ROTR Session 11
General Summary
Lamashtan 1st 4707 AR
To Thistletop
Armed and equippedAt the break of dawn The Sandpoint sentinels left their beloved town through the imposing stonework of the north gate. Eight days after a combined force of goblins raided Sandpoint and stole the bones of old father Tobyn. Vannrik, Cletus, Rabie and Jinx took point, for now, they strode in silence. Behind them trailed thrity members of the Sandpoint town watch, led by Sheriff Belor Hemlock. And thirty members of the city guard of Magnimar, led by Shalelu Andosana, the local ranger. Under the dawning light of this autumn day they went forth.
While walking Vannrik checked his belongings, his herbalism tools and ingredients, shield, and other belongings that they arranged the night before. Everything needed to be in place for what is to come.
Last night, after the group left the Rusty Dragon they spent some time trading the belongings that they had found in the week prior. They knew that to be prepared, they had to be well armed and equipped.
The night before
The Sandpoint sentinels knocked the doors of various shops in Sandpoint, the General Store, The Sandpoint Boutique, The Feathered Serpent. The various shopkeeps let them in, despite the hour of the night, to sell off some of the gear that they saw no use for. Jinx held onto the Ranseur that the group took from the statue of Alaznist. He smirked. They hurried then to the Sandpoint Cathedral and traded their coin for additional healing potions. Vannrik told Father Zantus and the clergy about Lamashtu's profane statue below Sandpoint, and requested their aid in consecrating the ground. cleansing the place of its unholy taint. Father Zantus was convinced of the matters urgency, and promised to lead a select group of clerics into the smugglers tunnels the next morning.
Before returning to the Rusty Dragon, Jinx suggested a brief detour—one that led them down the quiet streets to the familiar, slightly sagging house of Brodert Quink. The night was still and cool, the kind of quiet that pressed in around you.
They waited at the door for some time. From inside, the slow shuffle of feet could be heard, punctuated by the occasional mumble and the distinct clatter of bolts being undone. Eventually, the door creaked open, revealing Brodert himself—half-dressed in a nightgown, his fingers stained with ink, and his brow furrowed from being pulled away from his work at such an hour.
At first he looked irritated, but when his eyes found Jinx among the group, his expression lit up with a spark of recognition. “Jinx, welcome. You're a bit late this evening. Are you here to continue our research?”
Jinx shook his head. “Well, no. But I have to say that I have got something for you.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a bundle—fragmented books and worn scrolls they had recovered from the ruins beneath Sandpoint.
“Look what I found. These are books filled with Thassilonian text.”
Brodert blinked, stepping forward. His eyes widened with sudden intensity.
“These are originals?” he yelped.
A satisfied smile played across Jinx’s lips. “Yes, these are originals.”
The scholar leaned closer, peering down at the faded pages as if trying to absorb their secrets through sheer proximity. “However did you come across this?” Then, narrowing his gaze, he added with suspicion, “Have you been hiding these from me, Jinx?”
Jinx gave an exaggerated gasp and held a hand to his chest. “Hiding? Hiding!? You're the first person I came to with these books. I can't believe you would suggest that I would hide things from you.”
Brodert was already half-lost in the fragmented script, but he managed a sheepish smile. “Where on earth did you get these?”
Jinx let out a breath and cast a look at his companions. “Well, that’s a long story… one I’ll tell you when we continue our studies. But we have to leave soon. You can study them—but I will come back for them.”
He paused, then brightened. “However… we’ve got something else that could be even more valuable to you.”
He nudged Vannrik, who stepped forward and handed over the gleaming ivory ranseur.
“Look at this.” Jinx smirked.
Brodert took the weapon carefully, his fingers brushing reverently across its surface.
“It’s a ranseur, I believe they are called,” he murmured. “It’s really magnificent. It reminds me of a shard of pottery that was once uncovered at an archaeological site. It depicted Runelord Alaznist…” He paused, lifting his eyes. “How did you come across this? I need context—for the notes and for all of this to make sense.”
Jinx nodded, assuring him. “We found these in some chambers below Sandpoint. It’s too much to explain right now. I’d rather show you. Sometime in the near future.”
