To read part 1, click here
Stats for Monsters that may crop up.
| Orc Warrior | Creature 1 |
Orc Warrior – CREATURE 1
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid Orc
Perception: +6, Dark Vision
Languages Orc
Skills: Athletics +7, Intimidation +4, Survival +4
Str +4, Dex +2, Con +3, Int –1, Wis +1, Cha +0
Items Breastplate, Javelin (4), Orc Necksplitter, Shortsword (2)
AC 18; Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +4
HP: 23
Speed 25 feet
Attack of Opportunity [reaction] Ferocity [reaction]
Melee [one-action] Orc Necksplitter +7 (forceful, sweep), , Damage 1d8+4 slashing
Melee [one-action] Shortsword +7 (agile, versatile P), , Damage 1d6+4 slashing
Melee [one-action] Fist +7 (agile, nonlethal), Damage 1d4+4 bludgeoning
Ranged [one-action] Javelin +5 (thrown 30 feet), Damage 1d6+4 piercing
| Orc Warchief | Creature 2 |
Orc Warchief – CREATURE 2
Alignment: Chaotic Evil AC 17; Fort +7, Ref +6, Will +7 Battle Cry[one-action] (auditory, concentrate, emotion, mental) Bellowing mightily, the warchief gives themself and all orc allies within 60 feet a +1 status bonus to attack and damage rolls until the start of the orc warchief’s next turn.
Size: Medium
Type: Humanoid Orc
Perception: +11, Dark Vision
Skills: Athletics +8, Intimidation +6, Survival +5
Str +4, Dex +2, Con +1, Int –1, Wis +1, Cha +2
Items Greatclub, Hide Armour, Javelin (6)
HP: 32
Speed 25 feet
Melee [one-action] Greatclub +10 (backswing, shove), , Damage 1d10+4 bludgeoning
Melee [one-action] Fist +10 (agile, nonlethal), Damage 1d4+4 bludgeoning
Ranged [one-action] Javelin +8 (thrown 30 feet), Damage 1d6+4 piercing
| Owlbear | Creature 4 |
Owlbear – CREATURE 4
Alignment: Neutral
Size: Large
Type: Animal
Perception: +13, Low Light Vision, Scent (Imprecise) 30 feet
Skills: Acrobatics +7, Athletics +14, Intimidation +10
Str +6, Dex +1, Con +5, Int –4, Wis +3, Cha +0
AC 21; Fort +13, Ref +7, Will +11
HP: 70
Speed 25 feet
Melee [one-action] talon +14 (agile), Damage 1d10+6 piercing plus Grab
Melee [one-action] beak +14, Damage 1d12+6 piercing
Critical Success The creature is unaffected.
Success The creature is frightened 1.
Failure The creature is frightened 2.
Critical Failure The creature is fleeing for 1 round and frightened 3.
Gnaw [one-action] Requirements The owlbear has a creature grabbed with its talons.Effect The owlbear attempts to disembowel the creature with a beak Strike. If the Strike hits, the target must attempt a DC 22 Will save.
Critical Success The target is unaffected.
Success The creature is sickened 1.
Failure The target is sickened 1 and slowed 1 as long as it remains sickened.
Screeching Advance [two-actions] (auditory, emotion, fear, mental) The owlbear makes a Bloodcurdling Screech and Strides twice. All creatures within 80 feet of the owlbear at any point during this movement are subjected to the effects of Bloodcurdling Screech.
