Lore Master - Pro Games Master For Hire

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These are the days of high adventure!

In this far off, lonely and forgotten place you track the fresh clawed footprints through a labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks and gloomy windless gullies, ever forward, ever upwards. Not a creature nor sign of any life stirs to give you solace, not a drop of fresh water to wet your parched throat. Yet the dead mark your path, splintered sun-bleached ribs and rusted mail raised up on twisted poles, grimly crowned with the cracked and grinning skulls of beasts, a cruel and gruesome mockery of death, leading you ever onwards towards a similar fate perhaps? Are they the last remains of previous less than fortunate, but perchance just as foolish, interlopers into this cursed and terrible land, lured by the same tales of glory and gold?

Finally, as a blood red sun sets over the distant horizon of rolling dunes and as exhaustion and thirst threatens to overwhelm you, you scramble up and pull yourself on to a flat shoulder of rock, the very windswept top of a tower of stone high above the sun-scorched desert plains far far below. And looming before you, just as the strange old man in the deserted bazaar so long ago described, is the great yawning maw of a daylight starved cave in the semblance of a great leering skull, a storm giant’s skull from the myths of ages past. The alabaster rock is defaced with thousands of runic inscriptions, terrible and diabolical, like scars in the flesh of the giant, rendered to draw the onlooker into madness and invoke terror, terror of everlasting damnation and unending agony. And within the great mouth are twisted and broken stalactites and stalagmites, liken to rows of the ancient titan’s teeth. All the while you have been silently observed by a murder of carrion crows perched all around, crowded in the giant’s eye sockets and fighting for space on every protrusion of scarred stone. They stare at you, not one looking away, with dead soulless eyes, eyes that seem to see your fear, that see your heart quicken and crave the meat of it, to tear at your flesh and pluck out your eyes with cruel hooked beaks . Then a sudden fetid maelstrom, like the foul scent of an opened tomb, erupts from the cave, battering and bludgeoning you. The howling wind is filled with the cries of tormented souls and the hideous laughter of their tormentors. It rails around you pulling you left and right, a multitude of unseen hands trying to throw you from this high plateau and smash you on the razor rocks far below. But you hold your ground, crying out for any god who will listen to protect you and roaring your defiance into the tornado. The evil wind dies as suddenly as it had risen and all is unnaturally still and silent once again. The crows unmoved by the dire gale glare still, unblinking black eyes never leaving you. You slowly draw your heavy dark iron blade from its sheath across your back, the ancient magic forged into it igniting the runes down its length with crimson fire, and you incant a whispered charm of warding against Evil intent and fell curses. The mob of black birds take sudden flight in fury and panic, screaming their hatred for your blade and your words and they circle above forming into a thick cloud of choking smoke that threatens to engulf you but your warding charm repulses it, to the screaming crows unholy dismay, and it is taken by a sudden desert wind and dissipated out across the high stone peaks far above you . Emboldened now you take resolute steps forward and peer into the cavernous gloom, your eyes becoming slowly but surely accustomed to the thick deep dark within and you spy a shape there, a hunched and twisted creature, with deep set unblinking eyes, like pools of putrid puss, fixed upon you, watching, waiting,

“Come...” it taunts, its voice a foul and malevolent rasp“...There is nothing to fear...”

Dare you pursue your quarry into the malignant mouth, down deep into the deadly dark?

 ...