|Wyrminghall before it fell into ruin|
The party had some difficulty gaining entrance to the hall, as Sir Ward accidentally pulled the massive front door down onto himself. The noise of this nonsense drew the attention of some wandering killer platypi, one
|the new face of terror|
Once inside the hall the players the menaces of weak floorboards, time slippages, mysterious purple mists, and a monstrous domestic dispute in the room next door. The party came *super* close to a confrontation with the deadliest creature in the above ground portion of the dungeon with nary a clue that they were that near to their doom. They recovered a single treasure: an elaborately carved ivory box containing a matching self-grooming appropriate for a dwarf lass, which was promptly sold off.
|Sorta what they found under the pillow-monster's bed|