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Summary
Adventure: Shadows In Play - Low - Mon - GM:Anne
GM: TBC
Season: TBC
Night: 10
Level: TBC
- Party
- TBC
- Employer
- TBC
- Mission
- TBC
- Pay
- TBC
Whispers from the Black Canopy Bound by rope and dwindling spells, a fellowship of adventurers presses into the unnaturally darkened heart of an ancient forest that seems to breathe, watch, and test them. As magic falters and sound dies, they encounter a name-shifting child who dissolves into smoke, a circular clearing that demands their deepest fears, trees whose carved faces track every step, and a black pool whose delayed reflection offers a chilling vision of betrayal. With fatigue mounting and the path narrowing toward a sickly green pulse and resonant inhale, the party stands at the threshold of the forest’s final secret—unsure whether it guards, feeds, or simply erases all who enter.
Scribe Notes
Night 10
Chapter 1: The Silent Canopy
The party returns from the silent forest
The wolf would not enter the forest. Even bound by magic and will, the beast planted its paws at the treeline and refused every urging. "Hide here," its handler told it at last, simplifying the instructions to match the limits of their tenuous link. "Be loud if someone comes." The wolf stared back with flat, befuddled eyes that plainly said its mistress was an idiot, yet it obeyed, settling down beside the camp to watch the pit and the trail.
The party made their final preparations. One adventurer adjusted the woven basket perched on her head, explaining that it kept the sun off, freed both hands, and carried a certain hopeful whimsy besides. Another knelt and buried a coin in the soft earth so they might locate the camp again if needed. Then they tied a long rope to a sturdy tree at the edge and walked forward together, paying out line behind them.
With every step the forest changed. The air grew colder though no wind stirred. Trees crowded closer until their branches knitted into an unbroken ceiling of black. Somewhere along the path the ordinary sounds of the world simply ceased. Footsteps echoed too long, voices reached the ears muffled as though heard through thick cloth, and the clink of armor seemed to come from a great distance. The everburning torch still shed a brave circle of light for those without darkvision, yet even its flame appeared subdued by the pressing gloom.
"No minds beyond our own," reported the telepath after casting. The second seeker shook her head; her own spell met the same emptiness. Further attempts to pierce the dark met only resistance, as if the forest itself resented intrusion. The basket-wearer tried again, muttering that the woods clearly disliked her magic, but the result remained unchanged. After two hundred and forty feet the rope grew taut and still the trees marched on unchanged.
"We've learned one thing at least," someone said as they began the trudge back. "No sudden pits waiting to swallow us." They reeled in the line, untied it with a few quick tugs, and emerged once more into daylight and ordinary noise. The wolf lifted its head from where it sat, still watching the pit with patient yellow eyes. Behind them the forest edge stood like a wall of shadow, tangible and wrong, daring them to try again.
Chapter 2: The Reluctant Arrow
The party hesitates where the dark forest begins
The line between forest and deeper forest was impossible to miss. What had been merely dim and close-grown became something heavier, the air itself thickening as though the trees had drawn a curtain against the sun. The companions walked the edge, eyes wary, while their ranger searched for any sign of a trail.
After ten or fifteen minutes moving north, another path appeared. It looked no different from the others they had found: narrow, overgrown, and unwelcoming. They paused, considering the arrow that had guided them this far. When its bearer lifted it, the slender shaft spun lazily no matter how he turned. It would point anywhere except into the dark heart of the woods.
"Does it relate to the arrow?" one of them asked. The arrow's answer was the same refusal.
They turned instead to Alala. The wolf regarded them with patient yellow eyes. "I do not go in," he rumbled when asked about paths. "I do not know." Yet he remembered other things. A two-legged man had emerged from the shadows not long ago, clad in white armor that caught the light like diamonds. When they pressed for direction or origin, Alala could only shake his heavy head; the man had simply stepped out from between the trees and continued on his way.
The party stood in quiet debate. The newest path seemed no more or less dangerous than the last, yet every instinct warned against it. Still, the least obvious route had served them well before. Mistress party leader weighed their options while the others spoke of rope, of staying connected without binding themselves too tightly. Holding the line loosely in free hands would let them move while keeping one another within reach.
Before committing, they decided on a test. One of them would cast the locating spell on Teddy, the smallest and, they joked, most lamb-like of the group. First the spell was tried while Teddy remained safely outside the darker tree line; the magic answered cleanly. Then Teddy stepped ten paces in among the black trunks. The arrow still pointed true. Even deeper into the shadowed woods the connection held.
"It works," the caster murmured, relief and unease mingling in his voice. The rope was gathered, hands tightened around its rough fibers, and the company stood ready at the threshold. Whatever waited beyond the curtain of ancient trees, they would face it together.
