Trythia examines the shrine carefully from where she stands, seeing if it sparks some memory or shred of knowledge. Then she moves closer and once more extends her Divine Senses, seeking for any sense of either rightness or wrongness.
Yuno steps forward confidently, her twin blades shifting lightly at her sides, eyes narrowing as she tests the pull in her chest. But as she draws closer to the shrine, it becomes clear that the faint tug she feels does not lead her here — it continues to pull her forward, down the trail, unchanging and steady. The shrine itself seems to pay her no special notice, its faint emerald glow remaining constant, just as it would for any other traveler passing through. Yuno would recognize that whatever is calling her — calling all of you — lies further ahead, still a bit less than a day’s travel away.
Cygnan studies the shrine thoughtfully, drawing on his deep well of knowledge. With his History (14) and Religion (15) checks, he recalls that this type of forest shrine is commonly dedicated to Mielikki, the goddess of forests, rangers, and the protection of natural balance. It is considered good fortune for travelers to leave an offering here, often something symbolic of their respect for nature: food, water, a sprig of herbs or flowers, or even coins. In rare instances, a personal token has been known to earn the favor of Mielikki’s servants. Cygnan is confident that leaving such an offering would be appropriate — and may earn a minor blessing, though it has no connection to the pull they all feel.
Trythia takes a moment to study the shrine before stepping closer, her keen mind and disciplined faith searching for deeper meaning. With her History (13) check, she notices faint carvings below the stag’s crown that match ancient protective sigils she’s seen in temple records — marks that once designated “safe ways” through dangerous lands. Her Religion (18) check confirms what Cygnan also knows: this is indeed a shrine to Mielikki, and the faint blessing here is still active, if weak. Activating her Divine Sense, she feels no wrongness or evil here — only a quiet presence of consecration, gentle and pure, like a soft hymn in her soul. This is a place of rest and respect, but it is not what is calling her onward.
The shrine waits, quiet and expectant, its emerald glow steady and unchanging. The pull remains — unbroken, unrelenting — leading you forward along the trail, deeper into the forest.
Mal waits patiently while the others examine the shrine and upon hearing the name, Mielikki, she shrugs as the name does not really call out to her in any profound way. To her its just another name.
She does take a moment to focus on the pull and seeing that it seems to be coming from deeper in the forest she sets out on the trail looking back and waiting for the others to finish and join her.
Trythia leaves a small amount of food on the alter and murmurs a prayer and blessing to Mielikki. "Goddess, please accept this small offering. I am sorry it is not more. I pledge to protect the pure where that can be found within your domain, I will protect it there also."
She moves to stand near Yuno, positioning herself so that she can see her companions, the shrine, and the forest. By her posture, she indicates she is ready to move on.
Yuno is a bit disappointed that the Shrine isn't the next big spot. She's ready to move onward. There is... not really anything she wants to do with the shrine. In fact, she's starting to find the tugging quite annoying. She is a free spirit and she is starting to feel the tugging is taking away from her freedom to explore. It already pulled her away from her desired "Goblin Ruin Investigation"
Cygnan digs into the rough canvas sack he has been carrying, and leaves a piece of crystal in the offering dish. "A symbol of a shattered soul, goddess. I hope to be worthy of your favor"
The shrine remains still and silent as you finish your moments there, offering no further reaction beyond its faint, steady glow. The faint scent of pine and moss hangs in the air. Those who left offerings feel a subtle sense of peace, as though their gestures have been quietly acknowledged — but no words, no visions, no divine presence makes itself known. For those who feel the pull, it remains unchanged, constant and insistent, tugging you deeper into the forest. The shrine was never its source.
With the final gestures made and no reason to linger, you gather again at the trail. Without further delay, you set off together, leaving the shrine behind in the dim light of the afternoon.
The ranger’s trail winds on through the High Forest, the air growing cooler and damper as the shadows lengthen. The towering oaks and pines overhead close in, their branches interlacing into a canopy that filters the waning sunlight into soft golden streaks. The path remains clear, if narrow — roots and rocks forcing you to watch your footing, but no obstacles barring your way.
The hours pass in relative silence, the forest alive with the quiet rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds settling in for the evening, and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. The pull never fades, steady and unrelenting, still leading you further ahead. No dangers cross your path, no hostile creatures or sinister presence break the stillness. The trail remains uneventful throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening.
