The rumbling of the cart wheels on the gravel breaks the silence just as much as the last two years of ‘adventure' has broken your spirits. For 158 years, a Demon Lord known simply as the Beast of Bone and Oblivion has ruled over the land of Yaratal, after he stole the throne long before your time. At the centre of the realm, the Spire of Darkness stands, a titanic ebony black palace fashioned from the remains of what used to be the Tree of Life, which once spread vitality and growth throughout the land via its roots. Now it’s all but dead, and with the Beast of Bone and Oblivion occupying its hollow trunk, its roots simply bleed out misery and despair, leeching the colour from everything around.

Despite the constant pain and suffering hanging over Yaratal, you once had a hope for better days. Maybe you came from another realm, seeking to better yourself and others. Maybe you were raised under the shining promise that you would be the one to lift the land from darkness. Maybe you just held that spark for adventure since childhood, and that’s what lead you to go and chase your dreams. But that dream is slowly dying, as although you’ve found each other’s company as a party, plundered dungeons, found treasure and slain beasts, you’ve found the only constant semblance of a ‘quest’ is the destruction of Shadow Knots, and you despise it. In places where tensions wear thin and hatred boils over, the roots from the Spire of Darkness can end up knotting themselves into pulsating balls of shadow and gloom. The mere presence of these knots kills plants nearby, bleaches objects black and white, and can twist living beings into spitefully evil forms. None of it is fun. There is no joy to be found entering a broken home, slaying the prior owner now twisted into a meazel or  sorrowsworn, and then destroying the blackened root, only to repeat the process again and again, with no hope of reward or recognition. Yet that’s all you think you can do. The Beast of Bone and Oblivion holds a strength that cannot be rivalled. And so you find yourself in the back of this cart, trundling along the grey and bleak countryside towards a lonely and forgotten windmill, after hearing a report of strange activity, likely another Shadow Knots to be destroyed, just as you have done for months and months before…

((New link worked— interesting foes ))

Daewen shifts her weight, the subtle clink of her armor a familiar sound lost in the groan of the cart's wheels.  The description of the land resonates with a deep, ancestral ache she can't explain.  The Shadowfell -- her home -- was a place of gray and gloom, but it possessed a strange, ethereal beauty.  This land was just…dead.  A blight born of a twisted thing.

Her gaze drifts to the horizon, where the distant, oppressive shape of the Spire of Darkness dominates the landscape.  The very sight of it makes her feel a cold that has nothing to do with the wind.  The despair and misery described by others is a weight she feels acutely, a familiar poison.

This latest ‘quest’ is no better than the last.  She has no words (OOC: pun intended; she’s a mute…) to express the weariness she feels.  She doesn't have to; her face is a mask of stoic resolve, but her eyes, deep and intense, betray the profound disappointment.  She thinks of the poor souls twisted by the roots of the Spire, and her grip tightens on the hilt of her rapier at her side, her knuckles turning white.

She glances over at the others in the cart, her expression unreadable.  She draws the small slate from her pack and pulls the chalk from her pocket.  With a few quick, precise motions, she scrawls a message and holds it up for the others to see: How many more of these?

"More than we have left in us," I am sure, says Mun aloud. "But that is the task, the duty, the only way forward. Colour is leeched and returns. Sorrow is sown, and reaped and burned after its seeds are spread. But does the farmer cease his work for the persistence of weeds amongst his crops. Does he starve, rather than swallow his exasperation alone?"

Even to Mun, he words lack the fire and commitment of when their band first assembled. Still, she was well and long taught, and the words come easily, without thought nowadays. 

Nemmonis Xarkris looks out over the surrounding countryside, but notices none of it as he is lost in thought. He knew that his life was destined for adventure and glory, but the adventure was wearing on him and he certainly did not experience any glory. The only thing that keeps him going is duty in honor. Giving up is not an option. He will keep fighting until his mangled corpse lies on the ground. 

Daewen listens to her companions, her face a familiar mask of quiet stoicism.  Mun's words, though laced with a flowery language she finds alien, resonate with a bleak truth.  The farmer analogy is accurate in its despairing persistence.

She gives a single, sharp nod of her head, a silent acknowledgment of the Sorcerer's words.  Her eyes, however, remain fixed on Xarkris.  She understands his grim conviction far more than any metaphor.  His grim resolve is a mirror of her own—a stark, unyielding duty in the face of overwhelming odds.

She meets the Dragonborn's gaze, and for a long moment, there is a wordless exchange of understanding.  No gesture, no scribble on a slate is needed.  Just a shared, silent recognition of the deep weariness and the terrible, unshakeable will to go on.  As the cart continues to rumble towards the forgotten windmill, she simply returns her focus to the gray, dying landscape, her hand tightening once more on her rapier hilt, ready for the inevitable.

Yistral, a male githyanki dressed with a black robe and a shield, rapier at side , simply walks along side his companions. Ever alert for enemies and opportunities

Mun turns to their newest Githyanki companion. “What say you, have you much experience with this land of bleached and shadowed bone? I apologise for my indisposal during your recruitment, but you seem a stoic sort, and I am yet to learn of your capabilities.”

“I am a simple and humble mage.  … i cast spells “

Mun laughs a little at the brief response. “If you wish to be coy, very well then. It’s never long before you’ll be put to the test with this realm. As for myself, I am a humble and simple Seeker of the Sanguine Sphinx, and I also cast spells, if I think any may help you, I’ll be sure to cast one on you.”

