So there they were… on a stealthy approach back into the desolate city of Kalazart.
The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk, Kylar the human wizard, Gnofulk the gnomish barbarian/ranger, Francis the dwarf cleric, Comfort the tiefling sorceress and Ula the half-orc barbarian, had finished their morning fantasy coffee, and had piled into their last remaining skiff, Ula’s bottle filled flying home.
The party had donned their Wingies of Featherfall, and with a sending stone in the pocket of their wizard, the party had departed their fiery airship, now somehow menacingly named the Scourge of the Mournland. The party had left no additional special instructions for Rhogar; as before the dragonborn captain was to keep the ship ready and moving. Now with the stones to communicate, any perils encountered should be easier to address…
As they approached, Kylar ensorcelled himself in shimmering magical armor, but the Mournland twisted the spell, and as the wards spring until place, the wizard’s muscles grew and bulged, and his wits seemed to depart.
Gnofulk and Kylar began coordinating cantrips to conjure illusionary fog around the skiff to obscure the approach of the party. And in hushed tones, the wizard starts asking the barbarian about his backpack full of weapons, and Kylar takes a few swings with the gnome’s scimitar in between spell casts. Unfortunately, while the wizard now has the brawn for combat, he still lacks proficiency with physical tools of war. A debate over pointy and cutty weapons is brought to a close by a nonchalant Francis arguing that the weapons don’t matter; you need to hit the target to end a fight. No one can really argue with the cleric’s logic of going for the eyes and groin whenever possible either.
The skiff floats into the dilapidated outskirts of the city of Kalazart, and as before, they see small packs of mutated humanoids scrounging and picking through rubble for bodies to eat.
Fortunately, the illusions are enough to disguise the party’s approach, and the mutants pay the floating cloud no mind.
In between foraging packs, Kylar casts Detect Magic. As has happened many times before, something odd accompanies the spell’s intended effect, but the wizard can’t say exactly what. Hopefully it isn’t detrimental…
The party is returning to Kalazart for several reasons; rescuing brandy; liberating loot; and tracking the escaped warforged prisoner known as Dirk – the party’s only link to the mysterious Perpetual Legion, who are believed to operating in the Mournland, with the party acquaintances of Gofer and Skull Buddy.
After fleeing the fiery airship, the party had magically deduced that Dirk was making his way to Kalazart, likely to get his bearings in the wasteland. Floating through the slums, Kylar attempts to divine the location of any nearby warforged. While the spell goes off, the wizard suffers psychic damage for his trouble, and to-boot, no warforged are detected within the range of the spell.
Kalazart is a concentric city; slum outskirts surrounding wealthier merchant townhomes surrounding warehouses surrounding the central market and lightning rail station.
The party knows the central market is a bust; nothing remains but broken stalls, ruined goods and lots of danger. The slums are very likely a bust as well; poor folk likely won’t have anything magical or anything of value. The party quietly discuss, and decide to poke around the merchant manors today.
Ula increases the flying height of the skiff slightly, and the party is soon approaching the ring of merchant houses, following the lightning rail’s path bisecting the city. The manors are two-story buildings; townhomes packed close to one another, separated only by narrow alleys, now strewn with rubble.
Door to door exploration isn’t feasible; too much rubble impedes the narrow streets, but fortunately the party has a skiff. At their height, they can get a pretty good look at the nearby buildings. Many walls on the second stories hold still, and the party can peer inside windows from time to time.
They decide to enter a home from a hole in the roof. Ula parks the skiff above the aperture, and several party members hop out.
Gnofulk, wielding his magic axe, hops down alongside the monk Turnin, who is twirling his cool staff. They are quickly joined by the still buff wizard Kylar and his straining robes.
The hole in the roof has not been kind to the place, but the trio deduce that this was a bedroom. Picking through the rubble of the roof and crumbling wall, Gnofulk produces a small yellow gem. Turnin finds a doll missing both a hand and a foot. Creepy. The trio poke ahead into a hallway. Just ahead appears to be another bedroom, and further on, the gnome can see what appears to be a dining room.
A quick search of the second bedroom yields a curly orange wig, just filled with spiders. Why would Gnofulk take that. Now interested in exploring Francis hops down into the home, walking the twenty feet to join the party at the threshold to the dining room.
As the trio cautiously advance, they hear skittering, and see several of the nautilus ticks scurry further into the dilapidated home. The last time they encountered these they were a precursor to an encounter with a monstrous abomination.
The party can glimpse into the other rooms, and do indeed see part of one towering aberration through one of the doorways. Unfortunately, it glimpses the party as well, and shifts it’s massive, writhing weight.
Kylar is first to act, and even with his momentarily magically diminished intelligence, realizes that the party doesn’t want to tussle with one of these again. The wizard flexes and summons a mass of writhing black tentacles near the doorway, snagging some of the scurrying ticks, as well as the huge monster on the other side of the door, all struggle, but are luckily restrained for the moment. The buff wizard bails, striding down the hallway back to the skiff shouting warnings to Ula and Comfort.
Turnin hesitates, and Francis steps up. The cleric of light summons a magical barrier. As the spell is cast, the Mournland warps the spell, and the fabric of magic is momentarily visible to the dwarf. He realizes that he could substitute one element for another with this spell… but decides why change a good thing and goes with a Circle of Fire, cordoning off most of the dining room, and burning the big monster and several of the nautilus-shelled ticks. The dwarf also bails.
