cursewoodrecap

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 24: Academic Alarm

As I return...yeah, one of the reasons I had trouble posting these were b/c they turned into huge long monsters, so I’ll be trying to keep ‘em a little shorter. This one was already partially written when I got back to it, so...I failed to do that this time, lol.

That said: Hey, remember the first time we went to Sturmhearst? There’s a lot you can learn at college!

Vigdor, staring directly into the void, takes some Staring Into The Void damage. Shosh whacks him on the back of the head. Jolted out of his wonderment, he carefully shuts the door to Macker’s lab and turns to her. “What the FUCK was that?!”

“I dunno! The void! If you figure it out, write a paper on it!”

“SO, THERE IS A REASON YOU SHOULDN’T WRITE A PAPER ON THAT-“ Gral blurts behind them, coming back with Valeria. Every eye on the Eyegis peers around for flesh-hounds, which thankfully seem to be absent.

(Vigdor immediately rolls to see if any of the eyes have tear ducts. Some do. None of the eyes match.)

Gral gives a quick explanation of the Key’s deal, and how telling Sturmhearst there’s portals will make them an easy target for the Key’s knowledge-peddling. We gotta close this thing!

“Can’t you just do a guitar solo about it?”

“Not one this big! And there’s definitely more portals around.”

Valeria and Gral examine portal; so does Vigdor (he rolls bad and takes 1 taint)

We all examine the portal. The last one, we disrupted the thing that was keeping it open, but now we don’t know what’s sustaining it. And last time we had to go THROUGH the portal to do it. At least this one’s less elaborate.  

Those of us less arcane-inclined search the room and find some Incriminating Documents. Like a boss, your humble writer searched the Discord channel and found ‘em. I could copy/paste, but here’s the tl’dr:

1. A project status update for research led by Macker, developing a medical procedure for “extracting curse-spawned infection of the central nervous system.” Notable: the brief mentions that a) the patients in question cannot be moved from their current location without the infection progressing; b) the patients are physically fit and have military training; and c) the infection is fungal in nature.

That’s….telling. Who is he trying to save from the Growth? Military training – could these be Crusaders?

2. A hurriedly scrawled note. “Eric- Prof vanished, must have taken the package with him, I can't find it. CoEth after us. I’ve grabbed what I can, will head to Prof. Merkam’s Lab to join others hiding there from White Coats. PS: Stay out of MM dissection lab.”

That’s where the research assistant must have gotten off to, at least.

3. A friendly letter in different handwriting than the other two. It’s addressed genially – “Dear Matty,” and it’s full of genial encouragement that the answer’s always out there, and how the writer’s found some things on their travels that just might be the key to solving Macker’s problem! The letter says samples and research notes are enclosed – as well as ways to get more. Best of luck!

Cheerfully ominous!  Clearly this is from whoever’s been leaving those oh-so-helpful care packages, like the one Bjork found. We STRONGLY suspect Professor Twombly.

….let’s go back to that second one. The rogue TAs have a secret hideout?

Vigdor remembers the legend of Professor Merkam, who died some 20 years ago, and was executed and buried under Gallows Hill in Mornheim. Yikes! She was disbarred from the College of Science for violating proper guidelines – dosing students with mind control potions, etc. She had a bit of a following, and fled to the vast network of tunnels under school when she was trying to escape authorities. The tunnels are usually used for storage, or extra labs – but there’s lots of stories about what’s lurking down in the catacombs. She hid out for like five years until the authorities hired some knights, led an expedition, and had her rooted out and executed for crimes. Nowadays, her old lab is where the sickest keggers are thrown.

We marvel at how intense one’s research must be to require a hit squad. Apparently, “professor” can also mean “serial killer mad scientist cult leader drug dealer.”

The tunnels are even WORSE than the campus for navigability. Vigdor’s only been down there once, and he was blindfolded and pretty drunk at the time. He’s gonna go back to staring into the void curiously, which is definitely a red flag about his impulse control and decision-making process. Congratulations, have a splitting headache and several more taint.

Anyway, where do we go next? Heated discussion ensues; what if we arouse the suspicion of the nefarious Ethicists? To be fair, it seems the Ethicists are taking draconian measures as an anti-Key protocol, so maybe they’re not that bad. But we DO like a good rebel hideout.

We slip out of the lab, past the silent owl-masked guard. Shoshana does finger guns at him behind his back.

Valeria has an invite to go talk to the Ethicists, which we’ll use as an in, but as we go we might as well check in on our botanist friend Professor Ulmus – who was mentioned by name in the research brief about the fungal infections.

We head to the lighthouse, which has been repurposed into an admin hub, where we knew she was headed. Holy shit, this was designed by an actual architect, it’s much more straightforward. As we walk past a dining hall, Shoshana cranes her neck to see if the bird-masked students peck their food. Disappointingly, they do not. Vigdor casually mage-hands himself a bread roll. Past the man-go club, the Sturmhearst U press office, and into a well-appointed waiting room-

SLAM. A tall woman with an ibis-like mask storms out, absolutely livid.

“WE WILL HAVE WORDS LATER. I WILL SPEAK TO THE DEAN! FIRST I WILL FIND THAT SNIVELLING EXCUSE FOR A SCIENTIST AND I WILL MAKE HIM WITHDRAW HIS RIDICULOUS REQUEST; I AM OUT HERE TRYING TO FIND REAL ANSWERS AND-“

(A sly perception check reveals Quercus’ boots sticking out from behind one of the decorative tapestries.)

Ulmus whirls, hearing our footsteps. “YOUUUU- oh, greetings Kyr! You haven’t happened to see a man from the College of Science, wearing a bit of green, portly, beak like this?” She gestures in the rough shape of a bird beak. “Answers to Professor Hubert Quercus? I would like to speak to him about an academic matter.” Despite her opaque lenses, we get the distinct sense of her eye twitching.

“Did he, uh, interfere with your meeting with the bursar?”

“He has…TENURE. He put in a request for expeditionary funding, made some rather astonishing claims. Such that I believe he may have been…exaggerating the aptitude and utility of his mission. Whereas I have a perfectly PRACTICAL mission I would like additional funding for! So I believe if the two of us TALK, we can come to a SOLUTION that would not involve escalating this to the Deans!!!!”

Vigdor regards her warily. “Does that solution involve bashing his kneecaps in?”

“It doesn’t have to,” she snips, pulling out a thermos and daintily sticking the tip of her beak in.

We inquire further, and she’s happy to expound. “Since you left Bad Herzfeld, the local clinical situation has deteriorated. The locals are either listless or rowdy. Meanwhile, the collection of flora is as miraculously high as ever. We could expand the annex - turn it into real proper research station and bring in more professors! We’d make great strides in medicine and other fields as well. Mr. Duu, I recall you expressed an interest in soil studies! If there’s something in the dirt – Curseborne or not, ther may be a rational and potentially reproducible effect we could use!”

Gral’s eye twitches behind his mask, because that’s not how orc names work, but. “Uh, it’s definitely Curseborne, and there’s a contagion-“

“Yes, obviously. But if it works by putting additional nitrogen in the soil, for example, we can recreate the effect on our own! In short, we will do science! There’s a lot we can learn! Even if what we seek is simply a way to destroy such fungus, I’ve created some antifungals, fungicides and such.”

Gral sees an opening. “Isn’t there already a study here about fungal curse-based infection? By...who was it...Matthias Macker?”

“Ah yes, I was hoping to check in with him while I’m here. He requested all my notes on eliminating the fungus from living tissue, especially in the central nervous system.”

This is a touchy matter and she’s hunting a tenured asshole, so we’ll talk in a more private space – the nearby man-go clubroom will do nicely. As we leave the room, Shoshana pops the curtain with a quick elbow right where she estimates a portly professor’s midsection to be. Ulmus turns like a hawk at the sound of his undignified squeak.

The well-cared-for man-go room has a floor patterned like a man-go board, and Valeria immediately takes a strategic position. On the wall, there’s a picture of a bunch of scholars with their masks off, in front of beautiful Aurentium harbor, for what was apparently the Drakes’ Tower Club Centennial Tournament. And yep, there he is – much younger, with a shorter beard and neater hair, but unmistakably the strange man we saw at the inn. Sure enough, the placard lists him as Professor Trevor Twombly.

Ulmus joins us, her palpable glower frightening off the last few straggling students. She uses her cinder quill to light a tea candle and fix herself a calming tea. She clearly hasn’t gotten the upgraded quill lava.) We hear someone sneaking poorly in the hallway, and politely ignore him.

We break it to Ulmus: We’re looking for clues about the disappearance of Prof. Macker. She didn’t even yet know he’d disappeared, so this is a shock to her. But she’s got details on that highly suspicious project of his.

“Yes, he was working on the viability of a rather extreme procedure; the combination of a fungicide and surgical extraction to cure a fatally severe infection. He’d been sent a cadaver with the condition.”

“From where? From who?”

“…I can’t say I know.” An insight check reveals that no, actually, she does not know who the client is or where the cadaver’s from, but she knows more than she’s letting on. With a few more questions and a high persuasion check, we find out: She doesn’t know who sent the corpse, but Dean Damrosch of the college of science does, and she was the one who put Macker on the project in the first place.

“The client was able to get a meeting with the Dean directly, so they were either already involved with school or had money. Could be both. She deemed it was worthy of Macker’s skills, and whenever he requested a consult, he was allowed to put her name on the request, which carries a lot of weight.”

More gentle interrogation doesn’t net us more useful info about the mysterious project, though she’s happy to help. She doesn’t know about the Ethicists’ quarantines, either, having been out of town for so long. She puts down her tea, and dabs the end of beak, where we’re pretty sure she’s hiding a straw. “Now I’m going to find my colleague and attempt to discuss things with him.” She strides out dramatically, her cloak billowing in imaginary wind.

Next, ethicists!

We grab a nice lunch at harbor market. We have a short rest as Vigdor recovers from his Looking Into The Void headache, and Shoshana Chill Touch snipes a seagull, after being assured that seagulls are acceptable targets. Across town, we find a whitewashed building: Sturmhearst College of Ethics, the door minded by two white-jacketed owl mask guards.

They’re pretty surprised to find a paladin marching up to them and politely requesting to speak to Professor Sorbus, you see, she has an Invitation. Turns out he’s still on the main campus, “supervising experiments for ethical violations,” but Dean Chidor’s secretary or the Vice-Dean might be happy to speak to you, if they’re free-

We’ll wait outside a bit while they find someone suitably kind-of-important to greet a Kyr. Meanwhile, we’re distracted by a cart full of long, heavy, corpse-shaped burlap sacks being discreetly taken in the back entrance of a building that looks like it’s been recently renovated. Vigdor goes over the the cart, trying to bluff his way into knowledge by looking like he works here. Except, y’know, he’s wearing black and they’re all in white, and he starts attracting the attention of burly guard-types until Shoshana goes over and drags him off.

After a while, and a few matches of man-go between Valeria and Vigdor, Professor Sorbus bustles up to us with a rather nicer demeanor than we’ve previously seen. “Ah, hello, yes! When I invited you, I assumed it would be tomorrow, my apologies for making you wait. Professor Quercus has mentioned meeting a silver dragonborn knight and her companions – though my colleague I do not recognize from the stories. What brings you to Sturmhearst?” he asks us, politely, though there’s still an edge of discerning analysis in his pleasant tone.

After we get through the pleasantries, Valeria gets down to business: “We’ve been seeking out places afflicted by the Curse, and it seems Sturmhearst is so afflicted. That’s what you’ve been targeting, right? That’s why you’re locking up labs?”

With an excellent persuasion check, Sorbus sees a colleague in the fight against the Curse from the highly trusted Order of the Rose, and doesn’t see the need to deny it.

“I see. We have…a lot to talk about. Yes, some aspect of the Curse – we were warned several years ago; the Dean of Ethics told us to step up our operations, that the Curse had come in new form. Not werewolves or zombies, like everyone is so quick to think. This happened around the time Headmaster Twombly went on sabbatical. The College of Ethics has always operated somewhat independently from the other colleges, and the Dean informed us we could not unreservedly trust the scholars of Sturmhearst.

“He was cagey on details, but we are to keep an eye on suspicious people and disappearances. Anyone discussing opening of gateways or arcane methods of travel is a high priority. When anyone disappeared suddenly from the labs, we would quarantine those lab rooms and question anybody who’d been working in them.”

Valeria nods. “That sounds very similar to what we’ve seen elsewhere. In the last place that had, uh, similar problems, we were able to question a painter who had disappeared like that. Is there anyone here who we might be able to talk to?

He glances toward the asylum. “We have managed to, er, acquire a few. Some flee to the catacombs or the countryside to avoid us. Some disappear entirely, and those are the most concerning of all. The unifying factor in all those who we’ve been tracking is an obsessive drive toward their research – and receiving mysterious packages.

“You’re Dr. Gavril, right?” he says, eyeing Vigdor’s highly visible prosthetic. “Have you spoken to Professor Hjalmar Bjork recently?”

We sure have. Why?

“That arm of yours is not purely Jotunn construction. On a hunch, I asked the librarians to report anything that came into their collection unexpectedly - sudden appearances that don’t match the records. One of the additions they flagged was a case of blueprints and arcane theorems, checked out by Bjork. Those blueprints served as a basis for that arm and that leg. I examined them myself and couldn’t make heads nor tails – they’re in a language none of our linguists have ever seen. Bjork had to use translation magic to read them. “

“Given recent events, I have concerns. So I have to ask: have you seen Professor Bjork recently, and how did he look?”

We tell Sorbus that he looked well, and was very troubled about having received such a package. In fact, he was the one who pointed us here to help.

Sorbus’ posture relaxes a bit. “He is a good person, and a powerful spellcaster. I was concerned when he left the University so suddenly. I am rather glad to hear he’s not corrupted.”

Do we trust Sorbus? Screw it, we’re gonna trust Sorbus.

Gral addresses the elephant in the room. “Uh, on our way here, we ran into someone interesting. He said he’s been traveling a long time, and, well, it’s a long story, but we saw a picture where he was the old Man-go Club President – Headmaster Twombly?

Sorbus looks up sharply, shoulders stiffening. “You believe you saw him, do you? But he is on sabbatical. Where, precisely, did you meet him? If he’s returned, I must tell the Dean at once!”

Returned? Not quite. We explain about the portals we’ve seen, and how one could shortcut all over Valdia with the map and route Twombly gave us. If he’s been using gateways, his “sabbatical” might be mostly into the portals, which tracks with how manic he looked.

Sorbus sputters. “I – I’m going to have to get you a meeting with the Dean straight away. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

“We want to talk to Eric Pelbort, if we can,” Shoshana says, remembering Macker’s teaching assistant.

He can do that for us. Pelbort’s in the asylum, and the Dean will meet us there. We go in, and – huh, it’s not a horrifying Victorian madhouse! We’re pleasantly surprised. There’s ethicists and black-coated medical doctors going around with files and charts.

Vigdor did a rotation here, once, but the vibe is way more hostile than the last time he was here. A lot of patients appear to be sedated. There’s a lot more orderlies present and a lot more people in secure cells. There’s locked doors. Shoshana is decidedly uncomfy.

An orderly escorts us to a simple room, with a bed, a chair, books and papers. The man inside has the same ashen skin, sunken eyes, and spindly fingers we noticed on the imprisoned painter back in Holzog, and his eyes are bloodshot red. He is drawing something.

“Oh, uh, hello? Yes? Am I being called back to work? I have some ideas,” he tells us eagerly the second we walk inside.

Everyone introduces themselves. “Dr. Vigdor Gavril, I studied under Dr. Macker many years ago.”

Pelbort immediately hands him the papers he’s been scribbling on.” If you can deliver this to Dr. Macker, he’ll find it very useful. I’m sure he’ll return soon.”

Vigdor takes it. At a glance, it’s gibberish, formulas scrawled on top of each other and crossed out and rewritten. Shoshana, intuiting that Vigdor’s gonna want to look at these with Twombly’s glasses, as he’s been doing with everything he can find and repeatedly taking taint about it, hides the glasses in her skirt pocket. If he wants to look at Key things he’s gonna have to get handsy with the Claws first.

We ask the ailing TA if he’s, uh, ~been anywhere else~ recently. “Just here, mostly. They took me here after Dr. Macker went away. We’ve been working very closely together here, but he certainly talked about going elsewhere to find answers to the problem we were working on.”

“Yes, your study. Word is you ran into a bit of a roadblock?” Gral asks gently.

“Yes. The patient’s survival, specifically. Professor Macker insisted on it. I had some ideas – there were so many things we could do AFTER the fact that would ensure quality of life, given a Revivify spell or something similar, but Professor Macker insisted they had to actually survive the procedure. That’s what he was working on when he disappeared.”

We ask about mysterious packages. “Oh, yes. We were quite stuck, and a package appeared on the Professor’s desk, with formulas, plant samples, a strange metal canister full of an odd goo the consistency of mayonnaise with restorative properties. Macker examined them, consulted with other professors – and then that was when he went missing. I was in the library, looking for potential leads, and next thing I knew these ethicists were informing me Macker was gone and that I was supposed to come with them.”

“D’you know where Macker’s other assistant, Greta Ruble, is?”

“No. Greta was less involved than I was, but she was quite diligent and useful. Does she still have library access? I’d like to requisition a few books.”

“Uh, maybe later. Can you maybe tell us more about what, exactly, the patient needed to survive?”

“He was developing a new procedure,” Pelbort volunteers. “It was a very invasive surgery to remove a Curse-based infection that was inflicted on a group of noble soldiers.”

“Which soldiers?”

“I couldn’t tell you what nation they were from – all sorts of races, human, elf, Dragonborn and more. We did suspect that they might be paladins – orders of the Rose and Hammer, predominantly. I mean, it was never officially confirmed in what we were told, but we can read between the lines. One cadaver they brought in had a tattoo of a rose-wrapped sword, for example.”

“Who brought in these cadavers?”

With a good persuasion check, we get better than just “the dean” again: “Oh, the client! Yes, they were an author. They’d worked with Sturmhearst University Press before; that’s how they got a meeting with the Dean. I don’t remember the name, but I’d heard of a couple of their books. They weren’t an academic author, just a popular one. I don’t really read a lot of popular fiction.”

Shoshana, chilling in the back of the room, waves Valeria over. “Hold on, I have a theory.” She rifles through Valeria’s bag until she finds her prize, pulling out the copy of Tales of the Peacock Knight.

“Oh! Yes! That’s the guy, that’s the book he wrote!” Pelbort agrees. “Knew I’d recognize it, everybody’s reading that thing. But I don’t have time for popular fiction.”

We look at the cover. The author is one Francis Dandle. (Yes, the DM confirms, the name implies he’s the Dandelion/Jaskier to the Peacock Knight’s Geralt.)

Huh.

Pelbort is rambling now, about specific applications of healing potions and magic during or after the procedure and why they would be difficult to apply, when there’s a polite knock on the door. An ethicist in a tailored white coat and a silver mask peeks in.

“Oh, Dean Chidor!” the Key-corrupted researcher greets him. “Have you received my petition? I’d like to leave, I’ve got lots of work to do.”

“They’re still processing it, I’m sure you’ll be out any day now,” the Dean says kindly. “Eric, are you remembering your art exercises?”

He grumbles. “They don’t help me think about the project at all!”

We leave poor Eric to his art exercises and head to Dean Chidor’s office to talk more privately. It has a nice balcony and everything. “I understand you think you saw the headmaster? Forgive me, but this is rather important: where was he, and how did he look?”

We give the town and the name of the inn. He looked human, played Man-go exceptionally well.

“Oh, good, he’s still himself. He’s always loved that game. I could never get the hang of it. Did he seem rational and lucid?”

“Lucid, yes,”  

“Hm. Did he give you anything?”

We explain the map, and the flesh-hound attack.

This clearly rings a bell for him – our insight says he feels deeply guilty about something, and is trying to figure out precisely how guilty he should be.

“Were you a personal friend of Professor Twombly?”

“Yes, all the Deans knew him well.”

“Do you know what happened, before he left? Before the portals opened here?” Gral asks gently, and crits his persuasion check.

The dean visibly crumbles. Like the last lock falling off a Phoenix Wright character.

“You – you understand. You’ve encountered them before, y-you say you’ve closed portals before – please, you must help. I don’t know what more I can do.”

He sends Sorbus out of the room. “You understand, I’m trusting you with something incredibly sensitive. But you say you’ve seen these portals before, and I’m so, so far out of my depth. I am a philosopher and psychologist, not an experimental researcher!” he cries.

The poor man shakes like a leaf, stress pouring off him in waves. Once he finally gathers himself, he takes a deep breath and begins to share his story:

“Several years ago, the top faculty of the Unversity had gathered to discuss mobilization towards the defeat of the Curse. While meeting in Twombly’s quarters, something spoke to us. I realize it sounds quite unbelievable, but I heard it, as did Twombly. As did all the other deans. A gust of wind blew through window, disturbing a ring of keys on a hook, and we could hear words – meaning – in the sound. Linguistically phonemeless communication. I’ve heard your Allsoul has been recorded to speak in such a manner,” he tells Gral.

“Whatever it was, it said it would give us the knowledge we so desperately needed. If we agreed to open our minds to it, it would guide the school in saving Valdia. Battling the Curses, it said. I have gone over every word of that exchange in my mind since, wondering how we were so easily misled, and why it referred to Curses in the plural. I should have known it counted itself among that number.

“But at the time, the Curse was only known to be werewolves and demons and undead and the occasional report of ents or living pumpkins. It was not jangling keys and mysterious voices, so you have to understand where we were at the time. We were one of the few institutions remaining in Valdia! We were desperate for solutions, and this one was offered on silver platter.

“We didn’t trust it; we did not achieve the highest academic ranks in the nation by acting like idiots. So we discussed the offer. It was a terrible idea, we knew it. But how often are you given chance to save a nation, maybe even the world?

“We reached a compromise. The Headmaster thought of it. The voice had made its offer to all of us, but knowledge can be shared. One of us would take the deal and then share the knowledge they were given with the others, who would distribute the information as needed. And the person who made the bargain could be kept closely watched, observed, monitored for any signs of corruption. …We didn’t know,” he sighs, regret in every line of his face.

“So we did it. We drew straws, and Twombly drew the short one. I approved of this plan twice. First when it was proposed, and again when our leader drew short straw. Dean Damrosch would become interim headmaster, and I would be responsible for reviewing every communication Twombly sent us. He went on sabbatical, and we kept him away from thaumaturgical supplies. All he had was chalk and paper.

“For a while it worked. He seemed himself! We chatted, we played Man-go - he stomped me, as usual. And he would pass along things he wrote. Formulae, equations that let us construct fascinating devices. His work allowed us to militarize. Those brass towers that have kept Penitents from our doors and so much more are all thanks to those breakthroughs. Honestly, we thought we’d outsmarted it.

“Then one day I walked in, and Twombly was gone. He’d left a note, saying he had exhausted what knowledge he could procure here in his room and that he was going to do further research in the field, stopping in when he found anything useful. And if I would please feed his cat. The balcony of his quarters looks perfectly normal from the outside, but that door doesn’t go to the balcony anymore. I think you can imagine what happens if you look out onto balcony from the Headmaster’s quarters.”

“Yes. Some of the beds in this asylum are taken by the ethicists we sent in there to find him, in fact.”

He shudders. Valeria reassures him they made the best decisions they could with the information they had. He is not especially comforted.

“It became clear after that we couldn’t trust the rest of the school. They had been working with his notes quite eagerly, after all. He has continued leaving those packages for different professors, getting them aligned with that Curse.”

We show him our map and glasses, which he refuses to touch.

“I’m not sure which other deans I can trust. The College of Ethics has had to take a far more stringent approach than ever before. The University is doing important work against the Curse, I couldn’t shut it down even if I wanted to. And if I did, I’d have a riot on my hands. But we’re trying to keep an eye out for any signs of corruption and get those affected to the asylum before it’s too late. Symptoms are obsessive devotion to one’s work, which is…generally encouraged among faculty and the graduate students, to be honest. So it’s not an especially great metric. And no one at the school trusts us. Though we’ve managed to get a couple before they went too far, like Professor Westman, who’s been making our guards-“

“Making guards?”

Immediate flopsweat. “Ah, er, one of our earliest projects after the Headmaster went on sabbatical, we made a formula, we call it the Green Stuff – er, it allows for a far more economical method of producing…flesh golems? Westman spends his days sewing body parts together, I try to stay out of it. I have a rather fragile constitution.”

Ah.

That explains a lot.

…Ew.

After a bit of waffling about Fun Uses For Flesh Golems, we ask about the escapees in the catacombs. Unfortunately, they’ve hit a snag: the ethicists, being on a separate campus and all, don’t really know how to navigate the tunnels. And the catacombs are traditionally place for shenanigans among students.

We’re gonna need to find the hardest-partying frat bro on campus if we wanna get down there.

While two foreigners, a hick, and a guy who actually studied instead of partying try to figure out how we’re gonna do that, we’ll cut session.

Fun Fact! The deans of the colleges – Dean Elana Damrosch (Medicine), Dean Javier Mendoza (Engineering), Dean Chidor (Ethics), and Dean Tahan (Science), are named after the characters of the Good Place. We couldn’t resist having Chidi be our ethicist. Dean Mendoza is, of course, a pyromancer.

[cursewoodrecap]

I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE

You thought this blog was dead, didn’t you. 

Behold, I am not dead, and I’ve been taking session notes the WHOLE TIME.

How did I survive? Uhhhhh.....*kicks Pale King paraphernalia behind a shelf* Luck?

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.  

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 22: Five-Dimensional Man-Go

This is a session I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I get to introduce three of my favorite characters in the entire campaign. 

In the real world it’s been a while, but this was the session we officially welcomed a new chaos goblin player to the table. And damn, am I glad we did.

Valeria goes to Hoeska’s armor smiths for some upgrades, and accidentally kicks off a goth fashion montage. Her new armor has gorgeous black detailing with purple rose accents, accessorized with a brand-new Shusva-skin bag with matching claw clasp. Gral picks up a fancy Shusva-leather cloak and belt. Shoshana, realizing that a vampire’s castle is basically a Hot Topic, gets some fishnet arm warmers to accompany her fang necklace. We also get some healing potions and hope they aren’t made from lost souls or anything.

Valeria resummons Aethis, who pops back into existence in a burst of glitter that’s entirely incongruous with the local grim aesthetic. Apparently celestial gators are only mildly inconvenienced by fatalities.

As we hitch up the horses to get back on the road, we find out Ser Boris is also preparing to head out. “Woods full of many nasty creatures. Must keep hunting! Maybe I find way down to Barroch, I have heard monsters are attacking workers there.”

Gral perks up at the name of his people’s capitol. “I’m sure the orcs will treat you well. What kind of monsters are they dealing with?”

“Wolves, bears, maybe werewolf? I will find out when I get there! Cursebreakers do not have much of working relationship with orcs, so info is scattered. That is why I must investigate!”

While he heads south into orc territory, we’re gonna go north toward Sturmhearst to look into all the Key nonsense Professor Bjork told us is goin’ down. It’ll be a long trip; it’s on the coast, and we’re well into the heartland of the wood. As we get closer, we’re gonna have to look for new maps, too – the patchwork of safe zones and Curse disasters changes rapidly, and the roads that were passable a month ago might be deathtraps today.

We trek for several blessedly uneventful days. One night, in a region where a sizable number of halflings have settled, we have the fortune of seeing an inn on the horizon as night starts to fall. A sign proclaims the Fusilier’s Rest, a combination winery and inn located on a lush vineyard. Valeria’s kind of suspicious of anything too plant-based right now, but the rest of us totally want a winery tour.

We hitch up our wagon next to a post labeled Valet Parking. Aethis parks themself in the stables. Looking at the place, with its rather low doorframe and quaintly painted décor, we suspect Demish wine snootery instead of weird plant cults.

We duck through the door and take in the scene. It’s on the upscale end of totally normal, with locals sitting around eating and a huge pot of Demish onion soup bubbling on the hearth. The old halfling bartender is wearing pieces of a worn but well-cared-for blue-and-gold uniform. Two polished old pistols hang within reach on the wall, along with a pristine old Fusille musket in a place of honor behind the bar. Shiny medals in a handmade case are proudly displayed atop the bar.

As is D&D protocol, we look around for any notably wacky characters. We find them in the corner: an old man with unkempt white hair and multi-lensed, colorful glasses, engrossed in a game of Man-go against a young human doctor. We know he’s a doctor, because he’s got a stubby-beaked Sturmhearst mask pushed up to expose a tired but friendly face. His coat might once have been a lab coat, but it’s since been patched and sutured together so many times that it’s probably done a full ship-of-Theseus. His right arm is in a makeshift sling, and he’s nursing a small glass of Kevan vodka; probably the closest thing they have to rotgut moonshine in a wine-snob place like this.

We’re like, neat. Let’s eat soup.

Valeria orders a local vineyard wine and chats with the bartender about it. “The man who runs it is a madman; he thinks he can grow good wine grapes in Valdia. But he pays my sister well, she does her best.”

“Oh, don’t listen to René, his sister does marvelous work! No halfling will admit that wine grown outside Demionde will be more than spoiled grape juice,” teases one of the local barflies.

Gral asks Valeria who’s winning the Man-go game. The old man is rambling pleasantly, barely paying attention, and he is absolutely crushing the young doctor. The doctor looks like he’s totally aware he’s being taken to the cleaners, but he’s gonna let the old guy have his fun. As the game draws to a close, the younger man smiles ruefully and hands over a few coins. Meanwhile, the old fella, his eyes magnified to mismatched sizes by his funky glasses, spots our most conspicuous party member.

“Kyr! How’s the wine?” he calls, beckoning her over.

“Quite good actually!” Valeria chirps. “Was that the Kiloni maneuver?”

“Yes, or a variant I picked up somewhere! The Killam maneuver…kilometer…kilowatt? Something of the sort.”

Valeria very much wants to play him, and the old guy’s defeated opponent is happy to trade her his spot. The young man’s propped up leg hits the ground with a suspiciously loud clunk as he vacates his chair for her.

The old man peers up at her, bright-eyed even behind multiple layers of glass. “So what brings a Knight of the Rose here?”

“We’re headed to Sturmhearst, actually!”

“I see! I’ve heard the roads between here and there are pretty tricky to travel, you know.”

“No kidding. Do you have an updated map?”

He snaps his fingers. “No, but I just came from there! I’ve got an old map and I can easily update it for you kids. René is on night watch, I’ll leave it with him so you don’t have to stay up waiting for me to finish it. I know a route that’ll get you there lickety-split and safe as trousers! Now let me guess, you played at the clubs in Aurentium? You have the look about you.”

“Not the clubs, precisely…”

“Ah! Street rules, then!”

Valeria, who played Man-go against literally everyone who would have her, shrugs. “Maybe?”

“René, we’ll need some cups and a dumb hat!” the old man calls.

The young doctor wanders over to the bar and gets a refill, settling down next to Shoshana. “Hey, wanna bet on their game? The old guy’s pretty sharp.”

Shoshana laughs. “Oh, my friend is definitely gonna lose. I’ll put a silver on her, though, out of loyalty.”

It’s an odd game to spectate. Valeria falls behind early on; an insight check shows he’s not cheating, he’s just VERY good. Oh, and also Valeria’s assuming an entirely different set of house rules than this guy, and it’s tripping her up. Wait, are we doing street style, or dock style? Anyway, Valeria’s wearing the dumb hat now. At one point they both spit on the board.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen anyone from Sturmhearst take the mask off,” Shoshana says to her new drinking buddy, watching the game with confusion.

“On the clock, it’d be a safety hazard! But off the clock, eh, it’s fine. Some people get more elitist than me about it, I’m a hometown Valdian through and through.”

(You’re from Joisey, I’m from Joisey! What exit?)

“I haven’t actually been to the university since the Curse started, but I’m heading back to research some stuff I found out up in the Grammelsmarsh swamps. Some real disconcerting stuff regarding undead, and the like. The locals refer to it as the Wailing Wight.”

Shoshana gives him a once-over, rolling a decent Perception. He’s scruffy, though that could mostly be from hard travel, and definitely looks like he’s had a rough time of it. His arm’s in a sling and the little exposed skin Shoshana can see has more than its share of nicks and scars. His gait when he walked over was slightly uneven, one leg making a suspiciously heavy thunk against the wooden floor. Over his shoulder, he’s carrying a long, heavy case sealed with tar for waterproofing.

Hold up. She points to the case. “Do you have an alive guy in there?”

“…Uh.”

“You hesitated, and that’s not great.”

“Uh…no. No, I do not have an alive guy in here,” he says awkwardly.

“Okay, because the last time there was a weird bag, there was a whole-ass dude in there, and it turned into a whole thing.”

“N-no, no no no, there’s no person in the case,” he protests, not quite meeting Shoshana’s judgy cat eyes. He definitely doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, even though the case has started gently twitching.

Meanwhile, old Man-Go man has proved himself quite fluent in Draco-Aquilian, though with an unmistakable mammalian accent. Gral butts into the lively conversation when it winds back to Valdian. “It seems like you’re rather well traveled. What is your profession?”

“Oh, y’know, I go here and there. I’ve been around. There’s so much to see out there!”

Valeria smiles. “I can’t fault you there. Anything in particular you’re looking for?

“I go wherever the winds take me, mostly,” he says, as if Cursewood travel isn’t the most dangerous hobby since they invented pyromancer cookoffs.

Valeria, impressively, only loses the game by a little. The old man jovially shakes her hand and promises to go get started on that map to Sturmhearst for us, springing to his feet with surprising deftness for his age and bustling up toward his room.

Gral and Shoshana, meanwhile, are busy makin’ friends with the doctor guy. “What swamp were you fighting undead in?”

“The Grammelsmarsh? It’s downriver of Mornheim.”

“Ohhh! We heard some, uh, adventurers did a purifying ritual on the river. It might help your situation?”

“That’s great, but…I dunno. Once you mix in swamp gas, things get a lot more interesting.”

“The explosions kind of interesting?”

“…Sometimes.”

The players have noticed that our doctor friend here is, like…not an NPC, there’s another guy at the table (the same player as Isadora! :D), so we start sizing each other up as travel companions.

“You seem like a pretty decent guy,” Gral says, immediately insight checking.

“I mean, you guys seem on the up-and-up too?”

Shoshana winks at him. “Well, I’m not that up-and-up but these two are very diplomatic and important.”

“If you’re also headed up to Sturmhearst, it might make sense for us to travel together? I’m not very quiet,” he admits, knocking on his knee with a clang, “but if you-“

“Hello!” Valeria, hearing clanking, has clanked over loudly to join. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Uh, hi! I’m Vigdor. I’m a doctor! I mean, you knew that, with the, uh-“ He points to his bird mask. “If you need any balms or salves – I mean, I’m mostly a surgeon, but I know some herbology.”

Is that so! We chat about Dr. Ulmus and Dr. Kjeller. Everyone loves Dr Kjeller!

“I’ve heard of Dr. Kjeller! I haven’t met the guy, but he’s the leading expert on troll physiology. Getting him to come lecture hasn’t worked out so far.”

We ask René the innkeeper about any local threats. Apparently this town’s gotten lucky; the biggest threats recently have just been bandits and one overaggressive badger.

“Oh yeah, one of my cats fought one of those, it went badly,” Shoshana remembers. “For the badger, I mean. I have weird cats.”

(The inn also has cat. His name is Jean Clawed.)

Eventually we all head upstairs. As the night bears on, the girls fall asleep, presumably after painting each other’s toe claws and gossiping. Gral’s still awake, practicing his lute in the rare luxury of a single room, when he pauses. Something doesn’t sound right.

Putting his lute aside, he listens cautiously at the window and feels a deep dread grow in his stomach. The faint scent of ozone drifts in the air. The crickets and night birds have gone dead silent, and in the unsettling quiet he can hear the terrible growling, piping sound he’s heard twice before: once in a house in a hole, and once as Bullbreaker’s expedition faced its destruction.

With great urgency and no volume control, Gral sends a Message to a sleeping Shoshana: “RED ALERT, KEY SHIT’S HERE.” Shoshana wakes up and kicks Valeria.

Gral then sends a Message to our new friend Vigdor, more calmly. “If you have weapons, get them now. Something is happening, it’s going to be dangerous.”

The early warning lets Vigdor and Valeria armor up, Shoshana helping Valeria buckle on the heavy pieces in a hurry. Meanwhile, Gral sprints downstairs, casting Mirror Image as he goes.

René the innkeeper is cleaning his fusille with practiced precision, humming an old marching song. Gral can hear something moving in the kitchen behind the old halfling, so he pops another stealthy Message cantrip. “This is the orc from earlier. I think something bad is in the kitchen – I’ve heard that noise before. Hold on tight to that musket, I’m going in.”

“The back door is locked, I would have heard someone come in,” the old soldier whispers back.

“These things don’t use doors,” Gral hisses.

A 17 Persuasion convinces René, who loads a bullet into his musket. “Where are those friends of yours?”

A heavy clank from upstairs answers that question, as Vigdor and Valeria thud toward the stairs. Gral scopes out the room and sees, on the bar, a big leather map case. The map from the Man-Go guy! Then he peers into the kitchen and, yup, that’s a fleshhound, all right.

Everyone else upstairs bursts into the hall just as a second fleshhound emerges into existence next to them. Shoshana, without hesitation, hits it with a gout of flame. Its strange ethereal flesh solidifies for a moment, but then it shakes itself and charges forward, its displacement energy restored.

Meanwhile, the one downstairs doesn’t aim for Gral or René, trying to run past them. Gral plays a discordant note on his lute, using his Minor Key at the opposite frequency to its vibration and preventing it from displacing, before he strikes. A spectral, scarred orc swings a warhammer down on the creature, Thrice-Burned’s ghost getting some payback as Gral’s blade strikes true.

René takes a shot with his musket and crit-fails, understandably freaked out by the writhing mass of teleporting tentacles, the wild shot careening directly into Gral. Luckily, it only pops a Mirror Image, but everyone upstairs hears a frustrated yell of “NO. FRIEND! ME FRIEND!”

Vigdor dashes past Valeria to the stairs, his previously-motionless arm reaching out of its sling to slap her on the armor with a resounding clash of metal. A silver Jotunn rune glows through the cloth of his sleeve, and she feels Protection from Good and Evil snap into place over her. She takes the cue and stabs the hound, rose vines bursting from her trident and stabbing their long thorns into its oddly flickering flesh.

The pupils on the Eyegis snap to the space behind the beast. Our normal eyes see nothing, but the Key-aligned shield’s eyes see a magical gate, faintly connected to the hound.

As a member of the Order of the Rose, Valeria’s trained to deal with fiendish incursions. This isn’t a portal to the Hells, but she thinks it might get closed similarly. As she charges forward to deal with it, everything seems to move twice as fast as it should: the Key’s spatial distortion has made certain areas the opposite of difficult terrain, where you can move double your speed. Nyoom!

Shoshana zaps it with lightning and heads downstairs to help Gral, who’s being slapped by tentacles. The zapped one flees toward the portal, but Valeria Sentinels and stabs it to death. The downstairs hound gets its tentacles into the real Gral.

Vigdor moves to Gral’s aid, ripping away the last of his sling and clamping a large circular blade to his forearm. With the pull of a ripcord, it loudly whirs into motion. As the Buzzing Butcher slams into the displacer hound with a gory squelch, he asks about sneak attack, like a rogue!

A very, very loud rogue.

Gral breaks away from the hound’s tentacles and looks around. Through the windows, more fleshhounds have appeared outside. The space outside is warped – leaving this inn is going to be very difficult while all this nonsense is going on. The lights of the vineyard seem miles away.

However, Gral realizes, the hound responded to the sound of his lute. And when he used his Minor Key he caught a glimpse of the portal it came through. He begins to play again, using the Minor Key to try to take control of it. The GM allows him to burn a 3rd level spell slot for a colossal roll of 33. He moves the portal inside a wall, to temporarily block anything coming through.

René takes a shot at the remaining hound and misses.

Valeria, upstairs, draws her chained sword and spends a 1st level slot to try to close the portal, the same way paladins close Infernal gateways. The chains of Rack extend from the sword and stitch the portal shut.

(Gral and Valeria each gain inspiration for using Portal Trixx!)

A Thing Occurs at initiative 0, and we hear strange piping coming from the stables. We’re kind of occupied, so we trust Aethis to bite anything that bothers the horses.

Shoshana sprints down the stairs and to the bar. Aw, there’s another flesh hound coming in from the kitchen. Her Chill Touch misses, and the new monster slaps Gral.

Vigdor nyooms through a Zoom, which makes some Really Weird doppler effects happen with his clanky leg and his buzzy arm. He slides across the bar like an action hero and slams his saw down, missing the hound and showering the room in a hail of splinters.

Valeria is still upstairs, and it is LOUD downstairs. She’s gonna dash to get the heck down there and rejoin the festivities.

Gral Phantasmal Forces the new fleshhound, and in its mind, horrible liquid tendrils emerge from the soup pot and constrict around it. The soup rises to the defense of the Fusilier’s Rest!

René gets his wits about him and takes a pistol shot at the nearer fleshhound, tagging it with a bullet and keeping it in place. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. OUR POLICY IS NO PETS! I will not make an exception for you, you do NOT seem particularly polite!”

The fleshhound grabs the map case off the bar and starts to run for it. René hits it with the butt of his rifle. The second hound can’t attack Vigdor since it’s too busy convincing itself soup isn’t dangerous, so Vigdor’s free to draw his pistol and unload a Sneak Attack bullet into the fleeing hound’s back.

René reloads his musket. It’s been a long time since he’s done it under fire, but the Royal Fusilier Corps of Demionde does not half-ass their training.

The portal the hound’s heading for bisects a wall now, so it might be hard for the hound to get through.  Before it can worry about that, though, it comes face to face with Valeria, who’s ready to rumble. She kills it, dropping the map to the ground, and skitters through the Zoomy Zone to try to trident the second hound. It displaces out of the way.

Gral seizes control of another portal, and this time decides to use it to see what’s going on. He tries to hop out to the stables, where that weird noise is coming from. He enters a weird nether space full of the flickering bodies of fleshhounds, writhing and blinking, which the DM calls the Threshold. Gral accepts psychic damage to see what’s going on, and the patterns become clearer as the Key takes hold temporarily in his brain. These portals all connect to each other and the Threshold at the same time. Whatever’s out in the stables, making that eerie piping noise, is tied to the portals – it can’t fully exist in our realm. So if you close all the portals, it’ll force that thing to leave; if you drive it away, the portals will close. Either way, the Key’s influence on this place will fade.

Oh, and that thing out in the stables? It’s the Lurke r again.

Gral’s old enemy wrests control of the portal back from Gral, who stumbles back out into the inn, reeling from the sudden whammy of Key taint.

Shosha shoots lightning at the nearest hound, which retaliates by leaping through her, disrupting her matter with its own. It’s a highly unpleasant experience. A new hound jumps out of the portal next to Valeria. As Vigdor, Shoshana, and René all attack, Gral shuts another portal with his lute’s magic. “Guys, there’s something horrible in the stables!” he shouts. “If we bust enough portals it’ll go away!”

The Lurker continues to make mysterious dice rolls, but apparently it’s rolling poorly, so we don’t quite find out what it’s up to. It peers through one of the last few portals, only visible to Gral and the Eyegis. It’s hard to get a good look at, fifth-dimensional as it is, but it’s weirdly humanoid, actually? It’s surrounded by floating lanterns and holding some sort of pipe or flute.

(The DM notes that Jean Clawed is awake and doesn’t see why any of this is his business. He’s capable of using the portals; he’s not Key tainted, that’s just how cats are.)

We exchange blows with the remaining hounds, Chromatic Orbs flying and chainsaws buzzing. René bayonets a hound to death, for the honor of all NPCs.

Gral powerslides on his knees across the Zoomy Zone, playing a complicated riff, woobling himself right through the fireplace into the kitchen. He spends another level 3 spell slot to get the portal to dance itself shut. “And that was Through the Fire and Flames!”

René reloads his gun. Shoshana blasts the hound with fire, so Vigdor’s action goes off and he chainsaws it to death, the body and spine getting caught in the spinning chain. FATALITY.

The searing light of Shoshana’s fire casts sharp shadows on the walls of the inn, which begin to writhe and re-form, swirling together into a lithe, snarling feline shape that springs toward the Lurker. It pounces with an odd, broken yowl that’s incredibly familiar – although Valeria and Gral have only ever heard it once, from underneath an overturned laundry basket.

Vigdor, who’s never met a flesh-hound OR a cursecat before, makes an arcana check to figure out what in the seven hells is going on. It seems some sort of entity is thinning the barriers between realities? Its very essence seems to be intermingled with portal; it cannot fully leave the portal or exist in this realm. Like a malevolent, sentient pair of curtains.

He’s like okay, curtains sound like something I can chainsaw. It’s curtains for you, see? (Fun fact: if he rolls 21 or higher on attack roll with chainsaw, he gets sneak attack regardless of other circumstances. Because it’s a goddamn CHAINSAW.)

The Lurker turns its attention directly on us, or at least to the enormous hissing cat hellbent on ruining its day. Gral, still strumming furiously, realizes the Lurker’s only got a couple of portals left. He’s closed a portal already; he’s gonna try to close all of them for good. The DM imposes disadvantage and a brutal pile of psychic damage, but Gral is unphased, hitting a power chord that shakes the entire inn.

The Lurker screeches and reaches for him, the space around Gral beginning to warp, but it’s too late, the portal slamming shut against it. The Zoomy Zones vanish; the portals close, the strange atmosphere fades. The road looks to be the size it was before instead of an endless stretch of packed earth; the vineyard is once again an easy ten-minute walk away.

His big solo complete, Gral sways and collapses unconscious. Valeria runs over and Lays On Hands so he doesn’t die, while Vigdor starts casting Mending on the destroyed bar furniture. Shoshana, meanwhile, just stares dumbstruck at the place where a huge spectral cat is dissipating into shadowy smoke.

“…Schmendrick?”

René is holding himself together, but he’s an old man and it’s been a while since he fought this much. He took a bit of damage; Valeria pat pats him some HP. “Thank you, Kyr. I…I need to check on my other guests. The old man with the Man-Go game, we must find out if he lives.”

Valeria accompanies him upstairs. Rack’s glowing rose vines are still visible, stitching the portal shut; it’s healing more quickly than Valeria’s used to seeing. The door to the old man’s room swings open under Valeria’s cautious knock. The bed is unmade but empty, and the old man’s luggage is gone. The only things left are a generous tip on the counter and his odd multicolored glasses.

As Vigdor steps outside to clean viscera off his chainsaw, Gral scopes out the stables. There’s evidence of disturbed earth around the grounds, but nothing conclusive. Aethis seems to be unbothered.

We reconvene without much to show for our investigation. But we have one last clue: Why were the hounds so interested in the old man’s map? We spread it out on one of the bar tables and crowd around. It’s a map of Valdia, but the path it shows us to take to Sturmhearst makes No Sense. It’s not even contiguous! It tells us to start here and wander north, and then the line cuts off next to some scribbled equations, the route picking up again elsewhere, where he’s drawn a symbol we don’t recognize – and so on, in strange and nonsensical disconnected paths.

Shoshana, on a hunch, puts on the multicolored glasses the old man left behind. Like 3D glasses, they reveal the hidden image. Through the kaleidoscopic lenses, she can see remnants of the Key’s influence all around the inn; the fading Zoomy Zones and closing portals light up in ultraviolet. The map, meanwhile, has gained an entirely new dimension, like a layer of holographs. NOW the shortcuts make sense – they route through other dimensions along the z-axis, with additional symbols and labels giving helpful hints.

To be honest, it does look like a much faster route. And one of the notes says it leads to the “Drowned City” – hey, isn’t that where Bullbreaker ended up? But we’re all rightfully wary of hopping right back into another flesh-hound portal disaster.

We now have the Extradimensional Map and the Stranger’s Glasses.

Oh! The map has a note for us: “Happy Journeys to a fellow master of the game. Your friend, T.T.”

We immediately rifle through our notes and realize he may have been Professor Trevor Twombly, Headmaster of Sturmhearst. Vigdor, did you know that guy?!

Vigdor didn’t recognize him. Maybe the guy looked like Twombly, if you squint? There were a lot of old men at Sturmhearst, and they wear masks most of the time? Also he had distracting glasses? So, like…maybe?

As we bicker, Vigdor snags the glasses off the table and heads to his room, opening up his case and taking a look. The lenses don’t reveal anything new about the object inside.

Unfortunately, the poor rogue didn’t bother to stealth. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” says Valeria, who followed shortly behind.

