Session 22

Recap

• Left Bere Pass
• One of you was tasked with bringing something to Brigit
• Met an frost salamander on the road
• Camped
• Arrived on the outskirts of Brigit, made it to the tavern.

Plot

• The Encounter at Cold's temple has resolved.
• Package arrived:
  • Contains 'medicinal herbs'
  • 5 x potions of invisibility
  • 1 x immovable rod
  • Party asked if they're planning on dealing with the portal
  • Given a potion each

Brigit feels like it is currently under a perpetual shroud of unnatural darkness. The sun, casts only a feeble, sickly light that barely penetrates the oppressive gloom yet still managing to cause a temporary blindness in one. This darkness is no ordinary absence of light; it feels alive, pulsating with a malevolent energy that seeps into every corner, every crevice.

The shadows here are not mere absences of light; they are deep, inky voids that seem to swallow the very essence of brightness. They cling to the edges of buildings, pool ominously under twisted trees, and stretch out like grasping fingers along the cobblestone streets. These shadows move subtly, as if driven by a will of their own, flickering and shifting in a dance that is unsettling to behold.

Walking through Brigit, a constant, prickling sensation creeps along your skin, a sense that you are never truly alone. The shadows watch with an almost sentient curiosity, their unseen eyes following your every move. It's an oppressive, eerie feeling, as though something just beyond your vision is waiting, lurking within the darkness, biding its time.

Windows are darkened, either from layers of grime or curtains drawn tight against the night outside, as if the inhabitants are too frightened to witness what prowls in the gloom. The few street lamps that dot the town emit a weak, ghostly glow, their light barely making a dent in the pervasive blackness, casting eerie, elongated shadows that seem almost to breathe.

The air is heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen movement and the whisper of the wind through the gnarled trees. To linger in the darkness is to invite the gaze of whatever dwells within it.