Following the harrowing battle in Rivière Dorado, the Feinting GOATs
returned to the Clockwork Citadel with the remains of Soren Vale. Driven
by Elyn's grief, they sought out the Pantheon's priests to request a
resurrection. A wise cleric counseled them to first use *Speak with
Dead*, warning that souls often do not wish to return. The ritual was
successful, and Elyn had a final, bittersweet conversation with her
father, Victor Offheart. He confirmed he was finally at peace, free from
the Sigil of Lies, and had no desire to come back. He answered three of
their questions, revealing that the leaders of the balds were a council
of six leaders who decided the bearers of the Sigils, naming "Baba Izza"
as one of them, but claiming to know the others only by their Sigil
names. His final words were a warning to Elyn: the Sigil would now seek
her out. The party then returned to Rivière Dorado for a solemn, quiet
funeral, giving Elyn's sister Lorandor what little closure they could.
With that grim duty done, the party followed the Yakuza's trail to the
ancient Tomb of Akenuta. Inside the dusty ruin, they discovered a
scout's log, a chilling account warning them of cursed coins and a
great, sealed door with a scarab lock. Heeding the warnings, they
located the door and, with Akemi’s keen ear for music guiding their
efforts, they solved the complex audio-mechanical puzzle. The chamber
beyond held a bizarre anomaly: a shimmering portal like a black hole in
the floor of the temple, a thick rope descending taughtly into its dark
void. Wary but resolute, Elyn sent her Autrone-crafted mechanical scout
down the rope; when its sensors indicated it was being pulled down from
above, Korloth decided to take the lead. He began to climb, followed by
Cut-Cut, Adrian, and Elyn. Under their combined weight, the rope
snapped. The rest of the party, after disabling a mechanical scarab that
they discovered floating above the portal (which then immediately fell
into the portal), leapt into the strange portal after their falling
companions.
They landed hard in a humid, primeval jungle. The scarab arrived too,
but it was smashed beyond repair. Above them were huge, floating
islands, an unmoving sun at its zenith, and a horizon that seemed to
curve upwards. The sight was unsettling to all. For Lenti, the
experience was profoundly jarring, as the familiar Mycelial Network of
her people was gone, replaced by a single, ancient, and overwhelming
presence. The portal they had arrived through vanished, leaving them
stranded. Almost immediately, a patrol of Nithian guards discovered
them. Their leader, Commander Tarik, was wary, but Adrian, using his
newfound ability to speak any language, acted as spokesperson.
Recognizing Adrian's celestial features and religious trappings, Tarik
assumed he was a wayward Azcan priest who had fallen from the floating
continent of Aeria—a rare but known occurrence. Playing along with this
assumption, the party was escorted to the pristine city of Aten-Ra.
There, the ancient Pharaoh Akhentep IV informed them that while a treaty
obligated him to help, their only skyship, the Benu Boat, had been
stolen by the Hutaakans.
After a day's journey across treacherous rope bridges—made more stable
by the party's own ropework—they arrived at the Valley of the Dogs.
There, they met the Hutaakan leader, Pharaoh Anpuhotep, who surprisingly
revealed he knew they weren't Azcans but was willing to negotiate for
his own purposes. Instead of returning the boat to the Nithians, the
party struck a deal directly with him: the Hutaakans would ferry them to
Aeria in exchange for the party delivering a sealed ancestral chest to
the "Overworld." The pact was sealed as a magical red dagger
materialized, binding Adrian to an oath he made the rest of the party
swear not to break.
Aboard the Benu Boat, they sailed to the floating continent of Aeria, a
land of cloud-wreathed ziggurats and soaring Feathered Serpents. There,
they were brought before the High Shaman, Xicalancatl, a wise and
perpetually intoxicated figure. The party eagerly embraced the Azcan's
spiritual and herbal practices. Korloth immediately entered a vision
quest guided by an astral projection of the shaman. Lenti, with Bao
Bao's aid, went to commune with a nearby Prototaxus forest. The rest of
the party assisted Adrian in the "Ritual of the Dreaming Serpent's Rest"
to craft his sacred dream pillow. After their individual quests, the
rest of the party undertook a group vision quest. When they awoke a day
and a half later in a jungle clearing beneath Aeria, they had no memory
of how they got there, but their pockets were full of strange herbs, and
they possessed an innate knowledge of where they were and where they
needed to go next.
