Your adventure begins in Trostenwald, a rural town on the southern outskirts of the Dwendalian Empire, on the banks of Ustaloch, a kidney-shaped lake fed by the northern Eisfus River—a place of fair weather and fields of grain that stretch for miles. Breweries are common here, and three major families have effectively put Trostenwald on the map with their breweries, collectively producing what has come to be known around the empire as a “trost”, a fine, sweet ale.
Life in this active little farming town is simple, though not without its quaint adventures. The trost is Trostenwald's primary export, which has invariably led to rivalries between the three main brewery families trying to claim the title of producing THE trost. This rivalry often sparks gossip among locals, sometimes true, frequently false, and mostly somewhere in between, as stories become increasingly exaggerated and distorted when passed from one person to another.
On this warm and peaceful morning, rising for your day in the folksy little town, your life is about to experience a dramatic shift. The morning light of the bright and clear day filters through the gaps in your shuttered window, the worn wood of the shutters conveniently giving way at just the right spot, allowing a beam of sunlight to pierce your eye and disrupt both your slumber (or reverie) and your thoughts. As the bright light disrupts your rest, the gentle scents of earth and wood are accompanied by a light breeze that carries a reminder of the fish market just outside where you are staying.
A quiet morning, cheery sunrise, and a comfortable bed would normally make a morning like this difficult to rise and meet for all but the most dedicated workers, of which this town of farmers has many. As some of you toss and turn fitfully, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, or eagerly spring awake to greet the golden rays of the sun inching over the horizon and casting shimmering light on the dew-kissed grass, a chilling shriek of terror slices through the early morning stillness outside. This shriek is followed by another, then a howl of confusion. Almost at once, the town rises in alarm. Crownsguard can be heard running the streets, shouting orders to one another to secure the area. Townsfolk scramble about. People accuse and demand of one another in their homes and on the streets, creating a cacophony of panic. The quiet morning is quiet no more.
Ylis
You wake and swing your feet out of bed, only to bump your legs awkwardly against the floor from a sorely misjudged distance to the ground. It is as if the bed got shorter while you slept!
Jacaranda and Vazo’yn
During your nightly reverie, you both experienced a wave that blew past you like a sharp breeze. Yet you were inside when this happened and there was no identifiable source; it was gone just as quickly as it had come. The rest of the night was uneventful, but now, with the confusion outside, you begin to wonder if there is a link.
Vazo'yn has been awake for a little while before the light of dawn finally breaks through the shutters on the window and washes the small desk in his room with its warm glow. He is sitting at the desk, serenely regarding a spread of cards laid out upon it. The first ray of that bright sunshine that cracks the shutters falls on one card in particular. The Mists.
Something unexpected looms on the horizon, mysterious but unavoidable. The next step of a great journey is about to begin.
The drow's quiet contemplation of that ominous reading and the strange, sourcless breeze that had chilled him during the night, is shattered by a piercing wail from somewhere in the village. Then another. And another. Then shouting and yelling as chaos fills the little town's morning.
Vazo'yn quickly scoops up his cards and places them carefully in their protective box, slipping it into the pouch slung over his shoulder. Curious and apprehensive in equal measure, he slips out of his room and makes for the street. His long, black hair is pulled back to the sides in braids and he finishes fastening the last of the buckles on his dark leathers as he slides through the door. His golden eyes, peering brightly from a pale, scarred face, search the streets for any hint of what has triggered the morning's calamity.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Wake up you big lug!"The petite blonde screams. "Something stirs in town and you should get out and make yourself useful for once!" She continues with her admonishment of the young dark-haired man who lies sprawled out in a bed below her. "Oh go away, I was useful last night, wasn't I?" The man in the bed mumbles back, turning over in his bed, putting a pillow over his head. Admittedly he didn't remember much of last night, something about drinking and singing and dancing on the tavern tables, or was that the night before, or the night before that, he couldn't quite tell, but he was absolutely certain this was far too early to get up.
"Aaahh..."The man cries out as he feels a sharp pain in his behind, clear awake now and standing naked in the bed. "...what in the nine hells..." He yells at the blonde who is now wielding a blade that undoubtedly was responsible for getting him out of bed. "Get dressed now, I'll take look outside and brief you in a moment."The blonde says angrily and leaves by simply flying out the window and out into the streets of Trostenwald.
Back in the room the young dark-haired man sighs and starts to get dressed, dipping his head into a bowl of cold water, putting on his boots. Punishment for his sins no doubt but the blonde was right, he really should get out and make himself useful now.
The tiny blonde turns invisible and flies around, trying to understand what is going on before reporting to her ward. Stealth: 24 Perception: 16
The first thing Joy notices is the sunlight, a sharp ray slipping through the cracked shutters of the church’s tiny side chamber and landing directly in her eyes. She groans softly, tugging the threadbare blanket over her head in protest, trying to reclaim the last tendrils of sleep. But the scent of lake breeze and smoked fish sneaking through the old stone walls tells her it’s morning—and in Trostenwald, that means chores.
