ROTR Session 12

Trapsetting

Vannrik gripped the dried strands of briar and root, their brittle texture crackling softly as he carried them toward Rabie. The witch sat cross-legged beside the howling hole, fingers weaving nimbly as he shaped the framework of their trap with practiced care. Beside him, Jinx toiled at a far grimmer task. The Gnome knelt beside the stiffened corpse of a slain Goblin, brushing away the last of the melting snow. With quiet efficiency, he slid jointed sticks through the Goblin’s sleeves and lashed its wrists with a thin rope. The decoy marionette was nearly complete.
Cletus leaned in to assist Rabie, running his fingers over the lattice of woven twigs and grass. His experience with pit traps from a less-than-honest past guided his touch. The structure had to be perfect—fragile enough to give way, but not so weak it would collapse under its own weight. He gave Rabie a sly glance and a nod. Just right.
Vannrik stepped forward, holding his hands above the trap as a sheen of ice began to spread. Unlike the forceful conjuration of weapons, this required patience—precision. Once the surface was set, he conjured a final layer of snow, seamlessly blending the pit into the rest of the frost-covered forest floor.
Jinx held up the finished puppet, tugging its cords to make the Goblin's limp hand wave in eerie greeting. Meanwhile, Cletus circled wide around the trap, treading carefully before slipping into the underbrush across from the tunnel entrance. Andromeda hovered close, waiting in silence. He watched with satisfaction as the snow near the tunnel shifted, rising into a subtle mound—an illusion of a solid tunnel wall that would funnel any approach straight over the hidden snare.
At the far end of the trap, blocking the path they'd come from, Rabie stood beside Jinx and Vannrik. His hand moved gently to Ghurab’s head, fingers gliding over the raven's feathers in a silent signal. It was time.

The bird took flight.  

The kite

The silence shattered with a chorus of yelps and barking. Ghurab burst from the tunnel, wings flapping furiously, with four mangy goblindogs in hot pursuit. The creatures snapped and snarled, teeth gnashing as they lunged after the raven. Ghurab stayed just inches ahead, leading them perfectly—until he veered upward, circling above the concealed howling hole.
Blinded by fury, the lead goblindog didn’t register the snow beneath its paws. As it skidded forward, it gave a confused yelp. From his hiding place in the bushes, Cletus glanced toward Vannrik. They exchanged a knowing nod. This part of the plan had been theirs—an added touch: a thin, treacherous sheet of ice stretching from the tunnel entrance straight to the trap.
The goblindog’s legs flailed as it lost all traction. It slid helplessly across the ice, momentum carrying it forward. In a last flicker of awareness, it locked eyes with one of its Goblin handlers standing at the far side of the chamber—beckoning it forward. Then came the sharp crack of breaking ice, and the goblindog plunged into the hidden pit, its howl swallowed by the depths below.
A second goblindog, stumbling in right behind, tried to dig in its claws. But the ice offered no mercy. It too slid toward the hole, eyes wide with panic. It reached desperately for the edge, claws scraping uselessly at the frozen surface—before vanishing after its packmate into the hungry dark, where terrified yelps met the deep, guttural roar of something waiting below.
The third goblindog skidded to a halt, then sprang forward across the ice, landing on a patch of snow just south of the hidden hole. It never let Ghurab out of its sight. As soon as it found solid footing, it leapt high—and with a snap of its jaws, caught the raven mid-flight.
From across the pit, Rabie could only watch in horror as his familiar was trapped in the creature’s maw, wings flailing before going limp in the goblindog’s bite.
The last of the dogs approached with more caution, stepping gingerly across the ice. Its slow progress ended harmlessly as it bumped against the snowbank at the edge of the chamber.
With both goblindogs now in the open, Cletus tightened his link with his eidolon. "Come on, Andromeda. You're up!" At his call, the blade emerged from the underbrush, zeroing in on the feasting creature.
"To the abyss with you!" she declared, sweeping behind the beast with the flat of her blade in an attempt to shove it toward the edge.
From his vantage point, Vannrik raised a hand and formed a jagged spear of ice, then hurled it with precision. It struck deep into the goblindog’s side. The creature shrieked and released its hold on Ghurab, who fell limply to the ground.
But Vannrik wasn’t done. Channeling the spear with unwavering focus, he pulled it back like a tether, dragging the impaled beast across the snow. With a final tug, it slid over the trap’s edge and vanished into the dark below.
A second spear launched just after—sailing clean over the head of the last goblindog. Rabie, though, felt a flicker of relief at the miss. He had his own pain to answer for.
Through clenched teeth, he summoned dark tendrils pulsing with void energy. They snaked forward and wrapped around the beast, and as they did, the goblindog gave a weak whimper. Its fur thinned and patches of mangy hair scattered across the frost.
Seizing the moment, Rabie rushed to Ghurab’s side.
Meanwhile, the puppet decoy crumpled forward, revealing Jinx behind it, casually shuffling his harrow deck. He flipped the first card—extending Rabie’s curse with eerie precision. The second granted a spark of guidance, catching Andromeda’s eye as it gleamed in the Gnome’s hand.
The final goblindog, now wild with panic, lunged for the sword. Its jaws snapped shut around her steel and clenched tight, using the grip to steady itself. Cletus winced as though a vise had crushed his own arm—pain surged through their bond.
Pushing past the agony, he stepped from the brush, horns framing his ashen face. With a fierce growl, he locked eyes with the creature. It faltered, cowed by the tiefling’s fearsome presence.
That was all Andromeda needed. She twisted and struck, sweeping the goblindog off its balance and over the edge. It vanished into the pit below, where its howls joined the others—amid the snarls, crunching bone, and the echoes of the thing that waited in the depths.

