So there they were…
Momentarily victorious! The party, consisting of Ula the half orc barbarian, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian/ranger, Turnin the human monk and Kylar the human wizard, and Comfort the tiefling sorceress, had again braved the Mournland to investigate the Rock of Clan Urza, a small crown of stones in former Cyre on which Ula’s clan had settled a few generations ago.
After her half brother killed their mutual father to ascend to be chieftain Ula had gotten black out drunk, stolen a sacred tower shield – the stretched head of an archdemon, and came too in Sharn, the city of towers, in the neighboring country of Breland. Then the Mourning happened – mysteriously and cataclysmically extinguishing all life in Cyre. That was almost five years ago.
They had mostly found warforged so far… no living orcs. The warforged belonged to the dangerous and mysterious Perpetual Legion; and Comfort decided to retreat to warn the party’s crew on their fiery airship, now named Eat Ship n Die. The rest of the party poked around the rock, getting into fights.
As the tiefling jogs back to the Rock, she sees Ula, now huge and a gorilla, King Konging a rustic watchtower, and Turnin, running out and delivering a stellar people’s elbow to a crippled warforged that was crawling away. The tiefling is… surprised. The party started without her!
The party brings Comfort up to speed, and all decide to press on. They’re here, after all, and everyone wants to help Ula and see this through. Plus, Turnin thinks Skullbuddy might be around…
As Comfort is helped onto the 10 foot high ledge that is the rock formation constituting, the Rock of Clan Urza, she trips over a corpse. The party had been pretty intent on smashing warforged that they momentarily neglected to look around…
This orc is slumped next to the timber supports of the rustic watch tower. The small earing and broken tusk suggest that this is Ghob, Ula’s best bud in the clan and fellow drunk. The half-empty wind skein nearby confirms the orc’s identify. In the tower, a warrior is slumped over, like she had collapsed at her post.
Ula the huge gorilla is starting to think none of her clan may be alive. She is saddened and conveys her desire to bury her fellow orcs; to put them to rest by some old rite. The rest of the party is empathetic to wanted to put her ancestors and fellows to rest, but surrounded by Dead Grey Mist with an unknown number of warforged around… burial might have to wait.
The party decide to stealthily continue exploring the Rock. The Longhouse holds their interest, but Ula has also spoken about Malacath, an orc shaman so old no one knows his age… his dwelling was separate, and nearby. Kylar in particular wanted to explore the abode of a fellow caster… maybe he’s got some spells sitting around.
Gnofulk and Kylar use cantrips to conjure mist in spots around the party. It’s not Dead Gray Mist, but it should help them sneak around.
It seems to work, and the party stealthily stealthily approaches the small dwelling of Malacath. Turnin creeps up, and pushes open the door with his cool staff. Fortunately, no warforged are inside. Unfortunately, Malacath appears to be absent as well.
All but Ula shuffle inside. The “orc” is still a huge gorilla, and cannot fit inside the small abode. She sticks her head in, but cannot enter. Meanwhile Comfort and Gnofulk politely look around, Turnin and Kylar really dig in.
The dwelling isn’t much; Malacath wasn’t much for hosting social events. Simple timber frames the house, with thatch and reed forming the walls. The Urza’s weren’t builders. Hanging from rafters and beams are all manner of totems and trinkets. They see a bedroll, and a few small tables covered with candles and reagents, and as they poke around more, they accidentally disturb a small illusionary ward…
Shimmering into place is and ancient looking orc. With a wispy beard and innumerable wrinkles, the corpse is doubled over and face down. Turnin pokes at him with his cool staff, and eventually flips him around. Ula grunts an affirmative that this is Malacath, and the monk and wizard search the body, with the latter deciding not to Detect Magic and to trust his hands.
Kylar procures what he assumes to be the orc’s spell focus, a long claw that appears to be drippy and melted, and sees that the orc corpse is clutching a small necklace, in the form of an imp shrunken head. Turnin finds a pouch with a broken little trinket that looks like an ankh.
Unfortunately, Ula’s huge gorilla form, about as big as the hut and lurking outside it, has attracted the attention of a warforged patrol, as it almost bumps into the gorilla.
