Session 105 - Shades of Meaning
General Summary
The party wakes in fairly comfortable beds within their suite at the Compass Rose. The day is young, birdsong fills the air, and the smells of fresh bread and frying bacon fill the halls. After a quick breakfast and gathering of supplies, Denye began sketching out the magic circle for Plane Shift. Unlike other times where she had used Teleport or Teleport Circle, it wasn’t a simple blink of the eye and they were somewhere different. In this case, it was a longer spell as the party lifted out of reality and rushed towards the sun and the Divine Gate that separated the Material Plane from the rest of the Planer Realms.
When the spell completed the party found themselves in front of a pair of large wrought iron gates, set into a gray stone wall. As the gates creaked open, all attention was drawn to the enormous gothic cathedral that dominated the space. Steeling themselves, Janora led the way through. As they walked, the witch pointed out the Lethe Fountain and the sprawling hedgemaze of Nightmares. As they neared the doors to the cathedral, Janora warned the others to only speak if spoken too. While they walked Ell took the opportunity to reach out to Tear using the earrings now that they were in theory on the same plane. It worked and while Tear responded, he clearly thought that it was some kind of mindgame the Voice was playing with him once more. Heartbroken, Ell tried to reassure the small goblin that they really were on their way to save him.
The interior of the cathedral was richly furnished with gold covered alcoves along where ornate death masks were displayed. The Raven Queen herself sat at the far end on an enormous throne surrounded by 9 veiled attendants. Speaking through them, the Matron welcomed them to her realm. She also provided them with amulets that would protect each of the party from the negative effects of Shadowfell. While she could confirm that Tear was still alive, she suggested that it would be best to speak to her sister. Pointing to one side of the nave, she directed their attention to an enormous hourglass mirror that began to shimmer and ripple. A few of the party hesitated for a moment or two, but followed the others through.
They found themselves standing in a pool of soft light on a 30 ft wide carpet, decorated to look like a field of stars, that led forward into the darkness . Candles floating in the air above the runner provided the light, but it didn’t extend far beyond, revealing the edges of enormous tapestries that hang from some invisible ceiling. A click-clack from somewhere before them beckoned them forward.
It was only a short walk before they came upon a large woman sitting at an even larger loom, threads extending from it into the darkness. Dressed in black that sparkled with diamonds, the figure had eight arms that kept a number of shuttles moving. Without turning or stopping she says, “Welcome, mortal children, you who stride toward a Focal Nexus. My sister said that you seek a stolen friend?” Ell nodded and confirmed that Tear had been taken by his patron, the Voice, and they were determined to rescue their goblin friend.
Raising one hand into the darkness the Fateweaver plucked a thread from nowhere before giving it a soft plink and nodding, “He does indeed lie within the Desert of Despair. A dangerous and difficult land to traverse, few who have gone in have ever left. While the Fallen Power is reduced from her former self, she is still a Power and holds her lands and its denizens in her iron will.” One of the arms bends unnaturally and is suddenly holding a small globe of volcanic glass. ”This will help you hold off the delirium and lead you to your goblin friend.”
Janora reached out and took the globe before peering into it. “How does this work?” she asked, “I don’t see or feel anything.” Istus laughed, but did not turn around to look at the party, instead she replied, “Of course not, your friend is not here within my halls. But when you arrive in the Desert he will shine like a golden light within and you will be able to follow that guidance to find him.”
When it seemed that the immediate questions had been answered, four of the Weaver’s arms reached up, each grasping a different thread that fed into the loom. In the blink of an eye, each of the party members found themselves standing alone within a small wooden room with a roaring fire in a plain stone fireplace. Before the fire sat two simple wooden rocking chairs and in one of them sat a homely looking human woman with curly gray hair and wrapped in a black shawl. Looking up from her knitting, Istus smiled and pointed to the other rocking chair, “Sit, sit, few get the chance for a private conversation with Fate, you should take advantage of such an opportunity.”
