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# Campaign: Montosho

## Act Synopsis

The Montosho arc is a descent into the heart of cruelty, madness and indifference. It introduces the players to the worst of the Empire, the slow hostility of nature and the creeping question of whether meaning survives in a world that does not care. It also introduces Ileena, a potential new crew member, and ends with the first major clue to the Waverider’s fate.

Use this chapter to reshape the crew into a unified party and set the emotional foundation for the wider campaign.

### What Happens

The crew leaves the safety of the open sea and travels upriver through the Montosho jungle, following the trail of the Waverider. They stop at three Imperial stations, each worse than the last, then push past the ruins of Kra’thuun to find Meronex Virellus. He has fused into the jungle in body and mind. The players must choose what to do with him. Their decision shapes the jungle’s response during the escape, which becomes the most dangerous part of the journey.

They return through Kra’thuun under pursuit from Boons, survive days of hiding and starvation, then march on foot back to Drevas Post with Ileena guiding them. If they accept her, she joins the crew and reveals where the Waverider went next. They return to the Blue Marlin changed and carrying the weight of Montosho.

### Themes to Emphasize

#### Cruelty of the Empire

Show the Empire’s brutality in simple, routine acts that feel more shocking for their casualness. Fort Jandrel is organized cruelty. Station Varrek is chaotic cruelty. Drevas Post is neglect, apathy and quiet suffering.

#### Indifferent Nature

Montosho is not evil. It does not hate them. It simply does not tolerate outsiders. The jungle’s hostility is slow, patient and relentless. It resists, presses, swarms and suffocates.

#### Madness or Genius

Meronex’s monologue is the philosophical center of the arc. Let the players decide if he saw something true or broke beyond repair, if it is madness or genius. There is no correct reading.

#### Survival and Transformation

By the end, the crew should feel like they survived something immense. They did not conquer the jungle. They escaped it.

### Practical Notes for the Game Master

#### Pace with Time Skips

The journey upriver and downriver is long. Use time skips whenever the action repeats. Focus on emotional first impressions, hardships and key scenes rather than day to day detail.

#### Spotlight Characters When Possible

Montosho isolates the crew from outside influence. This is a good place to give individual characters their own moments. Let their flaws, fears and strengths show under pressure.

#### Build Ileena Organically

Ileena’s arrival, competence and slow reveal of her longing for the world outside should make it feel natural to invite her aboard. Do not force her into the party. Let her earn it.

#### The Return Is the Crucible

The escape from Kra’thuun is the emotional climax. Treat it as horror, panic, chaos and fear, not a tactical fight. Success should feel like surviving a nightmare.

#### Their Decision Matters

How they treat Meronex shapes how hostile the jungle is on the return. Even if the mechanical danger stays manageable, the tone should shift.

#### The Arc Ends the Tutorial

After Montosho, the players should understand the tone of Heroica, the harshness of the world and the expectations of the campaign. From here, the world opens.

### What the Players Leave With

- A sense of Montosho as a terrifying, ancient force
- A firsthand view of Imperial cruelty, both structured and chaotic
- A haunting encounter with Meronex
- A potential new crew member in Ileena
- A direction for where the Waverider sailed next
- A crew forged by shared hardship

Use this arc to push the party to its limits, then send them back into the open world carrying the scars and the questions Montosho left in them.

## Arrival at Fort Jandrel

The crew arrives to a scene which could be beautiful, but is instead a scene of total brutality.

Story
The beach should have been beautiful.
White sand. Clear water. Palms leaning over the shore while bright birds circled above. For a moment, as we grounded the skiff, it felt like we had come to a place untouched by the world. Warm wind. Blue sky. The kind of coast sailors dream about when nights are long and cold.
Then the smell reached us.
Rot. Blood. Fat boiling under a sun that gave no mercy.
We walked up the sand toward the wooden jetty that jutted out into the bay. From a distance it looked like a simple scaffold. Up close it was a butcher’s stage. Manatees hung from hooks along its length, huge grey shapes swaying gently over the water. Slaves worked along the planks, knives scraping, baskets filling with blubber. All the rest, meat and bone alike, was hacked apart and thrown straight into the sea.
The water below was crimson. Sharks twisted beneath the jetty in a frenzy, their fins cutting the surface as they snapped at the falling scraps.
The sound did not fit the scenery. Waves softly rolling on the sand while behind them came the wet thud of blades, the heavy splash of entrails, the crack of bone. A paradise turned inside out.
A woman on the jetty faltered. She swayed once, then dropped to her knees. Heat, hunger, too many hours in the sun. Her knife slipped from her hand.
An overseer walked over with the calm of someone checking on a loose rope. He nudged her with his boot. When she did not rise, he kicked her sideways off the planks.
She hit the water. A shadow lunged. There was one burst of foam and she was gone. The feeding went on without pause.
Junia whispered something under her breath. Yasmira turned away, her face tight. Even Scarnax hesitated for a heartbeat before pressing on.
We crossed the sand toward the fort rising above the beach. White walls. Bright flags stirring in the breeze. It should have looked proud. Instead the whole place seemed stained by what happened on the jetty below.
A man stepped out of the gatehouse as we approached. His coat was clean. His boots polished. He looked us over as if we were goods to catalog.
Then he spoke with a voice that belonged in an office, not on this shore.
"Do you bring more slaves?"

Slaves butchering manatees, to make lamp oil from the blubber

### The Conversation with the Director

When the director, named Tiberion Falvus, waves the crew toward the fort, guide them into a sharp contrast with the beach below. Lead them through a narrow stone corridor into a cool officer room. Focus on the shift. Outside is heat, stench and blood. Inside is quiet, shade and a faint breeze through the shutters.

Set the table with clear signs of privilege. Cool water. Sweet wine. Soft bread. Salted fish. Fresh fruit. Place two slaves in the room to serve. They should keep their eyes lowered and move carefully. The director ignores them except to gesture for more wine. Use this to remind the players that comfort here is built directly on cruelty.

Let the director begin with small complaints. Have him speak at length about how difficult his work is, how the climate ruins everything, how supplies arrive late and how his superiors back in the Empire do not understand the conditions or send enough slaves. He should be frustrated but entirely blind to the suffering outside. Treat this as ordinary conversation from his point of view.