She finally peeks out from under her blanket, her braid tangled from restless dreams, and blinks against the brightness. At fourteen, Joy already has the look of someone older than her years, though it’s hard to say if it’s from the wisdom she’s gained or the strangeness that clings to her—a faint greenish tint to her skin, a glimmer in her eyes that never quite dims.
The small temple is quiet, as it usually is this early. She’d stayed here since arriving in town a few weeks ago, and while the locals hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms, the priest had seen something in her—something worth offering a bed and bread for. She tries to be helpful. She tries to be good. She tries.
Just as she swings her legs over the edge of the cot and begins to lace her worn boots, the shriek cuts through the peace like a blade. Joy freezes, heart lurching. Another scream follows. Then shouting. Crownsguard. Panic.
She rises, all thoughts of sleep gone, her fingers brushing the wooden circlet nestled into her tangled hair—a symbol of the fey blood she never asked for but could never outrun. Her instincts scream to stay hidden. But instead, unable to resist her concern, she quickly casts disguise self to change her hair and skin to more 'normal' hues and hurries out the door.
The scent of yeast and damp wood clung to the morning air, mingling with the sweat of labor and the faint, ever-present aroma of spilled ale. Riven adjusted his grip on the heavy barrel, the worn wood rough beneath his calloused palms. With a practiced heave, he rolled it onto the waiting wagon bed, the dull thud of impact lost beneath the clatter of hooves and the murmur of early risers.
He had been at this since before sunrise. The work wasn’t difficult—just tedious. Load the barrels. Secure them. Move to the next. It was the kind of work that kept his mind occupied, his presence unremarkable. A hired hand. Another drifter passing through, willing to trade sweat for coin or a hot meal. No one asked questions, and he gave no reason to.
The brewery yard was alive with movement. Other workers passed by, exchanging idle talk about deliveries, rival brewers, or the latest town gossip. Riven listened but rarely spoke. He had learned that silence made people talk more.
Then the scream.
It cut through the morning air, sharp enough to stop work around him. A second followed, then the growing roar of confused voices, the telltale clamor of Crownsguard responding.
Riven straightened, brushing stray strands of hair from his face as he turned toward the noise. The other workers hesitated, glancing at one another, half-finished tasks momentarily forgotten. Some took hesitant steps toward the commotion. Others lingered by the wagons, waiting for orders that had yet to come.
Riven did neither.
Instead, he took a slow breath, adjusting the leather bracer on his wrist as he scanned the street. He noted the movement—who was running toward the sound and who was stepping back. Something had happened. Something unexpected.
He stepped down from the wagon, dusting off his hands. No one stopped him. He was just another worker, another face in the early morning crowd.
With a measured pace, he followed the flow of the townspeople, moving amongst them like he belonged, towards the source of the commotion.
Randa woke early, squinting against the sun, still unused to being so exposed with no canopy of green overhead.....she is still orientating herself when the scream pierces the air.
Her mind is immediately back to that terrible day, the screams...the blood on the leaves.... she snatched up her blade and ran out the door and downstairs......that is to say she got partially downstairs...... noted the sudden shocked looks on the faces of those below and realised that she should probably put something on....
She ducked back upstairs and threw on a shift that had been hanging in the wardrobe....possibly from a previous guest.....then ran downstairs and out into the sun.
She saw others running towards the source of the sound and followed them..........a massive birdsnest of long black hair above a threadbare cotton shift and a delicate elven blade held reversed against her forearm as she moved.
Mornings use to be Giles' favorite time of the day. The start of a new day and endless possibilities. But that has changed, and now mornings are the hardest. His sleep, while restless at night, all but disappears by the time the sun is rising.
He sits up in bed with a jolt, awakening from another nightmare, one filled with the screams of others in his order. "Curse these nightmares" he says, then realizes, it wasn't another nightmare filled with the screams of his friends, as he wasn't sleeping. The screams came from outside. Real screams.
For a moment he thinks about laying back down, but only for a moment. How could he possibly ignore the screams of someone in pain or anguish.
He throws on his cloak, and looks at this weapons, a short sword and hand crossbow but leaves them alone, resting up against his pack. He doesn't need weapons, not really. Being new to this small town, he'd rather not draw any attention to himself. Easier to do that by punching , rather then stabbing.
"Come on Eighteen" he says to himself, "let's go see what the commotion is about."
The small comfortable room warms with the light of day and the suns rays crawl over a lump of blankets on a cot. Clothes scattered everywhere, books and study materials - how to stab a gorrick properly, Code of proper dress, How to be and Enchanting Enchanter, etc.
"No.no...It is too early to be morning." you hear the lump say. The blankets shift and a pair of furry feet are exposed. "Ah..."
Then the screams begin. The blankets move again, a bright brown eye and a cocked white ear are revealed. "That doesn't sound like morning mess call," the blankets mutter."..probably the underclassmen..."
More screaming.
The blanket flies to the side and a white furred rabbit girl launches herself only to land still crouched? What the? Bah! Worry about it later, somebody is having fun without me! She quickly grabs her baldric and pack and dashes out the door with a slam and fading patter of feet.
...
