The Work of Vauderhelm

Lloren demonstrates the importance of hard work, consistency and following your dreams in his archaeological excavation of a cursed ruin. Even if your dreams are full of angry gods.

In a fit of pique, Lloren threw a rock against the wall of the ancient ruins. 

The rock, crumbling from centuries of exposure to the relentless jungle humidity and assault by invasive microorganisms, shattered on impact. A sharp crack echoed through the air as the rock exploded, sending a shower of debris cascading down. Dust and fragments of history scattered in all directions, blanketing the ground. Lloren watched, his anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a pang of regret as he realised he had further damaged a relic of a bygone era.

His work lay unfinished. Staring morosely at the stones he’d been carving for months, trying to recreate the runes from fragments of older stones. Experimenting with the shapes and runes he’d seen at the fringes of his dreams. 

He was a man possessed with a calling.
Only, he didn’t know what that calling was.

Sighing, his frustration partially vented - he began sweeping away the debris from the rune circle he’d spent months building and refining. 

The university had financed this fantastical idea. Excavate the ruins of the ancient city of Vauderhelm, across the great river from the free cities of Targannon. Buried deep within a jungle that the Targannite people regarded as “cursed.” Where the dead walked the earth. Animated with no wizard controlling them, no vile para-fungal infestation, or daemonic invasion. Just purposeless, hostile dead - angry over an ancient trauma inflicted upon them. One so severe, that the very afterlife had been denied them.

Lloren regarded the Targannite romanticism about the whole affair as quite funny. Of course there were hordes of dead roaming around the jungles here. 

The Aesir had destroyed this nation during the last war those gods had waged on this realm. 

The amount of residual magic and chaos left behind had resulted in a massive increase of paranormal flora and fauna. There was so much magic that living matter didn’t decompose naturally anymore, and if that living matter used to be a person, whose spirit was still trapped in this realm, well…

That… is how you get Draugr. Millenia old walking corpses with a loathing for the living, born of trauma, rage and suffering – combined with the chaotic energy of too much magic. They’re not exactly evil. But they are very angry.

Lloren had planned long and hard to finance this trip. He had held the position of department head of archaeology for several years, collecting favours and secrets. But the university faculty had thought his trip was ill advised, and rather expensive. Which issue was worse, depended on the faculty member.

“We should know what the crime is, so that we never repeat it!” He’d argued. 

The department head of metaphysical philosophy had objected, “We’d never repeat it if we don’t know what it is! We couldn’t!” 

Many of the others had agreed with him. 

But Lloren was clever, and made a very convincing presentation on all the benefits of the expedition - he’d also rigged the vote through favour and blackmail. 

With a shake of their heads and a grim warning about leaving cursed lands alone, the faculty special projects committee had approved his expedition. He gathered his students, his tools and helpers, and set out for the ruins of Vauderhelm. A city destroyed by Odin the All-Father with a falling star, for reasons that no one remembers. But those who read history remember the punishment, if not the crime. 

And what was his reward for the years of planning and forethought? 

Bugs. Lots of bugs. 

Being relentlessly pursued by sleepless hordes of dead.. 
Huge venomous snakes that live in bogs of death and decay. 
A castle sized mushroom, complete with spotted red cap. 
With highly territorial bear sized ants that carried spears and shouted things like “For the Queen!!” 

He’d avoided them.

As the dangers piled up, members of his expedition were lost. When they finally reached the city of Vauderhelm, most of his dozen travelling companions had died or tried to return. He suspected the last two to turn back would never leave the swamps alive.

On one particularly scorching day, they stumbled upon Vauderhelm in a daze. To his and his 3 remaining companions' delight, the water they found in the city's wellsprings was clean. They’d had gut issues that first night, but since the water was clean enough to drink without needing magic to purify it, they’d gotten used to it.

It was easy casting Magic in the swamps, but a lot harder to control. So they kept a tight “only by necessity” policy with their magic. Two of his students had died of wild magic, and Lloren had considered himself lucky it was so few. 

The city seemed to welcome them; sheltering them from the sun, providing them with clean water, and for some odd reason, keeping the infuriating bugs away. They had explored the city with delight and enthusiasm.