As the last light of day fades and dusk settles over the forest, it becomes clear you will need to stop and make camp for the night before pressing on. The trail itself is too narrow and exposed to offer any proper rest. Somewhere off to the side — perhaps a clearing or a sheltered nook — will need to be found.
Whoever is taking charge of finding a campsite, please roll a Survival check.
Cygnan will assist with locating a suitable campsite with any knowledge of hazards he has obtained, and using light on cast on a stick for a torch to help search in the dusk. (Help action to grant advantage on check)
"I know there are spells that can make travel more comfortable.. I am afraid I do not have those yet". he says as they find a site. He offers to take the first watch, and wake the next person.
As twilight deepens into dusk, you find a small hollow just off the trail — a patch of level ground nestled between the roots of two broad, moss-draped trees. The underbrush here is sparse, and a fallen log makes for a natural bench near a ring of scattered stones, long since used for campfires past. The canopy overhead thins just enough to allow a glimpse of the stars as the first evening lightkindles in the sky.
With some quick work, you clear a space, build a small fire, and settle in for the night. The fire crackles softly, casting flickering shadows on bark and leaf, and the hum of the forest settles into a quiet rhythm — crickets, wind through branches, and the distant call of owls marking the night.
DM Note:
You have an uneventful night. No enemies approach. No disturbances rise from the trail. The pull that guides you remains present but quiet, as if resting alongside you.
You may take this time to roleplay and get to know one another’s characters, if you wish. Share stories, ask questions, or reflect — whether around the fire or in your own space nearby. Once the rest of the group has caught up to this point, I will move everyone forward to morning.
As the group settles in for the night, Trythia moves to one side, where the trees have formed a small bulge in the clearing. Small, but large enough. Taking her glaive, she begins to work the forms, starting with simple warm-up and stretching moves but soon transitioning to more martial attack and defense postures. The workout lasts about 30 minutes, during which time her focus never fades and she always has some part of her attention on the forest and on her companions.
Eventually, she winds down, moving on to cool down moves. Finally, she's done, the glaive at rest, her head bowed. Looking up at the others, she finds herself a place on the log and sits. Taking a long drink of water, she turns to Cygnan. "So, tell me wizard, have you any memories of the time before your...awakening? Myself, I have just some fragments of battle and conflict." She does not say what she was fighting. For all she knows, this Cygnan, the others may be part of the ones she battled, and know it not.
Cygnan has been quiet and contemplative. The Assimar helped with setting up the camp and shares what he has learned of the surrounding region from his studies at the town archives. To Trythia he says "I remember very little. Flashes of memories. A laughing dwarf threatening to destroy all.. I feel he is still a threat,. Haluth must be stopped. I remember also I was a powerful wizard. I had built a city of spires and glyphs.. My staff broke, all was lost.. and I was here.. I do not remember any of this present company.".
Mal helps with setting up camp and then with dinner, not that there is much of it, but she is still grateful there is actually some dinner. She then sits with her back against a log and enjoys staring at the campfire, the flames dancing with each other as she listens to the others stories.
She is entranced with the weapon handling of Trythia and nods her respect at her skill and then pays attention to the conversation between Trythia and Cygnan. After Cygnan's comment she sits straight up and asks Cygnan, "I'm sorry WHO must be stopped?" As she then glances over to where Haluth is sitting with a question on her face. "Do you two know each other from before?"
Yuno positions herself at one side of the campfire, resting her back against a log. She is content to chew on the jerky of her rations and listen in on the conversation going on.
((Removed 4 days worth of rations for the day's meals for herself, Haluth, Mal and Cygnan))
"Haluth...". The name is repeated out of Cygnan's mouth, then he looks at the dwarf. The wizard's face falls with embarassed shock.. "I am sorry... my vision, your name was part of it but I did not realize until this moment when I said it out loud.. Do you remember my name? or me?. I did not recognize you, if indeed you are the one from my vision" . He looks at Haluth curiously, then attempts to brush the moment off. "In any case, I am not sure what I need to stop! Well, I have shared my story- who is next?"
Mal lets out a long sigh, "I am getting tired of these so called 'visions' as they mean nothing to anyone and only bring up more questions. The only vision I had was me captaining a rather large ship and the potential commanding of the seas, though I am not sure I was actually sailing on water. See nothing makes sense how can I sail a ship on anything but water." She violently shakes her head as if to clear the cobwebs but to no avail.