Allow the players to eat and drink if they choose. The food should be good enough to feel unsettling after the beach scene. The director expects them to appreciate this hospitality.

When the players steer the topic toward the Waverider, have the director become more focused. He remembers the ship clearly enough. They arrived several years ago, stayed briefly, then went upriver toward Station Varrek. They returned later in but did not linger. He did not ask where they went next and did not consider it important.

When the players ask about Meronex, shift the tone slightly. The director has heard the name many times but has never met the man. Present the rumors as common along the coast. A druid said to be brilliant. A man who believed he could understand Montosho. A traveler who walked too far into the jungle. Hunters say he changed. Others say he died. Make it vague and unsettling. This is all the director knows.

Close the scene by having the director offer a final piece of advice. If the crew intends to go upriver they must prepare. The Blackwater is unforgiving. Heat, disease and Boons will kill faster than any blade. After this, dismiss them back into the harsh light and noise outside, reinforcing the divide between those who command and those who suffer.

### Side stories

#### Supply Scribe with Loose Lips

A tired imperial scribe keeps the fort’s records. He complains to anyone who listens. With a little wine he will talk about shipment numbers, patrol losses and odd notes about the Waverider’s return. He can hint at disease outbreaks upriver, missing scouts or strange jungle sightings.

#### Missing Tools

A slave approaches the crew when no overseer is watching. He asks if they have seen a missing iron tool. Losing it means punishment. Helping him find it earns quiet gratitude and a bit of gossip about the fort. Failing to help creates no major trouble, but it leaves a bitter taste.

#### Drunk Soldier

A bored soldier drinks too much during the evening heat. He vents about how he hates this posting. He claims the Boons have been more active lately. He might mention a patrol that vanished last month.

#### Rotten Stores

The crew notices sacks of spoiled grain stacked near the fort wall. An assistant quartermaster confides that the humidity ruins everything and that Falvus refuses to request more supplies because he thinks it makes him look weak. This shows the crew how mismanaged the fort really is.

#### Runaway in the Palm Grove

A slave slips away from the butchery line and hides in a palm grove further down the beach. He begs the crew not to report him. If the players help hide him or give him water it remains quiet. If they turn him in, Falvus praises their diligence with cold indifference. Either choice colors their reputation here without creating an incident.

#### Shark Teeth Merchant

One soldier collects shark teeth from the feeding frenzy and sells them to passing sailors. He offers a few to the crew. He talks openly about how the sharks are so well fed that they no longer leave the bay.

#### Palm Wine Night

Some low ranking soldiers hold a palm wine gathering near the wall after sunset. If the crew stops by, they hear a mix of superstition and rumor about upriver stations. It is harmless chatter, but they can learn that Station Varrek is in worse condition than Fort Jandrel.

#### Idle Gossip About Falvus

A servant quietly hints that Falvus overvalues appearance and hates being contradicted. If the crew listens, they gain a sense of how to handle him in conversation. This helps them avoid trouble.

## Travel to Station Varrek

When the crew leaves Fort Jandrel and heads upriver, present the journey as steady but tense. The river is too shallow and unpredictable for anything larger than a skiff, so the Blue Marlin must remain at anchor. As Game Master, describe dense foliage pressing close to the banks, huge roots twisting into the water and the constant hum of insects. Nothing attacks the crew yet. This leg should feel like the calm before the descent.

## Arrival at Station Varrek

When the skiff rounds a bend, show Station Varrek rising out of the jungle. Unlike the white walls of Fort Jandrel, Varrek is nothing more than a crude palisade of sharpened logs driven into the mud. Inside, a cluster of rough wooden buildings leans at odd angles. Smoke rises from several pits where manatee blubber is rendered over open flames. The smell hits immediately. Thick. Sour. Almost choking.

Varrek should feel hostile from the first heartbeat. At Jandrel, the brutality was organized. Here it is raw force with no restraint.

Introduce the director, Lentaro Marcon. He is enormous, broad shouldered and sweat soaked, with a shaved head and a face flushed from heat and temper. Lentaro does not walk. He stomps. Every step sounds like a hammer on planks. Have him move through the camp with two overseers at his heels, barking orders and swinging his cudgel at any slave who is too slow to duck away.

A group of newly arrived slaves has been herded into the yard. They look exhausted from travel. Lentaro pauses in front of them, scans their faces and speaks loudly enough for the entire station to hear. As Game Master, deliver his line without drama, as though he is explaining a basic rule of farm work.

“When the first one tries to cause trouble or be lazy, cut off hands and feet and leave him to die. No one will be lazy after that.”

Make sure the players see the reaction. The overseers nod without hesitation. The slaves go still. Several lower their eyes. The cruelty should feel casual, almost routine.

### Life in Varrek

During the day Lentaro refuses to meet them. He waves them off with a grunt and stalks back into the camp. Have soldiers tell the crew that he will speak when he has time, which means the crew must spend hours watching how Varrek works.

Use this time to paint the station as a jungle hell:

- Blubber pits bubbling under the sun.
- Flies so thick they move like smoke.
- Slaves shuffling between tasks, beaten for even small mistakes.
- Canoes coming in, dragging manatees, some with wounded slaves after the hunt. If the wounds are light, they are ignored, if not, the slave is killed.
- Rotted wooden walkways that shift underfoot.
- A sense that everything here is moments away from collapse.

Encourage the crew to explore only within the palisade. Anything beyond the walls is thick jungle and no one here encourages wandering. Let them see that Varrek has no beauty left. It is only labor, decay and fear.

### Evening Audience

When night falls, guide the crew to Lentaro’s longhouse. Inside, it is dim, humid and cluttered. He sits at a rough table, eating with his fingers. He does not offer food or drink. He wipes his hands on his shirt and only then acknowledges the crew.

Keep this conversation short. Lentaro has no patience for visitors.

He confirms that the Waverider passed through on its way to Drevas Post. He remembers them only because they carried more gear than most river travelers. He did not care why they were heading deeper.

