A little while ago I picked up the ‘Deck of Many Things’ which while designed for Dungeons & Dragons, works beautifully with other systems, Pathfinder included.

to set the scene for the next part of the campaign I drew five cards, one for each of the following

• The Threat – Book
• The Twist – Mine
• The Ally – Warrior
• The Cost – Monstrosity
• The Reward – Sage

I can interpret them as I go along.

📖The book in the snow.

Snow had come early that year, blanketing the world in a muffled hush. The air hung heavy with anticipation as Branwen, the human ranger, led her companions away from Willowshade. Behind her, Lini, the gnome druid, tucked her scarf tighter, her nose pink from the cold. Nyra, her suli cleric’s staff glinting with slivers of frost, brought up the rear. Renka, ever the curious Kitsune bard, tiptoed beside the path, her foxlike ears pricked for any hint of melody amid the wind’s sharp bite.

Each step south towards Daggermark drew them further into winter’s unexpected embrace. Snowflakes drifted down, thickening with every mile, until the road itself seemed to vanish beneath their boots. Branwen paused, crouching low; she’d spotted tracks criss-crossing the fresh powder, looping back on themselves in a pattern that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. “We’re being watched,” she murmured, eyes narrowing.

Lini pressed her palm to the base of an ancient oak. The forest, so alive with chatter and rustling leaves in autumn, now held its breath. The silence was not peace—it was anticipation, as if the woods themselves were waiting for something to unfold. Nyra closed her eyes, feeling the subtle pulse of energy in the air. A disturbance, faint but insistent, tugged at her spirit, pricking her skin with invisible pins.

Renka stopped short, ears twitching. Whispers threaded through the wind, twisting around the trees and slipping just out of reach. She strained to catch a word, but the sounds danced away, unfamiliar yet insistent, setting her heart beating a little faster. She could not hear them but she sensed them, wolves, they were watching her.

Then they saw it—a shape half-buried in the snow, out of place amidst the white expanse. Branwen knelt, brushing aside the powder. Her glove met cracked, frostbitten leather, a book that looked as though it had weathered a dozen winters. Yet, as she lifted it, her palm tingled with unexpected warmth, the cover thawing beneath her touch.

Curiosity flared. The others drew near as Branwen opened the book. For a heartbeat, the pages lay blank—a void in the wilderness—but then, as if summoned by their presence, ink began to bloom across the parchment. The first line formed, stark and chilling in the silence: “You were not meant to read this.” The forest itself seemed to lean closer, as if waiting for what would happen next.

To find out what happens next I draw another card and get Ooze. A creature curious about the book enters the scene.
I ask the oracle if it attacks the party and get No!
I open the ‘Book of Many Things’ at a random page and the first creature it mentions is ‘Dragon’. I treat the dragon as symbolic.

Then, out of the snow it appears, a massive translucent frost blue ooze, shot through with drifting motes of light like embers in ice, its surface forming fleeting shapes – a snout, a horn, a wing – as if remembering dragon shapes. It pauses, towering, shimmering, its mass shifting between formlessness and fleeting draconic silhouettes.

It does not attack, it simply waits, it seems to be watching, watching the companions, watching the book.

Renka hears a faint echo of a dragon’s roar inside her mind.
Nyra feels a divine tension, as if something sacred and profane are intertwined.
Lini senses that this creature is older than the forest itself.
Branwen realises it is watching them with an intelligence that is not human.

And the book in Branwen’s hand grows even warmer – almost hot – as if reacting to the creatures presence.

The Ooze doesn’t attack, it waits, watching. What does it want? To find out I draw another card from the deck of many things and get ‘Key’.
Is the Key physical or metaphorical? I decide its a real object, its purpose not immediately obvious. And the book reacts to the keys presence.
Does the Book reveal anything else? Yes.

The creature’s attention moved from the book to Branwen, studying her with a slow, deliberate intelligence. The ranger felt the weight of that gaze — not hostile, but assessing, as though the creature were deciding whether she was worthy of something it could not speak aloud.

Then, without a sound, it withdrew.
Back into the trees.
Back into the drifting snow.
Its luminous form faded until only the whisper of disturbed flakes marked its passing.

In its place, half‑buried where it had stood, lay a key.

Branwen approached cautiously. The key was wrought of dark metal, cold enough to sting her fingers, heavier than it looked. No markings. No hint of its purpose. Only the sense — faint but undeniable — that it had been left for her.

She slipped it into her pack and returned to the others, the strange book still warm against her side. The winter wind rose again, carrying with it the uneasy feeling that something beneath the snow‑covered world had just awakened.