Turnin regards the creatures on the other side of the flames. The empathetic monk feels a connection with them, though their warped psyche is too weird to comprehend, the monk senses that there is some intelligence at work. The warped beings are smart, and the monk decides he wants no part of this either. He too runs back to the skiff.
As the monk jumps in, Ula takes off, climbing as high as she can. Inside, the party can hear the monstrosity fight free of the tentacles, and break through the puny doorway. The party speeds away…
After putting some distance between them and the home, the party relax. Sixty feet up, Gnofulk produces the yellow gem for Kylar to identify, and finds it to be just a minor enchantment; the gem will glow when a storm is “nearby.” Super useful.
Francis also casts Scrying, attempting to locate the warforged Dirk, and a cloud of the Mournland’s spooky Dead Grey Mist engulfs the skiff. Luckily, further in the city, the cleric’s spell connects.
The warforged is hunkered down, apparently somewhere in the manor district. His black, spiked punk rock-looking torso armor is scorched, and several small spikes are bent or missing. With a small kit, Dirk looks to be repairing himself.
Turnin is intrigued. Comfort sends up several firebolts, trying to work with Francis to zero in on the warforged’s location. Unfortunately, Francis is unable to see them, and unable to zero in on a more exact position.
Kylar offers to message Dirk via Sending, and Turnin accepts, eventually deciding to thank Dirk for saving Chef during the Scorching Ray attack on the airship. The monk ends with an ominous, some would say downright threatening farewell given the history, saying that the party will “see you soon.”
Still scrying, Francis relates the reaction of their quarry. The warforged is obviously surprised at the magical correspondence, but that quickly turns to agitation. Dirk replies by calling the party jerks, denounces their imprisonment of him, and demands to be left alone. Psychos.
The party descends back towards Kalazart to explore another manor house, hoping into what turns out to be a study. The rest of the manor is too ruined to explore safely, but I the study they find a merchant’s ledger, a now-crumpled display flag, and a small (non-magical) clockwork harpy statue.
Considering the manor homes a bust as well, the party prepares to spend the afternoon exploring the warehouses. Maybe something worthwhile will be there.
Ula puts the skiff back at a height even with the second floor of the ruins, moving along the lightning rail towards the ringed warehouse district. Kylar’s familiar has been chilling in the skiff in the form of an owl, and the wizard releases him up to scout for any mutants.
Kylar surveys the city from his familiar’s eyes. He sends the familiar about thirty feet ahead and twenty feet up. The familiar looks back, eyeing the skiff. As it flies ahead, it spies a –
The wizard shakes his head. A stone knocked his familiar out of existence. Kylar wings a firebolt up ahead at the offender, but misses. Turnin surprisingly saw the attacker, and the wizard’s attack. After a moment of preparation the monk magnificently catapults himself up ahead toward where Kylar shot, landing in another ruined alcove. Already fleeing further into the ruined home is blond halfling.
Something is off with the little guy though. The halfling’s eyes are wide and unblinking, and his grin is deranged, not mirthful. Oh, and the halfling is caked in dried blood. Definitely not his blood either. Even worse, Turnin realizes that halfling’s hide armor is made from dragonborn scales...
Turnin is a fast-talker, and attempts to ingratiate himself, quickly apologizing for Kylar’s blast, though noting that it was in response to the slung stone against the familiar.
The grinning halfling continues to inch away, shrugging that food is food. The druid saw an opportunity for what he thought was fresh meat, and took it. Turnin manages to exchange names with the halfling – Leero, but not much else. Leero pats his little belly, and asks if the monk has been touched by the Dead Gray Mist, warning of the Mist’s immense danger …
Unfortunately, time is up, and whatever goodwill the monk tried to engender is quickly lost as Ula brings the skiff up into view, with Kylar, Comfort and Francis all poised to launch magic at the druid. Leero ducks behind a corner, fleeing deeper into the ruined building.
The manor house is porous. The second floor has half a roof, and only a few walls. With a head start, and so many possible exits, the mad druid easily loses the monk, who is too wary to charge blindly onward. The party gingerly explore the building and surrounding room.
What looks like an arm sits where Turnin entered; the druid was eating. Gnofulk’s quick appraisal doesn’t find any traps, and the gnome believes that that the mad druid was simply pausing here to snack – this isn’t his main lair.
Exploring gingerly into the room reveal the numerous exits, and the party gives up the thought of pursuit. They are too unnerved.
The party deduce that Leero is indeed mad. The Mournland, breaking numerous natural and magical laws, is bound to mess with any druid’s head. However, aside from the madness, Leero seems to be thriving. Even the Mournland cannot break the demand for the survival of the fittest…
Perhaps Leero is a broken adventurer?
Turnin recalls the dragonborn hide armor, lending support to the notion, and the party is unnerved by the casual cannibalism. Even if he is mad, the monk muses, what of his warnings about the Dead Gray Mist? Can they be dismissed as the rantings of insanity, or the warnings of someone entirely in tune with their surroundings?
The party continues on, flying towards the warehouses of Kalazart, watchful eyes scanning every roof and window for danger…
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