DND Blog

A place to keep DND session recaps, from various campaigns.

The Sixty-Fifth Session

April 30, 2022, Campaign: As the ground quakes, evil wakes

A.R.N. pays the Party with a quick teleport to the Kulahaar Wilds, where Majorie was last seen in a scrying painting. There, we cross some weird forests to snoop on Majorie's Tribe. They're doing weird things, staring at the sky all night, with glowing eyes.

Table of Contents

  1. Last session
  2. The Paintings of A.R.N.
  3. Through the Teleportation Painting, into the Wild
  4. The Stream, and a Curious Hunger
  5. The Creepy Trail, and The Tribe
    1. Majorie's First Appearance
  6. The Nighttime Ritual
  7. Next Session

Last session

Previously, back in episode 50: the dissolving scroll case from the Dragonborn assassin contained a message reading: "in Majorie trouble"

Last session:

The Paintings of A.R.N.

A.R.N. splashes his paint across the canvas, and …

Majorie wears a green tunic, kneeling beside a tree, cutting warts off a tree, which emit reddish sap and water. The painting moves, showing her every action. Her basket fills with gnarled bark-textured boils, and a muffled voice calls for her. She calls out, "I'll be right there," and she turns around.

A.R.N. flicks a hand, and the painting becomes ripped. A.R.N.'s paintbrush heals the rip, but the painting is still: Majorie looks over her shoulder, eyes directly on Jerry. "So there's your daughter," says A.R.N., standing in front of the painting.

A.R.N. thinks she's close to the Kulahaar Wilds, but A.R.N. doesn't recognize the tree that Majorie was cutting warts off of.

Ryltar asks Jerry what will happen next. Jerry isn't really sure. She wanted to check in with Majorie, because running away from the West Haven to be with an unknown tribe doesn't bode well. And there's the issue of the note carried by the black Dragonborn, who might have been working for Kerjes. "Fucking Kerjes," says Salris.

A.R.N. doesn't respond to the name, but he's definitely curious about our story. We describe Kerjes and her location; A.R.N. knew of the Banyo Tree and that it wasn't to be approached. He didn't know about the green dragon, and is a little concerned by our description of her assassins and catspaws.

A.R.N. asks us how long it's been since we last saw Majorie; it's been six months at least.

"Six months is plenty of time to lose a person", says A.R.N. "Come."

A.R.N. leads us out of the art studio into an arcane study, full of incense and chalks and potionmaking ingredients. A.R.N. drafts Ryltar's assistance in making something. He sets up a large painting, and begins a work. "I will send you there. It is very difficult to regain a family member who has fallen off the edge of the world. You may stay and watch; it is not often that I have an audience."

A.R.N.'s brushes and spatulas spread across the canvas, pigments changing colors as they run. The trees and fields gain definition, matching the scry. "Once it's done, step through, and hope for the best."

Ryltar thanks A.R.N. A.R.N. thanks us in turn, saying there may be some use for us in the future.

And then the painting is ready. We confirm that we're ready. A.R.N. scatters a clear liquid across the painting. It shimmers and ripples; we dive straight in.

Through the Teleportation Painting, into the Wild

We seem to not have rolled well during the rolling.

Stepping through the portal is like stepping through paint. We end up in a vague description of the area where we're going, but then we are pulled back, and see another similar area, and bounce off it again before being thrust forcibly into a hot, muggy jungle.

We see the gnarled trees, most with their warts cut off. No tracks can be seen. The trees seep a clear-purple sap. Jerry doesn't recognize the trees; this fact scares here. It's not a normal growth. It's natural, thinks Salris, but it also feels like the trees have been changed somehow. They're like the trees near Setton, just older. Ryltar pulls out a potion bottle and collects some of the sap.

The wood in the area around the sap seems oddly rubbery, and soft.

It's quiet in these woods. There's a breeze overhead, with the rustling of branches and leaves. But there are no animal sounds, and the trees squeak like rubber rather than wood.

We're surrounded by trees. Jerry does determine which way is north. Jerry uses her Orbs of Slope Detection, her eyes, to survey the forest. The slope runs downhill to the northeast.

Ryltar marks a tree with his knife, cutting a large X, removing a chunk of bark. Where the sap oozes from, the inside of the bark is white, but the heartwood is beet-red. His knife is sticky; he Prestidigitates it clean.

We head downhill, looking for a road or a stream.

There's patches of purple flowers and deep leaf litter, thickets and briar patches snaking around trees. We pass one thicket which has been eaten by a tree that grew through it. It's almost as if the vines of the underbrush are moving. So we stay away from the underbrush, and Ryltar uses his Mage Hand to move the vines that do encroach on our path.

The Stream, and a Curious Hunger

We come to a stream eventually. The trees around here appear to have been harvested longer ago.

We discuss whether to go in the direction of older cuttings or newer cuttings.

There are footprints in the stream: bootprints, heavy clawed footprints, and weird reptilian bellyprints. The topmost prints lead upstream and out. The prints look like they're within half a day. It's noonish.

We follow the trail, stealthily. Jerry plans to cast Pass Without Trace when we detect any other creatures nearby. The trail is a narrow game trail; Jerry pushes branches aside.

Vurguron, Jerry and Ryltar notice that the air is full of muggy and humid, and there's a tingle in the back of their minds: they're getting awfully thirsty. Wanting to consume … something. Anything. To feed.

Jerry and Vurguron point out their thirst, and Ryltar says he's scared at how hungry he is. He takes a drink of water. Jerry doesn't think it's unnatural, being a sort of environmental shock.

