Session 0040 : Book, Lost - Dragon, Found

28 - 30th Weißhexe, 3023

A Hazy, Acidic Memory

The session opened with the party attempting to reconstruct the details of a brutal battle—one that left the group shaken, wounded, and in some cases permanently harmed. The fight had taken place near a forest stream where several bodies lay scattered among the rocks and waterlogged brush. What they initially hoped were survivors turned out to be the prelude to an ambush.

Creatures—likely trolls or troll-kin—had attacked the lumber camp without warning. They wielded an acid-laced assault that burned flesh, ruined armor, and blinded Rina instantly. The fight nearly cost several of the party their lives, and it succeeded in killing one of their horses. Only one lumberjack survived the chaos, unconscious and barely hanging onto life.

With no option but retreat, the party fled with the dying lumberjack slumped over a mount and raced toward the relative safety of The Merry Mug Inn.

A Survivor’s Account

Back at The Merry Mug, Dorian administered one last restorative spell—16 hard-earned hit points—to pull the man fully back from the brink. Lilly supplied a makeshift feast of cold meats, cheeses, breads, and tea (“picky bits,” as she called it), while Tiggeth was given a hearty bone to gnaw on.

The survivor introduced himself as Corlys, still pale, shaking, but alive.

“Thank you, sir. I was surely done for,”

he said to Dorian, who simply replied,

“You surely were.”

Corlys recounted the attack: one moment he had been working on a felled log, the next he was on the ground, dazed, watching hulking shapes tear through his fellow loggers. He had seen Cathlynn as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and remembered axes clattering uselessly against hide thick as stone before everything turned black again.

Knowing the truth would only compound Corlys’ trauma, Cathlynn quietly suggested:

“It may be kinder to say a tree fell on them. There likely isn’t much left to recover.”

Corlys accepted a room at the inn, grateful to be alive—if broken.

Deadlines, Ultimatums, and Impossible Priorities

The party now found themselves threatened on multiple fronts:

• Ikiri’s Rescue — Their companion Ikiri remained injured, trapped underground in pitch-black conditions. Cathlynn, a trained midwife, had reason to believe Ikiri might be pregnant—possibly by Ironcast—and the urgency was doubled.
 
• The Book for Mythan Belanore — A Fey named Karas had charged them with delivering a mysterious book to Mythan Belanore far to the south.
 
• The Drow Ultimatum — A drow enforcer known as Queen had delivered a chilling threat:

  “If you don’t give me this book within twenty-four hours, I’ll cut your hands off and take it anyway.”

As they prepared to leave the inn, Lev fell ill—“sick as fuck,” as the group put it—and was unable to travel.

Before they could depart, Queen’s associates confronted them outside, demanding the book early. Cathlynn reminded them she still had eight hours remaining, and the drow reluctantly relented… but not before threatening to burn the inn to ash if the party tried to run.

Exhausted, spent of spells, and vastly outmatched, the group debated. Dorian put it plainly:

“We can’t do anything for Ikiri if we’re dead.”

Cathlynn—angry but pragmatic—made the call:

“My vote is we give them the book. If we ever need it again… we’ll dynamite that bridge when we get to it.”

It wasn’t the best choice. But it was the only one available.

The Exchange with the Drow

Inside the inn, the drow mercenary Queen sat with three companions—one of whom was a striking, obsidian-skinned priestess with metallic silver eyes. Cathlynn recognized the markings on her robes: not of Lolth, but of Shar, Mistress of the Night.

Silently, Cathlynn placed the book on the table and said:

“I know when I’m outmatched. But hear me: I want your guarantee you will never return to Oak Haven or threaten Lilly’s inn again.”

After a subtle glance to the priestess, Queen agreed with flippant disdain.

“Fine. Asking me to avoid this place is like asking me to stay away from a pigsty. I think I can manage.”

She tossed a pouch of 100 platinum pieces onto the table.

As they left, Queen paused to whisper venomously to Lev in Elvish—calling him a traitor—before turning back to snarl at Cathlynn:

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. Sit your ass down.”

The deal was concluded. Uneasily, but concluded.

Midnight Visitors and Old Enemies

The party finally settled in for a long rest. But just before midnight, both Lilly and Cathlynn awoke simultaneously—shivering violently. Their veins darkened beneath the skin, and a sickly cold radiated from the marrow of their bones. They staggered toward the inn’s hearth, desperate for warmth.

A knock came at the door.

Three travelers stood outside: an elf, a Halfling, and a cloaked Human whose face was hidden. The elf introduced himself as Arundel, stating they were on official business and required a room. Lilly noticed the cloak pin—an ornate L. The symbol of Lankhmar.

