The Chronicle, Session 7

Dramatis Personae

• Tori, mixed-heritage Shamaness from Gal City
• Kildun Graax, Hyperborean Necromancer from the City-State of Khromarium
• Tyrm, Oonish (androgynous clone) Warlock from the City-State of Khromarium
• Saya'da, Yakut Berserker from the Plains of Leng
• Galenos, Kimmerian cataphract from the Fields of Vol
• Fiadhan, Keltic druid local to the Bryn Celli region

12:00 PM, Saturn, the 7th day of Sagittarius, CÆ 582. Cold and clear, 16 degrees.

Learning More About Rhodric

The sky stood clear beneath a hard and pitiless blue, while a bitter wind blew down from the north and cut through cloak and mail alike. The cold measured sixteen degrees by reckoning, and seemed determined to settle into the bones of every living thing beneath the red sun.

Following the breaking of their fast, the company set out with the intent of finding the lord's huntsman, Taran Macc Niall, hoping he might shed light upon the disappearance of the ranger Rhodric.

The folk of the town directed them toward the market, saying the huntsman had been seen there earlier that same morning.

While searching among the stalls and winter-clad crowds, they were approached by a young woman who introduced herself as Fiadhan. She said she had been sent by Aera the druidess and had come seeking the company.

Tori gave brief introductions all around and explained their present task concerning the missing ranger. Fiadhan revealed that she already knew something of the matter and understood that they intended to seek Taran Macc Niall.

Thus did Fiadhan join the company. Not long afterward, she quietly leaned toward Tori and asked, "What's with the fellow with the milk mustache?"

Meanwhile Tyrm stood some distance away, staring toward the distant red sun and appreciating what little warmth it offered.

Fortune favored them, for Fiadhan already knew Taran and easily found him among the folk of the market. She introduced him to the others.

The huntsman greeted her warmly and asked after her mistress Aera. After hearing a brief account of the company's aid to the town and of their new task, Taran readily admitted he knew of the business concerning Rhodric and proposed they discuss matters over drink.

Thus they returned to the Sheep's Rest.

Taran loudly demanded drinks from Torla and claimed a broad table for all assembled. Torla met his theatrics with her usual dry wit and plainly refused to be impressed.

Saya'da watched Taran with quiet amusement, observing that beneath his rough manner there seemed to dwell a softer nature. Unlike the huntsman, her own feelings were seldom hidden and instead displayed themselves freely upon her face.

Tyrm guided much of the conversation. He asked concerning Rhodric and the shared hunting cabins used by the huntsmen. Taran offered to guide them to the cabin Rhodric favored, saying it lay only a few hours' walk from town.

Questions followed concerning the ranger's habits.

Taran knew little of peculiarity in the man. Rhodric had long kept to himself, as rangers often do, though rumor held he had developed affection for a young shepherdess of the region. He had served the area for over a decade, hunting monsters and greater threats while leaving ordinary beasts to the huntsmen.

When Tyrm cautiously raised the possibility of lycanthropy, Taran admitted he knew nothing specific concerning Rhodric, though he said werewolves had indeed been encountered in these lands before.

Tyrm then spoke of the tiger attack upon their own company and of Cire's death, glancing toward Saya'da as he did so.

Taran regarded them both carefully. "Old Redclaw," he said at last. He claimed he had not seen the beast in years.

Much was discussed thereafter: alarm snares of rope and bells, werewolves, silver, wolfsbane, and the possibility of capturing Rhodric alive rather than slaying him.

Taran believed he might devise some manner of larger snare if needed, though such a thing would be experimental.

Tyrm made clear their desire to preserve Rhodric's life if possible, both from mercy and from practical concern regarding the town's favor.

When Torla arrived with their drinks, she had remembered Tyrm's preference for milk rather than ale. He emptied the mug in several hearty swallows and wiped the milk from his mustache with satisfaction.

While conversation continued, Tori considered what little she knew concerning lycanthropy. Fiadhan contributed as well, and together they recalled that powerful druids might cure such afflictions through divine workings.

Yet Fiadhan remarked uneasily that Aera herself might not choose to intervene. The druidess might instead consider such a transformation the will of the Balance. No one seemed comforted by the thought.

