The Evengate

Session 4
Racing through The Break

Sweet Nothings

The third body was sprawled out in the street. Someone had gone through some effort to arrange the poor girl’s insides around her outsides into interesting designs. The guards were brandishing blades and batons to keep the crowd back. Despite their efforts, by the time the PCs got there, the scene was already muddied with the bootprints of passersby. Investigating the scene, the cuts were definately motivated by arcane purposes. This wasn’t a murder, it was a sacrifice.

A flicker on the rooftop. They’re being watched. Augh scrambles up just in time to catch a glimpse of Cannibal Dak making a shadowy getaway. Billy Blue hired him to look into the murders. A few of the players went off to study the magical implications of the killings. The rest, the more street-savy, went off to meet with Billy. They had a very interesting conversation.

Billy was under pressure to make the killings go away. He was very pleased to speak with the players. After word spread of their harrowing journey out of the tundra, Billy could plausibly place the blame squarely on the players’ shoulders. In no incertain terms, he held the players at swordpoint. After careful negotiations, they left with their hides, and purses, intact.

Studying the patterns of murder, the players figured the murderer was drawing a five pointed star into the very soul of the East Break, painted in blood. Waiting at point four, they all met back up. That’s when the cultists struck.

Screaming shadowy reprisals, robed figures leapt across the rooftops, flanked by flickering motes of dark energy. Dak and his crew were backed into a corner by the madmen. Swift reprisal along the rickety shingles quickly felled the cultists. Recovering from his wounds, Dak relates that he saw the murderer himself heading to the fifth point. No time to waste, the heroes sprinted along the street.

Catching him in the act, the murderer set to finish his grisly task while his dark-robed followers interceded. A fierce mage named Bilious Wendt defended the killer while he cut. As the mage fell, the killer’s powers grew wild and out of control. His body warping to match his sick mind, he fled the scene, desperate to complete the fifth point of the star and finish his heinous transformation.

The streets rang with shouts and battle-cries as the party tried to corner the sprinting beast. The last few shreds of humanity died away in the flight. The horrid thing that finally made it to the final stage of the great ritual had become something between demon and god, an abberation, a living expression of apocalypse. A breath of the end of all things.

The players nobly threw themselves at the beast. They stained their weapons with a holy salve, aggravating the monster’s wounds. The beast plucked them up from the ground and tossed them about, and still the heroes attacked. The thing could not be allowed to feed, to live another moment. After a great struggle, it finally slumped and wheezed, collapsing into a ragged pile of unearthly flesh, a pimple on the ass of the earth.

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Session 3
Enemies on the Inside

Augh decided to take matters into his own hand. Quietly, in the night, he ended Melisande’s struggle with his knife. In that bitter moment, an evil spirit passed from her into him. He was overwhelmed with visions.

News of the murder woke the entire longhouse. The loggers, exhausted and near to panic, fought and argued, shouting at the PCs and watching the walls, waiting for some kind of retribution. Equally torn were the players, bickering and shoving over the controversy. The fights did not cease until Augh was ejected from the camp, forced to sleep outside until the caravan was ready to move in the morning.

The next day, the uneasy adventurers rode south with the heavy wagons. The bags under their eyes could not hide the suspicious glances. They spent so much time watching each other, they almost missed the raiders.

Wild whoops and screeching war cries rang through the trees, with a dozen savages bandits following. The wagons had little worth stealing, yet the bandits fought to the death, mad-eyed suicidal.

The battle was bitter and brutal, blood staining the snow bright red under the shining sun. Finally, the last of them fell silent and the caravan, wounded and weary, rolled forth.

Many strange sights waited along the trek south. Holes in the ground as if twenty-foot giants simply woke, stood, and walked away. Camp fires stinging the sky like threads on a loom, far to the east. A scared family, running on foot, desperate to escape the terrors of the tundra. A regiment of ghosts, lead by a faceless girl, dissolving under the pious faith of two humble priests.

After a long day’s travel, the players made it back to Northallow, but it seems they’ve brought something sinister with them. A malovent force has settled like a storm-cloud over the city. The residents have been mulling over prophecies and locking their doors at night. Can their gods protect them from the impending doom?

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Session 2
40 Different Words for Snow

Nice and Easy

A stern dwarf woman hired the PCs to travel north to guide the last few wagons of the year out of the Fallowtop Logging Camp. Rumors, gossip, and local superstition painted the journey as outright suicide. A few of her employees had already killed themselves rather than face the terrors waiting beyond the mountains.

Hours out of the pass, the tundra itself took on a strange, warped visage. There was a stink of vertigo as the land almost shifted under foot. Only with careful guidance and discipline could the party track forward.