“Um, just looking at my leg, seeing if anything is weird-“

Valeria immediately checks Vigdor’s lower limbs for wounds. “I can help! An extra pair of hands can always-”

“No, no! I think I’m okay! Really!” he protests. He glances into the case again, clearly torn, and sighs. “Let me explain.”

He lifts a whole human leg out of the case, kicking and twitching.

“This is my leg, and I’m taking it to Sturmhearst. I’m not sure if it’s wholly mine anymore.”

Through his torn pants, Valeria can see a clunky clockwork leg to match his buzz-saw arm.

One player immediately yells “FULL METAL ALCHEMIST.” Another player says it again, in a slightly different voice.

Dr. Vigdor Gavril has joined the party!

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 21: Hunting the Hunters

We go on a good proper monster hunt, like adventurers do.

Each of us is awoken by a weight on our chest and hot stinky breath in the face. Oh, hello, dog. Also, someone is blowing a hunting horn at top volume.

“Ugh, Putz, you got faaaat,” Shoshana groans, but it’s not a cursecat lying on her, it’s Sacha, who unfortunately responds to the hunting horn by howling right in her ear.

“AWAKE!” Ser Boris bellows, way too energetic for this early in the morning. “WE MOVE AT FIRST LIGHT. TODAY WE KILL THE BEAST!” He blows that obnoxious horn again.

“Breakfast is ready! Come get it before rest of castle wake up!” he chirps, hustling us up and out of our rooms. There’s cold meats and breads and cheeses set out. And coffee!

Valeria is getting ready before she’s fully awake, because that’s how knight training be. She regains consciousness halfway through a piece of cheese, already wearing her armor.

Ser Boris has a mug of the most foul-smelling coffee and of us have ever experienced. Shoshana is well aware that elves don’t sleep, they trance. Caffeine does nothing for elves. He’s just…drinking that. Because he enjoys it. This coffee is so strong it’s punching us from across the room.

“This hunt will be difficult! I was thinking last night, I have theory about why I could not find it. One more  member of hunting party has generously agreed to join us. She will explain.”

Isadora von Hoesk comes stomping down the stairs. Gasp! We have a ~guest player~! She’s well-put-together in impeccable black traveling clothes, though she’s clearly reluctant to be here.

“IZZY! WE ARE OVER HERE! WE ARE OVER HEEEEEERE!” Ser Boris calls, waving enthusiastically across the dining hall, where we are literally the only people.

Isadora, with great reluctance, joins us, taking the seat with the lowest dog-to-person ratio.

“Tell them about book! And illusions!”

“We believe your Shusva may be aided by a wizard using a copy of the Codex Baloxia, by Liam Loven,” Isadora tells us without preamble.

Valeria rolls history. Loven was an infamous Galwan illusionist and anarchist and madman and poet. He’s most notable for waging a one-man rebellion against the Three Queens of Galway, even trapping one aboard her ship for three days with his illusions. His Codex Baloxia was his personal spellbook, which he copied into several grimoires so that future anarchists could use his techniques to oppose the Queens. He made a lot of fakes of the book as decoys, accurately predicting that the Three Queens would do their utmost to track down and destroy all legitimate copies.

“I assumed the rumor of a genuine copy in Valdia was false, but when I heard of this beast having humanoid help, I analyzed what might be able to hide it from the efforts of multiple Cursebreakers.”

“Alexei has great nose, should be able to track demon hound,” Ser Boris says. “Very hard to fool dog senses! Unless it had help from…an illusionist! You said sign was missing from guardhouse, yes? Animal would not steal sign – somebody human is helping demon wolf. Somebody who could be using book to hide trail!”

“I am a diviner of some renown and skill, so I have been volunteered to help,” Isadora sniffs.

Valeria courteously thanks her for her assistance. Gral asks Ser Boris if he’s got any ideas where the Shusva’s lair might be.

“That is today’s hunt! It is cunning creature. Once I find lair it will abandon, relocate. So we must be ready to strike immediately!”

A well-dressed manservant presents Isadora with a cup of tea, which smells gently of Goodberries. “Thank you, Stapes,” she murmurs absently.

“Ah!” Ser Boris booms. “Will Stapleman be coming with?”

Isadora rolls her eyes. “Yes, he is proficient at making breakfast, he’ll make an excellent piece of bait.”

Stapes does not speak up about this, though he looks uneasy.

We head outside. We’re not sure if the sun’s up yet? There’s sort of a permanent cloud cover. Ser Boris blows his horn again out in the cold grey dawn.

“Stop honking that thing,” Isadora hisses.

“Is tradition! Wakes everyone up! Now everybody let dogs sniff you. If you get separated, I will send dog to find you.”

The dogs sniff us. Isadora immediately prestidigitates the dog hair off her clothing. Shoshana, despite her Hunt instincts, declines to reciprocate the butt-sniffs.

Ser Boris, being the ranger, makes a Survival check to lead us into the woods. Isadora uses her diviner skills to ensure an 18 on dice. Foreseeing several pitfalls and waylays that might have come to us, she guides Ser Boris at a couple of crucial moments through the initial part of the wood. We’re away from the road where the beast has been picking off travelers; the dogs track the scent deeper and deeper into the wood.

Valeria focuses on the Eyegis, and its painted eyes come to life and begin to blink. Looking through the shield is confusing instead of clarifying – it’s like looking at 12 semitranslucent versions of the woods layered on top of each other, as if each eye is getting conflicting information. She turns the shield off, unsettled.

We come across a cave entrance, dark and looming. Valeria and Isadora are looking ahead, examining the cave, but Gral and Shoshana are paying attention to the path, and something’s very wrong here. If we look at any one thing, it’s fine. But we could swear that when we turn and look back, even though we haven’t moved far, it doesn’t match up to what we saw when we passed through a moment ago. We’re off the trail and the path is long gone; any sense of landmarks or any way to track your position are just useless, fading away.

Ser Boris admits this is deeper into the woods than he’s ever gotten before while tracking the Shusva. “Usually get turned around, lose scent.”

Gral inspects the cave entrance, to see if it’s as weird and non-match-up as the rest of wood. Yep, there’s something off about it – you have to be looking for it, but shape of rocks around cave mouth, pattern of floor – appearing in similar manner that it shifts.

Valeria considers Detecting Magic, but Isadora makes an arcana check: she knows Liam Loven’s work enough to know that his techniques are designed to trick a Detect Magic spell.

Gral holds Ser Boris back, explaining that things don’t match up. “I don’t know where we are, but we might have been led here. Proceed with caution.”

Shosh tries to feel for the Hunt using her innate connection with it; even with a Guidance from Isadora bringing her roll to 19, she doesn’t feel anything. According to the dogs, the scent leads right into the cave.

This Is A Trap.

If we fight the wizard, the Shusva gets us from behind. If we fight the Shusva, the wizard screws with our perception so the Shusva eats us. I guess we gotta walk into the trap and see what happens?

Valeria casts Aid. We make a caster samwich, Ser Boris in front and Valeria in the back. As we enter the cave, we hear the sound of something coming toward us, and a huge shape bursts out of what seems like a solid rock wall and attacks. Valeria misses her Sentinel reaction, and Shoshana feels that stinger pierce her side. We can vaguely follow the Shusva’s outline as it scurries away at top speed. Gral hears Valeria shout and hurls a Faerie Fire; the Shusva expertly dodges it, but the floating lights don’t stick on the walls of a cave. Instead, they outline trees and bits of stone fence. We’re not in a cave at all!

Gral swears a bunch.

“It got impatient,” Ser Boris observes. He picks up a rock and throws it toward the back of the cave; a few seconds later we hear it sploosh into water. “Tried to lead us off cliff. I say follow shiny trail where we know where things are.”

Valeria pokes the wall with a trident, which goes right through. Yeah, this is the fakest cave she’s ever been in. We Platform 9 ¾ through. Shoshana T-Poses through the wall like a Bethesda glitch.

Luckily, the Shusva’s brief appearance means the dogs can pick up its scent again. We roll Perception, doubting everything we see. Valeria stabs some trees with her trident. Most of them are real. Gral uses Minor Illusion to see if illusions interact funny with each other. As far as he can tell, they don’t.

Shoshana’s Curse senses are tingling. The instinctual part of her that belongs to the Hunt is warning her that there’s another Hunter here, a threat – or maybe a source of power. With no better leads, we follow the Vibes.

The epicenter of the bad feeling, as far as she can tell, is from a big gnarled tree at the center of clearing, a huge sinister-looking thing, the ground around it torn up by enormous twisting roots. The dogs start barking warnings as we enter. “They smell wolf!” Ser Boris shouts. We arm up as a pack of wolves flows out from between the trees, seeming to vanish when we look away or split and multiply as they pass behind trees and break our line of sight.

We roll initiative and they swarm in, split into two smaller packs for mechanical reasons. It’s hard to tell which ones are biting us, and which are illusions that just pass through.

Shoshana Burning Handses at an indeterminate number of wolves, and makes a perception check – judging by the wolves’ reactions, she starts to get sense of which wolves are fake. Pack A’s illusion is damaged.

Pack B bounces off Valeria’s armor and Isadora’s Shield spell, but get a bite in on Ser Boris. Gral tries to Bane them, and catches one real wold while getting a sense that two more are definitely fake. He throws an Inspiration to Isadora, who spams Magic Missile to try to hit as many wolves as possible, the many bolts tagging wolves as real or fake. Valeria follows up with a mighty swing of her sword, catching a few more wolves and completely breaking the illusion on Pack A, who no longer get advantage on attacks and proceed to whiff a bunch.

Shosh Burning Handses more wolves, popping some illusions and setting a few real wolves on fire. Ser Boris’ dogs charge into the fray as Pack B hits Gral and Isadora.

Valeria stabs a wolf. She knows it’s real, because it dies. As Shoshana fires acid into the pack, Gral suddenly remembers that he has Dispel Magic, and then dispels some magic. Pack B’s illusion vanishes. Now that Isadora can see which wolves are wolves, she Fireballs a bunch of them. Problem Solved. Well, okay, there’s a couple of wolves left, staggering around injured. Valeria stabs one.

We wonder if we can interrogate the lasts wolf. Sacha and Xander are ready to play Good Hound, Bad Hound. Unfortunately Shoshana and Ser Boris just shot it dead.

Isadora immediately makes an arcana check to see if she can track the illusion, but it was cast upon the wolves like some mad anarchist’s version of a group Mirror Image, so the magic signature leads back to them. Valeria pat pats Gral for HP. Isadora reaches into her pack and just pounds ten Goodberries.

Isadora rolls a 26 to investigate; she finds something interesting. That creepy tree in the center of the clearing? There’s a large hollow under the roots, like a burrow, sized for a big dog or a very ambitious badger. A-Luxor flits down inside and sheds some light.

We’re met with a huge, snarling sigil of an antlered wolf head, slashed into the roots and stones with brutal, vicious strokes. Old, crusted blood anoints the primal symbol. Despite its simplicity, it leers at us with disquieting malice.

Valeria takes a look. The Order of the Rose specializes in fighting undead and demons and such, so she’s studied demon summoning. This isn’t any specific rite she knows, but generally speaking: a symbol covered in blood and a nasty wolf demon running around? This is probably where it was summoned. Destroying the sigil probably won’t affect the Shusva at this point, but it can’t hurt to try.

Isadora has studied similar things from complete alternate direction, and is wondering if this is a beastie she can control. She’s never really liked dogs, so she’s never looked into a Shusva specifically. She’s never SUMMONED a demon, only read about it. Maybe if she copies it down she could study this, or the Cursebreakers could take a look at – oh, Valeria’s smashed it. Le Sigh.

A shred of red-and-black cloth is caught on the jagged end of a root in the little cave. Isadora von Hoesk is familiar with her own house uniforms; this is from a heavy hunting coat. She knows there’s a von Hoesk hunting lodge nearby, thought lost to the Curse. The family investigated a few years back; the steward and staff had vanished, and it wasn’t worth holding the line against the Curse so far from the castle proper. But this is the style of coat kept at that lodge.

The steward, who disappeared, was a dabbling mage. Maybe he could be our mysterious wizard? The guy Isadora’s met couldn’t have; he could mostly just conjure unseen servants to keep the place clean, a helpful mage hand here and there. He was the help, so Isadora didn’t really know much about him. But maybe, given a powerful grimoire and the intervention of the Curse…

(Isadora wonders if this was also the guy who did all the taxidermy they kept around the lodge. Maybe he stuck the scorpion tail on the Shusva like one of them jackalopes at tourist traps.)

Isadora has been to the hunting lodge before, so she leads the way. Despite advantage from Ser Boris’ navigation skills, she rolls Real Bad. We’re very lost. With the unbending confidence of nobility, she marches in the completely wrong direction. We waste several hours on this nonsense.

Finally, we hand the red-and-gold cloth to Ser Boris so his dogs can sniff it, and actually let the master tracker ranger track the fuckin’ trail. Isadora nearly uses her Divination to make him roll a 5 out of spite, but decides against it.

We break through a handful of illusions and minor obstacles. I dunno, my internet blipped me off the call for a couple minutes but nobody was dead when I got back.

As a refined hunting lodge in mild disrepair comes into view, Isadora actually does recognize the area. She came here as kid, although she mostly hid in the sitting room and read books.

Shoshana, scanning the trees, sees a figure standing there. She looks away and it’s gone, looks back and it’s substantially closer. It’s a man with light colored hair – he appears Galwan, and not dressed for this wood. He’s surprisingly hard to see, even though he’s wearing a robin’s egg blue vest. He appears to approach in glitchy fits and starts, standing in a tree – no, he’s crouching – no, walking leisurely – closer and closer. Everyone makes WIS saves.

As Shoshana opens her mouth to warn the others, the man suddenly appears behind Valeria, shouting something in Galwan and pulling a knife. Valeria rolls a nat 1 Perception and is like ah, I’ve been stabbed. She stabs back at him, but he disengages and melts back into the brush like air.

Ser Boris sputters in shock. “How? My dogs would have smelled!”

Gral sees the man appear briefly a ways away in the wood. There’s also a silhouette in the window of the hunting lodge, staring out and gesturing. Gral shouts, “It’s not real! Make for the hunting lodge!”

Valeria now notices that the stab did psychic damage.

Isadora takes a moment to wonder if she’ll cause a forest fire, and if Uncle Ludwig will be mad if she burns down the hunting lodge. Eh, it’s abandoned. Fireball! The mage succeeds on his saves, but looks a bit crispy.

The lodge is now mildly exploded. Valeria and Gral wisely wait for the sorcerer to take a turn before they dash in towards the scorched building.

Isadora’s fireball was a clean and elegant thing with runes spinning in a beautiful circle, resulting in a precisely targeted detonation. Shoshana just pulls up a ragged, roiling ball of flames in her clawed hands and hucks it like a Rasengan. The flickery blue knife man, still glitching around us, says something in Galwan – we don’t understand but it certainly sounds rude – and poofs out of existence.

Isadora blanches. “wAIT FUCK. I DON’T WANT TO BURN THE BOOK.”

A figure staggers out of the front door of the lodge. His features are bestial and distorted, like the wild men we fought back in Ovruch. He’s wearing a torn hunting coat in the von Hoesk colors and clutching a book with a leather cover painted that robin’s egg blue. The book is titled in a flowing Galwan script, with an embossed symbol of a hand: 4 fingers down, the middle one extended firmly upwards.

On his turn, he fails a death save. Apparently, wizards aren’t designed to tank two fireballs?

Gral cautiously moves in. The man is whispering something faintly in Valdian. He decides to get close enough to listen, in case it’s an incantation, or maybe even LORE.

“Youuuu are but preyyyyy,” he rasps. Aw, it’s not very GOOD lore.

The forest seems to shudder and shift as the last illusions woven into this place break and fade along with the wizard. Oh, hey, there’s a Shusva RIGHT THERE. Gral immediately pops off a Mirror Image, because Oh No.

It’s still badly injured from yesterday’s fight, which brings it down to its regular Monster Manual statblock, according to our DM. It paces out from the trees, growling and furious, and lunges for us.

Isadora can see, through the hole blasted in the wall of the lodge, that the taxidermied animal heads and pastoral paintings she remembers are gone. Instead, torn and bloodstained uniforms are nailed to the walls like trophies. She can see the red-black-and-gold uniforms of von Hoesk soldiers and the green leather coats of Cursebreaker Knights among the grim spoils.

She’d rather not fight a wolf, and the dying wizard is RIGHT THERE. Maybe she can nab the book! He’s got a bit of a death grip on it, so she jabs at him with her staff. She rolls an 8 strength to his 3 and claims victory in the wimpiest fight of all, wresting the tome from his grasp. WWE: Wizard Wrestling Entertainment.

Meanwhile, there’s a whole-ass Shusva happening. Valeria hurls a trident, glowing rose vines trailing from the handle back to her gauntlet. The power of a holy smite scorches the beast as Rack’s vines rip the trident’s barbs through its hide.

Shoshana nat 1s a Chromatic Orb and shatters a tree. “We’ll send you a bill for the landscaping,” Isadora snarks.

“YOU BOMBED YOUR OWN HOUSE,” Shoshana shrieks back.

The howling monster revenges itself for the smite, snapping its jaws shut on Valeria, who falls unconscious and takes 3 Taint about it. Gral shouts a Healing Word to keep her alive and charges in with his sickle to draw aggro. As his Psychic Blades activate, the faint afterimages of long-dead orcish warriors trail his movements.

Isadora considers playing with her new toy but FINE, she’ll shoot the Shusva. A Mind Spike will do, to track it if it flees. Her eyes glow and the thing howls in pain, tail thrashing and taking chunks out of the surrounding trees. CEASELESS WATCHER, TURN YOUR GAZE UPON THIS WRETCHED DOGGO.

Ser Boris runs to Valeria. “Order of Rose fight demons, I fight wolf! This is demon wolf! We got this, yes?” He says encouragingly, healing her up.

Gral throws down a Phantasmal Force, and Isadora uses her Divination to force it to roll a 5 on its save. As the Shusva is sparring with mirror Grals, it sees the fake Grals retreat while the real one remains. Except that one’s the phantom force, so it’s fighting a fake one. It does not make an AOO against Gral retreating, because it believes it’s already fighting the real Gral.

Isadora sees that everyone has retreated, and judiciously Fireballs it.

Valeria dashes back in, freshly healed, and double-smites it to hell. The glowing rose vines burst forth, ripping holes through the Shusva’s flesh and tearing the monster apart.

With a last bloodcurdling howl it falls, and we are left with the slight sounds of smoldering. We luckily haven’t started a forest fire; Fireball is a bomb, not arson. Ser Boris pats the nearest adventurer on the shoulder heartily. “We should recover. Good hunt!”

Isadora immediately begins Mending and Prestidigitating her clothes back into order. Valeria brushes the soot off her magic cloak.

Ser Boris begins to examine the Shusva’s body, and tells us to gather the coats and armor Isadora saw in the lodge. Many belong to now-dead Cursebreakers. “Should be returned. We have lost many members, some apparently to this thing. Looks like it was targeting us. Also, may have useful things in pockets.”

As Valeria looks, she sees something interesting on one of the coats. There are various house sigils and crests on the coats, but one has an ornate embroidered symbol on the back, a book with an eye in the center of the cover that she recognizes as the symbol of the Order of the Word.

The warriors of the Word are not paladins, since the knowledge god Torme doesn’t have those, but the Order serves a similar purpose to what the Rose does for Rack and the Hammer does for Lethe. Contractors, like our friend Darius, are Celestial Pact Warlocks of Torme. (Darius was not member of the Word; not every contractor is a member, just as not every paladin of Rack is a member of the Rose.)

Ser Boris recognizes it. “Ah, so that is what happen to Laska.” He knew of a Cursebreaker Knight, Contractor Antonio Laska. “Came with crusade but was guarding supply lines when Crusaders vanish. Was investigating. Ser Brigid was worried he had not come for some time.”

Valeria searches the coat’s pockets and finds Laska’s notebook. The DM sends her A Lot Of Text. It’s clear his mission was to find out what happened to his comrades in the Crusade, and joining the Cursebreakers was a means to that end.

We’ll get the details later, but we’re pretty sure this right here is a plot hook.

“Yes, approached me one time but I was busy,” Ser Boris tells Valeria as he expertly butchers the Shusva for parts. “I had to see man about horse. Turned out horse was three horses, and they breathe fire. Now, this stinger will make very good spear! And that!” He points to the Shusva’s snarling head. “That will hat!”

We could have done a medicine check to interrogate the steward, But Then We Didn’t. Wait, holy shit, the dice say he stabilized. If we want to bring him back to the castle for interrogation, we can! Gral casts Use Rope and we put him in the cart for later.

Shoshana digs around and finds a few scattered papers and notes, torn from journals and covered in mad scribbles. Charcoal sketches, some with strokes so hard they’ve torn the paper, depict a stag with wolf teeth and a wolf with antlers, stalking and snarling and raging. From the disjointed writing, she pieces together that he had dreamed of these creatures, that he could either join them or be destroyed by them.

The words HUNT THE HUNTERS are scrawled across many of the pages. Some of the more coherent sentences suggest he had once thought he served skilled hunters among the von Hoesks, but realized their hunts were sport, not true struggle. He dreamt of a hollow tree and an injured wolf, a vivid vision of how to summon the true apex predator that would help him drive out the pretenders, hunting those who called themselves hunters and breaking those who called themselves breakers.

Meanwhile, Isadora has found herself with far more difficult reading material. She casts Comprehend Languages to read the Galwan script, but it’s written in complex, punny poetry. You’d need a spell of Attain Literature Degree to understand it all, and she’s using Magic Google Translate. One thing’s for sure, though: the book is absolutely swimming with illusion magic. This is definitely a genuine copy. It’s an incredibly rare find – the queens of Galway and the Church of Torme have put a lot of effort into hunting the real codexes down.

One of the reasons they’re so sought-after is that the genius mage put a piece of himself in every codex. Unfortunately for Isadora, he continues to be a snarky anarchist. As she reads, the words begin to swim around the page and form insults directed specifically at her. “Oh look, some castle-bound Valdian dandy who thinks of her fellow man as tools or as cattle to be fed to her corpse of a great-grandfather. You should take a long look in the mirror sometime, OH WAIT YOUR HOUSE DOESN’T HAVE ANY because SOMEONE gets touchy about that kind of thing!”

She rolls intimidation. It doesn’t work. “Oh, you’re lookin’ at the fire now? You’re gonna chuck me into the fire? First of all, your bourgeois sense of value won’t let you destroy something so expensive, second of all I’m fireproof, fucker!”

The next page features an unflattering caricature of her, labeled The Idiot Reading This Book.

What can she bribe a book with? Hmm. She rolls a rather poor persuasion check. “There is one thing I require,” the book tells her. “First you must go to Three Oaks Junction and find a dragonborn named Bophades.”

“Can you tell me more about this…Bophades?”

She flips the page and finds a huge logo for BOPHADES’ NUTS.

“Okay, but seriously. The best way to absorb my arcane knowledge is kinetically. You take the book, close the cover, and slam your face against the book real hard. Trust me, it’ll work!”

Isadora considers its offer. “If you roll above a 17, I will do it.”

The DM rolls a 17 exactly, and our guest player, with aplomb, considers himself duty-bound to have Isadora whack herself in the face with a book.

She takes 5 damage and drops the book, which falls open to a new message: “See, don’t you feel smarter now? You know not to do that! This is the first of many lessons I can teach you!”

She closes the book and puts it in her bag.

There’s definitely some serious illusion magic in there, assuming it doesn’t drive you mad first.

Ser Boris has us burn the non-harvested bits of Shusva, spraying the corpse down with holy water first. The hike back to Castle Hoeska is MUCH easier, given that we know where we’re going and the woods aren’t trying to trick us anymore. Valeria checks, and the Eyegis seems to be working right again.

We get back to the castle, and Isadora recalls with dawning horror that Professor Lucinius Galvan has had a full day unsupervised in her library. She’s shoving her traveling gear into a nearby manservant’s hands to rush up there when HOOOOOOOOOOOONK. Ser Boris is celebrating a successful hunt. Isadora lunges for his stupid horn, but he is far more experienced in the tactics of Keepaway.

“Here, I will make souvenirs! Who wants souvenir? Skin pouch? Belt buckle made of spike? Lady Izzy, you were big help, you should get nice trophy!” he offers magnanimously.

“I will have a few fangs and claws for the archives,” Isadora concedes.

“Killing me over here. Could make nice ring, necklace. Walking stick from leg bone?”

Gral requests a spiked belt, Shoshana wants a badass fang necklace, and Valeria gets a nice Shusva-leather bag. Cursewood Gucci, as they call it.

Boris is entirely decked out in various leathers, bones and scales, which he starts showing off. “Bear, wolf…shark? When did I hunt shark? …RIGHT! That was weird. Was in pond. How does shark get in pond, I do not know, but I kill. Like shooting fish in barrel. Literally, I stand at edge and shoot fish. This one, either baby dragon or very large lizard. This one frost troll – told I should hide this one around here. And this one my tooth! I got punched. Made bad mistake, lost several teeth. Wanted to remember.”

Isadora offers to buy Ser Boris’s own teeth, but he’s smart enough to know there’s things you just don’t give to dark wizards.

Our wizardly prisoner, meanwhile, is taken to the dungeons where he’ll be interrogated. Once Valeria is out of earshot, Isadora discreetly instructs her manservant to fetch her favorite torturer – pardon me, I meant to say the castle’s Secretary of Advanced Interrogation. Ooh, someone clean off the spiky device, we haven’t used that one in a while!

As we rest our aching feet in the late-afternoon light, Valeria notices an unusual bird soaring above the treeline. She recognizes the distinctive markings of a ruin hawk. They’re incredibly rare birds; centuries ago, they were specially bred as messenger birds in the Aquilian Empire. Since the fall of the empire, they’ve mostly gone feral and returned to the wild. Most of their habitat was destroyed when the Floating Islands fell, but the last few are said to live in the old ruins on the few islands that stayed aloft, nesting in the floating structures.

Indeed, peeking out from behind Hoeska’s ever-present clouds, we see the distant shadowy outline of an Aquilian military fortification. As it drifts closer into view, we can see it’s surprisingly intact, the enchantment that keeps it airborne barely wobbling.

Lucinius sprints directly out the castle gates with a telescope before a giant goliath hand snags him by the back of the shirt. Ingborg and Bjorn escort him to a safe vantage point as he babbles excitedly about rune-lore to anyone who will listen. “There, there, look at the gates! That symbol there indicates the fort housed a special priesthood of Oberok. It’s very similar to the runes on the scroll you showed me!”

It’s a shame we don’t have a way to fly up to the island to investigate. YET.

For now, though, we’re content to watch it pass by and listen to Lucinius enthuse about architecture.

[cursewoodrecap]

A Change

It was at this point, during the party’s stay in Castle Hoeska, that Clem’s player left the campaign. 

In-universe, Clem has decided to go on a solo mission to Schotzengrad to stop the assassination plot by her former Red Hand comrades, accompanied by the scalpel of Dr. Wendell and our best wishes.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 20: Super Exciting Library Adventure

We fight so many monsters in this one you guys.

Last time on the Cursewood: We ended up in the headquarters of the Cursebreaker Knights, which also turned out to be a vampire’s house. We were also given literature on how to care for large reptiles in cold climates. Ser Boris was concerned.

In the reading room at Castle Hoeska, Valeria shows Ser Brigid some of the arcane components we found while looting the spooky circus. “We have people who can examine it. Ludwig’s lovely descendant Isadora might be able to do an arcane analysis. She keeps to the library wing; she’s a mage and researcher of considerable knowledge and skill. We’ll have someone take you there.”

“Do not traverse the castle without a guide,” Ludwig warns. “This place is…tricky sometimes.”

“Does it also have outer space in it?” Shoshana asks, well aware of the Key’s nonsense.

“To be honest, my descendants have layered a lot of enchantments on it. It’s constructed on an arcane nexus, so the enchantments can intersect in odd ways. It respects me; it’s mine. But you are outsiders. I must confess that while I am the master of this place, I have perhaps not fully mastered it.”

The DM lets on that this is a Taint Free Zone, ironically. Already occupied! By hipster ghosts, they were undead before it got all popular.

Ser Quentin is waiting for us out in the hallway. “I must ask: how fares Mornheim and Lady Aubrey?”

“…I understand they’ve been better,” Clem allows.

“Please, as much detail as you would give me,” he says, uncharacteristically sincere. “I made a promise to carry a burden that her father could not. In my own way, I consider myself responsible for her. Therefore, I must ask how is she faring. She has been forced into a situation she was never prepared for, though she seems to be handling it admirably.”

“I mean, she did glass me in the face, and is kind of maybe drinking heavily? But considering the circumstances, that’s pretty good.”

We give him an update on Mornheim, and explain Lady Rosalind’s druidic ritual.

“We have yet to make friendly contact with druids,” he muses. “Ser Boris has tried, but they are a reclusive bunch. I knew Lady Rosalind for many years before this Curse began. To think she was hiding such a secret from us all…”

“A cynical man might say reclusiveness is a lie that druids find convenient,” Gral observes.

“Perhaps. I must confess that until today I assumed I had never met a druid in my life. If they do in fact operate in more populated areas in secret, there are likely far more than we anticipated, with much more complex motives…”

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, since they seem to be fighting the Curse. We describe how the artist’s Key ritual was disrupted by a druid, and what we know about the druid we met in Bad Herzfeld. Unfortunately, we know druids are just as susceptible to corruption as the rest of us, since the cult leader Zelig in Bad Herzfeld had once been a druid as well.

“Fear of corruption within their own ranks? Certainly an issue I couldn’t possibly be familiar with,” snarks Quentin tiredly. “Speaking of which! Sgt Haxan! I have some bad news for you.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“As you know, I have been following the members of the Red Hand who are active in Valdia. My agents in Schotzengrad spotted your former comrade Sergeant Rusalka leading a mixed group of Red Hand veterans and others into the city. A few days later, there was an attempted break-in at the Kevan embassy. The ambassador was unharmed; he had received a warning ahead of time, and had taken precautions. The Ambassador was secured, though half a dozen guards were killed.”

“Were any of the intruders apprehended or killed?”

“No. Three intruders were discovered by the additional patrols and arcane wards, but they fled when the Greencloaks arrived on scene, accompanied by a dozen additional soldiers.”

“All things considered, that’s a bit of a relief,” Clem admits.

“The same night, our agents lost track of Rusalka and her group, and have been unable to pick up the trail again.”

“That’s…less of a relief.”

“Any insights you’d like to share into their tactics?”

Clem sighs. “If you’ve already lost track of her, you’re not gonna find her. She’s an experienced rogue; I’m surprised that even with forewarning she was unable to slip past the guards. Aside from keeping up the increased vigilance, there’s nothing else I can really tell you.”

“Very well. I will redouble my efforts on that front. I’m considering going to Schotzengrad personally to follow up.”

“I’d be astounded if there was no follow up attack.”

“My thoughts exactly. I assume their assassins left largely because they were not properly prepared for the increased security. They were caught by elven veterans of the Ascension War, a particular group focused on special ops deep within cultist territory. They have some techniques that Rusalka might not have been aware of, including their methods of securing an area. But now that Rusalka’s aware of that, the next attempt may be more successful. As always, I would appreciate assistance, but I understand if you have other priorities.”

We have reached a central room hung with tapestries and stuffed hunting trophies, where Ser Boris’s dogs are lounging in front of the central fire. Bjorn and Ingborn are sitting there as well, playing a game with a bunch of rocks carved with runes. Valeria initially thinks it’s her favorite game, Man-go, but the board’s the wrong shape and everything is in Jotunn. Valeria immediately wants to learn how to play.

Ser Boris, to the dismay of several servants, has spread out a mess equipment and is performing some sort of science. He’s squeezing foul smelling juices into various containers and generally making a stench.

“Ah hello! Yes come in!” he greets us. “How is commander?”

“She’s pretty cool.”

“Yes. Kyr Argent, over here please.” He hands her a pamphlet. “I write quick instructions. My Valdian is not great but I do not believe you speak Elven. Read this for your beastie. And if you would, smell?” He lifts a bottle, and Valeria dutifully sniffs.

“Ugh! Gross! What is that?!”

“Ah! Bits of Shusva!”

“E-excuse me?”

“The fiend! I have distilled scent!”

“You…certainly have,” she agrees ruefully.

“I am surprised you did not recognize, after it bit you so much. But tomorrow, I will track it back to lair and end it once and for all. Wounded it much today, yes? Tomorrow I will assemble hunting party. We will be able to reopen road!”

Gral asks Boris about what the Shusva’s weaknesses might be. He’s not sure. Ser Brigid told Boris it was probably a Shusva, and that there were books available in the library for further research. But Lady Isadora won’t let dogs in the library. “She say no to Xander face! He do the big eyes! She is clearly monster.”

We’re gonna head over to the library, then. Ingborg tells us that’s where we’ll find Lucinius, too. “It’s nice to see him not throwing himself face first into ghost filled tombs, for once. He is not an easy client for a bodyguard. Still, if you’re in there, make sure he eats? He forgets.”

Valeria channels her sister’s party planning instincts and talks to one of the servants about getting some nice spicy food like how you get in Draconia. They sniff about “decadent” foods with too many herbs, but it’ll be a nice taste of home for her and Lucinius.

Lady Isadora apparently has VERY strong feelings about food or dogs in the library, so we’ll have soup sent up to Lucinius’ room and try to drag him away from his research.

With a von Hoesk servant as a guide, we go down some stairs and then up some stairs and then down stairs that look identical to the first ones. Did we go through a basement at one point? But that was when we were like three levels up? This place does not make any kind of geographic sense. Eventually, though, we arrive at a grand doorway labeled Library.

When the door opens, we find ourselves in a tower, with ringlike floors leading upwards and downwards from the entrance. Each floor has shelves of neatly organized books and a small reading area.

A sharp woman in a dark dress levitates up to the floor we’re on, scowling. “I told you, Boris- oh. Are you here for the Professor?!”

We assume this is Isadora the arcanist. “We wanted to talk with you first-“

“I might have to talk to YOU. He’s taking books between the FLOORS, I have a SYSTEM. And who are you anyway? You’re not dressed like those damnable knights. You’re dressed like a completely different sort of damnable knights. I have no idea what you’re supposed to be.”

“Clem Haxan, a damnable knight, apparently.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, a damnable Knight of the Rose, at your service!”

“I am Gral Omokk’du, a bard in service of Duke Shieldeater.”

“Uh, I’m Shoshana, I just hang out with these guys?”

“I am Isadora von Hoesk. This is my library – my family’s, currently mine, despite a certain LIZARD who is MESSING UP MY SYSTEM.”

“I mean, you could hire librarians?”

“No, they’d get it wrong. I have a system. I have magic to help keep it organized, but it ASSUMES people FOLLOW THE RULES. I’m informed he is a guest of the castle, so I won’t destroy him where he stands. You, though-“

Valeria interrupts gently. “First of all, I hear you’re an expert in arcane analysis, and I’d be grateful to get your opinion on something.” She hands over the crystal dust from the circus and gives a brief rundown of its origins. “I thought knowing its properties might be of interest to the Cursebreakers?”

“Well since you asked so nicely, I can take a look,” she snaps. “Like I don’t have anything better to do than be a walking Identify spell for Cursebreakers, I’ll be upstairs in my lab, at the top of the tower.”

Gral politely stalls her. “Before you go, can I have directions for proper library procedure? We are helping Ser Boris hunt a Shusva, and we’d like to do some research for him. He can’t, because dogs.”

“Floor 6, demonology. Leave the books you use on the table on that floor. Do not take the books to a different floor. Floors are organized by subject matter, which is a perfectly reasonable system that anyone should be able to understand. It has never occurred to us that somebody would wish to CROSS CONTAMINATE the FLOORS.”

“We’ll, uh, see if we can have a word with Professor Galvan.”

“Please do.” She snaps her fingers. A trapdoor opens at the top of the tower, and she floats up and through.

A helpful guard points us to the library’s Index, which consists of several large tomes.

The index lists an enormous amount of books in an impressive number of languages, categorized by subject matter. There are many books on fiends, outsiders, demonic influences, and the like. Kind of a troubling amount about those subjects, to be honest? No, we don’t want how-to guides!!! But given that we don’t know much about the creature we’re researching, it’s hard to tell which books will specifically have information on the Shusva.

Shoshana goes with Gral to help translate Elvish and Old Valdian. The tanks, meanwhile, will go fetch Lucinius and attempt to cajole him out of the library.

“Can’t you guys just, like. Pick him up? Throw him over your shoulder?” Shoshana asks.

Valeria shakes her head. “We’re not gonna do that.”

“But it would amuse me!”

Looking down through the rings, we see Professor Galvan down on the third floor. In the quiet of the library, we can kinda hear him mumbling to himself down below.

There are staircases and ladders between floors, but it’s a hike down all those stairs. We can see why Isadora levitates around! Valeria has a ring of moon bounce, so she tells Clem she’ll meet her there and hurdles over the railing, landing several floors down with an enormous CLASH BANG CLATTER of armor.

“GOODNESS ME WHAT WHOA OH DEAR ME what’s that?! Hello? Is everyone okay up there?” we hear Lucinius shout.

Shoshana leans over the balcony and does an extremely sarcastic SSSSHHHHH.

We assume Valeria would be blushing, if scales could blush. “I’m fine, I’ll be there in a moment!” she calls, and walks the rest of the way normally.

Lucinius is barely visible behind teetering stacks of literature. “Ah, princess!” he greets Valeria in their native tongue. “Please, sit down!”

“Actually, we had some things we wanted to show you. First, I’d be remiss if failed to let you know that Lady Isadora-“

“Ah, the librarian! So kind, isn’t this place wonderful?”

“She would really rather-“

“She had a copy of the Treatises! The TREATISES! All six volumes! I didn’t think I’d see a copy of this outside Aurentium, and in such good condition! Annotated, even!”

“Isadora would really prefer if you kept the books on same floors they’re shelved on.”

“Oh, dear me. I don’t see why that should be a problem? My work really calls on multiple disciplines…”

“Uh, maybe put them back when you’re done with them?”

He looks around at the stacks and stacks of books spread across the table. “…that might be a difficulty. They should have put a sign up.”

The rules of the library are clearly posted on every floor, in large print, in multiple languages.

“Oh, well, I didn’t have time to read THOSE, this place is far too miraculous!”

We found some very interesting things we’d like to show you. And I managed to get cook to make something Draconian - not as good as what you’d get in Aurentium, I’m sure, but with the same ingredients! C’mon, come back to your chamber to look at some artifacts and eat soup!”

It turns out soup gives advantage on Persuasion. “I suppose I will reach a stopping point shortly,” he admits. “To be honest, I was worried I wouldn’t find any source like this about the history of Valdia. It appears my research before coming to the Greatwood was quite lacking in the intricacies of local culture. Luckily this library is a veritable trove of knowledge! There are some tomes here my colleagues back home would be very jealous of. I don’t know what this von Hoesk family DOES for a living, but they’ve amassed a collection of very fine books! Now, I believe there was soup!” He gathers up some books for the road. “A bit of light reading for my quarters.”

We decide not to tell Isadora, because we’d probably die.

Meanwhile, Gral makes a research investigation with the advantage of Shoshana’s translation help. They find a book that contains information on the Shusva!

There’s a sketch similar to what we saw in the forest. Apparently, they’re formed when a wolf or similar predator becomes engorged with demonic energies and becomes a fiend. Some are purely extraplanar, but most are regular planar creatures that have been corrupted. They’re immune to charm, fright, and poison effects, unfortunately. The book describes an “unwavering hunter and predator that knows no fear and cannot be beguiled or charmed away from its target.”

The book then goes on to describe the proper care and feeding of a Shusva. Due to the charm resistance, they are “remarkably difficult to bind to one’s service.”

Shoshana nods. “Huh, that’s a good tip – wait.”

(Maybe it would be neat to have a cool-ass animal, she thinks…)

On a whim, we also look up dybbuks – if anyone’s gonna know about spooky undead nonsense, it’ll be the von Hoesks. We find “Dybbuks: As Troublesome as they are Terrific” by [bloodstain].

There are plenty of descriptions, but we’re looking for weaknesses. Unfortunately, it looks like there aren’t many. In their true form they have resistance to acid, cold, fire, lightning, thunder, and nonmagical attacks, but their biggest strength is their ability to flee, willingly abandoning their host bodies and disappearing in their ghostly form. Several techniques are described for potentially trapping one within a host body, to prevent it from running when it feels trapped. Unfortunately, we’d probably need a squad of clerics and paladins.

Clem, meanwhile, wandered off when she came across a medical textbook section, and tells us she’ll catch up with us later. Somewhat ominous looking doorway to basement of some sort next to that. Door is stained in some ways you find mildly disturbing. Her scalpel shudders as the ghost of Dr. Wendell emerges.

“I recognize some of these books!” he exclaims with interest. “That one, on the third shelf, the large one. Is that…hah! Check the inside cover, could this be-?”

Clem flips open the book. It’s Lessons from the Plague, by Dr. Leonard Wendell, Sturmhearst University Press. And it’s signed! “To my friend Ludwig. Thank you for your contributions!”

“You knew Ludwig? The vampire?”

“I knew a Ludwig! He helped us acquire Sturmhearst Castle for the school. It was originally intended to be a hospital during the plague, but he was very on board with it becoming a university after the sickness died down! He provided a lot of money and quite a few books, though I only met him a handful of times. Wait. Did you say he was a VAMPIRE?!”

“Dunno if he was when you met him, but he seems like one now.”

“I mean, that would explain a few things,” the ghost admits. “He did seem remarkably unconcerned about catching the plague.”

(“Some people are just LIKE THAT,” yell several Essential Worker players.)

“Baron von Sturm was resistant, then Ludwig met with him and he was totally amenable. I assumed it was just regular old powers of persuasion and a hefty bribe. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Clem pages through the medical books, looking through a volume titled “Plant and Animal Toxins of the Greatwood” to see if there’s any way she can use her med kit to craft an antitoxin for the Shusva’s venom. Valeria, meanwhile, looks for Order of the Rose books because they have guides to fighting fiends, but doesn’t find anything she hasn’t read before.

Isadora meets us outside her lab. “Find anything interesting?” Valeria asks.

“Where did you find that powder?” Isadora demands, skipping the pleasantries.

“A cursed circus of the Pale King.”

“Well, it had powdered bone as its central component, interwoven with illusion and enchantment magic. Definitely a ritual component.”

“That tracks with how we saw it used.”

“As far as its magical origin; this is quite old. It hasn’t been crafted with a Valdian arcane technique, but I can’t quite put my finger on its origin. I’d be curious to see the process of how it was created.”

Nothing we didn’t already guess. Valeria still graciously thanks her for taking a look at it.

“Oh, you’re making him leave,” Isadora observes frankly, seeing Lucinius trailing us.

“Ah, Lady Isadora!” he exclaims. “Thank you for your assistance!”

“I literally told you to go away.”

“Yes, but you curated this wonderful place! Please don’t touch anything I left on the table on the third floor, my research is still in progress-”

Isadora stares daggers as we drag him off. At least he didn’t try to bring dogs in here.

We head to Galvan’s room. There’s soup! The soup is EXCELLENT.

“My, it feels like forever since I’ve eaten! I suppose I’ve gotten lost in research again. The history of this region is far more complex than I’d been led to believe from outside accounts, or even interviews with locals. I’m quite sure my hypothesis is correct: the story of the Untameable Greatwood does not quite line up with the historical record! Now, I hear you have a few artifacts you wish to show me?”

Valeria pulls out the Aquilian religious icons we found in the Trollstones.

“Yes, these are very well made. Late imperial period, from the looks of things, but pretty standard. I know plenty of collectors back in Aurentium who’d love them. I have a similar set myself. They’re crafted with a nonstandard technique – I say! These are made of Valdian granite, aren’t they? Most Aquilian icons of the time would be made from marble. Fascinating! Where did you find them?”

“Well, we found them in some ruins. Which were inside even older ruins.”

He nearly knocks over his soup bowl. “What? Where?! What type of ruins, from what century? What was their purpose? Tell. Me. EVERYTHING.”

Valeria, whose mom is apparently way into architecture, knows enough technical terms to describe the site’s features fairly well. Lucinius is baffled. An underground structure? For Aarakocra? We recap the purpose of the Trollstones as well, including Urdemak’s story and the blessing against the undead. He paces around the room, firing off questions.

“The ruins were north of Mornheim, you say? Underground? Within an important local site? Such a thing could not have been done without – hmm. I have some suspicions. How accessible was it for birdfolk? Was the site visible from the sky?”

“Well, no, I assume that by necessity-“

“No, you don’t understand the implications. And within the tomb of a king! A troll king, to be sure, but a king nonetheless. A subterranean important local site had evidence of Aquilian development. This proves what I’ve been suspecting for some time!”

He digs in his satchel excitedly, coming up with a handful of notebooks. He flips roughly through them until he’s pointing emphatically to a specific page, which is covered in incomprehensible doctor handwriting in a language ¾ of us don’t speak.

“The classic story is the Untameable Greatwood. The Aquilians attempted to occupy it and were thrown out by the beasts and wild men and trolls that live here, or did not see the land as valuable enough to wage war for. Similar to what happened to the elves, much more recently! But from what I can tell in my studies, that simply does not add up. The Flying Legions did not leave places unconquered – either they took it or completely destroyed it. As proud as Valdians are of their resistance, there’s no archeological evidence of a large scale Valdian resistance to an Aquilian incursion. Such resistances are often hard to locate – on principle, Oberok would obliterate them; Let the Defeated be Forgotten, so they say. But to do that would require them to subjugate the Greatwood, which they did not! And the Valdian records of the period mention no organized resistance or throwing back Flying Legions. So any Aquilian construction would have required some level of cooperation between the Valdians on the ground and Aquilians in the sky!

“And now you tell me of a full installation constructed within a significant cultural site undiscoverable from the air. Now, we saw this before with the tattooed mummy you described to me. He could have been dismissed as an outlier. There are always those who choose to collaborate with their invaders; his tattoos could have been a symbol of local cooperation with his Aquilian superiors. Although once again, I found no mention of such individuals in the histories, which is in itself very odd. If the Empire was good at anything, it was very good at rewarding those who showed the proper deference. The fact that he is tattooed in Old Valdian is another puzzle. The Aquilians considered themselves superior to all others; a linguistic fusion like this would dilute the perfection of Oberok.”

“If they built this place inside a sacred site, it must have been more than a single local assisting them; somebody showed them this place and allowed them entry. What was the structure used for?”

We explain the significance of Urdemak’s tomb, and the blessing of a demigoddess so no dead would rise. Something had been contained in there, and sometime in the last 15 years, there was a “containment breach” from the Aquilian structure.

We show him the scroll we found in the tomb. He translates it for us:

“First Prisoner, Item #5

Containment Procedure: Keep submerged within waters blessed by local spirits with protection against undeath. This should suppress the influence of the Prisoner.

As per request by [unintelligible], we are required to keep disruption of the site to a minimum.

Description: A silver crown, a powerful ritual object of The First Prisoner.

Let the Vanquished be forgotten, let the Victorious reign eternal.

Glory to Oberok”

“Is this ‘Prisoner’ a thing you know of?” Valeria asks, hoping maybe our Curse has answers in ancient Aquilian lore.

He shakes his head. “Well, there’s plenty of mention of prisoners of war, criminals – Oberok, as the god of law, was very into prisons, but not in this context. This document is written with the assumption the reader knows what is meant by ‘First Prisoner.’”

A “powerful ritual object,” huh. Fuck, did we leave that shit in a foot locker? We could probably keep the crown better contained by submerging it in holy water, Valeria thinks, but we’d need a lot. She’s pretty sure she could get a crew of clerics together, but it’d take time. Maybe all those clerics could help with our dybbuk problem.

There’s some other stuff on the scroll Lucinius can work on, seeing if he can cross reference other Aquilian and Old Valdian texts to look for more containment areas. “I suppose I could put a pause on some of my research to look into this; the Cursebreakers have graciously allowed me use of their library, so it stands to reason I should contribute knowledge to their cause!”

Lucinius grills us about everything we saw in the ruins, but eventually it gets late and he’s clearly just come off of at least a fifteen hour research binge. We let him get some rest and head back to the common area for guests, where another goliath has joined Ingborg and Bjorn at their board game, chatting to them in Jotun. He’s far scrawnier than the two berserker bodyguards, though by human standards he’s still enormous. He’s also wearing a familiar bird-beaked mask, which means he’s almost certainly the Sturmhearst professor that Brigid told us about. Assuming that whoever has the most stones in their cup has the most points, the professor is winning handily against Ingborg. Meanwhile, Ser Boris is asleep by the fire in a pile of dogs.

