Secrets of Shadow

The God of the Dell

Product Tie-In: None Author: Iain J. Brogan Beware the whisperings in the dark. When you feel the shiver up your spine as you step onto the dusty road, for the sake of your life and your sanity, listen to it. For at the end of that road is the Dell, and that which lies at the center of it is hungry . . . The God of the Dell is a fearful glimpse into the warped hamlet of Greengages-in-the-Leigh, a oncepeaceful community that has somehow escaped the predations of the Shadow. What could possibly keep the minions of the dark lord at bay but something that is darker than they? This setting material is appropriate for GMs who want to run a mystery or horror-style one-off adventure, whether for Midnight or another campaign.

MIDNIGHT SUPPLEMENT

The God of the Dell

Maely twisted the thread at the end of the shawl until the finger about which she wound it became bloodless and white. White as her drawn, tear-stained face. She hardly noticed; the pain in her finger was nothing compared to the pain in her heart and the fear that grew within her like a consuming flame. They had taken him. She knew it to be true. They had taken her baby from her and laid him in the Old Place; down with the roots and the slithering things. She knew it to be true because she had let them do it. Her mind skittered away from the painful memory, which festered like an infected wound, pouring its corrupting poison onto her soul. But she forced herself to look, to remember. . . That night on the hill, the wind whipped through the trees in eerie accompaniment to the fiddles and drums as the villagers danced within the circle of stones. Their faces, lit by the flames of the bonfire, were flushed with mead and carousing. Though these were her kin, they seemed suddenly like strangers; wild and frightening and full of lust. She couldnt ever remember the festival being like this. But then, this year she had not drunk of the sacred brew. She had taken the chalice when it was passed to her, but in truth she had been afraid that the strange tasting potion might spoil her milk, and little Aealan was always so hungry. So, with a guilty heart, she had disobeyed the laws of tradition and only pretended to quaff the draft. She smiled at the thought of her sweet babe, and was nearly lost in the wave of anguish that followed. She whispered his dear sweet name and felt a chasm of anguish open beneath her, threatening annihilation, promising oblivion. Maely suppressed the urge to let it take her and forced herself to look at the memory again she must be sure that they had lied, she must know the truth that was hidden in her mind before she could summon the courage to flee this cursed place. The familiar-strange figures danced about her, their smiles feral in the glow of the fire. They beckoned her to join them, but she just shook her head and buried her face in the swaddled babe to hide the confusion and discomfort that suddenly claimed her. Foolish! She told herself. These were her kin. They meant her no harm. With foolishness fleeing before her rebuke, her heart slowed its frantic pace and Aealan settled more easily at the teat as he felt his mother relax. That was when she saw Elsma. Maelys eyes seemed suddenly drawn to where the old priestess sat her grandmother by marriage now, she remembered in some detached corner of her mind. Elsma was a shrivelled old woman wrapped in her habitual threadbare shawl. She seemed all skin and bones, and the angular shapes beneath her clothes gave her the fragile appearance of a bird. Maely imagined she must weigh no more than a bundle of twigs. As she met Elsmas eyes, all thoughts of frailness fled and her blood ran cold. Maely could not break the old womans stare to comfort the baby, who had begun to cry; the light of her eyes was like the witch lights of the Myr Fen: bewitching and terrifying; undeniable, and filled with the horrors of the grave. Maely was frightened. She knew! The old witch knew that she hadnt drunk from the golden chalice. And the fact that the old woman knew filled Maely with an unspeakable dread. Aealans wail broke the spell and she clutched her baby tightly to her breast, making hushing noises and rocking him, he as much a comfort to her as she to him. It was time to go. As Maely stood, she realised the music had stopped and the crowd, barely recognisable as her kin, was staring at her. Panic mounted and her legs and arms felt weak. When a bony hand grasped her arm from behind, Maely screamed and merciful darkness took her. When she had awoken, she had been alone. Her heart leapt into her throat as vague memories of the night before were pushed aside by a mothers concern for her child. Rushing to the crib, she found her worst nightmares confirmed empty. Wracking sobs shook her frame and she felt she must be sick. Running from the room, Maely ran into the strong, bear-like arms of her husband's father. He crushed her to his chest, the rough hairs of his great black beard pressing into her scalp, and his uncommon tenderness told her that her world must be at an end. They had told her she had taken too much ale and fallen ill, the baby had fallen and struck its head before anyone could reach him. Poor Aealan had not seen the sun rise in the morning and they had buried him in the Old Place. No one blamed her, they said. It

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

wasnt her fault. She was still weak after the birth and they should have taken more care of her. But they would not let her see the body. Would not let her join her son in the darkness beyond that horrid maw. But it did not matter; it was all lies. All of it lies. She had failed her son only by succumbing to terror, and they had taken him from her. As grief and anger washed away the poison of the memory, Maely knew that it was cleansed for the moment and that she should act while she had strength and clarity. Shaking, she stood up from her bed and placed the few meagre possessions that she could call her own into a rough sack, and prepared to leave the farmstead she had so recently called home. As Maely moved across the rushes to the door, a rustling sound reached her ahead of a charnel stench, and she felt terror seize her limbs. Youre a strong little wifey; fit for the manblood of our family, yes? Behind her, the skeletal form of Elsma emerged from the shadows, her bony hands quick despite her venerable bearing. Grasping Maelys hair in a painful grip of astonishing strength, the old woman threw the younger to the ground and leapt atop her. Maely could feel the hard bones of the crone's limbs through her sack-cloth shift dress, and even as fear strangled her voice and paralysed her limbs she wondered at the strength and agility of such a frail, meatless old hag. Thinking of leaving us, were you dearie? Maely could do naught in answer but stare in abject terror; for instead of the liver-spotted skin of Elsmas age-shrivelled face, a fleshless skull stared at her instead, with eyes that were twin points of baleful light. Strips of leathery flesh and clumps of matted hair adorned the yellowing surface of the skull, which, impossibly, acted in all other ways like a normal head; talking with Elsmas hateful voice and even imitating the bird-like movements that characterised the old woman. Maely opened her mouth to scream, her fear finally transcending into sound, but the dead thing atop her was quicker still. It placed one skeletal hand on her mouth while the other locked around her throat, a vicious grip that stopped the air before it could leave her lungs. Ah! Hush my pretty. No screaming, dearie. We dont want to upset the others, yes? They mustnt know the truth. Yesss? The skull cocked to one side in its bird-like way and regarded the stricken girl for a moment. But you guess something of the truth now, dont you dearie. Tsk! That will not do. How shall we keep our little secret then, my pretty? The answer was soon to come; the hand around her throat released its hold, only to be replaced seconds later by the hags shins cutting into Maelys collar bone and her knees squeezing tightly about her throat. Ill not have loose tongues wagging, dearie. Oh no! the skeletal hag cackled, and with a blade drawn from somewhere in the folds of the rotting garment it wore, the creature cut out the organ that threatened to betray them all.

