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The team goes over their proposed routes with the snow elves and you begin the trek. With Daehalya's knowledge of the region you easily make the journey in five days. For five relentless days, the party crossed a wilderness where the world seemed stripped to ice, wind, and sky. The tundra stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged ridges of wind-carved snow and the occasional black stone jutting from the frozen earth like the bones of a forgotten giant. The bitter cold seeped through furs and armor alike, numbing fingers, stiffening limbs, and turning every breath into a cloud of glittering frost. Gale-force winds howled day and night, erasing tracks within moments and forcing the travelers to lean into each step lest they be thrown from their feet. No birds sang, no beasts stirred, and no sign of civilization broke the vast white silence. Only the distant shimmer of the aurora and the unwavering determination of the party carries you onward until, at last, the lonely silhouette of the Temple of Findeladlara emerged from the storm like a promise carved from the ice itself. An astounding sight breaks the monotony of ice here, where an ancient temple looms against the cliffside. The seven-spired structure appears to have been sculpted entirely out of ice, seamlessly merged with the ice of the cliff wall itself. The six spires arrayed at its hexagonal points each rise a further fifty feet above the cliff top, while the central spire rises a full hundred feet higher. Smaller ridges run up the length of the temple between these spires; the southernmost two of these appear to have become overgrown with some sort of thick, wiry black lichen or fungus far above. As the wind passes over the angles and corners of the temple, it creates a mournful whistling sound, almost as if the structure itself were bemoaning the loss of its inhabitants—or perhaps warning new travelers from approaching too closely! DC 30 Perception:
You realize that the black lichen growing above is actually a strange ice formation.
Ilinquil smiles briefly at Nicholo wanting to help. She gives a healthy amount of information on the route to the Temple. "Take care as you approach the ancient Temple of Findeladlara, the temple was abandoned ages ago after a strange infestation of “shadows and ash” overtook the building. I have no further information about this, as our people have avoided the site for generations." Her description sounds a lot like the symptoms of Blackfrost according to your research. [b]"If you happen to find ny clues concerning my Brother's fate I hope that one day you will return to share the news with me. Finally, the elves give the party six moderate healing potions and a fur cloak of elvenkind that includes a clasp in the shape of Findeladlara’s religious symbol (a finger pointing at a gold star) as parting gifts to aid them on their journey. As presented on your expedition map, this trek from Icegate to the temple is a 5-day journey, the last day of which is along the edge of the continent’s vast central plateau. Shrubbery, small trees, and lichen provide enough materials for small fires, and the weather plays nice and remains calm and clear.
The elves seem to relax a bit. "My brother went missing along with his troop of sentries here at Icegate." She gives a date that roughly matches the Missing Moment. "I have been hoping to find out what happened to him." She gives a weak smile. "My name is Ilinquil. Apologies for the stern welcome. Please share a eal with us as an offer of an apology." She turns to Nicholo. "I am afraid I don't recall that name."
"Do you know what happened here Daehalya?" Daehalya doesn't recognize the exact voice but her eyes quickly begin to adjust to the harsh and blinding light faster than her companions. She notices that the group is surrounded by six elves. Her vision clears a bit more as she notices these elves are honor guard of Ilverani!
Having heavily prepared for the long journey and the cold one of the party steps forward and presses the moonstone against the aiudara's activation sigil, the ancient runes carved along the arch awaken. At first, only a few lines illuminate. Then the entire gateway comes alive. Silver-blue light races through the intricate elven carvings, spreading outward like veins of moonlight through marble. The air vibrates with a low, resonant tone, ancient and impossibly deep. The empty space within the archway darkens. Mist gathers. Ice crystals bloom across nothingness itself. Within seconds, the portal fills with a roiling storm of white vapor and swirling frost. Clouds churn behind the arch as though an arctic blizzard has been captured and bound within the stone frame. Shards of ice drift lazily through the mist before vanishing. A cold wind spills into the chamber, carrying the scent of snow, distant mountains, and endless winter. The gateway is open. Thousands of miles away, another aiudara waits. For a moment, memories of Etward's crimes linger in the mind. The stolen thoughts. The trapped spirits. The horrors he attempted to bind to the portal. Yet as the party approaches, they feel none of it. No grasping hands. No lingering madness. No psychic intrusion. Whatever corruption Etward tried to force into the gate died with him. The ancient magic of the aiudara remains untouched, older and stronger than his obsessions. The mist swirls invitingly. One by one, the party steps forward. The sensation lasts less than a heartbeat. A rush of cold. A feeling of immense distance folding in upon itself. The brief impression of standing nowhere at all. Then solid ground returns beneath their feet. The biting air of the far north fills their lungs. Behind them stands Icegate, its ancient arch emerging from a frozen landscape beneath an endless sky, while far to the south, Lichgate continues to glow for a few fleeting minutes before the connection finally fades. The journey that would have taken months has ended in a single step. The Crown of the World lies ahead. The cold weighs down the atmosphere like a heavy blanket, cutting like knives against exposed flesh and turning every breath into a painful gasp. Blinding sunlight bears down upon the whiteness of the surroundings, reflecting off of snow in a dazzling array that burns the eyes. It almost makes it hard to see the motion on all sides as several figures emerge from that whiteness, weapons drawn. A voice calls out in strangely accented Common: “Who goes there?”