As the game ends and the goliaths exchange a friendly punch to the shoulder, Bjorn notices us. “How is Professor Galvan?”

“He enjoyed the soup!”

“Good. I worry. Although I will admit it is much easier to guard him if he stays here. Tell me you did not tell him about a fascinating monster-filled pit to jump into?”

Valeria grimaces. “Oh we, uh, definitely did that.”

“Is he going to seek it out tonight?”

“Probably not? We asked him to do more reading.”

“Then I am going for a drink,” Bjorn declares decisively. He and Ingborg head off together, presumably to wherever they keep the liquor around here.

“Hallo!” the professor greets us, in our DM’s most half-assed Swedish Chef accent.

“Hi! Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Professor Hjalmar Bjork, of the Sturmhearst College of Engineering!”

Bjork has a supersized Handy Haversack, which looks like it’s been mostly unpacked. He has several heavy pieces of metal equipment inscribed with the logo of the Valdian Tree Company and the Sturmhearst University crest. Notably, some sort of short-barreled musket with TC etched on the side and scorch marks around the barrel, with a bulbous metal tank at the other end. There’s a boiled leather helmet inscribed with faintly glowing Jotunn runes, as well as all manner of bombs and some kind of weird gauntlet thing.

He sees us checking out the goods. “Yes, I wanted to stop by and offer the latest inventions of Sturmhearst to the Cursebreakers! I am here to demonstrate our newest innovations, to see if they might purchase or fund future development. I wanted to bring a few with me into the library today, but the woman there-”

“The librarian has opinions about that, yes.”

Clem squints at the gadgets. “By any chance, did you build flamethrowers for a Professor Ulmus?”

“Ah yes, the TC Mark 2’s, with the big packs! This is a Mark 3. They’re named after my Ventallan colleague, Don Toretto Chikal. How is Professor Ulmus, by the by?”

“Oh, she’s doing great.”

“Good to hear! I have designed many weapons. Weapons are not my passion, but they are good business and there is much need. And what good is engineering if not to fill a need? Unfortunately, the Cursebreakers were not very interested in the invention I was most excited about.”

He pulls out the leather helmet, the one with runes on it.

“You’re familiar with the Curse, how it appears to corrupt the mind and exploits extreme emotionality? Are you familiar with the Calm Emotions spell? We put that into the device, to make the wearer resistant to fear and charm effects, so they can resist the corruption. I call it the Mood Cap! Our first test subject was subjected to many terrifying and exciting stimuli with no reaction! I feel the idea has a lot of promise. It just requires a bit of funding for further development, you know, it’s theoretically perfectly safe once we figure out how to tone down the effect!”

That sounds concerning.

“Usually Calm Emotions is cast on multiple people; the runes we originally used turned out to be too strong for one individual for an extended period of exposure.”

“You just sit around doing nothing forever, huh?” Gral asks.

“Oh, the test subject is fine, he mostly recovered after 48 hours. He still occasionally spaces out sometimes. The Dean of Medicine has taken him under observation and expects a full recovery. It will be perfectly safe, once the kinks are worked out! Sadly, Lord Ludwig disagreed, and he’s the one with the money.”

(We don’t like the Mood Cap, but we do liek it.)

“Did you have any trouble traveling here?” Valeria asks politely.

“Yes, but I have a large construct as bodyguard. I built it myself! I prefer things I constructed with my own two hands. And the hands of several assistants and grad students, admittedly. Travel is not especially difficult with those things. To be honest, it’s good to get away from Sturmhearst for a while.”

That piques our interest. “Oh? How are things at Sturmhearst?”

“They’re….fine…” he equivocates.

Everything is definitely not fine.

“Nothing strange is going on.”

Valeria hmms. “That sounds unusual for Sturmhearst, to be honest. Ser Brigid told us to ask you about some strange findings?”

“Oh, she told you. I have to be careful; the walls have ears.”

“Like, literally?” Shoshana asks. “Because I’ve seen stranger.”

“Well. Hmm. The last few times I have been at the university, a package arrived for me. What do you know about Sturmhearst?”

“You have bird masks!”

“Yes, we do wear those.”

“We have a scalpel that helped found it!”

There’s a long pause, while we watch formulas and the volume of a cone float in front of his bird mask. “….okay.”

He presses on. “I received a package on my desk. It contained several equations, a strange device, and some metallic samples, with a note asking for my opinions. The device was incomprehensible, but the equations and samples have been invaluable in my work. The note was signed by Headmaster Trevor Twombly, who has been on sabbatical the last two years. I have only been working for them for the past five years or so, when I was invited as an expert in artificing – a runesmith, as we say in my homeland.

“A few years after I began my tenure, the headmaster went on this unplanned sabbatical completely out of the blue. I have not seen him since. Since then, his second, the Dean of Medicine, Elana Damrosch, has run things. I asked where he had gone, as I wished to discuss funding, and I was deflected, told he was simply traveling. I asked for an opportunity to send a Sending, and was informed that it would be difficult, but they would try. No response. Now, there are any number of explanations for that, especially with the Curse mucking things up.

“So you can understand my surprise when several of my colleagues and I received these odd packages. They’re all distinct, but similar enough that they seem to come from the same source. Since then, I have received three packages of things useful in my work! This,” he gestures to the TC Mark 3 flamethrower, “contains an autonomous refueling mechanism based off one of the samples I was given. The Mood Cap, too – I am applying my own rune lore, but using techniques I’d never seen before I received these formulas.

“As well as making my sales pitch, I came here to use the library for research; Sturmhearst is not a college of magic, though we do make use of it. This library has a much deeper knowledge of the arcane. I’m trying to figure out where Twombly got these techniques. Lady Isadora has seen nothing like them.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at one of those samples?” Valeria asks.

He pulls out a few bits and bobs. One is a metal plate in an odd shape. “The purpose of this one is obvious,” he says, which it is not. Shoshana notices the odd way the metal shimmers in the candlelight, though – just the same as the huge wrench we pulled out of the spaceship in the Key zone.

“And there is this!” he says, pulls out another object, a rectangle with several buttons on it. “This is a fascinating device. My analysis indicates the use of electricity!” (One player guesses a tv remote. It is, indeed, a graphing calculator.) “It can do math – some sort of calculating engine. Very useful in my work. I have had to translate symbols into actual numbers; the characters aren’t an alphabet any of our researchers have seen before. But I have spent long time with device and have been able to determine its function!” Valeria immediately detects magic and uses her divine sense on it. It does not ping them, because it is a calculator.

“If Headmaster Twombly is away, traveling, then where are these coming from? Dean Damrosch says he must be shipping them in – I enquired in the mail room, but nothing from the headmaster has come in. What’s more, I was experimenting with an arcane surveillance system, which indicated that a single individual, who was not fully humanoid, did enter my office and drop off a package. I told Dean Damrosch this, and she told me not to worry, that perhaps my device was malfunctioning. My device did not malfunction! I had tested it thoroughly!”

Valeria pulls out our adamantine wrench to show him the strange metal. He pecks it with the beak of his mask, which is tipped in metal. “This is the same material as one of the samples! Where did you find this?”

“Uhhhh. A very cursed house.”

“Here in Valdia?”

“Yes…and also no. It’s complicated.”

“I am very intelligent. I have a degree and a mask,” he points out.

Valeria grimaces. “Well, I’m not sure if I’m intelligent enough to explain. How familiar are you with the different ways the Curse manifests?”

“Not at all. I am an engineer.”

Shoshana awkwardly tries to explain the in-between spaces created by the Key, and how they link to other worlds with other logic. The space between, Gral tells him, is enlightening but toxic to the mind.

“Perhaps the Headmaster is using these portals you describe, then? That’s actually a bit of a relief. To be honest, I suspected that the Dean had killed the Headmaster and was doing some sort of elaborate cover-up.”

Something worrying has occurred to Gral, given that Sturmhearst is apparently having Key shenanigans. “Since you wear masks all the time, would you immediately notice if someone had more eyeballs than normal?”

“…No? I suppose that would be an odd thing not to notice. This habit of masks – I’m surprised how much Sturmhearst has adhered to it; I understand it is a tradition from the school’s origin as plague hospital. I suppose it’s become a symbol of our profession!”

“Okay, but like. Could you TELL if someone had too many eyeballs. Especially in places where eyeballs don’t usually go.”

“Well!” he says, clearly a little unsettled by the question, and noticeably not answering. “Perhaps I might try to stay at this castle for a bit. I may want to stay away from Sturmhearst for a while.”

“I mean, has other weird stuff been appearing at Sturmhearst besides the packages?”

“Well, there have been stories of things in the catacombs. Experiments that have escaped, that sort of thing. And as long as I have studied there, the hallways have been a bit illogical to navigate – rather like this castle, in fact.”

“…Is that normal for Sturmhearst, or what?”

“My understanding of the school – I am a recent arrival, after all – is that until recently, it was substantially less odd. Their work was more practical, less experimental. I admit my own work has advanced by leaps and bounds with the insights from these packages; I’m doing far more experimental work of my own than I ever have before. But monsters in the basement? That’s relatively new. If it had to happen anywhere, though, Sturmhearst is certainly much better armed than any other university I’ve visited…”

“Speaking of weapons, is there perhaps any chance you might be willing to part with a flamethrower for a few brave adventurers fighting the Curse?” Clem inquires hopefully

“Well, I did come here with intent to sell. The Cursebreakers were not interested, so I suppose I could part with a mark 3. You would like a demonstration, yes?”

He provides us a rather exciting demonstration of the flamethrower out in the courtyard, unfortunately for several training dummies, spouting off facts and stats about its refueling capabilities and its range and how reasonably the fuel is priced. Clem’s counting her gold.

(Bonus: Did you find Professor Bjork’s – or should I say, Birch’s – starters? Toretto Chikal = Torchic; Tree Co. = Treecko; Mood Cap = Mudkip.)

It’s late, so we head up to bed. We are waited upon by a few of the von Hoesk servants. Clem, Gral, and Shoshana are absolutely unused to this level of luxury, and amazed that there are people who actually live like this. Valeria is like finally, some civilization.

The next morning, Ser Boris kicks down our door at the crack of dawn, blowing a hunting horn. As we all groan and retreat under the covers, we cut session for now.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 19: Hunters and Haunts

It’s time for some proper horror movie monsters, y’all.

Before leaving Mornheim, we ask Aubrey about the scroll in her mother’s writing.  She’s baffled. “I mean, plenty of my ancestors dabbled in magic. The castle had plenty of secret rooms. But…my mom? As far as I knew, she was just a very talented gardener. That’s how my parents met! She was the castle gardener, he was the son of the lord, but she looked past that…”

She laughs nervously. “My mom wasn’t a druid. They don’t live in big fancy houses! They live in the woods and make friends with badgers! I mean, why would there even BE a druid in Mornheim?!”

“That’s a good question,” Gral admits. “Maybe to guard the old tomb in the Trollstones? If I understand correctly, it was a place blessed by one of the woods spirits they revere.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that MY MOM, Rosalind von Mornheim, was the secret mystical druidic guardian of a magic tomb that’s been on family property for, well, longer than it’s been our property?!”

“I mean, maybe? Skelbjor told us there always had to be a troll in Mornheim, maybe it’s like that?”

“I guess? Skelbjor’s been the local troll since Dad was a kid. He knew about all this?”

“Oh, nah, he just knew there’s always supposed to be a troll.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right, he’s a big galoot. Just tell me I don’t have to worry about this immortal troll demigod getting up and causing trouble. I have enough problems.”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t even get up for a direct summons from that dybbuk creep.”

Aubrey shudders. “If you ever wanna figure out a way to kill that guy for good, you have my help.”

Clem grimaces. “Believe me, I’d LOVE to.”

“Anyway. You folks cleaned up the water, stopped my people getting so sick, heck, maybe this’ll even slow down the undead situation. I owe you a lot of thanks. As the ruling lady of Mornheim, I can offer you…a bottle of hard cider or somethin’? I don’t have a lot. It takes all the money we have just to keep this place running. I’m sorry I can’t do more to reward you.”

Valeria smiles, the picture of a chivalrous knight. “I’m just glad to know there won’t be so much sickness. Hopefully things will improve for your people.”

“Thank you, I mean it. And, uh, sorry for glassing you in the face, Shoshana.”

The sorceress shrugs. “It’s water under the trollbridge. We all have family members who we would both hug and cry, and glass in the face. It’s chill.”

To everyone’s surprise, Valeria nods in commiseration.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want – I mean, things are crowded, the food sucks, and every night we get undead and penitents waking everybody up, so I understand if you don’t want to stick around. Can I treat you to breakfast?”  

We get breakfast, though the offerings are meager. Mercedes is cooking, and Aubrey scowls at her. “I’m mad at Mercedes because she’s a morning person. Also she lit me on fire yesterday.”

Shoshana nods. “Okay, I understand lighting people on fire, but being a morning person is a capital offense. I know this, because I live with THIS ONE.” She points at Valeria, who shrugs in acknowledgment.

“As ruling lady of house of Mornheim, I hereby banish 8am from my lands,” Aubrey grumbles. “My house is now renamed Midafternoonsheim. Like, 2pmheim. Especially if I spent the last day and a half chasing some regenerating superghoul through the tunnels.”

Mercedes and Aubrey tell us about taking out the superghoul they fought last night, bickering the whole time. “Okay, you don’t speak Goblin, but if I shout words in Goblin it only ever means one thing. I don’t cast buff spells. It means there is about to be fire, get out of the way.”

“If you ever find a cloak of fire resistance, I could use it,” Aubrey deadpans at us. “I might smother her with it.”

Gral chats with Mercedes – apparently she’s a skilled chef as well as a mage! “Yes, it is part of pyromancer training. To learn to respect the gifts of Brother-in-Flame, all students must take up a fire-related trade. Pottery, blacksmithing, cooking. That way if you wash out of pyromancer school, you have a trade! And you have respect for flame and know how to commune with it. Working with non-magical fire gives a natural guidance toward using Brother-in-Flame’s gifts. I will say, cooking contests at pyromancer school can get rather intense. If you burn the food, you have to burn your jacket.”

“Would you say they get…heated?” Shoshana quips, shooting finger-guns. Mercedes ignores her.

Gral considers. “Did you ever meet an orc who went by Firesong?”

“Oh yeah! Orc bard, wore a mask?”

“Uh, all orc bards wear masks.”

“Yeah, she’s why we can’t have the chili cookoffs anymore. She had to leave the Republics under, uh…circumstances.”

“She told me she has fond memories of her time there.”

“Oh, so do I! Passions were already high, and a professional orcish bard providing background music did not lower the emotional intensity. And, well, we’re pyromancers. We thought we were far enough from the swamp gas wells! If it hadn’t been for that damn bird – oh, one second.” She cuts off what was promising to be an excellent story to open the window and hand a sizable plate of eggs outside to Skulbjor.

“The first time I saw him, I jumped out of my skin,” she confides. “Have you ever met a swamp troll? They’re the reason we’re so good at fire.”

“The pyromancer school was originally founded to defend the Republics against trolls. So it was, you know, a liiiiittle bit awkward. Horrible creatures, swamp trolls. YOU’RE GREAT, SKULBJOR,” she calls out the window. “But I did almost light him on fire, until Aubrey stopped me.”

Gral murmurs an aside to Clem. “Is it just Valdian trolls who are weird, then?”

“I dunno, maybe bridges calm them down?”

After breakfast, we prepare to get on the road. Valeria resummons Aethis, and Skulbjor gives our good chomper some quality scritches. Already, the waters flowing into the town appear clearer, less foreboding somehow. Everything else is still, honestly, super Tim Burton-y, but we’ll work on that.

We head out, traveling the now familiar path to Three Oaks Junction. We’re glad to see the bloody chain banners have been taken down. The locals have even made new banners, featuring a shield with a chunk taken out of it, symbolizing they’re under the protection of Duke Shieldeater!

Business has resumed as normal. Some of the outriders are guarding the gate to provide a more visible presence. Not a lot, but they stand out. It’s more of a visual reminder that more orcs are coming and town has agreed to be under protection.

Gral’s pretty psyched his diplomatic master plan is working. Meanwhile, we’ve got trading to do. We manage to sell our old Aquilian coins to Pierre the furrier, who says they’ll be popular in the Demish court. Valeria keeps one of the coins as a collectible.

We’ve got enough stuff to carry and traveling to do that we decide to buy a cart. Clem, familiar with travel from her drow caravan days, heads over to the Used Cart Lot out behind the cart repair, where a guy named Sal shows her around. Looks like these guys do good repair work, with a line of apprentices and masters dating back to Three Oaks himself. Maaaaybe they might get a lot of business from selling carts which will shortly need to be repaired, but Clem uses her know-how and also her impressive guns to intimidate the guy into showing her the good stuff instead of the junkers.

She picks up a nice solid dark oak cart, secondhand, repaired recently. Clem checks it over and it seems pretty sturdy; seems like scavengers found it at an abandoned farmhouse. We also pool funds to buy two draft horses, a shaggy pair that came as a team package. The chestnut one is named Pierogi, and the bay one is named Chestnut. Shoshana attempts to have a Horse Girl Movie moment, but rolls a nat 1 and gets ignored.

Valeria, of course, buys a map to Hoska.

Clem checks her mail – she’s received a form letter thank you from the embassy in Schotzengrad – and sends 200 gold back home to her caravan, along with an update letter. Valeria writes a letter reporting back to Order of the Rose.

Clem gets busy decorating the cart in drow fashion to make it look presentable. She makes a start; a proper drow cart is decorated and redecorated over years and years. She encourages the rest of us to add our own designs, because in drow culture it’s important to have everyone in the caravan participate. We’re not at all familiar with the symbolic language used in drow art, but we’ll give it a try during a few long rests on the road.

Now we have a cart and horses and money and we bought some potions! We roll a mediocre enough survival check to meet the DC, so we head to Hoeska without issue.

Clem’s heard about Hoeska, which stands high in the collective memory of the czar’s military. During the Kevan occupation, it was said that castle was haunted. It was built 400 years ago by Gottfried von Hoesk, a Valdian warlord who wanted to become the first king of a unified Greatwood. He failed, but his descendants have occasionally tried again, and this is their ancestral seat of power. The elves, knowing its significance, took it as one of their first targets and stationed a garrison of 500 elves there. When the Valdian rebellion kicked into high gear, one of the big things that convinced the elves to leave was that the entire garrison vanished without a trace.

Shoshana, well, she’s heard plenty of stories about Hoeska. Every time a Valdian ghost story needs a mad wizard, or a ghost, or a vampire, or generally anything that lives in a big spooky castle, it takes place in Hoeska. Most of those stories are tall tales and urban legends, but on the other hand, there’s been an awfully long history of vampires and ghosts and mad wizards in Valdia, many of whom originated from or occupied the towering, dark castle on its isolated mountain.

Merchants who have been there say it’s a sprawling fortress; every inhabitant since Gottfried von Hoesk, from his descendants to various nobles to the elves, has added something else to castle, so it’s a big mismatch of styles. Some parts are a grim fortress, some are a luxury palace. The castle’s changed hands, but the von Hoesk family is still around and more often than not they ride in and reclaim their ancestral home. A couple of mad wizards were von Hoesks; when something truly evil goes down, usually a bunch of knights ride in and clear it out and some other von Hoesk descendant moves in. Rinse and repeat.

When the Cursebreakers were founded, their first move was to clear out Hoeska and take it over as their headquarters. It’s the Usual Suspect of spooky stuff in Valdia, but if the Cursebreakers found anything relating to the Curse there, they didn’t tell anyone.

Shoshana tells some ghost stories about it. Valeria eats them up. There’s a long Valdian tradition of “having a cousin” who worked at Hoeska as a servant and totally saw something spooky.

With the cart it takes like a day and a half to get from Three Oaks to the edge of Hoeska territory. As we approach, we see a guard house sitting on the road. Gral can see from a distance that the squat stone building appears to be abandoned. That’s not normal. We consider: should we avoid it because it probably has monsters in it, or should we go clear out the monsters and see if there’s loot? We’re gonna go see if there’s loot.

We get out of the wagon and approach, weapons drawn. The small stone building, just big enough for a couple of guards to keep an eye on the road, looks like it was abandoned in a hurry. We case the place quickly; there’s dried blood on the ground in the back storeroom. Maybe someone was killed here, or injured and brought here to get patched up? There’s not a body or anything. Gral’s keen eyes pick up a recent set of footprints; someone came in, after the guards had left, did something here, and then headed out into the woods.

The woods? In the Cursewood? Near the haunted castle? DEFINITELY full of dangerous monsters. But we’re PCs, so we want go investigate the mystery. Aethis stays behind to guard the cart, mildly weirding out the horses.

We follow the tracks into woods. Clem hears something behind her, and as she turns, a furry something whips out of brush and spears her for minor damage. She looks down and sees a scorpion stinger emerging from her torso. She barely has time to register it’s glistening with poison when she’s accosted by massive slavering jaws. This thing looks like it was once a huge wolf, but now has mutated into something far worse, and its teeth are buried deep in Clem’s armor.

Clem goes pale under her ash-dark skin, and must save against the panic and flood of memories brought up by the sudden sight of an attacking wolf.

How in the HELL did that thing get so close without us noticing?! Hell, we were following humanoid tracks – where did this monstrosity come from?!

Valeria immediately smites the hell out of it, and it does enough extra damage we suspect it’s some kind of fiend. Unfortunately, it’s immune to being Frightened, so Gral’s plan to Dissonant Whispers it past two tanks fizzles.

The wolfbeast uses the same tactic on Valeria as it did on Clem – as Valeria’s distracted by deflecting the stinger, it strikes in with its massive jaws, for a huge amount of damage.

Dammit, it’s resistant to Shoshana’s lightning, too. We’re in trouble.

As we’re barely fending this thing off, we can hear snarling and barking coming toward us from another direction. It sounds like wolves or dogs, smaller than this thing tearing through us. And Gral can faintly hear booted humanoid footsteps hurrying alongside them.

Clem misses on her first panicked swing but catches it on the upswing, Great Weapon Master letting her drive the blade deep. Valeria slices it good too, vines tearing through its corrupted flesh. Gral tries to Phantasmal force and fails) It swings its poisonous tail, and Valeria goes down, unconscious. Then it chomps on Clem. Clem is down – except, hold on, not so fast. She uses Last Gasp to use her Second Wind as she falls, in accordance with the Deal she has made with the Pale King.

Panicking, Shosha deals it thunder damage which it does not resist. BIG BOOM THO. That was dumb of me.

Shoshana, panicking, hits the thing with thunder damage. It doesn’t have resistance, but now everything in the forest knows we’re here. As Valeria passes her first Death Save, Gral shouts a Healing Word to keep her alive.

Three large hounds burst from the trees snarling and howling. A voice in Elven shouts “Alexei! Kill! Go for legs!”

Gral can’t understand Elven, so he goes for the neck with his sickle and draws a nasty gash across its throat. The thing glances around, snarling, furious at being deprived its meal, but it recognizes it’s in danger and withdraws, sprinting away into the forest.

A large wood elf wearing a tattered Cursebreaker coat steps out of woods holding a club and a heavy blunderbuss. He whistles sharply, and the hounds abruptly stop their pursuit. “No further!” He gestures, and the hounds spread out and form a perimeter.

“I do not know you,” he says in Valdian, though with a thick elven accent. “You fought the Shusva.”

“…The what?”

“That thing, the Shusva. At least, I found name in book. Seemed similar to this, yes? I am Ser Boris, of Cursebreaker Knights. What brings you here? Is dangerous territory.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service! We’ve been working with Ser Quentin Morozov.”

A grin breaks across his thickly bearded face. “Ah, Ser Morozov! I know him. The grumpy one! He talks to people, finds what is in hearts and minds. Goes to towns, finds cultists. As he is to the people, I am to the beasts.”

“Yes, we had information for him and needed to make a report. Also we were trying to meet up with another person headed this way?”

He grimaces. “How recently? This Shusva has been stalking roads.”

“Um, recent?” Shoshana interjects. “But he’s accompanied by two fuckhuge goliaths, so…?”

“Oh, yes, him. He is fine. Oh! You injured it!” Ser Boris cries, distracted. He pulls out a small waxed pouch and grabs a chunk of flesh off Clem’s blade. “Good! With this, we can track its scent! Not today, though, you are wounded. Must get you two to castle.”

“These are Alexei, Sasha, and Xander,” he introduces his hounds, which have heeled obediently.

“You are – ah! A drow!” He greets Clem in Elven. “You are very far from home!”

“Ah, home is where you make it,” she replies in kind.

He laughs. “Indeed, indeed. Come, we must share stories back at castle! I move here during war, think it would be peaceful.”

“Yeah, bit of a mistake, huh?”

“I do well enough. I have my dogs, I receive employment. And coat! Employment with coat is better than employment without coat, da?”

We go back to our cart, and Ser Boris is immediately taken with Aethis. “Oh, my! A wonderful beastie. Is it Celestial? May I see teeth?”

Valeria’s happy to make introductions.

“Have you cared for such a creature before? They are adapted for warm streams, not cold woods like these, you know.”

“Do they need any further care than occasional spellwork? That’s all they told us at the academy,” Valeria says, puzzled.

“Is gift from Rack, no? Then double important you take good care! It does not need it, but you must. Caring for exotic mount in inhospitable climate is difficult task. I will give you literature. You would not believe poor beasts Dr. Galvan had, I am giving him dietary instructions, seeing if I can create sweater for them to keep warm…”

He goes back to cooing over Aethis. “Nice luster on scales, though that is expected. Feets---oh, you’ve been running on hard road, you’ll get used to that. Very well. Castle is this way!”

He whistles, and the three hounds form a triangle around group. “Do not wander too far off, they may try to herd you.”

It’s somewhere around here that the pun finally hits the players. Ser Boris. Three dogs. …Cerberus.

The path winds up to the dramatic gates of castle Hoeska.

“Now if you look there, you will see castle.” A lightning bolt cracks dramatically across the sky, casting the castle in ominous silhouette.

“It always does that. It is very stormy around here. I do not know why. Impossible to get good sunlight. I worry for Alexei, he likes to frolic in sun, in fields of flowers. I am not allowed to let him in garden. How will Alexei frolic without field of flowers?”

There’s a Cursebreaker Knight at the gates, some kind of battlemage with a big staff. Next to him is a grim figure in full plate, holding a halberd and looking distinctly displeased to see us.

“Do not mind them, the castle guards do not appreciate us being here,” Ser Boris tells us cheerfully. “It is okay, we have permission. They do not like that we do their job better than them. Hello friend!” He waves. “These are guests, please open gate!”

The guard glares.

“Pretty please, open gate for Ser Boris and friends? And Alexei and Sacha! Oh, have you met Xander yet?”

The guard silently opens the gate, his withering scowl not diminishing a bit.

“I do not know what problem is. Must have woke up on wrong side of bed,” Boris chatters as we enter. “Maybe should not leave lunch where dogs can get it. Guard knows I am here with dogs! Maybe dogs have done nothing wrong ever in their life and guard should apologize for making such a fuss!”

We’re past the castle walls, in a large courtyard before entering the keep proper. As we pass our carts and horses off to some stablehands, we notice a familiar cart and two draft gatorbeasts in the stables, with quilted blankets thrown over them against the chill.

Parked incongruously among the carts is a looming metal construct in a hulking, vaguely humanoid shape, with buzz-saw arms protruding from the front and a machined metal owl mask affixed to what might charitably be called the face area. Peeling paint on the front reads “Valdian Tree Company,” and it’s chained to a heavy wagon proudly bearing the insignia of the Sturmhearst University College of Engineering.

Ser Boris shrugs. “Many visitors are here now. One shows up with that thing. I do not like. Not natural, so much metal moving on own.”

We step into the grand hallway of castle, past another set of guards and a big statue of a fine-featured man in armor, labeled Gottfried von Hoesk. Ah, Ingborg and Bjorn are there, drinking.

We hear someone clear his throat imperiously, and turn to see Ser Quentin, regarding us with annoyance. “You’re late,” he bites out pointedly.

“Uh, did we make an appointment to see you? Because I was certainly not informed,” Shoshana snarks back.

He doesn’t take the bait. “So. The Pale King.”

“…Yup!”

“That letter and those words are why we’ve been stuck here. You’ve been escalated to the higher ups, who would very much like to hear what you have to report in person. Follow me. The dogs can stay here.”

Ser Boris grumbles. “Is fine, they do not bite! Well, they might bite sandvich. I could go for sandvich. I get us all sandviches, yes?”

We head up grand winding stairs, into the more palatial section of castle, and find ourselves passing through long dark galleries full of portraits of von Hoesk ancestors. The eyes follow us as we walk by, natch.

The path we take is DEFINITELY a little bit Scooby Dooby Doors. Ser Quentin Definitely Does Not Get Lost on the way there, what are you talking about? “This place was built by a succession of mad architects in an intergenerational argument with each other, of course it’s a damn maze,” he huffs.

Eventually, we are taken into a small, elegant drawing room. Two figures sit in comfortable armchairs in front of a roaring fire.

“Allow me to present Ser Brigid Konig,” Ser Quentin states formally, gesturing to the old woman calmly knitting in the chair on the left.

The other chair holds a tall man with sharp cheekbones, a fine black and red outfit, and rather similar features to the statue in the foyer. “Our host, Ludwig von Hoesk,” Quentin introduces stiffly.

“Hello,” the old woman, Ser Brigid, greets us warmly. “Our dear Quentin has told me so very little about you. Quentin, did you offer them anything to eat? It would be quite rude to let our guests go hungry.”

“I am told Ser Boris has arranged for sandwiches,”

“Perfect. Sit down, everyone, pull up a chair.”

Gral unnatch 20s a perception. That Ludwig von Hoesk – maybe Gral’s gotten better at picking up on this sort of thing since we’ve spent so much time in in Mornheim, but there’s something odd about that fella. He’s a little too still when he sits still, his motion a little too deliberate. And his skin is awfully pale. The old lady? Her, he can’t get a read on, even with a 20. Daaaaang.

“If you would, please, tell us of your travels. Ser Morozov tells us you first worked together in Ovruch; why don’t you start there?” Ser Brigid asks.

We take turns describing the entities we’ve seen, how we’ve fought them, and how they seem to categorize themselves. We produce the Eyegis as evidence of the Key, and explain what the Astronomer told us regarding the concept of Prisoners.

Ludwig, though very reserved, seems keenly interested in Clem’s tale of Mornheim. Once we’ve told our tale, he asks us to produce the tapestry we took from the cultists in the manor. He examines the partially-woven image carefully, tracing a thin finger over the crowned, skeletal figure.

“Well, Luddy, does it look familiar?” Ser Brigid asks smugly.

The aristocrat is too dignified to roll his eyes, but just barely. “It does. If we’re just going to-“

“Oh, we’d have to clue them in sooner or later. They’ve done more in a few weeks than half my agents have done in years!”

Ser Quentin grumbles audibly. She ignores him.

“Ludwig, is that the symbol you described to me?”

“Yes.”

“And the name?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consider that independent verification of what I told you?”

“Yes.”

“So I think you owe me something, old friend.”

He lets out a huffy, aristocratic sigh. “Yes, fine. You weren’t lying, and I was right not to kill you. I apologize for doubting you.”

“Thank you. Oh, the sandwiches are here!”

He turns his attention back to the tapestry. “Yes, this is the thing that appeared to me and offered me a position at the head of its armies.”

…oh?!?!

He rolls his eyes at our alarm. “I refused, naturally,” he sniffs.

“I should hope so!” Valeria says, and removes her hand from her sword hilt.

“I have no interest in submitting myself to some power-hungry usurper.”

Ser Brigid winks at us. “Perhaps I should re-introduce us properly. My name is Ser Brigid Konig. I was on my way to Valdshart when the city went dark, to formally retire as the Duke’s chief vampire hunter.”

“And this is Ludwig von Hoesk. His son built this castle! For the past couple hundred years, my office has been dedicated solely to hunting and killing him. Greetings!”

She rolls her eyes at her companion, who looks a bit miffed. “Really. They would have figured it out eventually. And you are not subtle about it. With the spooky castle? And the red and black outfit? C’mon, Luddy.”

“A few years ago, shortly after the curse manifested, I had a dream. This in itself is quite unusual; I do not normally experience dreams. In it, a creature resembling the figure on your tapestry appeared to me, offering a position as general of its armies. As its power grew, it would gain control of all undead in Valdia, and it would like myself and my followers to be the first and most honored of its forces. Naturally I refused. There is only one king in Valdia, and it is not some strange skeletal specter.”

“Wait, we have a king?” Shoshana blurts. “…oh. You mean yourself, don’t you.”

“Yes. It was my son’s idea. And what can I say, I spoiled the boy. Now, I was wondering what to do about this vision when who shows up but a bunch of angry knights with crossbows? Not that we’re not used to such incursions.”

“Oh, I’ve been trying to storm this place for years,” Ser Brigid agrees airily. “Every time we try, a mysterious new von Hoesk heir shows up with money and a whole court of followers! People buy it every time. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

“She accused me of being behind the Curse,” Ludwig explains dryly. “I argued otherwise, and eventually we came to an agreement. Which is why Brigid Konig, my worst nightmare, HAS BEEN LIVING IN MY HOUSE.”

“Yes!” she agrees, with a beatific granny smile. “This way, if you ARE behind it, I can kill you!” She lifts the blanket she’s knitting just enough to give us a peek at the crossbow hidden underneath. Gral sees runes on the crossbow similar to his heartseeker bolts. “The rules are simple! I get to use his house and money, and his people assist as we try to get to bottom of this thing! And in exchange, I don’t kill him!”

Ludwig sighs. “She removes the monsters. I don’t appreciate monsters in my land, and I genuinely will do anything in my not inconsiderable power to drive out these ruinous Prisoners. Even if it means entertaining a woman who’s been a thorn in my side for the last sixty years.”

“Not a thorn, arrows!” she retorts cheerfully. “And a scythe one time. You got better, you big baby!”

“Of course I got better, I’m a vampire.”

Quentin sighs. “Needless to say, all information disclosed in this room is top secret. Frankly, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have chosen to divulge even this much.”

Ser Brigid turns her level gaze on him. “Please. The orc would have spotted something and said ‘My goodness, Kyr Argent, I suspect something is up with that handsome and brooding fellow,’ and then she would have Detected Undead, and killed several guards, and the castle would be on fire, and we’d be in the dungeons having this conversation, but it would be far more awkward!” She turns to us. “Have I read the situation right?”

“…yup,” admits Valeria.

“See? Now Quentin, dear, eat your sandwich, you’re far too skinny.”

Ludwig is not eating a sandwich. He has a glass of red wine, of course.

They grill us a bit about the Key, specifically, and the Sturmhearst scholars we met who seem rather susceptible to the whole knowledge-seeking lure.

“Hmm, yes. We have several guests here, two of whom are professors. Professor Galvan, whom you’ve met, and a visitor from Sturmhearst. Professor Bjork, from the College of Engineering. I have some suspicions about things going on there. He’s told us a few concerning stories; you might want to pick his brain and get your take on the situation.”

“Such an august institution,” Ludwig agrees. “I gave some of the money to start the place, I’d hate to see it go bad.”

We wonder if he knows Dr. Wendell. But it’s getting late, and while the party discusses their experiences in great detail, we’re going to cut session and pick back up once they’re ready to go meet some other guests of the von Hoesks.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 18: The Trollstones

It’s time for LORE.

Before we head out to our next adventure, we obviously have to go shopping. Clem buys a bunch of liquors and mixers, to test out the Boozenomicon we found at the artist house. Gral gets himself a “phat outfit makeover.” Shoshana and Clem buy something out of the back of a caravan called Old Badgerbeard’s Fine Valdian Liquor, guaranteed to add +2 to any Taint save by remindin’ ya of the simple joys in life.

Shoshana spends a little time playing translator and introducing people to the couple of orcish outriders who are gonna stick around. (“This is K’evin, he likes long walks on the beach and mah-jongg…”)

Anyway: we’ve just saved a town from people who hate parties, so naturally it is time to roll on the carousing table. Valeria finds a group of people to teach her favorite game, Man-go, and proceeds to lose 25 gold gambling against “complete newbies.” Clem wins a suspiciously similar amount at gambling, and can neither confirm nor deny that the noob hustling Valeria is just her in a fake mustache. Gral and the outriders teach a few orcish games, and Gral handily cleans everyone out by channeling the spirit of an experienced gambler. Bard Poker ain’t for amateurs, y’all.

Shoshana, still getting used to having more money than her entire village combined, buys a couple of drinks for some folks…then gives some cash to some needy travelers…and then the word gets out she’s giving out free money, and she has to use her Shadow Powers to gtfo before she’s swarmed. Whoops!

In the morning, Clem sends a letter back to her caravan, saying hi and updating them on the latest news. It’ll probably arrive alongside the original package, but that’s fine.

We head out and spend an uneventful journey retracing our steps to Mornheim. We notice Old Lady Jolene has moved out; the cottage stands empty and abandoned. Before long, the trees begin to take on that distinct skeletal cast and the skies begin to dim. We get that familiar sensation of the life draining away from the land. The birds stop chirping, except for the harsh caw of carrion birds. Flies cease to buzz. The air takes on the dusty, dry smell of grave dirt as we once again approach the necropolis Mornheim.

The hastily assembled walls of the town rise up before us. A few people are out working the orchards, with sentries posted to keep an eye out for the dead.

(There’s a wooden sign posted: “NO DEAD PEOPLE. This means you, Frank.” This sign won’t stop Frank because Frank can’t read! It’s posted on the end of a shovel, probably for hitting Frank when he comes back around again.)

Kyr Crabber is on duty when we show up, leading some repairs on the walls. “Oh hey, yer back!” He hauls the gates open for us. “Where’d you go? Heard you were going off to get some medicine. Want me to get the doc?”

Valeria shifts awkwardly. “Um…I’ll tell her myself?”

“So you’re not delivering meds, then.”

“Uh, it’s a magic thing. Don’t worry about it. How’s the town?”

He lets us deflect. “We got hit hard last night, and the Penitents didn’t show. Some sort of super-ghoul, I guess? It hit the walls pretty hard. Lady Aubrey took a hunting party out to the catacombs to try to track it down and kill it. They musta only left an hour or two ago.”

Shoshana shouts up that we’re gonna do a magic ritual to purify the water supply so it stops making the people sick. He’s like huh, it’s the water that’s doing that? That’s why I don’t drink it. 😉 Shoshana tells the old drunk an ancient Valdian proverb: HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE.

Anyway, It’s still early in the day and Valeria is buzzing with excitement, so we’re gonna get right to it. She’s gonna get to Be A Hero!

The ritual has a limited range, and the notes on the scroll say to plant the magic item at the river source, so we hike on up to the local landmark known as the Trollstones. Crabber says they looked pretty normal the last time he did a patrol; looks like a “big pile of rocks with water comin’ out.” Well, he’s not wrong.

In Valdia, “trollstones” is a catch-all term for any kind of standing stone, henge, or menhir, the assumption being that they were erected by trolls in ancient times. Many of them are assumed to be old druidic sites. This one, though crude, is huge and impressive. Hundreds of enormous stones are piled into a huge cairn. River water flows out of the gaps – some upper sections in impressive waterfalls, some flowing from underneath directly into the river basin. The water has a murky look to it, and the grass closest to the water is sickly and dying.

Valeria Investigates the area by strapping the Eyegis to the Aethis and sendin’ them swimming in. Our very good gator soon finds an entrance into the Trollstones! Turns out there’s a pretty substantial hollow under the big pile of rocks.

There’s air inside the cave, but we’ll have to swim a bit to get there. Shoshana strips off her big heavy skirt and Valeria hauls her onto the gator. We all dive underwater. CON saves all round! Valeria rolls a six and picks up 2 taint as the necrotic curse in the water seems to sap the life out of her. The cave is dark and dank, so we light up A-Luxor. We can now see a tall, craggy cavern, water dripping in rivulets over the jags of stone. Between the running water, uneven rocks, and slippery moss, it’s definitely difficult terrain. Clem nat 20s a Perception check and shudders as she feels the visceral power of the Pale King pulling at her soul.

The DM debuts a Special Location Rule. Due to the uneven footing, we may either treat the area as difficult terrain or try to move at full speed with a DC10 acrobatics check. If you fail, you slip on the rocks and fall prone partway through your movement.

We spot carvings in these stones, all over the place. Massive letters, deeply chiseled into the cave walls in a script we don’t recognize. However, there’s a smaller carving underneath in Old Valdian, seemingly a translation. Shoshana reads it out to the others: “This is the Tomb of Urdemak, First and Last King of the Trolls. Grandson of the Woods, so [unintelligible] with Life, that Death could not hold him. May we weep for his passing, and dread his return.”

Gral considers. “Perhaps this Urdemak is an agent of the Pale King?”

Shoshana rolls her eyes. “Uh, DUH. He sounds undead, don’t he?”

“No, I mean like the Lurker, or that creepy ringmaster. Something that’s higher in the Curse’s hierarchy than the dybbuk, something that’s controlling the Curse in this town.

Before we can plan a potential Boss Fight, Clem hears movement coming from outside the radius lit up by A-Luxor. It sounds like the rattling of bones. She draws her Warhammer and we all roll for initiative!

Shoshana backs up behind Aethis and readies a Chill Touch while Gral readies his crossbow and Clem draws her sword. Two massive skeletons lumber into view. Judging by their shape and their enormous claws, these are troll skeletons, clattering across the slick terrain with surprising ease.

One charges Clem, bowling into her like a truck even as Gral and Shoshana strike at it. She stands her ground, though, and meets it head on with her hammer for two crushing blows, bloodying it. (Well, if it had blood.)

Behind us, the water roils as two huge shapes rise out of the pool, forming into Water Weirds. Each has a skull floating in it. Valeria uses her shield as an umbrella against a deluge of water and breathes ice at them, but their churning water breaks up the ice crystals that form.

Clem whacks the crumbling troll skeleton again. Shoshana Burning Handses out of panic as the Weirds close in on her, which turns out to be a terrible idea against water monsters.

Gral manages to hook a troll skeleton right on a vertebra – hey, this looks important! – and yanks it right out of the spine, collapsing the skeleton. Meanwhile, the Water Weirds try to engulf Valeria and Shoshana, grappling them.

Valeria casts Command on the one holding her and tells it to Drop It. It obligingly drops her into the shallow waters. Aethis loyally slaps the Weird with its tail, cutting a slice through the water. It blorps itself back into shape, but clearly it’s been disrupted somewhat. Then, unfortunately, it just picks her right back up again. Aethis just keeps on slappin’.

Shoshana, like any cat that has been picked up against its will, claws and bites at the big water hand, dealing a decent amount of damage. In retaliation, the water rushes up over her face, and she takes 1 Taint as she chokes on stank cave water.

Meanwhile, Gral casts Phantasmal Force to momentarily convince a troll skeleton that magic shackles are wrapping around it. Clem sees a skeleton acting like it’s restrained and is like sure, I’d hit that. She crunches it to dust, Second Winding and charging toward where Valeria and Shoshana are getting absolutely soaked.

Gral, out of skeletons to fight, casts Dissonant Whispers on Valeria’s captor. It fails, but he damages it, and he uses his bonus to wooble Valeria out of the water. She takes 3 psychic damage as things get not Water Weird, but Key Weird, and she shlorps out of the water and hits the ground hard. Ow. Meanwhile, Shoshana finally manages to squirm free, dodging an AOO to go hide behind the tanks.

Gral loads up his heart-seeking crossbow bolt, hoping it’ll target a skull just as well, and nails the floating troll head for a chunk o’damage. Unfortunately, that means it’s noticed him, and he gets picked up by the big ol’ water hand. Aethis continues to twerk, thrashing the monster with its slappy tail.

Clem pulls her greatsword and strikes decisively with Great Weapon Master, severing one of the elementals from its water source, and it collapses into harmless water.

Shoshana, finally able to use ranged attacks, shoots the remaining one with a blast of cold, hoping to freeze it. And it does, icing over. Gral makes an athletics check to break out of the crumbling ice sculpture, and manages not to become art.

We stand in the dripping cavern once more. A-Luxor flits around happily, not sentient enough to notice there was a fight.

Valeria burns her new candle, and we take a short rest. The light of the holy wax candle is pleasant and it seems to keep the darkness and dread of this place away. Also, we don’t get a pile of taint, which is nice. Eventually the wick reaches its last, seeming to burn far faster than a candle should, but for a short time it was bright and cheerful in this dark, dank place. The joyful, flickering flame departs and we are once again left with the dark and the wet, the sound of rushing water and old ghosts.

We must pick a path. For lack of any differentiation, we go left. There’s a pile of skulls and bones piled up on the side of the tunnel. (Valeria grabs a troll vertebra as we pass by. It is quite old. It’s a T11 anteclinal vertebra, in dog anatomy terms. It’s the one that’s best for stabbing, apparently? We don’t have time to unpack this, Dr. Valeria’s Player.)

Shoshana rolls a nat 20. With her excellent darkvision, she sees another carving. Most of them have been in Troll – most of the party didn’t know trolls had written language, but here it is. The rest of this part of the cavern seems to be propped up by a few not-especially-sturdy wooden support pillars. We hear some scrambling coming from our left, and a pair of ghouls with axes rush out of the side tunnel.

Shoshana pokes her head out toward the noise and does a wink-and-finger-guns. One hit, one crit. Both ghouls instantly melt from acid. The DM complains because they were gonna chop down the support pillars and drop the ceiling on us in a fun puzzle fight, but NOPE LOL. You’re gonna need tougher enemies than that! (Shoshana’s player immediately knows she will regret saying that.)

With the ghouls out of the way, we take a closer look at the carving, its lower half reading in Old Valdian:

“His mother was a River-Queen and Daughter of the Wood, and her love suffused him with such life that no spear nor axe could fell him, unique among the Trolls. He feared not the touch of flame or acid, as no wound upon him could cause lasting harm. As he grew, he became the great champion and defender of the woods. For the first time, the [unintelligible] had a King.”

This seems to be a continuation of the first set of troll-runes. We want to show Dr. Kjeller, or perhaps Dr. Galvan.

Shoshana makes a Knowledge!Religion check. The Way of the Woods has a large but loose pantheon of wood spirits. The most powerful are affectionately referred to as Baba and Gramps, the grandmother and grandfather of the woods. They have many children, who are powerful wood spirits in their own right. If Urdemak’s mother was known as the River Queen and Daughter of the Wood, she would be one of the children of Baba and Gramps, which would have made Urdemak a wood troll demigod. That certainly explains the bit about not fearing flame or acid.

We listen ahead. From the rightward path we hear something scratching against stone. On the left we hear the sounds of rushing and dripping water, and wailing. This place seems, unsurprisingly, to be chock full of undead. Gral does a stealth ahead to the left path and doesn’t see much. The wailing is from a lot deeper in; whatever’s making it just has a darn good set of lungs.

Sneaking over to the right path, he sees something very interesting. There’s some sort of man-made structure! There’s carved stone pillars and smooth, rectangular construction. Huh, maybe the undead have construction tools? Also, he sees a large creature. It’s wearing a cloak.

Shame it’s spotted Gral.

He can barely see it, but he can feel the thing’s gaze upon him, sapping the life out of him. “That is NOT A FRIENDLY THING,” he hisses back to us.

The Bodak, as the DM calls it, slithers toward Gral and uses its Withering Gaze, trying to crumble him to dust. Despite a save, he still takes a hefty chunk of damage.

Shoshana aims a Fireball down the tunnel, roasting something that’s crawling out of a shadow and charring the Bodak. More skeletons and ghouls are pouring in, and the ones that avoided the blast squeeze their way out of the side tunnels and begin to funnel down toward us. Gral casts Bane upon the Bodak and two of his minions.

Clem charges ahead, keeping her footing on the slippery rocks, and cleaves a skeleton apart. Valeria throws a trident from a distance, forking another in the ribs. She holds her hand out, and glowing rose vines extend from Kyr Marius’ gauntlet to snap the trident back to her for another throw.

The Bodak steps forward, its eerie breath rattling out of its round mouth, and turns its terrible gaze on Valeria. Valeria’s holy aura defends her, and she only takes half damage.

If we want to make direct attacks against it, we must either avert our gaze (granting disadvantage) or make a Con save vs 3d10 damage. Shoshana sidesteps the decision with a Shatter spell, aided by Gral’s Bane, that destroys the second skeleton and bloodies both the ghoul and the Bodak, luckily just missing one of the support pillars. The ghoul charges Clem and misses, which is a mistake, since Valeria is right there to Sentinel it. She forks it with the trident like she’s picking up trash on the side of the road, and tosses it lifeless (un-lifeless?) into a corner. The Bodak hisses in displeasure. “Uuuuuseless…”

Gral uses Phantasmal Force to convince the thing that he is charging into melee with it, even though he’s staying well clear.

