The Evengate

Session 8

Pickup Styx

After a week of wild hallucinations, Brokthul finally awoke from his coma. Troubled by visions of the ring of burning eyes, the field of infinite fire, the red blaze surrounded by six wings, Brok sought out a local moonsister for answers. She, instead, had questions for him.

Her ancestor spirit, The Great Wheel, had not been answering her pleas. A great war threatens the city and she needs to hear from the spirit. A group of barbarian generals awaited her prophecies. Brok agreed. The moonsister came around to the player’s inn later that evening.

Drawing a chalk outline on the floor, she opened a door to the Feywild. The evening opened out into a dark, green field leading to the two great mountains to the north. The players followed the path, leading deep into the mad wild of the land. Crazed, bearded creatures swarmed out of the living mountains to swarm over the players. Named Korreds, they threw themselves onto the PCs wrapping ropes around their necks. A female danced on stilts, shouting to her brothers through a fierce, clay mask. Her cries of ‘Booga Gebooga Boog’ stirred the Korreds to mad brutality. Battered and bloody, they drove the creatures back into their mountain homes.

Beyond the pass north, a lake of ink with wide lilypads that glowed like campfires. A stone altar lifted the party up into the sky where the great spinning spirit confronted the group, delivering it’s dire warnings of the coming invasion of Northallow. The spirit showed them the eruption underneath the ground that would someday become Northallow. A thousand beholders spilling out from a great egg met in battle by a great Turathi legion. Blood and carnage. A legacy of violence.

Returning to the real world, armed with such knowledge, the party split to contact their different sources. Tor went to speak with the secretive ‘Watchers at the Door’, Brok went to consult with the savages, Wilson ran to deliver the dire warnings to the Baron. Little did the humble cleric know that the villain Slantwise was setting a trap in Castle Amshire.

A devious trick by Slantwise sent the castle guards to chase Wilson from the castle. Now a wanted fugitive, he ran through the back roads and alleys, trying to lose pursuit. The Sheriff’s men were too persistent, eventually finding him hidden behind a pile of trash. Shackled, they lead the cleric hobbling through the streets to Penny Basement.

Rafto sent some men to intercept the prisoner, staging a small riot to extract Wilson and hide him among the houses. Free again, but a wanted man, Wilson skulked back to his inn licking his wounds. As the party consulted with each other and shared notes, they decided to meet with The Smile the next morning and pool resources.

With a rare display of caution, the party decided to sneak through town via the rat warrens. With the friendly rat Collective as their guides, they could safely access any part of the city. Passing through the great center of the collective, they could see a hugee, fleshy mass dangling from the ceiling on lengths of gooey mucous and tendons. Was this some new stage of evolution for the rats, or perhaps they were growing their own god.

Popping up in Gilded Hill, The Smile was pleased to see them. He quickly drafted some forms to grant official pardons for any of the party members. Discussing how exactly to spread their warnings, the party decided to throw a great party using The Smile’s connections. All the power players in town would be there. All their hated enemies, all their most powerful potential allies, all in one place. The temptation to poison the punchbowl is overwhelming.



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