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Pathfinder Session Recap: Saints and Sinners
In our latest Pathfinder – Age of Worms campaign session (Editor’s Note: that’s Session 41 for the three of you keeping track), the party’s journey to Tymon for the Champion’s Games took an unexpected turn, plunging them into a tense encounter with desperate mercenaries and unveiling ominous glimpses of the larger threats lurking in the shadows. From a chaotic battle at a forest encampment to the chilling arrival of Saint Alduin and whispers of dark conspiracies surrounding Loris Raknian, this session was packed with drama, danger, and revelations.
For those so inclined, you can find more of our Age of Worms session summaries on our World Anvil page HERE!
The Fixers’ Camp
The day started simply enough. A quiet road, the kind of road that doesn’t give much back—just dirt and trees and the occasional bird. But then Cal’s eyes caught it: a little glint in the dirt, something small that didn’t belong. A poker chip from the Wavestone. That’s the funny thing about small things—they can drag a person into big trouble. Many of the passengers aboard the Wavestone had travelled this road the past day. However, only one had spent enough time in the Wavestone’s casino to still have a poker chip to his name – the Ruinlord’s coach/manager Ekalim Smallcask.
The trail wound into the woods, opening into a clearing that smelled like smoke, oil and desperation. Gears, vials, and half-finished machines littered the place like a junkyard for broken dreams. And there they were, the Fixers—a gang of tinkering misfits who’d bitten off more than they could chew. In the middle of it all was Ekalim, tied to a post but warning the Fixers that they wouldn’t like the outcome if his team were to find him.
The Ruinlords found him. The Fixers didn’t like the outcome.
Tike, Dunner, and Alfie tried to talk their way out of a fight, but Tike’s stare—the kind of thing that makes your skin itch—didn’t do them any favors. The Fixers twitched like over-wound clocks, and then everything unravelled. The fight was short, sharp, and mean like most fights are. When it was over, the ground was soaked, the air stank of burnt metal, and the Fixers were done—most of them dead, one tied to the same post as Ekalim. Fair’s fair, after all.
In the quiet after the storm, the party searched the camp while Ekalim, shaking off his bonds, muttered something about the Fixers’ debts and how the people they owed wouldn’t take kindly to losing their muscle. His voice wavered just enough to let the Ruinlords know he believed it.
Arrival at Tent City
The road ended at Tymon, where the city rose like a promise or a threat—maybe both. The walls were high, the banners snapping in the wind, and the noise was relentless: the clatter of merchants, the shouts of gladiators, the hum of a place that knew something big was coming. Tent City sprawled outside the gates like a carnival gone to seed, colorful and chaotic, with the kind of tension that clings to the skin.
At the Dusty Pavilion, the party met Tessara, a half-elf former gladiator with a bad limp, a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, and Gorik, a dwarf who looked like he could pour a drink and break a nose in the same motion. While Ekalim went off to “gather information” (whatever that meant), Cal leaned on magic to dig deeper into the shadows. What came up wasn’t pretty. Loris Raknian, the man behind the Champion’s Games, was a name people didn’t say too loud. They talked about a ruthless man who feared getting old and kept his grip on power by whatever means necessary. But the whispers went deeper, darker.
Saint Alduin’s Arrival
And then came the night.
The fires of Tent City flickered, casting shadows that twisted and stretched as the crowd pulsed with life. It felt safe enough, or at least safer than it had any right to. But that was before the air changed before the hum of voices stopped dead like the whole place had forgotten how to breathe.
Saint Alduin didn’t just arrive—he descended. Golden armor lit like it had been forged in the sun, radiating power that pressed down on everything like a fist. A gladiator—a man with more pride than sense—shouted something stupid. Alduin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. A single beam of light erupted from his helm. When it was over, the gladiator wasn’t there anymore. Just a smear of ash on the ground surrounding a few pieces of bone.
