Session 8: Into the Dark

Session 8 of the Campaign. [Played on 1/24/17]
 * Oras - Brian - Human Monk
 * Slaplen - Kyle H-S - Tiefling Warlock
 * Taman - Kyle Heisler - Human Ranger
 * Renaia - Leah - Gnome Rogue

Scene 1
Fresh off their victory over the pirates of the Crimson Sister, the party sets their sights on new goals—namely, pursuing Oras’ lead to the House of Life and Death. The adventurers rest and recoup at the Purple Poplar, enjoying the feeling of having all their gear… and even a little extra to show for it. Krusk is conspicuously absent, however, and the party wonders what errand his Church sent him to accomplish. Taman makes a point to return his armor, though, delivering it to the Threefold Basilica.

Oras revisits Otis er'Danlon at the Boar’s Yawn, attempting to tease out additional information regarding the route to Anoch’s holy site. The mercenary is in worse shape than before, however, remembering little of their previous interaction. The interaction is frustrating and nets him little in the way of new information, yet the monk makes good on a past promise, paying several silver to help support Otis’ downward spiral into oblivion.

After delivering Krusk’s armor to the temple, Taman takes the city’s pulse, navigating its markets and other crowded plazas to listen for rumors suggestive of important happenings. He hears a little about the nation’s regent, Horus Moen. The man is not well-liked; however, nor is he despised. The common consensus is that he has more influence than perhaps he should now that the young Queen Javelline has come of age to rule. These rumors ring of old suspicions, echoing old tales suggesting the man had a hand in the demise of the royal family fifteen years ago. But those tales have long lost the attention of the people, and the regent’s actions since then have been for the apparent good of the country (or at least, enough of the country).

Dogged and circumspect, Taman probes for fresher, more notable gossip, eventually chancing upon a bit of interesting conjecture: that Queen Javelline has converted to the worship of the Living God, that she has been bleeding herself in secret to show her devotion to Mortalis. The source offers nothing to substantiate the claim, but the very notion could prove dangerous, given the escalating unrest and religious zealotry unfolding in Yan's Landing.

When Taman asks about the followers of the Living God in the city and specifically their leaders, he hears about three: Nyran Darvos, an angry halfling (whom the party killed several nights before), and a woman named Ghyana, believed to be a former acolyte of the Troika.

[DM’s Note – Taman’s shopping prompts me to reevaluate the economy of weapons and armor in the Player’s Handbook (much too high) and modify prices for the Adaam campaign moving forward.]

Oras leaves the Boar’s Yawn and goes to the Guildhall District, seeking out a guide familiar with the local wilderness, and the twisting trees previously described by er’Danlon. After several unsuccessful inquiries, he finds Shebi, a contractor with the Merchants’ Consortium. She is a russet-skinned half-elf who professes to know the area the monk describes. She is a bit obnoxious, and she is a bit weasely about her rate, but a few gold pieces to lead the monk through potentially treacherous wilderness could be a bargain, if she does in fact get them there.

Oras meets up with Taman, and the ranger and monk set out with Shebi around midday.

Choosing to take the shorter—but more dangerous—route into the Cloudwood, they navigate nearly two leagues through the jungle, using a series of well-hidden game trails known to the half-elf guide or ferreted out by Taman. Where there is game, there are predators, however, and the tracks of large animals—and more exotic creatures, such as an owlbear—are too distinct and too frequent for comfort. Eventually, a lone displacer beast ambushes the trio. It pounces on Oras, lashing the monk with its wicked tentacles before he knows what’s happening. Taman reacts quickly, pinning the beast down with arrow fire, while their guide scrambles up the nearest tree and attempts to lend aid with her crossbow. Oras engages the monster but struggles to land any blows as its form refracts in the scant light beneath the jungle’s thick canopy. He suffers several vicious hits before the adventurers manage to drive the beast away. Reevaluating the situation, they decide to return to Yan’s Landing and try again in the morning with Renaia and Slaplen, and Krusk, if he can be found.