(“The Phantom of the Orc-era is theeeeere, insiiiiiide your mind…” one of the players quips.)

Clem heads on in with a Great Weapon Master attack, able to avoid its gaze as it turns to attack the illusory Gral. With a mighty swing, she takes a huge chunk out of the strange creature, tearing through its rotting robe.  

Valeria risks the CON save against its horrible stare, and passes. She throws her trident twice – a nat 20 and a nat 1, natch. The trident clatters against stone as the thing dodges out of the way, and then she yanks the trident back with her glowing vines, burying it in its back and shredding its rotted flesh. She is mildly a Fire Emblem character now, so she gets to do epic crit poses. Victory!

We cautiously emerge into the chamber that’s now been vacated. Valeria can recognize the style of construction! With A-Luxor’s light, we can now see that the Bodak was scratching at a carved stone door. Wait, this is Aquilian architecture! Valeria would know that style anywhere. There’s brick, and a bit of a frieze of eagle, and the columns are carved with legionnaire motifs. It’s simple, as Aquilian style goes. A heavy stone door is set into the center of the wall. We investigate it and, of course, check it for traps.

Valeria crits her investigation and finds the mechanism to open the door. It looks like the mechanism is broken, but with a bit of fighter-and-paladin muscle we can get the door open, no problem. Valeria doesn’t read much Old High Aquilian, but there’s writing on this. Something maybe like “Place of…” something.

Is it the nuclear waste message? “This is not a place of honor?” Only time, and reckless decisions, will tell.

With a nat 20, Valeria realizes something important. The writing wasn’t part of the original design. She can tell there was some sort of latent spellwork, like a low-level Stone Shape, that was set up to supersede the carving that was originally there. Something happened to trigger the spell, and a bunch of letters engraved themselves over the stone. Valeria’s not sure, but she thinks it says something along the lines of Containment Breach.

Uh-oh.

Shoshana copies down the writing, so we can double check with Lucinius, and then we crack that bad boy open.

There are four huge coffers here, like treasure chests. One is open and empty. (Shoshana’s player gets excited, assuming this is where they got that Warden mummy! But no, the DM said coffers, not coffins.) There is a sunken hollow in the center of the room, which has only a metal grate covering the opening to the water close below. Gral can see heavy chains dangling into the flowing water; something was once chained up there, but the chains have now been broken. Hmm.

Maybe this troll king Urdemak is the Pale King, and this is where he was imprisoned?

We think about it, but we’re doubtful. The Aquilian structure postdates the construction of the rest of this place, pretty substantially. This isn’t part of the troll tomb; this is something the Aquilians placed within the tomb site centuries later.

Our investigation reveals no traps. The coffers seem like some kind of foot locker? At the end of room, there is an altar with a bird on it – an altar to Oberok, flanked by austere stone lecterns. Valeria knocks over the statue of Oberok, because Rack’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, dangit! (Archaeologists Hate Her!)

In the carvings on the walls, we recognize a repeated word. It’s the word Lucinius pointed out in the mummy’s tattoos, the one he told us meant “Warden.”

Lucinius would be So Mad at us for ruining an archaeological site, but he’s not our dad. We find 400 old Aquilian gold coins. Valeria can easily tell us that we COULD use them as gold, but they’re more valuable as collector item. We roll a ONE HUNDRED on the loot treasure hoard table and nearly win a Rod Of Beating The Game. Instead, we find in the next locker a set of 4 Aquilian icons, each depicting an Aarakocra version of the four lesser gods, as they were before the Deicide. Rack the Soldier (which is weird to us), Lethe the Smith (without martial accoutrements), Torme as an owl-faced bird holding a tome, and a small, insignificant crow-like figure wrapped in a cloak – surely an old version of Guile.

In the third locker, we find a book. It appears to be written primarily in High Aquilian but with a lot of diagrams. Perhaps a training manual? Most of it has translations into Old Valdian, it seems! Shosh takes a look at the text. It’s titled: Warden’s Training Manual: The Spear and the Spell.

This is a magic item. If we train with it for a week, we gain advantage on saves vs each other’s attacks. Interestingly, it’s been modified to work for non-Aarakocra and translated, which means it was yet another collaboration between the Aquilians and the people they supposedly never invaded.

Meanwhile, Shoshana rolls well and finds a surprisingly well-preserved scroll in the lectern, with high Aquilian calligraphy inscribed on it. It feels magically inert to Shoshana – this is no spell scroll. Valeria rolls poorly on an Int check and doesn’t recognize most of the words. But the bit at the end is a common phrase.

As far as we can translate, which isn’t much, we read:

“First Prisoner, Item #5

Containment Procedure: [Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet] waters blessed by local spirits [consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor] influence of the prisoner.

As per request by [unintelligible], [incididunt un labore et dolore] disruption [magna aliquia].

Description: [Ut enim ad minim veniam] First Prisoner.

Let the Vanquished be forgotten, let the Victorious reign eternal.

Glory to Oberok.”

The scroll is damaged, but it doesn’t look like intentional damage, it’s just Real Old. This is important as hell! It’s clues!

With a nat 20, Valeria realizes something about the door.  Based on the way the rest of the door is weathered, in this wet cave, the Containment Breach message is comparatively very new. Within-the-last-couple-of-years new, compared to the ancient ruins. Maybe around a decade old? A little less?

That’s not too far from when the first stirrings of the Curse arose. This could have easily happened after the Curse began – or perhaps simultaneously.

We wrap up our exploration. The Aquilian structure is at a dead end, so we backtrack and begin to go down the tunnel with the wailing. We come across a third carving, though cracks and erosion have made parts of it illegible:

Man, no wonder the Pale King set up shop here.

“[unintelligible] that the Great Wyrm came. The sky filled with flame and fury; the wood burned with the Wyrm’s wrath. Urdemak led the Woods against the great Wyrm. He [unintelligible] the spear [unintelligible] aloft by a dozen giant eagles and [unintelligible] onto the Dragon’s Back.

Urdemak’s claws tore open the Dragon’s throat as it was filled with terrible flame. The fire, straight from the dragon’s heart, scorched Urdemak’s flesh from his bones. As the dragon’s death-spasms faded, the defenders of the Wood gathered around, awaiting their King’s regeneration.

But so thorough was his destruction by the dragon’s flame, bane to trolls, that he could not call the power of life to restore him, and so instead, the king’s grasping soul found only Death”.

As we move past the third carving, the sounds of rushing water echo through the dripping, dank cave. Gral’s keen ears hear something underneath that, clattering and clanking in the passage off to the left. He Mirror Images and we move ahead. Sure enough, there’s a big ol’ skeleton in plate armor waiting for us.

Valeria charges in, but as she passes by one of the piles of scattered bones, a skeletal hand snakes out and grabs her ankle. Startled, she fails to wrench her claw out, and she topples to the ground. The DM is pleased we are FINALLY next to one of the bone piles during a fight, we’ve avoided them like three times by chance. Valeria pushes to her feet and smacks the pile with a wrench, scattering the skull pile and sending the bones pinging off the rocks, but she’s lost her move on the skeletal knight. Gral throws Faerie Fire at it, but it dodges with practiced ease. No other enemies seem to be illuminated by the spell.

Clem charges the skull knight, smashing down on it with her Warhammer. It parries with its longsword and slashes down on her with a Blinding Smite of dark power.

Squeezing out of the rocks like a roiling dark mist comes a wailing, ghostly figure. The wraith drifts to Shoshana and grips her from behind. Her maximum HP is reduced by 21. That’s a LOT for a sorcerer! She chokes and pales as the life drains out of her.

Valeria decides she does not like this wraith thing that just ate her buddy, and mightily smites it, bloodying the cursed thing. Aethis twerks at a second pile of skulls that is swiping at Clem’s feet and smashes it apart, coming away with a hand clutching its tail. It derisively shakes off the weakened bones.

Gral throws a Dissonant Whispers at Ser Spooks the Skull Knight, and makes it afeared. It tries to flee, which gives Clem a chance to swing at it.

As Gral connects with the mind of the skull knight to frighten it, he gets flashes of this guy’s life the same way he sees into the Allsoul. This was originally a Paladin of the Order of the Hammer who left Valdia. There’s images of fighting pirates? Much of it is first person view of wielding a sword, smoke billowing from it as his Blinding Smite summoned Lethe’s flames. This guy’s maybe decades dead – not centuries, but not yesterday either. And the armor is clearly ceremonial rather than practical – something he might be buried in. Seems whatever’s haunting the Trollstones is recruiting from Mornheim’s catacombs.

As it tries to run past Clem, she catches it with her Warhammer, dealing it a terrible blow. She gives chase, dropping her hammer and drawing her greatsword. This thing’s armor was once a set of glorious full plate, but much of it has fallen away, and he’s not defending himself well – like he’s using a shield that isn’t there anymore. Aethis snaps its jaws shut on the Skull Knight’s leg, grappling it. It tries to drain Clem’s life force, but she shrugs off its magic. With Great Weapon Master, she brings her silvered greatsword down. The shock of the blow crumbles its cracked bones apart.

Shoshana’s claws manage to catch in the wraith’s mists, tearing holes through it. Gral runs toward the wraith with his silver dagger out, shoving Shoshana out of the way and plunging it into the wraith with the help of his Psychic Blades.

He summons the power of Blank Mask, a covert ops orc bard from the Asciension War. As he strikes through the wraith, the ghost of a hooded orc with a blank bard mask appears, grabs Gral’s dagger, and pulls the wraith’s head back to slit its throat like an assassin. The dagger clatters to the floor as both Blank Mask and the wraith fade away.

The way stands open, and there is another inscription on the wall.

“The power of Death filled him as Life had before, but, as Life begets Life, Death must spread itself, and Urdemak, now a thing of rot and decay, proceeded to lay waste to those he once protected. His great strength and will to live magnified by the cold grip of death. Eventually, the children of the Wood, the sons and daughters of the great ones, took to the field against their nephew. Many died, but eventually the thing that had been Urdemak was defeated.

The Trolls constructed a great tomb of many large stones to house the body. His mother was reduced to tears [unintelligable], and with those tears flowed her wish that none would ever suffer as she had suffered, that none would see their children returned as twisted servants of death.”

Well that certainly explains…literally everything about Mornheim.

Valeria reaches out and grants a blessing from Rack upon her friends with Aid, which our HP totals all very much appreciate.

We short rest again in the warden’s outpost, Gral singing a Song of Rest, and all take 4 taint. We return to the passage of the fourth tablet and find our way forward.

As we approach the tomb itself, we can hear a voice ahead, speaking modern Valdian. “They’ll be here any minute! Wake up, you old idiot!”

Gral can sense something up ahead, similar to how he senses the Allsoul. If the Allsoul is a rock concert, this is a kid on a triangle. But for a single soul to even be audible? That’s astounding. If that’s a single voice, that’s a voice of immense power.

“I know you’re in there! You ingrate! What, afraid you’ll make your mother sad? After everything I did for you,” a sodden-looking figure in ratty robes is shouting, waving his arms in frustration.

As we make it into the huge chamber, we can see he is dwarfed by the imposing standing stones. Massive stone sarcophagi tower in a semicircle over a burbling, whirling spring. To the side, an enormous rock landslide partially buries the skeleton of a mighty dragon.

Every inch of this cave wall has been carved with Troll words, depictions of life and deeds of Urdemak. Given that the centerpiece is a pretty epic mural of Urdemak fighting the Great Wyrm, we can guess where the dead dragon came from.

One of the sarcophagi has been broken open, and someone has placed an enormous troll skull, massive even for a troll, on top of it, turning the tomb into a huge stone altar. A small, human-sized silver crown is placed upon its head; we recognize the same style of crown from the Pale King tapestry we looted from the castle.

Somebody’s turned this place into an altar of the Pale King. Possibly that little dude over there.

Valeria would like to object to that, preferably with violence. Gral would like to alter that altar.

The skull must be Urdemak, first and last king of the trolls. The crown, though – perhaps it was the thing that was being held in the Aquilian chamber?

The little man still hasn’t stopped complaining. “Wake. Up!” He throws a rock at the skull and misses. “Useless ingrate!”

As we approach, armor clanking, the figure turns around and groans. “Oh. You again.”

I’m sorry, have we met?

Shoshana sarcastically waves hello. Gral rolls insight. It’s not trying to hide who it is. Gral’s not sure whose skin it’s wearing, but it’s that frickin’ dybbuk again.

“What are you trying to do here?” it complains. “I put a lot of work into this place!”

Shoshana stops waving and flips him off.

The dybbuk raises his voice, in that spooky cadence necromancers use for sounding dramatic. “Urdemak!” it intones. “These interlopers have violated your tomb! If you would, rise up and destroy them!”

The skull does not move.

We roll for initiative anyway.

The dybbuk moves first. “Fine. You won’t kill them yourself? I can still make use of you!” It begins to chant, mumbling quickly with pronunciation that sounds archaic even for Old Valdian. Something about “Guardian of the River Morn, servant of my-“ It switches language, but clearly it’s summoning something. The dybbuk deftly steps back onto the altar and gestures as the waters begins to writhe and roil and spin, rising to engulf the massive skull and claws from atop the altar.

Now if you’ll excuse the DM, he needs to add one more thing to the initiative order. This thing, he calls…the Pale Spring.

As this thing’s health bar grows across the top of the screen, we recognize it looks similar to the Water Weirds on a far larger scale. More human and troll bones rise from the pool into its swirling mass, but Urdemak’s mighty skull and claws form the cornerstones of its shape.

If we’re coming here to put a sword in the water, the DM figured the water should have a chance to object first.

Gral slaps Clem with an inspiration and makes a joke in Orcish along the lines of “who pooped in the pool?” Shosh rolls her eyes, but it fails its save. Let us be clear: you, sir, are stank water.

The Spring raises itself up and the chamber begins to flood. Its claws seem to be wreathed with some kind of horrible necrotic energy. We all manage to keep our feet against the huge wave it throws at us, except for Aethis, who was swimming instead of standing. The gator is dashed against the rocks and bursts into a cloud of sparkles, gone until Valeria can resummon it.

Valeria, outraged, charges forward and hurls a trident, her gauntlet allowing her to whip it back a second time. She also casts Shield of Faith on Shoshana. Shoshana, who is aggressive but no fool, casts Mirror Image on herself and tries to hide behind a rock.

Clem tries to slog through the deep water, rolling good Athletics to avoid it being difficult terrain, and whiffs both her attacks, sword slicing harmlessly through the water – until Gral’s bardic inspiration kicks in. The bones seem to flow into place to form armor to block her swings, but she manages to crack some femurs.

It uses its legendary action to crit Clem. It’s facing the other way, but the troll claw flows through its center as a new watery arm grows out and rockets into the drow.

The dybbuk leans casually against the empty sarcophagus. “Y’know, if you would have shown some gratitude and killed them, this could all have been avoided!” It wiggles its hands and some skeletons crawl out of the cracks in the rocks and form out of the mounds of bones. “You! Throw things at them!” it commands them.

It spares a glance toward the dragon skeleton. “No. Don’t even think about it. We’re not there yet. I know better than to trust YOU.”

The Pale Spring’s claws surge with energy, giving it an extra d10 on attacks. Both Clem and Valeria get slammed as the bones hurtle toward them on powerful jets of water.

Valeria gets up in the Spring’s face and smites it. After all, it’s both undead and an elemental. As Valeria raises her sword She-Ra style, vines grow around it and down into the water. s she strikes into the mass of water, The bones try again to form armor but the glowing rose vines grow through the cracks, wrapping around the bones and crushing them to powder. It roars with anger, and for the first time, the dybbuk looks genuinely concerned.

Gral rolls perception at the DM’s request. That note he heard before, he hears it clearer and louder now. From the skull, from the claws, echoing from the unbroken stone sarcophagi. Gral has talked to powerful ancient spirits before; he gets the unmistakable vibe that Urdemak is deeply enraged. But there’s no animosity toward us; he’s angry at the way this dybbuk has disturbed his rest and dared to use him.

Shoshana squeaks an “I’m sorry, Clem” and casts a fireball toward the melee. The chamber lights up with flames and rattles with a mighty KABOOM. The dybbuk is pretty scorched and any mook skeletons in the way are gone to ash, but Clem manages to dodge the worst of it. Steam rises off the Pale Spring as it turns to retaliate, the frigid water coming to life and sucking Shoshana under. The bony fingers of the Pale King wrap around her and in her terror she falters – and lets the Pale King gift her 10hp in return for 2 taint.

Clem rushes at the Dybbuk, intent on destroying the one who turned the Red Hand into a death cult, but the Spring strikes at her as she runs, knocking her unconscious. She takes 3 taint as she falls toward death, into the Pale King’s domain.

Gral’s nearly out of spells, but he throws a Healing Word at Clem. He channels an Orcish drill sergeant yelling “DID I SAY IT WAS NAPTIME, SOLDIER? GET UP, SOLDIER, YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO BLEEEED.” Then he draws his sickle and goes in! His Psychic Blades barely scratch it, rolling low.

The Pale Spring readies its claws, charging them up again to strike with extra damage. Clem dodges, narrowly avoiding another killing blow, but it manages to slam Valeria hard against the rocks.

The dybbuk orders the remaining skeleton to throw something at us. Its aim is not great. A clavicle just sort of clatters toward us awkwardly.

Shoshana leans back and lets raw electricity course out of both of her hands, blasting her usual twinned Chromatic Orb at a much higher level. The dybbuk is booted completely out of its flesh suit. We see the familiar floating skull in the bell of the jellyfish as the body it was wearing falls apart. The Pale Spring takes a heavy hit too, the electricity surging through it in a brilliant crackle, steam rising. It retaliates, trying to drag Shoshana down into the undertow, but she hangs onto a sturdy rock and keeps her feet under her.

Clem pushes herself to her feet, Second Winds, and buries her sword into the currents. It’s got more bone fragments than bones inside now, and she manages to take a chunk out of one of the huge troll claws. It swipes back, but feebly, for minor damage – which allows Valeria to strike in with a Sentinel.

The dybbuk’s lost its body and the Pale Spring’s nearly down; it’s not gonna stick around. It woobles away down through the cave floor, eluding us once again.

Gral throws the last of his inspirations into a Psychic Blades. A ghostly circle of orc heroes raise their lances and plunge them into the water, all at once. The elemental lashes out, flailing as the circle of orcs presses inwards, its claws passing through the specters even as they crush its bones. It falls, reduced to simple water, back into the spring, and the two troll claws wash back down into the central pit.

The waters recede and we are left standing in the tomb of Urdemak the Troll King. Wait, no, there’s still a skeleton mook there. We give it a sternly worded Go Away.

Valeria runs over to Clem, patting at her for 15hp and healing herself 15hp as well. We managed to turn around fast enough to avoid one of the fight mechanics. If the dybbuk got desperate, it would have awoken the dragon. It hesitated when Clem went down, and then Shosh nuked it.

We all take a deep breath. Clem’s a bit miffed that she didn’t get to beat the crap out of the dybbuk for possessing her old friend, but such is life.

We set to moving the piles of bones out of the water. Shoshana uses her Mage Hand to remove the crown from Urdemak’s skull, since nobody wants to touch that thing. The skull is suffused with necromantic energy. To Valeria’s Detect Magic, the crown is lighting up like a bonfire. Gral’s getting vibes from the skull, though – it’s feeling a lot more chill with the dybbuk driven off.

It takes some elbow grease and ingenuity to place the enormous skull and claws back into the open stone sarcophagi and close them again.

We roll against Taint for exposing ourselves to the necromantic energy of the fight. Everyone succeeds.

Hey, what do we do with this evil crown?

We talk it out. Judging by what we’ve seen down here, it sounds like the River Mother’s blessing on this tomb and these waters was what was stopping all undead from rising in Mornheim. The Aquilian containment zone worked by submerging the evil undeath crown in the blessed waters.

It looks like the dybbuk, or another agent of the Pale King, managed to remove that blessing and turn the tomb into an altar of undeath. Valeria’s ritual will slow down the undead and stop the Curse from poisoning the city through the water, but it won’t restore the blessing of the River Mother. Submerging the crown, at this point, would just start tainting the water again. We decide to put it in a foot locker in the Aquilian structure; at least it’ll be contained.

While we worry about the crown, Valeria begins her ritual. Shoshana has coached her on the pronunciation of the Old Valdian incantation. There is a section that’s invocation of the Power; written to reach out to Grandmother and Grandfather but Valeria switches to Draco-Aquilian to invoke her patron Rack.

She raises the sword we prepared, anointed with the druidic poultice made of the plants we gathered in Bad Herzfeld, the vine of the moon lily wrapped around the sword like a chain of Rack. As she reads the words aloud and drains power from the scroll into the sword, the writing on the scroll melts away.

Standing on the altar where the skull used to be placed, Valeria strikes the sword down, sheathing it into the water. It stays upright as it leaves her hands. The moon lily’s vine grows upwards, blooming into a massive flower above the water, its roots extending deep down into the spring.

The sickly, murky look fades from the waters and they once again run clear. The purified water begins to flow down through in rivulets through the tomb of Urdemak and down into the River Morn.

Valeria has Achieved Her Quest! +1 Inspiration!

 We take some time to admire our work and clear the Pale King’s trappings out of Urdemak’s tomb, but soon it’s time to leave. As we turn to go, Shoshana places her hand on the stone sarcophagus holding Urdemak’s mighty claws, and pauses as she feels a wave of overwhelming power.

It feels like gratitude.

As she blinks stars out of her eyes, Shoshana sees her hand atop the king’s tomb, overlaid by the ghostly shape of a troll’s heavy, sharp claws. She blinks again and the image is gone, along with the strange sensation, but as she flexes her claws she feels like something has changed.

(Shoshana has received a boon: Claws of the Troll King! Grants an extra d4 of damage to the Primal Savagery cantrip, with an additional d6 of damage for each sorcery point spent, up to 3d6. Each additional die also heals the caster that many hit points. Requires attunement.)

We climb our weary way out of the caves. Luckily, it seems we’d already cleared the area of nasties, or they’re avoiding the newly blessed waters, and we’re mostly undisturbed on the way out. We are drained, exhausted, and of course absolutely soaking wet.

As we hike back to town, we see the clear waters flowing through the still blighted land of Mornheim. Maybe it’s our imagination, but the area around the river seems just a little less Tim Burtony. It’s been several hours; the sun is almost down as we hurriedly drag ourselves to the safety of the walls. Near the city, we see a ragged group emerging from one of the catacomb entrances. It’s Lady Aubrey and her crew; they look quite scorched except for Mercedes. We, on the other hand, look quite damp.

Aubrey squints at us. “You’re back? The fuck’ve you been up to?” She hasn’t been home to find out we showed up.

Valeria chirps, “We Purified the Water!” You can almost hear the capital letters. Shoshana just points at Valeria and nods. “What she said.”

Gral, thankfully, is a master storyteller and actually gives Aubrey the deets as we schlep back to town.

“…And you found this scroll in my house?” she asks, once he’s done. We nod and hand over the scroll. The spell incantation has melted away, but the instructions on spell components still remain. Aubrey’s obviously taken aback by what she sees. “…this is my mom’s handwriting. I don’t…you’re gonna have to tell me everything. We should get inside the walls.”

She composes herself, back to business for now. “So did it work?”

Valeria nods. “Yup. We weren’t able to restore the blessing, but the water won’t be making everyone sick anymore.”

“Wait, wait, the water was blessed?”

Shoshana nods. “Yep, uh, the Trollstones is this big troll grave, and there was a blessing from a Child of the Woods to prevent her son from rising as undead, and the Curse seems to have broken it-“

“Why does it feel like you learned more about my home in a day than I’ve known in my entire life?!”

“Uh, we went…real deep. And fought monsters about it.”

“Yeah, I’ve gone real deep! I’ve fought monsters! You know what I found out? I found out there’s SUPERGHOULS.”

When we get to the walls, the old troll gardener, Skulbjor, is guarding the gate. “Oh! It’s dem! Hey, where’s your chomper?” he asks, looking around for poor exploded Aethis.

“…Don’t worry, they’ll be back!”

“Oh good, dat’s a good chomper. How was your hunt, Lady Aubrey?”

“Well the thing is dead. Again.”

As we drag ourselves inside, Gral approaches the old troll. “Skulbjor, how familiar are you with the legends of this place?”

“Well, I grew up here,” he says. “I’m older than most anybody what lives here.”

“Have you ever heard the name Urdemak?”

Skulbjor considers for a minute, his face scrunched up in concentration. “No, I don’t know dat one. Where’s he buried?”

“The Trollstones were his tomb. He was a great troll king, whose power was perverted by the undead in this place. His spirit was angry, but I think we were able to put it at peace.”

The troll considers this quite seriously. Finally, he nods. “Dat’s good to hear. One thing the previous troll told me is dat it is a very old troll tradition that there must always be a troll in Mornheim, and to never ever mess with the Trollstones. Lady Rosalind went there a lot. She went there the day she got sick, even. I found her there, yanno. Brought her back to the castle myself, but she never woke up.”

Man, do we have a story for him later.

While walking, Valeria takes moment and thanks Shoshana for helping with the translation and pronunciation of the spell, and helping save the town. There’s hugs. 😊

The two adventuring parties stumble into the gates of Mornheim as the sun sets, sharing stories. Skulbjor looks out over the hills for a long moment before closing the gate. “Urdemok. Wow, das interesting.”

Valeria and Gral roll CON saves against the Pale King’s taint. Clem and Shoshana, meanwhile, have gained enough taint to receive an Offer.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 17: Devotion and Diplomacy

LAST TIME ON THE CURSEWOOD: The Spanish Inquisition TSA have been seizing people. We did not expect it.

We need to get the three members of the town council to kick these dirtbags out, and we’ve got Keeper Remick on our side already. We bring him along and head toward the next council member. Last anybody heard, the sheriff was at the northern town gate with his Penitent buds.

Our benevolent DM made us a map of the town! Valeria’s player happily hoards it in the Map Collection.

Most travelers have been flowing through the east and west gates; the northern gate’s being guarded by a few militiamen and Lieutenant Vanessa, who we had a beer with last night. “Uh uh, gate’s closed- oh, hey, I recognize you!” she shouts. “You’re one of the, uh-” She waves awkwardly at the burnt remains of the circus.

“That’s us. We’re looking for the sheriff?”

“He – oh hi, Remick – he just left with a couple of guys, didn’t say what he was up to. They went north. They didn’t bring any supplies with them or anything, so it probably won’t be long?”

“Who was he with?”

“Guardsman Stebbin and two of those Penitents.”

What are they up to? Murderin’? Brainwashin’? We are suspicious.

Valeria puts on her Important Official Voice. “We were escorting Keeper Remick to convene with the Sheriff. Mind if we go catch up with him?”

“Uh, I’ve been given orders to keep the gate shut until they get back.”

“Remick is invoking his right to call an emergency town council; we need the sheriff,” Gral declares. Remick is literally standing right there, so we get advantage on the Persuasion check. It also helps that Vanessa doesn’t actually like the Penitents, so we do okay.

“Alright,” she says reluctantly. “Open the gate!”

The trail of a party of four in armor ain’t exactly hard for Clem to pick up. They’re a ways from the path, but not far. What’s our approach?

Valeria turns her extra eyes on. Gral decides to sneak up and see what’s up. The conversation is too quiet for him to overhear, but he gets a good visual of the proceedings. The sheriff and a guardsman, clearly this “Stebbin” fellow, are there. Stebbin’s hands might be bound? There’s a Penitent looming behind Stebbin, and another one whispering into the sheriff’s ear.

No, we do not like this. Valeria is 100% ready to throw hands. She strides in atop her shining gator, looking incredibly knightly, though the Penitents are definitely looking askance at her eyeballs shield. The rest of us hurry in her wake.

The sheriff opens his mouth to greet her and the Penitent speaks right over him. “Sheriff Wilbur is attending to some business. He will be with you momentarily.”

Yeah, Valeria’s not taking any of that. “Is that man a prisoner?”

“…of sorts. Yes.”

“Oh. Well, then – uh, he needs his advocate! Good thing we’ve got Remick right here!” she retorts.

“Keeper Remick need not concern himself with this affair,” the Penitent insists calmly.

The Keeper has hustled up behind us, looking rather confused at the scene. “Yes, what is this man’s crime?”

“This man was found guilty, by his own confession, of taking heretical artifacts that had been seized. He is guilty of theft. He is no doubt a victim of corruption,” the Penitent intones.

Gral interjects. “Artifacts? What kind?”

“…An amulet.”

Gral continues brightly. “Stebbin, would you like to testify?” It’s right around then we notice Stebbin is gagged, his hands bound.

The Penitent glowers at us. “His guilt has already been determined. He has already confessed.”

“Without an advocate? In breach of this village’s custom?” Gral fires back immediately.

The Sheriff tries to interrupt. “Now hold on-“

“Do not let doubt cloud your mind, Sheriff,” the Penitent speaks over him. “You know what needs to be done.”

“Yes, well, but surely with Remick here-“ the sheriff blusters.

“You AGREED this was a serious offense,” the Penitent says, his deep voice echoing. “You agreed that when one of your men slips from the path, you must perform your duty. His penance must be paid. Your penance is to deliver his punishment, or face the wrath of the gods. As for you, Kyr Argent, you come here bearing a sign of the corruption-”

Valeria goes to bash him in the face with her shield. Initiative, y’all.

We all roll BOLLOCKS.

As Valeria takes a fighting stance, the Penitents anticipate her move with almost eerie precision. They swing their spiked chains, knocking Shoshana down and Valeria off her gator.

The Sheriff is paralyzed with indecision at the sudden burst of violence. Who shot first?! Shoshana and Clem don’t have the same reservations and rush in to attack. Valeria runs over to poor Stebbin and removes his gag while Aethis tries to chew on the nearest Penitent. Gral tries to push fear into the mind of one of the knights, but…it’s not working? Usually fear of death and pain is a safe go-to, but it’s not doing much to this guy. What ARE they afraid of? Emotional intimacy? Commitment?

The Penitents swing at us, their chains whipping around them. As the spiked chains tear into the knights’ flesh, it seems to empower their strikes. (Darkest Dungeon strikes again. Have you heard of the Flagellant?)

Sheriff yells “Hey, don’t-“ and jumps in to grab Valeria. She’s a lot bigger and buffer and shrugs him off easily. Clem, Shoshana, and Gral efficiently take apart the first of the Penitents. Valeria gives Stebbin a once-over, using Detect Magic – there’s no amulet on him and nothing on the Sheriff, though there seems to be some sort of magic upon the Knights. So the guardsman seems innocent and the Sheriff’s at least not being magically compelled?

The second Penitent, seeing his companion fall, crashes his spiked chains into Valeria. “BETRAYER,” he growls. “FALLEN TO CORRUPTION. ANOTHER CHAMPION TAKEN BY THE WOOD. STRIKE HER DOWN, LEST SHE DEFILE RACK’S GLORY!” he calls to the sheriff.

“You mean, like you do?” she asks. She doesn’t get a chance to duel him dramatically because Clem takes his dang head off.

Well, now things are just awkward. The sheriff looks SUPER freaked out. “Remick, what the hell have you done?” he demands.

“What were YOU about to do?” Valeria counters.

“He was about to KILL ME!” Guardsman Stebbin wails, hopping out of sword range.

Gral kindly helps him untie his bonds. “You don’t want to incriminate yourself further. We will judge you more fairly than the Penitents, so just sit and wait.”

The sheriff sputters at us. “I- they said - A firm hand is what we need in these times! They, they explained it to me – we gotta get the favor of the gods back. Gotta prove that we’re willin’ to listen. It’s not easy, but we gotta prove we’re worthy.”

Gral glares at him. “With a complete lack of due process–”

“You come here, with that freaky shield-”

“To protect him in case the Penitents did something. You’re working with psychopaths, Sheriff.”

Remick butts in, recovering from the gory scene. “Wilbur, stand down. Let them take care of this. This whole situation has gone too far.”

“YEAH, I’LL SAY!” Stebbin shouts from the background.

Remick pulls Sheriff Wilbur to the side, and they begin arguing in hushed tones.

Valeria fills us in on her Detect Magic insights. “Nothing on the sheriff or the guard. If you need assistance to know what’s true, I’ll step in. Otherwise I’ll wait.”

Stebbin babbles his thanks. “Never thought he’d go through with it, but the things they were saying, you didn’t hear it-”

“What happened?”

“I was just reportin’ for duty as normal! They came and grabbed me, said the sheriff wanted to speak with me. Said we were gonna go on patrol, that bandits were spotted in north area. Then the Sheriff asked for my weapon, the other one got my hands. They asked if I took the thing, an’ I said yeah, I did, I’ll give it back – but they were gonna burn it! And that’s bad, you don’t burn those things-”

“What did they take?”

“A – a wooden amulet, one of them with the face on each side. Baba and Gramps, y’know. My mom was real into the Way of the Woods when we were growin’ up. I know it aint’ exactly – I know we’re all tryin’ to please the gods, keep eye out for signs of evil and corruption-”

Valeria shakes her head. “That’s no corruption.”

“You don’t burn Baba and Gramps’ things, you don’t show that kind of disrespect. It brings bad things down on everyone. So I pocketed it. I guess they spotted it. I – I promise I’ll give it back! It’s back in my house, I swear I didn’t mean no harm-”

“I’m sure the sheriff will know what to do once he’s out from under the influence of those…people,” she assures him.

“Yeah, they been spending all this time with him. The Penitents never let him out of sight, always whispering things to him, yknow?”

Yeah, that tracks.

Shoshana pokes one of the corpses. Seems pretty normal. Not a zombie, as far as she can tell.

Gral asks Stebbin if he’s seen anything odd from the Penitents.

“Uh, besides from taking over the town, stopping people at the gates, and throwing people in cages? Uh, sometimes they take these big carts out of town at night?”

Well, that’s shady as hell.

As Remick and the Sheriff confer in hushed tones, Shoshana looks up and notices something flying overhead, circling down towards us. It’s a white bird in a small, stylish green leather coat. She yells, “EY YO, DAIKON!”

Daikon lands in the middle of the clearing.

“Uh, do you know that bird?” a very confused Remick asks.

“Yeah! See, he’s got his li’l jacket!”

“Yeah, I know ‘em!” Contractor Darius’ voice says, from Daikon’s mouth. “…Did you kill those guys?”

Gral nods sheepishly. “Yeah. They were kinda killing people…I think the word in Valdian is ‘willy nilly’?”

“Huh. I’d heard something had gone down at Three Oaks, so I’ve been sending Daikon here over to check it out, with me in the backseat. Thanks to Torme for this little trick – I get to see the world without leaving my chair. Hadn’t heard about any Penitents, though. There was something about a circus?”

“Yeah, it was full of undead. We killed it with fire.”

“…Huh.”

“Oh! We did make it to Mornheim! We sent a message, I don’t know if-“

“Yeah, we got it. Bossman’s elsewhere, though. Oh – BEA! HEY, BEA! YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHO I RAN INTO – oh, right, you can’t see ‘em. Hang on, lemme see if I can-“

Daikon stands there with his beak open as Witness Bea’s voice starts coming through. “Um, hello? Only Darius can see you, but he said you fought some Penitents? I don’t like them…”

Remick is, understandably, baffled by the Bird-o-phone, but we introduce Witness Bea of the Cursebreaker Knights and he’s actually quite pleased to meet a real Witness.

With the Cursebreakers on speakerphone, we begin to plan out our next move. The Penitents are going to treat us as hostile; killing two of their own is more than enough for them to declare us Evil and Corrupted. And if they’re resorting to tricks like keeping the Burgermeister under a Suggestion spell, we’re going to have to be clever about this.

Who do we have as nearby allies? Flynn, Fiona, and the goliath bodyguards are all willing to help. We consider trying to recruit the nearby squad of CR5 cinnamon rolls, but the trolls have expressed pretty strongly they don’t want to make any human enemies. Wait, isn’t the orcish troll-hunting force still in the area? Hmm.

Valeria points out the fundamental issue: the town’s only supporting the Penitents because they’re scared of the Curse. If we can’t offer them actual protection, the townsfolk are gonna default back to supporting the Penitents for lack of better options.

Actually, wait, let’s talk about those orcish outriders. They’re an actual military force, armed and ready for big ol’ threats like they expected the trolls to be. Would they be willing to ally with the town? Would the villagers be willing to trust foreigners?

Gral loves the idea, and enthusiastically vouches for the outriders to Remick and the Sheriff. He’s pretty excited – getting the outriders to protect the town would be a helluva PR measure for the orcish refugees. “It would be nice to walk through this place and not have people fear me,” he tells us.

Shoshana sighs. “Honey. All your spells are literally fear effects.”

Clem pipes up: “Also the mask is kinda creepy. Just sayin’.”

As Gral sputters about our cultural insensitivity, we describe llamas to Bea. She thinks they sound scary. We reassure her they’re not as big as Aethis or anything.

“What’s an Aethis?”

“Oh, Bea, you can’t see this thing, it’s crazy-“ interjects Darius.

While Darius attempts to explain the concept of a technicolor alligator, the party turns back to the local leadership, who have been quietly discussing, heads bowed together. The Sheriff looks utterly beaten down, shamefaced at his actions.

He quietly takes off his badge. “I don’t think I can face the town again like this. Stebbin, I’m…stepping down.”

“And you’re just telling ME?” the rank-and-file rando demands.

“I’m appointing Vanessa – she’d be acting sheriff anyway until the Burgermeister appointed a new one, and if he picked anyone else he’d be an idiot.” He shrugs. “I’ll inform her. I’d prefer not to – well – I don’t know how the Penitents will react. They made everything seem so simple…”

Valeria kindly pats him on the shoulder. “You were scared and you made a bad decision. It’s understandable. You’re doing better for the town now.”

“Do you intend to return to town today?” he asks her. “They’ll be on guard once I return without those two.”

(Shoshana’s player jokingly suggests we Weekend at Bernie’s the dead Penitents. This gives Gral an idea, but sadly he hasn’t leveled up to that class feature yet.)

We decide not to return yet, sending Remick back to town and holing up in an old elven hunting lodge nearby.

Daikon carries our message to the outrider company, and half a day later we hear hoofbeats and see the garishly colored llama-riders approach.

“Joybringer!” thunders Captain Trollsfear when we go out to meet them. “This better be important!”

“It is, I promise you. Have you dealt with the Penitent Knights in the past?”

“We’ve heard of them, but not directly dealt with them. Are they like the, uh, the Broke Knights? What are they called, the Penniless Knights?”

Gral grimaces. “Nope, these ones are VERY different. They want to ‘cleanse the wood of impurities.’ Like we’re doing with the clear-cutting, but with, uh, people.” He tries to make a long story short. “They took over the town with magic. We can’t do it ourselves, but if we free this town from their influence, they would count it as a great service. If we put out a show of force as part of liberating them from oppression, these Valdians will think of us as civilized, good people. It’s the best chance to do diplomacy I’ve always wanted to do!”

“Besides, you came here to protect civilians on the Duke’s behalf,” Shoshana points out. “So what if it’s not trolls? This still supports your mission.”

“We did come out to save a town from monsters,” Trollsfear allows. “I will say, if I have to come back to Shieldeater and explain we invaded a town… Please understand: we’ll back you up in a fight, but I prefer not to carry the news back that we killed a bunch of civilians.”

“Oh, we’re hoping to make them back down without violence,” Gral promises.

“If you can talk the town leader into swearing fealty to Shieldeater, it would be a major coup,” Firesong admits. “Especially a major crossroads like this.”

Gral promises to write up a report on all flavors of Curse so the outriders are prepared, and the outriders agree that if all goes well, they’ll leave a partial force behind in Three Oaks while the rest report to Shieldeater – they’ve still got to tell him about Bullbreaker, after all – and then bring back a proper force to guard the town.

So we have our muscle. What’s next?

After much discussion, we come up with a plan: Valeria and Gral will sneak back into the town before dawn. Once the sun’s up, they’ll go to the Burgermeister’s house, insist on using Lay On Hands to heal and/or placebo him, and hustle him out to the town square with Remick and the Sheriff to have big official town council meeting. Meanwhile, Shoshana and Clem will be in charge of getting the gates open for the outriders’ heroic entrance.

(Meanwhile, Gral’s gotten sidetracked attempting to explain the differences between all these sects of Rack-worshippers to the rest of the orcs. “Yes, it’s the same god, they just connect with him differently. They can’t just talk directly to the god.”

“How do you figure out how to worship if you can’t just ask?” an outrider asks.

“Eh, I dunno, it might be good if every time you consult the Allsoul you didn’t have to deal with your passive-aggressive grandma asking if you’ve given her grandbabies yet…”)

We spend the night planning, negotiating, and convincing the understandably wary orcs.

Just after dawn, the gates are closed and the patrols are out. However, we manage to stealth well enough to climb over the wall like rulebreaking teenagers. We split into two teams as the sun rises. Gral and Valeria peel off to the Burgermeister’s house, managing to evade the notice of the Inquisitor, who’s out in the town square, preaching about what a tragedy it is that the heroes who saved the town have fallen to corruption.

Shoshana and Clem, meanwhile, track down Lieutenant Vanessa, who’s out on an early patrol. We explain what’s happened: Two Penitents are dead, Sheriff Wilbur is stepping down, we caught them all about to execute an innocent man without trial for a minor offense.

She nods stonily, going into crisis mode. “We can’t do anything without the Burgermeister, though.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve thought of that.”

Gral and Valeria roll on up to the Burgermeister’s manor. Gral pops off a quick message spell to the Burgermeister’s wife: “Hello, I’m the orc from before. I have brought a paladin to cure your husband!”

Two Penitents are guarding the door, glowering, but Mrs. Burgermeister bursts out of the door and waves them away. “No, no, they’re welcome, they’re welcome!”

As we’re waved inside, one of the Penitents takes off running, making a beeline to the sheriff’s office.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the Burgermeister blusters as two armed adventurers crash on up the stairs to his room.

Valeria’s got this. “Your town is in danger! Your people need you!” she cries, rolling well on her charisma check to absolutely sell that she’s Healing Him With Her Divine Light and spurring him on to heroism.

He springs forth from his bed, his ailment clearly Magically Cured, and begins to dress in a hurry. “Dear, fetch my hat. And my ring!”

Once he has his big fur coat and symbol of office, he’s ready to roll. As they step out of house, they can see the Inquisitor approaching the center of town with large group of Penitents at his back. Valeria and Gral position themselves behind the Burgermeister, lending some muscle while they let him lead the show.

Meanwhile, Clem and Shoshana are hurriedly explaining the plan to Lieutenant Vanessa. She’s real leery of the orcs, but she likes the Penitents even less.

“When is this going down?” she asks, reluctantly acquiescing.

“Uhhh…right the hell now. We gotta get to the gate.”

As they head there at top speed, Shoshana fires off Message spells to Remick, the Fairgolds, and the goliaths: “IT’S GOING DOWN. IN THE CENTER OF TOWN.”

As they hustle into town, Gral and Valeria are busily filling the Burgermeister in on the events of the past couple of weeks. He’s appalled. “I had no idea they’d gone so far! We will convene town council and vote immediately!”

The Inquisitor has beat them to the town square. He’s standing on the plinth of the statue of Three Oaks, his voice booming thaumaturgically over a gathering crowd. He’s surrounded by a solid wall of beefy knights. Remick and the (former) Sheriff are already there, protesting their case but overshadowed by the Penitent show of force.

Despite his blindness, the Inquisitor turns to sneer at Gral and Valeria with unerring accuracy. “Burgermeister Menner,” he booms, “Do not listen to the lies of this pretender to Rack’s glory. Do not be dissuaded from the true path we have begun!”

The Burgermeister rumbles, “Stand down, Inquisitor! I must examine the situation myself!”

The Inquisitor’s unpleasantly serene demeanor seems almost ruffled. “We have held up our end of the agreement and kept your town safe from the ravages of the Curse. To abandon our mission now is to doom these innocent people.”

Valeria interjects. “You’re also protecting this town from COMMERCE.”

Gral joins the heckling. “Ooh, you should check out their underground prison! They keep the ones that would be hard to justify down there.”

The Burgermeister is going red in the face as the evidence builds. “INQUISITOR, TAKE YOUR PEOPLE AND LEAVE THIS TOWN,” he booms.

The Inquisitor hisses, “And then what? You abandon your people? The next group of cultists will slit your throats in the night as sacrifices for their heathen gods.”

Meanwhile, Shoshana, Clem, and Vanessa have made it to the gate.

“Open the gate!” Vanessa commands the guardsmen.

One of the Penitents reaches out a hand to stop her. “The gate shall remain shut,” he intones. “The Inquisitor has commanded it so.”

“Listen to me, open the gate!” she shouts at her men, ignoring the knight.

“Uh, Lieutenant?” one of them calls. “There’s something coming in on the other side?!”

“Yep, that’s the plan!” she shouts, Shoshana and Clem taking advantage of the distraction to maul the Penitent.

Back in the center of town, a cry goes up from the Penitents. One shouts to the Inquisitor, “They assault the gods at the gate!”

Burgermeister Menner is again baffled. “What’s going on?!”

Valeria smiles. “We didn’t plan on leaving your town without protection, of course! Help is coming, but the Inquisitor here is trying to keep them out.”

“Er, what sort of help?”

“Some compatriots of mine,” Gral replies, maybe a touch smugly. “I can vouch for them being much saner than your current protectors.”

Someone’s just come running from the sheriff’s office. Apparently, a pair of burly goliaths have rushed the prison?

“I wouldn’t worry,” Gral assures the Burgermeister. “Those two have just been very concerned for the welfare of their employer.”

“What? Who?”

“A respected scholar from the University of Aurentium. Apparently, knowledge is heresy these days.”

The Burgermeister is not pleased to learn ANY of this.

Valeria and the Inquisitor radiate holy rage at each other, contesting Persuasion checks. Valeria wins, and the Burgermeister and the townsfolk are on her side.

Back at gate, damaged knight enough that Vanessa could open gate, and line of outriders, trollsfear at head w/ barbed spear, firesong beating drumscool entrance music

I introduce captain and sheriff

The Inquisitor loses another round of skill checks, Intimidation this time.

“I can see we are no longer wanted,” he intones, his oily calm almost hiding his fury. “Brothers, we leave this town to its fate!”

As the Penitents prepare to leave, several of their lackeys enter the sheriff’s office and begin to load up chests of seized goods. Valeria clears her throat. “Excuse me! Do you think you’re taking the trade goods of this town as well?”

“These are dangerous items!” the Inquisitor hisses, his composure briefly wavering. “They have already been remanded into our custody. Just because the agreement has been cancelled doesn’t mean it was never in effect.”

“From what I’ve heard, they aren’t all as dangerous as you say,” she retorts.

“And I don’t think looting the town was illuminated in the agreement,” Gral argues smoothly.

A good persuasion roll does the trick, and the Burgermeister orders the city militia to seize the chests.

The Inquisitor glances around, sizing up the situation. “Very well,” he intones, “The doom is on you.” His men drop the chests, and the Penitents start to leave town.

The Burgermeister coughs awkwardly, looking around to the admittedly intimidating orcish delegation. “Yes! Very well! Erm. Captain Trollsfear, was it? I understand we will have to, er, negotiate somewhat…”

Shoshana steps in to make introductions, though eventually she leaves the translating to Firesong and goes to help release the prisoners in the sheriff’s office.

Valeria wants to Detect Magic on the chests of items to see whether they’re really cursed. Just as the DM is warning that might not always work, a haggard Lucinius Galvan stumbles out of the sheriff’s office. He can cast Identify if we need. He’s going to hug his returned notes and cry for a bit, though.

With Lucinius’ help, Valeria begins distributing the seized items to any original owners that might still be in town, and Clem starts providing medical aid to the prisoners who have been roughed up by the Penitents.

Gral plays diplomat with the Burgermeister and the orc outriders – nothing permanent can be decided without the actual orc government, so a few outriders are going to stay and help the militia while the rest go to Shieldeater, make their report, and get a formal embassy sent who can actually negotiate guards and trade and stuff. Y’know, ACTUAL diplomats.

Once things have settled down a bit, we hunt down Lucinius and pull out the sketches Valeria made of the Mornheim mummy’s tattoos. His eyes instantly light up.

“These markings are largely symbolic language rather than literal words. Much like arcane runes! But I can tell you now – this is fascinating! A collaboration between the Aquilians and the Valdians would explain a lot of the strange things I’ve seen in my research so far! There’s a central word repeated throughout these tattoos – some sort of organizational marking, similar to the rose crest in your armor, but tattooed on the skin. This root word, which appears in both the Old Valdian and the Old High Aquilian, translates to…the closest equivalent would be ‘Warden.’”

