The Toll of Throswain Bridge
A lantern. A toll. A choice you don’t remember making.
The bridge appeared as bridges often do—in precisely the moment it was needed, though you can't quite recall the need. It was dusk. Lanterns flickered to life along the stone sides, whispering a soft rattle of chains and glass, each step ringing quietly in the emptiness below. The stones were wet, soft with moss, worn smooth by countless feet or centuries of rain.
At the center waited a shape, bent and patient, her lantern dangling from a crooked staff, shedding just enough light to show what she wished seen, and nothing more.
“Sssomething given freely weighsss little,” she hissed, slow and deliberate, wet words like moss peeling from bark. Her blind eye stared at nothing; the other glistened, black as oil. “Something taken… weighsss heavy. Which will you leave behind?”
Approaching Throswain
The bridge stretches long, spanning a chasm whose depths remain unseen beneath heavy fog. On the far side, your destination waits—whether a warm tavern, a distant town, or something less certain.
Hooks (How to Arrive)
- The bridge appeared when the road seemed lost, your destination unclear.
- Rumors spoke of an old woman granting passage—but never without cost.
- A village child wandered this way days past. His parents plead for answers.
- Your dreams brought you here, and you wake to find the stones beneath your feet.
The Bridgekeeper
She is impossibly old, cloaked in faded gray fabric sewn with threads of what might be silver, might be spider silk. Her white-blind left eye is milky, motionless. The other is black and wet, darting swiftly and deliberately over each traveler. A long, bone-thin staff dangles a brass-and-glass lantern, the flame flickering gently despite windless air.
She speaks in slow riddles, mouth twisting dramatically around each slurred syllable, a moist whisper layered in velvet menace.
“She waits in silence until you are close enough that you cannot easily retreat. Only then does her lantern lift, illuminating her face in shadows of amber and rot. ‘Crossssing costs,’ she says slowly, softly. ‘But you may choose your toll.’”
Paying the Toll
She will accept anything given sincerely. Players may choose to offer:
- A cherished object — she eats it, slowly, bones and metal crunching wetly.
- A treasured memory — she smiles, as if tasting something sweet, and breathes the memory into her lantern’s flame, where it flickers and vanishes.
- A secret — she whispers it to herself, quietly laughing, and then writes it in invisible ink across her sleeve.
- A name — she stitches it in silver thread along her cloak’s hem.
She offers tea afterward—bitter, spiced with glowing fungi, its taste oddly comforting.
If Refused
She nods calmly. “Then keep your burdens,” she whispers. “But burdens left unpaid follow longest.”
Those who refuse the toll find:
- The bridge stretches impossibly far; hours pass in crossing.
- An echo of themselves trails quietly behind, never quite catching up.
- Upon leaving the bridge, something subtle but critical has changed—an item is altered, a familiar face turns strange, or their shadow behaves wrongly.
Consequences and Twists
Once across, the world feels ever-so-slightly shifted:
- A favorite trinket or familiar item no longer exists—but the player does not remember what it was.
- A friendly NPC no longer recognizes one player.
- The player’s reflection moves independently, slightly delayed.
Optional Combat Variant
Should violence arise, the woman does not fight. Instead, she dissolves into moss and dirt, and the bridge itself defends her.
Shadow Echo (Creature)
- A shadowy duplicate of the attacker emerges from the mist.
- Matches attacker’s abilities and stats.
- Immune to charm and fear. Vulnerable to radiant damage.
- Vanishes if defeated, leaving an echoing whisper.
DM Notes
This encounter is designed for eerie, whimsical tension. It works best when players are unsure whether they’re being helped or harmed.
Tone Tips:
- Encourage slow pacing, long silences, and open-ended choices.
- Use the woman’s voice sparingly—drawn-out syllables, simple riddles, unsettling slowness.
- Adapt tolls to players’ backstories for deeper impact.
Closing Scene
As you leave, you glance back once. She remains still, her one good eye locked onto your departing shadow. You pat your pockets absently; something feels… unfamiliar, yet you cannot place exactly what. The lantern swings once, twice, and is lost behind the fog.
“I gave her the memory of the first flower I ever plucked.
It seemed small enough.
But now, every petal looks the same to me,
and nothing ever blooms quite right.”