The swamp stank of death.

Bhakris Edge lay motionless in the mire, his stone-gray skin slick with blood and rot as the last of the ghasts lunged for him. Pebblesong’s small form knelt beside him, her hands trembling but sure as she pressed the edges of a healer’s kit to his wounds. The air shimmered faintly with the scent of crushed herbs and bogwater. Somewhere above, Thalmiir’s axe rose and fell in a gleaming arc, and with a final, brutal swing, the last ghoul was cloven from neck to chest. It toppled silently, sinking into the muck as if the swamp were claiming one of its own.

A hush fell. For the briefest breath, all that could be heard was the slow drip of water and the distant groan of the dead.

“Go,” Thalmiir rumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. “They’re still coming.”

And indeed, behind them — faint, but certain — came the shuffle and drag of a thousand heavy feet. The horde.

Pebblesong’s breath hitched as Bhakris gasped, eyes fluttering open, pulled back from the edge of the afterlife by her touch. In that moment, he had seen paradise — halls of light and glory, warriors greeted by the gods — and had felt the shame of being turned away. When his eyes opened, it was not to glory but to mud and smoke and the unrelenting stench of decay.

They fled.

The moonlight caught their silhouettes as they stumbled through the quagmire — Hat’s small frame darting ahead, Bartholemeow’s feline form bounding in the muck, Waer’dara’s spider form gliding eerily silent as she bore Bhakris across her back, his limp body secured in webbing. Pebblesong whispered spells between gasping breaths, calling gusts of clean air to swirl around them as foul gases bubbled up from beneath the peat. Thalmiir pushed forward, half carrying, half dragging where needed, his thick legs churning the water. It was slow, grueling work, and every heartbeat carried the fear that the next breath might bring poison or death.

But Pebblesong’s magic held. Her tiny cyclones of fresh air whirled around their heads, cutting through the swamp’s miasma, giving just enough clarity to move forward. When at last their boots found solid earth, they crested a low rise, and beyond it — faint torchlight. The farm.

Relief washed through the group, though no one dared say it aloud. They had seen too much of hope betrayed.

As they neared the palisade, a shout rang out: “Halt! Identify yourselves!”

The gate guard’s voice was shaky, uncertain. Bartholemeow stepped forward, his whiskers glinting in the torchlight, and raised his pan flute with a tired grin. A trill of playful notes drifted through the night. A tune of life — defiant in a land of death.

The guard squinted, then laughed. “I’ve not heard the dead play like that before! You don’t look much better than corpses, but I’ll take it.”

The gates creaked open, and the weary adventurers stumbled through.

Inside, the smell of hay and bread — real bread, warm and alive — filled their lungs. It was a smell that nearly broke them. They collapsed inside the communal hall, half from exhaustion, half from relief. Waer’dara shed her monstrous form, silk dissolving to dust, and cleaned the grime from them all with a whispered spell. They emerged gleaming — ragged, torn, but clean, as though newly reborn from the swamp’s filth.

They slept.

Thalmiir took first watch, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jory, the farmhand who paced between gates like a man condemned. The night was quiet but not still. Far out in the fields, the faintest movements — slow, uncertain, the dead without direction. Thalmiir’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his axe. “They’re stragglers,” Jory whispered. “We watch, we don’t wake the folk unless they come close.”

So he watched. And for the first time in days, nothing came.

Dawn broke thin and gray. Inside the hall, the others stirred, aching but alive. Old Gran, the Wheat Whisperer, arrived first — her sharp eyes missing nothing. She ushered them toward the bunkhouse with a firm hand and a gentle voice. “You’re no use to anyone half-dead. Rest.”

They did. And when the sun rose higher, they woke to the smell of butter and bread once more.

At lunch, the farmers gathered. Barold, stern-faced and broad, waited with questions. Bartholemeow sat upon a stool, strumming his lute, and began to sing.

He told of their journey — of the bog, the hag, the dead. Of the broken tower and the cursed circle of stones. Of Bhakris’s fall and Thalmiir’s wrath. Of Pebblesong’s small miracles and Waer’dara’s silent devotion. His words painted light across shadow, truth through fear. The tale wove around the hearth, and even Barold’s hard eyes softened.

When he finished, silence fell.

