Welcome to the first entry in my actual play of Rene-Pier Deshaies' Tales of the Burned Stones! TotBS is a dark fantasy game built on the RP's Breathless. It is a prequel to RP and Galen Pejeau's dark sci-fi TTRPG Stoneburner that was fully backed on Kickstarter earlier this year (and can be preordered here!). Long-time readers of the Dragon's Den may remember my mini-series playing Stoneburner (links for ep. 1 & 2). I look forward to this adventure with Iryn, Torfyr, and Myn (Ep. 0 here) as they set about rebuilding the village of Harfall and learning more about the mysterious eruption that changed their lives forever.
GM Note: The Prologue is a completely fiction based entry. There are no rolls, and no mechanics. It serves to set the scene for the story and introduce our PCs and some important NPCs.
Iryn Whisperwind groaned. The last thing she remembered was the Mountain erupting, and a careening boulder striking her and the villagers she had been trying to lead to safety. The pain had lasted only a moment before darkness took hold. She shouldn’t be alive, and yet, somehow, her heart was thudding in her chest.
“You are awake?” a quiet, feminine voice asked from somewhere above her.
Iryn’s lips were dry, and her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed, and it felt like dozens of tiny pins raking down her throat.
“Ah, yes, how could I forget. The Rite of Revival often has side effects,” the voice said, this time closer. Small, but firm, hands gripped her beneath the arms and pulled her into a sitting position. “Now, drink this.”
The bore of a glass bottle pressed against Iryn’s lips, and the woman—whoever she was—tilted it back. Iryn shivered as the liquid flooded her mouth, washing the pins away in an instant. As more of the liquid flowed down her throat, she felt the muscles in her forearms, strengthened by years of playing the lute and farming with her people, loosen. Then the restorative flooded her senses entirely. Her eyes snapped open, seeing only white before her vision returned to normal.
“Who are you? What happened?”
“Peace,” the woman replied, a gentle smile on her careworn face. “All will become clear in time. Can you walk?”
Iryn pulled her legs up to her chin and rocked forward, springing to her feet with grace. “I believe I can.”
“Very good. Not all are so fortunate.”
“Fortunate?”
“Indeed. The Rite of Revival affects each soul differently. Yours, it appears, burned bright enough in life to return to its repaired vessel quickly.”
“I…was dead?”
“Indeed, you were. But no longer. Come along now, Mother Superior will want to see you.”
Iryn knew she had died, had known it was inevitable as she helplessly watched the giant boulder bearing down on her. Her brain, however, couldn’t process how she was no longer dead. The world spun, and she stumbled, nearly falling were it not for the strange woman. The same small, firm hands held her upright and supported her as she was led down a rutted, ash-strewn path. The woman led her to a pavilion made of pure white hides.
“Come inside. Mother Superior will make all clear.”
Iryn allowed herself to be led into the tent, still too stunned to resist.
A heavy hand shook Torfyr Silverbloom roughly. He grunted and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his body still bracing itself for the inevitable pain as the lava flow overtook him. Torfyr vaguely recalled running into the village of Harfall and giving guidance to the village leaders before heading in to help lead stragglers out. He seemed to remember an intense, blazing pain in his legs as well. But now, despite the tension in his body, he felt no pain—only the incessant shaking.
“Gerroff,” he growled, shrugging the hand away. “I’m awake, damn it all.”
“You’re a right rough fellow, aren’t you now?” a raspy voice asked.
“You’re a right annoying fellow,” the seasoned strider retorted.
“I am no fellow,” the voice replied. “And that’s no way to treat your savior.”
Torfyr opened his gray eyes and stared up into the sharp, hawk-like face of a woman in a black habit. Her golden eyes peered into his, as if she could see into his very soul. He didn’t care much for it.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I am Seventh. And you are?”
“Torfyr. Torfyr Silverbloom.”
“I am glad we arrived when we did, Torfyr Silverbloom. Many of the people of Harfall survived the cataclysm, though the town itself wasn’t so lucky.”
“How am I still breathing?”
“Ah yes, you have been granted the distinct honor of the Rite of Revival. You were dead, in fact, burnt right to a crisp from the waist down. But no longer. Your spirit burns brighter than the fires of Mount Baram to have returned to its vessel with so much vigor.”
“What’s that? Rite of Revival?”
