Session 18: Full Circle, The Wilderness Outpost. Ominous Portents.

Pre-session Scene: Wrapping Up at The Bone-stealer’s Tower

  The party found themselves at the top of the tower, where the eerie sight of the upper levels overtaken by mushrooms, molds, and fungi. The air was heavy with spores, damp, and laced with the soft glow of bioluminescent fungi that cast unnatural shadows across the cold stone walls. Kaligard the Bone-Stealer, revealed that he relied on these fungi for sustenance, and without much fanfare, offered the group 20 rations of edible mushrooms in exchange for a future favor—an undefined debt to be called upon at a time of his choosing.   The group balked at the request, wary of binding themselves further to Kaligard’s perversity. Zenscha stepped forward and offered an alternative—teaching him her Aberration recipes instead of agreeing to the favor. Kaligard, intrigued by the unusual offer, accepted, and Zenscha spent the following days transcribing her recipes for him and sharing her basic knowledge of alchemy.   Meanwhile, Tonibore remained tense throughout the encounter, harboring his own silent ambition. As a seasoned hunter of Aberrations, he had spent his life in pursuit of such creatures, and Kaligard’s reputation for creating them through his twisted magic gnawed at him. He entertained hopes of eliminating Kaligard, seeing him as a potential threat, but made no hostile moves during their stay. For now, he watched and waited, his mind always calculating.   The unsettling atmosphere of the tower was enough to make even the hardened adventurers uneasy. The rations, though edible, left an unsettling aftertaste, both literal and metaphorical. Kaligard’s presence and the oppressive silence of the tower hung over the group like a dark cloud, leaving them eager to leave but mindful of their concerns of the potential implications of having been branded by a Necromancer.   Zenscha spent the most time with Kaligard, eager to learn from his strange methods. Lacking formal education, she quickly adapted to Kaligard’s rigorous lessons, learning to read from his forbidden tomes on dark magic, metaphysics, and forgotten folklore. Despite her limited experience with books, Zenscha’s keen intellect allowed her to make rapid connections, and within days she was navigating the complex material with confidence.   During her downtime, she crafted two special arrows, each designed to deliver a dose of her alchemical salves—one filled with the “rage jelly” rendered from Gorgrun's body, and the other with a paralytic poison harvested from the Whispering Widow, an ancient Frostweaver Spider. The arrows were simple in design, relying on small vials near the arrowheads that shattered on impact, delivering their payload. Zenscha knew, however, that a missed shot might discharge the effects unintentionally, though this also wasn’t guaranteed.   They spent a little over a week at the tower, and while Zenscha enjoyed the experience, the rest of the group grew more restless by the day. Kaligard, despite his long fingernails, peculiar body odor, and obsession with animating dead bodies, was a figure of fascination for Zenscha, who could at least relate to his pursuit of knowledge. But for the others, he was a freakish recluse, and the oppressive atmosphere of the tower was suffocating.   Rolandus experienced the most dramatic effect of their stay. For as long as the group remained inside Kaligard's Tower, he was cut off from his bond with Volos, the ancient spirit that spoke to him through his Cryst-Nirithean sword. Kaligard’s dark arts seemed to disrupt their connection entirely, leaving Rolandus in an unusual state of solitude. Without Volos' constant whispers in his mind, Rolandus began to question the spirit’s motives more clearly, though he remained uncertain about how to proceed. Kaligard offered little explanation for the disruption, making only a passing nonsensical remark: “I keep the tower… a realm of its own. Some things don’t belong here, and others, well… they simply cannot reach you in my presence.”   They departed with supplies but also with the weight of a dark mark that might be sensed by the undead. Tonibore thought of ways that might be weaponized, supposing it was apocryphally like Deet for ghouls, but other implications remained unsaid.  

