It has been 9 months since a nearly dead Emron emerged from the underdark into the world above, finding himself alone and for all intents and purposes exiled to the Sword Coast. Finding refuge and recovering in a temple of Moradin, Emron met Bazim on his unique pilgrimage learning both craft and holy warfare. The two formed a tight alliance, working together with others to help those in need and deliver on the Masonry guild's promises - often escorting shipments between suppliers and the insular dwarvish settlements.
Their party grew and shrank with the changes in business, but for the past 6 months it has always included the enigmatic Balandusk and wily and polished Mythandir. While other hired hands have come and gone, this party of four has been through thick and thin; and consider each other friends along with adventuring business partners.
So when Balandusk became almost obsessed with a mission that would sidetrack the party from the caravan for a few days, everyone supported him to one degree or another. He didn't speak of his past often, but you have all heard the dreadful cry of "Werewolves in the mist!" again and again by farmers, merchants, and adventurers alike. The hamlets east of Daggerford have fallen prey to a pack of werewolves that spills out of the Misty Forest on nights of the full moon, cloaked in crawling mist that seems to follow them wherever they go. The beasts spread death and mayhem, slaughtering adults and stealing children before retreating back into the woods. Others have tried to combat the werewolf menace, with little success. Now an open call for adventurers from the various factions of Waterdeep is offering substantial rewards for the work.
It's been nearly a full day of travel off road to reach the forest were a small army has pinned the wolves. A mist has formed around the conifers, making the eradication effort nearly impossible and forcing the nobles giving the orders to lay siege. Approaching the camp, the party is greeted by several armed guardsmen who ushers you all to a human man who welcomes them warmly.
Excellent! I assume you are here for tonight's hunt? We expect it to be the final blow against this foul herd. My name is Zelraun Roaringhorn, and I am serving as a quartermaster of sorts. If you just fill in the registry, we can guarantee payment sent to wherever you wish should you not survive; but let us hope to avoid that nastiness! Please each of you take one of these scrolls to identify yourself as a hunter - keep it safe, one of these scrolls of remove curse they can be applied to the wound to prevent lycanthropy or used as usual, and please select a few weapons from this wagon here - they are all silvered of course!
With a sweeping gesture, the scrolls are piled on a table outside a wagon of considerable size with a posted guard.
Remove Curse Scroll:
This unique scroll is written on bandages, allowing the magic to be applied directly to a wound or read aloud by a mage like a typical spell scroll. Applying the magical bandage is an action.
Silvered Weapon Selection:
The wagon contains silvered weapons. You may take 3 simple weapons of your choice.
A set of ammunition listed on the adventure gear table (such as 20 arrows). You may also choose 10 silvered darts in place of one weapon.
Urrnir:
Urrnir will be folded in ASAP. He i aware of his introduction already.
My fault, I wasn't clear. EACH of you may choose UP TO 3 simple weapons and add them to your character's inventory for the hunt. My previous wording made it sound like 3 simple weapons may be chosen between the entire group. EACH of you also gets 1 remove curse scroll.
Bazim heads into the wagon first, searching for something to match the might of his warhammer. Unfortunately, the closest thing he could find to a suitable warhammer was a mace hanging from the wall - but there is also a bin of spears that might be a little more useful.
Balandusk nods at Zelraun, taking the two scrolls the remove curse scroll and the hunter identification scroll. "Thank you, quartermaster. I was wondering if you had a quarterstaff with silvered tips available? If you do, I'll take one of those, a spear, and some darts."
Since I'm unsure if a quarterstaff can be silvered or not, I'll take another spear in its place if needed.
Good thinking, but a silver quarterstaff would blow my budget! The Lord's Alliance has been very generous but that's a bridge too far, my friend.
Anything with metal can be silvered, weapons like a quaterstaff could be custom made out of a hunk of silver but it would be something you ordered and would be as expensive as a magical one in a metropolis like Waterdeep.
Mythandir takes a quiver of silvered bolts, a set of silvered darts, and a silvered spear. He also takes the scroll. "This is quite the armory," he remarks. "A noble must have smelted half his treasury to silver the weapons for every hunter."
Ho-hoo! Zelraun laughs loudly with a unique timber, Well you much drop coin to earn favor in this life after all. If you had the opportunity to offer gold, men, and your life in equal measure; which might you choose to be stingy with? He sits at his desk and begins scrawling on a pile of papers.
Now hurry up, lads. The hunt began some time ago, though it doesn't sound like anyone has run afoul of one of the beasts, he glances up with a bushy brow, and no one gets paid without at least setting foot in those woods.
Balandusk looks a little saddened, but nods in understanding. "Disappointing, but not unthought of. Right then, I shall take an extra spear." He takes the weapons and stands off to the side. "I am eager to hunt these monsters," he said with a fire in his eyes. "Let's hurry up before they slaughter any innocents."
Bazim nods to the quartermaster and helps himself to one of the spears as well as the mace.
"Can never be too careful or prepared!", he says hefting the weapon and getting a feel for its attributes.