Their path home, they now knew, lay through the great volcano Ix-Chel's
Maw, a week's trek away. Their journey began in Trin territory. Though
Cut-Cut's pheromonal senses allowed them to avoid several packs, they
were eventually forced into a direct confrontation. The party rallied
around Cut-Cut, protecting her from the Trin's savage attempts to
capture her. Lenti assumed a fungal hulk form, and the party fought with
brutal efficiency, slaying all eight Trin, even hunting down those who
tried to flee. In the aftermath, Cut-Cut discovered a Trin memory
crystal, which granted her a staggering vision of her people's true,
forgotten history. Two days later, while Korloth was hunting, his
powerful fire spell glanced harmlessly off a T-Rex, revealing it as
something far more dangerous. The creature reverted to its true
three-headed dragon form—a Gorynych. The battle was fierce; Elyn’s
summoned "Myrtle's Maddening Mother" provided a crucial distraction, and
while Akemi disapproved of the hunt, the party’s warriors, Cut-Cut and
Korloth, dealt immense damage. Bao Bao's healing kept Korloth standing
after a vicious mauling, allowing him to land a devastating critical hit
that turned the tide. After another day spent harvesting the dragon and
T-rex carcasses, Elyn animated the Gorynych's skeleton as her new
minion, and the party rescued a clutch of a dozen viable eggs from its
cave, with Adrian and Akemi each taking responsibility for them.
Finally reaching Ix-Chel's Maw, the party found the caldera filled with
lava and haze. Korloth sensed the portal hidden within. The party
wrapped themselves in fire-proof gorynich hide and jumped in. After the
entered, they landed on a small island surrounded by lava at the
half-way point. A single Lava Child appeared, wary but curious. It
expressed a desire to eat the "celestial-tainted" Adrian but was
placated by Korloth's connection to the forge. It gifted Korloth the
Heartstone of Khumbaba and, recognizing Elyn's chaotic nature, gave her
the lost Holy Symbol of Rakkizibar. Taking the gifts without question,
the party took the first opportunity to leap into the next section of
the portal. They emerged, tumbling out of the caldera of Mauna Taimana,
back in Korloth's homeland on Alluria, the perilous journey over, but
with new quests and profound burdens to carry forward.
Note: The following writings are from the character's perspective and are often private to the character. They are not considered "in-game" knowledge to the other characters, and any in-character reference to this information would be considered meta-gaming.
Adventure Log by Syd McVay
The journey from Rivière Dorado to
Rel’Amatha, where the citadel stood, weighed heavily on me. I had to lie
to my sister—tell her we hadn’t found our father yet—because I couldn’t
bear to break her heart if I didn’t have to. When I arrived, I explained
to the priests that my father had died and asked if there was a way to
bring him back. They warned me that not all spirits wished to return,
but through the ritual held in the In-Between Room, I could communicate
with him. I would only be allowed three questions.
Before proceeding, I discussed with my team what questions we should
ask. I realized this wouldn’t be the conversation I had hoped for—it
wouldn’t be the reunion I needed. Akemi had recently deciphered notes we
stole from a deceased Yakuza member and revealed that, while we had
disrupted some of their plans, we hadn’t stopped them. Strangely, our
objectives overlapped; they were after the same items we sought.
Fortunately, Akemi had managed to evade their radar—they knew of her,
but did not yet perceive her as a threat. This organization was backed
by a benefactor we knew little about. Worse, the Yakuza had access to
technology we couldn’t begin to comprehend—teleportation among them.
Spies within the citadel seemed highly likely.