Eventually Taran offered to guide them first to Rhodric's cabin and later to the splintered ash tree where the ranger's bow had been discovered.

Agreement was reached. Thereafter the company purchased rope, bells, stakes, and various items suitable for alarm snares.

Though concerns were raised over lodging space, they ultimately chose to bring their three mercenary infantrymen with them. Better crowded shelter than insufficient spears when facing uncertain horrors.

Thus they departed. As they traveled, Taran entertained them with tales from years spent in the wilderness. Ancient standing stones crowned distant hills, while sparse trees gradually thickened into darker forests ahead. At one point a solitary black bear crossed their path. It sniffed the air, regarded them cautiously, and chose wiser judgment over confrontation.

When Tyrm asked of local legends, Taran spoke of leprechauns, faeries, and stranger things still. He gestured toward distant hilltop stones and warned that many were ancient burial places where folk seldom wandered. Such places, he claimed, belonged to both the fae and the restless dead. Rhodric had often dealt with such matters.

As sunset approached they finally reached the cabin. A freezing fog had rolled over the moors, carrying tiny crystals of ice that sparkled in the fading red light.

Tyrm delighted in them and reached playfully for the glittering mist, though each crystal vanished into water the moment his fingers touched it.

The cabin itself stood strangely untouched, save that its front door had been left hanging open. Tyrm inspected the nearby well and found its waters clean, though a sheet of ice had formed atop the bucket's contents.

Inside they discovered disorder. The cabin had been utterly wrecked, furniture lay overturned and broken. Blood stained the floorboards, and claw damage marred the interior. Whatever had occurred there had not been peaceful.

Saya'da determined the blood to be old and natural. Fiadhan found gnawed animal bones in one corner, likely belonging to a deer.

Tyrm searched for Rhodric's journal and soon uncovered it. Its earlier pages contained routine observations and hunting notes, but later entries spoke of Hollow Cairn, missing sheep, strange tracks, deep claw marks, fevers, lost time, and blood upon his hands.

Then, finally:

Bind me if you can. Kill me if you must. But do not let me reach the farms when the moon is full.

A grim silence followed. They realized then that the next full moon would rise in only four days. Discussion turned toward Hollow Cairn, the Macc Torcán farm, and how best to proceed.

At last it was agreed that they would remain through the night and investigate further come morning. Alarm snares were set, wolfsbane was hung along the walls, barricades were raised.

A fire was kindled and a hearty stew prepared from gathered herbs and remaining stores. Outside, freezing rain descended and coated the world in glass. The trees groaned and cracked beneath growing layers of ice.

Watches were arranged.

During the third watch Fiadhan and Kildun heard crashing in the undergrowth, though it proved only wild boars moving through frozen brush. Their conversation turned instead toward Kildun's violet eyes, which Fiadhan had half-feared might mark some strange curse of faerie origin.

Morning came cold and bright. The world glittered beneath a thin shell of ice.

No sign of wolves, werewolves, or Rhodric was found; only the hoofprints of wild boar crossing the frost.

As preparations for departure neared completion, Taran heard voices beyond the trees. Two huntsmen emerged from the forest and explained that they had taken shelter together against the night's weather. Along the way they had discovered wolf tracks near the splintered ash tree.

The company invited them along, but duty called them elsewhere. Taran instead asked them to check upon the Macc Torcán farm, and they agreed.

And so preparations were completed. With packs gathered and gear secured, the company turned toward the splintered ash and beyond it Hollow Cairn, where shadows and unanswered questions awaited....

Fiadhan

Fiadhan
Class: Druid
Heritage: Kelt
Origin: Gal City (outskirts)

The Chronicle, Session 5

Dramatis Personae

• Cire Leachim, half-blood Pictish legerdemainist from the City-State of Khromarium
• Tori, mixed-heritage Shamaness from Gal City
• Kildun Graax, Hyperborean Necromancer from the City-State of Khromarium
• Tyrm, Oonish (androgynous clone) Warlock from the City-State of Khromarium
• Saya'da, Yakut Berserker from the Plains of Leng

Putting Eilleann to Rest

Midnight held the Trysting Glade in its icy grasp as the struggle for Eilleann's spirit continued.

