An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

Ēlin stares at his torch, unable to remove his gaze from the magical thing he has just discovered.
Embers softly pop into existence then race away as comets in the night sky toward an inky ceiling collecting soot.
He has twice now singed his red hair and wispy facial hair in an attempt to bring the wonder closer to his eyes and each time he is forced to return the magic to a safe arms length.
A universe just out of reach.
How much longer would this universe burn and to what end after.
He squints at the flame looking for an answer.

Time, slips by.

A particularly loud snap from the wood shaft hosting the greasy flame momentarily brings the youth back into Angband.
He’s standing in a cold, empty room.
When did he get here?
He turns around and stares down the hall…
‘Yes, from there to here.’
‘From there’ he points his head forward then turns back to face the empty room, ‘to here’.
‘The torch led me here’.
He looks up again and is lost in the fire.
‘Onward torch’!
He thrusts it out in front of him and drifts along the stream of sparks and soot it emits.

A door.
There was something worrisome about doors he recalls, but the particular distress escapes him.
He pushes it open without care.

Another door to open.
The torch leads him through, a beacon for the wanderer.

He tarries awhile at a proper set of neatly chiseled granite stairs admiring the craftsmanship as they twist away into the sublime dark below.
He slides a foot upon the first tread and seriously contemplates venturing down.
His mind ponders the blue black depths at his feet, whispering for him to fall into it.

Another loud snap emanates from the burning universe above his head as it casts its glow around the corner, his feet obey the call of the light.

Then, the end of the line.

He pauses facing the dead end wall.
The air is stale and the torch greedily gasps it in as it slowly begins to dim.
He turns half expecting to see something rounding the corner, some unknown thing having crawled up from the bottom of the stairwell.

Long moments pass before he moves, transfixed by his imagination.

Then he shakes the fear from his mind and moves past his phantoms and the dark stairs.

He stops at an intersection of two open doors and holds the torch before him moving it between the south and east corridors, looking.
The torch flickers, offering no guidance.
He walks the southern passage, clear of mind.

East along a staggered hall,

then north where he chances upon a carelessly discarded set of papers ‘?‘.

He quickly glances over the sheets and pockets them for a better examination later returning to explore east.

Again north,

gingerly stepping past a patch of mold ‘m‘, savvy to its confusing attacks.

Continuing north past a second set of downward stairs ‘>‘ he…

stumbles into a peculiar gathering of fiends.

---

He froze, unable to wrap his mind around what he witnessed.
Towards the edge of the torchlight a fleshy orb rested upon the floor, patches of oozy pustules covered its entirety.
It looked to be, an eye.
A large, disembodied eye ‘e‘.
He forced his stare away from the adherent orb and quickly looks about the room spotting two familiar foes. A little trap maker ‘k‘ and a hoarfrost arthropod ‘c‘.
All are still.

Ēlin returns his stare to the orb, he can make out faint blue flashes of light moving across the fleshy mass.
He lightly sidesteps west to sneak a better look… 

and his initial suspicion is confirmed as a blistered lid quickly opens affixing a dark , jaundice eye upon the red head.
The centipede uncoils from a bed of ice, flakes of frost trailing off behind it as it crawls toward him.

 Panicked, he steps back into the hall losing sight of the blistered yellow eye and awaits the clicking frost bound predator and…

 strikes first!

The linear foe circles around in a brief retreat then rushes back.

Ēlin drives his dagger forward but fails to break the tough carapace of the invertebrate.
In a flash his blade hand is met with stinger-like mandibles piercing his flesh causing an intense icy burn.

The combatants exchange blows, both are met with satisfaction and pain.
The centipede holds its ground.

The centipede sinks a number of sharp legs into his leg and bites, his leg immediately burns in frost.
In a panicked swing of the blade, as much an attempt to dislodge the crawler as an attack, he manages a damaging blow.
The devil begins to crawl towards his chest.

Fully covering his leg, its dorsal side flatly exposed, Ēlin plunges his silver blade between two segments midway down the crawler.
The blade bites deep and true, the crawler’s legs un-hook and spring out, then relax and sag and follow the body to the ground.

He stands ready, facing the entry to the room listening for movement from within for several long moments.
Nothing joins him in the hall.
He relaxes and catches his breath nursing his wounds and massaging his stings in an attempt to warm them, flexing and tightening his hand in tighter and tighter fists as it slowly loosens from the frost.

