The Sentinel lashes out at his own nightmares, trying to cleanse the mists before they can overtake him.
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Fran reaches her hand out to her mother...but then balls it up into a fist. She closes her eyes, even as her father lurches up behind her with a knife.
"No...you're not real. You're not. My mother and father are dead and they're never, ever coming back. So whatever you are...go away! Or show me your real face!"
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The bolt pierces into the Sentinel and the phantom presence brings him to his knees. "You.. Are not.. Real.." Blood-stained tears begin to drip from the Sentinel's eyes.
He crawls over to the remains of his family. "Gods... What.. have I done?" More bloody tears drip out from his eyes. The further he crawls, the more they seem to move away from him.
He unleashes a howl of agony..
Sentinel awakens from his nightmare, on his knees and face stained with blood-stained tears, but the blood fades away and the tears remain. He remains eerily silent.
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"What?!? Where am I? What have you done? Is this...? No...no...no...."
Candledark can't figure out how it's come to this, but this must be what the elders always spoke of back home: The Dissolution. He just sort of crumples like a little doll...what's the point of doing otherwise?
Were anyone observing, they might note that he seems to take it relatively well...as though his Wayang essence was on some level prepared for this....
Fran stands defiant. Angry at the mist, but perhaps angrier at herself.
Thror roars and swings, recoiling as he hits some imaginary force. He stands back up, victorious.
Abaal obsessively checks his blade for signs of damage. It's made of adamantine and he knows it is virtually indestructible. But he obsesses over it. Finally, he remembers he IS the world's greatest swordsman, and sheathes his blade.
Dylph is in the fetal position, defending himself from thrown objects no one else can see. When he sees his teammates (and realizes he's not wearing a toga,) he notices no harm done to himself.
Candledark seems motionless on the ground, as if he is at the wind's mercy. He sees all of you and realizes it was just an illusion.
The mist finally breaks up, thanks to your efforts. You hear a childish giggle as the mist recedes. It will return at some point, but not today.
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Fran blinks and looks around as the mist fades away, leaving them standing in the marshlands where they were before.
"Ooh...the things out here make some low blows..." she mutters, rubbing her shoulder self-consciously. "Is everyone okay?"
Upon spotting that Candledark does indeed appear to be injured, Fran swiftly approaches him and kneels down. "Mister Candledark, you're hurt! Hold still and I'll use my wand on you, if you don't have one of your own."
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Candledark quickly recovers from his fear and notices no major injuries. With all of you uninjured, you proceed onward.
Beyond the thick blanket of mist, a clearing rests near the bank of a gently flowing river. The ground is submerged in a layer of muddy water with pockets of foul-smelling gas burbling up from it. A white marble dais surrounded by broken pillars and statues of dancers sits to the north. At the center of the platform, a miasma of smoky faces and grasping hands roils around a flickering silver gemstone suspended inside a glass globe. Strange markings are scrawled across the steps in dried blood.
Several marble pillars have fallen into the mud, and the very ground lays cursed. This land used to be where Luvyire and his guardians would dance, but something else is here.
With a hissing pop and flash of purple, a floating ball of light appears bobbing inside the ring of tormented spirits. The faint impression of a skull with eyes floats within, with eye sockets shaped like four-pointed stars.
The wisp giggles manically, in a lilting voice. “Welcome to my field of death, travelers. You must now accept the empty fate of eternity, for your time has come to an end. Are you prepared to embrace the void?” Tulvhatha finally reveals herself before you. You celestial werewolves see the golden trail follow her every movement.
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The wisp giggles manically, in a lilting voice. “Welcome to my field of death, travelers. You must now accept the empty fate of eternity, for your time has come to an end. Are you prepared to embrace the void?” Tulvhatha finally reveals herself before you.
"Yes, it's very nice." Abaal says looking around the battlefield.
Tulvatha laughs at Thror's challenge. ”I tire of this banter, don’t you?” Tulvatha giggles. ”Your finale is at hand. Your nightmares and souls will drown at the bottom of this swamp!”
Dylph's keen sense of smell is able to pinpoint multiple pockets of gas that are bound to erupt.
Tulvatha laughs. "Do not worry, paladin. I will never forget your fear- although no one else will remember you!" she turns invisible immediately, laughing all the way.
