So there they were…
Still in the Mournland. The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk, Kylar the human wizard, Ula the half-orc barbarian, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian(/ranger), Comfort the tiefling sorceress and Francis the dwarf cleric, had recently explored and subsequently fled departed from the ringed merchant city of Kalazrt, deciding enough was enough and it was time to leave this cursed land and get back to somewhere where they could actually heal. As dusk fell, they had returned to their fiery airship, then known as the Forgetful Boner.
The Mournland had taken its toll on them, and the party was indeed bloodied. However, their accompanying crew had it worse. An attack on the ship a few nights ago by living spells, Scorching Rays, had devastated the crew while the party was away. Their chief engineer Montgomery Dwarf had lost a leg; two of the Cogsfolk goblin deckhands were grievously wounded and barely even conscious; the remaining two were injured but soldering on. Ruth had taken a few hits in the fight with the Rays as well. Captain Rhogar, former battlemaster fighter, had parried most of the attacks and was uninjured. The warforged Chef was doing ok, due to his ability to repair himself and the protection of the warforged prisoner Dirk during his escape during the fight. Lastly, Kaz the kobold was also unscathed, having hid during the fight, emulating his father-figure /master Kylar…
Still, despite a few spry members, the crew was in a bad spot. The ship was powered by an elemental, and needed a constant pilot to move at all, and near constant maintenance and assistance to make that happen. The Injuries coupled with a few days or extra long shifts had almost worn the crew down entirely. It was indeed time to leave.
Surprisingly, they weren’t departing entirely empty-handed. The party had found some bottles of Cyrean brandy… though those were now mostly depleted too. Shucks. Poking through Kalazart they had found some Goggles of Eagle Sight, dibsed by Ula. They looked a bit silly on the barbarian though…
The party’s haul of loot had come only very recently… scrounged from the half-eaten corpses of a trio of adventurers, who presumedly met their end also looking for loot in Kalazart… Gnofulk had ended up with a dwarven cavalier’s saddle; Ula had recovered a thin box protecting a Javelin of Slaying, and Comfort had appropriated a Potion of Haste.
Not a terrible haul, but it was a bit disconcerting that their loot had come from dead adventurers.
Night passed uneventfully, and the party awoke in theirs berths aboard their fiery airship, now somehow called Ula’s Big Boat. The barbarian apparently now claiming dominion of the airship along with the sole remaining skiff, which doubled as her berth and home.
At Turnin’s request, the warforged chef, Chef attempted a huge breakfast serving of fantasy chow mein, which the monk just loved. Wonderful fantasy Thai food, or something. Over the meal, the party philosophized with Chef, and learned that their kindness had won over the warforged. Built for combat in the Last War, Chef had served Breland for many years. After the war, the warforged found himself without purpose, and took up cooking. Though he had no need to eat, the process had fascinated him. Cooking had proved difficult without tasty feedback though, which he lacked until he had met the party. His culinary skills had increased, and the party seemed to enjoy his cooking, so Chef was happy to stick around.
The meal eventually ended, and the party disbursed. Francis prayed; Ula drank; Turnin worked out; and Gnofulk started fiddling with his newly obtained saddle, making minor alterations here and their to better fit his flying squirrel Nutasha. Soon the gnome finished, and wandered up from the hold, to help survey the surrounding land and help keep the ship moving westward and on course, following the lightning rail line.
The land was desolate. Dried earth rolled gently on, hill after hill, while the Dead Gray Mist appeared, swirled around and disappeared according to its own unknowable whims. The magical oddities of the Mournland continued to hamper the fiery airship, which continued to be unable to gain significant altitude; the flaming ring and support struts barely 10 feet off the ground at any given thim, despite everyone’s best efforts. Moving was slower than usual, lest a strut go around and flip the ship…
As a barbarian, the gnome has fantastic senses, amplified now by his new dip into ranger. He could see quite the distance every time they crested even a small hill. Nearly a mile away, he notices signs of a nearby battlefield, but keeps this information to himself. Now is not the time to adventure; the barbarian knows it is time to withdraw from the dangerous Mournland.
Turnin finishes his workout – only a couple hundred sit-ups – and joins the gnome at the bow. This time both see the upcoming location of interest – a small stream and a tree. Ever-curious, the monk shouts back instructions to bring the airship closer, and flings himself off the railing, landing deftly while Gnofulk is left to round up the party.
Comfort groans as she moves. She was the first to a hit in the Mournland – a powerful warforged crossbow having skewered her – and the wound has yet to heal. She’s not enthused to be wandering about, but her magic is potent, and the party needs to stick together.
Francis was this close to nirvana, and the moment ruined by Gnofulk’s summoning shouts, the dwarf cleric makes his way to the deck, joining Kylar on the way. Ula is the last to be rounded up by the gnome, drinking back in her skiff. She finishes her bottle, and adds it to the collection on the skiff’s floor as the rest of the party boards, and they prepare to join the monk.
The find the monk perplexed, standing near the stream and looking at the very nearby tree, which is thin, and its branches nearly devoid of leaves. The monk has pretty good intuition, and to him, it looks as it the tree is crying; the boughs slumped and shaking like the shoulders of someone sobbing.
The party tactfully tries some solutions. Turnin’s dragonmark flares for a moment as he tries to remove any curses.. but none are found. The party tries encouraging words, and eventually transitions to comforting rubs. Everyone even gets in on a group hug at one point, but they are far from convincing in their support… they’re armed adventurers after all.
The power of love failing, Kylar gets analytical, and starts using shape water to investigate the stream, flowing in from the northwest. No fish or anything of note is found, and soon the wizard starts trying to shift end diver the tiny stream. After many attempts, he is successful in diverting the stream a few feet away, and the tree seems to cheer up a bit – it’s shaking frequency slows, and the boughs rise and straighten.