The wraith had vanished beneath Cire's silver-tipped arrow, but none among the gathered adventurers believed the battle was over. Torches flickered in the darkness while Tori maintained her concentration, kneeling within the ritual circle. Her voice carried steadily through the cold night air, even as unseen dangers stalked the surrounding woods.

The wraith returned swiftly.

As Eilleann's furious shade manifested once more, the party reacted with disciplined resolve. Tyrm and the hired infantry maintained their defensive positions, ready to intercept any attack upon the shamaness. Cire loosed another silver arrow that struck true, while Vella's crossbow bolt followed close behind. Saya'da charged fearlessly into the apparition's path, though her axe failed to connect.

Kildun's sling bullet did not miss. The stone struck with remarkable force, causing the ghostly form to shudder and fade from sight once again.

Through it all, Tori continued her incantation.

"Spirits of root and stone, of wind that moves unseen,
Waters that remember all things, bear witness!"

Seconds later, Eilleann screamed from the darkness and hurled herself directly toward the ritual circle. The defenders had left an opening, and for an instant it seemed the wraith might reach her target. Yet fate intervened. The attack passed harmlessly by Tori, who remained unbroken in her concentration.

Arrows and bolts answered the ghost's assault. Vella's shot struck home. Saya'da's axe bit deep into the apparition. Tyrm followed with a powerful swing of his own battleaxe, and once more the wraith vanished from sight.

Still Tori continued. Raising Eilleann's ring together with a handful of earth from the glade, she called out:

"This ring is yours, Eilleann.
Let it bind what was broken and unbind what held you here.
I stand as one trained in the old ways, a walker between breath and silence.
He who spilled Eilleann's blood, hear this:
Whether in flesh or spirit, you are not beyond the reach of judgment!"

Silence for a moment, then Eilleann returned yet again. For a third time the wraith surged toward Tori, shrieking in rage and grief. Once more she slipped past the defenders. Once more she reached for the shamaness, and once more she failed.

The adventurers pressed their advantage. Cire, firing almost point-blank, struck the ghost twice in rapid succession. Saya'da landed another telling blow. Around them, the mercenaries struggled to contribute, lacking silvered weapons with which to harm the wraith.

Tori's voice rose above the clash.

"Eilleann, by my oath, and by the spirits that dwell in all things,
Your killer will answer for what he has done.
If by our hands, then by our hands,
If by the turning of Fate, then by Fate.
If by the gods who weigh the soul, then by their will,
But he will not escape."

The promise hung heavily in the night air. Then came the final confrontation. As Eilleann materialized once more, Saya'da stood ready. The berserker's axe descended in a devastating arc, striking with tremendous force.

The wraith screamed, then vanished. Silence followed -- no one moved, no one breathed.

Tori slowly rose, lifting her hand from the earth and extending it toward the sky.

"Eilleann, you are no longer bound here.
The roots release you, the waters carry you, the wind reveals the path before you.
Go where your spirit is called, go where pain cannot follow,
Go in peace, beneath sky and branch, beyond this place of sorrow.
The circle is opened, the path is yours to follow."

The ritual ended. The effort had exhausted her, and Tori collapsed. As her companions rushed forward, a final figure appeared within the torchlight: not a wraith, but a young woman. She was beautiful, peaceful, and free of the suffering that had twisted her ghostly form.

Eilleann smiled. "Thank you." Then she sank gently into the earth, and was gone. At last, her spirit had found rest.

Remarkably, none among the living had suffered so much as a wound. With the danger passed, the adventurers decided to remain in the glade until morning. They setup camp among the ancient trees. During the preparations, Kildun revealed a curious secret: hidden within his pack was a skeletal cat, which he simply referred to as "Cat." The discovery prompted equal measures of amusement and concern.

Watches were arranged, and eventually the company settled down beside the fading torches. But the peace did not last. Near the end of the first watch, a tiger emerged silently from the surrounding darkness. The beast struck before anyone could react: its victim was the legerdemainist, Cire.

Claws and fangs tore into its sleeping man target with horrifying speed. Before a single companion could intervene, the tiger had ripped out his throat. Cire died where he lay, slain in the blink of an eye.

The camp erupted into chaos: weapons were seized, warriors scrambled to their feet.

