You were sleeping soundly in the village where you stayed, but when you woke up, it was all bleak, dark and ominous. You could hear it, smell it, and feel it in your bones. When you looked or went out, you realized you were not in your home plane any more.

What's more, hundreds of dark-clad warriors are all around, watching you and others confront reality. They have a pallid grey complection, many of them are decorated (or marked?) with tattoos, and almost all of them have some strange or exotic military gear, whether it's a weapon, a shield or a piece of armor. They don't seem aggressive, there are no drawn weapons or attacking spells in casting, but they emanate an alien aura, staring at you with cold calculation in their eyes.

Some of the local common folk who are obviously from the different places you are from are already out, with alarm in their eyes and searching for an escape route, or the village / town guard maybe. A few nosy and intrepid kids are near the 'welcome' party, asking if they can touch their weapons, or whether they can turn someone into a frog. This is probably connected to some parents nearby frantically calling out kids' nicknames, but it has no effect against the curiosity of the young ones.

As you try to comprehend what this means and where you are, a gray-green clad mystic walks up the street to greet you. He has abstract tattoos all over his face, which strangely fit together into a pattern that's both otherworldly and primitive somehow. He addresses everyone present, sweeping around with his scrutinizing look.

"You are now in Dratreme, our village in the Shadowfell. If you wish to return to your homes, listen to what we have to say."

There were nightmares that started like this. Waking somewhere other than the bed she'd slept in, surrounded by strangers... Vella rose to her feet and brushed the wrinkles from her clothes while she looked around. She sensed no malice, but it was too early to tell if she were awake or dreaming -- time would answer that. Vella couldn't hold back a curious smirk, though. The pallid folk were strangely dressed and marked, but the tattooed mystic spoke in common. The word Shadowfell brought a delighted grin to Vella's face.

"Oh, good morning," she greeted her host, than glanced around at the others who were waking nearby. "What is all of this about?" She asked.

Among those rousing stood a nearly motionless guardian of a flock of goats. Well whatever number of goats came over with him. Beast came to with a strange sensation, waking from unconsciousness. The only other time he could remember this sort of rousing into waking mind was the last time he had reset and came to be as he is now. How many years had it been now? It didn't matter.

The sleek black machine looked around at the gathering of warriors and the common folk of planes elsewhere. He searched for faces he recognized and picked out a few. Samson, his fellow goatherd was not far off, waking in a similar state of heightened emotion as many of the folk about seemed to be. One of the children practicing their curiosity was familiar as well. Beast's good friend of nine years had often asked about Beast's own weapons he carried so it only made sense that she was over there now with the others. Elora, but she always insisted folks call her Lori. Was that the herbalist, Felt? Of course there were many more of the village folk around as well and so many that he did not recognize. Why? Why were they all here?

With a practiced gentleness the tall, dark warforged checked on those charges of his that came over with them. He made sure the goats were tied to the cart for now and slightly opened one of their bags of feed that were supposed to be for emergencies. Lucky that came as well... "Stay with the goats, Samson. I will see what is going on."

Beast approached the tattooed mystic but not before checking for his axe. It hadn't been used for anything other than chopping trees for a few decades now but if there was ever a time to be careful it was now. Something dark stirred deep in the pits of Beast's soul. He squashed that right away. Fear beget fear and anger. Anger lead to poor choices and poorer outcomes.

"I am listening." His voice was a calm that spoke to years of knowing ones own strength and further years never having to abuse it.

An woman with elvish features, with one sharp ear. Was one of those awoken from her slumber and left her bed. She flick her golden locks as she pet a adult hunting hound, specifically a golden retriever who's currently lazing on the ground. Every guard in the village knows who this woman is, it's not strange to see her so relaxed yet it's unnerving that she's calm at a situation like this. When she stared at the bleak area around her and the mysterious army, she only gave a raise eyebrow but doesn't go for her bow.