| Skythe Tree | Creature 6 |
Scythe Tree – CREATURE 6
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Size: Huge
Type: Plant
Perception: +14, Low Light Vision, Lifesence 30 feet
Languages: Aklo, Arboreal, Sylvan
Skills: Athletics +15, Stealth +12 (+14 in forests)
Str +7, Dex +2, Con +4, Int 0, Wis +2, Cha +0
AC 24; Fort +17, Ref +8, Will +9
HP: 105 Resistance bludgeoning 5, piercing 5
Speed 15 feet
Melee [one-action] scythe branch +18 (backswing, deadly d10, reach 15feet), Damage 2d10+9 slashing
Woodland Ambush [one-action] Requirements The scythe tree is using Dead Tree in forested terrain, and a creature that hasn’t detected it is within 30 feet;Effect The scythe tree Strides up to 25 feet toward the triggering creature. Once the creature is in reach, the scythe tree makes a scythe branch Strike against it. The creature is flat-footed against this Strike
| Twigjack | Creature 3 |
Twigjack – CREATURE 3
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Size: Tiny
Type: Fay, Plant
Perception: +9, Dark Vision
Languages: Common, Sylvan
Skills: Acrobatics +11, Athletics +9, Nature +7, Stealth +11
Str +2, Dex +4, Con +2, Int 0, Wis +2, Cha +1
AC 19; Fort +9, Ref +11, Will +7
HP: 50 Weakness fire 5
Speed 25 feet
Melee [one-action] claw +11 (agile, finesse), Damage 1d10+4 slashing
Ranged [one-action] splinter +11 (deadly 1d6, range increment 30 feet), Damage 1d6+4 piercing
Splinter Spray [two-action] The Twigjack sprays a barrage of splinters and brambles from its body in a 15-foot cone, dealing 4d6 piercing damage (DC 20 basic Reflex save). It can’t use Splinter Spray again for 1d4 rounds.
🌲 Scene 9: The Raven’s Return
The forest hushes as the party retraces their steps from the mill, the cursed stone weighing heavy on their minds. Autumn light filters through the canopy in golden shafts, dappling the leaf-strewn path. The air is damp with moss and memory.
Encounter, roll on encounter table
| Die Roll | Encounter |
|---|---|
| 1 | Orc Warband |
| 2 | Owlbear |
| 3 | Liora Windwhisper – Ranger |
| 4 | Raven |
| 5 | Scythe Tree |
| 6 | Twigjack |
roll = 4
Suddenly, a rustle overhead—then the sharp kraaa of a raven.
It lands on a low branch just ahead, glossy feathers catching the light like spilled ink. Its head tilts, one eye gleaming with uncanny intelligence. It’s the same raven they saw at the mill. The same deliberate gaze. The same unsettling stillness.
Then it hops once, wings half-spread, and lets out a softer croak. It turns and flies a short distance down the path—then stops, waiting.
Branwen the Ranger narrows her eyes. “It looks like it want’s to lead us somewhere.”
Lini, the gnome druid, mutters something to a mushroom, “apparently Elara Moonshadow has a Raven. Could it be hers?”
The raven croaks again, more insistent this time, and flutters to a mossy stump. It pecks at a curled leaf, then looks back.
Renka the Kitsune bard, chuckles nervously. “I don’t like birds that think they are smarter than me.”
Nyra the cleric, steps forward. “Not just smarter. Its waiting.”
The raven lifts off once more, gliding low and slow, always just ahead. The party follows, the forest seeming to lean in around them, branches arching like cathedral vaults. The path twists, but the raven never falters.
At one point, it circles a clearing where mushrooms grow in a perfect ring—then darts through a narrow gap in the trees. The party hesitates, then follows.
And there, just beyond the last bend, the rooftops of Willowshade appear. Smoke curls from chimneys. The raven lands on the weathered signpost at the village edge, tapping it once with its beak.
Then it takes off toward Elara’s cottage, vanishing into the mist.The raven lifts off once more, gliding low and slow, always just ahead. The party follows, the forest seeming to lean in around them, branches arching like cathedral vaults. The path twists, but the raven never falters.
At one point, it circles a clearing where mushrooms grow in a perfect ring—then darts through a narrow gap in the trees. The party hesitates, then follows.
And there, just beyond the last bend, the rooftops of Willowshade appear. Smoke curls from chimneys. The raven lands on the weathered signpost at the village edge, tapping it once with its beak.
Then it takes off toward Elara’s cottage, vanishing into the mist.
Scene 11: Elara’s summons
The parties arrival outside Elara’s cottage is resoundingly announced by the ravens constant Kraaa. Elara opens the door and the bird hops inside.
