The lost lands

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Jacob “The Fist” – enters the tavern and the noise quiets down – This man is a ranger – you can tell just by looking at him. His boots well worn but well kept, a sturdy axe hanging from his belt – within easy reach – of his left hand. His right arm ends just below the elbow. A local legend, he sits down at the bar and without a word is served by Odo. Taking a long drought from his mug he says

“I could hear your commotion from outside, loud it was. – The Mouth of Doom eh… .. yeah I know about the place.”

- "I wouldn’t say it was all just mindless vermin down there – just by what we saw. The easier parts weren’t too big to explore though – the main level that is, but you could dig – go down deeper if you have the courage. We didn’t.

The Mouth leads to the Gullet, the Demons Gullet – naturally of course. Though there’s nothing natural about that place.

I can say that even on the first floor of the place it marks you (looks at his mangled arm), not just your body…the place…it leaves a stain on your soul.
Yes the vermin, the little things….they sort of have a mind for the place – like it calls to them.
Nothing natural about it.

I remember the bastard monster who took my arm – the local tribes called him Druhgin Bloodjaw, a local villain with a massive war hammer who controlled the Mouth of Doom- don’t know what he was – maybe a very large orc, a half-breed or even an Ogre. Normally I am good at figuring out things like that – awfully hard when you can’t see for the blood in your eyes.
He kept the tribals and humans who threw in with his lot in check. Yes, he took my arm – nearly my life if it wasn’t for Otto and Renark who drug me away while he was distracted. Mouth of Doom indeed."

With that he finishes his beer and tosses some coins on the counter.

“I suddenly realized I don’t have as much thirst as I thought I did.”

And with that he walked out.


Upon hearing this story, Lam’s bravado would have faded a bit. Combined with the harrowing story he heard from the adventurer outside in the stables, maybe there was more to the Mouth of Doom and fabled Rappan Athuk than he had first thought. Exploring these dungeons certainly seemed to leave their mark on people.

On the other hand, things like this, that’s what gave songs and stories their power. Lam couldn’t go on for the rest of his life singing “Fair Maids of Summer,” “On a Misty Morn,” “The Wind in the Barley” or any of the many other well known songs. If he was to become known as one of the greatest song-smiths of his time, he had to adventure into deep and dark places and emerge with the knowledge and stories to make new songs of high adventure!

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Ckorik Ckorik

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