Etward has used the site around Lichgate as a staging area for his trip across the High Ice, a dangerous expedition he fully intended to make on his own as a way to further refine his mind and prepare himself for what awaits at the Nameless Spires. The rest of the gear consists of a large collection of survival supplies (including a well-stocked backpack, a tent, a set of short skis, snowshoes, navigating tools, snow goggles, etc.). The bulkier items are set aside in a pack, but most of them, including 90 days of rations, are stored in a type III bag of holding. While some of the treasures and resources you recover from Etward and his hidden laboratory will help on the journey, the most important is the map of the route taken during the Missing Moment. The route shown on the map depicts a 685-mile overland journey from Icegate, near the shores of Whitefang Bay, to the Nameless Spires at the planet’s north pole. This route passes through truly remote reaches of the world, far from the one major trade route (the Path of Aganhei) that crosses the continent. Once you begin your journey, you will be very much on your own. The bulk of the journey is across the High Ice, a barren polar plateau buried under a mile of ice. The terrain itself is rough and unpredictable, jagged and scared by glacial shifting, riven with crevasses, and often battered by devastating blizzards and winds. The further toward the north pole one travels, the less plentiful wildlife becomes—what creatures are encountered there tend to be dangerous and supernatural in nature.
The moonstone in the pendant seems to be what activates the portal on the gate. Alvarius and Daehalya study it intently, Daehalya more focused falls between the gate's safety and the Whale's taint. Both determine that the gate is idle now and safe to travel. The spirits of the fallen Gatewalkers seem to have subsided with Ritalson's deadly demise.
Alvarius is in trouble as he becomes more and more constrained by the shadows wrapping around his body. Nickie's blade punctures through Etward's gut with ease as he is pinned by Onye's massive paw.
Etward stands and staggers backward through smoke, frost, and writhing shadow, barely staying upright. His once-meticulous appearance is in ruins. Blood runs freely down one side of his face. One sleeve hangs shredded. The scholarly composure, the careful precision, the cultivated air of detached brilliance, all of it has been burned away. What remains is desperation. “No,” he gasps, eyes darting wildly between the party and the humming archway behind him. “No, no...no.noo..no. You do not understand” A tentacle dissolves into black vapor nearby as the spell weakens with its caster. One of the doppelgangers lies motionless against a broken pillar. Ogovip clings lifelessly to it's skull Etward stumbles toward Lichgate. The aiudara’s pale surface pulses softly now, ancient runes flickering beneath layers of frost. He tears at the chain around his neck with trembling fingers, dragging free a heavy pendant set with a luminous moonstone. Even wounded, reverence overtakes him for a moment. “The Dreamlands...” he whispers breathlessly. “The Crown... Osoyo... I was chosen...” His bloody hand slams the pendant against the gate’s activation sigil. The moonstone flares. The entire chamber shudders. Light pours through the center of the portal, not the gentle shimmer of dormant magic, but a deep, liquid radiance like moonlight seen underwater. Wind howls inward toward the gate, dragging loose parchment and dust across the floor. Etward laughs once in exhausted triumph. “Yes,” he breathes, staring into the gate. Then he steps through. And something reaches back. Hands erupt from the light. Dozens of them. Translucent. Pale. Half-formed. They seize Etward instantly. His triumph vanishes in a scream. “No!” More spirits surge from the portal in a torrent of spectral forms, faces twisting in grief and rage. Men and women. Travelers. Gatewalkers. Fragments of stolen lives, most which you recognize. Their features flicker and overlap as they claw at him with desperate fury. Etward thrashes violently, trying to pull free, but the dead drag him deeper into the portal’s glow. “You were mine!” he screams at them, terror finally shattering his voice. “I saved you...I preserved...” A spectral hand closes over his mouth. Another seizes his arm. Then the swarm descends completely. For one terrible moment, his silhouette is visible within the light—thrashing, clawing, unraveling. And then Etward Ritalson comes apart. Not cleanly. Not gently. The portal fills with fragments of shadow, blood, torn cloth, and dissolving flesh, all swallowed into impossible radiance as the spirits tear him to pieces with the fury of stolen years and butchered minds. The screaming stops abruptly. Silence crashes into the chamber. One by one, the spirits emerge again from the glowing threshold—not enraged now, but peaceful. Their forms stabilize briefly as they drift upward through the ruined hall. Some appear confused. Some relieved. One or two pause, faintly turning toward the party as though in gratitude. Then, together, the dead exhale. A long, collective sigh rolls through Lichgate’s chambers like the release of a burden carried too long. Content. Freed. The spirits dissolve into pale motes of light that drift upward through the broken ceiling and vanish into the cold night sky. The portal remains, humming gently. The frost begins to melt. And where Etward once stood, nothing remains but his bloodstained pendant, resting alone upon the ancient stone.
Onye quickly restrains Ritalson as he bites into his chest and neck, causing the man to wince in pain through his gritted teeth. Daehalya leaves a sizeable bruise on the side of the man's head as her staff cracks against his skull. Nicholo getts grabbed by the black tentacles allowing Onye to sink his deadly fangs in deeper and deeper.
