Session #2-Part 2: Oakwood
General Summary
After days of exhausting travel on foot and a series of strange events and unsettling revelations, the four heroes finally reached their destination.
They had little idea what to expect, aside from being hunted by the local lumberjacks for the death of Milton back at the Black Sheep Inn. But the road only led forward, and so they followed it.
From the first moment, they knew:
this was the most inhospitable town in the Empire.
The Slave & the Master
Most of them knew no one in that small town; no one, except for the mysterious Darvin. Of the four, he alone had ties to Oakwood. He had told his companions he was traveling there to deliver a package of herbs and reagents to his teacher: Master Jacob Candeskus, head of the Conjuration Department at Oblidonia Academy.
According to Darvin, the old man had fallen ill with the disease that plagued the town. So the four of them made their way to the home where he now resided: his daughter’s mansion. The house was beautiful, and at a glance, it was clear that it belonged to the wealthiest person in Oakwood. At the door, Darvin asked the others to wait outside as the usher, Tom, escorted him in.
He didn’t know what to expect. What he did know was that he didn’t want to explain the truth to the strangers who had journeyed with him. He had called Jacob “his master” on several occasions, but the true meaning of that word remained hidden.
Darvin preferred it that way.
And the Black Chains mark on his chest agreed.
No one could know he was a slave.
He still had no idea how the alchemical brand would react.
Darvin learned the grim truth soon after stepping inside.
His master had been unconscious for the past two days. The disease had advanced too quickly, far beyond what Darvin had expected.
Waiting for him in the grand salon was Irene, Jacob’s daughter. She greeted Darvin with the cold efficiency of a noblewoman burdened with business. There was no sign of worry in her voice when she spoke of her father, only calculation. What troubled her was something else entirely.
Important Locations in Oakwood
- Town Hall
- Roaming Stag
- Bloody Branch
- Timberheart Hall
- Warehouses
- Hearth & Herb
- Stables
- Wells
- Slaughterhouse
- The Great Oak
- Stockyards
- Balinor's House
Her son had gone missing, along with several other children from Oakwood, just a day ago. She revealed this with her chilling calm disturbed for the first time, as tears welled up in her eyes. She took a moment to breath and then, after regaining a more composed tone, she made Darvin a proposition.
“If my father dies,” she said, “his belongings, properties… and you… will belong to me. That means I would be at liberty to free you.”
Darvin said nothing, but he felt the Black Chains mark burn faintly under his skin.
“If you and those you trust can bring my son back alive,” Irene continued, “I will see to it that you walk away from this as a free man.”
She allowed herself a smile then and gestured toward the stairs.
“Your doctor companion - Mael, was it? - he may examine my father. If it amuses him.”
Soon Tom, the ever-pristine usher, appeared again, this time escorting the other three inside the house. He demanded for them to leave their weapons and then offered a shallow bow, barely masking his sneer as his eyes flicked over Mael’s elven features.
“This way... doctor,” Tom said with venom-laced civility. “Do try not to faint at the smell. Our human maladies can be… potent.”
Ondrea, quick-witted as always, intercepted Tom’s theatrics with well-placed flattery and subtle threat, convincing him to leave them alone in the room.
Jacob Candeskus lay still, pale and drenched in sweat. A scent of alchemical reagents and burned orange peels lingered in the air, mixed with the sour rot of fever.
While Ondrea watched the door, Mael searched the room. His hands moved quickly across journals, loose scrolls, scattered glass vials. At last, he found what he was looking for: a leather-bound notebook, the pages brittle and ink-stained.
It was a record of the old mage’s efforts to understand and cure the plague. Diagrams of blood, fever patterns, reagent formulas… and there, scrawled on one of the final pages, a single word circled in haste:
Rumors
After the meeting at the Candeskus estate, the four spent some time gathering information around the city.
Several eyes followed them wherever they went; suspicious, wary, and at times openly hostile. Word had spread. The events at the Black Sheep Inn had reached Oakwood, and Mael, in particular, drew unwanted attention from those who still grieved Milton.
They learned that the disease primarily targeted the very young and the very old. The locals had given it a name: Black Fever.
More disturbingly, they discovered that five children had recently gone missing. According to hushed rumors, the children had taken part in a dare: to spend the night in a burned-down orphanage on the outskirts of town, a place many believed to be haunted. None of them were seen again.
Rylan, the self-appointed sheriff of Oakwood and the brother of one of the missing, had gone to investigate. He never also haven't returned.
