📜 Session Overview

Morning came with no peace to it. The kind of dawn that feels less like a beginning and more like the hour before a storm breaks. In Wyrmhollow, with too many threats circling and too few answers in hand, Warwick, Broj, Agelaius, Sorina, and Sinora woke already carrying the weight of what had to come next. The Plague Dragon still expected its due. The cultists still waited beyond the horizon like an open wound. And the party, worn thin and painfully aware of how unready they were for a direct assault, had to decide whether courage meant charging ahead or surviving long enough to strike properly later.

So they chose reason over pride. Before any siege, before any glorious last stand, they would go to the dragon.

The journey itself told them how quickly time was slipping away. As they flew toward the farm, they saw the land changing beneath them. The dragon's corruption was not lingering in one place anymore — it was spreading, swallowing field and furrow, staining the farmland with rot and plague as though the earth itself had begun to surrender. By the time they reached the farm and called out, there was already a dreadful certainty hanging over everything, as if the land knew what answered them before they did.

Then the dragon came.

It emerged in all its vile majesty, immense and suffocating, a living monument to disease, decay, and conquest. Its presence smothered breath and thought alike. The stench of death rolled off it in waves, and for a moment it felt as though the sky itself recoiled from the thing. Yet where others might have faltered, Agelaius stepped forward with steady purpose. He approached the monstrous power with offerings of poison and alchemical gifts, speaking not with empty bravado but with calculated need. They asked not for mercy, but for time. Time to recover. Time to strengthen. Time to become useful enough to fulfill the bargain already set in motion.

And somehow, that was enough.

The Plague Dragon listened. It considered. Then, with the cold arrogance only such a creature could possess, it granted the delay. Not freely, not kindly, but with the promise that its patience was a finite and dangerous thing. When it spread its wings, the gesture felt less like motion and more like a reminder: this was a force that could blot out hope if it wished. But it accepted the gifts, and for one more precious stretch of days, the party was not yet crushed beneath its expectation.

Only after the dragon departed did anyone truly breathe again.

From there they turned back toward Wyrmhollow, carrying with them not triumph, but reprieve. Sometimes that is the greater prize. On the flight home, Agelaius reached out to Bryn, only to catch the old man in a deeply inconvenient but characteristically unbothered moment. Even so, Bryn delivered something important through the absurdity: the group had not been forgotten. Someone had already been following their trail, trying to catch up with them. A liaison. A Realmstrider. And that figure had last been in Theros, near the great cathedral blast that still scarred memory and land alike.

Back in Wyrmhollow, the next problem rose immediately to meet them. Loid still needed to be brought to Ethoria properly, and for that they needed lodestones. Agelaius took the matter to Vyr, who did not soften the truth. The stones could be found, yes, but not without risk. Myriam was assigned to guide them, and with that the party stepped once more across worlds, bound for the strange and dangerous plane where lodestones were born.

What they found there was not a battlefield, but something perhaps worse: a warning. Myriam led them to the sight of an inverted hive structure, alien and terrible in its shape, crawling with slivers. Countless slivers. Creatures that might seem small in isolation, but together became a living catastrophe. Somewhere at the heart of that nest, an overlord secreted the lodestones they sought like waste from a nightmare body. It was a place that radiated danger from its center outward, and the party knew at once they were not there to conquer it. Not yet.

Instead, each of them set to work in tense silence, taking different materials and beginning the careful labor of crafting attuning rods. It was a practical act, but it carried a deeper meaning too. They were not merely gathering tools. They were staking a claim to the future, marking a path back to power they would need later. There, with the hive looming nearby and disaster waiting only a wrong step away, they chose patience again.

When they left that place, they returned to the crater on Theros, the shattered remnant of the cathedral's destruction. Ash still haunted the land. The wound of what had happened there had not healed, and perhaps never truly would. Above that scar hovered familiar figures: the skeletal companion, the sentient presence of Loid, and Porthos. But they were not alone.

With them stood the one who had been chasing their wake across worlds.

The first meeting was awkward in the way these things often are, full of watchful pauses and half-measured words, each side weighing the other. Yet slowly the shape of the man emerged. Aedric Vale. A new companion, sharp-edged and severe enough to unsettle at first glance, but plainly no stranger to the burdens the others already carried. There was something deliberate about him, something tightly controlled, as though restraint itself had become part of his armor.

