Eberron Adventure: Thirty-First Session

So there they were…

…fighting for their lives in the parallel dimension of the Fey Wild, against Zyn, Avatar of the Fey, and perpetrator of these grisly murders.

Comfort had initiated the hostilities, blasting Zyn while he Turnin, and Kyllar were shouting at one another over the storm.

Zyn had called upon his patrons for aid, and in short order the party, consisting of Shadowale, the halfling rogue, Turnin the human monk, Comfort the tiefling sorcerer, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Rhogar the dragonborn fighter, Professor Thorntongue the elf cleric, Kyllar the human wizard and Whudyalookadah the gnome druid (yes, count ‘em, 8 players), found itself facing down a tall elven-looking stone golem, Zyn, and a pair of odd, pudgy four-legged beasts with tentacles ending in flowers, that apparently could exert some control over the party through aromas.

Shadowale wasn’t sure how they’d get out of this, for the archway that brought them here was still inert, showing not Sharn, from whence they came, but the raging storms surrounding this grass-covered platform and stony birdcage. However they escaped, there was a fight at hand now, and the halfling drew his blades, and charged in, slicing the pudgy beast on the party’s left, and is joined in his attack by Turnin, whose cool staff whirled ‘round, smacking the beast.

The elven stone golem was more attracted to the vibrant outline of Gnofulk from the Fey’s faerie fire spell than the interposing dragonborn fighter, and shaking off another intervening strike from Rhogar, clobbers the diminutive barbarian, who was grumpily sitting, a result of a run-in with one of the pudgy beasts.

Comfort, whose purple hair had fallen out on account of the wild and unpredictable magic flowing through her body, failed to catch her hairpins, and found herself facing down Zyn, murderer of her lover, separated from the party; alone and unarmed. Hearing the clamor behind her, and knowing Zyn was likely too strong for her, she twinned a magical attack, and threw it back to aid the party, and it arced between the pudgy beast and the stone golem on the party’s right flank. As lightning danced between the pudgy, flower-tentacle beast and the impassive stone golem, Gnofulk raged, and stood up to swing recklessly at the beast.

Zyn’s flaming bird blasts Comfort and babbling, Zyn cuts the tiefling down, showing her the imprudence of ignoring him, before retreating to the eastern side of the platform, healing as he passed through the tall grass…

Rhogar again attempts to draw the golem’s attention away from the bloodied gnome, striking again with a discerning eye at the golem’s knees, but the stone is just too sturdy.

On the left, the Professor continues to concentrate on her summoned spirits, and leaves them to assist Shadowale and Turnin, while running to protect Comfort’s fallen body. As the Professor approaches Comfort, the pudgy beasts make their move. The one on the right again lunges at Gnofulk, mauling the seething barbarian, and while the flower-ended tentacles slap at the barbarian, the  gnome is too enraged to fall victim to the aromas again. The one on the left, however, is done for. As the wounded beast rears back to strike at Turnin and Shadowale, Professor Thorntongue’s summoned spiritual guardians rip it to shreds with their spectral hands.

Their left flank free of danger, the wizard Kyllar turns to reinforce their battered right flank, tossing a firebolt at the second pudgy beast while Whudyalookadah calls forth lightning from the still-raging storm to zap it as well, and it explodes while the druid releases a word of healing to the winds to revive Comfort, who gasps, and rolls to her knees.

His patron’s support proving ineffective, Zyn implores the Fey to aid more – the party’s numbers are simply too great, and from some of the copses of sapling trees, tall plants begin to sway, with a four-pointed blue flower blooming at each of their stems. His scimitar gleaming in the lightning of the storm, Zyn snarls defiantly.

Plants? Shadowale doesn’t care, and neither does Turnin. With the pudgy beast torn to shreds at their feet the rogue cuts down the nearest one without issue, and then runs east, towards Zyn, while the monk dashes towards the golem, and with a deft hand smacks its stone form with an open hand.

The golem is caught off guard and unawares; it was focused too much on the barbarian and fighter. The monk’s smack echoes, even in the storm, and the golem finds ripping away vegetation through friction as the monk’s strike pushes back-

-and off the platform’s edge. Zyn shrieks in concern, trying to deny this rough turn of events, and in response, his patrons summon two more pudgy flower-tentacle beasts, who tumble into existence out of the tall grass on the western side of the platform, eyeing the party hungrily.

Revived, Comfort staggers to her feet, but she is too weak, and her spell against Zyn fizzles, though Gnofulk is able to get a few swings in against the drow. Zyn’s rebuttal is strong however, and upon taking the gnome’s strike, rebukes the gnome with a hellish curse before swinging savagely at the barbarian with his scimitar. Zyn’s familiar spits flames at the gnome, singling flesh. At the end of the onslaught, the gnome teeters, and it’s a wonder the storm’s wind didn’t knock him over.

Coming to the small one’s aid is Rhogar and Professor Thorntongue; the skilled fighter interposing himself in this fight and demanding the drow’s attention with skilled strikes while the cleric props up the gnome with a hand at his back, releasing healing magic into the stout but battered body.

