The adventure starts with them reporting in to command. They arrive as a light drizzle begins to fall, the clouds threaten a heavier rain. When they get there, during their debrief, a messenger arrives with word from a sending stone.
“The thirty-second reports they are under heavy assault, after clearing the Umbral encampment, they were set upon unexpectedly by a returning patrol of significant strength. They are entrenched at the top of the hill, but are at half-strength from their earlier engagement, and the Umbral Bound Patrol is attacking them with ferocity. They don’t know how long they can hold out, and request reinforcements.”
The characters are given immediate orders to ride to the assistance of beleaguered group–a half day’s ride to the east. They are given six fine mounts for this expedition as speed is paramount. A larger force will follow on foot over the next couple of days and they can collect your mounts then. “Be good to those beasts” says the captain, they are my personal stock, and represent a good percentage of the trained horseflesh left in the region.
They ride the half day through the rain over hilly terrain and arrive as the sky darkens with the coming night.
As you crest the final hill, a scene of impending horror unfolds before you. The air is thick with the stench of death and the ominous silence before battle, all shrouded in a relentless, bone-chilling rain.
Atop a muddy rise, a filthy group of five soldiers stand in a ragged, exhausted line behind a tumbledown structure no longer fit for habitation. Their uniforms, once proud, are now tattered and stained with mud and blood. Makeshift barricades of corpses and debris form a grisly perimeter around their position. The recruits’ eyes are wide with terror, their hands shaking as they clutch their weapons, waiting for what must be another inevitable assault.
The leader, his face a mask of grim determination, moves between his men, offering quiet words of encouragement. His sword, notched and bloodied, hangs loosely at his side. The hill beneath them is a canvas of horror – bodies of fallen soldiers, both Iixian and Umbral Bound, litter the slopes, their blood mixing with the rain to create rivers of crimson mud.
At the base of the hill, the Umbral forces are regrouping for another attack. Six Obwez, their gray-green skin glistening in the rain, stand in a loose formation, jagged swords at the ready. Their snarling faces are twisted with anticipation of the coming violence.
Four Undead Husks twitch and jerk at the edges of the group, their unnatural movements a stark contrast to the stillness of the moment. The metal plates welded to their decaying bodies gleam dully in the dim light.
In the center of the assembled force, a battle-worn Obwezic towers above the rest. Its two remaining arms, each ending in a wickedly curved blade, flex and stretch, preparing for the coming slaughter.
Overseeing this grim host, a Grey Obwez stands apart. Its emaciated frame seems barely affected by the howling wind and rain. With skeletal fingers, it traces arcane symbols in the air, each gesture sending small pulses of dark energy into the sodden ground.
Lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the battlefield in stark relief. In that instant, the true horror of the scene is revealed – the ground itself seems to writhe, as if the very earth is trying to reject the atrocities committed upon it.
Below and to the left, behind the enemy lines, a small group of gnarled, leafless trees offers a potential tactical advantage. The twisted branches and uneven ground could provide cover for a stealthy approach, allowing you to flank the Umbral Bound Legion forces from behind.
You realize you’ve arrived at a pivotal moment. The defenders are on the brink of collapse, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Only the your timely intervention stands between this beleaguered force and total annihilation, as the Umbral Bound host prepares to launch what could be the final, devastating assault.
The party sprang into action, they waited for the Umbral bound forces to attack, and then followed them up the hill attacking from behind. As they ascended the hill to the ruined fortification, they passed multiple arrow-shot Umbral Bound scattered on the slope. Around the low walls a top the hill lay butchered Obwez and Obwezic, their bodies twisted the unnatural poses of those thrown down from above. The terrain seemed to reach up and grab you, slowing your advance, while at the same time, the Umbral Bound were able move not just unhindered but with enhanced speed.
The party fought their way to the top of the hill and scaled he ramparts fighting the Umbral Bound the entire way. At the top they fought a desperate battle but ultimately defeated the enemy.
Inside the fortification they came upon a ragged group of wounded and exhausted soldiers. Several men lay unmoving on the flag stones, their wide-open eyes clearly vacant of life.
