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...
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