Scene 1: Into the Midlands

  As soon as the group left Kaligard's Tower, Volos reappeared to Rolandus, his usual detached demeanor gone, replaced by simmering anger. His voice was cold, laced with bitter jealousy, as he demanded answers: “What mortal foolishness took place in there? I do not appreciate being cut off.”   There seemed a personal sting in his words, one rooted in more than just anger over being severed from Rolandus. As one of those Feyn who had never taken a physical form—unlike the Chatillian, Tovag, and Meliae who had found a way to do so—Volos had chosen to remain purely spirit. He both scorned and envied the experience of having a body, looking down on those who lived in the material world while being painfully aware of what he could never fully experience. His connection to Rolandus, a mortal bound to flesh, seemed a source of contempt and fascination.   Volos’ jealousy became clear in his next demand: Rolandus must take Danyar's blood. Not a request, a demand. Volos privately suspected a connection between the boy and Inarien the Raven Prince, though this had not yet been confirmed.   Rolandus, hesitant to defy the spirit directly, remembered that he already had a trace of Danyar’s blood on his dagger, supposing the merest trace was sufficient. Volos commanded him: “Put the knife on your tongue… I will taste him through you.”   Though unsettled, Rolandus complied. After a moment, Volos confirmed his suspicions but offered no explanation. He abruptly cut off communication, leaving Rolandus to wonder what the spirit had truly discovered. Though Volos did not elaborate, it was clear he believed Danyar could become a threat, to his interests at the very least.   Volos said that he suspected that Inarien, who had long kept himself separate from the affairs of mortals, might now be attempting to interfere with their fates—in their politics, he said as if it was a curse—and that Danyar was somehow at the center of it.   The weight of the encounter hung over Rolandus as the party continued their journey, leaving the dark, corrupted forest of Kaligard behind and entering the Midlands. The air, though cold and biting, was fresher than the damp rot they had left behind.   Misty bogs and sparse forests stretched out before them, the familiar landscape of Chernaya—wild and unforgiving, yet a relief after the stifling atmosphere of Kaligard’s domain. The Midlands’ chill bit at their skin, but it was a welcome contrast to the oppressive air of necromancy they had just escaped.   They found themselves again on the outskirts of the kingdom, in a place that echoed where they had started their journey near Krezko, weeks ago. The quiet tension of those early days now returned as they traveled, wary of what might come next.   As they moved through the bogs, Tonibore, ever alert, spotted a clutch of Swamp Wight eggs—nearly hidden beneath the brush. Recognizing the danger, he warned the group not to step too close.   These eggs, he explained, were laid by Moorskrags, semi-sentient fungus colonies that took over the bodies of the dead. When the spores claimed a corpse, they animated it into a Swamp Wight. These colonies of fungus were deadly, and Tonibore had seen enough of them in his lifetime to know how easily they could overtake the unwary.   Zenscha, fascinated by aberrations, knelt to inspect the eggs more closely.   Orian, who had a remarkable natural affinity for folklore, shared tales of Swamp Wights, explaining how fire could quickly burn away the fungus, and how direct exposure to sunlight could dry up the fungal matter, leaving only the decayed remnants of the host. He also mentioned the herbalists of Duvik, who brewed tonics to repel or destroy the spores before they took hold of a body.   In the local legends, the Moorskrag was believed to be the spirit of the lost, rising from the muck to drag the living into the deep swamps. Orian explained that, though it was not the spirit of the dead, the myths had grown around the terror of these creatures, leading to rituals in which the bodies of the dead were burned to prevent them from being claimed by the fungus.   Despite Tonibore’s warning, Orian’s curiosity got the better of him, and his inspection was too vigorous. The eggs exploded, spores bursting into the air. The group reacted quickly, holding their breath and stepping back just in time to avoid infection

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Yanla’s Warning:

Two days later, while camped on a rocky outcropping, the quiet of the night was broken by the screech of a hawk. The bird circled overhead before descending, transforming mid-flight into Yanla, the Oyun. She landed before them, her form settling into that of a tall, severe woman.   Desmond, wide-eyed and startled, stumbled back, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. His fear was clear, but Yanla only laughed softly at his reaction, her amusement short-lived as she turned her cold gaze to the rest of the group.   “You’ve entered a dangerous pact with an abomination,” she said, her voice sharp with disapproval. “I can no longer aid you.” Yanla explained that, though she had watched over them from afar, ready to intervene in their darkest hour, the mark of Kaligard now made them untouchable. She could not cross that line, and so her guidance ended here.   “I would have helped you in your most dire need, but no more. Your fate is your own now. I only hope you don’t end up in his Gardener’s Brigade someday... Kaligard has all the time in the world.” The chill in her voice carried a grim finality.   Her gaze softened slightly when she turned to Danyar. “Your watcher still watches you… though it is no longer me. Let the Blood King guide you true.” She handed him a shard of Nirithea, identical to the one embedded in Rolandus’ sword. The gift, though cryptic, carried deep significance. Yanla warned Danyar to tread carefully, as his destiny was no longer hers to guide.   With a final look of disdain at the rest of the group, Yanla transformed back into a hawk and flew off into the night, her screech echoing across the dark sky.