Armed with this knowledge, we knew the three questions we had to ask.
They would be about this group, their benefactor, and the inner workings
of the corruption that threatened us. The priest performed the ritual,
then stepped out, leaving us alone with my father’s spirit.
I was the one to speak first.
My voice barely held as I asked the most painful question of all: did he
want to return to life, to reunite his soul with his body? Victor
hesitated before admitting that he had no desire to return. He felt a
quiet relief now—no longer bound by a life of deception and duty. I
tried to accept it, but a single tear escaped, tracing a silent path
down my cheek. This was my last conversation with the father I had
wanted but never truly had. And yet, I still had more to ask.
I swallowed the grief and pressed forward. Now was not the time to .
We set out for the tomb of Akemuta, only to arrive and find every guard
dead. Cut Cut’s keen tracking skills revealed that others had passed
through—some as recently as 24 hours ago, others long before. I pushed
ahead, combing the area for traps and magical locks. The tomb was
littered with them, though many had already been triggered by whoever
came before us.
One magical lock nearly bested us. It was a golden scarab enchanted with
a musical puzzle. We struggled until Akemi, with her sharp understanding
of sound, guided us through—matching tones to patterns until the
enchantment broke. Beyond the threshold lay a room overflowing with
treasure and coveted artifacts. But the decoded notes we had retrieved
warned us that it was all a trap—had we reached for the gold, mummies
would have descended upon us.
Instead, our attention was drawn to a peculiar black hole. It wasn’t
just an absence of light—it shimmered like a layered distortion of
reality. A rope dangled into its depths. To test its safety, I sent my
unseen servant downward. Connection was lost after 200 feet. The hole
stretched endlessly.
With no alternatives, Korloth took the lead. He gripped the rope
tightly—his sheer size testing its strength. I followed after him. As we
descended, the air grew heavier, pressing against us like an unseen
force. Cut Cut, worried, joined us. Adrian followed soon after. Then the
rope gave way.
We plummeted.
Adrian and I managed to hover, but only barely. Cut Cut scrambled onto
her wasp, while Korloth continued to fall unchecked. Flying wasn’t a
viable option—something about the pull of the void distorted gravity
itself. I wasn’t sure if I would survive this descent, and nausea
churned in my gut.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Still, we fell.
Just when hope seemed to slip, the end came into sight. We slowed,
finally, until Korloth vanished below. Then, I landed—softly,
impossibly—on solid ground. I stepped aside as my companions arrived one
by one.
The world around us was unnatural. The sun blazed brighter than any I
had seen, casting an eerie glow over the towering jungle and pyramids
ahead. We sought a pharaoh—Akenapu IV. His people found us first and
escorted us to his court. Adrian’s religious standing had, apparently,
already secured a treaty—though none of us had brokered it.
It seemed that, every so often, people from our world would find
themselves stranded here. The locals were accustomed to sending them
home. However, the boat used for the passage back had been stolen.
I attempted to explore the kingdom, but the guards unnerved me—they
could see me even while I was invisible. That was uncomfortable.
Our answers lay with the Hutaakan, the thieves. Three grueling days
through the jungle led us to the outskirts of their domain. Cut Cut and
I scouted the safest entrance. It didn’t matter. The Hutaakan leader
found us first, and he already knew who we were. He didn’t care—as long
as we agreed to carry a sealed box for him.
The price of opening the box? Adrian’s life.
With little choice, we accepted the terms. In return, we reclaimed the
stolen boat and set sail toward yet another continent.
There, we blended into the diverse groups following a powerful shaman,
disguising Adrian among them. My skills ensured no one questioned it. We
were led to the high shaman—Xicalancatl. Upon stepping into his chamber,
we were assaulted by unfamiliar scents—smoke, decay, an intoxicating
blend of herbs and fungi.
He offered us guidance. If we wanted truth, we needed to see it.
Each of us embarked on a personal vision quest.