Old Gran spoke first. “The stones beneath Sorrow’s Rest… old magic. Our stories tell of such things. There was a ritual once, long forgotten — tied to our tree.”

At that, Pebblesong’s brow furrowed. She asked to see the tree — the one that had stood as long as memory. Outside, it shimmered pale and strong, its silver bark gleaming in the midday light. She knelt, whispering to the earth, feeling its pulse. It was alive — far older than it should be, and blessed by something deep and ancient. Her magic tingled against its unseen aura: neither holy nor foul, but balanced, as though life and death met in truce beneath its roots.

Inside, Bhakris questioned the old woman further, curious of the tree’s tale. Gran smiled wistfully. “It’s older than us all. Maybe older than this world. Some say the fey brought it, others say the gods planted it to remind us that all things grow from death. It’s a good tree.”

A good tree — but its heart hummed with secrets.

Talk turned to the bodies. To the cart. To the endless tide of undead. The realization came slowly: the corpses were being delivered to the swamp. Carted in from elsewhere. The dead were not of this place — they were fuel for something older, darker, and deliberate.

And yet, in all of this, hope remained — a thread of it, glinting like silver beneath the grime.

The hag had spoken of a ritual that could protect the land. A blade untouched by blood. The ashes of a hero. A tree that had seen too many seasons. Pebblesong’s eyes met Barold’s as he glanced toward the metal box upon his mantel. “The ashes,” he muttered. “We’ve got those, at least.”

“Then we can help,” she said.

And so they began to plan. Hat — ever the tinkerer — would forge the blade. Pebblesong would return to the hag. Thalmiir would stand watch. Bhakris, haunted still by the vision of Valhalla denied, would seek redemption through service. Bartholemeow would write their tale, to remind the living that light still sings against the dark. Waer’dara would bind their purpose together, her magic the silk that held their fragile hope intact.

Outside, the wind whispered through the birch leaves — westward, toward the river, toward whatever fate awaited them beyond the bog.

For now, they had survived. For now, the farm still stood.

But far to the north, in the swamp where the mist hung heavy, something stirred.

Session Notes

  • Opening context recap (DM Ben):

    • The party was recruited by the mysterious benefactor Sterling to travel to Seacomer, a boomtown where wealthy factions were pursuing the Urn of Chauntea. Sterling doubted the urn’s existence but believed there were opportunities in the city.
    • After arriving, the group sought a base, learned local facts, and connected with a bakery suffering a wheat shortage.
    • Investigating the wheat issue led to the farm that usually supplied it; that farm had been plagued by undeath.
    • The party entered the swamp, encountered the Hag of the Bog, and found a defeated Sereth the Hollow-Voiced, apparently central to some necromantic activity.
    • They unearthed historical information at Sorrow’s Rest.
    • A horde of zombies attacked during the night; the party fled, having just dispatched four of their five swiftest pursuers. Bhakris was down and bleeding out while a battered but still dangerous undead (a ghoul/ghast) threatened.

  • Combat conclusion against the last pursuer:

    • Bartholomeow attempted to attack the remaining undead but failed, noting he had no bonus actions left.
    • Thalmiir declared a reckless attack and landed a critical hit with his axe, dealing heavy damage and killing the creature (split from neck to torso). His rage effect was noted as having ended just before damage calculation but the kill stood.
    • With the immediate foes down, combat ended, though a larger horde was still approaching in the distance.

  • Stabilizing Bhakris and immediate retreat:

    • Bhakris rolled a death save and suffered a natural 1 (two failed death saves).
    • Pebblesong used a healer’s kit to stabilize Bhakris (no medicine check required), preventing further death saves.
    • Bhakris experienced a near-death vision: angelic figures escorting a mighty warrior to the afterlife; one looked back with disdain as Pebblesong’s words and care drew him back.
    • Thalmiir hoisted Bhakris over his shoulder to carry him during the retreat.

  • Decision to flee and travel pace:

    • The group assessed they could outpace the zombies at a normal travel speed; moving faster in the dark would be harder.
    • They proceeded at a steady pace with the intent to stay ahead of the horde.