"Well hopefully tomorrow when we wake up, and travel to wherever this pull is bringing us, we can find some more answers this time instead of more questions." Mal yawns, "I will help whomever in the morning with making breakfast, won't be much, but I will try and not burn anything."
The night passes without incident. The soft rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of owls, and the occasional creak of wood settling in the canopy above are your only company. Whatever watches these woods chooses to remain distant for now. By the time the fire dies to embers, the pull that led you here still thrums quietly in your bones — patient, but persistent.
You rise with the early light filtering through the trees, soft and gray-green beneath the thick forest cover. The air is damp and cool, the ground dew-slick and speckled with small mushrooms and fern fronds. A simple breakfast is eaten in relative quiet, and within minutes your makeshift camp is packed, leaving little trace behind.
The trail ahead winds deeper into the High Forest. As you walk, the woods begin to change subtly. Trees grow closer together, their trunks gnarled and their branches interwoven into a tangled canopy that chokes the sunlight into flickering shafts. The moss underfoot thickens, and thorny underbrush begins to cluster near the path, tugging at your boots and clothes if you stray even slightly off-course.
The quiet here is different. Heavier. Expectant.
You feel eyes on you — not hostile, but watchful. Somewhere just beyond sight, something is aware of your presence.
The path begins to narrow sharply between two massive trees whose bark is streaked with unnatural markings, almost like veins of dark purple lichen. The underbrush thickens into walls of thorns and vine-choked roots. Even the birds seem to avoid this stretch of forest.
As you slow to assess the trail ahead, a whisper brushes across your mind — not speech exactly, but the distinct sense of turn back. No figure stands in your path. No voice calls aloud. But the warning is clear and unmistakable.
You have reached the edge of a grove touched by unnatural magic — and not all things here welcome company.
Volkanica
Morning rises gently through the High Forest, light filtering through a canopy thick with pine and oak. Sunbeams scatter across the forest floor in shifting patterns, catching on beads of dew and stirring life beneath the leaves. The air is cool, touched with the damp breath of the night before, and the steady rhythm of birdsong marks the beginning of another quiet day.
Volkanica breaks camp without delay. Her gear is minimal, her purpose clear. With her fire beetle companion nestled quietly on her shoulder and the pull in her chest still guiding her northeast, she moves forward once more into the wilds. There is no trail beneath her boots, no road to follow—only instinct and the silent beckoning of something unseen in the distance.
The forest receives her in hushed welcome. Squirrels chatter overhead, and the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush weaves with the low hum of insects. For hours, she presses on without interruption. The deeper she goes, the older the woods feel, as if the trees themselves have forgotten the presence of anything but their own growth.
Yet as the sun climbs higher, something subtle begins to shift.
It starts as a faint tension—barely more than a whisper at the edge of awareness. The air feels heavier, as if the forest is holding its breath. The birdsong thins. The wind hushes. No specific sound gives it away, and yet the certainty grows stronger with each step. She is not alone.
The fire beetle spirit stirs, chitters once, and goes still.
There’s a flicker of motion ahead. Not a clear form, but something that moves just beyond the edge of focus—too fluid, too silent, vanishing before the eye can settle on it. It could have been a trick of the light. It could have been nothing at all.
But she knows better.
A presence lingers. Patient. Calculating. Watching.
The forest remains still, yet the feeling does not pass. If anything, it deepens. Whatever is out there is not simply passing by. It’s waiting.
Gedyr
The morning broke softly over the High Forest, casting golden light in fractured rays through the canopy as Gedyr resumed his journey. His rest had been undisturbed, and the path ahead seemed peaceful enough—quiet, but not ominously so. Birdsong returned to the branches above, tentative and sparse, and a light breeze stirred the damp ferns along the edges of the trail. For a time, it felt as though the woods had accepted him.
But as the trail curved gently through a shallow rise, the atmosphere shifted again. The birds fell silent, not in alarm, but in wary retreat. The breeze died. A sharp, musky scent drifted in from the undergrowth—thick, sour, and unmistakably animal. It smelled of wet fur, blood, and a raw, territorial hunger. Gedyr slowed, every instinct alert.
Just ahead, the soft earth bore massive pawprints, fresh and deep. Each print spanned nearly the width of his palm and pressed into the loam with unsettling weight. They veered off the trail, half-obscured by creeping moss, as if the creature that made them moved with silent confidence.