Assuming the tree is indeed sad, the party decides the stream is the culprit. Gnofulk approaches, and dips his gnomish pinky into the stream to sample the stream, which he finds to be both warmer than expected and somehow salty, almost like tears. Gnofulk is too stoic to be brought to tears, but contact with the water has affected him. He can barely mumble about the saltiness before his visage sinks in despondency, and he withdraws into his own sad thoughts…
Meanwhile Kylar has a plan, and casts a spell to animate the tree, attempting move it away from the gloomy stream. However, roots are a thing. The animated roots churn at the dirt, but ultimately the tree doesn’t make it far, and the wizard mostly succeeds in tilting the tree. However, with a little more water shaping and some very, very minor digging to divert the tiny stream’s path just a little more, the tree has moved far enough away from the water to cease its shaking entirely. The party did good?
Turnin wonders where the stream came from, but Francis will not entertain any thoughts. Something that generates that much sadness is worth avoiding…
The party returns to the fiery airship, and the party continues their pastime activities after lunch comes and goes, and as the crew keeps the ship moving west, following the lightning rail line back towards Breland. Ula lands the skiff and immediately opens another beer; Kylar goes to check in with Kaz the Kobold and Montgomery Dwarf; and Francis returns to meditating, and achieves a moment of absolute clarity, and realizes that he should never pee into the wind or pet a burning dog.
Gloomy Gnofulk wanders belowdecks, drops his gear, and snuggles into Nutasha the flying squirrel. Turnin noticed something amiss with the gnome, and follows him down into the hold, though the monk can neither discern what exactly is wrong, or how he can help. So he just keeps the gnome company.
Late in the afternoon Comfort joins them, and she too notices something off with the gnome. The sorceress is more of a “people person” than the monk though, and as she too snuggles up against Nutasha, she encourages Gnofulk to talk about it.
Gnofulk swallows hard. Memories of a great personal tragedy have dominated his mind ever since his pinky touched that stream... and slowly, the gnome relates his sorrow.
… in his chamber above the hold, Francis, cup to floor, listens in on the story…
Years ago, when our favorite gnome was a child, he and his younger brother habitually traipsed through the wilds. One fatefully day, the duo was crossing a river, and Gnofulk heard two mighty snaps, separated briefly by screams. His little gnome brother Dugan was eaten by a large snapping turtle. The event devasted Gnofulk, but surprisingly to Comfort, this was not the reason our gnome went into exile. That happened later. Still, the loss of his little brother was Gnofulk’s most sorrowful moment.
Sharing his emotional load has seemed to help the gnome’s spirits though. He scratches Nutasha lovingly and sits up. His eyes have cleared, and his shoulders no longer slump in sorrow. The gnome regards Comfort and Turnin, and knows he can persevere.
The day continued, the party disbursing to their own tasks and pastimes while the fiery airship continued slowly traveling westward towards the safety of Breland, shadowing the lightning rail.
On deck, Gnofulk spies something in the distance, maybe about a mile ahead. The Mournland is encased in mist, but the setting sun is still bright enough to blind, and is glinting off a lot of metal things in the path of the fiery airship. As the gnome blinks to clear his eyes, he summons the only active goblin deckhand on-shift, Chester, and in turn has him summon the other members of the party. Chester runs about, shouting “Aooga” and calling the party to arms.
The party is slow to act, however. No evasive actions are commanded of Rhogar; no additional scouting is immediately done to supplemental Gnofulk’s “metal somethings ahead” for quite some time. At the mention of danger, Kylar encases himself in Mage Armor, and the Mournland’s oddities twist the magic; the wizard is Ensmallened for his trouble. Turnin joins Gnofulk near the ship’s bow, and eventually Ula is roused from a drunken nap, and decides to try out her new goggles. Strapping them on and wandering to the bow, she adjusts the lenses and looks westward.
The half-orc snorts in surprise. Ahead she sees a very leggy table; some kind of walking automaton barge; it’s platform is roughly even in height with Ula’s Big Boat, and has about half a dozen armored figures glinting with the sun at their backs. Atop the platform is a large ballista, and it fires a large, spear-like bolt at the airship, now just over 500 feet away. Ula shouts a warning.
Turnin is roused to action, and turns to see the projectile for himself. Protective of the airship, in a snap decision the monk decides to throw himself off at the incoming shot in an attempt to deflect it. The projectile is far large than what he can usually deflect though, and less forgiving. Still, the monk manages to knock it towards the ground.
The monk lands, and surprisingly, is able to pull the projectile from the pieced ground. Twirling his cool staff with one hand and the ballista projectile in another, the monk draws on his skills and speedily charges at the platform, putting considerable distance (100 feet plus) between himself and the airship.
Surprised by the sight of the platform, Ula recalls the lightning cannon at the bottom of the airship, and makes haste towards the gunnery module.
On the platform, warforged are readying weapons, mirrored by Gnofulk, who has readied his magical axe and scimitar aboard the airship. Also on deck, Kylar, still ensmallened by magical aftereffects, regards the situation. Seeing the monk sprinting madly towards the enemy platform, the wizard decides this is a good time for the Polymorph spell, and little arms moving, he casts it on the monk. The Mournland, as ever, alters the spell, though the effect is a boon, and Kylar though still smaller than usual, is instilled with confidence.
One hundred or so feet ahead of the airship, and four hundred feet from the platform, Turnin is polymorphed into a terrible lizard with a rad headband. The tyrannosaurus monk doesn’t break his stride, and roars mightily. In response, the ballista crew – two warforged – are surprisingly able to reload, and fire off a ship at the airship again, though luckily it goes wide.
Comfort sees Gnofulk glaring angrily but impotently at the platform. Touching the little barbarian’s shoulder, the tiefling sorceress opens a Dimension Door, and the pair is transported to the platform, next to the ballista. This will work out well, right?
Enlightened, but slow to act, Francis pokes his head above deck to see what all the fuss is aboue, but quickly decides to follow Ula to the gunnery module.
