An untamed frontier. Dark cults. Fickle fey gods. Ravenous fiends. Nothing black powder and sorcery won't fix... . Timberlands Campaign Diary
Contracted to deal with a menace outside of the village of Tichner Fork, the heroes first returned to the Smuggler’s Boot Tavern to glean some more information from the locals about the blood-thirsty menace they faced. The party settled in to talk with the bearfolk barkeep Jun. The spectacle-wearing agriothier still lamented the terrible death of his dear friend the night before, Osswec who owned the bar. The staff and usual patrons were subdued as well. However, Jun wanted to help. A learned fellow, he’d rifled through his library for any clues about the wendigo that had struck the night before. While born in exile from the Agriother Warlords to the south, Jun had vaguely heard tales of such horrors before. His research yielded valuable information that Jun shared with the party.
When the Empire of Enuk’Lun fell centuries ago, the northern frontier that the Congressional Colonies now occupied had not suffered nearly as much as the distant heart of the empire. Whatever unknown arcane calamity had consumed it didn’t quite reach the forested north of the continent, though the government quickly collapsed. The various wizard-priests of Enuk’Lun squabbled with one another, becoming the first warlords after a fashion of the Agriothier territories.
Greatest among them was the blood mage Ipqu-Annunitum, called Ipqu the Bleeder in agriothier folklore. Ipqu-Annunitum found a way to twist mortals using a combination of fear and hunger into the first wendigo and set the fiendish creations upon his rivals. The Bleeder managed to slay many of the other wizard priests and his grasp of blood magic even led him to lichdom, a practice strictly forbidden even among the decadent Empire of Enuk’lun. His rivals banded against him and many of those last wizard-priests fell but Ipqu-Annunitum was sealed away. They never found his phylactery and thus could not destroy him, only imprison him. The party was unnerved by this fact and worried perhaps the furriers and hunters that had gone mad and been twisted into the ravenous infernals may have stumbled on Ipqu-Annunitum’s prison.
Still, they were champions and weren’t going to turn from the fight. After restocking on health potions and other essentials the party set off into the woods after a stop at a local fur-traders’ shop. The goblin that ran it, Eike, let them know that there were three different symbols to look out for in the woods. A circle carved into a tree trunk designated that there was a hunter’s path nearby and the region was relatively safe. A circle with a downturned triangle in it signified there was some manner of danger in the area. If there were small statues bearing the Grim Visage of Enuk’Lun it meant there was the remnant of one of the empire’s roads around and likely signaled an easier time moving.
The party decided to trace the edge of the Moon Kiss Mountains to find both the missing sheriff, Monl Stant, and where the wendigo were coming from. They found an easy path marked by circle-carved trunks and followed it. Every few hours, the tabaxi ranger, Wild, came across signs of a group of inexperienced folks moving through the woods. Late in the afternoon, they heard the death bellows of some large mammal echo through the trees. Wild, always wary, used his ranger senses to try and see if there were any fey nearby. However, he was also trained to stalk dragons and was shocked not only to feel draconic power in the area, but six distinct creatures! Wearily, the heroes investigated.
Six amethyst wyrmlings snacked on a downed Laxadon, a type of giant sloth. The wyrmlings chattered along with on another as they dined, occasionally moving to a nearby stream to drink and frolic. Not knowing what to expect, Sykes the eladrin rogue and Wild crept closer. The rest of the heroes waited nearby in case there was trouble.
Wild made himself known, speaking draconic, and was quickly swarmed by the curious wyrmlings. The largest of them, Grythun, explained that they’d come to the area to play and get something different to eat and they were all excited to talk to people. They found mortal creatures very interesting and wondered how they could live a life that was one day after another. It seemed so slow, but quaint in a good way. Grythun and his siblings didn’t pose any sort of threat and would be headed back to their nest soon enough anyway, but were glad to chat away. They’d not seen much strange in the area, but they didn’t know what would be strange. This wasn’t their home after all. Eventually, the wyrmlings declared they had to head back to the nest. A driving rain, so thick one could not see more than an arm-length away or hear a thing swept over the area. It only lasted five minutes or so, but by the time it lifted the party discovered the world was deep into the night. Their bodies ached as if they were standing in one spot for hours, and the wyrmlings were gone. This reminded Wild of the last time he’d sensed dragons and they’d been enveloped in rain before a time skip. (Session 11). Clearly, dragons of the area were messing with time itself. The party tried not to worry about it and settled down to sleep. Not before, however, Ea the agriothier wizard and Riley the changeling dervish noted that the laxadon had seemingly died of extreme old age…
The party slept peacefully thanks to a tiny hut spell, but when they awoke the next morning they discovered the laxadon corpse stripped down to nearly nothing and the area around their camp covered in tracks. Wild made out that they were like raccoon tracks, but much larger, around that of a human’s tread. Aelric, the satyr bloodhunter, brought up that he’d heard silly stories of dwarf-sized raccoons tormenting travelers now and again but no evidence had ever been found of one of these creatures. Most folks wrote it off as a myth. The heroes shrugged it off and continued to skirt the mountains.
