Session 4: Hounds
Session 3: Ramswood
The Perils of Frontier Living
Session 2: As the Wolf Runs
Does the Crow Fly

Welcoming warmth and the smell of a cooking fire beckon you to enter. Carefully, quietly Glib affects a minor illusion and slips in. Within he sees a the cooking fire burning in the center of the room, tended by a silent figure huddled in animal skins. His delicate, ash-colored hands poke idly at the coals.

Sensing you, he glances up—his crimson eyes dance with firelight beneath his hood: “You’re late.”

He waves you toward the fire, “Enter, please, bring your companions in from the cold.”


The Crow
After a harrowing journey through the frigid Steps, the party stumbled upon a small hut near the forest’s edge. Within, they met a soot-black elf who had been awaiting their arrival. He called himself Crow, and offered what food and warm clothing he had to his weary guests.

While mysterious, he was pleasant, and explained in simple terms that he was a trader headed east over the Stonesteps to the town of Ramswood. He was paid, and asked no questions, to see the travelers to his final destination. A simple task for cold, hard coin.

Crow invited them to join him as a guard duty on the final leg of his journey, to which they agreed for fair pay. Crow offered them to rest for the night before setting out in the morning.

Night Flight
While they slept, Sherwynna kept a close eye on the others in her trance. They had all agreed to watch Crow closely, as they were skeptical of his helpful nature. He disappeared in the night, his trails ending just before the tree line.

Eventually they gave up the search, choosing to rest.

The Dawn
Crow provided basic equipment and weaponry for his newfound caravan guards. After supplying them, he produced an alabaster figure that manifested a great, white auroch named Winter. With Winter drawing his wagon, and the party in tow, they set off for the gates of Ramswood.


On the road, they were beset by wolves that were far more aggressive than they should naturally be. After fighting off pack after pack of wolves and wargs, the onslaught ended with the howl of a great winter wolf on the rocks above—it regarded the travelers with ice blue eyes, but made no further strikes against them. It and what remained of its pack returned to the shadowed trees.

Session 1: A Dreamless Sleep
Four Heroes Stir


“You dream of an immense and shining city built by mortal hands, but its beauty is worthy of being a seat for any god—the heart of a mighty empire. High above it, five great dragons soar majestically among its spires, defying the heaving stormclouds the loom above.

Far below, the streets’ many lanes roar with the cheers of the city’s gathered masses. A thunderous drumming, and the crowds part to make way for their imperial legion—a seemingly endless tide of grim soldiers armored in gold and crimson regalia.

The legion marches to the city’s gate, where an immense portal yawns like a vicious tear in the fabric of creation. A hundredfold imperial mages struggle to maintain it with a heaving lattice of arcane magics. Without hesitation, bellowing warcries in the name of their beloved Emperor, thousands of soldiers file into the portal’s light to worlds beyond.

You know with certainty that you witness the last glory of an empire that marches to ruin.“


A Dire Ritual

A dream, of a familiar place, shared between four souls with a common destiny. There, in the dark of a forgotten tomb, lay the four heroes that would go on to shape the fate of the world.

As they stirred from that dream, they found that they were the focus of a malevolent ritual—its master tearing at their souls while they lay sleeping. This was not to be their end; finding the will to resist the magic, they leapt from their stone plinths and fought their way to freedom. As the ritualist lost control of his spell, it turned on its master, consuming him.

Ancient Halls
The plinths on which they slept were flanked by great statues of ancient and forgotten heroes—five in all, though one statue and its corresponding plinth lay unoccupied and in ruin.

And so they awoke, four in number, bound together by survival as they walked those ancient halls to the light of the world above. Remembering only their names, and nothing of their past, their martial abilities slowly began to rekindle when faced with mortal danger. They were:

Glib Torbish, a gnome illusionist, who was quick of wit and silver-tongued.

Sherwynna, an elven warrior, swift of blade and fleet of foot.

Hamesh Grimhammer, the dwarven cleric who channeled the divine might of a forgotten god.

Finnit Underfoot, a halfling barbarian whose stature belied his great strength.

After overcoming countless pitfalls of the crumbling tomb, they found the meagre supplies of the ritualist’s party in the entrance chamber. Rather than rot in the ruin, they gathered what they could and set out into the raging blizzard and to meet whatever awaited them.


In the bitter cold and blinding snow, they trudged ever onward until stumbling upon a forest edge. Not far in the tall pines, they chanced upon a wagon and makeshift hut—the smoke of its hearth was a beacon in the frigid night. Within, they met an ashen-faced elf, tending the flames.

A warm fire burns in the center of the room, tended by a silent figured wrapped in animal skins. His delicate, ash-colored hands poke idly at the coals.

Sensing you, he turns, and his crimson eyes flash from beneath his hood: “You’re late.”


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