Cletus crouched beside his eidolon.
"Andromeda, are you all right?"
"My wings are a bit itchy, I could have caught an infection there." The blade responded, her tone indignant but unharmed.
Behind them, Rabie knelt in panic. Ghurab’s heartbeat had slowed to a frightening crawl, his body limp in his master’s hands. He looked to Vannrik with wide, desperate eyes. The kineticist crawled over the snow and carefully took the raven, cupping it gently as he washed the creature with ocean-charged healing brine. Rabie held his breath. Then, slowly, Ghurab stirred—eyes fluttering open. With a sharp exhale of relief, Rabie pulled the bird to his chest and held him close.
Cletus turned to Vannrik.
"Vannrik, could you get rid of the ice?"
The kineticist let out a soft chuckle.
"I'll get rid of the ice."
With a practiced motion, he waved his hand and the frozen sheet stirred, sliding down the howling hole to rejoin the Gulf’s dark waters below.
"Do you need healing?" Vannrik asked.
"Healing would be welcomed," replied the tiefling.
Vannrik responded with another briny surge of restorative energy, cleansing and closing the wounds with gentle waves.
As the waters worked their magic, Cletus glanced toward Rabie.
"I think you learned a lesson here, didn't you?"
Rabie still couldn’t let go of Ghurab.
"I've learned a lot of lessons the last few days." He paused. "This being one of them."
Cletus tilted his head.
"Is it true that a familiar like this is given to you?"
"Five years ago he was just... there," Rabie answered softly.
Vannrik raised a brow.
"He just appeared out of thin air?"
Rabie shook his head, still dazed by the memory.
"No, one morning he just sat at the end of my bed."
"And your magical abilities?" Cletus asked.
"They came with him." Rabie’s gaze locked onto the raven’s eyes, as if trying to peer into the moment it all changed.
"Curious. I thought all witches were supposed to make a pact with Demons and the like." Cletus gave a small grin at his own musing.
Rabie’s head snapped up.
"No, no, no! No evil pacts here."
Trying to ease the tension, Vannrik offered a quiet nod.
"In general I'm not really a fan of witches, but this man has proven to be a decent witch."
Rabie didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at Ghurab, stroking his feathers with a gentle hand. Then, under his breath, he asked the empty air:
"Am I a witch...?"