Chapter 3: The Silhouette in the Haze
A mysterious silhouette emerges from the all-consuming haze.
The gloom pressed close around them, a thick haze that swallowed both light and sound. Teddy edged forward another twenty feet, rope held taut, while the others kept careful watch. As long as they remained within that narrow window, the magical arrow continued to point true; beyond it, the spell spun uselessly and companions faded from sight entirely.
They experimented briefly, casting the spell blind on their party leader to confirm whether the effect was visual or distance-based. Satisfied with the results, the group decided it was time to move on. Marching order was settled with Vesemir at the front, followed by Amira, then Whip in the middle for safety, Ichlon, Teddy, and the rest trailing with slack rope between them. Even so, the fog made strangers of friends; at fifty feet the line stretched beyond sight, and each adventurer could only clearly see two or three figures ahead or behind.
Torches did little against the haze. It was not true darkness but a cloying mist that blurred outlines and muffled voices. Pacifica tested the air. "Can everyone hear me?"
"Yes," came Amira's reply, strained. "Just. Teddy's having a harder time."
They had not gone much farther when both Pacifica and Amira stiffened. A shape had resolved in the fog ahead, small in stature, roughly halfling to dwarf height. It stood perfectly still with its back to them, barely twenty feet away.
"Do you see that?" Pacifica asked quietly.
Amira's voice was steady. "Yes. Silhouette up ahead."
The party slowed. Speculation rippled down the line in hushed tones. Was it a person? A stump? Someone wondered aloud about the anti-undead amulet that had been passed among them during watches. Vesemir noted it would have been on the last watch-keeper, yet the amulet functioned passively; as long as they camped close together it should have protected them all. Still, some of the group suspected certain threats would come for them regardless.
"It probably didn't hear us," one of them offered. "It hasn't moved at all."
Vesemir's shadow-form clung to him, a lingering spell that still held. Quickness hummed in their blood as well, a useful edge. After a brief debate they chose caution over confrontation. They would sneak closer.
Amira moved first, trying to glide silently through the undergrowth. A root betrayed her; she stumbled with a faint crunch of leaves. Vesemir winced at the sound behind him. Yet the fog proved merciful. What should have carried clearly instead died within a few yards, swallowed by the same haze that hid them from one another. The silhouette remained unmoved, waiting silently in the mist.
Chapter 4: The Child Who Vanished in Smoke
Chilk turns—and then vanishes into smoke
The forest swallowed sound and direction alike. Their earlier shout had carried just far enough for the twenty souls in the settlement behind them to hear, yet here among the trees every footstep rang louder than it should while voices fell strangely flat. One of the companions admitted that stealth had never been his talent; the smoke-speech spell had already faded, though the mind-link still flickered with half an hour of life remaining.
Ahead on the narrow path stood a small figure, back turned, no taller than three and a half feet. It was not a dwarf—the posture was wrong—yet it seemed too sturdy for the youngest of elves or halflings. A cascade of ashy-gray hair spilled down its back. Bare feet showed beneath the hem of rough peasant clothes.
They approached warily. One adventurer reached out with a stick and gave the figure a gentle poke in the shoulder. The child turned.
What faced them was a human girl of perhaps eight years, wide-eyed and solemn. She studied them without fear.
"What's your name?" one asked.
"Chilk," she answered in a small, clear voice.
A long silence followed. Someone tried to read her thoughts and found only a hiss like wind across bare stone. "Didn't your parents tell you not to walk in the woods alone?" another demanded.
"I don't have parents."
The questions sharpened. Was she lying? What was she watching for? Were there others like her—things that looked like people but were not? Chilk's answers remained oblique, speaking of "the young of the pack" and "people in the forest" without ever quite explaining. The party named her Creepy on the spot.
"Lead us to them," they commanded. "Be quick, give us no trouble, or I'll slap you round mercilessly."
Chilk nodded once. "Yeah."
She started down the path. A few paces later the child simply burst apart. Black smoke billowed outward, thick and oily, then thinned and vanished on the motionless air. No body, no footprints, no residue remained—only the faint smell of char.
The adventurers stared at the empty space. One touched the lucky stone at his belt for reassurance. "Well," another muttered, "that answers that."
They continued, marking every tree they passed with quick chalk crosses on the left-hand side so they would not wander in circles. The forest refused to yield a sense of north; the baron’s influence seemed to fold the woods back upon themselves. After fifteen minutes of muffled footfalls, one of the group suggested they stop for a hot lunch. Debate flared—hadn’t they already eaten?—but the idea of warmth won out.