He recovers quickly, ignoring any potential lingering concerns he may have suffered from the frost and moves back into the room prepared for the visage of the eye.

As he does the tiny dog face reptilian gives a sharp bark, springs to its feet and rushes Ēlin snapping its jaw.

It reaches him in quick bounds.

The eye, remains unblinking and unmoved.

Ready for the rush and in a proper fighting stance Ēlin delivers a critical strike to the kobold.
There is no counter attack only a sharp cry of dismay and a hasty retreat of the little foe.

He gives chase and as he does he feels something unseen grab hold of him momentarily then lets go, a withering, unnatural force that passes through him.
He suspects the eye to be the source of this fell feeling.

As the ill affect fades the kobold turns on a heel and slashes a tiny clawed hand.
Elin parries the blow and deftly thrusts the blade deep into its soft throat quickly ending the lopsided skirmish.

Without hesitating he turns and charges the jaundice eye and…

as he drives the blade towards the eye its blistered lid closes and he manages only a deflected, glancing strike.

He fights his own disbelief and disgust now being in close quarters with the abhorrent thing and leans upon his blade to strike the lidded eye.
As he does he catches the full stare of the thing and is gripped once again by a withering force.
This time he feels it sink deep within and take hold.
His knees buckle as his youthful strength is sapped away.

The eye blinks and Ēlin feels another force upon him, something different and distinct.
Something he simply shrugs off and forgets.

He strikes again with all his remaining might, and though weakened he slices the lid once more and…

continues the addled attack with repeated downward stabs as the eye continues to drain his strength.

and finally the lid gives way to a soft yoke of an eye and erupts in a yellowy ichor.

The youth slumps to the floor,

covered in gore…

victorious.

---

o()xxx[{:::::::::::::::>

<:::::::::::::::{]xxx()o

---

An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

What Ēlin initially thought were stairs as he ran past earlier, upon closer inspection turns out to be a sloping hole dug into the floor ‘>‘.
Though fairly certain he can work himself down the shaft he decides against it, not liking the thought of that kind of exertion into an unknown depth.
He leaves the hole and the room in favor of less miserable exploration.

He returns to the hall north and a closed door ‘+‘ he passed on the way, a sturdy wood door that pushes open with little effort.

In the passage beyond, the stone blocks of the wall and floor return to a finer construction and passage begins to slope upward again…

as he rounds a corner he sees a familiar shape in a new room.
Another large ant ‘a‘, motionless.

He moves with deliberate, soft steps intent on on surprise as the insect lay dormant.
It does not move as he closes upon it, awakening only after he’s delivered a crushing blow to hard chitin with the pummel of his dagger.

Stunned, the ant twitches and shakes as it attempts to shamble away but the big youth drives his foot against the square head ramming it hard against the stone floor, cracking the head and exposing the goo within.

He exits the room.

To the south he walks down a narrow rooty passage that…

terminates at another open hole ‘>‘ in the floor.
He wonders if the over-sized ants had created them, burrowing up from a nest beneath, raiding. Again, he decides not to explore that thought by crawling below.

Instead he moves off to the north returning to familiar territory of the second room he had entered earlier within this so called cellar.

Cautiously he approaches the mushroom patch ‘,‘ and slides by without incident…

 entering an open side entrance and walks through an empty larder.

He tries the door but it does not open.
He rattles the old handle a bit then thumps the door with a knee and it gives way, opening back to the room.

He moves to the west passage and new, old areas to explore.

A nondescript passage…

gives way to a room occupied by something purple and twinkling ‘!‘…

and to something low and sleeping ‘J‘.

He slips into the room, rolling leathered feet heel to toe moving quietly to the purple vial, never taking his eye from the serpent.
In a single fluid motion he deftly lifts it from the floor, places it upon his person then smoothly unsheathes his blade and continues toward the snake.

Closing the gap between himself and the still sleeping serpent he slashes the single edged weapon across its thick, white back…

and is immediately matched with a quick, reflexive bite…

and sidesteps to avoid the snake wrapping tight around his leg.

He presses the silver edged attack and strikes the snowy scaled serpent again…

and then again once more.

The serpent attempts to crawl away from the lacerating edge but it continues to find the white flesh and cut true.