Beginning at the End of the Road

The Glarims have lived on the old farmstead that lies at the end of the road from Greengages-in-theLeigh for longer than anyone can remember. Once, they owned all the surrounding lands, including the village itself, but such things mean little in the Last Age. Now the family keep to themselves; except at the Feast of Thank-Offering or when the dead need to pass on. Then, all the villagers and folk from the surrounding farms gather at the stones in Glarims Wood to placate the hoary old god of the dell and beseech his blessing for the coming year and to watch over the dead. To be more precise, the Glarims have lived in the region of Greengages-in-the-Leigh for nigh on 450 years, twelve generations stretching back to Iroril Glarim out of Highwall. Iroril Glarim was a travelling man, a simple peddler who put on airs and called himself a merchant. But it was in the backwaters of Erenland where he plied his trade, mostly to the north of the Pellurian Sea, in little hamlets and farmsteads that saw few travellers. To these poor folk, men like Iroril were an important link to the outside world and were accorded due respect. Whereas in more worldly places they might be driven off with sticks and stones as itinerant vagrants and vagabonds, in these backwaters the arrival of such as Iroril was feted. Beyond the trinkets they brought to sell (fine treasures to these simple folk), they brought news of the world beyond their fields, tales of princes and knights, courtly intrigues and events of great moment. In places such as Greengages-in-the-Leigh, a man like Iroril could earn a meal, a place to stay, and gifts he might sell at the next hamlet, all for just the price of a few tales. In his youth, Iroril Glarim wandered far and wide, selling his brick-a-brack at one village and trading for small items that he could sell on at the next. He travelled far along the backroads and byways of the kingdom, visiting places that people in the cities and towns probably didnt know existed. It was undoubtedly in one of these places, or somewhere in between, that Iroril encountered that which doomed him and his family yet to be. In the late middle years of his life, Iroril Glarim arrived in Greengages-in-the-Leigh at the end of Zimra arc. He was well known there, usually passing through in early Obares on his way back to Highwall before winter, and so the villagers were surprised to see him so early Irorils visits were as regular as the seasons, and the folk of Greengages marked the approach of Winter as much by his appearance as by the falling of the leaves and the chill of the night. Even more surprising, Iroril arrived not on foot with his pack almost empty, as was his usual custom, but on a wagon piled high with intriguing shapes covered beneath tarpaulin. Iroril greeted the surprised villagers with a

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

broad smile, and shocked them again by proclaiming that he intended to settle the land up by the old wood and farm it. The villagers were thrilled, having always liked the traveller and his courteous ways, but a little disappointed that their main conduit to the outside world, and its wares and news, was gone. Iroril bought his land from the local lord, a noble who lived miles distant, and who cared not a whit for the desolate backwater. The lord was pleased to receive gold for this otherwise unproductive land and asked no questions as to the source of the strange coins, which seemed to shine with a beguiling light that seemed to promise even greater riches. So it was that the lands of Greengages-in-the-Leigh and all those surrounding passed to Iroril Glarim who went in a single night from itinerant peddler to landowner. The villagers helped Iroril build a fine farmstead and prepare the land for sowing come Dorsham. That winter, the folk of Greengages hosted their new lord, and at the Festival of the Day of the Sun, celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next, Iroril took Orma Hengal as his wife.

The God of the Dell

The arcs passed into years, and Orma gave Iroril a daughter they called Annica and, a year later, a son they called Helver. Iroril proved to be a gentle lord, asking nothing of his people but their friendship, and by the time Annica celebrated her third nameday, Iroril had been fully accepted into the village as one of its own. Greengages-in-the-Leigh continued its quiet existence, forgotten by the rest of the kingdom for some time. Eventually, though, darker times visited this peaceful little hamlet. Crops began to fail or were stricken with blight, deaths during the lambing season became so frequent that the flock was in danger of dying out. Ill weather and dark tidings plagued the land and the rare traveller who found the village after losing his way in the storms spoke of movement in the North. The old men of the village nodded their heads with grim expressions, for they had all heard the tales of old, even if such were legends even when they were lads. It was during one such storm that a stranger came to the Glarim farmstead, by-passing the hamlet altogether. Heavily cloaked against the inclement weather, he refused to enter the farmstead, and instead spoke with Iroril under the meagre shelter of the porch. Of the strangers voice the family heard nothing, but Irorils rose and fell in what they took for anger, and then fear. However, the fury of the storm carried away the words meaning and the family were left to cower in ignorance, wondering what ill fortune had come to their door. When Iroril returned to the house, his eyes were dark, his skin pale, and the hair that had been mostly black with streaks of gray when he had stepped outside had turned white as a winter field. Iroril made his family swear upon their lives that they would never in fear of their lives mention the strangers visit to

another living soul, and they were afraid for they had never seen such fierceness and terror in their husband and father. Some days later, Iroril called the villagers together and told them that at the height of the storm he had been visited by an old god who dwelt in the woods near to his farm. The god, he said, was angered that the villagers did not honor him; that the gods displeasure was why their fortunes had worsened in recent years. None could credit what they heard, for they all knew the gods were long gone from Eredane, except for the dark spirit who dwelt in the frozen north and who must not be named. The ancestors were the only spirits they honoured, as did all the men of the north in that time and since time immemorial. Iroril beseeched his people to trust him, warning that if they did not honor the god of the dell then they would all be lost. It is testament to the respect in which Iroril was held that they begrudgingly agreed to go with him and see this god for themselves. Iroril led them into the woods to a ring of ancient stones that stood amongst willows in a shaded dell. The villagers were much surprised at this place, having neither seen nor heard of the stones before. Iroril led them in a dance widdershins about the circle and they left gifts of berries and bread. They even cut the throat of one of Irorils goats at the foot of the largest menhir, which stood at the northernmost edge of the ring. The next day, the skies cleared and there followed a glorious summer through which the crops flourished and the flocks and herds swelled in size with no deaths at the birthing or disease to plague them. All of the villagers were convinced of Irorils god, and as the seasons turned, it seemed to the folk of Greengagesin-the-Leigh that all was well with the world once more. Then winter arrived and Hodin Tiller died, caught beneath the hooves of his plough mare.

Eyes of the Ancestors

The rural Dorns of Irorils time, like countless generations before them, would make crude figures from clay taken from the clans lands and ash gathered from the funeral pyre of the deceased. The children would gather small white pebbles worn perfectly smooth by the wind and rain that they believed were fragments of their ancestors souls. These were placed as eyes in the heads of the mannequins to give them sight in the physical realm. The clay figures were typically placed within a small shrine, usually an alcove by the hearth, where they could watch over the living and protect them from harm. Such figurines, or even fragments of one, are often minor or lesser charms. Very old ancestor figures are greater or even true charms.

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

Where the Dead Shall Lie

As Hodins grieving family prepared him for the journey to the ancestor stones out on Endell Hill, Iroril appeared at the door and bade them not to take the body there lest they anger the hoary old god of the dell and curse them all. Iroril beseeched the Tillers to instead place Hodin within the Old Place, where the god would watch over him even as Hodin watched over his family. To this the family could not be persuaded, and great furor erupted in the village. One man asked, How can you ask us to give up our customs and traditions so? To which, Iroril replied, Have my words not proven true in the past? Why then should I mislead you in such a matter? What of the Fell? Another clamoured. Iroril replied, The god of the dell will sooth Hodins spirit, no dead thing will walk under His auspices. And so the arguments went back and forth until the sun had set low and all feared that if something were not soon done, then Hodins corpse might leap up from his bed and lay them all low. Eventually, Iroril won over the majority and, with deep misgivings, a procession made its way to the dell and the circle of ancient stones. Beyond that tangled ring lay a hill beneath which was the Old Place of which Iroril had spoken. Entrance to the Old Place was gained by an ancient dolmen set into the side of the hill. Iroril told the villagers that in times gone by, their people had buried the dead in such places rather than burning them in the rings of ancestor stones as was now the practice. Of this, the villagers were not sure, but beyond the pock marked stones of the dolmen, a tunnel of worked stone led back into the hill, giving onto a low cave in whose walls, alcoves had been cut. Each niche was the length of a man and deep as a man was wide: stone beds for the dead. The people were amazed that none amongst them had stumbled across this place before, nor heard of it or anything like it. They all agreed it must have been hidden by the gods magic and despite their misgivings, at Irorils urging they laid poor Hodin to rest in one of the niches. Not all of the villagers had accompanied Iroril to the ancient tomb. There were those who refused to abandon the old ways and disrespect the ancestors; they returned to their homes where they shortly meet a terrible fate. As the funeral procession entered the dell, a band of orcs that had slipped past the Fortress Wall descended upon the hamlet. They slaughtered every one they found and piled their carcasses at the centre of the village before setting the houses aflame and riding forth. Returning to this carnage, the surviving villagers were stricken and turned to Iroril in great fear. The old man calmed them, saying The god of the dell can not protect those who do not put their trust in him, but He will surely protect us from a fate such as this. Come, we must bury these, our unfortunate friends, with Hodin so that they may gain forgiveness in the gods embrace.