If asked about Meronex, have Lentaro’s tone shift. He grows interested, even thoughtful for a brief moment. He says Meronex had a way of seeing the world that made sense only to him. Lentaro admired that, though he cannot explain it. He ends the topic by saying that if the crew wants to understand Meronex, they will have to hear the man speak with their own ears.

Close the scene by having Lentaro dismiss them with a grunt, already turning back to whatever miserable task consumes his evening. The message is clear. Varrek is a place where brutality is the only law, and the path ahead will not grow kinder.

### Side Tracks

#### Work Detail Dispute

Two overseers argue over which group of slaves should haul a wagon of blubber to the pits. The argument grows loud but stops when Lentaro passes by. If the crew lingers, one overseer quietly complains that the other is stealing his laborers. He asks the crew to deliver a message to a soldier on the far side of camp. This shows the petty politics of Varrek and gives the players a harmless errand that reveals more of how the place runs.

#### Illegal Trade

A bored soldier offers to sell jungle pelts and ivory to the crew. Most of it is scavenged from dead slaves. If the players press, he admits the practice is forbidden because it robs the station of saleable stock. Buying or refusing affects nothing, but it shows how corruption festers here.

#### Sick Slave

Junia notices a young slave with a swollen leg crawling between huts. If she offers help, the overseers allow it as long as she works quickly. Junia can treat the infection well enough to save the woman’s life. This earns quiet gratitude from the slaves, but no one says a word in public. If she ignores it, nothing happens immediately, but the woman dies by morning. The woman tells Junia that Lentaro has her daughter chained up in his house, for his personal use, and begs her to help.

#### Broken Tools

Galenor spots a pile of discarded tools beside a hut. Axes with loose heads. Spears that were once hunting tools but are now dull. If he inspects them, a low ranking worker asks if he can fix one or two. Helping him gives the crew a sense of how poorly Varrek maintains its equipment. The worker will speak freely about the lack of supplies and the constant injuries.

#### Child in the Cages

A small group of slaves is kept in crude cages awaiting transfer. One of them is a child Catling with spotted paint fading on her skin. She stares silently at the crew. The crew can offer her water or speak to her. Any deeper rescue attempt will fail here, but small kindnesses matter. Most likely, this is their first time seeing a Catling.

#### The Silent Worker

A slave sits alone beside a hut, unmoving, staring at the ground. When the crew passes, she whispers a warning. The warning can be anything vague. Do not drink the river. The Boons have been restless. The jungle does not sleep. Her words add tension, but she refuses to say more.

#### Missing Crew Rations

While resupplying, Caelin notices that some of the goods offered to the crew are moldy or waterlogged. A quartermaster admits Varrek is losing stock faster than it can be replaced. If Caelin pushes, he blames the jungle for everything. This lets the crew feel the decay creeping into every part of the station.

#### Night in the Palisade

If the crew stays within the walls until evening, let them hear distant drums in the jungle. Not close. Not threatening. Just enough to make the soldiers tense. A sergeant mutters that this happens more often now. No one knows why. This foreshadows Kra’thuun and ties the place to the greater dread of Montosho.

## Arrival at Drevas Post

When the crew arrives at Drevas Post, guide the scene with a clear shift in tone. After the brutality of Varrek, Drevas should feel hollow. Not safer, not kinder, only neglected, tired and held together by habit more than authority.

Present the palisade as warped and leaning. The gates hang crooked. The huts inside sag under their own roofs. There is no order here, only resignation.

Casual, meaningless brutality

### Food and Living Conditions

Describe the smell of old smoke and rancid cooking oil drifting from the cookhouse. When the crew samples the food, make it thin gruel with hard lumps, barely enough to fill a bowl. Have the cook, a hollow eyed slave named Meren, glance at the overseers before ladling anything. Make it clear the better bits of food never reach the workers. The overseers take whatever they want.

Sleeping quarters should be low roofed huts with warped floors and clouds of flies. The heat inside is oppressive. Emphasize insects at night. Let the players hear scratching in the walls and see swollen welts appear by morning.

### Station Life

Slaves are beaten here as well, but the overseers do it out of habit rather than purpose. They strike without watching where, then wander off to rest in the shade. Work is done slowly because no one enforces anything, and beatings happen regardless of if they work or not. Slaves starve. Overseers drink. Little gets accomplished.

Use names when helpful. Overseer Halvo sleeps through half his shift and forgets what orders he gave. Overseer Drann chews tobacco and spits on the ground whenever a slave speaks. Both of them beat people, but without Lentaro Marcon’s force or discipline.

### Waiting for the Director

When the crew asks for the director, inform them that Director Helvoro Sestian is away on a hunt. He left with several slaves as carriers and expects to be gone for a few days.

Let a few days pass with nothing changing. Then end each day the same way, with another overseer shrugging and saying, “Sestian hasn’t come back.”

Stretch this to a full week. This is your chance to build frustration. Use timeskips often. Show only the important moments.

- A fight breaks out between two exhausted slaves over some food scraps.
- An overseer falls asleep on the job.
- Rain pours for hours and floods part of the camp.
- A shed collapses because no one bothered to repair it.
- Guards sleep, anyone could sneak in. If the slaves weren't chained, they could simply walk off.
- The crew grows restless, hungry and irritable.

Everything says the same thing. No one here is in control.

### Sestian’s Return

On the seventh day, guide the players to the palisade gates. Horns sound. Director Helvoro Sestian marches back into the station, sunburned, filthy and proud. The slaves carries several trophies slung over poles. Animal skins. A pair of tusks. Something that might be a Boon skull. He has fewer slaves than he left with, but he shows no sign of caring.

Walking beside him is a Catling guide. This is Ileena. Present her with a quiet presence. Her tail flicks in irritation at the station’s stench. She keeps her distance from Sestian but walks with the relaxed confidence of someone who knows the jungle better than anyone here.

