Table GMs, it is March 2nd in Greenwich, so you may begin!
Our story so far:
Part 1: The Pathfinder Society received an urgent call for help from the Blakros Museum. (This happens often enough that there’s a staff member at the Grand Lodge whose sole task is to be ready when the Blakros family calls for aid.) It seems a group of intruders had gotten past the defenses and barricaded themselves in the building. When the Society sent assistance, the intruders–members of a Kellid tribe called the Twinhorns and their spiritual leader, a woman named Medda–turned out to have a very good reason for what they did. It seems that the Twinhorns have long kept a relic of the Shining Crusade, the hilt of a dagger that was used to banish Eshimka, a nightwalker lieutenant of Tar-Baphon, from the world, and they use the relic in an annual rite at the Winter Solstice to keep Eshimka and its followers at bay. Blakros agents stole the hilt and brought it to the Museum to display. When Ambrus Valsin heard the Kellids’ tale, he was furious, and promised that the Society would escort them back to the Tusk Mountains with the dagger hilt.
Part 2: The Society agents secure passage through the Hold of Belkzen.
Part 3: Medda, the Twinhorns, and the Pathfinders arrive too late at the location where the rite is to be performed: Eshimka’s undead forces have begun to enter the world through a portal at the standing stones. The Pathfinders successfully defeated the intruders and closed the rift, but left a weak spot in the walls between the worlds. The next solstice would be critical.
Part 4: The dagger belonged to Ivvora, a paladin of the Empyreal Lord Vildeis. In order to learn how to either repair the dagger or create a new weapon against Eshimka, Medda asks the Pathfinders to escort her to where Ivvora died fighting a great white dragon. There, Medda hopes to commune with Ivvora’s spirit. The Pathfinders had to fight the descendants of the white dragon and their kobold servitors, but were ultimately successful.
The long journey south from the slopes of the Tusk Mountains to the edge of Fangwood took several weeks, during which many of the Twinhorns and Pathfinders exchanged ancestral stories and tales of daring adventures to pass the time on the relatively uneventful trek. By the time the Fangwood rises ahead in the brisk morning air, both groups are eager to confront whatever lies ahead.
Medda addresses the crowd gathered before her. “South of here lies a battlefield where the paladin Ivvora risked her life in a daring ploy to help her battalion defeat an undead horde. For her selflessness, Ivvora earned a token of Vildeis’s favor: the dagger she used to deal a terrible blow to Eshimka! For all the crusaders’ heroism, I can sense an undead taint lingered here, and that stretch of the Fangwood has expanded in the centuries since to absorb it. It is now our turn to earn Vildeis’s blessing, risking ourselves to end this threat so that in turn we might slay Eshimka once and for all.
“The terrain favors small groups over larger formations, so we shall divide into smaller groups to navigate the forest and identify the corruption’s heart. May Ivvora’s example guide us to victory!” With that, Medda and her phantom Anok turn and enter the Fangwood, followed by Pathfinder and Twinhorn teams that fan out behind her.
Even though much of the forest withers from some evil curse, eager faces flow from tree to tree as the friendly, whispering spirits encourage their would-be saviors onward.
It is difficult to tell how much time has passed through the smothering canopy as Medda addresses the regrouped Pathfinder and Twinhorn forces. “The ancient battlefield is just beyond those trees. There, Ivvora and her comrades scattered an undead army, but the necromantic corruption never left this land. Instead, the plants and animals have gradually absorbed the evil, encouraged by someone calling herself Mother Bloodleaf.
“We must strike as one, simultaneously attacking the corruption’s heart as well as the seedpods spread out around the swamp. Their destruction will unleash harmful energies, so we of the Twinhorn following shall head toward the center to ritually disperse that energy to keep it from festering anew! Each team should follow its Twinhorn mystic to an intended target, and from there, three blasts of a horn shall signal our attack. May Vildeis bless us as she did Ivvora before us!”
Medda, the Twinhorns, and the Pathfinders spread out and make their way through the woods to their striking positions.
Three blasts of a war-horn echo across the heavily forested battleground. As the Pathfinders rush toward their targets, startled figures with purple glowing eyes hurry toward the seedpods and the enormous dark flower at the heart of the swamp. A shriek carries over the battleground. “What treachery is this? My minions have fallen without so much as warning me? No matter, I shall rip out any trespassers’ souls and feed them to the blight!”
Several blasts of purple energy momentarily light up the battlefield. The initial shouts of celebration are quickly drowned out by the agonized screech emitted by the heart of the blight.