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Etward’s breath comes sharp and ragged as he sprawls across the frost-slick stone, one side of his coat already darkening with blood. Alvarius' spells have left him twisted, one leg refusing to answer cleanly, his composure cracked for the first time. The firelight dances wildly across his face—no longer calm, no longer measured. Now furious. “Do you have any idea” he snarls, voice breaking as he forces himself up onto one elbow, “what you are interrupting?” A tentacle lashes nearby, scattering debris, but he ignores it. His gloved hand fumbles into his satchel, coming up with a tightly rolled scroll, its edges blackened as though it remembers being burned. He clutches it too hard. Blood smears across the parchment. “Ungrateful... specimens,” he spits blood, the word specimens twisted with venom now, all pretense of civility gone. “I offered you purpose. Context. Meaning beyond your small, wandering lives” The scroll snaps open with a violent flick of his wrist. His other hand trembles as he forces the sigil into existence, fingers shaking not from weakness—but from barely contained rage. “...and you choose chaos.” The word of power tears out of him, less spoken than forced into the world. The chamber answers instantly. The shadows convulse. From every crack, every seam in the ruined floor, black tentacles surge upward in a writhing explosion of slick, grasping mass. They slam against stone, coil around pillars, lash outward in all directions—indiscriminate, violent, hungry. One slams down inches from Daehalya, cracking the frost beneath it. Another coils toward Nickolo, snapping like a striking viper. A third wraps briefly around one of the doppelgangers deceased body, squeezing before releasing it, as if even the spell must decide what belongs and what does not. Etward collapses back onto the stone, propped on one arm, chest heaving as the magic takes hold around him. Firelight flickers in his eyes. “Fine,” he breathes, a thin, bitter smile cutting through the pain. “We’ll do this the difficult way.” Behind him, Lichgate hums louder. And the tentacles tighten their grip on the room.
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Onye's large form presses the doppelganger tight against the wall and Nicholo's blade, as it enters the creatures chest, killing it. Onye has equally violent intent as Etward narrowly slips from Onye's grasp, only to get bit across his ribs with the sickening crunch of breaking bones.
Seeing Etward continue to try and get a little distance Alvarius tries to paralyze the man with strong magics but it isn't going to hold but for a second. Daehalya tumbles through the gap and sweeps Etward off his feet as he hits the ground hard.
Etward rolls to his feet and tosses a small vial from his pocket at Daehalya.
He fumbles the vial in his panic and it just rolls across the floor.
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Nicky definitely presses the doppelganger as he stabs it through the hand and shoulder in one swift motion before going back into a defensive posture. The doppelganger snarls and leaps at Nicky, trying to claw the skin from his face as its own face quickly contorts between each of his party both past and present.
Onye intercepts some of the doppelgangers attacks before it can do too much lasting damage to Nicholo's face. His powerful claw begins to push the doppelganger away giving Ritalson an opportunity as it stumbles through the darkness. His eyes go wide as he realizes he is in the room with all of you, quickly looks around and finds most of his companions all deceased. He picks up speed, clutching tightly to the scroll in his hand as he breaks through the opposite doorway.
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Onye's powerful jaws crunch deep into the creatures bone as he tears teh arm right from its body. Both claws batter it from ither side leaving nothing more than bloody pulp where it once stood. Alvarius shrouds Ritalson in complete darkness where he hears the many utter several curses.
The moppet is smacked into the ground where Daehalya uses her staff to sweep it back into the flames.
Your minds burn as the moppets death screams pierce the veil of your conciousness, filling your minds for a brief few seconds before falling silent once more.
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Daehalya directs her swing to the mindmoppet. She too feels her hands jerk away from the mindmoppets direction but forces through the strange sensation to miss the creature completely as her staff bounces off of its shell. The pair of doppelgangers close further into the room clawing furiously at Nicholo and Alvarius.
Alvarius braces hiself as the pair of deadly claws streak close to his face. Onye's massive paw blocks them, nearly flattening the doppelganger inot the floor in the process.
Nicholo is not as fortunate as fresh wounds are dug into his arm.
Oovip tries to anticipate what happens next as it fails to lift Daehalya off of the ground. Etward pulls a small scroll from his sheath. With not enough time to use it yet he tries to enter Onye's dream-like state, enducing a vivid and reaistic nightmare scenario.
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The mindmoppet shudders, in glee as Onye is unable to demoralize it in the slightest.
Onye feels a slight pull at his powerful paws but it is not enough as he swipes into the gel-like body of the moppet.His jaws don't seem to do anything but leave a foul taste in his mouth and his claws seem to do a little damage. Nicky attacks himself, leaving himself with morale thoughts that will keep him awake at night. Just as his blade pierces the dopplegangers side the creature ends its ruse and claws back at Nicky's arm.
Nicky sweeps back just out of reach as he stabs it again through the brain, killing the doppelganger.
Alvarius reaches out, both hands grasp either side of the doppelgangers head. It rapidly shrivels and turns to a dry, hollow husk as he drains every single remaining living cell from the creatures body into himself.
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Onye quickly leaps back to his feet as he feels the oppresive pull on his mind to lie down. Angered by this mental pull he transforms into a fearsome tiger. Nicky devises a strategm as he watches Alvarius cut off a section of the ruins. His rapier enters the doppelganger's slick body with ease. Alvarius' spell takes hold as the room fills with flames, blocking access through one of the doorways. Daehalya's staff sweeps the ground, knocking the doppelganger prone as she breaks its arm.
The dopplegangers circle around the wall of fire as they try to find an opening. The doppleganger near Onye pushs in further, trying to keep Alvarius between it and the Tiger as it claws at Alvarius' side.
The distance doesn't save the Doppelganger from Onye's retribution as a massive paw swings around the side catching it and slamming the creature into a sall pile of rubble. The wounded Doppelganger near Daehalya's body contorts in pain after having its arm crushed by her staff. Its skin melts away leaving the form of a frightened Nicholo. "Why would you do that Daehalya." Its hand shakes as it stands up. Don't hurt me."[/b] It holds out two hands in peace. The mind moppet is fascinated by the flames and screeches through your minds in pain as it passes through. It doesn't quite know what to think about the feeling of pain.