Story
She came through the gate behind the hunting party like a shadow that had decided to take human shape.
The slaves stumbled in first, empty eyed and limping, hunched under the weight of hunting trophies, then Director Sestian strutted in like a proud peacock. Only after all of them had passed did the jungle seem to breathe, and she stepped out of it.
Ileena moved with the slow confidence of something that had never once feared the world. Her skin was marked in leopard paint, black rosettes curling over golden flesh. Nothing covered her but a narrow loincloth and a single knife at her hip. The heat did not touch her. The stench of the camp did not matter. She walked barefoot through the mud as if through silk.
Every eye followed her without meaning to.
Her tail flicked once, irritated at the brightness. Her ears twitched at the smallest sounds. She glanced at the crew, not with curiosity or caution, but with the cool appraisal of a predator deciding whether they were prey, competition or something else altogether.
Then she smiled.
It was a small thing, a curl of the lip, faint and sharp. The kind of smile that made the overseers step aside without understanding why.
She passed them in silence and slipped into the shade of a hut, leaning her shoulder against the wood. The pose was relaxed, almost lazy, like a cat claiming a warm stone. Yet her eyes missed nothing. They tracked every movement in the camp. Every voice. Every breath.
No shyness. No shame. No fear.
Just a creature of Montosho, dangerous and beautiful, standing in the middle of human chaos as if none of it had the right to touch her.

### The Meeting

When the crew approaches, Sestian barely acknowledges them. He speaks at them, not to them. He talks about his hunt. The size of the animals he tracked. How many days he chased them. How Montosho tests a man’s worth, and it gets worse the further in you get. He never asks who they are or why they came.

Only if the players press him about Meronex does he give anything useful. He says Meronex changed the way he viewed the jungle. That speaking with the druid made him a better hunter. He cannot explain how. He does not try. He ends every answer with “You must hear him yourself.”

Have him lose interest quickly. Sestian is a man who values his own stories more than theirs.

### Ileena’s Offer

When Sestian walks off to gloat about his trophies, guide the players to Ileena. She steps closer once the director is out of earshot. Her voice is quiet, almost casual.

She tells them she guided the Waverider crew upriver a few years ago. She knows the route. She can take them to Meronex.

This immediately sours Sestian’s mood. As Game Master, show his reaction even if he says nothing. A clenched jaw. A sudden silence. He depends on her skill and hates losing it. Ileena is not a slave, so he cannot order her to stay. His frustration shows in small gestures, not open conflict. Speaking out would show him less of a hunter, less of a man.

End the scene with Ileena waiting for their decision. They know the path continues upriver. She knows every bend of it. Drevas has nothing else to give them.

### Side Tracks

#### Rotten Food Dispute

During one of the miserable meals, a slave named Liora is beaten for serving spoiled meat. If Junia steps in, the overseer grudgingly allows her to examine the food. She finds the stores infested with worms. Helping Liora wins quiet gratitude from the slaves and underlines the station’s decay. Ignoring it changes nothing, but the rot keeps appearing in later meals.

#### Fixing the Walkway

A section of the raised walkway collapses under a worker carrying a load of blubber. The crew can stabilize the planks with scrap wood lying around. The slaves take note. An overseer named Drann scolds her for interfering, but only halfheartedly. This helps show how close Drevas is to falling apart.

#### Skarnulf’s Shadow Fight

One evening Skarnulf hears something scraping behind the huts. When he goes to check, he finds a half starved Boon scout dead against the palisade, already stiff. It likely wandered alone. Soldiers argue about who dragged it there. Skarnulf can study the body, gaining insight into how desperate the jungle inhabitants have become near Drevas. The overseers simply tell him to leave it be.

#### Amaxia’s Fury

A slave woman is dragged through the mud by two drunk overseers. They yank her by the hair, laughing. Amaxia reacts instinctively. She steps closer, fists curling. Have the overseers back down the moment they see her expression. No fight breaks out, but the crew sees how thin the line is between abuse and revolt.

#### Nasheem and the Hunters

A young soldier approaches Nasheem, drawn in by his bearing. The soldier, Jorell, asks him to listen to a story about a hunt he wishes he had been part of. He speaks reverently of Sestian but admits the director returns with fewer carriers each time. Nasheem gains a sense of how Sestian’s authority is built on fear more than leadership.

#### Yasmira Shares a Meal

A few starving slaves gather near the cookhouse at dusk, hoping for scraps. Yasmira notices how thin they are. If she prepares a small pot of extra food from her own supplies, the slaves eat in silence, staring at the ground. The kindness is quick, quiet and unnoticed by the overseers, but the slaves remember.

#### The Body in the River

While exploring the edge of the palisade, the crew finds a body drifting in the water. It is badly mauled, and the skull is crushed. It looks like an Imperial. No one seems to care, they just let it float downriver. Make the danger feel ever present.

#### Late Night Singing

In the middle of the night the crew hears someone humming softly. It is a slave boy in a corner of the camp, singing to himself. If the crew listens quietly, they realize he is singing to keep fear away. When he notices them, he stops immediately and bows in terror.

#### Sestian’s Trophies

The hut where Sestian stores his trophies is slightly open one afternoon. Inside hang skins, bones and trinkets from animals he hunted. Among them is a cracked wooden charm painted in Catling patterns. Ileena notices if she is nearby. She says nothing, but her tail lashes once, a quiet sign of anger she hides from Sestian.

## Journey to Kra'thunn

During this stretch of the journey, guide the crew through a sequence of short scenes rather than full encounters. The purpose here is not danger but attrition. Show how the jungle itself seems to resist their presence. Have insects swarm the skiff, vines drag across their faces, leeches cling to ankles and sudden rains soak everything they own. Nothing attacks them directly, yet everything drains them. Emphasize sweat, discomfort, frustration and the sense that Montosho wants them gone.

Keep these moments brief. Use time skips whenever needed. This section should feel long to the characters, not to the players. It is a steady grind of heat, rot and buzzing wings.

Use the quiet moments to let Ileena speak. She should share fragments of memory about the Waverider crew. Keep her tone light, almost absentminded, as if she is remembering scents and sounds rather than telling a story. Her comments help build her bond with the party and introduce the Waverider crew in a natural way without slowing the pace.

By the time they see the first signs of Kra’thuun, the crew should feel worn down, overheated and ready for anything that is not the river. That exhaustion sets the tone for the danger ahead.