True to Irorils word, the fortunes of the village began to improve after that terrible day. Neither Hodin nor any of the slaughtered returned as Fell to take revenge on the village for being denied the funeral fire. From that point on, the folk of Greengages embraced Irorils teachings with little further resistance and the old peddler grew into his role as spiritual leader. Orma and his children aided Imoril in this, becoming his acolytes and helping him tend to the dell where the hoary old god dwelt amongst the stones. As Obares gave way to Hanud, Iroril was alone in the ring of stones, listening for words the god might whisper. Hearing none, he abandoned his vigil and prepared to make his way home. Irorils mind was preoccupied with thoughts of a stormy night long ago and half-remembered promise made in a rocky vale far to the north and long ago. So it was that Iroril was startled to find his wife, Orma, standing beside the tall north stone of the circle. She wore little more than a nightgown, spun from the pure white wool of their very own sheep, and the night was cold. A bitter wind blew from the north, penetrating even the willow-sheltered dell and promising a cruel winter ahead. When Orma said nothing to explain her appearance and attire, Iroril feared she had sickened and was wandering in delirium. He spoke softly to her, Orma my love, why do you stand in the cold with naught but a shift upon you? Her voice, when it came, was like the rasp of iron across stone, You fool! You think your petty offerings of beasts and oats can appease the great god? Shocked at her words and her tone, Iroril could only stammer My love! What do you say? This was not the bargin you made, you weakling fool! It is time for a new master to take your place! And with an unholy scream, Orma launched herself at her husband, gouging out his eyes with nails suddenly long and black and hard as iron. Her teeth ripped out his throat and the bright red blood gushed into her mouth and down her chin onto the unblemished white of her nightgown. As she dragged his twitching body from the circle of ancient stones towards the dark maw of the Old Place, the air seemed to hum with power; beneath the dark earth, a thing stirred from sleep. In the shadows on the far side of the circle, four eyes watched the end of Iroril and the fall of Orma. Two belonged to a young girl, barely twelve, the perfect blend of her mother and fathers features. She watched, silent and unmoving, as one parent murdered the other, and only smiled as her mother sucked greedily at her fathers throat. The other pair of eyes were hidden in a deep cowl worn by a figure standing close beside the girl, with its hand upon her shoulder. As the girls parents disappeared into the dark woods, the hand tightened its grip and the cowl moved close to Annicas ear. What was said, even the wind did not hear, but in response, the girls eyes narrowed and, slowly, she nodded her head.

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

With Iroril gone, Orma emerged from mourning with the fervour of one blessed. She vowed that she would lead the people as her husband had, and reassured them that the god of the dell had not deserted them in their time of need. Her words proved true as the winter was less harsh than it had promised to be, and when the spring came early, the lambing was better than ever before.

Twice Slain, King of the Stones

Ormas reign as Priestess of the Stones was short-lived, but while she ruled in the mossy dell she introduced a ritual that has continued to this day. In the helia before the Feast of Thank-Offering, traditionally held at the end of Zimra arc to celebrate the years harvest and beseech the ancestor spirits for protection through the dark winter, Orma called her people to a gathering in the dell. There she revealed the hoary old gods desire for his people to hold their festivities within his sacred circle. Turning to the miller, Doogan Dray, the priestess announced that he had been chosen to preside over the celebration and that he was to be crowned King of the Stones for the day. Now Doogan had been Irorils most vocal detractor since the massacre of years before when he had lost his wife, but Ormas words effectively quashed any objection he might have been about to raise. It was widely held that the millers girth was exceeded only by his selfopinion, and such an obvious honor fanned his ego like Ormas brothers bellows fanned the fire of his forge. On the last day of Zimra, the whole village gathered at the stones in the sacred dell. Young Annica, now a fair maiden grown, carried a golden chalice from one member of the community to the next; each was asked to drink of the gods bounty that they might share in his strength in the coming winter. The solemn procession ended with fat Doogan, who drunk deeply at Annicas urging. Then Orma crowned his head with a circle wrought from rowan, the wood still resplendent with red berries that glistened in his black hair like drops of blood. As the crown touched Doogans head, young Helver struck up on a fiddle and the feasting began with much merriment. Even Doogan smiled and could find no ill word to say, flattered by Annicas constant attentions and indeed treated like a king. The feasting was lavish beyond memory: fatted pig and roast mutton; oat cakes and rye bread; frothing ale and sweet cider from the previous years apples. Those who could play struck up a carousing tune on their instruments while the villagers danced with a reckless abandon that did not seem strange or out of place. As the sun slipped into the west and the moon rose gibbous in the sky, the festivities reached a frenzy that would have alarmed any traveller happening upon them in those dark woods. No one noticed as the Glarim women led Doogan beyond the light of the fire that burned fiercely at the center of the stone circle; and

no one heard them club the fat man to death with heavy sticks and sharp stones. The next day, after the villagers awoke in a fleshy tangle that took no heed of marital bonds, they gathered their clothes and hurried back; the folk refused to meet each others' eyes until a few days later when someone thought to enquire about the Millers whereabouts Doogan lived alone in the mill since the death of his wife, and having no children that had survived to adulthood. When they searched the woods, they found no sign of him. But curiously, they discovered that the portal into the Old Place was blocked by a great slab of stone that must have taken six strong men to move. Orma Glarim said that it was the gods will that the dead not be disturbed by the living and He had clearly taken steps to assure this was so. Of Doogan, she said that they had seen no sign since the morn following Thank-Offering. And though no other could remember having seen him that day, they dared not question the dark-eyed woman and, in truth, thought it quite possible they had missed seeing the miller in their embarrassed haste to get home. On checking the mill, they found it locked and vacated, neatly cleared as though the miller had left Greengages with the intention never to return. * * * In the darkness of the Old Place, the fat mans eyes shot open. His mouth was stuffed with foul tasting rags and his limbs bound with thick hemp rope. The air was chill and smelled of damp earth, cold rock, and dead things. Somewhere in the darkness, a scraping sound drew closer, like old leather sacks full of grain being pulled across stone. The fat mans eyes bulged with fear and he thrashed in the confines of the narrow niche in which he lay. He struggled to free his hands, but succeeded only in cutting his flesh with the abrasive fibres, though curiously he felt no pain from it. He still could not see, and when something sinuous and covered with slime brushed over his face in the dark, the fat man began to scream.

By the Daughters Hand

The first Feast of Thank-Offering held in the stones of the Glarim wood was also Ormas last. On the zenith of Halail, when traditionally the children of the southern lands attempt their soba, or breaking ceremony as they come of age, the Priestess of the Stones was found dead in her bed. The sheets were twisted tightly about her body and her favourite cup made from Bastion pottery was broken where it had fallen to the floor. Olmas mouth and nose were filled with blood, but a lack of signs of any violence led the local herb woman, Elga Thory, to conclude that she had died of the apoplexies those violent fits caused by blood clotting in the brain, which often came to folk in their twilight years. She smiled sadly at Olmas two grown children who must succeed her, but quickly left upon seeing Annicas face.