It gets a small lash of anger as it tries to push Alvarius away reflexively with its mind.
Having no effect it tries to slowly anticipate what happens next. Ritalson follows one of the Doppelgangers to observe their success in subdueing the threat.
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The hum of Lichgate deepens, resonant and old, vibrating through bone rather than ear. Frost spiders across the flagstones in delicate veins, tracing the elven sigils of the aiudara like a pulse beneath skin. Etward’s smile holds. But something in his eyes has gone distant, calculating not just the party before him, but paths branching far beyond this chamber. “You were not meant to come here,” he says softly, almost reflective. “Not yet. The manor was… a buffer. A courtesy.” Etward continues, tone thoughtful rather than angry. “You traced me directly. That implies either intuition... or interference.” His gaze lingers on Onye Dinta at the mention of fraying threads. On Daehalya’s staff. On Nicky’s restless stance. On Alvarius brainless skull. He exhales slowly. “You know, Lepidstadt once called my family the pride of the river.” His voice turns almost conversational. “The Ritalsons. Patrons of academia. Hosts of exquisite galas aboard the Mossmaid.” A faint smile touches his lips. “Such shallow ambitions. So eager to toast themselves while the universe whispered at the edge of sleep.” The frost thickens. “I was given a dream,” he says quietly. “A revelation. A patron beyond the wall of sleep extended its will to me. And in return, I removed distractions.” For a flicker of a second, reflected in the sheen of ice along the floor, Daehalya sees firelight dancing on black water. Screams swallowed by smoke. A riverboat burning to its skeleton. Etward does not blink. “The tragedy freed me,” he says simply. “Freed my time. Freed my funds. Freed my purpose.” The four guards shift closer, not overtly threatening, just tightening the geometry of the room. “The Missing Moment confirmed what I suspected,” Etward continues, voice warming with genuine fervor now. “There are doors within doors. Dreams within dreams. And you...” he gestures lightly toward them, “...you were touched by the same event. Bound to the same fracture.” “I learned to step into your dreams,” Etward says. “To observe. To sample.” His smile sharpens faintly. “To refine.” His gloved fingers flex. “You think yourselves seekers of the truth,” he murmurs. “Investigators of the strange. But you are catalysts. Conduits. Raw, radiant psychic latticework.” The air tightens as if pressure builds behind the eyes. “Do you know how delicate memory is?” he asks. “How beautifully it can be excised? With the proper incision, one can peel back experience like parchment. Preserve it. Recontextualize it. Amplify it.” He glances back at the portal. “I require what you carry,” he says plainly now. No more pretense. “Your Missing Moment. Your proximity to the Dreamlands. With it, I will perfect the key. I will return north. I will reach the Crown of the World.” His voice lowers, reverent. “And I will free Osoyo.” The name seems to make the portal shudder. Ice cracks sharply across the floor between them. Etward lifts his hand again. This time the air bends faintly around his fingers. “I would prefer you compliant,” he says calmly. “Sedated, perhaps. The procedure is cleaner when the subject is still.” The moment the last of Etward’s words settles into the frost laced air, the four “humans” stop pretending. It begins subtly. A tremor passes through one guard’s jawlike a yawn held too long. Another’s shoulders twitch inward, bones shifting beneath borrowed skin. The illusion doesn’t shatter; it loosens. Then it peels. Faces soften and sag as though the features were pressed into warm wax. Noses flatten. Cheekbones recede. Eyes widen too wide before narrowing again into something slick and depthless. The color drains from their flesh in ripples, pinks fading into a pallid, grayish pallor that seems almost damp in the cold air. One guard’s mouth stretches sideways not into a smile, but into something testing its hinges. Teeth realign behind thinning lips. Fingers elongate, knuckles popping audibly as tendons adjust to new proportions. Cloth hangs wrong on them now. Armor shifts awkwardly against reshaping torsos. Beneath the sound of cracking ice, there’s a wet, elastic whisper skin sliding over muscle that does not quite match. Hair withdraws into scalps like ink sinking into paper. Within seconds, the four stand revealed. Tall. Smooth featured. Androgynous. Their gray skin catches the portal’s pale light like polished stone. Their eyes are uniform now dark and reflective, with no warmth behind them. Where once there were individual stances and gestures, there is now eerie symmetry. They breathe together. Inhale. Exhale. One tilts its head, studying the party without expression. Another flexes its hands experimentally, as though savoring the honesty of its true shape. Their voices, when they speak, are no longer stolen. Etward continues “But I have grown quite adept at working with resistance.” Behind him, Lichgate pulses. Waiting for either dream—or blood. Initiative:
A faint scratching interrupts the tension. Not from the walls. From the floor. Near one of the broken columns lies a half-buried skull old, weather bleached, its surface threaded with frost. At first it seems nothing more than ruin detritus, another relic swallowed by Lichgate’s long decay. Then the skull’s empty eye socket twitches. A thin, pale tendril slips from the darkness within. It unfurls slowly, glistening faintly, like a slug’s antenna tasting the air. Another follows. Then several more delicate, boneless feelers that probe outward, curling and uncurling with idle curiosity. The skull tips slightly as something inside shifts. With a soft, moist sound, Ogovip pulls itself free. The mindmoppet is roughly the size of a housecat, but its proportions are wrong. Its body is rounded and soft, almost larval, covered in translucent, pearlescent skin through which faint pulses of dim inner light can be seen. Veins, or perhaps thoughts, flicker beneath the surface like distant lightning. Its head is oversized and bulbous, blending seamlessly into its torso. No clear neck. No clear spine. It has too many eyes. Small, lidless, glassy orbs open across its surface in irregular clusters. Some blink sideways. Others roll independently. A few remain fixed on individual party members with unsettling intensity, as if cataloguing them from multiple angles at once. Its mouth, if it is a mouth, rests as a vertical seam low on its body. It parts slightly, revealing not teeth, but soft, ciliated tendrils that pulse as it breathes. The feelers that emerged first now anchor it to the stone, pulling it fully free of the skull. With a wet pop, the last of its body slides out, leaving behind faint residue inside the bone cavity. Ogovip turns, though it has no clear front, and several eyes focus on Daehalya. Then Onye Dinta. Then Alvarius. A soft hum vibrates from within it, not sound, exactly, but a pressure behind the eyes. A curious sensation, like fingers brushing the edges of your thoughts. Delighted. The seam of its mouth widens slightly, and a thin thread of luminescent drool stretches to the floor before snapping. Above, Lichgate hums in resonance. Etward does not look at the creature. He does not need to. “Ah,” he says calmly, as Ogovip scuttles closer on its many tendrils, “there you are.”
