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Alase nods slowly, her gaze fixed on the misty bog. "The earth here is old, but it's sick. Tainted," she says. "Whatever you call forth will be fighting in poisoned ground. It would be strong, but vulnerable. We'd have to protect it as much as it protects us."
Rue listens to the discussion, her head tilted as the plan solidifies. She nods. "Alright. The plan is set," she says. "We approach from the air to bypass the alarm threads. Who will dispel the barrier, then? Yui? Beatrix? Alase, are you capable of summoning, as well? That could provide a valuable distraction on the ground the moment the assault begins." "Aye, I can do that," Alase says, affirmatively, albeit with a grim expression. Rue then looks to the team members who can't fly. "Anna's proposal to use Amber for the second wave is sound. Those who can fly should form the spearhead. Once you're inside and have secured a position, you bring in the rest of us for support." Alase adds, "A sound plan. Just be ready. The moment that barrier falls, all hell will break loose. Don't give him a second to breathe."
Rue nods, her expression thoughtful as she processes the situation before responding. "Yui's idea is sound. A direct dispel is our most straightforward approach, but the moment that barrier falls, we should assume that Vang will know we are here. Our assault would need to be instantaneous and overwhelming. We would have one chance to succeed before he brings the full force of his magic against us." She considers the alternative, her gaze distant. "As for the dragon... Anna is right to be cautious. Black dragons are treacherous and cruel. However, their arrogance is a weapon we could potentially use. But any bargain struck would be a pact with a creature of pure avarice. The cost could be far greater than just treasure." Alase, who had been listening intently, spits onto the boggy ground. "A black dragon is a plague on the land," she says, her voice laced with contempt. "They're creatures of spite and decay. Asking one for help is like asking a wildfire to be careful where it burns. It might consume your enemy, but it will char your fields and poison your wells in the process. I've spent my life navigating the dangers of this land, and some things you just don't bargain with. That's one of them. If we cross paths with such a beast, we should just try to kill it.”
Yui: From a safe distance, hidden within the fog, you focus on the chapel's defenses. Your attention falls first on the shimmering dome encasing the entire structure. It is a powerful mage's private sanctum spell, but one that has been altered. Vang has woven an additional effect into the barrier, causing it to function as a one-way wall of force; projectiles and spells can be fired out from within the chapel, but nothing can get in. Disabling it from the outside would require a direct dispel magic or similar effect, but its power is significant, and you suspect it would be difficult to overcome. Next, you turn your analysis to the silvery threads woven between the trees. They are a network of alarm spells, but they have been masterfully layered. Not only will they send a mental alert to Vang if disturbed, but they are also tied into a secondary contingency. Your analysis suggests that breaking any single thread will trigger a cloudkill spell centered on the point of the breach. It is a dual-purpose defense, designed to both alert the wizard and incapacitate any intruders who are clumsy enough to trigger it.
Ten minutes pass as Yui vanishes from the parties' senses as she soars through the misty air, leaving them far behind. Yui: From the air the Aemmer's Creek bog unfolds below like a decaying tapestry. It's a vast, murky wetland, choked with stagnant water and ancient, moss-draped trees that jut from the mire like skeletal fingers. The fog is thick, but your flight and magically enhanced sight allow you to see through the worst of it. You make out sluggish, weed-choked channels of water that snake through the landscape, crisscrossing the area like sluggish serpents. Your arcane sight reveals faint, lingering auras clinging to the water in several places. Following this faint trail, your eyes are drawn to a low hill rising from the center of the bog, about half a mile distant. There, half-sunk in the muck and overgrown with dripping moss, is the ruined chapel the Adept described. It's a squat, stone building, its steeple long since collapsed, leaving a jagged hole in the roof. The walls are stained black with age and moisture, and a single, heavy wooden door, swollen and warped, serves as its entrance. You easily spot the defenses Rue warned you about. The entire chapel is encased in a shimmering, barely-visible dome of magical energy - a powerful protective ward against intrusion. Perched unmoving on the remaining corners of the roof are two hulking, winged demons whose gray, stony hides make them appear as grotesque gargoyles. Most insidiously, a network of nearly invisible, silvery threads is woven between the trees on the approach to the chapel, humming with a faint magical aura that is undoubtedly Vang's alarm system.
Alase watches Yui don her soulmask, then gives a slow, single nod of approval. "She'll be faster and quieter than any of us. Let her go. The bog is dangerous, but her ability to fly will keep her out of the worst of it." Rue adds, "Vang will have more than just living guards. Expect magical wards designed to paralyze or confuse. Your greatest danger is a single spell you cannot resist. Anna is right, if you're going to do something so risky, we should understand your contingencies."
Alase, alongside Tonbarse, a silent, massive presence at her side, considers the question. "My counsel is to stick together," she says, her voice low. "A fight in this bog won't be straightforward. The bog will choke sound and sight. If a scout team is ambushed, they could be overwhelmed in the moments it takes for the rest of us to arrive. A larger group makes a harder target." "Alase's point is valid," Rue says, "but a larger group also makes a louder one. We are approaching the lair of a powerful, paranoid wizard. A small, stealthy team...perhaps just myself, Anna, and one or two others....are far less likely to be detected. We could map a safe path, identify his wards, and pinpoint his exact location. The risk of ambush is high, but the risk of announcing our presence to Vang before we're ready is even higher. Stealth buys us the element of surprise."
The air next to Sana and the scouting party warps and shimmers. Hinagiku appears right after Yui, the magical transit instantaneous.
Sana and Unafe: Unafe unfolds back into the three-dimensional world, landing on the cold, bare stone of the safe path, a full 50 feet from her starting point. From here, the Corpse Lotus looms larger, the low hum from its central pod growing louder. The skeletal puppets swing lazily on their vine tethers. But the creature remains completely oblivious. The magical transit was silent, creating no vibration on the root network for it to detect. Sana repeats the process. One by one, Rue and then Alase flatten into sketches, whisked across the gap to reappear beside Unafe. Finally, the parasol twirls one last time, and Sana herself unfolds into reality. With the first jump a success, the team eventually settles into a rhythm. On the third jump, they are as close to the pod as they will get, the low hum vibrating through the stone. They can see the thick, thorny texture of its hide and the slow, rhythmic pulsing of the veins that snake across its surface. One of the skeletal puppets swings past, its empty sockets seeming to stare right through them, yet the creature remains dormant, completely unaware of the ghosts flitting just outside of its senses. Two more leaps, and the party unfolds from Sana's magic for the last time, stepping from the deep gloom of the chamber into the glorious, clean light of the sun pouring through the collapsed wall at the far side. They've made it. They now stand in a wide breach in the building's outer wall. The air here is free of the cloying scent of the lotus. Before them is a muddy, waterlogged slope leading down from the building's rear, which leads to a wide, fog-shrouded bog dotted with ancient, moss-covered trees. Alase raises a hand. "Hold up for a second, now that we're past the How, I need a minute to call for Tonbarse. "Look. Aemmer's Creek to the north. The ruined chapel Vang's set up in, will be somewhere out there, hidden in all that fog and mist. What's our strategy?" she whispers, pointing.
