TOPIC: R5 2024: The silent song of Quietdale

yes it is!

Session 4 (week 5)

Whispers in the Depths

The Iron Resolutes stirred from restless slumber, each haunted by fragments of a night shrouded in uncertainty. The air was thick with an unspoken dread, memories slipping through their fingers like smoke. Ayda, the warlock, clutched a lingering whisper from her dreams—a name: Haldo Oldfin. The urgency in her eyes compelled the Shockmaster and the rest to chase this elusive thread of fate.

Before they could depart, a relentless pounding echoed from the door. A collector from the Shield of the Magistrates stood sternly, demanding the ominous "monster tax." Tension crackled in the air, drawing out two figures from the adjacent room: Dwight, a hardened human fighter with eyes like cold steel, and Vik, a towering Goliath whose very footsteps seemed to quake the floorboards.

Bound by a shared curiosity, they journeyed to Haldo's abode. His wife greeted them with hollow eyes, insisting her husband had perished in battle years ago. When gestured to his belongings, the reply was that they were simply her visiting brother. Yet, contradictions laced her words, and as their probing intensified, her composure fractured. With a voice edged in desperation, she urged them to leave but not before casting a final, chilling clue: the unanswered secrets lurking in the sewers.

Descending into the underbelly of the city, the sewers greeted them with a familiar stench and an unsettling silence. Footsteps not their own echoed through the damp corridors. Senses heightened, Azrael wove a smokescreen spell, cloaking them in shadows. Chaos erupted as Vik found himself besieged by unseen assailants, blades flashing in the obscured gloom.

When the smoke cleared, the grim reality unveiled itself—an ambush by faceless assassins. Steel clashed and spells crackled; two foes fell, their lifeblood mingling with the stagnant waters, while the remaining shadows slipped away. The scent of death awakened a new horror: a carrion crawler, its grotesque form slithering toward them. With a thunderous incantation, the Shockmaster unleashed a lightning bolt, reducing the beast to smoldering remnants.

Deeper they ventured, drawn to a yawning pit that seemed to breathe beneath them. Manipulating rusted valves, they descended into the abyss, eyes fixed on a solitary chest bathed in darkness. Inside lay three ominous purple gems, pulsing with an otherworldly glow. As the Shockmaster commenced a ritual of identification, distant footsteps grew louder—heralds of impending doom.

From the shadows emerged two vampire spawn, their eyes gleaming with malevolent hunger. The battle was ferocious; necrotic claws tore through armor and flesh. The Shockmaster faltered, collapsing under the weight of their foul energies. With resolve hardened by desperation, the party fought back, finally reducing the creatures to dust. Bloodied and weary, they pressed onward.

The sewer gave way to an intricately carved corridor, walls adorned with cryptic symbols that seemed to writhe when unobserved. It was a passage not merely of stone, but of whispered malevolence—a gateway to something far more sinister.

Seeking respite, they slipped into a secluded chamber. One by one, exhaustion claimed them, and they drifted into a heavy sleep. Yet rest did not come. Instead, they found themselves inhabiting new bodies, trudging along a mist-laden path toward an unfamiliar village named Quietdale.

Sessions 5 and 6 - Memories laid bare

The Iron Resolutes plunged into the depths beneath Quietdale, shadows clinging to their every step. Haunted by visions of a half-century past, they sought the elusive Azrael and the formidable Kallig, a dragonborn Goliath whose very presence seemed to stir the air with ancient power.

In the dungeon's first chamber, ghostly orcs emerged from the darkness. Vik, the indomitable Goliath barbarian, and Dwight swiftly dispatched the apparitions, which dissolved into the ether with each fallen foe. The victory was fleeting. Pressing onward, Vik's impatience led him to kick open the next door, unwittingly triggering a cunning trap. A ruby, pulsing with enchantment, ensnared his gaze, leaving him oblivious to the insidious Black Pudding oozing toward them. Gar'deen, ever the vigilant, recognized the lurking peril. With a surge of psychic energy, he obliterated the gelatinous horror, freeing Dwight from its grasp.

Deeper they delved, entering a chamber that breathed of ancient riddles—a skeleton rested silently, walls adorned with torch slots, and a solitary chest beckoning from the center. Ignoring the ominous signs, Vik hewed the trapped chest with his axe. The room exploded in a burst of arcane energy, leaving him scorched and gasping. Only the swift, albeit unorthodox, healing slap from the paladin's lay on hands saved him from the brink.

Amidst the labyrinthine passages, a peculiar gnome appeared, claiming the subterranean realm as his abode. With a toothy grin, he handed Gar'deen a ledger—a chilling record of monster taxes exacted in Quietdale. Familiar names leapt from the pages, including their own, blurring the lines between past and present.

The air grew thick as they entered a vast hall, eyes—dozens of them—floating and watching from the gloom. The creatures attacked upon seeing Vik's brash entrance. Though the party vanquished these watchers, their demise unraveled a protective magic. The very walls seemed to breathe as unspeakable horrors stirred.

Drawn to a chest that seemed to pulse with a life of its own, they didn't notice the abomination coalescing behind them—a mass of pale, ravenous faces, countless limbs writhing and grasping. The False Hydra, a terror that feeds on forgotten memories, emerged to fulfill its insatiable hunger.





One by one, the Iron Resolutes fell. Ayda, with her last ounce of strength, cast Gaseous Form on Azrael, her whispered plea hanging in the air: escape, warn the others. As Azrael fled, the monstrous entity mutated, its ghastly limbs and heads erupting throughout Quietdale, reaching hungrily towards the heavens. The townsfolk, ensnared by the Hydra's song, became hollow vessels, their wills subjugated to its dark desires.

From a distant hill, Azrael watched in silent horror as the creature turned its many eyes toward the horizon—the King's City lay vulnerable under the impending shadow.

The true terror had only just begun.



The fate of the realm teeters on a knife's edge. As the False Hydra's influence spreads, heroes of unmatched valor are summoned. Will you stand against the encroaching darkness?

Next week's call to arms beckons: forge a level 12 champion, rally an army, and prepare for the epic finale.

The Silent Song must be silenced—once and for all—or the world will succumb to an eternal nightmare.

Hey everyone, apologies for the short notice, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight’s game. I've been dealing with the flu for the past few days. Regarding the Quietdale finale, we can either wrap it up as a one-shot later this year, or keep it going as a level 12 campaign next year.

Sorry again – I just don’t feel up to delivering the epic game this deserves right now. Let me know what you think.

Hi Rich!

Sorry to hear you are unwell.
Hope you feel better soon!

There will likely be opportunity to wrap this up in the first few weeks of December, if that works for everyone.

I can maybe do a one shot of Outgunned if folk are interested?
I need the practise running it in real time before next week.

If you are coming tonight to play Outgunned, you will need 9d6 and 1d12.

Looks like tonight is a wash, if only Ted and I are functional. See y'all next week.