Skyfell Campaign: Session 12

Skyfell Introduction

I started a once-per-month Dungeons and Dragons game in my Skyfell campaign setting. I wanted to provide my players with a log of their adventures and then realized that such a log might make for fun blog posts. See the Session Index for a complete listing.

The cast is:

Rodney - Tauffae Twofeather Topshelf - male orc, Fighter (Champion)

Dan - Drekzhar - male minotaur, Bard/Rogue (College of Swords, no specialty)

Laura - Meribore Softwalker - female fitbolg, Druid (Circle of the Moon)

Michelle - Bronte Whitewinter - male firbolg, Cleric (Tempest Domain)

Jeff - Omagoshno - male rock gnome, Artificer (Artillerist)

Session 12: A Shortcut to Mushrooms

Preparation

Okay, time for a bit of a tell-all expose regarding the Session 11 summary.

Ready?

I totally ended the summary at a punchline that I couldn't pass up. I mean, "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were dead?" I hadn't planned it that way. I really wanted all of the guards to survive. So did Rodney. But the dice gods set a different path for those two NPCs. What sort of Shakespeare fan (or more precisely fan of the movie Rosencrantz and Guidenstern Are Dead) would I be without ending the summary that way? A very poor one, indeed. I even flipped a coin to decide if I should and it came up heads. Now that's fate.

What sort of fan would I be?

In fact, session 11 turned out to be an extended session where the first part ended at the discovery of the guards' deaths and the second part concluded the Stranger Things arc. I'm including that second portion below as part of the in-game summary though. Is that cheating? A little. We did review that last part at the start of Session 12 though so it's not a complete lie. Just a cheap illusion and an even cheaper allusion.

Preparation wise, I needed to flesh out the encounter with Laeri Raptorstein (see the Session 8 summary). Like many of my "primary" NPCs, I created Raptorstein following the PC creation rules in the PHB. It's always fun to roll up characters! I also wrote out a lot of dialog in case the player characters started peppering him with questions as well. 

The Characters Might Serve Questions

Looming over all of this, however, was Bronte’s arm. The party had finally collected all the parts Oma needed to complete the prosthetic. He just needed time to do the work. This meant a week of in-game down time where one character would be bus. This left the others with an opportunity to pursue their own tasks or whims. I was uncomfortable doing this in session, so on Discord I asked the team to let me know what their characters were going to do for that time, assuming Raptorstein didn't TPK them before they could return to Highwater. There was some mixed responses and some confusion as to the timing of things. I eventually gave up pursuing this information and decided to bite the crossbow bolt and run the downtime sequences in session. Everyone was okay with that.

Everyone was okay with that.

While this was happening, I completed some handouts. There were a few dream sequences that needed writing. I also wanted to write up the first time The Raven collected Meribore’s memories for the Raven Queen (see the Session 9 summary regarding Meribore's death). It was about time for Omagoshno to receive word from Oh-hellka’s Campus regarding his request for a master to train him in the magical arts as well (see the Session 8 summary). So I also needed to create another NPC and also another handout for that.

Rustmaister Scheppen-dunturo's request for help was going to be the party's next adventure (once again, see the Session 8 summary). I needed to complete the materials for that as well. Other than finalizing the map, I wanted to create a prop for a note the player characters were meant to find. So, I tried my hand at coloring and aging the paper I printed the note on. This involved soaking the paper in coffee and sprinkling black-tea leaves over it. The results were pretty satisfying.

Soaking Paper in Coffee Water and Tea Leaves

One interesting outcome of my request for downtime tasks was that I ended up running a one-shot session for Dan and a few other folks. Though Dan played a different character in that one-shot, I set it as a dream Drekzhar would have his first night back in Delakor. I think it worked out well because I tied it to the orb Drekzhar had picked up in the WhatNot Shop a few sessions back and that he subsequently had embedded in his dagger. We also decided to split the XP for that session among the player characters of the regular group. As a result, everyone started session 12 with an extra blue chip. GO TEAM!


So, yeah. Lots of writing. Lots of thinking. Lots of prep. And I was still left with a gaping hole regarding how the PCs were going to spend that week of downtime.

One sad bit of news surfaced before session 12 began as well. Pat (Frit's player) had to bow out of the game for other commitments. He will be missed as a player and Frit will be missed as a player character. I did, however, have Pat's blessing to use Frit as an NPC. So I added her to the stable of NPCs I've been building since the campaign began.

Frit, The Goblin Chef Monk
So long. Farewell. Goodbye.

A note from this humble writer to his kind readers. I do not apologize for the gratuitous references to the movie Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. They amuse me. And if I cannot amuse myself in the wee hours of the morning hunched over a laptop in a dark room chilled to 62 degrees F while I clutch a cup of coffee for some slim hope of succor and inspiration, then what is the point? I ask you, "What is the point?" For those of you who know the movie (and perhaps even love it as I do), you're welcome. For those of you who do not know it, I am truly sorry for your loss. Now go watch it before you continue reading. I won't be offended.

Pre-Game

There wasn't much pre-game other than to settle in and review the previous session. We also chatted a fair bit and ate lunch before jumping into things. The session took place right after the Christmas holiday so folks were a bit exhausted from all the other activities they had been doing earlier in the week. The chili I made was okay. The beans were a little under done, but that happens some times. 

In-Game

The party arrived at Fort Delakor with their bags of holding full of thessalhydra heads, two litters transporting the remains of poor Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the "slightly" insane Makaria in tow. Makaria had, for the entire trip, thrown herself upon the party in penance for the murders of the two dragonborn soldiers. Medrosh, the third dragonborn soldier, kept Makaria's dagger tucked into his pack where she couldn't get to it in case she decided to attack the party (see the Supplemental Materials section for more information on the dagger).