Ula’s Big Boat is ponderous, only moving about 50 feet closer per round. Turnin the dinosaur is far speedier, covering nearly a hundred and fifty feet with purposeful strides of powerful legs as his tiny little arms continue to deftly twirl the staff and projectile. The monk is still two hundred and fifty feet away from the platform though… not nearly close enough to bite.
In the gunnery module, neither Ula and Francis can recall the safety discussion from their first visit to the airship. Neither can recall the range of the lightning cannon, but Ula is able to make some minor targeting adjustments and roughly determine the controls. Soon, Kylar will join them in the cramped compartment, though in his magically diminutive form, the wizard won’t take up too much space. Plus he will recall the optimal range of the cannon to be 300 feet.
The homunculus platform is spacious enough – nearly 50 feet wide, with a small face below and thin towering legs lifting wide supportive feet. Atop, front and center is the ballista and two crew; a large pile of “stuff” in the center; two warforged with massive crossbows up front and one at the rear; along with two massive warforged with tower shields comparable in size to Ula’s.
Gnofulk takes all this in briefly as he and Comfort appear next to the ballista. The warforged are momentarily surprised, but disciplined. The two shooters up from shoot at the oncoming T-rex, while the rear guard maims Comfort. Raging, Gnofulk batters against the ballista mount. The ballista is smashed, though it took all of Gnofulk’s efforts. The ballista crew draw their weapons and try to repel the boarders; their blades cutting into both the gnome and the tiefling. The two warforged brutes advance cautiously, their large shields up…
The Mournland has not been kind to Comfort and as her wounds have continued to mount, she’s been the most vocal in departing this cursed land. Atop the platform, with warforged closing in, survival demands her withdrawal, and she opens another Dimension Door, leaving Gnofulk behind. The Mournland twists the spell, and confetti bursts as the door winks shut.
Comfort reappears atop Turnin, the polymorphed T-rex still charging towards the platform, not just one hundred feet away. In another moment, the monk will have closed, but the fiery airship is still four hundred feet away…
Ula decides to risk the shot. With Francis and Kylar aiding, the half-orc pulls the trigger in the crowded gunnery compartment. The lighting cannon hums for a moment, a faint blue column 10 feet wide illuminates the path a split second in front of the crackling white lightning. The bolt strikes the homunculus just barely off center of its head, arcing and tearing into the platform itself and ripping in two down the center.
The split second of faint blue illumination is all the gnome needs to spot danger, and he deftly but barely avoids total disintegration. Many of the warforged are not so lucky; the ballista crew and one of the brutes is turned to slag a moment before disappearing entirely. A mere second after impact, the homunculus platform, now without even the meager intelligence to coordinate balancing itself, begind to totter and fell…
The warforged shooters fire as the platform starts to give way. Only one of their shots manages to hit Turnin. Soon, the monk-turned-dinosaur will be upon them…
Gnofulk had thrown himself a few feet to the left to avoid the blast from the lightning cannon, but had landed with sure footing near one of the warforged shooters. The gnome takes a step forward and shoves the shooter, and the warforged topples off the swaying platform. Still raging the gnomes risks an acrobatic attack, and jumps across the gap in the bisected homunculus platform to deliver a kick with both feet, knocking the second forward shooter from the platform. The gnome defiantly rights himself in front of the brutish looking warforged, who seeing the gnome’s antics, viciously smashes the gnome with the wall-like shield. Amazingly, the gnome holds at the edge of the platform.
Watching on, Comfort pat’s Turnin, granting him Haste, but taking some psychic damage in return as the Mournland twists her spell.
Captain Rhogar continues to advance with the airship, now 350 feet away from the action. The crew is busy working, and the trio in the gunnery room are too busy cheering at the shot to do much else. The ship is effectively out of the fight.
Fortunately, Turnin arrives. While the two warforged shooters up front had been pushed off, they weren’t entirely incapacitated. The tyrannosaur munches the first, scattering nuts and bolts everywhere as Comfort watches on from the shoulders of the lizard.
The second forward shooter fires at Turnin, and manages a lucky shot against the polymorphed dinosaur. Against all odds, the rear shooter found sure footing as the platform descended, and also unloads on the dinosaur. Despite a number of hits, the polymorphed monk shows no signs of slowing, and the warforged here are fighting for their lives. Warforged are incredibly hearty, but being shattered and rent by a dinosaur is hard to survive…
The only remaining warforged is the towering brute, who begins to duel with the defiant gnome. The shield is a massive impediment, and only one of Gnofulk’s strikes hits home. The warforged has no obstacle, and gives far great than he receives on the first exchange… the gnome is up against the clock…
Still atop the dinosaur, Comfort unleashes a Lighting Bolt, with her vantage point atop the chomping dino allowing her to catch both the brute and the forward shooter.
Finished with the first warforged snack, Turnin the hasted T-Rex turns to chase down the second forward shooter, though with his much reduced intellect, he narrowly avoids Gnofulk; the barbarian’s awareness the only thing that saves him. Striding past the duel, Turnin obliterates the second shooter, and the tyrannosaur roars, metal clinging to its teeth like braces.
As the gnome continues to fight as Comfort interferes in the duel, plinking away at the warforged brute while Turnin munches on the third shooter, and after another series of blows and plinks, the brace-faced dinosaur monk ends the fight with a massive final munch against an unsuspecting warforged brute. The trio stand triumphant as their fiery airship slowly, finally reaches the battlefield...
So there they were… piled into a bottle-filled skiff, still (a bit) shaken from their brief, chance encounter with Leero, the mad halfling druid.
The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk, Kylar the human wizard, Ula the half-orc Barbarian, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Francis, the dwarf cleric and Gnofulk the gnome barbarian/ranger, had returned to Kalazart in search of brandy, loot, and a warforged escapee named Dirk.
While they had managed to confirm the Dirk was repairing himself somewhere in the city, they had yet to recapture him, and were so far coming up short on loot and brandy in their Kalazart excursions. Instead, they had recently happened upon a mad halfling druid, stalking around the ruined ringed city.