On the third night of exploring, Kiel had asked the question that had been digging at the back of Lloren’s mind, like a burrowing insect refusing to reveal itself, while still scratching for attention.

“Why is this city still standing? It doesn’t look destroyed by a meteor. Smashed, yes, but… most of it is standing! Two thirds at least I’d wager by my rough calculations.” 

Yes. That was a good question, Lloren had thought.

Lloren had expected ruins, just not so many of them. The amount of time it was going to take to explore this city was immense. Years to do it safely. He was certain that things must live in this city, though they’d seen no evidence yet. Each building was a story of a lost culture, a lost family and secrets. Lloren didn’t have the time for the small stories. He needed to find the big one. 

On day seven, they found what had to be an intergenerational wizard’s home from a 1000 years ago. Tiny runes had been etched into every brick, giving them a longevity and hardiness that withstood the years of hostile climate and unnatural forces. For a family of wizards in Giran, Rundell or Montaigne owning such a dwelling inside a city was extraordinarily uncommon. Such a find as this was worth the price of the expedition alone. 

It was the perfect base of operations to work from. The home’s wards were easily restored, and they were able to calibrate them to limit the interference caused by the heavy magical saturation. But the real prize was the discovery of the scrying pool in the basement. 

With the wards in place, they’d risked the ritual magic to employ the scrying pool. The four of them took turns scouring the city for anything resembling a major temple or a sacred site of power. Or… a massive crater where the meteor had impacted.

It took them less than a day to find it.

A giant Pyramid recessed into the earth so the top of it was barely taller than the trees surrounding the city. Without getting up high, which would have been a huge danger on its own, they never would have spotted this temple. A wide inner city valley with a pyramid at the centre, and fantastically large stone buildings surrounding it.

Lloren had felt the pull on his soul as his eyes took in the pyramid. 

They were inside it by the afternoon. They searched all throughout the temple, finding it empty. Stripped of anything resembling books, writing, weapons - even bodies. Only piles and piles of broken stone remained. 

Frustrated, they returned to the comfort of the wizard’s mansion to consider their next move. 

Then Lloren had a dream that night. He built something from the rocks, and it spoke to him. It spoke of a promise that Lloren had made to himself long ago, in a night of rage and desperation. The dream said, all he had to do was find the right rocks, and the dream would give Lloren the thing he sought. 

His revenge. A story he’d carried for twenty years. A story he’d practically forgotten in his relentless pursuit of power, influence, and prestige within the Arcaneum of the Giranian University. 

And so Lloren worked. Sorting through rocks, finding the pieces that called to him. It was tedious work, and the other three were of no help. They didn’t know which rocks were important, no matter how much Lloren directed them. 

Since they couldn’t help, he stopped caring what they did, thus barely noticing when the city took them quietly in the night. However, it was much easier for him to focus with them gone.

Today, he was engraving the 713th rune variation. 

But this time, when he tried infusing them with magic, the runes burned with an orange light. They burned long, growing in strength rather than sputtering out before. 

This one… this one was catching! Lloren thought with confusion and amazement.

The orange light of the runes stabilised and gradually took on a darker red tone. Small streaks of light rose from the runes like steam from boiling water, and these tendrils of light wove themselves together to form a shape. 

Dark grey smoke billowed from the centre of the glowing rune circle, forming a large cloud that sat over top of the circle, engulfing the light.

Lloren gazed with awe at the smoke cloud with red light dancing inside of it like a thunderstorm.

The head of a giant wolf formed from the cloud of smoke, with burning red eyes and fire leaping from its mouth. Smoke curled from the sides of its maw as it looked down on him. It grinned in the way only wolves can.

“Hello, Lloren. It is good to finally see you with my own eyes. We have work to do, and not enough time to do it in,” said the wolf with burning eyes. His grin was hungry, demanding, and ruthless - sending a shiver down Lloren’s spine.

He slumped in exhaustion, a weight lifting from his body, just as another weight settled in. It is one thing to dream of monsters and gods, and another to meet them.

“Yes… of course there would be more work to do,” he said dryly, “there always is.”