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Volos whispered once more into Rolandus’ ear, his voice cold and jealous: “A piece of Nirithea... that settles it. The boy is not only a progeny of Inarien, but he is Watched by him. The Raven-Prince meddles where he should not. He seeks a Pact with humankind. I will not allow it. You must kill the boy before he comes into his power.”   Rolandus, shaken by the demand, said nothing. Later, after Danyar had fallen asleep, Rolandus revealed to the group what Volos had asked of him. He had no intention of going through with it. The others, horrified by the command, were relieved to hear Rolandus still retained his sense of morality.   Tonibore warned that Volos likely overheard their conversation, but the spirit remained eerily silent for the rest of the night, withholding his usual flow of knowledge to Rolandus.   Orian, reflecting on the situation, mused that Inarien, like many of the Feyn, had sired many children, waiting to see which would rise to prominence. He suspected there was a purpose behind the increasing number of Karlu-Chatil they encountered, though the missing pieces of information left them uncertain about Inarien’s true aims.

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The next morning, Zenscha found a clutch of turtle eggs, from which she made a surprisingly delicious omelette. Tonibore and Rolandus hunted down a small boar, providing bacon and dried meat to supplement their provisions. With Zenscha’s cooking skills, the meal became an unexpected feast.   Though the meal lifted their spirits, a quiet tension remained. Tashi and Ren were especially pensive, staring off into the distance.  

Scene 2: The Veligrad Stockade

  By midday, the party reached Veligrad, a small settlement on the edge of the Oblidan Wilds. Though just an outpost with 10–20 buildings, after weeks in the wilderness, it felt like a city.   Encircled by a sturdy wooden palisade made mostly of timber, the village had a central square, where its day-to-day life unfolded. A single stone building served as both barracks and community larder.   Veligrad boasted the essential structures needed for survival: a blacksmith, a farrier, a trading post, and the tavern-inn, The Wild Stallion. Along the approach to the gate, the party spotted Regiment soldiers stationed in a small wooden gate tower. The soldiers—wary but notably not the Regiment’s best—kept an eye on them. Veligrad’s peripheral position as a minor trading spot between the Wilds and the Midlands seemed to reflect the garrison’s lack of top-tier forces.   When their wagon neared the gate, Eldryth, Danyar’s massive stag, drew more than a few uneasy glances. The sheer size and commanding presence of the creature visibly unsettled the Regiment soldiers, who exchanged wary looks. They eventually allowed the group entry, as none of them could think of a law that forbade it.   One soldier quipped, “What’s it like to ride a reindeer?” as Desmond noticed Eldryth's eyes briefly glowing an ominous red—luckily unseen by the soldiers. Desmond dismissed it as a trick of his lingering drug withdrawal, though he had been off the buzza long enough for this to be surprising.   Once inside, the group arranged for their animals’ care at the stables. The farrier, Tarrick, agreed to stable both Eldryth and the donkey, Gordon, at the price of stabling three horses. Danyar insisted on sleeping in the stable alongside Eldryth, a request that drew an odd look from Tarrick. After some thought, the farrier relented, muttering that Danyar could do so for free if it ensured the stag didn’t wreck his stables.   Zenscha made a playful comment about making space for Elara as well, and Danyar blushed. Elara, however, coolly remarked, “I’m not sleeping in a stable... but I’ll certainly visit.” Ren, Elara’s father, sighed at the exchange but seemed satisfied with his daughter’s choice of mate.

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The group next visited Eireal, a trader from Waylan, at the Trading Post. The post was one of the larger buildings in Veligrad, with tables displaying a variety of goods. Desmond immediately engaged Eireal in a sales pitch, drawing her interest with the whiskey they had procured from the giant’s den. Despite her intrigue, she had no appetite for anything related to Aberrations, and Tonibore nearly upset the deal by mentioning such things. However, he managed to recover with a bit of charm.   In the end, Desmond secured a sale of 10 bottles of whiskey for 100 gold, offset by a trade for two repair kits for their wagon and 10 days’ worth of dried rations for their nine-member group—a sizable amount of food that consumed much of the whiskey's value. After the sale, Tonibore clapped Desmond on the back, welcoming him as a “full member” of the company. They spoke briefly of their hope to start a company once they secured good standing with Tashi's merchant family.   At the blacksmith’s, Caidan helped the group pick leather armor for Orian and Desmond. However, Orian’s armor would require extra time and payment due to his small stature.

