Welcome back, adventurers of Esthia!
In our fifth session, we watch our party push further into the jagged, treacherous peaks as they seek out the Fireforge Clanhold. From mercenary ambushes to the sanity-fraying tricks of a giggling Fey, it will be a journey the party will not soon forget.
I’ll also be showcasing the custom ‘Hero Point Tokens’ I’ve crafted for the table—perfect for those desperate moments when our heroes need that extra nudge to survive the chaos.
In this entry, you’ll find the full recount of their gruelling trek, and let’s not forget the latest report from that intrepid reporter from the EBC, Garrick Quillright!

Session 5 – The Giggling Mountain

The party left the cave of the maddened bear behind, their bodies aching, their minds haunted by the sickly-sweet scent of twisted rot, and their purpose decided: reach the Fireforge Clanhold. They needed to warn Dwoin’s kin, and they needed to understand the Darkforge madness before the dragon caught up with them. 

The journey was meant to be one of grim determination, but the mountains had other plans. 

After half a day of trekking through the treacherous, scree-lined paths, the party entered a wide gully. The passage was narrow, shadows clinging to the crags like hungry animals. 

“You’d better turn around if you know what’s good for you,” a gravelly voice barked. 

The party stopped. High above on a natural ledge, three humans loomed, their silhouettes framed by the harsh mountain light. Crossbows were leveled, the bolts catching the sun like baleful eyes. When Dwoin, jaw set in stone-like defiance, questioned their intent, the leader spat. He had been left behind; a hired blade with a single, brutal objective: ensure no “meddling dwarves” followed his employers. 

“And since you’re here, master dwarf,” the mercenary sneered, shifting his aim, “you’re all walking liabilities.” 

The air erupted. Spells hissed through the air, and projectiles shattered against the rock face. The bandits were organised, but they hadn’t accounted for the sheer volatility of this group. A fourth figure, hidden behind an outcropping, tried to flank them with a flask of alchemist’s fire, but as soon as the glass left his hand, Nugg’g moved. His bow sang twice in rapid succession. The bandit fell, the alchemical bomb breaking against the rocks and coating Garz and Dwoin in flames. 

Dwoin, fueled by now literally burning dwarven rage, barreled toward the ledge. He was a force of nature, waraxe raised, ready to reclaim his honour. But as he lunged, a flash of arcane light, and Garz’s Needle Darts pierced the air. His target crumpled before Dwoin’s axe could even whistle through the air. 

Frustration boiling over, Dwoin stowed his weapon and began a frantic climb. He was determined to finish the last man himself. He hauled himself up the ledge, muscles straining, axe raised high to deliver the final strike—only for the target to twitch and collapse as two more of Nug’gg’s arrows found their mark. 

The dwarf stood on the ledge, axe poised, chest heaving, staring down at the lifeless body. Below, Nugg’g simply raised a hand in mock salute, a smirk playing on his lips. The only sound in the gully was the clatter of Dwoin’s curses echoing off the stone walls. 

They scoured the bodies. Among the standard coin and iron, they found yet another map of the village, Galangholm. It was a basic layout of the village, but one detail stood out like a fresh wound, a red X marked through a single building.  

That night, the mountains felt alive. The cold was a physical weight, but it wasn’t just the temperature that chilled them. While Freja took the watch, a soft, wet rustling from their packs broke the silence. 

Freja approached, hand on her spear, only to freeze. A hand, pale, elongated, and emerging from the raw stone was deep inside their satchel. As she moved to strike, the arm dissolved, slipping back into the rock like a slippery fish into water. A thorough investigation of the area ensued as she woke the others, but no further evidence was found of the disembodied hand.  

The trek the following day was a gauntlet of small, sanity-fraying cruelties. They discovered the bridge they had been told about at Outpost Kholmar, a bridge crossing a chasm, rusted and corroded, coated in a shimmering, gelatinous slime. Taunting giggles echoed from the canyon walls, unseen and mocking. A moment of manic determination or impatience saw Nug’gg clear the bridge in a frantic half run, half uphill ski. Throwing down a rope for the others, the structure groaned with the sound of metal surrendering as the last of them leapt for the safety of the upper ledge, the bridge snapping, leaning precariously leaning and leaving them scrambling for purchase. 

As they pressed deeper, the teasing escalated. They spotted the body of a dwarf slumped on a ledge above. For a moment, dread turned Dwoin’s heart to lead. 

“Look at that, Dwoin,” Nug’gg quipped, his voice dripping with dark mirth. “Looks just like your sister, doesn’t she?” 

The punch was instantaneous. Dwoin’s fist connected with Nug’gg’s groin, a reaction as reflexive as it was deserved. But the moment they climbed up to investigate the “body,” the laughter returned, shrill and taunting. The corpse vanished, replaced by a nest of monstrous eggs, and the sky darkened as the mother bird of prey descended, screeching for vengeance. The fight was frantic, a dance of desperation on a narrow ledge, the party working in jagged, tired synchronization to survive. 