The patter of feet return with a crash of gear to the floor "Clothes!" *sniff* *sniff* "This doesn't smell bad yet.." Hopping into leggings and a loose tunic, Ylis again dashes out her door and grabs up her gear.
Moments later a weasel rolls out of the blanket, yawns, stretches, and looks around the room. Quick glances around show that somebody is missing. A full body shake and the weasel also zips out the door.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
Giles, Joy, Randa, and Vazo’yn step out into the world and see all around them townsfolk gaping in terror, either as couples clutching each other’s faces or individuals seeking or fleeing their reflections found in just about any reflective material. Whether it is handheld mirrors, horse troughs, glass bottles, or polished armor, the reactions of the townsfolk are about the same: disbelief, fear, and anger. Young men and women are forcibly pulled from their homes by middle-aged fathers who accuse them of being a home invader, only to realize that the person they were restraining was not an intruder. A middle-aged woman sits by a reflective puddle, weeping. Her face is cradled in one hand while the other clutches a bench as if seeking comfort from it. The tiny blonde familiar relays this to Jack as he finishes getting dressed.
Ylis blinked in astonishment as she rushed through the doorway, her eyes widening at the unexpected sight. The door frame loomed above her, strikingly shorter than she recalled—by at least two feet. The realization dawned upon her: it wasn’t the door that shrank, but rather, she had grown. Standing tall at an impressive four feet, she marveled at her newfound stature, which was twice her height from just yesterday. Everything around her seemed dwarfed, transforming the familiar surroundings into a landscape that felt oddly fantastical.
As the early twilight cast its gentle veil over the landscape, Riven toiled alongside a group of seasoned laborers. Their weathered faces, etched with lines of hard-earned wisdom, told stories of countless sun-drenched days. Sun-kissed skin, like aged leather, bore witness to their enduring connection with the earth, while deep-set wrinkles were a testament to lives filled with toil and resilience. Even as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, illuminating their features, it seemed as if they remained unchanged, timeless guardians of their craft.
A wave of growth surges through each of you, filling your minds with a powerful sense of awakening. Even those among you who have traversed many years in life can perceive this remarkable shift. It is not a collection of memories flooding back, but rather a series of vivid impressions—intangible yet profound. You might sense abilities stirring within you, capabilities that were dormant yesterday. A new clarity washes over you, illuminating your understanding of these newfound skills.
Hints of past experiences flicker like distant stars in your consciousness—echoes of training and knowledge that you don’t consciously recall, yet somehow feel deeply familiar and confidently integrated into your being. It’s as if you were prepared for this moment long before it arrived. Above all, an undeniable sense of growth permeates your entire existence, encouraging you to embrace the potential that now feels within reach. This is a significant transformation, a journey of personal evolution that beckons you to explore the uncharted territories of your capabilities.
Most profoundly affected among you is Ylis. She has undergone a transformation that extends far beyond mere physical appearance. Her body has matured, now resembling that of a young woman, but it is her mind that has undergone an equally significant metamorphosis. No longer does she possess the innocence and naivety typical of an 11-year-old; instead, her thoughts and perceptions reflect those of a more sophisticated and insightful young adult. While Joy has also experienced a noteworthy change in her physical form, her growth in height has not been as dramatic. Nevertheless, the shifts in her perspective and cognition mirror the evolving maturity Ylis is now grappling with, hinting at the complexities of their shared experiences.
Vazo'yn's watchful, golden eyes dart from one townsperson to the next, trying to understand their confusion, their fear and their anger. What tragedy could have crashed through an entire town like this, but left no mark of its passing, the homes and businesses of the town seemingly untouched?
Then the wave washes over him and he stands unerringly still, his mind trying to grapple with this sudden, overwhelming sensation of knowledge, growth, and wisdom. The ever-present whispers of his ancestors swell into a clamouring crescendo as dozens, hundreds of new voices, all come rushing in with fresh, vivid insight. None of them distinct enough to understand alone, but somehow joining together in an enlightening whole.
Orbs of light pulse in and out of existence around him, only to be replaced by momentary embers of flame that are then tossed away on a light breeze. He knows, somehow, the secret of their creation lies within his reach. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and grasps for that secret with his mind. It's there, drifting on the edge of his consciousness, rolling closer with each wave of potential that swells through him. Then suddenly his mind curls around it and he has a hold of it. He knows it as well as he knows his own name. He opens his eyes and around his hand are three glowing orbs, spinning slowly around one another.
Now fully returned to his senses, he turns back to the building he just left and stands in front of the window, searching for his own reflection as he had seen so many townsfolk do. Something in him already suspects what he'll find.
Ylis exits her home and looks around at all the people freaking out. "What is going with all the old folks?" she mutters. Like any child, she thinks anybody over 20 is old.
The chaos going on in the streets is intriguing and scary at the same time. Why is everybody acting to strange? Is there some magic going on with mirrors? Well take a look dummy, she tells herself. "Hey lady, mind if I borrow your puddle?" Ylis strains to look at what is going on in the water, "Wow, that's a different look," she admires her reflection, "no wonder everything is so tight...So lady, what's...Aunt Kristin?! what is going on with your face?! Why is it all wrinkly and stuff??"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
Randa felt, and looked, no different but she could tell everyone around her was in distress......she hadn't really taken much note of the townsfolk the previous night but she was beginning to recognised some faces though they looked quite different now.
