What's cooking?

At first, there was stunned silence. Miss Adventure was the first to charge ahead. She dove under the closest weasel and began stabbing upward, soon up to her elbows in blood. Laramine swung at the other beast with his great sword, cleaving its head nearly in two. Gildrid was pelting them with arrows, and Nemon threw daggers.
Only Gruffydd stood, unmoving.
All the adventurer's rage at the loss of Dimzad was taken out on the giant weasels. The creatures were dead before they ever struck back. Miss adventure crawled out from under one, just before the beast collapsed.
It was time to take stock of the room. There was an almost identical door at the opposite side from where they came in. A large pile of weasel dung was piled in one part of the round, domed earth room. Amid the pile was undigested bones of large humanoids. There were two large copper bowls, full of water, and writing in a strange tongue on them.
Gruffydd began hacking away at the chest of the one who ate Dimzad. He cracked open the ribcage and dug the top half of Dimazd out. The others watched in muted disgust. Gruffydd was caked in gore by the time he was done with his grizzly task. He loaded what there was into a huge sack, kept for treasure and began to head toward the door they came through.
"Where are you going?" asked Gildrid.
"He was the last of his clan. He deserves a proper burial." And with that Gruffydd was gone.
Nemon spoke, "All right then, time to see what's behind that door."
A loud racket came from the other side. Nemon slowly creaked open the unlocked door.
Through the crack he spied a large Kitchen, full of large pots boiling over, and pots and pans of all description. A giant oven covered one wall. A horrible stench eminated from the roasting, boiling and baking food. It reminded Nemon of one of the layers of hell described in his grandfather's library.
All the noise must have covered the party's battle with the weasels. Above the racket was the squealing barks and hisses made by the cooks and their helpers. There was a small army of kobolds slaving away. One, a largish female by the strange, out of place dress she wore, seemed to be in charge. She wielded a huge frying pan she whacked other kobolds with occasionally, to reinforce her orders.

Interlude: What's been explored....

A map showing what has been explored Beyond the Wall. Each hex represents a days walk, unhindered by weather.

Now, set within the larger context of the campaign world.

R.I.P. Dimzad the Beardless

Pets

Fire burned through Gildrid's veins. Pain, ...such pain. He dropped his shield and the spider with it. Laramine sprang forward and cleaved the spider in two. He quickly pulled out a vial containing the Tears of Verena to administer to the now collapsed elf. Black and blue veins of poison spread from the bite mark like a web. Laramine pressed the healing potion to Gildrid's lips and forced a drink down. The elf came to consciousness.
The spread of poison stopped, but had not been cured. Gildrid felt terrible. His muscles burned, and his vision blurred. Laramine helped him out into the sunlight and the square beyond. It was then, that Nemon finally won his battle with the temple door. With a great crash, it caved in, Nemon stumbling behind.
The others now swarmed inside. The temple was a round, domed, stone structure, sparse in it's decor. There was a raised dias at the far end with a stone altar, and a statue behind of a stern looking, robed man. The dome above was cracked, and let a few rays of sunshine in. There were long wooden benches, jumbled all around. Several were stacked against the now demolished door. But there was no one inside. No bodies.
Laramine, used to sacking such places in his youth, stomped up to the altar and kicked it over. As he suspected, under the stone was small hole. In it, was small bag of coins, and a large gold key. The key looked like it fit the temple doors, as there were no other portals in the temple.
Gruffydd, had meanwhile, found a loose floor tile. He kicked at it, finally getting the toe of his boot underneath and shoving it off.
There was a rush of cool air, and on it, more of the strange whispers. There was a tunnel. It went through the foundation of the temple and into the earth beyond. The passage went straight down then eased into a ninety degree turn horizontally. Everyone looked at everyone else, waiting for a volunteer.
Gruffydd let out a deep sigh, "all right, I'll go first. Dimzad, you're next."
The dwarves dropped down the tight passage, shoulders scraping at the packed earth. At the bottom, they could see the tunnel was reinforced with roughly cut timbers. It wasn't pretty, but it was well constructed. "I don't like the looks of this." Gruffydd whispered to his fellow dwarf. "Seems familiar some how."
The end of the tunnel held a small, round door. Gruffydd examined it, while the others noisily slid down the hole. Dirt and dust fill the cramped passage.
The door, like the tunnel, was crudely, but well construct. It had simple wooden latch on the outside. Loud breathing, a snuffling, sniffing, noise came from the other side. That was when Dimzad decided to jab his dagger under the door. There was a loud "Squeeeeel" and then scratching at the door. Gruffydd shot Dimzad a dark look. He looked at the others and gave a nod. "Are we ready?"
He yanked the door open and the others flew past into the room with much shouting and war cries. It was enough to startle the two giant weasels beyond. They filled most of the domed, packed earth chamber, two huge versions of an every day weasel. They hissed and showed their teeth, backs arched.
Gildrid, even in his weakened state, managed to sink a few arrows into the closest. It didn't seem to notice.
Dimzad led the charge, axe swinging, bellowing the war cry of his clan. The arrow wearing weasel hissed again, gave a great pounced, and simply bit the top half of Dimzad off.
The dwarf's legs took a few steps, blood spurting from the ruined waist, and toppled.