It wasn’t long into the afternoon when they came across traces of what they were looking for and leapt into the fray. An injured twenty-something human sat against a glowing standing stone, taking slow shots at a crowd of stickmen (reskinned and buffed scarecrows) circling the area. The dread constructs could not get to the man or his growling, golden-furred hound. Nor could the abomination controlling the stickmen, a wendigo soulhunter (from Nameia's Crimson Tome [DMs Guild]) . Riley charged into a line of stickmen and found themself quickly surrounded, but raged to keep the constructs at bay. Sykes and Aelric piled into the wendigo and carved wide wounds in its emaciated form that bled inky smoke instead of vitae. The soulhunter cast a ghastly howl into the sky that wracked Sykes and Ea with fear before tearing into them with its jaws and claws. With each bit, the wendigo devoured part of the eladrin and satyr’s souls too to repair itself.
Ea managed to shake of the fear and blasted away and stickmen advancing on he and Wild; his firebolts quite effective against the wooden horrors. Wild put shots where he could as he tried to free up Riley from the mass of monsters. For a while, it seemed touch and go. No matter how much Aelric and Sykes made the wendigo bleed, it kept up by draining life from them. To make matters worse, Sykes’ mind unraveled as the fear consumed her and she felt like she might collapse at any moment. The golden hound, however, raced from his master’s side to hers. The dog’s aura bolstered her mental defenses just enough to keep her from cracking. Eventually, the fiend was destroyed save its antlered skull left behind and the stickmen were milled down to piles of twigs. The party breathed a sigh of relief and their ally, the goblin warlock Niq, set to healing the heroes as well as the seriously injured man they’d rescued.
The fellow introduced himself as the noble scion, Henrich Eaglespur. He’d been out scouting the area while his valet/mentor Irveen Barkbender waited in town. The party had met Irveen the night before at the Smuggler’s Boots Tavern, and the elder eldritch knight had helped fend off the attack there. Henrich explained that he and Irveen had stumbled on a conspiracy among Henrich’s young peers; that of the demonic Lodgemaster corrupting them through cannibal cults disguised as noble hunting lodges. The champions shared their encounter with The Lodgemaster (Session 6-8) and his cult. They were dismayed as Henrich confirmed their suspicion that there were lodges all across the Congressional Congress appealing to young bluebloods with decadence hidden behind a veil of honor and secrecy. Henrich thanked them for their efforts in saving them, and asked to travel with them until they returned to town. He also would put them in contact with others like him and Irveen.
Sykes asked after the dog. Henrich introduced him as Dodge, a hound infused with a celestial ember much as Irveen’s owl was. They figured the best way to battle infernals was to have celestials on their side.
Their skills exhausted; the heroes settled in for the night. Again, within the tiny hut spell, it passed uneventfully but likewise when they woke up the area was covered in large raccoon tracks and the battlefield disturbed. It was clear the party was being stalked. Still, they forged on, this time turning south as they found haphazard debris left by the sherrif’s posse. It seemed that the lawmen had gone from a methodical, if inept, foray into the woods into a confused panic. Wild doubted they had a ranger with them and suspect the lawmen might be lost – or worse, pursued by a foe.