Huh. Someone dedicated to guarding the Prisoners, perhaps?

“The word has a variety of meanings, of course. It could refer to guarding prisoners, guarding or caretaking a particular location – but definitely some sort of Warden. This individual seems to have belonged to some sort of organization that is both druidic and Aquilian, and would define itself as wardens! I’ll need to study this further – can I keep this?”

He’s told us what we need, so we’re happy to let him take it.

“Still, I wouldn’t dare formally present my findings yet,” he rambles. “‘Wardens’ could just be Valdian mercenaries in the Aquilian army, and it would unbecoming of a professional of my stature to overstate and romanticize – maybe they’re just a group of enthusiastic auxiliary watchmen, or some sort of game warden-”

Gral pipes up. “Eh, from the situation we found the body in, I kinda doubt it.”

“Oh, what situation?”

“Some cultists were gonna bring it back as a mega-zombie. Big fancy ritual and everything.”

“Hmm. How was the individual buried, do you know?”

“Mummified.”

“Oh!” Lucinius exclaims. “Well, that certainly lends credence to the idea of a person of significant importance!”

He’s quite cheered up, with a new puzzle to research. “I’ll look into this at my next destination - I’m on my way to Hoeska castle! Your delightful friend Witness Beatrice told me there was quite an impressive library of Valdian folklore there! I wanted to see if they’d let me borrow a few volumes.”

Hoeska is Cursebreaker HQ, so we tell him to say hi to Ser Quentin for us, though we warn him he’s a bit abrasive.

“PLEASE, I’ve sat next to Professor Desmond of the Antiquities Department at no less than three dinners, I can HANDLE abrasive.”

Eventually the sun begins to go down. We make camp and plan our next move. Flynn is sulking super hard – Fiona manages to convey he’s rather miffed we went off and saved the day without him, AGAIN. They’re going to go escort our civilian friends Aaron and Rebecca to Holzog and have their OWN adventures. Hmph!

It’s time to bring our water purifier spell to Mornheim. We decide to drop our holy sword in the old trollstones north of the city – supposedly, that’s the underground source of the River Morn, so dropping the cure there should ensure clean water for the town.

With a clear goal in mind, we cut session and let the party get some sleep.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 16: No Not Like That

Aw, been a while since I wrote one of these! Anyway: we run into some dickheads and try to solve things the not-murder way for once. 

On the road outside Bad Herzfeld, the trolls slowly begin to peel off and go their separate ways. Dr. Kjeller and his new bodyguard Kjell are the last to leave the main road, stopping to say goodbye to the small contingent of humanoids.

“Welp, dis trolls’ moot has certainly been an experience,” Dr. Kjeller sagely intones. “I would not say a success. The two of us are going to tour around and tell all the trolls we can find to stay away. I believe a trolls’ moot is not uncalled for, but we must look for a different place. Ideally one not full of weird fungus people. And, please, if there is anything I can do to help you….well, I guess you’d have to find me first.” He tips his travelin’ hat and departs. Gral tips his mask in return. He’s getting the hang of these Valdian customs!

It seems like the Orcish outriders have already left to report back to Duke Shieldeater, so it’s just us, the Fairgolds, and the beleaguered innkeeper and his daughter. What do we do with the civilians? I mean, we’re headed to Mornheim, and even if we’re gonna fix the water it seems kinda rude to drop someone off in Zombie Town. Flynn offers to introduce Aaron to his innkeeper uncle back in Holzog, to see if he can get a job there.

Flynn and Fiona are gonna stick with us to Mornheim. “Look, you had all the fun up there in Bad Herzfeld; I’m not gonna let the four of you get all the glory. You’re gonna do a big ritual and save the whole town? I gotta see this.”

We spend a couple uneventful days hiking back to Three Oaks Junction, where we’ll split up with Aaron and Rebecca. The DM tries to waylay us with a destroyed bridge over a fast-moving river, but we have a Ring of Jumping and a magical alligator. We’re fine. We roll some bad perception checks on watch and our rations get stolen by Curse Raccoons.

ANYWAY. As we get back onto the major roads, Gral is the first to notice something odd: there’s no carts coming from the direction of Three Oaks. Sure, it’s late evening, but last time we were here there was still a heavy buzz of activity through the busy trade stop. We approach extra-cautiously, making sure the civilians are in the protected center of the group.

The town comes into view, and it’s immediately obvious something has changed. A hasty palisade wall has been constructed around the town, and a banner has been hung over the gate, white with a red insignia of a bloody chain.

Shoshana groans. “AAUUUUGH, are you fuckin’ kidding me?!”

“Um, did the town always look like that?” Rebecca asks hesitantly.

Valeria shakes her head. “Not last week, it didn’t!”

Gral pulls the duo aside and gives them the Cliffs Notes: “We’re about to run into the Penitents. Talk about Rack as much as you can and hide behind Valeria. I hate dealing with these folks, but it looks like they put this place on lockdown, and we gotta make sure y’all are safe.”

Outside the gate, there’s a uniformed Penitent Knight keeping watch over a group of citizens who are digging graves. The gate itself seems to be manned by standard town militiamen, being supervised by another Penitent. Valeria casts a quick eye over the scene with Detect Magic, but finds nothing amiss. As she approaches (we’re wisely letting the paladin lead), a guardsman shouts “Halt!”

She stops at a polite distance. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service,” she announces formally. “What’s going on here?”

“By order of the town council, all who seek admittance to the town must submit to examination for heretical artifacts or influences,” the guardsman recites, scriptedly. The Penitent behind him nods in approval.

She meets his eye with an intimidating draconic stare. “We have artifacts we need to bring to the Cursebreaker Knights. Perhaps we can check them at the door and pick them up later?”

“Uhhh,” the guy says, his script clearly not having prepared him for that. “…maybe you should talk to the Inquisitor. He’s gonna want to speak to you about these ‘artifacts.’”

He has us wait a minute, and we take a quick mental inventory. We’ve got an evil skeleton tapestry, spooky lutestrings, the Eyegis, and one (1) entire Shoshana.

A group of six Penitents arrive and escort us stiffly into the town. The place is crowded as all get out; it looks like a lot of travelers have been stuck here way longer than they anticipated. There’s only two properly empty spaces: one’s some sort of enormous construction site, and the other is the area where the circus tent was; it seems nobody’s been brave enough to move into the spot or even clean up the ashy, crumbling remains.

There’s a rather unusual cart sitting among the crowded caravan parking, immediately familiar from the two reptilian beasts of burden hitched next to it. There’s a bit of a staredown happening; two Penitents are remaining remarkably steadfast in the face of two enormous, glowering tattooed figures. We can’t pop over to say hi; our escort is hustling us along and we’re not sure that knowing us would do Lucinius any favors.

Valeria’s about vibrating out of her skin, indignant at all these unfairly-detained innocents, and looks about a second away from drawing her sword and opening up a can o’ Righteousness. But no time for that; we’re being ushered inside the sheriff’s office.

The small-town hoosegow is cramped; there’s been makeshift cages built all along one wall, seemingly as some kind of holding cells, all of them full. Shoshana appraises the prisoners out of the corner of her eye. They all seem to have slight Curse mutations, but so vaguely that it could just be garden-variety weirdness. Sure, that guy could be a werewolf, but he might just be a real hairy dude. That lady looks sallow and corpselike, but not more so than any garden-variety resident of Mornheim.

Shoshana, her clawed hands shoved deep in her pockets, is strung tense as a lutestring. Valeria’s still managing to feign chilly politeness, but both of them are half a breath away from fight or flight.

Gral’s not looking at the prisoners. He’s too busy looking at the guard. There’s two burly Penitents at the door, which is unsurprising, but Gral could swear he’s seen the one on the left before.

He’s pretty sure we killed that guy back at the roadhouse.

The guard doesn’t seem to recognize us at all, but he’s pretty badly scarred, exactly in the way someone might be if they took a hit from a drow soldier’s greatsword.

We’re pulled out of our wary observations by a familiar, unwelcome voice. “Ah. Kyr Argent, wasn’t it?”

“It is,” Valeria allows frostily, as the Inquisitor glides into the room.

“It is good to see you again – in a manner of speaking,” he says, chuckling at his own joke as he gestures to his blindfolded eyes. “Yes, from the descriptions of the heroes who defeated the heretical circus, I suspected I might have the pleasure of working with you once again. What brings you to Three Oaks Junction?”

“Oh, we’re just passing through. Y’know, like travelers do,” she answers, her polite smile showing just a little too much fang.

“Yes, of course. As you can see, this town has become very useful in our war against the Curse.”

“Is it, now.”

“After the incident with the circus, the town council was afraid. Many of them had attended the performance, after all. They were worried that there might be some…aftereffects. Fortunately, my people were nearby, and they summoned me immediately to examine the town for signs of the Curse’s corruption. As we were here, it became clear what an asset this town is – just as the heretics used it to corrupt many at once, we can use it to root out those heretics who hide among us.

“On our first day here, we found one who bore the mark of the curse. I examined him myself. Foul lycanthropy. He was, of course, executed. Now, none pass through this place without our inspection, and we have found many others. You may have seen some of them outside, awaiting a more thorough examination. My work has kept me too busy to give each case the attention it truly deserves.

“The town council has been very accommodating. I have written to my fellows, and we are working on converting and expanding their humble chapel into a true bastion of Rack’s justice, where the divine light of the gods may lay bare the evil that hides among us, that walks the roads of this land spreading its poison.”

Gral mutters, aside, “Don’t think anyone’s walkin’ these roads now…”

The Inquisitor claps his hands briskly. “Now. I understand you are in possession of some artifacts, objects that you are transporting on behalf of the Cursebreaker Knights. I fear for our brothers amongst the Cursebreakers; their mission is noble but they meddle with powers they do not understand. There are things in this wood it is better not to trifle with. Bring the items to me, and I will inspect them. Those I deem acceptable may remain in your protection, but anything too dangerous must be destroyed. Should the Cursebreakers fall to corruption, we would lose some of our greatest assets in this war. Help me protect the Cursebreakers, Kyr Argent. Show me what you are transporting for them.”

Valeria nearly decks him then and there, but a quiet brush of shoulders reminds her of the trembling sorceress behind her. Not here, not now, not when we’re surrounded. If they get an excuse to get aggressive, Shoshana’s sunk.

We busy ourselves with pulling out Weird Yet Harmless artifacts. What kind of random space trinkets did we find, again? Clem shows them the Eldritch Cookbook, and we take a gamble by letting them look at the Pale King’s tapestry, which is a bit large and hard to hide.

“Very well. I will examine these,” the Inquisitor says smoothly, his tone giving no insight into whether he knows we have far more blasphemous things to hide. “Gunter! Find them lodging within the town. Once I have examined these items for corruption, I must confirm that none of you have been corrupted by their presence.”

Valeria smiles tightly. “I’m certain they are corrupted, but not corrupting.”

“With all due respect, Kyr, I have made a study of corruption. Now, because of your…esteemed position,” he says, gesturing toward her rose-emblazoned armor, “you are no doubt on a mission of some considerable importance. I will endeavor to expedite your case as much as I can.”

“Oh, there’s no need to give us special treatment. All the travelers here need to get through,” she responds pointedly.

The Inquisitor’s serene, condescending expression does not change. “You may go,” he dismisses. “I am very busy. As I’m sure you know, the work of good in times of evil is ceaseless.”

Valeria bows to the exact millimeter that politeness requires, and no further. He’s blind, and doesn’t notice.

As we’re ushered back out, Shoshana tries to catch the eye of one of the caged prisoners. They mostly just look scared, not evil, and there’s no sign they recognize she’s also corrupted.

Clem, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to scrutinize the weirdly familiar guy at the door. He looks perfectly healthy, except for all the scars. She elbows Valeria, who confirms with her Divine Sense that this is just a normal dude, not an undead. He’s either one hundred percent living, or whatever nonsense that brought him back from murder is specifically cloaked in a way that would fool a paladin’s senses.

Our escort shows us to a place to set up camp. There are several inns in town, but all of them are fairly occupied at moment. We’re pretty sure that a Knight of the Rose, hero who slew the dread circus, could pre-empt a less fancy guest, but we’re all chill with camping as long as we get to hit up a food truck or something.

We meet back up with our friends. The Fairgolds, who are pretty familiar with Three Oaks, are pretty shaken by the drastic changes. Aaron and Rebecca, meanwhile, are shocked. “Is this what the rest of the woods is like?!” Aaron asks. “I knew things were bad out here, but I assumed once we got out of Bad Herzfeld…”

“Different places have different issues,” Gral explains kindly. “Some are the kind you’re already familiar with. And apparently some places are afflicted with Penitent Knights.”

“Even before that, there was an undead curse which afflicted this place-“

“-Which we DEALT WITH just fine-“ Valeria interjects grumpily.

“-and Holzog’s safe now, but it had its own weird issues we had to deal with too. The Curse is everywhere; you can’t really get around it without clear-cutting the forest,” Shoshana admits.

We get the lay of the land. Commerce has slowed, but not stopped. The Penitents are searching everyone going through here. If they find nothing, they let you go. Most of the crowd is just people waiting for their turn to get checked. We see a few times, though - if something about you pings them as weird, they take you away.

Basically, we are in line at the TSA.

Guess we’ll take a walk.

We skirt warily around a Penitent street preacher who’s shouting something about justice, and casting out evil, and how Rack appreciates your sacrifice in these trying times.

“Sacrifice is a WILLING thing,” grumbles Valeria.

We walk around and do some casual recon. Much of the town is still a perpetual campsite/bazaar, but near the more permanent municipal buildings, several work crews are busy with construction, which the locals tell us is supposed to be some kind of temple. Quite a few rough tents with Penitent insignias are pitched by that area. The town militia is out in force, and it’s much bigger than when we passed through last week. Maybe half of the people running around on patrol are actually trained fighters; most of the new recruits barely even look like weekend warriors. Every patrol, without exception, is being supervised by at least one Penitent.

People are scared, mostly. Nobody around seems happy with the Penitents, but a lot of the people around have reluctantly agreed that Something Had To Be Done about threats like the circus, and there weren’t any other available options. No one’s enthusiastic they’re there, but neither are they vocally critical. Then again, we worry, maybe anyone who’s been speaking out or causing trouble has, uh, disappeared.

We make our way back to our own wagon. If we’re gonna go Get In Trouble, like adventurers do, it’s probably time to part ways with our civilian friends. We pool 40 gold for Aaron and Rebecca (Clem contributing nothing because giving money is WAY too personal; Shoshana giving extra because she’s projecting really hard onto them) and Aaron’s eyes go wide. Oh, right, most people don’t make adventurer amounts of cash? It’ll be enough to get them safely set up in Holzog, with money to spare. They leave to set up their own travel plans, stuttering awkward thanks.

Flynn, meanwhile, grins. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of us that easily. You guys are terrible liars, I know you’re plotting something.”

We admit we don’t actually have a plan, but Valeria is adamant that This Nonsense Cannot Stand.

Let’s go recruit some allies, maybe? Gral wanders within Message range of Lucinius’ wagon, which is very clearly cordoned off and under guard. Bjorn and Ingborg are still there, but there’s no sign of the dragonborn.

“Heyy it’s us, what’s going on? Over.”

“Hello. We cannot leave. The Professor was taken. They wished to search the cart. He explained what he has and what he has found, that he is carrying important research. He would not allow them to confiscate his research, and he went to speak to the one in charge. That was three days ago; we have not seen him since. It is our duty to protect the man, but we have not seen a way to fulfil that duty without getting ourselves killed.”

We promise to keep them posted, and ask them to sit tight so when we make our move, it’ll be coordinated.

Next, Gral and Shoshana go down to the local pub to see if we can find anyone that’s particularly malcontented with the Penitents. We assume religious zealots are not much for hanging around bars. They don’t seem to be much into worldly pleasures, coughzombiecough.

Nobody’s talking too much shit until they get a couple of drinks in them but we do find some people griping, mostly merchants passing through. Pierre the Demish furrier, who we met back at the Holzog roadhouse, has turned up again; apparently the Penitents seized a good deal of his stock. And he’s been reduced to drinking BEER. He has OPINIONS about that. (It does not stop him drinking lots of it; he has to drown his sorrows at being denied worthy alcohol.)

Gral tries to butter him up a bit by letting him ramble about Demish wine. “When you drink a bottle of Demish wine, you taste centuries of tradition in that vineyard! You taste the earth itself, the hands of the farmers. It is sweet and it stings and it is good. What is this? Barley? Hops? HOPS? Hop is a verb, hop is not an object. Hop is for bunnies. The bunnies may eat the hops, and then I will cook the bunnies,” he mumbles into his unsatisfactory beer.

Gral fumbles for sommelier expertise. “I come from a smaller river village; wine tastes different farm to farm. It’s not just about the plants, but the social experience.”

“It is the same for us, yes? A region’s wine is its SPIRIT. You go to the border of the goblin swamps, and the wine there tastes like fire and blood, like the steel of the chevaliers that defend it.”  Go to Petit le Fere, it tastes like long summer nights. Go to Marsène, the wine tastes like – have you ever been in love, Monsieur Orc?”

“Uh, n-no?”

It tastes like the first time you and your lover locked eyes and laughed together. That was my favorite wine. This? This tastes like mud with pretensions of alcohol.”

“It’s not the steel of the chevaliers, but it’s the taste of hardworking people. And if the penitents have their way, there won’t be a town here anymore.”

Gral butters the guy up enough to find out a few basic details: there’s about two dozen proper knights, but they’ve got local militia and volunteers to swell their numbers. A lot of people are very keen to get on good terms with the new bosses, whether it’s because they’re afraid of the Penitents or afraid of the things out in the woods that the Penitents have promised to fight.

“I was here to get a blood-red deer pelt with wolf’s teeth,” the trader complains. “I know a chevalier who would pay dearly to have it worked into his armor. And now it has been taken away!  For my ‘protection,’ apparently. I had to surrender the rest of my stock to avoid being thrown in those cages.”

Everybody in the tavern seems to be on good behavior – sure, there’s folks displeased with the Penitents, but nobody’s gonna do anything about it; if you look like you might be up to something, you’re gonna get dragged off. And Pierre’s been keeping a low profile ever since he saw that blue dragonborn get dragged down into the basement of the sheriff’s office.

Shoshana, meanwhile, slides over to a tough-looking lady at the end of the bar in militia-style leather armor. “Hey, you look like you’d know the system here. We just got in to town; how long before they search our cart and let us go?”

“A couple days; we got a huge backlog,” the woman, who’s introduced herself as Vanessa, tells her. “Depends on how much they suspect you. Some people, they like to leave ‘em here for a while, to watch ‘em for anything suspicious.”

“You say that like you’re not involved? You’re dressed like you’re with the militia.”

“Technically I am. Second-in-command, or I was, before all this. Not sure who is now. Hell, I was the one making noise at Sheriff Wilbur about getting more muscle after that circus thing. If you folks hadn’t shown up, I dunno what would have happened.”

“So you all get bossed around by the Penitents now?”

“Look, half the kids in the militia right now barely know which end of a spear is up. The Penitents agreed to supplement what we had.”

“…yyyyyeah, it kinda feels like they’re calling the shots, though?”

She sighs. “Yeah. Look, I had the idea that we needed to beef up, bring in experienced vets. I was hoping to get mercs or something, and then they showed up and filled the role. They made some kinda deal with the town council, y’know, they’d provide extra security in exchange for being given jurisdiction over anybody found to be corrupt. Sounded fine to us at the time. See, we didn’t make the connection that if they were with the militia, they’d be the ones making the call who all’s corrupt or not.”

“How many people have been deemed, uh, ‘corrupt’?” Shoshana asks.

“More than I’d like, but not enough to get everyone all up in arms. Everybody’s pretty sure that most people will be fine. Hell, most people probably will be. When someone goes to trial, they take ‘em to the sheriff’s office. That Inquisitor guy looks at ya, says a few magic words, and most of ‘em he lets go. A few get taken to the cages for a further exam. I dunno what that means – don’t know anybody who’s been let go after that. A couple of times he just made a motion and bam, those knights beat the poor bastard to death on the spot and burned all their belongings.”

Vanessa doesn’t look too thrilled about that, so Shoshana decides it’s time to confide a little. “Even with the entire town vouching for me that I helped with the Circus, I’m worried I’m a target.”

“Well, I don’t mean to say anything, but I saw y’all leaving the sheriff’s office. You’re gonna get called in; you’re exactly the type. Even before all those stories about burning down circus tent with your magic powers.” She stares into her beer. “They’ve gotta be crazy. There’s plenty of crazy in the forest for them to deal with, why the hell are they in my town?!”

The problem is, the Town Council, which is what passes for a governing body in Three Oaks, have signed off on the whole deal. “The council’s just three people – the sheriff, Burgermeister Menner, and Remick – he’s the guy who keeps the shrine up and running. They all agreed to have the Penitents come in, but we haven’t seen much of any of them except the Sheriff since.”

Shoshana files that info away for later. “You said the sheriff’s still out and about?”

“He’s – look. Wilbur’s never been the most enthusiastic about bein’ sheriff. We served together, way back, in the house guard of the von Kempt family. Even back then he got the job because he’d been a sergeant. The guy was always happiest taking orders, rather than giving them. And hell, most of the sheriff job was just keeping things running today same as yesterday. But he got pretty spooked by the circus thing. That kinda shit’s scarier than your ordinary pack of wolves or bandits. I tried to get him to do something, but he seems comfortable with penitents calling the shots. He trusts they’re the experts and know what’s best here.”

The Burgermeister’s been pretty busy with this whole thing, apparently, and Remick hasn’t really left his little shrine. The Penitents don’t use that one – they’re more into big prayer ceremonies and dramatically flogging themselves in the street, and they’re starting construction on their own grand temple. Something about “showing faith by constructing a worthy house of worship,” and all that.

Vanessa’s grumbling about the heavy restrictions on the gates into town and the perimeter patrols, so Shoshana strategizes. “Have you had problems with people hopping the fence?”

“I mean, normally, no? Town regulations say go through the gates, but we’ve always had teenagers hopping the wall, or people with business outside who don’t feel like walking all the way to gate – never a real problem, until this whole nonsense. I’m not on patrol anymore, but as far as I can tell people are too scared to try in case they get caught. Probably a good way to get declared a potential heretic.”

Apparently the wall isn’t super well maintained; there’s plenty of places a few charming scamps could get in or out if they’re willing to scramble a little. It’s a trade stop, not a fortress.

We don’t get too much more info around town, and decide to investigate the town council in the morning. We take watch overnight, but nothing happens.

In the morning, we split up to cover more ground; Clem and Gral head to the Burgermeister’s, while Valeria and Shoshana try to hit up the local chief cleric.

Clem and Gral arrive at the biggest house in town. There’s a Penitent standing guard outside the door. They skulk around nonchalantly to the back to properly recon. There’s no Penitents watching the back, so Gral slinks up to a window to peer inside. It’s pretty normal; there’s a woman baking bread. Clem points out that we’ll definitely look like the bad guys if we break into an occupied home, so…the polite approach it is.

“The Burgermeister is not feeling well and cannot see visitors,” the knight at the gate intones.

“We’re here on urgent business,” Gral improvises. “We are the adventurers who defeated the circus; we wish to talk to him about the restoration efforts.” He rolls a properly bardic persuasion check, but it’s still like talking to a brick wall.

However, the door opens behind the stoic guard. “Who is it?” An elegant middle-aged woman peers out at us. “Wait, don’t I recognize you?”

“Yes, we assisted in deposing the circus!” Gral replies warmly. “Gral Omokk’du; I serve Duke Shieldeater.”

“Clementine Haxan,” Clem offers laconically.

“Ah, yes. Please do come in. You left town so quickly, my husband and I weren’t able to properly thank you!”

“We had urgent business elsewhere,” Gral admits, the picture of good manners. “I suppose that’s how life is.”

They make pleasantries with the woman, Meredith, who falls easily into the role of gracious host.

“We had concerns to bring up with the Burgermeister, but what’s this I hear about him being unwell?”

“Yes, he’s been bedridden the last week. A bit of the flu; he’s getting to that age. Mostly it’s just the fatigue, really.”

Clem tuts. “I’m a bit of a medic myself. The flu can be very serious when someone is in advanced years. I could potentially give a clearer diagnosis, maybe alleviate some of his pain?”

Meredith visibly brightens. “I was thinking about sending for a doctor anyway; please come on up, I’ll see if he’s ready to take visitors.”

The Burgermeister has CORONAVIRUS and we’re in QUARANTINE.

She leads them upstairs. “Dear? Aldrich? Remember those people who helped with the circus? One’s a doctor!” She listens for a moment. “You’re tired? You’ve been tired for a week. No, that’s not normal. It’s normal to get a doctor!” She turns back to the two visitors. “He’s being silly, come on up.”

“I don’t need a doctor, just rest!” we hear a harrumphing voice complain.

He is lying in bed in his pajamas. Ah, this is the burger kingdom! No, it’s my burger meistdom

“Hello sir, I’m Clementine Haxan. This is my nurse, Gral Omokk’du.”

“An orcish nurse?” the Burgermeister

“I’m not as experienced as Miss Haxan, but I served as a medic during the Ascension War,” Gral seamlessly bullshits.

“Look I’ve just picked up a bit of a bug and I need rest;” he grumps. “It’ll go away after a bit and I’ll resume my duties.”

“That may very well be true, but gods forbid it’s serious,” Clem says in her best Bedside Manner Voice. “It’ll be good to have it looked it.”

“Ugh, poke and prod me, do what you have to,” he reluctantly concedes.

Clem makes a medicine check with Dr. Wendell’s assistance. The man’s not entirely healthy - his cholesterol is a bit high maybe - but he’s hardly an invalid. He genuinely seems to have some kind of cold or flu, but it’s very mild at this point. There’s no way he should still be bedbound. Maybe it’s just Clem’s standards as an army doctor, but if a soldier came up to her with these symptoms asking to be let off duty the prescription would be “stop wasting my time and go dig latrines.”

Gral insights the guy. He’s not lying; he honestly believes he needs rest. But the way he keeps repeating the word “rest” feels a bit weird. The vibe isn’t “this person feels sick and fatigued,” it’s “this person has an insistent conviction that He Needs Rest.”

“Rest” isn’t a Prisoner buzzword, but Gral’s seen bards cast Suggestion before, and that seems to line up a little too well. Unfortunately, he can’t just Dispel Magic the darn thing; it’s too artful and subtle for that.

Gral decides to fish for a bit more info. “Before we leave you to your rest, how long have you had this flu?”

“About a week? The Inquisitor comes by every morning to update me on the town’s situation. Though I must rest and cannot attend to my duties, a town’s Burgermeister still must keep up with the times!”

“When did you first come into contact with him alone?”

“Oh, I insisted on a meeting when he first came into town a week ago.”

Interesting. The Burgermeister falls ill just in time so that the only information he gets about the town comes from the Inquisitor himself.

Wife doesn’t go out much, armed guard outside

Did he update you on the cage and the executions?

Have been capturing some neer do wells that seek to do harm to town, held for further questioning, some eliminated to protect town like common bandits or beasts.

Saw people in cages! How would you describe them, Clem.

Clem: didn’t strike me as especially dangerous folk

“Well, neither did that ringleader! He only seemed as eccentric as any other traveling performer!”

“Sure,” Gral argues, “but that’s when he had time to prepare his lies and his magic. These scared people in cages wouldn’t be able to hide if they tried. Honestly, the worst I saw was an excessive amount of body hair.”

“Fine, fine, I will inspect these prisoners personally as soon as I feel better, which should be any day now!”

“With all due respect, you fell ill right after this Inquisitor started talking to you. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Miss Haxan says you’re fine-“

“No I’m not! I need rest!” the Burgermeister interjects heatedly.

“We saved the town, and we’ve had trouble with Penitents before. I believe he has a spell on you. Please, let me try to remove it.”

“I’ve no time for your insane ravings, orc. The Inquisitor is a man of faith! Now leave me to my rest. Dr. Haxan, I appreciate your diagnosis, but I tire easily these days. Have my wife show you out.”

Gral knows the effect of Suggestion is only about 8 hours, but it’s subtle mental manipulation; it lasts. If the Inquisitor is coming by every morning, that’s the perfect opportunity to refresh the charm.

The two of them head out, Clem politely prescribing a short calisthenic routine for the man and, oh, he’s on the mend but just in caaaase he’s contagious the Inquisitor probably shouldn’t visit for a few days?

His wife agrees that sounds reasonable, but it probably won’t stop the guy. They say their gracious goodbyes.

Meanwhile, Shoshana and Valeria are headin’ to church. It’s a tiny thing; there are naves for the three gods we expect, but it doesn’t have the traditional empty throne of Oberok and we’d be surprised if it had a proper hidden shrine for the trickster god Guile. There’s a few people around, and luckily no Penitents posted outside.

Valeria, of course, stops at the Rack shrine for a short prayer, still getting used to how odd it is to see him depicted as human instead of dragonborn. We notice a few little notes – the Lethe shrine’s sponsored by the local blacksmith. You too can have a sword or hammer just like these, in our showroom down the lane!

A few folks are doing their daily prayers and making offerings. They’re all locals and travelers; there’s not a single Penitent in sight, which is pretty odd. There’s no services right now, so we head over to the old man who’s cleaning up candle drippings under one of the offerings. Valeria introduces herself, at your service as per usual.

“Ah, Kyr Argent! I remember you, from that blond man’s story about the circus! Keeper Remick, at your service. How may I aid you?”

Valeria asks him how, as a keeper of the faith, he feels about the Penitents.

“Well, in these times, faith is very important. And they certainly have plenty of that. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it? As a paladin, I’m sure you agree.”

“Faith is one thing, but I can’t say I’m pleased with what they’ve misguidedly done here,” Valeria sniffs.

“As I see it, they’re keeping the town safe. The Inquisitor explained it to me. It’s the will of the gods! Desperate times call for desperate measures, and, well, times are pretty desperate when you can’t even trust a circus! With your mind, that is. With your wallet, Guile walks with them, doesn’t he? Anyhow. These Penitent fellows, they seem extreme, but is there any other option?”

“There must be,” Valeria declares. “They’re detaining people at a crossroads, that’s the work of oppression.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far – see, the Inquisitor explained it to me. He is an experienced scholar of the faith, with a keen – not eye, I guess. A keen sense for the corruption that lurks in the hearts of men. I am, to be honest, just a glorified janitor!”

“I’m certain you’re more than that,” Valeria objects.

“Oh, there’s no need for that. It’s a role I’ve found fulfilling, keeping this place and these people.”

“Well, it seems like they’re brushing past this place in search of something new.”

“Yes, heh. I believe the intent is to make this town a bastion of faith. I’m sure that my little spot here will still remain in use, but more glorification to the gods is good, right?”

We botch an insight check and don’t get a real good sense of him. There isn’t the sense that he’s lying about anything – our impression is he believes it’s not his place to stand in the Penitents’ way; they must know better than him. He’s an old man who’s done a noble job, but he doesn’t think he’s cut out for determining who is or isn’t a danger to the town.

We try another tack: “I understand you’re on the town council?”

“I am. Don’t know why, really. We used to have a proper cleric, decades ago. When he died, I was closest thing to a replacement we had! As the keeper of town’s faith, I hold one of the three seats. Burgermeister Menner does most of running the town, but for the big things he calls in myself and the sheriff and we all take a vote.”

“Then you must have been a big part of bringing the Penitents in?”

“Well, Sheriff Wilbur’s the one who brought their offer to us. I did vote in favor, yes. The Inquisitor showed up personally with his people and described the whole arrangement he had in mind. The Penitents would reinforce and train our militia, and those guilty of corruption would be remanded into their custody for justice. It all seemed very reasonable; sheriff Wilbur does his best but clearly he and his deputies aren’t enough on their own, not against this sort of curse. Burgermeister Menner fell ill shortly afterwards, and I’ve been very busy here doing what I can to keep up folks’ faith.”

Shoshana butts in. “Have you actually been out to see the Penitents work?”

“Yes, once. It disturbed me, but I understand it couldn’t be avoided. The Inquisitor suggested it might be best to avoid seeing such things that upset me so.”

“But if it upsets you – wouldn’t you be the one with authority to change things?!” Valeria demands, failing a persuasion check.

“Oh, voting on anything like that has to wait until the Burgermeister feels better.”

“Can’t council members do anything on their own?”

“Like I said, we’d have to convene to vote…”

“Sure, for the big things,” Shoshana argues, “But the sheriff and Burgermeister have their own duties, don’t you have your own authority as well?”

“I - I suppose I could call clerics from other towns to take a look?”

Valeria puts a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and sparkles at him with all her charismatic piety. “You’re not just the keeper of the shrine, you’re the keeper of this town’s faith. I know you can make a difference.”

The dice land in her favor. “Yes!” the old man declares. “I will-I will do something. What is it I should do? I’m new to this. I’ve held this seat for 20 years but, well, doing something is new. Mostly council meetings are that the Burgermeister says I’d like to increase the tolls, I say the gods probably won’t argue, the sheriff says it won’t cause a riot, and then he does it. I am not suited for a crisis.”

“Well, what kinds of things do you normally do?”

“Er, sometimes I have to sit in on a trial and make sure the prisoner has an advocate?”

OH YOU’RE A PRISONER ADVOCATE, HUH. WELL BOY DO WE HAVE SOME PRISONERS FOR YOU.

“Why, don’t the Penitents do that as clerics of Rack?”

We politely do not laugh in his face. No, no they do not.

“Oh, then I must go at once!”

We’re gonna reconvene with the rest of the party, and then will see the gods’ justice done! After lunch!

The four of us, plus the Fairgolds, meet up. Flynn reports that there have been no changes; the Penitents let all carts through but seized some items, mostly books. We swap info about the Burgermeister and Keeper Remick. The town leadership is hardly good in a crisis, but the Penitents have definitely been separating and keeping them down on purpose.

The first step is to bring in Keeper Remick as our prisoner advocate for those folks being held in the basement. The old man puffs himself up with as much importance as he can, aided by all of us backing him up looking tough. “AHEM,” he announces to the nonplussed Penitent guard, “as a member the of town council and keeper of town’s faith, let me speak with your prisoners!”

Silence.

“Can I speak to your manager? I mean leader!”

The Penitent shakes his head.

“Now listen here young man, what seat do you hold on the town council?!”

The Penitent finally speaks. “I have been instructed to-“

“To work WITH the town council,” Remick retorts, showing a surprising amount of backbone. “No matter how much experience you all may have, it is my solemn duty to speak with the town’s prisoners! Allow ,e to do my duty or I will be forced to write a sternly worded letter! APOLOGIZING FOR FORCING OUR WAY PAST YOU!”

The Inquisitor glides up behind his guard, listening to Remick’s speech. “Very well,” he intones in his eerily calm voice, “You may…enter.”

We are brought down to basement. It’s a set of maybe 6 cells, more suited to being a drunk tank than any long-term holding cell. In one cell we spot the distinctive scales of a blue dragonborn, and as our footsteps clank on the stone, an equally distinctive voice begins to shout indignantly.

“You brutes, I demand you return my research materials to me! I was in the middle of some important work when- oh, you aren’t the warden. My goodness! Kyr Argent! I must say, it’s rather good to see a familiar face.” Oh, hi, Lucinius.

The cells are overcrowded – there must be 20 prisoners across 6 cells. Lucinius and everyone else crammed in with him look pretty beaten up. They all look completely normal; the ones with visible mutations have been imprisoned where people can see. These are the prisoners they wouldn’t be able to get away with holding publicly.

Lucinius has clearly got a rant building up. “I explained to them many times that I am a professor from Golden Academy, and they refused to listen! They said my studies are ‘heretical’ and my magics ‘invoke the name of the tyrant god’ – yes, obviously, they were written during the Aquilian empire, they said ‘Oberok’ every other word! It’s not a dirty word! Anyhow. Are you here to let us out?”

“We’re here to be advocates!”

“Oh, we’ve had advocates!” Lucinius huffs. “The Inquisitor is the prosecution, while one of those fanatic knights serves as our ‘advocate.’ It’s quite far from ideal; their position as advocate is that we ought to confess, if we understand the gravity of our crimes. And then they hit us a bit.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the customs of this land,” Gral allows, “but that doesn’t exactly sound like proper advocacy.”

“Well, I certainly don’t know how things are done in this country! I’ve never been accused of a cr- well, I have been accused of many crimes,” Lucinius admits. “I find it’s best never to assume about local customs. That got me into a LOT of trouble with the goblins. Did you know they have a ‘trial by fire?’ I misunderstood it, they just light a big fire to keep the courtroom warm while the trial goes all night. I went to great lengths to cast Protection from Energy! And of course it turns out casting spells as a prisoner is double illegal…”

“Double illegal?”

“Yes, it means they bring in twice as many judges.”

As he rants, the sight of innocent prisoners in miserable conditions seems to be a pretty strong argument. Remick’s fully on board with booting the Penitents out as soon as he can convene the town council.

Gral’s going to make a show of it. Loudly, he declares, “This is a violation of these citizens’ basic rights! We’ll need a full meeting of the town council before any Penitent activities continue!”

The Inquisitor hmms. “That’s…certainly something the Burgermeister could order. But nobody may leave if they have not been inspected. If we cannot continue our inspections, the town would shut down entirely.”

“The lockdown would only start once the Burgermeister declares it, which hasn’t happened yet,” Valeria interjects testily.

We’re politely and pointedly escorted out.

Lucinius shouts after us, “Don’t be long! Tell my bodyguards these people are not allowed into the cart without a warrant signed by someone of noble rank, or at least with a judicial position! Also, contact the embassy! They can’t do this to me, I have tenure-!”

The session closes as we discuss how the hell we’re going to get a Proper Council Meeting with the sheriff out “receiving instruction” from the Penitents and the Burgermeister convinced he’s indisposed. And we’ve got to get at least two of the three to vote the intruders out. That’s not gonna happen without them feeling like they have some way to protect the town from the Curse.

We fondly reminisce that our previous campaign’s party would definitely have started murdering people by now.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 15: Burn the Temple, Topple the Thorns

We may have stretched the bounds of simple country hospitality too far.

Underground, Valeria and Clem consider a pressing question: are there any doors they can go through where they DON’T have to talk to the smug hobbit man? Good cave walls make good neighbors.

Investigating around can’t hurt, right? Clem picks a door at random - maybe all the cheesecaves are connected, like one big Cheesecave Factory - and peers in with her darkvision.

Not the next one over, but the one after that, since. Maybe they’re connected. Clem peers into the gloom of the cave with her darkvision, and can make out some lumpy outlines. As she creeps in, the ground under her feet feels disturbingly soft.

“Should I get the light?” asks Valeria. Clem nods. Valeria lights up A-Luxor. As the little floating beetle fills the cave with light, they see there is a carpet of fungus on the ground. Up against one wall, half-formed, a large, vaguely humanoid figure is growing out of this patch of fungus.

Valeria is like, “That’s horrifying. I was gonna just leave and shut the door? But we have to do something about that.” Clem agrees. Maybe they should set it on fire. As the half-formed creature stirs in the sudden light, she glimpses a small barrel someone has wedged into a nearby pillar. Oh, huh, there’s a length of fuse coming out of it. What on earth could this be?

We could sit here and wonder why this thing is rigged to explode, but the fungus creature is moving and growing in the light. The misshapen lump where a head would be pulls free and turns toward the two adventurers. With a massive effort, a big clublike arm tears away from the wall and slugs Valeria. 

The other arm and legs don’t look fully formed, and Clem wastes no time hacking at the weak points with her sword. The body is soft and incomplete; there’s something fleshy underneath, but if there was ever a person in there, it’s long gone. It’s almost dead – this thing would have been a real monster if it had finished growing, but as it is it’s weak and unprepared. Valeria chops its bulbous head off, and it slops to the ground with a sickening flop. The thing lurches over and falls. 

As it does so, a red splotch appears in the mottled green blanket of fungus over the walls, spreading rapidly outward. 

Clem doesn’t like the look of that. “…should we run?”

Valeria shrugs. “We probably shouldn’t stay overnight. Maybe we just leave and close the door?”

The spreading red patch reaches a bulbous puffball mushroom bulging out of the corner, which turns a pulsing red and begins to emit an earsplitting, high pitched scream.

Oops.

-

Gral and Shoshana are skedaddling, because the temple worshippers have started gathering up torches and particularly sharp farm implements - you know, good old-fashioned angry mob stuff. Luckily, Gral and Shosha have enough warning to get well away before they come pouring out, making a beeline for the inn, so the spellcasters scoot back to the meeting place without detection. Rebecca’s hiding in the bushes right where she said she’d be.

“I got your friends to the safehouse, they’re fine,” she reassures them, with full dramatic irony.

They head a ways through the valley, but it’s not long before the torches in the distance make a sudden sharp turn and start heading down road we’ve been going down.

“Rebecca, they don’t know where the safehouse is, right?”

“No!”

“Because they’re coming right for us. They couldn’t have seen us, could they?”

The mob hasn’t even gotten to the inn yet; they can’t have already discovered we’re gone.

They hear a rustling from the wheat field. 

They fuckin’ book it.

-

The awful sound echoes through the room. As similar screaming starts to emerge from the adjacent caves as well, the door that Rebecca had originally indicated flies open, and a bunch of figures hurry out, pulling on bags and cloaks.

“What the hell happened?” someone shouts. “Are those the people Rebecca was bringing?!”

“Quickly! Zis place is burned. Set off ze charges.” A Demish voice begins snapping orders. Torches light up as figures of all shapes and sizes start running toward cave doors.

A short silhouette glares up at the tanks. “Oh. I see. Bonjour.”

Clem audibly sighs.

Henri has no time for this. “You have no idea what you’ve done here, do you?” he hisses. “Before you begin with ze noble indignant speech, now is not ze time. Run! Stay out of ze fields!”

They don’t need telling twice. Valeria and Clem charge back down the path to meet up with the spellcasters.

Gral and Shoshana hear screaming, and see their allies abandoning all stealth and clattering towards them. 

Behind them, the hills explode in cascading showers of soil and flame.

Rebecca’s aghast. “They’ve been using them for months now! What happened!”

Clem humphs. “I guess this is what happens when you build a safehouse among FUNGAL ALARMS.”

“But there was a system! They had a thingthat let them turn one off every night! There was a system!”

Clem wisely chooses to omit some details. “…seems like a flawed system.”

Rebecca does not have time to unpack this right now. “What did Henri say to do?”

“Run.”

“Where?”

“THAT WAS NOT INDICATED.”

She swears. “The cultists are coming this way – we don’t have a lot of time. I know some places we could try to hide. My dad, though - he’s back at the inn, I don’t know if he’s safe-”

There are too many of the cultists between us and the inn, though, so she leads us away from the awakening wheat fields to the thicker, less-tamed trees by the river. We find the densest brush we can, Minor Image up some extra shrubbery, and hunker down.

We can clearly see the cultists’ movements by the burning lights of their torches. They reach the destroyed caves and start to fan out, breaking into 2- or 3-person search parties, soon joined by silhouettes that emerge from the wheat fields. For the time being, our hiding place seems to go unnoticed.

What’s our plan now? Hunker and wait out the night? Now that the search parties are more scattered, we could make moves back to town, Trollsburg, or even Sturmhearst, or to cross the river.

Rebecca wants to check on her father, but she’s gonna follow our lead. We’re worried that even her tentative safety has been compromised; after this, the cultists might not bother hiding during the day anymore. 

As we bicker, Shoshana surveys the area. Pretty much the only place the cultists aren’t searching is the temple itself.

...hey.

Temple’s empty.

What if we burned down the temple while everyone was out?

It’s alarming how quickly the group agrees to arson.

(In deference to previous campaigns: If we find any big fancy chairs, we will knock them over, as well.)

Rebecca does not want to be there while we burn down the temple, understandably. We direct her to Trollsburg, which the townsfolk should leave alone – tell Dr. Kjeller we sent her. She slips off into the night, and we shift from defense to offense.

As we roll stealth, Shoshana crits and everyone can see the change come over her. She now has a target, and the part of her that belongs to the Hunt…goes on the hunt. Her posture changes, ever so subtly. The way she peers into the darkness makes her eyes seem even more inhuman, gleaming in the darkness. And the shadows curl around her just a little bit more.

We sneak back to the temple, the predator’s instinct guiding us deftly around our pursuers.

It appears that the temple is not wholly unguarded. There’s three people Gral can see backlit against the windows, and none of them are Zelig. Hans and Franz still have bits of the floorboard peeled up. They’ve revealed more of the fungal carpet underneath, and they’re examining it and discussing what they see in hushed tones. The fungus is a riot of shifting colors; it’s almost like they’re reading it. There’s a third man there, a farmer, and soon enough Hans and Frans tell the third guy something and he immediately runs off.

“All the plants are informants for them,” Gral realizes aloud. “They’re getting info here. They know where everyone in the valley is.”

“Oh, good thing we’re gonna burn it then.”

Valeria goes ahead and casts Aid, because this is likely to get hairy, and Shoshana turns back to the party and grins a fanged grin.

“Firesong taught me this one,” she says, and hucks a Fireball through the window.

Subtle? No. Satisfying? Oh, yes.

Hans and Franz, coughing in the smoke, pick themselves off the ground and dive for weapons. It’s obvious the blast has done some heavy damage to them. (And to their clothes. Scantily clad buff men, hell yeah.)

Hans bursts out of the door, swinging a heavy fencepost with nails pounded through it, clobbering the first Clem he sees. We thought he was buff this morning, but he’s grown impossibly more swole. A button pops off his overalls as his inflated muscles bulge out of them.

The temple begins to fill with smoke as the fire catches. We hear that awful alarm-mushroom screaming again.

Shoshana cackles and Fireballs the place again.

Valeria pulls out her trident with a flourish and forks Hans right in his big unnaturally round pectoral, Rack’s vines curling around him. We’ve leveled up and she gets two attacks now, so she pops him again, and Hans crumples to the ground – we’re not sure he’s DEAD dead, but he’s out of the fight.

Franz levels his big-ass crossbow at the madly cackling witch in the window. HAHAHAHHAAHAHA-oh shit. She gets blown out the window, along with 2/3 of her HP in one shot.

Clem takes a cue from Shoshana and gets WAY too into this, cackling and swinging in with her big ol’ sword. These fellas have ogre stats, but she’s a veteran badass and cleaves Franz right in two. An on-the-spot medicine check from the medic reveals that…those are definitely not fully human insides. Ew. 

She flexes over his corpse in a final show of superiority. She got these muscles WITHOUT juicin’, thank you very much.

The two halves of Franz fall heavily, crashing through the weakening floorboards and revealing a cavernous space underneath the burning temple structure. The fungal carpet is very on fire. (In Shoshana’s opinion it could stand to be MORE on fire, though.)

Alarms are coming from both the temple and the carpet. Gral listens for anything else, but he can’t hear whether the townsfolk are coming over the roar of the growing blaze. Maybe we jump down there and investigate? Or do we dip out?

Screw it. There’s a tempting hole, full of danger.

Clem rips off both her sleeves and uses one as a smoke facemask.

We gotta make sure this thing burns for good. We jump in the curse hole, because of course we do. It’s more of a basement than a cave, really. The flames from the floor above illuminate some crates and shelves and boxes – normal basement stuff. (Shoshana rolls a nat 1 perception, and so is too busy cackling at fire like a terrible arson goblin.)

One side looks like the shrine to Guile, hidden as shrines to Guile always are. There’s also an empty throne for Oberok, per tradition. It falls over.

On the other side, though, there’s storage - tables stacked up for banquets, picnic tables, chairs. One big chair has been dragged out, and an imposing figure sits, staring at us impassively. Rose vines have grown out from the chair, wrapping around his heavily armored limbs. 

His armor gleams with polish, though leaves poke through the seams, and his closed helmet is sculpted to fit the face of a dragonborn. It clangs as he jerkily stands to his full height.

“Marius?” Valeria gasps.

The rose-bound knight draws a trident and turns to us. The vines behind him start to wriggle and writhe as he moves.

His purple cloak of office is missing. Valeria feels it hang heavy about her shoulders.

His mouth moves as if he’s about to speak, and silent rose petals fall softly out.

Shoshana doesn’t trust this. She casts Mirror Image, the flickering fire-shadow playing games with her figure. Marius’ head tilts as he focuses in on her, the thrower of the fireballs, so the squishy sorceress dives behind her bulkier friends for extra cover. Gral follows suit and dashes the other way, spreading out the party. The knight that might be Kyr Marius hefts a mighty trident and hurls it, nailing Clem. Vines burst forth from his gauntlet and snatch the trident as it hits true, snapping it back to his hand.