Wary, but undeterred, Ula piloted her skiff (and the party) over the lightning rail line that bisected Kalazart into the ringed warehouse district that wrapped around the central market and lightning rail station at the heart of the merchant city.
The warehouses were large, stout structures two stories high. A handful of years after the cataclysmic Mourning, they were still obviously neglected, as evidenced by numerous sagging roofs, but by and large were in better shape than the manor houses from which the party had just explored.
Commerce reigned in Kalazart, and even with space at a premium, the streets connecting the warehouse loading docs were easily twice the span of the narrow avenues separating the merchant townhomes. Still, they were in disrepair, and still rumble covered the streets, even if it was generally more shallow that the debris of the manors or the shanty town outskirts.
Each warehouse here had a loading dock on each floor, and all faced inwards to a central street for efficiency. A small staircase connected first and second stories for foot traffic. The party struggled to differentiate the buildings, and so chose the closest one to explore first. Ula brought the bottle-filled skiff even with the second story, put it in neutral, and the party started vacating. Only a few empty bottles were knocked out of the skiff.
Gnofulk went first, opening the door with Ula and her massive tower shield close behind. The barbarians swept into the room, with the dwarf cleric Francis close behind.
The room was pungent. Half eaten foods of all kinds littered the edges of the floor, accumulating most in the corners of the room. Inside, three of the nautilus-shelled ticks sat. Docile and full.
Gnofulk urged silence and further crept in. Kylar and Comfort joined their companions, and Turnin elected to keep watch in the skiff.
The room was dark, but the gnome could easily see that both sides of this food merchant’s storeroom had huge, burrowed holes, boring into the other warehouses on either side. Half eaten food spilled into these other warehouses, and skittering and shifting of massive amounts of weight could be heard. Leaning into it, Gnofulk tried to peek into one of the adjoining rooms. Inside he saw numerous additional shelled ticks, and several massive abominations.
The sight of one of the monstrous aberrations was expected at this point – the nautilus shelled ticks and monsters had always appeared together so far in Kalazart– but still unwelcome. While no one had outright died yet, healing was still impossible and the party was battered, bruised and bloodied. In no mood for an indoor tussle with such monsters, Gnofulk signals for a swift and immediate retreat.
The party start to inch away… and luckily nothing bad happens. The didn’t some in shouting or blasting, and the ticks were all docile and full. The party slink away and shut the door. Using the skiff, they move over to the other side of the street and try again.
This time Turnin is first. The monk hops out and opens the door. Inside, 5 mutants are busily eating… something, and look up at the newcomer. Turnin shuts the door and backs away, ready.
The door is blown off its hinges and the quintet of mutants burst outside. The first out is met with a flurry of blows and is stunned with a particularly devastating kick from the monk. The swaying body in the doorway crowds his compatriots, and the monk is able to hop back into the skiff.
At the helm, Ula roars straight up, putting a lot of distance between them and the mutants, who have overcome their stunned companion, and have started to hurl items into the hull of the ascending skiff...
As the ship climbs, Gnofulk leans over, and using his sling whips down two of his noisy, scream, fear-causing pellets down at the mutants. Though the stones hit, the mutants are unfazed. Kylar casts Shatter, and finds it roughly half as effective as expected, even accounting for the fleshy constitution of the mutants. Lackluster. Both lean back, allowing Comfort to release a Firebolt, killing one mutant.
Francis has an idea, and concentrates. After a moment, a Flaming Sphere appears among the pack of mutants, slamming into one. Maybe he concentrated a bit too hard, as another appears in the midst of the party on the skiff.
Turnin is baffled, and takes some swings at it with his cool staff. Fortunately, he misses the other party members. Unfortunately, the staff does nothing. Fortunately, even standing amidst the sphere, the monk is able to dodge most of the flames.
Ula drives the skiff down, landing on the roof of the warehouse, but gets burned, as the sphere moves with the skiff. Some of the mutants try to climb up to get on the roof, but none quite make it.
Gnofulk disembarks, and with two deft swings, “disarms” the mutant that was in the process of heaving itself up onto the roof. The remaining three are likewise quickly dispatched, and Francis dismisses both spheres.
The party regroups, and drops down to investigate this warehouse. Inside, the find the mutant’s meal: a trio of adventurers. The party picks through their scraps of gear. Most is torn and unusable, but they soon find a few worthwhile things.
Among the remains of a robed elf is a potion. In an ornate case near the human is a javelin. The (presumed) plate-clad dwarf has been cracked open like a lobster. The armor is ruined beyond repair, but nearby is a saddle. The rest of the gear is broken, ripped and scattered.
The party finds the warehouse to be a large storehouse for reagents; powders, elixirs, etc. The building blocks of magic. For better or for worse, no one is in need of any reagents. The last few years have not been kind to the storehouse, and bins of powders and the like look too contaminated to be of much use.
The party shuffle themselves next door to the adjoining warehouse with their skiff. It too looks to have been a components and reagents shop, though it has largely been picked clean of useful items. A quick sweep though revealed one useful piece of gear; a pair of goggles, with angled extra bits to give the effect of an owl’s gaze.
It’s not dark yet, but it soon will be. The party decide they’ve pressed their luck enough in Kalazart, and with a mad druid on the prowl, it may be time to withdraw and regroup. The Mournland has been a very unforgiving place. Quietly they pack up their loot, and depart in Ula’s skiff.
The party is quiet as they fly. Gnofulk and Kylar forget to conjure fog, but the party slips away almost without notice. As they pass through the manor house district again, Comfort spies the bloodied, wide-eyed and grinning face of Leero, the mad druid, silently watching the party from a ruined rooftop… creepy.
The party sneak out of Kalazart, avoiding a few foraging packs of mutants, and as dusk settles in, make they arrive back at their fiery airship, now called the Forgetful Boner, and Turnin and Kylar high-five on the down-low.
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…
So there they were…
Stranded in the ruined city of Kalazart.