Story
The river narrowed as they pushed deeper, until the skiff felt too large for the water. Roots knotted up from the mud like ribs. Branches scraped their faces. Every movement stirred clouds of mosquitos that clung to skin, eyes and lips. Flies crawled across sweat before anyone could wipe them away. Leeches found ankles the moment a foot slipped into the shallows. Heat pressed on them like a hand. When rain came, it fell so heavy it felt like drowning upright.
It was as if the jungle itself resisted them. Every hour a new vine had to be cut. Every bend was claimed by something venomous or something hungry. No breeze ever came.
Through all this Ileena perched at the bow, unbothered, her tail swaying in a slow arc. She watched the river the way a cat watches a crack in a wall, as if the whole jungle whispered to her and her alone.
Late on the second day, while the crew fought with a curtain of thorny vine, she spoke. Not to them exactly, more to the river, as if remembering a dream.
"Selene used to sit in the stern, humming when she thought no one listened. She made a paste from swamp leaves. Rubbed it on our arms. It kept the worst of the insects away. My skin smelled strange for days."
She smiled faintly and ducked under a branch without breaking stride.
"Ulfar always carried me across the deeper water. He grumbled, but he did it. His beard was soft. I slept on it sometimes. That made the red haired woman angry. She would glare at me the whole night."
Ileena’s tail twitched as if amused at the memory.
"Gato... he never spoke much. He would look away when I painted my skin. Pretended not to watch. He was sweet. Shy men always smell the nicest."
Then she fell silent again, slipping back into that effortless stillness while the jungle gnawed at everyone else.

## Kra’thuun

When the crew nears Kra’thuun, shift the pacing into quiet tension. As Game master, make it clear that Ileena takes command the moment the first vine wrapped stone appears through the trees. She insists they wait until nightfall before passing the ruins. Explain that Catlings see well enough in the dark and Boons struggle with it. She orders total silence. No talking. No splashing. No metal striking wood.

Once they push off, guide the scene with darkness and suggestion. The moon gives only thin, speckled light through the canopy. Let the players glimpse broken ruins swallowed by banyan roots, toppled columns half hidden under ferns, wide stone steps leading nowhere. Most of it should be only half seen, shapes behind vines and shadow. Present Kra’thuun as vast, ancient and almost breathing beneath the foliage.

Use sound to build the horror. Distant grunts. Leaves rustling where nothing should move. A stone clattering somewhere up in the ruins. Far off fires flickering between trunks, just enough to hint at the presence of Boon camps. Let the players imagine far more than they see.

At intervals, have Ileena signal for absolute stillness. Even if the players strain to see, show them nothing. The tension comes from the uncertainty. Only when she gestures again do they dare move. This reinforces her competence and sets the tone for what follows on the return journey.

As daybreak approaches, shift Ileena from calm confidence to quiet urgency. She encourages stronger, but still silent strokes. By the time the first light filters through the canopy, all visible signs of Kra’thuun are gone. Only dense jungle remains behind them.

This section is meant to deliver fear through the unseen and to sow the knowledge that they will have to cross this same stretch again, but next time under far worse circumstances.

Story
Moonlight barely reached the river. What little slipped through the canopy broke into pale, trembling patches on the water, never bright enough to see anything clearly. The jungle seemed to lean over the skiff, branches arching like ribs, roots twisting like grasping hands.
We drifted past shapes that might have been ruins or might have been trees. A stone stair swallowed by vines. A massive block half buried in the mud. Something carved, or broken, or both. Every time I looked back, it seemed changed. As if the jungle rearranged itself when no one watched.
Sounds came from everywhere. A grunt far off among the trunks. A soft clatter of stone on stone. Leaves rustling above us though no wind stirred. Then silence. Heavy, unnatural silence that pressed on the ears. Even the insects seemed to hold their breath.
Each time it happened, Ileena froze. Her tail stiffened. Her ears swept the dark. Only when the jungle’s hum returned did she give the tiny flick of her fingers that meant paddle.
Once, a shadow crossed the moonlight ahead of us. Too large for any bird. Too smooth for a falling branch. It vanished before anyone could whisper.
We drifted on, quiet as ghosts, while the ruins loomed on either side, half seen and watching. And when the first grey hint of dawn touched the water, the stones behind us were gone, swallowed whole by the green.

Sneaking past Kra'thuun

## To the End

As the crew enters the final stretch upriver, guide the scene as a slow tightening of the world around them. The purpose of this section is simple: bring them to Meronex, let them face the weight of his condition and his madness, or genius, and force them to decide how they respond.

### River and Terrain

Describe the river narrowing steadily as they push deeper. Have the banks rise into steep, jungle covered walls that seem to lean inward. The crew should feel pressed into a funnel. The canopy closes overhead until even daylight becomes dim and green. Each bend offers less space than the last. Use this to build claustrophobia. They are not sailing into a place. They are being swallowed.

### Jungle Turning Hostile

Where earlier the jungle felt resistant, now it feels aggressive. Insects do not just bite. They swarm, sting and drive at eyes and wounds. Vines snag clothing and skin, forcing the crew to cut themselves free again and again. Mud sucks at the skiff with such force that they must push off with poles to stay moving. The river shallows repeatedly, almost as if Montosho is trying to stop them.

Make each hour feel worse than the last. Use time skips, but in every skip, note something unpleasant. More welts. More bites. More mud. This is the jungle’s warning.

### Ileena’s Reflections

Let Ileena speak in sparse moments, almost as if she is distracting herself from how tense she has become. She can share sharper, more personal memories of the Waverider crew here. Small things. How Selene always checked on the others at night. How Ulfar made jokes she liked but pretended not to understand. How the red haired woman braided her hair in a way she secretly adored. These details should make the crew believe she has already begun to grow attached to them as well, even if she tries not to show it.

### Meronex

When they reach the end of the river, present the clearing as strangely quiet and heavy, almost holy, or maybe unholy. Make them feel small. Have them glimpse the great tree and the faint shapes of vines.