Boa Boa and Linti sought their connection to the mycelium, drawn toward
something unseen. Akemi and I assisted Adrian in crafting a dream
pillow—his means of communing with his ancestors.
When my turn came, the vision pulled me to a still pool. I stared at my
reflection. My true reflection. I had grown so accustomed to the mask I
wore that seeing myself clearly felt jarring.
Then, another face appeared in the water—my father.
Victor’s lips did not move, but his voice filled my mind. He warned me
of the schedule. The schedule of lies. The carefully laid manipulations
that controlled people like us. He told me that my strength didn’t lie
in deception, but in embracing my true potential. I was faced with a
choice—let the lies consume me, or step into the unknown and become the
very thing I feared.
A vision unfolded—the suffocating coils of a serpent, twisting in
chaotic energy. Then, it vanished.
When I awoke, I was in the woods, my companions beside me, their pouches
inexplicably full of herbs and substances from the ritual. We knew where
to go next—an unspoken understanding.
Korloth and Cut Cut, however, broke from the path, deciding to hunt one
of the strange creatures native to this land. It backfired.
What had seemed like a simple lizard turned out to be a three-headed
dragon.
They fought well, with Boa Boa’s healing keeping them standing. I kept
to the outskirts, experimenting with my new abilities—finding small
successes, distracting the beast. But I was growing restless with the
battle. I unleashed a powerful spell, draining the creature’s life force
entirely.
I won’t lie—it felt good after the week I’d had.
The dragon was now part of my undead army. I supposed I owed Korloth
some small thanks.
Our next step was the most absurd yet—we had to jump into a volcano.
Once again, we dove headfirst into another black hole. The sensation was
all too familiar. Falling. Slowing. Then speeding up once more. I
clenched my stomach, knowing the nausea would return.
Midway, Marquis landed on an island and encountered a volcano child—a
grotesque being of molten energy. It recognized Korloth and me, sensing
the chaos within us. We were given gifts. Then, we left as quickly as
possible.
The fall stretched on—another ten minutes. Then, like before, we slowed
and landed softly.
To survive the volcano’s heat, we had apparently fallen inside a dragon
carcass warped into the shape of a bag.
Not my finest hour.
At last, Korloth realized where we had landed—his homeland. His family
was nearby.
For now, our journey had reached its end. I needed time to process
everything—the visions, the battles, the secrets, and the choices yet to
come.
Echo's Log by Syd McVay
The taste still lingered—smoky, rich, with a
tang of something ancient. Echo sighed, running his tongue over sharp
teeth, the remnants of dragon sinew stubborn between them. He flicked a
claw over his gums, scraping until the last bit came free and flicked
onto the dirt.
Once, a long time ago, he might have shuddered at this—at the way his
fingers now twitched hungrily at the scent of blood in the air, at how
the gnawing emptiness within him was no longer just hunger, but
something deeper, more insidious. Something that whispered in the quiet
moments, when battle died down and he was left with nothing but his own
thoughts.
He was not made for this—not this level of combat, this constant warfare
with creatures whose throats he was forced to leave unbitten. He was not
made to sit in councils, debating treaties and alliances, forcing his
lips into shapes that resembled civility when all he wanted was the
satisfaction of snapping bone between his teeth.
Oh, how difficult restraint had become.
The days bled together, stretching like sinew pulled too taut. Each
interaction was agony—a slow chipping away at the remnants of what he
had been. What was left of his reasoning? It flickered in brief moments,
in the way he still scowled at the taste of charred meat, remembering
that once, he might have preferred something simpler. In the way he
still hesitated before tearing into a kill, wondering if there should be
guilt buried somewhere in that impulse.
But the hesitation was thinning.
He was off his ship, yes. No longer bound to the endless rocking of the
waves, no longer confined to the suffocating familiarity of it. It
should have felt freeing. But instead, his mind felt looser, unmoored in
a way that was dangerous. There were too many creatures, too many
voices, too many mouths speaking instead of screaming. And all of
them—every single one—was a meal he was forced to ignore.
It wasn’t natural.
