The mindmoppet shudders, in glee as Onye is unable to demoralize it in the slightest.
↺ Redirect Attack Dex Save vs Onye Attack DC 35:1d20 + 12 ⇒ (15) + 12 = 27
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. Immune to piercing and resistance to slashing
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.
↺ End the Charade attack vs Nicky AC 23:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14
Nicky sweeps back just out of reach as he stabs it again through the brain, killing the doppelganger.
Vampiric Feast Save Fort DC 26:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13
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. Crit.
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.
Critical Trip Damage:1d6 ⇒ 3
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.
Purple vs Alvarius AC 21:1d20 + 12 ⇒ (4) + 12 = 16 Purple vs Alvarius AC 21:1d20 + 12 - 4 ⇒ (14) + 12 - 4 = 22 Damage:2d6 + 7 ⇒ (1, 4) + 7 = 12Resist 10 from Retributive Strike
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.
Wall of Fire Damage:4d6 ⇒ (4, 2, 2, 5) = 13
It gets a small lash of anger as it tries to push Alvarius away reflexively with its mind.
Telekinetic Slam vs Alvarius AC 21:1d20 + 15 ⇒ (4) + 15 = 19
Having no effect it tries to slowly anticipate what happens next. Gain one additional Reaction.
Ritalson follows one of the Doppelgangers to observe their success in subdueing the threat.
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.”
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.”
Telekinetic Slam vs Onye AC 27:1d20 + 15 ⇒ (19) + 15 = 34 Damage (Force):2d12 ⇒ (11, 11) = 22
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
Do you try to sneak past them and go into the structure?
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.
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.
“Seven,” she repeats flatly. “Seven plaques. That number is not accidental.”
Her stern composure cracks just a fraction as she looks at Nicky. “If Etward were merely erasing memories, the stellar resonance in this place would be… quieter. Instead, it feels like standing beneath a dead constellation.”
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.
“Oh, I hate this house,” they mutter. “My runes are screaming. Not ghosts—holes. Like something scooped people out and left echoes behind.”
They glance toward the floor. “Whatever’s downstairs? It wants witnesses.”
Iasanden hasn’t looked up from his ledger once. His charcoal pencil stops mid-stroke. Slowly, deliberately, he closes the book.
“There are no sublevels marked on Etward’s publicly filed estate maps,” he says calmly. “Yet I’ve redrawn this house three times now.”
He finally meets Nicky’s eyes. “Something below us refuses to stay mapped.”
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
engraved neatly into brass.
Vaxtervin presses a tattooed palm to the wall. Their breath catches.
“…There are Gatewalkers in there,” they whisper. “What’s left of them.”
Iasanden cracks the door just wide enough to see.
Seven alcoves.
Seven hollowed skulls.
Metal plaques etched with names that bend when read.
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.
Give you a chance to do some shopping before heading off to the Lichgate.
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.
Sounds good. I would think that would net two secrets with the last 8 hours to sleep and rest for spells and such. That sound fair?
Random Secret:1d9 ⇒ 3 Random Secret:1d8 ⇒ 8 Random Secret:1d7 ⇒ 2 Random Secret:1d6 ⇒ 5
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.
Yup, Let me know how much time each of you are spending.
Random Secret:1d10 ⇒ 4
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—
a character who can understand all three languages can learn one of the following secrets after spending 2 hours studying the texts.
A character who knows only two of those languages needs 8 hours to learn a secret.
While a character who only knows one of the languages needs 24 hours to learn a secret
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.
This can be carried or invested and grants the carrier Cold Resistance 10 similar to a greater ring of energy resistance.
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.
What do you do now? You can head back to A9 and study some more of the books to figure out what is going on and more knowledge about what Etward is doing here or you know that he is headed to the Lichgate for some reason and can head there after him.
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.
Yellow Reflex DC 26:1d20 + 14 ⇒ (17) + 14 = 31 Blue Reflex DC 26:1d20 + 14 ⇒ (2) + 14 = 16
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.