The growl came next—low and guttural, rising from the brush off to Gedyr’s left. It wasn’t loud, nor theatrical. It didn’t need to be. The sound conveyed one thing: intent. A heartbeat later, a massive shape emerged from the thicket. The dire wolf stood nearly shoulder-high to a man, its mottled fur streaked with mud and old wounds, its eyes sunken but burning with a feral gleam. It didn’t bark or snarl. It simply lowered its head, ears back, muscles tense and ready to spring.
Roll initiative.
Vondos
The night passed without incident. No wild creatures approached the camp, and no sounds disturbed the dark. Only the wind in the trees, the faint hum of arcane machinery, and the still presence of the Custodian filled the space between dusk and dawn. Vondos rested without the needs of sleep or food, and when the forest began to stir, he was already on the move again.
The Ranger Trail remained quiet through the morning. Dew clung to mossy stones, and birdsong filtered down through the leaves. The construct followed behind him in silence, its motion steady and purposeful. The strange pull that had drawn him from Loudwater still tugged faintly in his chest—constant, but not yet urgent.
Sometime after mid-morning, Vondos began to notice signs that he was not alone on the path. Fresh footprints marked the soil, a torn scrap of cloth hung from a low branch, and scuff marks revealed moments where others had slipped or shifted their weight. All signs pointed to a small group ahead—perhaps four or five individuals. They couldn’t be more than an hour ahead of him, distant enough that no sound reached back through the trees, but close enough to be tracked if he wished. He made no effort to catch up, continuing at his measured pace.
As the sun crept higher in the sky, the trail’s nature began to shift. The trees here grew thicker and older, their gnarled limbs forming a canopy of twisted branches that filtered the sunlight into scattered, golden beams. The air grew damp, saturated with the scent of bark, moss, and something subtler beneath—something quiet and alert. The trail narrowed, threading between tangled roots and over shallow rises of stone. Even the birdsong faded, replaced by a hush that felt less like silence and more like anticipation.
Ahead, the path curved toward a ravine where ivy clung to crooked trees and ancient roots crawled like veins across the ground. The forest here felt different—watchful, perhaps even sentient. Vondos could sense the threshold of something not quite natural, as though the trail led into a place where the world had folded inward and begun to dream.
As he reached the edge of this strange terrain, the path itself seemed to hesitate. Whatever lay ahead was no longer just wild land. It was old, rooted, and waiting.
Yuno is at the front of the party with her twin swords, slashing shrubs and branches out of the way to make the path forward easier to traverse. Yuno being Yuno, does not care about what otherworldly magic thinks though she is cautious.
Once the party reaches the edge of the grove, Yuno takes a careful step forward with her booted foot to make sure there's no magic barrier or anything like that. Then she steps forward.
The nameless genasi looks around, the uneasy feeling not fading. She does not know where it comes from, but she keeps herself ready as she presses onward. Simmering yellow eyes blaze with heat, and her presence - a warmth to nature but a roaring flame to the potential assailant. She is attuned to the ways of nature - her defiant stand not a declaration of rulership but a clear warning for predators to stay away.
(Casting thaumaturgy twice - eyes to a burning yellow + sound of a crackling flame)
The fire beetle chitters again as it crawls to watch behind her, as it always had.
Trythia tenses, fingers tightening on her glaive, leaning into its magic to warn her, and her companions, of any danger or attack. The sense of warning is clear, the unnatural magic of the grove another, though not needed. When Yuno steps forward, Trythia matches her.
"A moment, Yuno. Let me see what manner of magic this is, at least what manner of creatures there might be, if any such be the cause. The information could be most useful," she pitches her voice low, for Yuno only.
Without closing her eyes, Trythia reaches into that place within her that allow her to sense the unseen, the presence of things not of this world, things that should not walk it.
ooc: She uses her Divine Sense: The presence of strong evil registers on your senses like a noxious odor, and powerful good rings like heavenly music in your ears. As an action, you can open your awareness to detect such forces. Until the end of your next turn, you know the location of any celestial, fiend, or undead within 60 feet of you that is not behind total cover. You know the type (celestial, fiend, or undead) of any being whose presence you sense, but not its identity (the vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich, for instance). Within the same radius, you also detect the presence of any place or object that has been consecrated or desecrated, as with the hallow spell.
Trythia examines the shrine carefully from where she stands, seeing if it sparks some memory or shred of knowledge. Then she moves closer and once more extends her Divine Senses, seeking for any sense of either rightness or wrongness.
