1. The Seven Sisters

Callibog
The Rhyhold has no heart, it was said once. A collection of scattered villages and holdfasts, the only thing that they share is a duty to observe the sanctity of the forest. For without the forest, you would be driven into the world beyond the Rhyhold, full of terrors both ancient and fresh. Wars, deprivation, and the harrowing of kin by kin lie without. In your forest, you live as it pleases you, set upon not by the sword of enemies that outnumber the stars.

In Callibog, you find yourselves. The market day has passed just two days before, and yet you linger, whether you live here or not. When the call comes, the rhyfox Gwyddion scampers to a skidding halt before you four, lounging on the deck of Old Man Ygret's taphouse as the proprietor sang a light dirge of his lost love, Selton. The two men had started the Taphouse together, but Selton had died five winters past of some wasting disease. It seemed likely that Ygret would follow his love soon into shadow. You have shared fears you all feel now, a nameless dread. The rumor of war far away, the lost wanderer, the failing of the merchant trade. Scarcity is becoming a word used in ill increase.

Black-furred Gwyddion takes you in with wideset, anxious eyes. His mindspeech encompasses each of you in turn, "Please, the Sisters need attendance. Will you come, hear prophecy and bear witness? They'll lose one tonight, it is said!"

A rumour told among those who care - true prophecy takes a life - and the seven sisters have fallen to five. Four by morning if the rhyfox's information is correct. Their first prophecy told of a being who would come to the Rhyhold and that death would follow for numbers too high to count.

You know that many are away, having left to return to their homes, and that a fever is keeping many in their beds. It was spread during Market Day, no doubt, and you're grateful that the illness has passed over you.




Unable to resist the call, you find yourselves outside the witch's hut. They hold hands, circling a fire, moaning and singing, as if possessed. They seem senseless, overcome by a mystical trance. Their song reaches higher, their voices rising in unison.

---

Let's pause here, and allow you some agency. Describe your characters, either starting at the taphouse or at the fire. If you wish to intervene, to stop the impending prophecy from being spilled forth, that is on you.

Jarl is a Garou. He stands 5'10" and weighs 180 pounds. He walks like a dancer, very light on his feet. His colouration is a mix of browns, reds, and greens. In short, he is Forest coloured.
He is wearing leather armour with a hand axe on his belt. The classic Garou bow is never out of reach.

He has gotten used to the stares. Garou are not a common sight in towns, and no one can remember seeing just one of them. What Jarl hasn't got used to is being alone. He has never been away from his pack for more than a few hours. He doesn't like it.

Sharill, the seer of his pack met with him and the pack leader about a week ago. She said Jarl would be needed at this inn. The pack leader told him to go and make them proud. It never occurred to him to do anything else.

When the rhyfox shows up, Jarl breathes a sigh of relief.

Finally. Maybe I can return to the pack...or maybe this is my new pack. Either way, no more sitting and waiting.

He gets to his feet, grabs his meager belongings and follows along. Once in the hut, he stands against the wall and takes it all in.

Tritous had been frequenting any markets he could find these days. They were scarce now, with illness and the threat of war in the air. He had hoped to find work, any work. He wasn't particular anymore. He too was used to stares but those in his village of Tortoff eventually accepted him. He had made his mark there and had provided for himself. But still, it wasn't easy being half-human, and half-horse with a set of wings. While one wouldn't describe him as a particularly attractive creature, he did have a beautiful tail striped in every color of the rainbow while his wings had large blue and white feathers arranged in neat rows. When he flew, his tail trailed behind him rippling from the current of his flapping wings leaving those watching him from below in awe. He had a kind human face but it looked older than his twenty-two years, most likely weathered from the harsh winds of flying.

He found himself at the taphouse in Callibog contemplating his lot when the rhyfox Gwyddion arrived before him. He heard his call for help, hitched his pack over his shoulders and followed the Garou to the witch's hut, but not without first tripping over a rock and almost launching his pack over his head.

Ryssik the rat looks like an outsider even among outsiders. Little more than half the height of the garou, she looks small and fragile. Her claws are large, as are her front teeth, but don't look particularly vicious. While the rats are never seen as particularly attractive by other peoples, age has taken what little beauty there has been from Ryssik. Her fur has fallen out and the hair on her head has turned thin and stringy. Her eyes, though not yet blind, have gone grey with age.
However, there is still a strength in her lean muscles and sleek determination in her movements. As old and grey as the rat may be, age has not taken her body from her yet, or, as it seems, her mind either.

Over the years, Ryssik has left her mark on the world, mothering a dozen young with equally as many fathers. There are few rats in the region whose blood has not mixed with hers. But those years are behind her and now that even her youngest have left her nest, and with it her care and instruction, Ryssik believed her time was coming to an end. Until, that is, an insuppressible instinct had called her here, to Callibog. She had spent many days here, trying to find what it was that drew her here, until it, in the shape of Gwyddion the rhyfox, found her.
As he leads her to the witches' hut, she follows eagerly, curious to discover what she was meant for here.

The marked was as always a fine place to gather rumors and pickup bounties or jobs. Unfortunately, there were no imidate jobs or bounties for monsters that Ross could address. Either they were pickup by others or out of his skill range.
He has had dealings with the sisters in the past, so of course, he went when asked.