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

When the funeral procession reached the Old Place, Garick Dale and his five brothers ready with iron bars and rope, they found the way open and the dark of the portal beckoning them in. Speaking in a quiet voice that could not be denied, Annica told them that the god spoke to her now, and had decreed that only the chosen were allowed entry into the tomb. She named four men, her brother among them, and together they proceeded with her mother into the dark. She instructed the men to leave the body on the floor just inside the door, then bade them leave her. Annicas tone brooked no argument and they quickly left the priestess to her mysteries. After they had gone, Annica knelt close to her dead mother, and as she bound her limbs tightly with thick rope and placed a heavy cloth in her mouth, her mothers eyes flicked open, wide with terror. The flaxen-haired priestess pressed her mouth to Olmas dead ear, and whispered, Goodbye, yes? Mother, dearie! * * *

Village of the Mad

On first encounter, the hamlet of Greengages-inthe-Leigh appears to be an island of peace in the otherwise turbulent sea of darkness that is Northern Erenland; an isolated rural idyll, almost completely untouched by the evils of the Last Age. Its inhabitants are astonishingly ignorant of the events that shook the world a century ago, and seem oblivious to the fact that Erenland is no more or that the bestial armies of the Shadow rape and pillage indiscriminately throughout the land. While Eredane screams beneath the iron boots of orcs and their wicked allies amongst men, and the dark gods altars flow with her peoples blood, the people of Greengages-in-the-Leigh conduct their lives in much the same manner as they have for a thousand years or more. Existence in this sleepy hamlet is a reflection of what rural life was like during the peaceful years of the Third Age, an eerie tableau of a bygone time. The same families are still employed in the same professions as their ancestors of half a millennia ago. The Hengals still work the village forge: shoeing horses, making tool,s and mending cook pots; Darna Thory practices mid-wifery and mixes herbal remedies using secret formulae handed down from her mother, who in turn received them from hers, and so on. The Dales are still the only growers of hops in the region, and to them, as their ancestors, falls the critical task of brewing the village ale. And, at the end of the road, the decaying farmstead is still home to the family that has ruled in Greengages-in-the-Leighs since 549 TA. The simple steading built by Iroril Glarim has, over the years, grown into an imposing farmhouse that is now falling to ruin and surrounded by ramshackle barns and crumbling outhouses. Little work is done in

the weed-choked fields, and the herds and flocks of the Glarim clan are the weakest and most ill-kept of the village. The Glarim males have no real need to labor for themselves as they lord it over the other villagers, protected from censure or retaliation because of the power invested in the females of their line the sacred Priestesses of the Stones who guard them all from the wickedness of this world and the next. The Priestess of the Stones is always the matriarch of the Glarim clan, currently frail old Elsma Glarim, who, at 81 winters, is older than any other member of the community by a score of years or more. However, though Elsma is relatively hale for her age, it is widely reckoned that she cannot last many more years, and the topic of her succession has obsessed the villagers for over a decade. Elsmas natural successor, her daughter, Rigit, died in childbirth 21 years previous, leaving only males to continue the line. When young Maely Naud married Alans Glarim, the eldest of Rigits boys, the villagers were reassured that the sacred duty would continue unbroken. However, when Maely lost her baby under tragic circumstances the details of which no villager is likely to discuss except in the vaguest of terms, for in truth they can remember very little Maely lost her mind and a few days later cut out her own tongue. The poor girl has been quite mad ever since, and it seems unlikely that she will be fit to assume Elsmas duties when the old priestess passes on.

Greengages-in-the-Leigh (Hamlet): Conventional; AL NE; 100 gp limit; Population 268; Isolated (Dorns 100%). Authority Figures: Elsma Glarim (Priestess of the Stones), NE female lich Dorn Lgt7; Halen Glarim, CN male Dorn Bbn4 (Head Man). Important Characters: Delan Alder (Miller), NE male Dorn Exp3; Grenda Crabbel (Tanner), N female Dorn Exp5; Rud Dale (Brewer), NE male Exp3; Alans Glarim, N male Dorn War3; Brel Glarim, CE male Dorn Bbn2; Dulb Glarim, CE male Dorn Bbn2; Maely Glarim, N female Dorn Com4; Skan Glarim, NE male Dorn Rog4; Derg Hadram (Farmer), N male Dorn Com4; Narl Hengal (Blacksmith), N male Dorn Exp5; Auno Lanon (Trapper), N male Dorn Wld1; Grisa Naud (Hams daughter), NG female Dorn Chn1; Ham Naud (Farmer), NE male Dorn Rog2; Asel Odrim (Farmer), N male Dorn Exp1/War4; Darna Thory (Herb Woman) N female Dorn Exp7. Others: Com1 (213), Com2 (12), Com4 (5), Com6 (3); Exp1 (7), Exp3 (3); Rog1 (4), Rog2 (1); War1 (4), War2 (2).

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

by Iain J. Brogan

Strangers Round Here

The road that leads to Greengages-in-the Leigh from the south goes nowhere. It ends at the Glarim farmstead, which is the end of the road in more ways than one. Because of its remote location, the village saw little traffic even when the kings of Erenland sat upon their throne, and it does not seem strange to the villagers that they see little now. Besides, any native of Greengages will proclaim that the hamlet does see one or two visitors per year though they would find it difficult to describe them in any detail, or venture much on what became of them. Such lines of questioning are met with blank stares and frowns of consternation before the conversation drifts onto other things, such as the age of Elsma and who will take up her sacred charge when she goes into the Old Place. It may also have been noted by the inhabitants of Greengages, but certainly not commented upon, that these rare visitors to their village always appear just before the Feast of Thank-Offering, and leave the following day. Perhaps even more bizarre than this strange pattern of annual visitation is that the souls who do happen upon the quiet hamlet are never servants of the Shadow. Indeed, the villagers regard tales of the Shadow in the North and orcs to be fables and myths, told to frighten naughty children and certainly not a topic for serious conversation. The reason for the hamlets isolation is that it lies beneath a powerful glamor that originates in the ring of stones at the heart of Glarims Wood. This

enchantment, similar to the fabled wards of Caradul, works to deflect travellers from any course that would bring them to the village. The glamor extends in a fivemile radius, and to resist its effects a character must succeed in a DC 20 Will save or be subtly sent off course so he misses Greengages location. However, the enchantment of the stones does not always function to gently misdirect those who might stumble upon the tiny village; once per year it acts to entrap those who might otherwise wish they had missed the sinister hamlet out amongst the moors. In the days before the Feast of Thank-Offering, any traveller in a 25-mile radius must succeed in a Will save (DC 25) or be insidiously steered towards the village. The effect is very subtle, and the victim rarely suspects they are being manipulated in this way (if a character failed his Will save by one or two, then he is aware of a strange and growing compulsion to travel in the direction of Greengages-in-the-Leigh, but is powerless to resist its siren call). Upon arriving in the hamlet, the villagers receive their guests with enthusiastic hospitality, insisting that they stay for the imminent Feast of Thank-Offering, where they would be honored guests. For their part, the ensorcelled victims-to-be find it very hard to refuse the villagers hospitality or leave the hamlet. To break the enchantment and regain free action in this regard, a character may attempt a DC 25 Will saves for each day that he spenst in Greengagesin-the-Leigh.