The crowd froze. And then Alduin smiled. Not a real smile—it was too sharp, too practiced, the kind of thing that belonged on the face of a man who didn’t believe in kindness. His purple eyes cut through the night like blades, and when they found the party, they could feel the weight of him, the knowing in his gaze.
“I’ve heard about you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of something else. A promise, maybe.
Or a warning.
Pathfinder Session Recap: Heart of the Labyrinth
In this First Edition Pathfinder session recap of our Age of Worms campaign, the party faces deadly challenges inside the Heart of the Labyrinth, battles their former ally Kaldir Stormrage, and narrowly escapes the grasp of the infernal devil Pyraxus. Plus, a tense meeting with Elric Toplo uncovers dark truths about the Ebon Triad and the looming Age of Worms. #TTRPG #Pathfinder
Cal Volsung stood at the edge of a nightmare, his hands trembling as the theyrium cocoon whispered promises of power. Its foul essence slithered through his veins, twisting muscle and sinew, turning him into something else. His skin darkened, the edges of his vision swam, and he saw his hands become long, spidery things—drow hands. The curse clung to him tighter than a drowning man’s grip, and no matter how hard he fought, it was there. Oh, he staggered back out of the cocoon’s reach, sure. But the sickness inside him lingered, a poison worming its way into his soul. The others stood in a circle, silent, knowing what they knew but not wanting to say it: Cal was marked. And no one knew if that mark could be erased.
The Heart of the Labyrinth, that wicked engine of doom, sat dead and cold at the chamber’s center. Its once-thundering pulses had gone silent, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world held its breath. Then the air grew heavy, thick as bad dreams. Shadows stretched, slithering up the walls like oil slicks. And that’s when they heard it—a low, rolling chuckle that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
It was Pyraxus.
His voice slithered through the air, mocking them, wrapping around their throats like a noose. “You think you’ve won? This maze—my maze—isn’t just gears and stone. It’s flesh and bone. And you? You’re inside me.” His laughter filled every crack, every shadow. The temperature dropped, and the walls seemed to inch closer, like the whole labyrinth was swallowing them whole.
Kaldir Stormrage, the half-dragon berserker, gritted his teeth as the voice wormed its way into his mind. Pyraxus whispered promises sweet as honey and dark as tar—power, brotherhood, purpose. Kaldir, already hanging by a thread, felt that thread snap. His eyes glazed over, and his scales took on a dull, infernal sheen. When he opened his mouth, it wasn’t a man’s roar—it was the guttural bellow of a devil.
The fight was brutal. The party threw everything they had at their former ally, but Kaldir fought like a wild storm, fists and flames battering them with the fury of a god gone mad. They shouted his name and begged him to fight the corruption, but it was like shouting into a storm—he couldn’t hear them. And in the end, they had no choice. Their blades found flesh, and Kaldir fell, his monstrous body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.
That’s when Pyraxus’ voice came again, dripping with glee. “You think killing him freed him? No, no, his soul is mine now. You only saved him from one prison just to toss him into another.”
Before the party could catch their breath, the treasure hoard at the heart of the Labyrinth began to move. Gold coins lifted into the air like a swarm of angry wasps. Gems glittered with a dark, hateful light as they spun into a storm of metal and malice. The hoard came alive, and it wanted blood.
It was chaos—coins cutting through flesh like razors, gems smashing into armor with bone-shattering force. The party fought tooth and nail to survive the storm, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. They couldn’t win, not like this. Their only hope was the Clockwork Gate at the far end of the chamber, the portal flickering like a candle on the edge of going out.
With trembling hands and racing hearts, they worked together, each second feeling like an hour, assembling the gate piece by piece. And all the while, Pyraxus was in their heads, whispering doubts and fears, filling their minds with images of failure. One wrong move, one missed bolt, and they’d be trapped in the labyrinth forever.
Just as the storm of treasure closed in for the kill, the gate roared to life with a mechanical clatter. They leapt through, one by one, hearts in their throats, as Pyraxus unleashed one final illusion—a blaze of hellfire and chaos, the walls crumbling, the air turning to poison. But the heroes knew it wasn’t real. They had to know. They clenched their eyes shut, gritted their teeth, and stepped through the gate—one last leap of faith.