Makaria, Strange Caretaker of the Thessalhydra
and Follower of Laeri Raptorstein
Source: Heroforge rendering

The party delivered the thessalhydra heads to Captain Kimbatul and presented the remains of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. He congratulated the party on a job well done but was regretful of the loss of two fine young dragonborn.

The party then went to Havilar Myastan (the dragonborn Cleric of Bahamut who had resurrected Meribore in session 9). They wanted to place Makaria under the care the temple there. It was, after all, more appropriate for Makaria to seek atonement from the fort rather than from the party. This was a blow to Makaria, who was still in the throws of her bottomless regret. She begged to not be abandoned. Havilar was not exactly sure of the arrangement either. It took some discussion before both were convinced that this was the right path. 

Havilar Myastan, Cleric of Bahamut
Source: Heroforge rendering

Captain Kimbatul arranged a quick, and very public, ceremony to celebrate the destruction of the monstrosity that had been terrorizing the area. During this, the heads were paraded about and then mounted on huge poles around the entrance to the fort. Drekzhar performed a new song to honor the slaying in general and Tauffae specifically (see Sir Tauffae and the Beast in the Supplemental Materials section below). This ceremony, and performance, helped to cement the party's reputation in Delakor.

There was also a less public, but by no means less important, ceremony to honor the fallen dragonborn. Tauffae made certain to be a part of it.

By the time these activities were done, the party was exhausted. They very eagerly collapsed into their beds and quickly fell asleep. Sometime in the night, The Raven paid a visit to Meribore (see The Raven's Visit in the Supplemental Materials section). The rest of the party dreamed. (See the dreams in the Supplemental Materials section below.) The next morning, the player characters gathered for breakfast and shared their dreams. Meribore shared her experience with The Raven too. Frit made a wonderful breakfast that included a little of everyone's favorite dishes. She then announced that she was never much for hanging around or getting too attached to people. There was too much to see in the world. She was going to move on. She promised, though, that if they ever needed her, and if they could find her, she would certainly help.

After saying their farewells, the party set out for the troglodyte cave to retrieve the flail snail shell. Omgoshno stayed behind to work on Bronte's arm. Meribore wanted to commission a breastplate made of the chitin. When they arrived at the cave, the shell was lying in pieces outside. All the snail flesh had been picked out and they assumed the shell had been discarded as trash. This was a wonderful piece of news because it meant the party didn't have to get involved with the troglodytes again.

Mmmmm, Flail Snail Shell
Source: Volo's Guide to Monsters, 5e

This business out of the way, the party readied for their return to Highwater. Omagoshno booked passage on a runabout while the others went to the prison in Fort Delakor. Tauffae asked Captain Kimbatul if Medrosh could help escort Laeri Raptorstein back to Highwater. The captain agreed to this, especially since Medrosh had been given a few days furlough as a reward for his part in the destruction of the thessalhydra. 

It was during these preparations that Meribore noticed something odd. There were a LOT of mushrooms scattered around the fort, far more than would normally be at that time of year. And, they were growing in places they would not normally grow. Stranger, there were numerous kinds of mushrooms, with seemingly no care as to the environmental conditions nor time of year. A little concerned, she pointed this out to the party.

So Many Mushrooms
Source: Pixabay

Keeping this in mind, the party descended into the fort's prison where Raptorstein was being kept. They found him in his cell, bound and gagged. He was wearing soiled and ripped clothing but he was otherwise intact and had no wounds. He was calm, almost serene. He even managed a little grin when the party opened the door. As they did so, an earthy smell mixed with the sour odor of death and rot rolled into the hall and stung their noses. Inside the cell, there were hundreds of mushrooms. 

Laeri Raptorstein
Source: Heroforge rendering

The presence of the mushrooms in the cell, their infestation of the fort, and their infection of the thessalhydra triggered a memory in Meribore. From her earliest training she had been taught that life and death were companion states that coexisted in balance. There could not be life without death. There could not be death without life. They fed into each other in a continuous, stable cycle. That was the natural order of Skyfell. There were some druids, however, who believed that there were three natural states: life, death, and undeath. They believed that the undead state, such as that of zombies, skeletons, and liches, was as valid and as critical to nature as life and death. The three states should, and must, constantly recycle each other otherwise the delicate stability of existence would be lost. These druids constituted the Circle of Spores. Thankfully, their numbers were few. This was, no doubt because they were often hunted down and either killed or imprisoned for not just their beliefs but their empathy for and desire to create undead. If Raptorstein were a Circle of Spores druid, he could prove to be very dangerous regardless of what his outward behavior might be.

A Druid of the Circle of Spores
Source: Guildmaster's Guide to Ravnica, 5e

With that in mind, they hooded him so that he could not see anyone. They also added more bindings to his legs so that he could not run. This in combination with his gag and the bindings on his wrists should be enough to stop him from casting spells or causing any other trouble. They did not want him causing trouble.

Meribore lingered in the cell as the rest of the party carted off Raptorstein. She cast speak with plants and, after instructing them to bow left or right in response to her yes/no questions, she asked them about Raptorstein, his actions, and whether the mushrooms themselves were part of a larger plan. Finally, she asked whether the mushrooms would try to stop them from taking Raptorstein. The mushrooms indicated they would. With this, Meribore, with the help of a guard, set fire to the room. The fungi burned, filling the cell and the nearby hall with a thick, black smoke. She then regrouped with the rest of the party.