The mindmoppet pulses as Onye is raised a few inches into the air and slammed into the ground. Outside of the forceful push Onye feels an immense presure on his mind as the Ogovip seems to be compelling him to lie on the floor and wait for the Doctor to harvest his brain.
Etward seems to wait patiently.
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One of the guards’ brows lifts, interested. “Mention how we came from the doctor’s manor, that the manor led us to go through the gates.” The guards voice almost seems to mirror Nicky's for a brief moment. At that... Something breaks. Not loudly. Not visibly. But the four figures go utterly still. The mention of the manor lands like a thrown dagger. Their eyes sharpen. Their posture changes not casual travelers anymore, not weary wardens. Predators calculating angles. “It took volunteers,” one says, though its voice now carries a wet, layered undertone—two throats speaking in imperfect harmony. “It took trespassers,” another corrects. “It took the curious.” All four draw weapons in the same smooth motion. Steel whispers free. The mention of the Manor and the Doctor seem to catch the men off guard a bit as you notice a look of surprise. Steel hangs in the air for half a breath longer. Then unexpectedly the nearest doppelganger lowers its blade. “Wait.” The fourth says The word ripples through the others. Weapons dip, though not fully. Eyes remain sharp. “You’ve said enough to warrant his attention,” one of them says carefully. “Remain outside the inner chamber. We will alert Etward.” There is no scrambling, no shouted warning. One of them simply turns and walks beneath a half-broken arch toward the spires. The others remain spread wide, watchful, hands near hilts. Moments stretch. From within Lichgate’s intact chambers comes the low murmur of a man’s voice. Calm. Measured. Curious. Then footsteps approach. Etward steps into view. He is composed, travel worn but deliberate in his bearing, winter furs draped over scholarly robes. Frost stained gloves. A satchel at his side heavy with tools rather than scrolls. “My friends,” Etward says, as though greeting dinner guests who arrived unannounced. “You’ve come much farther than I expected.” His gaze lingers on each of you in turn, measuring. “You were instructed to remain at my manor,” he continues mildly. “Lichgate is… delicate.” A faint smile. Not warm intrigued. “But since you have come all this way, I would be remiss not to hear your findings. Please.” He gestures inward, toward the chamber just before the portal itself. “Speak freely.”
Silence follows. Then one of the men exhales a slow, disappointed sigh. Another rubs his temple, as if nursing a headache. A third lets his shoulders slump, weary in a way that feels practiced—performed. “That’s unfortunate,” one says softly. His eyes linger on Daehalya’s staff. “We were hoping you’d turn around.” “You felt it too,” says another—this one looking directly at Onye Dinta. His voice drops, loses its warmth. “The fraying.” Their faces... shift. Not dramatically. Not yet. A jaw tightens where it shouldn’t. A smile fades into something flatter, emptier. One man’s eyes darken until the whites seem thinner, stretched, as though his skull were deciding how to hold them. Skin ripples faintly along a cheekbone, then stills. Behind them, from beyond the broken arches, comes the distant scrape of something being dragged across stonesupplies being adjusted, perhaps. Arctic gear. A soft, delighted giggle echoes once, then cuts off abruptly, like a thought smothered mid idea. “Lichgate is closed,” the first guard says again, but now all four speak with him. Same words. Same cadence. Same voice. “It’s already taken enough from travelers who asked too many questions.” They spread out, not to attack, not yet but to block the paths between fallen columns, bodies mirroring each other with unsettling precision.
