Arden Vul Session 01
Facing Your Fears
Date: April 27, 2026
Party: Florian (bard), Lorez (wizard), Cedric (Fighter), Johannes (cleric), Runner (Ranger)
See the whole thing on my Arden Vul campaign page.
Sing, O memory, of those who pressed on through the shadowed halls,
who, their terror stilled for a breath, beheld the chamber of the throne.
There stood the seat, raised cunningly by mortal art, not godly power—
yet all the curving stone and painted line conspired to exalt it,
drawing the eye, bending the will, as if a king unseen still lingered there.
And near it lay the coffins of the honored—or the accursed—
set in their arc as witnesses eternal.
But one among them would not rest.
The red stone prison groaned with ceaseless fury:
a scratching without pause, a frantic clawing from within.
When struck, it answered—no dull echo, but a rising wail,
thin and sharp, as though despair itself had found a voice.
Iron nails, each marked with an unblinking eye, sealed fast the lid,
their symbols older than the gods now named.
What lay within had not forgotten the world of breath—
nor ceased its striving to return.
Then, turning from that dire portent, they marked the hidden seam,
the cunning work behind the throne.
Strong Cedric, with straining hand, drew forth the stone,
and opened up a passage into foulness and decay.
From that black throat there came a sound—no word, no beast’s full cry,
but something between, that stirred the marrow into dread.
Swiftly they sealed it,
choosing not yet to tempt what waited in that depth.
Onward they moved, retracing steps through the haunted chamber,
where the unseen guardian kept its silent watch.
No form it bore, yet near it pressed—a chill upon the air—
circling, pacing, bound to the heart of that accursed place.
Not hunter, but warden:
for it struck not those who clung to the margins,
but held dominion at the center,
where none might tread and live unmarked.
So, wary, they passed.
Beyond, another hall received them, gentler in aspect:
cool the air, and veiled with mist, as though the stone itself exhaled.
There rose a fountain, wrought in the likeness of a fish of bronze,
pouring forth clear water without source or end.
No channel drained it, yet it did not overflow—
a quiet wonder, set amidst dread.
Here too were signs of mortal passage—
footprints crossing to and fro, not yet erased by time.
And there they found their companion,
his spirit broken by the terrors he had faced.
About him, the walls were scarred with desperate marks,
cut deep by claw and hand alike,
stained with the memory of blood.
Whoever wrought them had not sought to claim this place—
but to flee it.
Yet even as aid was given and breath restored,
the unseen world took notice.
From the passage came a creature not of flesh, but craft:
a dragonfly of metal and cunning make,
its wings whispering, its jeweled eyes unblinking.
It hovered and turned, a silent witness,
measuring, remembering.
But Cedric, swift to wrath, struck it down.
It fell in ruin, reeking of strange fire.
Within its frame lay subtle workings and a shattered vial,
once filled with crimson draught, now lost to stone.
No maker’s mark declared its master.
Yet this was no wandering thing.
Some distant will had cast its gaze upon them—
and now that gaze was broken.
So there they rested, for a fleeting hour,
gathering strength against the trials yet to come.
But peace did not follow them.
For still the red prison rang with claw on stone.
Still the dark beyond the throne drew breath unseen.
And somewhere, in halls yet deeper,
an unseen watcher marked their passing
and found its silence disturbed.