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Simple Folk
Due to long centuries of isolation and little fresh blood coming into the community at least that which isnt promptly spilt on the altar of the God of the Dell the villagers of Greengages-in-the-Leigh have suffered generations of inbreeding. Consequently, all the families of the hamlet are related by blood to one degree or another. This familial association has only been increased by the carnal abandon that characterizes the evening festivities following the Feast of ThankOffering (see the Feast of Thank-Offering sidebar). Such impoverished breeding has led to a tendency for slow-wittedness and even madness in the offspring of the village. A visitor to the hamlet will likely notice that something is a little odd about these folk (Sense Motive DC 15). Physical deformities are also quite common among Greengages newborns, but such babies are promptly given over to the Priestess of the Stones, and the subject is never mentioned again. What old Elsma does with the child is equally a subject of strict taboo. As a result of this seemingly cold-hearted practice, the people of Greengages ensure that only the strong, physically speaking at least, survive. Humans hailing from Greengages tend to be physically more powerful than even normal Dorns, but slower of wit and often touched by madness. As a result they gain a +4 to Strength, 2 to Wisdom, and 4 to Intelligence, in addition to other Dorn traits.

described in the DMG. If a member of the Glarim family is with the party, they never become lost while within Glarims Wood. At night Glarims Wood becomes even more sinister, filled with creaking trees and the sudden cries of creatures whose sole intent appears to startle the unwary. A watchful presence can often be felt in the woods at night, and the trees seem to take on monstrous forms, their branches like great clawed hands reaching for those foolish enough to trespass upon their dominion. Watchful Woods (CR 1/3): Will save DC 10; 1 hour interval; 1 modifier/interval; 1 penalty to all attack rolls and skill checks; Special: The modifier is only encountered at night. For each hour spent in the forest, another Will save must be made; for each Will save failed, the penalty increases by one. If a character may leave the forest or find secure shelter to rest. After two hours of rest, the penalty disappears.

Feast of Thank-Offering
The Feast of Thank-Offering is a traditional Dornish festival held at the end of the arc of Zimra to celebrate the years harvest. Gifts are left in the household shrines and within the ancestor stones to thank the ancestors for watching over the living, and to ask them for protection during the coming winter. In Greengages-in-the-Leigh, the Priestesses of the Stones have perverted this ritual of renewal to serve a dark and terrible purpose. Rather than a happy feast held upon the village green, as once occurred in ancient times, the villagers gather in Glarims Wood within a circle of sinister stones. There, they drink from a sacred chalice containing a potion of pungent herbs (see Appendix: Poisoned Chalice). The vile brew clouds the imbibers senses, causing them to abandon all restraint and indulge in wild revelry and debased cavorting, which culminates in a free-for-all consummation of bestial desire. The Priestess of the Stones is unaffected by the brew, and when her people reach the height of their drug-induced delirium she leads them in the true ceremony of the stones: the sacrifice of a living human upon the northernmost stone of the circle. The victim is typically a stranger (lured to the village by the siren song of the stones) who is the guest of honor at the feast. However, the stones must be appeased with blood each year, and if a stranger has not appeared by the eve of the feast, a member of the community is secretly selected and slain. Once the victim is dead, her throat cut with the Priestesss black-bladed knife, the body is taken to the Old Place by two ghouls who aid the priestess in her wicked work. There, the corpse is gagged and bound hand and foot before being interred in one of the claustrophobic niches. The reason for these seemingly unnecessary precautions is that the Old Place is a conflux of necromantic magic, and a dead body placed within its benighted caves will soon rise as Fell. The ghouls take, as payment for their work, flesh from the corpses before they rise as Fell.

Glarims Wood
Glarims Wood is a dense woodland of peeling birch, twisted willows, knotted nettles, and staunch red dogwoods. The ground between the trees is thick with leaf mold and loamy soil that forms deep patches of mud in the many hollows and dells. The paths through the wood are little more than animal trails that, more often than not, lead the unwary along confused and torturous routes before petering out into boggy marshes. Here, giant hogweed and rushes grow among fungi-cloaked deadwood sinking into rotting oblivion. The woods are haunted by a perpetual haze that drifts between the trees and gathers most thickly near the ground, serving to further obscure the faint trails that wind through its depths. The Glarim family seem to be the only folk able to navigate the woods with surety and, in fact, never seem to run afoul of paths that suddenly disappear or stinging insects that plague others who travel here. The villagers dare not venture more than a hundred yards beyond the eaves of Glarims Wood without one of the Glarims as guide, and even then, they will enter only during the day. Due to the similar aspect of the wood throughout its expanse, paths that seem to shift and vanish, and the interminably drifting mists, getting lost in Glarims Wood is frightfully easy. The wood itself seems to conspire to mislead and confuse those not of Glarim blood. The character leading the way must succeed at a Survival check DC 20, or become lost as

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Sacred Stones
In a tree-shadowed dell at the center of Glarims Wood, rune-etched stones jut from the mossy earth like old broken teeth. The stones, which lean at queer angles, range from four to ten feet in height and form a rough ring about a low mound of black earth and fractured rock from which sickly grass grows in piebald clumps. The woods immediately beyond the stones are dominated by huge willow trees that droop sullenly to meet the thick detritus and mud of the ground. These trees, bent like old hags, sway and creak even on windless days and add to the eeriness of the dell. The land encircled by the stones is cursed (treat as unhallowed, as per the spell, with an associated bane effect: 1 penalty on attacks rolls and a 1 penalty on saving throws against fear effects). These effects are cumulative with any penalties incurred from the gloominess of the surrounding woods. The runes are disturbing to the eye, suggestive of tentacles and unnatural shapes. They radiate powerful evil and strong enchantment and necromancy magic. The runes are the source of the unhallowed effect within the circle and the glamor that protects the village from discovery. These magical effects are constantly active (as long as a sentient being is sacrificed within the circle once per year). The siren song of the stones is also activated by blood and for this purpose, the Priestess of the Stones usually reserves one or more of the villagers physically deformed babies.

The Old Place

Nearby, to the east of the circle of disturbing stones, a squat hill rises above the forest, cloaked in sickly trees whose twisted forms are reminiscent of night hags and demonic beasts. Beneath these malevolent boughs, a muddy track leads to a black maw framed by a dolmen of weathered old stones set into the hillside. The dark maw seems to exude an unholy cold and loneliness, filling viewers with nameless dread, and something seems to move in darkness within. Most are spared this; except for on the night of the Feast of Thank-Offering, the portal enclosed by the dolmen is occluded by a great boulder, pushed into the space from within the mound. On the eve of Thank-Offering, however, the hungry maw of the Old Place lies open, and from its pitch-black throat, a sound like the dusty scratching of horrid claws whispers forth on stale air redolent of the grave. The tunnel leading from the dolmen into the Old Place was clearly dug or widened by picks or some other instrument; though on close inspection, the excavation marks have a certain form that is reminiscent of claw marks made by some monstrous beast. Three caverns lie beyond the tunnel, and no matter how many torches are brought within, the darkness always seems to crowd around trespassers in this unhallowed place (the supernatural shadows of the

Old Place provide concealment to creatures up to 5 feet away, and total concealment beyond this distance). Into the walls of the caves, forming tiers that rise to the shadowed ceiling, niches have been cut to form narrow resting places for the dead. Each alcove is five or six feet long, three feet wide and approximately one foot high. Though the intention of these tombs is horribly evident, an inspection of their interiors revels that they are, without exception, empty. The Old Place is a necromantic conflux and the air crackles with baleful energy and the wailing presence of the Lost. The oppressive nature of the atmosphere is such that those who venture within the Old Place must succeed in a DC 18 Will save, or be shaken until they leave the tomb. The Old Place has the same unhallowed effects as encountered within the stone circle. Because of the necromantic energy that swirls within the ancient tomb, a recently dead body (less than one day) placed within the Old Place rises as Fell within 1d6 rounds. Similarly, killing an individual inside the Old Place feeds the dark energies that swirl there, causing a fetid, cold wind to blow from within and the victim to rise immediately as an ungral. Two other types of denizen haunt this cursed necropolis, each exquisitely sensitive to the forces of death and undeath. The ghouls who aid the Priestess of the Stones with her grisly work dwell in the northernmost cavern of the Old Place, and upon hearing intruders to their domain, will seek to set an ambush using the supernatural darkness as cover. Advanced 3 HD ghoul (2): 19 hp; see MM. The floor of the westernmost cave is dominated by a nearly vertical shaft that descends to into darkness; this strange hole leads to the lair of the true master of the Old Place. Beneath the woods, an ancient abomination called an eater of the dead dwells in a cave littered with human bones from the sacrifices of nearly 500 years. When the entrance to the Old Place is opened, the eater of the dead lurks in the tunnels near the chasm, awaiting the offerings thrown to it by the Priestess of the Bones and her ghoulish servants. Eater of the dead (1): 95 hp; see Appendix.