As Cathlynn moved past the cloaked Human, she rolled a natural 20 on Perception. Recognition slammed into her instantly.

A member of the cult responsible for abducting children for sacrificial rites—an order dedicated to bringing black dragons back into Nehwon.

Cathlynn whispered to Lilly, voice shaking from rage more than cold:

“One day I will get my chance to slit that man’s throat. And I will take it.”

Upstairs, the Halfling Tobrin cast a Sending spell. Shortly afterward, Malrik Veyth—the obsessive ex-admirer of a former guest—arrived and sat with Pranix for a hushed meeting.

An Arcane Infection and the Apothecary Twins

Lev examined the worsening condition in Cathlynn and Lilly. A successful Medicine check confirmed the truth: this was no natural chill. It was a magical affliction—an “infection” that would not heal without supernatural means.

Moments later, Cathlynn asked the party to step outside. When they did, a three-story Tudor structure stood where nothing had been before.

The Rowanberry Apothecary had arrived.

Cathlynn ushered them inside, where the atmosphere shifted into immediate, profound calm. She introduced the identical-but-not twins who ran it: Shanra and Thayla, druidic sisters chosen to steward the living apothecary that had once belonged to Cathlynn and her own twin, Kathaleen.

As Lev entered, he felt reality ripple—so potently that it knocked him to his knees. The transition passed quickly, but not without consequence.

Healing Gone Wrong: The Blue-Rot]

The twins attempted a pair of symbiotic druidic rituals to purge the mysterious affliction.

Her roll (12) twisted the magic into something dark and malformed. She suffered 4 points of necrotic damage. The disease remained, and now accelerated.

Her roll (3) triggered a frightening backlash. A banshee-like scream tore from Lilly’s throat while she remained motionless, her consciousness detached from the sound. A ghostly afterimage—an echo of Lilly—peeled itself away from her, stared back for a heartbeat, then vanished into the air. Lilly was healed and gained 10 hit points.

The twins were horrified. Nothing like this had ever happened in their recorded memory.

The ailment was identified as Blue Rot, a sickness carried by a powerful undead source. Healing Cathlynn improperly had worsened her condition dramatically.

To save her life, Shanra guided Cathlynn outside and transformed her into a rooted tree—an eight-hour healing stasis. Thayla promised to search for Lilly’s “shadow.”

New Morning, New Threats

At dawn, Dorian—on watch from the inn—observed Pranix, Malrik Veyth, Arundel, and Tobrin leaving together, heading east. He committed their direction to memory.

Around 8:00 a.m., the Rowanberry Apothecary faded from existence, and Cathlynn emerged from her tree form fully rejuvenated.

Breakfast was busy at The Merry Mug. Dorian offered Corlys the traumatized lumberjack a job; the man accepted gratefully, seeking safety and stability.

The party then returned to the matter of rescuing Ikiri. A plan formed: rather than re-enter the forest, they would circle south and approach the suspected cave system from a safer angle.

The Green Dragon of the Grasslands

Traveling by cart and horseback, the group emerged from the forest into sweeping grasslands. Dorian scouted ahead—and froze at the sight of a massive green dragon circling far to the east. Even at twenty miles, its silhouette was unmistakable, its wingspan an estimated 150 to 200 feet.

They watched as the dragon tucked its body and dove—raptor-like—before re-emerging with something white clutched in its talons. By the time it rose again, the white was mottled with red.

No one argued for heroism. They traveled the entire day hugging the treeline, using the forest canopy for cover until the dragon finally veered east at sunset.

A Night of Watches

The forest they camped beside felt normal—healthy, lacking the supernatural corruption they had encountered in the north. Dorian hunted a plump wild turkey, which became the group’s evening meal.

Cathlynn’s Watch

A cold mist drifted between the trees. Meadow, one of the donkeys, grew nervous and fixed her gaze on a patch of woods. A Perception check revealed nothing—only the oppressive stillness of fog-choked boughs.

Dorian’s Watch

Dorian spotted pale yellow eyes eight feet up in a distant tree. They reflected the faint firelight like an animal’s, but no sound accompanied them. He allowed the fire to burn out to avoid drawing attention.

Lev’s Watch

Lev perched atop the wagon, Zephyr at his side. An owl swooped unusually close, brushing past him. Then came a subtle scraping sound—stone against stone or wood against rock—from the darkened clearing ahead.

Concerned, Lev sent Zephyr to rouse the others. The night was not yet done with them.

