Session 13: Journey back to Blood Ax

Session #13 – Journey Back to Blood Ax

On the morning of 25 Aers 530, the Deputies rose from their uneasy rest at Kline Ranch, gathering their gear beneath a pale dawn sky. The night had passed without incident—no sound disturbed them after the brutal clash with the owlbears—but the weight of what they’d uncovered still hung heavy in their silence.

Midway through the twenty-mile ride back to Blood Ax, as the group debated the implications of the ranch’s grim fate, a sudden flash of color erupted from the underbrush. A large, vibrantly plumed bird creature burst forth—only to collapse at their feet, dead before it settled into the dust. Instinct took over.

Alaric, Bosk, and Suffering Succotash dismounted and moved forward to investigate. Kruk, ever watchful, darted north on foot, aiming to flank the treeline and flush out any hidden threat. Moments later, arrows hissed from the brush. Three goblins lay in ambush, their faces smeared with chalk, giving them a ghastly, ghostlike pallor. Their shortbows carried poisoned tips, and they struck true—Bosk, Suffering Succotash, and Alaric each felt the sting of venom.

But the Deputies answered with steel and fury. When Bosk closed the distance, his greataxe singing through the air, the tide turned. Two goblins fell in short order. The third, wounded and desperate, melted into the woods, vanishing without a trace.

Nearby, a small, crumbling miner’s shack stood half-hidden in the thin forest—its presence now impossible to ignore.

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Jebis Necklodel Quolen Zercetobomp’s Shack

The Deputies approached the sagging structure with caution. The door groaned open under their hands, revealing a space thick with the stench of stale smoke, damp earth, and rusted iron. A single rafter ran low across the ceiling, and from it dangled the lifeless form of Ethan Davidson, suspended by a coarse rope. Beneath him, a shattered stool lay scattered across the dirt floor.

But this was no suicide.

Closer inspection revealed deep chafe marks and bruising around Ethan’s wrists—clear signs he had been bound before being hanged. The flimsy window, barred from within, showed signs of forced entry: disturbed dust, broken twigs, and fresh claw marks along the lower casement, as if something with small and sharp claws had pried it open from the outside.

On the cold hearth, ashes cradled a partially burned slip of paper—its legible fragment reading: “clean house.” The message bore the watermark of a local courier service.

The floor told its own story: overlapping boot prints, scuff marks, and drag trails suggested a struggle. Under the table, a torn sack lay discarded—its musky scent unmistakably mesquite-flavored tobacco. The door’s latch was intact; whoever entered hadn’t needed to break in.

And yet, the room also bore signs of solitude: empty liquor bottles littered the corners, and a scattered deck of playing cards fanned across the table, as if someone had been waiting… or stalling.

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Return to Blood Ax

Shaken by the scene, the Deputies mounted up and pushed hard for town, reaching Blood Ax just before dusk. They reported their findings—both at Kline Ranch and the shack—to Sheriff DeRook.

The sheriff’s expression darkened, but not with surprise. “I feared this,” he muttered. “Too many loose threads, too many names whispered in the dark.” He charged the Deputies with maintaining order: patrol the streets, keep the peace, and quietly disperse any gatherings that might spark violence among the town’s fractious factions.

They obeyed, moving through the dusty lanes as tension simmered beneath the surface.

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A Message in the Night

When Alaric awoke the next morning, a note lay beside his bedroll—neatly printed, with no sign of how it arrived:

“Bring the girl you know as Evelyn Riveria to Nightspinner’s Spire, and I will reward you.”

Beneath the words, a sigil was inked in deep violet: a spiral wrapped around a single, watching eye—the mark of the Nightspire.

The Deputies convened, weighing their options. With the trail growing colder and new threats emerging, they agreed: their next move lay beyond Blood Ax. They spent the following days gathering supplies for the seven-day journey back to Walker’s Ranch in Tèarmann Nàdair.

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Ambush on the Trail

On the third night of their trek, the stillness shattered.

Cackling laughter and guttural growls rolled in from the north. Seven gnolls emerged from the dark, firing crude bone bows before charging in with claws and teeth. The Deputies met them with disciplined steel, cutting down the pack one by one.

Just as victory seemed certain, two fresh gnolls—larger, better armed—lurked at the edge of the firelight. They circled briefly, assessing the battle, then turned and fled south into the night, unwilling to press the fight.

No pursuit was made. The camp was secured, wounds tended, and the journey resumed at dawn.

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Arrival at Walker’s Ranch

The remaining days passed without incident. On 8 Memun 530, the Deputies arrived at Walker’s Ranch—weathered, watchful, and wary of what awaited them next.

The road had claimed more than time. It had claimed trust. And somewhere ahead, the spire waited.