…unfortunately, there isn’t too much to do. Kylar inspects the corpse of Malacath again, but doesn’t glean much additional information. The wizard has seen dead bodies before, and this one looks more like someone cowering than anything else, and it doesn’t appear to be trapped. As the fight erupts, Kylar pilfers the ankh, a pouch of reagents and the imp skull necklace.
Gnofulk scampers through the legs of Ula, and decides that these two aren’t worth raging against; they’ll need to be dealt with quickly and intelligently… he only gets one good hit in against the warfroged though. Ula turns around to fight, sidestepping to get close to both opponents. Unfortunately, the gorilla is apparently more uncoordinated than she was previously. Only one huge punch hits, and the sword-wielding warforged nearest the party remains standing.
Turnin walks out, swings and misses against the sword-wielding warforged. The monk is tired, but the warforged decides to stab at the bigger threat, Ula. The second warforged was carrying one of the big crossbows, but drops it in favor of the short sword sidearm. However, he manages to miss both attacks against the gnome…
Last to act is Comfort, who decides to go big, using her sorceress powers to twin a Witch Bolt spell against the two warforged. The Mournland, as ever, twists the spell, and the spell’s targets is actually tripled! But the third target is herself….
Kylar exits the dwelling, and gets an angle on the crossbowman using a Firebolt. Like Ula, Gnofulk has positioned himself adjacent to both combatants, and the gnome starts flailing. With a backhanded, off-hand attack, the Gnome’s scimitar connects, and fells a warforged, robbing Turnin of the kill.
Ula’s gorilla fists pound down, but can’t seem to hit the final warforged. Turnin’s swing connects, but without Ki to spend, his attacks are too few to kill it, and the monk takes a cut in return. Comfort decides not to risk it, and drops concentration on the Witch Bolt. The tiefling avoids damaging herself, and kills the second warforged with a Firebolt.
Having looted the corpse of the old orc, and already being outside his dwelling, the party decide to press on, and in hushed tones, make ready to storm the longhouse, the home of the clan’s chieftain and elite warriors…
The party creeps a hundred feet or so to the edge of the longhouse. It’s roughly a halfmoon in shape, with the points being for sleeping, the round bit for storage, and the center for council. When asked hoe many entrances there are, Ula the gorilla signals 2: front and back. While the construction is nicer and sturdier than the other dwellings, the party is pretty sure they can make more entrances if they need to…
Turnin wants to sneak in. Ula wants to smash in as a gorilla, and teach these warforged a lesson about… something. Kylar wants more information though.
The wizard sends his familiar up, closing his eyes to see through the creature’s. The wizard is guarded by Turnin and still-gorilla Ula, while Comfort and Gnofulk begin stealthily climbing the sloping roof of the longhouse. Together, they and the familiar find a third entrance of sorts, and open for smoke, should the clan need a warming fire during a meal or planning sesh. The wizard starts casting message to converse with his fellow adventurers…
The longhouse appears to still be organized as Ula claimed; two sleeping “wings” storage, and a communal meeting area. Several racks of weapons stand nearby, as do some manakin torsos holding crude orcish chain and scale mail, along with several larger pauldrons. Some armor is scattered about, as if discarded.
The sees no orcs though; the longhouse is devoid of them. It does however, have some warforged. Go figure…
Sitting at the short planning table is a resplendent looking warforged. It long staff is balanced on his knees, and his metal head is topped by a bronzy crown or helmet. Along his back is a long scale mail cape. Kylar has never seen such a warforged, and assumes it must be the leader, as it not only looks the part, but is flanked by two hulking warforged brutes, which the wizard assumes to be guards. Kylar seems to be correct, and overhears the tail end of report from two warforged shooters.
The gist is that the warforged have decided that it is time to leave the Rock of Clan Urza. Someone or something named Bard is waiting on a second shipment (of something), and this place has gotten dangerous; patrols have gotten smashed over the last half hour… they can return once the spooky Dead Gray Mist has dissipated from this place…
Kylar still has a high level spell slot remaining for the day, and convinces Comfort to use here sorceress abilities to convert one for herself. As the warforged dally for a moment (the leader had to get to his feet, after all), the wizard hatches a plan of on straight-up ruthless murder. As the presumed warforged leader gets to his feet, Gnofulk begins to descend, to cover the rear entrance, as prompted by Kylar.