Claws like thorns

As the group pressed forward, Vannrik couldn’t shake a growing unease. A chill crept down his spine, subtle but insistent. "Something feels off. But I can't put my finger on it," he whispered, his voice low as they advanced through the narrow tunnel.
"You're just imagining things," Cletus replied, brushing off the concern. "We should move forward and find that bridge to the island."
"What feels off?" Rabie’s voice came from behind, quieter but attentive.
"I feel the presence of eyes. We're being watched," the kineticist muttered, adjusting his grip on the shield slung over his arm.
"But onward we go," Cletus said, urging the group along.
They moved past a side chamber. The musty air was heavy with the scent of beasts, and the ground was thick with tangled, wiry fur. Scattered bones lay gnawed and abandoned across the floor, and wooden stakes had been driven into the dirt near the chamber walls—a kennel, no doubt, once used to house the goblindogs. The group crept past without incident, the silence oppressive.
Eventually, they reached a T-section in the tunnel. Vannrik paused and turned, ready to ask the others which path to take. But before he could speak, a vicious snarl tore through the stillness. From the shadows, a blur of black fur burst forth.
A massive feline shape slammed into him, its red-striped back arched in fury. A hooked paw lashed out, raking across Vannrik’s side and tearing through fabric and flesh with ease.
"Vannrik!" Andromeda cried out, watching in horror as blood stained the tangled forest floor.
Jinx bolted forward, eyes locking on the beast. The firepelt cougar—larger than any he'd seen—stood its ground, hissing. The Gnome filled his lungs, squared his shoulders, and shouted with force well beyond his size.
"DIIEEEE!"
His voice thundered through the tunnels, the very walls seeming to tremble under the weight of the word. The power in his cry struck the creature like a hammer. The cougar shrieked in pain, staggering from the force of the verbal assault.
Rabie pressed his eyelids together, then stared with wide, glowing purple eyes at the creature. "More trouble," the witch growled. The firepelt's hackles rose, fur bristling with instinctive revulsion as it locked eyes with the unnatural glare. Then, with a shudder, its lifeforce began to siphon away—drawn by tendrils of creeping Shadow.
Cletus reached deep within himself—beyond blood, beyond breath—and through their bond into Andromeda. "By Calistria. Andromeda, I grant you this power!"
Arcane energy surged along the invisible tether between them. "For the hundredth time, Cletus, it's Iomedae! You're drawing the power from Iomedae!" the sword protested, flashing past Vannrik and Jinx in a silver blur toward the firepelt. Her first strike came swift but wild, slicing air. The second landed true, carving into the beast’s flank as it snarled at the witch’s unrelenting stare through the veil of brambles.
Vannrik clutched at his wound with one hand—hot blood seeping between his fingers—but still found the strength to summon a spear of solid ice. He hurled it forward, but the cat twisted low, the frozen blade grazing harmlessly past as it loosed a furious roar. The Jadwiga raised his wooden shield just in time; claws raked across it with a dull, tearing thud, deep grooves splintering the grain. Through the brambles and chaos, Vannrik spotted movement: a twisted, goblinoid figure emerging from the southern tunnel.
It was hunched and gnarled, its skin like cracked oak bark, eyes burning with pinpricks of red light. In one gnarled hand, it clutched a crooked staff—in the other, a jagged mace.
"Fight, you stupid cat!" it screeched, voice scraping the walls.
The firepelt obeyed. With a burst of strength, it slammed into the shield, forcing it downward—splinters flying—exposing a gap. Vannrik barely cried out before fangs sank deep into his shoulder.
From across the tunnel, the bark-skinned Goblin shrieked with laughter. "You will be catfood soon!"
Sweat rolled down Vannrik's temple. The Goblin might be right.
Jinx saw the tide turning against Vannrik, the balance slipping into blood and fangs. "Well, time to kill a cat," the Gnome muttered, his voice still nasal from the stink of goblindogs past. He steadied himself, spine straightening as he summoned the storm within, breath drawing in like the hush before Thunder.
"I SAID DIE!" he roared, the words erupting from his chest with seismic force. The sound surged through the chamber like a shockwave. Andromeda, caught in its path, wavered—but held fast. The firepelt, however, faltered. Vannrik felt the beast’s jaws slacken, its grip loosening as the roar bored into its skull. His own blood mingled with the trickle now leaking from the creature’s ears, red threads weaving into the forest floor.