In spite of their worries, and a lot trepidation from the captain of the runabout that Omagoshno had hired, the flight back to Highwater occurred without any incident. In some ways, Raptorstein was a model prisoner. He was calm and compliant. He remained so all the way back to the Temple of Garl Glittergold in the High-tunnel Grind burrow. They handed him over to Trickfinger Folkor, again, without any conflict. Trickfinger rewarded each party member with a small emerald.

Trickfinger Folkor, Trickster Priest of Garl Glittergold
Source: Heroforge rendering

Temple guards took Raptorstein. The player characters all noticed that the guards had odd looking contraptions slung over their shoulders. They appeared to be weapons, but they were unlike any the party had seen before. Each was about three-feet long and composed of a heavy metal tube set into a long, heavy block of wood. Each also had a long wick and crossbow trigger. Omagoshno guessed they were flintlocks, a very rare kind of weapon developed by Gearmount Foundry. He was very pleased to have had the chance to see them.

The party was relieved to have this basic business out of the way. It meant that Omagoshno could now focus on completing Bronte's arm. It would take seven days, so the others would have to find some way to entertain themselves before they could go off on another job.

Bronte and Omagoshno

Bronte spent the week with Omagoshno. He carefully, and excitedly, watched Oma work. He asked questions along the way and even managed to pick up a few insights about tinkering.

It was during this time that Omagoshno received a letter from Oh-hellka’s Campus regarding his request for a master to be trained in the magical arts (see The Acceptance Letter in the Supplemental Materials section). His new master would be someone named Professor Knowledge. Quite excited, he reported to The Tower on Oh-helka's Campus, where he chatted with Ariel about his pending apprenticeship.

Ariel, Lead Support Staff at the Campus Tower
Source: HeroForge rendering

After a few pleasantries, she sent Oma up to Professor Knowledge's office. It was tucked into a dark, and by the looks of it, forgotten corner of the Campus Tower. A sign on its door demanded all visitors to jump off a bridge. Undaunted, Oma knocked and was immediately told to bugger off by a grumpy voice from inside. Upon giving his name, he was begrudgingly told to enter

The "office" was a tiny cell littered with scrolls, books, papers, bottles, curios, boxes, and a host of sundry bits and pieces that might once have been magical items or, more optimistically, might one day become magical items. Professor Knowledge, a portly tiefling of advanced age, sat at a desk no less cluttered than the WhatNot Shop shelves. He wore a frown that could whither the most drunken celebration at the Groggy Hive.

Professor Knowledge
Source: HeroForge rendering

Professor Knowledge barked his expectations of Omagoshno (which were quite bleak) and what Omagoshno should expect of him (which was little to no aid and a lot of criticism). He then gave Oma a list of items to bring back to him as proof of Oma's worthiness. Only then would the professor start training the gnome. The list included the following: 

1. One toenail clipping from a drunken orc
2. One turd from a velociraptor 
3. Two eye boogers from a drowsy Minotaur
4. Three nose hairs from a firbolg
5. Five vomit-soaked splinters from a barroom floor

Omagoshno returned to his workshop to finish Bronte's arm. Upon its completion, the two admired the new limb only briefly before Bronte became too anxious to wait any longer. As he placed the mounting sleeve against his shoulder, tiny mechanical latches slithered out from the prosthetic. The pain only lasted for a heartbeat as they sank down into his flesh and fused with his bones. Slowly, he became aware of the arm's metal frame and its drake hide skin. He could roll its shoulder. He could bend its elbow. He could wiggle its fingers. More importantly, he could feel the gentle breath from the vents that pumped fresh air deep into the burrow brushing against its surface. Slowly, the idea of this limb being an artificial device hitched to his body melted away. It was as much a part of him as his other arm, as his legs, as his heart, as his soul.

Then, the headache set in. That annoyance lingered for several hours, dampening what would have been an otherwise ecstatic moment. When the throbbing finally died away, he and Oma went off to the Groggy Hive to celebrate. (See the Supplemental Materials section for information about the arm.)

Drekzhar

Drekzhar spent a little time at The Groggy Hive singing and generally encouraging everyone to have a good time. His efforts earned the appreciation of Bree Oakbarrel, the female halfling owner of the tavern. During the ensuing party, Drekzhar met up with Vola, the orc Red Fang of Shargraas with whom he had formed a relationship (see the Session 7 Supplemental post) and the two spent the rest of the evening together.

Drekzhar also discovered that the Howling Wind, the ship that the party had brought back from Moss Creek, was up for auction. It was stripped down and would need repairs, but it was still in overall good condition. Bidding was set to begin at 1000GP, which represented a substantial discount for airships of its size. Drekzhar very much wanted to acquire the ship as both a home and a means of transport. With the party's blessing, he began to make inquiries about the ship. As a group, they decided that if they were to win the ship, they would name it the Howling Wind II.

The Howling Wind II
Mid-deck

The party had found quite a bit of treasure in the thessalhyrda lair which Drekzhar sold for a tidy sum. But he was not certain whether that would be enough to cover the full cost of the ship. He went to Lady Axiotis (the minotaur female who had sent them on the thessalhydra hunt in session 8) and made an impassioned argument for acquiring the ship in honor of Captain Trovick (Lady Axiotis' ward and former captain of the ship). He only needed a few more gold pieces to acquire it. Lady Axiotis agreed to co-sign a loan of up to 3000GP for the ship but in exchange Drekzhar had to promise to continue with the search for Captain Trovick's parents. (Recall that he had become a sailor in the hopes of finding his parents, whose airship had disappeared in the Open Skies.)