She had been in places in crisis before and she moved among them quickly asking those in distress if she could be of help.....
The tiny blonde flies back through the open window into the tavern upper floor room where the young man just finishes dressing, having just had the strangest feeling that he quickly writes off as a side effect of his hangover. The tiny blonde turns visible again, now seeing what she hadn't noticed before. "Um...I think I have a sense of what have happened." She says, swftly flying to pick up a small hand held mirror, handing it to her ward who sighs. "I know I look worse than I feel but please, by all means, rub it in." He says with a grin and and takes it, holding it up before him.
"What in the nine hells?" Comes for the second time this morning, the not quite so young man starts touching his own face and then his somewhat matured body, not all that displeased with what he feels though. "How did you...wait...is this a thing in town right now?" He asks and the tiny blonde nods with a concerned look. "I'm not sure what there is to do about it, this must be very powerful magic that I have not even heard about before. As you can imagine people are scared so trying to calm and reassure them might be a good first step." She suggests and the dark-haired soon to be middle-aged man nods and walks downstairs and outside to see if he can help in any way, the tiny blonde turning invisible once more and following him, keeping her eyes open to advice him on threats and opportunities.
Riven felt it like a current shifting beneath the surface—subtle at first, then undeniable. A heightened awareness, sharper than instinct, flooded his senses—everything was clearer, more distinct.
He didn’t panic. Panic was for men who mistook change for danger. Instead, he let it settle, absorbing the quiet revelations that followed. His breath came steadier, his balance felt surer. He could see it in the way his feet adjusted before he even thought to move, how his hands anticipated the shifting weight. There was precision in him now, an efficiency that had taken the moment to reveal itself.
The longbow resting nearby called to him in a way it never had before. He had used it, trained with it, but now... now he understood it. The distance between target and arrow wasn’t just space—it was a calculation, a rhythm. He could feel the tension in the string before he drew it, could already sense how the arrow would fly before it ever left the bow. The weight of the blades at the hips hips of a townsfolk he glances at were no longer just familiar; they felt like they could be an extension of him, moving in tandem with his breath, balanced as if they were in his hands.
And the shadows… they were different. Not just darkness, not just places to hide, but something deeper—something he could slip into, something that welcomed him. His eyes traced the edges of buildings where sunlight failed to reach. He knew, without testing it, that he could move through them unseen, that he could strike from them before anyone ever knew he was there. The thought didn’t unnerve him. It felt right. Natural.
A quiet energy hummed beneath his skin, something just beyond his understanding. It wasn’t the arcane, not exactly—but it wasn’t entirely different either. It felt older. Wilder. The same force that stirred the trees in the wind, that let the owl see its prey long before it struck. A connection, neither learned nor gifted, but simply there.
Riven exhaled. Rolled his shoulders. Then, without a word, he moved. He found the deepest pocket of shadow, let it swallow him, and watched. Whatever had changed, whatever had awoken, it was his now. And he would master it.
Joy staggers slightly as the wave of change settles into her bones, breath catching in her chest. For a moment, the world feels off-balance—not because it’s spinning, but because she is different. Taller, yes, though not by much—but there’s more.
A rush of sensation, echoes of knowledge, impressions of training, prayers she doesn’t remember learning—but knows all the same. Her heart races, confused, but then...it stills.
It’s hers.
She places a hand over her chest, the spot where her holy symbol rests, and feels it glow—not with light, but with certainty. The Morninglord’s warmth, closer than ever before. She lifts her gaze to the chaos spilling through the streets—the fear, the broken families, the weeping woman by the puddle—and clarity returns like the rising sun.
“I can help them,” she murmurs to herself, voice calm, though a quiet fire burns behind her words. “I don’t know why this is happening—but I do know what I'm supposed to do.”
She starts by looking around for anyone who seems calmer than the rest that she can ask about the situation. It seems this accelerated aging affected the whole town, but what could have caused such a thing?
Barring any other dwarves or elves that he has seen, Giles is quite aware that he is older then everyone around him in this town. While still a young adult for a dwarf, he has wandered these lands for almost a century.
Still, he feels what the others around him seem to be encountering, instant aging, but also, instant wisdom. "Wisdom" he says to himself, "is king."
"But why this? and why now? Benevolent or Malevolent? In time, the challenge will be revealed."
Contrary to the chaos around him, Giles takes a seat, closes his eyes, hands open and empty, and waits...
Chapter One: The First Day
Your adventure begins in Trostenwald, a rural town on the southern outskirts of the Dwendalian Empire, on the banks of Ustaloch, a kidney-shaped lake fed by the northern Eisfus River—a place of fair weather and fields of grain that stretch for miles. Breweries are common here, and three major families have effectively put Trostenwald on the map with their breweries, collectively producing what has come to be known around the empire as a “trost”, a fine, sweet ale.