".... Well, what do you strange folk have to say." Morrigan says, this wasn't her first time meeting otherworldly inhabitants, especially of this size. It's usually better to not aggravate them. Yet, she can't help but shake her head at this predicament, First the Feywild, now it's counterpart. She can't help but question fates designs sometimes. she thought as she pets Jaegar, who chooses not to intervene in this conversation for now.

Colwyn grimaced as he woke, "Urghhh... That's it I'll never drink tej ever again, for as long as I live. My head feels like...", opening one eye the gnome grew silently for a second as he tried to focus on his surroundings, "What in the Nine Hells?". The other eye opened, and he swallowed hard at the change of scenery. Grasping for his sword, Col jumped up and looked around at the eerie warriors and vilagers. His hand finally finding the hilt, Colwyn squared his shoulders and drew the worn blade, "I don't know what's going on here, but any one of you comes near me, and I'll cut you in half".

The mystic's voice caused him to whip around the blade extended out towards the stranger, "What!? Shadowfell?... Where's that? That near Oxrun?", he glanced around again, trying to gauge the warriors and their number, Too many. "I mean you just point me in direction of Dearstoke, I'll be on my way and you can all go back to your creepy tatoos or whatever. No harm, no foul".

Kesslyn had went to bed in Neverwinter, warm and secure beneath the fluffy comforter in her room at The Iron Flagon Inn. The rest of her party had likewise bedded down for the night after a long trek through the snowy countryside. Victory had been theirs as they had finally tracked a rather troublesome group of bandits back to their lair and laid them low with sword and spell. They of course had luxuriated in the comforts the famed inn had to offer before taking their rest. In fact, Kesslyn herself had had no fewer than four, brimming flagons of the renowned Poison Serpent ale before having to be helped to her bed to sleep off the celebrations.

Now, the young half-elven woman awoke to a splitting headache and utter darkness. She could feel a pervasive cold, though it was more of a spiritual lack of warmth than a physical one. Her voice called out for her adventuring companions, echoing harshly in the nothingness that surrounded her, and she quickly ceased the discordant inquiry. Rising to her feet, she made her way toward a small, sliver of light that stood out among the blackness. Stepping out into what appeared to be a dark caricature of a village, her eyes swept over the others like herself and the gray-skinned natives. She did her best to calm her racing heart and simply nodded when the green-clad mystic spoke.

"Where is Dratreme and why have you brought us here," she asked as she blinked her eyes and rubbed her temples tiredly.

"I really hope this is just a ale-soaked dream," Kesslyn thought to herself as she waited for the creature to respond.

The folk of the villages and towns went pale at the mention of the Shadowfell, and this word was enough warning that the nosing kids returned to their families, and an eerie silence fell on the place despite the sheer amount of people present.

The figure who talked to the newcomers let the questions flow, apparently he expected them. The warriors simply looked through the threat from Colwyn and just watched on undisturbed.

"Dratreme is ... " he gestured around the world "in the Shadowfell, as I mentioned. We have summoned you and some drones with you, because there is a task we want to be done by outsiders. We have many enemies, and one group has created powerful wards against our kin over the millenia. This group happens to have a camp not very far from here, we suppose not by chance. They have captured something that belongs to our lady, and we are unable to enter their territory because of the wards."

He let this sink in for a few moments, then continued "We offer to transport you all to where you were summoned from, in return for what they have taken from us. Do we have a deal?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:56, Mon 26 Sept 2022.

"Drones?" The calm in Beast's voice remained but there was a tremor beneath it for those who knew what to listen for. A tremor that spoke to agitation. "You have cast a wide net and caught many mouths to feed." He cared less that he was taken to this place, though there was care there as well, and more that all of these people that seemed unprepared for whatever this task was were pulled here as well. "Send the villagers home as you would us, this will accomplish two things. Lessen your burdens and prove you are capable of what you say."

Anything to get people home and Beast would do it. "You speak of a camp and that you need outsiders to take care of your problem. Point me in the right direction and tell me what you need that I may solve Your problem for you and return to my goats." There was an emphasis on whose problem this was but it didn't preclude Beast's readiness to act. The sooner this was dealt with the sooner he could return home.