The group spoke. Questions were asked. Agelaius pressed Porthos for any hint of Xavril, hoping perhaps for some thread to pull, some remembered name or description that might cut through the fog surrounding that impossible figure. But Porthos knew nothing. No mute wanderer. No one who bent intention and presence in that uncanny way. Another door closed, or perhaps simply one more mystery refusing to open.

Then came the spark in the tower.

Not far from them stood the lonely structure of Sir Magnus Opus U'rilius Corbus, isolated against the Theros landscape like a secret that had survived the death of its owner. And within or around it, the party saw something impossible to ignore: a flare, a spark of Realmstrider significance. The realization that followed was stranger still. Perhaps the tower itself, not merely the mage once tied to it, was the true lingering entity. Perhaps whatever remained of Sir Magnus was not flesh, nor ghost, nor legend, but the tower itself — a great thinking relic, a mimic of purpose and memory, still carrying a spark of something alive inside stone.

It was exactly the kind of discovery that could break a lesser company's sense of reality. For this group, it became one more impossible truth to carry.

From there they withdrew to the Grove of Nymis, seeking not action but clarity. Yet even there, peace would not come simply. Nymis was absent in physical form, and the emptiness of that absence mattered. The grove still breathed with old power, but the god was not there to meet them openly. So Sorina and Sinora, twin souls already marked by too much pain and too many forces beyond them, worked together with the staff and the earth beneath them. They reached out, calling through root and living soil, trying to touch the presence of Nymis and understand what had become of their path.

What answered was not comfort.

There was a response, yes — but tangled within it came a flash of another presence, one Sinora knew too well. Vespera. A memory, a vision, a dread certainty wrapped in a single image. It struck like a hand closing around the heart. The moment changed the air around the sisters, and soon enough Broj noticed what others might have missed: the backs of their necks were glowing. Not faintly. Not subtly. They pulsed with a living rhythm, like a second heartbeat beneath the skin.

And Aedric, seeing the marks with fresh eyes and a practiced understanding of dangerous magic, gave shape to the fear already coiling through the group. This was not some vague curse. Not merely lingering corruption or random misfortune. It bore the structure of binding magic. Demon-binding magic. Whatever had touched Sorina and Sinora had not simply scarred them. It had tied itself to them.

That revelation settled over the grove like winter.

There were darker discussions after that, the kind born only when people feel cornered by fate. They talked of the tower. Of scouting. Of camping and watching. Of what came next. And in one of the session's cruelest, rawest turns, they even spoke aloud the possibility of killing the sisters' father — because by now mercy and necessity had begun to blur in dangerous ways, and no one could pretend their choices were simple anymore.

Still, they did not fracture.

Instead, they trained. They gathered themselves the only way adventurers can when the world has given them too many omens and not enough answers: they sharpened each other. Broj became a living test of strength and endurance while the others measured spells, strikes, and resolve against him — and not without destruction of his own along the way, one unfortunate tree notwithstanding. There was purpose in it, but also trust. The kind of trust forged only when companions are willing to be each other's shield, target, witness, and anchor all at once. They planned to spar again in the morning. To prepare. To stay ready. Because beneath every conversation now was the same grim understanding — another confrontation was coming, and soon.

Before the night settled, Aedric offered more than a name. He revealed his Realmstrider abilities to the group, peeling back another layer of who he was and what he could do. And then, as if the day had not already offered enough strange turns, his dragon made herself known. Where Aedric carried edge and restraint, she was his perfect opposite — bright, enthusiastic, and almost disarmingly bubbly. The contrast was so sharp it cut through the heaviness for a moment, a brief and welcome reminder that not everything powerful in this world had to arrive cloaked in dread.

And so the day ended not with battle, but with gathering shadows. A dragon appeased, for now. A poisoned land spreading under an ancient monster's influence. Lodestones waiting in the heart of a nightmare hive. A new Realmstrider standing among them. A tower that might itself be alive with flare-born mystery. Twin marks glowing with the rhythm of something infernal. And a company of weary heroes, bruised but unbroken, choosing once more to stand together in the dark and prepare for whatever came next.