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.
Onye, Daehalya, and Nicholo need to make a DC 22 Will save or become sickened 2. Sickened 4 on a crit fail.
Daehalya manages to trip tone of the beasts nearest here as she gives it a good whack with her staff.
Bludgeoning:2d8 + 6 ⇒ (6, 2) + 6 = 14
She leaves a small bruise. Resistance to Bludgeoning.
Yellow Reflex DC 26:1d20 + 14 ⇒ (4) + 14 = 18 Red Reflex DC 26:1d20 + 14 ⇒ (4) + 14 = 18
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.
Onye, Daehalya, and Nicholo need to make another DC 22 Will save or become sickened 2. Sickened 4 on a crit fail.
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.
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. Critical Failure on Predictable.It seems to have a wekness to Bludgeoning damage
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.
Green Shove vs Fort DC 16:1d20 + 17 ⇒ (8) + 17 = 25
The beast shoves the zombie back against the cage and stays on it, clawing deep into its chest.
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.
Force Open DC 25:1d20 + 17 ⇒ (17) + 17 = 34
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.
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.
Athletics DC 34:1d20 + 17 ⇒ (12) + 17 = 29
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.
Force Open DC 25:1d20 + 17 ⇒ (17) + 17 = 34
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.
This sort of unique aberration is right on the edges of Alvarius rotten mind. He can't remember fully at the moment but knows it is dangerous enough to back up and defend himself.
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.
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. There is one east, west, an central.
Daehalya presses onward and leads Nicholo down a long hallway that splits into two directions. continuing east she opens the door into a Trophy Hall.
This trapezoidal room seems to be a trophy hall. To the north and south of the door, several humanoid skulls are mounted on stands. In the northeast corner looms a huge, white-furred, horned humanoid, while to the southeast sits a diorama of a strange city surrounded by six stone spires. The largest display is to the east: an immense flickering image of shadow and smoke that looks vaguely like a whale—a whale with tentacles and far too many eyes.
(Skulls) Each of these skulls has been altered so that the top can be removed, as they once belonged to all the gatewalkers, their minds have been long harvested. Each skull is accompanied by a plaque bearing the gatewalker’s name including Bolan Nogasso, the rebel Oaksteward whom you met at the beginning of your journey.
(Furred Humanoid) This white-furred, horned humanoid is a statue of a saumen kar, whom you recognize from you nightmares moents before. It sends momentary chills down your spine in fear it may move once more.
DC 25 Occultism (Strange City):
This is a basic model of the Nameless Spires. While it won’t serve as a map, the model does show the six towering spires surrounding the site, as well as the hexagonal “pyramid”
This final image is an illusory object of a statue of Osoyo—or at least, as close to Osoyo’s shape as one could get. Examining this display causes you to feel an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu combined with the sensation of being watched.
Displayed on the table below the illusory Osoyo is a scroll of illusory object (5th level)
Daehalya opens the secret passage as it leads into an abandoned workshop. The dry sewer tunnel dead-ends at an equally dry pool with ledges to either side. The western ledge is empty, but the eastern ledge is cluttered with carpentry and bricklaying supplies, along with a workbench. The brick wall to the south looks newer than the surrounding walls.
Looking through the notes here to confirm that Etward has been bribing officials and using contractors to help build his secret laboratory, walling over tunnels to ensure privacy and installing numerous secret doors.
DC 25 Perception:
You find another sheet of paper that’s slid off the desk and lies almost hidden against the wall by the table’s leg. This sheet contains a complex diagram of a three-door locking mechanism. 10 minutes and DC 24 Engineering or DC 26 Thievery to interpret the diagram.
Finally, a few asides in the form of notes or glosses in margins reveal one of Etward’s deeper secrets—a casual mention of “now that my little fire did the job on the river, I’ve finally got total control of the family finances.” This admission of guilt behind the tragic riverboat fire that resulted in the deaths of so many would be of great interest to Lepidstadt’s authorities.
