Session #1: On the Road
General Summary
To Bond a Party of Strangers
Mat's assurance that the road would be safe had crumbled almost a day into their journey. Up until that point, the four heroes had mostly kept to themselves, wary of engaging with their fellow travelers. Yet, one event brought them together faster than any conversation could.
An arrow whistled through the air and struck Mat in the throat, spilling blood everywhere. Bandits attacked, using blades and arrows, intent on robbing them of whatever little they possessed. However, survival instincts quickly bound them together, and the four strangers stood side by side, revealing their talents and saving the day. Ondrea, still in shock, rushed to Mat’s aid, with Mael assisting her as her healing music closed the merchant’s wounds. Zara, having taken her role as bodyguard seriously, stormed off the cart to defend their group. There were two bandits. Darvin followed Zara, unleashing a burst of colorful magic that blinded the archer, stunning him until he fell unconscious. The second bandit tried to flee, but Zara struck true, her javelin sending the poor man straight to the Underworld and Siona's judgment.
Once they were safe, they counted their losses. Their lone horse had perished, but Mat and the others were unharmed. They gathered up what little the bandits had left and, demonstrating remarkable self-control and virtue, decided to let the surviving bandit go. They also gave Mat a large portion of the loot as compensation for his lost horse.
After their first adventure, Mat, grateful to be alive, informed them that they could soon rest at an old inn located at the crossroads. It was called the Black Sheep, where they could regain their strength before continuing their journey.
The Black Sheep
After a longer-than-expected journey without a horse, the party finally arrived at the Black Sheep, an old barn repurposed into an inn, nestled at a crossroads midway between Thandor and Oakwood. It had taken them longer to reach their destination, but Mat assured them he was acquainted with the innkeeper and could negotiate for a horse.
When they arrived, they were greeted by Zev, the innkeeper- a very old, tired man who seemed worn by the weight of years spent managing the place. Inside the large, weathered inn, there was only one other group of travelers: three men who appeared to be carpenters or lumberjacks, rough and silent.
Wanting to lift the group's spirits, Ondrea took out her lute and performed a beautiful melody, filling the room with music that seemed to brighten the mood for everyone. After her performance, Darvin, always alert to his surroundings, noticed the group of men in the corner talked about Oakwood and suggested that Ondrea approach them to gather any information about it.
With her usual charm, Ondrea walked over to the men. Their leader, a burly fellow named Milton, was already drunk and, in his haze, promised to share whatever she wanted to know on one condition: she would perform for him again, but in the way he desired. Ondrea, playing along with the situation, agreed, and through her music, she gleaned a few useful tidbits about Oakwood. But when she tried to leave, Milton’s demeanor changed. The drunkard became aggressive, demanding more than just a song, and tried to force her into his control.
The situation quickly escalated into a confrontation. But Ondrea was not alone. Her new companions, Zara, Mael, and Darvin, rushed to her aid. What began as a tense verbal exchange rapidly turned into a brawl, with the tension in the room escalating as the drunkards made their move.
But why Oakwood?
Each of the four characters has their own reason for traveling to Oakwood, but the common thread is the rumor of a strange illness that recently struck the village. Not all of them are particularly concerned by it, but one way or another, their journey is meant to pull them into its mystery.
Wanted for Murder
Before heading to bed, Mat had warned them not to pick a fight with the lumberjacks. But by the time fists clenched and threats turned sharp, that warning was little more than a ghost. There was no turning back; blades were drawn, and blood followed.
For the first time, Mael chose to step into the fray. He hurled one of his alchemical concoctions at Milton, dousing the man in a sticky, tar-like substance meant to entangle and disable him. It worked but fate, it seemed, had far crueler intentions.
Milton struggled wildly, trying to free his axe from a shattered table. It slipped from his grip, and in the chaos, he severed his own foot. Blinded by the sticky mixture and disoriented, he stumbled backward and fell straight onto a jagged shard of wood that drove itself through his eye. By the time his body hit the ground, Milton was dead.
The room froze.
Seizing the moment, Mael raised his voice and tried to bluff, claiming it was his magic that had felled the man. Ondrea backed him up instantly, playing into the illusion with practiced ease. The gruesome display, combined with their performance, was enough to rattle the remaining lumberjacks. Two were too drunk to flee, but one bolted for the door. As he vanished into the night, he shouted a final warning over his shoulder:
“All of Oakwood will hear what the elf did to Milton. The only thing waiting for him there will be the gallows.”
Strange Lights
Zev, the weary innkeeper, wasted no time. He kicked them out the moment things settled. “If word reaches Oakwood that I sheltered the murderers of one of their own,” he growled, “they’ll burn this place to the ground, with me in it.” His hands trembled as he slammed the inn’s crooked door behind them.