Raising spirits
The Lost Coast Road was well-traveled, its packed earth and worn stones making for an easy march. It wasn’t long before the group passed a ragged range of broken hills, their jagged silhouettes casting long shadows in the morning light. Overhead, the air was filled with the harsh cawing of Ravens—a constant reminder of the region’s name, Ravenroost. The black-feathered birds nested in the isolated copses of eucalyptus and pine, their cries adding an eerie undertone to the already grim mood.Fortunately, Jinx was with them. Despite the Gnome’s recent troubles, his presence had a way of easing tension, like a flickering lantern in the dark. As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to their last night in Sandpoint, in the familiar comfort of the Rusty Dragon.
The night before
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over Sandpoint as the Sentinels gathered within the Rusty Dragon’s warm embrace. The fire crackled, sending flickers of gold dancing across wooden beams, the scent of ale and roasting meat filling the air. Despite the grim task ahead, they had much to reflect on—many victories, hard-won but worth remembering. And for a fleeting moment, spirits were lifted.
Tankards were filled to the brim, the ale within them frosting over with a soft hiss as Vannrik, with a flick of his fingers , coaxed the chill of winter into the mugs. The enchanted cold curled along the metal like breath on glass. Jinx, ever theatrical, stood on a bench and theatrically dusted each drink with a pinch of powdered ginger from a tiny pouch . The spice swirled into the brew with a golden shimmer. "Drink this for good luck, and you will be victorious!" he declared with a grin wide enough to challenge the moon.
Not everyone could stomach the biting tang the ginger added, but even those who grimaced had to admit—it felt like tradition, now. Cletus, half-lounging against the bar, made a bold attempt to coax Bethana and Ameiko into declaring an official ‘happy hour,’ pitching wild tales of victory and celebration. The women exchanged amused glances but politely declined—declaring, with smirks, that even pre-war revelry had its budget.
Rabie lingered at the edge of the common room, quietly sharing memories of Sandpoint’s strength and perseverance. His voice was soft, his words sometimes stumbling, but there was a heartfelt sincerity in every story. Inspired by Risa Magravi’s earlier tales, he tried to mimic that old Varisian rhythm—not to impress, but to honor what his town had endured. Slowly, a few listeners drew near, drawn by the quiet devotion behind his halting words. Preparing for war
The road stretched westward, flanked on one side by the dark expanse of Shank’s Wood and on the other by the familiar sight of Tickwood—where, only days prior, the Sentinels had gone on a boar hunt. Beyond lay the Pauper’s Graves, a somber reminder of those who had toiled to build Sandpoint. Many of Magnimar’s early laborers had perished during the town’s construction, and while those with wealth could afford to have their remains transported back to the city, the less fortunate found their final resting place here. For a time, Sandpoint’s own dead were interred among them—until the first cathedral was built, and the graveyard was abandoned to the wilds. Now, between the rolling hills, the old burial ground lay forgotten.
Further west, the treeline of Nettlewood loomed. As the small army approached, they gathered once more before breaking into smaller formations. The Sentinels, positioned at the center, moved cautiously into the tangled depths.
Nettlewood was a miserable place to traverse. Unlike the towering trees of Mosswood, the forest here was a chaotic snarl of low-hanging branches, gnarled roots, and thick, thorny undergrowth. Stinging nettles clung to every available space, making even the simplest movements an exercise in frustration. It was no mystery why Nettlewood remained the least explored region of The Sandpoint Hinterlands—it actively resisted all who dared enter. Cletus watched the guards at work, hacking their way forward through the underbrush. He remembered his travel with the Magnimarians and the brief interactions with the guards of Sandpoint.
The Sentinels were not military officers, nor were they commanders. And yet, in the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning, they had done what they could to help prepare for the war effort.
The night before
Mayor Kendra Deverin’s office pulsed with quiet urgency, the air thick with candle smoke and tension. Gathered around the table were Sheriff Hemlock, Shalelu, Father Zantus, and the Sentinels, all huddled over a weathered map of The Sandpoint Hinterlands. The Nettlewood loomed large at the center, its tangled sprawl marked by careful ink and urgent arrowheads. With each suggested maneuver, Jinx drew a Harrow card, letting the whims of fate guide the final decisions, his eyes narrowing as the cards whispered secrets of risk and reward.