The recently summoned pudges began to charge the party mob, but one was waylaid by the Professor’s spectral guardians, who were still watching the party’s back. The blue flowers, which had been tracking the party now struck. Sacks of air expanded in the stems, and then rapidly contracted, attempting to blast the party members nearest to them with tiny projectiles. Shadowale and Kyllar were both pierced by these little spitting plants, though fortunately the one aiming for the Professor choked, and exploded with a soft, leafy popping sound.

The wizard and druid sought to exert their control over the battle. The pudges weren’t an imminent threat yet, and Kyllar thought to keep it that way, releasing a large green fireball into their path. Both the beasts and the nearby tree were engulfed in green flames, and while the area smoldered, Whudyalookadah sent a healing word towards Gnofulk, and directed the lighting towards Zyn.

The party was bearing down on their former comrade, and Shadowale wanted in on the fun, popping up out of the grass to stealthily fire an arrow into the fray before dashing up into it. Turnin deftly flipped himself over the heads of the party to land behind Zyn, punctuating his “we-were-friends” utterings with smacks from his staff and fists and driving the drow to his knees.

Unable to get a clear shot, and being rather exposed (again), the tiefling Comfort crisped the pudge waylaid by the spirit guardians, and retreated towards the group for safety. Meanwhile Gnofulk swung his axe, gouging deep into the weak drow.

Summoning up the last of his reserves, Zyn screamed, refusing to give up. Surrounded, the drow’s anger fueled the horde-breaking skills once so highly valued by the party… when used against a seemingly endless stream of kobolds. Zyn willed himself upright, and swung, his blade a blur or speed, slicing into Rhogar, Shadowale and Gnofulk before stabbing behind himself and into Turnin.

Sensing the drow was getting weaker and more desperate, Rhogar attempted to end the fight, but struck Gnofulk instead, again sending the poor gnome dangerously teetering. With most of the party bloodied, Professor Thorntongue casts Mass Prayer of Healing, raining strength and determination among much of the party.

Kyllar, unleashes a powerful, boosted Magic Missile towards the exhausted drow, and half a dozen streaks pummel and pierce the wizard’s former comrade from multiple directions. One passes through Zyn’s familiar, while others worm their way around the party before boring deep into the drow. The final green-colored streak of magic drills into Zyn’s screaming mouth, illuminating the drow’s skull from within before exploring.

The now-headless Zyn topples lifelessly into the grass at the feet of the party.

As the party swiftly turns to face the impending beasts, they find that the pudges have disappeared. Looking around, they hear the deep grating voices of the Fey gods high above the party, speaking all at once, but to each other, and in unison no longer. <OUR AVATAR FALLS.> <ANOTHER WILL BE ELEVATED.> <THE TRESASSERS WILL NOT ESCAPE.>

The stone lips freeze – and a tense moment passes.  For a moment, nothing happens, then the feeling of vertigo returns, as the platform is felt to lurch, and despite a lack of visual aids, the stone birdcage seems to be falling.

Blinded by Rhogar’s claims of phat lewt, Kyllar greedily pats down the drow in search of magical treasure… but finds only Zyn’s magical scimitar, and Rhogar admits that he may have misspoke when informing the party of his contact’s summary of the murder of Aetum Bladeblossom… in fact, none of the elf swordsman’s belongings had been looted.

Kicking the grass angrily, Kyllar tosses the stupid scimitar away, and it is picked up by Gnofulk, wind still rushing by as the platform plummets.

With the departure of the Fey gods, the Fey Wild seems to be disappearing, and glimpses of Sharn flash among the clouds, but the glimpses seem almost super-imposed. They are still in the Fey Wild, and are unsure what will happen should the platform actually crash, or if any of their levitation or Feather Fall spells could really save them.

As the party looks around and tries to formulate a plan, Shadowale’s finger is poked while playing with his knives. He regards the ring pilfered by Naman Fireslinger, really for the first time since putting it on. A little enthralled by the beauty, he holds it up to regard it.

There is a single amber gem in the ring, with black and brown whorls, and the golden band appears to be golden antlers, wrapping around the halfling’s finger.

As he lifts the ring up, the flickers of Sharn hold longer, and urged on by the party, the rogue scampers into the center of the platform, and thrusts the ring up high, shouting to be noticed by the Fey gods, and imploring them for power.

Unfortunately, the gods have departed.

Fortunately, the ring flares, and the Archway that brought the party here snaps open, revealing Sharn. The party quickly hustles through the Archway, each lurching slightly while exiting the magical Fey Wild.

Still shouting for power, the halfling is soon alone; the party looking at him from the other side of the Archway.

Sensing the danger in remaining, the halfling, arm still stretched out as high above him as his little arm can get it, Shadowale shouts and dashes towards the archway.

As the ring passes over threshold, the portal snaps shut, and while the halfling makes it across safely, one of his two stealthy cloaks is not as lucky, and is torn in two by the portal’s closing.

The party collapses, exhausted onto the platform in front of the Fey Shrine in Sharn. Dawn is breaking, and the storm clouds are beginning to disburse. Exhausted, the party mob slinks towards rest, sanctuary and a momentary respite from their peril-filled lives.