Time is running short, and Kylar needs to see inside. He climbs into Ula’s hand, and beckons her to chuck him up towards the smoke hole. She tries, but Ula the gorilla is off this session. She hurls him, but at a terrible angle, and the wizard is forced to cast Fly on himself to avoid crashing through the roof (and into harm’s way). As a consequence, Ula’s polymorph wears off, and she becomes a half orc again.
Kylar and Comfort peer over the ledge, eye up the warforged, and unleash their surprise.
The wizard summons a mighty Wall of Force, trapping the presumed leader and the two brute bodyguards as one would a spider under a cup. The sorceress adds an Insect Plague… in the cup, or something. This is a bad analogy now.
This double-dip of potent magic is impossible to ignore, and the longhouse becomes a flurry of activity.
Gnofulk is ready, and when the insects start buzzing, he he charges in, knocking open the rear door to the longhouse, and only stumbling a little bit as he starts raging and swinging at the two bewildered crossbow-toting warforged. Apparently it wasn’t the Mist after all that smashed their comrades…
Ula, unfortunately shifted back into her half-orc self, dashes towards the rear entrance while Turnin runs up the roof and drops down into the melee.
The warforged leader shouts, his voice far louder than one would expect. It carries well. Unfortunately, all he can do right now it seems is shout for help; the insects continue swarming, gnawing away at the composite bodies of the warforged, all trapped within the bubble of force.
Comfort and Kylar peek out from above, and lob Firebolts down at the shooters, hitting their backs. Unfortunately, this allows the trapped warforged to spot them, and the leader is soon calling out instructions.
Gnofulk must be getting tuckered out, as none of his numerous attacks land against the warforged shooters.
Holding her massive tower shield in front of her, Ula rages, and attacks recklessly, landing a strike against one of the shooters. The spiritual ancestors surround her, protecting her and the gnome. Gnofulk glances at the face of one of the spirits, wondering if they’ve found the body of this one yet.
Unfortunately, no. The one closest to the gnome doesn’t seem to even have a distinct face. It’s vaguely orc-shaped, with tusks and such, but it lacks any defining features. None of the others are distinct either. Even raging, this puzzles the gnome.
Comfort is startled as the insects stop buzzing and her spells ends suddenly. Peering over the ledge with Kylar, they infer that this warforged can cast magic. They fire a pair of Firebolts down against the shooter warforged as the rest of the party hacks them down.
Unfortunately, time is not on the side of the party, as two sword-wielding warforged soldiers enter from the long house’s rear entrance. The party decides to retreat, and is soon running away.
The dense Dead Gray Mist helps them escape. A few errant crossbow bolts whiz by, but they were blindly fired.
As they flee, Turnin is handed one of the pieces to Kylar’s artificer cube, storing the Invisibility spell. The monk activates the piece…
…and finds himself both stuck in place and invisible. There seems to be some crystalline prison holding him. Fortunately, it is invisible too. The monk will stay behind and spy while the party regroups back at the Eat Ship n Die, their fiery airship.
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Thursday, September 5, 2019
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Eberron Adventure: Session Sixty
So there they were…
On their way to the Rock of Clan Urza.
The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk, Kylar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian ranger, and Ula the half-orc barbarian, along with a host of crew for their fiery airship, now named Nutasha’s Revenge, had reentered the Mournland, with the goal of exploring Ula’s clan’s holdings, and then venturing on to Metrol, the former capitol of the ruined nation of Cyre.
Unlike their previous excursion, the party made every effort to keep to themselves, ignoring and avoiding every noteworthy thing they happened across. Still, they had attracted the attention of some kind of stormy elemental, and had fought it and its stormspawn. Their crew were unharmed, but the party had been zapped a bit.