Later, Vannrik moved among the assembled soldiers with practiced calm, checking wounds, mixing tinctures, and offering quiet reassurances that steadied many a shaking hand. Cletus, ever the charmer, reached into hearts with magic and words alike—dissolving the simmering tension between Sandpoint’s humble watch and the polished warriors of Magnimar into a sense of shared purpose. Meanwhile, Rabie kept to himself as the camp quieted. His thoughts turned inward, lost in flickering shadows and dreams that pulled him back to memories of fire and fear, as he wrestled alone with the weight of what tomorrow might bring. Words of farewell
Yet, despite the proximity of the fight, they were utterly isolated. The dense thickets of Nettlewood swallowed sight and sound, refusing to reveal whether their allies were mere yards away or lost somewhere in the distant chaos. The uncertainty gnawed at them.
Rabie found himself distracted—first by his own thoughts, then by the two small heads that poked out from Vannrik’s backpack. The squirrels twitched their noses, oblivious to the weight of the moment. He hoped Ghurab, his raven, wouldn't grow too hungry. They would need those critters.
"If you defeat Ripnugget or Nualia, leave their corpses by the entrance of the fortress and release a squirrel," Shalelu had instructed them that morning. So much had been said. Rabie mentally sifted through it again, pulling forth the memory.
The morning before
At dawn, the people of Sandpoint had gathered in the Cathedral Square. The air was heavy with the scent of morning dew and nervous anticipation. Soldiers stood ready—Sheriff Hemlock at the forefront, flanked by Shalelu, Mayor Kendra Deverin, and Father Zantus. The Sentinels, too, stood among them.
Belor Hemlock climbed atop one of the market stalls, surveying the gathered crowd. Many familiar faces had come to see them off—Ameiko and Bethana, Daverin Hosk the stablemaster, Hannah the healer, Venn Vinder with his wife and daughters, and, with Jinx’s encouragement, even Benny Harker. Their expressions ranged from solemn to hopeful, but all bore the weight of what was to come.
The Sheriff’s voice rang out over the square, carrying strength and resolve.
"People of Sandpoint! Five years ago, tragedy struck our town. We lost nearly three dozen souls to the hands of a madman. Then, our beloved cathedral burned, taking Father Tobyn, his adopted daughter Nualia, and many of our priests with it. We rebuilt. We persevered. But once again, dark times have come upon us."
"The five local Goblin tribes have united. They raided our town, stole Father Tobyn’s remains, slaughtered the workers at the Glassworks, and murdered Lonjiku Kaijitsu. They had help. Tsuto—some of you knew him well—was not alone in this. The Sentinels have uncovered the truth: Nualia is alive. And she is the one orchestrating Sandpoint’s destruction, though we do not yet know why she bears such hatred toward our home."
"But we will not wait to be attacked again. This time, we take the fight to them. Reinforcements from Magnimar stand with us. Our forces will keep the goblins at bay, carving a path for the Sentinels to breach the fortress. Know this—we fight today to ensure Sandpoint’s survival."
Nettlewood
Andromeda carved a path through the tangled brambles, her blade slicing cleanly as the Sentinels pressed on, the distant crash of waves against cliffs growing louder with every step. They passed a half-collapsed badger burrow, which Shalelu warned them to avoid—its narrow entrance barely visible in the gnarled roots and shadows. Soon, their path ended abruptly at an almost impenetrable wall of thorns and underbrush, thick and wild as if nature itself wished to guard what lay beyond."Well Andromeda, I did exactly as you asked. On our way into danger, freeing the world and spearheading the way towards liberty for Sandpoint!" Cletus quipped, voice light against the steady rhythm of waves echoing from the cliffs below.
Cletus and Rabie stepped forward to inspect the tangled hedge. Their hands reached for the same patch where the thorns had been oddly shaped—bound with twine, almost like a hidden seal.
"I think the entrance is over here, guys," Rabie whispered, his voice nearly lost to the breeze threading through the underbrush.
"Yeah, that looks reasonably... door-y," Vannrik replied, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.
Andromeda hovered above the uneven earth, her voice sharp and low. "Gather close behind me, everyone, for this place is not safe. I notice here the footprints of goblins and their dogs in the mud. And even more curious, I believe they were dragging some sort of large object along with them."