Daehalya steps clear of the trees, boots crunching softly on ancient stone, her hands open and her posture deliberately calm. The ruined courtyard seems to hold its breath. For a heartbeat, nothing happens after she calls out. Then the figures emerge. Four ordinary humans step out from behind broken pillars and half fallen walls travel stained cloaks, practical boots, weapons worn but well-maintained. They look like the sort of guards one might expect on a remote trade road. Too normal. Too similar in height and build, though their faces are different enough to pass a casual glance. One of them smiles first. It’s friendly, rehearsed. Another folds his arms, eyes flicking over the party with practiced efficiency. “This place isn’t safe for visitors. Lichgate’s off limits. Old magic. Dangerous magic.” As Nicholo considers the odds, already preparing to dazzle them with a burst of flame and a joke about freezing his breath for the Winterlands, one of the guards lets out a short chuckle exactly the laugh Nicholo was about to use. The timing is wrong by a fraction of a second, like a poor echo. “Look,” another guard says, stepping forward, palms raised in a placating gesture. His voice shifts mid-sentence subtle, but unmistakable losing a gravelly edge and gaining a smoother, almost refined cadence. “No need for tricks or trouble. Turn around, head south. Nothing here for you but ruins and regret.” Behind them, the spires of Lichgate loom, pale stone catching the light like bone. From somewhere deeper within the ruin comes a faint, playful tapping and a distant hum childlike, inquisitive, utterly unconcerned with the tension in the air. The guards hold their ground, expressions polite, voices calm. But as they stand there, watching, each of them blinks just a little too slowly. And for a brief, unsettling moment, every single one of them looks at the same party member with the same eyes.
Daehalya slows near the threshold of the outer chambers. That’s when she hears them. At first it’s indistinct low murmurs echoing through broken corridors, voices overlapping just enough to feel unsettling. One sounds like a tired traveler complaining about the cold. Another laughs softly, the laugh too practiced, too precise, like someone imitating the idea of mirth. The words drift in Elven, then Common, then something half-remembered phrases that feel familiar, as though pulled from old conversations she can’t quite place. A voice speaks her name. Daehalya freezes. The tone is perfect pitch, cadence, even the breath before the syllables but it comes from the wrong direction. Stone scrapes softly as something shifts its weight. Leather creaks. There’s the faint, wet sound of skin adjusting, like cloth being smoothed over a frame that doesn’t quite fit. Another voice joins in, echoing the first, finishing its sentence a heartbeat too late. The four guards continue their patrol, boots crunching over rubble, voices changing mid-sentence one moment gruff, the next refined, testing sounds, keeping watch over secrets that should have stayed buried. And they have not yet realized she is listening.
With a little magical invisibility Daehalya approaches the camp cautiously. There are four armed men just past the small camp of arctic supplies. They are conversing and keeping watch at the entarance of an ancient elven structure. Mostly collapsed towers and crumbled walls overgrown by foliage subtly mark the transition of woodland into elven ruin, but the spires of Lichgate itself are relatively intact.
One by one you gather new equipment, fully expecting to brave the cold. Not wanting to wait any longer for Etward’s untimely return you set off for Lichgate, located in central Shudderwood some 40 miles east of Lepidstadt, in the overgrown ruins of an ancient elven stronghold called Mirianath using the maps found in the Manor's secret laboratory. Mostly collapsed towers and crumbled walls overgrown by foliage subtly mark the transition of woodland into elven ruin, but the spires of Lichgate itself are relatively intact. Once, travelers of the aiudara network could gather to share stories and trade in these chambers. Lichgate once connected to two other portals, but with the recent destruction of the portal called Tanglegate, Lichgate now connects only to Icegate. As you get closer you notice a campsite, and hear numerous voices nearby. The campsite is well stocked and contains more than enough artic supplies.
Nicky finishes speaking. For a moment, the upstairs sitting room is silent except for the faint ticking of a distant clock. Firelight flickers across four very different faces. Lunja is the first to move. She adjusts her coat with rigid precision, jaw set, eyes narrowed in calculation.
Vaxtervin lets out a sharp, delighted laugh that dies halfway through. The runes along their neck faintly itch, their fingers twitching as if brushing unseen cobwebs from the air.
Iasanden hasn’t looked up from his ledger once. His charcoal pencil stops mid-stroke. Slowly, deliberately, he closes the book.
All eyes turn to Takuzo. The old librarian closes his book with care, as if not to offend it. He says nothing at first. He simply listens. The air thrums—low, almost imperceptible. A vibration felt more in teeth than ears. Lunja straightens. "Let's look at this Trophy Room." They descend together, lantern light tight and controlled. The lower halls smell of old iron and preserved magic. The hum grows louder, rhythmic, hungry. They stop before the Trophy room. TROPHY ROOM
Vaxtervin presses a tattooed palm to the wall. Their breath catches.
Iasanden cracks the door just wide enough to see. Seven alcoves.
Lunja recoils, hand flying to her mouth. “Those constellations—those aren’t stars. They’re neural pathways.” Takuzo shuts the door with gentle finality. “That is enough,” he says quietly. “Knowledge need not always be completed.” Iasanden doesn’t argue. “This house is no longer safe to be remembered in.” Takuzo places a steadying hand on Nicky’s arm. “You did right to speak,” he says. “Now we must listen—to our fear.” They run. Through the gate and down dark paths, breath burning, the estate looming behind them like a closed mind refusing to forget. The estate falls silent behind them.
GM Screen:
Alvarius does not recall any information about Ogmunzorius nor a lost family yurt but does know a bit of basic detail about Blackfrost through these notes and his intense studies. When elves from Castrovel transported an alien entity called Osoyo to Golarion’s north pole thousands of years ago, the strange, devastating ash Osoyo steadily exhaled came with it. Anyone exposed to this dark, mucky powder suffered terrible surface wounds similar to frostbite, and their flesh became hypersensitive to cold. The ash’s true danger, though, became known only after afflicted individuals died. Such victims would lie frozen, blackening from supernatural cold burns, for a single day before rising as undead monstrosities. In time, people would come to call this terrible umbral powder blackfrost, and the undead who bore its curse blackfrost dead.