Pools of shadow shifted along snow drifts, circling, stalking. The players noticed an ambush and rushed to defend the wagon. Wolves made of inky, black shadow blindly attacked the guards. After a long, harrowing fight, the last of the wolves lay slain, dissolving in the light of the noon-day sun. Too much time had been lost. The wagon creaked and complained, but they could tarry no further.

Through blinding blizzards, mysterious forests, and rolling dunes of powdered snow, the travelers fought the elements. The wagon tipped into a hole, nearly collapsing. While the party dug it out, Zuke Stormhollow discovered a sheltered campsite with five gruesome bodies, victims of cannibalism. Strangely enough, the bodies were not robbed of possessions. Zuke found a puch of coins and a magic belt.

With the wagon repaired and back on their way, the players came upon the logging camp, but the valley was filling with strange ghostly soldiers. A vast legion, perhaps twenty thousand strong filled the vale surrounding the camp. As far as the eye could see, ghostly soldiers waited patiently in formation. In a great cry of panic, the players raced to the safety of the pallisades just as the sun set.

Inside, they met two merchants, gambling. Abaz bin Balgar had nearly cleaned out Raeko Whitetower after two days of drinking and dice. After a few friendly games, Zuke had wagered his magic belt and earned an amulet and a pair of gloves. Raeko was happy to offer up his rare wines to the players, pleased that they could finally pull one over the fat Absalian.

The foreman pulled the players aside for a more dire warning. A woman, Melisande, had wandered in from the wastes, starving and half-mad. She’d been cooking and cleaning at the camp in return for food, shelter, and protection. She wants only to return to Northallow and has been waiting for a supply shipment to follow. The loggers in the camp reckon she might have something to do with all the ghosts standing around outside. The ghosts have everyone terrified. The foreman suggests that it might be safer if Melisande met a quiet accident out on the road. It might send the ghosts away, or perhaps give them someone else to follow around. He offered a portion of his wages when next he returned to Northallow.

Melisande had some very interesting things to say as well. Her family were fur traders that had accidently lost their way. Taken in the darkness, a screaming wind killed them one by one, devouring them. Only she survived. All she wants to do is flee the north. She can’t bear the idea of dying up here. There is an encroaching darkness haunting her mind.

How much does she know? What is she holding back? Was she involved in the murder of her family? Would the world be safer with her dead? or would that unleash the wind again?

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Session 1
Up the Mountain, Then Back Down Very Quickly

The Goblin Idol

After a few watery drinks at The Tipsy Goblin, the mad little kobold, Gakpra persuaded a few daring souls to accompany him up the mountain at night.

It was supposed to be an easy run. Just a few sleepy guards, he said. A quick grab, then back down and fast to bed with a heavy purse under the pillow. What could be easier?

The target was a ruby idol secluded along a sheer cliff face on the southern side of the mountain. Only a few guards stood watch, and even they looked mostly ceremonial. The little goblins dozed at their posts, leaning on their spears while the clever rogue, Augh silently scaled the wall above them. The dwarf,Tor, was not so careful. He sent a clatter of pebbles rolling, alerting a nearby guard. Springing to action, Insomnium sent a bolt of psychic nightmare hurtling into the goblin’s brain, sending him screaming over the ledge, to perish on the rocks below.

The fight was short and brutal. One of the goblins in particular gave the companions a problem, sweeping the legs out from underneath the dwarf, pinning him to the ground with a barbed spear.

With the idol in hand, the mountain came alive with alarm. A horde of thousands poured out to swarm over the thieves. A frantic chase, a rockslide, and a great deal of shouting later, the players out ran the angry goblins only to stumble across a gang of thieves from town.

They heard about the heist and wanted to collect the fee themselves. However a few pointed insults, clever lies, and sincere threats sent the gangers skulking back to their gutters without spilling a drop of blood.

Gakpra happily paid the players and scampered off with the idol. Some stray magics lingered however. The idol seemed to carry some sort of mystic disturbance, an aura of darkness. Words of living shadow splayed across windows, drooling vague warnings, hinting at fearsome influences, encroaching horror.

Some kind of warped jelly-spawn attacked the party. A yellowish glob of hate carrying the floating bones of a dozen dead goblins, the creature mauled the party, nearly beating the dwarf into the ground before the rogue could maneuver into position. A well timed chorus of magic and steel sent the horror back where it belonged.

The party staggered off to enjoy a night of troubled sleep. Three names plagued their minds. And who is this mysterious friend sending messages? And what are these foreign thoughts pushed into their minds? Can destiny be averted, or is it written onto the fabric of fate itself?

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