We drink fresh water from the Abracadabrus' supply. The hunger passes. It provides 25.25 gallons of water per triggering.

The Creepy Trail, and The Tribe

Jerry's guesses at the size of the whole group with Majorie is anywhere from 50-150 people from the three divisions, plus whomever were on the boats.

Under the trees, beside the path, are stacked stones, some covered in moss. They don't appear to be marking the trail; they're just scattered about under the trees. So we stay exactly on the path, not stepping off the little game trail. Ryltar takes a close look at one of the stone stacks. The topmost stone is fresh. It's not a fresh stack, but there is a disturbance in the underbrush around the stone stack, like knees had pressed into the soft earth to place the stones. The stacks are between three and 14 stones tall, with stones one to three fingers thick. Clearly some sort of ritual significance.

The stone cairns are not breathing or moving.

As Vurguron walks along the trail, he almost steps on one cairn. Ryltar catches him just in time.

Jerry begins to pick up faint hints of movement, beyond the trees and the breath of the forest. Odd little voices. She casts Pass Without Trace on the party.

There are moving heads among the trees, people moving along among the trees, obscured by foliage. The people are moving in no particular direction. Ryltar asks whether anyone can see any buildings; Jerry sees lean-tos built among the trees. The people don't seem to have anything that gleams of metal, no armor or weapons. Some people are portly. Ahead and to the right, someone calls out; and people to our left come back, bearing wicker baskets. Some are like the baskets that Majorie carried, collecting galls. Some are carried on backs. One group carries an animal spitted on a pike.

And there are a few people who kind of match Majorie's description. Humanoid, black hair, in a green dress. Threadbare, all.

The returning gatherers move among the other people.

We carefully and slowly move forward, under Pass Without Trace.

Ryltar steps on a twig, which snaps.

He Prestidigitates a tree squeaking, 30 feet away from us.

Everyone in the group around us jumps. But no one reacts, that we can tell.

Majorie's First Appearance

Another group comes along the same trail that we are, so we step beside the trail, ducking behind trees. The gatherers behind us pass us now, carrying ceramic jugs and hand baskets. Flowers, root vegetables. Ages between young and old, but none infirm. One of the people carrying baskets is Majorie.

Jerry can't tell if her daughter is doing well. It's been a while since she's seen her daughter.

The group passes our hiding place, ten feet off the path. The fourth person stubs a toe on the ground, drops some flowers, picks them up, looks around the ground, and continues walking. Majorie passes; nothing to indicate her status beyond a soft smile and heavy sweat. She seems content.

The groups return to the village; they chop wood and make other stuff. There's a vast mix of races here, living and working together, not just those Humans and Elves of the West Haven, but a mix of chromatic and metallic Dragonborn: silver, bronze, copper. The silver Dragonborn is familiar to Vurguron. He doesn't know his name, but Vurguron has seen him at upper-echelon social gatherings. He has a distinctive eye piercing.

Another party arrives from another direction: Now there's 80-90 people. We'd passed more than 30 cairns. Wood crackles as they start a fire.

The crackling fire brings a hunger in Jerry. She eats a ration. The smoke smells sweet of meat. The rest of the Party eat and drink, and take a short rest.

The group we're spying on have their own meal, and someone plays a stringed instrument.

The group is behaving practically, like they came out here to set up an intentional, practical community, without frivolity.

As evening passes into dusk, the villagers gather into a line, and walk out of their clearing, off into the forest, in a single-file line. Jerry recasts Pass Without Trace, and we follow them, paralleling the group.

The Nighttime Ritual

They enter a big clearing, spreading out, and we advance to the edge of te clearing. All manner of people are here, all different shapes and sizes and races - not all ages - staring up at the sky, sitting in a big spiral. Silent. A soft sway, in time with the creaks of the trees.

Half an hour passes.

We feel the creeping chill of the night, the necessity of sleep. We arrange watches: Ryltar and Vurguron, Ryltar, Salris, Jerry.

Vurguron's shield gives him senses of tactics and formations and strategy, and he catches a glint in the eyes of several of the people sitting around the spiral. Their eyes are open with a weird gleam, looking up. Ryltar and Vurguron try to figure out where it's coming from, but don't see anything.

During Ryltar's watch, there comes a deep, mellow, lowing rumble. The heads of the group bow, and return to looking back up. He fearfully looks at the sky, and sees the constellations where he expects them to be.

It's now Salris' shift; Ryltar wakes him up. They very quietly discuss the glint; some of those glinting eyes look around the clearing. "Sorry! Sorry!" whispers Salris. "So now they know we're here, and they're not worried about us, which makes me feel even worse." And Ryltar tells Salris about the big moo. Ryltar eventually decides to calm down and enter his trance.

There comes a big rush of wind, and the trees rattle and squeak above Salris.

Salris wakes Jerry for her shift. She sees Majorie in the outside circle, looking up, swaying, unblinking. Majorie has got that glint in her eye. Many of the people in the circle have that glint. The trees creak.

When the morning light comes, they all bow again, then stand up, stretch, blink and wander back to the village. A few linger in this clearing, 400 feet from the village. The clearing's floor is packed moss. The people remaining are fluffing the moss.

Jerry leads the group back to the village, to follow Majorie back to the village.

The villagers clean up, have a bite to eat, and begin to spread out. They eat the galls like apples, bark and all. Crunchy with a soft filling.

Ryltar drools at the sight. He uses the Abracadabrus to summon something he thinks might have a similar mouth feel: s'mores.

Next Session

We level up!