The last of the whispers shred into nothing, ripped away as if by an unseen wind. The incense smoke thins in jagged swirls, sucked into the brass bowl until it gutters out with a faint hiss.
For a heartbeat, there is silence.
Then the temperature rushes back in—warmth blooming through the stone like water through parched soil. The frost that had crept over walls and gear melts in rivulets. The breathy howls fade into a memory.
But the group’s relief is short-lived.
Alvarius lies on the ground, sprawled on his back in a loose, unnatural angle. Steam rises faintly from his body, curling from the gaps in his armor as if something had been burned out of him.
His eyesockets are staring somewhere past the ceiling into nothing. For a moment, you think he’s gone entirely—until his jaw twitches, working to form words without the breath to speak them.
The air smells faintly of charred incense and… blood.
When you touch him, his body is cold—colder than before, the chill not of death, but of something far more final. He tries to lift a hand toward you, the gesture weak, trembling. A faint rasp leaves his mouth, barely audible.
"Still… so much snow…"
His arm falls limp.
Whether he can be saved… or whether the haunt has taken the last of whatever bound him to this world… you have only moments to decide.
Player Status:
➤ Nicholo(30/88 HP) ➤ Onye(39/104 HP) │ Hide Shield Hardness 4 (6/Blud) 20/20 | Aura 15' +2 AC vs Reactive Strikes from Movement ➤ Daehalya(58/83 HP) │ Cold Resistance 3 | ➤ Alvarius(0/70 HP) │ Unconscious, Prone, Dying 2
At first, it's just silence—oppressive, unnatural. The thick incense smoke curls low and heavy, coating the shrine in an amber fog. Then one by one, the adventurers begin to thrash.
Their bodies remain rooted, but their minds are adrift in frozen terror.
Daehalya stumbles backward into the stone wall, arms flailing as if pushing through unseen drifts.
Nicholo curls into a ball, whimpering and clutching their chest, teeth chattering not from cold—but from remembered cold. Their lips move silently, muttering half-frozen prayers or screaming for warmth, for help, for a way home.
Onye swings his claws blindly at the air, eyes wide open and unfocused—locked in combat with a towering shadow that isn’t there.
The temperature in the room drops.
Frost creeps along the edges of their armor and packs. The very stone beneath their feet slickens with ice. Their breath becomes visible, puffing out in panicked bursts—each exhale tinged with the sound of distant howling wind, though the shrine walls remain sealed.
A chorus of inhuman voices circles the group—though no mouths speak. The words echo inside their minds.
They thrash harder.
Fingers clench into claws. Alvarius begins tearing at his own clothing, desperate to escape an imaginary frostbite. Onye collapses onto his knees, crawling forward with bloodied hands as if dragging themselves through a blizzard no one else can see.
You are not sleeping.
Your are surviving—in a nightmare that feels far more real than the incense-choked room around them.
And unless the haunt is broken soon… you may not wake up at all.
Everyone needs to make a DC 28 Fort Save
Critical Success The creature is unaffected and wakes up.
Success The creature remains unconscious and takes 1d10 cold damage and 1d10 mental damage. This damage does not wake the creature, and those who are awake can see the unconscious creature thrash as if in the throes of a nightmare while their body rimes over with layers of frost. The creature can fight against the bitter cold and monstrous shapes by attempting a DC 28 Will save as a three-action activity on its turn— on a success, the creature wakes up.
Failure As success, but 1d10+6 cold and 1d10+6 mental damage, and with a DC 32 Will save to wake up.
Critical Failure The creature remains unconscious and takes 2d10+12 cold damage and 2d10+12 mental damage.
@Nicholo- Correct you at least need to be an expert and conscious to try and disable it
One by one you each slump to the floor in a very heavy dream-like state.
