SKT: Session 28: The Tribulations to the Eye of the All-Father

General Summary

Session XXVIII — The Crack in the Mountain

The chill bit deeper than blades, and yet onward they climbed.   Fresh from Mirabar with cloaks furred and pouches heavier, the heroes met again with Harshnag—giant of legend, their pathfinder to the Eye of the All-Father. Through frost-veiled valleys and snow-laced winds, they marched, spirits kindled by duty, if not by warmth.   Madra, ever bold, took a dare upon a frozen river, only to crash through its glassy lie. Ropes flew, hands strained—his life drawn back from the brink by comrades and cantrips. And still the path called.   At last, Harshnag found it: two obelisks dusted in silver snow, carved with ancient pride—Giants triumphant over wyrms. There, Uvar’s voice cracked the dawn. Three times he spoke, “Father,” and the skies, like drums, answered in lightning. The ground trembled—not with divinity, but doom.  

An avalanche.

  With hearts aflame in frozen air, the party scattered toward salvation. Juniper was swept into Madra’s arms and hoisted to the trees. Uvar, wings conjured from storm, soared with Azure. Thyme vanished into a pocket of elsewhere—banished from danger by Azure’s will. Harshnag stood firm, axe embedded in stone, defying nature’s wrath.   Snow swallowed them all—but spat out the living. Harshnag, buried, answered Azure’s Sending. Half-frozen and whole-hearted, the party dug him free.  

The Ice Cliff Trials by Julia

More danger awaited: a narrow gorge ambushed by Crag Cats. Two fell, the rest fled. Then came the cliff of wind. Roped as one, the fellowship braved a furious ascent. Winds tore. Cold stung. Harshnag’s axe carved holds in the mountain itself. They reached the far side, alive and shivering.

by Julia

That night, beside a fire beneath pitiless stars, Harshnag asked for stories. Tales were told, and he, in return, offered one unwritten in any rune: the legend of Harthur’s Son, who died with ice in his hand and fire in his throat, carving fate from glacier and guts. The rune he left: Sacrifice without glory. A reminder that not all greatness roars.   The fire died. The wind hushed. But the mountain whispered.   In the morning, Juniper stood... different. Another soul had worn her shape through the cliffs and cats. This new presence knew too much—and said too little. The others watched with wary eyes.   The Eye loomed near. But before they reached it, whispers clawed at their minds—visions, curses, dread. Eight footprints in the snow trailed into the temple. But Azure saw something else: a crack in the mountainside.   Madra urged him on, a silvered berry from Tharra Shyndle in his hand. Azure entered, drifting like a ghostg into cold oblivion. He found webs, eggs, and the Ice Spider Queen herself. Panic sparked magic. He wove a hypnotic thread and fled, thoughts screaming to Madra.   Uvar, loyal beyond life, teleported to save him. But the spiders struck—paralyzing, binding, dragging.   Azure fought with mind and monster—summoning a Slaad from aberrant realms. Together they struck the webs with fire and fury, freed Uvar, and flew, bloodied and breathless, back into the waning light.   Their path was not yet done. But the mountain had shown its teeth.