Side Note: Dimzad, the gods rest his soul, belonged to Lead Addict's middle son, a lad of 10 years. He took the loss of his first PC very well, better than I would have. It helped that the grownups all cheered his death, and called it heroic. 
His secret background was he was the last of his kind, or in this case, clan. So farewell to Dimzad Ab Zogenbreth, known as the "Beardless", last of his clan. He joins his faithful goat Bob, in death and glory.

Interlude: Laramine

Laramine grew, as most from his village did if you were strong, smart, and had the stomach for it, to become a sea-raider.  The rest, to weak of body or mind, just became fishermen and reed-cutters, and started families.   Laramine came from a region off a far ocean coast named the Kraken’s Teeth, a series of tall pinnacled isles known for piracy and death, where any good merchant ship captain avoided unless he was headstrong or stupid.  As sea-raiders Laramine and his kinsmen spent journeys raiding coastal villages along the main coastlines, looking for gold and goods, or the occasional attractive maiden, although the latter was usually a short-lived fray, as the sea and adventure beckoned, while the maiden’s voice too often became shrill and that of a harpy.  Laramine’s family had been small, born to a father who had also been a sea-raider, and eventually lost his life doing just so; and a mother who herself had been one of the hapless stolen maidens, taken against her will from some now unknown fishing village long decimated.  Laramine had one sibling, a brother, ‘Salamel’, three years his junior, and with a temperament considered cold and ruthless even by a raiders standards.  Some had even ventured to use the word, evil.  This ruthlessness by Salamel propelled him to become influential as a leader, and many raiders followed his lead, with raids becoming more brutal, and focused on creating chaos and killing, and less about reaping gold and spoils to live on.  While accustomed to killing and a life of raiding, Laramine became intolerant of the new breed of raiders, and journeys for fresh plunder became farther and farther away.  There was no hint of honor or purpose in the attacks carried out, it was mayhem.  On a warm day, while the winds were blowing fresh salt air across the isles, Laramine gathered his sword, armor, and what few possessions he favored, and took a small sailed fishing boat and headed for the mainland coast, putting his life of sea-raiding behind him.  He sought a new course, looking for adventure and personal glory on solid ground.  There was so much more the mainland had to offer.  For several years Laramine roamed from village to village, joining small bands of adventurers, seeking hidden and rumored treasure, but as was so often the case personalities clashed, or the rumors were just that… rumors, and as always he moved on, looking for a better fit, trusting only in himself, wary of most.  Finally in the 28^th year of his life, he happened upon a town simply called ‘Wall’, and in a small smoke filled tavern, with a one-eyed barkeep, he met an odd band of adventurers, Dwarves, a thief, an elf, a human, with backgrounds not so dissimilar to his own.  This group of personalities intrigued him, as did the untamed land beyond the wall, and the rumors of treasures and creatures unheard of.  Maybe, just maybe, Laramine had found a place he could stay a while.

Side note:  This character belongs to Scott, a.k.a. JrGMan. He was one of the first people I ever played D&D with. Many moons spent in his basement spilling monster blood with his PC, Rasputin the Massive. It's nice to have him back in the fold.

I have my PCs randomly roll for a "secret background". Laramine's was "sibling a force for evil the world".

