Bath Imaginable

Our heroes stand bloodied in the aftermath of a fierce battle with Knight Marshal Yslen. Röylat holds her head in her hands. Pounding tension; lost memories return in nauseating waves.

“We have to get out of here,” Brunhilda says, shivering. “Please, I’ll take you to Sister Jules. She can help you.”

A young guard stumbles up from below, his tunic torn and his shield splattered with black bile.

“They’re all dead!” He screams. “We have to-“

The guard stops when he sees Knight Marshal Yslen dead on the floor. His eyes flicker to the stairs. “I can get you out of here,” the guard says sheepishly.

The PCs share a look. They lock him in Brunhilda’s cell–“please,” he begs, “you can’t leave me here. It’ll get me.”

The PCs descend back into the canals below. Back to the Possessed One. Knight Marshal Yslen cools in her armor.

Below, the Possessed One sits by its runes eating from the chest cavity of a dead man. It uses its free hand to paint diabolic runes in blood while it chews shiny flesh. The summoning ritual is nearly complete.

“Don’t hurt Wallow, he’s not well!”

Hald Frogley lifts a Wand of Telekinesis from his bag. Concentrating on Wallow, he lifts him from the floor and suspends him in the air. Röylat and Auglud bind the writhing, demonic mutant catfish. They hand Wallow over to the other mutant catfish waiting below. They can’t save him, but he and his family have a chance.

Before they resurface, Leledish gives Brunhilda a Potion of Invisibility so she can sneak out of town and meet up with the group outside the walls. The guards outside the sinkhole are none-the-wiser as the PCs emerge, but Judge Eamon is looking for them.

“He wanted to have a drink with you tonight,” the guards say.

In the Crayfish Tavern, Judge Eamon sits with a couple of guards, a foaming mug of ale in his hand. “Sit, drink.” He’s hospitable, he asks the group about their investigation at the apothecary.

The PCs lie for the witches, they say they found nothing. Judge Eamon can see the disgust in Röylat’s eyes. “Let’s take a walk,” he says.

“I can see you know the truth…” The Judge begins. Outside, he casually confesses that he and the other Knights in Marin’s Hold have broken their oath. Judge Eamon is one of Almazzat’s Blackguard; mortals who betray their own for a place at Almazzat’s feet.

“Almazzat believes mortals and demons can live in harmony, like wolf and sheep,” Judge Eamon explains, “those of us who are strong can be the shepherds. We will lose some, but that is nature.”

The PCs (briefly) consider the advantages of siding with Almazzat and the demons before shaking their heads in unison.

“Almazzat has come to the Gloaming for a reason,” Judge Eamon reveals, “it’s looking for something here. Only it knows what…”

The PCs manage to save face with Judge Eamon, but they commit to siding with the witches. Outside the walls, they reunite with Brunhilda and travel to the Bone Cave.

The group waits under Leledish’s starry witch light at the edge of the river and watch as a slow-moving ferry approaches through the mist. The ferryman, now stone-cold and silent, extends his hand–this time there’s a toll.

The PCs hand over a bag of gold. He spills them into the river and invites them aboard. As he rows upriver, the mist becomes so thick they can barely see. Then, the ferryman is gone.

Leledish sends his witch light out into the mist ahead. There’s a shadow of a giant being with elongated limbs moving through the river toward the ferry. Someone screams. In a blink it’s gone.

“What is that?” Brunhilda asks.

“Don’t look,” Ipshroom warns. “The Willowman…” He describes what happens to those who look. Brunhilda gasps in fear.

A creaking moan across the river betrays the Willowman’s satisfaction. But still, it moves closer. The ferry begins to rock back and forth turbulently. Grant draws his longsword and takes a defensive stance. Hald Frogley tries to cast a protective ward. Leledish preys to Memnon for guidance.

The Willowman appears: elongated limbs, no face, each limb a knotted scythe. It raises a finger as thin and wicked as a reed and points at Grant. The branch snaps forward, a precise, needle-like strike aimed at the temple.

Grant deflects the branch with the flat of his blade. The willowy finger tings against steel and ricochets into the mist. Wood dust rains down like ash.

Leledish is not so lucky.

The willowy finger slides through the air with a terrible patience and finds his head. Brain matter and river-spray splash against the raft. The PCs turn in unison, horror flattening their faces.

Hald Frogley staggers under a third blow but manages to hold on, clutching at his robes. Röylat screams and covers her mouth. Auglud curses and hauls Brunhilda close.

In a blink, the Willowman is gone again. Not far, though.

The river is silent, save the group’s pounding heartbeats.

“It wants fear,” someone whispers.

Everyone drops to their knees. For a long moment the Willowman stands silently. Another creaking groan. It inhales and, somehow, the mist listens.

When the fog clears, Leledish is standing. He wipes something from his brow and praises Memnon under his breath. “Not today,” he whispers.

The Willowman watches them a heartbeat longer and, with a hollow, wood-gnawed sigh, slips into the pale and is gone.

They reach the Bone Cave, where the exterior is littered with brittle bones. Supposedly it’s home to a pack of werewolves.

Inside, a dozen witches huddle around a dwindling flame. Their faces are worn, wary, ready. Victoria, the only werewolf left, lounges in the shadows, her eyes are haunted, her voice soft and broken when she speaks of the hag Drusilla and her children stolen into the Fey.

Sister Jules waits at a candlelit shrine to Shune the Vile. She’s a silver-haired elf with arcane tattoos spiraling over her hands like roots. A raven–the very same that watched the PCs in town–perches on the shrine’s edge and cocks its head.

“I’ve been watching you,” Sister Jules smiles without warmth.

She tells them of Shune’s designs: Shune wants Almazzat halted in the Gloaming. There is more at stake than Marin’s Hold. Sister Jules knows the Knights’ secret: St. Ydris has more in common with Almazzat than the people of Marin’s Hold would like.

“The Knights of St. Ydris must be destroyed,” she declares. “Their blood is Almazzat’s connection to the Gloaming. But first we must take Marin’s Hold…”

Her proposal is blunt: unmake Judge Eamon’s influence over the Reeve and turn Marin’s Hold toward Shune the Vile. Judge Eamon must be removed.

The PCs agree.

Judge Eamon will die tonight.