Life in this active little farming town is simple, though not without its quaint adventures. The trost is Trostenwald's primary export, which has invariably led to rivalries between the three main brewery families trying to claim the title of producing THE trost. This rivalry often sparks gossip among locals, sometimes true, frequently false, and mostly somewhere in between, as stories become increasingly exaggerated and distorted when passed from one person to another.
On this warm and peaceful morning, rising for your day in the folksy little town, your life is about to experience a dramatic shift. The morning light of the bright and clear day filters through the gaps in your shuttered window, the worn wood of the shutters conveniently giving way at just the right spot, allowing a beam of sunlight to pierce your eye and disrupt both your slumber (or reverie) and your thoughts. As the bright light disrupts your rest, the gentle scents of earth and wood are accompanied by a light breeze that carries a reminder of the fish market just outside where you are staying.
A quiet morning, cheery sunrise, and a comfortable bed would normally make a morning like this difficult to rise and meet for all but the most dedicated workers, of which this town of farmers has many. As some of you toss and turn fitfully, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, or eagerly spring awake to greet the golden rays of the sun inching over the horizon and casting shimmering light on the dew-kissed grass, a chilling shriek of terror slices through the early morning stillness outside. This shriek is followed by another, then a howl of confusion. Almost at once, the town rises in alarm. Crownsguard can be heard running the streets, shouting orders to one another to secure the area. Townsfolk scramble about. People accuse and demand of one another in their homes and on the streets, creating a cacophony of panic. The quiet morning is quiet no more.
Ylis
You wake and swing your feet out of bed, only to bump your legs awkwardly against the floor from a sorely misjudged distance to the ground. It is as if the bed got shorter while you slept!
Jacaranda and Vazo’yn
During your nightly reverie, you both experienced a wave that blew past you like a sharp breeze. Yet you were inside when this happened and there was no identifiable source; it was gone just as quickly as it had come. The rest of the night was uneventful, but now, with the confusion outside, you begin to wonder if there is a link.
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Vazo'yn has been awake for a little while before the light of dawn finally breaks through the shutters on the window and washes the small desk in his room with its warm glow. He is sitting at the desk, serenely regarding a spread of cards laid out upon it. The first ray of that bright sunshine that cracks the shutters falls on one card in particular. The Mists.
Something unexpected looms on the horizon, mysterious but unavoidable. The next step of a great journey is about to begin.
The drow's quiet contemplation of that ominous reading and the strange, sourcless breeze that had chilled him during the night, is shattered by a piercing wail from somewhere in the village. Then another. And another. Then shouting and yelling as chaos fills the little town's morning.
Vazo'yn quickly scoops up his cards and places them carefully in their protective box, slipping it into the pouch slung over his shoulder. Curious and apprehensive in equal measure, he slips out of his room and makes for the street. His long, black hair is pulled back to the sides in braids and he finishes fastening the last of the buckles on his dark leathers as he slides through the door. His golden eyes, peering brightly from a pale, scarred face, search the streets for any hint of what has triggered the morning's calamity.
"Wake up you big lug!" The petite blonde screams. "Something stirs in town and you should get out and make yourself useful for once!" She continues with her admonishment of the young dark-haired man who lies sprawled out in a bed below her. "Oh go away, I was useful last night, wasn't I?" The man in the bed mumbles back, turning over in his bed, putting a pillow over his head. Admittedly he didn't remember much of last night, something about drinking and singing and dancing on the tavern tables, or was that the night before, or the night before that, he couldn't quite tell, but he was absolutely certain this was far too early to get up.
"Aaahh..." The man cries out as he feels a sharp pain in his behind, clear awake now and standing naked in the bed. "...what in the nine hells..." He yells at the blonde who is now wielding a blade that undoubtedly was responsible for getting him out of bed. "Get dressed now, I'll take look outside and brief you in a moment." The blonde says angrily and leaves by simply flying out the window and out into the streets of Trostenwald.
Back in the room the young dark-haired man sighs and starts to get dressed, dipping his head into a bowl of cold water, putting on his boots. Punishment for his sins no doubt but the blonde was right, he really should get out and make himself useful now.
The tiny blonde turns invisible and flies around, trying to understand what is going on before reporting to her ward.
Stealth: 24
Perception: 16
The first thing Joy notices is the sunlight, a sharp ray slipping through the cracked shutters of the church’s tiny side chamber and landing directly in her eyes. She groans softly, tugging the threadbare blanket over her head in protest, trying to reclaim the last tendrils of sleep. But the scent of lake breeze and smoked fish sneaking through the old stone walls tells her it’s morning—and in Trostenwald, that means chores.
She finally peeks out from under her blanket, her braid tangled from restless dreams, and blinks against the brightness. At fourteen, Joy already has the look of someone older than her years, though it’s hard to say if it’s from the wisdom she’s gained or the strangeness that clings to her—a faint greenish tint to her skin, a glimmer in her eyes that never quite dims.
The small temple is quiet, as it usually is this early. She’d stayed here since arriving in town a few weeks ago, and while the locals hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms, the priest had seen something in her—something worth offering a bed and bread for. She tries to be helpful. She tries to be good. She tries.