With little else to go on, the group made their way to Hearth and Herb, a cramped herbalist shop run by a half-elven woman named Lorena. The line outside the store was daunting, at least twenty townsfolk long, and tempers were running high. Ondrea, never one to sit idle, took matters into her own hands. She pulled out her lute and began to play, weaving an enchanting melody through the weary crowd in hopes of distracting them long enough for her companions to slip through.
Her song was just a little too effective.
Mael and Zara remained rooted where they stood, lost in the notes, forgetting entirely why they had come. Only Darvin, practical and unnoticed, slipped quietly into the shop while the music held the rest captive.
A Herbalist's Last Hope
Inside the cluttered confines of Hearth and Herb, Darvin met Lorena, the weary half-elven herbalist barely holding things together. Her once-orderly shop was in disarray: shelves picked clean, jars emptied, leaves and roots strewn across the counter like remnants of a failed alchemical experiment.
She looked utterly exhausted. Her eyes were sunken, her sleeves stained with tinctures and teas hastily brewed.
"I'm just a herbalist," she muttered, not for the first time. "Not a healer."
But no one in Oakwood was listening. Panic had stripped reason from the townsfolk. They wanted cures, miracles, anything to fight the creeping grip of Black Fever. At least thirty were infected, Lorena told Darvin. Some had already died.
Realizing Mael’s insight could prove useful in this conversation, Darvin slipped back outside and gently snapped the elf out of his trance, breaking the spell of Ondrea’s music with a sharp word and a steady hand. Mael blinked back to focus and followed him into the shop.
Once inside, the young elven alchemist wasted no time. His questions were precise, professional. Lorena tried to answer as best she could, but her frustration was evident. She was doing all she could with far too little.
Then the conversation turned to Rylan.
At the mention of his name, a shadow crossed Lorena’s face. She was worried about him.
"He's always tried to do what's best for this town," she said softly. "Of course he went after the missing children. But it’s been a while… and nothing. No sign of him."
She hesitated for a long moment, then lowered her voice turning the conversation away from her missing friend and back to the issue of the Black Fever.
“There is one thing I haven’t tried. Mostly because I’m convinced it’s just one of my grandmother’s stories. She was a healer and a bit mad, if you ask me. Used to claim she traded her vision with the Uzmila, the Witch of Eldergrove, in return for forbidden remedies and secret knowledge.”
Lorena shook her head, half-apologetic, half-fearful. “Sounds like nonsense, I know. But in my grandmother’s notes… there’s a recipe. Something that could be used to cure this disease. The ingredients, though, some of them I’ve never heard of. Might not even exist.”
That was all Mael needed to hear.
With a reluctant sigh, Lorena handed over a brittle old parchment, its ink faded but still legible.
“This is all I have,” she said. “If you do go into Eldergrove - assuming you're that reckless - I'd be grateful if you brought back any herbs you find. I can’t help anyone if my shelves stay empty.”
Before they left, she gave them a final warning.
“Don’t enter Eldergrove without a map. You’ll get lost.”
Light in the Darkness
Their final stop before nightfall was the humble home of Balinor Brighthelm, a dwarf and recent arrival in Oakwood. A cleric of Novirath, god of sun and light, Balinor was still seen with some suspicion by the townsfolk. Yet, when they knocked, he opened his door without hesitation.
His home was more shrine than shelter. Golden tapestries and votive candles lined the walls, bathing the room in a soft, unwavering glow. A modest cot and a cooking pot tucked into one corner were the only signs anyone lived there. The rest was sacred space.
Balinor welcomed them in with genuine hospitality, his voice deep but gentle. He offered what insight he could about the disease ravaging the town.
“This plague,” he confessed, “is no natural thing. My healing passes through it like water through stone.”
Still, he had not given up hope. He pointed them toward a possible ally: a young lumberjack named Mortimer, whose wife was already afflicted. Balinor believed Mortimer would be desperate enough to share his map of the Eldergrove, especially if they were seeking a cure.
“He drinks at the Bloody Branch, a filthy little tavern on the edge of town. Run by a half-orc named Rovug.”
At the mention of that name, Zara’s eyes lit up, if only for a moment. She said nothing, but the spark of recognition was impossible to miss. Rovug was someone she had been hoping to find. Someone who might hold answers about her father.
He also revealed the names of the missing children and shared his own reason for coming to Oakwood: the burned orphanage. Balinor had known the matron who once ran it, a former adventurer, and came to investigate the tragedy. “They said it was cursed,” he admitted. “And they were right. The place was crawling with haunts. I banished them all myself. Whatever took those children… it wasn’t the ghosts.”
Before they left, Ondrea asked about the strange symbol she used to repel the undead—a sunburst entwined with thorns. Balinor looked at it solemnly and confirmed what she already suspected.