After their fight with a monstrous aberration and its equally odd shelled affiliates, the party had abandoned the lightning rail and the wide central market, for higher ground, wary of fighting the oncoming “differently abled” mutant horde that had seen their approach and had been following their path through the city. The party had fled to the warehouse district, with Kylar and Comfort tossing Firebolts into the sky in a desperate attempt to catch the attention of their cleric Francis and their compatriots back in the party’s fiery airship.
The party had taken their lumps traversing the city and trying to summon help. Many hours had passed, and now, at dusk, they found themselves beleaguered atop a sagging warehouse roof, clearing up the latest band of mutants to cross their path…
Rubble was strewn around the city, with ruined buildings collapsing out into the streets and narrow alleys. Direct travel was quite difficult, but the rubbly occasionally opened up unorthodox routes to places. Comfort stood over a collapsed wall, the rubble spilling out and joining the other debris in the alley. While on the roof of a two-story warehouse, it certainly didn’t seem so. The rubble made ramps, and the mutants would reach them soon.
The tiefling twins Firebolt, and scorches two of the mutants scrambling over the rubble. She then withdraws from the edge, leaving the breach to the held by the fuming barbarians. The roof groans as she steps onto a sagging area, but holds, thankfully.
Kylar peeked over the edge himself and cast a spell. A mess of squirming, grasping black tentacles spring from the rubble to help protect the ramp leading up to the party’s position. As they spring into existence, the weapons of the party start to emit light – a side effect of chaotic side effect of casting in the Mournland. The wizard joins the sorceress near the back of the group…
The group nearest the ramp was already charging as the tentacles writhed up. One of the three was restrained by the tentacles, blocking the way for a second. The third of the nearest group made it through the mass though, and charged up the ramp at Gnofulk. The mutant’s axe swing and his tentacle arm flailed, but neither attack hit the gnome, and his angry rebuttal cleaves the mutant attacker in two.
Nearby, Ula advances, taking position on the top parts of the ramp with Gnofulk. Also quite angry, the half orc swings down at the injured (and restrained) mutant. The tiefling’s fire and wizard’s magic had softened the creature, and Ula’s axe strikes had ended the horror. The barbarian then positions her massive tower shield in front of her to hold the line with her fellow raging barbarian.
The second group of mutants had begun charging soon after the first. Again, one was impeded by the tentacles and restrained, but two managed to break free and scramble the last steps up the ramp. Fighting uphill proved a bit too much though, and only one attack wormed its way around Ula’s huge shield.
In the flight away from the rail station, Turnin had taken numerous blows, and was well bloodied by now. Atop the roof, the monk had paused, hearing more mutants coming but saw none (living) in the immediate alleyways. He moves to help repulse the second charge, expending Ki and pummeling to death one of the mutants on the ramps. Three remain in this onslaught.
In between strikes, the party has kept an eye on the skies. They are about as high as one can get in Kalazart. Each member of the stranded party swore they saw their cleric approaching minutes ago, but as they look now, he is not appearing over the rooftops…
Before they can question their senses too much, Francis arrives.
Since his last spotting, the dwarf had taken the skiff high, and was now coming straight down into the battle. Weapon glowing with extreme radiance, Francis knocks a rope down, and then leaps from the skiff.
Mid-fall, the dwarf is wreathed in flames, and he casts a boosted Scorching Ray. Three rays streak from the dwarf. The bearded face scrunching harder, a fourth ray pops out as well. Three of the four hit home, crisping the two most threatening mutants on the ramp. The magic took a toll however, and the dwarf winces as the magic wounds his psyche. Still falling, he blesses Ula, holding strong behind her massive tower shield, and soon bubbles are floating from his mouth.
As the dwarf nears the ground, Kylar notices that he isn’t wearing the typical Wingies of Featherfall, and the wizard casts it to save the dwarf. Both the wizard and dwarf wink out of existence, appearing a few moments later, after the final mutant has been dealt with.
The party is relieved to be rescued, but more mutants are coming, and they need to climb that rope to bring the skiff back down… its descent stalled at around 30 feet up when Francis jumped.
Comfort is ready to get going, and jumps up at the rope. She doesn’t make it far. Feet dangling inches off the ground, she slowly spins in place as the noise of the mutants gets closer and closer, echoing menacingly through the ruined streets.
Gnofulk tries, and deftly ascends. As the noises get louder and louder, the gnome pilots the skiff down. The party piles in as bands of mutants round the corner of the streets in view of the party, and they can feel the mutants strike against the hull of the skiff as it ascends out of range…
This second skiff came with a half-orc. The barbarian party member Ula. This is her “bunk” on the ship and honestly, she’s even a bit surprised the thing is actually sky-worthy. No one thought to check it before today.
The skiff is spacious, and easily accommodates the party and her meager belongings. However, her magnificent bear pelt blanket is weighted down by… probably a hundred empty beer bottles. The party is nearly knee-deep in bottles here.
As they ascend, the mutants start throwing stones and rubble. Comfort responds with bottles.
They confer quickly. Kylar wishes to camp on a roof for the night and explore the city. He is quickly overruled after Francis relates the occurrences on the ship.
After the party had departed for kalazart, the fiery airship had been attacked by living spells. This time a pack of Scorching Rays. With no method of summoning help (the “away team” didn’t nab any Sending Stones), the crew had repulsed the attack on its own, but at a cost.
Montgomery Dwarf, the engineer had been conferring with Rhogar at the helm when the attack happened. The dwarf had been wounded trying to make it below deck and had lost his leg in the battle. The day crew goblins Yip and Yap had both been grievously injured. The night crew goblins Chester and Strudel, along with the roguish human Ruth all took minor injuries in the battle. To help defend the ship, the warforged Chef had released the captive warforged Dirk, the latter of whom has subsequent gone missing.