Nervously, but trying not to show it, Ell put on his best smile and settled into the seat offered to him. “Thank you for the opportunity,” he said, “You are quite correct that such a thing is a gift. If I may be so bold, did you have something specific to discuss or is this to be a chance to ask a question or two of a goddess?” The elderly woman smiled and replied, “That my boy sounds like a question. Perhaps I shall answer your question with another, do you know the difference between hope and naivete?” Feeling the gravity of the question, Ell leaned back into the rocking chair and thought for a full minute or two before offering, “While I cannot say if they are different for Fate, in my mind, hope is something you work towards. It’s not just an unfocused belief that things will get better, but rather a vision that can be striven for, making a change in the here and now so that things are better in the future.” Once more the goddess smiled, “A good answer, hold it tight and you might find the future you dream of.” As she spoke, Istus reached into her shawl and brought out a small crystal vial that she held out to him. Curious, Ell took the vial and began to examine the small flame contained within, its colors shifting up and down the spectrum. The Spinner of Fate explained that if he consumed it, it would give him a purer source for his power and more importantly one that the Voice doesn’t directly control. Shocked, but also excited, the young man thanked the goddess for the boon and for her aid in saving a friend.
Janora had already begun moving as the goddess spoke and sank easily into the chair, before pulling out her own giant knitting project. Leaning back she began to rock slowly and began stitching as she waited for the Fateweaver to speak. The seconds drew out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, simply two elderly women knitting together before a comfortable hearth. Eventually Istus did speak, “You have spent so much time of late with my sisters, I thought it was only right that we take a moment to speak as well.” Janora nodded, “It is a pleasure. You speak of sisters, I assume you mean the Raven Queen.” “And the Yaga,” agreed Istus, “though she chooses to wield her powers differently. But that can wait for a time, I believe I have some, shall we say perhaps unwelcome news. The curse upon your charges. I fear it can no longer be removed, even by one such as myself. If it were only the archfey’s curse, I could teach you how but after the corruption and wild magic of that disaster it has bound itself into not only their blood and body, but their fate strands as well.” Janora had stiffened at the mention of unwelcome news but relaxed slightly as Istus spoke. When the goddess was done, the witch nodded, “Parts of that curse are vital to who my villagers are. Removing the curse entirely has never been my primary goal, I seek a way to control it and for the villagers to keep their minds when changed.” Istus seemed unsurprised by the statement, simply nodding and reaching under her shawl, pulling out a golden spindle wrapped with a white, gossamer thread. “This is spidersilk,” said the Weaver, holding it up, “from the kingdom of Arachnia. Combined with the blood magics you have already learned, you should be able to weave a spellweb strong enough to contain the bestial natures.” Janora had never heard of the kingdom of Arachnia or spellwebs, but reached out for the spindle anyway. As she did so, her thumb grazed the tip and drew blood. It didn’t hurt and even if it had, Janora wasn’t sure she would have noticed as memories, thoughts, and impressions filled her mind showing her exactly how to create this spellweb. It took the witch a few seconds to digest the new information, but then she tucked the spindle into her own cloak and thanked the goddess for the gift.
Jilken looked at the rocking chair and for a moment considered remaining standing, but in the end settled onto the edge of the rocking chair. “A gift indeed, to speak to Fate rather than struggle against it.” Istus grinned and nodded, “Born to choose, born to lead, arbiter of past and future, you think to forge your people into an army and throw them against the threat you face, yes?” Jilken shrugged, “That does seem to be the wisest course of action, perhaps even the destined course.” Istus laughed, “Destiny is a twisted tangle of possibilities. When the gods created mortals and imbued them with free will, it made charting your courses much more difficult. Still that is a discussion for another time. I can see why she chose you, you bear the marks of authority, but have you learned to wield them?” Jilken looked down at her arms, “You mean the tattoos marking me as Ham’a Sorei?” The Weaver clicked her tongue, “Yes, those tattoos that are your marks of Authority? Clearly that is a no, do you at least still recall the meditation and cycling trances of your foremothers?” As she spoke, Istus reached into her shawl, pulling out another small crystal vial. At Jilken’s affirmative, the goddess held out the vial, which seemed to contain a drop of liquid that seemed to shift between silver and a pearlescent white. As Jilken took it, Istus explained, “This is a drop of ghostwater. When you have time and are in a safe place, drink this and cycle, focusing on your core. It should unlock at least a portion of your power.” Jilken’s eyes flashed with excitement at the thought, but tucked the vial into one of her pouches, thanking the goddess as she did so.
