1/31/2015

While relaxing in the Silver Chalice in the town of Briston on the 24th day of Autumn’s Rise, Francois Villon of Rathven noticed a man eyeing them. Francois, not known for his shyness, approached the man and told him nothing true. Chief among the lies was being local to Rathven and having the name Francois. The hefty man with black hair, Helgar Foose, suggested that he may wish to speak to the entire group. He was a merchant, and he had heard of this group who brought in some bandits. In fact, he had been looking for such a group, preferably not local, and it became clear that at least the non-Francois members were from far away. Helgar had a job for them. He wished to speak more of it at his home. The party, throwing caution to the wind, agreed.

The home was very nice, and inside was a man who commanded the respect of Helgar. He was a man in his 50s but still in good shape, and he went by Baron Filton Mears. The baron was from Port Classon, and he was meeting with Duke Gorlen Hawks of Clansea on behalf of his merchants. On the way back home, barely out of Clansea, he was attacked. It was clear the attackers wished to kill the baron rather than rob him. His guards fought well, but only the baron survived. He rushed to Briston and came to visit this distant relative, Helgar. Helgar kept him hidden, and through various contacts eventually learned there was a price on the baron’s head. The baron needed an escort to return home, but he was willing to wait for the party. He felt confident hiding here, but did not want to reveal his presence to any more.

Agreeing to return to escort the baron if they were able, the party continued on their journey to visit the druid Garek. Though Garek had given them directions, the route did not follow any clear roads after leaving the main road between Briston and Clansea. They followed several game trails, journeyed cross country, and were generally grateful to have a ranger in their midst so they did not need to determine whether they were completely lost several times. They encountered magical beasts, “worgs” the ranger called them, and the evil creatures were cut down by the noble party. Shortly thereafter, on the 27th day of Autumn’s Rise, they came to a campsite set in a small clearing in a beautiful grove of elm trees. Nearby was a waterfall of the Lorn River, which could be heard above the sound of the birds that weren’t dead yet.

Garek was not there, but he arrived shortly. He explained the problem of finding diseased birds that were dead. The living birds knew nothing of it. The party devised a plan to count the number of dead birds in equally sized regions, thus giving them a direction to search for a higher concentration. This was clever, and it revealed at first that the concentration of birds was closer to the river, but it did not reveal whether it was upstream or downstream. Vindifinda studied the bird closely, and she looked into what had warped this creature. She could sense it was not a natural disease right away. She sense the elements at work within the bird, and with her inherent connection to the natural world, she realized that the water within the bird had been distorted by the disease in a very… twisted way. It was not even the arcane magic she knew. It was something darker. She also had a flash of a vision of a marsh.

Garek knew that many miles upstream, there was indeed a marsh. It would not properly be called a swamp, but the river spread out of many miles and the ground was less certain. The party moved that way and began searching around. Brenaid spotted a book… a book that contained a small amount of magic. Upon closer examination, it appeared to be a student mage’s spell book, and the magic was to protect the book, which was the only reason it survived half in the water all these years. Garek was reminded that there had once been a temple to Berkari somewhere in the marsh, but the villagers of Kryndos burned it down long before Garek ever came to this area. After a few more days searching the marsh, the party set off for Kryndos. It was a village in the middle of nowhere, which is perhaps the safest place to be in Lorris. Still, there were wooden walls around the village more for protection from animals and beasts than from humans. The village primarily existed because of logging, and in the one inn/tavern/common room, the party met Tralsen, an old retired logger. Tralsen, at the cost of more to drink in the middle of the day, told the party all about young Pat Vilner, the boy who was corrupted by those evil arcane folks many years ago. Pat was a good lad, and they burned down that dark temple to save him. He was a farmer now, and Tralsen gave them directions.

Pat Vilner was working the fields. His fields weren’t big enough to sell his crops to more of Lorris, but enough to support the village. This far from civilization, being self-sustaining was critical. He was working the fields. He was not too eager to talk about the wizards at first, but pressed… it seemed as though perhaps he had been bearing some guilt for a long time. He was learning to be a wizard, and they told him not to push ahead in his studies… but he did anyway. He accidentally caused a fire. He was only 12 years old at the time, and he didn’t know what to do. An elderly couple was killed in the fire, and the villagers decided he had controlled by the dark wizards. They decided the next day they would move against them. Pat ran out in the darkness to warn the wizards, who said they would leave rather than fight. They did not seem angry with him, only disappointed. The villagers burned it down, and Pat became a farmer instead of a wizard.

If the party was willing to help him with the land for the rest of the day, he would lead them to the ruins of the temple the next day. The party found room to sleep in the tiny home with his wife, Lyra, and his young son named Clandon.

Paths were hidden in the marsh, taking them to places they would likely never have found by chance. On a small hill, the Pat showed them the ruins of the temple, and then he returned home.

Searching around, the party found a stairway down into the hill from the ruins. It seems the villagers didn’t realize part of the temple was underground. Most of it, in fact. Horrible things lived in the ruins of the temple now, and first among them was a carrion crawler. After dispatching the vile beast, the party spotted a three-pronged shuriken crudely carved into a wooden door.