History 13
Religion 18
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
Yuno steps forward confidently, her twin blades shifting lightly at her sides, eyes narrowing as she tests the pull in her chest. But as she draws closer to the shrine, it becomes clear that the faint tug she feels does not lead her here — it continues to pull her forward, down the trail, unchanging and steady. The shrine itself seems to pay her no special notice, its faint emerald glow remaining constant, just as it would for any other traveler passing through. Yuno would recognize that whatever is calling her — calling all of you — lies further ahead, still a bit less than a day’s travel away.
Cygnan studies the shrine thoughtfully, drawing on his deep well of knowledge. With his History (14) and Religion (15) checks, he recalls that this type of forest shrine is commonly dedicated to Mielikki, the goddess of forests, rangers, and the protection of natural balance. It is considered good fortune for travelers to leave an offering here, often something symbolic of their respect for nature: food, water, a sprig of herbs or flowers, or even coins. In rare instances, a personal token has been known to earn the favor of Mielikki’s servants. Cygnan is confident that leaving such an offering would be appropriate — and may earn a minor blessing, though it has no connection to the pull they all feel.
Trythia takes a moment to study the shrine before stepping closer, her keen mind and disciplined faith searching for deeper meaning. With her History (13) check, she notices faint carvings below the stag’s crown that match ancient protective sigils she’s seen in temple records — marks that once designated “safe ways” through dangerous lands. Her Religion (18) check confirms what Cygnan also knows: this is indeed a shrine to Mielikki, and the faint blessing here is still active, if weak. Activating her Divine Sense, she feels no wrongness or evil here — only a quiet presence of consecration, gentle and pure, like a soft hymn in her soul. This is a place of rest and respect, but it is not what is calling her onward.
The shrine waits, quiet and expectant, its emerald glow steady and unchanging. The pull remains — unbroken, unrelenting — leading you forward along the trail, deeper into the forest.
Mal waits patiently while the others examine the shrine and upon hearing the name, Mielikki, she shrugs as the name does not really call out to her in any profound way. To her its just another name.
She does take a moment to focus on the pull and seeing that it seems to be coming from deeper in the forest she sets out on the trail looking back and waiting for the others to finish and join her.
Trythia leaves a small amount of food on the alter and murmurs a prayer and blessing to Mielikki. "Goddess, please accept this small offering. I am sorry it is not more. I pledge to protect the pure where that can be found within your domain, I will protect it there also."
She moves to stand near Yuno, positioning herself so that she can see her companions, the shrine, and the forest. By her posture, she indicates she is ready to move on.
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
Yuno is a bit disappointed that the Shrine isn't the next big spot. She's ready to move onward. There is... not really anything she wants to do with the shrine. In fact, she's starting to find the tugging quite annoying. She is a free spirit and she is starting to feel the tugging is taking away from her freedom to explore. It already pulled her away from her desired "Goblin Ruin Investigation"
Cygnan digs into the rough canvas sack he has been carrying, and leaves a piece of crystal in the offering dish. "A symbol of a shattered soul, goddess. I hope to be worthy of your favor"
The shrine remains still and silent as you finish your moments there, offering no further reaction beyond its faint, steady glow. The faint scent of pine and moss hangs in the air. Those who left offerings feel a subtle sense of peace, as though their gestures have been quietly acknowledged — but no words, no visions, no divine presence makes itself known. For those who feel the pull, it remains unchanged, constant and insistent, tugging you deeper into the forest. The shrine was never its source.
With the final gestures made and no reason to linger, you gather again at the trail. Without further delay, you set off together, leaving the shrine behind in the dim light of the afternoon.
The ranger’s trail winds on through the High Forest, the air growing cooler and damper as the shadows lengthen. The towering oaks and pines overhead close in, their branches interlacing into a canopy that filters the waning sunlight into soft golden streaks. The path remains clear, if narrow — roots and rocks forcing you to watch your footing, but no obstacles barring your way.
The hours pass in relative silence, the forest alive with the quiet rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds settling in for the evening, and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. The pull never fades, steady and unrelenting, still leading you further ahead. No dangers cross your path, no hostile creatures or sinister presence break the stillness. The trail remains uneventful throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening.
