Zeitgeist #11: Night on bald mountain

The constables have brought the dying Skyseer Nevard Sechim to the top of Cauldron Hill, also known as bald mountain. The Mayor of the Nettles, Reed Macbannin has outfitted them with amulets to ward of possession by spirits, and a keg of goat blood to draw a circle, to deter any physical assailants. The constables do as they’re bidden. Ebenezer builds a visual barrier, so the constables are not visible from the outside of the circle, then lights a small camp fire.

The sun descends brilliantly, gleaming of the waters of Flint Harbor, though the light is dulled by a haze across the city. Buildings far below cast long shadows in the streets. The darkness grows, consumes the city, and for a moment the mountain top is the only thing still illuminated. Then the night claims it as well.

City lights smear out below the party, but overhead the stars are brilliant and clear. Nevard says that he must study the stars for as long as possible, and that in the morning he will sleep. Within an hour the air drops from the warmth of a tropical summer to a chilling winter freeze. The wind blows wildly, sometimes eerily still, then bursting with gusts that shake every tree on the mountain. Moans slide across the peak like waves, and when the wailing wind quiets, the party can hear dry leaves cracking underfoot, and erratic bursts of malevolent laughter further down the slope.

Nevard leans back against a stone and begins to study the stars. Unnatural drowsiness overcomes the constables, but they manage to stay awake. Then an apparition manifests in the center of the circle of blood: a velvet red curtain hovers in the air, looking completely solid, glowing as if hit by a spotlight that doesn’t exist. The curtain sways, and there seem to be figures on the other side. After a moment Nilasa Hume, the murder victim from the Danoran embassay steps out. She puts a hushing finger to her lips, then points out into the night and says, “The man who killed me is coming. His face is scarred, so he hides behind many faces.” Then she raises a featureless black mask to her face. When she puts it on she fades away, as does the curtain. The air is suddenly thick with the stench of burnt engine grease. Then the two other Skyseers, Corvus and Horatius have a vision: 

The stars overhead seem to streak in lines as time stretches out, and then to the north, down by Parity Lake, a building catches fire with dreamlike swiftness. Suddenly you find yourselves standing between two factories, and two tongues of flame leap from one to the the next, like a pair of burning dragons. Screams erupt from the people trapped inside, the conflagration consumes the factories, and the charred buildings collapse to reveal tomorrow morning’s sunrise. A blackened sign sits in the ash, saying “Sechim’s Alkahest & Etchings.”

The vision ends with a snap, and the RHC agents find themselves standing on the black peak of Cauldron Hill. Nevard, still looking to the stars, gives a knowing hum. He points up at a red star and says:

“Jiese, the plane of fire, is brighter tonight than usual. Its light reflects off the lake. You saw it, didn’t you?”

The wild and mad howling and skittering of creatures on top of the mountain continues. Shortly after midnight, a human figure appears from the chaos. It lights a brilliant sunrod, and his features are all angles and black shapes, hurling the sunrod to the middle of the ring of blood. The creatures, which did not notice the PCs beforehand, suddenly lock eyes with them and approach. A fight breaks out!

The fight takes a long time, but the constables prevail eventually. Nevard suggests they leave, and so they make their way down to Macbannins manor where they’re held up by  Lieutenant Dale. They quickly relate their story, Macbannin is woken and the group may pass, but not before the Mayor purifies them of the dark energy. We will continue here next time, but the next night, Horatius has a vision:

“You sit in a field of grass, the night sky overhead, the planets hanging huge and low. Breeze whips the grass across your skin, and a tiger stalks you, somewhere out in the dark. A light flares overhead, an old blue star called Mishados, and it begins to drift downward. Not to the horizon, but toward the earth. Then other stars rattle, like grains of sand shaken loose from a wet glass, and their descent turns to a plummet, turns to a streaking rain of light. They fall in all directions, but you know where Mishados will fall, and you know you must catch it.”