Lady Zoka Axiotis
Source: HeroForge rendering

With these new funds available, Drekzhar had only to wait for the auction. In the meantime, he and Tauffae doubled their efforts to spread stories about Moss Creek, the fight with zombies aboard the Howling Wind, and the idea that perhaps the ship had become cursed since being infested with undead. These rumors seemed to dampen excitement for the sale because on the day of the auction there were only four other bidders. After some tense bidding, Drekzhar won the ship for slightly more than he wanted to spend but still within their budget. He also purchased the replacement controls and engine components needed to restore the ship to flying condition along with four new heavy crossbows (since the originals had been stripped prior to the sale).

Drekzhar also picked up his dagger from The Sword and Shield. Its pommel now had embedded within it the sphere that he had found at the WhatNot Shop. He examined the illusion that played out within it and knew for certain that the crew members it showed were the same as those who had appeared in his dream. He returned to the WhatNot Shop to ask about the sphere. Zana told him that the thing could be used to summon astral assistants, likely the one's that could be seen on the ship's deck in the illusion. In that way, it was a flashier version of the Staff of Staffing. To use it, however, one needed to know the command word. Without that, the thing wasn't much more than an unusual trinket. She didn't know the word. Other than trial-and-error or thorough research, there was no way to find out the word. That sort of effort wasn't worth it to her, which is why it ended up in the free baubles box. Drekzhar thanked her and decided that he would do the research himself.

Meribore

Meribore went to The Sword and Shield to commission a breastplate made from the flail snail shell. She wanted to incorporate into the design the antlers she had salvaged from the elk that the party had killed while in the Shadowfell. The antlers grabbed much attention since they were from a creature that no one had ever heard of let alone had ever seen. Even Morgan Firebeard, the owner of the smithy, was intrigued. After a little negotiation, it was settled that the work would be done for the cost of a regular breastplate plus whatever materials remained of the snail shell. Meribore agreed and she was told that the work would be done in a week.

Morgan Firebeard, Owner of The Sword and Shield
Source: HeroForge rendering

Meribore then traveled to the Encampment Green to re-center herself and to continue practicing "letting go," as Paela had instructed. Over the week she wild-shaped several times, enjoying some success in "letting go" and therefore somewhat ironically beginning to regain control over her powers. She was please with her progress by the end of the week and returned to Highwater in high spirits. She also found her breastplate ready. (See the Supplemental Materials section for information.)

Rough Concept Sketch for Meribore's Breastplate

Tauffae and Medrosh

Tauffae spent the week showing Medrosh around Highwater. The dragonborn soldier had never been to the city and so it was a treat to take in its sights, sounds, and smells. This included dining and drinking at various taverns in and around Garrison Market. Part of this was an effort on Tauffae's behalf to soothe his feelings regarding the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. He still blamed himself for giving the order that ended their lives. Another part of this was an effort to convince Medrosh to leave his commission and join the party as a member of the crew for the ship that Drekzhar would be purchasing. Medrosh reluctantly turned down the offer. There were just too many benefits to be had with being in Tescalain's army. He also had responsibilities back in Delakor that he couldn't so easily abandon. At the end of the week, he returned to the fort.

Once it was certain that Drekzhar had acquired a ship, Tauffae began the hunt for additional crew that, while not needed, would certainly make airfaring easier. He and Drekzhar realized that they would need some additional muscle, guards that could keep an eye on the ship while they were off adventuring. They would also benefit from having a quartermaster to help manage finances and supplies related to the ship. Such a person could also find new supplies easier, and probably cheaper, than anyone in the party could. After several long and incredibly boring "interviews," Tauffae settled on three individuals: Huru, a female orc sailor and sell sword; Gubrash, a male orc sailor and sell sword; Eldith, a female dwarf sailor and quartermaster. They would join the crew as soon as all the paperwork was finalized and Drekzhar took possession of the ship.

Huru, Sailor and Sellsword
Source: HeroForge rendering

Gubrash, Sailor and Sellsword
Source: HeroForge rendering

Eldith, Sailor and Quartermaster
Source: HeroForge rendering

Finishing the Week

At the end of the week, everyone reconnected to share what had happened over the past few days. Omagoshno convinced the group that they needed to go to the gear hoard under Gearmount Foundry to check on Rustmaister Scheppen-dunturo. Omagoshno had first encountered the gnome when looking for parts for Bronte's arm. At that time, the hoard master had complained bitterly about parts going missing and needing someone to find the culprit and put an end to the thievery (see the Session 8 summary). Since there would be some time before the paperwork for the Howling Wind II would be completed and Drekzhar could take possession of the ship, the party decided to go see if they might be able to help.

Rustmaister Scheppen-dunturo, Minder of the Scrap Hoard
Source: HeroForge rendering

Omagoshno led them to Gearmount Foundry, and down into the gear hoard. The place was a cavernous chamber filled with heaping piles broken and discarded parts, incomplete builds, and failed experiments. Members of the Gearmount Foundry guild used these cast-offs as a readily-available collection of parts for their own projects. Omagoshno went to the front desk where he had met the Rustmaister on his first visit. The gnome was nowhere to be seen. They did, however, find a letter.

Rustmaister Scheppen-dunturo's Letter

With this discovery, the group immediately went on a search for clues regarding the Rustmaister's whereabouts. After a fair bit of looking around, they discovered a trap door in the floor of a secluded alcove in the chamber. The frame of the door had the remains of numerous wards affixed to itl. Omegoshno identified these as a kind of magic that would help to conceal the door. It was a common enough practice in most gnome burrows. All of their magic, however, had already been spent. They weren't much more than scraps of singed paper now.

