps.
Silver oil-slick
trails trace
13-15. delicate patterns 2d6 Radial Snails.
on the floor,
walls, ceiling.
16+. Nothing. Nothing.

57
Damaging the Growth
If any of the organs are injured, or if the flesh-walls
take more than 6 damage at once, the creature shakes
violently—everyone inside must Save or be knocked
flat. 2d6 Sea-Things arrive in 1d3 rounds to identify the
cause and end it.

Killing the Growth

If the Brain or Heart are severely injured (10 or more
damage) or destroyed (20 or more damage), the Sea-
Thing Growth begins to die, spasming violently. After
1d6+1 rounds, it falls away into the sea. 3d20 Sea-Things
rush into Floor 3, while the rest escape through Room
5 and Room 11. After, whenever a roll on any
encounter table on the isle shows “Nothing,” 2d6 of the
escaped Sea-Things are encountered instead. If not
killed, they have a 50% chance of surviving and making
their way to the surface. They kill and eat the Monks
before slipping back into the sea.

Radial Snail
The sea learned of blades and war from drowned men
and sunken ships. She imparted this burden upon
snails, who grew to the size of dogs. The bent bronze
blades cast into the ocean in supplication for countless
centuries of sins coalesced around them, and became
their shells.
HD 4. AC 8. Always act last.

58
 17

16

15

14
11
12 13

9 8
10
6 7

4 5
3
2
1

59
1
⊙ The stink of sealife and bitter fluids.
Melon-sized nodules stud the flesh here They quiver
when touched. Pools of spittle gather on the rough,
fleshy floor.
North: A rhythmic suction of air.
East: The sound of wet flesh moving.

2
⊙ A wet, rolling, squelching sound.
A slimy orb fills much of this chamber, rolling in a
socket of bone. It is translucent and cloudy. A cord of
fibres connects it to the ceiling. Peering through it, one
can barely see stone. 1d6-1 Sea-Things lounge lazily, in a
dazed stupor.
North: A pungent, oily smell. An open chamber.
West: A short passage.

3
⊙ A wet, rolling, squelching sound.
A slimy orb fills much of this chamber, rolling in a
socket of bone. It is translucent and cloudy. A cord of
fibres connects it to the ceiling. Peering through it, one
can barely see stone.
East: The air moves to and fro.
North: A long, curved passage.

4
⊙ Air in and out, slowly, rhythmically.
Muscles cling to ribs, weak and hanging loose.
Trembling gobbets of flesh. 2d6 Sea-Things sway gently
in the foetid breath.

60
 Northeast: The smell of dental decay.
East: An oily, pungent smell.
South: An open passage.
West: The sound of wet, fleshy movement.
Northwest: An old, torn injury.

5
⊙ A pungent, oily smell.
The chamber bears a strange, undulating pattern that
emanates from a diaphanous membrane in the
easternmost wall. Any amount of pressure allows
passage through the membrane and into the churning
waters surrounding the isle. Those unable to
immediately swim back in drown before they reach
the surface. Every 2d6 minutes, 1d6 Sea-Things appear
through the membrane. Their stomachs are swollen—
they ignore the party, stumbling toward Room 14. If
fought, they have -3 AV and AC 2.
North: The stink of dental decay.
South: The sound of wet, fleshy movement.
West: The air moves to and fro.

6
⊙ The sound of churning water.
A long, curving passage, the walls striated with mauve
and pink ridges. The ridges are densely packed, firm to
the touch, and lightly quivering. The water seeps
through them. Any encounters rolled in this chamber
are an ambush.
North: An open chamber, reeking of fish. A dark,
muffled sloshing sound.
East: A rhythmic beating.
South: The sound of wet flesh moving.

61
7
⊙ The smell of old blood and plasma.
This chamber is an old, infected injury. Stalactites of
hardened plasma reach down. 1d6 Sea-Things idly chew
on the oldest deposits.
Southeast: The air moves to and fro.
North: The stink of death.

8
⊙ The stink of dental decay.
Forests of dog-sized alveoli crowd around, reaching
inward. The surface between them is paper-thin—any
weight exceeding 60lb causes it to tear, and the Sea-
Thing Growth shakes violently. Make an Attribute
Check to bounce across the alveoli. Those failing land
heavily, tearing it.
Northeast: A sugar syrup smell.
South: A pungent, oily smell.
Southwest: The movement of air.
Northwest: A rhythmic beating.