Marius had a magic gauntlet that did that, but he would do it with Rack’s glowing ethereal rose vines, not these squirming physical ones. Valeria, hesitating, hopes that if he’s using his same fighting style, there might be something left of her beloved mentor inside this growth-encrusted enemy.

Clem second winds, in preparation for Doing Something Stupid, and charges Marius directly. Bracing himself against her blow, Marius reaches out to one side and fires a blast of vines at Gral, who finds himself bound in foliage but manages to resist being dragged into sword range.

As Valeria and Clem rush to engage, the knight’s faceplate opens to reveal a familiar silver face, webbed over by the delicate tendrils of roots and sprouts. He breathes not a cloud of cold, as Valeria would expect, but a barrage of toxic spores and razor-sharp seeds. Rose vines climb through the cellar floor at Valeria’s feet, tangling and impeding her movements, but only seeming to aid the knight’s passage as he glides effortlessly to where Gral is held in place by vines.

Valeria had hoped to be able to cut the vines away to disconnect Marius from the Growth’s control, but as he moves away from his makeshift throne we can see most of the plants under his armor are untethered, growing out of his body. As she moves to tear Gral free with her claws, bits of charred ceiling begin to rain down around us.

Oh, right, the building’s on fire.

Shoshana pew-pews over a few spare pews, but her spells bounce off his armor, and Gral’s fear effects are just as ineffective. 

Kyr Marius draws his sword, long-thorned vines growing from out of his gauntlet to wrap around it, a warped mirror-image of how Valeria’s smites manifest. He moves swiftly, pinning Gral with his trident and plunging in his sword for the killing blow - luckily only destroying Gral’s illusory duplicate, but brutally efficient nonetheless. Whatever this knight is, it’s certainly retained the veteran paladin’s skill.

Valeria bites the bullet and abandons her hesitation, imposing herself like a protective wall between her mentor and her friend. Nose-to-nose with him, his faceplate hanging open, she can see just how much the Growth has infested the once-mighty paladin. Tiny sprouts creep out from under his silver scales, thorns nesting side-by-side with his fangs and a riot of green plant matter all down his snarling throat. His eyes are gone, vibrant roses blooming in the empty sockets.

This...this is not a living dragonborn knight, by any metric. Kyr Marius is gone, and has been for a long time.

Turns out the Growth can’t really corrupt paladins much, but it can certainly make use of them.

Another chunk of the ceiling falls in, narrowly missing Shoshana. She lobs another Chromatic Orb at Marius, but again it breaks harmlessly on his armor.

The vines across the floor continue to expand around the party, blooming into roses with long, deadly thorns.

Marius swings in at Valeria. She catches it on the Eyegis, which blinks back at him. Marius does not blink back at it, his flower eyes entirely impassive.

Gral throws a Faerie Fire. Marius cannot get out of the way, but he crosses his arms in a defensive stance as vines cocoon him, absorbing the Faerie Fire, and he bursts free unmarked. He focuses in on Gral, raining blows down, an implacable, inevitable executioner.

Valeria interposes herself again, forcing Marius to take his attention off the bard. His sickly green vines wrestle with her glowing, translucent ones as her mighty Smite meets his swinging blade.

It’s eerie how little he reacts to Valeria’s sword tearing into him, an unstoppable automaton of plant.

One more Chromatic Orb fails. Shoshana, in frustration and fear at seeing her friends get clobbered, dashes forwards toward the melee.

Marius raises a wall of thorns around himself, finally acting in defense even as his face shows no pain. He looks like he might be preparing to heal himself.

Luckily, Gral’s got a way of dealing with walls. He strikes a minor key and passes through the thorn wall, zipping behind Marius and nocking one of his Heart-Seeking Bolts. The advantage granted allows Gral to bury it into a crack in the silver armor for a whopping 20 damage. Marius retaliates, whirling to hurl his trident, but it barely damages the half-solid orc.

Clementine tires of this fight. She charges through the wall of thorns – damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead – and swings in brutally for three hits, three maneuvers. 43 damage on a SINGLE TURN. Frickin’ Battlemasters!

Just as the vine-encrusted knight is distracted by Gral, Clem drives her greatsword straight into his chest, and SUPLEXES HIM INTO THE GROUND. He crashes to the ground, Clem’s full weight driving the blade in to the hilt.

Marius briefly tries to move. We can see through his damaged armor that it’s more like the vines are moving him than he is moving himself. But there’s just not enough knight left for the vines. He slumps with a spore-heavy gasp, his weapons clattering to the ground.

Kyr Marius of the Order of the Rose is dead. But we suspect he has been for a very, very long time.

We look to Valeria. She kneels by the body, solemnly collecting his weapons and his magic gauntlet, but laying his engraved dagger upon his chest, the one Flynn found in the hands of a fungus creature far down the river.

As Valeria kneels and offers a prayer to Rack, giving Marius what last rites she can, the rest of us take our last chance to case the basement before we flee the blaze. 

We find mushrooms and fire. Whatever symbols and tools the cultists had were either made of ephemeral plants or upstairs and on fire. We kick over the rose-entwined chair, though. Fuck that chair.

Valeria stands, finishing her achingly brief farewell. There’s nothing left for us here, and the fire is threatening to overwhelm the temple.

The plants’ screeching has stopped; the puffball mushroom alarms seem to have burned. The room is full of thick, choking smoke and leaping flames, but it’s a small room and we’re PCs. We charge at top speed out through the collapsing walls, escaping with only moderate burns seconds before the roof falls in and the temple collapses entirely.

As we cough the smoke out of our lungs, we’re immediately on the defense - surely the villagers will have noticed their temple going up in flames, and we’re gonna need to dodge pitchforks.

Or...are we? The torchlights are still speckled across the valley. There are villagers on the road up to the temple, but they’ve collapsed to the ground, their torches flickering where they’ve fallen in the dirt. We cautiously approach and realize they are writhing and moaning in awful pain, as if they’re experiencing the fire firsthand.

“Good,” Valeria whispers viciously. It’s hard to tell whether there’s a trace of Hunt in her voice or simply raw, bitter grief.

Clem does a quick medical once-over of the nearest fallen farmer. Judging by this guy, the cultists aren’t quite fully human - there’s fungal growth under the skin, though not to the bulging extent of Hans and Franz. The feel of the growths isn’t quite like human muscles; they’re lumpy, like clay slapped onto a human figure by clumsy hands, tumors rather than integrated, natural growth.

Other than that there’s nothing physically wrong with them to be causing such pain, though they seem absolutely furious - Clem’s patient spits and tries to claw at Clem’s throat, but is too weak to do much more than twitch.

Valeria’s heard stories about this kind of thing. In her lessons about demonic cults, she’s heard of groups that form a pseudo-hive mind with their dark master. When the paladins would strike down the creature, the followers are struck down with sympathetic psychic pain. In especially entangled cases, usually the cults’ high priests, the mental blow is enough to kill them. Most followers just suffer incredible pain as the link to is severed, but physically will recover fully.

We don’t know if they’ll still be cultists when they wake up. The entity’s control will be severed, but they’ll still be the same people who willingly joined up in the first place.

If they won’t be down for good, we gotta get the hell out of here, stat. We book it to the inn to see what’s become of our guide Rebecca and her dad Aaron. At the inn, a battered-looking Aaron is pulling himself together as Rebecca helps him to his feet. Surrounding them are a few of the cultists, knocked out by the psychic feedback.

As Valeria rushes to Lay on Hands, Rebecca frets. “You’re back - what the hell did you do tonight?!” The, the temple’s on fire, and they were hurting my dad-”

“Oh, I did most of this to myself,” Aaron interrupts. “It was my cover story, I was gonna tell ‘em the four of you had broken out, grabbed Rebecca and run across the river. But they weren’t especially interested in listening.”

Valeria nods as she heals him, but doesn’t trust herself to talk. Gral takes over instead. “They’re disabled for now, no time to talk. Let’s get to Trollsburg.”

“Trollsburg? That thing Zelig was building?”

“Yeah. For now, it should be safe - nobody’s gonna try attacking a whole settlement of trolls. We’ll see how much damage the cult actually took in the morning.”

We hustle down to the river. Behind us, slowly, the lights from the search parties begin to move again, disorganized and scattered. Most head directly for the temple, the fire still blazing starkly against the night sky. 

At the bridge, the massive overgrown troll Kjell is shouting in pain on the bank. “Ugh, what’s...happening...” he moans, clutching at his side. He doesn’t seem to be knocked for as much of a loop as the cultists, but something’s definitely not right.

Valeria approaches cautiously and gives him a Curing Disease worth of Lay on Hands. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes as if he’s about to unthinkingly strike her, but she calms him for long enough to take the cure, and it seems to soothe his pain.

The big troll rubs at his side exhaustedly. “Uh, thank you, shiny lady. That, that was – I dunno, that was somethin’ nasty. It started around the same time as the big fire. Woke me up! Woss goin’ on?”

Shoshana tries to give him a brief rundown. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the fungus we were talking about earlier, I think it might have started to infect you-”

“An infection?! I should wake up the phee-zee-ologist then!” Seems he’s already managed that; trolls do not suffer quietly, and three trolls are coming down the hill to see what all the yelling’s about. In the light of A-Luxor, we can see Dr. Kjeller in the lead, wielding the crude glaive he calls his amputatin’ stick.

“Hey, uh, woss goin’ on out here?! Did you folks have somethin’ to do with that there fire?”

“Uh, yyyyyes?” Gral admits, trying to figure out how to simplify the situation for trolls. “The danger was in the church. Many of the villagers were trying to trick you. Whatever Kjell got, they were trying to infect you all with it.”

Kjell sees the doctor and interrupts. “When the temple started burnin’ it hurt right here – “

“Where?”

He points to a spot on his abdomen, and Dr. Kjeller immediately swings his doctorin’ stick, expertly cutting out the bit pointed to. Man, troll regeneration makes surgery easy.

The Doc pulls out an extra-large jeweler’s loop and crams it into his eye as he pulls apart the hunk of flesh with his claws. “Yeup, that’s a fungus all right. This was growin’ inside you? Does it still hurt?”

“Uh, yes?” Kjell points to the bleeding hole in his stomach.

“That’ll pass, you’re a healthy troll. What happened in dat spot? I need yer medical history. Let me find your chart.” He listens to Kjell’s abdomen. “Arright, chartbeat sounds good.”

Clem, in all her medical knowledge, has no idea what  a “chart” is, but the Doc was damn sure not listening to the heart area. Dr. Kjeller cheerfully neglects to explain.

“Yep, that’ll grow back soon enough. Don’t worry about it,” he tells the larger troll, who seems to be recovering quickly. “What happened there?”

“I remember I got hurt at one point? A beastie from the wood attacked me. Hit me with some kinda acid, an’ it didn’t grow back like normal. But that nice lady  Zelig came by and healed me with magics. A real nice lady, she was.”

“So...Zelig is the one spreading the illness,” we tell the trolls. They’re pretty well convinced, given the hunk o’junkus in Kjell’s gut.

“All the villagers are behind this?”

“Some of them. Maybe most? It’s hard to tell. They can look like normal villagers,” Gral explains. “They’ve been infected a lot more than Kjell was; they can’t think straight. We’ve brought two who are okay.”

Kjell brightens at the sight of the innkeeper’s daughter. “Oh, I know Rebecca! She used ta bring me rabbits! Hiya, Aaron!”

“Hi, Kjell,” the innkeeper smiles tiredly.

“How’s the leg?”

He blinks. “That was 12 years ago?”

“...So, is it better, then? You humans don’t heal.”

“We do, just slower!”

“Dat sounds real inconvenient,” the troll says, his gaping wound already starting to close.

Dr. Kjeller clears his throat. “Well. I tink we are going to have a discussion. You folks are welcome to wait in my house. This is a very important business that must be discussed, but it is troll business.”

That seems reasonable. Shoshana raises a hand. “Can we pass out?”

“If you deem it medically necessary. Would you like me to carry you, so you may pass out earlier?”

“Um, no, that’s okay.”

He says something similar to “gather round” in a guttural language vaguely like Old Valdian, and the trolls gather and begin a heated discussion.

As all 12 trolls hurry over and join the discussion, Rebecca whispers, “Are we gonna be safe here?”

Gral gets Rebecca up to speed on what we know about the trolls, and how except for Kjell they all seem to be unaffected by the Growth. We’re as safe as we’re gonna get in this valley, at least for now.

“Great, I’m gonna fall asleep now,” she tells us. “It’s been a day.”

We start our rest but keep watches. About an hour or two later, Dr Kjeller returns to the house. “We have reached an accord,” he tells us solemnly.  “We intend to leave.

“There are still many villagers, and we can see ‘em massing on the other side of the river. We trolls do not wish war. Now, we are pretty mad - lotsa folks had some thoughts about waging war against these people who tried to trick us. We don’t appreciate dat. But we must consider the eyeballs.

“If a group of trolls is invited to a place, and then attacks dat place and wipes it out, that would be very bad eyeballs. Bad for public troll families. No, not eyeballs, what was the word dat guy used? Optics. Yes, the eyeballs would be very bad.

“In da morning, we intend to depart from this place. Without the town, the moot can’t happen. There’s just not enough food. Well, there is, but now we can’t trust it. I will keep an eye on poor Kjell, he’ll travel with me a bit. He has a good heart, and a good chart. His dart I’m a little worried about, sounds like dat lady might have made it extra big to impress all us other trolls. I wish to keep him under observation; dunno what other conditions may happen if dat lady isn’t boosting him with her evil magics. 

We will travel south in the morning. This area is dangerous...but we are twelve trolls. Once we are a ways from the valley, we will disperse. Kjell will stay with me and serve as my assistant and bodyguard. You see, sometimes I do an autopsy but lotsa creatures want to feed on the body so I need someone to stand there and guard it. Y’know, a body guard.”

The party considers our options. We’re missing one last plant for our spell, but the trolls will probably be willing to stop briefly for some flower-pickin’. It’s not like we’re gonna run into trouble with a frickin’ CR 25 encounter as our escort. Also, we need to stop by Sturmhearst - we should at least let Flynn and Fiona know what’s up. 

We go back to the trolls, and realize Kjell is crying. “I must demolish my bridge,” he explains. “We must stop them from following us.” He built that bridge with his own hands; it’s a sad occasion. As the crew of trolls help him break it down, he gathers a bunch of the stones into a backpack.

“There there, Kjell,” says the doctor. “Remember, a troll’s home is not da bridge they live under. Your home is where your hearts is. Or you can do what I do.” He pulls off his hat and reaches inside, pulling out a toy-sized stone bridge. “A troll may live under a bridge, but a bridge does not need to cross a river.”

It’s probably very touching, if you’re a troll. Anyway, we’re going the heck to bed, and awkwardly trying to be stoic as Valeria cries quietly during her evening prayers.

In the morning, we can see a group of enraged villagers standing guard on the other side of the river, fuming impotently. But they wisely choose not to pick a fight. 

We stay by the bank long enough to find a nice patch of Norbert’s Wort for our spell, and then make tracks to the annex. We enter the Sturmhearst camp around noon; trolls are hardly fast-moving. The trolls are wary of the annex proper; they’re well aware of what those flamethrowers can do. They’re just gonna go have a lovely picnic and we can catch up later.

Professor Ulmus greets us. “Welcome back! What’s that commotion out there, sounds like a pack of trolls stomping through.”

SO, ABOUT THAT.

We give her, Flynn, and Fiona a rundown and let them know the villagers are now incredibly hostile.

Flynn stands, reaching to buckle on his sword. “Sounds like we must set out immediately and defeat this evi!l”

“The...one we burned in the temple basement?”

“Aw, you’ve already defeated the evil? Is there any evil left to defeat? I’ve been off my game.”

Shoshana sighs. “So, I hesitate to tell you this, but I know your sister will pick you up and carry you in the opposite direction if you do anything stupid.” Fiona nods, and Shoshana explains that Zelig the evil ex-druid is still up and about, and she’ll be surrounded by cultists.

“Hmm. Well, I’m up for some heroics, but an entire town of cultists? I’m probably not up for quite that much heroics yet. Are you intending to stick around and hunt her down?”

“No, we were thinking we’d head for Mornheim and get our ritual done.”

“Yes, I’d rather this cult did not besiege my campus to get at you; it would be disruptive to our experiments,” Professor Ulmus snarks dryly. As we explain the trolls’ plans, though, a change comes over her and she interrupts us excitedly.

“Wait, Dr. Kjeller is here? I’ve been a fan of his work for quite some time. He wrote a paper – well, a sheepskin – on troll regenerative physiology – one of the best resources we have. His notes are succinct and, well, rudimentary, but there’s more insight there than anyone at Sturmhearst has ever provided! This could be key to my work!”

Uh, sure? We lead her over to trolls and she instantly begins an enthusiastic if baffling conversation with Dr Kjeller. As thet’re excitedly talking, Shoshana feels something tugging at her skirt. It is a squirrel, exhibiting troubling un-squirrel-like behavior. It chitters, tugs again pointedly, and runs into bushes. 

Sure, what the hell. She gives a quick heads up to the team and hustles into the woods after the squirrel. Predictably, it takes her right to our grumpy druid friend, perched on a tree stump. “What the hell did you kids get up to last night All my sources are going crazy! I’ve got reports from every bird in the valley, chittering my ear off saying explosions, the temple burned down - hell, half the sources I have are saying other half are compromised! Ya kicked up a hornets nest! And then burned it down!!”

Shoshana gives him the summary, and tells him she might have figured out where the Mother Tree’s last guardian went. He nods at her description of Zelig. “Yup, that’s her. Explains why she abandoned her post, I guess. That’s another one fallen. At least it was the shroomheads this time.”

“As opposed to?”

“I’ve heard some stories. The more sociable ones, the shroom heads get em. My kind are pretty susceptible to that, you can imagine. It’s a pretty lonely life, doin’ what we do, and that whole sense of bein’ part of something greater – that’s not too far from what we do normally. And we like helpin’ things grow. Doin’ our thing and getting to be with people, that’s a hard offer to resist. But ya don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I don’t like people.

“Other types go in with the wolf guys. They go all dark and weird. They get like - y’know, I’ve seen a wolf bring down a deer midstride, yada yada the circle of life, that’s how nature be. So it can be hard to tell how many are just acceptin’ that cycle, and how many are, uh, takin’ a more active role in it, if ya get my drift.

“Still. Knowing she was behind it – I wasn’t gonna speak ill of another druid till I had proof, but it’s somethin’ else to hear it for real.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you burned the central colony right after they all re-upped their connection; that’s gonna hurt a lot. They deserved it, probably. Anyway, Zelig’s operation in this area’s blown to shit. Dunno if she’ll stick around, maybe she’ll decide it’s time to seek more fertile pastures, as it were. I gotta stick around and guard the Mother Tree, so I’ll keep an eye out.

Not gonna lie, this was a mess. But it was more their mess than my mess, so I do owe ya one. My name’s Zalman. You can reach out to me with a message spell or somethin’, and I won’t just tell you to go fuck yourself, I’ll see what I can do. I got a lot of work to do here – you’ve given me a chance to reclaim the place.”

Shoshana shrugs uncomfortably. “Eh, my talents seem to be more for destroying than for fixing.”

“Then destroy the right thing! It goes against everything us druids stand for, but maybe we need a little fire.”

“Well, after a forest fire things regrow, right?”

“No, WE do that! It’s like a druid convention! Anyway. If you see the old bastard or his wife, treat ‘em as respectfully as you can, but tell ‘em I’d like a word. Where have they been in all this?!” He walks away grumbling, turning into a badger mid-grumble. He’s still kind of grumbling in badger.

She gets back to the annex just as Drs. Ulmus and Kjeller are saying their goodbyes.

“Thank you, Doctor! I look forward to corresponding!”

“I, too, look forward to the core of our spondence.”

As Ulmus fruitlessly tries to find out a nomadic troll’s address, Shoshana sidles up to Valeria. “You okay? I dunno if you want us to leave it alone, or to say something...”

Valeria twists her claws into her cloak, fiddling with the fabric and not meeting the sorcerer’s eyes. “...Thanks.”

The paladin is retreating into Stoic Hero Is Not Allowed To Have Feelings mode, so she’s not gonna talk about it, but she will allow a shoulder bonk of solidarity, and maybe even a light side hug.

We roll against taint as we trek out of the Growth’s domain. We all scrape by, Valeria turning down a deal from the Growth as she does.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 14: Nice Sociable Folk

Everyone is very nice to us, except one grumpy guy.

This one fought me, folks. And Quarantine Depression didn’t really help. So it’s a bit less pared-down than it could be. But speaking of people who should probably be quarantined, have some virulent fungus.

We return to the scene: Valeria has just unceremoniously yanked a mandrake root out of the ground, and it’s doing what mandrakes do, screaming at the top of its lungs (...do plants have lungs???) and raising hell. Which is not GREAT if you’re in the middle of the Spooky Woods Where Monsters Live.

We’re reckless idiots, but that’s on brand.

Shoshana rolls a Nature check to know it’ll stop screaming on its own eventually, and that getting it into our Haversack will stop or dull the noise. Otherwise, the recommended mandrake-harvesting technique is that extreme heat or cold will stun its screaming. Usually people harvest them with daggers heated over a flame.

Problem: Shoshana is only one who knows this, Clem and Val are stunned, and it’s LOUD, so it’s hard to talk. So it’s up to the sorcerer to handle it. She doesn’t want to burn the dang thing to a crisp and make it useless as a spell component, so blasting it with magic is right out. She snatches a torch out of Clem’s backpack and lights it, heating up her small dagger.

Clem fails to shake off the stun, but Valeria recovers. Gral throws an inspiration at Clem, who’s still stuck, and frantically glances around the area to see if the BIG LOUD NOISE has alerted any enemies. In fact, it very much has. A variety of heavy shapes are uprooting themselves out of the dirt, turning blank mossy faces towards us. 

Shosha tries to hurry up on silencing the mandrake, but her haste causes her to fumble it. At least she doesn’t damage the plant.

Gral, still watching, sees the grassy, lumpy creatures pick up rocks and start hurling them. Shoshana gets bonked. A rock bounces off Valeria’s armor. Gral’s looking at those ones, when another one hefts out of the ground behind him and conks him with a big ol’ stone.

“Ah,” Valeria observes. “Yeetroots.”

Clem, even with inspiration, still fails to unstun herself, clutching her hands to her sensitive elven ears.

Gral swings his sickle into a yeetroot’s rooty, tuberous body, a thick sap dripping from the gaping wound. Meanwhile, Shoshana takes a second stab with her hot dagger and manages to silence the awful screaming.

The one Gral bloodied picks him up entirely and yeets him at Clem. Gral bounces off the drow’s armor comically. Clem remains completely undamaged while Gral pouts at being unwillingly Fastball Specialed. Valeria and Shoshana scatter, dodging another volley of heavy rocks.

Taking an entire orc to the face, though, finally breaks Clem out of the stun. She’s ready to lumberjack down some trees - oh, wait, Gral’s lying there moaning. The battle medic gives him a good slather of Space Mayo, and he’s fine, though he probably smells like a sandwich.

Gral and Shoshana pop off a couple of spells for minor effect, the tuberous creatures shrugging off most of the effects. They’re bothered enough to retaliate, though; the one Valeria’s facing off against hefts her into the air for another round of PC Bowling, flattening Shoshana. The hail of rocks from the rest of the Yeetroots doesn’t let up, but their aim is only mediocre.

Aethis snacks on a root-person Valeria nicely carves up for them, and as Clem gets to slicing and dicing it looks like the fight’s falling in our favor.

Suddenly, a short human guy in rough clothing charges ungracefully out of the woods, crossing through the undergrowth strangely quickly for someone so unathletic-looking. He clonks a Yeetroot over the head with a long wooden staff, whacking it a few times for good measure so it stays down, and then looks up at us with a frustrated expression. “What the hell are you kids doing? Get out of here!” he shouts irritably, like we’re trespassing on his lawn. 

He’s got a bit of an accent. It’s much heavier than Shoshana’s; even by her small-town standards it’s the rural accent of someone who speaks Old Valdian regularly.

Gral Dissonant Whispers a Yeetroot, causing it to run past Clem and the Old Dude. It runs straight into Clem’s sword and dies. Shoshana, Valeria, and Aethis efficiently dismantle the last one standing.

Clem’s ears, still sore from the mandrake’s cry, pick up additional movement through the woods. Sounds like the Yeetroots weren’t the only ones interested in loud, clumsy prey.

The old man seems to know it too, and he starts to scold us. “Pulling a mandrake while the woods are like this? Dummkopfen! Now get outta here! Scram!”

“I’m sorry, we didn’t have a choice-“

“What are you doin’ yakkin’? MOVE!” he shouts, turning and dashing into the underbrush. Shoshana barely catches him muttering “those IDIOTS” in Old Valdian as he scrams.

Well, we’re definitely not gonna stick around either. Old Dude went northeast. The Sturmhearst camp is to the south. We’re all thinking this weird crotchety old man is a druid, so he’s gonna know the best way to go and also we could totally ask him a few burning questions. With a concise nod to each other, we dash after the druid, Valeria swinging herself up onto Aethis’ back.

The wooooooooods are aliiiiiiiive, with the sound of monsterrrrrs, but following the druid’s trail we manage to dodge down an old gully and manage to shake any of them who came to investigate the commotion. Unfortunately, we’ve just put all those monsters in between us and the Sturmhearst camp. We pause, crouched in creek bed, as the last walking tree’s footfalls fade into the distance.

Gral breaks the silence: “…wait, was that a druid?”

Shoshana grumps. “How are we gonna FIND him? He could be a SQUIRREL by now! And I’m surprised he even speaks city-folk Valdian.”

We got the sense of how he moved – he hasn’t left a footprint, but we’ve picked up his pattern a bit. We could keep following him, and Valeria suggests the quest will give time for the monsters attracted by our noise to disperse. Gral doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity to find out what the Druids know about the Prisoners, and Valeria’s hopeful he might have seen the other Order of the Rose knight about.

Shoshana beefs her Survival check. We’ve been doing well following his pattern of not disturbing plant or animal tracks, trying to think like a druid wood. But we hit a dead end.

And then Clem casually points out some tracks none of the rest of us can even make out.

Please. Clem Haxan has tracked wood elf partisans. One aging human is nothing.

We follow Clem’s lead for about an hour. As midday approaches, we notice the sense of vibrant, chaotic, suffocating life is fading a little, and the sickening-sweet scent of flowers and spores has lessened. We come upon a grove of trees, standing tall, centered around one utterly massive tree in the middle whose canopy is just barely open enough to allow beams of light to spear through. In every beam, a sapling has begun to grow. Others, a little more seasoned, have grown tall and thin to push up through the great tree’s canopy.

Deeper in the grove, Shoshana can hear a voice in Old Valdian, and it’s mostly swearing.

“Dumb fuckin’ kids, I swear, first it was those meshuggenah bird mask idiots, now we got - what the hell were those morons doing, stirring everything up? Hard enough when the woods are just tryin’ to kill ME without having to keep an eye our for-”

It seems to be a one-sided conversation. Rambling, but pausing for responses that we can’t hear. Shoshana cautiously steps closer.

She wants to be respectful, but the closest thing Old Valdian has to deferential is a greeting without commentary. “...Hello?”

The voice pauses, and then speaks to its silent companion. “Do ya hear something? Go check it out.”

We all roll real bad Perception. Gral is starin’ real hard, and he only sees a squirrel loop the big tree. We don’t hear the druid say anything else.

She tries a Message cantrip: “We wish to respect your solitude, but we need to speak with you.” Hopefully a decent Persuasion roll will do.

“Wait. Hold up,” the voice grumbles in Old Valdian, heaving a massive sigh. “They’re idiots, they’re not gonna-” 

Something big makes a “GRAAHK” noise. 

“No, they’re not gonna go away unless I talk to them. Look, they followed me here. I knew it was unavoidable.” He calls out to us in common Valdian. “All right, come on in, no funny business.”

Being seasoned D&D players, we’re hesitant to cross the giant patch of fallen leaves, but it turns out it’s not a booby trap; it’s just what happens when you’re under a big ol’ tree. They are pleasingly crunchy and probably serve as an excellent intruder warning.

The druid isn’t pleased with our caution. “Either leave or come over here! Let’s get this over with.”

We circle the tree to find a small hut in a sunbeam, with a little garden. The old guy, looking like a hippie Danny DeVito, is sitting outside on a fallen log, prodding a small campfire with a stick as he heats a kettle over it. More notably, there is an owlbear curled up next to the fire.

“I wouldn’t get too close, he likes eatin’ fingers,” the druid grumps. “That’s why he’s called Fingers.”

“Oh! This is Aethis, and I’m Kyr Va-”

“Yeah, yeah, get to the point.”

“Are you a druid?”

“Ah, right to the point.”

We manage to stumble over a quick introduction, and that we want to ask him about the Druids’ actions against the artist’s colony in Holzog.

“So all druids know each other, huh?” He starts peeling a potato, unimpressed.

"I don’t know how druids work! There was an organized attack against cultists of the Key, at an artist's colony at Holzog Valley. Do you know of this, and are the Druids in an organized resistance against the Prisoners?"

 “Are druids an organized anything?” Shoshana snarks.

Druid DeVito rolls his eyes. “Look, mask guy. I go where I’m needed. I don’t know anything about what’s going on in Holzog. I barely know what’s going on here, I just got here!”

“You... just got here?”

“Yeah, like a month or two ago. Hard to get lay of the land when EVERYTHING’S TRYIN TA KILL YOU, not to mention it’s hard to get a handle on things when idiot adventurers are runnin’ around STIRRIN’ THINGS UP!”

Gral soldiers on. “Well, what do you know of the curse corrupting this area? We were here gathering supplies for a ritual, but it seems like there is also trouble here, what with the villagers and the trolls."

Gral is very polite, so the druid grudgingly answers. “Look, here’s how it goes. This” – he taps the tree – “is Mother Tree. It’s important, for reasons. There’s always supposed to be a druid warden here. But something happened. She’s gone now. So I heard it through the grapevine, and I got called in.”

“Was it a literal grapevine?” 

“The old bag and the windy bastard have ways of getting in touch with us, if we’re needed. They told me I gotta go here and – well, so I came. I’m tryin’ to figure out what happened to old warden, figure out what I can do to keep the place safe. It’s a lotta work! But right now I’m trying to make lunch. Because lemme tell you, this owlbear is a lot calmer than most of his type, but he WILL eat me if he gets too hungry.”

“As far as what I know about it? Half the valley got taken. Everything west of the river got overgrown. Haven’t spent much time on the other side; I don’t wanna get spotted. You see what happens when somebody gets a look at me.” He gestures dismissively to all of us. “No good deed, and all that.”

“So half the valley got overgrown. My sources tell me the other half is honestly not doin’ much better, even though it looks better on the outside. Like I said, I’m still tryin’ to get my networks up and running, which is difficult when most of my sources are working for the enemy.”

“Yeah, the villagers have fungus brain,” Shoshana tells him. “Someone who came from this village seemed to be corrupted by fungus, and was working to encourage its spread. Also, they’re bringing in a Fuckton of Trolls to Bad Herzfeld. Which, if they get fungused, is...bad.”

Valeria, meanwhile, is attempting to feed the owlbear some granola. After a moment, she elects to just toss the bag in its direction. Handfeeding an owlbear is Not Wise.

“I’ll add that to my list of problems,” the old man grumbles. “Bunch of sporebrained trolls, sporebrained villagers, plants tryna kill me…all right. How many they got so far?”

“One troll was definitely fungused, but he’s dead. There’s about 8 at the troll moot now. Their food stores look spore-free so far, but we’re going to be looking into the village more.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t want to be corruptin’ ‘em yet, it’d tip their hand too early. Trolls are usually solitary types. With how the sporebrains work, any new arrivals would be majorly creeped out. They’d want to get a critical mass before they try to get ‘em brainwashed.”

We agree that’s probably the plan. We explain the situation in Holzog, and ask what he knows about the druids’ actions there and whether the druids are the Prisoners’ jailers.

He shrugs. “Me and mine, we don’t talk to each other much. We each got our beats to cover. It’s not like they give us a manual – we’re not super fond of writing things down. Rumor is there’s old sources – real old – that have some knowledge, but otherwise you gotta get lucky and get a visit from the bosses themselves. But they’ve never been the most reliable.”

“The...bosses? Like Baba and Gramps?” Shoshana asks, referring to the old grandmother and grandfather gods of the woods.

“Yeah, they don’t exactly come when you ring a bell. Now I don’t know what old rattlechains, or the angry lady, or the quiet guy, or the sneaky bastard are like, but the chiefs aren’t communicative at the best of times. And since this fakakta Curse thing started they’ve been harder to get a hold of. We get our orders, they keep us busy, but there ain’t much in the way of answers. I’m told to guard this place, and do my thing. The ‘Prisoners,’ or whatever? That’s new to me.

“Look, stay away from the villagers, anyone especially friendly, anyone who talks about love, togetherness, caring, all that crap. Don’t go anyplace overgrown, anyplace with too many mushrooms. Spores will get in your brain.”

“I just do what I’m told. Or infer, really, I’m not told enough to do what I’m told.

If you wanna be helpful – something’s spreading this. The Curse spreads enough on its own, but something’s deliberately spreading it around. Go hunt for whatever’s doing that. Also, I can’t find previous warden – y’know, the person whose beat this is supposed to be.

He’s mostly losing interest in us, but can’t resist one last jab. “What do you need that mandrake for anyway? Half the things you think they can do, they can’t.”

Valeria jumps at the chance to talk about her Quest. “Over in Mornheim they’re dealing with the undead sort of curse. There’s a disease in the water affecting the whole population, and we found a ritual to purify the river! It’s not the sort of magic I usually work with, but I think I can make it function with the plants that I need. I’ve got almost all of them!”

“Hmm. Whatcha missin’?”

We check our notes. “Norbert’s Wort?”

Those Sturmhearst guys might have some, if you wanna try to get it off ‘em. Or there’s a bunch of it growin’ not far from the riverbank. Lemme see this ritual of yours, I wanna make sure you’re not wastin’ your time.”

He gives it the once-over with a surprisingly appreciative eye. “Oh, huh. Rosalind’s work.” He rolls up the scroll, slaps it back into Valeria’s claws, and turns to walk out into the wood. “Get outta here. I got things to do. If you stick around, Fingers will eat ya.”

Wait.

There’s a beat, and then Shoshana starts yelling. “WAIT, ROSALIND? BECAUSE WE FOUND THIS IN THE HOUSE OF A LADY NAMED ROSALIND. AND I DIDN’T THINK YOU GUYS WERE INTO HOUSES? WAIT COME BACK SHE’S A GHOST NOWWWWWW-”

He’s gone. Dammit.

We wave goodbye to Fingers.

As we cautiously make our way out of the grove, Gral is asked to make a Charisma check. A leaf, still stuck to a small bent twig, falls from the great tree and gently helicopters down. He reaches up a hand and catches it out of the air, easily, as if it was intended to find his hand. With an excellent perception check, he glances up and sees the silhouette of a motherly face in the branches. It’s hard to spot among the rustling green canopy, but it’s looking down at us from the branches - he can almost see a wooden torso in one branch – and then the shape pulls back into the branch, moving through it like sand.

Gral experiences an internal hell yes.

Gral has received: one twig with some leaves! It has vibes. This thing is definitely special, and a gift – not from the druid, but from the Mother Tree.

It clearly has Properties, but we do not know what they are.

So, what next? Trying to get the last plant for the spell has a nonzero chance of getting us lost overnight. We could stop by the Sturmhearst annex, or check in on the trolls....wait. Dang it. This morning we told that old lady we’d stay in town overnight. And we’ve already stood up one dinner invitation this arc.

As Clem capably leads us around dangers and toward Sturmhearst, Gral stares at his twig. He can see the leaves seem to move without wind, and he slowly realizes he’s able to predict which ways Clem is gonna lead us based on which way the leaf radar blows. It seems the gift can help find safe passage in the wood!

With a good survival check, we manage to skirt all dangers and the riled-up zone. Once again we smell acrid smoke from Sturmhearst camp and pass by the impassive looking giant owl guards with their flamethrowers. We see Rita the robot chicken hop by with something in her mouth, and follow her into camp. She ignores us and bops right up into the house that contains Prof. Ulmus’ lab.

Hey, we should go check on Flynn! A student directs us to where they’ve set up their clinic in an old barn, and soon we are confronted with a steely-eyed Fiona, arms crossed, glaring at us. “Hi, we, uh-”

She is silent, as usual, but Valeria rolls a nat 20 insight and can read her face like a book. She’s mad that we didn’t come back when we said we would – we made them worry, and also left them alone in this den of academic madness.

Valeria stumbles over a sincere apology until she is interrupted by a solid barbarian hug.

The paladin takes this as her opening to gossip about our day. “We got plants! And got real lost! We slept over a troll’s place!” Fiona makes a surprised gesture. “Yeah, there’s like eight. They have HOUSES. It’s surreal?!?!?! One of them thinks he’s a doctor!”

She’s interrupted when Dr. Ulmus sticks her hand through a curtain and hands off a vial of blood. Valeria now has blood. “Take this to my lab, please.”

Valeria blinks. “O...kay?” She dutifully leaves to take the blood to the lab.

Shoshana can’t keep her mouth shut. “Uh, ma’am? ….did you not notice that wasn’t a grad student?”

“Hm?”

“You gave this to the paladin.”

“…Good. She’ll follow orders. WAIT, YOU’RE BACK!” The doctor bursts through the curtain, beak-first.

“We come bearing fungus!” Clem gives her a vial of fungus. Clem is then ordered to take this to Prof Ulmus’s lab. She does. 

So now we have two tanks in a lab. They try to flag down a grad student and make them do it . No, too bad, they’re busy. Clem is like, what if I’m enormous and intimidating? But the grad student is not impressed. “Please. Do you know what kind of horrors I’m studying? You can’t terrify me.”

Valeria is like FFFF CAN YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHERE THE BLOOD GOES. But the grad student leaves.

Oh hey, that rack has vials of red stuff. She puts the blood in the blood rack.

Clem shrugs, sets the fungus on a random table, and leaves.

Back at the clinic, a pale and haggard Flynn stumbles out and leans on Fiona. “My sister was very worried,” he tells us, making a flimsy effort at his usual grandiosity. “I, of course, had total confidence in you!”

Fiona, deadpan, signs: [He cried.]

Professor Ulmus finally emerges in full. “Well, Mr. Fairgold, I’d say you’re well on your way to recovery! Practice those breathing exercises I showed you and take it easy for next few days.”

Valeria and Clem hustle back, spouting apologizes for missing dinner, because Valeria is polite and Clem is genuinely upset at missing the opportunity to pick the doctor’s brain about medicine.

“Hmm, yes, you’re back! Well, you’re all alive…” Professor Ulmus starts inspecting us, her beaked mask tilting this way and that. “…oh dear.” She prods Clem a bit. “Yes, hmm.” She briskly hands Clem some sort of compressed herb poultice. “You’ll want to eat this.” Clem immediately makes a med check. It’s some kind of medicine, I guess. Clem swallows it. It tastes super gross.

“So!” she chirps. “I look forward to hearing what you’ve learned. How was your expedition, did you find what you were looking for?”

“Most of it,” Valeria admits. “We’re still looking for Norbert’s Wort.”

“I have a bit, but it’s spoken for, I’m afraid. Anyhow, I believe a dinner was planned! It’s a good thing you didn’t show up last night, I forgot all about it. I had to do quite a lot of work on Mr. Fairgold. The fungal infestation in his lungs should be cleared up, although the treatment did leave some aftereffects. Nausea, some trouble breathing for a few days. Nothing major.”

Valeria just sort of awkwardly lifts her hand, offering Lay Ons. He waves her off, bluffing his way past her insight. Sure, he’s fiiiiiiiine.

“He was fortunate. Not the worst I’ve seen – something worse would have required a substantially more radical treatment. More invasive, too. Were any of you exposed?”

“Uhh, not to that, but to other things?” We tell her about the Snorlax bear over a plate of sandwiches.

“Yes, I’ve seen similar phenomena – a fungal colony hijacking a living creature. Unfortunately that’s where my expertise ends – I might have to discuss with my, ugh, colleague in the aberrant biology department.”

Valeria tells her about the dream mushroom feast. “So you tripped on mushrooms and hallucinated and fought some mushroom men. We’ve all been there.” The professor waves it off with disinterest. “Yes, spooky curse magic messing with your mind, I’m sure it was harrowing. And/or enlightening. But I don’t have time for spooky magics; I’m a woman of SCIENCE! Speaking of, Clementine, where did you put that fungus?”

“On a table with similar looking specimens?” 

“Pardon me a moment.” She immediately stands and runs. We see a huge guard stomp toward the lab. Then flamethrower noises. There’s a bit of screaming. 

She emerges slightly scorched, fixing her coat. “That…was the wrong table. It’s cross contaminated! Well, I suppose that’s the cost of science. Sometimes, in order to make great discoveries, you must burn a table of samples before they kill you.”

“I’m sorry, I asked a grad student and he said put it anywhere, really!” Clem bluffs.

“Which one?” 

“....um, a short guy wearing a bird mask?

“Ah, Jean-Pierre, I know him. We will have words later. Never trust an entomologist, they’ve all got a head full of beetles or something. So! What’s next for you? I can’t say we have a ton of room here, but I’m sure we can try to find somewhere for you to stay...”

Valeria idly taps the clear bead on her earring chain. “Well, we DID promise to stay at the inn in town tonight...”

Ulmus hums discontentedly. “I trust the villagers precisely as far as my guards can throw them.”

Shoshana butts in. “Right? Okay, because the last time we stayed in a fungus person’s house I was RIGHT and it SUCKED.”

We go back and forth, deciding we’ll keep our promise but stay in the annex for dinner. A feast in Mushroom Town sounds...ominous.

Clem, determined, asks the professor if she can have a flamethrower. Sadly, it doesn’t matter how much Clem pleads her strength and skill, those had to be SPECIALLY REQUISITIONED from the ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT. She had to call in favors! Now if you’ll excuse her, she has work to do.

We have an early dinner, and then head to other side of river for the first time. The difference could not be more marked. If this wasn’t German old-growth forest, the other side would be a jungle (a fungus jungle? A fungle.); these are lush, rolling, well-tamed agricultural fields dotted with quaint farmhouses; rural but civilized. 

The “town” is a bare handful of buildings clustered around a small mill. A general store, the mill, the inn, a sheriff’s office, and that’s really it. Blacksmith. Handful of tradespeople. Pretty standard – these are people who live to support the surrounding farmers.

Not far from there we can see the Farmers’ Temple we heard about, a plain round wooden structure with large carved symbols for Rack, Torme, and Lethe. By Valeria’s standards, it’s the absolute bare minimum of what counts as a temple. “They’re trying, I appreciate that.”

As we travel into town, Valeria can see that the people on this side of river seem to fall firmly into 1 of 2 camps: some are incredibly healthy, almost overly large and well-fed, and very happy. The other half seems sickly. Not as bad as Mornheim, but we can easily sort people into Kinda Sickly or Big Healthy. There’s a lot of coughing. Perhaps the Medusoid Mycelium?!

It’s nearly sunset; we head down to the inn. There’s a couple of people sitting around the inn, farmers getting a drink after making deliveries to the mill. A friendly innkeeper named Aaron greets us. “Ah, you must be the people I’ve heard about!”

“Yes, Zelig told you about us?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some rooms prepped for ya. What brings you to town? We don’t get many of your type around – knights, or whatever you are.”

“Oh, we heard there’d been another Knight of the Rose around,” Shoshana probes.

“That’s what Zelig says, haven’t seen him.”

“Well, uh, thank you for your hospitality?”

We head upstairs, breaking into our usual pairs of roommates - Clem with Gral, Valeria with Shoshana, Aethis in the stables weirding out the horses.

Clem, the wary soldier, checks around to ensure the room is secure. She finds something! A note has been tucked into the mattress. “YOU ARE IN DANGER. COME DOWNSTAIRS AFTER THE SERVICES START AT THE TEMPLE.”

Huh.

She tells the rest of us. Everyone is like, “...yeah, we already knew that?” But it’s excellent news that not every villager is in on it.

There’s a knock on Clem’s door. A nervous young woman is standing there, holding a tray full of pastries. “Hey, uh. My dad wanted me to give you these. They’re leftover, they’d just go stale anyway.” 

“Oh, uh, thank you! Much obliged. Um, will that be all?”

“Try ‘em, at least take a look at them. They’re pretty good,” the girl tells her insistently, and scurries off.

Clem and Gral immediately inspect the pastries suspiciously. Pulling one apart - sure enough, there’s a note stuffed in a pastry! It says “CHECK UNDER THE BED.”

Under the bed, where Clem found the first note.

Gral pops down to the tavern area to get a few more deets from Aaron the innkeeper. Turns out temple services start after sundown. “You’ll know it, you’ll see people headin’ towards it. Why, you thinkin of attending?”

“We have a paladin with us, she’s always interested in the local religious customs.”

“It’s nothing you’d be interested in. More of a town hall meeting than anything.”

“I understand. Thank you for the pastries, they were absolutely delicious!”

“Oh, thanks kindly! Sleep well.”

Sure enough, as the sun sets we see lights in the dark as people start streaming in from across the valley to the Farmers’ Temple.

Once it looks like the last stragglers have made it into the service, Clem knocks on wall separating our rooms, as a signal, and we head downstairs. We try to be quiet about it. Aaron and his daughter are there, cloaked and ready for travel. His daughter has a hooded lantern in her hand.

“I don’t know what you people came here for, but you’re not gonna find it here,” whispers the innkeeper urgently. “You have to leave.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I keep my ears open. Zelig came back this morning, told some people about some outsiders, guests – told us to have rooms ready for them, and then stay out of their way when they came for you tonight. I don’t know how long we have – they always go to temple first, but the clock’s running. I don’t know you much, but you seem-“

“This has happened before?” Valeria breaks in, concerned.

“Not in so many words, but, yeah. People have gone missing. Last time we couldn’t do anything about it. We weren’t warned; they just showed up in the night. This time they were worried – there’s more of you, and better armed. Last time was just traveling merchants.”

Gral nods. "We came here looking to find what 'they' were planning at the troll moot. We don't just want to run away, but if you're in danger for housing us, that can wait. What's next?"

“The troll moot? Yeah that’s fishy, but I don’t know how to warn ‘em away. You folks seem connected, can you get word out about this place? But be discreet. I’ve heard stories about the Penitents, and I don’t want no part of that either. There’s still good people here. A lot of people in that temple there, though – I would have sworn they were good people too, until this all started. I’m not sure what it’s all about. We haven’t been going to services, and so far they haven’t forced us to. But they had folks posted in the inn, makin’ sure you showed up tonight. 

“You gotta get moving. Rebecca can get you to someplace safe. Slip out now, and finish leaving the valley tomorrow night.”

Clem insights ‘em, and then seem genuinely honest and concerned for us.

“Whatever this is, something about you guys has them spooked, so I wanna make sure you survive. There’s strange things afoot in Herzfeld these days.”

“Would they let you leave?” Valeria asks.

“I don’t wanna know what would happen if we tried. So far they’ve been content to let us keep running the inn, serving ‘em drinks.”

“How have you evaded their influence?” Clem asks suspiciously. “What makes you the exception?”

“Not everybody’s one of ‘em. The woman, Zelig, she came out of the woods a couple months ago after the other side of river fell. She started talkin’ to people, sayin’ she knew way to protect us. People were scared, ‘specially since the old cleric went over to the other side of the river and never came back. A bunch of people went down to the temple to hear her say her piece. 

“Those that went – not all of them came back. Afterwards, she started holding services regularly. Meetings, gatherings, whatever. Those that go, their crops flourish, they get strong and healthy. Those that don’t start to get sick. Their crops die. And once people start getting sick, everyone tells ‘em to go to temple and pray about it.”

I don’t know why Rebecca and I have managed to avoid the brunt of it so far.”

Rebecca pipes up. “I’ve snuck into the temple during day, it’s open to everyone. It seems fine mostly, bit run down – everything seems to be in place. But whatever’s going on there, it’s weird. The point is, I can take you to a safe place.”

Her dad nods. “I dunno where it is. Safer that way.”

Rebecca continues, her face too grim for her young age. “I’ve been smuggling people out of the valley. Mostly, people who oppose Zelig just vanish. Dad keeps the inn running and keeps his ears open. Anyone we suspect might be in danger, we get them out.”

Valeria considers. “We’re not going until we figure out what’s going on, but staying safe for tonight is not a bad idea.”

“I don’t know how long the service will go. It can be ten minutes, it can be an hour. We have to get moving, now.”

