Chapter 0: Recent Events

Along the northern edge of King Wilthain IV's vast realm, cradled by the forested foothills of the Queenfall mountains, lies the sleepy village of Arras. Your home. From the far north, the Fentir River lazily winds its way down to cut the village in half. The deep woods stretch far and wide in every direction. Life out here is rarely easy, and everyone is expected to pull their own weight. The people of Arras are practical, hardy folk who are used to solely relying on each other.

It is the middle of autumn, and the harvest is wrapping up. Soon winter will sweep through, the fields will lie barren under a blanket of snow, everyone huddled indoors. But not yet. Today is Flamefade, the equinox festival. Today, Kimra, goddess of oaths, pride and the hearth is honored, thanks is given for the bountiful harvest, and prayers are offered for a mild winter and an early spring.

It should be a time for celebration. Yet given recent events, the six of you can't fully shake the feeling that something more sinister is transpiring...Beric & Ophira



There's been something strange going on at Ana's hut. Now granted, most of the villagers would say that everything going on at Ana's hut is strange. But to Beric and Ophira, this is as close to a second home as anything could be; they know when something is not as it should be.

The cats, normally so willful and independent, lately have been unwilling to stray far from the hollow. Out of nowhere, the spiders started weaving their webs with ferocious obsession, blanketing every corner of the hut. When Beric tried asking them, all he got from them was "hard times are ahead, a wise spider can't be too prepared". Meanwhile, on her excursions into the forest gathering herbs and berries, Ophira twice came across a strange vine—ashen grey with crimson thorns—that no tome in the hut speaks of.

Anathema brushed any mention of these events off, merely telling Ophira to focus on her studies and Beric on his work. But two weeks ago, a fierce autumn storm trapped all three of them in the hut overnight. At first, Ana seemed unbothered. But when putting on a kettle of tea, a sudden scream tore itself from her throat. Her legs giving way, she collapsed on the floor, her body shuddering, tears streaking down her cheeks. As lightning flashed outside, the two of them could swear they saw a shadow move outside.

What did you do?

Example rolls: A Charisma roll to calm Ana; Intelligence to examine her for signs of wounds; a Constitution roll to brave the storm outside, trying to see if anyone's out there.


Thalen & Thea



While the Stone Hall might be said to be the heart of the village, Galthic's Inn across the street surely has to be a close second. If you want to find someone around here? Go to Galthic's. If you want to know what's going on around here? Go to Galthic's.

Being the gifted storyteller that he is, Thalen rarely struggles to get a free drink or two out of the innkeeper. Even an old grump like Galthic has to concede that keeping him around is just good business. As for Thea? Well, once you've wrestled Karhu the Night Reaver with your bare hands and won, drinks tend to be on the house.

In a place like this, rumors flow as freely as ale. Over the past few weeks, various smallholders and workers from the outlying farms have gathered to commiserate over a tankard or three. Though most of it is the usual griping and frustrations of village life, here and there you pick up some… strange whispers. Might there be more going on here than is first apparent?

What did you do?

Example rolls: A Charisma roll to charm your way into a conversation; a Dexterity roll to eavesdrop in on some conspiratorial whispers; Intelligence to piece together disparate rumors into a bigger picture; Constitution to drink someone under the table and loosen their lips.



Gaelan & Lirann



There are a thousand spirits within only a days walk from Arras. Some are as ancient as the woods and mountains, wholly uncaring of the insignificant people that inhabit their lands; others are barely more than a whisper upon the wind, born and snuffed out before a single season has passed. While most of the villagers might exclaim that 'the spirits are surely unhappy' during a bad harvest, or leave out small offerings in a symbolic fashion, they rarely give them more thought than that. To Lirann however, the spirits are just as real as her human neighbors. Sometimes, maybe even more so. And lately, many of them have seemed more and more agitated.

And so, late in the evening three days ago, she and Gaelan found themselves out in the woods—not far from the small, peaceful glade Gaelan had once discovered—tracing the path of a skittish Fleetpaw spirit. It was one of several such that Lirann had established a solid rapport with over the years. Gaelan's presence was necessary, of course. After all, word had it that brigands had been sighted in the area.

