Session 14: Towards Razlom’s Gate. An Ancient, Mongrel Terror.

The party discussed their supplies for the journey north towards Razlom's Gate, considering assumptions about foraging and Zenscha's abilities to keep them fed. They had 24 rations in their larder, which would sustain them for approximately two and a half days, as they consumed nine rations per day.   Tashi, Ren, Danyar, and Elara began their northward journey with the PCs. The morning sun cast long shadows through the forest, creating a serene yet foreboding atmosphere. Tashi offered a grateful smile, stating, “I can only endeavor to help regale you with odd tales at camp, and to try to keep scarce when danger is about. But I have heard much lore in all the corners of this world, and may be of assistance in that way.” Ren, silent as ever, seemed more content, eager to leave past horrors behind. Danyar and Elara, riding together on a donkey, shared whispers and giggles, their donkey showing a preference for their company over any other rider.   The journey through the dense forests was marked by an early winter chill. Despite their attempts to keep spirits high, the atmosphere had a tense undertone, with everyone on high alert for lurking dangers. The trees that still held leaves were a tapestry of reds and golds, leaves crunching underfoot as they navigated the winding paths. Birds called out intermittently, breaking the otherwise eerie silence of the woods.   As the party progressed, they heard terrible groaning not far from their path. About a couple hundred meters into the forest, they came across a gruesome scene: a clearing where ancient trees had been felled. Most of the goblins, except for Muzlik and Khurgan, lay crushed like bugs. Blood and gore splattered the area, with what appeared to be a giant blast zone. The scent of blood and offal filled the air.   Khurgan, only moderately wounded, explained that a beast had attacked them. He described a giant with incredible speed and strength, recounting how it had swung a tree trunk like a club.   Their “shaman” (alchemist) Thrak'mir's boom powder had exploded on impact, injuring the giant and causing it to flee, carrying what was left of Thrak'mir for a later snack.   Khurgan wanted to track the giant to avenge his fallen comrades, while Muzlik, terrified, wished to flee and never see that thing again.   Tonibore recalled references to an aberration known as “Blind Gorgrun,” or “the Cannibal”, a giant that haunted the mountains near the Gate.   Using the abilities he has been developing working off of his Nightmare discipline, Orian sensed the giant, feeling its malice, rage, and fear before it moved out of range, heading north.   The party easily tracked the giant's blood trail leading toward its lair.   Determined to defeat “The Cannibal of Razlom's Gate,” the party devised a plan to create a fake camp with slain goblin body parts as bait. They decided to trick the Cannibal by creating a fake camp using the body parts of the slain goblins as an initial lure, concealed within a tent. The smell of meat might compel it, they assumed.   They set a cold camp a mile or so away for the others.   Only Khurgan accompanied them, as he was unwilling to not face the creature who had felled his lifelong companions. Muzlik, Ren, Tashi, Elara and Danyar remained at the cold camp.   They set the trap. Zenscha applied a liberal serving of the paralytic/anesthetic, or eight doses to be exact.   They made a fire and then set up in various locations, Orian in particular taking care to be well out of the way, wounded as he was. But he was a critical part of the plan nevertheless, to use his psionic Nightmare abilities to enter the thing’s twisted mind and convince it that the body parts inside the tent were, in fact, the most delicious meal it could imagine.   Although there was some risk of this plan being thwarted by a pack of wolves or the like, they were lucky, and the scent of blood indeed brought the Cannibal creeping into their camp. He moved like a crafty gorilla, usually with one arm on the ground, the other clutching a hewed tree trunk as if it were a mere bat. His milky white eyes did not seem to lead his senses so much as its hearing and sense of smell, and he sniffed at the air as it crept. Despite his massive size (12’ tall if he stood upright, which he rarely did), he seemed to move cautiously at first.   Orian reached out, finding a singlemindedly voracious mind—he succeeded in planting the seed of a waking delusion, and the giant leapt upon the tent and began gorging himself on meat. They waited expectantly, hoping that he would become entirely paralyzed.   For many minutes he ate loudly and messily. He did seem to be moving more slowly, more drunkenly.   And then his head snapped up, and he cocked it this way and that.   He let out a bellow, and his tree-trunk club came down with a crash where Rolandus and Khurgan were hiding, quite near to the tent as they were the most eager to strike a killing blow.   Rolandus spun and leapt out of the way, nimble as a circus acrobat. Khurgan stood and took the blow, but was surprisingly not felled by the stroke. His Karlu-Chatil heritage seemed to confer upon him a type of fortitude against blows that might slay lesser men. Nevertheless, he was bruised and battered by it and staggered back several paces.   Now the fight was on.   Tonibore threw their supply of boom powder into the fire, and it let out a loud bang and explosion that further confused their quarry, and seemed to bring back terrifying memories to the giant.   Desmond charged ahead and leapt onto the crouched giant’s back, with the intent of grappling and choking out the behemoth. He slid away from the giant’s attempt to dislodge him and locked his arms around his neck—it took both arms to do what might be easy with a single arm on a human. The others began raining down blows, finding the giant’s hide hard to pierce, and what should have been deep wounds seemed to only be superficial.   However, they added up. And already slowed by the Frostweaver poison, and grappled and set upon by many opinions, the giant thrashed and fought... but was ultimately brought down by their collective efforts.   After the fight, Tonibore reflected on the felled form. He looked at Zenscha and their eyes shared the thought that they may have slain the last of his kind, the last dregs of an ancient and once-powerful—and probably far wiser—race. However, the thing they found was feral and only knew violence. There seemed no other way.   After meeting up with the others at the cold camp, Tonibore contemplated tracking the giant’s course back to his den.