Elara stands in her doorway, her raven settling onto her shoulder with a rasping kraaa. Her gaze sweeps over Branwin, Lini, Renka, and Nyra—not with surprise, but with the calm certainty of one who knew they were coming.
Elara’s eyes gleam like moonlight on obsidian as she regards the four companions. Her raven shifts, feathers rustling, and lets out a final kraaa before settling.
She speaks, voice low and melodic, each word shaped with care:
“Four shadows cast long upon the path. You’ve walked through tangled light to reach me.”
She steps aside, revealing the warm glow of her cottage interior—herbal bundles hanging from the beams, arcane symbols etched into the hearthstone.
“Come. The mirror is quiet tonight, and the fire listens well. Let us see what truth flickers in your tale.”
Elara’s gaze lingers on Renka as the bard steps into the threshold, the shamisen slung across her back catching a flicker of firelight. The raven shifts again, feathers bristling, and lets out a softer kraaa—not a warning, but a greeting.
Elara tilts her head, her voice dipping into a whisper touched with reverence:
“Ah… the echo-string. I see its shadow dancing behind you.”
She steps closer, eyes narrowing—not in suspicion, but in recognition.
“Threads from the dusk realm cling to your song, Kitsune. Not all who walk with music carry its mirror.”
Renka feels a subtle pull, as if the shamisen hums in response to Elara’s presence. The air around them thickens briefly, like fog curling around a lantern.
Elara smiles, faint and knowing.
“You’ve tuned your soul to twilight. That is no small feat. Come—your melody may yet help untangle the curse that clings to stone.”
Elara invites the companions to enter her cottage. Inside, the fire crackles low, shadows dance across the walls of the dimly lit room, cast by scrolls and arcane instruments, the room is filled with scent of wild herbs and roasted chestnuts.
The raven perches itself silently above the hearth, watching.
Elara listens as the party recounts the curse on the millstone. Her expression remains unreadable, eyes reflecting the flicker of flame.
When they finish, she speaks with the same measured lilt:
“Yes. The stone is bound. Old magic, tangled and bitter.”
She turns, fingers trailing across a shelf of vial’s.
“But I did not act. Not every shadow is mine to chase. Willowshade has its own roots. Its own debts.”
All except Renka pass, though they only manage to get Elara to agree on condition that they in turn help the village in some way.
- Retrieve something lost to Elara in the Mirror Realm
- Aid her in a ritual. It must be done under a waning moon
- Protect Willowshade for a season
- Bring Elara the name of the one who cursed the millstone
The fire in Elara’s hearth crackles low, casting long shadows that flicker like memories across the cottage walls. The raven watches from its perch, silent now, as if the weight of the moment stills even its voice.
Elara stands before the companions, hands folded, her voice soft but unyielding:
“I will unbind the stone. But not for coin, nor for comfort.”
She steps closer, the scent of dried herbs and old parchment trailing behind her.
“Willowshade is fraying at the edges. The curse is but one thread. I need more than gratitude—I need guardians.”
She lifts a small, silvered hourglass from a shelf and turns it once. The sand within is the colour of fallen leaves.
“Stay until the last leaf falls. Protect this village through the turning of the season. That is my price.”
A silence settles.
Branwin, ever the steady ranger, nods first.
“We gave our word to the miller’s wife. We see this through.”
Lini, the druid, places a hand on the table, fingers brushing a sprig of dried rowan.
“The land here is hurting. I feel it. We can help.”
Nyra, the cleric, folds her arms, gaze steady.
“If we walk away, the curse festers. That’s not who we are.”
Renka, tail flicking once, leans back in her chair. Her golden eyes narrow.
“So we’re to be village wardens now? Tied to this place like scarecrows in a field?”
She sighs, brushing a hand over the strings of her shamisen.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to sing about it.”
Elara’s lips curl into the faintest smile.
“Even shadows must rest, bard. And sometimes, the stillness sings back.”
She turns toward the hearth, lifting a carved staff from beside the fire.
“Come. Let us speak of the stone. The unbinding must begin before the moon wanes.”