We hurriedly discuss: we want to know what happens at the mysterious services, but Valeria and Clem aren’t exactly built for stealth. Rebecca says that during the service itself, the town’s pretty deserted - everyone either goes in or stays well away.

We decide to split the party: Rebecca will take Team Clank to meet her friends at the safe house; Gral and Shoshana will sneak up to the temple.

 “I can’t tell you where safe house is; if you get captured, you’ll spill. Meet me at the top of hill there. I’ll be hiding in the bushes right by the old fence.”

The shadowy huntress and the subtle bard manage to get close without giving themselves away. Gral gets right up next to a window, and listens in, staying out of the window’s line of sight.

Zelig’s voice booms out, rich and strong: “Brothers, Sisters, we come to our next business. You have heard of the outsiders. They come, they question us. They question our ways, our motives. They endanger our sacred project with our brethren amongst the trolls. Do not fear, for we have a solution: I sense in them a great capacity for love and understanding. Tonight we shall find them, and give them a chance to join in our love. Should they not, should they hold hatred in their hearts, then those hearts may be hollowed and made ready for our love. Come brothers, come sisters, come family.”

Gral minor illusions the hue of the night sky onto his face, hoping it’s enough cover to peek in the window unnoticed.

“It is time. First, let us renew our bonds,” the old woman intones. Zelig stands in the center of the circular room. All the people around her are tall, strong, and glowing with health, crowded together, holding hands. Zelig taps a floorboard, and Hans and Frans solemnly move to pry up the board. 

Underneath is a lush green carpet of plant life. Fungus and vines creep out of the floorboard, growing at an impossible rate. Everyone stands as a wave of vegetable and fungal matter extends through temple, climbing up the worshippers’ legs and enveloping their bodies entirely. As Hans and Frans pull back the boards, a frame rises up; vines work their way into frame, forming a picture. Blooming flowers and different shades of leaves and lichen form the image of a female figure, motherly looking, bound in roots. Yet another tapestry?

The worshippers speak in eerie unison. “Though bound, she will be free. She is the growth. She is our love. She is protection. She will grow free of her bonds. We will grow as she does.” The chanting does not falter as the wave of plant matter entirely consumes the chamber. Gral ducks back under the window as the air chamber starts to fill with dense, cloudy spores.

He’s been relaying everything he sees to Shoshana with Message, and they both agree: We’ve seen what we can see, it’s time to get the hell out of here.

Meanwhile, Rebecca leads Valeria and Clem out of the town proper to a set of  rolling hills near an abandoned granary. There’s a cleverly hidden trapdoor set almost invisibly into the sod, leading down into a small network of caves.

“They used to use these caves to make cheese! Hmm...it should be this one tonight.” She bypasses several doors set into the earthy tunnels, stopping at one seemingly at random and knocking softly.

A voice on the other side whispers, “Who are you?”

 “One who seeks freedom,” Rebecca whispers back.

“And who are we?”

“The last Free Thieves!”

...What.

The door opens a crack, and Rebecca hurriedly herds the tanks through. “The guy in charge is the little guy. His name’s Henri Decannes. Him or one of his people will help you get out. I have to get your friends.” She runs back into night, vanishing into the darkness.

Valeria groans. She understands that stabbing Henri is not an appropriate action at this time, but dang would she enjoy it. And now she’s gonna have a DEBT to him? Maaaaaaaan.

As Gral begins to sneak back over to Shoshana, behind them, they hear the congregants start to move.

[cursewoodrecap]

The Hunt for the Teal Deer

Due to some changes in our player lineup, I figured our party’s newest member might want a tl;dr of the Campaign So Far without having to read the enormous bricks I put out on a highly irregular basis. HENCEFORTH, A SUMMARY. (Contains spoilers for stuff I haven’t properly recapped yet. I mean...I’m pretty sure this blog is mostly read by the players? But fair warning nonetheless.)

It’s still kind of a brick but here have a couple thousand words instead of fifty billion.

ARC 1: THE WITCH OF OVRUCH

Near the tiny Valdian trading village of Ovruch, four adventurers meet:

1. Kyr Valeria Argent, a paladin of the Order of the Rose, who is here to investigate a Beggar Knight going missing. Silver dragonborn Paladin, Oath of the Crown.

2. Sgt. Clementine Haxan, a former soldier of the Kevan empire turned soldier-of-fortune who is investigating a Beggar Knight going missing. Drow Fighter, Battlemaster.

3. Gral “Joybringer” Omokk’duu, an orc bard who serves Duke Shieldeater, here because he’s trying to recruit translators to help Orc/Valdia relations. Orc Bard, College of Whispers.

4. Shoshana bat Chaya, a local who’s been outcast from her village since a close run-in with the curse that left her with dark powers and a mildly inhuman appearance. Half-elf Sorcerer, Shadow Magic.

The three foreigners interrogate the young witch, who was interrogated yesterday by the Beggar Knight. They realize the Beggar Knight, Ser Balderich, went to investigate the place where Shoshana had her Curse accident. 

They are interrupted by the village being attacked by a group of bandits and wolves, led by a werewolf, who seem to want to capture Shoshana as some kind of Chosen One. They defeat the bandits and head into the woods to find Evil Wolf Guys HQ.

In the spooky dark ravine of Wolf Guys HQ, they find a) the imprisoned Ser Balderich, who they free; b) a shadowy nasty guy who has direwolves, who they beat up; and c) a trail of corpses and some diary fragments from a mysterious huntress who had been one of the evil-wolfguy leaders before she rebelled against them. The letters clearly indicate she had some kind of close relationship to Shoshana before Shit Went Down.

Shoshana is like, “alas, they shall believe I am forever tainted by evil magic and it’s only a matter of time until I turn evil, they’re probably going to execute me” and the rest of the party is like “wtf no we’re not gonna do that. Stop being emo.”

ARC 2: THE MISTS OF HOLZOG

The party heads to the town of Holzog to meet up with Ser Quentin Morozov, a Cursebreaker Knight who’s a friend of Ser Balderich’s. On the way, they meet Flynn and Fiona Fairgold, a dramatic, theatrical knight and his practical, mute sister. They also find out that in Holzog, strange mists come out of the lake every couple of weeks, filled with strange noises and creatures.

Gral recognizes that shit and tells his backstory: Duke Shieldeater’s son, Bullbreaker, led an expedition into the heart of the wood to try to defeat the Curse. Gral was part of Bullbreaker’s party. Strange, warped creatures seemed to appear out of nowhere and attack, and most of the orc battalion vanished into the mists, no bodies ever found. The takeaway: Gral believes that the Curse isn’t random; it’s coordinated and it has leaders and commanders.

Our investigations lead us to a former artists’ colony on an island in the lake. Turns out the artists had been tempted by some strange power to open a portal to a weird space between dimensions. The portal keeps closing and opening, causing the mists. Like idiots, we hurl ourselves into the portal, and find Weird Shit inside. Doors to other dimensions that are different story genres! Weird eyeballs everywhere!

We find out Gral’s old commander Bullbreaker has been lost in one of these other dimensions, and is trying to Samurai Jack his way home.

Most importantly we get some info: The Curse is caused by four entities, who are Prisoners. We’re unsure what imprisons them. We’ve figured out two so far: The Hunt, which is the werewolves and bandits and murder and stuff; and the Key, which is the pursuit of knowledge and the bending of reality. 

Anyway we escape and close the portal. Also we met some mad scientists from Sturmhearst University, which was fun.

ARC 3: THE DEAD OF MORNHEIM

Our Cursebreaker friend hires us to investigate why a squad of elven war veterans seemed to turn to the dark side while fighting the curse in Mornheim, a city which is experiencing a zombie apocalypse. Turns out the squad is Clem’s old unit! Drama!

Mornheim is really Tim Burtony. It used to be a place where undead could not rise, so everybody buried their dead there. And then the Curse happened, and now ALL the dead are rising. Welp, fuck.

We meet up with Lady Aubrey von Mornheim, Ser Balderich’s daughter (there’s family drama there), who gives us the inside scoop on the local lore.

We fight through the catacombs and investigate the old manor house. We find three important things: 1) Lady Aubrey’s mom, who’s haunting the shit out of the place; 2) a SECRET WIZARD LAB with a MYSTERIOUS SPELL SCROLL; and 3) some cultists.

The mysterious spell scroll, which is weirdly druid-y, seems to be a ritual for purifying a water source. The local lore implied that the undead curse began/stems from the source of the local river. HMM.

Meanwhile, there’s cultists, led by...A MEMBER OF CLEM’S OLD UNIT. One who she hates; she accuses him of getting their beloved Captain killed. He’s like “it’s cool we’re gonna bring her back from the dead!!! The Pale King says we will get eternal life if we serve him!!!” and Clem is like “okay that sounds terrible” and stabs him. We kick his wight ass and the ass of another of their squad, who “came back from the dead” but was actually possessed by a dybbuk, a malevolent spirit that takes over corpses and impersonates them.

Seems like this “Pale King” is Prisoner #3, in charge of Undead Shit.

We fight some other cultists and find an aaaancient corpse that indicates some kind of ancient collaboration between the old Aquilian Empire and the Valdians, which is a Fun Lore Mystery.

Clem’s old squad also has an assassination plot going against their former commander, who they hate.

Valeria the paladin really wants to do the spell scroll ritual to protect the town, but we need several rare plants as spell components. We decide to go to Bad Herzfeld, where we hear there’s lots of plants.

ARC 4: THE ROOTS OF BAD HERZFELD

Our concerns going into Bad Herzfeld:

1. We need spell component plants.

2. We know about this evil fungus that infects people and makes them into Evil Fungus Monsters.

3. We hear there’s about to be a huge gathering of trolls. Valdian trolls are generally peaceful, but, like. A fuckton of trolls + evil brain fungus that makes you evil = BAD.

We fight an evil circus, but that’s more of a side quest.

We get to Bad Herzfeld and it’s a jungle out there, folks. We manage to get all our spell components even though we have to fight various angry plantmonsters and hallucinogenic fungi. We also meet a very nice troll who is a Doctor for Trolls, he is one of our favorite NPCs.

We have a brief encounter with one of the reclusive druids who resides in the forest. The druids seem to be fighting the Curse as well, with sporadic guidance from the old gods of the Greatwood, but it turns out they don’t have many more answers than we do.

A former druid, however, has become the spiritual leader of the local farming community. Which is a problem because she has turned it into a cult that infects people with the Evil Fungus Spores. It’s a very “Insiders Good, Outsiders Evil” mindset. They are planning to wait until more trolls show up for the big troll gathering, then infect them all with fungus. This is Prisoner #4, The Growth.

We burn down their temple with extreme prejudice. Unfortunately, guarding the temple is a plantmonster that was once Valeria’s beloved mentor, Kyr Marius. We destroy him but it’s tragic.

The trolls are like, “oh evil fungus? Aight we’re out.” Also we met more of those mad science doctors, but botanist ones this time.

ARC 5: PENITENTS SUCK

On the way back to Mornheim we go through the crossroads trade stop of Three Oaks Junction, which has been taken over by Penitent Knights, who are very into inquisition, and self flagellation, and persecuting the hell out of anything that even blinks the wrong way. Sinners must be purged from among the faithful!!! Anyway they’re violent jerks and we free the town. Penitents suck.

ARC 6: THE TROLLSTONES

Back in Mornheim, we go to the source of the River Morn to do our fancy ritual. Turns out there’s an ancient troll-king buried there, who rose as an undead. His demigoddess mother blessed the waters there so that no undead would ever rise. That blessing is gone now, of course. Problem is, there’s ancient Aquilian ruins that indicate the blessing was later used as a Containment Zone for something super evil, and whatever evil thing was there has now escaped. Hella lore, though.

We do our fancy ritual, which doesn’t restore the No Undead blessing but does provide some protection for the citizens. Yaaay!

ARC 6: HOESKA

We jet off to Hoeska Castle, HQ of the Cursebreaker Knights, because we have hella knowledge about how the Curse works now and we should probably, like...let the experts know? Turns out Hoeska Castle is owned by an ancient vampire, who has teamed up with his longtime nemesis - the vampire hunter Ser Brigid Koenig, who is now trying to solve the dang curse and has founded the Cursebreakers. We share our information and also fight a big nasty wolfmonster who’s been eating the knights. There’s a professor from Sturmhearst the Mad Science University, who confides in us that the Dean keeps vanishing and leaving strange otherworldly gifts. Sounds like Key nonsense; we’d better go check it out!

Clem’s player decides to leave the campaign at this point; in-story, Clem has gone to prevent her former unit’s assassination plot while we confront threats closer to home.

~AND THAT’S WHAT YOU MISSED ON THE CURSEWOOD~

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 13: Trouble on Your Mind

We deal with good memories and bad plants. Also, we meet another all-star NPC. For this session we drew the Woods, the Madness, the Triumph, and the Curse.

Sergeant Clem Haxan stares out into the frozen wood, atop the barricades and trenches stretching out across the carefully built killing field, scanning the treeline for any sign of partisans. 

It’s night; that’s not surprising, given how short the days are in winter this far north. The wind, at least, is down to a mere roar. It’s yet another day in the village of Podtybok. The partisans had fortified it somewhat before the Czar’s forces took it; it was a supply depot, and they were counting on it to get them through the winter. Now the troops stationed here are counting on those same supplies while they’re snowed in, cut off from the rest of the Czar’s army. The partisans tried to burn some supplies before they were driven out, so there’s only the barest rations to go around, and Clem is hungry tonight.

She hears someone approach her from behind. She turns around. It’s Privates Sokolov and Vodyanakov. “Sarge!” exclaims Vodyanakov, excited.

“Privates,” she greets them.

Vodyanakov is huddling in his bulky coat, his red gloves reinforced with thick strips of wool, wrapped around like bandages. But he still seems cheerful. “You’ll never guess what happened!”

“Tell me and be quick about it,” Clem grumbles.

“A herd of deer wandered into the killing field near Grigori’s position!”

“And?”

“He got 3 of them before they managed to split!”

“Oh, fantastic news!” Clem finally grins. “Do you need help dragging them back?”

“Naw, Rusalka led a squad out. They’ve already skinned ‘em for stew.”

“Aw hell yeah, good work!”

“Yeah, we figured we’d tell you. C’mon, everyone’s meeting in the barracks.”

Clem happily goes with her current comrades. As they wander through the frozen town of Podtybok, she can see the Red Hand and the town’s remaining citizens going about business as usual. It’s night, it’s cold, but there’s a real sense of community here.

Clem considers for a moment, and asks the DM: “How long have I been here, roughly?”

She is allowed to roll a wisdom check to time it out. She’s not sure how long she’s been here. It’s pretty deep in winter, though, and they didn’t get rescued until spring.

Wait, that doesn’t make sense. It’s still winter here. Clem knows it’s probable that the elite forces won’t show up until spring, but how would she remember when-

The DM tells her to roll a d4, and doesn’t explain why.

Sokolov took over her watch point for her. Winter seems to have gone on forever, is how long she’s been here. And she’s clearly been on watch for a while? Her feet are tired, but it occurs to her that she doesn’t feel all that cold? Odd, in a winter like this.

Vodyanakov is leading her toward the barracks, and Clem is hungry for deer stew.

Who’s next?

Gral is leaning against a tree, opening his eyes when he hears a young voice calling out. “Joybringer, where are you?”

“I’m up here!”

Gral opens his eyes and he is standing on a cliff overlooking his clan’s territory. Below, he can see the river Duu stretching out, carving its way through the mountains. The fields are blooming, the towns on the mountain slopes above are bustling, and the river is beautiful & green in this light. He turns and the voice is a local child Gral knows, Chak Greka’duu.

“Joybringer!”

“Ah, young Chak!  What brings you here?”

The young orc pouts at him. “Did you take a nap again? We can’t get started without our bard!”

“Huh? What time is it?”

“Late! C’mon!”

Chak leads Gral down the ladder from his small watchpost, then across a rope bridge, making their way through the mountain city hanging onto the steep edge of the cliff.

As they head toward the communal Song Hall, Gral can see many other orcs of the tribe heading the same direction.

Who’s next?

“Shoshana, are you in there?” calls her father’s familiar voice. She’s sitting in her room in her father’s house. On the table, her herbalism kit is spread out, for sorting and unpacking from a trip to woods.

“Yes, Aba?” she calls back.

“Are you ready in there?

“Y-yes, of course,” she says, hurriedly brushing herb clippings off her skirt. She pulls open the door.

Her father is there, mildly dressed up. “Well? Get ready. We should have been at the Spear three minutes ago!”

As she dusts off, fixes her hair quickly, and puts her shoes back on, her dad smiles at her. “It’s okay. I was late too.”

As they’re leaving, her father pulls a dish off the stove. “It’s not much, but I figure the least I could do is make some potatoes. It’s nothing compared to Hershel’s cooking, of course.” He shrugs ruefully.

“I was going to bring a gift, too, but...the pickings have been slimmer lately.” Shoshana gestures ruefully to her slim haul from the day’s harvest.

“Just bring yourself! You know you’re always welcome there. Come on!”

He leads Shoshana out into the cheerful village of Ovruch. It’s a pleasant afternoon, edging into early evening, and there’s the gentle, sleepy hum of the day’s work winding down all across the town. They make their way toward the familiar Silver Spear Inn.

Walking inside, Shoshana can see the old inn, just the same as it’s always been for most of her life, well-kept and cozy. It seems like a happy occasion; in the big dining room, a few tables have been pulled together, giving the place the feel of a rustic banquet hall. The innkeeper, Herschel, and his family all turn to greet the guests. “Yakov, Shoshale!” he calls, poking his head out of the kitchen. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

The oldest son, Lev, is there, moving chairs into place. The innkeeper’s wife Mindel and the young twins, Asher and Bluma, are scurrying around setting the table with plates and cups. 

Shoshana, by reflex, immediately looks for one specific other person. She rolls excellent Perception. The DM has her roll a d6 and doesn’t tell her why, but her eyes immediately latch onto the teenager in question, coming down the stairs.

Something’s weird about her - no, wait - no, there’s Rifka, the same constant she’s always been for nearly all of Shoshana’s life. She skips lightly down the stairs and pulls a seat out at the table, beckoning Shosha over. 

Who’s next?

The familiar weight of Valeria’s sword moves with a practiced ease. She swings and breaks neatly through roughly-carved wood, and the training dummy falls to the ground in pieces as she practices in the familiar training yard of the Citadel of the Rose. Feeling amped with adrenaline, she whirls through her daily training, but pauses when she hears heavy footsteps from behind, laden with the clank of full plate armor.

She looks back and there, resplendent in gleaming armor, is Kyr Marius. He’s a silver dragonborn like her and a respected senior member of the Order. He’s been a mentor to her for a long time - not assigned by protocol, but as another silver dragonborn, he took an interest in making sure she was fitting in. It’s a surprise to see him right now - he’s not one of her teachers, and he looks dressed for a formal event, wearing his heavy ceremonial cape, rich purple and pinned with a brooch bearing the Order’s crest.

Valeria sheathes her sword, trying to gauge whether Kyr Marius is impressed by her combat skills. She rolls well at Perception, and the DM asks her to roll a d4. Meanwhile, it certainly seems like he’s impressed!

“Your diligence is commendable, Kyr Valeria,” he greets her warmly, “But you’re going to be late! Your trials have been passed; this is a time for celebration, not more toil. Come! The entire Order must be together for this. Goodness, you’re not even dressed properly yet.”

He approaches and pins his ceremonial cloak onto her with the Rose brooch. Valeria blanks for a moment - has she ever worn a cloak like this before? She rolls badly, and - no, clearly not. Just a vague sense of deja vu.

To wear Kyr Marius’ own cloak? She - well, reptiles don’t blush, but she’s certainly feeling the equivalent of it at this great honor, and tries to stand a little taller. 

“Come down to the banquet hall!” he beckons. “Tomorrow we set out, but tonight we celebrate!” He leads her down the carved marble stairs and through the blooming gardens of the Citadel of the Rose. The trellised archways and stone pillars are ornately decorated with statues and symbols of Rack, and the many rose bushes are in lush bloom. (Honestly, it’s kind of excessive - which, to a dragonborn sense of aesthetics, is perfect.)

Where were we?

The players are muttering amongst themselves with theories and questions, but Clem isn’t paying attention to those nerds. She has stew to get to, and she’s powerwalking toward the barracks in the barricaded northern town of Podtybok. (”Partybrook?” “....yeah, sure, Partybrook.”)

She hurries past the small civilian houses and the inn as she marches straight toward the mess hall that was set up in an old building. It was originally one of the winter storehouses. When the Czar’s forces took the town, the partisans took what they could and tried to burn the rest of the supplies, but the snows were already falling, and the buildings held up well. The largest of them now forms a mess hall and a sort of central meeting place. She can already see a line of hungry soldiers queueing at a huge cauldron of stew and finding their places at a huge pushed-together table.

Clem ladles herself two hearty bowls and looks for the captain. She rolls well on Perception, and again the DM asks her to roll a d4 without explaining why. Looking around only takes a moment; the captain is at the head of the table, exactly where Clem would expect, laughing at a fellow soldier’s story. Clem immediately goes to her, sitting in the open spot next to her and listening to Rusalka describe himself and Sokolov retrieving the deer from the killing field.

“-and the kid almost jumped out of his skin! Oh, hey, doc! Sit down, have a bowl!” 

Clem offers her second bowl to the captain. “I have plenty,” the captain says, gesturing to her own stew. “You eat, you must be hungry.” 

Clem’s like aw hell yeah, two bowls. “Thanks, Captain Anya. Hey, is Khoslev still drinking in the inn?”

“Of course he is,” laughs the captain. “Where else would he be? He’s not welcome here and he knows it.”

Clem laughs along. “Any movement beyond the line?”

“No, all quiet for now. We can relax for a while.”

Clem happily chows down on stew without a care in the world.

Where were we?

Orcs are streaming in towards the song-hall. The sound of laughter and conversation drifts out, and Gral happily makes his way inside. As he enters, he sees the familiar, unmistakably marked face of Vek “Thrice-Burned” Garna’duu. The massive fire-scarred warrior is lounging at the end of one of the huge tables laughing about something. He catches sight of Gral and waves. “Joybringer!”

“Thrice-Burned! Hello! What were y’all talking about? I seem to have missed a joke.”

“Tarok here is telling me a funny story. Come, sit, we’ll need your talents later.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Gral chirps, settling himself in at the table.

There’s a huge buffet lined up on one side of the hall, a table overflowing with grilled fish and fragrantly spiced vegetables.

“Yes, the harvest has been very good this year!” Thrice-Burned comments, seeing Gral’s gaze. “You’ve got to try some, the cooks outdid themselves.”

Gral ignores the food for now. “Don’t stop on my account, I want to hear this story!”

“No, no, please eat, you look famished!”

“I guess I can’t refuse such hospitality!” the bard allows, hopping back up to take a look at the buffet.

He, too, rolls a rather excellent Perception to examine the spread. Roll a d6, the DM tells him, and again gives no explanation. The food looks delicious; it’s all of his favorites and plenty of exciting things besides. Roast rabbit, fish, potatoes, grilled vegetables, a sauteed mushroom medley. With a roll that good, he sees there’s...actually kind of a lot of mushrooms? Huh.

Gral’s getting a weird feeling, but can’t quite place it. He helps himself to a plate of fish, avoiding the mushrooms, and brings it back to the table. He’ll take a little nibble, but he’s not chowing down yet, more interested in Tarok’s story.

Where were we?

Shoshana makes sure to ask Mindel, the mom, if there’s anything she can do to help set up. “No, dear, you’re a guest! Sit!” Mindel says, playfully swatting Shoshana’s hands away from the pile of plates to set out.

What kind of occasion is this, anyway? With a mediocre Int check, Shosha’s not sure what occasion exactly. Just a dinner party, maybe?

She takes her seat next to Rifka’s, like always, and pulls the chair out for her. The other girl sits and passes her a bowl. “Did your dad make potatoes again?”

Shosha groans. “Ugh, yes. I keep telling him he doesn’t have to, but he keeps not getting the hint.”

“It’s okay, my dad made gravy, we’ll survive.”

Asher and Bluma, the little kids, are being adorable, so Shoshana turns to greet them too. “Well hello, you two. What’s this I hear about sticky fingers over at the baker’s?” The twins immediately point to each other, denying all culpability.

“Well clearly neither of you two have been up to any mischief lately. I hope you’re helping your mom out with cleaning up?”

“Mmm-hmm!” The little girl nods emphatically. “Everybody helps!”

The oldest brother has sat down, so Shosha turns to him with a sly smirk. “Heyyyy Lev. So how’d it go with her?”

“D-don’t worry about it,” says Lev quickly, taking a spoonful of mushroom stew.

“Oh, huh, is this a new recipe?” Shosha asks, momentarily distracted.

“No, dad makes this all the time?”

Anyway, there’s more important topics to get back to. “Did he choke trying to ask her out?” she asks her friend, whose brother is turning red.

“It was hilarious. So he waited at the well for her-”

“Okay, cliché but doable-”

“But here’s the thing, she was actually in a huge hurry, and when he keeps getting in her way-”

“Ugh, the poor schlemiel-”

“And the next thing you know the Rav happens to walk by-”

They proceed to make fun of Lev and share all the small-town gossip. Mindel is ladling more onto everyone’s plates. “Please, eat! I made too much anyway, don’t let it go to waste-”

Shoshana’s player is a suspicious bastard, so before partaking in mushroom stew she’s going to engage Mindel in fifty layers of small-town small talk first. And for that, she’s to make a Charisma save. 26! Hey, roll another d4.

Where were we?

Valeria steps into the grand dining hall. The Knights of the Rose are lined up at long tables, all clad in gleaming armor, wearing their formal cloaks, and they all turn to look at Valeria as she enters. Kyr Marius directs her to a table full of paladins she recognizes. Kyr Boucher, a halfling man, and Kyr Saroyan, native to the Ventallan countryside where the Citadel of the Rose is located.

Kyr Saroyan reaches out to shake Valeria’s hand as she takes her seat. “Congratulations!”

“I can’t believe it’s finally come,” Valeria admits.

“You’re one of us now! Sit. Enjoy the feast, we’ve got a lot of work tomorrow.”

A rich banquet of food is served. At the end of the table somebody laughs. The hall is full of the clink of gauntleted hands clutching goblets.

Marius stands up, gesturing that he would like to make a toast! Valeria is told to make an Int or Wis check, and immediately fails it badly. Everything Is Perfectly Fine.

“Tonight we welcome the newest knights into the noble Order of the Rose!” Kyr Marius declares, his clear, booming voice ringing through the hall. He begins to name each of the newest knights of the order, applause and cheers from the gathered crowd following every one.

Finally, he calls with great aplomb, “Kyr! Valeria! Argent!” The hall roars with applause. “A toast to you and to all our new knights! Congratulations on joining our glorious community! Please, let the feast begin!”

A hearty haunch with a mushroom glaze over a bed of lettuce is placed in front of Valeria. She settles in to enjoy the feast and the company of her fellow knights.

Where were we?

Clem’s sitting with Rusalka and the Captain, well into her second bowl of deer stew. Someone’s scrounged up some mushrooms and edible lichens to throw in there, plus other vegetables from the winter stores, and it makes the food richer. The friendly banter among her most trusted comrades is like being enveloped in a warm hug. Everyone’s almost glowing with warmth and camaraderie.

Clem’s proficient in cooking; she focuses for a moment on the flavors of the food. She makes another perception check.

The stew is… She takes another bite. The stew tastes delicious, except - wait. Those spices aren’t the ones they would have here in Podtybok – these are drow spices, they didn’t have anything like that here –

When she thinks about that, everything flickers for a moment.

The stew tastes mushy - warm and filling, but kind of flavorless? It doesn’t taste like deer stew at all. 

Hey, Clem, make a charisma save. She looks up around the old barn, moss and lichen hanging from the ceiling, strange unknown figures around her – no, everything is fine, she’s still at the mess hall with her friends. The DM has her roll another d4.

Where were we?

Gral is just getting finished telling an excellent joke. Everybody is laughing.

“…and then they found him, feet dangling up from the river, and Krotok says, ‘now that’s a weaver for you!’” (Sadly, the pun only works in Orcish.)

Thrice-burned is there, along with Tarok Shala’duu, one of the best chefs Gral knows, and young Chak. And they are just losing it over that joke. “A WEAVER,” Tarok chokes out through his guffaws. “I’m surprised you didn’t say BOAT HAT!” (Again, we assume it makes sense in Orcish.)

“Tarok! There are children here, this is a G-rated joke,��� Gral admonishes playfully.

Hey Gral? Make an insight check. Yeah, no, the joke was pretty good, but it wasn’t THAT funny, for as long as they’ve been laughing. We’ve heard of a captive audience, but…it’s weird, somehow.

Their laughter does finally slow down, but they’re all weirdly in sync about it. Every orc at the table has the same cadence to how they stop laughing.

“Oh, Gral, you have to try the shellfish. Chak, get Gral some shellfish,” Tarok insists.

Gral remembers some business. “Thrice-Burned. Last we spoke, you were checking on the mountain tribes, about some land dispute. How’d that go?”

“Oh, very well, of course. Some of them agreed to come and join us! Others, well…they are not welcome here.”

Gral has a moment of strange vertigo when he tries to think about the tribal dispute, and tries to place what day it is, what year. And the harder he tries, the more he realizes something is wrong. He rolls a Charisma save, and begins to remember more.

This orc here answered to Thrice-Burned, but...he was only Twice-Burned at this point, wasn’t he? Yes, Gral sang this orc’s death song, he’s sung the story of each of Vek Garna’duu’s names - he became Thrice-Burned during the Ascension War, when Raspult lit up the mountains and rivers. Raspult is a name Gral can’t possibly know; there hasn’t been such a thing as the Ascension War yet. But that’s definitely Thrice-Burned sitting there, with the scars from wounds that couldn’t have happened yet.

Gral thinks it’s time to stir up a little conflict.

“These shellfish are amazing. Hey, uh, I’ll be back in a few – I realized I left something – Chak, on that mountain where I was, um, meditating, I left an important scroll that might blow away. It’s pretty valuable, so I just need to run out and-”

Chak interrupts. “No! I’ll get it. We can’t have a feast without our bard!”

“I won’t be more than ten minutes-”

“No, your part is next!”

“My part?”

“Yes! For the new ones-” Thrice-Burned gestures to a group of orcs Gral’s never met. “From the mountain tribes. We need to welcome them into the community properly!”

Gral reflexively insight-checks, and gets to roll another d6. This isn’t a thing. Like, there’s no such thing as a ‘welcome to the town’ ceremony. Orcs don’t switch tribes. This is all wrong.

“Ah, yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about and, what a coincidence! My scroll is for the welcome ritual!” Gral spitballs.

“Okay, you stay there and I’LL go get it,” Thrice-Burned insists.

“No, really, it’ll take so much longer-” Gral gets up to start walking, and a massive burn-scarred hand shoves him back into his chair. “I’ll go,” Thrice-Burned says, his tone brooking no argument. He turns and leaves the hall.

Where were we?

Valeria makes another perception check, and rolls her d6. She does well enough on her roll to notice Kyr Marius slipping out of the hall. Valeria breaks away from the conversation, rising from her seat, intent on following him.

“Whoa, where are you going?” asks Kyr Boucher. “The meal is not done!”

“I still have his cloak-”

“I’m sure he just has to run and get something,” Kyr Saroyan says soothingly. “Probably his spare cloak. He forgot his tonight. That’s so unlike him!”

“Really, I’d better go return it-”

“No, please, we insist. You have a big day tomorrow! It’s your first ride with the knights as a fully fledged Knight of the Rose. You need to eat well. Ser Marius can take care of himself.”

All the players notice the “Ser.” Does Valeria? She’s asked to make one more Charisma save, and makes it quite well. The DM does a little math, and nods.

Valeria stands up to follow Kyr Marius, and her eyes open. She looks, really seeing for the first time today, and sees the strange, swollen, overgrown faces of the unfamiliar human and halfling sitting next to her. The table is no longer the glorious mahogany of the Order of the Rose dining hall; now it’s a plain wooden table, half-rotted. The meal before her is no longer a delicious roast haunch, but a lumpy fungal growth. Retching, she spits out anything left of it in her mouth.

Valeria feels a tug on her arm and looks down. Vines and creepers have twined around it, a thin coating of lichen beginning to spread under them. The two strangers’ bodies are overgrown as well, though if they’re still alive they make no move to shake them off. The halfling’s mouth soundlessly moves, as if it’s talking, the way Kyr Boucher was just a moment before. He turns his head in the other direction to look at - oh, that’s Gral, further down the table, wrapped in vines. Clem and Shoshana are similarly bound. All three seem dazed and sluggish, their eyes closed.

She hears the door to the barn close as heavy footsteps recede into the distance.

This can’t go on. Valeria strains against the vines, and her hard-won warrior’s strength serves her well. The vines holding her tear apart as she stands. 

Where were we?

Shoshana has finally lost the battle of small talk. Never go in against a Jewish mom when there’s food on the line; she’s been served a hearty portion of soup and bread and informed she’s too skinny, eat! And the innkeeper does bake an excellent sourdough.

Valeria, meanwhile, sees Shoshana about to take a bite out of what might once have been bread, but is now overgrown with mold and lichen.

Valeria knocks it out of her hand.

Nonsensically, the sheriff of Ovruch is there in the inn, and he’s just slapped the bread out of - Shoshana makes a perception check - her clawed, shadow-stained hand. In shock and confusion, she looks back at Rifka - and makes a Charisma save.

The girl next to her is someone she’s never seen before, and looks gruesome. The head and body are weirdly misshapen, and there’s a flower growing out of her eye socket. Scabby lichen creeps across her face, and bulging mushrooms protrude out the far side of her head. Behind her, a moldy chunk of once-bread skitters across the table.

She blinks, and the disconcerting vision is replaced with her best friend’s face. “You okay?” Rifka asks, concerned. “You nearly fainted!” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “Did you eat your dad’s potatoes?”

Shoshana barely hears, because she’s looking at her hands. They’re pink and fleshy and knobbly like they’ve been all her life. They’re long-clawed and soot-dark. Claws to hands, hands to claws. She blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of it. Her hands look normal and human. After all, if they weren’t, it wouldn’t be possible for her friend to be sitting here with her.

Rifka is looking at her with guileless concern. How to do this without looking crazy?

“Um, can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Do my hands…feel cold to you?” Shoshana asks, warily, looking to see if her friend has any reaction to touching shadowy talons.

Rifka puts her hand over Shoshana’s, softly, and smiles warmly. “They feel wonderful.”

Where were we?

Clem blinks. For a moment she’d seen some other place, weird and different, and didn’t recognize anyone - and then it went back to normal. Before she can say anything to her friends, one of villagers steps forward and slaps food out of Grigori’s hand.

Clem scoots her chair back, looking around, still weirded out and unnerved. She fails a Charisma save and rolls Perception. It’s sort of weird that this wood elf villager is so big. Like, Clem-size big. And- is he wearing armor? 

Rusalka turns to her, gesturing to the villager, and says, “Well, Sarge? Are you just going to let him do that to one of us?”

“W-what are you talking about?” Clem demands. “Who is this?”

“One of the partisans, probably!” the captain exclaims. “Quickly, help us!” The Red Hand gathered around the table begin to stand.

Clem also stands. “Wait, this isn’t like us.” Private Vodanyakov is next to her, drawing his sword, but - she can remember how he died. He got eaten by winter wolves, but he’s right there. That hasn’t even happened yet. It hadn’t happened until years after they got out of Podtybok, but-

“Sergeant Haxan,” the captain orders evenly. “Draw your blade. Attack that enemy. They are not one of us.”

Clem tries to meet her eyes. “You haven’t called me Sergeant Haxan in ages. You always called me Clem.”

“Clem,” Captain Anya says, tone not changing. “That one is not one of us. You are.”

Clem grits her teeth, not drawing her sword. “Who the FUCK are you?”

Her Charisma save fails; she’s still there in the snowy village.

Where were we? 

One of the unfamiliar mountain tribe orcs has stood up and slapped something out of another orc’s hand. Gral is confused, but he’s always been a peacemaker. He’s gonna try to head over and talk to them.

Where were we? Oh yes, the overgrown barn.

The mushroom-encrusted bodies are standing up, threateningly turning their sightless eyes to stare at Valeria.

Gral and Shosha remain seated, their eyes closed, covered in mounds of creeping green matter. Clem, though, has stood up, and is looking in Valeria’s direction. The biggest mushroom person is standing next to her, pointing. She turns on her Divine Sense, but it’s a bust - these creatures maybe have a spark of fey or fiend to them, but it’s not enough to turn them.

They’re occasionally making strange noises, but not really vocalizing. Valeria casts Detect Magic to try to figure out what’s going on here. The entire barn lights up as magic, though not as clean-cut and tidy as humanoid magic. One of the smaller mushroom people sees her casting a spell and takes this as cue for it to attack. It swings a wild punch at her, and on impact, noxious spores puff out of its fist.

Where were we?

A fight has broken out between the mountain orcs and the clan Duu orcs. None of this makes sense, and Gral is pretty sure it isn’t real. He makes his Charisma save with flying bardic colors, and his eyes snap open. He’s in a rotted-out barn. There are weird gross mushroom people, and one of them is punching Valeria.

Whoa. Guess that explains it. He defensively casts Mirror Image, planning his next move.

Where were- oh, it’s all blending together.

Lev, across the table from Shoshana, is strumming a lute, and also there’s now four of him. Shosha doesn’t feel well. Something’s wrong.

“Something’s gone wrong with Sheriff Haskel, Shoshana!” he cries. “You are one of us, right?”

Shoshana suddenly remembers that no. For the last eight months, no, she hasn’t been one of them. Not after what happened. Not after they abandoned her for a witch.

She rolls her Charisma save, and her eyes snap open in a musty rotting barn.

Where are we?

There’s a fight breaking out between the Red Hand and the villagers, and Clem’s been ordered to assist her unit. Clem’s still dazed, conflicting memories jarring horribly with the present. A ton of these people next to her are long dead? She looks to her captain, baffled.

Captain Anya’s given Clem her orders, and is now rushing into the fight, not drawing her weapon but clearly ready for combat. Clem rolls her Charisma save - and it’s a natural one.

She draws her greatsword. These traitors are attacking her family.

Shoshana, meanwhile, wakes up restrained under a blanket of greenish-brown growth. In a knee-jerk panic reaction upon waking up, she casts Burning Hands on the crowd of mushroom creatures.

Clem, one of the partisans just threw a bomb or something!

The gout of flame hits most of the mushroom people, though it also scorches Gral. The biggest of the fungal zombies takes the brunt of the blast.

Clem, the Captain got hit by that bomb!

How dare this partisan bastard touch her Captain. Clem shouts “Anya!”, draws her greatsword, and turns on the wood elven woman who threw the Molotov with murder in her eyes.

Shoshana, still hampered by the carpet of mushrooms, barely manages to dodge Clem’s swinging blade, and as she struggles to get free she makes an easy target for the next slash. 

Gral sees Clem bury her sword in Shoshana’s side. The drow’s eyes are still closed, and her snarling face has a thin film of lichen over it. He’s immediately distracted, though, by the large mushroom leader clocking him in the face. Shit. He’s gotta get out of here - he’s just been hit hard, and also set on fire. The big shroom guy manages to pop one of his Mirror Image duplicates as he runs.

Clem, the captain just dropped one of the partisans, but apparently he had three identical brothers!

By taking the attack of opportunity, though, Gral manages to make it to Clem’s side, and casts Dispel Magic on her.

Clem’s eyes snap open to see Shoshana bleeding on the other end of her blade.

The big drow’s voice comes out tiny, fearful and bewildered. “…Shoshana?”

Shoshana squeaks, “Oh god your sword is so big.” 

The mushroom corpses, realizing we’re all out of the illusion, rush in. They’re clumsy, shambling things - the six smaller ones, likely unlucky travelers who wandered in here the way we did, miss most of their swings at us. But Valeria, who’s been fending them off the longest, is starting to feel the damage. Shoshana turns and sprays another cone of fire at the rotting things.

Clem pulls her sword free and begins babbling apologies. “OHMYGODSHOSHANA, IAMSOSORRY, IDIDNTMEANTOAREYOUOKAY”

Shoshana grits her teeth. She’s been stabbed before, it’s fine. “MUSHROOMS NOW, APOLOGIES LATER.”

“Right!”

Clem and Valeria slash at the fungus monsters. Spores spurt from the back of their huge leader, but Clem manages to save against the toxin.

Gral Phantasmal Forces the big shroomer, who fails hard. The thing has advantage, though – it succeeds as one of other mushroom people gestures. The DM lets on that they are, in fact, a hive mind. If Gral had managed to succeed, the Phantasmal Force would have gotten ALL of them.

Valeria opens her jaws and lets loose a blast of ice. Three of the Overgrown crumble as the fungal growth on them withers and dies of the cold.

The rest of the Overgrown swarm to attack her, but their uncomfortably squishy punches squelch against her armor. Shoshana shreds one with her claws.

Clem faces off against their huge leader, furious. This thing impersonated her commander, made her attack her friends, and made her eat super gross mushrooms. Her attack is ferocious, but the monster retaliates with a crushing blow. As it hits, spores puff out of the fist - underneath is clearly hard wood or bone, but the surrounding fist is one of those bulbous shrooms that explodes into spores when touched. Super gross.

Gral tries to cast Dissonant Whispers on the big guy. The hive mind protects it again, and the damage is evenly distributed between the linked members, so they all take like 2 damage. He grumbles.

Valeria puts her smites to use as Shoshana and Clem both get punched. Shoshana turns on the one that hit her, her claws tearing through flesh both human and fungal. “Gross, that’s under my nails now, I hate it.”

With a mighty swing Clem cleaves the massive, swollen, overgrown body of the leader in half. As it falls down leaking spores, we can see the remains of what might once have been the farmer that owned this barn. ICKY.

Gral decides that spells weren’t working great, so he just slices the last one apart with his sickle. 

A weird stillness falls over the dark, dank barn.

Shoshana is the first to speak. “Let me be the first to say: what. the. FUohhhhmygawd there’s still fungus on me.” She scrubs frantically at her arms and clothes, trying to brush away the clinging lichen and spores.

We all make Intelligence checks to try to remember what the hell happened.

Clem remembers: we had just found the Purple Cave Creeper at the mouth of a cellar to a house in an overgrown village, when suddenly the floorboards above our head shook and we ran outside to avoid the cave-in. These mushroom people were there, converging in on us. We prepared for battle, ready to charge in, but the choking cloud of spores overtook us all. Valeria managed to get an attack in before she succumbed - though in her head she believed it to be the training dummy.

Clem and Valeria, who ate the fungal food without reservation, both picked up 4 taint. Gral and Shoshana, who resisted eating, only picked up 1, because the DM rolled garbage.

What was with all those extra dice we rolled? Turns out the illusion had HP, and we were rolling damage against it with our d4s and d6s as it exerted itself to keep us under. The charisma save to break out was double its HP, so it became easier to break out the more we wore it down.

We emerge from the gross barn into the late afternoon light amidst and overgrown patch of houses. The woods outside seem very thick.

Clem has resumed apologizing frantically to Shoshana, who is awkwardly accepting. Aethis is out here, looking very put out about being restrained by a thick mass of vines. As Valeria goes to draw her sword to cut the gator free, she has to push aside her cloak to do it.

She wasn’t wearing a cloak when we went into the house, so this is a bit distracting. It’s very familiar. Sturdy, finely woven, and purple, lightly enchanted to resist tearing and weathering. She has a very similar one at home for ceremonial purposes, except hers isn’t enchanted. This one is spotless even after a bloody fight in the muck; only senior officers of the Order of the Rose are given the enchanted ones that can be worn into the field. And this one is specifically sized for dragonborn proportions.

Somehow, she came out of the dream still wearing Kyr Marius’ cloak.

The group discusses, haltingly, what we saw in the hallucinations. They took us back to times we were happier - times we were with family and friends, times when we were part of a group. We note how much the visions focused on the importance of being “one of us,” with outsiders as a threat. Seems like we might be getting an idea of how this Prisoner recruits.

The most important thing we figure out, though, is that it’s late afternoon, and we have no idea where in the hell we are.

Clem blanches. “Shit, I have a dinner appointment tonight.”

Valeria and Clem team up using Lay on Hands and medic abilities to get us back in fightin’ shape. But how are we going to make it back to safety before dark?

We do have a map of the woods from the Sturmhearst annex - it doesn’t look like the abandoned village is marked on it, though. We’re near where we found the Purple Cave Creeper, but that was the easiest plant to find - it’s kind of everywhere. 

Valeria uses her Ring of Jumping to launch herself 18ft straight up into a big sturdy tree. From there, she clambers up to get a better vantage point. She can see the river! We’re a bit west of it, which gives us a basic direction to go. Beyond the river, where it’s not overgrown, there are lights from the village of Bad Herzfeld. We can’t see Sturmhearst at all. Mostly it’s just trees - wait.

There’s a plume of smoke not far to the north.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire; and where there’s fire, there’s people with flamethrowers.” -Clem Haxan

We decide to head towards the smoke and see who’s been making camp. 

Shoshana rolls a godawful Survival. Clem grabs the map and turns it right side up. This grants advantage and then we do fine. As we pass through, we get an increasing sense that until recently, this side of river looked just like the other side, with fields and farms instead of this thick jungle-like forest. All the overgrown structures are kind of weirding us out, like in those pictures you see where buildings have been completely eaten by kudzu. It’s eerie.

Then we find ourselves in an area with signs of woodcutting. A lot of trees have been cleared. That’s good, right? Somebody has been clearing trees! Up ahead we see fire smoke.

Wow. It’s weird that we got so close to those big log cabins without hearing anybody. No, wait….we’re not that close; perspective is just playing tricks on us because these cabins are REAL FUCKIN’ BIG.

Shoshana excitedly points at the map. This must be Trollsburg!

Oh, hey, there’s a big grey-green figure who is waving at us. Shoshana awkwardly waves back. Gral is incredibly happy to see a non-fungal individual. Yep, this is a burg with trolls.

“Hello!!!” Shoshana calls.

“HULLO!” says the troll.

Shoshana starts headin’ over.

(We ask, but the DM tells us there aren’t any of the fancy plants we need near Trollsburg. Also, it’s getting pretty late.)

“Hullo,” repeats the troll as we get closer. “You okay? You just came outta da woods. You don’t look so good. I mean, your hit point totals look fine…”

“Yeah, uh, the plants tried to eat us.”

“Ooh yah, you gotta watch for dat. But we’re safe here. We been clearin’ the trees away, like the orcs do.”

For lack of anything else to say, Valeria introduces herself. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Oh! Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Doctor Kjeller. Doctor is a joke, see. I am real smart though.”

Gral ponders. “Might I say, you’re very different from most of the doctors I’ve met.”

Dr. Kjeller nods. “I is a troll doctor, not one of your people doctors. It’s quite easy, we do regenerate most injuries. Really, da word for doctor in troll translates more to ‘chef’. But I was given some credentials,” he tells us proudly.

He shows us a Sturmhearst bird mask he has hanging around his neck like a pendant. “See? I’s a doctor.”

“They accept trolls at Sturmhearst?” Clem asks.

“Oh no, some peoples gave me this. I met a person doctor once, an’ they were wearin’ one of dese. Said I was a doctor for trolls. So how was trolls gonna know they could trust me as a doctor?" He puffs his chest out, showing off the mask, which looks toy-sized by comparison.

“Are you here for the troll moot? Is that what this village is for?”

“Oh, da troll moot, no, yah, that’s what I came here for. Yah, I heard it from Mjonn. I lost my bridge a while back, see. This pack of really mean bandits moved in, chased me out, y’know. I got better, but it hurt real bad when they chewed my arm off. I think they mighta been werewolves. Trolls don’t get dat, but I ate some wolfsbane anyway. So I was kinda down on my luck, but Ionn told me that Coronn told him dat Emmek told her dat there was a trolls moot in dis here valley, so I decided to come check it out.”

“Who’s organizing the moot?”

“Oh, K’jell is the local troll! He lives under the bridge over the river. ‘S a nice bridge! Not gonna lie, I’m a bit jealous.”

“Why are you calling the moot?” There’s an obvious answer - something to do with the Curse - but we want specifics.

“Us trolls gotta be safe! It’s dangerous these days! There’s wolf people and fungus monsters and worse out there! Oh, but da local farmers here had a real bumper harvest, and dey were like, we should do a favor for our friends, the trolls! And they gave us this place. They been feedin’ us with plenty of food, and a place to live, and they been comin’ over and helpin’ us build dese big houses.” 

“Troll moots are pretty rare, aren’t they?”