Then there was Philip Poss.
Echo narrowed his eyes, watching the creature skitter about, its
existence a relentless insult. Had it always been this maddening? Had it
always twitched in ways that made Echo’s fingers itch? Had its scent
always clung to the air with such… suggestion?
Elyn would never allow it. That much, Echo knew. She saw things in
creatures that he simply couldn’t—patterns, worth, loyalty. He saw
sustenance. And yet, even now, even as the edges of his mind frayed
further, even as the hunger clawed at his ribs more viciously, he stayed
his hand.
For now.
Echo let out a slow breath, staring at the horizon. One day. One day, he
would slip away from this madness, find himself among creatures who did
not care for restraint. Until then, he would endure. And complain. And
wait for the inevitable—when the last fraying thread finally snapped,
and the hunger became all that remained.
Because the truth was undeniable now. The humanity was leaving him. Bit
by bit. And he wasn’t sure he minded.
Letter to Master Kagemitsu at Tengai-no-mori Monastery by Caylen
Redden
Dear Master,
As promised, we took the body of Soren Vale to the Citadel in order to attempt a resurrection, but unfortunately his spirit was unwilling to return. Using a spell to speak with the dead, Elyndra was at least able to ask him some questions, and although we learned little of use about the “balds” and their mysterious sigils, I hope the conversation gave her some sense of closure. As I suspected, it seems likely that she will be forced to bear the sigil of lies. I am not sure whether it would be better to first seek a balancing sigil, such as the one I was given, or for her to accept the sigil of lies immediately in order to keep it out of others’ hands. I am still not entirely certain how “lost heirs” are chosen. Elyndra has a sister who is also a daughter of Soren Vale; would she not have equal claim to his inheritance? While I believe Elyndra has the strength and knowledge (as much as any of us have) to bear a sigil safely, but I cannot say the same about Lorandor. I am also concerned for her safety, because if she is equally able to claim (or be claimed by) her father’s sigil and this information is known to or discovered by our enemies, they may attempt to coerce her to serve their ends. She might also be harmed or threatened in an attempt to influence Elyndra. A circus performer stands little chance against the Yakuza, let alone other forces who may be involved, so she, and possibly others close to Elyndra, will need to be monitored and protected.
With the solemn business of Soren Vale’s funeral concluded, we were soon off on the next adventure. There is much to do, and the Feinting GOATs never stay still for long. I can’t tell you about every place we went or everyone we met along the way, but we traveled from Nithia all the way to Maukoru, Korloth’s homeland. During the trip, I did meet some others of my kin, and while the experience was not positive, it at least proved enlightening. Korloth and I also had the opportunity to battle a rare beast, and I will have an interesting souvenir for you next time I visit. I hope that will be soon, since we are once again closer to Mupalan, relatively speaking, of course. It may be a selfish hope, considering everything else that is going on, but if we do continue northeast from here, I would also like to return to the Ha’Chakik tribe on the way, even if only for a brief visit. Now that I am prepared, I am eager to complete the coming-of-age ritual, and I have several revelations about the Thri-kreen that need to be shared with more of my people. What occurred in the past may greatly affect our future on Alluria.
I apologize for the brevity of this letter, but I think most of our recent experiences are better left to be described in person. Also, I am a little pressed for time; Akemi has invited the GOATs to go out with her on a charitable mission this evening, distributing food to any in need. Our reputation is growing – people are beginning to recognize us even in places we’ve not previously visited – so it is important to create and maintain positive impressions. Not only is this important to the image of the Feinting GOATs, but it is also a chance to improve perceptions of Thri-kreen as well. I am perhaps not the ideal choice for a Thri-kreen ambassador, but since I find myself in this position of burgeoning celebrity status, I feel obligated to attempt to do some good with it. I am curious, Master, besides these letters (which I hope are successfully reaching you) have you heard any other news or tales of the Feinting GOATs at home? Perhaps I will find out for myself in a little while.
Best,
Cut-Cut