They chose a sturdy tree and began gathering what little dry tinder could be found. "What are you starting a fire with?" someone asked.
A grin flashed in the gloom. "Fireball!"
Chapter 5: The Silent Clearing
The party enters the silent clearing
The fire crackled with unnatural enthusiasm, sending thick plumes of smoke curling upward regardless of how dry or seasoned the wood was. The smell was ordinary enough, but the persistent haze lent the campsite an otherworldly air. While the group ate, Persephone held her sandwich over the flames until the bread grew crisp and the fillings warmed through. Teddy, ever the woodsman, assured everyone his camping skills would prevent disaster, though the others traded skeptical glances and grins.
Laughter rippled around the circle as they joked about burning the entire forest down, quickly tempered by the reminder that such carelessness might harm Benex or invite far worse consequences. No one wanted to become the next dark frost. With lunch finished and the fire properly extinguished, they struck out again, determined to pick up the pace through the afternoon's gloom.
Barely twenty minutes later the trees fell away without warning, opening into a circular clearing some forty feet across. No wind stirred the branches. No birds called. The air hung heavy and still, as though the forest itself were holding its breath. Visibility remained poor; beyond twenty feet everything dissolved into shadow and mist. A quick working of mystical senses confirmed no other minds lurked within range, only their own small company and the familiar presence of their packs.
"We should stay to the side," Ramirez suggested, eyeing the suspiciously empty center. They formed up abreast, wrists loosely linked by rope so that a single tug could pull them all to safety. Persephone and Teddy took the ends, eyes scanning the tree line as they advanced. The moment their boots crossed fully into the clearing, sound died. Their own heartbeats thundered in their ears; breathing rasped loud and intimate. But voices, footsteps, the rustle of leaves, everything beyond their individual bodies simply vanished.
They pressed along the curve, searching for tracks, for another path, for anything that might explain the unnatural hush. Nothing. No mushrooms ringed the perimeter, no alternate trail led away. When they reached the far side and still saw only unbroken forest, the decision was unanimous. A sharp yank on the rope sent them retreating in unison. The oppressive silence lifted the instant they stepped beneath the trees again, as though a curtain had been drawn aside.
Back on the narrow path, voices returned with almost startling clarity. "What are we even looking for?" one of them asked, half in frustration. The answer came readily enough: the enemy, whatever form it took. And if they meant to venture back into that mute glade, they would go prepared. Mindspeech, at least, would let them speak without sound. For now they stood together, breathing the ordinary noises of the wood once more, wondering what other strangeness the Shadows still held in store.
Chapter 6: Whispers from the Mist
Teddy confronts the whispering voice within the fog
The companions stood at the edge of the clearing, the air thick with an unnatural hush. They had been here before: the unicorn, the white knight, and the strange figures that had emerged from the mirror. Now the question was whether the armored apparition still waited beyond, or if their earlier passage had changed the place forever. Arrows still protruded from the trees where they had been fired, a silent reminder that the clearing was no ordinary glade.
"If we mean to go back in," one of them said, "we should renew the mind-speech. Sound may be suppressed, but thoughts might still travel." The others murmured agreement. There seemed no other path; the forest ringed the open ground in a dense, impenetrable wall of trunks and undergrowth. The only way forward or back was the one they had already walked.
Amira voiced what several were thinking. "This place is creepy." No sooner had the words left her lips than the fog answered. It rolled in like a living thing, thickening until they could see no more than ten feet ahead. Shapes blurred. Voices grew muffled.
Teddy gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll go first... or second." He stepped forward, rope knotted securely about his waist, the line connecting him to the others like a lifeline. Five paces into the mist and the world changed. All sound from his companions vanished. He could hear only the rush of his own blood, the soft rasp of his breathing, the creak of his boots in the grass. It was as though the clearing had swallowed every noise but his own.
Then a voice spoke, intimate and close, as though whispered directly behind his ear. "What do you fear most about what lies ahead?"
Teddy answered with the first flippant thought that came to mind. "Huge feasts with too much food left to waste." The mist did not stir. The voice repeated its question, patient and unrelenting. He tried again. "Getting too rich?" Still nothing. He could see the others watching him, their mouths moving in silence. One of them had already reached out with thought and made contact; the mind-speech at least still worked.
"It's asking what I fear about what lies ahead," Teddy sent back to them. The voice sounded like a young girl, yet carried no accent, no memorable quality. It was the sort of voice that would be impossible to describe to a stranger later.
At last he gave a different answer, one that rose unbidden from somewhere deeper. "Loneliness."