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With their gear tended to, the group gravitated toward The Wild Stallion, the village's tavern. Inside, the inn bustled with locals, traders, and off-duty Regiment soldiers. Izanor managed the bar, with Mavren and Solaik helping serve. Desmond struck up a conversation with Izanor and managed to sell another five bottles of fine whiskey. In exchange, the group received a shared room for the night. Tashi played a song, and both he and Ren, tired of the road and the tower of undead, retired upstairs early, looking forward to a proper bed.   As the party settled into the tavern’s warmth, they couldn’t help but notice the wary glances from the locals toward strangers. The tension, though subtle, lingered in the air as whispers of witchcraft and danger permeated the room.

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The tavern became a hotbed of rumors as the night wore on. The group overheard tales of a cult of cannibals in the northern mountains, supposedly worshiping the Shield Maidens of Elkath's Light, though these stories were greeted with skepticism. Orian, haunted by visions, saw a brief image of a Tovag outside and fled the tavern, overwhelmed by the sight. No one followed, though his swift exit drew a few curious stares.   There were also grim whispers of the Purge happening in the Southlands—entire villages being razed by King Belgarion's forces, heretics dragged to mines or, worse, sent to the Inquistor's Tower, from which few ever returned. The shadow of the crown’s relentless purges hung even over this remote village.   Tensions grew as patrons spoke of a brewing conflict between Beren the Bald, a former hero of the Border Wars, and King Belgarion. Beren had openly defied the king’s authority, and some claimed a large force of Regiment soldiers was marching north from Sevgorod to Skalliheim, a town dangerously close to the party’s path.

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The tavern door suddenly burst open. Zorin Tarlov, a flamboyant ringmaster from New Babylon, strode in with a wide grin. His multiple piercings, facial tattoos, and bright if travel-worn silk clothes clashed with the dour atmosphere of the room. “Come one, come all!” he declared, announcing the arrival of his circus, which had formed in Rostova back when it was still a Free City.   Behind Zorin, the Brothers Ostrov, Karl and Alexey, entered. Karl was all bravado and charm, broad-shouldered and loud, while the pale, silent Alexey clutched a stuffed bear, speaking to no one but the toy. The locals fell silent, sizing them up, while the Regiment soldiers exchanged uneasy looks.   Orian, sensing something off about the twins, caught Alexey’s piercing gaze. A telepathic message passed between them: “You have a talent... something like ours. Less honed, surely, but not completely different.” Orian’s instinct told him they were probably Karlu-Chatil like himself.   Meanwhile, Karl struck up a conversation with Tonibore about hunting Aberrations. He mentioned their troupe was moving back through the Midlands soon and suggested they could trade tips or perhaps hunt together in the future.

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Though Zorin’s grand announcement briefly broke the tension, muttered suspicions of witchcraft returned. A group of drunken laborers spoke in low voices about trouble caused by previous traveling circuses. One of them sneered: “Left a mess of trouble in their wake—strange folk, strange ways.”   An older villager by the hearth murmured ominously: “You all remember what happened to Kandar when the Inquisitors came through last summer.” At the mention of magic, two nearby Regiment soldiers exchanged meaningful glances.   The group’s arrival had clearly not gone unnoticed either. Several patrons, including the soldiers, cast furtive glances at Rolandus, whose bearing marked him as someone out of place in this rough company.  