“It’s the crest of Merdia,” he said. “The old capital. Fallen, long ago.”
Ashes and Whispers
That night, the party split between luxury and neglect. Mael remained in the mansion, watching over the ailing Jacob Candescus as the man's life waned in silence. The rest were shown to the stables by Tom the Usher, who smiled with thinly veiled delight as he gestured to the hay. “Plenty of room there,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
Sometime before dawn, the final breath left Jacob's body.
But before it did, in a sudden and desperate flicker of awareness, Jacob reached out and gripped Mael's wrist. His breath was ragged, his voice a rasp from the depths of death’s grip. His words:
“Darvin... forgive me. I failed you. But know, they are still alive.”
Then he went still.
Mael had no idea what the words meant, but when he relayed them to Darvin the following morning, the hardened man’s demeanor cracked. His eyes widened, and without thinking, he embraced the elf. Something long-buried had just clawed its way back to the surface.
At the same time, Ondrea wrestled with a revelation of her own. The thought had gnawed at her since their meeting with Balinor Brighthelm, the dwarf cleric. Something about his explanation of the Merdian crest hadn’t felt right. She now understood why: it wasn’t that Balinor had lied. It was as though something outside himself had prevented him from speaking the truth. Some force, subtle and metaphysical, had sealed his, altering his words. That realization chilled her more than a lie ever could.Come morning, they made their way to the Bloody Branch, hoping to speak with Rovug and find Mortimer, the woodsman. But the tavern was closed, its crooked windows shuttered, the sign swinging in the breeze. So, they sought out Mortimer’s home.
Inside, they found his wife unconscious, pale, sweating, and slipping toward death’s grasp. The sight darkened Mortimer’s face. He listened closely as they explained their quest and the ancient recipe. His voice shook, but he shared what he knew.
- Aurum Moss, if it existed, would likely grow near a clearing of golden oaks deeper in Eldergrove.
- Lunarcap mushrooms could perhaps be found in the elven ruins, old remnants of a forgotten stronghold at the forest’s far edge.
- As for root rat’s tail, he had no idea what it was. But he had heard of Uzmila, the witch said to dwell in the darkest heart of the woods. Most dismissed it as legend. Still, he marked a hut on their map; an eerie place people avoided, if they were wise.
With heavy hearts and determined steps, the party made their way into the Eldergrove. The trees darkened, the air thickened, and the forest swallowed the light.
Their first stop: the blackened bones of the burned orphanage.
The Ambush
The ruin of the burned orphanage stood like a charred skeleton beneath the gray light of morning. Walls had long since caved in, and the soot-stained timbers jutted out like broken ribs. But even here, in this forsaken place, there were signs of recent movement. Among the ash and rubble, the party found a makeshift camp; a few scattered embers, crushed grass, and footprints. Some were small, like they belonged to children. Others... looked clawed? A mingling of human and lizard tracks suggested someone, or something, had been here recently.
That’s when they heard the cry.
A fox, small with snow-white paws, whined from the edge of the wreckage. Its leg was caught in an iron trap, blood staining its fur as it struggled. Ondrea didn’t hesitate. She moved in to free it, her compassion guiding her steps.
And walked into an ambush.
Almost immediately, a black-fletched arrow buried itself in her side, loosed from above. In the trees, a kobold hunter watched with wicked satisfaction. Before anyone could react, two dark shapes descended from the branches: strange crows with gleaming, intelligent eyes and serrated beaks. They tore into Ondrea with shrieks and slashing talons, blood painting her tunic as she struggled to fend them off.
The battle was savage and raw.
Mael, in desperation, unleashed fire upon the woods, the scent of burning bark and feathers choking the air. Zara moved fast, her blade catching the crows mid-lunge, and with Darvin's help they saved Ondrea before it was too late.
Bleeding and scorched, the kobold, sensing the tide turning, charged Mael in a final rage; his eyes narrowing the moment he recognized the alchemist for an elf. With a guttural cry, he hurled himself down in a crushing blow, seeking to kill with all his weight. Mael barely held his ground. Wounded but defiant, he and his allies struck the kobold down.
As the dust settled, the crows were broken and the trapper lay dead.
But the fox, fragile and innocent in the middle of it all, didn’t survive.
Ondrea buried it quietly beside the ruins.
Their first true battle had been won, but it left them shaken. Not just by the wounds, but by the question that lingered:
What did that kobold want and what were they hunting?
Fun Facts from the Road
- Tom the Usher managed to earn the ire of nearly everyone, but no one despised him - or his condescending smirk - more than Zara. If not for her companions, Tom would’ve been in serious trouble.
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.
Oh noes. I had hoped people would survive