Vella's crossbow bolt struck the beast first. Kildun immediately sought safety in the branches of a nearby tree. Tannrhulia, Saya'da, Vall, and Raixonn rushed forward to engage the predator. Saya'da's axe found its mark, while Tyrm's Burning Hands unleashed a wave of magical fire that scorched the creature's hide.

Tori was about to call upon the plants themselves to Entangle the beast, but too many allies stood in harm's way.

Surrounded and wounded, the tiger's courage finally failed. The great cat began backing away, seeking escape rather than victory. A final crossbow bolt from Vella struck as it retreated. Kildun's sling stone missed. The others chose not to pursue.

The tiger vanished into the forest. But no one celebrated. The price of victory had already been paid.

The party broke camp immediately and began the long walk back to Bryn Celli, carrying Cire's body with them through the darkness. Along the way, Kildun observed that he might possess the means to return the fallen magician as an undead servant. Tori firmly rejected the suggestion, and the matter was dropped.

They left Eilleann resting peacefully within the glade, trusting that her parents would recover her remains and provide a proper burial. It was the small hours of the morning when the weary company returned to Bryn Celli.

Torla opened the doors of the Sheep's Rest Inn and became the first to learn of Cire's death. She shared whiskey with the adventurers, in his memory. Tyrm requested milk instead. After some searching, fresh milk was procured from a nearby cow. Tyrm drank it in a single swallow while the others raised their glasses of whiskey, and together they honored their fallen companion.

Cire's body was wrapped carefully in blankets and stored in the stable until proper funeral arrangements could be made.

Snow fell throughout the following morning. After a late breakfast, the adventurers sorted through their companion's belongings. His studded armor and beloved falcata were set aside as heirlooms to be returned to his family in Khromarium. A messenger was hired to carry both the items and a letter written by Tyrm.

The remainder of Cire's possessions were divided according to need. Some entered the party's shared stores, while Tyrm and Kildun claimed a few useful items. His spellbook attracted particular attention, especially the spell Colour Spray, which prompted discussion regarding who might learn its secrets.

Those affairs settled, the party visited Eilleann's parents. The grieving couple learned that their daughter's spirit had finally been laid to rest, and gladly paid the agreed reward. When Tyrm mentioned the tiger attack near the Trysting Glade, they promised to spread word throughout Bryn Celli so that other young couples would exercise caution.

Before long, another summons arrived: the adventurers were called to the hall of Blood-Reeve Maelcon. There, the ruler of Bryn Celli presented a new task. A ranger named Rhodric had gone missing, and Maelcon sought capable individuals to discover his fate. For their efforts, each member of the company would receive one hundred gold pieces.

The adventurers listened carefully as every rumor and scrap of information concerning Rhodric was laid before them.

In turn, they recounted the tale of Eilleann's haunting and the long night spent delivering her spirit from sorrow. One mystery had been solved, another now awaited them in the woods north of Bryn Celli.

The Chronicle, Session 4

The Ritual is Begun

The mystery of Eilleann's death had drawn the adventurers to the ill-maintained row house of Brion's parents, Onchu and Dairine. Gathering behind the ramshackle dwelling, they listened as an angry voice rose from within. A man's drunken shouting—surely Onchu's—rang through the walls, while a woman's quieter voice attempted to soothe him. Though the words could not be made out, the tone alone spoke volumes.

Saya'da, never one to stand idle while others suffered, prepared to force her way inside. Tyrm first examined a shuttered window, only to discover it was barred from within. He then checked the back door and found it locked as well.

"Does anybody have a key?" he asked.

Cire answered by producing his thieves' tools and a selection of skeleton keys. Working quickly beneath mounting tension, he attempted to open the lock, but haste betrayed him and the mechanism refused to yield. At that moment, a frightened cry from within shattered any remaining patience.

At Tyrm's urging, Saya'da drew her hand axe and struck the door with a powerful blow, splintering the wood. Instantly, all sound inside ceased. She raised the axe again, but the second strike glanced harmlessly from the damaged timber.

Before a third could fall, the door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a large, fat, and drunk middle-aged man: clearly Onchu. Yet despite his size and bluster, the sight of the fierce berserker glowering before him caused his courage to evaporate. He backed away immediately.

The adventurers entered.