Just as she swings her legs over the edge of the cot and begins to lace her worn boots, the shriek cuts through the peace like a blade. Joy freezes, heart lurching. Another scream follows. Then shouting. Crownsguard. Panic.
She rises, all thoughts of sleep gone, her fingers brushing the wooden circlet nestled into her tangled hair—a symbol of the fey blood she never asked for but could never outrun. Her instincts scream to stay hidden. But instead, unable to resist her concern, she quickly casts disguise self to change her hair and skin to more 'normal' hues and hurries out the door.
Perception: 19
The scent of yeast and damp wood clung to the morning air, mingling with the sweat of labor and the faint, ever-present aroma of spilled ale. Riven adjusted his grip on the heavy barrel, the worn wood rough beneath his calloused palms. With a practiced heave, he rolled it onto the waiting wagon bed, the dull thud of impact lost beneath the clatter of hooves and the murmur of early risers.
He had been at this since before sunrise. The work wasn’t difficult—just tedious. Load the barrels. Secure them. Move to the next. It was the kind of work that kept his mind occupied, his presence unremarkable. A hired hand. Another drifter passing through, willing to trade sweat for coin or a hot meal. No one asked questions, and he gave no reason to.
The brewery yard was alive with movement. Other workers passed by, exchanging idle talk about deliveries, rival brewers, or the latest town gossip. Riven listened but rarely spoke. He had learned that silence made people talk more.
Then the scream.
It cut through the morning air, sharp enough to stop work around him. A second followed, then the growing roar of confused voices, the telltale clamor of Crownsguard responding.
Riven straightened, brushing stray strands of hair from his face as he turned toward the noise. The other workers hesitated, glancing at one another, half-finished tasks momentarily forgotten. Some took hesitant steps toward the commotion. Others lingered by the wagons, waiting for orders that had yet to come.
Riven did neither.
Instead, he took a slow breath, adjusting the leather bracer on his wrist as he scanned the street. He noted the movement—who was running toward the sound and who was stepping back. Something had happened. Something unexpected.
He stepped down from the wagon, dusting off his hands. No one stopped him. He was just another worker, another face in the early morning crowd.
With a measured pace, he followed the flow of the townspeople, moving amongst them like he belonged, towards the source of the commotion.
Randa woke early, squinting against the sun, still unused to being so exposed with no canopy of green overhead.....she is still orientating herself when the scream pierces the air.
Her mind is immediately back to that terrible day, the screams...the blood on the leaves.... she snatched up her blade and ran out the door and downstairs......that is to say she got partially downstairs...... noted the sudden shocked looks on the faces of those below and realised that she should probably put something on....
She ducked back upstairs and threw on a shift that had been hanging in the wardrobe....possibly from a previous guest.....then ran downstairs and out into the sun.
She saw others running towards the source of the sound and followed them..........a massive birdsnest of long black hair above a threadbare cotton shift and a delicate elven blade held reversed against her forearm as she moved.
Mornings use to be Giles' favorite time of the day. The start of a new day and endless possibilities. But that has changed, and now mornings are the hardest. His sleep, while restless at night, all but disappears by the time the sun is rising.
He sits up in bed with a jolt, awakening from another nightmare, one filled with the screams of others in his order. "Curse these nightmares" he says, then realizes, it wasn't another nightmare filled with the screams of his friends, as he wasn't sleeping. The screams came from outside. Real screams.
For a moment he thinks about laying back down, but only for a moment. How could he possibly ignore the screams of someone in pain or anguish.
He throws on his cloak, and looks at this weapons, a short sword and hand crossbow but leaves them alone, resting up against his pack. He doesn't need weapons, not really. Being new to this small town, he'd rather not draw any attention to himself. Easier to do that by punching , rather then stabbing.
"Come on Eighteen" he says to himself, "let's go see what the commotion is about."
The small comfortable room warms with the light of day and the suns rays crawl over a lump of blankets on a cot. Clothes scattered everywhere, books and study materials - how to stab a gorrick properly, Code of proper dress, How to be and Enchanting Enchanter, etc.
"No.no...It is too early to be morning." you hear the lump say. The blankets shift and a pair of furry feet are exposed. "Ah..."
Then the screams begin. The blankets move again, a bright brown eye and a cocked white ear are revealed. "That doesn't sound like morning mess call," the blankets mutter."..probably the underclassmen..."
More screaming.
The blanket flies to the side and a white furred rabbit girl launches herself only to land still crouched? What the? Bah! Worry about it later, somebody is having fun without me! She quickly grabs her baldric and pack and dashes out the door with a slam and fading patter of feet.
...
The patter of feet return with a crash of gear to the floor "Clothes!" *sniff* *sniff* "This doesn't smell bad yet.." Hopping into leggings and a loose tunic, Ylis again dashes out her door and grabs up her gear.
Moments later a weasel rolls out of the blanket, yawns, stretches, and looks around the room. Quick glances around show that somebody is missing. A full body shake and the weasel also zips out the door.