Fortunately, Kylar and the party had experimented, and had discovered that pocket dimensions could provide some temporary refuge. After the battle, the wizard had summoned up a Rope Trick, with several feet of rope limp and coiled on deck. The wizard was not much for climbing.
Inside this itty bitty dimension, the monk Turnin, marked across the back of his head with a Dragonmark of Healing. Look at him. He is the cleric now. The monk draws on the power of the Dragonmark, and heals the wounded party. Not fully, but enough.
The party press on, the fiery airship inching along, as its enchantments are still warped by the Mournland and it still cannot fly high.
By day 4, the keen-eyed barbarians swear they see glimmers of color off far, far in the distance, through the Dead Gray Mist that encases and meanders through the Mournland. By lunch, they are certain of it, and the glimmers are due east, though Nutasha’s Revenge is traveling north East.
During the day, Gnofulk prepares his weapons, and finds an old DieFi rod tucked away. Try as he might, it still seems to be inert; the Mournland is having no effect on it. The gnome takes it to Kylar, who recalls that the DieFi rod boosted Command-type spells, allowing necromancers to boost their commands to a larger group of minions without increased effort. Still, the wizard can’t seem to find anything amiss with it either.
Over dinner, the party coax more backstory from Ula, pertaining to the barbarian and her clan.
The half-orc gestures to her massive tower shield, sitting upright nearby. The party knows it bears a face, but until now they haven’t seen it flinch. Or notice its mouth was gently stitched shut. Comfort is a bit aghast.
Ula relates a bit of the oral history of her clan. Ages ago, a horde of orcs rampaged in the ancient Demon Wastes, in the northwest of the continent. There, they felled an archdemon, Sadrith, and dismembered him. The archdemon didn’t die, but was repurposed. His face was drawn over a shield; limbs became weapons; hide pieces of armor…. But still he didn’t die. Those new tools were magical, and wielded throughout the horde.
Eventually though, the horde fragmented; the pieces of the archdemon disbursed throughout innumerable warbands. Ula’s clan, Clan Urza, retained the shield as their prized possession throughout the ages.
In more recent times, kingdoms coalesced, and their wandering range shrunk. The lengthy Last War even saw armies displace them, turning the clan into refugees. They made their way to the nation of Cyre, home of artisans and creators, and birthplace of the warforged. There, they settled, offering their services as quite competent scouts and advisors for the Cyrean armies for two generations.
Days prior to the cataclysmic Mourning, which would obliterate life in Cyre, and transform it into the Mournland, clan Urza had a shakeup. Per ancient tradition, the clan leader, Urgox (Ula’s dad) was ritually killed by Malacath (Ula’s half-brother). Malacath wished to consolidate the clan, and form a mighty orc regiment to fight in the Last War, rather than scout for it.
Ula did not take the transition of power well. She got blackout drunk, apparently stole the massive tower shield, and ended up in Sharn, the City of Towers, a city in a neighboring country. The Mourning happened, and the Last War ended via treaty by the time the half-orc sobered up.
The party is sold, and are glad they are helping out their barbarian friend. Five years had passed since the Mourning. Maybe the clan isn’t all dead?
Overnight, Cora Scalesaddle, the new halfing pilot recruited by Ruth, continues on, plunging the airship into a thick bank of Dead Gray Mist. The goblin deckhands guide the path as best they can. Come morning, the fiery airship is still surrounded by mist. And now the rest of the party can make out wisps of color due east.
Turnin alternates between fantasy monk calisthenics and the occasional inquisitive shout for his Skullbuddy. Ula’s hair is being washed and braided by Comfort. How the barbarian can not properly condition her follicles is beyond the sorceress.
Getting their bearings is difficult, as they are still surrounded by Dead Grey Mist, but the party estimates that they are a few miles from the Rock of Clan Urza, and decide to investigate the colors and then approach the clan’s holdings from the south.
They divert, and head due east for a few miles. The colors are myriad, rippling upwards like an aurora. Soon, they arrive at a massive, nearly sheer cliff. Cyre is mainly rolling plains; this is unexpected. The break goes north-south as far as they can see (which, given the Mist, isn’t too far), and seems to go nearly straight down. The colors come from the misty abyss, and has the wizard worried.