“Indeed, Master Torfyr. Come with me, the Mother Superior will make all plain.”
Torfyr shoved himself to his feet and stared down at his legs. His leather trousers were burned through and ragged, yet his legs were painless and bore only healed scars. Torfyr whistled in disbelief, shaking his head.
“Right powerful magics you have, Sister…Seventh did you say?”
“Blessing, not magic. And yes, I am the Seventh of the Sisters of the Eclipse.”
“Never heard of you afore,” Torfyr grumbled. “Now where’s this Mother?”
“Come along then,” Seventh said, motioning over her shoulder as she turned to walk back into the burning, crushed remains of Harfall.
Torfyr followed her. As he walked through the village, a place he did not visit often but relied on nevertheless, his heart was moved with sadness. The dozens of families, miners, farmers, merchants, bakers, and other hard-working folk who dwelled there were either dead to the raging of the Mountain, or homeless and destitute.
Seventh led him to a broad, white pavilion on the far side of the village where another woman in a black habit was in the process of leading a curly haired halfling into the pavilion. Torfyr didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t surprise him. He was only in the village three or four times a year, and he didn’t make many friends.
“Go on ahead,” Seventh said, drawing him from his thoughts. “Mother Superior will see you now.”
Torfyr walked the rest of the way alone, still wondering over the state of his legs. The woman he had seen before, leading the halfling, met him at the tent-flap and motioned him inside.
The last thing Mynval Shadowfoot remembered was the impact of heavy timbers as the tavern porch roof collapsed atop her, crushing her beneath it. She was certain she had died, even seemed to recall seeing a bright light in the inky darkness. But now, she felt no pain, nor any weight on her shoulders.
She flicked open one blue eye and looked around, noting the gray-black sky, thick with blowing ash and embers. She tested her lungs, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a slow exhale.
“Huh, didn’t expect that to work,” she said aloud, though her voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
“Ah, you awake. How do you feel?”
Myn opened her other eye and turned her head toward the voice. A thick-set woman of middling years, garbed in a black robe, sat on the dirty ground beside her. “Who are you?”
“I am First,” the woman said, her voice soothing and melodic. “How do you feel?”
“You said that already,” Myn replied, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I thought the tavern fell on me.”
“It did. When I found you, you were already gone.”
“Gone? You mean dead, then? I thought as much. But how am I alive now?”
“You have been Blessed by the Rite of Revival. Here, have some of this cordial. It will help your voice return.”
The woman held out a small glass bottle filled with a bright yellow liquid. Myn took it and sniffed.
“Do I detect…the essence of whipweed…and the tallow of a sun-fire lamb…and just a hint of…what is that.”
“Calcified mammoth bone, finely ground,” First supplied. “You must be an alchemist.”
“You bet your bottom I’m an alchemist. The finest Harfall has ever seen, though most probably don’t know it.”
“Drink up, then we can find Mother Superior. She will help you understand all that has transpired here.”
“How do you distill the whipweed? It’s poisonous if not distilled properly,” Myn said, eyeing the yellow liquid suspiciously.
“I assure you, it is distilled perfectly. Second, my sister, is an expert herbalist.”
“If I die, I’ll not be pleased,” Myn said harshly, but the big grin on her angular face belied any anger.
“You’ve already died, dear.”
“I suppose you’re correct. Well, bottoms up!” She put the bottle to her mouth and drained it in one gulp. “Well, I’m not dea—”
The cool liquid flooded her mouth, then traced its way through her entire body, filling her with energy. She hopped to her feet with a loud whoop.
“This stuff is great! I feel better than I have since Lor—since I was young.”
“Very good,” First said, smiling indulgently at the energetic gnome. “Now come along. The others will be with Mother Superior soon, if they aren’t already.”
“Lead on, First. By the way, that’s the strangest name I’ve ever heard.”
First chuckled but didn’t respond. Instead, she led Mynval up the hill beside the ruined tavern to a white pavilion. A tall, wavy-haired man was just passing through the tent-flaps as they walked up.
“Go along now. The Mother Superior will explain everything.”
Myn, now driven by curiosity, followed the human into the pavilion.
Next week, we find out more about the Sisters of the Eclipse, the Mother Superior, and why it is that our heroes were brought back from death. Thanks for reading!!!
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