With the weather taking a cold turn, fog rose up among the trees; trees marked with downturned triangle denoting danger in the area. Within the thick mist, the heroes detected the glow of dozens of lanterns drifting in the air up ahead. Worried that this couldn’t be good, Aelric, Sykes , and Wild forged ahead, while Ea and Riley stayed with their allies. The lanterns, flicking with witchlight, dangled from the branches of an old, leafless hawthorn tree. They were of various makes and in varying stages of disrepair but each glowed. The trio investigated the area with Aelric finding a weather-beaten crate in the roots.
In the meantime, Ea’s hawk familiar circled the area and spotted a campfire a few miles off in the mist. The bearfolk figured this might be the sheriff they were looking for and the rest of the party advanced to the tree. Aelric and Sykes investigated the crate’s contents. They’d been there for some time and were an odd collection of trinkets. Most notably, however, was a dried crabapple wrapped into the monogrammed handkerchief of a fallen fey hero of the old world, Count of the Forlorn Tower and the broken hilt of a sword stamped with the heraldry of the first Baron Vinemoure, a line long extinct. There wasn’t a clue as to who’s collection this was.
Worried that they may have gotten into something they shouldn’t, the party took a long sigh and made ready to head on their way. A blink dog popped into being in front of Wild, nearly making everyone scream. It offered out a missive to the tabaxi who’d been named captain of their group. It turned out to be from the tax collector Wren Holdfast and offered dire, but cryptic news. She’d found the Grim-Faced Bridge ‘compromised’ by the same force that had plagued Inniscrone and Hillsbrook Valley and had lost both of her guards in the retreat. She was heading back to the Convent of Quite Grace as quick as she could and hoped to meet them there. The heroes worried what this could mean and sent back a note for Wren to seek out their friends Gwaedd the mustel bard and Eshkar the agriotheir cleric at the Convent. This particular group of heroes knew they were too far away to come to her aid in time. Pop! Of the blink dog went.
It wasn’t long before the heroes caught up to the campfire and discovered it was indeed started by the sheriff. The mustel, otterfolk, fellow and his two remaining friends shivered in the cold. Monl was relieved to see the heroes. The well-dressed lawman offered them a seat by the meager fire. He and his companions were haggard, wet, and worn down. He explained that a few days into their search, the party was assailed at night by a group of large raccoons. The devious creatures clearly were smarter than mere animals and had been chasing them for days now. Two of his men had disappeared along the way, along with much of their gear that the creature’s stole. The raccoon things only struck at night and he feared that without aid he and his men were done for. Of course, the heroes offered to help – it was part of their pay after all.
Settling in for the night, Aelric and Sykes hid among trees while everyone else availed themselves of the tiny hunt spell. Deep into the evening, the Rapscallions came with their eyes reflecting in the scant light. It turned out they were indeed dwarf-sized raccoons at first glance. The creatures searched around the tiny hut, trying to find a way in. Sykes, being one to try and find peaceful solutions, cast speak with animals and dropped down into the animal bandits.
It turned out that they were quite intelligent, but with no language of their own. It also turned out the rapscallions were not raccoons at all, but some sort of furred reptiles with the black stripes being fine scales. They explained that one of the sheriff’s men had hurt one of them while they’d just been ‘looking for shinies’ so now they were tormenting the posse. Sykes negotiated a trade of more shinies to let the matter drop, much to Aelric’s dismay. The eladrin also asked about the local area, if the rapscallions knew of any place of fear with strange animals and talking wind. The crew of fuzzy thieves did in fact and for more shinies, coins, and a few minor items, agreed to lead the heroes to the area. The party marveled as the rapscallions unhinged their jaws and swallowed the items whole as well as coughing back up muskets they’d taken from the sheriff. Ea boggled at how much money their stomachs might go for if they were something like bags of holding! But, the heroes quelled their greedy impulses and let the rapscallions lead them along.
The trail took them back toward the edge of the Moon Kiss Mountains into an area where the air was thick with dread, the trees already stripped of their leaves. The swirling winds carried cackling and sinister whispers on it while the mist it disturbed formed leering faces. The rapscallions left the heroes at a ridgeline and got out of there. On the other side, the champions observed a ruined edifice in the mountains carved with skulls and the yard between them and the entrance roaming with wendigo and twisted walking trees adorned with humanoid skulls. Worst of all, right up front between four pillars bearing the Grim Visage of Enuk’Lun was a swirling, humanoid mass of spectral black with a half-formed skull that stood as tall as any giant. This had to be the place.
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