Kylar has heard of a powerful spell that summons a colorful wall, but this does not appear to be that spell. One of Ula’s numerous bottles is chucked, makes a neat whistling noise and passes through without resistance. Kylar’s familiar also swoops through without injury. The wizard tasks it with flying down and then returning.
The party muse about exploring the chasm, and the goblin deckhand, Meany, shoves his compatriot Moe forward; a de-facto volunteer. Moe puts on a brave face as Comfort gives him a knife, and Kylar imbues a small buckler with light before giving it to the goblin, lying that it will protect him.
A few minutes pass, and the flying familiar returns, having been unable to reach the bottom of the chasm. With new instructions, the familiar flies out due east, and then returns, unable to find the other side. The dimensions of this Glowing Chasm is unbelievable.
Moe is still ready to go though, and the party eventually relents. They tie a rope to him, lower him down, and have him explore the cliff’s edge. The goblin bellows a war cry and begins scampering around, stabbing the ground, and kicking rocks into the chasm. The fiery airship decides to press on, now heading north towards the Rock of Clan Urza. Moe is in tow, still scuffling.
A few miles pass, and the goblin is eventually hauled up. He’s snoozing, and has apparently exhausted himself. The goblin has dropped the dagger. The glowing shield is still strapped to his arm though. He’s tucked away by Comfort, and as the tiefling is below deck, a glimpse of rocks are seen a mile away; they are close.
Kylar’s familiar has continues to scout and swoop around, as much as the Mist allows. The familiar soon finds the other side of the chasm, and then the bottom. The Glowing Chasm appears to be narrowing… does it terminate at the Rock of Clan Urza… or has the clan’s hold been sundered as well?
The chasm does narrow thankfully, sparing the rocky crag. At the helm, Captain Rhogar brings the fiery airship to a halt. The mist is too encompassing to risk running aground.
In preparation, Kylar has messed with his artificer cube, storing Shield and an invisibility spell, and both are handed off to Comfort. The party dons the Wingies of Featherfall, and depart, dropping down the twenty feet to the ground and creeping up towards the Rock of Clan Urza.
The Dead Grey Mist still blankets everything, deadening even the party’s own footfalls, and obscures vision. Yet it still writhes. A chance billowing carries a soft metallic clang to the ears of Ula…
…who decides to shout out for Klang, the clan’s blacksmith. Perhaps she is still alive? Is she there?
A tense moment passes, and Klang doesn’t answer. Two large large crossbow bolts do hit both Ula and Gnofulk however, the barbarians having taken the vanguard position for the small party. A patch of Mist clears, and the barbarians spy two Warforged of the Perpetual Legion, perched menacingly atop the rocky outcropping near the path into the clan’s camp. This infuriates the barbarians, who rage and advance. Gnofulk slings something and Ula chucks a javelin.
However, as they advance, more Mist clears, revealing more warforged. A third shooter on the other cliff side of the ramp becomes visible, and a Warforged Brute, accompanied by a soldier moves to block the southern path in to the Rock of Clan Urza.
Turnin whispers a benediction learned years ago, which will mitigate incoming damage, but holds back, not wanting to charge in front of the barbarians. The monk is shot by the third Warforged crossbowman, but due to the benediction, the wound isn’t as serious as it could have been.
The melee warforged advance, flanking the melee party members. The Brute hacks at Gnofulk, and through raging and Ula’s Spirit Guardians, most of the damage is resisted. The normal warrior slashes at Turnin, with Ula untouched in between her compatriots.
Taking up the rear, the party’s casters are the last to act.
Comfort eyes the ramp, and summons up a biblical Insect Plague, he innumerable bugs are able to engulf every visible Warforged. Unfortunately, the Mournland twists the spell, and psychic energy ripples outward from the tiefling, mentally injuring both her and the wizard.
The wizard quickly recovers though, and conjures a Wall of Fire. Flames spring into existence, covering the top of the ramp and the crown of the rocky crag, obscuring the Warforged shooters, and the wizard wrestles with his mind again.
