“What colour is that”

Is what?

THAT

Open your mind like a box of treasure
Turn over thoughts at your leisure
Some of hope and others pleasure
Pains un-boxed will not feather

Instead led out by the nose
“You casted invis?!” – remember those…
Let passion lie among the rose
And fast friends go unto the crows

I ask forgiveness from my mind
Softer thoughts, I beg and blind
As dust brush off a tome of time
Dignified un-signified, here I’ll sign.

The first thing I noted, arriving Melbourne late Wednesday was the oak tree’s near John Street. Branches parting down the middle. Like an office worker trying to do the spits over a power cords. Straddling, legs like bridges.

Past the first nine waves

Beyond the head chills, and cold feet.

Ringing in my ears.

Green rocks and golden light.

Perfect surprises warming our hearts and making it all better. In the end.

Feel the boil –

The hidden underneath

I can’t express time easily without saying it so allow me the long way to explain the soil.

Rashness. Suppress

Impatience, suppress

Jaw, clench.

Supress, neutral, square, flatly. I look at you, and purpose – the end of a working week. Late again, angry at how easy it is, the lack of accountability. To be better. Challenged.

Silent at the stumps again.

Another gin.

Suppress

The more money, the stranger the problem.

How are you going, he asked

It’s a bit late for that, I responded.

POEM

The rise and fall of a friendship

My near loss of a brother –

Rocked with illness our father

And the lies I tell for work.

Possible Party Interactions

• A Plea for Cooperation:
  The Master might reach out directly—either in person or through an emissary—to explain that the spell sustaining the party’s humanity is failing. In this interaction, he appeals to them as his “children,” asking for their help in stabilizing his life’s work before they revert to something worse. This can lead to tense negotiations where the party must decide whether to trust him or fight against him.
• An Ominous Ultimatum:
  In another scenario, the Master could confront the party with a stern warning: if they do not submit to his plan (or work with him), the curse will overrun them entirely. This encounter might take place at a pivotal moment—perhaps in the haunted corridors of Wightlych Academy—forcing the party to choose between immediate combat or reluctant collaboration.
• Subtle Manipulations Through Dreams or Memories:
  The Master might influence the party indirectly by seeding shared visions, dreams, or memories that suggest his intervention is the only path to true freedom. These interactions are subtle enough that the party must question whether they’re being manipulated or helped—a moral gray area that deepens the mystery of their origins.
• A Last-Ditch Rescue:
  Should the party find themselves overwhelmed by forces working against them (or by the deteriorating effects of their curse), the Master might appear unexpectedly to save one or more members. This act of mercy (or calculated benevolence) forces the party to reconsider their perception of him as a villain.

Possible Outcomes

• Alliance and Redemption:
  If the party chooses to work with the Master, they might help refine his experimental magic. The outcome could be a ritual that permanently stabilizes their humanity, at the cost of binding them more closely to his enigmatic vision. In turn, the Master might begin to see the value in their free will, shifting his role from manipulator to mentor.
• Conflict and Rebellion:
  Alternatively, if the party resists his influence, a direct confrontation could ensue. This battle might reveal that his experiments—while well-intentioned—have led to unintended horrors. The party could succeed in dismantling his arcane network, but in doing so, risk losing the only protection they have against the complete reversion of their curse.
• Tragic Sacrifice:
  A third outcome might see the Master ultimately sacrificing himself to give the party a final chance at normalcy. In a climactic scene at Wightlych Academy, he could channel all his remaining power into one final spell—either saving the party or transforming them irrevocably into beings that are neither fully undead nor human.
• Moral Ambiguity and Transformation:
  In a more nuanced resolution, the conflict with the Master might force both sides to compromise. Perhaps his experiments are only a piece of a larger cosmic puzzle about life, death, and what lies in between. The party’s choices could redefine his work, leading to a new understanding of life—a bittersweet victory where neither side is wholly right or wrong.

Possible Motives for the Master

• A Vision of Perfect Life:
  At his core, the Master is driven by the desire to defy the natural order of decay and madness. His motive is to create a new form of life—one that carries the intellect and free will of the living but the resilience of the undead. He sees his subjects as a stepping stone toward a perfected existence that will liberate them from the frailties of mortality.
• Parental Regret and Redemption:
  The Master’s actions may stem from a deeply personal tragedy—perhaps the loss of someone dear or a failure of his own mortal life. In his eyes, reanimating the lost children of Wightlych Academy isn’t an abomination but a second chance, a way to right a wrong by giving them back a semblance of the life they should have had. His interactions are tinted with both paternal care and the bitter regret of what he can never truly undo.
• Desperation to Correct a Cosmic Imbalance:
  He might also believe that the natural order is broken, and that by reanimating his subjects with true humanity, he is setting things right. In his mind, the experiment is not merely a scientific or magical endeavor but a necessary correction against an inherent injustice of the world—a world where the truly gifted (or damned) are meant to transcend their mortal shells.
• Fear of His Own Legacy:
  The Master could be motivated by the dread of his own failures. Every experiment, every reanimated soul, is a reminder of his inability to fully control death and its consequences. As the spell weakens, he might be desperate to prove that his creation—his “children”—can continue to defy fate, even if it means resorting to morally ambiguous or drastic measures.

These interactions, outcomes, and motives can be mixed and matched, allowing you to tailor the Master’s character to your campaign’s tone. Whether he becomes a tragic, misunderstood figure, a formidable adversary, or even an uneasy ally, the Master’s layered personality adds a rich, moral dimension to the unfolding story.

Additional Subtle Clues for the Players

These details will reinforce the eerie truth of their origins without outright stating it, allowing the players to piece it together themselves.