Your eyes snap open—but there is no light, only pale, shifting shadows. Wind howls like a chorus of grieving souls, rattling through your bones. You're waist-deep in snow, the cold slicing through your clothing like daggers, numbness already creeping into your fingers.
You try to stand—try—but the blizzard tears at you with clawed hands, pulling you sideways into drifts that seem bottomless. There is no up, no down, only white. A vast, merciless expanse of it.
Then—thud.
Footsteps. Not yours.
Something massive moves just beyond your vision, silhouettes blotting out the storm for a heartbeat at a time. Huge furred shapes with elongated limbs and glowing blue eyes peer through the veil of snow. Saumen Karr.
One of them charges.
You scream, you run—you fall. Snow fills your mouth. You scramble upright again only to find your own footprints have vanished. The wind has erased your passage like a cruel editor.
They come again. From behind this time. Another lunge. You feel the heavy thud of something striking you in the back. You hit the ground—but wake up again in the snow. It’s the same spot. The same howl. The same freezing air.
Every escape only leads to the start. Every kill does nothing—they reform in the storm, relentless and patient.
Your only compass is panic.
Eventually, you realize: the storm isn't outside you. It's inside. And the saumen kar? They know your name now. They're whispering it in the snow, over and over, until even you forget who you were before the frost took you.
Everyone needs to make a DC 28 Fort Save
Critical Success The creature is unaffected and wakes up.
Success The creature remains unconscious and takes 1d10 cold damage and 1d10 mental damage. This damage does not wake the creature, and those who are awake can see the unconscious creature thrash as if in the throes of a nightmare while their body rimes over with layers of frost. The creature can fight against the bitter cold and monstrous shapes by attempting a DC 28 Will save as a three-action activity on its turn— on a success, the creature wakes up.
Failure As success, but 1d10+6 cold and 1d10+6 mental damage, and with a DC 32 Will save to wake up.
Critical Failure The creature remains unconscious and takes 2d10+12 cold damage and 2d10+12 mental damage.
The group gathers the items as they head to the northern door. The walls of this room are adorned with tapestries depicting a frozen landscape, while the floor is covered with a thick white carpet. Metal incense burners resembling ibises with raised heads stand in the four corners of the room, while a single bed occupies the room’s center.
DC 20 Nature:
The tapestries depict the Crown of the World.
DC 25 Occultism:
The lingering scents of the incense burners suggest a mix of incenses that are believed to encourage vivid dreams or to protect someone while they sleep.
Inside the roll-top desk are four moderate elixirs of life wrapped in woolen cloth, and a set of telekinetic converters. In addition, dozens of sheets of paper and parchment sit on the desk, each bearing a detailed sketch by Etward, taken from one of his dreams. A few of the sketches are of saumen kar in arctic environments, and one is of six towering spires protruding from a ruined city in the snow (captioned as “Nameless Spires?”), but the rest are all of each of you in various situations all along your journey. There is no way that Etward was present for these but the amount of detail suggests he was somehow.
Daehalya motions to the secretive entrance and pulls it open. It leads to a hidden guard post of sorts. A door sits in an angled wall to the northeast of this room. The brick wall to the west looks much more recent in construction than the others in this room (other side of the hidden door you found.)
The angled door enters into a lounge area. The floor of this brick-walled room is covered in a thick red carpet. A low table flanked by wooden chairs sits in the middle of the room. To the east, a roll-top desk sits against a wall, while to the west sits a large overstuffed sofa. A fireplace to the north keeps the room pleasantly warm with a small, smokeless fire.
Alvarius detects magic coming from the fireplace. The fireplace is a minor magic item that constantly provides heat and light to the room, but the fire within cannot actually burn objects it touches.
Inspecting the newer bricks Daehalya spots it is infact a secret passage if pulled at the seam in the wall. The mortar there is soft and pliable anough to get enough of a grip to pull on the passage door.