Yui:
In the Pharasmin faith, the "unforgiven" refers to a specific category of souls who have committed the ultimate crimes against the natural cycle of life and death, thus forfeiting the Lady of Graves' judgment and protection. The primary culprits are those who practice undeath, creators of mindless undead like zombies and skeletons, and most especially, intelligent, free-willed undead who actively prey on the living. Also included are those who consume or destroy souls, a crime so heinous that it risks eternal obliteration. Alase listens to Sana's proposed plan through the telepathic link. She peers into the massive, dimly lit chamber, her eyes tracing the safe path of stone that Sana identified along the far wall. It's a long way to the sunlit exit, far more than a single jump. "It's a good plan," Rue relays telepathically. "Faster than walking it, for sure. Ready when you are."
Sana:
This is a Corpse Lotus, but one far larger than any described in any text you've read. They are known to grow in places of great slaughter, like battlefields or ruins. It is a plant and is therefore effectively blind. Its primary sense is a tremorsense that allows it to feel vibrations in the ground in a 30-foot radius around any part of its root or vine network. The corpses are not sensory; they are preserved corpses used as bait, distractions, and a source of healing. The sweet-smelling air is an aura that keeps corpses from decaying. If it can get one of its vines on a corpse, it can digest it slowly to gain incredible regenerative power. Its four main vines are incredibly strong and are used to ensnare prey and strangle them to death. Meanwhile, you also pick up on new details in the chamber. You can clearly see the fine, ground-hugging mist swirling in a wide circle around the central flower and its puppet-corpses. More importantly, you can map the creature's root network. You see that the path along the far wall is almost entirely bare stone, a safe corridor where footsteps would cause minimal vibrations for the creature to detect. Sana, Unafe:
"Anna's right. Unafe, unless your power creates a stable passage for all of us, that plan is too risky. Alase says the ground here is a bog; a solo burrower would make it, but digging a tunnel would be mud and rubble. We can't risk it," says Rue, telepathically. Meanwhile, Yui, Ehren and Myrna remain back with Beatrix and Hinagiku, waiting for a sign from the forward scouts. Time passes in silence. Then, suddenly there are whispers seeming to emanate from the very stones around them. They are faint, indecipherable. At the edge of their vision, shadows seem to coalesce and then dissipate. The Pharasmin runes on the floor, where Yui performed the ritual earlier, begin to pulse with a soft, silver light, completely on their own. The golden light of Amber brightens and dims in a slow, steady rhythm, perfectly in sync with the pulsing of the runes on the floor. Then, for a brief moment, the whispers coalesce into a single, clear thought that echoes in the minds of everyone present: "The Lady watches the fallen... but the river remembers the unforgiven." The thought fades, and the runes dim back to their dormant state.
Sana, Unafe:
Sana's attempt to recall anything specific about the glowing fungi comes up short; her knowledge is limited to the adventurer's maxim that unknown fungi are best avoided. As Unafe suggests the rooftops, all four of them glance up. The buildings here are mostly two or three stories, their roofs a jagged landscape of broken slate and precarious ledges. Alase shakes her head. "The roofs are a death sentence. Too exposed, there's no consistent cover up there. We'd be silhouetted against that sky for anything to see. Down here in the shadows is where we need to stay," Rue relays telepathically. Sana:
The glowing fungi on the left path pulse in a slow, rhythmic pattern. In the brief moments the light dims, you can see that the street beyond is unnaturally clean, almost scoured, with none of the usual rubble. More ominously, you spot several dark, lumpy shapes huddled near the walls that look disturbingly like armored bodies overgrown with the same glowing fungus. Sana, Unafe: Alase whispers, "The building it is. We stay in the dark. Quietly now." Unless there are any objections, Alase takes point and begins to lead the way into the gaping darkness of the collapsed municipal building. The air is cool and still, thick with the cloying, sickly-sweet scent of blooming flowers and overripe fruit, a smell that feels out of place amidst the ruin and decay. As they move deeper into the building's core, a massive, open chamber, thick, thorny vines cover every every surface, floor to ceiling. Each vine pulses irregularly with faint luminescence, which illuminates the chamber in dim light. Then, ahead, they spot something moving. Hanging from thicker vines coiling down from the ceiling are three corpses in rusted scraps of crusader armor. They are not walking, but instead are dragged through the chamber by the vines attached to their limbs and spines. They move in a slow, deliberate pattern, their faces sweeping across the room. The network of vines coil upwards onto the chamber's dark, vaulted ceiling. There, nestled amongst the collapsed beams is a colossal, pulsating seedpod the size of a carriage. Every vine in the room originates from its fleshy surface. A low, rhythmic hum emanates from it, a vibration felt more in the bones than in the ears. The floor directly beneath it is a treacherous carpet of smaller, grasping rootlets, that becomes thinner further away. The far wall, where they can see the faint outline of the collapsed opening, is approximately 240 feet away. Sunlight streams through the opening from the outside.
Unafe, Sana:
Alase, Rue, Unafe, and Sana slip away from the Nekrosof Tower. Their movements are ghost-like amidst the ruins. The path Alase chooses is a winding one, avoiding open plazas in favor of alleys choked with rubble and thorny tangles. Sana and Unafe's enhanced senses pick up every detail: the unnatural way the sickly foliage crawls over every surface, swollen with a bilious, unholy vitality; the distant, wet slithering sound that fades as they pass; the faint tremor in the earth that suggests something massive shifting far below. After nearly an hour of tense but clean progress, Alase holds up a hand, bringing the group to a halt behind the rotten shell of an overturned wagon. Ahead, the path is blocked. To the left, a wide street is carpeted in a layer of pulsing, glowing fungi that illuminates the crumbling facades of the buildings around it. The path is clear, but there is no cover. To the right, the path leads through the collapsed shell of a large municipal building, its interior swallowed by darkness. It offers cover, but they have no idea what lurks inside. Ehren, Yui, Myrna, Beatrix, and Hinagiku watch the scouting party disappear. The chamber is quiet. They have some time before they are expected to return or alert them, and an hour passes before they know it.
