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The Dustrock Expedition
The morning light filtering through the high canopy of the High Forest did little to warm the cool mountain air near the Star Mounts. Sitting in a quiet tavern outpost in Silverglade, Heddterria was nursing a drink while two of her companions were leaving. One of them lit up a fragrant seaweed cigar on his way out, leaving behind a half-eaten psychedelic muffin on the wooden tabletop – a strange parting gift Hedd offhandedly pocketed for later.
“See you later Olwë”, said the bartender with a friendly smile. She then nodded her head and grunted dismissively at the other of the pair.
“I think she likes you Ernault”, Olwë whispered jokingly.
Before Heddtirria could finish her drink, two of her closest allies pushed through the tavern doors: Kip Tanglefist, a nimble Capuchin Monkey monk whose bright eyes were always scanning for trouble, and Ronej Thos, a well-read Harengon warlock whose cultured demeanor and social grace stood out in a rugged frontier tavern. They came and sat down and conversation flowed.
Their reunion was interrupted by the arrival of a local forest warden, her expression weighed down by worry.
“Dustrock Mine,” the warden explained, leaning over their table. “It used to be a profitable operation, but lately there have been sightings of strange, unnatural lights bobbing around the entrance, along with dubious reports of missing travelers. I sent a militia man out to investigate days ago, but he hasn’t returned. You three know these woods better than anyone. Figure out what’s happening out there, and there’s 100 gold pieces in it for you.”
As the warden stepped away, Heddterria’s attention flicked toward a table across the room. A weathered, elderly traveler sat alone, poring over a complex parchment map of the Star Mounts. His eyes reflected the dim lighting with an unnatural glimmer. Noticing Heddtirria’s keen eye on him, the old man motioned her over with a crooked finger.
“Do any of you know about maps?” he asked, his voice slow and deliberate.
As Hedd approached, the looked down. “Maps are funny things… They pretend the world stays still.”
He gestured to a section of the High Forest Hedd knew intimately, pointing out an apparent conflict in the ley lines. Puzzled by his dilemma, Hedd stepped closer to inspect the chart. To her astonishment, the parchment responded to the old man’s touch like magic: he pinched his fingers together to zoom into a local canyon, then dragged his palm across the ink to shift the terrain view effortlessly. Drawing on her deep knowledge of the region, Heddterria helped him reconcile the overlapping ley lines.
The old man looked at her thoughtfully, his gaze lingering. “Tell me… Do you always stay at the edges, or just when someone’s watching?”
Unsure of what to make of his cryptic query, Hedd offered a quiet polite nod. The trio gathered their gear and set out into the wilderness toward Dustrock Mine.
Into the Depths
The approach to the mine led them through an ancient, overgrown elven ruin that lined up with the stars above. The peaceful sanctity of the ruins was broken by a band of goblins. Three lay dead on the cracked flagstones while six survivors huddled nearby, shouting excitedly about “big bugs” that had taken their companions.
These were no ordinary goblins. Dark tendrils of smoky shadow curled off their skin, and their pitch-black eyes snapped toward the party with unnatural aggression. As the battle joined, a sudden, burning itch flared beneath Heddterria’s scalp—a warm sensation where her tiny tiefling-like horns would later begin to sprout. Kip darted between the corrupted creatures with blur-fast strikes while Ronej unleashed blasts of eldritch energy, scattering the surviving goblins into the brush.
Pressing onward toward the rocky outcrop, strange, pale lights could be seen bobbing in the distance. They reached the cave mouth, where a monstrous, armored Ankheg burst from the dirt alongside two shimmering Will-o’-Wisps. While the Wisps flickered away into the dark, the party put down the burrowing insectoid beast and plunged into the mine tunnels.
Following the damp passageways west, they turned a ninety-degree corner to find their path severed by a sudden, fifteen-foot-wide crevasse. A freezing draft howled upward from the abyss, whipping through the cavern.
While traversing the gorge in some precarious way would typically require precise timing against the gale-force updrafts, Kip bypassed the danger entirely. With incredible acrobatic ease, the capuchin monk scrambled directly across the sheer rock face to the far side, securing a line for the others.
The air in this ancient mining tunnel smells of wet slate, ozone, and the coppery tang of ankheg ichor from your recent kill. Ahead of you, the path abruptly ends, surrendering to a jagged, yawning fissure that tears through the floor of the tunnel like an old, unhealed wound. The silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic whistle of freezing air rising from the abyss—a subterranean gale that pulls at your cloaks and carries the faint, mournful scent of rot from somewhere miles below.
On one side opf the dark chasm, Kip Tanglefist hangs like a spider against the far wall. The dim light of your light sources flickers against the slick, uneven rock, struggling to penetrate the gloom of the far side.
As the others crossed, shadow-weaving giant spiders crept out from the cavern ceiling, supported by the returning Will-o’-Wisps. Using clever instinct, the party managed to charm and appease the hungry spiders, turning their focus solely toward the malevolent Wisps, which they quickly dispatched.
Beyond the chasm lay the true heart of the infestation: an Ankheg lair littered with clutch eggs, defended by sleeping broodmothers. In the corner lay the battered remains of the missing militia man, identifiable only by his dented crest shield. Entering quiet, lethal coordination, the trio put down the beasts, retrieved the fallen guard’s signet items to bring closure to the warden, and made their exit into the crisp night air.
The Encounter on the Road
On the road back to Silverglade, the familiar, weathered traveler was ambling along as if taking an evening stroll.
“Oooh, strange to see you here!” the old man chuckled warmly, leaning on his walking staff. “I wanted to give you something for helping me earlier.”
He produced a folded parchment map of the Star Mounts and pressed it into Heddterria’s hands. As they spoke, Ronej’s sharp eyes caught the fine metallic trim along the stranger’s traveling cloak and the crest stamped upon his ring. The Harengon’s extensive reading immediately registered the heraldry: it was the unmistakable inner-circle insignia of Oberron’s Fey Court, tied to the line of Verenestra. Ronej realized this traveler was no ordinary wanderer, but a figure of legendary status within the Feywild – a figure long cast out, misunderstood, yet holding the deep respect of the Lord of Beasts himself.
Before Ronej could press the mystery further, the traveler smiled, offered a brief farewell, and vanished down the winding forest path.
Present Day
Well… we haven’t dealt with that yet.