Party 16

[Baba Luga]

PRELUDE: ZHUDUN'S GROVE

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It is night where you wake, here outside, your joints stiff and achy, your backs damp and chilled by the dewy grass that has soaked through your clothes.

For Varius and Cassandra, the experience is one of dislocation in space and time. Where are you? What watch is it? Straining to see with blunted human sight, Varius is aware that other people are stirring nearby, but can make out nothing except the clear sky full of stars overhead.

For Faria and Astryos, the dislocation is only that much more intense: how often in a long lifetime does an elf wake from unconsciousness? Only when so rendered by a blow to the head or a serious illness. The experience is so much harsher than coming out of a rejuvenating trance. It's like swimming up from the bottom of the ocean in a suit of platemail.

While Varius struggles with his other senses, you three elf-kin can see that the damp grass stretches all around, black and gray, to the extent of your darkvision. Countless stars adorn the clear sky above, and lazy fireflies careen about, buffeted by the occasional breeze. One pale blue star in particular shines brighter than the rest, like an uncut, polished aquamarine.

At least there are familiar faces here, at least for Cassandra, Faria and Astryos. Each of you feels you know the three others you see quite well. The details of their personalities and lives drift through your minds. But, if asked, you'd be unable to say how any of you met, or recall any shared experiences. It's almost as if each of the others is a character in a different story heard over and over again. Everyone wears similar, simple traveling clothes. Nobody wears any weapons, packs or other equipment you can see.

Despite the damp and chill, it's quiet here, peaceful even, though there is something strange and foreboding about that pale star, like a distant, mournful cry carried on the wind.

 

[Baba Luga]

Chapter 1: The Art of Necromancy

Once more Astryos wakes from unconsciousness, this time to a cool breeze tickling his bare feet and the smell of incense. Light reaches his eyes through a thin sheet that covers his face and torso. Based on the sensations along his back, he is lying on a hard pallet.

There is an itch on Astryos' nose. In fact, he feels itchy and gritty all over; dirt seems to have insinuated itself between his clothing and skin.

Nearby, to Astryos' left, a soft, feminine voice begins repeating, "Bella, Bella," over and over, interspersed with gentle clacks and clicks. Astryos hears a brief sliding metal noise, then footsteps approach.

 

[Baba Luga]

Chapter 2: Village in the Trees

As you pass the bell tower on your way to the gatehouse, the path takes you by the abbey's cemetery, which extends around and behind the tower. The grave markers are old and chipped, and there are holes of various sizes in front of most of them. It's arguably more archaeological dig site than burial ground.

The gates are unlocked and groan in protest as they open. On the other side a lush vista of grassland and forest sweeps down the escarpment below the abbey's perch. The view ends abruptly less than a quarter mile away, where the fog that hovers just over the snowy treetops coalesces into milky opacity. A few raindrops brush your faces.

The worn path—jagged chunks of stone show it was once paved—winds down and to the left, descending about four-hundred feet via a series of switchbacks, to the walled settlement of Krezk, which looks more tree farm than village. Small houses peek out from among the tall evergreens, and a few simple paths curve among the groves. One of these paths continues out the village's lone gate, and goes even further downhill until it meets a wider road, which disappears into the trees and fog. The only feature that really stands out is a broad, serene pool with a crumbling white gazebo at its edge, which lies against the wall farthest from the main gate.

It takes about a quarter hour to navigate the steep, uneven trail from the abbey. The broken paving transitions to one of the village's dirt paths, and your view is soon blocked by the trees of Krezk. A short while later, you come to a sort of main clearing with several homes around its edges. The gatehouse is just a hundred feet away. The abbey is now a shadowy presence looming high above in the foothills.

As you approach the nearest house, you see a man with a long beard and a broad-brimmed hat feeding noisy chickens in a fenced yard. Seeing you, his eyes go wide, then tighten up in a glare of fear and disgust. He takes a couple of steps back, watching you all the while as he rhythmically flicks feed at the chickens on the ground. There are more people going about their business in the clearing ahead. They haven't noticed you yet.