This was where priests and wizards lived and studied, along with several initiates of both orders. The rooms had been mostly emptied as they had warning before leaving, but here and there the party found a few things of value. More importantly, though the wizards left 16 years ago, there was evidence that these room had been occupied more recently.

Finding little of value, the party began searching the hallways, and eventually they uncovered a whole hidden region of the temple. This was where magic was practiced. There was a room for shooting at metal targets and a room for creating potions. There was several feet of dirt between these rooms to limit any damage from mistakes. One room, however, was horrific. The door also had a crudely carved three-pronged shuriken of Uthrin.

Something horrible had happened here. Those attuned to magic could immediately sense the swirling dark magic, and everyone could sense the twisting of nature. Rotting bodies were stacked along a wall, and they had clearly been there for months. In the center of the room was a black altar, and that was where these people must have been killed. Their heads had been bashed in by a black mace that was next to the altar. Crusted blood clung to the mace and the altar. On the altar was a troll skull acting as some sort of basin, and water dripped from the ceiling into the skull. Each drop caused the basin to overflow, and a trickle of the darkened water flowed into cracks in the floor, and presumably into a place in the marsh.

Around the altar was a ring of stones, though 5 equally spaced stones seem to be missing.

The party smashed the basin and burned the bodies. Garek was confident he could handle it from here.


The party met up with Baron Mears on the 8th day of Autumn’s Breadth., and they set out very early the next day with some attempt at disguise. They circumvented Rathven, Francois noticed that they were being followed sometime after. Sure, they passed people on the road and others overtook them, but this group seemed to stay the same distance back for many miles. There were just two, and one bore a trident.

The party hatched a plan to wait for a bend, gallop, get a gap, and move off the road. Sure enough, they soon spotted the two hurrying past, and two more. The party had the opportunity to set a trap of some sort, but instead decided to avoid confrontation. They set off cross-country, counting on darkness and the wild to hide their passage. They encountered the occasional hamlet, but they stayed clear of them. Eventually coming to the River Breamish, they made their way south to the Garston. They went through Garston in groups, but they saw no sign of their pursuers.

In Thormond, the baron was confident there was less risk as it was a far more civilized land. Indeed, they encountered civilization on the way towards Badenscoth. A group of paladins of the Order of Saint Tibrus (Swords) were coming quickly the other way. The leader, Lt Dorrin Shaw, was very pleased with what they had done. They had burned the pagan symbol Irminsul. They were excited to see Sir Alestair, and asked that he do what he can do divert any pursuers. Irminsul is also known as the Oak of Geismar and the Father Tree. While those who worship Agnelo might indeed consider it a pagan symbol, most people consider it very holy. The paladins witnessed the horrible phantasms in Whitestone, and they determined that Agnelo was punishing them for allowing such pagan wickedness to exist, and so it was their duty to burn this tree. The party was generally displeased with the actions of the paladins, but they did not attempt to attack them. The paladins, not understanding why they would receive such a reception for doing such a noble deed. They set off for High Mangston, believing they would not be followed that far into Orroland.

Several hours later, the party did indeed encounter a group in pursuit of the paladins. A mix of humans, elves, and half elves, this group looked angry. They looked ready to attack Sir Alestair, but the sight of an elf, even one from the frozen north, was enough to at least make them wait. Led by Ernk Farrow, an elderly human druid, and Orlenna, a half-elf ranger, they were after the paladins. The party told them exactly where they were going.

The party moved on to see Irminsul, which lay at the heart of a grove of impressive oaks. Brenaid asked the baron whether this was wise given that he was being hunted, but the baron insisted that this was more important than him. The tree was massive, its branches reaching out wide to create a huge shelter. There is a sense of peace… though less, now that most of the tree is very badly burned. One man was filling a hole… a grave for a boy who died trying to put out the flames. Many here, humans and elves alike, are openly weeping. Others seem to be trying to heal the tree, but their efforts seem fruitless. A half-elven druid named Pellora is the leader of those remain here. She appears to understand the difference between Swords and Shields, so Sir Alestair is not quite murdered on the spot. The party helps where they are able, and they sleep between the branches of Irminsul.

Livid and Brenaid, seeming more in touch with the natural world for the evening, experience a dream. They see two possible futures. In one, Irminsul slowly rots into death, and then the trees around it fail as well. The grove is lost, and undead walk through it. In the other future, Irminsul is saved, and while there may still be undead out there, they will not enter the grove. A feminine voice whispers in their heads “Come visit me. Father tree is not lost yet.” There is a view of the land, sweeping towards the coast and past a city with three white gulls on a field of green and blue, out of the sea, and towards the black cliffs of an island. “Come visit me” they hear again.

Baron Mears hears of it, and says the flag is his, that of Port Classon, and the island is assuredly Fey Isle. People do not go there… but the party decides they must.

Probably could have used less detail.