Mat didn’t defend them. In fact, he looked more troubled than angry; his face pale, his words distant. He spoke with Zev in hushed tones, arranged for a single horse, and turned to the group with a grim expression.
“I don’t want to know what happened,” he said, flatly. “Don’t speak of it again.”
He agreed to take them no further than an hour’s ride from Oakwood. After that, they were on their own. And so their journey resumed, cast in silence and shadow. They made camp under the open sky that night; no roof, no hearth, no sanctuary.
Around the fire, Zara tried to offer advice. Her tone was cautious, but firm. “Men like that... I’ve seen what they’re capable of. You’ve got to be careful, Ondrea. You're not as safe as you think.”
There was a flicker of something in her eyes; regret, maybe. She remembered Marcia, her oldest friend back in Thornwatch. Marcia had insisted it was her choice, what she did for coin. But Zara had seen the cracks in her smile.
Ondrea bristled. She didn’t hear concern; only judgment. The old fear rose in her like bile. She’d spent her childhood hiding, keeping her head down, praying not to be noticed. And when she was driven out of Crimson Hollow, she swore she’d never live in fear again. Never shrink. Never apologize for who she was.
Their voices rose. Words turned sharp. For a moment, both reached for their weapons, until reason, bitter and cold, pulled them apart. They turned away, each curling up on opposite sides of the fire, backs to each other.
Only Darvin noticed it. Just for an instant, a strange arcane flicker briefly shimmered on the foreheads of both women. He blinked and it was gone.
Maybe it was just exhaustion.
Or maybe something deeper had begun to stir.
The Night Watch
Ondrea & Darvin
As the fire crackled low and the moon traced its arc across the broken sky, the camp settled into uneasy rest. The first watch belonged to Darvin and Ondrea. At first, silence. Then, Darvin broke it with his quiet gentleness.
“You know,” he said, glancing sideways, “Zara didn’t mean to shame you.”
Ondrea sighed, brushing hair from her face as she stared into the embers. “I don’t care what she meant. People always want you to be smaller. Softer. Easier to carry around. I won’t be caged just because someone else is afraid of the world.” She drew her knees up and added, “Freedom is sacred. You don’t trade it on the altar of normality.”
Darvin gave a small nod, his voice even. “You’re not wrong. But freedom... isn’t just about doing what you want. It’s about surviving when choice is taken from you. Sometimes, it’s just a breath in chains.”
Ondrea looked at him, surprised by the depth beneath his calm. He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask. But something passed between them; an unspoken understanding.
She chased freedom to bury the curse of her past.
He craved it because it was taken from him.
Zara & Mael
The fire burned low, casting a flickering orange glow that danced along the edges of their camp. Crickets chirped somewhere in the underbrush, but the forest itself seemed to be holding its breath. Mael sat near the flames, carefully flipping through a leather-bound notebook, though he wasn’t really reading.
Across from him, Zara sharpened a blade. It was more ritual than necessity. After a moment, Mael spoke without looking up.
“I’ve seen someone like you before. Another half Eaglor. Years ago.”
Zara looked up, a little guarded. “Where?”
“Thandor, briefly. A woman with silver eyes and feathers braided in her hair. She didn’t stay long.”
Zara tilted her head and set the blade aside. “People don’t talk about Eaglors. Most think they’re extinct. The rest think they never existed.”
“They existed,” Mael said. “Tribal people. The only ones attuned with druidic magic.”
Zara nodded slowly. “My mother never spoke of them. All I’ve ever heard is that they were connected to nature... and that Verana made them.”
Mael glanced at her then. “You prayed to her last night.”
“I didn’t think anyone saw.”
“I did.” He paused. “You don’t strike me as religious.”
“I’m not. I don’t know who she really is. I just… reach out, and her name is the only one that feels right.”
Mael closed his notebook and looked directly at her now. “Verana is the Lady of Dreams. She’s old. Gentle, but distant. Not many follow her. Fewer understand her.”
“What about you?” Zara asked.
“I worship Siona. Goddess of death and magic.”Zara raised an eyebrow. “A little dark, no?”
Mael didn’t flinch. “No, not really. Just... final. Myth says, Verana doesn’t trust her. Because Siona loves Verana’s son-Ephelion, god of love and art. That love twisted their paths. Now the mother sees a threat where the son sees devotion.”
Zara stared into the fire. “Even gods have family drama, huh?”
Mael gave a rare, quiet chuckle. “More than most, I’d wager.”
They sat in silence after that, listening to the forest whisper. There were no answers in the crackle of the fire or the hush of the trees, but something unspoken passed between them; a recognition of the questions they both carried, and the long road still ahead.
Symbols Everywhere
The morning after their fight in the inn, the companions woke to unease.
