13 - The Thorns of Loomlurch
| Session 1 | Session 12 | Session 13 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite |
A Portrait found
The echo of battle and secrets still clung to the air as the group moved away from the lake and the fallen assassin. Will, ever the determined leader of the lost children, dove into the plan once more. They had come this far, and the time had come to rescue the children trapped in Loomlurch. Yet, as Frostbite listened, he found himself disinterested in most of the details. What was truly worth his effort? The portrait of Skabatha. That was the only piece of the plan that mattered.
The question lingered in his mind - how did Will even know these children were being held against their will? This was another world, one woven in shadows and twisted logic. Could things truly be as they seemed?
The group pressed forward through the forest until Loomlurch came into view - a massive fallen tree with three others sprouting from it like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. To the east, the goblin market bustled with strange merchants and their wares. Here was where the plan would begin.
The clearing held three stalls, each manned by peculiar goblins. One, with a toffee apple for a head, waddled toward them, hawking his candy with eager enthusiasm. Frostbite scoffed at the notion of such childish indulgences. Brolin, however, immediately took the bait, biting into a piece of enchanted candy. His head swelled grotesquely, his ears flopping as his balance wavered. The goblin, introducing himself as Chucklehead, seemed less concerned with Brolin’s predicament and more with his own woes - his beloved was chained inside the kitchen, a sorrowful fate he barely managed to express before Frostbite lost interest.
While the others humored the goblin, Frostbite followed Ashira to the looming structure’s grand windows. Peering inside, they saw the intricate workshop of the twisted hag. “Is this an entrance?” Frostbite asked, already considering the possibilities.
Ashira smirked. “Not yet.”
They spoke a little too freely, and Chucklehead picked up more than he should have. Dhanell, noticing the slip, grimaced, hitting his forehead in frustration before moving toward the main entrance hidden within the roots of the fallen tree.
The next phase of the plan begins
A shrill, piercing cry rang out as scarecrows on the opposite side of the tree shrieked an alarm. Will’s allies had done their part. The distraction had begun.
Frostbite moved with the others, slipping through the terrace inside the gnarled roots. Lazy chairs sat in the center, untouched by time. The door was already ajar. Ashira and Dhanell had gone ahead.
Inside, the toy workshop churned with eerie life. Three children - a drow, a human, and a halfling - were hunched over workbenches, crafting toys under unseen duress. Maeve and Zephyr moved to speak with them, attempting to persuade them to escape. Frostbite barely registered their words, his focus solely on his objective. A single goal - to claim the portrait.
A small wooden doll’s head twisted unnaturally, its painted eyes tracking the group as they moved.
Beyond the workshop, a room of tiny wooden houses stretched before them, the homes of the tin soldiers. But luck was on their side - the plan had worked, and the soldiers had been lured away. The room was empty. A narrow staircase led upward, a winch-operated box sat to the side, and doors branched off in multiple directions. One of them led to what they sought.
Frostbite continued through the dimly lit hallway, following Ashira and Dhanell. A lone lantern flickered above, casting unsettling shadows. At the end, the door to the portrait chamber loomed before them.
Inside, Dhanell and Ashira had already found a painting - but it was the wrong one. Frostbite stopped them before they could leave, his sharp eyes catching the eerie visage within the frame. Bavlorna stared outward with a chilling expression. But they needed Skabatha.
Turning back, they entered the room again. Three portraits still hung side by side. The two other hags of the Hourglass Coven - and another, Tasha. A svelte woman of mysterious origin. Above them all, a sinister figure loomed, more monstrous than the rest. Their mother? Frostbite wondered, but he did not dwell.
Ashira reached for the correct portrait, only for jagged thorns to lash out, raking deep wounds into her hands. She grimaced but did not waver. With Skabatha’s portrait secured, they turned to leave, now carrying two paintings instead of one.
As they retraced their steps, a sudden cry for help echoed from a side chamber near the wooden houses. Commotion stirred to the south. Dhanell and Ashira pressed forward, carrying the portraits outside. Frostbite hesitated, glancing toward the source of the sound.
Brolin had run into trouble - a living rug writhing in attack, a shouting puppet demanding help. Frostbite considered following Brolin but dismissed the notion. “A pig needs rescuing outside,” Brolin called after him.
Unmoved, Frostbite focused on his goal. Let Brolin play the pig's hero.
Outside, Maeve tended to the freed children while Zephyr ushered more from within. The group was fragmented, but the plan had worked. One by one, they slipped into the forest, escaping Loomlurch’s clutches.
Night had fallen by the time they reached Will’s treehouse. But Will was still missing.
Hours passed. When he finally stumbled in, broken and shaken, he spoke of barely escaping the tin soldiers and Skabatha herself. Fear darkened his eyes - he would never return. And though some children remained behind, he would not go back for them.
Dhanell, ever the pragmatist, held Will to his word. The unicorn horn was their payment.
Brolin, reflecting on their journey, mentioned a strange sight - an enchanted unicorn rocking horse with a hollowed head. “Would this be the ensorcelled Elicorn?” Frostbite mused.
A shadow moved in the moonlight. A kitten-sized displacer beast approached, its twin tails flicking curiously. Frostbite knelt, offering a hand. A new companion. A flicker of warmth.
The journey was not over
As morning came, they pressed onward, hopeful as they returned to Clapperclaw. The scarecrow had been busy. With Nib’s cursed gold, they had reforged the hot air balloon. Golden patches sealed the fabric, and an intricate construct fed the fire to lift them skyward.
The winds favored them. The balloon soared above the trees, carrying them back toward Hither. Over the forests. Over the mountains. Back to the swamps.
Back to Bavlorna’s home.
| Session 1 | Session 12 | Session 13 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite |
Updated on: 17:57
