The door is closed, the area goes quiet.
You hear the breathing of your companions. Their defensive posturing as they guard themselves from any threat that could be out there. But nothing else.
A trickle of mist leaks out from below the door. Then every door in the hall. The mist covers the floor, and forms a pillar in front of you. The pillar takes a strange shape, is that a face? It reminds you of sadness, and hangs in the air for a moment as if in contemplation.
Then the doors burst. You scramble to defend yourselves as more mist, with more faces contorted in misery, lunges at you. Weapon and spell alike cut through with no effect. The mist engulfs your body, a wrapping coldness that crawls up and around until one of its faces comes within inches of yours. It pauses just long enough to stare you in the eye and mouth the words “I’m sorry” before it finishes covering you and the world goes dark.
Unknown location.
Unknown day. Unknown time.
You regain consciousness in near darkness, the strong smell of sweat and rot permeating the air. The wooden floor you’re lying upon vibrates with the shuffling and movement of several dozen people, some in heavy boots that pound like hammers on the worn planks.
You find yourself in a large open room divided only by rough stalls with low walls. A muted gray light shines through small cracks in the outer walls, as if on a dark stormy day. “Hey, you, get up or they’ll beat you!” comes a hushed voice, its source quickly moving on to shake someone else awake.
| GM: | Welcome to the module proper everyone!
DC 10 Perception: This building looks like one of the Whitewood Barns, but the once-gleaming whitewood is covered in grime and dirt, coloring the walls a dingy yellow brown. Amongst the people in this barn, you notice a familiar Hobgoblin woman, is that Nisa?
DC 10 Investigation: The stalls contain a bedroll, straw bedding, or benches. You notice your weapons, shields, spell foci, tools, and packs are missing. But oddly, your purses remain intact.
DC 10 Insight: the other people in this stall seem to have some idea of what is going on. They huddle around with defeated looks upon their faces. A few of them have personal effects, but only trinkets, like jewelry or pictures, and nothing useful as a tool or a weapon. Their clothing is fancy, but warn down, and everyone is wearing gloves. The style is reminiscent of the one from Cyre. |
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