Session 4 - Springrise Revelry: Secrets and Ale

The dawn broke over the Hollows, casting long shadows across the quiet village nestled beside a wide, fast-flowing river. It was the 14th of Stillday, and the morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of wood smoke and damp earth. For the adventurers who had found themselves in this remote village, the day held the promise of new discoveries and the ever-present allure of adventure.

Bomtom Deville, the group’s flamboyant bard, had been meticulously tracking the lunar calendar, knowing that the full moon in a few weeks would be the key to unlocking the secrets buried within the ancient crypt in the old cemetery. But today, the group had more immediate concerns. After a night of restless dreams, the adventurers—Bomtom, Aran, Galivan, and Hyrne—gathered in the main square, eager to pursue their next lead.

Their first destination was the home of Nirvea, the village’s elderly midwife and a woman well-versed in the arcane history of the region. The adventurers had consulted her before, and she had promised to delve into her collection of ancient tomes for more information about the cursed count, Nepola, and the enigmatic sorcerer Zygofer.

Nirvea’s cottage, nestled at the edge of the village, was a cluttered sanctuary of ancient knowledge. As the adventurers entered, they were greeted by the familiar sight of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, the scent of burning sage thick in the air, and stacks of old, leather-bound books piled high on every surface. Nirvea, her sharp eyes alight with curiosity, welcomed them warmly.

“I’ve found something,” she began, leading them to a small table where a handful of musty scrolls and aged papers lay open. “Nepola, the count buried in our cemetery, was a nobleman of great stature many centuries ago. But his defiance against Zygofer, a sorcerer of terrible power, led to his eternal torment. Zygofer was not just any sorcerer—he was a master of the dark arts, and when Nepola defied him, he cursed the count, burying him alive in the crypt that lies beneath the cemetery. There are whispers of an undying flame that binds Nepola to his fate, ensuring that his torment continues for all eternity.”

Nirvea’s voice dropped to a whisper as she unfurled a particularly ancient scroll. “But Zygofer’s true evil was far worse. He sought not just to commune with the dead, but to raise them as his servants. I found mention of the Vale of the Dead, beyond the Temple of Silence. It was here that Zygofer’s experiments took place, under the watchful eye of the Keeper of the Dead. The sorcerer’s wife, Matea, fled with their children when she learned of his vile intentions. The priests of the temple were so horrified by Zygofer’s actions that they flooded its halls to seal them away forever.”

As the adventurers absorbed this dark history, the weight of their mission became clear. The echoes of Zygofer’s malevolence still lingered in the land, and the cursed count Nepola was but one piece of a much larger puzzle. They thanked Nirvea for her help and left the cottage, their minds racing with possibilities and plans.

A Meeting with Yawim

With Nirvea’s ominous warnings fresh in their minds, the adventurers turned their attention to more immediate concerns. The brewing rivalry between Mrs. Pollmor and Yawim, the two dominant brewers in the Hollows, presented both a potential distraction and an opportunity. Bomtom, ever the tactician, suggested that they approach Yawim to discuss a possible alliance. The idea was simple: offer their services in exchange for passage on one of Yawim’s boats, which could take them closer to their original destination while also helping him expand his trade routes.

The group made their way to the Three Skulls, Yawim’s tavern, where they had first encountered the boisterous brewer. The tavern was less crowded than the Dead Man’s Hand, and Yawim greeted them with a wide grin as they entered.

“Ah, my friends!” Yawim called out, wiping his hands on his apron. “I see you’ve been making yourselves at home in our little village. What brings you back to my doorstep today?”

Hyrne stepped forward, his quiet confidence shining through. “We’ve been thinking about our next move, Yawim. We were part of a caravan heading west before we got waylaid, and we’re looking for a way to complete our journey. We were wondering if you might help us by offering passage on one of your boats. In return, we could help you spread word of your fine ales to other towns.”