The door led into a roughly cut tunnel that descended underground a few yards before leveling out and angling off to the east. It was cut into the natural rock of Doraku and obviously done in an ad-hoc fashion. There was no finishing stonework. Nothing was cleaned or polished. Large gouges scarred the raw stone. Clearly, this was some secret way into (and out of) the gear hoard. A subtle, stale odor reminiscent of sewage drift up out of the darkness. It seemed obvious to everyone. The Rustmeister, and probably the thief, were down in the dark somewhere.

End session 12.

Experience earned:

Bronte - 1540 (9040 total)

Drekzhar - 1680 (9711 total)

Meribore - 1540 (9770 total)

Omagoshno - 1975 (10,325 total)

Tauffae -  1540 (9973 total)

Supplemental Materials

Sir Tauffae and the Beast

Jeff wrote the following ditty but the group agreed to attribute it to Drekzhar rather than Omagoshno.

This is no tall tale from Skyfell,

Just the solid truth that we've seen,

Of brave Sir Tauffee, noble warrior,

And the end of the Thesselhydra mean.

He tracked it through woods and portals,

Through mazes confounding other mortals,

Never shaken by unknown terrors

or things no Skyfallen has seen.

He smote the many horned woods beast,

He braved demogorgons and more,

He saved those pledged to serve him,

Took on all of his share and more.

And when at last the great beast was discovered,

When it's lair was lain open and bare,

Twas then the battle commenced and

Sir Tauffee told all to take care.

He strode up to the beast sword a-swinging,

Cut off head after head even when

Phases spiders joined in to give the beast aid

and perhaps even help it to win.

His companions all fighting beside him,

Taking courage from Tauffee's great blows,

In short order the spiders were smote and

the great Thesselhydra was no more.

So raise up your drinks to Sir Tauffee,

Name children in honor and more,

Sing his praise far and wide and remember

Sir Tauffee's on your side evermore.

Sir Tauffae and the Beast

The Raven's Visit (Meribore)

You are woken by the weight of tiny clawed feet on your chest. The Raven is there staring at you. It’s brown eyes shimmer with the reflection of a grand hall veiled in the shadows of night. The chamber’s floor glistens. It’s high, arching ceiling disappears into a stagnant, black smoke. There are no apparent walls and so no sense of a way out of this place.

At its center rises a thirty-foot-high, circular platform. Stairs are cut into its outer surface, spiraling upward, passing an assortment of reliefs depicting scenes of funerary rites. The images are neither terrifying nor shocking. They convey the simple truth of life—that death is its twin. A humanoid figure sits upon the floor of the platform. Its naked, feminine form is mostly buried under a pile of black feathers. You can tell, though, that she has one leg pulled up to her chest. Her arms are lazily draped around it. Her head, tilted, is settled on its knee. The other leg is prone and tucked under the first. Her unnatural stillness leaves you with the feeling of someone who has forgotten their corporeal shell under the embrace of an altered state. Dozens of copper incense pots are scattered around the platform’s floor. Some still send wispy strings of smoke up to the ceiling. Others have been knocked over, spilling their ashes onto the stone.

You draw away from the reflection when the Raven begins to pant. It hops closer to your face so that its practically standing on your throat. Its breath splashes against your lips in cold puffs that spill into your nose and down your cheeks. It leans in closer so that its beak is barely an inch from your own mouth. It caws softly. Its voice echoes inside your mind, stirring memories of your journey to the Shadowfell, of your fight with the demogorgon spawn, the battle with the Thessalhydra, and the discovery that Makaria had murdered two of the Delakor guards.

The Raven inhales sharply. Your memories ripple, like the surface of a pond in a heavy wind. The Raven caws again. This is a long, low, sorrowful tone that reminds you of the melancholy that permeated the Shadowfell. Before you can consider the meaning of this, The Raven's eyes attract your attention again. Reflected there, you see a single feather drift out of the black smoke to land gently upon the pile of feathers that cloak the woman. 

The Raven blinks, washing away the image. You see, instead, yourself and the room in which you're staying reflected there as you would expect to see. The Raven inclines its head as though assessing the situation. Whether it’s verifying that it’s task is complete or that  you have survived the magic it has worked upon you, it’s hard to say. Nevertheless, it hops back once again, bobs its head low, gives a soft caw, and then takes flight through a window you were certain had been closed.

The Raven

Bronte's Dream

You are walking through the Sylvan Garden, a quiet patch of land often visited by your people when difficult events or important decisions trouble one’s mind. Its collection of wildflowers, herbs, and spices create a familiar blend of curious smells that settles your thoughts and reminds you of home. All around, you hear the buzzing of insects attracted to the garden’s fragrance as well as the chirping of tiny, carnivorous dinosaurs who can’t resist the bountiful meal congregated there. Further off, the midday territorial drones from a herd of parasaurolophus rumble through the forest.

Your wanderings bring you to a collection of boulders so overgrown with vegetation that Hiatea must have piled them upon each other before The Cataclysm. The way they have settled forms a tunnel that plunges deep into the ground. Where darkness should be, you see a red glow throwing the irregular surface into a high relief. You also hear several humanoid babies crying. The sounds are not desperate, just needful, but it is enough to stir your instincts to investigate.

The floor of the tunnel is an uneven, treacherous mess. It is slick with fine dust and cursed with sudden drops as one boulder gives way to another. But you persist. The light brightens and the cries intensify as you go deeper and deeper underground. Eventually, you slide off a ledge down into a pocket just a bit larger than a hut. Its walls, floor, and ceiling are the byproduct of dozens of megaliths leaning against each other in such a way as to form a jagged, lopsided sphere. Their surfaces squirm with the soft red, yellow, and orange glow of hot embers but they give off no heat.