Alase nods as the group confirms the plan. "Good. A hunt it is." She turns to the group, her expression grim as she lays out the full reality of their destination. "The Adept told us Vang's laboratory is in a ruined chapel on a hill, half-sunk in the bog around Aemmer's Creek. That bog overlooks the very heart of Storasta's corruption, the How." She looks directly at Sana. "To answer your question, the bog is nowhere near the outskirts. It's deep in Carrock's territory. The entire area will be swarming with Carrock's spies... fiendish fey, evil plants, and such. We'll need to cross the southern part of the city and then double back around to avoid the worst of it. Once we reach the bog, we'd then need to find the chapel the Adept described." Alase shoulders her pack, the matter settled. "Everyone ready?" She leads those who would follow from the relative safety of the Pharasmin chamber. Outside the air is thick, heavy with the smell of moisture and rot. The city's ruined skyline is dominated by a monstrous, green-black mound crowned with writhing trees. "There it is," Alase murmurs. "The How. Let's go."
Arueshalae listens patiently as Alase speaks, her expression thoughtful. "The attempt to scry has failed. Vang may now suspect we are hunting him, and we cannot afford to stay here debating while he prepares. "It seems we have a choice to make. We could try to reach his lair directly. With Alase's guidance and Anna's ability to spot magic, we might approach unseen, but we risk being discovered on the way there. Alternatively, we could forget his lair for now and move on to Carrock's How. The Adept warned us Vang would be headed there, and we might be able to ambush him while he's distracted." "And if we feel we are not ready for confrontation, there is still the option to withdraw, as Myrna suggested. We could rest and resupply, but it would mean giving our enemy more time to prepare, as well."
Arueshalae considers the question. "I don't know the exact range, but most location magic I've seen has limits. The real question is - are we hunting him, or waiting for him to come to us?" Alase leans back against the stone wall. "Eh. You guys fought off Vang pretty easily back there. He lost. He'll be more careful now, yeah? Also, it sounded like he has work to do up in the How. Maybe that's when we should strike - when he's busy and distracted." "But we can't stay here all day. Too many other things roam the city."
Rue lets out a short laugh at Sana's suggestion. "After what he's done? Hardly. Though sometimes predators are more dangerous when they're cornered and paranoid." The glass surface clouds with swirling mist, magical energies reaching across the ruined city to find their target. For an hour, the mist churns and shifts. Shapes seem to form, but then the image fractures like broken glass. The mirror's surface ripples once and goes clear, reflecting nothing but Myrna's face. Alase leans forward. "If he's resisting your magic, then he knows we're looking for him. Or at least he will suspect as much."
Rue shifts near the entrance. "The teleport approach has merit, but remember how fast of a spellcaster Vang is. If we appear right in his hideout, we lose any element of surprise the moment we arrive. And he might have prepared for exactly that kind of assault. So, we need to out-prepare him." Alase sits on the ground, ankles crossed. "The dragon's still moving in the waters below. Tonbarse saw it this morning. Hunting, maybe?" She looks up at the group. "Well, let me know when you've decided what you want to do. If we're going to move across the city in daylight, we need to be careful. Many things are watching here. I can get you wherever you want to go, but we should take our time and avoid attention."
Beatrix settles against the far wall, her leather studs making scraping noises against the stone as she finds the most comfortable position she can manage. She folds her hands over her Sword-Cross and closes her eyes, lips moving in a silent prayer. Within minutes, her breathing deepens into the steady rhythm of sleep. The chamber fills with the soft sounds of settling - cloth rustling, metal shifting, quiet sighs. Arueshalae rises silently, her wings brushing the low ceiling. "I'll take watch up at the entrance," she murmurs. "Better vantage point, and I can listen for anything moving in the ruins above." She slips through the narrow opening and vanishes from sight. Meanwhile, Unafe settles into a meditative position, her back straight against the curved wall. "The crossing is gentle enough - just let sleep take you, and call my name when the dreams begin to anchor yourself to me." Unafe, Ehren:
Sleep comes easier than expected in the ancient chamber. The Pharasmin magic seems to encourage peaceful rest, and soon both Ehren and Unafe drift into deeper dreams. The transition feels like stepping through cold water. One moment Ehren is dreaming of stone walls and amber light, the next he stands in the doorway of something impossible. The roundhouse stretches before him like a cathedral - soaring timber beams from impossible trees rise into shadows overhead, and the circular space could easily hold a small village. Firelight dances from dozens of hearths along the curved walls, casting everything in warm gold. But it's not the architecture that stops his breath. A purple crystal dragon lies coiled in the center of the space, her scales made of cut gems catching the firelight in rainbow cascades. Goryon stretches nearly a hundred feet from nose to tail-tip. The dragon's eyes are closed, her breathing slow and measured. "Welcome to my roundhouse," Unafe says, appearing beside him. "Goryon, cyfarfod ag Archdruid Ehren Ferron. Ehren, dyma fy ail galon."
Spoiler:
"Goryon, meet Archdruid Ehren Ferron. Ehren, this is my second heart." The dragon's great head lifts slightly, one crystalline eye opening to regard the druid. "Wedi cyfarfod yn dda, Archdruid. Hm. Rwy'n arogli carreg-mynydd yn eich esgyrn. Fe wnaethoch chi aberthu llawer i achub fy Mhrenhines, ac rwy'n sylweddoli nad wyf erioed wedi diolch yn iawn i chi." She lifts her head and bows it in deference. "Felly, o waelod fy nghalon, rwy'n diolch i chi, Archdruid."
Spoiler:
"Well met, Archdruid. Hm. I smell mountain-stone in your bones. You sacrificed much to save my Queen, and I realize that I have never properly thanked you."