With the shooters presumably being swarmed by insects behind the flaming wall, the seething Gnofulk eyes the Brute before him. The gnome remembers this type were quite sturdy – fortunately the Gnome lands a critical strike with some reckless attacks.
Ula slings back her tower shield, and pivots to strike the normal Warforged threatening Turnin with both hands on her axe. She too lands a particularly brutal critical hit, and the surprised Warforged staggers. With a flurry of fists and feet (as well as a cool staff), the monk dispatches the Warforged, who stumbles backwards, falling into its various components within the insect swarm.
The Brute eyes Gnofulk, but with multiple attacks against the recklessly raging gnome… fails to land a single blow. The Brute sidesteps out of the Insect Swarm…
…and into unobstructed line of sight of the sorceress.
Comfort grins as she looses one of her favorite spells, and a thin arc of lighting springs from her finger towards the Warforged Brute, passing through him and tearing through the Wall of Fire to impact the ramp.
It’s a little magical cataclysm. The Brute is having a particularly bad day, and fails to see the lightning coming. The Mournland twists the spell (as always), and as the bolt arcs by, a large fireball erupts at the first thing impacted by the spell.
The Brute fails to avoid this entirely as well. Unfortunately, Ula is caught unaware as well, and takes the full force of the magical blast. Gnofulk and Turnin manage to brace themselves (or maybe just hide behind the Brute and Ula?) and shield themselves from the fiery explosion.
The Warforged Brute is melting in parts; fused and charged in others, and as the flames quickly dissipate, its artificial eyes lose their luster, and it topples over, inert.
Unfortunately, beyond the Wall of Fire, and still shrouded in the Dead Grey Mist, the party hears similar metallic shifts. It seems like the Perpetual Legion has occupied the Rock of Clan Urza…
On their way to the Rock of Clan Urza.
The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk, Kylar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian ranger, and Ula the half-orc barbarian, along with a host of crew for their fiery airship, now named Nutasha’s Revenge, had reentered the Mournland, with the goal of exploring Ula’s clan’s holdings, and then venturing on to Metrol, the former capitol of the ruined nation of Cyre.
Unlike their previous excursion, the party made every effort to keep to themselves, ignoring and avoiding every noteworthy thing they happened across. Still, they had attracted the attention of some kind of stormy elemental, and had fought it and its stormspawn. Their crew were unharmed, but the party had been zapped a bit.
Fortunately, Kylar and the party had experimented, and had discovered that pocket dimensions could provide some temporary refuge. After the battle, the wizard had summoned up a Rope Trick, with several feet of rope limp and coiled on deck. The wizard was not much for climbing.
Inside this itty bitty dimension, the monk Turnin, marked across the back of his head with a Dragonmark of Healing. Look at him. He is the cleric now. The monk draws on the power of the Dragonmark, and heals the wounded party. Not fully, but enough.
The party press on, the fiery airship inching along, as its enchantments are still warped by the Mournland and it still cannot fly high.
By day 4, the keen-eyed barbarians swear they see glimmers of color off far, far in the distance, through the Dead Gray Mist that encases and meanders through the Mournland. By lunch, they are certain of it, and the glimmers are due east, though Nutasha’s Revenge is traveling north East.
During the day, Gnofulk prepares his weapons, and finds an old DieFi rod tucked away. Try as he might, it still seems to be inert; the Mournland is having no effect on it. The gnome takes it to Kylar, who recalls that the DieFi rod boosted Command-type spells, allowing necromancers to boost their commands to a larger group of minions without increased effort. Still, the wizard can’t seem to find anything amiss with it either.
Over dinner, the party coax more backstory from Ula, pertaining to the barbarian and her clan.
The half-orc gestures to her massive tower shield, sitting upright nearby. The party knows it bears a face, but until now they haven’t seen it flinch. Or notice its mouth was gently stitched shut. Comfort is a bit aghast.
Ula relates a bit of the oral history of her clan. Ages ago, a horde of orcs rampaged in the ancient Demon Wastes, in the northwest of the continent. There, they felled an archdemon, Sadrith, and dismembered him. The archdemon didn’t die, but was repurposed. His face was drawn over a shield; limbs became weapons; hide pieces of armor…. But still he didn’t die. Those new tools were magical, and wielded throughout the horde.
