Answers and Questions

It was a cold a wet walk to the Royal Stables. There was no use in being quick, the stables were on the other side of town, and Gruffydd would be soaked by the time he got there, no matter what speed.
The Royal Stables was a vast complex, capable of housing hundreds of horses, from a time when mounted patrols still ventured Beyond the Wall. It was now mostly unused except for a dozen horses and countless mice, that now called it home. The ancient stable master Hogarth was shoeing a horse when Gruffydd arrived, soaked and in a bit of a foul mood. Hogarth indicated Gub's location with a wave of his hammer, and mumbled warning, "Be careful with young Gub, mind ya. He's a bit slow. Mule kicked 'im in the head when he was little, and we watch out for 'im. Bit of a mascot around here."
Young Gub, as Hogarth called him, had grown to be a burly teenager. He was twice Gruffydd's size in height and width. He was in deep conversation with a  mouse when Gruffydd approached.

"Err, Gub is it?," The dwarf asked. "My name's Gruffydd. Mind if I ask you some questions?" Gub looked up. His face definitely looked like he had taken a blow to head. He also looked a little embarrassed and quickly grabbed a pitchfork and began moving hay.
"Gub, I need to ask you about the village you came from." The giant turned his back and worked harder. "I know you very young," he dwarf continued, "but anything you can remember about it would be helpful."
"Me Ma's dead", Gub mumbled. "She died when I was little."
"I'm sorry to hear that", Gruffydd said,"but I need to know about your village."
Gub turned, and eyed Gruffydd. "Me Ma told me stories sometimes."
"Go on" said the dwarf.
"She said people kept dis-pearin' from the village at night. Sometimes behind locked doors. Everyone was scared. Then one night, they came." Gub had started to tremble slightly.
"Who came?", Gruffydd asked.
"They was in our house. Lots of 'em. They swarmed all over Da, all claws and teeth." His voice had become a wail. "Red eyes!" Gub screeched and pulled at his hair. He dropped the pitchfork and began curling into a ball. "Red eyes!"
Before Gruffydd could speak, Hogarth burst into the stall. "What's going on in here?" He moved to comfort the boy. He glared at Gruffydd, "Didn't I tell ya to be careful with 'im? There, there Gub. It'll be all right. Shhhhh...."
Gruffydd turned, and trudged out into the rain again. More confused than before.

A New Adventure

Though it was cold and rainy outside, it was hot and smokey inside the Hole. By the fire sat six adventurers, bound by past quests, and spilt blood. Gildrid, newly freed from the Land of the Dead and looking paler than ever, sat closest to the fire. Beside him was the halfling thief known only as Miss Adventure, munching on her cheese, seemingly oblivious to the conversation around her.
The talk centered around their next mission, led by the nominal leader of the group Gruffydd, the old dwarf veteran. They had been languishing inside Wall for months, waiting for a break in the terrible autumn downpours. There seemed no end to the weather in sight, and they were steadily using up their gold.
"Lake Merr,"Dimzad, the other dwarf present shouted,"we should head for Lake Merr. I heard there's something living there. Sea monsters mean gold."
Gruffydd shot him a tired look, "And how, do you suppose, we fight some lake dwelling sea beast? Drag a boat for leagues? Do you have some magical potion for breathing under water I don't know about?"
"There's always the rumors about the village." This comment came from Nemon, the fighter from the Free Cities. He stroked his well-oiled mustache. "I hear of a village where the voices of dead can still be heard. Haunted villages might bring treasure. What say you, Laramine?"
His question was directed at the new man, Laramine, a veteran sea raider of the Kraken's Teeth. They were a cold, hard people, who still made their trade from plundering the coasts.

"I'm new to your party, so I don't think I have equal say."