No matter what rituals or offerings Lirann attempted, the hare-spirit could not be enticed into showing itself. Most unusual. However, neither of them had much time to ponder the reason for it. Saltback, Gaelan's trusty steed—tied to a tree not far away—suddenly began pulling on the rope, neighing, kicking its hooves wildly. Lirann sensed a strange shudder ripple through the woods. Only moments later, they heard the sound. It started low and distant, metal dragging over rock, branches crunching underfoot. Someone, something, was drawing closer.

What did you do?

Example rolls: A Dexterity roll to attempt to hide; Wisdom to quickly pick up on the sound and identify where it's coming from, buying yourself time; you can also choose to make an attack roll to attempt to stand your ground and drive the threat off.

Thalen walks into Galthic's with Thea, the heat of the fireplace quickly staving off the chill of the evening. He approaches the bar and slaps a hand down. "Galthic, how bout some entertainment for your patrons? You know that these farmers and craftsmen are far more likely to wile away the hours if there is a good story being told," he points to Thea, "and some feats of strength on display. I'll tell a story and you give us some free drinks? What do you say?" Thalen smiles and winks.

a sudden scream tore itself from her throat. Her legs giving way, she collapsed on the floor, her body shuddering, tears streaking down her cheeks. As lightning flashed outside, the two of them could swear they saw a shadow move outside.


Ophira sat in her chair in the corner of the hut, a rounded wooden seat overflowing with soft pillows. She wore a dark gray linen blouse, with loose sleeves and a low-cut neckline. Around her midsection she wore a stiff brown bodice that laced up the front. Below that she wore a flowy black skirt, with her small brown lace-up boots poking out from the bottom. Atop her head of wild, tumbling black hair sat a woolen witch's hat, the wide brimmed, pointed hat traditional of those who pursue the witch's profession. She sat curled up, holding one of Ana's old tomes in her hands, studying it intently, as the storm raged outside. She was looking for the third time through a catalogue of plants, herbs, and other botanicals, trying to identify the strange vine she had seen several times recently, with no success. She paid little attention as Ana went to the fire with the tea kettle.

When Ana cried out and collapsed, however, Ophira jumped up in alarm, the book falling to the floor. She ran to the elder witch and knelt down next to her. "Ana! Ana!!" she cried. Calming herself, she tried to understand what was happening in front of her. She looked Ana over, trying to determine a cause or any symptoms, so she could determine the best treatment to help her.

After a moment of examination, she saw nothing and began to panic.

With Ophira tending to Ana, Beric ran to the window, peering into the dark storm trying to find the dark shape they had just seen.

Frustrated with her lack of success with the spirit, Lirann is ready to give up for the day. "It won't come..." She mumbles before getting interrupted by the strange presence and the creepy sounds. "... and now I can guess why."

She closes her eyes, sight can be deceptive after all, and listens intently. Trying to discern what is approaching and where its coming from. If only the horse would shut up for a minute.

Thea grins as she steps into Galthic's, one of her favorite places in town. And that's only partially due to the facts that the food and drinks are always on the house and that the praise and adulation from the villagers is always plentiful. She takes her usual spot at the head table and waves to the adoring crowd.

When she notices the undercurrent of unease in some of the visitors to the town, though, she sets out to get to the bottom of it. She gathers up armfuls of mugs and lines them up in front of her, bidding the barmaids to fill them to the brim with ale. Then she gets to her feet. "A contest! Who wishes to test their fortitude against Thea Wildheart's? I'm willing to bet I can drink anyone here under the table!"

She welcomes those who wish to try their luck against her, knowing that ale has a tendency to loosen lips and inhibitions. Perhaps her opponents will let slip something more about what troubles them once they're deep in their cups!

Never a stunning conversationalist, Gaelan Weir follows Lirann’s lead as the pair seeks an audience with the Fleetpaw the slim young woman claimed to know. They were far from the village—hours away—and the broad-shouldered youth was already wary when Saltback began acting up.

"Shush girl, it’s all right girl," he’s in the middle of saying as he hears it—the sound of someone, or something, approaching.