Eventually though, the horde fragmented; the pieces of the archdemon disbursed throughout innumerable warbands. Ula’s clan, Clan Urza, retained the shield as their prized possession throughout the ages.
In more recent times, kingdoms coalesced, and their wandering range shrunk. The lengthy Last War even saw armies displace them, turning the clan into refugees. They made their way to the nation of Cyre, home of artisans and creators, and birthplace of the warforged. There, they settled, offering their services as quite competent scouts and advisors for the Cyrean armies for two generations.
Days prior to the cataclysmic Mourning, which would obliterate life in Cyre, and transform it into the Mournland, clan Urza had a shakeup. Per ancient tradition, the clan leader, Urgox (Ula’s dad) was ritually killed by Malacath (Ula’s half-brother). Malacath wished to consolidate the clan, and form a mighty orc regiment to fight in the Last War, rather than scout for it.
Ula did not take the transition of power well. She got blackout drunk, apparently stole the massive tower shield, and ended up in Sharn, the City of Towers, a city in a neighboring country. The Mourning happened, and the Last War ended via treaty by the time the half-orc sobered up.
The party is sold, and are glad they are helping out their barbarian friend. Five years had passed since the Mourning. Maybe the clan isn’t all dead?
Overnight, Cora Scalesaddle, the new halfing pilot recruited by Ruth, continues on, plunging the airship into a thick bank of Dead Gray Mist. The goblin deckhands guide the path as best they can. Come morning, the fiery airship is still surrounded by mist. And now the rest of the party can make out wisps of color due east.
Turnin alternates between fantasy monk calisthenics and the occasional inquisitive shout for his Skullbuddy. Ula’s hair is being washed and braided by Comfort. How the barbarian can not properly condition her follicles is beyond the sorceress.
Getting their bearings is difficult, as they are still surrounded by Dead Grey Mist, but the party estimates that they are a few miles from the Rock of Clan Urza, and decide to investigate the colors and then approach the clan’s holdings from the south.
They divert, and head due east for a few miles. The colors are myriad, rippling upwards like an aurora. Soon, they arrive at a massive, nearly sheer cliff. Cyre is mainly rolling plains; this is unexpected. The break goes north-south as far as they can see (which, given the Mist, isn’t too far), and seems to go nearly straight down. The colors come from the misty abyss, and has the wizard worried.
Kylar has heard of a powerful spell that summons a colorful wall, but this does not appear to be that spell. One of Ula’s numerous bottles is chucked, makes a neat whistling noise and passes through without resistance. Kylar’s familiar also swoops through without injury. The wizard tasks it with flying down and then returning.
The party muse about exploring the chasm, and the goblin deckhand, Meany, shoves his compatriot Moe forward; a de-facto volunteer. Moe puts on a brave face as Comfort gives him a knife, and Kylar imbues a small buckler with light before giving it to the goblin, lying that it will protect him.
A few minutes pass, and the flying familiar returns, having been unable to reach the bottom of the chasm. With new instructions, the familiar flies out due east, and then returns, unable to find the other side. The dimensions of this Glowing Chasm is unbelievable.
Moe is still ready to go though, and the party eventually relents. They tie a rope to him, lower him down, and have him explore the cliff’s edge. The goblin bellows a war cry and begins scampering around, stabbing the ground, and kicking rocks into the chasm. The fiery airship decides to press on, now heading north towards the Rock of Clan Urza. Moe is in tow, still scuffling.
A few miles pass, and the goblin is eventually hauled up. He’s snoozing, and has apparently exhausted himself. The goblin has dropped the dagger. The glowing shield is still strapped to his arm though. He’s tucked away by Comfort, and as the tiefling is below deck, a glimpse of rocks are seen a mile away; they are close.
Kylar’s familiar has continues to scout and swoop around, as much as the Mist allows. The familiar soon finds the other side of the chasm, and then the bottom. The Glowing Chasm appears to be narrowing… does it terminate at the Rock of Clan Urza… or has the clan’s hold been sundered as well?
