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It's a myth that Draugar spend most of their time sleeping. Draugar, like all other kinds of undead, do not tire, hunger, or feel pain. It is said that they cannot feel pleasure either, but you have found plenty of joy in scaring the little tykes that sometimes poke around in the outskirts of the tomb, usually on a dare from their elders. Those are the good days.
Today is not a good day. Someone managed to breach the first layer of protective charms, sneak past the troll (you've long since given up trying to evict him and somehow even managed to employ him as a kind of guard instead), disable the spear traps, navigate the tunnels, and reach the vault of the jarl unharmed. By the time word reached you (through your faithful, ghostly hound, Wiglaf) the thief had already gotten away with a kingly bounty. Jewels, gold coins, gold goblets, and, to your great horror, even the magic ring on the jarl's finger which is supposed to keep your soul bound to this earthly plane (and bring honor to the jarl's name, of course).
You've searched the tomb, the tunnels, the caves, but there is no sign of the intruder. All you found was a single lock of hair, straw-colored, tied into a knot and left at the foot of the tomb--the mock of an offering. Even more mysterious: you have not suddenly turned to dust. No fair maiden has come to take your soul to the last mead hall, where the other warriors wait. If anything, you feel a bit light, as though you had been in chains this whole time and someone with a key had come and released you.
You are not sure what it all means, but there is someone who might:
>The witch who lives in one of the tunnels. She came some years ago seeking a refuge and with her pretty singing managed to convince you to let her stay here, in exchange for the occasional saga.
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.
>The aforementioned troll, a simple creature of limited passions, who nonetheless would know more about the outside world than you would, given that he can pass into it whenever he pleases
>Write-in
Today is not a good day. Someone managed to breach the first layer of protective charms, sneak past the troll (you've long since given up trying to evict him and somehow even managed to employ him as a kind of guard instead), disable the spear traps, navigate the tunnels, and reach the vault of the jarl unharmed. By the time word reached you (through your faithful, ghostly hound, Wiglaf) the thief had already gotten away with a kingly bounty. Jewels, gold coins, gold goblets, and, to your great horror, even the magic ring on the jarl's finger which is supposed to keep your soul bound to this earthly plane (and bring honor to the jarl's name, of course).
You've searched the tomb, the tunnels, the caves, but there is no sign of the intruder. All you found was a single lock of hair, straw-colored, tied into a knot and left at the foot of the tomb--the mock of an offering. Even more mysterious: you have not suddenly turned to dust. No fair maiden has come to take your soul to the last mead hall, where the other warriors wait. If anything, you feel a bit light, as though you had been in chains this whole time and someone with a key had come and released you.
You are not sure what it all means, but there is someone who might:
>The witch who lives in one of the tunnels. She came some years ago seeking a refuge and with her pretty singing managed to convince you to let her stay here, in exchange for the occasional saga.
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.
>The aforementioned troll, a simple creature of limited passions, who nonetheless would know more about the outside world than you would, given that he can pass into it whenever he pleases
>Write-in