"Keep behind me," the man in the homespun jerkin says quietly to Lirann as the sound comes closer, and as he takes up a defensive posture with his axe…

Beric & Ophira
Even next to the crackling fireplace, all warmth seemed to have fled the witch's body. As Ophira examined her, she noted her deathly cold fingers, her ashen face. Yet aside from some scraped knees, she could find nothing visibly wrong. As Ana unsteadily got to her feet, the young apprentice could've sworn she heard her mumble "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Meanwhile, as the storm raged unabated, Beric peered into the emptiness outside. For a moment, there was only dark. Then a faint hint of movement and light. Out there on the rain-slick dirt, half hidden amongst the trees, stood a young woman. Her simple robes hung loosely around her. In one hand she held a gnarled walking staff, in the other a lantern lit with a pale white-green glow.

She was staring straight back at him.

Then a bolt of lightning lit up the night, and by the time Beric had regained his vision, the woods were empty. Yet that pale light still lingered for a few moments more.

By them time Beric returned to the pair, Ana seemed to have regained her composure. Wiping the tears from her face, she soon resumed boiling the tea as if nothing at all had happened. And though there was a noticable trembling to her hands, she refused to entertain further questions about what had happened. When the storm passed, she imperiously sent them home, with perhaps a touch of urgency in her tone.



Thea & Thalen
What had started as an innocent enough competition soon turned into an evening talked about for weeks afterwards. By the time Galthic helped (well, shoved) the last patron out the door, there was not a chair upright nor a tankard unused in the whole building.

As he did so, he shot Thalen and Thea— somehow still standing tall—a grim look. "Y'know, my cellar's just about empty now. If I don't have enough for Flamefade, I'm blamin' you two." Yet there was an undeniable glimmer in his eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It had been a very profitable night.

For the two of them, the night had also been quite rewarding. While Thea emptied one mug after another, Thalen weaved in and out among the clusters of villagers, one moment skillfully weaving a tale, and the next listening intently to whatever gossip was whispered around the tables.

Amidst the usual rumor-mongering—"Didya hear, the miller's marryin' off his oldest to that fisherman's boy? Never thought I'd live to see the day..."—and drunken fantastical hearsay—"My wife swears she saw one of 'em pixies sneak into Harl's forge not two nights ago. No wonder that stubborn old coot can churn out work so quickly. Bet he's got a whole army of faerie servants workin' the bellows for him!"—the two of them nonetheless managed to discern some tidbits that stood out.

It seems that several of the more remote farmsteads have not only experienced recent trouble with brigands, but that it's a particular group of outlaws bothering them; the same group that plagued the region some four or so summers ago, Sigwald's Red Men.

Back in those days, banditry had become such a dire problem in the area that several knights had been sent, along with their retinues, to restore order. It was thought that most of the brigands had been hunted down. And yet, now some of them seem to have returned, their numbers replenished.

What's more, some of the farmers whisper, it's not just the bandits that has them worried. Strange tracks from unknown beasts, the mangled carcasses of livestock, inexplicable lights and voices in the dead of night.

A few of the people at the inn also mentioned in hushed tones that the village council had urged them not to spread the word in the village, lest it stir up old fears.


Lirann & GaelanIt only took a moment. Lirann pinpointed the sound with ease. Whatever was coming, it was moving near them, but not directly towards her and Gaelan. Not at first. They had some time.

As they hurriedly worked to untie Saltback, the outline of a slouching figure could be seen, making its way through the underbrush. Draped in rags, a tattered cloak obscuring most of its features. From a distance it might have been mistaken for a beggar from the city, but every step it took revealed the clanking and scraping of metal armor beneath. Its right hand hung limply by its side, its left gripped tightly the hilt of a rusted sword, dragging in the dirt behind it.

The figure stopped just as Lirann managed to free the horse. Then it all happened very swiftly. The exact events remain a blur, but Gaelan remembers putting himself between his friend and the figure. A foul acrid scent, halfway between a sickbed and a grave, filled the air. His axe struck, deflected off metal. And then pain. Lirann remembers racing off on Saltback, with a bleeding Gaelan next to her.

By the time they reached the village, the sun had almost risen. The events in the forest would have seemed a strange nightmare, if not for the fresh, shallow gash on Gaelan's arm.