An Unsettling Awakening

The party’s predawn rest was broken without warning. Approximately two hours before sunrise, Lilly stirred first, blinking awake with the unmistakable sense that something in the night had changed. She roused the others just as Zeph drifted from the shadows, landing squarely atop Dorian’s head and flicking his tail across the ranger’s face to wake him.

“I’m up, I’m up,”

Dorian muttered, already reaching for his weapons.

Each member of the group felt it—the air thick with a wrongness that had not been present moments before. Lev, already on watch, stood several paces away from camp, backing cautiously from a spiral-shaped patch of stony ground near the base of the treeline. From that darkened recess came a low, grinding scrape… stone against wood, or wood upon rock. Impossible to tell.

The Creature in the Dark

Drawn toward the noise, the party stepped forward as one. The mist parted, and the forest revealed a massive shape coalescing into view. The creature stood over twelve feet tall, built like a muscular, broad-shouldered man carved from living wood. Branches and moss formed a wild beard and twisting mustache, while antler-like boughs crowned its head. It resembled a Treant, yet clearly was not. There was too much Humanoid shape, too much deliberate malice smoldering behind its pale green eyes.

It roared the moment it recognized them and charged with violent intent.

“Someone stoke up the fire!”

Lev shouted as he braced himself.

The creature moved unnaturally fast, seizing the initiative. Dorian tried to intervene, raising a hand.

“Creature of the forest—we mean you no harm!”

But the being ignored him entirely. It drove straight at Lev with terrifying focus, swinging its arm—thick as a tree trunk—and a long branch-like appendage that extended from the crown of its head.

Three strikes came for Lev in a blur, but instead of crushing him, the creature snatched him into its grasp. Lev’s feet left the ground as he was lifted to eye level with the towering creature.

The Telepathic Warning

Locked in its grip, Lev suddenly felt a surge of psychic force slam into his mind. Images, impressions, and a voice—ancient, furious, and layered like cracking timber—forced its way into his thoughts.

The creature delivered its message. Not aloud, but directly into his skull.

“Leave the forest, you fools. The wyrms have risen once again. Flee the region. You and your kind… Nehwon is doomed.”

And then—just as abruptly as it had seized him—the creature released Lev. He dropped to the ground unharmed. The being stepped back, its form beginning to unravel like smoke through branches, until it faded completely into the shadowed wood.

The party was left in tense, bewildered silence. Dorian exhaled.

“Well, that was… Daddy Green Man looking out for us. Thanks for not killing us.”

The message was unmistakable: flee not just the forest—flee the entire region of Akiri.

Interpreting the Demon’s Intent

Despite the severity of the warning, the party chose not to retreat immediately. They broke camp, weapons still drawn, and moved toward the forest’s edge to consider their next steps.

Lev and Cathlynn, their druidic knowledge combined, searched their memories for any creature matching what they had seen. A successful Insight check (22) brought Cathlynn a jolt of recognition.

This was no guardian spirit. No Treant. Not even a creature of the natural world.

It was a demon.

Not a hellish fiend in the traditional sense, but a planar demon spawned from overwhelming despair—a being that belonged entirely to another plane. Its presence in these woods could mean only one thing:

Such rifts were exceedingly rare in Nehwon. The only other planar crossing any of them had ever encountered was the Fey Crossing far to the north—and that one only manifested under specific conditions. For a despair-born demon to walk unbidden into this world was a sign of catastrophic imbalance.

These demons were messengers—chaotic, cruel, and known for spreading terror and hopelessness to weaken civilizations before greater calamities followed.

Thus came the difficult question:

Lev’s Insight into the Demon

Lev focused on the lingering psychic impression left in the moment of telepathic contact. His Insight revealed the creature’s true emotional state during the encounter:

It desperately wanted to kill him.

Crush him like an insect, rip the party apart, splinter them beneath its branches. That desire pulsed through every fiber of its being. It had restrained itself only with immense effort—and only long enough to deliver its message.

The contradiction was maddening.

A Prophecy of Things to Come

What they did know was this: the message aligned disturbingly well with what they themselves had witnessed the previous day—a massive green dragon hunting in the grasslands.

As one party member put it:

“It makes me wonder how bad the bad thing must be… if the bad guy is warning us about the bad thing.”

With dawn approaching, the group gathered their gear, their nerves raw, their questions unanswered. Somewhere ahead lay Ikiri, still in need of rescue. Somewhere beyond lurked dragons—and perhaps worse—now stirred by whatever planar rupture had allowed this despair-born demon to walk the waking world.

The session ended with the party standing at the forest’s edge, contemplating their next move beneath the weight of a prophecy they hoped was not true.