The Cultist
Madness awaits us in this ravine. We are sure of it. And yet, we have no choice but to press on, passing anxiously between the narrow walls.
Suddenly, a horn echoes through the wooded chasm — many horns, and pipes too, lilting and jilting. A vast procession approaches along the ravine: dancers in faceless masks, children swaddled in gleaming robes, nude revellers garlanded with ivy. They bear staffs and shields that proclaim their sect for all to see: the golden bough of the Lost Children, worshippers of the Lord of the Wood.
As the procession comes to a halt, a priest steps forward. In their hand is a thick staff of yew; they point it at us, speaking in a voice neither masculine nor feminine.
“Interlopers who profane the Green Lord’s domain! You will make fine sacrifices to His name. And yet… perhaps you, too, worship at His feet. Know you the secrets of the leaves and the whispers of the trees? Name His relics, or meet death in His name!”
The day wears on…
The Challenge
This is a naming game. The Cultist has demanded that we prove our holiness by naming the relics of their cult, the Lost Children.
The Reader picks a category of object — for example, tools.
The traveller to the Reader’s left then picks a letter — for example, ‘L’.
Moving clockwise starting with that traveller, each traveller names an original object that fits the category and letter. In our example, this could be ‘lockpick’.
If a traveller takes longer than five seconds to provide an answer, or if their answer is invalid, they are eliminated.
The game ends when all travellers but one are eliminated.
Success. If the game reaches ten turns before ending, the Challenge is passed.
Failure. If all travellers are eliminated before ten turns have passed, the Challenge is failed.
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————If the Challenge is passed, the last traveller left standing wins the Blessing of the Cultist.
If the Challenge is failed, the party suffers the Curse of the Cultist. Take this spirit's card and place it in a designated area on the table so everyone can see it. If this is the party's third Curse, click here.
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“Ah,” says the priest, “but now your fate is clear to see. His hand is already upon you…”
A gust of wind rustles through the chasm. It blows through the procession like light through water, scattering their forms to the breeze. With a sigh, the cultic phantoms are gone.