Daehalya leads the way south and finds an old maintenance tunnel. A ten-foot-wide tunnel runs north to south here, its east half a three-foot-deep stone channel through which sewage and drainage once flowed. A five-foot-wide brick walkway runs along the tunnels western wall, while a rickety wood bridge affords passage over the dry channel to the opposite side. There, ruined worktables, collapsed shelves and the rusty tools they once held lie in a heap against a relatively new looking eastern brick wall. To the south, a rusty gate once barred easy passage further south, but today, just beyond the gate, the wall comes to a sudden end in much more recent-looking bricks.
Nicky does indeed find something a bit odd. The bodies decomposition seems to carry some sort of festering disease, though he isn't sure what. Even digging through the muck and grime Nicholo is unable to locate several of the Gatewalker's heads.
Daehalya bends down into the muck and wipes it off a few of the bodies. She finds that the bodies all contain tale-tell signs and marks of previous Gatewalkers! One of the bodies has a secret pocket in its vest. It contains a jade serpent wondrous figurine.
Heading westward with many more questions than answers at the moment Nicholo finds a chocked cistern. Sheets of mold and patches of pallid mushrooms grow on the platforms surrounding this ten-foot-square open cistern. A pile of rubble and a broken metal ladder lie in a tangle to the northeast.
Nicholo's foot kicks something hard in the muck as he walks through the areaa. Bending down he uses the edge of his hand to lift it free. To his horror it is a human skull! The scattered remains of well over a dozen dead, headless bodies are entrenched in the muck. Most of them are little more than partial skeletons, but four of them are more recent, yet in advanced stages of decay.
Nicholo recognizes the strange and unique ooze as what is known as an animated dream, likely drawn from missing memories with influence from Osoyo.
Animate Dream:
An animate dream coalesces from centuries of stray fragments of reverie and dream left behind as slumbering minds drift through the Dimension of Dreams. In most cases, these fragments simply disperse on their own, but when dreamers flee from nightmares back to the waking world, these fragments can take on a supernatural life of their own. They have little reasoning and intent except to seek similar fragments, absorb them, and grow. When enough of them gather together, they merge into a horrific form as an animate dream.
Individually, animate dreams can hold a wide range of appearances, but most take on rudimentary shapes akin to the living forms of the minds that spawned them. Animate dreams that rise from slumbering humanoids, the most commonly encountered, thus appear humanoid, but with distorted, nightmarish shapes that incorporate additional twisted limbs and frightening features. In these forms, animate dreams find their way out of the Dreamlands and into the waking world, only to discover they have no way of returning and suffer a relentless hunger that only new nightmares can sate.
An animate dream thrives on the terror fueled by nightmares and fear and uses its supernatural abilities to invoke such feelings in the minds of its victims, cursing its prey by creating a permanent link to that individual's dreams. Thereafter, the victim is subjected to all manner of reoccurring nightmares. As the nightmares continue, the victim finds it more and more difficult to remain awake. In the end, the victim plunges into an accursed slumber from which it cannot return. These victims provide the animate dream with the purest form of fear and are its preferred sustenance.
An animate dream can subsist on the ambient fear generated by regular nightmares, but these lesser fears aren't as satisfying, often driving the animate dream to seek out new victims. Left without a source of fear, an animate dream won't starve to death, but it will grow increasingly violent and desperate. Famished animate dreams are the ones most often encountered, as they have been forced to abandon subtlety to pursue more blatant methods of harvesting fear. Yet such animate dreams also tend to be the least powerful of their kind. Those who have grown metaphysically fat on fear have generally done so by adopting a specific nightmare theme, such as being buried alive, being swept away by ocean waves, or being consumed by wild beasts. Such animate dreams often have similarly themed innate spells to augment their powers.
The ooze shivers with anticipation and a bit of confusion at Daehalyas question. "Why the ones who are blessed of course." It says as it slowly sucks back into the ceiling disappearing from sight once more.
