Session 3: The Weight of Witness
General Summary
7th Velden 1255 - Afternoon
The Guttering Flame
The session began not with danger, but with the weight of what had already been seen. You woke in your rooms at The Guttering Flame to the sound of rain lashing against thin glass panes — an ever-present reminder that the world beyond the walls was watching, waiting. Thunder growled in the distance. It was early afternoon — or postbreak, as Velomorne calls it — and you had a few quiet moments to gather yourselves.
Over a simple lunch, you found a stack of fresh Lanternlight Record leaflets on the tavern’s bar. Alric picked one up and read it aloud, the council’s carefully shaped words ringing hollow in the room's hearth-warm quiet. There was little trust for the narrative being spun — a feeling quietly shared between you, unspoken but deeply mutual.
You decided: it was time to speak to the ones you’d saved.
The Temple of Mystra
The cobbles outside were slick and shining, tiny rivers trickling past your boots. Stormlight filtered through the grey sky as you walked to the temple, heads bowed against the wind. When you reached the cathedral-like sanctuary, you were ushered in with warmth and a smile, the storm sealed behind thick oak.
The temple’s vaulted ceiling arched overhead like a ribcage of stone, converging on a silver eight-pointed star suspended above the nave. Light streamed through stained-glass windows of Mystra, the Weave incarnate, bathing the stone floor in fractured colour. Every fork of lightning outside brought a new pulse of light through her veiled visage. The scent of lavender and burnt sage clung gently to the air.
You met Eldrin in his study — a modest room, surprisingly humble for a man of his station. He peered up at you over small spectacles, seated by the corrupted Mistward Lantern that bled silvery light. His concern was genuine. He spoke to you plainly — about tampered wards, reversed runes, and the frightening ease with which someone had corrupted a sacred defense. Someone with inside knowledge.
He admitted that perhaps only a few dozen people could have managed such a feat — and not without access to secrets kept in the inner sanctum of the church. He didn’t accuse. He didn’t speculate. But he knew something was deeply wrong.
And so he asked you to question the villagers. You had seen what he had not. You were the ones who could draw truth from pain.
The Survivors
You entered a warm side room, lit by firelight and quiet comfort. A pot of stew simmered. The survivors — Elric, Harlan, Lina — sat at the table in fresh clothes, though the weight of what they had endured was plain in every glance, every pause.
Lina looked at Craxian and Calcifer warily, haunted still by the memory of her blind panic in the mist. But she offered Alric a small smile. He had spoken to her as an equal — someone who had lost, too.
You asked gently about what they remembered. Their answers were fragmented, like pieces of a shattered mirror.
They described being transported by things not meant for this world — beings that breathed, hummed, moved without footsteps. Heat, rot, iron bars. Humming. Sightless visions of red veins and roots burned into closed eyes.
One phrase in particular lingered:
The Speaker will clear the path. The vote will go through.
And fragments of another:
They talked about 'breaking the lattice' and 'unbinding the circle.' That the wards... 'choking something beneath us'.
Harlan remembered a mark — crescent-shaped, on the flesh of the tall cultist’s neck. He sketched this on parchment, at Calcifer's request.
They confirmed Eldrin and the church had treated them well since their rescue, but Harlan’s parting words to you were clear:
Please find whoever did this. Make the bastards pay.
You gave him your word.
Quiet Doubt, Shared Resolve
Outside the room, you decided not to share everything with Eldrin, keeping the mark, overheard phrases, and most details for yourselves. You still didn't know who could be trusted.
You considered whether “Speaker” might refer to Jonas Greaves (Voice of the People) or Harkin Draeve (Guildspeaker). Craxian suggested looking into the southern lantern line, which Jonas had criticised in the past.
You told him what you could — the beasts, the mentions of transport — and he took it seriously. He had never heard of such creatures, but said if they were real, someone would know.
And that someone, as much as he hated to say it, might be Nyssa Vale. He offered no pretense. She was touched by the mist. Her knowledge surpassed even his.
He arranged a meeting for the next mistbreak — but warned you:
Be wary of her truths… they have a way of staining more than just your thoughts.
You questioned him on the southern lantern line, which Jonas had criticised in the past. Eldrin, through veiled frustration, confirmed to you that it was in hand, and the lanternline had been upheld properly.
A tense meeting, ending with a tentative lead for more information.
8th Velden 1255
The Tower Above the Town
Alric split off, visiting Jorvan Stoutwood the carpenter, while the rest of you climbed the winding stone stairs to Nyssa’s tower.
Her home sat alone on the cliffside, shrouded in perpetual mist, surrounded by wind-stirred trees and a weathered windmill. The door opened on its own. Inside was a space caught between realms — strange, veiled, quiet.
When Nyssa descended the stairs — barefoot, silent, statuesque — she greeted you as though your arrival was fated in the cosmos.
The mist does not stir without reason. And yet here you are, drawn on a tide that pulls deeper than you know.
She led you into a circular alcove lit by mist-coloured stained glass. Charms hung from the ceiling. Mist pooled at the windows. A scrying basin sat in the centre, black and still.
Here, she answered what Eldrin could not.
She confirmed the mark was no mere sigil — it was a key. A doorway. The ones marked were not simply servants… they were thresholds.