A man in a tattered officer’s uniform crouches down checking the bandage of a nearly dead recruit. Rain pours down heavily over his battered form. His face smeared with blood and dirt, is a testament to the brutal battle he has survived. His armor and tattered clothes cling to his body, soaked. A distance gaze, eyes swollen and bruised. Blood and snot drips from his nose and lips. The rainwater pools around him, mixing with the blood, while his sword remains strapped to his back, forgotten for now. The stormy skies above mirror his desolation. He gathers his last reserves of strength rises to his feet turning to you with a week smile.
You recognize this man. It is Lieutenant Eeveer Xaobi.
As you approach he starts to offer his thanks, but then he recognize you too. He stops abruptly and stares at you with his dead eyes.
His face fills with embarrassment and then flares with anger. He hisses at you, “Took you long enough.”
The party does not react well to his response.
“Forgive my words. It’s been rough. I must see to my men. Sargent Grundle can update you on our condition. Our sending stone is used. Perhaps you can send word back to Ruoxum Ferry.”
Xaobi, turns to his other relatively healthy men and orders them to descend the slope to find any usable ammunition, Umbral or otherwise.
A battle-worn man sits slumped against a crumbling rampart, his body drained of energy. Rain drips from his hair and soaks his heavily bandaged face. Blood seeps through the cloth. His armor is dented and smeared with grime and blood. His left arm, severed at the elbow, a makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around the stump. His expression is heavy with pain and exhaustion, his head bowed in silent reflection of the brutal fight he has endured. His one remaining hand rests weakly on the hilt of his sword, still ready despite the overwhelming toll on his body.
Sargent Grundle tells you he has wounded both atop the hill and down below in the tunnels. He explains that they received word of a raiding party inhabiting these ruins, and moved to clear them out. They met with success, though suffered many casualties. But as they were tending the wounded and recovering stolen property, a larger force, perhaps a returning patrol, appeared at the bottom of the hill.
We had been whittling down the enemy numbers as they made relentless charge after charge up the muddy hill. But then we burned through out ammunition. Then we hurled every available stone not-too heavy to lift. But the enemy force was sizeable and they came at us from multiple directions. In the end we were fighting a berserking enemy at the walls, and dying. Three times we had turned the enemy aside, but I am quite convinced we would not have been able to halt the next advance.
The tunnels below are looted. Badly wounded soldiers lay scattered across the floor tended by other soldiers with injuries not quite bad enough to force them off their feet.
In the lowest room is a table strewn with maps and papers written in the abyssal language of Losk.
A mysterious soldier lies motionless on the cold stone floor of the dimly lit room, his eyes wide open, staring vacantly into the void. His coal-black skin glimmers under the faint, flickering candlelight, casting haunting shadows along the cracked, worn walls. Blood stains his chin and mouth, smeared down his face and across the front of his plate mail armor, which bears the tarnished golden insignia of the Umbral Bound Legion. His armor is dented and dulled from battle, darkened further by the pooling blood beneath him. His lifeless body leans against the wall. His deep black skin brings to mind the slaves you encountered under the ruined Cezuet tower.
Next to the dead soldier rests a black two handed sword. Closer examination shows the blade is engraved with abyssal runes. The grip on the hilt is wrapped with a fine wire that upon closer examination appears to have a wickedly sharp edge. You think holding it would hurt.
The wounded sergeant nods at the dead man and the sword. “That one did for my arm with that nasty blade. It took three of us to put him down.”
None of the soldiers can read Abyssal. They are waiting for someone from Intelligence to come and comb the room. If the player can read the Abyssal, they may make a DC 14 investigation check to piece together what they say.
- A Location of another Umbral Bound Chaos outposts.
- The name and description of the courier from whom the get their orders
- Information about Losk Worship.
- References to Malcorix, the Umbral Harbinger
- Orders to continue the search for the gate stone.
Back up top, the characters wait for relief. Fearing a possible second attack, they go about strengthening the tower’s defenses.
When Night falls, they post a watch. One of the party has a familiar who patrols the area and alerts the party of unusual movements below. The party descends the hill and captures a strangely small Obwez (who claims he is an Obwezic). They interrogate the prisoner and discover he is part of a larger contingent of soldiers a short distance away. This prisoner later escapes but the party manages to hunt him down and kill him.
Now they wait for the imminent assault.