Menu Close

Dolmenwood: The Black Wyrm of Galblight (Session 09)

Gamelog for my Dolmenwood Campaign written by Maydrid the Rogue.  Rogue’s Gallery:

  • Marj Smith the Fighter.
  • Maydrid the Rogue.
  • Madrid the Rogue (twin sisters).
  • Jackie-of-Many-Colors (Elven Magician).
  • Spruce-Upon-Gallows (Elven Enchanter).
  • Hogrid Weavilman (Cleric).
  • Boone the Hunter (Hunter).
  • Tassain (Minstrel).

“Check this out,” Madrid beckons, waving around a piece of parchment. “1,000 gold from the reeve of Galblight for whoever deals with a black dragon that is terrorising their town…” She pauses to read the rest of the flier. “I say we check it out. Can’t be worse than that crazy town with the jelly. And we get to keep whatever treasures the dragon has!”

“A dragon?” Marje questions, pondering the thought of crossing paths with the fearsome creature. “I’m not so sure we are ready for that.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Madrid coaxes with a cheeky smile on her face. “All we have to do is buy some hot buns for the dragon like in Hogrid’s story… What was it again?”

Hogrid raises an eyebrow. “You mean Saint Wode? That’s just a legend.”

“Legend or not it must have worked otherwise he wouldn’t be the saint of baked goods,” Madrid rebuts. She rolls up the parchment and tucks it into her belt. “Remember when we came across that strange group… Was it the Bakers’ Dozen? I bet they sell some dragon-worthy buns.”

Maydrid sighs and shakes her head. “The things you do for money.”

.: :.

Jackie is peering down at a map of Dolmanwood with strange, yellow and red markings across it. “I’ve been noticing fae gates all over Dolmanwood… Galblight is far, so if we take a fae gate, it could possibly cut the travel time in half.”


Jackie nods. “Well, there is a chance that it takes longer than our original travel time, because the fae is, you know, fae. It’s chaotic and unpredictable.”

“That hardly sounds worth it,” Boone comments, crossing his arms.

“Trust us!” Sprue pipes up, grasping the map from Jackie’s hands. “There’s only a small chance that it could go wrong…”

The fae gate is supposedly between two intertwined trees, their branches reaching out for one another in an embrace. The space between the trees shimmers slightly as they step forward, indicating the presence of magic.

“The Narrow Way,” Sprue says cryptically. He gestures for them to follow him as he steps in between the two trees. Suddenly, they are transported to another world – the sun is a bright red circle in the midnight blue sky. No matter how much time they spend here, the sun and sky do not move. The pathway they have exited onto is covered in shadows as it winds through a dusty canyon.

Jackie inhales and exhales slowly. “Home!” she exclaims, a smile crawling its way across her lips. “Let’s go – we don’t want to spend too much time here.”

Besides a horde of small, hairy goblins marching with vigor and golden elves riding on gigantic golden wolves, the fae is, surprisingly, normal. It feels like they are only walking for a few hours before they come across the exit – two strangely coloured trees intertwined at the branches.

.: :.

Galblight is a small, dainty town. There are two local taverns: the Clumsy Fox and the Golden Egg.

As they enter the Clumsy Fox, they are greeted by a grimalkin, a small, purple-pink cat creature. He smiles a wide smile and reveals pointed teeth.

“Why hello, weary travelers! Welcome to the Clumsy Fox! I am Bentley, your host! Now, –”

He is rudely interrupted by a breggle standing nearby – he is a half-goat, half-man creature. “Bentley, don’t ignore me! I know you stole my booze!”

“Now now, Quinn,” Bentley says, turning around. “Let’s not argue in front of the guests, hmm? We can discuss this later.”

Quinn scowls and leaves the Clumsy Fox in a huff. With that, Bentley turns back around and smiles again. “Oh, don’t mind him. An old friend of mine! He actually runs the other tavern in town – you should pay him a visit.”

After speaking to Bentley and the other locals, they gather that the dragon doesn’t bother the town, but burns down caravans traveling to and from the town and eats the people. There have also been significantly more goblins sighted in the surrounding areas, and a nearby mine run by moss dwarves has fallen silent in recent weeks; none of the townsfolk have checked on them for fear of death.