  • Obstacle—patch of swamp gas (night travel):

    • The party smelled noxious fumes—a gassy swamp hazard previously encountered (now a CON check at DC 14).
    • Pebblesong proposed repeatedly casting a small gust cantrip (a 5-foot cube breeze) to clear pockets of gas for the group.
    • Adjudication approach: If Pebblesong succeeded at a challenging Perception (Wisdom) check to time and place the gusts, everyone else would avoid disadvantage and gain advantage on their CON checks. Thalmiir would augment this by pathfinding and toughing it out using an Athletics (CON) check.
    • Pebblesong succeeded on the Perception check, effectively managing gas pockets.
    • Thalmiir attempted Athletics (CON); after initially failing, he used inspiration to reroll and passed (Bhakris was being carried and did not roll).
    • Other members rolled their CON checks; enough successes were achieved for the party to pass the obstacle collectively, despite Waer’dara (in giant spider form) failing her own CON check.
    • The group emerged from the gas area and reached the edge of the bog near Baroldson’s Farm around 3:00 a.m.

  • Assessing the fields near Baroldson’s Farm (pre-dawn):

    • Perception checks by Bartholomeow and Pebblesong: no zombies detected nearby; wheat plants showed only older disturbances (not fresh trampling).
    • Pebblesong, with a critical success, heard trailing undead far behind—distant enough not to pose an immediate threat, and notably no ghoul/ghast vocalizations were heard.
    • The party decided to hustle to the palisade.

  • Approach to the palisade and gate exchange:

    • At about 100 yards from a torch-lit gate, a farmhand (identified as Jory) challenged them: “Halt! Identify yourselves! Are you dead?”
    • The party continued advancing; Bartholomeow played pan flute (“tootily-toot”) as friendly identification.
    • A Performance check from Bartholomeow was successful; as they entered the torchlight, Jory acknowledged they didn’t look or sound like the walking dead, despite their bedraggled state.
    • Waer’dara, previously in giant spider form, reverted to her drow shape before entering to avoid alarming the locals.
    • Gate opened; gate closed behind them. Jory invited them to the hall to rest (noting they looked exhausted).

  • Initial rest logistics inside Baroldson’s settlement:

    • The hall also serves as a sleeping space; quiet was requested.
    • The party sought rest; Thalmiir, being less injured, volunteered to assist on watch at the gates.
    • Jory had been solo-patrolling among four gates; Thalmiir took two gates while Jory covered the other two, rotating after an hour.

  • Night watch observations:

    • Thalmiir made a Perception check and observed a few isolated walkers (“stragglers”) in the fields, not a horde.
    • Jory’s protocol: report any sightings so workers can be careful; do not wake the settlement unless numbers are large or the undead approach the palisade.
    • No escalation occurred; the rest of the party received an uninterrupted short rest and then continued resting.

  • Morning interactions—Old Gran and relocation for sleep:

    • At dawn, Old Gran (the Wheat Whisperer) entered the hall, spotted the party, and asked after Thalmiir (on watch).
    • Old Gran directed the group to the bunkhouse to finish resting; Barold initially seemed inclined to interrupt, but Old Gran overrode him to prioritize the party’s recovery.
    • The party completed a long rest by midday.

  • Midday meal and debrief setup:

    • The party returned to the hall for lunch (simple, quality fare: bread with butter, dried fruit).
    • Barold pressed for information about the increasing zombies approaching the settlement; Old Gran wanted the party to eat first, but Barold prevailed on moving to the debrief.

  • Bartholomeow’s prepared performance (the debrief “epic poem”):

    • Bartholomeow delivered a prepared performance recounting the expedition; he received advantage due to preparation and Guidance from Pebblesong, resulting in a very high success (noted roll 22 on persuasion/performance).

    • Content emphasis in the performance:

      • The Hag of the Bog portrayed as a positive, if slow-acting, force of nature.
      • The broken tower housed a powerful, evil sorcerer; nightmares emanating from this entity could invade dreams anywhere in the swamp.
      • Sereth the Hollow-Voiced, a lieutenant figure tied to the tower, was defeated after an epic battle.
      • At Sorrow’s Rest, the group uncovered ancient stone monoliths; the uncovering itself was dramatic and highlighted.
      • The party’s flight through the swamp involved repeated fights with undead and numerous kills, including Bhakris’s near-sacrifice to protect companions.