Joining the hunt involved little pageantry. The soft, short grass was well trod by boots and hooves leaving Zelraun's station telling the story of heavy travel into the forest... no that you can see the forest for the trees. The torchlight from the wagons died quickly in the fog displaying the Misty Forest's namesake proudly as you move between conifers, those with darkvision seeing nothing but a white sheet a few yards away while any light only allowed for an orange haze extending no more than a dozen feet in any direction.
It could be any time of day but the increasing density of the forest, deathly silence, and hidden sky made the somewhat somber walk on thick layers of soft needles ageless. You could be anywhere, anyone slightly memorized by the wafting densities of mist swirling, dancing. It was if there were figures just out of reach, celebrating happier times than a muggy night so far from home.
It is then the howling begins, at first solitary and then growing in number - some so loud it could be just out of sight in the fog. The distance is impossible to gauge as you begin to hear more and more voices rise to meet the howls. In seconds the sounds of encouragement, the battle cries of the frenzied, the clash of steel, and the sound of the wounded echoed unnaturally between the trees.
The hunt is in full motion all around the group, and before any of you can take decisive action a sickening combination of wolf and man stumbles injured into view. He lacked the pelt of a true wolf, his fur sticking close to his skin like a greyhound - and his features are distorted somewhere between a wolf and man. He has drooping ears too low for a canine, and dark eyes sitting too close together over his extended maw with pale stubby nose. His jaws are bloodied, and in his arms he carries a portion of what you assume was a fellow hunter. He drops his meal, snarling as drool discolored crimson hangs in ropes from his exposed teeth.
Bazim reacts first, showing sudden and surprising agility as he carries his mace low sweeping upward clipping the werewolf but not causing any damage.
The mists follow his mace leaving a thick streak that hangs in the air as a sudden burst of wind sweeps from the werewolf's back and washes over the small band. What was extremely thick fog becomes a choking gas. Each of you feels tugging at your gear and clothing, gentle pulls no stronger than a small child drawing you in random directions as white slightly less white outlines of skeletal hands and arms are all you see reaching from the mist. Looking down at yourself the hands can be seen as the source of any tugging, as translucent and wispy forms claw at you.
Bazim, Mythandir, & Balandusk all gain 1 level of exhaustion (all ability checks are made at disadvantage).
The fog, however, does not impact your hearing as you hear a sickening cracking and popping noise from around where the werewolf would be followed by the sound of movement retreating from the group. (Anyone wishing to know more needs to make an Intelligence(Investigation) or Wisdom(Perception) check)
Balandusk raises a spear ready to attack the werewolf, when he feels the tugging of the fog. He stumbles a little and stops the attack as he feels a bit weak. Slight confusion enters his mind, but he pushes through it as he decides that it isn't ordinary fog, and makes an attempt to figure out how it could have affected him in such a way.
Perception:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
Emron shakes off the hands effect, then looks for the werewolf.
Oi! Everyone there!
He says, as he can't see his companions.
Balandusk doesn't like this fog, as it's muddling his brain. He tries to focus on the mist, thinking back on his studies of werewolves to see if that could possibly offer any help, and cursing himself for not developing his brain more.
Mythandir realizes the sounds of the werewolf changing into a new form from descriptions in manuals, and is able to discern there were four feet moving away from them.
He also tries to search his memory for something relating to this obviously unnatural fog laying thick around them, but would need to spend time researching stories of this forest back in Daggerford to see if there are multiple accounts.
Balandusk also recognizes the mists as unnatural - but they draw deep into his memories. This is the same horrible mists that swept in the night of the attack on his monastery - the same night he had died.
As sudden as the wall of thick mist blew over the area blocking all sight, it withdrew. In a few seconds, the mists, now swirling like a whirlpool, pull away in all directions at once leaving more forest exposed than when you first entered. Those relying on light can easily see 30 feet with relative clarity, and about another 30ft as obscured shapes. Those with darkvision can see 60ft in any direction, but anything past 30ft are in a fuzzy greyscale.
The air becomes still and muggy, and the mossy forest floor smells pleasant - as if untouched by anyone. There are round rocks under the moss with small pale flowers dotting the ground. The sounds of battle and howling are gone... but something new has taken its place. All of you hear a soft sobbing in the distance, maybe a few hundred feet away if that, coming from the direction opposite of the direction the werewolf escaped to.
It's faint but the crying is on a high timbre, and those listening close also hear a second voice quietly making shushing noises.
You are all now out of combat, and free to act.
R0B0GEISHA: Not a problem, we all have IRL stuff that delays us.
Balandusk looks around for his companions, and tries to catch a glimpse of the werewolf. He squints, but the fuzziness of anything past 30 feet just won't go away. Must be a side effect of this weak feeling.
"Other than feeling a bit weak, I am unharmed." He walks over to the tiefling, and turns his gaze toward the direction of the crying. "I think the werewolf eluded us in that foul fog. I think that crying could be one of its victims?"