The Gnome let the breath go. His posture softened, his tone melting from fire to balm. He turned to his friend, voice low and steady, as if coaxing life back from the brink.
"You. Don't die."
The words weren’t just heard—they took root, sinking into Vannrik’s bones. Warmth bloomed at the edges of torn flesh, and slowly, pain began to ebb. As he steadied his footing, blood no longer spilling freely, Rabie brushed past him with a casual gait, his gaze narrowing on the oncoming foe. "More evil to shrivel," he muttered.
With a flick of his hand, the witch summoned the void—tendrils of Shadow slithered forth like sentient smoke, curling through the air toward the Goblin. But when they reached their mark, they recoiled. The bark-covered flesh drank in the shadows with no harm done, leaving the Goblin grinning through the hardened lattice of its wooden face.
Cletus, recognizing the resilience in their enemy, reacted swiftly. Energy surged from him in a golden pulse, manifesting around Andromeda in the form of a shimmering magical shield. The blade surged forward, eager and unrelenting. She struck with wide, sweeping arcs charged with righteous fury, but her foe slipped between the swings, joints creaking like ancient boughs in a storm.
From behind her, icy darts sliced through the air—sharp, whistling missiles that cracked through bark and bit into hidden flesh. The Goblin snarled, now caught between evasion and pain. With a forceful gesture, Vannrik yanked the creature closer, the kinetic pull dragging it toward the heart of their group.
And in that brief pause—his vengeance momentarily satisfied—he turned inward. The aura around him shimmered as he stirred the surrounding waters, twisting their currents into a balm. The healing tide washed over his wounds, sealing the worst of them before the battle surged forward once more.
The Goblin staggered into the T-section, jamming his gnarled staff into the ground to steady himself. With enemies pressing from every side, he bared his jagged teeth in a wicked grin. Raising the staff to his lips, he exhaled a sharp breath—and the world exploded into flame. A roaring wave of fire surged forward, turning the briar tunnel into a furnace. Vannrik, cloaked in the lingering balm of ocean’s brine, weathered the inferno with gritted teeth. Cletus, shielding the others, took the worst of the blaze head-on as Rabie and Ghurab huddled tightly behind his frame. Off to the flanks, Jinx and Andromeda narrowly escaped the searing reach of the Goblin’s fury.
Jinx hurried in as close as he could, weaving through the crush of bodies in the narrow tunnel. The low ceiling posed no challenge for the nimble Gnome, but the chaotic crowd made every step a battle. Finding a narrow opening, he thrust out his palm, and Misery, his Cindersnake companion, slithered forth in a coil of smoke and hissed menacingly at the oaken Goblin.
"You're about to join your friends!"
The Goblin threw his head back in a fit of raucous laughter, the sound colliding with the distant roars of battle as soldiers and goblins clashed in the south. With the longshanks falling by the dozens, the creature was hard to intimidate.
Through the haze of smoke, Rabie emerged, his cloak still smoldering, his purple eyes burning with hatred. The Goblin only howled louder at the sight of him.
"You won't be laughing long." the witch snarled.
Channeling his fury, Rabie summoned the void’s chilling touch; tendrils of darkness slithered out and clawed at the Goblin’s bark-like skin, making it splinter and crack—yet the armor stubbornly held fast.
Cletus moved up alongside Andromeda, who surged toward the Goblin with deadly grace. The living blade dipped low, carving a swift arc that swept the Goblin's legs out from beneath him. With a brutal thud, the Goblin slammed into the hard-packed tunnel floor.
Within moments, Vannrik closed the distance to the Goblin, an icy spear gleaming in his grasp. He drove the weapon downward, but the nimble creature twisted aside at the last instant, the point skewering only dirt. Vannrik snarled and pressed the attack—his second strike found its mark, sinking deep into the Goblin’s leg. The creature’s laughter curdled into a raw howl of pain.
Snarling through the agony, the Goblin scrambled to his feet, boxed in by Vannrik and the looming form of Andromeda. His eyes burned with hatred as he glared at the living blade.
"I don't know what you are but you will pay for what you did to the great Gogmurt!"
