The clan maps it’s ancestry to the great warrior-priest Runulf who slew not one but four dragons in bringing this part of the land under the control of the clan. Although Runulf is no longer, the clan reveres his memory and the trophies of his great conquests. The blood of Runulf still flows strongly within the warrior priests of the clan, and only fools and foreigners mistake the toasts in his name at every mead hall in clan territories as being the antics of drunks.
But high in the mountains, something has changed. Runulf’s cairn has long been the secret centre of the druidic government of the clan, a shadow government heretical to the actual teachings and mores of Runulf. The druids have sculpted the seat of their power beneath Runulf’s cairn, hiding themselves in the one place the clan would never dare look.
But the druids never returned from the last congress, and now the clan is in disarray. The remaining druids, not of high enough rank to take part in the congress, whisper of some foulness that stalks the cairn and that has slain their fellows…
Or perhaps one of the elder druids is the source of this foul sorcery, and has slain the others in a power play?
The remaining druids need brave souls not of the clan to covertly enter the cairn and ascertain the truth.