The party return to the fiery airship, and now the Last Supper looks to be scrawled along the bow. Before Ula’s house skiff could even dock, Turnin jumps over to the deck, and marches towards the galley, where he begins arguing with the warforged. Gnofulk checks on Nutasha (alive and well), and Kylar checks in on his kobold Kaz. The little guy had been assisting Montgomery Dwarf, and gleefully informs the wizard that he had avoided most of the battle. The kobold had learned this tactic from the wizard…
Chef defends his actions to the monk as best he can. Dirk’s treatment amounted to torture. Once released, he and Chef went above deck, where Dirk did help defend Chef and the ship, albeit briefly. Dirk had jump-stabbed a passing ray and disappeared.
Turnin is still a bit angry and bummed. The monk had insisted on coming out here to find the Perpetual Legion, and now the party’s only link to the Legion has slipped away. The monk visits both Ruth and Rhogar, but neither can recall exactly where the battle with the Scorching Rays took place. They were busy fighting at the time. After the battle, the ship had continued puttering around, per the party’s instructions.
Fortunately for the monk, there was one other generally well-regarded person on the ship at the time. Francis. But the monk is concerned with the spiritual well-being of the monk, and will only share his knowledge if Turnin agrees to participate in a ceremony with him. Turnin agrees, with some hesitation.
The monk changes into some red vestments; a vest and pants. However, these are the vestments of the dwarf… they are a little snug on the human. After a prayer, Francis asks Turnin to recount and confess his sins.
This proves to be more difficult than expected. Turnin admits to kidnapping a warforged – Francis was there – and then his recollection gets a bit spotty. In time, Kylar presses his ear to the door, and whispers answers.
It’s a mixed bag. The monk has indeed kidnapped a warforged. Likely killed a bunch of bad guys. Probably accidentally killed a dwarf whilst fleeing a town way back when. However, the monk is quite chaste. Francis’ feelings are hard to gauge, but it seems the biggest strike against the monk seems to be a lack of tithe to the Silver Flame. Shucks.
After Turnin has changed back into his monk garb, he and Francis make their way to the bow of the ship, and Francis gestures to an area off to one side. The cleric thinks the battle occurred mostly over there. The party can search in the morning.
Night passes, thankfully, without incident. The party rests. Their wounds linger, but their abilities replenish.
Chef brews up some fantasy coffee, and Gnofulk spots some scorch marks on the landscape ahead. He, Kylar and Turnin ask to borrow Ula’s skiff. While Gnofulk and Turnin untie it, Kyllar attempts several spells. His familiar was destroyed yesterday, so Kylar attempts to summon it, but runs into difficulties. His first attempt was an abject failure, the magic consuming far more that expected, and failing to-boot. The second attempt succeeds, but the Mournland blight harms the psyche of the wizard.
The trio descend, and fan out, Investigating several patches of burn marks. The wizard and monk find some warforged tracks heading towards Kalazart. That makes sense to the gnome. The circular city is the only real landmark around and the warforged would need to get his bearings to survive. The trio soon return to the fiery ship, and finish breakfast with the rest of the party while discussing the move for the day.
Chef inquires why Turnin is so dead set on pursing Dirk. Turnin explains that Dirk is his only clue to the whereabouts of the Legion, and he needs to get back at Skullbuddy, whose sudden departure from Sharn apparently broke the monk’s heart or something. Plus, the monk’s second-best friend Gofer is there with the Legion too.
The party are moved enough to agree to track the warforged back to Kalazrt.
They pile back in to Ula’s house skiff, and depart, heading back into the city. Gnofulk and Kylar cast foggy illusions around the skiff, the former starting to explore his new ranger abilities. In muffled tones, they follow the tracks and regard the city. Still numerous clusters of mutants can be seen sifting through the rubble.
As they get closer, Kylar becomes ensorcelled in magic armor – though as it springs into place, something shifts within the wizard, an after-effect of the spell being cast in the twisted land. The wizard’s brow furrows as his strength waxes and his intellect wanes…
So there they were…
…sipping their morning fantasy coffees on the fiery airship and preparing themselves for the coming excursion to Kalazart.
The human monk Turnin had risen early, in a vain attempt to coerce new information from their warforged prisoner. Bound for a few days now in the galley, Dirk was less than forthcoming on information about the Perpetual Legion or the party’s destination.
Gnofulk, the gnome barbarian (/ranger) had fed his flying squirrel Nutasha, and had selected weapons from his stash, including his magical axe and scimitar. He stood eagerly at the bow of the fiery airship, straining
The tiefling sorceress Comfort had recovered from falling out of bed in the night, and was enjoying a morning beer instead of the coffee with Ula, the half-orc barbarian.
The human Wizard Kylar had been fiddling with his artificer cube before turning in for the night, storing Shield and Invisibility into the configuration. As the spells were transferred into the cube… the wizard felt the unexpected pull he had come to expect with magic in the desolate Mournland. The spells would have additional effects, but he is unsure what… With the new day and adventure ahead, the wizard ascended to the deck, ensorcelled himself with Mage Armor, and gave Comfort the part of the artifact storing Shield. Hopefully, the squishy sorceress would be better protected… the tiefling was looking a little worse for wear.
The dwarf cleric Francis was having a bit of an off day, and stayed below deck. Probably praying or something. Hopefully the chastity belt isn’t chaffing too much… Things don’t tend to heal in the Mournland.
The dragonborn captain Rhogar relieved the roguish human Ruth at the helm, and Yip and Yap swapped out for Chester and Strudel. Exhaused, the ship’s engineer Montgomery Dwarf had reluctantly accepted the help of Kylar’s kobold manservant Kaz in the engineering duties and maintenance.
The retiring night crew had done well. With the fiery airship untouched by monsters overnight, Ruth had rediscovered the lightning rail path and set an easterly course running parallel with it. Shortly after dawn, the distant dark mound of a city known as Kalazart came into view…
Kaz the Kobold had konstructed spyglasses for the party, to help view the Race of the Eight Winds. In his spare time, he had produced a few more. As the fiery airship came within a mile of the edge of the city, the spyglasses and Gnofulk’s keen-eyes started noticing details. Rhogar starts inching the ship closer to the city while the party plans.