9
⊙ The smell of death.
Shrivelled, blood-starved alveoli limply twitch among
hardened, dying flesh.
East: A fresh, bloody wound-chamber.
South: The smell of old blood.

62
10
⊙ The smell of fresh blood.
A fat, ghost-white worm smeared with blood nestles
amongst gory folds of flesh. It telepathically welcomes
visitors in a rich and generous tone. It requests that
they deliver it to the brain of this beast—a mighty
host. It promises transport and friendship “extending
beyond the veil of death.” Should anyone threaten
violence or refuse its request, it burrows deeper into
the flesh—the Sea-Thing Growth shakes violently.
If the party does as the worm asks, it burrows into
the brain and dominates the Sea-Thing. It expunges the
spawning pools in Room 11, and floods all other
chambers with digestive fluids to kill the smaller Sea-
Things. It then offers to transport the party to the
mainland. Once there, it vomits up the party on a
beach before emerging, 25’ tall, horrid and swollen, its
body constantly morphing and plastic. It will terrorise
the land for decades before growing bored. It will
answer the summons of the party during this time—
they need simply call out “Tle'le'le'nzqk” to the ocean.
West: The smell of death.

63
11
⊙ A strong smell of sealife. A sloshing sound.
Pools of syrupy birthing fluid dot the chamber.
Swollen Sea-Things, half-submerged, groan and shake
as they deposit eggs or semen. The pools teem with
frog-like juveniles. 1d6 Sea-Things keep watch for
intruders. A diaphanous membrane is set in the
northern wall. Any pressure allows passage through the
membrane, and into the churning waters surrounding
the isle.
Those unable to immediately swim back in drown
before they reach the surface. Every 2d6 minutes, 1d6
Sea-Things appear through the membrane. They
stumble to the birthing pools and empty their swollen
stomachs into them. If forced to fight, they have -3 AV
and AC 2.
South: A long, curved passage.

12
⊙ A low, slow beating. The smell of fresh blood.
Pools of fresh blood cool on the floor. The low ceiling
beats slowly, rhythmically. A titanic heartbeat. There is
only just enough space beneath the heart to crawl.
North: A thin, twisting passage.
Northeast: The sound of retching. The smell of bile.
Southeast: The stink of dental decay.
East: A long, curved passage.

64
13
⊙ Sweet syrup stink.
A pool of clear liquid, 10’ wide and 15’ deep, bisects the
room. It terminates in an oscillating sphincter.
Occasionally, more of the clear liquid drips from the
ceiling. Sea-Things recognize any who come into
contact with this liquid as kin.
North: The smell of bitter bile. The sound of retching.
South: The smell of dental decay.

14
⊙ A bitter smell of bile. The sound of retching.
Tubes sprout from the walls, the apertures wide
enough for a face. Any putting their head near the
opening must Save or it jumps forward and grabs their
face. It does not let go until they have vomited food
into it. Cutting someone free damages the Growth—
everything shakes violently.
2d6 Sea-Things, each of their faces mated with a
tube, noisily regurgitate food.
North: A low buzz.
Southeast: The sickly smell of syrup.
Southwest: A rhythmic beating.

15
⊙ The gurgling of unknown organs.
A nested forest of tubes criss-crosses the chamber. One
needs either to spend hours picking through them, or
simply to cut their way through, soaking themselves in
blood and serum.
South: A twisting passage.
Northwest: A hooked passage. The smell of minerals.

65
16
⊙ A low, electrical hum. Jutting bone-spines held by
off-white tendrils. Between them, arcs of electricity
transmit alien thoughts. Moving through the room is
safe, despite appearances.
South: The stink of bile. The sound of retching.
Northeast: A rich, mineral smell.

17
⊙ The smell of rich minerals.
A huge, pulsating brain, deeply wrinkled.
Southeast: An electrical hum.
Southwest: A hooked passage.

66
Floor 4
Unless noted otherwise, surfaces are rough-hewn from
the stone of the isle, glistening in the dark. Thick, rich
soil coats the floor. Salt forms swirling patterns
crusted on the walls.
The air is warm, foetid and moist. The smell of salt
is intense, masking other odours.
The sound of waves is very distant, and echoes
strangely—this floor lies far below the waterline.
There is no light.

