#randomencountered

“Is everything so big here?” you muttered, pushing your way past a mushroom the size of a cherry tree. All around you, the vegetation towered as though you were in a giant’s garden.

The ranger ahead of you shushed you.

Ever dignified, you stuck your tongue out at their back.

It wasn’t as though you were being loud, per se, and anyway, the four of you were the only ones in this godforsaken forest. You could hear plenty of animals rustling around in the trees and underfoot, but damned if you had seen one yet. They must be extremely fast or extremely well-camouflaged. Either way, it didn’t matter so long as they weren’t attacking you.

You trudged on for another hour before what little light had been coming through the trees started to dim. With the fading of the sun came a distant scream, definitely inhuman. Everyone stopped.

Your grip on your weapon tightened as more screams sounded, closer this time, and from all directions. Run, your instincts screamed, but you stayed planted firm. Seven creatures burst into the clearing, each with a rider on their back.

It took a moment to comprehend them: big lizard-type creatures walking on two legs with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

“Velociraptors,” the ranger murmured.

“What now?” you asked faintly.

One of the riders said something in an unfamiliar language, then grinned, revealing canines as sharp as the velociraptor she rode. A chill ran down your spine. Vampires, now those you knew. Great. Just great.

Roll initiative.

You walk into a room. It’s apparently empty except for a large treasure box across the room. Simple enough. Surely there’s some manner of trap in here. You and your friends scour the floor and the wall and the ceiling for traps and find nothing out of place.

How odd. The chest then? On the top of the box it just says Kobolds in bold letters. That’s weird. Well, no traps on the chest either. So that means you open it right? Who doesn’t open a chest in a dungeon?

You open the chest and a continuous stream of angry kobolds burst free of the box of holding and trample over you. Roll initiative….and a Dexterity save while you’re at it. Killing the kobolds isn’t the problem. The problem is they never stop coming out of the box.

The Village of Lies

On a sandy beach near the coastal shore lies a small, private, lovely village in the shadow of a large volcano. 

Now there’s many a nasty rumour floating around the many taverns that litter the countryside nearby, concerning this small village.

 A drunken sailor will tell anyone who listens that he once crashed ashore near there and was kidnapped by flesh eating mermaids, barely escaping with his life.

 A rambunctious bard says that he once rescued a virgin princess from being sacrificed to the volcano by the village shaman, and that she gave him a kiss before returning to her home among the stars on the back of an eight-legged flying mule.

An exasperated bounty hunter claims that the village is a hideout for a secret society of the country’s most notorious villains and criminals, and that the volcano is synthetic and built to disguise the organizations tireless work in building a super weapon large enough to hold the country hostage.

A sleep-deprived archaeologist claims that it is the sacred city of a powerful Outer God and home to a terrible treasure of awesome power, but his cryptozoologist (drinking) companion disagrees, believing instead that the area is home to the Mokele-mbembe that he has been hunting for half his life.

You stumble upon the ruins of an ancient monastery, obscured by thick trees and centuries of decay. It must have been nice at one time. Old vines engulf elegant marble statues of heroes now forgotten. Strange fungi and tree roots interrupt tile mosaics of battles fought long ago.

You get the sense that even after all this time, this place is still holy. Each step is deliberate. Cautious. With respect for whatever the people once worshiped here. Inside the main chamber something catches your eye. Upon the ruined altar is a silver lantern. Seemingly untouched by the passage of time it looks out of place here.

You approach the lantern, enraptured with how the silver sparkles in the sunlight filtering through the shattered windows. It is so pristine. So beautiful. You must have it for yourself.

The moment you touch the lantern a jolt of searing pain radiates from your hand. Collapsing to your knees you cry out in pain, but oddly you hear nothing. You feel something oozing down your arm. Is it blood? You don’t know. There’s so much of it, whatever it is. Everything is bright and you can barely see the lantern. You try to let go of it but can’t. Something isn’t letting you.

“Who dares touch the Light of Sumari!?” A voice booms in your head.

What do you do?

Discovering a monastery, especially this far into the wilderness, is quite literally a godsend. The women of the cloth who live there in quiet reverence are pleased to see you and your party - particularly delighted is the headmistress, an austere-looking but seemingly-kindhearted lady with a magnificent pet eagle.

During your stay, as the women feed your party and let you recuperate and prepare for the journey ahead, something doesn’t seem quite right. Maybe it’s the look that the nuns give each other when you pass by. Maybe it’s that eagle, always watching you as if it knew more than it possibly could.

But you definitely realize there’s something deeply wrong with this place when curiosity takes your party to a shed far behind the monastery proper. The air is fetid and warm, and flies buzz together in great swarms around a great cluster of dead bodies - all men and women whose uniforms are adorned with the badge of your home kingdom.