Yawim’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Traveling on my boats, eh? That would certainly put the rattlers up Mrs. Pollmor! I like it. We’ve got three main trade routes from here: one heads north-west to Lake Varda, another east to a village there, and the last goes south to a place called the Wash—an outpost for the Rust Brothers. They’re not the friendliest folk, but they do buy a barrel or two from me.”

As Yawim outlined the routes, the adventurers realised that their original destination might lie near Lake Varda, to the northwest. This route seemed the most promising, both for completing their mission and for uncovering more of Zygofer’s dark secrets.

“We’d like to travel north-west, to the village near Lake Varda,” Bomtom said. “If we could bring a couple of barrels of your finest brew along, it might open doors for you there as well.”

Yawim clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “Excellent! The village you’re thinking of is called Dark End. They’re a bit wary of newcomers, but they’ll welcome a good brew. I’ll send one of my men with you to smooth the way. Come back in two days, and we’ll have everything ready.”

With the deal struck, Yawim leaned in conspiratorially. “Mind you,” he added with a wink, “I’ll be making a bit of a show about this. “The Bailiff” will hate it. But don’t worry—if you do this for me, you’ll be traveling free of charge.”

Two Days in the Hollows

Bomtom, ever the flamboyant bard, set out with high hopes of making a few coins by entertaining the villagers of The Hollows. He carefully positioned himself in the bustling town square, choosing the peak of the evening as his stage. With a confident flourish, he placed his hat on the ground, a few of his own coins already tossed in to encourage the crowd’s generosity. Standing atop a small wooden crate he had procured, he struck up a tune, hoping to regale the townsfolk with a ballad of Zygopher, the ancient and nefarious sorcerer.

However, the performance didn’t go as planned. Bomtom’s songs, though passionately delivered, didn’t quite resonate with the villagers, who preferred something more lively and familiar. His music was met with polite smiles at best, but more often with disinterested glances. Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, Bomtom tried to salvage the situation by switching to a spicier, more upbeat tune. But as he strummed with fervor, disaster struck—two strings of his beloved lute snapped with a sharp twang, silencing his performance abruptly. The once confident bard was left standing in awkward silence, his pride wounded, and his lute in need of repair. The crowd dispersed, leaving Bomtom to gather his broken instrument and few meager coins, his hopes of a profitable evening dashed.

While Bomtom was struggling to captivate an audience, Hyrne took to the deep woods surrounding The Hollows, joining forces with Vike, the village’s gamekeeper. The task was to track down a mighty stag for the upcoming spring festival, a tradition that held significant importance for the villagers. With his keen senses and expert knowledge of the wilderness, Hyrne moved through the forest with practiced ease, leaving Vike in awe of his skill. Hyrne’s movements were silent and deliberate, every step calculated as he scouted ahead, following the subtle signs left by the elusive stag. Broken branches, a tuft of fur caught on a bush, and the telltale markings on tree bark—each clue brought him closer to the quarry.

Finally, Hyrne’s efforts were rewarded as he spotted the majestic beast grazing in a sun-dappled clearing. Vike, catching up and slightly winded, marveled at Hyrne’s prowess. Together, they brought down the stag with precision, the thrill of the hunt culminating in success. The journey back to The Hollows was a triumph, the two men taking turns dragging the massive creature back to the village. Upon their return, the villagers, especially the children, gathered excitedly to see the grand prize. The stag was proudly displayed in the town square, ready to be the centerpiece of the festival. Though Vike would likely claim much of the glory, Hyrne was content with his contribution, knowing the village’s celebration would be all the richer for it.

Galivan, ever the experimenter, decided to collaborate with Yarwin on brewing a new, unique ale. He approached Yarwin with an idea to create something truly special, leveraging both their skills. Yarwin, confident in his own brewing prowess, was initially skeptical but agreed to a brewing duel, challenging Galivan’s knowledge of herbs and ingredients.