With a graceful tilt of her bladed form, she pointed to the trail carved into the dirt. "We're walking in the recent footsteps of goblins," she said, the weight of the words hanging heavy.
They followed the winding tunnel, passing narrow side passages where the thorns grew thicker, until the path split into a T. To the west, Vannrik spotted huddled figures gathered near a dim fire, shadows flickering against the walls. To the east, both Andromeda and Cletus noticed a vast chamber beyond the thorny veil where the earth had collapsed into a dark pit.
Vannrik crawled back slowly, each rustling leaf beneath him a prayer that the goblins wouldn't stir.
In a hushed voice, he motioned the others closer. "Guys, guys. Goblins. Over there."
Jinx, whispering with barely restrained glee, grinned. "Are we investigating further or are we having a Goblin feast?"
Vannrik’s voice was firm. "Let's deal with the goblins first, before they hear us."
"Do we surprise them?" Rabie asked, inching forward on his elbows.
"Do we sneak past them?" Cletus added, squinting into the dark.
Vannrik shook his head. "If we sneak past them and then face another group ahead, they could flank us. We must eliminate them."
There was little room for argument. Rabie voiced agreement, and Cletus gave a reluctant nod.
Andromeda floated eastward, her voice a whisper of steel. "I propose that we face them head on."
Cletus raised a hand in protest. "No, no, no. You draw them here while I take the time to hide in the bushes and strike them in the back."
And so it was. They crept closer, the passage widening into a thirty-foot-diameter chamber reeking of smoke and damp rot. A fire pit smoldered weakly in the center, casting dim light across the low ceiling and nine crude nests lining the walls. In their flickering glow, the goblins huddled together, unaware of the danger already drawing near.
Refugees
The camp stirred in chaos. As the other goblins began to rise, Rabie conjured a shimmering, spectral shield around himself.
Andromeda surged ahead with righteous fury, her metallic voice ringing through the chamber: "By the Inheritor's grace!" She swung with fluid precision—her form guided like a holy weapon in the hands of a renowned crusader. The terrified Goblin stood frozen, and the blade struck cleanly across its neck. The head tumbled into the underbrush, drawing a chorus of horrified shrieks from its companions.
Jinx darted past his allies with nimble ease, barely hindered by the cramped tunnel. "There's something good about being a Gnome, you know," he quipped, shuffling his Harrow deck mid-run. A card from the Stars set shimmered in his hand, bestowing its insight upon Vannrik. With a dramatic flourish, Jinx pointed toward a Goblin seated beside the fresh corpse. "We're The Sandpoint sentinels, and we're here to bring justice upon you!"
As he stepped forward, a thorn snagged the tip of his hood, pulling it back to reveal his ominous third eye. The Goblin flinched, reaching for its dogslicer with trembling hands. Two others scrambled up from the fire pit, weapons drawn, uncertain how to face the floating blade blocking their path.
Before they could react, the air turned frigid. A chill wind rushed through the chamber, and in an instant, a blizzard howled to life among the thorns. Hidden just behind Andromeda and Cletus, Vannrik smirked at the sound of startled Goblin cries—more voices than he had seen. A javelin of ice formed in his hand, and with practiced grace, he hurled it over Cletus’s shoulder. The frozen spear struck true, impaling a Goblin beside its headless companion.
The remaining goblins, now cornered by thorns and cold, pressed forward through the snow with desperation thick in their cries. Rabie fixed his gaze on the one nearest to Andromeda, unsettling it with his intense purple glare. "The Sandpoint Sentinels are here." The Goblin hesitated, unaware of the shadowy tendrils coiling toward it. They gripped its limbs, void-born energy gnawing at its flesh.
Cletus channeled his magic, strengthening the bond with Andromeda and shielding her from harm. But the advantage of surprise was slipping. The goblins, now alert and frenzied, weaved around the eidolon's slashes, narrowly avoiding her blade.
Jinx, unfazed amid the chaos, lifted a card from the Hammers set. "The hammer falls, and you have been sentenced to death." His voice echoed like a verdict, and the chamber seemed to answer—Thunder cracked overhead, and a violent arc of lightning snapped from the card, searing through the air. One Goblin collapsed instantly, its charred body crumpling in a smoking heap. The other stood trembling, limbs convulsing as the last sparks danced across its scorched skin.
