A depressed black pudding, an elf-dwarf ettin and a chivalrous red dragon walk into a bar….
Roughly 5,000 years in the past, the Ghiscari army descends to Tirothil. Having conquered the entire massive continent of his self-named Ghiscar, Ancalagon the Black sets his army’s ruthless gaze on the Giant homeland, Tirothil, now mostly ruled by dwarves.
Fighting in the land bridge between the two, rumors circulate that Ancalagon has been missing. One or two month excursions have always been common, but it has been more like 6 months now without word or notice from their black wyrm tyrant leader.
Amidst that, three traveled adventurers seek a cure to a curse that has been thrust upon them by a mysterious quest giver. The search for this giver and the artifact bring them to a small fishing village you won’t find on any large map. The town of Rhory. Searching for a man named Ninki.
Being worried about being judged for appearances, they come to a small hut on the outside of town first for assistance, and after fending off a butcher’s knife from some mother, they get help. The postman/sherrif lends his aid, and eventually his boat to get the party where they need to go (for payment, of course).
They make it to Caer Wynn, which in a few hundred years will be colloquially (and eventually officially), Anghiscar’s Reach, meaning “Lord Ghiscar’s Reach”, for it’s at this tower’s location the Ghiscar empire is finally stopped and pushed back, the farthest they ever make it. Anghiscar’s Reach is known to be a pretty but crumbling and mundane tower of no interest. Plundered beyond use, all that remains for the majestic monument is the fall.
However, in this time, still old and overrun, it’s known to be a place of death. An inescapable trap. And they are headed inside. Because those are probably just stories, right? And the only cure to their curse may lie inside.
They ascend the steps, and begin their trek into the tower. Closer now, Ninki immediately affects an air of possession. First speaking to the air and performing weird mannerisms, but also displaying inexplicable knowledge of the tower and its…. inhabitants.
They fight their way through floor after floor of increasingly corporeal haunts or poltergeists. Bloody body-like phantasms that warn them at every turn to head back or die.
Suddenly, reaching another lower floor, the support gives way, and the party plummets into a black depth, gazed upon from above by the surrounding horrors.
Out of the ghostly frying pan, and into the eldritch horror fire, they find themselves in a pool of water beneath the tower surrounded by sleeping Aboleths, the most terrifying and ancient horror one could imagine. Dozens, dreaming…
There we left them…