Scene 2
Meanwhile, Renaia and Slaplen return to the Learned Circle. The tiefling first seeks the aid of Caspen Daseris in identifying some of the party’s newly acquired loot. The scholar appears out of sorts, says he is stressed and overwhelmed. The tiefling does not inquire further, instead seeking another Circle member to help him. He decides to ask Sage Rothman, master diviner and leader of the Circle’s chapterhouse in Yan’s Landing. The warlock is surprised to find the old human has a sharp sense of humor, feigning disapproval over Slaplen’s heritage just to see his reaction. The two trade jibes, even as the Sage agrees to investigate the items in question (notched cutlass – not magical; cerulean bandana – magical). When Slaplen asks after any arcane knowledge the diviner might impart, Rothman does comment on the tiefling’s singular method of spellcasting, even hinting he knows the source of the warlock’s power is fiendish in origin. If the Sage disapproves, Slaplen cannot say; his demeanor remains constant, affable. He does mention that there are ritual spells that the tiefling might learn.

Hoping to make good with Wyrowai, Renaia cleans one of the storerooms. She appropriates for herself enough odd reagents to fill a spell component pouch. The gnome also finds a very shiny (mithral?) needle between two floorboards.

Slaplen also asks to store his valuables in the chapterhouse’s strongroom, and Rothman agrees, granting him a box. To access its contents, the tiefling must ask the Sage or Sage-lesser.

After his encounter with the Sage Rothman, the warlock decides that he will attempt to resummon Horrace. He uses the correct components this time, provided by the Circle. He doesn’t quite settle upon a desired form for the familiar, perhaps assuming the spirit will again take the form of an owl. The spell produces an unusually thick cloud of smoke and brimstone, and when it clears, Slaplen discovers that his familiar has taken the form of a centipede. Not an ordinary centipede, however. About as long as the tiefling’s forearm, the creature hovers above the floor, slithering about as an eel might in water, wiggling its multitudinous extremities as it swims through the air. The familiar also seems to be of sound mind, though it is perhaps a bit more abrasive than his previous incarnation.

Renaia and Slaplen seek out their contacts in the Family to see if there are any easy—or at least quick—jobs available. There are none that are palatable to the tiefling (he was perhaps hoping to give out blankets), but Renaia decides to try her luck stealing into the d'Lathos residence, which has been marked by the Guild. She convinces the warlock to render her invisible, and with a little effort, she manages to gain egress through a window into some kind of study. There are dogs beyond the study’s door, alerted to her presence, but the door holds, and she does not tempt fate.

In the study, steals some silver candelabras, a painting, and several books—one of which she keeps for herself (“Studies on the Surreal”). She cases the room and is rewarded for her thoroughness—and perhaps a little luck—by finding a secret compartment in the floor beneath the desk. After noticing and disabling a trap protecting the hidden cache, Renaia finds a sealed scroll tube (see invisibility, erupting earth), two vials (later identified as a healing potion and one that is either water-breathing or perhaps some sort of slippery salve), and a pouch of fairy dust. Renaia makes sure to give the Family their cut, and also exchanges the bank note she acquired the day before.

In the evening, Renaia and Slaplen sit in on a ritual class that the Sage-lesser Wyrowai Vai Vaeo is teaching to Circle apprentices, and both absorb the lesson with enviable acuity. Wyrowai reviews the fundamentals of ritual magic and walks the class through the casting of water breathing as a ritual. Renaia is a quick study, fairly certain she could replicate the ritual with the right components and time to practice. Slaplen is only a little slower, leaving the lesson with a good grasp of the ritual, though perhaps not the gnome’s confidence in his ability to recall it from memory.

Scene 3
The party reconvenes early the next morning, though once again, Krusk is absent, and the church officials refuse to give the group any useful information as to what task he is performing. Despite the absence of their divine warrior, the adventurers decide to set out in search of the route to Oras’ House of Life and Death. They again procure the services of the guide Shebi, though this time Slaplen ensures her rates do not vary.

The group negotiates the jungle, taking the safer, longer path to the landmark. Their caution is rewarded, as they are not set upon. The journal could almost be described as pleasant, as Renaia engages the group in conversation, telling what she calls “cinder tales” – evidently tall tales shared by adventurers or travelers. She shares the tale of the little gnome girl who stole the crown from a queen’s head and sold it back to her for double its worth. The story is met with mixed reviews from the crowd. Oras—the story’s largest critic—counters with a “cinder tale” of his own, “The Tortoise and the Waterfall,” though in truth, his story is simply an allegorical account on the nature of ki that threatens to put the adventurers to sleep on their feet.