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However, in this rotten hamlet hidden in the north, even the wicked Priestess of the Stones is a dupe. Among the lies and hidden truths, the greatest of all is Greengages-in-the-Leigh has an astonishing that there is no God of the Dell the priestesss power number of secrets for a settlement so small and comes directly from Izrador Himself. Annica believes seemingly inconsequential. They lie like rotting skins she serves a god that dwells within the Old Place. She about the festering heart of the hamlet, obscuring the even thinks she has seen its physical form, but this foul true evil that lurks at its center. Nothing is quite as it abomination, known as the eater of the dead, is simply seems. a vile throwback to ancient days when the dread Entangled within this web of deceit are the darghuul ruled the land. families who have dwelt in Greengages for centuries, The eaters of the dead, like other terrible and at the center, pulling the strings that ensnare them, monstrosities spawned by those strange and horrible is the Glarim matriarch serving always as the masters, survived their creators by retreating to the Priestess of the Stones. The villagers are completely darkest depths of the world. When Izrador fell to Aryth, unaware of the sinister web in which they are caught; his coming stirred these creatures and those like them the doubts a normal person might feel never arise, from their millennial slumber. In later ages, when the because for generations the villagers have known no Shadow in the North sent His minions with stealth and other way. Their ignorance of the outside world is guile into the lands of men, such unusual creatures almost absolute, but they have no real desire to know were prized discoveries for those who sought to bring what lies beyond the green hills encircling their home. their dark god gifts worthy of His malevolence. This strange, self-contented apathy is a side-effect of In the Third Age, one such minion of the the insidious glamor that hides the hamlet. Only the Shadow discovered the ring of stones that stand in trapper, Auno Lanon, has been any distance from Glarims Wood, and resolved to learn their secrets and Greengages. He seems curiously unaffected by the the hidden power they undoubtedly held. He moved entrapping magic of the stones, but fear of the wide with furtive caution, for his dark god was not yet ready open moorland beyond the hamlet prevents him from wandering too far. Also, though the villagers aren't to move openly against the men of Erenland. Besides, entirely ignorant of the horrid rites they participate in he wished the glory of his discovery to be his alone, each year, the strange brew the priestess gives them and for this reason hid it away from his masters in the Order of Shadow lest some senior legate displace him and fear of what they might find within prevents them and claim it as his own. The legate worked over the from looking too closely at their fractured memories of next few years to unravel the riddle of the stones, but those wild nights. events elsewhere were overtaking him and he quickly The Priestess of the stones is at once loved and realized he needed more time. Fearing discovery by the feared by the community of Greengages. She guides nearby village or, worse, his rivals in the Order, the the people in all aspects of their lives from legate created the myth of the God of the Dell and adjudicating disputes and meting out punishments, to placed a pawn to serve it. So was born the convoluted guiding them in matters of the spirit, to overseeing plot that placed Iroril, through an ill-fated meeting in their passage through life from their mothers womb to the borderlands, as the unwitting stool pigeon of the the Old Place and the final rest. Her power is legates plan. How better to prevent the stones being undisputed and absolute. But not for a moment do the discovered by the villagers than by hiding them in full villagers suspect the vile betrayal perpetrated against view and making the Dornish peasants unwitting every one of them by their trusted priestess. Yet the accomplices to his sly scheme! Priestess of the Stones duplicity goes deeper still. The legates plan was more successful than he Elsma Glarim is neither who nor what she appears to could have hoped, and when he unlocked the warding be. The old Glarim matriarch is, in fact, Annica Glarim, powers of the stones, he was overjoyed to find this daughter of Inoril and Orma, born in 522 TA. For the suited his purposes more than well. When Iroril became last four and a half centuries Annica has existed clothed difficult, beguiled by his own duplicity to believe he in her descendents flesh; beneath, she is a skeletal lich. really was a priest of the dells god, the legate quickly Using the power of an unspeakable mask crafted from replaced him with wife and then daughter. In Annica, the skin of her own flayed face, Annica has remained the legate found more than a malleable pawn; the hidden in the bosom of her family by assuming the young girl had power and ambition that he was eager to form of the eldest Glarim female. Periodically she allows her false persona to die and moves on to the groom, intending that she eventually enter into the Order of the Shadow as his protg. Unfortunately, one next eldest female of the line. The unfortunate whose day the legate stopped coming what fate befell him is identity she steals must, of course, be murdered and lost in the murk of history but by this time it did not buried away in the Old Place but such an act is a matter; Annica had discovered that the god of the dell mere trifle for the hideous lich who has, with her really did exist. The young woman had seen Him in the ghoulish servants, buried every member of the Old Place and at night she heard His whispers in her community since 570 TA. mind.

Dark Secrets, Wicked Lies

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The Glarims of Greengages

The Glarim family are a strange and decadent lot. Of all the families of Greengages-in-the-Leigh, theirs is the one most often afflicted by madness; though their children are always strong and whole of body, if not of mind. Since Iroril, the Glarims have been twisted by years of unknowingly serving Izrador through the insidious manipulation of their deathless matriarch. The current members of the clan who bear the Glarim name, though all in the village have some quantity of Glarim blood running in their veins, are Elsma, matriarch of the clan; her son Halen; and his four boys by his sister, Rigit. The boys, now men, are Alans, the twins Dulb and Brel, and the youngest boy, Skan. None of the youngest generation suspect that Elsma is not what she seems: their frail old grandmother, who must be respected because she is the Priestess of the Stones. However, Halen knows the terrible truth and it has driven him to the brink of madness.

boisterous and spends little time with his brothers. He works like a demon in the fields of the family farm, but his activities are usually mindless and achieve little other than to exhaust his weary soul. Where Alans is quiet and Dulb and Brel are violent and rowdy, Skan is sly and truly evil. He is slight of frame and quick of eye, and seeks any opportunity to inflict harm and misery on others, purely for the pleasure it brings him.

Maely Glarim
Maely Glarim, N female Dorn Com4: 10 hp; see DMG. The only other member of the Glarim clan who knows the truth of Elsmas identity is Maely, Alans's waif-like wife. Since losing her baby and Annicas brutal visit to her room, the poor girl has been quite mad. She spends much of her time down by the river on the eastern border of the Glarim land. There she squats naked and covered in mud, washing her dead babys clothes and singing to a swaddled bundle of stones she believes is her child. Because Annica cut out her tongue, her once lilting voice sounds now like a beast moaning in pain. At night one or other of the Glarim men fetch her home and lay her abed with the stones wrapped in cloth crushed to her breast.