Ross W Carpenter is a human male, dressed in outdoor clothes. Glimpses of metal can be seen here and there. He is armed and armored. On his back, he carries a longsword.

He has an eye on their surroundings as he expects something to happen when the song reaches its cresento, but if it is outside or just inside the sister's circle, he can't know.

The sisters song rises to a crescendo, the woods fill with the sounds of their complex harmony. Holding hands, they dance, heads flailing, their movements individual yet complimentary.

A shuddering takes one, the youngest. She's barely an adult, 25 years tops. Prophecy takes hold. She thrashes and the other four sisters, who used to be six, cry out, holding her hands. They can't let go.

She moans. Setalia is her name. She's want to grow flowers in the larger folds in the bark of living trees. No more, after tonight.

The sisters stop, as if answering to some hidden sign.

Setalia spasms and then is still, her head falls forward, covering her face.

"The conqueror comes, all wormlike and hale
You'll know him when arrives on a boatbreaking gale.
His swordstaff drinks blood it knows not thirsts end
Till all in the Rhyhold, a crooked knee bend.

Only one way breaks chains before they hold fast
Star time, long gone, may arise from our past
This is not certain, their line may not last
Find you the keys to unbind them to task.

The cauldron of the griffin, the wand of old blood
The gem of remembrance, the blade of red mud.
Together they will call forth the traitor King's shade
His magic will reveal how Astromancer is chained."

She slumps forward and the five sisters now four scream their anguish into the night, tearing at their hair and dresses.

Her words linger in the clearing around the fire. They call forth tales you have heard of only in passing.

Legend has it that there was a time when the Kings of old weld a power long lost, the power of the stars. They brought forth an age of wonder, of peace and happiness. The passions of the people grew and they sought ever more, to spread, to free the world from shackles. In a pique of wisdom, the Kings shuttered the power away, locking it in their blood, to save the Rhyhold from the avarice of ego. What is the Star Magic? How long do you have? Where are these objects of which she spoke? These are mysteries untold.

It was not only you that heard the cry in the night. A great cracking in the forest, a crashing of brush and trees, and a scout sticks his head from the trees. An arrow flies between your shoulders, strikes a sister (and then there were three), as more scouts appear. They're Night Folk, mostly human but with tusks and squarish features, but there is something wrong, something terribly terribly wrong with them.

More arrows rain upon you, cut down the last of the seven sisters, each hit by four or more, they fall into your arms, and breathe their last. Dozens more, maybe hundreds of soldiers follow. Too many to count, much less fight.

Gwyddion yips and says, Come we must flee, in a group-mindspeak. His snout and fur are splashed with blood where he nudged Sjol, the oldest sister.

The prophecy had come too late, invasion is upon you.

What do you do?

Edit: for clarity, the encroaching forces are coming from the north west.

At the sister's mention of keys, Ross instinctively touches the key around his neck. The key does not fit any lock that he has found yet, but is important, one might say it is the key to his soul.Ross caught the third sister when she was struck by an arrow. She had always been her favorite. He kisses her hand and whispers I'm sorry as the life leaves her body.
He draws his sword, and with the others, he flees the horde.

Ryssik, who had been fully absorbed by the song and the prophecy, was caught completely by surprise the sudden attack.

She lingers for a moment, her eyes on the dead sisters, then she turns and runs as fast as her short, bent legs can carry her, desperately trying to keep up with the others. She wishes there was something they could do to at least salvage the bodies of the sisters rather than leave them to the attacking nightfolk, but there is not.
At least, the sisters managed to finish their final prophesy and there would be time to ponder the meaning of it once they are no longer under immediate threat to their lives.

Ryssik, Gwyddion, quick! Jump up on my back and grab my pony tail! Tritous flies away as far and as fast as he can keeping an eye on the human and the wolf.

The thought of running away eats at him, but Jarl knows that it would be futile to stay. He pulls out his hand axe and starts running to the southeast

You flee around the witch's hut and into the woods. A few stray arrows head your way but they're not that interested in actually hitting you. You all immediately realize that this was indeed a targeted attack on the Sisters.

Behind you, you see them begin camping at the hut, and not moving toward Callibog. You could likely go back there, warn the town, and get your equipment. Will they show the town peace? Or is there more mischief at play?

And what threat did the Five Sisters present to the marauders' master?

I think we should warn the town. It doesn't look like they are going anywhere tonight.

"Yes, we warn them!", Ryssik agrees. "If they are in danger, they need to be warned."

Tritous being an inordinately curious creature was dying to find out answers. Something didn't seem quite right about these Night Folk. Why were they after the sisters and why did the Night Folk let him and his fellow adventurers go? Would it be worthwhile for someone to go back and ask? Perhaps they could stall or even prevent the prophecy from coming true if they knew more about what was going on.

I agree we should warn the town but perhaps we could find a way to speak with the Night Folk and find out what they want and why?

They just murdered the sisters. Did they look like they were in a conversational mood? I mean, I can't stop you, but if you do go back...do you have any last words for your kin?

"No, no," Ryssik agrees with Jarl. "We cannot talk to them. They were bad, aggressive. We warn the town."

Lets go already! Ros starts to run towards town. It is not a fast pace, but it is a steady on he can keep up for a while.

Jarl settles in to the ground eating lope that Garou use for long runs.

Okay, okay. Tritous knows when he's been outvoted and follows the others, settling into a steady wingbeat above.