Caught now in the throws of death, the serpent madly begins to convulse, knotting back upon itself rolling about the feet of the youth.
He slams a foot down upon the mess and drives the dagger at the first immobile spot he finds and waits for the writhing to stop.

He continues south…

to a closed door…

flippantly opened.

For a moment in his still rational mind, he realizes the mistake.
For a moment in his still rational mind, he stands upon a stony floor.
The gas fills his nostrils and penetrates his lungs and the dungeon disappears.
His mind traveled for lost eons swallowed by infinite geometric lights glowing green and gold, amethyst and bronze as it raced toward a horizon of perpetual goldenrod, turquoise and dawn.

And, after seeming lifetimes of inter-planar travel the effects of the mystery gas began to lessen and he wills his physical self to rest…

and the journey ends where it began and he succumbs to the physical plane of the Iron Prison.

Caught off guard by a rigged door, damned lucky that no one or no thing was waiting on the other side to greet him.
He rises, his mind still addled by the lingering effects of the gas and
strolled the hall to the east in a languid dreamy state.
Thoughts turn fanciful as they linger long on colonies of mischievous kobolds sowing chaos throughout the dungeon by setting traps for unwitting passers through.

The hall turns to the north and he views the room he was previously in.

He turns back in favor the unexplored hall to the south.
His mind still whimsically dreaming of kobolds and their wonderfully magical gasses he rounds the corner south and…

Now, thoroughly dosed and deeply contemplative Ēlin meanders the mildewed halls of Angband, wandering in wonder.

End Part 1

---

An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

 Ēlin strides into the room with youthful confidence and claims the four small vials ‘!‘ from the floor, they easily fit into the palm of his hand.

He examines then momentarily then drops them within a pouch upon his belt and moves towards a discarded lump ‘(‘ he noticed on the way in.
He picks up the dusky green ball of cloth and shakes it out to get a better look.
A heavy woolen cloak, in good condition.

He throws it over his shoulders and wraps it round.
It wouldn’t turn a blade but, it might stay a nasty bite or stray claw from his person.
Certainly it would provide some comfort during an extended rest and he feels secure by that thought.

Sliding a hand back into the belted pouch Ēlin recovers one of the newly found vials, they cheerfully clink against one another as he removes it. Faceted, sturdy glass, about the length of his palm and as thick as a finger.
The reddish liquid inside looked to be the consistency of water and no more than a swallows worth.
No stopper, just a narrow neck that looked easy to snap.
With a quick ‘plink’ it was open, cleanly separated.
He attempts a smell, but either it had no odor or the small opening allowed none to escape.
He pours it onto his tongue, waits a moment then swallows.
It was tasteless.
For a brief instant, he finds his thoughts to be of an alpine meadow in spring with wild flowers in bloom and he feels…rejuvenated.Not knowing exactly what he had just imbibed, apparently nothing toxic or noxious, he sets off south through the dank cellar passage in good spirits.

---

 After two short turns the torchlight begins to illuminate a second room and in the distance he can make out a familiar shape upon the floor, another patch of grey mushrooms ‘,‘.
‘The place must be thick with the stuff’ he thought. He would keep his distance this time.

With his attention on the patch he almost misses seeing the thick coil of scaled white flesh as he approached and stops short. A serpent ‘J‘ guarded the entrance, it’s wedge shape head peaked out from the encircled mass.  
It appeared to be sleeping but, how could he be certain. The eyes were the color of it’s skin, clouded white and impossible to tell if it had seen him or not.
It lay there, becalmed.

He moves cautiously forward again, intent on dispatching the scaled sentry quickly while his apparent advantage still held.
As he edged up to the coiled ball of snake, it began to unwind, disturbed from its slumber.
In reaction the rookie thrusts his blade in an undisciplined attack, it passes harmlessly between the white coils.

He quickly pulls the blade back hard, slashing a cut into the scales.

The serpent strikes back, launching an opened mouthed head thickly stringed with mucus at his leg and clamps down hard, wrapping itself around and begins to squeeze.

Reaching down with his off hand he grabs the snake behind its head, then begins to make short, hard cuts across the back…

sawing his way through…

until the body falls away.

It twists and writhes upon its own ichor for several minutes, then stops.
He flips the head back upon the body and examines the bite at his calf.
Superficial at best, the strike hadn’t penetrated his leather leggings.