As Denye settled into her own rocking chair, Istus gave her a grandmotherly smile, “I can see you have recently had your own dealings with deities.” The wizard looked down at the gold speckling along her wings and nodded, “Does it show?” “In the eyes,” agreed the Fateweaver, “you clearly took the opportunity to speak your mind to your council, do you still think you were right?” Denye took a moment to consider her words but nodded, “With the information and knowledge that I had, it was the right thing to do, and nothing I have learned since then contradicts that. I will fully admit that it is possible, and if I was wrong I will do what I can to make amends. But the odds of that are very small, especially after all the things in Grack’s diary. They needed to be shaken up and shown how their rules were affecting others. Perhaps I could have done less damage to the chamber, but I felt it was necessary to impress on them the gravity of the situation.” Istus chuckled, “Well it is often the job of the young to call for change.” Changing the subject she added, “And now you want to form a school?” Denye nodded vigorously and said, “I look forward to the day my first student tells me that I am full of my own feathers and proves me wrong on some subject. It will be the proudest day of my life.” That got another chuckle from the goddess, “Indeed, hold on to that and you should do well. Now I do not have such a, shall we say personal, gift for you but I do have this.” From her shawl, the Weaver pulled out a small pendant, an hourglass. Holding it out to Denye, she explained, “You and your friends face great dangers in your future, should a situation become dire, this will allow you to rewind time back one minute. But be warned, it will only work once.” Denye nodded and reached out for the necklace, “I can think of multiple situations where such an artifact could be useful, thank you.”
Once more the party found themselves standing together in the hall of tapestries before the enormous loom. Istus in her larger, eight-armed form turned her head to look over the group of adventurers, revealing large multi-faceted eyes. “Well then, you have what you need, both to save your friend as well as the larger fight drawing ever nearer. A final piece of advice, the Bells themselves will not be enough to stop Ollamaas if he is reborn, you must seek out the Betrayer. Find the final Titan and you will be able to rid the world of the Destroyer.” Those words were followed by a flash of light and the party found themselves once more in the Court of Remembrance. When the party returns, the Duskmatron was unsurprised to hear that the Desert of Despair is their destination. She is aware that it is the home of the Fallen Hopebringer and admits that she cannot see into that demise. The Raven Queen also shares that while she could transport them there it would not be quiet and would quickly bring the attention of the fallen power. She suggests that it would be better for the party to travel through the Shadowfell, as the Desert was not far…in the way of things in the Shadow realms. There are two roads the party could travel and it was up to them which road to choose, either way she offers steeds to speed them on their way. The first path would take them through the Whispering Wood to the Ashen Pinnacle. The Raven Queen estimated that it would take 3-4 days of travel and while there were dangers in the Wood such as Bearfolk, Darakhul, and shadespiders, they wouldn’t be a problem for such a powerful group of adventurers. The other option was two days through the Gloaming Shire and a day or so through The Restless Morass. The Matron described the Shire as primarily peaceful, one of the lands claimed by the Court of Shadow and Moonlight and the party could almost certainly expect safe passage. The Marsh on the other hand, she warned, could be quite dangerous but again the group should be safe enough as long as they kept aware of their surroundings. The party spent some time discussing it, but eventually agreed that the Whispering Woods would likely be the best choice, if only because the Raven Queen had warned of specific dangers there. Before she sent them on thier way, the Duskmatron asked Janora if she has anything for her? The witch was confused by the question but with another word or two realized that the goddess was speaking of Zazriel’s spirit jar. Janora pulled it out of a pocket, but warned that there were several impressive curses on it that she had not been able to fully understand yet. The Matron laughed and promised that there was nothing he could do to her, especially here in the seat of her power, but the fallen angel was hers and she would decide both his fate and his punishment. Nodding, Janora held it out and the Raven Queen used one hand to levitate the clay jar before her. Standing the goddess took two steps forward and hand still extended, clenched her hand into a fist and spoke a single word, “Entropis.” That voice echoed not only through the ears of the party but also through their souls and while no one fell to their knees, several of the party found that their ears and nose were bleeding. What happened to the jar was even more distructive. The wards surrounding it blew away like smoke as the jar itself disintegrated and vanished into dust, revealing a swirling mass of gold and black energy that began to form into the shape of the fallen angel. Before it could become more than an outline, the Matron of Ravens pulled her fist back and the energy broke apart and rushed into the goddess. Turning to Janora, she pointed a single finger and a portion of that energy struck the witch as well, empowering her necrotic spells. In her head she heard the Raven Queen say, “You have done well to remove this threat from the world and to return it to me. Take this blessing and guard the line between life and