“Cease your interruptions, slug-thing, or I’ll have you toasted over an open fire.”
The Gathering Storm
The PCs are flying north into the Great Wood, a densely choked forest of incredible age. The wood is alive with strange noises, blinking eyes, and strong smells of musk, rot, and sugar.
The Great Wood has been affected by the coming influence of the Winter King, whose plots and madness are detailed in the new Pathfinder version of Courts of the Shadow Fey. As winter begins to hold sway, unseasonal storms lash the forest. With the storms comes the influence of the Moonlit King’s madness. The causes of these events are detailed further in the Courts of the Shadow Fey, but, for the purposes of this adventure, it is enough for the PCs to know that a cruel winter is upon the wood and that in the grip of its madness a giant has been driven insane. The giant—ordinarily a docile creature that cares for the wood and who has earned the name Verderer—has been driven mad by the Moonlit King’s song and raves about the wood with his axe, felling trees.
The PCs must travel to the giant and deal with the menace, one way or another…
“For the final time, come down off your perch and sit.” “But, master, the cat’s boils . . .” “. . . Can wait. I want to tell you a story.”
This entry and the next entries for Your Whispering Homunculus are unusual, for this time you’ll see no quirky lists, no strange nonplayer characters, no gazetteer of unusual hats, and no small talk. The next entries contain an adventure called Nevermore.
Nevermore is an unusual, short, 2nd-level Pathfinder adventure in which the players take on the roles of an awakened ravens who nest in a single great tree and who call themselves the Great Unkindness. It can be modified easily for 1st-5th level as required. The eldest raven is beginning to sense that something is going wrong with the world, and the very future of the Great Unkindness is threatened.
“Ah, my old adventurer’s tent. How much I miss the days of my youth when I’d gad about the countryside, chasing this purple temple or that magenta stronghold. How my young limbs used to love a stop in the dangerous wilderness and break my fast with spring water and berries.”
“Whereas now your regal buttocks become inflamed unless they are warm and cozy on your mighty mattress.”
“True, slug-mother, true. Now get my warming pan ready and boil me some frothy milk for my supper or I’ll have you lashed.”