The barrow led into a dungeon of tombs, my erstwhile chaotic fighter declined to descend, I will have to berate them later, perhaps dock a days pay (which admittedly I have yet to actually give) but the others were braver, as was my faithful hound.
The warriors were eager to advance and find worthwhile foes to slay and to lift their curse, but the dungeon soon proved to be more than a simple task of seek and destroy those who cheated death, as we quickly fell victim to a fiendish but simple trap, one that isolated one of our number in a room full of skeletal creatures beyond a stone door.
As they battled, we attempted to find a way past and others tried to lift the stone door, eventually hefting it a gap through which our foolish law-abiding priest charged, to scatter the skeletal figures, I did follow and managed to crush a couple with my cursed mace, but our dwarf was no longer captured and was now safe.
Exploring further, the dwarves wanted to engage in a bout of mining, as is their spelunking nature, but voices from behind had us parley a group of friendly tomb raiders who bid us well and gave directions to somewhere they dare not enter, although thoughts of relieving them of their new found riches passed our minds (or at least mine), the pressure of the curse sent us onward.
A tapping sound emerged from a room beyond, we ventured along but so far have encountered little resistance or treasure, the curse weighs heaviliy on our great warrior, I can see the echos of near death in his stoney face, despite our differences I do feel some loyalty to this ragged crew of ne'erdowells, and whilst I would grimace at our dragons hoard being lavished on avoiding the ultimate end, I do sense this is a greater purpose.