death.” With a wave of her hand, the Matron sent them to the edge of her demise, a towering wall of bones that reached up into the sky. Looking around, the party noted the three spectral white horses that stood nearby as well as the large gate that led through the wall. Crossing the gate was strange, the path warping and twisting but eventually the team found themselves on the far side in a small clearing, a dark road leading into the forest before them. The trees look similar to those of the Material Plane, except these trunks were shades varying from black to ash white. The leaves were strange too, being almost jewel tones in any reflected light. The gate to the Desert is in a cave near the base of the Ashen Pinnacle, a single peak near the center of the Wood. Along the way Janora found strange bone wind chimes hanging in some of the trees. The party stopped for a short time to confirm that there weren't any magical signatures to them, but quickly hurried on, not wanting to be distracted. The rest of the day was spent traveling and while there were occasional sounds from further among the dark trees, nothing approached or threatened. Since there was no sun, it was difficult to tell just how long the party rode along the shaderoad. Eventually however their own bodies told them it was time to rest and the team started looking for a place to rest. What they found was a strange looking cottage that appeared to be made entirely from a plant. That was enough to put them on edge and suspicious. Jilken approached the house carefully to look inside, but it seemed normal enough. A table and stools were grown of the same leafy plant and there were even four bedbox-like platforms in the corners of the room. Still Janora insisted that it was a trap and they should move on. That seemed best to everyone else and they continued along the road for another hour or so until they found a clearing with a small creek nearby. Settling into their camp, Denye set up her Ring of Homesteading and Janora created a Tiny Hut over it all.
Nervously, but trying not to show it, Ell put on his best smile and settled into the seat offered to him. “Thank you for the opportunity,” he said, “You are quite correct that such a thing is a gift. If I may be so bold, did you have something specific to discuss or is this to be a chance to ask a question or two of a goddess?” The elderly woman smiled and replied, “That my boy sounds like a question. Perhaps I shall answer your question with another, do you know the difference between hope and naivete?” Feeling the gravity of the question, Ell leaned back into the rocking chair and thought for a full minute or two before offering, “While I cannot say if they are different for Fate, in my mind, hope is something you work towards. It’s not just an unfocused belief that things will get better, but rather a vision that can be striven for, making a change in the here and now so that things are better in the future.” Once more the goddess smiled, “A good answer, hold it tight and you might find the future you dream of.” As she spoke, Istus reached into her shawl and brought out a small crystal vial that she held out to him. Curious, Ell took the vial and began to examine the small flame contained within, its colors shifting up and down the spectrum. The Spinner of Fate explained that if he consumed it, it would give him a purer source for his power and more importantly one that the Voice doesn’t directly control. Shocked, but also excited, the young man thanked the goddess for the boon and for her aid in saving a friend.
Janora had already begun moving as the goddess spoke and sank easily into the chair, before pulling out her own giant knitting project. Leaning back she began to rock slowly and began stitching as she waited for the Fateweaver to speak. The seconds drew out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, simply two elderly women knitting together before a comfortable hearth. Eventually Istus did speak, “You have spent so much time of late with my sisters, I thought it was only right that we take a moment to speak as well.” Janora nodded, “It is a pleasure. You speak of sisters, I assume you mean the Raven Queen.” “And the Yaga,” agreed Istus, “though she chooses to wield her powers differently. But that can wait for a time, I believe I have some, shall we say perhaps unwelcome news. The curse upon your charges. I fear it can no longer be removed, even by one such as myself. If it were only the archfey’s curse, I could teach you how but after the corruption and wild magic of that disaster it has bound itself into not only their blood and body, but their fate strands as well.” Janora had stiffened at the mention of unwelcome news but relaxed slightly as Istus spoke. When the goddess was done, the witch nodded, “Parts of that curse are vital to who my villagers are. Removing the curse entirely has never been my primary goal, I seek a way to control it and for the villagers to keep their minds when changed.” Istus seemed unsurprised by the statement, simply nodding and reaching under her shawl, pulling out a golden spindle wrapped with a white, gossamer thread. “This is spidersilk,” said the Weaver, holding it up, “from the kingdom of Arachnia. Combined with the blood magics you have already learned, you should be able to weave a spellweb strong enough to contain the bestial natures.” Janora had never heard of the kingdom of Arachnia or spellwebs, but reached out for the spindle anyway. As she did so, her thumb grazed the tip and drew blood. It didn’t hurt and even if it had, Janora wasn’t sure she would have noticed as memories, thoughts, and impressions filled her mind showing her exactly how to create this spellweb. It took the witch a few seconds to digest the new information, but then she tucked the spindle into her own cloak and thanked the goddess for the gift.