Tike Myson was the last to step through. As the portal swallowed him, he glanced back over his shoulder one final time. Pyraxus stood at the center of the storm, a devil made of shadows and fire, bound to a prison of his own making. And then, the gate slammed shut, leaving the Labyrinth—and its infernal master—behind.
A Meeting with Elric Toplo
The heroes barely had time to catch their breath before the summons came. Elric Toplo wanted to see them, an old friend of Alfie Bud and a scholar of dark things best left buried. When they arrived at his estate, they were met by Pollard, a wiry old butler whose eyes held too many secrets. He led them through the grand foyer, past ancient suits of armor and faded banners from battles long forgotten. There, among the relics of another time, hung a painting—two boys kicking a soccer ball across a sunlit field. Alfie and Elric, once friends, before the world grew dark around them.
Elric met them in the parlor, a room that smelled of old books and pipe smoke. He was a thin man, his frail frame wrapped in a scholar’s robes, but there was steel in his eyes. When he spoke, it was with the quiet authority of someone who knew too much. And what he knew now was the stuff of nightmares.
Green worms. The kind that don’t just kill you—they take you. They burrow into your flesh, into your mind, turning you into something else. Something worse. And these weren’t just mindless undead; no, these creatures were part of something bigger. They were pieces of Kyuss Descimus, a necromancer who dreamed of godhood and damn near got there. Elric told them how the worms spread like a disease, each one a piece of Kyuss’ mind, each one whispering his will. And the Ebon Triad—they were working to free him. The prophecies were already in motion, gears turning in the shadows, and if the heroes didn’t stop it, the Age of Worms would come.
GM Notes
Running this session was a little like trying to balance on a knife’s edge. It had moments where everything clicked into place like clockwork gears, and others where I could feel things slipping, no matter how tightly I tried to grip the narrative. Here’s where the session shined, and where it didn’t.
What I Liked About The Session
- The Kaldir encounter – a shot at salvation that slipped through their fingers.
I wanted to give the players a real chance to avoid having to fight Kaldir, their ally-turned-berserker. The encounter wasn’t just a hack-and-slash; it was a puzzle wrapped in tragedy. They had different ways to pull him back from the edge—through persuasion, tactics, or skill checks designed to disrupt the mental grip of Pyraxus. Unfortunately, the dice turned cold on them at the worst moment. Still, that’s the kind of heartbreak I love in a game: the players had the tools, the opportunities, but fate had other plans. A gut-wrenching failure makes for a better story than an easy victory any day. - The Escape Protocol – skill checks done right.
Here’s the thing: I’ve got one player whose PC is built to absolutely destroy skill checks—high bonuses stacked across Knowledge and various proficiencies. And yeah, that tends to leave the others twiddling their thumbs when those moments arise. But the Clockwork Gate sequence forced everyone into the spotlight. Sure, Mr. Skill Master got his moment to shine, but this wasn’t just his show. Every player had a role to play; the clock was ticking, the pressure was on, and success was a team effort. That tension, where everyone contributes meaningfully? That’s the gold standard I aim for.
What I Didn’t Like
- The Elric Toplo info dump – when sticking to the script goes sideways.
Here’s where I dropped the ball. I leaned too hard on the published material, which ended up biting me. The whole idea was for Elric Toplo to provide critical intel on the green worms and the Ebon Triad, but my Skill PC had already aced some big rolls earlier, uncovering most of that lore. By the time they met Elric, it felt like a rerun—info they already knew but wrapped in a fancier package. I should have improvised—pivoted off-script and given Elric something new to add, a breadcrumb that wouldn’t spoil future events but still rewarded the players for their patience in getting to that point. Lesson learned: just because it’s written doesn’t mean it can’t be rewritten on the fly. Keep it fresh, keep it dynamic, or risk having those high-stakes moments fall flat.
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