---

Stepping into the now unguarded room, Ēlin glares at the necrotic looking flesh of the mushroom patch ‘,‘.
He can taste the first encounter in his mouth and spits upon the floor in an attempt to expel his disgust.
He holds the torch out stretched and scans around the illuminated cellar room.
A sheet of something ‘?‘ to the east, more magics perhaps.

Picking up the small sheet and dusting it off he moves to get a better look at the northeast corner and finds a passage leading north.

He looks back at the sheet in his hand and holds it up to the torchlight. A short phrase written in a rough hand, ink browned with age and faded.
Spurred by his earlier success he reads the inscribed words aloud.

Quickly a dim ball of light grows around him then abruptly flashes out, briefly illuminating the area immediately about him in a white light, then, back to smudgy yellow torchlight.
Surprisingly, not blinding him in the process.

‘Hmm’!
‘A ‘puff’, of light’ he thinks.
Not unlike the sheet of paper which that once held its energy, now gone from his hand.

He commits the newly gained experience to memory then advances down the steeply declining north passage.

---

Shuffling down the narrowing corridor, which now had taken on the appearance of a tunnel scraped from the earth…

his light catches a wall ahead and he arrives at an intersection.

He passes to the north and through an open wooden door ‘,‘. Just beyond, a closed door ‘+‘ and an entry way to a large room eastward. He looks into the room. In the distance there is an object on the floor which he cannot quite make out, difficult to see in the light, about the size of a house cat.
He moves forward down the short tunnel to get a better look.

As the tunnel opens to the room he catches glimpse of something else, something humanoid in shape.
He stops, abruptly taken aback and quints hard to make out the shape.
Too small to be a child laying on the ground, nor halfling for that matter.

Quietly, he moves to investigate the creature, half watching the other unknown thing.
As he draws close he sees that it is laying on an improvised nest of natural stuffs, apparently asleep with its back to him.
It looked to be reptilian yet, it most definitely had arms and legs.

Now next to the small creature a strong odor of wet dog permeates his nose and sees that it’s sparsely adorned in tattered, russet colored cloth.
He cocks his head around to catch a glimpse and sees eyes wide open and aware upon a canine featured face. The kobold ‘k‘ gives a sharp yelp and is fast to it’s feet, lashing a clawed hand toward the human interloper.

Ēlin turns quickly, his cloak whipping around to tangle the out stretched arm, fouling the attack of the tiny wicked claw. 

He produces his dagger and slashes back round fanning the air short of the dog faced imp.

A second set of jagged nailed fingers swipes across his upper leg and with an upward blocking motion of blade Ēlin manages a glancing cut upon the small hand.

Finding his footing now, after being taken aback by the quick exchanges, the tall red head focuses a more direct thrust at the tiny foe and lands a strike to the chest just below the shoulder.

The dog faced imp barks a loud yelp and in a single hoping spinning motion runs off to the east holding the wound, shrieking short barks as it fled.

Ēlin shifts the dagger in his hand…

pinches the blade between thumb, fore and middle fingers, cocks his arm back hard…

and launches the weapon at the fleeing lizard dog.

The blade ‘|‘ clangs upon the ground short of its intended target as the kobold ducks into an unseen alcove.

He chases after his weapon and as he reaches down to recover it, the dog faced lizard jumps from the alcove, now plainly seen to be a downward staircase ‘>‘ and bites his extending arm.

Unable to equip the blade, Ēlin smashes a bare fist into the imps head, spinning the little cur around and once more it routes.

Again he throws the blade and again misses the small, fast moving target.

Angered he takes chase, grabs the dagger…

and catches the creature just as it turns to attack.
He slashes once across the chest…

then rolling his hand over he drives the pommel hard into the small head.
There is a sickly sounding snap and the kobold’s knees fold, then it drops like a sack of wet dirt.
Tremors and spasms animate the body momentarily as blood leaks from the cracked skull.

---

It came from the edge of the torchlight in a headlong charge. By the time he heard the clicking of mandibles slicing back and forth along a square head it was nearly on top of him.
A ant ‘a‘ of un-naturally large size, the other ‘thing’ in the room.
 He steps forward into the charge. The ant’s mandibles bite into light leather footwear but manage to turn the attack.

He shoves his blade forward at the square head and strikes a compound eye.

The ant’s attack stops, a leg came forward and up then frantically swipes at the steel.
Ēlin twists the dagger once.