Jilken looked at the rocking chair and for a moment considered remaining standing, but in the end settled onto the edge of the rocking chair. “A gift indeed, to speak to Fate rather than struggle against it.” Istus grinned and nodded, “Born to choose, born to lead, arbiter of past and future, you think to forge your people into an army and throw them against the threat you face, yes?” Jilken shrugged, “That does seem to be the wisest course of action, perhaps even the destined course.” Istus laughed, “Destiny is a twisted tangle of possibilities. When the gods created mortals and imbued them with free will, it made charting your courses much more difficult. Still that is a discussion for another time. I can see why she chose you, you bear the marks of authority, but have you learned to wield them?” Jilken looked down at her arms, “You mean the tattoos marking me as Ham’a Sorei?” The Weaver clicked her tongue, “Yes, those tattoos that are your marks of Authority? Clearly that is a no, do you at least still recall the meditation and cycling trances of your foremothers?” As she spoke, Istus reached into her shawl, pulling out another small crystal vial. At Jilken’s affirmative, the goddess held out the vial, which seemed to contain a drop of liquid that seemed to shift between silver and a pearlescent white. As Jilken took it, Istus explained, “This is a drop of ghostwater. When you have time and are in a safe place, drink this and cycle, focusing on your core. It should unlock at least a portion of your power.” Jilken’s eyes flashed with excitement at the thought, but tucked the vial into one of her pouches, thanking the goddess as she did so.
As Denye settled into her own rocking chair, Istus gave her a grandmotherly smile, “I can see you have recently had your own dealings with deities.” The wizard looked down at the gold speckling along her wings and nodded, “Does it show?” “In the eyes,” agreed the Fateweaver, “you clearly took the opportunity to speak your mind to your council, do you still think you were right?” Denye took a moment to consider her words but nodded, “With the information and knowledge that I had, it was the right thing to do, and nothing I have learned since then contradicts that. I will fully admit that it is possible, and if I was wrong I will do what I can to make amends. But the odds of that are very small, especially after all the things in Grack’s diary. They needed to be shaken up and shown how their rules were affecting others. Perhaps I could have done less damage to the chamber, but I felt it was necessary to impress on them the gravity of the situation.” Istus chuckled, “Well it is often the job of the young to call for change.” Changing the subject she added, “And now you want to form a school?” Denye nodded vigorously and said, “I look forward to the day my first student tells me that I am full of my own feathers and proves me wrong on some subject. It will be the proudest day of my life.” That got another chuckle from the goddess, “Indeed, hold on to that and you should do well. Now I do not have such a, shall we say personal, gift for you but I do have this.” From her shawl, the Weaver pulled out a small pendant, an hourglass. Holding it out to Denye, she explained, “You and your friends face great dangers in your future, should a situation become dire, this will allow you to rewind time back one minute. But be warned, it will only work once.” Denye nodded and reached out for the necklace, “I can think of multiple situations where such an artifact could be useful, thank you.”
