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.
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