“Yah, the last one was when the elves come in. The Czar heard about us and it got pretty ugly.” He nods sagely, failing to elaborate.

We shuffle awkwardly. “So, uh,” Shoshana starts. “Can we ask you a favor? We need a favor.”

“I cannot promise since I do not know what you are going to ask. But I promise to help. Dat is da doctorin’ way.”

“Um, can we sleep here tonight?”

“Oh, sure. There’s room in my house. They made the place big enough for two trolls, provided they get cozy. But I’m one of da first arrivals. And as a skilled troll I get some privileges! Like a bigger house, with multiple rooms in it. C’mon in!” 

He gestures towards the oversized house. “Now, it ain’t much.” He opens up the troll-sized door, and shows us the cavernous inside. There’s not much there; trolls aren’t known for lots of material possessions or for needing much furniture. There are two rooms, with no door in between. There’s some herbs hanging on the wall and a crude shelf with a few trinkets, and a big animal skin as a rug. 

“Now, as guests, you can have the skin. I haven’t given it those homely touches yet, I only just moved in. It’s way too dry, but whatcha gonna do? It’s not a bridge,” he apologizes politely.

“It’s lovely,” Valeria responds courteously. “Thank you for sharing your home with us.”

As Dr. Kjeller putters around, Gral pulls the gang aside. Quietly, he mutters, “I think there is something really bad here. What’s planned hasn’t happened yet, since he’s one of the first trolls to arrive – but this town is a trap.”

We consider. “I don’t think the trap will spring tonight,” says Valeria. 

“Yeah, they’re gonna wait until all the trolls are here,” agrees Shoshana.

There’s a little bit of time before the sun goes down, so we have time to look around. There’s at least 20 giant houses here, which adds up to an insane amount of trolls in one place. We want to go look at their food storage; the plants tried to trick us into eating their cursed fungus, and that’s the easiest and subtlest way to infect a horde of hungry trolls with fungal-zombie spores. But Valeria wants to make sure to cast Detect Magic, and we are fresh outta spell slots.

Gral wants to talk to the moot’s organizer tonight – is the local troll ignorant of any nefarious plans, or is he part of it? We gotta find out.

There’s probably enough time to make it to the bridge and have a quick conversation with him. It might give us an idea of whether it’s actually safe to sleep here, or whether it’s worth the risk to travel after dark to get back to the Sturmhearst camp.

(We do agree on one thing. “I’ve known this doctor for like five minutes and I would take an arrow for him,” comments one player. 

“And you might!” replies the devious DM.

We’re very thrilled to have created an entire race of CR 5 cinnamon rolls.)

We head over to the bridge. There’s a little sign indicating a troll is in residence, plus a wooden mailbox that says “K’jelk.”

It’s Shosha’s job, as the local, to talk to trolls. As is apparently customary in Valdian society, Shoshana announces herself by knocking gently on the bridge and singing her silly bumblebee kiddie song.

There’s an earthshaking THUD THUD as something under the bridge shifts. A wooden door opens on the riverbank and an absolutely enormous troll pokes his craggy head out.

“Yeaahhhhh?” he inquires in a deep basso. “I haven’t heard da bumblebee song in a while.”

“Hi,” Gral ventures. “Are you K’jelk?”

“Yyyup!” he rumbles. Dat’s what it says on the sign!”

He points to his necklace, which does in fact include a road sign that says “K’jelk.”

“Are you the one who’s organizing the troll moot?”

“Yes I am. I called it, I told Mjonn, who has a bit of the wanderin’ foot, and he told Dr. Kjeller and Emmek and Hans, and Hans is gonna tell the one down the river, and they’re gonna tell-” he continues to ramble about the troll gossip network, and Valeria has to gently interrupt.

“We actually had a concern with the troll couple on the bridge down the river!”

“Oh, zat so? They okay?”

“Yes, they’re fine, but they got attacked.”

“Oh, we don’t have dat problem here. It’s real safe here.”

“Well, they didn’t exactly get in a fight, though-”

“’Course not. Dere’s two of em! You’d have ta be real dumb to attack two whole trolls. Unless you’re three trolls. We got about ten here, so we’re safe.”

Valeria tries again. “We’re not worried about a fight, though. We’re worried that there might be sort of a….hmm.” How do you phrase “mycological contagion” to a troll?

“K’jelk, have you ever seen fungal zombies?”

“Yah. They smoosh real weird?”

“Yes, the attackers tried to turn that couple into fungus monsters. Did you hear about Trolskiv?”

He nods his huge head. “Dat sort of things is why I called da moot! Trolls can’t be on our own anymore, it’s too dangerous. I expect ghosts got him, probably.”

“No, it was mushrooms,” Gral explains. “In a nearby farmhouse, we found a huge fungus colony that was spreading. We had to burn it down to destroy them. It’s very similar to the stuff growing here.”

“If the fungus is what’s making trolls go berserk, having a lot of trolls in one place might mean...a lot of trolls all go berserk together?” Shoshana tries to clarify.

“Naw, I wouldn’t worry. One of da first ones I got here was Dr. Kjeller. He’s a expert in troll fee-zee-ology. He knows all about troll feezies.”

“He certainly is very…intelligent?” Valeria grants, “but we’ve seen plants around here giving off the same kind of poison spores. The local farmers have an usually large crop - which is why you can hold this moot - and we’re worried there might be fungus growing in it. Can we look at the food stores and make sure there’s nothing bad going on? We’ve seen the fungus infections before, and I’ve got magic that can help.”

He glowers down at her, brow twisted, not really saying anything. Gral jumps in to give her advantage on the Persuasion roll: “The farmer who created the mushroom colony that hurt Trolskiv said he came from Bad Herzfeld. If villagers from there provided that food, it would be wise to look carefully.”

The huge troll relents. “Arright, you can look at da food. I will introduce you to Zelig. She’s the one what’s providin’ all this an’ collectin’ food from the farmers. Pretty sure she was organizin’ a service at the farmers’ temple tonight.”

Valeria’s interest is piqued. “Oh, a service? I’m a Paladin of Rack myself; what sort of service is she holding?”

“Ummmm...da religious kind. No offense to da big chainy rattley man, but trolls don’t really go in for dat. Dat’s one of them little people gods, they don’t bother us much. We got our own. Grandmother and Grandfather are friends of the trolls, and they’ve done us pretty good.

We agree to come by in the morning to take a look at the storehouses; it’s too late tonight. “Yah, just come on by and I’ll get da key out. It’s all in them big barns over dat way.”

We walk on back to Dr. Kjeller’s as the sun sets. We’re entirely sure the trap won’t be sprung tonight, but we agree to keep a watch just in case.

We get over there, and we see Dr. Kjeller leaning against the wall of his cabin with a big pipe in his mouth. He has a flint and tinder in one hand and is smoking like a literal chimney. Whatever he’s smoking smells acrid and foul and sets us coughing.

Eh, he’s a troll, he’ll be fine.

“Hullo!” he calls. “How was K’jelk? Guy’s pretty big, huh!”

“Super big.”

“Yup. Everything’s in order up here, I was about to turn in after a smoke. It’s good for yer health! Want a puff?”

Clem is tempted. Okay, twist her arm, she’s gonna try it. She takes one pull on the pipe and barely makes it a second before making a con save. With an excellent roll, Clem manages to not die. This stuff is foul. She takes 10 damage as the smoke sears her windpipe.

“Yup, as soon as da inside of your lungs grow back, you’ll feel great!” Dr. Kjeller tells her, smiling. Clem gives a thumbs up and nods, trying not to cough her lung membranes out.

The doc pours a barrel of water into the end of the pipe, putting the unsmoked bit that’s left on his shelf. He puts on a comically large nightcap as he gets ready to turn in.

“Water barrel’s right dere, if’n you want something to drink in the night, an’ there’s a bit o’ jerky hanging off the rack in dere if’n you want a midnight snack.”

Valeria, ever the polite guest, replies, “We appreciate your hospitality. Thanks so much!”

He goes in other room and kind of clonks over, out like a light in under a minute.

Valeria takes first watch, and the rest of us must make saves to get to sleep – it turns out trolls snore somethin’ fierce.

Clem barfs and passes out due to the trollpipe. Warning: NOT FOR DROW CONSUMPTION.

Shoshana brews a knockout tea with her herbalism kit and doses herself. Gral uses his cursed lutestrings to wooble a pillow around his ears. “I shouldn’t be getting used to this power, but I’ve had a long day. Fuck it.”

We all take 1 taint for resting in a mildly cursed zone. Trollsburg’s not as bad as the rest of the forest, but we are - so to speak - not out of the woods yet.

When we get up in the morning, Dr. Kjeller is already awake and cheerily heading down to the river. We follow, since we need to talk to K’jelk about investigating the foodstuffs, and come across the two trolls attempting a morning exercise routine in the river. K’jelk is trying hard but is poorly following along at Dr. Kjeller’s awkward-looking, clunky troll yoga. Dr. Kjeller says: Morning calisthenics is very important for a healthy troll body!

“Oh hey guys,” Shoshana mumbles groggily as she wanders up to the bank, blinking the last of her sleepy-tea hangover out of her eyes. “What’sOOOOOHHHHH GOD I can see everything that troll owns!”

“Hey, at least we don’t have to save against that kind of taint!”

We go out and investigate the food stores. Everything looks all-clear; there’s no sign of weird fungus growths at all. We are Skeptical.

Valeria casts Detect Magic on the grain stores, and finds absolutely nothing except a lot of beets. She grumbles about wasting a spell slot for no reason. 

While Gral and Valeria are still sorting through bushels of food, Clem and Shoshana see a group of humans leading an ox-cart up the way. Clem flags ‘em down.

There’s an old woman riding in the cart, sitting among a heaping pile of provisions, clearly more supplies for the storehouse. She’s accompanied by two buff farmhands. “Ahh,” she says, “you must be the visitors K’jelk mentioned.”

“We are,” Clem admits. “And you?”

“I am Zelig. These two are Hans and Franz.” The two very beefy humans look at Clem and offer an end-of-Predator-freezeframe-handshake. Clem makes a Strength check, and somehow Hans (possibly Franz, we can’t tell which is which) wins, therefore claiming the Schwarzenegger role. Clem concedes - it’s okay, the adventuring life’s got her pushing too many pencils.

Zelig smiles. “We were just here to deliver some grain for the warehouse!”

Clem nods. “Well, at the moment, we’re inspecting the food on hand for potential fungal infection, and-”

Shoshana elbows her super hard, but the cat’s out of the bag.

“Oh yes, we must be on our way soon, but it’s no issue if you want to take a look,” the old woman says, her smile unwavering. “We have nothing to hide! I must wonder why - ahhh, a Knight of the Rose! Of course!” she crows as Valeria emerges from the barn.

While Clem inspects the grain on the cart, Valeria strikes up a conversation. “I sure am! Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service. Are you Zelig? I heard you were leading some sort of service last night. Are you a follower of Rack as well?”

“Oh, I’m nothing so grand,” Zelig defers. “The local cleric of Lethe ran the farmers’ temple, but he passed away recently under mysterious circumstances. He was trying to rescue some people from western side of the valley and never returned.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think some of those Sturmhearst people were involved.”

“Oh, have they been causing trouble?”

“Nothing overt, but, well. You know.”

Franz, or possibly Hans, adds, “They’re from the big city, they don’t understand us.”

Valeria soldiers on. “So you’ve had to take over the temple of Lethe?”

“Oh, it’s a full temple, all the gods are represented! But yes, it was a cleric of Lethe that did run it. Bjorn was his name, he’s gone now. I’ve taken over as best I can. We’ve got a good community here, and they needed…well, I keep the place clean and the lights on and say a few words when everybody gathers…”

Valeria squints at her, and Nat 20′s her Insight check! Zelig is lying about something. The words are true, but this hunched old woman is sizing Valeria up as a threat. (”Understandable, I am,” quips her player.)

(Clem, meanwhile, finds nothing in the grain, although she thinks Hans and Franz might be juicing. You do not get that much definition just from farming.)

Val twitches her official cloak out a little bit. “You recognized me as Order of the Rose. Have any of them come through recently?”

“Oh, everybody knows of them, but I did see one once. I believe he might still be in this area. I could ask around, if you’d like to speak to him. He never did say his name...”

That pings us all as weird, because Valeria can’t go ten seconds into meeting someone without introducing herself by name and title.

Valeria keeps her calm. “If he’s still around, I’d love to talk to him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen one of the Order.”

Clem, Hans, and Franz get busy in the background unloading the cart. There is definitely gratuitous and competitive flexing as they heft the heavy bags.

Shoshana decides to put her Charisma score to use and lays on the small-town charm thick. “We heard about the tragedy downriver with Trolskiv. I’m so glad to see you’re taking care of the trolls here; we’ve been so worried and it’s really wonderful to see you being so kind and giving them a place to keep safe.”

“We don’t have great armies or knights, but we do have a lot of food,” Zelig replies, equally friendly. “I thought, wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all come together in this place?”

She offers to send a few people out to find the Knight of the Rose. “Last I heard, he’s been wandering around helping folks.”

“Yeah, we do that.”

Zelig, all solicitous charm, asks if we have a place to stay for the night. We can’t exactly say we do, and she offers to reserve us a room at the local inn.

Shoshana maintains her friendly facade. “That’s very kind of you, thank you for such a hospitable offer.”

“Oh, we’ll charge you 3 silver for it. We’re kind and simple, not stupid.”

Eh, that’s fair.

Zelig does a quick walk-through of Trollsburg, seemingly to make sure everything is going well, and as Hans and Franz finish stacking the last of the food. She’s calm and unflappable, seeming to have no worry whatsoever that we’ll find anything here. Valeria tries to project an image of being tall, sparkly, and intimidating, but is somewhat overshadowed by the two hunks of grade-A organic farm beefcake.

Valeria casts Detect Magic as the three villagers tour around. Valeria taps the pink bead on her ear chain and doesn’t say anything, but we can all tell she’s kinda bitter.

Valeria taps her pink bead and doesn’t say anything, but is bitter about that.

Shortly, they’re done with their business. “Take an old woman back to town, if you would,” she requests, and Hans and Franz lift her back onto the cart, making eye contact with Clem the whole time. We watch as the cart trundles away, back towards the village.

Clem thinks they’re juicing on fungus. Gral agrees; yyyyeah, these are a couple of simple farm boys who are stronger than war vets. That ain’t natural.

Anyway.

We have the rest of the day to ourselves, and we have two more rare plants to find for spell components. We consult our map, and make a plan: we’ll go out and try to find the red mandrake root, then hit up the Sturmhearst camp to say hi to Flynn and Fiona, and then we’ll slide into town in the late afternoon to check the place out and cautiously take them up on their offer of hospitality.

We head into the woods. Clem rolls a decent survival check, and we find the plant surprisingly easily, coming across the distinctive red flower fairly quickly. Valeria happily reaches down and confidently yanks one out of the ground.

Shoshana, rolling a poor nature check, is a moment too late to remember why that’s a terrible idea. 

Everybody gets to roll a wisdom save!

The root, pulled free from the ground, is bright red and forms a vaguely humanoid shape. And as anyone who’s heard the legend of the mandrake will expect, it opens its mouth and screams.

Clem and Valeria, failing their saves, take damage and are briefly stunned as the piercing wail echoes throughout the valley. We all clutch at our ears in pain as the thing wriggles and shrieks. 

We can’t hear anything over the awful noise, but the trees shudder as the forest begins to wake.

-to be continued-

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 12: Going Green

We learn about the fourth Prisoner, and meet some new friends, and get dunked on AGAIN.

We wake up in Three Oaks Junction, which is still buzzing about the disaster of last night’s circus but has overall calmed down a whole lot. Shoshana finds the courier Valeria and Clem used the day before and sends out a letter to Ser Quentin at Hoska Castle to let him know what we found out and did in Mornheim.

Clem has breakfast near the statue of Three Oaks, and pretty soon everybody finds her and we all have Diner Breakfast. Gral finds a guy selling food and declares, “I’ll have your most slightly off-kilter animal’s eggs, please.” He receives eggs from a chicken with two heads. (He rolls and gets a nat 20. The egg has two yolks. Two yolks, two heads, the SYNERGY!) Flynn orders a breakfast burrito and also rolls well, which means they’ve actually invented breakfast burritos in Valdia. The most important meal of the day!

We hit the road with an up-to-date map and road trip snacks. Bad Herzfeld just looks like a market town surrounded by farms and a river. It’s not a big attraction or landmark, but we’re there for the farms anyway. It’s three days away by the fastest route.

As we travel, Valeria rolls for Aethis to successfully hunt and catch a ‘varmint’.

A couple days go by on the road. About a day’s travel outside Herzfeld, we have a chance meeting. Gral’s been scouting ahead for bandits, and he spots a bunch of garishly dressed riders with long-necked, ram-horned fuzzy mounts. What a pleasant surprise! A squadron of orcish outriders! Gral wants to say hi. They’re set up as a camp at the crossroads.

He sends a Message cantrip to Shoshana. “Orcish outriders up ahead, I’m gonna go talk to them.”

Shoshana: “Are they a threat, or potential buddies?” 

Gral: “They should be friendly. I’m gonna go see what’s up.”

He trots up the road, making no effort to keep hidden from the riders, who are mounted atop horned llamas. “Greetings!” he calls out as soon as he’s close enough. “What brings you this far into the Wood?”

There’s a captain leading the troop, and a bard traveling with them. Gral recognizes both of them: the bard is called Firesong, for her specialty in fire magic. The captain is Trollsfear, an old warhorse. Both are respected veterans of the Ascension War.

“Hey guys!” he says with a genuine grin, taking off his mask. “Firesong! Trollsfear!”

Firesong wears a similar mask to Gral’s, though hers has its own unique designs and a few scorch marks rather than the cracks and dents his has. “Joybringer!” she cries. “Trollsfear, it’s Joybringer! I haven’t seen you in so long - what brings you this far away from battle?”

Gral equivocates. “I had a lead on a local who was fluent in Orcish, who I hoped could serve as an interpreter. But since then we have been fixing various problems, with like-minded individuals. I see it as diplomatic work.”

She grins wryly. “We could use some diplomacy. We’re on a mission.”

“Oh? What mission?”

“Well, we heard some rumors about a group of trolls gathering in this area.”

“Quite a coincidence - that’s what we’re looking into as well!”

“Yeah, well, we hit a problem: standing orders from Shieldeater are to avoid antagonizing the locals if possible, right? So we reached Herzfeld and offered to take care of the troll problem, but the locals seem to take some pretty serious offense to that. When we asked, they said the trolls were welcome in the area?!”

“Soooooo... trolls are treated differently here,” Gral tells her. “They’re fairly peaceful and maintain bridges in exchange for coin. They don’t terrorize, like we’re used to. However – we believe there is a fungal threat to the troll population. You’ve seen fungus that controls minds, that makes people go berserk?”

“Yup, burned down a nest of it down near Barroch.”

“We’re trying to protect the trolls from something similar. Fungus controlled trolls would be good for nobody.”

Firesong goes a little pale at the thought. “I see. Unfortunately, we’ve somewhat, uh – you say you’ve been doing diplomatic work with the Valdians? You might have better luck than we did figuring out what’s going on in there.”

“Let me send a message back to the rest of my party.” He pops off another cantrip to Shoshana. “Coast clear. They’re looking into the same thing we are.”

Shoshana relays the message, and we all head up to the orcish camp. There’s about 10-12 outriders, plus the two leaders. They have these adorably weird ram-horned llama mounts, whose wool is dyed to match the garishly bright clothing of their riders.

(Alas, Gral is an emo orc in a glam rock world. We briefly wonder if Trollsfear has a David Bowie lightning bolt, but some questions shall remain forever unanswered.)

The orcs look at us with suspicion. Gral introduces us, like a proper diplomat.

Valeria hits them with the ol’ standard: “Hello, I am Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

Firesong nods. “Greetings, I am Firesong. This is Captain Trollsfear.” She introduces the other outriders by their orcish names - it looks like only the two of them have been granted honor names.

Trollsfear doesn’t speak Valdian, but luckily Gral and Shoshana both speak Orcish. Better get some translator practice in, Shosha!

“We’ve somewhat burned bridges with the locals in the area. They didn’t react well when we told them we were here to take care of the troll issue,” Firesong explains.

“Did you go in saying you were gonna slay all the trolls?” Shoshana asks wryly.

“...A little bit?”

“Yeah, there’s yer problem.”

Gral nods. “Yeah, I explained it to them.”

“Is it gonna be a problem bringing Gral to Bad Herzfeld?” the sorceress asks.

“No, but they weren’t willing to help us find the trolls. Half of the valley is very heavily overgrown. We rode through the clear-cut areas, but the trolls are probably on the other side. Without a local guide we didn’t want to take our longnecks in there, so we’re kind of stuck right now,” Trollsfear tells us.

Firesong jumps in. “Also, there’s definitely something odd going on in this area. We thought it was just, yknow, humans trying to protect trolls, but....”

“Really? What are they doing that’s weird?”

“It’s not really a specific behavior? I can’t put my finger on it.”

Valeria, as usual, is on task. “You said you were investigating the trolls? Is it just the fact they’re gathering, or are there other concerns?”

“Uh, YEAH, our concern is the trolls gathering! Trolls, in our efforts, have been, y’know, less than cordial to us. Trollsfear here got his name hunting trolls back in the mountains.”

Valeria ponders. So far, she knows that Sea trolls = bad. Land trolls = okay? Mountain trolls being bad is new and useful information.

We explain all our current plot hooks to the outriders: 

-There was that farmer from Bad Herzfeld who set those wheat monsters on us

-The Fairgolds know about the troll moot called there, and we’re worried about trolls getting infected by the curse fungus

-The Fairgolds also found the dagger of Kyr Marius of the Order of the Rose, one of the paladins who was at the Summer Palace when the Crusade fell, in the hands of a fungus guy

-We’re searching for rare herbs for the ritual spell we wanna do in Mornheim.

Firesong nods. “That’s quite a list. I should warn you - in addition to the locals, we also encountered a group of very strange individuals. They wore black leather coats and beaked masks-”

“Oh, there’s Sturmhearst guys?”

“Yes! There’s a whole group of them operating out of an old overgrown farmhouse on the other side of river, where it’s overgrown.”

Gral fills them in on what Sturmhearst’s deal is.

“There was a big one, who had some sort of fire-spitting device.”

Clem’s eyes light up. “I want a fire-spitting device!”

Shoshana looks a little put out. “I am...also considered a fire-spitting device?”

“So is Firesong!” Trollsfear tells us. Firesong, in true bard-showing-off style, pulls out some drums, and sparks fly off skin of her drum as she plays a quick rhythm. The campfire starts pulsing with her beat, and its flames grow and form into the shape of an orcish warrior, who roars a battlecry with a crackle of flame.

“Ooh, neat party trick. Can you do that, Gral?”

Gral shakes his head. “My specialty is more in magic of the mind.”

“…Okay, that’s also cool, but less fun at parties.”

“You are all welcome to share our camp tonight. If you need assistance in the coming days, you can try to call on us. We can stay maybe a day or two – we were expecting to buy supplies from the locals, but we’re going to have to head out and forage, or find a town.”

Shoshana pipes up. “There’s a good trade stop called Three Oaks Junction about two days that way. Just a warning, they super do not like the circus, though.”

Trollsfear whispers an aside to Firesong in Orcish. “The...circus? Is that a Valdian euphemism?”

“I dunno, this place is WEIRD.”

Gral cuts in. “Our group will probably get better results in town. Cooperation with the trolls might not even be a bad idea. They’ve called this meeting for a reason, and if they’re not hostile, we can find our what the reason is and work with them.”

Trollsfear is decidedly not comfy with the idea of working with trolls. Gral tries to assure him. “We recently worked with one, he was quite nice! I saw him crack a few undead on the head protecting his town.” It doesn’t change Trollsfear’s mind, but it’s a nice effort.

The grizzled old captain sighs. “Hopefully you can get to the bottom of this. I came here for a hunt, not for…politics.”

“Do you have anything more than just a weird feeling about the townsfolk? Was there something, anything that you noticed that was off about the town?”

Firesong shifts uneasily. “Well, there was one thing. It’s gonna sound weird, I know. But the people in the town, everybody there, they didn’t seem scared. When we’ve ridden through, every town – even supply stops – have been scared of us, or of something. Fear is everywhere in these woods. These people, they watched us, but they weren’t afraid at all.”

“Well, that’s unsettling,” comments Clem. She’s right. Anti-orc racism is one thing, but a town in the Cursewood that’s not scared of anything???? Yeah, that’s definitely suspicious.

“Maybe the townsfolk are on the side of one of the Prisoners.” Shoshana sighs.

“Or one townsfolk is a cultist, and the others afraid of outing them, for fear of retribution?” wonders Gral.

The outriders agreeably give us the lay of the land in Bad Herzfeld: On the east side of the river valley, the land is mostly clear. It’s the bigger side, and it’s taken up by acres and acres of lush farmland. The west side, however, is very heavily overgrown. The orcs won’t take their mounts in there; the vegetation is too dense for them to navigate. In terms of population, the west side is mostly abandoned. There’s a small town on river, right in the middle. It’s not much - basically a mill, a granary, and a wooden temple called the Farmers’ Temple. It serves the farmers’ basic purposes, even as they mostly keep to their own spread-out farms.

It’s starting to get to late afternoon, and it’s a far hike to the tiny town, so the outriders generously offer to let us share their camp. Gral has smoothed over a lot of the initial awkwardness of the meetup, and it helps that Shoshana can help Gral translate, so everybody’s pretty chill.

The players insist on meeting some llamas. Shoshana pets a llama, and a lucky Animal Handling check means it neither bites nor spits. Everyone is very impressed. Shoshana spends the next ten minutes kneading her claws into its wool like a cat. SOFT.

Valeria pets one; it rotates its head like an owl and spits in her face. “Aw, he don’t mean anything by it, he’s just just grumpy,” his rider assures her. Valeria, glaring pointedly, pets Aethis, who doesn’t spit at her. Aethis hisses at the llama. The llama spits at Aethis. They are immediately sent to time-out on opposite sides of the camp, for everyone’s safety.

“Animals that aren’t reptiles are weird!” Valeria complains to Gral.

“Llamas are better for navigating mountains,” he counters.

“They’re stinky!”

“Yeah, llama deodorizer is a job in orc society. It’s not glamorous, but it’s a livin’.”

Shoshana, having recently gained third-level spell slots, asks Firesong to show her how she did that thing with the flames. Firesong is perfectly amenable to this and straps on her drum holster - it’s some kind of portable elaborate Neil Peart-style kit, which is a reference I had to google - and teaches her a couple of beginner fire tricks.

Apparently, evocation mages are uncommon among orc mages and bards; Firesong studied abroad in the goblin republics, where they have pyromancers like Mercedes. (Yes, she used to have a cool bolero jacket, too.)

“Truth be told, mostly I went to the goblins to learn how to cook.” Turns out Firesong’s cooking and grilling is the REAL reason for her name. Sing and sizzle!

Well, now that the topic of backstories has been breached, Shoshana awkwardly, quietly, asks Firesong and the other outriders if they’ve seen a specific person in their travels...probably not, she’s apparently super stealthy, but she’s an archer, I’m told she looks like she’s dripping with shadow-

“Wait, that does sound familiar,” comments Firesong. “I mean, I haven’t seen anything like that personally, but there were a couple of rumors – not far from the current border of the orc-controlled land, a few warriors saw some kind of archer ‘draped in shadows’…she was seen hunting. Slew some sort of big frogmonster. I heard she had some sort of crazy group with her - the folks who saw ‘em thought they might be werewolves. The frogbeast had been harassing our workers, and then the wolf gang chased it off. We sent a group to see what was up with her, and they found the monster’s body. When they tried to find her, she attacked, drove ‘em off, and fled.” 

All this happened a long ways southeast, on the edge of orc territory, at a place called Outpost Machdu. Shoshana’s player asks the DM if it would have been possible by conventional means to travel all that way in the relatively short time since the attack on Ovruch. The DM would like to remind you that travel times are fake and how dare you make him have coherent math. However, he’ll allow this: someone COULD have gotten there, but they’d have had to move fast. Travel in the Cursewood is extremely slow due to the many hazards, detours, and destroyed towns; to travel that fast you would have had to go a more direct route - not sticking to the roads and unafraid to go through the deep woods.

Well. That’s something to think about.

Later that evening, Gral draws Trollsfear and Firesong aside. “I have something for you both to think about. I believe we have found evidence that Bullbreaker is alive, though we don’t know how warped by the curse.”

There’s a SPIT TAKE.

The two outrider leaders immediately begin pressing Gral for every detail he can give them. He gives them a brief overview of the way the Key transports things to other worlds. “We found remnants of an attacked camp, and heard the cry of the creature - we call it the Lurker - that attacked our crusade. It’s an agent of this curse. We found the remains of Thrice-Burned and Gar Kala’shek, who has been named Shipsaver, along with a message from Bullbreaker. As far as we know, he still lives, but I think he’s gone elsewhere since then.”

They’re absolutely floored. “Joybringer. I don’t - this is-” The two orcs turn aside and converse quietly, hurriedly, under their breath. Firesong turns back to Gral. “I can send a message, but we’re going to have to leave here. We can stay maybe two days, no more. In good conscience, we can’t wait any longer - we have to get word of this to Shieldeater. If his son lives, he needs to know.”

For the rest of the night they interrogate Gral for everything he has about the Duke’s missing son, and he’s willing to tell them everything he knows. He tells them about the mutations we’ve seen due to the Key’s curse, too, preparing them for the worst ways Bullbreaker could have changed since he was last seen.

The news spreads around camp like wildfire. Every single outrider is visibly itching to get back to Barroch, the orc capital, and spread the news.

Firesong and Trollsfear come to a decision: “We’ll head out day after tomorrow. We’ll attempt to check in with you with Sending before we leave. In the meantime, we’ll cast a Sending to the Duke as well. We’ll still have to ride back to deliver all the details.” We give them Bullbreaker’s note from the crate in the Drowned City, to bring back proof to Shieldeater that he’s still alive. 

Flynn and Fiona are doing okay making friends with the orcs. They don’t speak the same language but Flynn still somehow manages to set up an arm wrestling betting ring with Fiona, so. They manage to break even! Apparently some things are universal, and a real buff lady sitting down with her hand in the arm-wrestling position while her brother puts money on the table is one of those things.

Eventually, morning comes, and it’s time to head out. Firesong promises that if the outriders get a message from us for help in the next couple of days, they’ll try to come lend a hand. We thank them and head our separate ways.

After a few hours, we approach Herzfeld. It’s not so much a single town as it is a wide region of loosely affiliated farmers. We come across a handy signpost. The older signs point towards the ‘town’ where the mill and temple are, but there’s a brand new one, pointing to a bridge across the river that leads to the overgrown side. It proudly announces: “Sturmhearst University College of Medicine, Bad Herzfeld Annex”.

The road past the sign, toward the annex, looks like it’s been recently and roughly cleared. The plants haven’t had much of a chance to reclaim it yet.

We can go towards either meeting the farmers, or meeting a new batch of mad scientists. We trust neither, but only one can give us a flamethrower. And Clem really wants a flamethrower.

Shoshana pouts. “Hey, I can basically be a flamethrower! Firesong taught me a pretty neat thing, last night.”

Gral chuckles to himself. He’s seen Firesong throw a Fireball.

...Clem still wants her own flamethrower.

We decide Hearst First, because players can have little a steampunk, as a treat.

We stick to the road, and it’s only a short walk before we reach what is very obviously labeled Sturmhearst University College of Medicine, Bad Herzfeld Annex: Pharmacological and Botanical Research Station. 

We see some more of those bigass guards in owl masks. One is holding some sort of contraption that looks like backpack with a long handheld tube attached. Flamethrower!!! Clem is told by the DM she might be able to use one of these, and is VERY interested in doing so.

The guards stare at us impassively. Shoshana stares back. They continue there staring contest until Valeria decides to be party face.

“Hi, might we be able to talk with one of professors?” she inquires politely. The guard steps to one side, revealing a bell. Valeria cautiously rings it.

Shortly, a halfling scholar comes up, tiny beak peeking over the fence. “Ah! Visitors! How can I help?”

“We’re investigating some cursed happenings, and we knew you’d be the people to talk to. Would you mind telling us what you’ve found out about the Curse in this area?”

“I mean, we’re mostly just studying the local flora? You’d have to talk to the Professor. I’ll see if she’s available. If you would step inside, please?”

We are taken to the porch of what was once a large farmhouse. The barn and several outbuildings have been retrofitted into various structures. They’re centered around a clearing where the plants have been slash-and-burned back, surrounded by an old stone fence that’s been repaired and heightened. There’s bird-masked scholars scuttling about. A group of students, accompanied by an owl guard, are clearly returning from an expedition into the woods, carrying plant samples into a barn. Maybe they have the plants we need for the water-purification ritual!

We are offered tea on porch by the halfling woman. We accept, but don’t drink it. Clem does the throw-it-over-shoulder and mime drinking routine, as is tradition.

“Professor Ulmus will be with you shortly. Oh, and if you see a metal chicken, try to catch it.”

Hey, isn’t that the professor from Clem’s journals? Also....a chicken?

Sure enough, as we wait, a clockwork chicken struts out in front of the porch, plucking at the grass. Valeria, ever helpful, decides she’s going to try to catch it. She rolls a dexterity of Bad. It turns to her, bawks gratingly, and bounces away on its little metal springy legs. Valeria dives for it and falls flat on her face. It nonchalantly goes back to eating blades of grass.

Gral minor illusions some oats. The Robot Chicken does not seem to care, but tries to go around them. Valeria, who will not admit defeat, tries again. She rolls better this time, and as it tries to hop away, she snatches it out of the air as a tall woman in a beaked mask steps out onto the porch.

“RITAAAAA!” she calls.

“Um, I caught your chicken!” Valeria offers helpfully.

The tall woman accepts the handful of cluckwork chicken (lol geddit?), pulls out a brass key, and inserts it in a metal slot. The chicken powers down and lies motionless.

“This is Rita!” the tall lady tells us fondly. “She’s for gathering samples, but has gone a bit haywire lately. Her enchantments make her flee from danger, so she’s difficult to find and catch. Please, step inside.”

We are ushered into the office of Professor Alma Ulmas. There’s a sturdy farmhouse table being used as her desk. Everywhere there’s beakers, notebooks, and plant samples. They’re unusual plants, some lying loose on the desk and a few more contained, including a glass tube with a detached vine in it that’s wriggling around restlessly. On one wall there’s a big beautiful map of an island with a crashed Aquilian city. The caption calls it “The Totaled Isle.” Valeria’s heard of it! It was so named because the thing that crashed there was totally wrecked.

Professor Ulmus sits and tries to spin her chair to face us. Sadly it is not a spinny chair. We politely pretend not to notice. “So, what brings you to see me?”

Valeria speaks up. “We’re investigating a situation in the area. We wanted to go here first, because we figured you might be able to tell us about how the Curse is manifesting here.”

“Well, whatever it is, it makes the plants grow very well. That’s what brought me here originally. I’m a professor of pharmacology, in the disciplines of botany and chemistry. We’ve been gathering and studying plant samples of unique, newly emergent species that seem plentiful here.”

“What are the dangers here?” 

“Well, hostile flora, in all the usual ways.”

“The usual ways?” Shoshana asks. “So, like...vines? Poison spores? Thorns?”

“Yes, all of those. Also, many of the local wildlife are suffering a type of fungal infection, which happens to be specialty of mine. I must admit, studying fungal infections here is far less interesting than I had hoped. We expected the locals would have plenty of willing patients, but they don’t seem to. Not a single one of them has come to us with complaints.”

“Nobody’s had any negative effects from fungal infections?”

“Only a handful, from the other side of the wood. We here are following all proper safety precautions, of course. I have not gone out and inspected their small podunk village. If you see anyone suffering any kind of infection by a Curseborne fungus, please send them to me immediately.”

“Well, see, we encountered someone from Bad Herzfeld, who seemed to have a fungus that affected his mind-”

Professor Ulmus isn’t listening to Valeria anymore, because Flynn’s started coughing. She nat20s her med check and immediately ignores all of us to get all up in his business. “Open up? Hmm, I see. Please cough into this swab.” She sticks the swab in a beaker of liquid and swirls it, looking at the color of the solution. “Hmm, yes. We’ll have to do a full examination.”

Fiona instinctually goes for her hammers. Flynn puts a hand out to stop her. “No, no, it’s fine! This is fortunate, she’s probably the best person to help me.”

It’s Valeria’s turn to pout. “Hey, I’m a Knight of the Rose!”

Professor Ulmus is still peering down Flynn’s throat. “Yes, clearly you’ve been alleviating his symptoms, but there has been no addressing of the root cause. No offense, but your techniques have a certain...brute efficiency.”

“….thank you.” Valeria chooses to believe that efficiency is a compliment.

Clem, meanwhile, is a bit intimidated by watching a highly competent doctor work.

“Isabel?” the Professor calls. The halfling woman comes back. “Please take Mr. Fairgold – and apparently his sister – to the clinic. He has a minor case of respiratory infection. I believe we will attempt procedure three today.”

We get up to follow the twins to the clinic, but she holds out an arm. “I’d prefer not to let too many people examine the procedure room. Any of you could be a spy sent by Professor Quercus.”

“Uh, okay, we have actually met that guy?” Shoshana admits. “But he didn’t exactly seem to be that interested in plants.”

“Ugh. He’s interested in anything that will get him funding. Aberrant Biology? That’s not even a real FIELD. I am a pharmacologist, and a botanist and a chemist, those are REAL sciences-”

She composes herself. “ANYWAY. Mr. Fairgold will need to be here for at least the rest of the day. In the meantime, is there anything else I can assist you with?”

We pull out the component list for the ritual. “Well, we were wondering if you could point us in the direction of a few particularly rare plants...”

“Isabel!” she calls. “No, wait, I just sent Isabel to prep the clinic. Douglas!”

Nobody shows up.

“Darn it, that’s not it...what was his name? William!” Another grad student in a mask pokes his head in. “Fetch the survey maps!” Within a couple of minutes, he’s brought us an armful of maps, and we take a look.

She shuffles through them and produces a map of the overgrown side of the valley. It’s covered in detailed notes on what plants have been found and where. She gets us a blank copy and points out specific plants to us. “Of your list, the moon lily will be the hardest to find, but we have sighted it around here...” She pulls out a soot-black quill and whispers an incantation to it. It sparks, and a thin stream of fire spurts from its tip, singeing tiny, precise details onto the map. She scribbles notes all over it, marking where our ingredients might be found, and blows out the quill when she’s done.

“There you go! This should guide your search. You should be able to find all of these in the valley, with incredibly high magical potency. I assume you’re seeking them for thaumaturgical purposes?”

“Yes, it’s for a ritual to purify a water source of disease.” She is mildly disappointed, but not particularly surprised.

Clem nervously steps forward and asks, ”I thought that your work about replacing limbs with synthetic troll blood was absolutely inspired. Um, would you sign my journal?” Professor Ulmus acquiesces and signs her article with the fire pen. Clem, with stars in her eyes, mumbles something about studying mundane medicine.

“Is that so? Oh, you must come to dinner tonight! Where did you study?”

“Well, I only got to study about a year of traditional medicine…”

“The [] institute?”

“Y-yes! How did you know?!”

“That’s the only Kevan headmaster I can think of who would have accepted a drow! No offense. Elves are racist. Judging by your bearing, you must have used your training as a medic during the war. I’d love to pick your brain!”

We all instinctually recoil.

She groans. “It’s a SAYING. Goodness, you say the wrong thing back home and everyone’s pulling out the BRAIN SAWS. I’m not even that kind of scientist!”

Gral takes the opportunity to break into the conversation. “’Scuse me. Gral Omokk’duu, pleasure to meet you. Have you ever done any investigation on orcish flora?”

She considers. “No, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Have you studied anything about soil purification?”

“We do have a soil lab here. I’m aware of what happened to your homeland, and while you have my deepest sympathies, I’m afraid that-”

“No, I’m more trying to recreate the soil of a specific place.”

“Oh! Well, that’s something I could potentially work on! Not here, though, and I’ll be here for another month or two. I can write a letter of introduction – if you can get a sample or a seedling of the plant you’re trying to grow-”

“We do have some seeds in Barroch.”

“Excellent. If you can send the seeds to Sturmhearst, and a soil sample of what you’re trying to recreate, we can certainly do something, if your duke is willing to make a contribution to the college…”

Gral turns to look at the rest of us. “Huh. Didn’t think it would be that easy.”

(We’re all like, please, professors would do anything for funding.)

And then the DM tells us to google Professor Ulmus’ name. ...DUDE. AGAIN?!

Ulmus is a specific tree genus; this is, of course, Professor Elm. Please direct your notice to the Cinder Quill, the Chicken Rita, and the Totaled Isle.

AAAAAUUUUUGH.

We swear to be prepared next time we meet a professor. But the DM warns us that he’ll no longer be going in order of the games...

So we’ve met Professor Ulmus and we have a map! Let’s look at the map and figure out our plan. 

On the map, there is something called Trollsburg, well north of the annex. A ways in from the river, on the tangly side. It’s probably safe to assume that’s where the trolls are gathering. We decide we want to investigate the town before we get into it with the Big Fellas.

Hmm. How many of our rare herbs could we get today, if we went out foraging? The map shows general areas of where to find things, not specific. Back home, Shoshana could canvass an area this size in a single day. Here, super overgrown with monsters? Lol, nahhhh.

The consensus is: if we have to go find plants, let’s do it before we piss off the Curse.

There’s four main plants we’re looking for, that we can’t get anywhere else: the Moon Lily, the Red-Flowered Mandrake Root, the Purple Cave Creeper (aka Vasilius’ Shawl) and the Norbert’s Wort.

The Moon Lily looks like the most complicated to get. They have the least presence on the map, and it’s the furthest out, in a pond. Valeria and Shoshana, heading up this spell operation, want to get that one first. Gral and Clem are fine with that. Time to draw some cards for the journey! 

We draw The Beast, and the DM hurriedly proceeds to improv a fight plan.

A good survival roll means we aren’t immediately murdered by a shrubbery. As we push in, we are able to detect the tracks of some big, heavy, clawed creature making its way through the woods. WELP. Better go slow and quiet. It takes us a long while to get close to the pond at that rate, well into the afternoon, but we’re avoiding any paths our Survival check gives us bad vibes about.

This place could not be more different from Mornheim. Having just come from a place where everything was withered and greying, the riot of lush and vibrant plant life is jarring. But there’s something distinctly unsettling about this place nonetheless. 

As we get close to the wetlandy part, where our target is, we again find more tracks of some big Thing. They’re a bit like bear tracks, but far bigger than a regular bear. Better get stealthy to take a look around.

Valeria casts Aid on Shoshana, Gral, and Clem, in case we run into the big nasty. Clem, listening intently, hears a sound - the snoring of something huge. Clearly, we’re close. Valeria uses Divine Sense to see if she can get it on radar, but whatever it is doesn’t ping. 

Gral, our de facto rogue, stealths around the side of the pond to check it out. He notices some weird fungal growths spread out throughout the area, lumpy and misshapen. As he approaches, he can also hear the heavy breathing noise of snoring. Peering around a bend, he finally spots a massive shape sitting in one of the ponds, a green blob in a world of green. At first it just looks like a hill of foliage, but it’s moving ever so slightly, rising and falling with the rhythm of breath. It’s covered in mosses and lichens.

“Hmmm,” Gral observes. “Snorlax.”

He’d be happy to leave it well alone, but there’s one other thing in the same pond. In the very center, he can see one thing that none of us have seen all day: In that pond is emerging a shining white lily flower.

Gral quietly messages Valeria: “I found the giant thing and the lily thing and they’re very close to each other. Also, you don’t want to step on fungus.” He sneaks back to the party to guide us there.

We appraise the puzzle. In order to harvest the lily you’d need to get in the water; it’s pretty far in and we need the whole thing – the petals, stamen, flower bits, stem, everything. Our herbalist-sorceress knows you can’t just yank it out, you need to snip it carefully to avoid damaging it. Shoshana’s Mage Hand doesn’t have the necessary precision.

Someone’s Gonna Have To Go In The Water.

Gral casts Silence and Shoshana keeps up a Minor Illusion of the lily, hoping to create the impression that it’s still there after we take it. Valeria grabs the snippers out of Shoshana’s herbalism kit and is goes into the pond on Aethis, who is a gator and can swim. The lorge lizards are not stealthy; Valeria rolls an 11 on stealth as she approaches. As she reaches forward, ready to snip, a wave flows through the pond, the water moving. An eye opens, burning and yellow, in the mossy mass.

Valeria is gonna keep tryin’ to snip the lily! 13 dex check? She’s gotten in there, clipping the stem, when the huge mound of creature unfolds itself to its full enormous height. It’s a bear, but its back is covered in a thick mass of moss. It’s huge, too, bigger in weird, distorted ways. Like it’s just had more mass slapped on top, lumpy like unformed clay. It rises up out of the water and opens its massive jaws in a bellowing roar, and we can see its long teeth, covered in a layer of greenish-brown fungus. 

“Oh, Dynamax Snorlax.”

Vines emerge from its back, lashing at us threateningly.

“Eh, it’s more of a Venusaur. But a bear.”

We roll initiative!

Valeria has secured the flower! But there’s a BEAR in melee range. She takes time to safely stow the lily in the Handy Haversack, meaning she cannot draw her weapon this turn. So she breathes on it. It is now cold, and smacks Valeria about it. Luckily she’s well armored, but it still crits. 21 damage as it grapples her in its thorns! Sweet Rack, we need a Charizard. It misses its bite attack though, its filthy teeth clanging against her armor.

Thigh-deep water is difficult terrain, so Clem can only get there if she dashes. She runs as close as she can, about 15 feet away from it, and hurls a previously unmentioned handaxe! Well, now the bear has a handaxe. Shoshana shoots it with acid from the safety of the bank, and Gral uses Phantasmal Forces to make it think blades are popping out of the ground to stab it. Valeria, still grappled, swings her sword and SMITES. Her vine fu is stronger than its vine fu! (Hers have roses in them!) She can’t get away from it, though, the DM requiring her movement as part of it dropping the grapple. 

The fungal bear growls at us and charges, trying to knock over Valeria, Clem, and Gral in a single turn. It misses Valeria with its teeth, but Clem and Gral are each struck by a tangling vine. Gral is grappled, Clem is not. As it stands in the middle of the pond, roaring ferociously, Clem buries her sword in its side and Shoshana hits it with another stream of acid, burning away some of the thick mossy growth in its fur. We can see underneath, and the fun has almost entirely been replaced by moss, fungus crumbling out of its wounds instead of blood. 

Gral declares he’s going to do the classic Shimmy and Shiv, playing a minor chord to wooble himself behind the bear and then coming in with his sickle. Valeria slashes at it, and her sword comes out covered in moss and fungus. It sinks its teeth into Gral, and he luckily makes his con save, avoiding being infected by the spores trying to invade his bloodstream. Up close, he can see the beast’s mouth and throat is just overflowing with the fungus. 

“This is not how Snorlax is supposed to Gigantamax!”

“I told you, it’s a Venusaur!”

Clem trips it and it collapses into the water with a rippling splash. Shoshana sprays it with acid one more time, striking it face on. It roars, horrible and distorted, spores spewing out of it mouth before it flops forward, its final collapse sending out another soaking wave of mossy water. Clem dives underwater to avoid breathing in the spores, and then quiet falls as the thing lies still.

We all take a moment to be soaking wet, in a pond.

Valeria wants to get a sample of the creature’s fungal growths for Professor Ulmus. Clem and Shoshana, who have Medicine, team up and use the scalpel of Professor Wendell. We harvest some excellent samples! Sturmhearst sent us, so obviously we have a sample collection kit. The fungus is crumbly and sort of yellowish.

We short rest, for 3 Taint. Clem does not rest, and instead does push-ups, avoiding the corruption.

1 of 4 rarest ingredients got.

As we close session, leaving the problem of getting out of the woods to our future selves, our DM realizes that on the eve of this big football game he didn’t remember to make us fight a Superb Owl.

[cursewoodrecap]

It's Clem!!!!

Saturday Art Challenge #1

Clementine Haxan, by @rizaoftheowls ! In their words, “Clementine Haxan is a really buff dark elf lady. Like. Tall AND super beefy. Huge Lady.” I think I missed the part in the written bio where Clementine had white-blond hair, not white XD Whoops.

I had to cut the challenge post short because I got really dizzy randomly and took a nap ^^U But the whole point of the challenge was to try and broaden artistic boundaries of mine. So maybe next Saturday, I’ll do it again.