“Speaking of dragons, legend says that a fella by the name of Brandon. Yes, Brandon Breggle he was! He drove away a dragon many years ago with a magical sword. His tomb is somewhere outside of town.”

They then pay Eric, the reeve, a visit. He says multiple things: the local woodsman, George, has come face to face with the dragon itself; the witch of the woods is terrible, as she trucks with faeries, and possibly responsible for all the recent problems; Ingrid, the town’s herbalist, he believes to also be unpleasant, particularly because Ingrid is friends with the witch; and the church will know the whereabouts of Brandon Galbright’s tomb.

Ingrid is, in contrast, a generally amicable breggle. She welcomes them in and sits them down, telling them that the witch, Vivian, is a close friend of hers and “a lovely lady indeed!”

“The townsfolk are just superstitious,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “It’s why Warwick, the blacksmith, has all these lucky charms hanging outside his house! It’s worrying, actually. He hasn’t seemed… himself lately.”

This then leads the party to check on Warwick, who is as paranoid as they come. When he realises they are harmless, he ushers them in, but not before quickly glancing out the door and slamming it shut.

“Phew,” he exhales, wiping his forehead. His shop is barren save for a few cold-iron daggers. “If it isn’t for my problem with the mines and not getting enough metals, it’s the faeries that bother me every night.”

“Faeries?” Marje asks, tilting her head to the side. Warwick nods enthusiastically.

“They visit me, every single night, and leave evil totems on the door! Look, see here!” He produces a small piece of paper with writing on it. The floral scent of roses and jasmine wafts through the air when the paper is unfolded. Upon reading it, Madrid smiles softly.

“It’s a love letter!” she exclaims, handing it back to Warwick. “From your secret admirer. Oooh, I wonder who that could be!”

“Well,” Boone says, stroking his chin. “Judging from the smell, I’d say I can throw out a good guess.”

Marje sighs, before standing back up. “Let’s go pay her a visit, and tell her to stop spooking poor Warwick.”

.: :.

After calling upon Ingrid for the second time, they seek out George at the outskirts of town. He is an elderly, red-headed breggle. He is missing his left arm from underneath his green robe. “The dragon, ey!” he says, smoking his pipe in-between words. “My comrades and I fought him a while ago, and lost. They all perished except for me. The dragon has invincible black scales – it didn’t matter what we tried, it never worked! I know that Brandon killed the dragon he fought years and years ago by plunging his magic sword into the dragon’s mouth, so that could possibly work.”

“Sounds like the sword is our key,” Jackie comments, standing. “Let’s pay the local church a visit.”

Father William is a short and stout man dressed in faded brown robes. The rope belt that is tied around his bulging waist is fraying. He greets them warmly and nods to Hogrid.

“Well I sent brother Dirk to Brandon’s tomb a few days ago, but he has yet to return, and I fear the worst! If you can go after him, I will be forever grateful.”

“Of course,” Hogrid agrees. “We will go after him and report back.”

Their final stop is the Golden Egg, which isn’t nearly as bustling as the Clumsy Fox was. After a few hours of drinking with the locals they learn of a hidden pirate treasure of The Dread Pirate Roberts and a man-eating giant in the woods nearby. They are served watered-down ale by Quinn, who seems distracted and defeated.

As the tavern is closing, and they are about to head back to the Clumsy Fox for the night, Quinn entreats them. “It’s Bentley’s fault! I’m sure of it,” he announces without an ounce of doubt. “I paid quite a sum to have beer shipped here from Prigwort, and the day it made it through I stored it in this here cellar, and can you believe that the morning after it was all gone! That nasty cat is trying to run his competitor into the ground!”

“I have some elven wine,” Hogrid says, producing a bottle from his pack. “Perhaps we use that as bait tonight to see if anyone does try to steal it?”

Once the bait is set, Maydrid hides in a nearby barrel, watching and waiting. After an hour or so, the door to the cellar opens on its creaky hinges, and a small voice is softly humming a dance-y tune. Suddenly, the wine rises on its own, and Maydrid throws a sack over it in reaction. Whatever she has caught begins to kick and whine.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“It’s a clurichaun!” Jackie yells as she enters the room, peering through the weave of the sack. “How careless of you!” she says, wagging her finger at this so-called ‘clurichaun’.