With a defiant roar, Gogmurt swung his rune-inscribed mace, its green symbols swirling menacingly through the air before crashing into Andromeda’s steel frame. She staggered, but her voice rang out clear and strong:
"I'm a descendent from the heavens. I will bring to you righteous justice!"
Wounded but still cunning, Gogmurt darted toward the northern tunnel, seeking escape—but Andromeda gave chase with relentless fury. She surged ahead, cutting off his retreat and slamming him once more to the ground, pinning him between herself and Vannrik.
From the shadows, Jinx and Rabie rushed forward. The Gnome, quick as a flash, brandished a shimmering harrow card from the Stars suit toward his friend before both men unleashed writhing tendrils of void-dark energy upon the fallen foe.
"It's time for you to die," Rabie whispered, as the creeping shadows slipped into every crack and crevice of the Goblin’s bark-armored flesh.
Seizing the opportunity, Vannrik lunged forward, driving his spear down with brutal force. The weapon punched through the Goblin’s wooden skin and into his side, the kinetic energy pulling the thrashing creature toward the southern tunnel. Vannrik rose to his full, broad-shouldered height, standing like a living bulwark in the mouth of the tunnel, barring any escape.
From behind him, Andromeda’s voice soared like a battle hymn:
"Pray for mercy!"
Submission and mercy were the last things in Gogmurt’s blazing eyes. With a guttural snarl, he tore himself free from the glistening spear, blood and sap mingling as he bolted southward into the shadowed depths of his personal den. Gasping for breath, he summoned the ancient magic of the wilds, weaving a desperate spell that mended bark and flesh alike, steeling himself for a final, savage stand.
But Andromeda was relentless. She stormed to the threshold of the southern chamber, her form blazing with a halo of righteous light.
"Bathe in holy fire. May Iomadae sear you to death!"
Her voice rang out, sharp and unstoppable, as the radiance gathered at her crossguard and erupted in a searing beam of celestial fire. The ray struck Gogmurt head-on, engulfing him in a swirling inferno of holy flames. His screeches filled the den, echoing off the twisted roots and earthen walls. When the firestorm faded, the Goblin's bark armor crumbled into a pile of smoldering charcoal, revealing the blistered, green flesh underneath.
From behind the glowing blade, Cletus stepped forward with a savage grin, the firelight dancing across his horns.
"There is nowhere to run. You will burn!" Rabie stepped into the den, his voice joining Cletus’s in grim finality.
"You can't run from death."
From the tangled underbrush, the shadows obeyed his call, slithering across the floor in twisting tendrils. Without the bark to shield him, Gogmurt stood defenseless. The void magic touched his blistered flesh, and in moments, life drained from him like the last drops of autumn rain. His green skin turned brittle and pale, curling like dry leaves scattered across the earthen floor. When the shadows withdrew, Gogmurt’s body remained—fragile and still, a hollow husk broken by the inevitable.
Vannrik strode forward, seizing the Goblin’s staff in his blood-streaked hand. He turned without a word, focusing on the gashes that marred his and Cletus’s bodies. The chamber sank into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant, relentless crash of waves against the cliffs and the faint, scattered echoes of battle to the south. Twenty long minutes dragged by in that grim stillness. It had been nearly an hour and a half since the Sentinels had last seen their fellow soldiers. Now, the clash of steel and shouted orders drifted to them, thinner and more desperate—like a fight unraveling at the seams. All they could do was hope their comrades were still standing.
Finally, the group pressed onward. They emerged into the biting wind, blinking against the salt spray as the northern tunnel gave way to the open world. Before them, the cliffside dropped sharply to the churning sea far below. Suspended across the void was a rope bridge, swaying and groaning under the pull of the gusts. The span, woven from coarse rope and thick wooden planks, stretched to a round, flat-topped island roughly sixty feet away. Patches of nettles and thorny briars clung stubbornly to the rocky surface of the isle, but it was the man-made structure that dominated the view: a one-story wooden stockade, battered yet defiant against the sea winds.
Flanking its southern face were two watchtowers, each rising thirty feet into the sky like the horns of some sleeping beast.
The Sentinels stood, the weight of the moment pressing down on them as the rope bridge creaked ominously.

  Ahead, across the gulf of wind and water, Thistletop awaited