You travel only a few dozen yards before coming across a wrought iron gate of excellent quality. The stone the iron is set into seems to be a single piece with no gaps, and the pillars on either side are carved with a motif of wolves running through mist. Looking closely you can see carvings that look like hands in the mist, but it's probably just coincidental - it would be a rather abstract portrayal if it was intended to depict hands. A metal inlaid into the right stone pillar simply bears "DURST" in a bold serif. There is a simple clockwork mechanism to unlatch the gate, and there appears to be no lock.
The sobbing is just outside your vision beyond the fencing, and now you can her a female voice cooing quietly, Quiet, Thorn. You'll just bring more trouble! Papa said to wait quietly until he comes for us.
Balandusk follows the dwarf over to the fence. Upon spotting the wolf motif, he pulls out one of his spears and becomes alert. "Keep your eyes open," he said to the others, "I think this place may have something to do with the werewolves."
Tat don't sound like feastin'!
Emron looks closer, at the word.
What in the Nine Hells is DURST!
Upon hearing Balandusk's statement, he says:
Maybe the gate protects a sort of werewolf cult!
He chuckles
From the mist a figure with hands raised in the air reveals himself, and cries out Calm yourselves! There's just some children and an old house here!
The figure materializes as a human adorned in layers of metal armor carrying several weapons and a large pack on his person. He bears a the symbol of Lathander, the Morninglord.
Geth has been added to the campaign, and is free to post.
Bazim sniffs the air, looking for any hit of the stink of evil from the unseen people in the mist.
Using detect evil ability
Nearly didn't respond to this!
Bazim opens his awareness to sense what ill-begotten evils might lurk invisible in the mist, only to realize that any mist so thick his sight cannot pierce it is profane - some fowl force behind it has made the mist itself desecrated.
Even so, the area behind Geth seems to be worse than any other direction. Something back there is evil, and it's the kind of evil Bazim cannot readily identify.
"Ware friends! A great evil resides beyond our new acquaintance. Bah...this whole place stinks of evil, but the strongest whiff come from that direction", the paladin says, pointing in the direction behind Geth.
Geth leads the group about 30ft deeper into the fog where suddenly a towering structure looms. From your position you can only see a portion of a house that has seen better days. Its windows are dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor, and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up. Two children are at the step of the portico, a girl that is just about to hit her teens stands taller than average for her age in gaudy finery. A high collared crimson cloak over a high violet collared tunic with silvery embroidery that appears to represent the swirling mists. Her cloak is held clasped by a gold broach bearing a coat of arms, and her tall boots are shiny and never seen much wear.
Another child sits on the step, a boy barely as tall as the girl's waist. He wears a thick coat with fur trim and a similar embroidered design very similar to the girl's tunic. He has the hood of his coat pulled up and clutches a doll shaped like a skeleton - though it's large uneven eyes and proportions make it charming rather than creepy.
Both children are so pale their skin has a nearly blue tint, and have dark hair that is clean but ill-kempt. Seeing the new people the boy now stands partially obscured by the girl as he clutches the hem of her tunic.
The girl curtsies with grace before saying, Greetings, I am Rosavalda Durst, this is my brother Thornboldt - please forgive his rudeness he's ever so shy, she swallows a bit before continuing, Please... there is a monster in our house. It's terrible howls rise from the floor. My parents have it trapped in the basement!
As Geth leads the others towards the house he introduces himself and explains that he had stumbled upon this house and the worried children while in the woods. He had heard the sounds of battle and the cry of the wolves and did what he could to calm the children.
After hearing out the young girl he gives a soft smile; "And I am Geth. Where are your parents young Lady Durst?" Geth asks, worried more that two children had been left to fend for themselves.
Rose stiffens at the mention of werewolves, but keeps a brave face, Wolves are merely tools of the Devil, and they cannot enter this yard. But I fear my parents face something even worse, I do not know the face of this monster - but I know it is no wolf. The noise this monster makes is terrible, a guttural howl that reaches even our room at the top of the house. Rose clutches Thorn, At the very least rescue our dear little brother. He is still in his swaddling, and I was too cowardly to save him.
Rose can no longer keep her emotions at bay and tears stream down her face. She wipes them away ineffectively, and tries to keep her composure with large teardrops rolling down her cheeks. With his sister now crying, Thorn begins crying again.
Bazim:
The aura of desecration that you sensed looming in front of you is indeed this house. The aged structure gives you a nagging headache letting you know its vile presence is there even when you look away. You question if you would even be able to detect the presence of the armies of Orcus if they were near this house.
"This building...house...it's very roots ooze evil. How can you live in such a place...its aura is ....overwhelming!", the paladin says while massaging his temples.
He looks to the others and smiles briefly.
"I am Bazim, junior siegemaster of clan Brightblade and holy warrior of Moradin."
Geth places his hand on Rose's shoulder calmly. He gives a reassuring smile as he says, "Worry not young miss. There are many brave men here, we will be sure to find your brother."
Rose starts sobbing and squeezes out a, Tha..thank...you... between gasps. Thorn clutches his sister and cries himself; you will be hard pressed to get more out of them in this state.
Balandusk looks a little guilty about possibly causing the children to burst into tears. He kneels down in front of Rose and says, "Do not worry, little one. He is correct. We will find your brother and bring him back to you."