As the last light of day fades and dusk settles over the forest, it becomes clear you will need to stop and make camp for the night before pressing on. The trail itself is too narrow and exposed to offer any proper rest. Somewhere off to the side — perhaps a clearing or a sheltered nook — will need to be found.
Whoever is taking charge of finding a campsite, please roll a Survival check.
Cygnan will assist with locating a suitable campsite with any knowledge of hazards he has obtained, and using light on cast on a stick for a torch to help search in the dusk. (Help action to grant advantage on check)
"I know there are spells that can make travel more comfortable.. I am afraid I do not have those yet". he says as they find a site. He offers to take the first watch, and wake the next person.
Trythia volunteers for the second watch.
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
As twilight deepens into dusk, you find a small hollow just off the trail — a patch of level ground nestled between the roots of two broad, moss-draped trees. The underbrush here is sparse, and a fallen log makes for a natural bench near a ring of scattered stones, long since used for campfires past. The canopy overhead thins just enough to allow a glimpse of the stars as the first evening lightkindles in the sky.
With some quick work, you clear a space, build a small fire, and settle in for the night. The fire crackles softly, casting flickering shadows on bark and leaf, and the hum of the forest settles into a quiet rhythm — crickets, wind through branches, and the distant call of owls marking the night.
DM Note:
You have an uneventful night. No enemies approach. No disturbances rise from the trail. The pull that guides you remains present but quiet, as if resting alongside you.
You may take this time to roleplay and get to know one another’s characters, if you wish. Share stories, ask questions, or reflect — whether around the fire or in your own space nearby. Once the rest of the group has caught up to this point, I will move everyone forward to morning.
As the group settles in for the night, Trythia moves to one side, where the trees have formed a small bulge in the clearing. Small, but large enough. Taking her glaive, she begins to work the forms, starting with simple warm-up and stretching moves but soon transitioning to more martial attack and defense postures. The workout lasts about 30 minutes, during which time her focus never fades and she always has some part of her attention on the forest and on her companions.
Eventually, she winds down, moving on to cool down moves. Finally, she's done, the glaive at rest, her head bowed. Looking up at the others, she finds herself a place on the log and sits. Taking a long drink of water, she turns to Cygnan. "So, tell me wizard, have you any memories of the time before your...awakening? Myself, I have just some fragments of battle and conflict." She does not say what she was fighting. For all she knows, this Cygnan, the others may be part of the ones she battled, and know it not.
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
Cygnan has been quiet and contemplative. The Assimar helped with setting up the camp and shares what he has learned of the surrounding region from his studies at the town archives. To Trythia he says "I remember very little. Flashes of memories. A laughing dwarf threatening to destroy all.. I feel he is still a threat,. Haluth must be stopped. I remember also I was a powerful wizard. I had built a city of spires and glyphs.. My staff broke, all was lost.. and I was here.. I do not remember any of this present company.".
Mal helps with setting up camp and then with dinner, not that there is much of it, but she is still grateful there is actually some dinner. She then sits with her back against a log and enjoys staring at the campfire, the flames dancing with each other as she listens to the others stories.
She is entranced with the weapon handling of Trythia and nods her respect at her skill and then pays attention to the conversation between Trythia and Cygnan. After Cygnan's comment she sits straight up and asks Cygnan, "I'm sorry WHO must be stopped?" As she then glances over to where Haluth is sitting with a question on her face. "Do you two know each other from before?"
Yuno positions herself at one side of the campfire, resting her back against a log. She is content to chew on the jerky of her rations and listen in on the conversation going on.
((Removed 4 days worth of rations for the day's meals for herself, Haluth, Mal and Cygnan))
"Haluth...". The name is repeated out of Cygnan's mouth, then he looks at the dwarf. The wizard's face falls with embarassed shock.. "I am sorry... my vision, your name was part of it but I did not realize until this moment when I said it out loud.. Do you remember my name? or me?. I did not recognize you, if indeed you are the one from my vision" . He looks at Haluth curiously, then attempts to brush the moment off. "In any case, I am not sure what I need to stop! Well, I have shared my story- who is next?"
Mal lets out a long sigh, "I am getting tired of these so called 'visions' as they mean nothing to anyone and only bring up more questions. The only vision I had was me captaining a rather large ship and the potential commanding of the seas, though I am not sure I was actually sailing on water. See nothing makes sense how can I sail a ship on anything but water." She violently shakes her head as if to clear the cobwebs but to no avail.
