Fog in the Barrowvales- a Solo Shattered Realm game!

Here's the report of a test game for Shattered Realm I played recently using the Solo rules!

The young Dwarven noble Ranhulf Finehair and his Party, in self-imposed exile from his Father's realm, is travelling South in the direction of Gharzulgrint. Passing over the mountains into Fellmoor, they cross the bleak uplands and eventually find themselves traversing a series of mist-shrouded valleys. The tiny hamlets and isolated Crofter's huts of Fellmoor become fewer and fewer as they head West, and an oppressive feeling hangs heavy on each Dwarf.
Soon, ancient burial mounds and stone monoliths begin to loom out of the fog on all sides, and not even the ever-present crows can be heard. An unnatural silence falls, and eerie whispers begin to echo all around as the Dwarves close ranks into a defensive formation.

The Party's scout, the self-proclaimed 'Handsome' Roldo, suddenly returns with a haunted expression on his face. He reports an especially large barrow dead ahead, topped by what seems to be a flickering green flame- even more disturbing, he speaks of ethereal figures drifting around the corpse-fire...
Ranhulf grimly determines that to tarry here would be foolish. A grim expression on his face, he orders his companions to steel themselves and keep marching- they can forge a path straight through the Barrowvales; but speed will be of the essence!

As the Dwarves trudge on through the gloom, the fog seems to thicken. Ahead, they can only make out an ethereal green glow that marks their destination. Weapons are drawn and readied, while torch and lantern-bearers move to the flanks to provide what illumination they can.
Hollow laughter rings out as the hazy outline of the barrow emerges from the mist ahead, and eerie figures begin to drift down towards the Dwarves with spectral claws outstretched!

With a bellowed oath, the impetuous Ranhulf leads his men from the front and hurls himself into combat with the first Wraith- but is dismayed to find his finely-crafted heirloom blade passing harmlessly through the undead creature's form!
Seeing his liege-lord in peril, 'Red' Gutrikk (a veteran of the Draugr-Wars in far-off Shieldmark) charges selflessly into combat with the creature- he has fought such ethereal undead before, and knows that timing is critical when facing a Wraith. Between the two Dwarves, they dispatch the foul entity easily- Ranhulf dealing the final blow as the Wraith's form briefly solidifies to strike at Gutrikk!
But there is no time for congratulations, as yet more Wraiths close in on our heroes. Meanwhile, atop the burial mound and lit by the green flames of the corpse-fire, the Lord of the Barrow surveys the interlopers and stretches forth a withered talon... Opposite him, the Ranger Agbert feels himself drawn towards the cloaked figure against his will. When he regains his senses, he is stood alone and cut-off from his comrades on one flank- yet the flickering torch in his hand gives him courage, even as yet another Wraith coalesces out of the mist behind him...

Meanwhile, the fighting in the centre is growing desperate- the Dwarves are skillful fighters compared to their undead foes, but many otherwise-lethal blows are having no effect on the cursed creatures.
To the dismay of the Party, Ranhulf himself suddenly falls with an anguished cry- the freezing claws of a Wraith sliding past armour and flesh as if they weren't there to rend his very spirit!

Standing over their lord's unconscious form, the rest of the Dwarves grimly fight on- determined to avenge their liege. Gutrikk takes command of the situation, and orchestrates a determined counter-attack. Slowly, inch by inch, they begin to push the Wraiths back up the side of the barrow towards the flame burning at the top. Even young Snorri gives a good account of himself, despite this being his first encounter with the fell undead!

 

Now the Dwarves have the measure of their opponents, and Wraiths begin to fall all around- yet for each one destroyed, another coalesces from out of the surrounding mists. Seeing these interlopers trespassing upon his sanctuary, the Barrow-Lord begins hissing fell incantations and bolts of pure shadow leap from his outstretched fingers to strike the Dwarves- yet they grimly endure this punishment, their eyes fixed upon their prize as they crest the barrow's summit and plunge into combat. Roldo takes advantage of the chaos and kicks dirt over the corpse-fire. The ethereal flames flicker and die out, and abruptly the undead seem to diminish and shrink back from the Dwarves in what looks like dismay! Still dragging the unmoving Ranhulf with him, Gutrikk yells for his friends to finish this...

 

 

Surrounded and bereft of the magical power of the corpse-fire, the Barrow-Lord's form becomes solid. It's ancient blade whirls and parries with supernatural skill, but the Dwarven numbers are too much and it is soon overwhelmed. With a ghastly shriek that echoes around the barrow's summit, it's physical form becomes wind-blown tatters on the breeze, that quickly melt away along with the unnatural mists. With the undead curse lifted, Ranhulf's eyes flicker and he rises to a sitting position with a groan. Mercifully he appears unharmed, despite his ordeal!

 

 

From their vantage-point, the Dwarves can now make out the path through the valley- beyond this lies the road to Gharzulgrint, fame and fortune!..