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Last week, under some rather unusual circumstances, the Pathfinder's annual gathering the Torchbearing came to an early stop due to some chaotic activity down at the infamous Blakros Museum. Of course, it was put upon the Pathfinder Society to once again handle the threat. Artefacts were destroyed, and a few unfortunate casualties were before the mayhem stopped.
Now, you've gathered as a group to travel northwards, for a couple of days now, towards the Twinhorn camp at the base of the Tusk Mountains, beyond the orcish camps at Lastwall led by a woman named Medda and her phantom partner.
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Ridley is a tall, skinny man. He is twitchy and seems perpetually a bit nervous. His outfit is charred in a few places, and he is decked out with vials and flasks all over his body. On the journey, he is always keen to discuss, well, anything academic of lore related with pretty much anybody. It's hard to come up with a bit of information he doesn't profess to already know.
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Kahwen is a tengu of quick, but precise movements. He moves with a graceful ease and an economy of motion. His eyes are bright and curious and, though he is incapable of smiling there always seems to be an expression of friendly amusement on his face as he travels with his fellow Pathfinders.
At only a little over 4 and a half feet tall, he is only a little longer than the fine Elven Curve Blade he carries. This is clearly not his prize possession though. Rather, it is the old, well used wayfinder that hangs from his neck. Periodically, he opens it up, and, in addition to the light that commonly comes from such a device, it plays a melodic, enchanting tune.
His clothing, as is appropriate for the tasks he normally undertakes, is simple and dark. Glimpses of the fine chain mail that it covers can be caught, every now and then as he moves, though.
He listens intently to anything Ridley wants to share, but can only contribute when the topics are nature or sailing.
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A lithe almost gangly elf walks in silently. He moves close to Kahwen before lowering his cowl to reveal a mask adorned with Azlanti motifs. He is wearing silken armor dyed the deepest black with purple trimmings which looks to provide little protection. More curious however is the whip-like weapon attached to the hip opposite of his spellbook. It moves supernaturally coiling around his waste and reach out for his allies.
"Kahwen, it seems we are yet again drawn into the works of dark magic but with that comes opportunity." he says with a darker tone than the tengu likely remembers.
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Almost invisible among the mostly taller assembly of Pathfinders is little Lolly. A wisp thin human girl of no more than 10 or 11 years. At least this is the facade she actively tries to perpetuate. She wears her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into two pig tails on either side of her head, and she wears a pretty blue and white dress you might see on any middle class girl in Absalom these days. Only discerning eyes of finally honed Pathfinder agents can see through her intentional disguise. The features are not quite human, and there's some age in her face that most would not notice at a glance. It's hard for most to tell she is a young halfling woman, and she's glad of it, children can move around without being noticed much easier than adults can and this can be very useful.
In fact she is easy to miss, speaking in a very quiet mousy voice, she often stares at her buckled shoes as she speaks slowly.
Those who spend much time with Lolly usually find out her secret. She's "haunted" by a phantom of a once great knight, tethered to this world by the horrific events that surrounded his death, Sir Trystas Tallance is a foreboding presence that Lolly does her best to contain.
Staring down at her shoes once more, I wonder if we are getting close to the end of our Jour---NEY? She says to no one in particular, or perhaps to the phantom in her consciousness. She splits the last word in two and enunciates the last syllable.
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Pipe in mouth with his ever-present wine skin, comes a dwarf who is a little more social then most dwarves. With his wide hat in place, this dwarf gives the appearance of a seasoned traveler.
The scent of alcohol follows his heels like a lover and based on his on hand tools, a rather avid drinker as well.
Weapons hang about his person accompanied by tankards of various types and shapes.
"Greetings, Brewer Heorn at your service. I make a mean brew of ale and in my studies for the perfect drink, I've managed to pick up a few things here and there."
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Kahwen bows to his old ally and friend, one hand over the center of his chest, the other held straight out from his side.
"Friend Malvic! So good to see you again. Yes, it seems that dark magic is all around and that we Pathfinders must always be vigilante to stop it. Though, as you say, it can often be turned to good purposes."
His jovial expression falters a bit as he watches Malvic and sees the apparently dark turn he has taken. It is clear he is a bit worried for the man.
He shrugs his shoulders in response to Lolly, confirming his lack of knowledge about geography...and exactly where their destination is, for that matter.
But, while he is good at seeing when a situation isn't quite what it seems, he is not so good at seeing when a person isn't quite what they seem.
"I do not know, little girl, but I do know this is dangerous and you should not be here. We cannot turn back now, we have come too far, but if there is trouble, you should run and hide. We'll protect you, as best we can."
"I fear I don't know much about spirits, friend Heorn, but I would be willing to sample you work, if you like," he says, to the dwarf.