The fog before him shredded like torn silk. A clear path opened through the trees, an exit plainly visible on the far side of the glade. Teddy took a hopeful step toward it, only to feel the rope go taut. The line yanked him backward a few feet, a firm but not violent reminder that he remained bound to his companions.
"I see the way out," he called, though he knew they could not hear the words. The others saw his lips move and the sudden clarity in his posture. They debated rapidly among themselves: why had the voice questioned only him? Would each of them need to answer in turn? Could he simply lead them through?
Teddy stood at the limit of the rope, staring at the revealed path. "The way is clear," he insisted, half to the voice, half to his friends. In the end it was agreed he would go second, safely in the middle of their tethered line. Whatever riddle the clearing demanded, they would face it together, one honest answer at a time.
Chapter 7: Riddles in the Mist
The party answers the forest's riddles
The fog clung heavily to the trees, turning the clearing into a realm of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. Teddy stood at the edge, watching the others press forward, then cautiously poked his head through the mist. "Hello?" he called.
From the left came a voice eerily similar to the one Tini had described earlier. "Why do you refuse to turn back?"
"Because I'm not a weapon," Teddy replied. The voice echoed the question to the rest of the party, who could not yet hear it. One by one they offered their answers as the mist began to thin around them.
"Because we haven't finished our job yet," came one response. Another admitted, "I'm tied to the others." A third declared simply, "I'm not going to abandon my friends." With each honest reply, the fog retreated further, until the companions could see Teddy sitting calmly on the grass, trimming his nails with casual indifference. A clear path now beckoned at the far side of the clearing.
The voice was not finished. It shifted its inquiry, asking each of them in turn, "What do you fear most about what lies ahead?"
The mind mage spoke of his dread of forcing others against their will. Others confessed fears of disappointment, of failing to achieve their goal, even of being stuck with Teddy's company. One admitted the prospect terrified him, while another dryly noted he was already accustomed to self-disappointment. Banter rippled through the group as they debated the voice's nature.
"Stupid voice is stupid," one muttered. "It's pretending to be philosophical but really it's just being annoying."
Impatience finally won. "All right, let's just go," they agreed. The party moved forward along the revealed path, Teddy leading the way and marking trees with chalk as they advanced. No illusion barred their steps. Yet as the last of them passed, the ancient trees groaned and shifted. Branches wove together, trunks thickened, and the way back vanished behind a living wall of wood. The spinning arrows on a nearby marker seemed to mock their progress.
The forest had accepted their answers and claimed them for whatever lay ahead.
Chapter 8: The Watchful Trees
The party encounters the watchful faces hidden among the trees
The companions continued along the forest trail, the marks they had left behind still vivid upon the trees. They would last until the first rain, yet no sign of rain had appeared in this strange wood. After a time the path opened into a small clearing that felt somehow set apart from the rest of the forest. Beyond it the trees began to change.
At first it was subtle, then unmistakable: faces pressed outward from the bark, watching the travelers pass. Amira and Persephone noticed them first, and soon the others saw the wooden countenances as well. The effect was deeply unsettling.
"It's creepy again," one muttered. "I feel like I'm being watched by the trees."
Persephone stepped close to one of the faces, pressing her palm against the smooth wood. It was solid and unyielding. She slid her thumbs into the hollows of its eyes, confirming that the features were grown, not carved. Amira, never one to let unease win, drew a crude pair of spectacles, a mustache, and a broad smile upon another trunk.
"Look," she announced, stepping back, "I found a friendly one."
The small act of defiance drew laughter that echoed oddly among the branches. Someone asked the faces outright why they watched, but the trees offered no reply. Their gazes followed the party like the eyes in an old portrait, unchanging no matter the angle. The black sap that welled from a knife-prick in one trunk proved sticky and strangely flammable; when touched to a torch it sizzled and burned with a dark flame.
The path narrowed steadily until the travelers walked single file between trunks no more than three feet apart. Fog rolled in again, reducing sight to thirty or forty paces. The comforting openness of the clearing was gone, replaced by the muffled sounds of an older, watchful wood. More faces appeared, cold and expressionless. Persephone felt the walls of bark closing in and admitted a quiet apprehension; the recent strangeness had left her more wary than usual.
Yet the group refused to surrender to the gloom. One troubadour brought out a mandolin and began to play a bright, wandering melody while walking. Others joined with song and wry encouragement, deliberately lifting one another's hearts. Laughter and music wove between the trees. As their spirits rose, the path slowly widened once more, the fog thinning enough to let them breathe easier. Whether the forest itself responded to hope or despair, none could say. They only knew that moving forward together, with song on their lips and defiance in their step, felt like the right way through.
People and Places
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Lore and Clues
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Loot and Rewards
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GM Review Notes
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