Syl - Shaggy patchwork halfling. Looking for his lost 3 inches of height.
Sunshine Foggytwist - Fairy seer. Can hear the spirits, and oft seeks their guidance.
Sir Ferdinand Von Aegir - Haughty noble, the kind only humans can provide. Searching for his lost childhood love.
Palemark - Energetic kobold warrior. Has figments of gods waging war in his head. Searching for his family.
Albretch - Upstanding human fighter. Quiet, practical, respectful.
Misnique - Calm tree-horned devil-looking thing. Quiet and mysterious.
Zanguys - The hulking tortle. Chef first, magician second. Searching for his mothers recipe book.
Celeste - Shifty cat folk acrobat.
Note: I missed session 2 because I was deathly ill.
Syl and Zanguys wake up hungover on a high stone wall. Before them, the fairy realm of Hither stretches far into the misty horizon. Yellow and green swamp and marsh under a bright orb sun. Figures can be seen dancing and playing through the tall grass. Nursing aching heads, they pair are informed of how they arrived here.
The servants of Yggwilv were stealing things from children. Memories, senses, emotions, the things witches crave. Her domain: a fairy realm called Prismeer. Mr Witch and Mr Light, proprietors of the witchlight carnival, entrust eight intrepid outcasts to retrieve these lost things, eventually gaining access to the domain of prismeer to confront Yggwilv and her merciless Hourglass Coven about their misdeeds. From here the details get fuzzy. The others stammer about taking prisoners and accidental executions. Albrecht is apparently skilled at putting bolts through skulls. Bringing the servants of Yggwilv to justice, the group is allowed access through the sorcerous mirror and into the realm of Hither, one part of Prismeer.
The morning is spent on a descent from the broken stone wall, potentially some sort of ancient aqueduct. It’s stone blocks are long since overgrown with moss, faded grey by sunlight. Descending from the safety of the high wall and into the swamp, the group treds into the swamp. In the distance, a great leaning tower can be seen, sitting high on a tilted stone platform.
The halfling and the cat prick up their ears. They can hear a distant song. In their tongue, it speaks of a trickster, the prince of prismeer, Agdon Longscarf. The voices go from few to many, growing in volume and proximity. Breaking into the clearing, the party is beset by a veritable tribe of squat rabbits, walking up on two legs. They wear armor and bear weapons.
The rabbit tribe freezes, their leader steps forward.
“Who enters our home?” her voice is high pitched but smooth, carrying with it the tone of command.
“Such rudeness!” blabs Ferdinand “Is this how you always introduce guests?”
“Guests!? You are intruders. Intruders from far away. Why do you tred in the lands of Hither!?”
Madam Foggytwist beckons. “We seek one of the hags of the hourglass coven. And to find the things we have lost.”
The rabbit’s black orb eyes study the fairy. The tribe watches, up on alert, and then cracks. Cacophanous laughter echoes up around the swamp.
“You seek audience with Bavlorna Blightstraw!? Truly, you are fools, all of you!”
The nobleman frowns. The fairy continues.
“Our business is our own whether you think we are fools or not. Tell us, where can we find Miss Blightstraw?”
The rabbit is still stomping her foot, wiping mirthful tears out of her eyes. Through gaps in giggles, she manages “She lives… in a house… on some stilts… in the swamp.”
“In which direction is this house?” queries the fairy.
The rabbits, their laughter dying down, exchange glances with one another. Then, all at once, they each point in a different direction.
The group is nonplussed. The halfling chimes in.
“You spoke of a scarved knave in your song. Who might this Agdon be?”
The rabbits stop laughing. “You speak of the prince of Prismeer, our gracious Agdon Longscarf, who gave up his delight so that we may frolic every day in the wilderness.” She speaks like she is prostletizing.
“He sound like a right sort, any chance we could meet him?” the halfling says. He stands about as tall as the rabbits do.
Their leader blinks once. “Not a chance! Agdon Longscarf long left for The Burrow Below. He weeps now amongst the angels of the dirt and the spriggans of the swamp.” All the rabbits close their eyes and bow their heads, their ears drooping.
This seems to strike a chord with Zanguys. The gentle turtle steps forward slowly.
“My, my… Is there anything we can do? Perhaps we could find his sense of delight again?”
The rabbits ears elevate slowly. “Well, Agdon did always love a good feast…”
The turtle and the halfling find some giant mushrooms, luckily non poisonous, and a great fire is lit underneath Zanguys’ cooking pot. Rabbits and menfolk alike gather round for stew. As the rabbits eat, they unstopper gourds at their belts. As they eat, wisps emerge from their heads and enter the gourds. They explain that their memories enter these gourds so they can find their way to Agdon Longscarf, so that he may enjoy fleeting moments of his followers. During the meal, the party also learns that the tower nearby is abandoned.