The desolate Mournland was formerly Cyre, and artisan nation and former headquarters of the tinkering dragonmarked House of Cannith and birthplace of the mighty warforged race. On the plains, the city of Kalazart arose as a nice waypoint for trade and travelers, governed not by traditional elders or elected representatives, but a cadre of wealthy and influential traders.
Between Turnin’s knowledge of commerce in the city and the general knowledge of the rest of the party, they agree on a general idea of what the city should look like, and it is in line with what Gnofulk is spotting. The city should be surrounded by a shanty town, and it looks to be. However, most of the shanties have collapsed in the 5 or so years since the Mourning, and the city is filled with rubble from the crumbling buildings.
Captain Rhogar doesn’t like the sound of the rubble. The fiery airship can still only get 5 or so feet up off the ground (deck is 20 feet up), and the lower elemental binding strut has enough issues with ground clearance without trying to deal with rubble. The dragonborn doesn’t think he can get too far into the city; he’s doubtful that he can even get through the shanty town ring without getting the airship stuck.
The party discuss, and about a half mile out, the party (minus Francis) decide to don the Wingies of Featherfall as a precaution, and board one of the skiffs. Ula’s “house-skiff” is left behind, as is usual. Rhogar and the fiery airship is to loiter outside the city while the party goes exploring. If they get into danger’s the say they’ll send up a flare. Somehow.
The group piles in, leaving Francis behind but gaining Kylar spell familiar bird, and depart, leaving the airship, now somehow called “Boaty McBoatface” behind. Opening a second beer as she pilots the airship, Ula admires her midnight handiwork. Surprisingly, the skiff is faring better than the airship, and can max out at about 60 feet above the ground.
As they approach the cocentric city, Gnofulk is continually spotting, and the gnome is able to confirm Turnin’s understanding of the layout of the city. Kalazart had no official town hall, or even city walls. Occasional towers pop up along the rail line as it bisects the city, passing through the shanty town ring to the merchant manors, then through the ring of warehouses, and finally to the central market and lightning rail station at the center of town, before continuing easterly towards Cyre’s capitol, Metrol.
Even at a far distance, the Gnome sees enough to know something is off in the city. Scattered throughout the shanty town are people. Sort of. Most have some kind of visible mutation, tentacles or things writhing where normal appendages should be. More disconcerting than their appearance are their actions. Wounds don’t heal, and bodies don’t decay in the Mournland. These creatures are pulling corpses from the rubble to consume.
Even in this clustered, smushed trade city, the lightning rail was given a safe distance. Even with the rubble, there looks to be a generally walkable path along the rail line. The party decides they will follow the rail line and try to scout the city from on high, hopefully avoiding these well… mutants. While they appear to have crude implements of war (or meal prep), like knives, cleavers and tenderizing clubs, the gnome spots no bows or crossbows.
As they “enter” the city, 60 feet high, they start rethinking their plan, loudly discussing that it might be a good idea to conjure come fog or other magical camouflage. This was not the best time to have this idea. As the pass over the foraging mutants, the party’s discussion grabs the attention of the mutants.
The monk tips his newly acquired bowler hat, and feet dangling off the side of the skiff, the sorceress waves, but the mutants don’t seem interested in talking. Grasping bits of rubble with any tentacled appendages, stones start whipping up towards the party. Turnin snatches one out of the air and decides to hide it under his hat.
Despite the quickly conjured illusionary cloud, the nearest mutants are onto them. And grunting and shouting unintelligibly, what seems like an echoing war cry starts to ripple out from beneath the party.
Kylar sends his familiar out, around to scout. It quickly succumbs to the slung stones, but not before the wizard can confirm that the party is attracting a fair amount of attention. Avenging his familiar, he fires off several Firebolts, but even after taking two… the wizard’s target still stands, climbing through the rubble after the flying skiff.
Ula decides it is time to get moving, and hits the magical throttle. The sudden jerk is most unwelcome, however thankfully none of the party tumble off. Even with the Wingies of Featherfall… landing among the pursuing mutants would very likely not be pleasant at all.
The party speed toward the center of Kalazart, towards the market and the lightning rail station. This high up, however, that can’t really do effective searching.
Eventually they pass over the shanty town ring, and into the merchant manor area. The structures here are in decay as well. Rubble fills the narrow alleys, obscuring many doorways, but here and there the party can see where walls have held up, particularly on the second floors, creating small protected alcoves among the rubble. Unfortunately, a number of the spotted potential sanctuaries also house clusters of the mutants. As the party continues flying above the sprawling city, these clusters join in the war cry and packs pursuing the party over the difficult rubble… it will take the growing horde some time to catch up though.
The party eventually leave the merchant manors behind them and pass over the ring of warehouses. From their vantage point they can determine that there are a wide variety of warehouses. All ate two-stories, but have been subdivided in different ways. Many of the roofs are saggy or collapsed, but the party are unfortunately too far away to spy any loot among the debris.
Minutes later, the party arrive in the center of town; a massive open market, littered with debris from countless splintered wooden stalls. Enough still stand to provide decent cover. A few cloth canopies are seen holding on, tattered and draping over broken counters of hanging limp from poles. The only building convincingly standing is the lightning rail station, a rather large platform in the center of the market.
The party decided to descend. Not seeing any mutants (yet), they decide to disembark, and Turnin begins to pilot the craft up to hover over the station; the monk can flip his way up to it, but their transportation should be out of reach of the mutants.
Thoroughly unimpressed with the loot of Kalazart at 60’, the party decide to explore the lightning rail station, and climb on to the slightly raised platform. It’s somewhat like a porch, with an overhanging roof to shield boarding passengers in lousy weather.
There are a few windows, mostly broken, and two sets of double-doors leading inside. Reconnoitering before entering, the party note no mutants, nor corpses. Though there are bones scattered around the market among the splintered stalls.