Druid tied to Montosho

Story
Meronex hung against the great tree like something half forgotten by time, a dried creature in a web that somehow still breathed. Vines threaded through his ribs and hips, sunk into his flesh like roots claiming soft soil. Sap seeped where they entered him, glistening like amber. His skin sagged in parchment folds over bone. His hair was a tangle of moss and knots. Insects crawled over him without hesitation, as if he had long since ceased to be a man.
Then his eyelids twitched.
He raised his head with a slow, creaking effort. His eyes opened. Too bright. Too alive. Focus drifting, catching on nothing, sliding past everything.
Ileena’s tail went still. Her ears pressed flat.
“Just like last time,” she murmured. “Didn’t think he’d still be breathing.”
Meronex’s lips cracked as they peeled apart. The sound was halfway between a gasp and a laugh.
“So many... footsteps,” he rasped. “Always... more footsteps. They come. They stare. They ask... the same... little questions.”
His head tilted back against the bark.
“You want meaning. You want it to... hold still for you. Like the world is supposed to... explain itself... because you’re afraid. Afraid of the soil. Afraid of being... swallowed. Forgotten.”
A thin breath shuddered through him. His eyes widened.
“But the soil... remembers. Everything. Leaf that rots... leaf that grows... same. Same. Ant crushed. Branch fallen. Same. All of it. All one... breath... sinking into the dark.”
His voice grew sharper for a moment, as if a current of fever surged through him.
“Your thoughts... little carvings in the bark of a tree that will outlive you a thousand times. Scratches pretending to be meaning.”
“You think a life matters? One life? A spark. Wet stone. Gone before it warms the air. But the cycle... ah... the cycle. That is the teeth. That is the truth. Devour... be devoured. Grow... choke... fall... feed. Round and round and round.”
He leaned forward as far as the vines allowed, a dry smile tearing across his face.
“I searched for a mind in it once. Fool. Fool. Forest doesn’t think. Doesn’t need to. Jaguar doesn’t plan when it eats you. Vine doesn’t choose when it drinks your bones. Fool. Fool. Fungus...” His eyes rolled upward. “Fungus knows more than you ever will. Speaks in rot. Sings in decay. Shows you your shape when the soft parts slip away.”
A broken laugh scraped out of him.
“No cruelty. No mercy. Just the truth. Truth with no paint. Forest does not love you. Forest does not hate you. It simply... is. Terrible. Beautiful. Because it doesn’t need your little... meanings.”
His gaze drifted down at last, loose and fevered, but suddenly clear enough to see them.
“And you... all of you... you think you can choose. Life. Death. Mercy. Survival. As if your choices matter to anything except yourselves. Jungle doesn’t care. Jungle waits. You rot... you feed... that is all it ever wanted.”
“You think your mind is a fortress? It is a sandcastle in the tide... and the tide does not even notice.”
His breath faltered. His chin sagged to his chest. The vines tightened, holding him upright like a puppet of roots. A beetle crawled across his collarbone and vanished beneath his hair. He did not move.
Ileena looked aside, shoulders stiff.
Scarnax took one slow step forward. He did not raise his voice.
“What do we do?”
The question hung in the thick, breathless air.
The forest did not answer.

Their choices will have consequences. As Game Master, be ready to apply them.

If they choose a mercy kill: Montosho reacts badly. The journey back will be harsher. More insects. More hazards. The jungle seems to close behind them. Ileena grows tense, stating that the forest knows what was done.

If they leave him as he is: Montosho grudgingly tolerates their retreat. There are dangers, but slightly fewer. The crew survives the jungle’s dislike rather than its hatred.

If they attempt to cut him free: Meronex dies in the process, and the reaction is worse than a mercy kill. The vines constrict, trees groan, and Ileena becomes visibly afraid. The jungle’s hostility peaks on the return.

### Departing the Clearing

When the crew leaves, they should carry an uneasy sense of knowledge without clarity. Meronex said things that feel important but yield no simple answers. End this section with the sense that the jungle allowed them to see something, but refuses to let them understand it fully. They have gained insight, but it is insight wrapped in confusion.

Guide them out with the feeling that they are not welcome and that they must leave quickly. This primes the upcoming escape and chase through Kra’thuun and deepens the tension of the path home.

## The Way Back

As the crew turns back, shift the atmosphere immediately. Whether they showed mercy, tried to cut Meronex free or simply walked away, Montosho reacts. This leg is not neutral. It is punishment, rejection or grudging tolerance. The forest does not want them here, and it intensifies its hostility with each step downstream.

Use time skips often, but insert sharp moments of misery between them. More insects, relentless mud, vines that grab their legs, sudden bursts of rain that blind them. Even safe actions feel exhausting. The purpose is attrition.

### Sneaking Past Kra’thuun

Approach Kra’thuun at dusk or night. Ileena becomes more tense here than at any earlier moment. She orders quiet. No talking. No splashing. Paddles must touch water like falling leaves.

This time they fail.

A Boon howl splits the dark. A second answers. Then the drums begin. Deep. Fast. Hungry. Ileena whispers only one word: paddle. As the drums multiply, shift to urgency. Have her voice sharpen with an edge the crew has not heard from her before.

“Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!”

The skiff runs aground in a patch of sucking mud. Shows of strength fail. They cannot free it. Ileena does not hesitate.

“Leave it. Leave everything. Run!”

### The Chase

Do not make the chase orderly. It should feel like panic in collapsing ruins, with roots snagging ankles and falling stones sending echoes into the dark. Have the drums answer each other from different directions. Show flashes of Boon silhouettes leaping between broken walls.

Use one or two sudden attacks. Boons in blood frenzy should hit like animals flung from nowhere. Sharp, brutal, fast, fearless. A single Boon is enough to show the danger. More than that is overwhelming. The crew should feel hunted, not challenged. The need to dispatch attackers quickly and move on is overwhelming.

