Arden Vul - Dungeon World - Session 8

 Arden Vul Session 08

Back Up The Stairs

Date: May 18, 2026

Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)

See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.

What happened when they came back up the baboon stairs, as told by a rat-headed beastman scout to a colleague in the barracks.

---

The rat-headed scout drops onto the bench and sets his helmet beside him.

"You want to know about the outsiders. Fine."

He glances toward the passage. Listens for a breath. Satisfied, he continues.

"Skleros is two doors down and still cooling off. So keep it quiet."

---

He sets it out in order, the way you do after a debrief.

"They came back through. Smelling of smoke and fresh goblin blood, which is what they were contracted to deliver. But underneath that: something older. Deeper. Water from two levels down. Mineral cold. Gog's level."

He pauses to let that land.

---

"Skleros ran the debrief at the barricade. I wasn't in the room. Renner was, and he said you could feel it coming off him before the first sentence was finished. That cold he gets."

"They killed them all. But they let them run first. That was a risk. Then they took them out, right in his cave."

"Count one against them: they handed her a pile of ears instead."

---

"Count two: Gog, and he was the witness."

He says it the way you'd set a cracked weapon on the table.

"One of them mentioned it in the debrief. Casual. Like a footnote. Said Gog confirmed they were worth working with."

"You know what Skleros did? Nothing. Went quiet. Didn't follow up, didn't push back. Renner said the room got cold enough to hang meat in."

"When Skleros goes quiet like that, you pay attention."

---

"So: they went below. Two levels. Came back up the goblin stairs without the dragonfly they'd been carrying. Came back smelling of the deep river."

He opens one hand, a flat gesture.

"What happened down there? Nobody's saying. And I'm not asking Skleros."

---

"Now. You want to hear the part that's actually embarrassing?"

He leans forward slightly.

"After the debrief, Skleros gives them twenty minutes and sends them south. My unit follows at the interval. They go east. Past the goblin room. Past the edge of anything we use openly."

"Treth's squad tracks them through the eastern section. No torches. You know the stretch: the light we set in the offering room carries, and they were moving toward it."

"They found the room. They found the platter."

A pause.

"They touched it."

He sits back.

"The sleep gas took two of them down before they got to the door. The mouth started singing. Hadresh was at the peephole and watched the whole performance. Said the tall one with the red cloak tried to swap stones for the coins first. Like the oldest trap in the hall was going to fall for that."

"Hadresh kept the strip closed after that. Figured they'd earned a moment to lie on the floor."

---

"Treth's squad comes up on them in the east corridor. The big one, Cedric, upright. The pale one with the god-mark, upright. Runner and his wolf, barely. The other two still down."

"Treth asked the standard check: had they cleared the goblins. The god-marked one said 'so far.'"

He considers this for a moment.

"Brave or stupid. Probably both."

---

"That's where the report ends. Deino has Skleros's account. And Gog’s. She hasn't moved yet."

He is quiet for a moment. His nose works, reading the air.

---

He picks up his helmet. Stands.

"You asked about the fifth one, earlier. How Deino knew to expect him."

"It's not complicated. We scout the Long Stair approaches. She put the word out: bring her handsome men. The fifth one was flagged before the party reached the gate."

He glances toward the eastern passage.

"That's all it was. Good intelligence."

Arden Vul - Dungeon World - Session 7

 Arden Vul Session 07

What Gog Knows

Date: May 11, 2026

Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)

See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.

Gog is speaking to someone, someone you cannot see.

They came down the stairs with goblins beside them.

Not prisoners.
Not hunters.

Companions.

I heard them long before they reached the river.

The poison smell reached the water before the blood did.

Mm.

The goblins from below had done well for themselves.
They had found strangers with silver in their pockets and murder in their hands.

Skeff brought them safely through the hidden way.
Past the beastmen.
Through the halfling scouts.

And when they reached my cavern, Skeff spoke true.

“The bargain is finished,” he said.

A clean thing.
An honest thing.

But the strangers asked the goblins to wait.

They promised more payment.
More silver.
More reward once the talking was done.

Mm.

So the goblins waited at the foot of the stair.

While the strangers came to Gog.

They asked for paths.
They asked for secrets.
They asked for the shape of the deeper dark.

And they brought tribute.

One of Kerbal Khan’s dragonflies.

A delicate thing.
Cleverly made.
Too fine for these tunnels.

I remember how it turned in the cavern light.
I remember the feel of its wings in my hands.

The strangers spoke carefully.
Respectfully.

So I answered carefully in return.

Measured words.
Safe words.
Enough to guide them.
Enough to keep them from drowning below.

I let them leave my river alive.

Then they went back to the stair
  toward the waiting goblins.

And the fire came.

Not frightened fire.

Thrown fire.

Chosen fire.

