Arrival in Daggermark
By the time the companions reached the outskirts of Daggermark, the sun was already dipping behind the low hills, turning the city’s rooftops into jagged silhouettes. The air smelled of river mist, woodsmoke, and the faint, sharp tang of alchemical brews — the city’s unofficial perfume.
And in a city like Daggermark — where guilds whispered, knives glinted in alleyways, and opportunity lurked behind every closed door — it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed a capable group of wanderers with empty purses and sharp eyes.
Toolbox
- Pathfinder 2e core books
- Pathfinder Guide to the River Kingdoms
- Return of the Lazy Dungeon Master
- D&D Deck of Many Things
- My own d6 oracle and Prompt Picker program’s.
Character Review.
Branwen Hollowmark.
Level 3 Human Ranger. Knows the woods like the back of her hand. Trusts her bow, her instincts and little else. She carries a map that she believes leads to her destiny.
Lini Thistlekin.
Level 3 Gnome Ranger. Talks to mushrooms, collect dew and believes the forest speaks in riddles and dreams. She follows an ancient map with Branwen. Her Snow Leopard companion, Droogami, has a look that say’s “don’t come near me unless you have cat buiscuits or want to lose your fingers”.
Nyra of the Whispering Step.
Level 3 Suli Cleric. Deep, thoughtful and mysterious. She watches in silence before she makes her move. Travelling back to the Golden Road, though for what reason she refuses to say.
Renka.
Level 3 Kitsune Bard. A wandering performer with an enchanted shamisen that sings of sorrow and stirs the soul. Her music is a gift and a curse, coveted by many, feared by more.
Outside Daggermark.
Card 1: Gem
A small, perfect-cut gemstone lies half-buried in the mud — a deep violet stone that seems to pulse faintly when touched.
Card 2: Euryale
The moment the gem is pocketed, the character feels a cold weight settle behind their eyes — not a curse, but a gaze. A sense of being watched by something old, serpentine, and patient.
Card 3: The Jester
As the tension builds, a figure suddenly pops up on the wall above the gate — a halfling in motley patchwork, bells jingling softly. His face is painted in the exaggerated style of Daggermark’s street performers, but his eyes are sharp and calculating.
Dusk settles like a veil over Daggermark. The four companions are glad to have finally made it safely to the town. Wolves, who have shadowed them the whole way, keeping their distance but ever present, now melt back into the tree line, but Droogami the Snow Leopard still glances over his shoulder, tail twitching.
Oracle Question. Are the town gates shut? Yes.
Oracle Question. Are they usually shut this early? No. I read that as the the Poisoners Guild believe something dangerous was smuggled out of the city, the Army believe something dangerous was smuggled in
Wardens are arguing with a caravan-master whose caravan has been half unpacked, a crowd of frustrated travellers are waiting to enter the town.
Oracle Question. Is the caravan-master trying to get into the town? No, but…
The caravan-master is furious because he’s already been searched once inside the city, and now the wardens are insisting on searching him again before he leaves.
He’s shouting:
“You’ve already torn my crates apart! I’m not paying another inspection fee — I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The wardens reply:
“Orders from the Green Veil. Something dangerous left the city today. We search everyone until the Council says otherwise.”
The Army soldiers watching from a distance mutter:
“Or something dangerous came in.”
The crowd of travellers murmurs, restless and irritated. A few sit on their packs. A few pace. A few glare at the wardens as though sheer annoyance might pry the gates open.
And then Branwen sees it.
The Gem
It lies half‑buried in the churned mud of the road, exactly where the companions’ path narrows between the caravan and the waiting crowd. Not dropped. Not lost. Placed.
Her sharp ranger’s eye catches the unnatural symmetry of it — the way the mud is disturbed around it, the faint glint that shouldn’t be visible in this light. She kneels, brushes aside the dirt, and lifts the stone.
It is warm.
Not warm like a stone left in the sun. Warm like something alive.
Warm like something aware.
The moment her fingers close around it, the background noise shifts. Not literally — but perceptually. As if the world inhales.
A halfling child near the front of the crowd gasps, hand flying to their mouth. Their eyes go wide, fixed on the gem. Then they turn and bolt into the press of bodies, vanishing between legs and cloaks.
A warden on the parapet stops mid‑argument and leans forward, squinting.
The caravan-master’s voice falters.
DrooGami’s ears flatten
The Jester Appears
The gem pulses once in Branwen’s palm — a soft, warm throb like a heartbeat. Droogami’s rumble deepens, hackles rising. The warden’s shout hangs in the air. The caravan-master’s mouth is still open mid‑rant.
And then the world tilts.
A figure pops up on the wall above the gate as if he’d been crouched there the whole time, waiting for the exact second Branwen touched the gem.
A halfling in motley patchwork.
Bells that jingle too softly.
Painted face, exaggerated grin.
Eyes like knives.
He bows with theatrical flourish, the kind that belongs on a stage, not a fortified wall at dusk.
“Welcome, travellers! You’ve picked up something that doesn’t belong to you… or perhaps it does. Either way, the game begins.”
The crowd goes silent.
Even the wolves in the treeline seem to stop breathing.
He tosses a dagger into the air.
It spins once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then it drops, point‑first, into the wooden beam beside him with a thunk that echoes far too loudly for such a small blade.
“Inside, you’ll find three who want that gem. One will reward you. One will curse you. One will kill you. Choose wisely.”
The last word stretches, curling like smoke.
And then he’s gone — not ducking, not climbing, just gone, as if the shadows swallowed him whole. His laugh lingers, bouncing off stone, fading in a way that feels wrong, like it’s echoing from somewhere deeper underground.
The Reactions
The Wardens
The two wardens exchange a look — not fear, but resignation.
This is not the first time the Jester has interfered.
One clears his throat.
“Enter,” he says, stepping aside.
“And may your choices be… fortunate.”
The pause before “fortunate” is deliberate.
The Caravan-Master
He mutters a prayer under his breath, something about “old gods” and “bad omens”.
He refuses to look at Branwen’s hand.
The Crowd
A ripple of unease passes through them.
A few step back.
A few whisper.
A few stare at the companions as if they’ve just become dangerous.
The Halfling Child
Gone.
Vanished into the city the moment the gem was lifted.
Droogami
The snow leopard presses close to Lini’s leg, tail low, eyes fixed on the parapet where the Jester stood.
A soft growl vibrates in her chest.
The Gem
It pulses again.
Once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
As if acknowledging the Jester’s words.
The Threshold
The gates creak open just enough for the companions to pass through single‑file.
Lanternlight spills out in a narrow beam.
The smell of spices, smoke, and something faintly metallic drifts on the air.
Daggermark waits.
And the game has begun.
to be continued
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