The clurichaun is a small man, almost like a gnome, with a large chin that juts out from his face in an unusual proportion. This particular clurichaun’s mouth is influenced by a deep frown. “Alright, alright you caught me! The name’s Negganine. Now let me out, will you?”

“If a clurichaun is caught, they lose their magic, and must trade their pot of gold for their freedom,” Sprue says, smiling. “So, Negganine, where is your pot of gold?”

Negganine huffs and crosses his arms. “In a temple in the forest north-west of here, where goblins have taken it over,” he grumbles out unhappily. “Now let me go!”

.: :.

The next day, they seek out the witch of the woods. She lives in a small, straw hut south of Galblight. Dozens of topiaries decorate her frontyard in the likeness of frozen people, their mouths open in terror.

“Well isn’t this just a dandy place to be,” Madrid comments, a shiver running up her spine. As they approach the hut, a small pond greets them, along with what seem like fireflies. It’s only when they attempt to knock on the door do the fireflies buzz over and yell, “Hey! Yeah, you! You’re not allowed inside until you give tribute!” and this little creature points to the pond.

“It’s a sprite,” Jackie explains, scowling. “Better listen.”

Once a satisfactory tribute of a handful of gold and a few weapons are given, the sprites allow them to pass. The door is opened by an elderly breggle woman resting on a cane. She wears a rumpled purple dress and sports a large wart on her nose.

“Visitors!” she says, seemingly surprised. “I don’t get many of those. Please, come in.” Her house is filled from the floor to ceiling with potions and books, all strewn about in random places.

“We were told you could help us,” Madrid responds. “We want to be rid of the dragon that plagues Galblight. Personally, I think the key is hot buns, but my friends beg to differ.”

“Ah ha!” Vivian clicks her fingers, before taking a moment to think. “Buns are what you need, as dragons are very fond of them!” Here, Madrid takes a moment to shoot her companions a gloating look. “But, that is not all. There is a place called Fawnsgrove nearby – the sap of the trees that grow there can make a potent, magical wine. If you soak the buns in it, it will poison the dragon, and what dragon can resist some fresh, hot buns?”
.: :.

Obtaining the sap is easier than they expect – the fawns that guard their precious grove are sentimental creatures, and accept a lock of hair from Maydrid’s first kill in exchange for the sap.

They then make their way to Brandon’s tomb. The slab of stone that serves as a door boasts a mosaic of a knight slaying a dragon, but it is ajar. “I can hear whispering from inside the tomb,” Jackie claims. Curious, she descends into the crypt, followed by the rest of her party.

The whispering turns out to be five goblins, one of them who wears an oversized badge that he holds up constantly. “I’m Captain Beelzebub and this is the territory of the Goblin King!” he shouts heroically from his height of 3 feet tall.

Jackie can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, Beelzebub, but we’re here on an important task and we’re going to have to push past you.”

Beelzebub contemplates this for a moment, before gathering his comrades in a circle to loudly whisper. After the debate, Beelzebub turns back around and brushes off his clothes. “How about,” he proposes in a pompous voice. “We join forces? I had many men before we ventured forth and now I only have five. I’m sure we can benefit each other, and we can split the treasure 80/20!”

Jackie rubs her temples with the pads of her fingers. “And I suppose, Beelzebub, that we are receiving the 20% cut?”


Jackie sighs before stepping over Beelzebub and his crew, gesturing for her party to mimic her. They enter a large, round room; eight alcoves sit every few feet from each other in the walls. One of the alcoves has a large section of the floor covering it, and gray ooze is leaking forth. When they approach the ooze they can hear Beelzebub giggling.

“I’m guessing this is what killed the other goblins,” Maydrid says as she drops a stone into the ooze, its form immediately disintegrating it.

Meanwhile, Hogrid and Boone investigate another alcove and find old weapons, daggers and maces, along with a shiny chainmail shirt.

“There’s a slight crack in this wall,” Jackie says, running her fingers along the edges of another alcove. Madrid searches with her, and eventually she finds the trigger that allows the alcove to swing inwards, revealing a secret room.
The room holds a polished darkwood chest and matching shelves. Upon opening the chest, Madrid finds a heavy, jewel-encrusted quarterstaff and thick, silky robes.

“Sacred relics,” Hogrid elaborates, touching them in awe. “Of none other than Saint Arthur, too!”

Posted in Dungeons & Dragons, OSE, The Ninth World

Leave a Reply