What Happened Last Session
Spider’s End, Diplomacy’s Collapse
The session opened where danger had left off—Zahlie’s crossbow bolt struck true, dealing the final 14 damage that sent the Void Spider crashing to the cavern floor. The pale, horse-sized arachnid’s void-absorbing body collapsed, its threat ended before it could drag anyone into darkness. What should have been a moment of relief became something far more complicated.
A kobold sorcerer, grateful to Hagen for the rescue, thanked him in halting Giant. Dolitan, ever the diplomat, attempted to communicate the party’s peaceful intentions in Reptilian—to offer the kobolds freedom from their troll masters. But words are treacherous things when languages collide. What Dolitan meant as “free” emerged as something closer to “slay” or “enslave.” The kobold’s eyes widened in panic, and within heartbeats, a Spider Swarm materialized as desperate self-defense.
Combat erupted. Zahlie obliterated the swarm with a single perfect arrow. Carmin struck the terrified sorcerer. Bargon pulled up a ladder with tactical foresight. Hagen, recognizing the miscommunication, shoved one kobold into a side chamber and held the door—choosing restraint over slaughter even as chaos swirled around him. Most kobolds died in the brief, brutal exchange, victims of fear and failed translation.
The aftermath yielded unexpected treasure: a gold monkey idol with ruby eyes worth 60 gold pieces, and a mysterious whitish potion retrieved from the spider’s webs. Crixbin used Cure Wounds not to heal injury but to calm the one surviving kobold—a creative application of healing magic as comfort. Dolitan sang a Reptilian lullaby, his voice finally finding the right words after his earlier catastrophic failure.
When Severed Pieces Refuse to Die
The pounding of massive footsteps announced the troll’s arrival long before it appeared. Ten feet tall, filling the tunnel’s width, it climbed toward them bellowing “I kill!” in brutish Giant. Astrid fired first—5 damage, barely a scratch. But what followed would haunt their nightmares far longer than the spider had.
Dolitan’s crossbow bolt severed the troll’s arm. It kept moving. Zahlie delivered a devastating sneak attack that took the creature’s head clean off. The body kept climbing. Then the horror truly began: the severed arm grew a small body. The severed head sprouted arms and legs. The main body regenerated a new head and arm. All three fought independently.
The troll-head reached the ledge and bit deep into Astrid’s neck—12 damage that nearly ended her. She dropped to 3 HP, blood streaming, vision swimming. The autonomous arm attacked Bargon, deflected only by his Shield Wall. The main body clawed at Hagen. Escaped kobold sorcerers added to the chaos, summoning more swarms (which Zahlie continued destroying with perfect, almost mechanical precision).
Astrid, dying but defiant, put an arrow through the main troll body’s heart—killing it, sending it tumbling back down the ladder. But the pieces kept fighting. The head-thing regenerated one arm. The arm-thing struck Bargon for 9 damage despite his shield. Crixbin worked frantically, casting Cure Wounds to keep Astrid conscious and functional. They learned through blood and terror that you don’t kill a troll—you destroy it piece by piece and hope you don’t run out of strength first.
Finally, Zahlie unleashed devastation—a critical backstab that struck the last troll-piece for 42 damage, literally denting the cave wall and obliterating the final autonomous chunk. The party stood victorious but resource-depleted, Crixbin’s Mass Cure Wounds bringing everyone back from the brink.
Astrid descended to loot the main body, finding a Tier 4 Seer scroll: Thor’s Thunder—powerful magic worth 260 gold pieces, lightning contained in parchment.
The Unsealing
Deeper. Always deeper. The party heard pounding from the south—only one source now, not the multiple rhythm of combat. They advanced carefully through a massive cavernous excavation, past evidence of systematic mining, toward the methodical sound of stone being broken.
A traditional green troll worked at the excavation face, lengthy arms swinging with practiced efficiency. Unlike the horror they’d just dismantled, this one seemed almost… focused. Purposeful. Astrid and Zahlie climbed to high ground. Crixbin cast Light and Holy Weapon, preparing for what seemed inevitable.
Then the crack—sharp and final, like reality itself breaking. The troll stepped back. And from the breach emerged something ancient.
The Void Hag rose like smoke given terrible form. Shriveled, blackening flesh. Eye sockets that smoldered with ember-light. Long fingers ending in claws that seemed to drink in the torchlight. She spoke in Giant—fluid, sophisticated, nothing like the trolls’ guttural simplicity.
“How long was I out?”
The green troll bowed—actually bowed—before answering. “Hundreds of years. We’ve been looking for you for so long.”
The Hag considered this, then dismissed centuries of imprisonment with four words: “Well, that doesn’t matter now.”
The trolls hadn’t been rampaging. They’d been excavating. Searching. Freeing something that had been sealed away before Dvergheim’s stones were first laid. The party, positioned on their raised platform, watched the reunion of servant and master—unnoticed, for now, but with the terrible understanding that their simple mission to clear out troublesome trolls had just become something far more dangerous.
Looking Ahead
The Void Hag stands free after centuries sealed away, the trolls’ deference making clear what King Snorgin Thrain Ironheart either didn’t know or didn’t reveal—this was never about random troll aggression. The party witnessed the unsealing of something ancient, something powerful enough that it required divine magic to imprison, magic that has apparently weakened in the week since the gods went silent. The timing cannot be coincidence.
The mission parameters have shifted entirely. Magic weapon rewards await back in Dvergheim, but the party must first survive whatever comes next. They hold the high ground and the element of surprise, but their resources run critically low—torches guttering, spell slots depleted, crossbow bolts nearly exhausted. Astrid still bears the troll-bite scar on her neck. Crixbin has precious few healing spells remaining. And somewhere below, a Hag who dismisses centuries like moments is learning that the world has changed in her absence, while trolls who spent generations searching for her wait to see what she commands next.
Some doors were sealed for reasons that outlive the memory of why, and breaking them open reveals not treasure but the very thing our ancestors feared most.