He was huge hulk of a man, accustom to hardship and blood. Gruffydd eyed him over his pipe. "I lean towards the village, but we can put it to a vote". All voted for the village, save Dimzad, who sullenly turned his attention to his soup.
Gruffydd shuffled over to the bar. The old barkeep Tancred collected rumors, like others collected coins or fine art. Gruffydd slid five gold pieces across the bar. Far too much for a tankard of ale. "What do you know of a village Beyond the Wall? One that was abandoned. One where the dead still whisper."
Tancred eyed him with his remain eye. There was one I heared of. Ordiland? Ordilock? Something like that. Was a nice place. Rich place. Made money off a furs and commerce along the Old Trade Road. That was back when the Dwarves still held the northern passes, and the Empire still had contact with the coastal cities.

Almost over night Ordi-whatever, emptied. People just disappeared. Only one survivor I ever heared of. She showed up in the middle of the night, banging on the gates. Had a small child with her. She was babbling about creatures in the night, attacking her village, getting people even though they were barricaded in their houses. She died soon after. Her boy has been living in the Royal Stables, mostly watched over by the Stable Master. He might have more information."
Gruffydd and walked out into the rain seeking the Stable Master.

The Blighted Coast

Far to north and east, many leagues Beyond the Wall, lies the Blighted Coast. It is a windswept, somber place, with dark crags that rise like rotted dragon's teeth from beaches. The gray waves beat mercilessly upon deserted shores. Long ago, even before the founding of the Empire, a great city resided here. But, whether through fate or dark sorcery, a star fell from the heavens one fateful night, and blasted it to ruins, along with surrounding shoreline.
Now, not even the ghosts of those long dead people dare not walk the sands of the Blighted Coast. Black ships prowl the waters. Those foolish enough to brave the coast looking for treasures from past, find themselves at the mercy of these dark raiders.
The ships appear from nowhere, silent and sleek, their prows adorned withe terrible carvings of spiders and other fell beasts. They are slavers, it is said, come to take the unwary to their dark abode. Better to die, the old sailors say, than to be taken alive on the Blighted Coast.

Goblins of the Fellreeve Forest

Travelers who make it far enough north Beyond the Wall, might encounter an enormous, dark wood known as the Fellreeve. As if the sheer size wasn't daunting enough (it would take weeks on foot to cross it), most of it's denizens are bent on the demise of said travelers.
Some of the worst creatures stalking the Feelreeve's dark shadows and haunted places are the Goblins. "Goblins?" you scoff. Though a single goblin is not a danger to most seasoned adventurers, they rarely appear in small numbers. In the past, the Empire had a strict policy of extermination when it came to goblins. Left to their own devices, they tended to breed like rats, overrunning many settlements by sheer numbers. The goblins of the Fellreeve have been left alone for decades. There they have grown to staggering numbers.
Being a cantankerous lot, once their numbers grew, the goblins starting fighting. They quickly split into several factions and tribes. Currently, three tribes fight for dominance; the Broken Tooth, the Blood Moon and Crooked Blade tribes.
It is this infighting that has saved Wall from an onslaught of goblin hordes. If a leader should arise, strong enough to unite these warring factions, Wall would certainly shudder under their weight.

A dark dream

When she awoke, it was not her cramped, dirty room at the Hole. She lay beside a rushing river in the height of Summer. It was the Brindleshins, the river of her youth. The summer rains had swollen the river, but it was a hot, and often children snuck down to the 'Shins to cool off, despite their parent's warnings.
Today was such a day. She and her younger brother, Roderick, were supposed to be weeding the garden, but the heat had got to them and they dodged Mother to run down to the bank.
But, when they got there, even they were surprised by how swiftly the current was. Her brother paused on a rock jutting out into the dark water. He looked back at her hesitantly, waiting for the okay from his big sister.
Then she saw him. He was on the far bank. A handsome man. She had seen few humans in the seclusion of the Moot, but she knew one when she saw them. He was tall and well dressed. He had a sword on his belt and gold rings. Around his neck hung a single gold key.
He smiled at her.
He beckoned. Not for her, but for her brother. Roderick didn't seem to see the stranger across the river. She knew she had to help this man with whatever he wanted. He seemed so nice. "What's that, you want my brother to swim across to you? He doesn't want to go, but I'll make him, for you. " Just a little push...
This time Miss Adventure woke in the Hole. Screaming.