A Beating, and a Biting

The great wolf snarled and snapped. It paced the campfire, eyes always on Dimzad. Then it leapt and knocked the dwarf to the ground. The wolf tore into Dimzad before the others could react.
With the horses in turmoil, the camp was chaos. It was Grufftdd who noticed the scar on the wolf's left eye. "Don't kill it him, subdue it!"
The order didn't keep Gildrid from drawing a silver tipped arrow."I said subdue!", Gruffydd shouted at the elf.
Gruffydd smacked the wolf in the side of the head with is hammer. It yelped and let go of Dimzad. Laramine slammed the flat of his great sword squarely on the wolf's skull. It dropped instantly.
"Quickly," Gruffydd shouted again," tie it up".
Bound and unconscious, the creature was kept by the fire and under watch all night. Dimzad had to be restrained too, in order to keep him from kicking the captive.
With the sun's rising, the wolf began to change. As Gruffydd expected, it shrunk in mass and hair, till only a filthy, naked Logun remained. He awoke with a start, "ohhhh, my head. Hey!" he looked around, frightened. He just noticed he was bound. "What's goin' on here, fellas? Some kind a joke again?"
"At what point", Nemon asked,"were you going to tell us about your little affliction?"
"Whatcher talkin' about?" Logun sputtered.
"Werewolf!", Gruffydd shouted. "You're a werewolf!"
The old trapper's eyes went from horror, to a look of resignation.
"I always kinda suspected. But I been out here alone fer so long, I also thought I might just be going crazy. You hafta believe me, when I say I didn't means ta hurt nobody."
"Kill 'em," said Dimzad. Gildrid reached for his silver tipped arrow again.
"No", Gruffudd said with a sigh, "let him go." The others began to untie Logun. "But, you're not with us anymore. You helped us find a way across the river. That's the only reason I'm letting you go."
The old man got up, rubbing his wrists. "well, I guess I thank you fer that."
"Next time we see you,...you're dead!" Gruffydd yelled, as the old man headed into the woods. Logun turned and gave the party one last look. Gruffydd could have sworn there was a smirk on the old man's face.
By noon, they reached the ruins of a large village. The size and scope of the ruins were impressive. One could tell this had once been a wealthy town. It sat astride the Old Trade Road itself, which ran directly north. The remains of a large mill were the closest, on the west side of the road. The place was strangely quiet except for the occasional creaking from ruined shutters, or the mill's water wheel, now hanging unused above a dry creek.
"I'm headed for the temple", Nemon said, gesturing at a stone building on the east side of an over grown square.
"I'm going for the mill", Gildrid said stringing his bow. Laramine followed the elf.
Then, the wind blew. Gildrid and Laramine froze, looking at each other. Just above the sound of the wind, came the hint of whispering. "did you...?" Laramine started to ask, when his words were lost under the noise of Nemon battering the temple doors down. He bashed into the sturdy wood of the doors over and over with his armored shoulder. The noise was deafening, compared to the silence of the ruins.
Gildrid approached the ruined doors of the mill. He looked through hole that had been smashed into the wood. Inside, he could see sunlight filtering from the damaged roof. There were sacks of grain and flour, long moldered and plundered by vermin, and the great grinding wheel sat askew on it's base. The most interesting thing though, was the fact boards had been nailed to the outside of the door. Rather than try to keep something out, they were trying to keep something in.
Prying at the rotted wood. Gildrid entered. Laramine followed, along with the sounds of Nemon's ongoing struggle with the temple door. The elf put away his bow and pulled out his sword, the better to poke and prod at the different sacks and boxes laying about.
On the third sack, a shape sprung from the shadows. A huge spider, the size of shield, leapt on him. Gildrid couldn't shake it, or get sword on it. The furry arachnid lunged and bit into his neck.

Another visitor to the campfire

The drone of wings was almost deafening. Logun ran up the river bank, away. Arrows, rocks, throwing daggers, were all being hurled at the strange wasp-like things. Those that hit, bounced off harmlessly.
"We seem to have upset the nest!" Nemon shouted over the noise.
"They're not making moves towards us," Gruffydd yelled," they must be guarding something in that keep."
Without further word, Miss Adventure plopped down on a rock, and started putting on her magic boots. With a whush of air, she was gone.
Inside the broken tower, the halfling discovered interior walls packed with eggs, dripping a golden goo.
"Blech!" she she said with a shiver, and dashed out to the others. "The only thing in there is some gross looking hivey thing," she said to the party.
Gruffydd, looking over his shoulder to where Logun had disappeared, shouted, "Still, it bears investigating later. Let's get out of here." Just then, one of Gildrid's arrows struck home. The wasp-man-thing fell from the sky with a squish.
"Run!" he yelled as the drone grew louder. The party mounted, and raced up the river back, and didn't stop till they reached the road again. Out of breath, they found Logun gathering wood for a fire.
"I though everyone could use a drying off", he said.
Wet clothes were placed by the fire. A quick review of their packs found some of the rations ruined by river crossing.
"Logun," Gruffydd asked, "you're a trapper. Care to find us some meat?"
With a shrug, the old man headed for the woods.
The rest of party prepared for the evening. In the hazy distance, up the road, a ruins of large village stood. It would be another days march to their destination, if in fact, this was the village they were looking for.
By nightfall, Logun had not returned. The watches were set, and one by one the group retired. "Good," Dimzad said with a huff," I hope the ol' geazers dead."
During Miss Adventures watch, a rustling was heard in the nearby woods. She had been happily munching away on what remained of her rations, when she spied a dark shape at the edge of the trees. This shape exploded from the under brush, autumn leaves flying everywhere. With a heavy thump, a mass of teeth, claws and fur dropped into their campsite. The biggest wolf she had ever seen...