The path ahead was no kinder. By midday, they were swallowed by a bank of thick, unnatural fog, a wall of white that felt less like weather and more like a deliberate blindfold. They walked for what felt like hours, only to find themselves emerging from the mist exactly where they had started, staring at the same crag they had passed that morning. It was a loop. A persistent, taunting trick of the geography. It was Garz, his fingers tracing the faint, discordant hum of the underlying fey magic, who first sensed the dissonance. He signaled to Freja, and together, they peeled back the layers of the illusion. By tracking the fluctuating density through the mist, they carved a path through the magical wall, breaking the cycle and finally emerging into the clear, jagged air of the upper reaches. 

Exhaustion was beginning to cloud their judgment when they finally stumbled upon an old dwarven waystation. It looked like salvation. Guarded by an old stone statue of a stout dwarf, it was sturdy, abandoned, potentially stocked with supplies. 

The giggling fey, however, had followed them. 

Having thoroughly had enough of the giggling menace, the party devised a plan to capture the fey bastard. Believing that he imp had been searching for the recovered fey rapier they had pulled from the crazed bear a few days hence, Garz used his Mage Hand to hold the rapier up to the walls, preparing to yank it away should the creature reveal itself and thereby allow Nugg’g and Dwoin to grab it. However, upon passing the sword in front of the guardian statue, a familiar hand emerged from its chest, grasping for the slender silver hilt. Garz reacted, but too slowly, and the sword was wrenched from the grip of the ephemeral hand, bragged back into the stone of the statue where it stopped, lodged in its chest. The statue shuddered, its stone joints grinding, and lurched to life. It was a terrifying sight: a construct of the ancestors, animated by the malicious glee of a fey parasite. 

The fight was a nightmare of geometry. The sprite popping out of the walls, casting spells and goading them, vanishing back into the stone, the statue forcefully hammering the party with its powerful stone fists. It was a battle of attrition and wit. Finally, Nugg’g stopped chasing. He waited, muscles coiled, watching for the tell-tale shimmer of the creature’s return. As the fey emerged, Nugg’g leaped, pinning it against the cold stone, holding the chaotic spark of the creature in place long enough for Dwoin and the others to deliver the final blow. 

When it was over, the statue slumped back into a silent, inanimate lump of rock. The party stood amidst the dust, battered and breathless. From their vantage point they could now see the carved edifice of the Fireforge Clanhold. Their time in the mountains was soon to be over, the welcome warmth of a friendly hearth and dwarven spirits awaited them. 

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Post-game GMs Thoughts
It’s well understood that travel sessions in TTRPGs can be a little dull and uneventful, and while that normally applies to things like travelling across the countryside or oceans, this can also be true between settlements.
In this session, I wanted to further the bandit and evil fey plotlines, providing another nudge with the second map of Galangholm to remind my players that something was still happening in that direction, as well as build up some well-deserved hatred for the fey interlopers. I enjoyed playing the part of the prankster, particularly the illusion trap of making the nest of a giant bird appear to be a dwarf in need of aid.
This section actually led to the birth of what seems to be an evolving bit at our table, the “Nug’gg shot”. I never thought I’d be asking for rolls to successfully punch another party member in the groin, but there you go – that’s why we play these games, for the unexpected gems.

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Miniature Spotlight – Hero Point Tokens

True luck is not a gift from the gods, but a debt claimed by those brave enough to hold it when the darkness writes their final chapter.

The Hero Point system in Pathfinder 2e

Mechanically, Hero Points are a core feature of the Pathfinder 2e ruleset, designed to reward player initiative and mitigate the inherent variance of the d20. Each player starts a session with two points, and I award additional points for great roleplay, creative solutions, or moments where the party pushes the narrative forward. At least, when I remember to do so! Functionally, a player can spend a single point to reroll any d20 check, keeping the second result, even if it is lower.
In the most dire circumstances, they can spend all their accumulated points to immediately stabilize when dying. It’s an essential tool for balancing the party’s odds against challenging encounters and ensuring that a string of bad luck doesn’t halt the campaign’s progress. During our last session, Nug’gg pointed out to me that he is yet to use a hero point during the campaign. Call me vindictive if you like, but we’ll see how long that lasts…

Painting Techniques

These tokens were sculpted from milliput, as I had an old box leftover from previous projects. I thought the players having something tangible to spend and receive would both enhance their immersion and remind them to use this great resource, which it really seems to have achieved! The challenge at this stage was trying to achieve uniformity across each of the coins. However, I tried to go easy on myself as I was learning how to use the medium and figuring out the design at the same time. Old minting methods always produced variation in form, right?

The dried clay was base-coated with grey primer, and the gold non-metallic metal design was added. As ever, the key challenge here is ensuring the correct level of contrast and light placement across the surface of the coin. Something that was achieved with varying levels of success across the 12 coins I initially made! I enjoyed the project, and I’m considering making more tokens for status effects, spell slots, etc.

If you’d like to see more of my minis, you can find me on Instagram, Threads, and Bluesky by hitting the buttons below!