the Lord of Dreams and Eternal Slumber

The servants of Mohr wordlessly took Gildrid along with all the halfling's money. They would keep watch over his body, and plead with their Master for the return of his soul. There was chance, ever so slight, that the fell creature who struck him down, would claim his body. Gildrid could return one of two ways, as himself, or as wight, possessed of a dark malice, but no soul.
That night, Miss Adventure returned to her bed at the Hole. Those who had seen her leave with Gildrid early that morning said nothing to her on her return. Word had travelled fast that their expedition had ended badly. No one, it seemed, wanted their luck to rub off on them.
She slept fitfully. Her dreams were filled with visions of the horror in the crypt, but also of a tall gaunt man in gray robes and a hood. Over the next few nights, she dreamed less of the ancient warrior and more of the man in robes. He appeared carrying a lamp and a sword. Around his neck hung a single key of ancient brass. Each night he drew closer. One night she dreamed he approached on a dark road. In the night sky above, the stars raced too quickly. The man came closer. He smelled of the cold, damp earth. Of his face she could only see a pointed chin jut out from beneath his hood. Grey skin stretched across a painfully thin frame, yet she sense about him a great power. He stooped and leaned to meet her face to face. Through yellowed teeth he spoke, "Remember me, little one?" His voice was like the rustling leaves on an Autumn night.
Miss Adventure's mind raced. Remember him? I think I'd recall someone like him.
"No?" he spoke again, "maybe this will help you..."
He threw back his hood.

Run, run, run, as fast as you can...

With the creature's rising, the tomb had become cold. Mist was creeping from the floor like grasping, skeletal hands. Gildrid struggled against the ancient warrior's grip, stabbing and slashing at it. Miss Adventure leapt at Goroth, burying a dagger deep in his back. He howled with indignation, and released Gildrid from his grasp so that he could swing with both hands at the little halfling.
All the while Otto merely watched, uncertain what to do. He had been in fights before, but never faced horrors such as this. He backed towards the entrance further, his foot resting on the bottom step.
Gildrid and Miss Adventure traded blows with the fell creature. The strikes that landed seemed to do little or no damage, and all the time the tomb grew colder.
"Give up, little heroes," Goroth rasped, though his lips did not move, "your feeble weapons cannot harm me. Join my dark crusade, and live forever!"
With that shout he drove his arcane blade deep into Gildrid's side. The elf dropped his blade and sunk to the floor. Otto flew up the steps and out into the daylight.

Miss Adventure screamed and threw her torch at the monster. Flames exploded on the thing. Goroth flailed at the flames, his filthy rags feeding the fire. During the distraction, the halfling began dragging the much bigger elf towards, then up, the stairs.
She was out of breath when she reached the daylight, cursing Otto the entire time. Just then, the thief arrived with the horses. He had somehow goaded them against their instincts to approach the tomb. Wordlessly, they hauled Gildrid up and over a saddle. In moments they were riding hard back to Wall. Miss Adventure stole a look over her shoulder before they left the entrance to the tomb. A smoldering Goroth glared from the darkness with coal-hot, burning red eyes.
They reached Wall by nightfall. They would have rode harder, but feared the bouncing might harm the elf more. Gildrid had not stirred during the ride. They could old Sergeant Malloy shaking his head as they road past. He had seen this scene time and again.
They took Gildrid to the Temple of Shayalla, goddess of healing and suffering. The high priestess merely shook her head and said, "he is too far gone for us. We shall weep for him. Maybe you should visit instead, the Temple of Mohr."
Miss Adventure gasped. Mohr was the dread Lord of Death.