Eventually, the group does rest in earnest, dividing the watches. The night is uneventful, though Renaia does take note of some large aerial creature before dawn. Also, she reads her new book on the Surreal before bed and finds that she has vivid dreams.

Scene 4
The next day, the Shebi’s worth is proven, when she in fact does lead them to a pair of twisting trees that rise up over the nearby brush and come together like clasped hands. Eager to find the passage to the monastery of his order, Oras investigates the area first. Passing between the trees, he finds no trail, no path, no tunnel—in fact, the jungle thickens just beyond the trees, and the gnarled undergrowth seems to negate any possibility of a viable path. Taman investigates next, however, and the ranger passes through the trees, finding a strange aperture into a cool, dark, misty space—the opening of what appears to be a tunnel. To the rest of the party, he has disappeared, though they can still hear his voice. The way is limned in shadow and mist; it seems almost otherworldly. The others grow curious now, and the next two to find the ethereal passage are the two familiars, Kindo and Horrace. This leads the party’s two arcanists to posit that the way is eldritch in nature, some sort of rent in the fabric of the material plan or portal through the Surreal. Renaia wonders aloud why Taman was able to find it first, though Slaplen conjectures it is simply his deep connection to nature that allowed him to discern the presence of the unnatural opening. Renaia asks the ranger how he feels about Kindo, to which Taman replies, “he’s cute.”

The adventurers discover that those that can detect the passage are able to guide those who cannot onto it, and once one passes into the nebulous opening, they are able to go back and forth freely. Once he is able to detect the way, Oras is eager to set out, at first thinking he will leave his companions behind and walk what was once described to him as “The Path of Mist and Shadow” as his fellow Hands of Anoch do. Talking it through, though, the group remembers that the passage was frequented by at least one merchant, and Slaplen reminds everyone what Otis er’Danlon said he encountered the last time he was there—spiders, shadows, and wolves, coming out of the darkness. Whatever is there, it was more than enough to destroy the caravan, even protected by mercenaries as it was.

Oras reconsiders, thinking it would be best to travel accompanied. They decide to rest once more before passing through the ethereal portal into the Surreal. Thinking proactively (and with conspicuous compassion), Slaplen encourages Shebi to cross the veiled threshold of the passage, explaining that if they are attacked while resting, they may need to retreat through the portal.

That night, Oras has powerful dreams, though they slip away with the dawn. Even so, when the adventurers cross from the material plane into what they believe to be some pocket of the Surreal, the monk finds that his connection to Anoch strengthened, his spiritual energy amplified—he can draw upon more ki than ever before.

Scene 5
The way is obscured by colorless miasma, winding and winding and winding until the adventurers’ sense of direction does them no good, for they have surely passed what would have been the entrance. Oras asks Renaia to leave a trail of ball bearings, in case they need to retrace their steps. More unnerving than the mist or even the darkness is perhaps the space itself—the vacuous unknown stretching indefinitely in every direction. What seems to start as a tunnel quickly gives way to something decidedly more open, and while there is still a clear path that the party instinctively follows, there is no way to know how far afield one could stray, or where they might end up.

After a thousand paces or more, the mist gives way to a faint curtain of phantasmal light. Taman is the first to spot it, a wispy canopy in the distance, lining what would be the “ceiling” of this eerie realm, falling down to the sides and forming a distinct and ominous passageway. The group halts, taking in the scene, noticing more and more of the gossamer patina, closer than they first realized and twinkling far into the darkness ahead—almost as if it is growing before their very eyes. Almost as one, they realize with sudden dread what is before them: webbing. And as if that very realization brought into being a chittering host of their deepest fears, the adventurers see that the webs are swarming with tiny spiders—thousands, millions maybe, a sheathe of glittering locusts, occasionally punctuated by a larger and more repulsive specimen.

From the darkness, an unnervingly inhuman voice calls out to them. Wet and hissing, it echoes through their minds, each word scratching unpleasantly and sending a shiver down their spines. It is Taman who realizes that they have stumbled upon the lair of a phase spider, though is uncertain as to its powers here, in this strange warren of the Surreal—it’s domain. The voice taunts them, whispering hungry threats, until finally offering a bargain: sacrifice one, or all will be devoured.

