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The forest falls quiet around you as you step into the clearing. The trees are taller here, bending inwards and shadowing the ground. The warmth of the sun doesn’t seem to reach you, leaving you shivering. Ahead of you, in the centre of the clearing, you see a stone altar. It is weathered and moss covered, but not cracked. Atop it, sits a terracotta amphora, sealed with a cork. The grass around it is overgrown, but you can make out the shape of steps leading up.
Eskel and Yennefer step forward and circle the altar at a cautious distance. Neither of them reaches out to touch.
(Can we see any markings? Or anything except the amphora?)
Save for the amphora, you see nothing. The stone is plain grey granite, utterly unadorned. There is no indication of who the altar is to, or who put it there.
‘We should leave,’ Geralt growls. ‘Something strange is going on here.’
‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Dandelion asks, pulling his lute from his back and strumming a simple chord.
‘He left it at home,’ Lambert jeers.
Over by the amphora, Yennefer is sinking to her knees, hands flaring purple as she chants under her breath. The purple fire writhes and twists before splitting off and surrounding the amphora, outlining it in a hazy purple glow.
‘Well, it’s definitely magical,’ she says, interrupting the building argument.
(Was that really worth burning a spell slot on? We could have guessed it was magical.)
(We’ve just rested, it’s fine. Besides, now we know nothing else in the clearing is magical. We don’t want a repeat of the lake incident, do we?)
‘Great. It’s magical. What are we going to do about it though?’ Lambert asks, throwing his hands up in the air.
‘Why do we need to do anything?’ Eskel queries, still studying the thing, his head tilted to one side. ‘It doesn’t seem to be doing anything.’
‘Does nothing about this scream 'trap' to you?’
Geralt stalks closer, one longsword in hand. He approaches from the front of the altar, slowly mounting the steps.
The amphora lies silent in front of him.
He reaches out with one gloved hand and pokes it with a fingertip. Behind him, he hears an indrawn breath of expectation.
(WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!)
(We’re all gonna die…)
(Inside voice please, Julian.)
(Time for a TPK, I guess…)
(Ciri, what have we said about touching the ominous objects?)
(Look, it’s not my fault Geralt can’t leave well enough alone, is it?)
Nothing happens.
(Huh.)
(Did you really think Ves would be that predictable?)
(You’re the one that yelled about it!)
Geralt picks up the amphora and spins it in his hands. He looks first at the cork, examining how securely it is fastened, then looks to see if there are any patterns painted on the outside.
The cork is pressed in deeply, so much so that you can see the indent the lip of the amphora is making in the side. The top is painted with a strange symbol, drawn in red. It looks a little like a snake and a little like a Gnomish letter.
(Do you have a picture?)
(Ves always has a picture, Ciri!)
(Quite right, Leo. Here, have a look.)
(Does anyone speak Gnomish?)
(Geralt doesn’t. He’s spent enough time around them to recognise the language if he saw it, but he can’t read it.)
(Triss? Yennefer has a lot of languages doesn’t she?)
(Yes, but they’re more focused on the Elven family. It’s a heritage thing for her, rather than a knowledge thing.)
(None of you speak Gnomish.)
(Does Geralt recognise the symbol?)
(Roll History.)
You don’t recognise the symbol, although you feel like you’ve seen it somewhere before. Your attention moves to the side of the amphora, which are simple, unpainted terracotta. Overall, it looks like a slightly old fashioned storage jar, possibly for flour or grains.
(Can I roll Religion for Yennefer?)
(Where is she standing?)
(Just here.)
(She wouldn’t be able to see from there.)
(Not even with her elf eyes?)
(This isn’t Lord of the Rings, Deidre…)
‘What’ve you found?’ Lambert asks from right behind Geralt.
Geralt jumps and whirls around.
(Roll me a dexterity save.)
(Shit.)
(Mind your language, Ciri.)
(Sorry, Grandpa.)
(To be fair, if you can’t swear at a nat 1, what can you swear at?)
(Exactly!)
(Deidre.)
(Sorry, Grandpa…)
You fumble the amphora and drop it.
Lambert lunges to try and catch it.
As you fumble, you flail and hit Lambert in the nose. In the confusion, both of you miss the amphora and it falls to the ground, cracking open.
(I don’t even get to roll?)
(Sorry, Leo. I think you’re a casualty of my nat 1)
A black mist begins to billow from the shards, boiling out into the cool air. It spreads out, spiralling up and up into the air, until it comes together in a vaguely humanoid figure, hovering above the altar.
‘Ohhhh, this is not good,’ Yennefer hisses, staring up at it.
‘What, by all the gods, is that?’ Eskel asks, taking a hasty few steps back.
‘Angry,’ Yennefer replies, drawing her Chaos to her.
‘WHO DARES DISTURB MY REST?’ the shade booms. You all cower back, covering your ears, not just at the volume, but also at the nails on chalkboard, untuned guitar dissonance of the sound.
Dandelion strums a jaunty little tune on his lute.
(I’m going to give inspiration to Geralt, since he’s closest.)
(Thanks, Julian.)
‘Just a party of weary travellers, passing through!’ Dandelion calls, his most winning smile on his face.
(Is the thing looking at Lambert?)
(Not that you can tell.)
(Lambert’s going to duck behind Geralt and I’m going to roll stealth)
(Leo, why is that your answer to everything?)
(Umm… because Rogue?)
Geralt, you are aware of Lambert ducking down behind you, but then you have no more attention to pay as the being laughs, a high, cruel sound that cuts through you, forcing you back five feet each.
‘YOU SHALL PAY FOR YOUR TRESPASS IN BLOOD,’ the shade booms.
(Roll initiative.)