🌕 Scene 12: The Unbinding at the Mill
Does the Miller let the party in to the mill? YES…
Does the Pondshade Nereila notice the parties arrival? Yes, fortune.
The Pondshade Nereila watches the party return to the mill, but recognises them and allows then to pass freely.
The moon hangs low over Willowshade, a pale coin pressed against a velvet sky. Mist curls along the mill pond’s edge, silvering the reeds and casting the old stone wheel in ghostly light.
The miller and his wife stand close together, hands clasped, eyes wide with hope and fear. The grinding stone looms behind them, its surface etched with unnatural veins—dark, pulsing, wrong.
Elara steps forward, robes trailing like smoke. Her raven circles once overhead, then lands silently on the mill’s roof beam.
She raises her staff, and the air thickens. Leaves rustle though no wind stirs.
“This stone remembers pain,” she murmurs. “But memory is not fate.”
She draws a circle in the air—arcane symbols shimmer, then sink into the earth. The ground beneath the millstone glows faintly, a mirror of the curse’s grip.
The companions watch in silence. Lini feels the land respond, a subtle shift in the pond’s breath. Nyra clutches her holy symbol, whispering a prayer. Branwin scans the shadows, ever vigilant. Renka leans on her shamisen, tail flicking with restless energy.
Elara chants in a tongue older than the village, older than the stone. Her voice echoes, not loud but deep, like water in a cavern.
The millstone shudders. A crack splits its surface—not breaking, but releasing. A dark mist rises, then dissipates into the night.
The miller’s wife gasps. The air smells cleaner. The pond ripples once, then stills.
Elara lowers her staff. Her raven hops to her shoulder.
“It is done,” she says. “The stone no longer poisons. But the land must be watched. Shadows do not vanish—they retreat.”
She turns to the companions.
“Pondshade Nereila will feel the shift. Go to her. Speak gently. She is old, and the water holds her moods.”
Without waiting for reply, Elara walks into the mist, her silhouette fading like a dream. The raven gives one final kraaa, then follows.
The party stands in the moonlight, the miller weeping quietly, his wife clutching his arm.
Renka sighs.
“So now we’re diplomats to pond spirits. This season’s getting stranger by the hour.”
Branwin smiles faintly.
“Better strange than cursed.”
All except pass the check this time
🌾 Scene 13: The Pond’s Whisper
The moon still hangs above the mill pond, casting silver ripples across its surface. The mist has thinned, revealing reeds, lily pads, and the faint shimmer of old magic in the water.
The companions step carefully to the pond’s edge. Lini kneels first, placing a hand on the damp earth. Nyra murmurs a blessing. Branwin watches the treeline. Renka lingers behind, arms folded, tail flicking.
The water stirs.
From its depths rises a figure—fluid, graceful, and ancient. Pondshade Nereila, guardian of the mill pond, her form woven from water and memory. Her eyes are deep pools, her voice a ripple across the surface.
“You return. And the stone no longer bleeds.”
Lini bows her head.
“It was cursed. Not the miller’s doing. Elara has lifted it.”
Nereila’s gaze shifts to each of them, lingering on Renka.
“Truth flows clearer now. But pain leaves echoes.”
Renka steps forward, reluctantly.
“We didn’t come to soothe you. Just to set things right.”
Nereila smiles, faint and sad.
“Setting things right is the oldest kindness.”
She lifts a hand, and the pond glows faintly. The reeds straighten. A frog croaks once, then leaps into the water.
“The land will heal. Slowly. But it will remember your names.”
She turns to go, her form dissolving into mist and moonlight.
“Guard Willowshade well. Autumn is not yet done.”
The pond stills. The companions stand in silence, the night wrapping around them like a cloak.
Branwin breaks it with a quiet chuckle.
“Well. That’s one spirit soothed.”
Nyra nods.
“And one season to go.”
Renka sighs, plucking a soft chord on her shamisen.
“I suppose I’ll write a song after all. Something about frogs and cursed stones.”
Lini smiles.
“Make it gentle. The pond listens.”
to be continued.
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