Mael and Darvin stirred last, both with heavy heads and cloudy memories, the kind that taste like nightmares. Ondrea, more composed, offered a quiet apology to Zara for their fight. The air was brittle but not yet broken. They prepared to travel again. But when Darvin opened his spellbook to prepare his arcane rituals, Mael changed.
He rose stiffly. His eyes were not his own. A yellow arcane glow pulsed from a strange sigil burning on his forehead, thin black veins crawling from the mark like spilled ink. Without warning, he flung fire at Darvin; wild and fierce. His voice, deeper and fractured, roared:
“Magic is mine. It was always mine. Give me the book. You don’t deserve it.”
Darvin vanished behind cover, clutching his half-burnt book. The others scrambled. Zara and Ondrea tried to pin Mael down without harming him. The elf fought like a caged beast, then spasmed, collapsing into the dirt. When he came to, Mael was terrified. He remembered nothing. The sigil had faded. He shook, not just with cold.
Mat, who had seen enough, fled that very day. He muttered something about demons and cursed elves and vanished down the road, leaving them stranded. They would walk the rest of the way.
That night, they found shelter in a shallow cave, mossy and damp. They spoke in whispers; how to enter Oakwood, whether Mael was safe. Then Darvin grew ravenous. He ate his rations, then more- four full portions- then begged for more. His eyes were sharp. Too sharp.
When someone hesitated, his lips curled into a hungry snarl. A fiery orange light bloomed across his forehead. A new symbol, different from Mael’s. When Darvin blinked, the madness was gone. He didn’t remember a thing.
The group began casting detection spells, seeking answers. What they found chilled them.
Not faint auras, but an overwhelming flood of arcane force all around them, as if something vast and ancient loomed just beyond the veil of the world, reaching out with symbols and whispers. Mael remained strangely calm for a day and a half.
But on the fourth night, everything broke.
Ondrea, shaken by the sight of the skinned rabbit meant for dinner, had stepped outside the cave. She hated gore; it reminded her of the dead. That was when she screamed. Three figures stumbled toward her. Rotting. Groaning. Zara and the others rushed to help. The battle was swift but brutal. One of the kobolds wore a crude wooden plaque tied around its neck, scratched with the word "Shaman."
Afterward, Ondrea trembled. Not just from the fight, but from what it meant. She hadn’t drawn the protective sigil that night, the one her people once used to ward the undead. She always drew it. Always. But tonight, she forgot. And something had come for her.
Mael, unraveling from days of fear and strangeness, demanded to know what the symbol meant. She told him- again- that it was a ward. Nothing dangerous.
But he didn’t believe her.
His voice rose. His fear curdled into anger.
“Stop lying! What is this damn thing? I’ve seen what symbols do. You've seen too!”
He sent acid against the cave wall, dissolving the sigil she had etched.
A brilliant purple light erupted from Ondrea’s brow. Another symbol. New. Unfamiliar.
She turned; no longer herself. Her voice was calm but cold.
“Kneel.”
She raised her whip. Power crackled around her.
Mael struck back. Alchemical tar burst from his gauntlet, drenching her. They fought; full of fear, full of fire. The others stood stunned, desperate to make sense of it. Ondrea fainted from exhaustion, or whatever force possessed her. When she woke, she would not speak. She chose to sleep outside the cave, away from Mael.
And Mael... sat still for hours, face in hands, whispering questions to the dark.
Zara kept to herself, watching. Calculating. Wondering.
Was her turn next?
Darvin, perplexed and afraid, flipped through his thoughts again and again.
Was there a pattern? A curse? A master mind behind it all?
By the time dawn came, they were not the same people.
Four strangers, bound by mystery and mistrust. Lost on the road to Oakwood.
All marked. All touched. All watched.
And no longer alone.
Fun Facts from the Road
- During the group's very first battle with bandits, a rabid dog joined the fray. What shocked everyone wasn’t the beast itself but Darvin, who in the end asked, if it would be safe to cook and eat the remains. Mael, strongly advised against it. Darvin went for it anyway.
- Mael, ever the curious mind (and possible mad alchemist in the making), collected a vial of the dog's infected saliva, claiming it was “for research purposes.” No one has dared ask if he still carries it.
- When Ondrea performed at the inn, it wasn’t just the character who sang! The player themselves had written original songs tied to her story. Sweet, haunting, and a little too real.
(We love a bard with lore.)
- Zara, despite her poise and strength, had a truly tragic streak of luck when trying to subdue the possessed Mael. The pale elf may have looked fragile, but when arcane madness surged through him... let’s just say the dice weren’t in Zara’s favor.
All written content is original, drawn from myth, memory, and madness.
All images are generated via Midjourney using custom prompts by the author, unless otherwise stated.
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Author's Notes
This adventure is based on the Pathfinder module Hollow's Last Hope, the prelude to Crown of the Kobold King.