"So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you, Archdruid." Around the dragon's coiled form, many treasures gleam in the flickering light. Open chests full of gold coins glint and glimmer. A pan flute of exquisite craftsmanship rests on a table of polished wood. Fossilized eggs the size of shields lean against walls beside mithral bars and gem-crusted scepters. The wealth of kingdoms, stored in a dream, and guarded by a spirit-dragon. "The forge is there," Unafe says, pointing to the one that they had "liberated" from the Ivory Sanctum. "And we have all night to work." They labor through the night, Ehren's skilled hands shaping silver and gem while Unafe tends the fire and offers guidance. The swarmbane clasp takes form slowly - intricate metalwork designed to turn aside the mandibles and stingers of the Wound's countless vermin. But even with dream-time stretching before them, the work is too complex for a mortal to finish in a single night.
Dawnlight filters through the hidden entrance as the companions stir. Bodies ache from sleeping on unforgiving stone, but they've rested well. Arueshalae slips back through the crack, reporting nothing more dangerous than noise from distant skirmishes, though she notes it has settled down from the clashes that were taking place last night. The morning routine takes time in the cramped space - prayers and spell preparation, checking gear, sharing a simple breakfast from their packs. By the time everyone is ready, the sun stands high overhead. Alase stretches, working the stiffness from her back. "Well then," she says, looking around at the group. "Near enough to midday. We should get going soon. What's our move?"
Arueshalae nods thoughtfully. "Your magical sight should catch those easily enough, then. The tricky part will be whether we can approach close enough without triggering them first, or if we'll need to just accept that he'll know we're coming and move fast." Alase stretches, working a kink out of her shoulder. "Smart thinking, all of it. But my eyes are getting heavy. These tired legs need rest." She finds a spot against the curved wall and settles down, wrapping her cloak tight around herself. Within moments, her breathing evens out into the rhythm of sleep.
Arueshalae shifts slightly near the chamber's entrance, her wings folding tighter against her back in the cramped space. "I can take a watch shift too," she says quietly. "I don't need to sleep." She glances toward the entrance. "Also worth noting - Vang's wounded and probably expects pursuit. If he's got any sense, he'll have set wards or alarms around his hideout. We should be ready for that, do any of you have any ideas?"
"Sharp questions, those," Alase says quietly. "When the Wound tore open, it wasn't just flesh and stone that bled. The tywysogion... some fled back through the old paths they'd used to reach us. Others..." She gestures toward the burn marks on the runes. "Others fought to stay, to protect what remained of their families. The Wound's poison... it changes things, doesn't it? Twists them into shapes they were never meant to be." Tonbarse whuffs softly, catching Alase's attention. "He's told me stories, in dreams and whispers. Gods turned into hungry shadows. Protectors become predators. Some fought the corruption so hard they... broke themselves rather than become monsters." "Carrock was never a tywysog teulu - he was something even older than them, wilder. But the principle holds, yeah? What the Wound touches, it tries to claim. The corruption runs deeper in them because they've chosen to stay, to fight, to endure. Breaking that kind of twisted will..." She shakes her head slowly. "But you're right about one thing. Sarkoris can't truly heal while her gods still bleed." Ehren: You speak the old words, seeking wisdom from those who walked before. But the spirits remain silent tonight. The chamber's Pharasmin magic, perhaps, or simply the weight of too much death between then and now. Still, your own knowledge serves you well enough. Treants are ancient beings, older than kingdoms, tied to the very roots of the world. They can live for millennia, and their rage... their rage can burn just as long. Once corrupted by the Wound's taint, a treant's connection to the natural world becomes a conduit for something far darker. Carrock was Storasta's greatest defender, the living embodiment of the city's natural power. When the city's druids poured their collective power into him, they created something unprecedented. A treant drunk on the concentrated spiritual essence of an entire people. Carrock has chosen to continue drinking from the Wound's corruption, even as it burned the city to ash around him. He destroyed more of Storasta himself than the demons ever did. Even if you could reach the treant he once was, he's had a century to justify every atrocity, every betrayal of what he once protected.
"Friend, protector, guide - all of these and more," Alase says. "In the time before the Wound, when the Widowknife clan held many lands, each family had their tywysog teulu. Tonbarse watches over the Brinz line." "Protection flows both ways, yeah. He guards us from harm, shows us safe paths, warns of danger we cannot see. But we..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "We remember him in the old ways. Speak his true name when the moon is dark. Leave offerings at the clan stones - well, when there were clan stones to leave them at." "Used to be, the whole clan would gather for the Gwyliau Tywysogion - the Festival of the Family-Gods. All the tywysogion would come, and we'd feast and share stories and settle disputes." She shakes her head slowly. "Now it's just me and him, wandering the ruins of what was. There are no other Widowknife gods left, I think, just him." Hallit:
family-god The chamber grows still as Yui kneels beside the carved spiral, her fingertips finding the first silver point. The metal warms under her touch, and ancient magic stirs in the stone like a sleeping heartbeat awakening. "Pharasma, Lady of Graves, open the way between worlds that the lost may find their path," she whispers. One by one, she touches each silver inlay. Light blooms beneath her fingers. Tonbarse lifts his massive head, golden eyes fixed on something the others cannot yet see. His ears flatten against his skull, but he makes no sound. The temperature drops. Breath mists in the suddenly frigid air. Then, she comes - a shadow at first, wavering like a heat-shimmer. Then, a young woman with the rough clothes of a river-druid steps from the stone wall, her ghostly form bearing the marks of claw wounds across her throat. The ghost speaks, her voice like wind through dry leaves: "Three days past... I saw a thin, winged demon by Carrock's How. He spoke with the blighted treant, made bargains.... he m-made b-b-bargains in the Green Tongue. The treant... it sleeps now, but when the moon fully wanes, it will wake hungry." Her form begins to fade as the ritual magic carries her toward final rest. "Tell my brother Jorik at Gundrun... tell him the mill wheel foundation stones are loose. He'll know what that means."
"He chose me," Alase says simply. "Been the god of my family since before my grandfather's grandfather drew breath. My tad-cu taught me the old ways to call for him. As for your tongue - he understands more than he lets on." Hallit: Grand-dad.