Medda’s voice carries over the battlefield. ”Shamans! To the fallen seed pods! Attack the flower through its children!” A few of the Twinhorn shamans, chanting in unison as they move, make their way to the remains of the destroyed seed pods and begin to gesture over them. White incandescence streams from their hands into the pods, extending from them in a delicate tracery across the blighted land before settling on the monstrous black flower at the heart of it. Dr. Vitruvian, Amwari, Katswiri, Undiana, Eric, and Jules have a clear view of what happens next: the filaments of white light constrict around that hideous bloom, burning through its branches and petals. Mother Bloodleaf screams in fury as she rushes to the flower, but for naught: her attackers had held her attention for critical seconds, and it was too late. The flower withers and burns under the onslaught and the orc witch doctor is caught in the pyre, dying with her peculiar patron. Strands of purple energy whip across the battleground and begin to swirl above the remains of the giant flower. The continuous chant of the Twinhorn shamans reaches a fever pitch and then suddenly stops. After a breathless moment of silence, a loud reverberating boom echoes across the swamp as a column of purple energy pierces through the clouds, dissipating into the sky above. Shouts of celebration begin to sound across the field as Medda makes her way to the heart of the blight. The clouds part, and a shaft of moonlight shines on the site as she rips through the withered roots of the blighted flower. Medda reaches in and draws out the shriveled remains of a female crusader. In stark contrast to the rest of the remains, her silvery breastplate glimmers in the moonlight. A grievous blow has scarred its surface where a golden engraved figure spreads out her wings. Trails of blood seep out from scars running across the figure. Medda lowers the remains gently upon a white cloak that a Twinhorn warrior has placed on the ground.
With a heavenly glow, the ghostly form of Ivvora appears in the clouds above. Her voice, though, sounds as if she stood next to each of you, murmuring quietly in your ear. “She was my sister-in-arms against the vile Tar-Baphon. I now know that her sacrifice spared me so many years ago, as it will all of you in the days to come. Go with Vildeis’ grace and use this blessed plate to vanquish my hated adversary. Hurry back north, for the moment of Eshimka’s reckoning draws near!”
Medda looks up to the sky as the vision of Ivvora dissipates, the red phantom hand of Anok floating above her shoulder. After a moment, she kneels next to the crusader’s remains and carefully wraps them up in the white cloak, which is slowly soaking through with red. She looks at the crowd gathered around her and speaks up. “We stand here triumphant, having rid this land of corruption. But this is a mere hint of the darkness that awaits us at the Solstice Scar! Fear not, for Vildeis’ blessing will guide our weapons to strike true and eradicate Eshimka for good!” Medda motions for the Twinhorn warriors to raise the bundled remains on their shields as one of the honored dead. “Pathfinders, you have done much for my tribe and our lands, but I ask you once more to lend us your weapons so that we might end the evil that haunts Solstice Scar. What say you?”
Any dissenting voices are lost in the roar of approval from the assembled Pathfinders.
Inspired by the events in the Fangwood, the Pathfinders and Twinhorn warriors have at last returned to the Kellid following’s territory. The scattered woodlands that once stood in the Tusk Mountains are now cast in perpetual shadow despite it being only a few hours after noon. The trees are bare, the grass crumbles at a touch, and even the accumulated snow of midwinter is melting in the freezing air as if surrendering to entropy.
Medda confers with some of the Twinhorn following who stayed behind, then she addresses the crowd. “The winter solstice does not peak here until tonight, yet already Eshimka’s vanguard has escaped the Negative Energy Plane. They now control the area around the planar scar for several miles in each direction. If we’re to stop them, we need to break through these outer forces, regroup at the center, and take control of the rift. If that doesn’t draw Eshimka out, a few brave souls will need to pass through the rift to crush her lieutenants, destroy whatever is keeping the rift open, and draw her into our world. When they do, we need to ensure there are no reinforcements, and that means eliminating any commanders who have already broken through. That includes a corrupted dragon that has our scouts worried.”
She smiles grimly. “When the paladin Ivvora faced the beast Eshimka here centuries ago, she fought with Vildeis’s blessing and banished the fiend. Tonight, Eshimka would return to our world, but we are not one paladin; we are many!” She pricks her finger on her spear and paints a set of bloody wings upon her forehead. The Twinhorns follow suit. “And we too carry Vildeis’s favor!” With these words, the painted wings blaze with light.