"Well hopefully tomorrow when we wake up, and travel to wherever this pull is bringing us, we can find some more answers this time instead of more questions." Mal yawns, "I will help whomever in the morning with making breakfast, won't be much, but I will try and not burn anything."
Cygnan, Haluth, Mal, Trythia, and Yuno
The night passes without incident. The soft rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of owls, and the occasional creak of wood settling in the canopy above are your only company. Whatever watches these woods chooses to remain distant for now. By the time the fire dies to embers, the pull that led you here still thrums quietly in your bones — patient, but persistent.
You rise with the early light filtering through the trees, soft and gray-green beneath the thick forest cover. The air is damp and cool, the ground dew-slick and speckled with small mushrooms and fern fronds. A simple breakfast is eaten in relative quiet, and within minutes your makeshift camp is packed, leaving little trace behind.
The trail ahead winds deeper into the High Forest. As you walk, the woods begin to change subtly. Trees grow closer together, their trunks gnarled and their branches interwoven into a tangled canopy that chokes the sunlight into flickering shafts. The moss underfoot thickens, and thorny underbrush begins to cluster near the path, tugging at your boots and clothes if you stray even slightly off-course.
The quiet here is different. Heavier. Expectant.
You feel eyes on you — not hostile, but watchful. Somewhere just beyond sight, something is aware of your presence.
The path begins to narrow sharply between two massive trees whose bark is streaked with unnatural markings, almost like veins of dark purple lichen. The underbrush thickens into walls of thorns and vine-choked roots. Even the birds seem to avoid this stretch of forest.
As you slow to assess the trail ahead, a whisper brushes across your mind — not speech exactly, but the distinct sense of turn back. No figure stands in your path. No voice calls aloud. But the warning is clear and unmistakable.
You have reached the edge of a grove touched by unnatural magic — and not all things here welcome company.
Volkanica
Morning rises gently through the High Forest, light filtering through a canopy thick with pine and oak. Sunbeams scatter across the forest floor in shifting patterns, catching on beads of dew and stirring life beneath the leaves. The air is cool, touched with the damp breath of the night before, and the steady rhythm of birdsong marks the beginning of another quiet day.
Volkanica breaks camp without delay. Her gear is minimal, her purpose clear. With her fire beetle companion nestled quietly on her shoulder and the pull in her chest still guiding her northeast, she moves forward once more into the wilds. There is no trail beneath her boots, no road to follow—only instinct and the silent beckoning of something unseen in the distance.
The forest receives her in hushed welcome. Squirrels chatter overhead, and the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush weaves with the low hum of insects. For hours, she presses on without interruption. The deeper she goes, the older the woods feel, as if the trees themselves have forgotten the presence of anything but their own growth.
Yet as the sun climbs higher, something subtle begins to shift.
It starts as a faint tension—barely more than a whisper at the edge of awareness. The air feels heavier, as if the forest is holding its breath. The birdsong thins. The wind hushes. No specific sound gives it away, and yet the certainty grows stronger with each step. She is not alone.
The fire beetle spirit stirs, chitters once, and goes still.
There’s a flicker of motion ahead. Not a clear form, but something that moves just beyond the edge of focus—too fluid, too silent, vanishing before the eye can settle on it. It could have been a trick of the light. It could have been nothing at all.
But she knows better.
A presence lingers. Patient. Calculating. Watching.
The forest remains still, yet the feeling does not pass. If anything, it deepens. Whatever is out there is not simply passing by. It’s waiting.
Gedyr
The morning broke softly over the High Forest, casting golden light in fractured rays through the canopy as Gedyr resumed his journey. His rest had been undisturbed, and the path ahead seemed peaceful enough—quiet, but not ominously so. Birdsong returned to the branches above, tentative and sparse, and a light breeze stirred the damp ferns along the edges of the trail. For a time, it felt as though the woods had accepted him.
But as the trail curved gently through a shallow rise, the atmosphere shifted again. The birds fell silent, not in alarm, but in wary retreat. The breeze died. A sharp, musky scent drifted in from the undergrowth—thick, sour, and unmistakably animal. It smelled of wet fur, blood, and a raw, territorial hunger. Gedyr slowed, every instinct alert.
Just ahead, the soft earth bore massive pawprints, fresh and deep. Each print spanned nearly the width of his palm and pressed into the loam with unsettling weight. They veered off the trail, half-obscured by creeping moss, as if the creature that made them moved with silent confidence.