The two got to work, and Galivan introduced a trio of ingredients that he believed would elevate their brew. First, he mentioned Shadow’s Lisp, a rare purple herb he claimed was the secret behind the unique tang of the “Hogshead” beer. Next, he suggested Cripple’s Pustule, a fictitious herb he humorously proposed for adding a kick to the dark ale “Thunderclout,” though Yarwin dismissed it as outrageous but intriguing. Finally, Galivan offered Ogre’s Love Handle, a moss that he claimed could double the strength of any brew, perfect for a “double strength” ale.

With these ingredients in hand, the two brewers set to work. Although the resulting brew didn’t turn out to be the hallucinogenic masterpiece Galivan had envisioned, it was still a fine beer. Yarwin, pleased with their collaboration, didn’t notice that the hallucinogenic herbs had lost some potency over time. Despite this, the experiment was deemed a success, and the two celebrated their newfound friendship over pints of their creation, solidifying Galivan’s reputation as a skilled and imaginative brewer.

As Bomtom’s strings snapped and Hyrne stalked his prey, Aran found himself drawn into a different kind of challenge. Standing in the square, observing the daily life of The Hollows, he was approached by Nervia, the village’s midwife. She was accompanied by Lita, the worried wife of Tolme, the village fisherman. Tolme had fallen gravely ill after consuming some unfamiliar fish he had caught, and now lay in his bed, delirious and suffering. Nervia, desperate for help, saw in Aran a potential healer and pleaded for his assistance.

Following them to Tolme’s modest home, Aran entered to find the fisherman in a dire state, writhing in pain and mumbling incoherently about turtles, dolphins, and other bizarre visions. His fevered mind conjured wild hallucinations, his eyes wide with terror as he spoke of fantastical creatures and horrors unseen. At one point, he even mistook Aran for someone named Bren, a name that seemed to hold deep significance for him, but then he would quickly slip back into his delirium, lost in his hallucinatory world.

Aran, sensing the seriousness of the situation, decided to use his magic to heal the ailing man. Drawing upon his knowledge of nature and the herbs he had gathered, he placed his hands gently yet firmly on Tolme’s abdomen, channeling his willpower into a spell of healing. As Aran concentrated, the energy flowed through him, and the fever that gripped Tolme began to break. The fisherman’s raving quieted, his body relaxing as the poison was purged from his system. Slowly, the color returned to his face, and his breathing steadied. He blinked, the madness in his eyes fading as he recognized his wife by his side.

Lita was overcome with relief, thanking Aran profusely for saving her husband. Nervia, too, expressed her gratitude, acknowledging that without Aran’s intervention, she might not have been able to save Tolme. The three of them left the house quietly, giving the couple some much-needed time alone. Outside, Nervia explained the story of Bren, Tolme’s long-lost son, whose departure had left a deep wound in the fisherman’s heart. Aran promised to keep an eye out for the boy on his travels, knowing the pain of a lost family all too well.

The Springrise Festival

Days passed, and the village prepared for the Springrise Festival. The adventurers had settled into the rhythm of village life, but they knew their time in the Hollows was drawing to a close. The morning of the festival dawned with a burst of energy. The square was transformed with bunting, flowers, and the scent of roasting meat.

Vike, the gamekeeper, greeted the adventurers with a hearty slap on the back, praising Hyrne for the stag they had hunted. Yawim, the brewer, hailed Galivan as his new brew buddy, while Bomtom, still nursing his wounded pride, was alas not invited to perform at the festivities.

As the villagers gathered for the feast, the adventurers knew that while they had found a temporary home in the Hollows, their true quest was just beginning. The full moon would rise in a few weeks, and with it, the secrets of the crypt would be revealed. But for now, they would join the villagers in celebration, enjoying the calm before the storm that they sensed was on the horizon.

The adventure in the Hollows continues, with the group poised between the simple pleasures of village life and the dark mysteries that lie ahead. The Springrise Festival offers a momentary respite, but the adventurers remain ever vigilant, knowing that their journey through the Forbidden Lands has only just begun.