Ulhazzen and Mines

Designed by Caeraela and Faltrannir
  • Rooms: 51
  • Lifespan: 10 minutes
  • Type: LPK

  • Suggested Levels
  • Soloing : 18-24
  • Medium Group: 15-18
  • Large Group: 13-17




  • Greetings, my old friend, in this time of trouble.

    It is with a heavy heart that I touch quill to parchment today. I have heard of your troubles, and yet I can do little to aid you. My own duties keep me away from you, but I hope that the information I have unearthed will be of some small help in resolving your crisis.

    It is my understanding that your penal colony was a success at first. Your remote desert location made escape nigh impossible for the prisoners, and the gravel they pounded out of the rock was useful for maintaining the roads of the land. In essence, you were taking the dregs of society and putting them into a useful, if menial, role.

    Perhaps, after your situation is resolved, you can explain more fully what happened to ruin such a placid state, for all I have to go by is hearsay and rumor. The taverns tell of hideous mole men that burst forth from the ground, attacking all nearby. Surely this is an exaggeration, but obviously the prisoners somehow escaped their shackles. Between the unknown attackers and the prisoners, the guards were forced to retreat to defensible positions.

    I have attempted to find out where this unexpected threat came from. All I managed to uncovered was a single poem, in an ancient language. Would that I had known to look for it earlier! But alas, prescience is not one of the talents I can lay claim to.

    I set my assistants to translate the poem, and here is what they have passed back to me:

    the Drallan
    mighty warriors
    stealthy bandits
    attack all fools that enter the sand
    none may pass

    caravans
    cower in fear
    run in terror
    give up their goods to the desert tribe
    trade dries up

    the Drallan
    without targets
    lacking water
    pray to their dark goddess of terror
    for relief

    the goddess
    has no pity
    hears not their cries
    demands more sacrifices from the tribe
    blood, pain, fear

    at long last
    the tribe dying
    starving, thirsting
    the goddess listens to her priests' pleas
    grants respite

    inside caves
    the warriors sleep
    dead to the world
    waiting for trade to resume again
    when they will wake

    until then
    fearful future
    the world is safe
    but the evil goddess is patient
    in all her schemes


    I know not if you can find any clue in here as to what happened. But it seems like the Drallan have woken at last.

    As I have already said, I regret that I cannot come personally to assist you against both the evil Drallan and your own prisoners. But I have done my best to spread the word, and put forth a call to the bold adventurers of the land for aid. I feel confident that many will come help you in your time of need.

    Fare thee well,
    Thalindana


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