Yui:
Your fingertips trace the worn stone, and immediately you sense the magic woven deep into the carvings themselves. Necromantic and divination auras pulse faintly from within the rock, as if the magic was carved alongside the runes centuries ago. What is left of the script comes into focus. Ancient Ustalavic, but not the common tongue, this is the formal dialect that Pharasmins used for their most sacred rites. The main inscription curves around Pharasma's spiral: "Here may troubled souls find guidance to the Eternal Rest, that none shall wander lost between the realms." Smaller text winds between the larger runes, and you recognize activation phrases, precise words needed to awaken whatever sleeps in this stone. Six points of silver inlay gleam dully around the ritual circle, each one positioned to be touched by humanoid hands. Grooves worn into the floor and walls tell you this chamber once sealed completely with heavy stone slabs that could slide into place, creating a perfect sanctuary. But it's the burn marks scattered across some runes that make you pause. These aren't centuries old, they were made more recently, perhaps within the last few years. Understanding dawns as your training as a Mortal Usher connects the pieces. This is a Waystation of Final Guidance, a sacred space where Pharasmin priests could commune safely with the recently dead... an invitation for souls with unfinished business to speak freely before continuing their journey to whatever lies beyond. If you were to activate the ritual, any spirit in the area who died within the past week and carried urgent, unresolved matters might answer the call willingly. Ehren:
Your single eye takes in the chamber's curved walls and iron sconces, and something about the arrangement tugs at your memory. The stonework is precise and formal, not the rougher, more organic construction typical of Sarkorian builders. The ritual circle carved into the floor is clearly meant for some form of spiritual communion, though the specific practices are outside your expertise. What you do recognize is the cultural approach: the rigid geometric patterns, the formal script carved deep into stone, the enclosed nature of the chamber itself. This bears the hallmarks of southern religious architecture, likely Ustalavic given Storasta's history. You recall that in the time before the Worldwound opened, many foreign faiths had established footholds in Storasta. Traders, diplomats, and settlers brought their own religious practices and built their own temples. This chamber represents that cultural exchange, or, perhaps cultural imposition, depending on one's perspective. The burn marks on some of the runes catch your attention. Someone used this place recently, within the last few years at most. Whatever rituals this chamber was designed for, they've been performed long after Sarkoris fell and Storasta became a demon-haunted ruin. Alase glances at the carved runes with a slight frown, clearly out of her depth with the formal script. "Afraid I can't make heads or tails of those markings," she admits with a shrug. "Never had much schooling in southern tongues. I think this place is a temple or church of some kind... I guess?" Alase then presses her palm against the stone floor. "Tonbarse," she whispers, and the name echoes strangely in the small space. The shadows outside the chamber's entrance begin to thicken, pooling like dark water. Then they rise, taking shape, first the gleam of yellow eyes, then massive paws that pad silently on stone. Tonbarse stands nearly five feet at the shoulder, his grey-black fur rippling with muscle beneath. "He remembers this place," Alase says quietly. "Tonbarse has walked these streets before the Wound opened. He knows the old paths, the safe places... and the dangerous ones. He can keep an eye out while we rest."
First, Sana traces the fingerbone's surface, sensing a faint, lingering necromantic magic. Nothing overwhelming, but enough to mark it as a potential ritual focus. Sana then steps into the ruined western transept, the night air cool and dry. Amber's glow bobs between the fractured columns as she moves. Then she turns her attention to the collapse Alase indicated. A heavy buttress lies in a ragged pile of tumbled stones, revealing a dark opening just large enough to slip through. Beneath the amber glow, she scans the rubble and the narrow stair carved into the rock beyond. She spots faint dust-ribbons on the topmost steps—untouched by wind or water. The air smells of old mortar and cold stone, and no drip of water echoes from the arch, confirming it is dry below. Satisfied, Sana slips into the darkness. Her footfalls are softer than a falling feather as she descends the hidden stair; the loose dust stirs only in silent eddies that settle without a sound. At the bottom, she finds herself in the buried vault. It is a cramped, six-by-ten-foot chamber whose low ceiling, ribbed with smooth stone like the hull of a capsized ship, barely clears her head. Six iron sconces dot the curved walls, and a shallow dais of unhewn rock sits at its center. The air is stale but clean, free of the fetid rot outside. She flashes the amber light twice, a soft, pulsing signal that the hiding spot is secure. Unafe moves after her, her feet touching stone only twice in the descent. Yui follows. Once they are all inside, she inspects the chamber. Yui: The roof shows no sign of imminent collapse, and the dais sits firm. Your eyes then flick to each shadowed corner, catching the glint of dust-lined grooves where secret panels might have once fit. In a shallow seam behind the dais, you spot the faint outline of worn runic carvings.
Sana lifts the first potion of bruised violet liquid, a Potion of Invisibility, her fingers tracing the swirling runes as she recalls the arcane formula. Two minutes of perfect concealment. Next she uncorks a honey-gold vial and wafts its fumes. Cure Moderate Wounds. The third potion shimmers sky-blue; Fly. Her gaze drifts to the jagged scythe of twisted bone. She furrows her brow and studies it, but finds that it is not magical. The black-twined parchment, on the other hand, she fails to decipher. Then, with a sweeping gesture, she lets Amber’s light dance across the reliquary. A half-hidden seam reveals a small iron ring. Sana pries it open and peers inside: another vial of unholy water and a fragment of finger-bone. Finally, Amber pulses bright and springs forward, a small globe of firelight slipping through the narrow fissure in the masonry that Alase had pointed out. In the next heartbeat, Sana and Rue blur into nothing. When they blink back into being, they stand in the dust and debris at the bottom of the hidden stair, Amber’s light bobbing gently between them. The half-destroyed vault is little more than a six by ten foot square, its low ceiling just tall enough for Sana to stand, barely.
Alase steps to the mouth of the nave, looking out at the ruins for a long moment. She brushes a lock of dark hair from her face. “There,” she says, pointing toward a collapsed section of the wall. “The western transept, where the buttress has crumbled. There’s a gap that should lead down into a buried room. It will be dry, and well-hidden beneath the masonry, easy to disguise.” She glances back at the others. “It's a chance to rest unseen. The chamber will be cramped, but Tonbarse can help keep watch while we sleep.”
