This is a narrative summary of our Karameikos campaign’s first eleven sessions, crafted as an engaging “Story So Far” chronicle to bring readers right up to speed. It captures the party’s journey from their initial clash with the Iron Ring in the town of Threshold, through their perilous trek into the Black Peak Mountains, and finally to their current, tense standoff in the unnervingly silent village of Vander’s Hollow. It highlights the overarching emergent story, the growing threat of the Masked Man, and the creeping dread of the Heartwood mystery as the clock ticks down to the full moon.

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It is a curious truth of the world that grand destinies rarely announce themselves with the sounding of trumpets. More often than not, they begin with the splintering of a tavern door in the dead of night. Thus it was at The Griffon’s Paw Inn in the northern town of Threshold. When rough men bearing the brand of the Iron Ring—a foul syndicate of slavers—shattered the evening’s peace, they were met by an unexpected fellowship.

There was Ser Lukas, a man whose armour was only slightly less unyielding than his sense of duty; Galadrid, an elf of the Callarii whose arrows seldom missed their mark; Aulus, a man of ledgers and sharp eyes who knew the value of a locked door; and Valens, a dwarf who muttered words of arcane power that made the air hum. Joined soon after by the pious priests Aleksandr and Fyodor, this band of chance-met companions was deputised by the Duke’s men to root out the darkness festering in the town.

Their inquiries led them through the murky docks and straight into the shadowed underbelly of Fogor Isle. Beneath the ruined Crossed Swords tavern, the companions descended into a cellar reeking of brimstone and old bones. There, Aleksandr’s holy chants provoked a monstrous, chained beast—a thing of nightmares that nearly broke the party before they finally brought it down. Though the dark wizard Sabbas slipped through their fingers, leaving behind muddy footprints and a hollowed table, he left behind something far more dangerous: evidence. A ledger, black gold, and a chilling mandate from a figure known only as the ‘Masked Man’, who had already spilt the blood of Galadrid’s kin.

With a writ from the Bishop-Baron and vengeance in their hearts, the fellowship provisioned a cart, purchased a sturdy mule named Betsy, and rode north into the foothills of the Black Peak Mountains. The wilds of Karameikos, however, do not suffer travellers lightly.

In the gloom of the Lesser Pass, the earth trembled beneath the colossal stride of Kârzûl, a fourteen-foot Stone Giant. The behemoth, bound by ancient oaths, warned them of a gathering storm: gnolls and beastmen uniting under the Masked Man’s banner. True to the giant’s word, the companions soon clashed with dog-faced scouts at the Hidden Stone. After a brief and bloody skirmish, they learned that a dreadful horde was sharpening its teeth for a spring assault on Threshold itself.

Yet, Ser Lukas had a mission to complete, and the fellowship turned their path east towards the Wulfwolde Hills and the remote settlement of Vander’s Hollow. The journey was fraught. A goblin ambush in the dead of night claimed the life of poor Betsy, a tragedy that dampened their spirits and forced them to trudge onward with heavy hearts.

The true horror, however, awaited them at the crossroads. Muffled by a mist smelling of ozone and crushed mint, they found a tragic tableau: three herbalists dead within a ring of white powder, the earth outside gouged by massive, unearthly talons. Valens, using his mastery over the earth, tunneled beneath the warding circle to retrieve a dying girl. With her final breath, roused momentarily by a silver coin beneath her tongue, she delivered a chilling prophecy: “When the moon is full, the doors close, and the sleep becomes stone.”

Now, the fellowship has descended into Vander’s Hollow. They found no bustling village, only an oppressive silence. The sawmill sits stagnant, its waters choked by unnaturally massive roots. The villagers—and the arrogant loggers who seemingly provoked the forest’s wrath by felling an ancient tree—stand frozen, their skin turned to grey-brown bark. As a terrifying, faceless Wood-Wight prowls the fringes of the hamlet, hunting the scent of blood and iron, the companions have hidden themselves within the Reeve’s house.

The clock is ticking, the full moon rises tomorrow, and our heroes must unravel the mysteries of the Heartwood before the hollow is lost to stone forever.