You also see the source of the crying. Placed about the room in the crevices where the boulders meet are babies: an orc, two firbolg, a gnome, and a minotaur. Each wriggles fitfully in a bed of woven straw. Each clings to a reed doll. Fruits, water skins, and blankets have been deposited in the center of the chamber next to a bedroll. A fire pit has also been prepared. You need only to light it. Your task is clear. As you plan how you will accomplish it, you realize that you are whole. You have a healthy body. You have a faithful and sharp mind. You have tireless legs. And, yes, you have two strong arms. You are ready. You wake up.

The Reed Doll

Drekzhar's Dream

You're free from your physical form and zipping through the Open Skies toward an airship. You land into the mind and body of a bugbear dozing on its deck. With you are a goblin, a tiefling, and a construct more bizarre than your lazy thoughts can manage. As you scratch yourself, you know your name to be Lubash. The others are Bobison, Cimer, and DV8-10. You’re meant to be the hired muscle for this cargo run, a boring slog from Doraku to Akima Prime. At the moment, though, you’re more interested in contemplating the backs of your eyelids and how well the evening's meal will fill your belly.

Maybe that’s why you don't know you're in any danger until the ship suddenly banks hard to starboard. It takes DV8-10’s mechanical shouts and the twang of Bobison’s bow to tempt you from your, erm, meditations despite every effort to ignore the outside world. You do fully intend to go back to sleep until you see what it is that's causing all the commotion. 

A strange crackling ripple has torn itself into the sky. It is growing larger. As your lackadaisical thoughts wrestle with this sight, what you take to be vines begin to slither out of the tear. It is only after they spring toward the ship that you realize they are clockwork tentacles and not living vines. This conclusion, of course, takes more effort than it's probably worth. Regardless of what the vine-tentacles are, they are attacking the ship. They are attacking your shipmates. Most importantly, they are attacking you. And so too are the four mechanical creatures that charge out of the tear. Two are balls with wings carrying javelins. Two are flightless cubes that run down the length of the tentacles to leap onto the deck right in front of you.

The fight that ensues is brief but satisfying. You manage to get in a couple good swipes with your maul; Brain Basher never fails you. She's a good weapon. A strong weapon. The only really interesting thing, a thing that will certainly haunt your dreams for some time though you’d never admit it your puny shipmates, is the giant cube that pushes its way through the tear to blast the ship with a beam of light that nearly puts everyone to sleep. It isn't really the fact that the clockwork monstrosity is larger than your ship. You’ve seen bigger curiosities. It's the flat, glowing face that gets to you. It reminds you of a storefront window with great, big, lifeless square eyes just staring at you. Its the mouth all jagged like a bunch of squares stitched to each other. And that hat. That strangely rounded hat nearly as big as the cube. What sort of hells would dare spawn such an aberration?

You signed on to this voyage to bash in the skulls of Reavers, tear off the limbs of pirates, and squash any sky monsters stupid enough to try to cause trouble. This wild magic stuff, at least that’s what DV8-10 kept going on about like a madman confronting his worst fear, this wild magic stuff was not part of the bargain. You tell yourself to remember to make sure to add that to your next contract. No wild magic stuff. By the time you settle back into that comfortable nook near the stern of the ship, however, you forget this piece of sage advice. Oh well. Give it a little time. Time. Wasn’t it time for dinner?

As you doze off to sleep, you skip out of the mind and body of the bugbear. Your own consciousness retreats from the deck, from the ship, further and further away until your thoughts transition through an unseen border and you are Drekzhar once again. There is a tiny sphere in your hand. You look at it and realize that it is the sphere you found at the WhatNot Shop, the sphere that you have had embedded in the pommel of your sword. With that, you wake up.

Bobison, Goblin Rogue 

Cimer, Tiefling Rogue 

DV8-10, Soul-fused Sorcerer

Lubash, Bugbear Paladin

Frit's Dream

(I had written up this dream sequence for Frit before Pat had decided to depart the game. I did send him this write-up anyway. It was a good way to say goodbye to the character.)

You are busily preparing a large meal for friends, family, honored guests, and a handful of strangers that you never cared to meet but have been forced to cater to for reasons you never cared to acknowledge let alone understand. But you are cooking, so at least the evening will not be a complete waste of time.

As you’re thumbing through one of your pocket journals full of recipes you've collected during your travels, a loud commotion erupts from the adjoining room. You’re vaguely aware that there are several individuals gathered today prone to violent outbursts so you take the commotion in stride. What good is a get together without at least a few lacerations, bruises, broken bones, and punched-out teeth? The crackle, snap, and pop of magic, however, does cause you some concern. That’s taking things beyond a good-natured brawl into full-on riot territory. While you never wanted to host this shindig, you certainly don’t want it degenerating into a notorious festival of slaughter. You haven’t prepared the proper snacks for that kind of event.

A little irritated that things are going sideways, you throw off your apron and stomp out into the dining room. Your worries are immediately confirmed as a wizard whose face has clearly been pummeled by a rather large set of knuckles throws a ball of flame into a tangle of orcs, minotaur, and dwarves who are well into the middle stages of a massive brawl. This anarchic engagement is hemmed in by a cabal of drunken gnomes and leaf-smoking halflings frantically making bets on who will win the impromptu battle royale. In the middle of this chaos you see your friends struggling desperately to contain the situation. Drekzhar’s songs do nothing. Tauffae’s shouts do nothing. Threats from Meribore and Oma go unheeded. Bronte’s prayers can’t even be heard. Worse, that wizard’s fireball has hurt them quite badly and your annoyance turns to concern for their well being.