Story
It began with a yelp.
Not a scream, just a startled, panicked yelp as Caelin slapped at her face and stumbled back in the skiff. Something long and glossy and many legged had forced itself into her nostril. She clawed at it, gagging, trying not to breathe it deeper.
The sound was small. Barely louder than the river.
But something heard.
Across the dark water, in the broken ribs of Kra’thuun, a single howling bark erupted. Sharp. Violent. Full of hunger.
Another answered. Then another.
Then the drums began.
Deep, hollow, rolling through the ruins like thunder in a stone cage.
Ileena did not whisper. She hissed.
“Paddle!”
The crew dug their paddles into the water, trying to move as fast as silence would allow. The moonlight flickered through the canopy in broken shards, turning the river into a shifting mirror where nothing could be trusted. Shadows ran along the ruined walls. Roots reached out like hands. Every splash sounded like betrayal.
The drums grew louder. More of them. Dozens. Each beat closer.
“Paddle,” Ileena breathed again, voice razor thin. “Paddle!”
Something splashed in the water behind them. Something large.
They pushed harder. The skiff scraped over something unseen. Mud surged up on both sides.
Then the boat lurched.
It didn’t move.
They tried to rock it free. Pushed. Heaved. Mud sucked at the hull with greedy strength.
Ileena did not hesitate.
“Leave it. Leave it! Run!”
They spilled into the shallows and stumbled up the bank, crashing through ferns and roots. The drums pounded from every direction. A howl rose so close it tore the breath from their throats.
Someone slipped. Someone else hauled them up. They ran without knowing where their feet would land. Branches slapped their faces. Thorns tore at clothes. Breath burned in their chests.
A shape dropped from a stone ledge above them.
A Boon, eyes wild, teeth white in the moonlight.
It hit Skarnulf first, knocking him sideways. The Boon shrieked and swung a stone club that cracked against the trunk beside his head. Amaxia slammed into the creature with a roar, driving her knife into its ribs. The Boon thrashed. Mud, blood and leaves churned together underfoot. It died only after three more blades found it.
There was no time to breathe.
More howls. More drums. Closer. Circling.
“Run!” someone shouted, voice high with panic. Discipline broke like rotted wood. They ran again, stumbling over roots, crashing through hanging vines, tripping on fallen stones that seemed to rise in the dark.
The jungle became a blur. A nightmare of breath and motion. Sounds chased them. Heavy bodies in the foliage. Snapping twigs. Barking cries that echoed off ancient walls. Moonlight flashed between leaves like knives.
Ileena suddenly veered right, tail low, ears flat.
“Here!” she hissed. “Here!”
They followed her into a curtain of vines that hid a narrow split in the stone. One by one they squeezed through, falling into a cramped chamber carved long ago by hands lost to time.
Ileena pulled the vines back into place and crouched. Her breath was steady. The crew’s was not.
Outside, the drums pounded. Closer now. Slow. Searching.
The Boons barked and howled, smashing clubs against stone. Something large sniffed at the entrance. Leaves trembled. Footsteps scraped.
No one breathed.
The drums rolled on in the dark, shaking dust from the ceiling. Then faded. Then rose again somewhere else.
Hours passed like that. Or minutes. Or years.
No one knew.
But they stayed silent in the stone belly of Kra’thuun, while the jungle raged outside, hungry for them.

Boons in a blood frenzy, hunting

### Hideout in the Ruins

Ileena leads them through a maze of rubble and strangler roots, then pulls aside a curtain of vines and dives into a hole barely large enough for a person. Inside is a cramped stone chamber. The smell of old smoke and dried leaves shows she has used it before. It is a hunter’s bolt-hole, not a home.

Once they are inside, enforce silence. No normal conversation. Only gestures and whispered fragments. Time skips between thudding drums, sudden shouts, and the heavy sound of clubs smashing through vegetation inches from their hiding place. The tension should be constant. This is isolation horror. Hunger, thirst and exhaustion creep in fast.

### Night Passage

On the second night, Ileena paints herself in full black panther markings. Show the ritual clearly. She does not explain. She does not ask permission. She becomes something made for this place.

“I will hunt,” is all she says.

Let her slip out without a sound. The crew waits in near darkness, hearing distant yelling, the scrape of claws, something heavy falling. When she returns hours later, she carries fruit in one hand and two fresh Boon hearts in the other. She eats the hearts raw in the dark. She offers nothing to the crew except the fruit.

### After Three Days

The drums fade, scattered at first, then gone. The jungle feels tired, as if the fury has drained. Ileena decides they can leave.

They crawl out of the bolt-hole into damp dawn light. The skiff and all supplies are gone. They are hungry, tired, bitten and filthy. Everything ahead must be done on foot.

### The Long Foot March

This is the worst stretch. Present it with a sequence of short scenes, each showing struggle. Ileena forages enough to keep them weakly alive. They cross the river several times, wading through mud so deep it tries to swallow their legs. Leeches cling. Water hides snapping jaws. The swamp steals hours from them with every step.

Between these hardships, Ileena speaks. More memories of the Waverider. More hints of her attachment. More of her desire to see the world. She speaks wistfully, almost shyly, for the first time. This is where the crew should begin thinking about taking her with them long before she asks.

Story
They walked through mud that pulled at their boots like hungry hands, the heat pressing down until even breath felt heavy. The others trudged in silence, saving their strength. Only Ileena seemed untouched, padding ahead on bare feet, tail swaying in slow, thoughtful arcs.
After a while she glanced back over her shoulder.
“Kethra used to walk like that,” she said, nodding at the crew’s exhaustion. “Head low. Steps slow. But when danger came...” She flicked her fingers. “Fast. Sharp. Like me. She was almost Catling without knowing it.”
She stepped over a fallen log, barely looking where she placed her feet.
“Solonex was different. Stood straight. Looked people in the eyes. Honest. Too honest. I liked that. He said what he meant. Never lied to make himself bigger.” She paused, almost smiling. “I trusted him. That is rare for me.”
The trail narrowed. Vines draped across their path. Ileena sliced through them with a quick flick of her knife.
“And Severin...” Her ears twitched with amusement. “He thought he hid his heart. He tried to be clever all the time. Very smart. Always thinking. But inside?” She touched her chest lightly. “Soft. Like a newborn cub. Easy to startle. Easy to make blush. I liked watching him try to pretend otherwise.”
As they paused beside a shallow stream to drink, Ileena crouched on a stone and traced patterns in the mud with one finger.
“The redhaired lady,” she said after a moment. “Eira. She looked angry all the time. Sharp eyes. Sharp voice. But she was not cruel. Not really.” Ileena’s tail curled lazily. “She just did not like when I slept on Ulfar’s beard.”
A faint, satisfied little smile tugged at her mouth.
“She taught me knots,” Ileena added, glancing at the rope on Scarnax’s belt. “Good ones. Fast ones. Said I’d drown if I tied them wrong. She cared. Even when she pretended she didn’t.”
The path opened into a sweep of green light. For a moment she stopped, staring ahead, though her eyes were not on anything in the jungle.
“What is it like?” she asked softly. “Outside all this? Your cities. Your seas. Your skies. Is the wind different? Does it smell... new?”
She did not turn to look at them, but her tail wound slowly around her own leg, curling and uncurling.
“I only know Montosho. Roots. Rain. Blood. Quiet. I wonder what it feels like to stand somewhere that does not watch your every breath.” She tilted her head, voice barely above the buzz of insects. “Somewhere the shadows are not waiting for you.”
Then she shook herself, as if brushing off her own thoughts, and moved on with her usual light stride.
“Come,” she said. “We are slow today. The jungle is not.”

