Not with a bang

Forgotten Fortress
A rising tide

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Past, present, or future?

Asleep, or awake?

It’s getting hard to distinguish between them.

I try to open my eyes, only to find they are already open. I try to sleep, only to find I am already dreaming. Sometimes I can’t tell where reality ends and my visions begin. I’m beginning to question my own sanity. Yet, the visions are the only thing I truly trust.

They have shown me, timeless times, the truth when all else would lie. But the lines are blurring.

Present, future, past. Future, past, present. Past, present, future. Which occurs after the other? These ideas used to mean something. Now they are only arbitrary boundaries, created by those that cannot see beyond them, that cannot walk between them, as I do.

Breathing. Heart slowing, thoughts turning inward, toward the truth.

Visions swirl and coalesce …

It is nighttime, as it always is now. The moon still full overhead, and that thing still in the sky. They compete against each other. One giving light and the other stealing it away. I can feel them now, more than ever. Working together to pull everything toward them, caught in a rising tide.

In fact, that’s exactly what it is.

Standing on the beach, in ankle-high water. The water is too high, far beyond the rising of the tide. The moons are disturbing this world physically now, drawing away it’s light, it’s life, and drowning it in a rising tide of water and death.

In the distance, the rising sea crashes against rock, spray and mists filling the air. There, barely visible beyond the mists, stands the ghostly silhouette of a fortress, ancient and forgotten.

I walk toward it, curious at first. With each step, my movement slows. I grow afraid, but am compelled forward. Fate is taking me there, though my mind and body advise against it.

It is closer now, venerable towers climbing into the night sky, the walls wet and reflecting moonlight. I want to stop, to turn away, to run away, but I can’t. I am pulled closer. I can feel it now, the source of the pull. The fortress is dark and foreboding. I can hear screams of anger and torment coming from beyond its walls. But most of all, above the screams, piercing through the darkness, cutting through the mists, assaulting my mind … I feel a deep, dark, ancient hunger. No, not hunger … thirst.

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New beginnings in old places
RECAP (02-04-2016)

Elion Vandiir, Miwazaki and a certain Frog named Thaddeus were enjoying a game of dice and drinks at the stiletto, remarking about the oddities happening in Korvosa when Ragnarök appears and asks the 3 to follow him, saying that the 3 of them were in grave danger and that he could give insight into the oddities, namely the rising dead and the mysterious object in the sky. After recounting his augury to the 3 they decide he knows what he’s talking about and follow him.

The newly formed party follow Ragnarök out of the city and run across an empty farm which seemed strange, frog noticed a sound coming from one of the houses and decided to investigate. Queue the bad dudes.

After the party utterly annihilates the baddies they checked out the farm house and saw some writings on the wall, which were written in blood. See GM post.

The group continues onward to find the spot Ragnarök’s vision occurred in, the find it notice the life force of everything near by is being drained by the object into sky. Calling on Desna for aid a Gail (sp) appears and confirms some suspicions the group has, namely things are really bad and can’t be fought by traditional means, they need to get out of dodge.

Next morning they head back into town to pick u supplies before heading south to find an abandoned town, as suggested should be done by the messenger of Desna. While in town Miwazaki sees an old haggard friend, the crone. The crone was swept off her feet by a much old appearing Ragnarök. Once back at her place they chat about her owner Phineas Fleming and other things related to the adventure.

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Portents and Lore

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Phineas Fleming & The Crone: Part I

“Stop! Stop for once in your life! Stop talking,” he whispered through gritted teeth at the ugly old woman. She was standing behind him, long silver dagger raised, muttering about getting ‘involved again’ in one of his schemes. He turned briefly to look at her as she was facing away from him. Her back hunched forward slightly, left arm and hand spread to her side, her right arm raised, as if at any moment she may need to thrust the dagger downward with all the strength that her seemingly aged body would allow. He turned back around, facing the large dining room of the mansion. There were subtle creaks and rattles coming from two places now: both the kitchen area and from somewhere above them.

“What say you, Master?” the Crone said, “Now? Or do we wait?”