Driven by raw desperation, the singed Goblin lunged at Andromeda. With a ragged cry, it gripped its dogslicer in both hands and brought it crashing down on the floating blade.
In the brush, Cletus staggered, clutching his ribs as a jolt of mirrored pain surged through their shared bond. Sparks leapt across the tether between him and Andromeda as the blow connected. The Goblin, sensing triumph, darted around the sword’s edge. "We can beat it, guys! There isn't even anyone wielding it!" it barked in its native tongue, emboldened. It struck again, blade flashing, sending another shock through Cletus’s body like cracked bone. He reeled, wheezing, as agony lanced through his side.
But before the other goblins could join their rallying comrade, the wind shifted. A sudden howl ripped through the chamber as the temperature dropped once more. From the heart of the storm, another blizzard tore through the thorns. Snow whipped around the chamber in blinding gusts, and jagged shards of ice began to fall like daggers. The goblins trudged forward, flailing through the frost, but the cold—and Vannrik's storm—claimed them one by one.
The Goblin champion, now alone, watched his kin fall frozen and bloodied in the snow. Panic overtook his fury. He turned to flee—only to come face-to-face with Rabie.
The witch stared, his eyes dull with void-born power. "You are the last one left," he whispered, stretching one pale hand toward the Goblin. In an instant, the creature's body withered. Its limbs shrank and cracked like dry twigs, breath rattling in its throat before it collapsed, drained and lifeless, claimed by the void.
The Howling Hole
Vannrik examined Cletus' injuries, carefully lifting the summoner’s tunic to reveal dark, spreading bruises. It was always a puzzle—how wounds inflicted on Andromeda could transfer to her bonded summoner—but Vannrik was getting better at reading the signs. He pressed his palms together and summoned his healing waters, watching as the discoloration faded slowly from Cletus' skin. At the same pace, the nicks and scratches along Andromeda’s blade-like form began to smooth out, mending as though the sword were flesh and blood.Vannrik nodded to himself. He could work with this.
The Goblin chamber, still swirling with melting snow and biting cold, was unfit for treatment, so he set up just inside the narrow tunnel. There, in the dim light, he worked with salves and herbs.
"Andromeda," Cletus muttered through a pained groan, "we had more soldiers with sword and shield with us when we fought goblins in Korvosa."
The rest of the Sentinels fell quiet as Vannrik continued his craft. Only the distant crash of waves from the Varisian Gulf and the sounds of battle still raging in the Nettlewood broke the silence. For a moment, the Sentinels caught their breath—something the guards still fighting outside could not afford.
Ten minutes later, Vannrik applied a second wave of healing waters, the soothing magic seeping into Cletus' battered form. The worst of the pain began to lift.
With Cletus patched up, the group crept towards the east, where three thistle tunnels opened into a large, cave-like chamber. Above, the thorny canopy grew thin enough that tiny slivers of the sky could be seen, while below, the ground was trampled dirt, worn smooth by Goblin feet. To the west, the distant sound of sloshing waves echoed from a dark hole in the floor.
"Do we have a moment to find out what the goblins were doing here before we head to Thistletop?" Cletus asked his companions while peering into the depths of the hole.
"I can send Ghurab in" Rabie answered.
Jinx and Vannrik had also gathered at the treacherous edge. The pit seemed to descend some seventy feet, ending in the dark waters of the Varisian Gulf.
The witch nodded at his familiar, and the raven descended into the hole. The Sentinels stood in silence, listening to the distant surf and waiting for Ghurab’s return.
Within a minute, the bird reappeared, ruffling its feathers as it landed sharply on Rabie’s shoulder. Its claws gripped tightly—tense, alert. A silent warning.
"There is something dangerous down there." Rabie concluded.
"Is it something that might follow us if we continue to Thistletop?" Cletus asked with some concern.
Vannrik wasn't so sure. "It might simply be stuck down in the hole."
"You said we had to deal with the goblins before because they could come after us." Cletus remarked, trying to find consistency in their strategy.
"The goblins could have come to the aid of their friends, if there is a predator down there that wouldn't neccesarily be the case."
"Hah!" Andromeda drolled, "For once I agree with Cletus. You're a bunch of cowards, if you don't dare to venture down."