Halem Glarim
Halen Glarim, CN Dorn Bbn4: 35 hp; see DMG Halen Glarim is a large bear of a man. His black hair, only now garnering streaks of grey, is like a pelt, which with his bristling black beard only adds to his ursine image. Halen can usually be found walking, drunk, through the hills that surround the hamlet, accompanied by his hounds great mastiffs as black as their masters beard. Halen drinks rough rye liquor and walks with the frenzied pace of a caged beast so that he might drive the nightmares away. More often than not, he sleeps beneath a bush out on the hills, but never in Glarims Woods, and stays away from the farmstead for days at a time. The reason for his strange behaviour is that he has seen the demon that has taken his mothers form. Indeed, when Halen stays at the farmstead, Annica often appears at his window in her horrifying true form, scratching at the glass and leering at her kinsman who stares in terror from within. Annica is sure Halen will not give her secret away he is too afraid, but she delights in tormenting him, pushing him further into madness.

Alans, Dulb, Brel and Skan

Alans Glarim, N male Dorn War3: 27 hp; see DMG. Brel Glarim, CE male Dorn Bbn2: 20 hp; see DMG. Dulb Glarim, CE male Dorn Bbn2: 20 hp; see DMG. Skan Glarim, NE male Dorn Rog4: 20 hp; see DMG. All four of Halens sons are vicious men, the twins Brel and Dulb the worst of all. These two are idle bullies who do little other than cause trouble for the other families and pick fights with all they come across. When not carousing in the village, they can usually be found begetting mischief in the shadows of Glarims Wood. Alans, since his sons death and his wifes withdrawal into madness, has become less

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Glarim Ghouls
The only other members of the Glarim clan who still walk the land are the two ghouls who help Annica with her morbid activities. These two cadaverous creatures are all that remain of Annicas brother, Helver, and her own son, Calarg. The ghouls dwell in the Old Place along with the abomination known as the eater of the dead.

Priestess of the Stones

Elsma Glarim (Annica), Priestess of the Stones, female Lich legate 7: CR 11; Medium Undead (5 ft. 2 in. tall); HD 7d12; hp 46; Init +5, Spd 30 ft. (6 squares); AC 17 (Dex +1, +5 natural armour, +1 dodge bonus), flat-footed 15, touch 12; Base Atk +5; Grp +7; Atks +7 touch melee (1d8+5, touch Will save DC 14) or +8 melee (1d4+3, +1 dagger); SA Fear aura 60-ft. radius (Will, DC 14), paralyzing touch (Fort, DC 14), rebuke undead 4/day, spells; SQ Darkvision 60 ft., damage reduction 15/bludgeoning and magic, turn resistance +4, immunities, undead traits; AL NE; SV Fort +9, Ref +6, Will +13; Str 14, Dex 12, Con , Int 12, Wis 17, Cha 13. Skills: Bluff +4*, Concentration +6, Diplomacy +7*, Disguise +13*, Hide +9, Intimidate +14*, Knowledge (arcana) +6, Listen +11, Move Silently +9, Search +11, Sense Motive +12, Spellcraft +7, Spot +3. *includes bonus from the blood-flesh mask. Feats: Dodge, Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Spell Focus (Necromancy). Languages: Norther Spells Prepared: (6/5+1/4+1/3+1/1+1; base DC = 13 + spell level): 0 detect magic, detect poison, guidance, inflict minor wounds, read magic, resistance; 1stbane, doom, entropic shield, obscuring mist, protection from good**, sanctuary; 2ndcalm emotions, darkness, death knell**, desecrate, enthrall; 3rdanimate dead**, bestow curse, blindness/deafness, meld into stone; 4thinflict critical wounds, unholy blight**. ** Indicates domain spell; Necromancy spell. The base save DC for these spells, where applicable, is 14 + spell level. Domains: Death, Evil (death touch; evil spells cast at +1 caster level). Possessions: Simple woollen clothes and a dark red woollen shawl (cloak of resistance+1), peasant shoes (leather strips and cloth bound round her feet), An old gold coin hung on a gold chain (blood gold once produced by Izradors servants in the previous ages), black-bladed +1 dagger, phylactery (kept in the lair of the eater of the dead), blood-flesh mask. The frail old woman sits in her chair by the fire, gently rocking and smiling a wide gummy smile in a mouth long-since vacated by its teeth. Her limbs are painfully lean, her skin paper-thin and mottled with age. Yet there is something in her rheumy eyes that sends a shiver of dread down your spine.

Annica Glarim is vile and rotten to her undead core, having wallowed in evil and depravity for over four centuries. Her withered mind is fixated upon the sham that she has helped to perpetrate over that time, and to which she is as much a fool as any of the villagers. The lich will destroy outright anyone she feels threatens her intricate schemes, and will toy with, and ultimately destroy, anyone else just for the enjoyment of breaking a human soul. The mental torture to which she subjugates Halen and Maely Glarim are examples of the demented pleasures Annica seeks. The withered old hag achieved her lichdom after discovering ancient runes carved into the walls of the eater of the deads cave far beneath the earth from which Glarims Wood springs in malignant profusion. She was guided to this ancient lore by the abomination that she misguidedly worships as a god. Annicas uneducated and narrow mind never thought to enquire how the runes came to be there, believing the god had created them for her benefit. In truth, the cave is part of some ancient darguul ruins that have lain undisturbed for millennia. The fact that Annica is disinterested in the outside world is a small comfort for the time being only; it cannot be many more decades before she comes to realize of what immortality means and becomes bored with her rural domain. Then she will seek to pursue her blasphemous pleasures in more fertile places, beyond the ring of hills that have been her world for so long. Perhaps the God of the Dell will instruct her to take His word beyond Greengages-inthe-Leigh, to expand His cult and spread His children in the cities of men.

Adventure Hooks
Feast of Thank-Offering
The arc of Zimra draws to a close and the PCs are drawn to Greengages-in-the-Leigh by the siren song of the sacred stones. They must discover the truth behind the shaky faade of normality that lies over the sinister hamlet, or fall victim to the Priestess of the Stones and become food for the eater of the dead.

Fractured Shadows
The glamor of the stones keep orc patrols away from the area of Greengages-in-the-Leigh, and its remote location means that legates of any power rarely happen by. However, the Order of Shadow were once aware of the hamlet and at least some of its sordid secrets; this knowledge was gleaned after the lengthy torture of the legate who started it all off. Unfortunately, greater events at the time meant that they never pursued the information gained and it was lost and forgotten for centuries in the dusty vaults of one of the Orders strongholds.

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Interestingly, the original legates astirax still maintains a vigil over the region, for what purpose only it knows. It has inhabited the bodies of countless carrion birds and buzzards over the years, watching and waiting for some predetermined event. Occasionally, when it fears the village might be discovered by its brethren or one of the Order, the astirax uses guile and trickery to keep them away. Usually, it pretends to be serving an unspecified but powerful legate, and makes vague threats and warnings of what might befall any who interfere with its masters plans. This has been a successful tactic so far, but given the rivalry in the Order, it can only be a matter of time before a legate sees such a threat as an irresistible temptation to gain favor at the expense of one of his fellows. A lesser legate of the Cabal in Bastion, disillusioned by the faction and wishing to join the Devout, has discovered vague references to Greengages-in-the-Leigh in his temples vaults. The legate hopes to use this information to curry favor and buy his way into the Devout. First, the legate intends to investigate this old secret to understand what its true value might be to the Cabal, and therefore the bargaining power he will gain with the Devout. He obviously cant trust his local minions, and so hires the PCs as bodyguards for the trip or to act as a vanguard to test the water for any traps that might still remain. Alternatively, the PCs might arrive at Greengages-in-the-Leigh at the same time or shortly before or after the legate and his hired mercenaries, and become embroiled in the machinations of the treacherous priest.

village the following day. If pushed (Sense Motive check, DC 20) they will look confused and a little uneasy. With further questioning it becomes apparent that no one can actually remember the scout leaving after the festival. Now the villagers want the PCs to be the guests of honor at this years feast, and the PCs find themselves strangely reluctant to leave . . .