When the party refuses, the monster materializes from the mist behind Oras, larger than any of them imagined, larger than a horse. It sinks dagger-like fangs into the monk’s shoulder, piercing down through muscle into bone, injecting a ghostly poison than burns coldly in his veins. The party reacts, but too late—the freakish predator is gone, as quickly as a candle’s flame snuffed between two wet fingers.

Taman scans the darkness, scans the webs, searching for the spider. His gaze eventually pierces the diaphanous mist to see its scuttling across the ceiling, though it is faint, translucent to his eyes. His companions, unable to see the monster at all, instead notice that the crawling, skittering swarm that is the phase spider’s brood has begun advancing on their position. The ethereal host is slow enough, but inexorable, inevitable—engendering within the heroes flavors of horror to which they were hitherto mercifully ignorant.

Calling upon the mystical energy of the natural world, Taman weaves a spell to mark the creature, if only for him. He does his best to keep his bow trained on the spider, conveying to his fellows its location, calling out when it attacks. It descends on phantom silk with startling speed, again materializing from the mist, though Oras is able to dodge its bite this time. He manages to get in a counter, even as Renaia and Slaplen hurl their magic and Taman shoots an arrow at it. Wounded, the spider hisses malevolently, cursing the adventurers. It disappears, attacks again, the party again readies themselves for the monster’s swift onslaught, again scoring some superficial hits. The mass of hungry arachnids flows closer, and the adventurers realize they are running out of time.

Slaplen and Renaia change tactics, preparing spells to confound and—Mothers willing—disable the beast. A violent flurry of segmented limbs and gnashing, poisonous fangs, it appears, this time tearing into Taman. The spider’s venom is faster in the ranger’s veins than it was in Oras—impossibly, searingly cold it churns through him, deadening flesh and feeling from his limbs. Slaplen and Renaia unleash their incantations. The massive phase spider is able to shrug off the gnome’s spell, but it succumbs to the warlock’s infernal command, falling prone instead of shifting back to the ethereal plane. Upside-down, all eight of its hideous limbs twitch and spasm, and for one brief, glorious moment, its tender underside is exposed. As one, the party strikes. A barely-aimed arrow from Taman pierces the spider’s abdomen, lodging deep in its innards. It screams in pain. Renaia’s dart of flame scorches the monster’s thorax, and the grisly smell of charred exoskeleton permeates the passage. Slaplen unleashes a crackling beam of infernal power, blasting the spider’s head. The purple-black energy courses through its body, biting hungrily, causing the phase spider to shriek in agony. Finally, Oras dashes at the monster. As to a sharp and sudden gale, the swirling mist parts in the monk’s wake. There is a terrible crunch as his staff cracks the exoskeleton, and in a blur his foot and hand follow, striking too fast to be seen.

The phase spider explodes. Its cries are suddenly silenced as its body fragments, a shower of phantasmal gore spilling down onto the unseen floor of the misty warren. Unceremoniously, seizing limbs break away from what can no longer be called a body. Though spectacular, the sickening carnage is short-lived, for the spider’s shattered pieces begin to dissolve. Melting into vapor, its remains are quickly indistinguishable from the ubiquitous miasma surrounding the party.

The party watches it die, but whatever collective sigh of relief they might have enjoyed is abruptly cut off by a soul-searing scream. Or, more accurately, a million small screams. Even as the swarm retreats, the spider’s innumerable offspring shriek their sorrow, louder and louder until the keening is as talons clawing at the heroes’ ears—deeper, to rake at the brain. Slaplen continues to angrily Eldritch Blast the spiders as they retreat.

The sound dies. The dreadful host vanishes from sight. The adventurers take a moment to collect themselves, to buttress their courage and their wits. Then, they set about treating the wounds of Oras and Taman, the latter badly poisoned. The webs fade, and their surroundings are suddenly quiet, still save for the vague undulation of mist and shadow.

Safe for the moment, they rest and try not to think about how out of their depth they might be, nor the unknown dangers that might plague the rest of their uncertain path.