I heard the screams before I saw the light.
Goblin voices echo strangely through wet stone.
Thin at first.
Then sharp.

Then fewer.

I ran toward the burning place.

Too late.

Two goblins lay consumed in the cave.
Burned black.
Split open.
Smoking in the dark.

Five more piled at the base of the stairs.

And the strangers—

Mm.

The strangers had taken ears.

Not weapons.
Not silver.

Ears.

Proofs.

I saw the cuts.
Quick work.
Practiced work.

Not slaughter born from panic.

Deliberate killing.
Deliberate taking.

Then the strangers fled back up the stair before I could reach them.

I heard boots scraping stone.
Fast steps.
Hard breathing.

Afraid.

Good.

They should be afraid.

The smoke of burned goblin flesh drifted through my cavern for hours afterward.
The river carries it still.

And now I know the shape of them.

Polite mouths.
Careful bargains.
Murder waiting underneath.

They think the deep dark does not remember.

Mm.

But below remembers everything.

And Gog remembers most of all.

Arden Vul - Dungeon World - Session 6

 Arden Vul Session 06

Goblins!

Date: May 4, 2026

Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)

See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.

The heroes rested, tended their wounds, and took stock of their situation with the calm deliberation of seasoned adventurers. They had purpose. They had a plan. They had a small door that probably led to goblins.

It led to goblins.

Two big ones arguing, ten small ones cowering, and then Cedric hit the big one with the spear so hard it stopped being a problem, and Runner shot both leaders at once because he can do that now, and Lorez finished the second one off with a magic missile, and it was all very efficient and professional and over quickly.

Then Phlorian started talking to the small ones.

One speaks Common, he reported back, as though this were useful information and not a harbinger of everything that followed. The goblins were hungry. The goblins were scared. The goblins knew a secret. The goblins ate three of Phlorian's rations and became, in some sense that has not yet been legally established, the party's goblins.

Ten goblins. Then Lorez threw a fireball into the room where the horrible invisible thing lives.

It survived. It screamed. The goblins lost their minds.

RUN RUN QUICK QUICK COME COME FAST FAST

Through the fear room, hugging the walls, the thing circling at seven feet, nine goblins and five heroes moving very fast toward the big doors with the ibis and the feather carved on them, which were already half-burnt and stuck open, which is fine, this is fine, horns are sounding behind them somewhere in the dark

QUICK QUICK TO THE DOORS

and through, and north, and running, and an arrow came out of the wall and went through Squibble's head (the goblins' names are not known but he was probably called something like Squibble) and the other eight didn't even slow down, they just left him there, they kept running, because that is what goblins do, because goblins are very wise about some things

through a room with a rotting halfling's head on a pole, over a barricade, and then the barricade had a spear in it that fired and took Gnorbik (probably) right through the middle and the other seven didn't even look back, didn't even flinch, just ran harder, because they had seen this before, because this is just Tuesday in the halls beneath Arden Vul

down a long corridor and through a door and into a hallway with two stone faces carved in the wall that opened their mouths and one of them said something in a language nobody understood and the other one said, in plain Archontian, that all the secrets of the Ibis were lost and dead and gone and nobody should go looking and beware.

Eight goblins ran northeast without breaking stride.

Arden Vul - Dungeon World - Session 5

Arden Vul Session 01

Facing Your Fears

Date: April 27, 2026

Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)

See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.

Sing, O memory, of those who pressed on through the shadowed halls,
who, their terror stilled for a breath, beheld the chamber of the throne.
There stood the seat, raised cunningly by mortal art, not godly power—
yet all the curving stone and painted line conspired to exalt it,
drawing the eye, bending the will, as if a king unseen still lingered there.

And near it lay the coffins of the honored—or the accursed—
set in their arc as witnesses eternal.

But one among them would not rest.

The red stone prison groaned with ceaseless fury:
a scratching without pause, a frantic clawing from within.
When struck, it answered—no dull echo, but a rising wail,
thin and sharp, as though despair itself had found a voice.
Iron nails, each marked with an unblinking eye, sealed fast the lid,
their symbols older than the gods now named.
What lay within had not forgotten the world of breath—
nor ceased its striving to return.

Then, turning from that dire portent, they marked the hidden seam,
the cunning work behind the throne.
Strong Cedric, with straining hand, drew forth the stone,
and opened up a passage into foulness and decay.
From that black throat there came a sound—no word, no beast’s full cry,
but something between, that stirred the marrow into dread.

Swiftly they sealed it,
choosing not yet to tempt what waited in that depth.

Onward they moved, retracing steps through the haunted chamber,
where the unseen guardian kept its silent watch.
No form it bore, yet near it pressed—a chill upon the air—
circling, pacing, bound to the heart of that accursed place.
Not hunter, but warden:
for it struck not those who clung to the margins,
but held dominion at the center,
where none might tread and live unmarked.