The Veilborn had opened something once before, and Nyssa had been left behind in the aftermath — not dead, not whole. Changed.
She told you of Grievers — not beasts, but shaped things. They hunt by memory. They hum for those they have found.
She told you what she thought of Eldrin:
He sees the world in lines that hold the dark at bay. But nets tear… and when they do, the fish that thought themselves safe are the first to drown.
And when you repeated the citizens’ words — “The Speaker will clear the path. The vote will go through.” — her voice grew still.
“Hollowstep Quarry,” she said. A place where the weave was weakest. A wound beneath the town.
“If they mean to break the circle, they will start there.”
She also passed on other pieces of knowledge to you:
- The iron spikes you recovered are anchors, “a baptism, not a killing,” pinning a soul’s sight in place.
- The mist is thickening — “like a breath before a scream.”
- On the Veilborn: “Not all who vanish are taken — some go willingly, and some are asked.”
She warned you the council would need to sanction the journey or risk political fallout — and told you she would see you at the council meeting postbreak.
Alric's Visit to the Carpenter
While the rest of you met with Nyssa, Alric made his way to Jorvan Stoutwood’s shop — a broad-shouldered orc whose hands are calloused from decades of shaping timber. The two spoke at length about the Artisan’s Guild and its leadership. The conversation was easy - grounded.
Jorvan told Alric the Guild was “a good thing — mostly,” keeping craftsmanship to a high standard and preventing shoddy work from reaching the market. But he admitted they were slow to change and far too quick to argue over coin, sometimes losing sight of the fact that they were building for people, not just profit.
On Harkin Draeve, the Guildspeaker, Jorvan was warm and respectful:
Harkin’s a fair sort. Knows the work, knows the people. He came from the forge same as I came from the bench, so he understands a man who’s got sawdust in his hair and dirt on his boots. Still, he’s got a lot on his shoulders — and the council doesn’t make his job easy. I just hope they don’t wear him down to the bone.
As they talked, Jorvan inspected Alric’s tools. The scythe was sound and well-balanced, but the rake could use an upgrade. He offered to craft a new one for 250gp — or 150gp if Alric could help recover a missing shipment of Frostwood planks from the woods west of Draymoor. The planks had gone missing on their way from the sawmill, and Jorvan suspected they’d been stolen or lost in the mist.
Alric purchased a set of carpenter’s tools and agreed to look into the missing shipment, leaving with Jorvan’s promise to “keep his ear to the ground” for anything else that might be useful.
The Council Meeting
Reunited, you made your way to the Town Hall for the council meeting. The storm still battered Draymoor, rain streaming down the cobbles as you entered through the front doors into the lamplit lobby. An elven woman sat behind a desk piled high with papers, clearly overwhelmed by the flurry of council business. She blurted questions at you in quick succession — “Hello, what are you here for? The meeting? The one now or a different one? Sorry, who are you?” — before Alric gave his name and confirmed your attendance.
Without waiting for her to finish, Alric pushed past and strode up the stairs toward the council chamber, startling both her and the members inside as you entered.
Nyssa was the first to speak, her words more riddle than report:
The ground remembers what we forget. Stones whisper of strain, iron veins hum with ache. Where the earth quivers, the lattice frays… and those who would unbind it are already listening.
Eldrin, visibly exasperated, pressed her to speak plainly. Nyssa obliged — at least by her standards — revealing that the weakened point in the northern lattice was Hollowstep Quarry, and that the Veilborn would likely strike there.
Her words shifted the mood in the chamber. Eldrin immediately connected this to the mine collapse years ago, explaining how it tore a fault through the lattice. They had patched it with wards and sigils, but the weave there had always remained fragile. If the cult intended to “break the circle,” this was the place.
The council reacted in their own ways:
- Durn Halvek, the Lord Warden, agreed that once a wound is made in stone, it never truly heals. He voiced concern over the danger but seemed pragmatic about addressing it.
- Maribel Thornwell, the Coinmaster, pushed back against sending city guards, citing a shortage of manpower and funds.
- Jonas Greaves, the Voice of the People, took a more populist approach, warning that if the townsfolk learned that outsiders were sent in place of local guards, it would spark mistrust and suspicion. He urged leaving the quarry sealed, claiming it had “taken enough lives already” and that digging up old scars could do more harm than good.
- Eldrin insisted that someone needed to act and pointed directly to you, saying you had already proven yourselves capable.
- Maribel reluctantly agreed to “find what coin she could,”.
The tension in the room was palpable — mistrust of Nyssa, reluctance to commit resources, and political posturing were all at play. Alric, at one point, bluntly declared you would be going “whether they liked it or not,” which drew a weary but firm request from Durn to “be civil so we can all work together.”
In the end, the council agreed that you would investigate Hollowstep Quarry. Durn promised to equip you with what he could and rations, but no guards — both to avoid stirring public panic and because manpower was stretched thin. You were told to meet Durn at the barracks before departure to collect your supplies.
As the storm still raged outside, you left the council chambers knowing your next step: Hollowstep Quarry.
Where the ground shakes.
Where the mist deepend.
Where something waits, old and watching.
And you?
You are being watched too.