The headmistress is waiting as you exit the shed. As her eagle swoops silently down to her shoulder and begins to buzz with magic, two things dawn on you. First, now you know where all those scouts had been disappearing to; and second, these nuns have no intention of letting you live to tell the tale.

Roll for initiative.

The headmistress could be a boss-level Witch, Wizard, Oracle, or another magic-wielding class with a familiar. The other nuns could be appropriately-leveled Adepts, Clerics, Oracles, Sorcerers, or even Monks if the idea of fist-fighting nuns fits the tone of the game. (And yeah, this is based around Pathfinder, because I love Pathfinder.)

Strange news fly’s in strange times. You hear rumors, from travellers from far off lands, of an equestrian who can tame the darkest steed, of dread horses for sale. The Dark Breaker

The Lower planes are an unnatural place. The air is thick, and the sky’s dark, and all manner of unnatural creatures roam free. Your tired and haggard from constant skirmish with the denizens of this foul land, trying to find some safe haven. From deep within a cave, you sense something. Goodness. Perhaps, a place to rest. Perhaps your goal. 

You make your way through the cave, carefully checking each crevice. You com to a clearing of sorts, and see a paddock of unusual design. 

Not a paddock at all. A bird cage. Full of Pegasi. The cage opens and a dark rope lashes up towards one of the frightened creatures, dragging them away, down, into a pit just beyond view. Unearthly noises burst forth, followed by three ebony, flame wreathed animals, birthed from the pit birthed from pain, followed by a dark robed figure, carrying wicked metal implements, used to turn the winged creatures into monsters,  

The rumors were wrong. There is no equestrian here. Only the Midwife of Nightmares. 

Roll for initiative.

Edit: Idk if the name made sense to everyone, cause Nightmares come from corrupted pegasi... thats a clarification 

The cave is dark. Impossibly dark. When you had entered the mouth of the cave, your torch seemingly snuffed itself out.You can’t even make out the tips of your fingers.You slowly creep forward, one hand outstretched in front of you, the other touching the damp, slimy wall for some security.  

You had been tipped off that the this cave system was likely the source of the rash of disappearances that had been plaguing the nearby farming village. After some investigation, you managed to get some stories about the caverns out of the tight-lipped locals. 

Speaking in hushed tones, you learned that the caves supposedly are the prison of some old, mostly forgotten local god. The villagers believe that the god is breaking loose, and has been abducting people as retaliatory sacrifices. Somewhere deep in the heart of the caves, the god lies bound atop it’s treasure hoard. 

Now, with a sudden lurch, you fall to your side. Your hand passing through what had been solid stone. You fall for some time.The slope carrying you uncontrollably deeper into the cave system is slick with the same slime that coated the walls, preventing you from stopping.  

With a rough clatter you are deposited onto a hard surface. Your head swims from the impact, your gear scattered around you. Suddenly lights appear from above, blinding you after so much darkness. Peering down, holding lanterns, are a circle of cloaked figures. As you regain your sight, you notice the floor isn’t as solid as you thought. It is littered with bones. 

Scrambling backwards, you feel several drops hit your shoulder. Your leather armor begins to bubble and pop. You look up. Descending from the distant ceiling is a spiraling, roiling, black mass of something. More drops fall from the things mouth, a gaping hole that seems to absorb all light. The caustic liquid burns. 

Now, what do you do?

In your travels, you come across a town deep inland, flanked by a mountain range and a forest. Oddly, though, the town is absolutely littered with seashells. They’re part of the clothing, part of jewelry, worked into silverware and furniture, part of the architecture and signs. But you’re weeks from the ocean, and these shells could never have come from the nearby river.

That evening, at the inn, you inquire as to the source of the seashells. Eventually, you convince somebody to tell you: for years, a seafaring woman would visit as often as she could, coming to see friends and lovers. She would bring the shells with her to trade, and as gifts. She came so frequently and for so long that they’re as much a part of the town as the forest, or the buildings.

You ask when she will come back and are met with a shameful glance to the forest. “She walked into the forest after being slighted some months ago and hasn’t been back.” That’s the last thing the person you’re talking to has to say on the matter.

As your retire to your room, you hear a song echoing through town. Despite its quiet, distant tones, you’d almost swear your room was shaking from the sound. As the song continues, the shaking grows more violent until you finally jump out of bed to investigate. None too soon, as all the shells in the room shatter suddenly, a swarm of locusts pouring out of them and clouding the air. In a panic, you push into the hallway outside and find clouds of insects congealing in the air and heading up to the mountain. Now outside, through the buzzing of the unwelcome pests, you hear the song more clearly.