Scene 3: Zorin’s Magnificent Traveling Circus is Cut Short

  As night fell in Veligrad, the square was alive with anticipation. Zorin Tarlov's Magnificent Traveling Circus was about to perform, and the entire village seemed to have gathered to witness it. Torches flickered, casting eerie, dancing shadows along the walls of the wooden palisade. The Wild Stallion Tavern had emptied, with townsfolk and travelers crowding the square for the promised spectacle.   Zorin, the flamboyant ringmaster from New Babylon, opened the show with flair, his voice ringing out over the crowd as he riled them up, his practiced, hokey charm evident as he whipped the villagers into excitement. He gestured dramatically toward a series of cages at the edge of the stage, where grotesque Aberrations paced restlessly inside.   The creatures resembled massive hyenas, but with glowing red eyes and twisted, deformed limbs—unmistakably unnatural. The crowd’s reactions were a mix of awe and disgust. Zorin, ever the showman, played on their emotions, warning them of the beasts’ dangerous nature: “Good people, these creatures are far too dangerous to release. It would be madness!”   But his protests were part of the act. As the crowd grew louder, urging him to release the creatures, Zorin gave in with a dramatic sigh. “Very well... but be warned, their fury knows no bounds!”   The cages swung open, and the snarling Aberrations leaped toward the stage’s edge, their red eyes burning with hunger. The crowd gasped, but before the creatures could even reach the front of the stage, Karl Ostrov sprang into action.   With an impossible acrobatic flip, Karl launched a single crossbow bolt, which tore through all three beasts with surgical precision. The crowd erupted into cheers as the creatures collapsed in unison, dead before they hit the ground.   Zenscha, watching from the sidelines, narrowed her eyes. The speed and accuracy of Karl’s shot were far too perfect—unnatural, even. She suspected some unseen force, perhaps magical, had accelerated the bolt. There was more to Karl than met the eye, and Zenscha silently pondered what kind of power had aided him.   The Aberration carcasses were swiftly dragged away by Rurik, Zorin’s hulking, misshapen assistant. Rurik moved awkwardly, his disfigured form disturbing even in this crowd accustomed to oddities. He silently cleared the stage as this backwater crowd, still buzzing with excitement and watered rum, awaited the next act.

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The next performance involved Karl and his pale, silent brother Alexey. Karl announced that Alexey would face a dangerous test of skill, and the crowd watched in tense silence as Alexey was bound to a large spinning wooden wheel. Karl stepped back, picking up a handful of gleaming axes. Without hesitation, he began hurling them toward the wheel.   Each axe flew through the air, landing mere inches from Alexey’s body. The crowd gasped with every throw, but Karl never missed his mark. As the wheel spun faster, the axes seemed to curve in midair, defying the laws of physics. The final axe embedded itself in the wood just above where Alexey’s head. The crowd erupted into cheers once more, though some of the villagers exchanged uneasy glances.   For their final act, the tension in the air thickened. Karl and Alexey prepared for their most daring trick yet—a teleportation switch. Karl stood at the center of the stage, while Alexey remained tied to the spinning wheel. As Karl threw the final axe, the brothers seemed to switch places in an instant. Suddenly, Karl was bound to the wheel, while Alexey stood where Karl had been just a moment before, the axe now embedded in the wood inches from Karl’s head.   The crowd roared in approval, though a new wave of whispers began to spread. It had been too quick, too seamless to be mere sleight of hand. Some in the crowd, particularly among the Regiment soldiers, began muttering accusations of witchcraft. Sensing the growing unease, Zorin stepped forward with a wide smile, attempting to ease the tension: “Ah, but it’s all an illusion, good people! Nothing but tricks of the eye!”   Some in the crowd weren’t fully convinced. Others probably thought it was enough that they were foreigners.   Orian, watching closely, recognized the brothers’ talents were not just the result of theatrical tricks. His first instinct was that they were Karlu-Chatil, like himself and Danyar. But the more he observed, the more he suspected that Alexey might be a practitioner of Dream Magic or another art entirely. The way the axes bent in midair, the flawless teleportation—these were the marks of deeper magic at work.   Orian pondered how many Karlu-Chatil had crossed his path recently. There was something unsettling about their gathering, and he began to suspect there was a reason for this convergence. Perhaps it was more than mere coincidence.

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The performance, however, was cut short. A horn blast suddenly echoed through the square, loud and urgent. It sliced through the crowd’s murmurs, and all attention snapped to the palisade walls. Regiment soldiers immediately sprang to their feet, rushing toward the village’s outer defenses. The circus came to an abrupt halt as the air shifted from one of excitement to one of fear.   The villagers fell silent, tension filling the square as the soldiers abandoned their posts near the stage. Something was wrong—this was no act. Whatever danger was approaching, it wasn’t part of Zorin’s show. The sense of safety in Veligrad quickly dissolved as the night grew darker and more ominous.

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TO BE CONTINUED...