The interior proved even more miserable than the exterior suggested. Dirt and neglect stained every surface. The furnishings were sparse, and the atmosphere carried the weight of years of poverty and unhappiness.

Kildun quickly established control of the situation, directing Onchu to sit on the floor beneath the stairs. Dairine retreated silently to one of the home's few chairs. While Saya'da remained beside the frightened woman, Tyrm began searching the house. Cire suggested returning to the matter that had brought them there in the first place: Brion.

Though intimidated by the party's presence, Brion's parents offered little that was truly new. Their son had long been troubled, following too closely in his father's footsteps. Drink consumed much of his life. Dairine had once hoped that his relationship with Eilleann might reform him, but the young couple's frequent arguments suggested otherwise. Whatever promise had existed between them had ultimately failed.

Among Brion's few belongings, the party discovered a handwritten note from Eilleann hidden beneath his sleeping pallet—a small but poignant reminder of the doomed romance.

The visit revealed another truth as well.

Though Onchu denied any wrongdoing, his lies were transparent. Dairine scarcely needed to speak. Her posture, her fear, and her careful silences told the story plainly enough. The adventurers came away convinced that the old drunk regularly abused his wife.

When their questioning concluded, Tyrm surprised everyone by placing two silver pieces into Onchu's hand to compensate for the damaged door before departing the house.

Cire suggested that the party make a habit of stopping by daily to ensure Onchu behaved himself. Neither husband nor wife seemed enthusiastic about the proposal. Saya'da, however, made her feelings unmistakably clear. She warned Onchu that any future mistreatment of Dairine would carry consequences.

The threat required no elaboration.

Leaving the house behind, the adventurers discussed all they had learned. Tori shared what she knew of local customs and laws, helping the others understand how such matters might be addressed. Cire proposed taking the matter of Brion before the local lord, perhaps securing a bounty for the missing man's capture—or death. Tori, however, urged the party not to lose sight of the more immediate concern.

Eilleann's spirit still wandered. The dead girl deserved peace.

Returning to the Sheep's Rest Inn, the companions sought advice from Torla regarding an audience with the local lord. There they learned that any official business would have to wait until morning. With that settled, attention shifted fully toward the night's grim task: the Rite of Rest.

Preparations occupied much of the evening. Plans were debated at length. How should Tori be protected while she performed the ritual? Would shields even matter against an incorporeal spirit? Should archers be stationed in the trees? Could mercenaries be hired to reinforce their numbers? Eventually, a plan developed as decisions were made.

Brandulfr's silvered weapons were made available for use. Cire lent Tyrm money for the purchase of a large shield. Torches were acquired to illuminate the ritual site. Holy water was purchased to serve as a weapon against the undead. Even a wineskin was prepared, should any fallen companion require revival.

Most importantly, the party hired reinforcements.

Their efforts secured the services of two medium infantry mercenaries and a light crossbowman. Tyrm intended to join the infantrymen in forming a protective wall around Tori during the ritual. Though costly, the arrangement promised additional security.

At last, preparations were complete.

Near midnight, the company journeyed to the Trysting Glade.

Torches were planted throughout the clearing, driving back the darkness beneath the ancient trees. Mercenaries and adventurers alike took up their assigned positions. Weapons were checked one final time. Nervous glances passed between companions as the appointed hour approached.

Then the clock struck midnight. Tori stepped forward. Kneeling upon the sacred ground, she placed Eilleann's ring before her. Resting her palm above it, she began the ancient invocation.

"Eilleann, child of breath and bone, 
Taken before your days were done,
Your voice, stolen, your path, broken—
but not erased..."

The words echoed through the glade, the air suddenly grew cold... and a shriek split the night.

Before the ritual circle, Eilleann's spectral form manifested in a flash of ghostly light. Her face was twisted by pain and fury. Rather than accepting the invitation to rest, the spirit screamed and hurled herself directly toward Tori.

Violence erupted.

Both sides reacted with supernatural speed, yet the adventurers moved first. Cire loosed a silver-tipped arrow. The missile flew true with uncanny precision, and struck home.

The spirit of Eilleann shrieked in agony as the silver bit into her ethereal form. For an instant her outline flickered and wavered. Then she vanished.

Invisible once more, the restless dead stalked the torchlit glade, and the fate of the ritual remained uncertain...