You know there is only one solution for this problem. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gathering possessed by calamity must be in want of a home-cooked meal. To that end, you return to the kitchen determined to save your friends the way you know best. In a blur of activity, you whip up a host of treats. Moments later, you plunge into the fight, offering your tasty creations to any combatant who pays you any sliver of attention and force-feeding anyone else too preoccupied by more life-threatening distractions. Those who take your offerings wander off, grinning like a child at their own birthday party. In this manner, you find your way to your companions who are all near death. As they consume your desserts, however, they regain their health and strength. With renewed determination, they help you distribute your delicacies to the rest of the assembly until everyone is once again calmly seated around the table. The wizard expresses regret for turning the brawl up to eleven. Your guests graciously accept her apologies.

Food really does soothe tensions, heal the body, and warm the soul. Tasty cakes doubly so. After you wake up, you tell yourself to remember this.

Frit, the Cooking Machine!

Omagoshno's Dream

You are in the workshop space you rent in High-tunnel Grind, the burrow in Highwater. You have before you all the parts you need to complete Bronte’s arm. You take satisfaction in having acquired these and anticipate not only the final product but also Bronte’s pleasure at once again having two whole limbs. It’s one of those moments that remind you of why you became an artificer in the first place.

You roll up your sleeves. As you begin your work, you become aware of whispering being carried over the ventilation from another part of the burrow. Being the sort with a healthy helping of curiosity, you set aside your tools to have a listen. You’re surprised to recognize the voices of your friends. All of them but Frit are too big to fit through any nearby passage. You put this aside to instead content yourself to a bit of friendly spying. Your assumption, of course, is that they are praising your brilliant contributions to the party and your masterful artificer skills.

You hear, instead, Bronte complaining about your shoddy workgnomeship. Tauffae grumbles about your lack of a great weapon. Drekzhar recites an unflattering limric where you are the punchline. The discontent swings into discussions about kicking you out of the party--about kicking you out of the family. You recall Trickfinger’s words that you belonged to a family that loved you but here they are plotting against you. They want you out and some of the suggestions for doing so are more insidious than a Reaver’s darkest inspiration.

Distracted by all this, you accidentally slam your hammer into the delicate clockwork that makes up the elbow of Bronte’s mechanical arm. It explodes into a shower of sparks and bits of metal. An acrid smoke roils up to the ceiling where it clings like the dark mass of a storm. You hear laughter. It’s directed at you. You’re certain. Disheartened and bruised, you retreat from the workbench. As you do, you become aware of something in your pocket. From it, you retrieve the stone you found in the labyrinth. You sense that it’s happy to be there with you.

“At least you love me, don’t you,” you say.

The stone purrs. It warms ever so slightly. 

“Who’s a good stone? You are. Yes, you are.”

The stone purrs again.

You find it ironic that your friends, with whom you’ve survived numerous dangers and enjoyed countless hours of fun, are so willing to throw you away while this stone, this sweet little stone, this kind and caring rock whom you’ve known for such a short time, will always be there for you. You consider this. Does a gnome really need many friends? Isn’t one enough? Isn’t one trustworthy creature, one who understands you, who instructs you, who leads you, who helps you work through the dark thoughts that tangle your day, isn’t such a creature enough?

Your stomach growls and you become aware that it has been hours since you last ate. You place the stone back into your pocket and head off to the cafeteria. Herders’ Pie is on the menu and Sweetbutter Delgo is on kitchen duty. Hopefully there’s enough left to fill you up. And if there isn’t, well that’s okay too. You and your stone will make things right. They’ll see. They’ll all see.

You wake up, your body sticky with sweat. You glance at the nightstand near your bed. Yep, the stone is still there. Right where you left it. It purrs when you smile at it.

Pet Rock, Purring

Tauffae's Dream

You are in the Shrine of Yurtrus, a dreadful place on the outskirts of the stronghold of your birth. As with most orcs, you never dared to visit this isolated chamber cut deep into the hills far away from the living. But you know where you are. You can feel the presence of the honored dead all around you, watching you, waiting for you to expose a weakness so that they might destroy you before your own glory can outshine theirs. Aware of that danger, you struggle to hide your fear even though it burrows its way into your marrow.

You face a rock wall. Dozens of alcoves are chipped into the stone so that their placement taken all together forms an oval. Blood and pigments, crudely applied by hand around the alcoves, complete the image of a single eye--Gruumsh’s eye--staring back at you. While the dead hunt you, this eye judges you. Its scrutiny scrapes away the lies, facades, and other trappings that keep you safe. The eye sees the real you. You long to retreat but you know such cowardice would only shame you before the mightiest of all orcs. Though there is no love lost between you and your former tribe, you cannot bear the thought of yet another humiliation smearing your reputation. Worse, in the light of such impotence the spirits that haunt this place would pounce and that was an end you did not care to contemplate.

Within each alcove are stacked several skulls. Their nose bridges have all been broken out so that each appears to have a single eye socket. These are the earthly remains of the honored dead, brought here by the Hands of Yurtrus. The vast majority are orc, their tusks bearing the mark of the Bloodied Tusk clan. A very small minority are of other races. Minortaur, a goblin, and even a dwarf are among the alien dead so honored by the tribe. Some you recognize. They are great heroes whose stories filled your childhood. Others are unremarkable, though you would never dare utter such a slight and fret over even thinking it.

It slowly occurs to you that one alcove remains empty. As though triggered by this realization, a damp, chilly breeze fills the room and tickles your flesh. It kicks up fine particles of detritus that slowly fill the shrine with a sheer veil of dust.