67
There are no encounters on this floor.

68
 10 9

7 8
b

c
6
d

e
a
4
5
f

2 3
h

D DOOR

11
‡
1 ‡ SPECIAL

69
1
The floor is covered with soil. Pale, ghost-white shoots
reach upwards. The western wall is absent—a
translucent shimmer, like oil on water, has taken its
place. Room 11 is visible on the other side. The
shimmer allows passage from Room 1 to Room 11, but
not from Room 11 to Room 1. Dispelling magic returns
the wall to stone.
North: The glint of metal.
West: A translucent barrier, Room 11 visible on the
other side.

2
Rusted shackles and chains, corroded into a single,
unified lump.
North: The smell of incense.
East: A short passage.
South: Another short passage.

3
A series of low stone tables, each carved with diagrams
of traps. Each displays a hidden deactivation
mechanism. All of these are lies, and guarantee
activation and death if attempted. They relate to the
traps at a, d, e and f.
North: The faint smell of decay.
West: The glint of metal.

70
4
⊙ The smell of incense, thick and cloying.
Several brass incense burners hang from the ceiling,
their bodies shaped to appear as faceless, winged
beings. The walls are covered with circles marked in
coloured wax, each containing a simple painting of an
armed figure. Broken wolf skulls cluster around the
western and northern exits.
North: An uncomfortably narrow corridor, marked
with thick soot. Anyone travelling through it is
covered head to toe.
West: A wooden ramp upward, leading to a round
stone tunnel.

a
The ramp is made of wood, which thins imperceptibly
towards the middle. The first to reach the middle
causes the ramp to snap—they fall into the nest of
thick iron spikes beneath. Save or take 1d6 damage and
a debilitating leg injury.

5
Mouldering, wrecked cots fill the room. Careful
searching reveals 3d6 silver pennies scattered among
the debris, stamped with ancient symbols (worth 50 hs
each to an antiquarian, usable as money).
North: A short passage.
South: Low tables loom in the darkness.

71
6
Wrecked, mouldering cots fill the room. Cautious
searching reveals 3d6+1 silver pennies scattered among
the rubbish, stamped with ancient writing (worth 51 hs
to an antiquarian, usable as money).
North: The smell of chemicals.
South: A short passage.

7
A slab of stone rises from the floor. Engraved upon it
are words in an archaic version of the local language—
just about comprehensible to a native speaker.
Know this O Seeker
Beyond lies something
Worth leaving buried entire
To press on further is to die
For those who chose wisely
And leave a bounty is buried
Upon the opposite shore where
A fort lies in ruins
North: The smell of blood.
East: The smell of chemicals.
South: The smell of incense.
West: An earthen ramp upward, to a stone tunnel.

72
8
⊙ An acrid, chemical scent. Enough to burn nostrils.
Earthenware pots glazed to a deep umber crowd the
chamber. Each is filled with incredibly potent
herbicide, strong enough to kill old-growth trees in
only a few days.
North: The ruddy gleam of gold.
South: The smell of decay.
West: A room containing an upright stone slab.

9
Twenty thick bars of gold, each taking up half a back-
pack (500 hs each). They are stamped with an ancient
Druidic icon. If used on the mainland, the Druids’
successors will know.
South: The smell of chemicals.

10
⊙ The smell of blood.
Blood pools thick in this chamber. A nude human
body sits skewered atop a thorned spear. They are
marked with animal tattoos, hands stained with peat.
They are dead but they still bleed, their body
incorruptible. If removed from the spear, they
continue to bleed. Those struck by the thorned spear
do not stop bleeding until another is struck, taking
1 damage each round. The spear has no name.
South: A long chamber.