And whatever lay ahead, the key was only the beginning.

Branwen returned to the others with the strange key tucked safely into her pack, though the weight of it felt heavier than its metal alone. Lini, Nyra, and Renka were already gathered beneath the snow‑laden pines, their breath misting in the cold air, each wearing the same expression: What did that thing leave behind?

Branwen knelt and drew the key from her pack. Even in the open air it seemed to drink in the winter light, its dark metal cold enough to sting her fingertips. The others leaned closer, curiosity sharpening into unease.

That was when the book reacted.

The warm, leather‑bound volume shivered. Not physically, but in the way frost creeps across a windowpane. The blank page she had left open began to bloom with shifting script, delicate lines of ice forming words that hadn’t been there a heartbeat before.

The companions watched in silence as the message revealed itself:

Below.

The word lingered for a moment, then dissolved into drifting motes of frost.
Another formed in its place:

Buried.

Then the page went blank again, as if the book had said all it intended to — for now.

Branwen closed the book gently, her fingers brushing the warm cover. Whatever the creature had recognised in her — whatever the key was meant to unlock — the book clearly believed their path now led downward.

Into what, none of them yet knew.

But winter had grown darker, and the road south suddenly felt far less certain.

🗺️ The Map and the Book

Lini felt a strange compulsion, she reached into her satchel and took out a strange ink-washed parchment map that seemed to shift subtly with each new discovery. It had led them to Willowshade, to Renka and Nyra, and now, deeper into the winter wilds. But the map had never shown everything. It hinted. It suggested. It invited interpretation.

Now, with the book in hand and the key tucked away, something changed.

As Branwen returned to the others, frost‑script blooming across the book’s pages, Lini unrolled the map. The ink shimmered faintly in the cold light, and a new mark had appeared — not drawn, but etched, as if the map itself had reacted to the book’s presence.

A jagged line.
A ravine.
A symbol like a gate.
And beside it, a single word in the same frost‑script as the book:

“Below.”

Can Lini follow the map in the snow? I think the map and book will make it easy for the party to go where they want them to go, but the snow adds an extra layer of difficulty, I decide on a DC15. Lini rolls 9 on d20, plus her Survival skill of +9 making 18, she passes and leads them to the mine.
(I chose survival skill in this case because she is matching landmarks to maps, reading the terrain and judging distances, slopes and direction)

Lini traced the mark with her gloved finger. It matched the terrain around them — the snow‑choked gorge, the tree‑line, the slope they’d just descended. And at the edge of the map, where no path had been before, a faint outline of a mine entrance flickered into view.

The map had changed.
The book had spoken.
And together, they were leading the companions to something buried.

Then, in the distance, the wolves began to sing.

Whether it was treasure, truth, or folly — none of them yet knew.

❄️ Dusk on the Winter Road

The light was fading fast.

Winter dusk came early in these woods, swallowing the colour from the world until only the cold remained. Snow drifted steadily from the darkening sky, thickening with each passing minute. Even the wolves had fallen silent, their presence felt more than heard — a pressure at the edge of the senses, a reminder that the companions were not alone.

Branwen glanced at the sky, then at the trees.
“We can’t stay out here,” she said. “Not in this.”

Lini nodded, brushing snow from her hood. “A night in the open would be asking for trouble. Spirits, beasts, the cold itself… take your pick.”

Nyra tightened her cloak against the wind. “The gods watch over travellers, but even they expect us to use our heads.”

Renka looked down at the shamisen slung across her back. The strings hummed faintly in the cold, as if responding to something unseen. She tried not to think about the wolves’ eyes in the treeline.

The map was already out in Lini’s hands, its ink shifting subtly in the dying light. The new mark — the ravine, the gate, the faint outline of a mine entrance — pulsed softly, as though urging them onward.

Branwen opened the book again, just briefly. The page remained blank, but she could still feel the echo of the words it had shown her:

Below.
Buried.

The key in her pack seemed to grow heavier with each step.

“Mine’s not exactly my first choice for a warm bed,” Renka said, trying for levity and failing. “But it’s better than freezing out here.”

“Better than wolves,” Branwen added quietly.

Renka didn’t argue.

The companions gathered their things and turned toward the ravine. The snow deepened around their boots, the wind rising in a low, mournful howl. Somewhere behind them, a wolf answered — not a threat, not a challenge, but a reminder.

They were being watched.
They were being followed.
And whatever waited in the mine, it was still a safer bet than the open woods.

With the last light of day fading behind them, the four companions made their way toward the half‑hidden entrance the map had revealed — a dark mouth in the earth, waiting beneath the snow.

To be continued.