Sana’s eyes move from the empty space on the wall to the trove of items they have gathered. She crouches by the nave’s toppled altar and focuses her sight. As always, when she truly looks, faint, thread-fine wisps of magic become visible on the objects before her. She begins with the arrows. Nothing significant. Meanwhile, Beatrix turns to the fractured crystal sphere, lifting it. Its aura is faint and drained; she recognizes it as a once-attuned focus for scrying. Now cracked, it is little more than a costly material component, worth around 500 gp. She also picks up one of the embalmer’s resin jars; the wax seal smells of myrrh and grave-spices. The magic is unmistakable... material components for animate dead. Meanwhile, Sana turns pages of the ledger, smearing dust from the cover and scanning a page. It is a grim catalogue of names, dates, and payment tallies scratched beside them. At the same time, Unafe uncorks one of the luminous vials. A fresh, minty scent wafts out as Sana’s sight reveals transmutation magic within. They are tonics of remove paralysis, still potent. Behind them sit the phials of unholy water, their malevolence obvious even without magical sight. Finally, they examine the contents of the trapdoor cache: the silvered purse of old Chelish platinum, and a tight parchment bundle containing a pair of scrolls of break enchantment. Alase approaches Unafe. “Hah. Crowded halls of memory are the price every keeper of spirits pays,” Alase says. “Your dream-house sounds a lively one, Two-Hearted Clan-Liege. I’ve walked among bodiless ancestors before; they gossip worse than skalds, and they never sleep.” “Still, better a noisy hearth than an empty one. If ever your spectral kin grow too clamorous, send a whisper my way. I’ve a chant or two that can hush even the eldest shade, or, at the very least, I could give them all new stories to trade till dawn.” She inclines her head. “And when next you open that door of dreams, I’ll step across the sill as a guest, not God Caller. Hospitality runs both ways, after all.” Meanwhile, moonlight slants through the shattered tower window, casting a silver light over the ruins of Storasta. Myrna lowers her gaze to the flooded streets below. Broken rooftops lean at odd angles, their eaves draped in slimy moss and thorny tangles that seem to writhe on their own. To her left, a low square lies half-submerged. The dark water from the flooded river laps at crumbling walls where putrescent reeds clutch at the soaked flagstones. Something large shifts beneath the murky surface, sending a pale ripple through the water. For a heartbeat, as it moves through a patch of moonlight, she sees what made the ripple: the long, horned head and serpentine neck of an enormous black dragon, its scales gleaming like wet obsidian. It glances toward the tower, then submerges without a sound, leaving only the disturbed water behind. Straight ahead, a collapsed stone arch from an old cloister spans the channel. It has been reinforced with rotten logs, all of them lashed together with thick, pulsing vines. As she looks closer, she catches the gleam of metal snagged in the vines...a scrap of a buckler or chest-plate perhaps. On her right, an overgrown dike rises in a ragged embankment of cracked, mossy stones. Thorn-choked roots tumble down its face. From the base, a faint column of sickly mist curls into the air, carrying the scent of demonblight. Beyond the dike looms the heart of the city: Carrock's How, a massive, tree-crowned mound. Its summit is tangled in giant blossoms that pulse with a soft, corrupted light, illuminating the wings of many winged demons that dart across the rooftops of ruined Storasta.
Sana:
The wand is of lesser restoration, 21 charges left. The first scroll is for resilient sphere, second scroll dimensional anchor. Beatrix, looking over Sana’s shoulder, nods approval. “Anchor will hamstring any escape tricks he has left." At Sana’s offer, Rue responds, “Your rouge and powders would be a blessing. My quiver can hold around 60 at a time, if you can spare arrows."
Sana strains to move the heavy adamantine slab. Seeing her struggle, Arueshalae approaches, her wings tucked close. “Here,” she murmurs, taking one side of the stone. “Let me help.” A moment later, Unafe walks over. She sees the two of them straining with the heavy plaque, and rests a broad palm on its surface. There is a soft hum, and the stone slab simply vanishes. Sana staggers forward from the sudden relief, the sling she was using now hanging empty. Alase pokes her head out from behind a shattered pew, her lips quirking in dry amusement. “A handy trick,” she says. “One wonders what rents you pay for that head-house of yours.”
Sana’s hammer comes up. Metal meets masonry with a dull, deliberate thunk, the sound echoing down the corridor. She works methodically -- a strike low on the slab, then a dagger wedged into the fracture to lever it forward. Another strike, higher this time, widens the fault line. Sparks trace the carved letters, but her blows are careful, aimed only at the surrounding stone. When a corner finally breaks free, she braces a boot against the wall and pries with the hammer until the plate groans loose. It is a heavy slab, half an inch of adamantine inscribed in a tongue older than the city itself. She lays it face-down on a cloth, draws a small file from her tools, and carefully rasps away the Widowknife sigil on the back until only rough tool-marks remain. A smear of tomb-dust finishes the disguise. Meanwhile, Yui steps over the slumped adept to search the body. The pat-down turns up little of value - a cheap iron amulet of Baphomet, a half-empty vial of foul-smelling ink, and three bent silver pins. They begin a quick sweep of the ossuary itself. Near the western wall, Unafe’s knuckles rap against a hollow echo behind a cracked fresco of Pharasma’s spiral. Yui uses the tip of her dagger to prise out the loosened panel. Inside, they find a tarnished silver reliquary. The ashes it once held have been replaced by a pouch of onyx stones and a rolled parchment bound with black twine. A few minutes later, Yui’s light moves over a low marble plinth, its surface scratched. With Unafe’s help, she heaves the lid off a shallow drawer to reveal an empty, velvet-lined tray. Finding nothing else, they head for the stairs. Ehren has at this point already slipped away, leaving the hush of the ossuary for the cathedral above. The nave is still and cold. Moonlight spills through the shattered rose window, striping the floor in patterns of light and shadow. Ehren crouches beside the acid-scarred corpse of the enormous hag. An iron chatelaine still dangles from her sash, holding a ring of three keys—a plain iron ward-key, a rune-bitten copper pick, and a silvery key whose bow is carved like a grinning fey face. He frees the ring and tucks it at his belt. A soft croak pulls his attention. He follows the sound to where he had reshaped a hag into a squat marsh toad. The creature sits in a crumbled wall niche, its beady eyes holding no hint of the malevolence it once wore. He extends a steady hand. The toad hops onto his palm, then settles on his shoulder. Yui and Unafe arrive in the nave and fan out. Beneath the toppled altar, Yui spots a seam in the floor--an iron-banded chest mortared into the stone. The largest hag key grates in the lock. The lid swings back to reveal several items—sealed jars of embalming resins, a cloth-bound ledger filled with cramped Abyssal script, and a fist-sized, fractured crystal sphere. A pinch of residuum in the jars marks them as component jars for animate dead, and the ledger appears to catalogue victims and payments. Unafe moves into the sacristy, where the second key clicks open a high cabinet, releasing a chemical tang. Inside sit six bottles of unholy water, two vials of a faintly luminous tonic, and a short ash wand etched with Celestial runes for "mercy." At the pulpit, her eyes catch on a patch of darker wood. The boards lift to reveal a trapdoor. The small, silver key slips into the lock. Within the narrow box, they find two scrolls, a purse of 500 pre-Wound Chelish platinum coins, and bundles of raven-feathered arrows tipped with cold-iron heads—at least a hundred in total.