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Months ago, agents of the Blakros Museum in Absalom stole a holy dagger—a relic of the Kellid Twinhorn following and the Shining Crusade from centuries ago. What seemed a simple dagger was key to keeping a powerful villain at bay, and the Pathfinder Society has allied with the Twinhorn following and its bold spiritual leader Medda in order to return the relic, use it to perform a ritual before midnight on the winter solstice, and stem an undead invasion. “We are only hours away from the stone circle and our encampment,” Medda announces. “If we are going to make it there by midnight, we need to press on. Once there, we will use Ivvora’s hilt to perform our time-honored ritual and keep evil from our lands.” Medda produces the small hilt of a broken weapon with only a fragment of its black metal blade remaining. “Let us move. There are dangers in these ancient woods: orc raiders, bears that topple trees, and worse. Stay in groups and don’t get lost.”
As the Kellids and Pathfinders reach the top of the hill next to the Twinhorn encampment, they notice splashes of blood and the occasional corpse dotting the landscape. Medda raises her voice, calling, “My brethren, our families are under attack! Secure the camp and drive back any who oppose you. Pathfinder allies, join us in defense of our home!” The landscape opens into a burned hillside where blackened trees stand like lifeless sentinels. A crude blockade shields the entrance to a natural cavern.
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"I fear I don't know much about spirits, friend Heorn, but I would be willing to sample you work, if you like," he says, to the dwarf.
His eyes opens wide at that!
"Friend." he says with thick emotion."I shall be more then happy to whip up a brew that'll make your sense sing to the heavens!"
As the announcement comes, he turns.
"It seems that'll have to wait until we resolve this. We can share a tankard or two later." he grins.
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Before reaching the hill, Lolly responds to Kahwen, Don't worry I'm good at hiding Mr. Tengu, I'll try not to cause any trouble. But a sort of wild-eyed look on her face, makes you doubt the sincerity of the statement.
When Kahwen turns to Heorn, Lolly interjects perhaps oblivious to which type of spirits are being discussed. I know all about spirits. sigh She says under her breath.
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When Medda raises the alarm, Lolly moves quickly. Taking a couple steps away from the others. She takes off her backpack and retrieves a small censer, loading it with some incense, she lights it with her flint and steel.
It's time Sir T.
Lolly begins swinging the censer and chanting quietly, performing some kind of ritual. After about a minute Lolly's head tilts backward and strange green ectoplasm begins flowing from from her nose and mouth slowly forming into a foreboding tall armored warrior.
Soon Lolly regains her senses, looking around to her fellow pathfinders, a strange smile on her face.
The sickly green ectoplasmic phantom contorts as he looks on at the bloody scene and raises his sword which seems to be joined to his arm. He speaks in a confused terrifying whisper, Oh what is happening here?
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A mob of seemingly undead humanoids attempt to break through but are soon alerted by your presence and turn their attention towards you. Simultaneously, the zombies, lead by a winged monstrosity made of rotting flesh and jutting bone, turn their heads and immediately proceed to advance on the freshly arrived pathfinders.
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The zombies clearly are human zombies. Their anatomy makes them more susceptible to sharp slashing weapons, and they have a stagger when they move.
The winged creature is known as a Necrocraft, a creature born of dead remains sewed together by the powers of dark magic. While it's a tough monster, it does not have special qualities about it.
Riley moves quickly to throw a concoction of explosives at zombies. Due to their slow reaction, they take most of the brunt as fire flashes across them momentarily burning them very badly.
The zombies stride forwards with crooked steps at a relatively slow pace in attempt to reach your front ranks.
~~~
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"At least you don't have to feel guilty about killing them, Friend Ridley. They're already dead!" Kahwen exclaims as he literally charges past his two companions to get to the front line. He has the perfect tool for sending zombies to their final rest and he swings it in a wild, overhead arc as he reaches his target.
The tactic is likely one that Malvic is used to by now. Kahwen's strategy always seems to throw himself deep into enemy lines without much forethought and then either fight his way out or depend on his companions to save him. His trust in their ability to do so, given that they're basically strangers, is either inspiring or infuriating.
The phantom pushes forward to engage the zombies stopping short, sword drawn and at the ready.
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Malvic and Ridley both turn their eyes to the sky as the realise that the threat of the necrocraft might be far more dangerous than that of the zombies. However, their aims are off and narrowly miss the flying monster.
The zombies charge at whatever closest pathfinder they can! But with relatively slow movements, it is not too difficult for Malvic and Kahwen to dodge against the attacks. But Kahwen doesn't realise a second zombie moves up against him and swipes at him causing a deep gash!
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Flanking with Ridley, the phantom knight slams itself against a zombie.
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Kahwen narrowly avoids one blow due to his wild rush into violence but another catches him full in the side, his chain mail digging into him from the impact.
He lets out a little "whoof" as his breath escapes him, and he buckles for a moment but refuses to go down.
"Very impressive Friend Sangkip!" he declares as the man cuts down the creature that injured him.
He steps to the side, to allow Sangkip to get behind the other one that attacked him, though after that first hit, he's going to be a lot more careful about fighting.
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Almost as if the pathfinders coordinated attacking formations in style, Sangkip demonstrates his acrobatic abilities and swings around the red eyed zombie, slicing it to death in a single swift movement with his daggers.