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Giles, Joy, Randa, and Vazo’yn step out into the world and see all around them townsfolk gaping in terror, either as couples clutching each other’s faces or individuals seeking or fleeing their reflections found in just about any reflective material. Whether it is handheld mirrors, horse troughs, glass bottles, or polished armor, the reactions of the townsfolk are about the same: disbelief, fear, and anger. Young men and women are forcibly pulled from their homes by middle-aged fathers who accuse them of being a home invader, only to realize that the person they were restraining was not an intruder. A middle-aged woman sits by a reflective puddle, weeping. Her face is cradled in one hand while the other clutches a bench as if seeking comfort from it. The tiny blonde familiar relays this to Jack as he finishes getting dressed.
Ylis blinked in astonishment as she rushed through the doorway, her eyes widening at the unexpected sight. The door frame loomed above her, strikingly shorter than she recalled—by at least two feet. The realization dawned upon her: it wasn’t the door that shrank, but rather, she had grown. Standing tall at an impressive four feet, she marveled at her newfound stature, which was twice her height from just yesterday. Everything around her seemed dwarfed, transforming the familiar surroundings into a landscape that felt oddly fantastical.
As the early twilight cast its gentle veil over the landscape, Riven toiled alongside a group of seasoned laborers. Their weathered faces, etched with lines of hard-earned wisdom, told stories of countless sun-drenched days. Sun-kissed skin, like aged leather, bore witness to their enduring connection with the earth, while deep-set wrinkles were a testament to lives filled with toil and resilience. Even as the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, illuminating their features, it seemed as if they remained unchanged, timeless guardians of their craft.
A wave of growth surges through each of you, filling your minds with a powerful sense of awakening. Even those among you who have traversed many years in life can perceive this remarkable shift. It is not a collection of memories flooding back, but rather a series of vivid impressions—intangible yet profound. You might sense abilities stirring within you, capabilities that were dormant yesterday. A new clarity washes over you, illuminating your understanding of these newfound skills.
Hints of past experiences flicker like distant stars in your consciousness—echoes of training and knowledge that you don’t consciously recall, yet somehow feel deeply familiar and confidently integrated into your being. It’s as if you were prepared for this moment long before it arrived. Above all, an undeniable sense of growth permeates your entire existence, encouraging you to embrace the potential that now feels within reach. This is a significant transformation, a journey of personal evolution that beckons you to explore the uncharted territories of your capabilities.
Most profoundly affected among you is Ylis. She has undergone a transformation that extends far beyond mere physical appearance. Her body has matured, now resembling that of a young woman, but it is her mind that has undergone an equally significant metamorphosis. No longer does she possess the innocence and naivety typical of an 11-year-old; instead, her thoughts and perceptions reflect those of a more sophisticated and insightful young adult. While Joy has also experienced a noteworthy change in her physical form, her growth in height has not been as dramatic. Nevertheless, the shifts in her perspective and cognition mirror the evolving maturity Ylis is now grappling with, hinting at the complexities of their shared experiences.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
EXTENDED SIGNATURE!
Doctor/Published Scholar/Science and Healthcare Advocate/Critter/Trekkie/Gandalf with a Glock
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Vazo'yn's watchful, golden eyes dart from one townsperson to the next, trying to understand their confusion, their fear and their anger. What tragedy could have crashed through an entire town like this, but left no mark of its passing, the homes and businesses of the town seemingly untouched?
Then the wave washes over him and he stands unerringly still, his mind trying to grapple with this sudden, overwhelming sensation of knowledge, growth, and wisdom. The ever-present whispers of his ancestors swell into a clamouring crescendo as dozens, hundreds of new voices, all come rushing in with fresh, vivid insight. None of them distinct enough to understand alone, but somehow joining together in an enlightening whole.
Orbs of light pulse in and out of existence around him, only to be replaced by momentary embers of flame that are then tossed away on a light breeze. He knows, somehow, the secret of their creation lies within his reach. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and grasps for that secret with his mind. It's there, drifting on the edge of his consciousness, rolling closer with each wave of potential that swells through him. Then suddenly his mind curls around it and he has a hold of it. He knows it as well as he knows his own name. He opens his eyes and around his hand are three glowing orbs, spinning slowly around one another.
Now fully returned to his senses, he turns back to the building he just left and stands in front of the window, searching for his own reflection as he had seen so many townsfolk do. Something in him already suspects what he'll find.
Ylis exits her home and looks around at all the people freaking out. "What is going with all the old folks?" she mutters. Like any child, she thinks anybody over 20 is old.
The chaos going on in the streets is intriguing and scary at the same time. Why is everybody acting to strange? Is there some magic going on with mirrors? Well take a look dummy, she tells herself. "Hey lady, mind if I borrow your puddle?" Ylis strains to look at what is going on in the water, "Wow, that's a different look," she admires her reflection, "no wonder everything is so tight...So lady, what's...Aunt Kristin?! what is going on with your face?! Why is it all wrinkly and stuff??"
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Randa felt, and looked, no different but she could tell everyone around her was in distress......she hadn't really taken much note of the townsfolk the previous night but she was beginning to recognised some faces though they looked quite different now.