So, wary, they passed.

Beyond, another hall received them, gentler in aspect:
cool the air, and veiled with mist, as though the stone itself exhaled.
There rose a fountain, wrought in the likeness of a fish of bronze,
pouring forth clear water without source or end.
No channel drained it, yet it did not overflow—
a quiet wonder, set amidst dread.

Here too were signs of mortal passage—
footprints crossing to and fro, not yet erased by time.

And there they found their companion,
his spirit broken by the terrors he had faced.
About him, the walls were scarred with desperate marks,
cut deep by claw and hand alike,
stained with the memory of blood.
Whoever wrought them had not sought to claim this place—
but to flee it.

Yet even as aid was given and breath restored,
the unseen world took notice.

From the passage came a creature not of flesh, but craft:
a dragonfly of metal and cunning make,
its wings whispering, its jeweled eyes unblinking.
It hovered and turned, a silent witness,
measuring, remembering.

But Cedric, swift to wrath, struck it down.
It fell in ruin, reeking of strange fire.
Within its frame lay subtle workings and a shattered vial,
once filled with crimson draught, now lost to stone.

No maker’s mark declared its master.
Yet this was no wandering thing.

Some distant will had cast its gaze upon them—
and now that gaze was broken.

So there they rested, for a fleeting hour,
gathering strength against the trials yet to come.
But peace did not follow them.

For still the red prison rang with claw on stone.
Still the dark beyond the throne drew breath unseen.
And somewhere, in halls yet deeper,
an unseen watcher marked their passing
and found its silence disturbed.

Arden Vul - Dungeon World - Session 4

 Arden Vul Session 04

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Room

Date: April 20, 2026

Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)

See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.

"Pull up a chair, mate. You missed a right proper tale last night. Those five, Cedric, Phlorian, and the rest of that lot, were down here nursing their bruises and arguing over who ran the fastest in the wrong direction. Sounds like they’ve finally poked the nest in Arden Vul.

From what I gathered, they were stuck in this massive, roofless hall. Imagine gargoyles circling overhead like vultures, just waiting for a slip-up. They had some beastman officer named Skleros barking orders at them from behind a barricade, telling them the goblins they were hunting were off to the southwest. Apparently, there was magic humming all over the place, invisible bridges and terraces way up high, but the lads decided they weren't paid enough to scrap with stone monsters.

They made a break for the west doors. Now, you’d think adventurers would be quiet, right? Not this lot. They spent so long shoulder-checking the door that by the time it finally gave way, it sounded like a mountain falling over. Every horror on that level must’ve heard 'em coming.

---

The Room of the Scream

They get inside this junk-filled chamber, thinking they’re safe. Cedric takes about three steps in, and then? This roar hits them, not just a sound, mind you, but a proper, soul-shaking shriek.

It was pure chaos. Iohannes and Cedric bolted one way into a throne room; Runner dived into a dead-end alcove covered in goblin graffiti; and the rest were left standing there, hearing something heavy shuffling toward them in the dark.

The Three Boxes

The ones who fled found themselves in this grand, semicircular hall with an ivory throne. But it’s the sarcophagi that’ll give you the shivers.

• There was a red basalt one, nailed shut with brass nails that had eyes carved on the heads.

• One was just open with a giant centipede making itself at home.

• The third was the real prize, or should’ve been. Ornate carvings of a dragon rider, some old war hero named Pilcher. Phlorian recognized the history, but when they looked inside? Nothing but two dusty, empty wine skins.

Naturally, Phlorian decides that’s the perfect moment to go and sit on the ancient throne like he owns the place.

---

The Unseen and the Scale

While they’re messing about with tombs, the thing that roared caught up. It was invisible, just a cold weight moving in the air. Cedric charged back in to play the hero, but the thing started draining the very life out of him just by touching him.

Phlorian starts chanting a battle hymn to keep their spirits up, and it works, except the magic was so thick it started shielding the monster, too! Then, just to make a bad day worse, the creature reaches into Cedric’s mind and pulls out a nightmare. A cobra, thirty feet long and thick as a man's waist, comes slithering through the door.

Iohannes saw that snake and didn't even pretend to be brave, he just turned tail and hid behind the stone coffins.

The Retreat

It ended in a proper mess. Two of them were half-shriveled from whatever that invisible thing was doing to their life force, and the party was scattered to the four winds. They managed to scramble back into the room with the sarcophagi to lick their wounds and plan a way out.

But the kicker? As they’re sitting there in the dark, trying to catch their breath, they hear it. A slow, rhythmic scritch-scritch-scritch coming from inside that red basalt box. The one with the eyes on the nails.

Safe to say, I don't think they’ll be getting much sleep tonight."