73
A note about the lettered entries:
These are traps filling a single passage. It is a long stone
tunnel, its walls, ceiling, and floor carved into a perfect
circle. Maintaining balance is difficult. With a normal
torch or lantern, three entries can be seen in either
direction. Unless specified otherwise, each section is
10’ long from end to end.

b
This section of the tunnel is studded with twelve rows
of knife-blades, facing inwards from all directions, a 4’
gap between each knife. The space between them is
thick with grease—any attempting to cross must Save
or fall, taking 2d6 damage.

c
This section of the tunnel is studded with a dense
thicket of spikes, each 5” long. There is a visible seam
around this section—the entire area is on bearings.
Any pressure causes the section to roll, and those
caught within take 1d6 damage as they roll onto the
spikes. Save to escape—those failing the Save can
choose to take 1d3 additional damage to reroll, putting
stabilising pressure on the spikes.

d
The floor has been replaced with a 7’ deep pool of
lantern oil. The stone ceiling of this section is flat, 5”
lower than the rest of the hallway, and has a bit of give
if pushed.

e
This section is covered with obvious pressure plates.
Activating any of the plates causes the ceiling of d to
fall, splashing oil over everyone in the hallway and
killing anyone currently in the pool.

74
f
A pool of fresh, clean water, 4’ deep. Above it, ten dry
nozzles. The floor of the pool is a pressure plate—
activating it causes flames to spew from the nozzles,
and all nearby take 3d6 damage (Save for half). If the
ceiling in d fell, the entire tunnel ignites from the oil in
the air and on the walls. Anyone doused with oil takes
6d6 damage instead (no Save).

g
The floor is a thin glass pane, and below it is an open
pit. The pit is 100’ deep—death is certain. The glass can
only bear 50lb without breaking.

h
A gossamer-thin web of steel wire, impossibly sharp
and glistening, is strung across the passage. It does
nothing against metal armour, snapping harmlessly.
Flesh and wood it slices through effortlessly.
Beyond the web, a set of double doors in thick
wood, banded with iron. There is no lock or latch—
simply push it open.

75
11
A thick carpet of moss covers the floor of this wide,
open chamber. A set of bones lie on the floor by the
eastern wall—someone’s forearm and hand. A nude
figure sits in the centre of the room, almost entirely
hidden beneath hair and beard. Gigantic elk’s antlers
sprout upwards from their head. They stand as you
enter, wordless.
This is the Arch-Druid. The isle is their prison.
When the Arch-Druid is struck with a weapon, a
number of animals (wolves, boar and eels) equal to the
amount of damage done emerge fully formed from the
wound. The Arch-Druid cannot die as long as at least
one of these animals survive—all of them press the
attack. At the end of each Round, an effect from the
table below occurs, as the Arch-Druid gathers their
ancient power. After 12 Rounds, fully awakened, the
Arch-Druid stops fighting and leaves, ignoring the
party completely. They seek the current Arch-Druid
and kill them as a pretender. Their return revitalises
the Druids—cities burn for months hence.
In unspoken thanks for their freedom, the Arch-
Druid spares the party.
HD 10. AC 2.

76
d8 Effect
The moss releases thick clouds of pollen.
Make all attacks at -4 AV. Open flames have
a 30% chance each round of igniting the
1. pollen, causing a conflagration and
destroying the moss. All in the chamber take
2d6 damage (save for half). Any doused in
oil take 4d6 damage instead (no Save).
2. The Arch-Druid doubles in size. +1d6 damage.
Thick bark scales sprout from the Arch-
3. Druid’s skin. +2 AC.
The wall cracks, and roots reach in, sea-water
pouring in behind them. The room floods
4. over the next 2d4 rounds. If rolled again,
halve the time remaining.
The Arch-Druid staggers back and groans.
They grip their jaws and tear them open,
revealing a loathsome earthworm’s tongue.
The Arch-Druid uses the tongue to take an
5. additional attack each Round. If an attacker
rolls 6 or more damage against them at once,
the tongue is sliced off (and they no longer
have the additional attack).
A huge, erect phallus explodes from the chest
of the Arch-Druid, spraying semen
everywhere. The animals in the room do not
6. attack next round—instead, their bellies grow
fat and round, and they birth perfect copies
of themselves.
A guttural, gravelly exhortation escapes the
Arch-Druid’s throat. All wooden weapons
7. flow with sap and become useless. Iron
weapons have a 50% chance of breaking in
rebellion. Steel is immune, suborned in fire.
The Arch-Druid’s belly swells with life. -2
AV for 1d4 rounds. After, they violently
8. birth a perfect copy of themselves, drenched
in gore and viscera.

77
78
79
 $25.00
ISBN 979-8-218-02085-9
52500>

9 798218 020859