  • Clarifying details and Q&A with Barold and Old Gran:

    • On the broken tower and dreams: It could reach the party through nightmares; the Hag had intervened to draw them to her sanctuary.

    • On zombie intent and Sereth’s role:

      • Written orders recovered from Sereth suggested the undead were not supposed to go toward Baroldson’s Farm; the drift of zombies toward the farm was not intended.
      • Even after Sereth was killed, some undead kept rising (bodies on a cart), indicating the process persisted beyond his direct control.

    • On the source of bodies: The group had observed corpses on a cart used to supply materials for raising undead; the ultimate source remained unknown.

    • Map to the tower: The party produced a map, found on corpses at an abandoned campsite, indicating the tower lies about six days into the swamp. Old Gran remarked that this distance explains why locals hadn’t seen it.

    • Barold’s concern: He prioritized immediate defense and understanding the threat to the settlement; he was skeptical of going to Seacomer for help.

  • Discussion about the central tree at Baroldson’s Farm:

    • Old Gran described the tree as ancient, possibly touched by enchantment or fey origin; it is central to the settlement’s identity.

    • She referenced tattered lore passed from grainspeaker to grainspeaker about a great ritual connected to their tree and to something in the bog; details are fragmentary and confused.

    • Waer’dara stated that the Hag of the Bog blessed the tree.

    • Pebblesong examined the tree outdoors:

      • Nature check: The birch is larger and older-seeming than typical for its species; this is well outside the normal range.
      • Detect Magic (ritual): The tree and its immediate area radiate an aura akin to consecration/desecration in a neutral way, similar to the aura felt at the stone circle near Sorrow’s Rest.
      • Orientation: The tree’s natural arc/lean points generally west, not toward the bog (north) or Sorrow’s Rest (north-northwest).
      • Cartographic triangulation (Pebblesong using cartographer’s tools): Confirmed that the stone circle was oriented roughly toward Baroldson’s Farm. The tree itself did not appear to “point” toward Sorrow’s Rest; instead, its arc suggested west (toward the Delimber River/woodlands), though this could be natural growth rather than an intentional sign.
      • No overt magical runes or anomalous animal behavior were observed at the tree.

  • Protective ward plan via the Hag’s instructions:

    • The party recalled the Hag’s protective rite requiring:

      1. Ashes of someone who died protecting another, and
      2. A blade that has never touched blood.

    • Barold and Old Gran looked meaningfully at a metal box on the mantel, implying suitable ashes might be available.

    • Discussion of the blade:

      • A scythe or other farm blade likely hadn’t touched blood (though Barold hinted at one exception).
      • Hat could potentially craft a new knife/blade; there was joking caution about not drawing blood in the process. Puppet was mentioned as an alternative maker.
      • The settlement does not have a resident smith; a smith from Seacomer visits occasionally but is not due soon.

  • Junior and the cart lead:

    • Barold mentioned Junior had been talking about having seen a cart (possibly the corpse wagon); a child was sent to fetch Junior.
    • The party was asked to describe the cart to see if it matched what Junior had seen.

  • Geography and possible next steps:

    • Old Gran and others summarized the westward terrain: farming worsens away from the bog; further west are woods, then the Delimber River, and beyond that the High Forest.

    • The party noted that moving west (away from the bog) might mean encountering fewer undead.

    • Thalmiir suggested raising the matter at Seacomer, but Barold doubted it would help; nonetheless, the party considered that route.

    • Priority discussion:

      • Strong inclination to protect Baroldson’s Farm first by completing the Hag’s warding ritual (using the mantel ashes and a bloodless blade) to secure the wheat supply and safeguard the settlement.

      • Thereafter, the party could pursue leads such as:

        • The corpse cart’s origin and route (including Junior’s sighting),
        • Further investigation of the stone circle and tree orientation,
        • The tower deep in the bog (now mapped), acknowledging its distance (~six days) and danger.

  • Session endpoint:

    • The party concluded that they had escaped the bog, reached Baroldson’s Farm, rested, debriefed Barold and Old Gran, verified tree lore and magic, and outlined the Hag’s ward plan.
    • Immediate next likely actions discussed: obtain ashes and a bloodless blade, possibly craft the blade locally, and return to the Hag to enact the protective ritual before embarking on further exploration.