Arueshalae steps closer, her wings folded behind her. “Well, if we move tonight, he will still be weakened,” she says, her voice low. “My staff and quiver are spent, but I can still move unseen—I can go ahead and look for traps.” She offers a faint smile. “Whatever you decide, I am with you. He will not escape us again.”
The corpse settles with a soft thump, the hiss of the acid singing the stone the only sound that follows. Dust drifts from vaulted ribs overhead; the ossuary is still. Alase shrugs. “If we needed to rest here, we could barricade one of the siderooms. It'd be about safe as it gets this far out from Gundrun.”
Unafe: Unafe closes her eyes while she listens for the subtle cracks that betray a liar. The man’s heartbeat stays even: each answer slips out without the hesitant catches of someone editing their story on the fly.
The ropes tight around the adept's shoulders rise and fall in what can only be a shrug. "The moment he's wounded, he teleports away. It's always his first instinct. But he never goes far." "He is somewhere in the rot of Storasta," the Adept replies evenly. "He circles the Tanglebriar, drawn to its blight. He's looking for a treant named Carrock...a half-burned, corrupted creature of immense power. Vang believes that treant is hiding a tome that he desperately seeks." "He uses a ruin on a hill overlooking the Tanglebriar from the north. An old chapel, half-sunk in the bog. The entrance is inside, beneath the collapsed altar. It leads down into the crypt. There's his laboratory.”
A dry disembodied laugh answers, “Considering my options, Crusader, I find myself inclined toward ‘easy’.” Rope fibers creak as the adept shifts, testing his bonds. “Ask.” Sana: Sana slips through shadowed aisles between bone-stacked alcoves as she lets her arcane sight flare. No lingering wards hum, no restless spirits stir; there is only the hush of consecrated air and the distant drip of groundwater. She tests doors, peers behind toppled sarcophagi, even lifts a few loose tiles where faint footprints might have led - nothing.
Unafe hauls the writhing adept bodily from the floor, feeling for then twisting one arm behind his back. A gasp of pain bursts from his throat, and dust swirls where his boots kick at the air. With a grunt of effort, she slams him against the stone wall. He struggles, but it is for naught.
Sana pivots as the adept slips past, her parasol sweeping up in a tight arc. The strike lands solidly--ribs crack, acid hisses, and a surge of power drives through the full blow. His spell breaks mid-gesture. A breath wheezes from him as he staggers back, clutching at his ribs, reeling yet still unseen to anyone but her.
The Heroes Are Up!
Myrna sights the spot Rue had indicated and springs forward, her warhammer raised high. It comes crashing down on empty air. Sparks fly from the flagstones where the weapon makes impact. Sana:
Even as the Myrna moves, Sana sees the adept already moving. The figure slides sideways, slipping between Unafe and Myrna before halting just out of their reach. She hears a murmured phrase, and then the air around the adept distorts. A ripple, like shimmering heat, appears then tears open. The adept simply steps through it. The distortion snaps shut, leaving nothing behind.
Combat Ends!
“Child of broken Sarkoris,” Vang replies, his words slithering out from a dozen invisible mouths, “call me ‘worm’ if it comforts you. Even the smallest maggot devours corpses...and I shall dine on the bodies of nations.” Amidst the din of Myrna’s drumming, Rue's voice sounds in the heroes' minds: “Anna has eyes on them. They're in the center alcove on the south wall. Vang and an adept. If you push north now, you’ll have them cornered.” Unafe’s fist slams into what should be empty air but connects with something wrong: a writhing mass of worms. The impact sends some of them scattering with a wet hiss, and disgusting bug goo sprays across the stone floor. The swarm shudders from the blow around her fist as she withdraws. She can hear a voice: “Hmph. Pawns of the gods...find me if you can. Or... don't. The Locust King’s glorious dawn will rise regardless.” Sana:
To Sana’s magical sight, the invisible wizard is a shimmering, writhing cloud. She watches as the mass quivers, and then the air around it seems to bend. The whole writhing mass vanishes with a muted pop, abandoning his (also invisible) accomplice to die.
Myrna and Ehren are up!
Sana:
Moving past an alcove, the spectral hues of your vision pick out two figures huddled there, their forms shimmering thanks to your magic: Xanthir Vang and a Blackfire Adept! Unafe:
“Peidiwch â dibynnu ar lygaid marwol yn unig, Dwy-galon. Ni all y Lindysyn-Sy’n-Cerdded ddietrio’r nifer di-rif o gyrff sy’n ei wneud yn gyfan. Mae pob pryfyn ymdroelli’n crafu’r awyr a’r garreg. Canolbwyntia dy nerth a dyrcha dy hun i’r tu mewn: gad i’m calon guro gyda thydi, a rhoddaf iti’m synhwyrau hynafol.”
“Tawelâ dy ysbryd a gwrando: teimla’i bresenoldeb fel storm symudol o rawn tywod, hyd yn oed drwy’r hud a’i amddiffyn.”
“Os rhaid iti’i farcio er mwyn y lleill, yngan fy enw gwir fel gair o nerth a rhyddhaf fflach o olau prismatig drwy’th ddwylo cawod o ronynnau diemwnt a lynha wrth bob lindysyn cudd i ddarnio’i len.”
Unafe is up!
Yui: That's Summon Monster VI, calling in a demon!