Lost Soldiers
Like most of the rest of Northern Erenland, those who fight against the Shadow are unaware of the existence of Greengages-in-the-Leigh. However, last year a resistance scout disappeared in the area and never returned. His brother has been tracking him since, and has finally narrowed down his last known movements to the general area of the hamlet. The brother too has gone missing, but not before leaving a message for his comrades based near Bastion describing what he had uncovered and what he planned to do next. The resistance group suspect foul play and before they risk any more of their dwindling numbers in a potential trap, they want the PCs to investigate what has happened to their men. The PCs arrive in the area of Greengages towards the end of Zimra and are assisted by the siren call of the stones in finding the village. The villagers assert that the second man never came to the village. (They are telling the truth: he was apprehended by an orc patrol after the astarix guardian spotted him approaching the area). The villagers do, however, remember the first scout. They tell the PCs that the scout was their guest of honor at the Feast of ThankOffering in the previous year, but claim that he left the

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Appendix I New Monsters

Eater of the Dead
Huge Aberration Hit Dice: 10d8+50 (95 hp) Initiative: +2 Speed: 30 ft. AC: 19 (2 size, +2 Dex, +9 natural armor), touch 10, flat-footed 17 Base Attack/Grapple: +7/+23 Attack: Tentacle +13 melee (1d8+8) Full Attack: 6 tentacles +13 melee (1d8+8) and bite +8 melee (2d6+4) Space/Reach: 15 ft./15 ft. (30 ft. with tentacles) Special Attacks: Constrict, drag, improved grab, poison Special Qualities: Darkvision 60 ft., immunities, regeneration 4 Saves: Fort +8, Ref +5, Will +12 Abilities: Str 27, Dex 14, Con 21, Int 12, Wis 16, Cha 12 Skills: Bluff +9, Climb +14, Diplomacy +6, Intimidate +5, Knowledge (arcana) +9, Listen +9, Move Silently +4 Feats: Alertness, Iron Will, Power Attack Climate/Terrain: Underground Organisation: Solitary Challenge Rating: 8 Treasure: standard Alignment: Usually neutral evil Advancement: text A monstrous worm-like beast erupts from the hole before you in a shower of broken bones. It sways blindly as it seeks you with powerful tentacles that protrude from muscular ridges along its pallid body and drip with white slime that carries the stench of rotting flesh. Its head consists of a fleshy sheath that houses a set of three cruelly hooked mandibles around a pulsating orifice lined with rows of spiny teeth. The eaters of the dead are horrible abominations that dwell in the dark places of the world. Suckered tentacles protrude from their huge, worm-like bodies in writhing profusion, lashing and groping at the air in an insane frenzy. They use these appendages to grab and attack their prey, but use pulsatile contractions of their tubular bodies to propel themselves through the lightless spaces where they dwell beneath the earth. Towards one end, the creatures body tapers to a tricuspid structure made up of three fleshy sheaths encasing wickedly hooked mandibles. These frame the creatures mouth, which is no more than a long muscular gullet that bristles with sequential rings of spiny teeth. Vile ichor drips continuously from these fangs, emitting a terrible stench; if injected into a vic-

tims body, it courses through the blood, causing madness followed shortly by an agonizing death. The eaters of the dead are thought to have been spawned long ago ago by the darghuul, created for some nefarious purpose long forgotten. Whether they gained their preference for undead flesh over time or had it from the beginning is also a mystery, but the eaters of the dead, by preference, will consume the flesh of the undead rather than that of the truly dead or the living. Some necromancers speculate that it is the necromantic energy contained within the flesh of the Fell that they truly crave. While the eaters of the dead are truly abominable and vile, they are far from unintelligent beasts. The eaters of the dead can communicate by a limited form of telepathy that transfers images and sounds into the recipients mind. To communicate with an eater of the dead is to feel defiled.

Combat When attacking, an eater of the dead uses its reach to grab opponents with its tentacles and attempts to pull them into its space so it can use its bite attack. Constrict (Ex): An eater of the dead deals automatic tentacle damage with a successful grapple check. Immunities (Su): Because of its close association with the Fell or perhaps because of its ancient alien origins, the eaters of the dead have developed immunity to cold, disease, energy drain, and paralysis. Improved Grab (Ex): To use this ability, the eater of the dead must hit with a tentacle attack. It can then attempt to start a grapple as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity. If it wins the grapple check, it establishes a hold and can constrict or pull the opponent into its space. Poison (Ex): An eater of the dead delivers its poison (Fortitude save DC 15) with each successful bite attack. The initial damage is 1d6 points of Wisdom damage, and the secondary damage is 2d6 points of Constitution damage. Regeneration (Ex): An eater of the dead takes normal damage from acid, fire, and electricity.

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Appendix II - New Items & Spells

The Blood-Flesh Mask
The blood-flesh mask was created by Annica Glarim from the skin of her own face. The skin has since withered to a desiccated leathery husk that appears like it might crumble at a touch. However, when the blood-flesh mask is soaked in fresh blood it becomes smooth and supple, and can be easily worn as a mask. When placed over a persons face, the bloodflesh mask attaches itself like a second skin and confers its power to the wearer. 1st Level: The wearer is considered to be under the effects of a permanent disguise self spell (DC 14 to recognise as an illusion if a creature interacts with it). 3rd Level: The wearer of the blood-flesh mask gains a +2 bonus to all Charisma checks and Charismabased skill checks when trying to deceive or mislead someone. 6th Level: The wearer of the mask can cast charm person once per day as a 6th-level channeler. 9th Level: The true visage of the mask can be revealed in all its horror, conferring on the wearer the ability to cast fear as a 9th-level channeler once per day. 12th Level: The wearer can cast dominate person once per day as a 12th-level channeler.

sing; eat and drink; fight and fornicate. While under the effects of the spell, any statement is received as if it were a suggestion spell to which the target failed his saving throw; he will engage whole-heartedly, uncarof anything going on around him as long as no person or event detracts from his carousing and entertainment. A victim ensnared by a debauchery spell will only willingly leave off from the revelry if personally attacked. On the following morning, a creature affected by debauchery will not remember the events that occurred while under the effects of the spell, except as a vague sense of embarrassment and unease. The material component of a debauchery spell is a musical instrument or a quantity of drink (such as ale, mead or wine), and the verbal and somantic components are a line and pantomime from a ribald song.

Poisoned Chalice
The golden chalice used by the Priestess of the Stones in the Feast of Thank-Offering can be used to transform water or any other liquid into a potion of debauchery (caster level 10th) as per the spell (see below). The chalice can only be used once per year, but functions for a whole day when activated and can make an unlimited amount of the potion. The chalice bestows the magical effects on the liquid and any potion transferred to another container loses its enchantment after 2d12 hours.

Debauchery
Enchantment (Compulsion) [Mind-Affecting] Level: 6 Components: S, M, F Casting Time: 1 standard action Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./level) Targets: All creatures in a 30-ft. radius burst. Duration: Special; see text Saving Throw: Will negates Spell Resistance: Yes This spell causes the targets to lose all track of time and start carousing with wild abandon until the following sunrise. While affected by the spell, the only thing that occupies the targets mind is to cavort and

Secrets 1: The God of the Dell

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by Iain J. Brogan