Once more the party found themselves standing together in the hall of tapestries before the enormous loom. Istus in her larger, eight-armed form turned her head to look over the group of adventurers, revealing large multi-faceted eyes. “Well then, you have what you need, both to save your friend as well as the larger fight drawing ever nearer. A final piece of advice, the Bells themselves will not be enough to stop Ollamaas if he is reborn, you must seek out the Betrayer. Find the final Titan and you will be able to rid the world of the Destroyer.” Those words were followed by a flash of light and the party found themselves once more in the Court of Remembrance. When the party returns, the Duskmatron was unsurprised to hear that the Desert of Despair is their destination. She is aware that it is the home of the Fallen Hopebringer and admits that she cannot see into that demise. The Raven Queen also shares that while she could transport them there it would not be quiet and would quickly bring the attention of the fallen power. She suggests that it would be better for the party to travel through the Shadowfell, as the Desert was not far…in the way of things in the Shadow realms. There are two roads the party could travel and it was up to them which road to choose, either way she offers steeds to speed them on their way. The first path would take them through the Whispering Wood to the Ashen Pinnacle. The Raven Queen estimated that it would take 3-4 days of travel and while there were dangers in the Wood such as Bearfolk, Darakhul, and shadespiders, they wouldn’t be a problem for such a powerful group of adventurers. The other option was two days through the Gloaming Shire and a day or so through The Restless Morass. The Matron described the Shire as primarily peaceful, one of the lands claimed by the Court of Shadow and Moonlight and the party could almost certainly expect safe passage. The Marsh on the other hand, she warned, could be quite dangerous but again the group should be safe enough as long as they kept aware of their surroundings. The party spent some time discussing it, but eventually agreed that the Whispering Woods would likely be the best choice, if only because the Raven Queen had warned of specific dangers there. Before she sent them on thier way, the Duskmatron asked Janora if she has anything for her? The witch was confused by the question but with another word or two realized that the goddess was speaking of Zazriel’s spirit jar. Janora pulled it out of a pocket, but warned that there were several impressive curses on it that she had not been able to fully understand yet. The Matron laughed and promised that there was nothing he could do to her, especially here in the seat of her power, but the fallen angel was hers and she would decide both his fate and his punishment. Nodding, Janora held it out and the Raven Queen used one hand to levitate the clay jar before her. Standing the goddess took two steps forward and hand still extended, clenched her hand into a fist and spoke a single word, “Entropis.” That voice echoed not only through the ears of the party but also through their souls and while no one fell to their knees, several of the party found that their ears and nose were bleeding. What happened to the jar was even more distructive. The wards surrounding it blew away like smoke as the jar itself disintegrated and vanished into dust, revealing a swirling mass of gold and black energy that began to form into the shape of the fallen angel. Before it could become more than an outline, the Matron of Ravens pulled her fist back and the energy broke apart and rushed into the goddess. Turning to Janora, she pointed a single finger and a portion of that energy struck the witch as well, empowering her necrotic spells. In her head she heard the Raven Queen say, “You have done well to remove this threat from the world and to return it to me. Take this blessing and guard the line between life and death.” With a wave of her hand, the Matron sent them to the edge of her demise, a towering wall of bones that reached up into the sky. Looking around, the party noted the three spectral white horses that stood nearby as well as the large gate that led through the wall. Crossing the gate was strange, the path warping and twisting but eventually the team found themselves on the far side in a small clearing, a dark road leading into the forest before them. The trees look similar to those of the Material Plane, except these trunks were shades varying from black to ash white. The leaves were strange too, being almost jewel tones in any reflected light. The gate to the Desert is in a cave near the base of the Ashen Pinnacle, a single peak near the center of the Wood. Along the way Janora found strange bone wind chimes hanging in some of the trees. The party stopped for a short time to confirm that there weren't any magical signatures to them, but quickly hurried on, not wanting to be distracted. The rest of the day was spent traveling and while there were occasional sounds from further among the dark trees, nothing approached or threatened. Since there was no sun, it was difficult to tell just how long the party rode along the shaderoad. Eventually however their own bodies told them it was time to rest and the team started looking for a place to rest. What they found was a strange looking cottage that appeared to be made entirely from a plant. That was enough to put them on edge and suspicious. Jilken approached the house carefully to look inside, but it seemed normal enough. A table and stools were grown of the same leafy plant and there were even four bedbox-like platforms in the corners of the room. Still Janora insisted that it was a trap and they should move on. That seemed best to everyone else and they continued along the road for another hour or so until they found a clearing with a small creek nearby. Settling into their camp, Denye set up her Ring of Homesteading and Janora created a Tiny Hut over it all.
Report Date
04 Oct 2024