Sir Trytas and Kahwen break immediately around the flanks and demonstrate their fighting abilities by knocking out the remaining two zombies. Kahwen's blade cuts deep and the zombie bleeds away, but Sir Trytas attack on the other hand seems to do very little in terms of damage.
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Heorn delivers a strong crushing blow right to the zombies skull, smashing it away causing brain matter to spurt and spray around!
With the zombies finished, the necrocraft swoops down to take out the closest pathfinder, his eye on Sangkip! But the creature's decent is obvious enough that Sangkip notices it in time to dodge out of the way!
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Sir Trystas lets out a moan as he charges toward the necrocraft and in to a flank with Sangkip.
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With Ridley's bomb blast, the Pathfinders take it as a single to charge in at the necrocraft. Outnumbered, It becomes easy for the group to knock the creature in a couple of hits, mainly from Sir Trytas and Kahwen. Succumbing to it's pain, the creature cries an ungodly howl with it's last breath. With the immediate threat annihilated, you are able to take a break.
Onlookers from behind the makeshift barricades cheer on, and praise the pathfinders in what looks to be perfect teamwork! They are impressed, and speak wonders of your abilities as they personally come to thank you. Medda feels the same, as she thanks you for your help, but she presses the group to meet the elders immediately at a nearby tent as she fears about the reasons the undead are attacking. However at the same time, the group informs othat they've seen some horrors nearby, a portal of sorts, with undeads steaming out off.
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"Huzzah!" Kahwen cries, brandishing his sword overhead as the combined might of the Pathfinders overwhelms the undead creature.
He listens intently as Medda asks them to meet with the elders but others tell them of more danger.
"We must stem the tide of undead at the portal, Companions!" he exclaims, voicing his opinion.
But he does not run off, waiting to hear what the rest want to do.
He also approaches Lolly as discussion continues, giving her his own wand of Cure Light Wounds to carry and use.
"I could use a bit more healing, now, friend Lolly and please keep this for now to use on me or any of our companions who need it."
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Malvic nods as the rest of the enemies are dispatched somewhat bothered he didn't get to strike them down himself but does not show it openly as the onlookers approach.
"Medda, the Elders know the cause or better how to cut them off completely? Kahwen we may be fighting a long battle if we don't know how to shot that portal. Maybe a brief talk with the Elders will be useful?" Malvic proposes.
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Medda sighs, but understands the concern of an undead threat left unhindered could cause certain death " Very well Pathfinders, we shall spilt our efforts. I shall bring the my Kellid brethen back to the safety of the camp as you investigate this dark portal. I believe this is the doing of Eshimka, one of the nightwalkers that served the Whispering Tyrant himself. She has plagued us long ago but Ivvora with her sacred dagger, at my helm current , vanquished her forces away, only to be cursed of a vengeful return. Please take care."
As the evening falls, armed with nothing but mighty courage and your weapons, the Pathfinders dare to attempt to reach the doorway through which Eshimka's evil attempts to break back into the material plane... and perhaps a chance to close it once more, before even more can come through!
The site of Ivvora's epic battle, all those years ago, is not far from the camp, but the trip to it is not peaceful. Everyone's nerves seem on high alert, the night sky and forests creating multitudes of shadows that dance and flicker as you move past. Strange sounds and echoes constantly assault your ears, some seeming far away, some close by... whether allies or enemies, you have no way to tell, nor can you spare the time to investigate.
All of you are on edge and jumpy by the time you get close to your goal. You hear it long before you catch a glimpse. Strange ghostly wails and whispered words in languages no human mouth could utter, drifting ahead of your destination well before you manage to see it through the dim evening light.
On any other day, the clearing on the riverbank might seem like an idyllic pastoral setting, the moss-covered standing stones circling it a curious reminder of a bygone age. But today, at night, on the solstice, it is anything but. A shadowy tear floats above the worn stone altar in the middle of the circle, so dark that what little light manages to reach it from the stars above seems to get trapped inside, swallowed up by whatever blackness oozes forth from its depths. Even the sounds of the river flowing nearby seem muted somehow, and ice crystals form along the bank near the clearing, a thin layer of ice starting to form despite it not seeming that cold out.
Eight large tendrils of inky darkness coil around the menhirs as if keeping the stones in a stranglehold. Numerous other tendrils lick out from the shadowy rift... as if tasting the air of the world they are reaching into. Even as you approach, the tear appears to grow a little larger, and you can only guess it will not be long before it becomes far too large to close.
Only Ridley and Sir Trystan can make out a number of skeletal forms, upright and mobile, and a single giant hand, moving about inside the circle, seemingly oblivious to the shadowy tendrils lashing about. But they notice you as well, and immediately move to put themselves between you and the dark tear in the center of the stones. The rest find your light sources too far away to reveal more than inky darkness inside the stone circle, the slowly growing tear at its center, and the shadowy tendrils lashing out form it.