Secrets Discovered:
2,3,4,8,10 Here Etward details how, ever since the Missing Moment, he’s been able to invade the dreams of other gatewalkers. The notes further reveal how obsessed he’s become with dreams and his quest to find a way to travel to the legendary Dreamlands, where he believes he will be reunited with his missing memories and become much more powerful. Etward notes in many places that more than memories went missing during his Missing Moment—there are gaps in his fortune as well, indicating that he spent a fair amount of money during the Missing Moment. His investigations have revealed that this money went toward financing an expedition to the Nameless Spires, but the apparent loss of one of his family’s greatest treasures, an explorer’s yurt, intrigued him the most. He secured a scroll of discern location and used it to make an astonishing discovery—his family’s explorer’s yurt is now located in a remote abandoned temple devoted to Findeladlara, the elven goddess of architecture, art, and twilight. This temple can be found at the very edge of the High Ice, about 5 days’ journey from Icegate in the Crown of the World. The notes describe the physical effects of blackfrost, boast about Etward’s immunity, mention its capacity to create blackfrost zombies, and ruminate upon the true nature of the curse, theorizing that “Osoyo’s dreams” may be the source of the ash-like substance. The fact that blackfrost seems to progress more quickly when an afflicted creature dreams has further intrigued Etward, although he’s not sure yet what to make of this observation. The discovery of a strange hand found in his belongings pales against Etward’s discovery of a strange presence within his laboratory— an entity named Ogmunzorius. Etward theorizes that Ogmunzorius is a “sending” from Osoyo’s dreams, and takes the entity’s presence as proof that he is some sort of “chosen one” intended to release Osoyo from its prison in return for even greater mental powers and, perhaps, the key to reaching the Dreamlands. The notes also mention how Ogmunzorius assisted Etward in conjuring guardians for the laboratory, but notes that these creatures were “untrustworthy” and that Etward further ensured their compliance with inveigle rituals.
Daehalya finds a stack of notes that draw her attention as she spends the entire day going over them all. These notes provide a full list of all of the gatewalkers he’s watched through dreams, including your own names, any gatewalkers they’ve encountered and, in particular, Queen Equendia of Skywatch. His descriptions of her leading the city’s population north on a dangerous journey to the Crown of the World are tinged with admiration and jealousy—it’s obvious Etward wishes he commanded this level of servitude over a large group of people. The notes conclude with him wondering if the queen reached the Nameless Spires, and ponder “what she might now be” after spending time amid the blackfrost and dreams of Osoyo.
You head back to the laboratory to study the various scrolls and texts while you bandage your injuries. A wealth of knowledge awaits if you take the time to look through the dozens of densely-written notebooks and scrolls stored here. Etward kept these written notes in a mix of Common, Varisian, and Aklo—
As the Guest has been slain, its bodies melt away into a foul-smelling heap. All that remains of the fleshwarped experiment is a single, partially mummified saumen kar hand consisting of a thumb, index and middle finger, and part of the palm. This relic is twice the size a similar fragment of a human hand would be.
Heading back inot the room much of it is destroyed or waterlogged from the bursted container. The wooden coffer sitting atop the workstation contains numerous of opulent moonstones, in all, these moonstones are worth 600 gp.
Onye nearly kills the wounded mutated abomination as his claws rakes all over its body. Very much used to bad smells in the group Nicholo is unphased as the noxious fumes fill the chamber. He drives his rapier through the creatures brain. It convulses but still stays standing for a few more brief moments. Daehalya begins to retch as she trips the creature but isn't able to land a killing blow. Alvarius renews his magical shield as he sends electricity into the pair.
The electricity hits both at the same time and begins leaping back and forth between the pair. The smell of burnt hair and feces fills the air as the pair burst apart making everyone gag a bit more.
The group weathers the cold winds as Onye finishes shredding the beasts apart in the hallway.
Onye isn't able to get through their defenses as arms fill every available space. Nicholo strikes out, stabbing one f the creatures through the brain, killing it in an instant. As it dies its body falls apart into a tangle of meat, gristle, fur, bone, and gore.
Daehalya manages to trip tone of the beasts nearest here as she gives it a good whack with her staff.
She leaves a small bruise.
The severly wounded beast explodes into a pile of gore that covers every inch of the wall as Alvariu's static charge touches its body.
Nicholo, Onye, and Daehalya all take quite a few more cuts and scrapes as it is difficult to avoid so many arms coming in from so many angles at once.
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Onye leaps on and begins tearing one of the foul creatures limb from limb as it barely hangs together. Nicholo quickly devises a strategy but notices just in time that it isn't going to work before shielding himself. his rapier causes a small wound to the beast. Daehalya fails to trip or hit any of the beasts as she quickly gets overwhelmed. Alvarius causes the ceiling and walls to buckle as they come in around two of the creature injuring them.
The beasts, severely wounded all breath in deeply and release a gust of frozen winds that bring the temperature in the room down to near fatal levels in a instant.
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With the strange chimera-like cretures spillng into the room the group sets into action. Onye frightens the first one through as he roars inches from its face before biting into one of its arms, breaking it and rendering it useless. Nicholo screams as he tries to push the door shut, but it is no use. He quickly devises a strategy and stabs his rapier through the gap underneath the beasts eye. Daehalya is unable to trip it in such tight quarters but manages to catch it under its jaw, dazing it. She tries to get a read on the creature but grossely misnterprets its intentions. Alvarius causes the ground to shudder as he pulls bones from long lost bodies and raises a zombie to help defend the group. Its lumbering arm misses as it is just getting used to it body.
The beast shoves the zombie back against the cage and stays on it, clawing deep into its chest.