8. No One Remembers Them

When they interact with townspeople from their reactions are oddly distant. People they believe they knew look confused when greeted. “I don’t think we’ve met,” they say. Even those who should recognize them—the innkeeper who let them stay years ago, the old woman who once called them a nuisance—seem uncertain.

9. The Smell of Old Earth

They occasionally catch a scent on the wind—damp earth, rotting wood, the musk of graves long forgotten. Sometimes, it’s on their clothes. Sometimes, it’s on their breath. It clings to them when they wake, as if they had been somewhere else while they slept.

10. Strange Reactions from Animals

Dogs growl and whimper at their approach. Horses spook and shy away. Even crows watch them too intently—not with fear, but recognition. The birds do not caw at them. They simply stare, as if waiting for something.

11. The Missing Heartbeats

One night, while resting, one of them—perhaps while checking their wounds—presses a hand to their chest. They realize they can’t feel their heartbeat. In panic, they check another party member. Nothing.

But then, moments later, it returns—faint, slow, but not quite right. It happens again at random, their heartbeats stopping for moments, then restarting without pain or consequence.

13. The Stars Are Not the Same

At night, one of them looks up and realizes the constellations feel unfamiliar. A scholar or navigator might struggle to find their bearings, feeling that something about the sky has shifted since their childhood. Perhaps the stars they remember… no longer exist.

14. The Academy’s Forgotten Wings

If they search the ruins of Wightlych Academy, they may find sealed-off halls that are too well-preserved. Unlike the burnt out remains of the main hall, these wings were deliberately hidden, untouched by time. Old rooms remain exactly as they left them, their childhood belongings still pristine, as if waiting for them to return.

One such room might have neatly folded uniforms in their exact sizes, as if they never left.

15. The Blood That Isn’t

If they are wounded and someone examines their blood closely, they will notice something off. It clots too quickly. Under the right light, it seems to have a dark, ink-like sheen.

A trained healer or alchemist might notice something worse—it’s too still. It lacks the warmth and movement of living blood.

Final Revelation (When They Piece It Together)

As the clues mount, the realization will be undeniable: they were never alive when they left Wightlych Academy.

They were undead children, given an unnatural life by the Master’s work. For 33 years, they have walked the world as if they were human—but that spell is now fading. The Master never intended for them to escape.

Because in truth, they never did.

Before Transformation

Krhaal was always the quiet one, the thoughtful one. Taller than most, always stooping, with a wiry frame that gave him the look of someone who had learned to endure hunger and hardship without complaint. His dark, shoulder-length hair was often unkempt, falling into his sharp, tired eyes—eyes that were always searching for something unseen, something lost. They held a strange mix of intelligence and sorrow, as if he had spent his whole life unraveling a puzzle that no one else could see.

His hands were calloused from years of living rough. Cutting wood, scribbling notes, sketching symbols, and turning the brittle pages of forgotten tomes. Even as a child at Wightlych Academy, Krhaal had an obsession with knowledge, especially the kind that should have remained buried. He was the first to question the oddities of their existence, the first to sense that something was wrong beneath the surface of their so-called education.

Despite his sharp mind, he was not cold. He had a dry, often morbid sense of humor, a way of deflecting fear with wit. He was the one who kept the group steady when they planned their escape, the one who never wavered when they set the fire that should have covered their tracks forever. But even then, a shadow lingered in his thoughts—an unease that he never fully spoke of.

After their escape, he lived in solitude, withdrawing from the world as if afraid of what he might become. His home in The Hollow Pines was filled with half-written letters, books on alchemy and other academic theory, and strange symbols scrawled on scrolls. Over the many years he grew gaunt, haunted, speaking of whispers in his dreams, of a hunger that gnawed at the edges of his mind.

And then, the letters began.

By the time the party returned to his home, Krhaal was already gone.

What they found was not him, but a message scrawled in blooded ink.

Letter 1:

They are coming for us.
I feel it, more than any paranoia. Their hunger for us grows. Resolute searching that never stopped.

They hunger for us – not as food but as something else. Something darker. Nefarious whispers in the back of my mind, in my dreams, in the silence of the night. It riles with change, of our return, of the purpose we can’t escape. I can feel it, growing is me, pulling at my soul.

We can’t hide from this. Not anymore.

— K

Letter 2:

Help.
Something has changed. I am weary with lack of sleep, and cold. I don’t know what it is, but it’s growing and I can’t stop it. I feel it creeping up my spine, prickly and sharp. It’s not just my body —it’s my mind I can remember the Academy. Do you remember the experiments? We must meet at the Tarn. Tomorrow night at sunset. I don’t trust myself alone. Bring the others, I need to know that you are ok.

Please. I need to know I’m not alone in this.

— K

Letter 3:

I think I’m close to a breakthrough.
I’ve been remembering the Academy and looking through old notes. The whispers in the shadows – do you remember the Master? I can feel his burning voice in my ears. The screams as we fled. The feeling of freedom, light coming into the world. Hope. But now something is gnawing at me. The price of our freedom – I know we don’t speak of it. Remembering our flight chills me to the bone. It doesn’t go away. No matter what I do. These memories are ice in my veins. We must speak, surely they are the key.

I will be careful with my searching. Please call by my house when you receive this. We must talk.

— K

Letter 4:

We promised we would never go back.
But I don’t have a choice. Not anymore. I can hear the Master’s quill, scraping on the parchment of my skin, scratching cursed knowledge into my bones. The experiments. The cold and starvation of our childhood. We can never be free. They kept us, watched us, shaped us into what we are. Something broken.

I don’t want to go back, but I must. I must face what they did to us.

— K