Opening one set of double doors suddenly reveals several large odd creatures scurrying away in apparent fright, and more scattered bones are revealed. The party gingerly poke around. Kylar finds a few tickets, and a crumpled note, wishing someone well on their trip. The party advance Inside the station.
Further in, the party discern broken benches, and littered bones. Facing the line is a ticket booth. Comfort and Kylar peer inside, and fine an undevoured corpse, almost serene, having fallen off his chair and out of sight of all but the most curious. The door behind him appears to be locked. Gnofulk advances directly ahead of the doors, flanking the booth on the party’s left. Ula walks past the wizard and sorceress to flank the other side of the booth.
Ula is intrigued by the odd creatures. They are easily medium in size, almost large. Walking on spider-like legs, their carapace body is like a nautilus seashell, the opening a writhing mess of tentacles obscuring any true face. The half orc approaches one, and shouts to intimidate it.
The barbarian succeeds not only in frightening the creature, but in triggering a “fight or flight” response from it. The creature recoils in shock before lunging back at the barbarian, loosing a screech.
A huge monstrosity collapses through the rafters, crashing down among the party. The thing is immense; a thick slithering body with brutish fists and a long, flat head with tentacle mandibles.
Kylar is first to react, casting grease onto the horrid thing, but the thing remains upright, ignoring the wizard’s spell. Rearing back, it zeroes in on the threat that summoned it; Ula. The pair of heavy fists land devastating blows upon the half orc as it bellows an unworldly response to the nautilus creatures. Those that had been scurrying away, now turn to face the direction of the bellow…
Turnin is still “parking” the skiff, but hearing the ruckus and unworldly noises, takes the ship down to the platform porch, to see that is going on. Through the broken window panes, he sees the battle start to unfold, and tosses a solitary dart at the behemoth, and urges the party to flee.
The half orc is durable, and after enduring the pair of mighty blows, yanks free her shield. The party is used to the animistic totem rages of Gnofulk, but Ula’s raging is different. Armored spectral orcs and half orcs shimmer into existence around the monstrosity as Ula’s axe bites into the carapace. The specters fan out near the horror, each drawing ghostly weapons to hinder the creature’s attacks.
The nautilus-like creatures, having rallied, surge into the party. Two scurry into Ula, the tentacles landing a few slaps. A third smacks into Gnofulk at the other end of the station interior, and unfortunately the writing tentacles find purchase and grapple the gnome.
The monstrosity hand landed next to her, but Comfort wants no part in this fight. The tiefling twirls to disengage and runs out of one of the sets of double doors, diving into the skiff hovering out on the platform porch.
Still grappled, the Gnome seethes, and grimly starts hacking at it, his magic axe taking chunks out of the shell-like carapace.
The brawl isn’t going great. Ula is surrounded by two nautilus drones and the huge monstrosity. Gnofulk is near the wizard, but grappled. Turnin is piloting the skiff and Comfort has bailed from the melee. Quickly weighing his options, Kylar shouts for Ula to trust him, and releases a spell.
As the woven magic leaves his fingers, the wizard becomes worried. Polymorph can be quite potent, and the last picture in his mind’s eye as his finished the spell was of a poor sheep. Fortunately, Kylar successfully fought through the oddities of Mournland magic, and Ula was transformed not into a mild sheep, but a brutish hairy gorilla.
Transformed, Ula still holds the monstrosity’s attention, though another pair of mighty fists crash down upon her. As the second blow lands, the creature’s weight shifts, and it slips down to the floor of the station.
Turnin is unsure what to do. No one is fleeing. He asks the tiefling Comfort to watch the skiff for a moment, and in a blur of motion, flings himself out of the skiff and through the double doors towards Gnofulk. Pivoting near the gnome, the monk lines up an overhead smack, and cracks the creature good. The tentacles fall limp, releasing Gnofulk. The monk then bounds back out the doors to the platform porch, and hops into the skiff.
Ula the gorilla rages, bashing the monstrosity recklessly with her fists. With the added strength, she’s giving about as good as she’s getting from the monstrosity. However, she is alone. Seeing the creature fall, her spectral ancestors give her a stern look, and the barbarian has the presence of mind to back off towards the skiff. The two shelled creatures surrounding her continue to slap away with their tentacles, and the monstrosity lands one final blow as the half orc withdraws, through the second set of double-doors, and out onto the porch and into the bow of the skiff. The skittering shell creatures follow, but are unable to land any tentacle smacks.
From the safety of the skiff, Comfort rights herself, and looses a Firebolt … into the wall of the lightning rail station. Free of the grappling tentacles, and gnome rushes to help Ula; his weapons biting into the creature’s slithering, still greasy form, before he too withdraws, hopping into the stern of the skiff.
Kylar retreats to the skiff, hitting the prone monstrosity with Firebolt… igniting the grease. Engulfed in flames, the monstrosity rights itself-
-and crashes through the wood wall of the lighting rail station, crashing out onto the platform. It raises it’s massive, now-burning fists and bashes into the skiff, splintering it. The party tumbles out, with Comfort falling prone.
Turnin landed on his feet, and the monk flings himself at the flaming monstrosity, landing a quick succession of blows. As he follows up with special strikes, the creature resists both a stunning strike and the monk’s attempt to sweep the leg. Still raging, with her ancestors watching on, Ula pummels the monstrosity, her hairy fists coming away covered in gore. The monstrosity tumbles.
Exhausted and prone, Comfort misses another Firebolt at the still-skittering shell-beings. Gnofulk obliterates one, and Kylar and Turnin dispatch the other.
The party helps Comfort to her feet and regards their situation as they catch their breath.
The cleric Francis is back on the fiery airship with Rhogar and the rest of the crew, but they are almost two miles away. The party has no immediate means of contacting them. Their skiff is broken, splintered and shattered at their feet. They are surrounded by crumbling ruins; stranded in the middle of Kalazrt. Hearing echoing commotion far in the distance, the party then remember the mutants that had been following the flying skiff…