### Arrival at Drevas Post

Their return is ragged. Mud caked. Clothes ruined. Hungry. They look like survivors of the jungle rather than travelers. At Drevas they can buy a small river boat to take them downriver again.

### Ileena’s Request

If the crew has already invited her, she accepts without hesitation and tells them where the Waverider went next.

If they have not, she asks. Not pleading. Calm. Direct. “I want to see the world. Take me with you.”

If they hesitate, she offers information as leverage. “I know where the Waverider sailed after Drevas. I will tell you... if you take me.”

She does not threaten. She simply states it as fact. She knows the river. They need her.

### Final Leg

The journey downriver is uneventful by Montosho standards. Insects still bite, but the jungle no longer feels as though it is trying to break them. At Fort Jandrel, they can trade the river boat for a new skiff, resupply and leave omn the Blue Marlin.

They should feel relief, but also changed. They left the jungle, but will still always carry it with them.

Story
The sails finally caught a clean wind. Montosho sagged into the horizon, a dark line shrinking against the sky. For the first time in days the air smelled only of salt.
Junia stood at the rail, hands white on the wood. Scarnax passed by, gave her a quiet nod and kept walking. She didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the water.
After a long silence she spoke, barely above the wind.
“Back at Jandrel,” she said, “the woman they kicked into the sea. I knew what would happen. The moment she collapsed, I knew.”
Her voice tightened.
“I didn’t move.”
She shook her head once, as if trying to shake loose something lodged behind her eyes.
“Meronex would say it doesn’t matter. One life. One spark on wet stone. Gone before anyone feels the heat. Something else always feeds.” She swallowed. “It frightens me that part of me understands what he meant.”
The wind shifted. The jungle vanished completely behind them.
Junia let out a breath.
“I hope leaving is enough,” she whispered. “I hope it leaves us.”

## Act Summary

### Purpose of the Journey

The Montosho chapter is designed as a crucible. By the time the crew escapes the jungle, they should feel changed. The purpose is not only narrative progression but transformation. This section establishes tone, tests the crew’s resolve and bonds them through shared trauma. Use it to reshape the party into something tighter, more cohesive and more weathered.

### Psychological Impact

By the end, the players should feel they have walked into madness and only partly returned. Montosho is a place where the world feels wrong, where every root and shadow resists them. Let the sense of unease follow them home. They should carry a quiet darkness with them, even as they set sail again.

### Showcases of Cruelty

Montosho is where you expose the cruelty of the world up close. The Empire’s brutality at Fort Jandrel and Station Varrek shows what human power unchecked becomes. In contrast, Montosho’s cruelty is not personal. It is indifferent. These two forms of suffering should echo each other, reinforcing the harshness of Heroica as a whole.

### Terrible Beauty

Ensure the players truly see Montosho. The choking vines, the ruins swallowed by roots, the drumming in the dark. This jungle is alive and ancient. It is not evil, not good, but it is unyielding. It does not negotiate. Use this arc to show that nature in this world is as hostile as the Empire, only slower, deeper and vaster.

### Meeting Meronex

Meronex provides the thematic centerpiece. His monologue offers a perspective unlike anything the players have heard: a worldview that strips meaning down to cycles, consumption and decay. Do not steer them toward a verdict. Let them decide if he glimpsed cosmic truth or simply broke under the weight of the jungle. Either answer is valid. The ambiguity is the point.

### Introduction of Ileena

Montosho introduces Ileena, a useful and memorable companion. The players should see her capability, her instincts, and her primal confidence. They should also glimpse her longing for the world beyond Montosho. By the end of the return journey, it should feel natural to invite her aboard, or to accept her request to join. She is positioned as a guide, a scout and a character who can bridge the crew to the Waverider crew.

### Character Spotlights

Throughout Montosho, the players should have multiple chances for personal scenes. Quiet moments in the huts of Drevas, the panic of the chase through Kra’thuun, the discussions about Meronex, the shared misery of the river. Use these to let each crew member shine. Build trust within the party. By the time they leave the jungle, they should be a functioning, cohesive team.

### Clue to the Waverider

The crew leaves Montosho with a direction. Where the Waverider sailed after Drevas is up to you. You can place it anywhere that serves your larger campaign arc. This clue is a pivot point, not a railroad. It provides purpose but not confinement.

### Leaving Montosho

When the crew finally sees the line of the jungle fall behind them on the horizon, guide the scene with dual emotions.

Relief: The sky widens. The breeze cools. The air smells clean again. The crew can breathe without tasting rot. The silence finally feels like silence.

But also weight: They carry something of Montosho with them. The cruelty of Empire exploitation. The memory of drums. The sticky heat. The press of vines. Meronex’s words echoing in the quiet moments. The sense that something vast and indifferent watched them pass, and let them go for reasons they will never understand.

This closing image should linger, reminding them that Heroica is a world where survival has a cost, and where the jungle does not forget those who walked into its heart.

### From Here On

The campaign now opens. There is no rail to follow.

You are encouraged to remain around the central seas for a time, weaving clues into ports, taverns, trade stations and drifting rumors. But the players are free. The map and the Waverider’s list ensure they always have somewhere to go and someone to follow, but the direction is their own.

The Montosho arc ends the tutorial phase.

From this point forward, the world belongs to them.

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