“I died performing my duty.” It is Rosencrantz. His words slip in and out of your consciousness, their syllables warping under the effort.

“I died performing my duty.” This is Guildenstern. His words weave through those of Rosencrantz.

“No soldier could ask for any higher reward.” It is both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in unison. “We go into our slumber with honor.”

Auntie is now by your side. She offers you a lopsided, clay cup filled with the liquor she had gifted you upon leaving the labyrinth. “You see,” she says as you take the cup. “They’ve accepted their fate, yes? They are ready to pass into that eternal land. That place of rest. It is your turn to release them. Your turn, no? Life begets death. Death begets life. All things remain in balance. The two halves remain as one. It is the natural order of things. You see? Yours is not to grieve. Yours is to honor. Yours is to remember. Yours is to let go. Let go, my child. Drink and let go.”

You take a gulp from the cup. It burns more viciously than any liquor you’ve ever had. It sets your nerves vibrating. 

“Drink,” Auntie whispers.

You finish off what is left in the cup. Again, it burns.

You notice now that there are two dragonborn skulls in the empty alcove. You try to blink away what you hope is an illusion but they stubbornly remain. You approach the alcove. Each step you take sparks a growing anger. Those soldiers were under your command. They died under your command. They were dead because of you. The least you could do is honor them. Gruumsh could honor them. He should honor them. He had to honor them. You’ll make damn sure he does. You slam your fist through the nose bridge of one of the dragonborn skulls. The hole left there forms a single large eye socket where once there were two. You slam your fist into the second skull, leaving it with a single eye socket as well.

There, it is done. Gruumsh cannot ignore them now. He better not.

A sudden weight pulls you to your knees as you let out of howl. It’s not just to express your grief. It’s to warn your gods that two great warriors are on their way. Through the twisting passages of the stronghold you hear others echoing your howl. You know that one of those voices belong to Vola. Others belong to your companions. There is another too. One you don't recognize. You awaken wondering who that might be.

Gruumsh
Source: Monster Mythology, 2e

The Acceptance Letter (Omagoshno)

Professor Knowledge

Oh-helka’s Campus, Campus Tower

Forgotten Chasm 3, Pen B

3rd of 23 Durn, Copper 3156

Ohmagoshno

High-tunnel Grind

Artifcer’s Den, Room 4

Dear Sir or Madam:

Unfortunately, your formal request for apprenticeship has fettered itself to my desk. Normally, I look forward to this aspect of my membership in The Campus with as much delight as one musters for the embrace of the iron maiden. Your specific request, however, fills me with a sour dread that has thrown my humors into a glorious state of chaos to rival all previous disturbances. It is not often that a personage possessing a stature and temperament as are the curses of your lineage will seek the exacting study of the Weave that is the basis of the wizarding practice. It’s even rarer that such an applicant is accepted into that practice with anything resembling enthusiasm. But alas, here we both are, proving yet again that no matter how much I doubt the wisdom of the Cee Robes “running” this kerfuffle, they are always willing to supply me with fresh evidence of its absence.

Now that I’ve dispensed with the pleasantries that our humanoid-resources policy demands, I can convey the details of your apprenticeship before I gouge out my eyes in expectation of our blossoming relationship. You are to report directly to The Tower within the week to either accept or decline this offer. Let us hope that it is the latter, but I will not be holding my breath on that account. Upon accepting, you will be given your Campus robes, instructed on the general policies and expectations, and introduced to your study pen. I will then have Aerial contact you regarding our formal introductions and welcome. Once this bureaucratic red ribbon is all tied up, your apprenticeship begins.

There. You now have all the gory details I am required to convey. My serenity is now in your hands. Please, choose wisely. I now have only to wish you a wonderful day because the rest of mine is certainly spoiled. I look forward to meeting you. Etc., etc., etc. Bring snacks. I like those cake things from The WhatNot Shop. The ones with the pink-unicorn frosting.

Yours Sincerely, 

Professor Knowledge

“Go! Chasm 3! Go! Go!”

Bronte's Mechanical Arm

This uncommon wondrous item acts and behaves exactly as Bronte's normal arm. When it is damaged, he will feel pain. It can also experience muscle fatigue (though the going belief is that this is an imaginary sympathetic response rather than a physical weakening of the clockwork that powers it). The arm cannot be removed without tearing it from his body. It is, as far as Bronte's mind and body are concern, a part of him.

The arm has resistance to necrotic damage.

Makaria's Dagger

Aside from its rather horrifying appearance, Makaria's dagger works and behaves just like a regular dagger. It does, however, do an additional 1d4 necrotic damage. A successful Constitution saving throw against a DC 17 can half the necrotic damage but does not affect the dagger's regular damage.

Makaria's Dagger

Meribore's Flail Snail Armor

This rare magical armor is like any other breastplate armor with one major exception. For one month after it is completed it has the flail snail's antimagic properties. See the flail snail stat block in Volo's Guide to Monsters for more details. (Note to Laura, please remember your armor has this property because I will not remind you.)

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Also, check out my DMsGuild offerings:

• Epic Gnomish Inventing
  Rules supplement for creating gadgets.
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  Collection of gnome-related backgrounds, feats, magic items, and more.
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  Collection of backgrounds centered on the servants of a great house.
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  A first-level adventure.
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• The WhatNot Shop’s Absurd Accoutrements
  A collection of unusual magical items.
• The WhatNot Shop's Bracing Beverages
  A collection of strange potions.
• The WhatNot Shop's Common Curiosities and Trivial Trinkets
  A collection of common magic items and trinkets.
• The WhatNot Shop's Dastardly Doodads and Orc Oddities
  A collection of orc-themed common magic items and trinkets.