The beast grabs ahold of the zombie and rips it in half throwing both hunks against the floor and wall. The beasts continue to spill into the room attacking Daehaly and Onye.
Daehalya could have taken a far more grievous wound but Onye quickly steps in protecting her as he reaches out swiping at the Beast.
Onye and Daehalya take some deep wounds but overall the Beasts seem to be in far worse shape.
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Retreating to safety the group tries to set up a defensive position, redy for the creatures to regain their footing and break down the door.
The door shifts off the rail a bit as a clawed hand is able to sneak around the adges and begins peeling it around creating a gap large enough to pass through as the creatures come pouring out into the corridor.
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Onye crouches low, ready to pounce on the prey as Daehalya readies herself as well. Alvarius uses some powerful magic on Onye to help speed his movements up as Nicholo puts all of his weight into shutting the first door just as Onye gets through. You hear the door click and one f the strange mutated beasts slam into it from the other side.
You believe you have at leasta few minutes before they are able to burst free. What do you do?
Onye squeezes back into the hallway. You are nearly to safety, as the strange creature crouches low in the liquid and launches its mass at the chained lid trying to break free of its constraints.
The lid swings up a few inches and back down stressing the stability and integrity of the container. With one more powerful blow to the glass it bursts open. A wave of foul smelling liquid crashes into the room keeping the creature off balance as it comes tumbling out falling prone. It slowly gets to its feet and as it does the creatures body begins to shudder, much like a Mogwai before its transformation. The sound of flesh tearing fills the chamber as the creatures body splits into four smaller, but identical grotesque frames. Almost like a four saumen kar had been merged together into one mass of meat and hair.
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Alvarius and Nicholo rush for the exit as Daehalya flips the remaining two levers before doing the same. The eastern lever causes the chains wrapped around the cylinder’s lid to relax and retract so the lid unseals and springs open. Pulling the western lever tightens the chains and causes the lid to drop down back down and seal the cylinder back shut once more.
Onye calls for a tactical retreat as the beast within smashes against the glass and tries to force the lid open.
The beastputs some force into its blows as more cracks form along the glass. You know in just a matter of time it will be free.
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Daehalya tries to recycle the liquid again to make it murky. Unfortunately cycling the level just causes the already filtered water to filter again, becoming really clear. Nicholo puts the outfit on but this seems to have no immediate effect from the strange beast. He watches in terror as the heavy fists smash into the glass and raises his buckler.
A massive fifteen-foot-wide cylinder of reinforced glass and iron dominates the chamber’s center, rising fifteen feet from the floor but stopping halfway to the vaulted ceiling thirty feet above. Inside, the container is filled nearly to the brim with a murky, greenish liquid, its surface swirling sluggishly. Within the depths, only a shadowy, shifting bulk can be seen, suspended in its eerie suspension. A heavy metal hatch crowns the cylinder, bound tight by eight thick chains that wrap around its circumference like bindings on a prison. When Daehalya pulls the middle lever, a mechanical groan echoes through the chamber as gears grind. The liquid begins to cycle and churn, filtering itself until the contents grow clearer. What emerges into view is horrific, a tangled, pulsating mass of raw flesh, tufts of white fur, bone, and writhing limbs. Fingers and toes twitch independently, teeth and half-formed faces leer out from beneath layers of muscle and sinew. Horns pierce through at strange angles, jutting from skulls buried inside the mass. It looks as though four saumen kar had been violently fused together into a single grotesque chimera of meat and hair. As it floats in its milky green soup, the abomination’s many eyes and half-formed heads shift in unison, scanning the chamber with a dim, unsettling awareness. After a moment, it realizes something, or someone, is missing. With a sudden, violent motion, the horror begins to thrash against its confines, the murky liquid roiling violently. The reinforced glass shudders as the creature’s bulk hurls itself against the cylinder walls, chains clattering on the hatch above as if straining to hold. Init:
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GM Screen:
Looking over the levers and mix of chains Daehalya is able to tell that the central lever should cycle the strange fluid in the tank through a giant filter. The other two levers are much more confusing. Onye calmly places a hand against the glass and is slightly startled when Alvarius knocks on it with his heavy bones. There is a moment of silence followed by a quick moment of terror as the creature in the tank smaches back into the glass where Alvarius knocked. tiny stress cracks are left where the creature slammed into.
Alvarius finds nothing further of use in this chamber. Leaving the Trophy Room behind you head to the south where you find the Triple Vault. A solid iron door sits in the southern wall. Instead of a typical handle, the door features a single wheel in its center. At the center of the wheel is a dial numbered one to fifty. Daehalya, having deciphered the complex diagram understands exactly what she needs to do with this lock. The wheel on each door is immobile until a correct combination is entered on the dial at its center. Further complicating matters is the fact that if one of these three doors is open, the other two won’t open at all. She enters the found combinations with ease and as the last door is open she is able to follow back and open the other two for everyone to follow along. Inside a fifteen-foot-wide cylinder of glass plates reinforced with iron looms at the center of this room, reaching halfway to the thirty-foot-high ceiling above. The cylinder stands fifteen feet tall, filled nearly to the brim with murky green liquid; through it, a shadowy shape can be seen floating deeper within. The cylinder is topped with a large metal hatch, sealed with eight chains pulled tight around circumference. Each chain’s far end is affixed to a different stone pillar near the room’s edge. Between the door and the cylinder is a wood and metal workstation from which three levers protrude. A small wooden coffer sits atop the workstation. The three levers are unlabeled.
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