From Felicia Fennelwood’s journal:
Progress on the grand governor’s mansion has been slow lately, and the grand governor has certainly been letting us know about it with every moan and complaint about the climate and the noises of camp. I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind somewhere a little more solid as well—I do like the feel of good hard wood underneath my feet. The latest hold-up was a shortage of workers; it seems they’re upset about robberies at the local graveyard. So, once again, it was up to us to investigate.
A necromancer was squatting in the small mausoleum, reanimated corpses in tow. It was rather an unpleasant fight for me; I couldn’t seem to hit a vital spot on the rotten things. A bit like trying to stab your bedroll to death. Fortunately, the others did a fine job of smashing them into jelly, and we moved on to the main shrine.
We found the secret door easily enough. Opening it was another story. Bolga, who may well be one of the burliest wizards I’ve ever seen, failed to break it down, nor did yanking on the suspicious-looking sconce yield any fruitful result. Finally, by passing a golden statuette over the whimsically porcine-themed altar, we managed to open a passage into a dark tunnel which proved to be crawling with more undead.
They were, for the most part, easily dispatched. I found that using the edge of my shortsword worked wonders, and Elrien even wrangled a few of the skeletons onto our side. Rather funny, seeing them wheel around on their bony ankles and lay into their former cohorts.
We emerged from the tunnel to find ourselves face to face with an ogre. If there was any doubt of the worth of a good cleric, it died along with the bellowing brute, as one of the skeletons felled it with a powerful blow before it could even lift its club. A lucky strike? Perhaps—and Shin’dra and I had weakened it a bit—but still impressive. What’s better, the ogre proved to be carrying a genuine handy haversack tied to its belt! I can bid a joyous, and not-at-all-fond, farewell to struggling along under the weight of my excess equipment. Perhaps it’s time to look into stocking up on a few more tricks…
At the end of the trail, three necromancers and another pair of corpses were gathered around a stone altar, conducting what I assume was some sort of unspeakable ritual or sacrifice or perhaps simply an afternoon tea of the damned. The battle itself is a bit of a blur…I seem to remember the leader growing to enormous size and filling my head with some sort of hideous visions. The others say I ran off into the woods screaming, but surely that’s an exaggeration. More likely, I was simply a little disoriented.
By the time I returned, the others had nearly finished off the foes, and I was just in time to be introduced to Robierre, an enchanted skull (rather, as it turned out, a fire spirit) held prisoner in the necromancer’s sack. Apparently, a millenium or so ago he was an advisor to a local faerie court. He’s our best lead yet in the case of the missing castle, and all he wanted in return was the promise we wouldn’t leave him lying in the woods. I’m not surprised. I doubt any fire spirit would enjoy sitting out in this weather!