Tulvatha (Invisible)
Candledark
Abaal
Thror
Fran
Dylph
The Sentinel
While Tulvatha is invisible, Everyone except for Abaal can see the golden trail ends right where she was.
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"That trick won't work forever," Fran calls out as the wisp turns herself invisible. "Time for some razzle-dazzle! I've been saving it just for you!"
She begins casting and then a burst of bright glitter explodes in the area where Tulvatha was last seen, coating everything in sight!
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"How dare you! I serve myself and the Empty Death. I am the mistress to fate’s darkest path and an envoy of the inevitable. And you would cover me in... sparkles?"
Tulvatha's outline is fully visible to everyone.
Tulvatha reels back as she bursts into flames... only to ignore the thing and blow her tongue out in Candledark's direction.
Tulvatha laughs and her sparkled body floats up to Abaal. "So much for the world's greatest swordsman. Take this!"
Abaal hears a chorus of ooooooo! Erupt from nearby as Tulvatha zaps him.
Tulvatha (glitterdusted)
Candledark
Abaal (8 damage)
Thror
Fran
Dylph
The Sentinel (Resist Energy: Electricity)
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"Oh! Remember that wisps shrug off certain sorts of magics," Fran calls out for the benefit of her companions. With this in mind, she focuses on her own innate powers, different from those of her borrowed lycanthrope form but powerful in their own way...and begins to ascend into the air.
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Abaal hears someone gasp when Dylph shoots Tulvatha. And someone faints when 3 magic psychic missiles pummel her!
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Abaal spins and his falchion cuts through the will-o-wisp like a juicy watermelon. ”You cannot prevent… the world...” Tulvatha loses her grip and ceases to exist. Without someone to focus it, the malevolent fog dissipates harmlessly. The tormented souls may finally go to rest. A joyful mass of howls erupt somewhere within the forest.
It is simple enough to follow the moonlit path to leave the forest. The blessing of Ashava fades away. The celestial werewolves feel the blessing fade as the moon sets and the sun rises. When the image of the moon on your palm fades, you are back to your normal self.
Well, except for Abaal. He was always fantastic.
The sun peeks over the horizon by the time you return to Magnimar and report to the Heidmarch manor. “Your bravery and good work should be a shining example to the Pathfinder Society, my friends. Thank you.” The yamah takes in a shaking breath as he blinks back the tears forming in his eyes. “You have secured the Glade of Silver Sparks as a beacon of hope and peace for the lost once more. For that you have my eternal gratitude, as well, I am sure, of Ashava herself. I will try to help rebuild the site to itself former state. Perhaps in time, other devotees of my lady will find their way to the glade and take up the mantle of my fallen companions. Until then I will do what I can, alone.” He sighs and offers a sad smile. “May Ashava’s grace carry you through many serene days, Pathfinders.”
The Mushfens return to normal over the next few days. Luvyire returns to his glade and mourns his fallen allies. Then he rebuilds and resumes his dances.
Cybelle and Mairisse are deeply thankful for the Pathfinder Society’s help. They continue to patrol the Mushfens, but they send missives to the Heidmarch Manor, asking for more information and assistance from the agents.
Those who travel around the Mushfens hear tales of a thriving band of wolves. Those with connections know Windcaller has grown confident in her leadership and continues the band in the Riverfang’s name. The real Riverfang.
And what of you?
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It is simple enough to follow the moonlit path to leave the forest. The blessing of Ashava fades away. The celestial werewolves feel the blessing fade as the moon sets and the sun rises. When the image of the moon on your palm fades, you are back to your normal self.
Well, except for Abaal. He was always fantastic.
"And thus your curses are lifted. There is no need to thank me it was all in a day's work for the Daring Sword of Katapesh!"
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"We did a good thing," Fran smiles when it's all said and done. "And what a story we'll have to tell later, too! Kitty and I have been on a really big variety of jobs - we even infiltrated a temple once! - but there's not been any others quite like this one was."
When Dylph suggests beer and pickles, the young woman makes a face. "Ugh, I'll pass on the beer but pickles sound good! And who knows, maybe we'll even find a demon in disguise for Thror to smite while we're there..."
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"Impersonating a pretend religious personage from a false religion. Wait, you mean I haven't told you? Well, it all began...."