She had been in places in crisis before and she moved among them quickly asking those in distress if she could be of help.....
The tiny blonde flies back through the open window into the tavern upper floor room where the young man just finishes dressing, having just had the strangest feeling that he quickly writes off as a side effect of his hangover. The tiny blonde turns visible again, now seeing what she hadn't noticed before. "Um...I think I have a sense of what have happened." She says, swftly flying to pick up a small hand held mirror, handing it to her ward who sighs. "I know I look worse than I feel but please, by all means, rub it in." He says with a grin and and takes it, holding it up before him.
"What in the nine hells?" Comes for the second time this morning, the not quite so young man starts touching his own face and then his somewhat matured body, not all that displeased with what he feels though. "How did you...wait...is this a thing in town right now?" He asks and the tiny blonde nods with a concerned look. "I'm not sure what there is to do about it, this must be very powerful magic that I have not even heard about before. As you can imagine people are scared so trying to calm and reassure them might be a good first step." She suggests and the dark-haired soon to be middle-aged man nods and walks downstairs and outside to see if he can help in any way, the tiny blonde turning invisible once more and following him, keeping her eyes open to advice him on threats and opportunities.
Riven felt it like a current shifting beneath the surface—subtle at first, then undeniable. A heightened awareness, sharper than instinct, flooded his senses—everything was clearer, more distinct.
He didn’t panic. Panic was for men who mistook change for danger. Instead, he let it settle, absorbing the quiet revelations that followed. His breath came steadier, his balance felt surer. He could see it in the way his feet adjusted before he even thought to move, how his hands anticipated the shifting weight. There was precision in him now, an efficiency that had taken the moment to reveal itself.
The longbow resting nearby called to him in a way it never had before. He had used it, trained with it, but now... now he understood it. The distance between target and arrow wasn’t just space—it was a calculation, a rhythm. He could feel the tension in the string before he drew it, could already sense how the arrow would fly before it ever left the bow. The weight of the blades at the hips hips of a townsfolk he glances at were no longer just familiar; they felt like they could be an extension of him, moving in tandem with his breath, balanced as if they were in his hands.
And the shadows… they were different. Not just darkness, not just places to hide, but something deeper—something he could slip into, something that welcomed him. His eyes traced the edges of buildings where sunlight failed to reach. He knew, without testing it, that he could move through them unseen, that he could strike from them before anyone ever knew he was there. The thought didn’t unnerve him. It felt right. Natural.
A quiet energy hummed beneath his skin, something just beyond his understanding. It wasn’t the arcane, not exactly—but it wasn’t entirely different either. It felt older. Wilder. The same force that stirred the trees in the wind, that let the owl see its prey long before it struck. A connection, neither learned nor gifted, but simply there.
Riven exhaled. Rolled his shoulders. Then, without a word, he moved. He found the deepest pocket of shadow, let it swallow him, and watched. Whatever had changed, whatever had awoken, it was his now. And he would master it.
Joy staggers slightly as the wave of change settles into her bones, breath catching in her chest. For a moment, the world feels off-balance—not because it’s spinning, but because she is different. Taller, yes, though not by much—but there’s more.
A rush of sensation, echoes of knowledge, impressions of training, prayers she doesn’t remember learning—but knows all the same. Her heart races, confused, but then...it stills.
It’s hers.
She places a hand over her chest, the spot where her holy symbol rests, and feels it glow—not with light, but with certainty. The Morninglord’s warmth, closer than ever before. She lifts her gaze to the chaos spilling through the streets—the fear, the broken families, the weeping woman by the puddle—and clarity returns like the rising sun.
“I can help them,” she murmurs to herself, voice calm, though a quiet fire burns behind her words. “I don’t know why this is happening—but I do know what I'm supposed to do.”
She starts by looking around for anyone who seems calmer than the rest that she can ask about the situation. It seems this accelerated aging affected the whole town, but what could have caused such a thing?
Barring any other dwarves or elves that he has seen, Giles is quite aware that he is older then everyone around him in this town. While still a young adult for a dwarf, he has wandered these lands for almost a century.
Still, he feels what the others around him seem to be encountering, instant aging, but also, instant wisdom. "Wisdom" he says to himself, "is king."
"But why this? and why now? Benevolent or Malevolent? In time, the challenge will be revealed."
Contrary to the chaos around him, Giles takes a seat, closes his eyes, hands open and empty, and waits...
OOC:
Vazo'yn, please give me a Perception check.
Ylis, please give me an Arcana check.
Randa, please give me a Persuasion check.
Jack, please give me a Persuasion check.
Riven, please give me a Perception check.
Joy, please give me a Perception check.
Giles, please give me a Perception check.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
EXTENDED SIGNATURE!
Doctor/Published Scholar/Science and Healthcare Advocate/Critter/Trekkie/Gandalf with a Glock
Try DDB free: Free Rules (2024), premade PCs, adventures, one shots, encounters, SC, homebrew, more
Answers: physical books, purchases, and subbing.
Check out my life-changing
Joy perception: 7 + 4 guidance= 11
Riven Perception: 13
Vazo'yn Perception: 23