---

Sitting for a moment to compose himself he replays the events and actions leading up to this point.
Like energies infused into inscribed words upon parchment, he commits his actions to memory to better serve him in future encounters.

His eyes drift back to the fallen kobold and he wonders about the diminutive manlike creature. He had, up until now, only heard of such beings. Tricksters and trap makers infesting dark places below the earth.
He stares with empty eyes at the wreck he has made of the little thing.
There appeared to be something tucked beneath its ragged clothing, he scoots closer and gingerly reaches a hand over, recovers a slip of parchment ‘?‘ and unfolds it.

Scrawled in a familiar hand and faded ink were the words:

‘Okay’ he said aloud.
‘Thank you little one’.

He stood.

‘Onward’.

---

o()xxx[{:::::::::::::::>

<:::::::::::::::{]xxx()o

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An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

 West along a short downward slopping corridor Ēlin steps into a long hall, his torch light revealing a large grey patch of mushrooms secured to the cobbled floor.
They look, odd, to his eyes.
To the south he notices a small pile of papers ‘?‘, a far more interesting thing to look at then fungi ‘,‘.

Five sheets of vellum lay upon the floor each have the same short phrase penned upon them, ‘Indemeor co me‘.
He senses magic in those words.
Stowing them in his ruck he looks back at the mushroom patch and notices what appears to be an apple ‘,‘.

Not being a picky eater and it only being slightly wrinkled, he stows it away in the ruck as well.
A strange place to find an apple laying about.

Now, for those mushrooms.
Ēlin moves to get a better look, maybe they’re of the edible sort?
As he moves closer he sees that the patch looks very unappetizing, in fact they look down right poisonous. Unnaturally large, glistening grey with large purple spots, they looked to him of bruised dead flesh.

He leans forward to take a closer look and is met with a discharged cloud of spores, the fine cloud hangs close to his person and is inhaled.

His eyes water and burn, vision blurs and his head aches as he stumbles about the patch.
He fumbles for his dagger and swings wildly at the grey and misses, stumbling again unable to control his movements.

Another cloud of acrid spores fills his lungs, his mind is stricken with confusion.

He can feel his body weaken with each burst from the patch, his thoughts and actions betray him.
He attempts to step away from the un-moving patch but ends up beside it and into a fresh cloud of spores.

Concentrating all his will upon escape…

he manages to take a step away from the threat.

And then, another.

The spores cease to explode from the mushroom enemy and he collapses to the ground, weakened but alive.
He briefly passes out.

---

He awakens.
Lazy torchlight flickers from the floor.
Blurry eyes make out the mushrooms in front of him, a twitchy spasm ripples through the patch.
The room is silent.
His head throbs with pain.
He recovers himself and slides back toward the corridor defeated and takes several more moments to gain his wits.

Sitting, back against the wall the youth reaches inside his ruck and produces one of the sheets of vellum recovered from the floor.
In his still addled mind he reads the words to himself.
Indemeor co me…Indemeor co me.

‘Indemeor Ço mɛ‘!

The words so easily slipped from his mouth.
The room disappears.

He finds himself sitting back inside the burial mound, the sheet of vellum gone.

He stands up, a little taken aback by the abruptness of the trip but not perplexed by it, as though he had always recognized the words and their arcane affect.

Very useful items, he keeps the remaining sheets close at hand.

Walking back to the hall and looking at the exits, a closed door ‘+‘ begs his attention.
He will return later to explore the others and perhaps rid the room of fungi as well.
For now he carefully avoids the patch and moves to the south eastern door.

The door pushes in, mostly opening with a little persuading, the air is mildewed and damp beyond.
It feels different in here, reminding him of a root cellar perhaps.
The walls roughly shaped and the floor sparsely cobbled with large stones grouted with dirt and patchy, grey mosses.
He follows the snaking corridor as it leads steeply down until he comes to a leveled intersection.

To the west, an open hallway.

To the east, a broken door ‘,‘ askew on its hinges…

East it is.

Still sloping down he reaches a second leveled intersection.

A short few steps north and the hall abruptly ends.
He turns to the south and sees what appears to be an entrance to a larger chamber.

As Ēlin draws near the entrance torchlight dances across a small collection of neatly arranged vials upon the floor, a reddish liquid can be seen inside ‘!‘.

Potions, for the having.