The old driver of the cart turns his head at the sound of Mun’s chuckle towards her githyanki companion. Amusement’s hardly an easy thing to come by anymore, but snatches of humour like the contrast between the new party member Yistral’s quiet demeanour compared to the varied and vibrant personas of the current party (or the shell of what was) are a sign that there’s still some light in the dark to be found. 

However, you’re all quickly pulled back to reality as the driver says, ‘Here it is. The old windmill.’ The windmill in question is a dilapidated ruin, and it wouldn’t be unthought of for one to consider it still having four walls and a roof a miracle. The sails look as if they haven’t been turned in eons, now tattered beyond repair by years of rain and wind, and the path towards the door is incredibly overgrown, so much so that you likely couldn’t tell where it used to be without the clue of the door’s peeling red paint peeking through the leaves of the bushes in front of it. 

(What was the strange activity we heard about here? What do we already know and what can we see that gives any clues about this shadow knots that we would be able to figure out — as our characters have tangled with shadow knots previously, I assume they know more about what’s to come then we do.)

[Sure. This particular site is very remote and clearly abandoned, but locals have said that people who have gone to explore here haven’t returned, and at the same time, shadowy humanoid monsters have been seen from a distance emerging, though no one has been brave (or foolish) enough to get close enough to give them a closer look. You’re aware that Shadow Knots have the ability to contort creatures into monsters, so you’re pretty confident that these lost explorers have been turned. Other effects of Shadow Knots include killing plants and draining colour, which doesn’t seem to be happening here from the look of the outside, but could be occurring inside, and not every Shadow Knot is the same; some might sit dormant underground, putting all their energy into killing a farmer’s crops to feed off their despair, whilst some that have become the fascination of others will find it more effective to drain the fear and horror of that creature as they are transformed (which is likely the case here) Finally, they cast strange gloomy shadows and emanate darkness where they shouldn’t, to the point where shadows seem to move on their own, make the wrong shape as opposed to what they’re cast from, and in extreme cases rooms become so dark that you can’t even make out objects and walls] 

Yistral will have his familiar (bat) fly around - when the party is ready, and see if it can find out info.. and see if any openings that it can fly into. prior to leaving  will cast guidance on it.

"i might have a way to scout..." and the bat lands in his open hand

Xarkris hops off the cart and surveys the area. The big Paladin then readies his shield and Battleaxe and carefully walks up the path to the door, using his PASSIVE PERCEPTION of 22 to look for traps, danger, and treasure.

Religion, revelation, restoration, and retribution are Mun’s area of expertise. In matters of investigation and discovery, where matters are more mundane than spiritual, she has little to contribute.

Well used to Xarkris’s approach to vanguarding their approach to shadow knots, she has little to say in favour or against the use of a scouting familiar and leaves the others to say whether it would complement their approaches well. 

(marching order wise, Mun is squishy and a healer so would look to be in on of the least trap /ambush spotting positions)

Yistral sends his bat out, which scouts around the whole turret, but can’t find any openings in which to squeeze itself into. Xarkris then approaches the door, hacking back any large brambles with his axe and letting the smaller, insignificant ones simply brush off his armour; the rare suit of adamantine plate he recovered from a quest you completed long ago is more than scratch-proof, moving through the thorns without a single hitch. 

Looking around, he sees no signs of traps, which is positive, and there seems to be nothing of note within the rest of the garden and or about the windmill’s exterior besides their respective overgrown and dilapidated states. On inspection, the door seems to be unlocked, and slightly ajar, which explains how monsters could be getting out. You sense a cool breeze floating through the crack.

Sensing that the approach is clear of danger, Xarkris waves his massive hand and motions his partners over to his position. While waiting for his group to gather, Xarkris focuses on the door and the crack that reveals the darkness beyond. He takes a READY action and grips his Battleaxe tightly in anticipation of any threats beyond.

yistral looks through his bats senses and peers into the blackness outlined by the opened door.(blindsight 60')

Daewen's eyes track the conversation from her spot in the cart.  She doesn't participate in the verbal jousting between Mun and Yistral.  Instead, she finds herself nodding internally at Yistral's brevity.  He, like her, seems to find the need for verbose explanation unnecessary.  The exchange confirms her initial read on the Githyanki: pragmatic and to the point.  She simply watches, her attention undivided.

As the cart comes to a halt, the dilapidated windmill rises into view, a monument to the creeping despair of this land.  Daewen's gaunt features remain impassive, but her mind is already in motion.  The driver's description of the area is a chilling confirmation of her fears.  As a Shadar Kai, she knows this type of corruption.  It feeds on fear and consumes living things, turning them into twisted echoes of their former selves.  For the first time on this trip, she feels a grim sense of purpose.  This is a task her people were born to face.

She leaps from the back of the cart, landing with a silent grace that is almost unheard over the crunch of gravel.  While Xarkris takes the direct approach, hacking a path to the door, Daewen circles wide, her movements fluid as she seeks the deepest shadows cast by the ruin.  Her Umbral Sight is her greatest advantage, and as she closes in, her eyes already begin to adjust to the encroaching gloom.  The cool breeze from the ajar door carries with it the familiar, sickening taint of Shadowfell magic, and a grim satisfaction settles in her heart.

She rejoins the group at the door, her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier.  She gives a quick glance to Yistral, whose bat friend is already plumbing the darkness beyond.  With Xarkris readying his axe and Mun poised for support, Daewen's role is clear.  She holds up her slate, scrawls a single word, and shows it to her companions: Want me to lead?