The growl came next—low and guttural, rising from the brush off to Gedyr’s left. It wasn’t loud, nor theatrical. It didn’t need to be. The sound conveyed one thing: intent. A heartbeat later, a massive shape emerged from the thicket. The dire wolf stood nearly shoulder-high to a man, its mottled fur streaked with mud and old wounds, its eyes sunken but burning with a feral gleam. It didn’t bark or snarl. It simply lowered its head, ears back, muscles tense and ready to spring.
Roll initiative.
Vondos
The night passed without incident. No wild creatures approached the camp, and no sounds disturbed the dark. Only the wind in the trees, the faint hum of arcane machinery, and the still presence of the Custodian filled the space between dusk and dawn. Vondos rested without the needs of sleep or food, and when the forest began to stir, he was already on the move again.
The Ranger Trail remained quiet through the morning. Dew clung to mossy stones, and birdsong filtered down through the leaves. The construct followed behind him in silence, its motion steady and purposeful. The strange pull that had drawn him from Loudwater still tugged faintly in his chest—constant, but not yet urgent.
Sometime after mid-morning, Vondos began to notice signs that he was not alone on the path. Fresh footprints marked the soil, a torn scrap of cloth hung from a low branch, and scuff marks revealed moments where others had slipped or shifted their weight. All signs pointed to a small group ahead—perhaps four or five individuals. They couldn’t be more than an hour ahead of him, distant enough that no sound reached back through the trees, but close enough to be tracked if he wished. He made no effort to catch up, continuing at his measured pace.
As the sun crept higher in the sky, the trail’s nature began to shift. The trees here grew thicker and older, their gnarled limbs forming a canopy of twisted branches that filtered the sunlight into scattered, golden beams. The air grew damp, saturated with the scent of bark, moss, and something subtler beneath—something quiet and alert. The trail narrowed, threading between tangled roots and over shallow rises of stone. Even the birdsong faded, replaced by a hush that felt less like silence and more like anticipation.
Ahead, the path curved toward a ravine where ivy clung to crooked trees and ancient roots crawled like veins across the ground. The forest here felt different—watchful, perhaps even sentient. Vondos could sense the threshold of something not quite natural, as though the trail led into a place where the world had folded inward and begun to dream.
As he reached the edge of this strange terrain, the path itself seemed to hesitate. Whatever lay ahead was no longer just wild land. It was old, rooted, and waiting.
Yuno is at the front of the party with her twin swords, slashing shrubs and branches out of the way to make the path forward easier to traverse. Yuno being Yuno, does not care about what otherworldly magic thinks though she is cautious.
Once the party reaches the edge of the grove, Yuno takes a careful step forward with her booted foot to make sure there's no magic barrier or anything like that. Then she steps forward.
Volkanica
The nameless genasi looks around, the uneasy feeling not fading. She does not know where it comes from, but she keeps herself ready as she presses onward. Simmering yellow eyes blaze with heat, and her presence - a warmth to nature but a roaring flame to the potential assailant. She is attuned to the ways of nature - her defiant stand not a declaration of rulership but a clear warning for predators to stay away.
(Casting thaumaturgy twice - eyes to a burning yellow + sound of a crackling flame)
The fire beetle chitters again as it crawls to watch behind her, as it always had.
Trythia tenses, fingers tightening on her glaive, leaning into its magic to warn her, and her companions, of any danger or attack. The sense of warning is clear, the unnatural magic of the grove another, though not needed. When Yuno steps forward, Trythia matches her.
"A moment, Yuno. Let me see what manner of magic this is, at least what manner of creatures there might be, if any such be the cause. The information could be most useful," she pitches her voice low, for Yuno only.
Without closing her eyes, Trythia reaches into that place within her that allow her to sense the unseen, the presence of things not of this world, things that should not walk it.
ooc: She uses her Divine Sense: The presence of strong evil registers on your senses like a noxious odor, and powerful good rings like heavenly music in your ears. As an action, you can open your awareness to detect such forces. Until the end of your next turn, you know the location of any celestial, fiend, or undead within 60 feet of you that is not behind total cover. You know the type (celestial, fiend, or undead) of any being whose presence you sense, but not its identity (the vampire Count Strahd von Zarovich, for instance). Within the same radius, you also detect the presence of any place or object that has been consecrated or desecrated, as with the hallow spell.
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric