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Mountain Climb

The party welcomed Mulchbane, set out to map the southern mountains, survived a brutal climb and a fall into a canyon, and fought living cacti and insect swarms amid the desert heat. They met Grit, a wind-riding hermit bound by a dark bargain with the hag Auntie Dirtha Bonebender, gaining strange potion-granted boons and ominous knowledge of nearby landmarks before returning with a safer route—and more questions than answers.

Recap

Madam Helena was the first to greet Mulchbane when the gnome arrived at camp, recognizing him immediately as a fellow diviner. Mulchbane, eager and bright-eyed, thanked everyone for the warm welcome. He asked after rumors of gnomes in the region and made no effort to hide his desire to prove himself worthy of NODE. Opportunity came quickly.

Thalen soon found Kouzlo, unfurling an updated map and proposing an expedition southward—up the mountain that rose beyond the aqueduct. From its heights, he reasoned, they could chart the land far more effectively. Mulchbane overheard and immediately volunteered; the idea of climbing a mountain clearly appealed to him. Thalen introduced the rest of the party, and plans were made to depart at first light.

At dawn, beneath NODE’s purple-and-teal crest, the party gathered at the flagpole. They set out past the fields of moon corn, where sailors worked ankle-deep in strange green ooze that stained their boots. Along the way they learned that more cattle had gone missing—Betty and Bernice among them. Jorath assured Kol Par that the group would look into both the disappearances and the unsettling ooze.

Beyond the cornfields, the land changed. The grass thinned, the soil turned dusty, and heat shimmered in the air. Jagged, tooth-like mountains thrust themselves from the earth, and the wind picked up sharply, flattening Quick’s ears as it blew. By the time the party reached the mountain’s base, the world felt harsh and alien.

Thalen marveled at the untouched land, while Helena pulled her hood low against the sun. Ahead lay a ravine that looked nearly impassable, choked with strange flora and skittering fauna—among them hopping rats that watched the party with unsettling intelligence.

Working together, the group found their way forward. Thalen spoke with the animals and learned which paths would lead them into danger—particularly those lined with suspicious cacti. Kouzlo used magic to scout from above, discovering that only the central route truly continued. Mulchbane kept his eyes on the ground, spotting hidden hazards before they could claim anyone. Helena’s attempt to probe the animals’ motives, however, offended the rats, and Jorath found the mountain’s sheer bulk disrupted his ability to read the stars. Still, it was enough. The party pressed on.

The climb itself was brutal. Thalen tried to push the pace with maps and compasses but misjudged the terrain. Jorath summoned a moon-dappled mountain cat and saw through its eyes, identifying safe footholds. Mulchbane secured ropes as they climbed, anchoring the party together. Helena tested the path ahead with mage hand—only for it to be bitten by something unseen. Kouzlo drew on half-remembered tales of explorers, which proved less useful than hoped.

They stopped to rest on a flat overlook. That was when the mountain cracked.

The ground collapsed beneath them, sending the party tumbling into a churning rockfall. Jorath reacted instantly, casting feather fall and slowing their descent. They landed battered but alive in an alluvial plain deep within the canyon.

Mulchbane was the first to move—and the first to be attacked. A cactus twitched as he flicked a needle from it, firing a spine into him with surprising force. Roots lashed out, wrapping around his legs. Then more cacti stirred, shambling and lashing as if awakened by the fall.

The fight was chaotic and vicious. Mulchbane vanished into the dust, striking from the shadows. Thalen loosed arrows, some flying wide, others burying deep. Helena called down divine judgment, her toll of the dead shriveling one creature where it stood as spectral weapons carved into another. Jorath realized the creatures burned easily and answered with fire—devastating fire. Kouzlo followed suit, unleashing chromatic magic that reduced one cactus to ash.

As the battle raged, vultures circled overhead, waiting.

Then the ground itself betrayed them. A dark mist rolled through the canyon, resolving into a swarm of scarabs that erupted from the soil. They descended on Kouzlo, biting and clawing, drawn not to flesh but to the arcane energy in his pack. Fire and magic eventually destroyed them, but not before they gnawed away at his power.

When Helena summoned her spirit guardians—figures of the Hermit and the Kings of Wands and Pentacles—the final cactus was torn apart in a storm of needles.

And where it fell, a man appeared.

He applauded.

The stranger walked calmly through the lingering spirits and approached Mulchbane, clapping him on the back and restoring what the cactus had stolen. He introduced himself as Grit, a desert hermit with leathery skin and wind-worn features. This canyon, he explained, was a cactid feeding ground.

Grit spoke easily, offering hospitality and conversation. Jorath probed his thoughts and found not secrets or defenses, but an oasis-like innocence—childlike, simple, and warm. Grit barely seemed to notice the intrusion, thanking Jorath instead for reminding him of a pot left on the fire.

He led the party to his camp: an ornate fabric tent anchored high on the mountain, impossibly comfortable for someone living alone in the desert. There, he offered them drinks brewed from the cactids themselves. Each draught changed the drinker in subtle but lasting ways—fire resistance, sharpened senses, booming voices, altered sight, memories compelled into the open. In a sign of friendship, Jorath gifted his wand of fireballs with its remaining charges to Grit. In response, Grit invited the party to each take an item from his collection upon their departure.

Their conversation was interrupted when Grit stiffened and raised a hand. Someone was coming.

An old woman—seven feet tall, hunched, and carried on swirling dust—arrived to collect a cauldron. Grit called her Auntie Dirtha Bonebender. With a sniff and a knowing glance, she shrank the cauldron, muttered "tick tock," and vanished on the wind.

Afterward, Grit struggled to explain. Questions about the hag, the potions, and his work slipped from his grasp, as if something prevented him from answering. Helena’s magic finally cracked the facade, revealing fragments: a bargain, raw magic, and the sense that Grit’s time was running out. The connection was violently severed, and for a moment Helena forgot her companions entirely—seeing only the hag pointing at her from the desert below.

When it passed, Grit laughed it off, gesturing across the land. He pointed out an oasis to the left, a great lake crowned by a leaning wizard’s tower, and vibrant pink swamps to the south where lizardfolk lived—good people, he said.

Loot

Additionally, each character left with a single sip of Grit's tea, which provides unpredictable effects.

Effects are minor and only last for one instance/round (GM discretion). Roll 1d10 when you want to use it and consult the table below. We will say you can use this as a reaction in combat should you wish.