A chuckle erupted from the Tiefling. "Well, Andromeda. Why don't I drop you down there. I can always summon you back up if it becomes too dangerous."
"That might be a good plan." Jinx nodded.
Cletus couldn't hide a wide grin as he grabbed Andromeda by the grip and held her above the center of the hole. Then, he simply let go. The sword plummeted straight into the depths. As the sword broke the surface of the Varisian Gulf along its length, the Tiefling stumbled a step forward, dangerously close to the hole's edge, as if slapped across the back by a giant. The tiefling focused on his connection to the blade, a haze falling over his eyes, as he linked his perception to that of his eidolon.
Andromeda drifted through a glittering grotto, her presence casting faint reflections across the water. The cave walls glistened with moisture, alive with the quiet pulse of tidepool creatures—sea urchins, anemones, and swaying strands of kelp. Overhead, the rocky ceiling curved into a natural dome ten feet high, pierced by a narrow chimney of stone that reached toward the surface. Though calmer than the ocean above, the waters here still rolled with an undercurrent of danger. A narrow ledge—just wide enough to stand on—jutted from the southern wall, slick and uneven.
Beneath the surface, something far grimmer waited. The floor of the cave was a tangled graveyard of bones, some unmistakably Goblin... others hauntingly Human.
From the depths, a shape stirred.
"There's a creature swimming down there with Andromeda, I can't tell if it's a seal or a shark." Cletus, his senses fused with his Eidolon's, spoke with rising unease.
The beast pressed its snout to Andromeda’s hilt, sniffing her strange form with wet curiosity. Then came the first nibble, tentative but hungry.
"We have to help her, guys." Cletus said, feeling the creature’s slobbering maw through their shared connection.
Jinx was having none of it. "I'm not jumping in there!"
The Sentinels crowded around the jagged hole, staring down seventy feet into the watery gloom. It was a miserable range for spells and too far for any precise attack. The descent was treacherous, the angles awkward. Whatever this was, brute force wouldn’t cut it.
Below, Andromeda tensed as the creature nudged her again, this time with more pressure.
"Prepare foul beast, for I will—" Her words cut off mid-sentence.
Cletus winced, biting down on his lip as he dismissed the conjuration. The bond between them snapped, and before the predator could clamp its jaws around her, Andromeda vanished—fading from existence in a shimmer of ether.
Conjuring Andromeda back to the realm of the living was effortless for Cletus. The connection between summoner and Eidolon—however cunningly forged—ran deep. The moment he called her, the blade shimmered back into existence, hovering with visible irritation.
"I was about to fight that thing..." the blade complained.
"It was about to eat you whole," Cletus shot back. "But at least now we know what it is."
Vannrik shook his head, exasperated. "If you still want to die, you can still jump down."
"Well, the creature is right below us now." Andromeda urged. "If you climbed down a rope you would be able to hit it with a spell or arrow. If you're quick enough."
Cletus ignored her suggestion, his attention drifting elsewhere. A realization settled over him.
"The goblins dragged something through here. I wonder if they dragged it up from this hole, or maybe threw something down there. Andromeda, did you notice something in the waters?"
"Bones, mostly Goblin. But not all. No large objects or the like. It seems to be a creature that eats goblins." She paused. "And the like."
Rabie joined the conversation. "It's probably a pit where they throw their trash in."
"Frankly, I think it's best if we just leave it be," Vannrik said, his voice tinged with finality.
Jinx stepped forward and gave Rabie a look. "I share that opinion. Either we close that hole or we just keep moving." He gave his friend a pat on the back and turned east, heading into a nearby tunnel.
But he didn't get far.
Peering around the corner, he stopped in his tracks. A moment later, he cautiously backed into the chamber with the howling hole.
"Guys, we have some friends around the corner. And I use the term 'friends' very broadly now. We have some goblindogs over there."
"I can't say I fought goblindogs before, are they dangerous?" Cletus asked.
"You could try to tame one, if you're adventurous," Jinx replied, drenched in sarcasm.
"Would make for a nice tombstone," Vannrik added.
The Sentinels paused, the howl of the wind from the pit mixing with the low growl echoing from below. The creature was still down there—watching, waiting. And perhaps, it wasn’t time to close the howling hole just yet.
Report Date
28 Mar 2025
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