A wave of silver-blue force radiates from Yui, and the green mist recoils and thins as if hit by a strong, clean wind. As the last of the poisoned mist clears, Myrna’s drumbeat echoes in the relative silence. Alase uses the moment to mutter a quiet Sarkorian prayer, crushing a shard of onyx between her fingers. There is a brief flash before her eyes, and her vision shifts, washing the world in faint, spectral hues. She scans the battlefield, but her view is blocked. Unafe stands directly in her line of sight, and between her broad shoulders, her shifting stance, and the residual haze, Alase cannot get a clear view of the ossuary’s far corners where Vang might have fled. Alase frowns, her voice tight with frustration. “I can’t see him from this angle. Point him out if you get eyes on him.” Myrna’s drumming echoes through the ossuary, her voice rising with the defiant beat. But another sound begins to thread itself beneath her song; a different voice, low, cold, and deliberate. The words are Abyssal, the cadence precise and practiced.
Yui:
A spell is being cast. Sana, Beatrix, Yui, and Unafe are up!
A snarl tears from Unafe’s throat as she charges. She throws a desperate series of punches – the first connects with nothing. The second slices through empty air. Her third meets the same frustrating end. Her last punch, driven by a surge of fury and pain, finally connects. What she connects with feels all wrong. She doesn't feel solid resistance of bone or the give of flesh, but an oily, unnatural feeling. Her fist pulls right through it, her hand enveloped in a sickening sensation of a thousand tiny slimy things packed too closely together, shifting and churning. Vang does not wince, there is no gasp of pain. The form pulls away from her with a faint rustle, the movement quickly swallowed by the shadows. Then, from further away, a voice unfurls, cold and dry. “Still flailing in the dark,” Xanthir Vang’s voice drifts from the shadows. “Striking out, hoping you might hit something. Is that truly all you have left?” The air in the corridor shimmers, and with the distortion comes a pale green haze, creeping low over the stones. It rises like breath from a grave, thick and acrid, reeking of something like venom and decay. Unafe instinctively draws back as the edges of the mist sting her nose and throat. Vang’s voice drifts from the unseen depths of the fog. "You never saw the whole board, did you? You’re so focused on me, you can’t see that the game is already over. This world was lost long before you ever found me." Sana:
You no longer see any enemies from your vantage.
Ehren, Sana, and Myrna are up!
The sickly green ray lances into Unafe’s chest, driving her back a half-step as raw disintegration magic sears through armor, scale, and sinew. Her muscles lock from the searing pain, her breath hitches, but she does not fall. Cracks of pale energy shimmer across her frame like spiderwebbed glass before fading. Xanthir Vang's voice swirls around the chamber, triumphant and cruel. “Still standing? Good. I’d hate for you to miss what comes next.” Sana then darts forward a single step and hurls Rainbow Sparkle towards one of the invisible adepts. The blade twists in midair, carving through the dark and striking true, right into the hidden gut of a cultist. A scream follows. Across the chamber, Ehren slams the metamagic rod’s tip to the floor. A pillar of fire screams down from above, detonating amid the spectral shimmer of cloaked figures and the distant snarl of Vang’s laughter. The explosion tears through the chamber. Two of the Blackfyre Adepts, barely visible for a blink of time, vanish in a swirl of ash and charred leather. Vang’s own howl of pain rises above it all, a hideous, wet shriek. Alase’s hand rises next, her forehead tattoo glowing faintly as she invokes a burst of ancestral magic. Arcane energy crackles around her fingers and jumps to each of her companions (except Hinagiku, who remains outside the radius) as the pulse of haste ripples through them. “Hit those f~&@ers fast and hard,” Alase growls. “Don’t let him regroup.” Meanwhile, Rue crouches low, her wings furled, eyes narrowing as she scans the gloom. “I can’t see them,” she sends, frustrated. “If someone can help me find them, point me, I'll end them.” Her starknife gleams in her hand, ready to strike.
Beatrix and Unafe are up!
Hinagiku’s eyes narrow, her voice steady as she repeats her warning. “There’s movement. There.” Then the space ahead of her pulses, and something breaks through. A piercing hiss erupts from the darkness, like the breath of something foul exhaling after long silence. An instant later, a thin beam of putrid green light lances from the shadows. The very air around it warps as the ray cuts through space like a scalpel. The beam strikes Unafe squarely in the chest with a sickening crack. A sound like splintering stone echoes as her armor blackens and her flesh begins to glow with a terrible, searing light. The ground beneath her feet crumbles into powder from the sheer force of the spell’s decay. The smell of ozone and acid floods the chamber. “Clan-Liege of the Demetae. You should have stayed in your burrow. Like the lizards you worship.” A ripple in the air hints at an outline, but it disappears just as quickly. Xanthir Vang's voice floats lazily around the chamber, disembodied. “You’ve made this... entertaining. Truly. But you forgot something important.” “You’re not predators. You’re prey that thinks it’s evolved.” There’s a rasp of laughter. The kind of laugh that means he’s not finished yet.
Round 1! Ehren and Sana are up!
But then.... Hinagiku's ears twitch. A thread of ley flutters across her perception. Her head turns, and she stares at a patch of empty space near the far side of the chamber. Her stillness sharpens into tension. “...There’s something there,” she murmurs at last, eyes narrowing. “Fifteen feet ahead. Invisible.” Her hand floats into her guard posture, serene but ready to strike.
GM:
Sana:
You can see that there are two Blackfyre Adepts, both invisible, in front of Hinagiku, one is literally right next to Unafe!
Arueshalae's voice rings out in the heroes' minds, " Stay calm, don’t speak aloud of anything important. If he’s watching, he's also listening.” Then, Beatrix raises her hand and utters a sharp, commanding phrase. Golden light coils through her fingers as she casts dispel. The magic flickers....but the shimmering orb holds steady. "Cowards always peek through cracks,” says Alase dryly. Her eyes scan the sensor like it’s a mosquito daring to buzz through her campfire smoke. “If he’s watching us through that, he’s afraid. Too wounded to face us, and too proud to run. That’s all that little trick tells me.”
Rue leans lightly against the archway, arms crossed. "Vang won’t stay weak for long. You know how fast these types rally. If we leave him, we may not get another shot." Alase nods firmly. "Right. We need to help Myrna’s grandmothers. We should finish what we started in Storasta before we go racing off to Undarin. There’s still corruption festering here, and unfinished business in the bones beneath the barrowmounds. One battle at a time." DC 25 Perception: As the others discuss their next steps, Unafe's familiar—Sicrwydd, the small compsognathus—tilts his head sharply, letting out a soft chirr. You glance over just in time to see a ripple in the air, a subtle shimmer like heat rising from stone. An invisible orb hovers near Sicrwydd, no larger than an apple. A divination sensor.
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