⚔️ Key Events

• A Deal for Time: The party flies to the farm to meet with the Plague Dragon before committing to any assault on the cultists. Seeing the dragon's corruption spreading rapidly across the farmland, they know they aren't ready. Agelaius steps forward with offerings of poison and alchemical gifts to buy a delay. The dragon grants it — cold, arrogant, and with the clear warning that its patience is finite.
• Bryn's Message: On the flight back to Wyrmhollow, Agelaius reaches out to Bryn seeking additional companions. Bryn informs him, through a characteristically undignified moment, that someone has already been tracking the group — a Cord liaison last seen in Theros near the blasted cathedral.
• The Hunt for Lodestones: Agelaius consults Vyr about acquiring lodestones needed to bring Loid to Ethoria. Vyr does not soften the danger and assigns Myriam to guide the party across planes to where the stones are naturally formed.
• Shandalar — The Sliver Hive: Myriam leads the party to an inverted hive structure of monstrous scale, crawling with slivers. She explains that individually these creatures are unremarkable, but in proximity they become catastrophic. An overlord at the hive's center secretes the lodestones as waste. The party stays quiet, builds attuning rods for the location, and withdraws — they will return with more strength.
• Return to the Crater: The party travels to the ash-filled crater in Theros — the remnant of the cathedral blast. There they find Loid, now grown in size and intelligence, and Porthos in conversation with an unknown Realmstrider.
• Aedric Vale Joins the Company: After an awkward and watchful introduction, the Cord liaison reveals himself as Aedric Vale — a new Realmstrider companion who has been tracking the group across worlds. Sharp, controlled, and carrying a deliberate edge, he is plainly no stranger to the weight of what this group has been through.
• Xavril Remains Unknown: Agelaius presses Porthos for any knowledge of Xavril — the silent figure capable of bending intent and presence in ways that unsettle even Vyr. Porthos has nothing. Another door closes.
• The Tower's Spark: Loid maneuvers the party to a lone tower in the Theros forest — the structure of Sir Magnus Opus U'rilius Corbus, missing since the crystalline mines vanished. Within it, the party sees a Realmstrider flare. The conclusion forming among them: the tower itself may be the mimic, the true remaining entity of Sir Magnus, still alive inside stone.
• Reaching for Nymis: At the Grove of Nymis, with the goddess absent in physical form, Sorina and Sinora work together with the staff to reach her through root and living earth. The response comes — but so does something else. A flash. Vespera. And then the marks at the backs of their necks begin to glow.
• Demon-Binding Marks Revealed: Broj notices the sisters' necks glowing first. Aedric, examining the marks with fresh eyes, identifies the structure immediately — not a curse, but a binding pact with a demon. Whatever touched Sorina and Sinora has not merely scarred them. It has claimed them.
• Dark Counsel: The group debates their next moves openly — scouting the tower, camping the grove, and in one of the session's hardest turns, discussing the possibility of killing the sisters' father. No choice before them is clean anymore.
• Aedric's Dragon Makes Her Entrance: As the evening winds down, Aedric reveals his Realmstrider abilities and his bonded dragon announces herself. Where Aedric is measured and edged, his dragon is bright, bubbly, and enthusiastically the opposite of him in every possible way. The contrast cuts through the heaviness of everything else, if only for a moment.
• Training Before the Storm: The party spends the remaining hours sharpening one another. Broj becomes the willing target for the group's practice — and takes out his own frustrations on one unfortunate tree. They plan to spar at dawn. They are not ready to stop preparing.

👥 NPCs Encountered

🔍 Important Discoveries

✨ Character Moments

🖼️ Session Images

📝 DM Notes

The session after everything breaking is a delicate thing — it has to carry grief forward without letting it swallow momentum. The party held together. They made practical progress: the Plague Dragon is bought off, attuning rods are built for the sliver hive, and Aedric Vale is now properly embedded in the group. The demon-binding marks on Sorina and Sinora open a significant thread — the identity of the demon and the origin of the pact will need to land at the right moment. The tower of Sir Magnus being a possible living mimic is a hook that can be followed either as a side quest or a critical path depending on how the party prioritizes. Vespera's intrusion into the grove during the sisters' reaching is the kind of thing that wants to be followed quickly — leave it too long and the tension deflates. The cultist siege and the Plague Dragon's deadline are still the primary clock. Loid growing independently is worth flagging for future sessions — he is becoming something more than a ship.

🎭 Looking Ahead