Was that a hint of sarcasm in her voice? Of course it was, he thought. He gave her a slight smirk, relieved that she was with him. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

He began to tell her his plan. “We… “ Thud. Something interrupted his response. Upstairs? THUDTHUD. Was that someone – or something – stomping loudly on the floor? THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. This time, he noticed the heavy dust rapidly falling downward from directly above them, the thick particles glimmering through the darkness off the light that emanated from the rod held in his left hand. “MOVE!!!!” He yelled, and leaped as the wood of the ceiling above them burst apart with explosive force. Something dark and terrible quickly flew down through the hole. It pinned the Crone under the wood. The being – a wraith – let out an antagonizing scream as the Archeologist backed away, feeling his strength, energy, and will to live draining from him. The Crone appeared to have lost consciousness under the rubble.

Darkness enveloped the tortured, undead being as it turned its eyeless gaze toward him. No, it was not a wraith. It was too large, too strong. This one had been around awhile.

His thoughts turned to his arsenal as the Dread Wraith moved quickly toward him. The bastard sword, he thought to himself as the horrific specter reached for him. Its undead hand grasped at his chest, burning his skin like a searing flame. The Archeologist flung the sword from its scabbard in a wide arc toward the thing. The sword felt awkward in his hands. Nonetheless, the blade met phantom flesh, and the specter screamed again, its head lurching back in pain.

The Dread Wraith recoiled briefly for a moment. Then, almost smiling, it lunged again toward him. The wraith suddenly screamed again as four bright lights flashed in the middle of its incorporeal chest in fast succession– the flashing of the Crone’s imbued silver dagger as it darted quickly and smoothly through the Dread Wraith’s body. In an instant, it was all over. As the piercing scream faded and the specter’s would-be form vanished, the Crone came into view. She smiled at him.

Her lips curled as she started in on him, “You owe me. Again….”

“I don’t owe you a thing. I had that handled.”

“Handled? That’s not what you did. The word you’re looking for is bungled.”

“We’ll see. There’s still work to be done here, old woman.” That did it. He could see a quick flash of annoyance and irritation in her eyes.

“You’ve only just begun and you already owe me, Archeologist.”

We shall see, he thought, and smiled at her. We shall bloody well see.

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Augury
The beginning of the end

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Alone, in a small, wood-boarded room. It is a clear night, visible through a single window, starlight illuminating simple furnishings. Using a candle, Ragnarök lights a cone of sandalwood incense before closing the shutters, blowing out the candle, and settling down into meditation.

Darkness. The soft, ruddy glow of incense, burning slowly, gradually. Eyes closed. Darkness.

Sandalwood. Smoke inhaled through the nose in deep, steadying breaths.

Breathing. Immersion. Let it lead the way.

A spark of light. Time.

Then. Now … later.

Images swirl in long, indecipherable shapes, spinning together. They pull toward the center, coalescing into something.

Observe. Experience. That is the way. That is my path.

Standing barefoot in an open meadow at night, feeling cold dirt between his toes. The sky is dark. The sun has long since moved past the horizon. Yet, there is light. Too much light. The dirt, the grass, the stones, the trees … all glowing. Deep, dark green and blue and purple and gray, as if watched by an old moon, full after a month of waking.

Looking up. The moon is there, full and standing starkly against the clear night sky, pushing away the stars. Yet, it is different. It is wrong. It is shining, but it is not sharing. The stars, they are not pushed away, but pulled in. The trees, the stones, the grass, the dirt, they are giving of themselves. They are losing their light. They are dying.

Images swirl and coalesce …

Still night, in the middle of a street in a large city. Silhouettes of men and women walking toward each other, around each other, searching, some stiffly, some far too quick. They see through one another, seeking something else, someone else.

A scream behind. They turn toward it, toward me, though they do not see. Their eyes are deep and dark, yet bright and hungry. Like the moon.

Breathing. Sandalwood. Darkness.

Eyes opened, the ruddy, dying glow of incense at the end of its life. It is now again.

Awake, looking down at the floorboards glowing slightly in the night, by the light of a new, but aging, moon.

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Welcome to your campaign!
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Wondering how to get started? Here are a few tips:

1. Invite your players

Invite them with either their email address or their Obsidian Portal username.

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If you want to set a specific mood for your campaign, we have several backgrounds to choose from. Accentuate it by creating a top banner image.

4. Create some NPCs

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A quick tip: The “+” icon in the top right of every section is how to add a new item, whether it’s a new character or adventure log post, or anything else.

5. Write your first Adventure Log post

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

That’s it! The rest is up to your and your players.

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