When the meal is concluded, the party decides to head towards to tower to get a vantage point to find a place to go next. Before they depart, the rabbits have one last warning.
“If you hear the whistling of a wind chime, run. The stiltwalker draws near.”
The party trapses through the swamp for a day. At least, they think it’s a day. The sun lingers higher in the sky for longer here. When it finally grows dark, the group begins to wonder about shelter. As if acting upon their thought, a cottage looms at them from the darkness. It stands on stilts, high above the swamp water. The party, mistaking it for the cottage of the hag Bavlorna, approach in fear. Instead they find a makeshift tavern with an enigmatic owner. The owner can tell them no more than they already know about the tower, but can provide them with drink and shelter. To the surprise of the group, the night is spent with drink and in comfort.
The party arrives at the tower the next day. It threatens to topple over, the cobbles stacked against each other and against gravity. The tower sits high on a stone plinth, the shape of which looks unnatural, but the surface of which is rough hewn like stone. Brambles blanket both the plinth and lower half of the tower. No matter, the fairy can fly, taking rope along with her.
However, Madam Foggytwist stops midway up the tower. The brambles are speaking to her.
“Psst. Psst! You there!”
Perplexed, Madam Foggytwist calls out tentatively. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Here! In the brambles! Please, I implore you for your help.”
Squinting to look, Foggytwist sees a small draconic humanoid shape entangled in the brambles. It’s small purple wings are locked into thickets. It has a worm-like neck that ends in a flat face. Wears a sword at its hip.
“All the blessings of the sun and stars, thank goodness you are here! My name is Sir Talavar. Please you must free me, I’m on a very important mission.”
“Oi! What the hell’s taking you so long Foggytwist!?” yells the halfling from the ground.
“SHHH!” hisses Sir Talavar. “You mustn’t yell, the stiltwalker is nearby!”
“What the hell are you doin’!?” yells Celeste
This time it’s foggytwist who hisses silence. “SHH! Shut up down there!”
The party watches exasperatedly as Foggytwist abandons her rope, pulling a small cutting implement from her pack and moving towards the brambles. It takes a few moments, but she is able to cut the little dragon knight free. Both of them return to the ground.
“You have my utmost thanks. I was fleeing from a villainous minion of Bavlorna Blightstraw when I took a tumble from the air, and landed in this horrible predicament. I thought I was surely done for.”
Palemark responds, “Bavlorna! We’re looking for her. Do you know where she is?”
Sir Talavar nods, “She resides in a place called Downfall, some miles northeast of here. It is a horrid place, none of the denizens of hither dare enter.”
The rest group is unsettled by this creature, drinking in its appearance. Ferdinand, however, is eyeing the medallion on the creatures neck - a bright sun in a gold circle.
“Say, what’s a servant of the Seelie Court doing out here?” Sir Talavar stands up straighter, peers at the nobleman. He gives a small bow.
“Sir Talavar of the Summer Court, at your service. I have a.. an important message to deliver to my queen. I-” The tabaxi shushes the dragon man and holds up a paw for silence. Craning their ears to listen, the faint sound of windchimes can be heard.
The party and Sir Talavar look for places to hide. Except Ferdinand, who draws his sword, standing in the middle of the clearing.
“Don’t be a fool!” hisses the party “This is suicide!”
Ferdinand stands strong as the windchimes get closer. Trotting in the clearing, a hunched figure bound in a red cloak stands atop wooden stilts. On all fours but elevated, it scans the clearing. It appears not to see Ferdinand, its face covered by a white mask affixed to which are a hundred small metal chimes. They shimmer and chime as the beast moves. The clearing is deathly quiet. From behind the mask, a series of clicks punctuates the still, and the creature takes a few steps forwards, its shoulder and hip joints moving in a circular fashion. It’s limbs jolt into place, far from graceful. Ferdindand clenches the hilt of his two-handed sword, waiting for the beast to get close.
A distant scream echoes out from the woods. The stiltwalker immediately snaps its head around and gallops in its direction, the sound of chimes growing fainter.
Foggytwist emerges from her hiding place, her finger pointing in the direction of the illusion. “I’ve bought us some time, but not much.” She says.
“These woods are far too dangerous to travel on ones own. Let me come with you, I know a few things about this place.” whispers Sir Talavar.
Ferdinand nods, barking a command to the rest of the group.
“Come. It’s a long way to Downfall.”