---

An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

By mid morning the next day Ēlin had removed enough rock and soil from the mound and reached the top of the tomb.
He smashed upon the exposed slab for hours with stones until it finally gave way, a jagged hole into blackness just large enough to squeeze through.

He sparked his only torch to life and gave it to the black.
It fell briefly then abruptly stopped.
A short drop, eight feet…maybe ten.

The youth did not hesitate and wormed himself into the hole, feet first working himself down until he hung on the edge.
As soon as his full weight was supported by his fingers he smoothly released and followed the torch to its resting place below.
He struck the ground with a little impact, absorbed the shock and rolled off to his side.
Detritus from the mound showered down around him.

---

Now self entombed, Ēlin recovers the torch from the floor reveling his confined surroundings.

Moving to the north west along an angular hall he sees fast, erratic movement, a Fruit Bat ‘b‘, the common pest had noticed him before he noticed it. He steps forward to dispatch it.

Ēlin slashes at the blur with his dagger hitting it, the bat flits to the north west in retreat. A short chase and another hit from his blade and the first encounter is over. The rookie is unscathed.

Ēlin moves west following the hall then squeezes between a gap in the walls and spots a discarded torch’~‘ on the cobbled floor. A much needed piece of equipment.

As he secures the torch, a stretch of corridor is illuminated to the west. In the gloom Ēlin eyes an odd grey patch on the ground ‘,‘.
The corridor appears to open to a larger room but for now he decides to investigate his immediate area and moves off southeasterly.

 As he completes the circuit and the interior of the mound revealed, Ēlin concentrates his attention on the two doors along the inner walls.
Would the tyrant be interred within.

He moves to the south door, it opens readily to a small empty room.
Tucked in a small alcove he notices a vial, liquid can be seen through the dusty glass.
He enters the and approaches the alcove, lifts the vial and swirls it around. It appears ordinary to his eyes. He removes the tight stopper and wafts it beneath his nose.
Oil ‘!‘…common lamp oil.
A useful item but certainly not entombed wealth.

As he places the oil inside his ruck he notices on the north wall, close to the ground a slightly larger block of stone with an outline of what appears to be a concealed entry.
Passage to the next chamber.

Pushing upon the low stone block it begrudgingly slides, then tumbles to the floor of the northern chamber.
He thrusts the torch through the entrance and peers into the room.
Only stale air and dust thank him for the effort in this long empty room.

He wriggles through and briefly collects himself. This was no tomb. He exits agitated, moving impatiently to the door in the outer hall and swings it wide…

More dust, a false room empty.

He returns to the hall and stares into the gloom wondering.
Were the old tales wrong about the burial mound, it did not feel like a tomb, where was the body?
Perhaps the old fiend arose and simply walked away down the hallway the red headed bastard now stared down.
Was this a way into Angband as the stories claimed or was that false as well.
Perhaps.

Certainly though the impatient Ēlin had spent enough time pondering such things.
He moved forward into the hall to investigate the strange grey shape ‘,‘ on the ground.

Angband greedily swallowed him whole.

---

 An episodic adventure using ‘Iron Dungeoneer!’ rules.

---

Ēlin

---

The brash and overbold youth Ēlin sat atop the rocky mound, a shock of red hair stuck to his still perspiring brow.
He had made the mound in good time, the sun was just now midway in the sky.

The mound, sparsely covered in patchy tufts of stiff brown grasses wind blown up the mountain side from unknown plains, squat upon a level ledge of slope.
It looked like a hairy, broken fist, a lumpy collection of granite stones that formed grotesque knuckles and clenched, meaty digits.

Stories of the mound arose generations ago and were passed down the line, ghost stories and folklore of the superstitious.
Ēlin had heard them all.  
It was said that the mound was the resting place of a wicked pagan tyrant, a cruel man of dark, aberrant powers.
Ultimately he met his fate at the hands of the people he terrorized, murdered as he slept.
He was sepulchered close to the Iron Prison by his faithful cadre within a rough hune tomb upon the mountain.
Some time after the townspeople of Ēlin’s home returned to the tomb and hastily covered it in stone and boulders in fear that he may again rise to avenge himself upon them.
It was whispered that through his tomb ingress to the ancient stronghold Angband could be had and that the old tyrant still stalked the deep dungeon.

The old tales swam through Ēlin’s head as he dug and removed stones from the mound.

He was, possessed.

He would, find a way into this pagan tomb.

He continued to excavate.

---