The chasm does narrow thankfully, sparing the rocky crag. At the helm, Captain Rhogar brings the fiery airship to a halt. The mist is too encompassing to risk running aground.
In preparation, Kylar has messed with his artificer cube, storing Shield and an invisibility spell, and both are handed off to Comfort. The party dons the Wingies of Featherfall, and depart, dropping down the twenty feet to the ground and creeping up towards the Rock of Clan Urza.
The Dead Grey Mist still blankets everything, deadening even the party’s own footfalls, and obscures vision. Yet it still writhes. A chance billowing carries a soft metallic clang to the ears of Ula…
…who decides to shout out for Klang, the clan’s blacksmith. Perhaps she is still alive? Is she there?
A tense moment passes, and Klang doesn’t answer. Two large large crossbow bolts do hit both Ula and Gnofulk however, the barbarians having taken the vanguard position for the small party. A patch of Mist clears, and the barbarians spy two Warforged of the Perpetual Legion, perched menacingly atop the rocky outcropping near the path into the clan’s camp. This infuriates the barbarians, who rage and advance. Gnofulk slings something and Ula chucks a javelin.
However, as they advance, more Mist clears, revealing more warforged. A third shooter on the other cliff side of the ramp becomes visible, and a Warforged Brute, accompanied by a soldier moves to block the southern path in to the Rock of Clan Urza.
Turnin whispers a benediction learned years ago, which will mitigate incoming damage, but holds back, not wanting to charge in front of the barbarians. The monk is shot by the third Warforged crossbowman, but due to the benediction, the wound isn’t as serious as it could have been.
The melee warforged advance, flanking the melee party members. The Brute hacks at Gnofulk, and through raging and Ula’s Spirit Guardians, most of the damage is resisted. The normal warrior slashes at Turnin, with Ula untouched in between her compatriots.
Taking up the rear, the party’s casters are the last to act.
Comfort eyes the ramp, and summons up a biblical Insect Plague, he innumerable bugs are able to engulf every visible Warforged. Unfortunately, the Mournland twists the spell, and psychic energy ripples outward from the tiefling, mentally injuring both her and the wizard.
The wizard quickly recovers though, and conjures a Wall of Fire. Flames spring into existence, covering the top of the ramp and the crown of the rocky crag, obscuring the Warforged shooters, and the wizard wrestles with his mind again.
With the shooters presumably being swarmed by insects behind the flaming wall, the seething Gnofulk eyes the Brute before him. The gnome remembers this type were quite sturdy – fortunately the Gnome lands a critical strike with some reckless attacks.
Ula slings back her tower shield, and pivots to strike the normal Warforged threatening Turnin with both hands on her axe. She too lands a particularly brutal critical hit, and the surprised Warforged staggers. With a flurry of fists and feet (as well as a cool staff), the monk dispatches the Warforged, who stumbles backwards, falling into its various components within the insect swarm.
The Brute eyes Gnofulk, but with multiple attacks against the recklessly raging gnome… fails to land a single blow. The Brute sidesteps out of the Insect Swarm…
…and into unobstructed line of sight of the sorceress.
Comfort grins as she looses one of her favorite spells, and a thin arc of lighting springs from her finger towards the Warforged Brute, passing through him and tearing through the Wall of Fire to impact the ramp.
It’s a little magical cataclysm. The Brute is having a particularly bad day, and fails to see the lightning coming. The Mournland twists the spell (as always), and as the bolt arcs by, a large fireball erupts at the first thing impacted by the spell.
The Brute fails to avoid this entirely as well. Unfortunately, Ula is caught unaware as well, and takes the full force of the magical blast. Gnofulk and Turnin manage to brace themselves (or maybe just hide behind the Brute and Ula?) and shield themselves from the fiery explosion.
The Warforged Brute is melting in parts; fused and charged in others, and as the flames quickly dissipate, its artificial eyes lose their luster, and it topples over, inert.
Unfortunately, beyond the Wall of Fire, and still shrouded in the Dead Grey Mist, the party hears similar metallic shifts. It seems like the Perpetual Legion has occupied the Rock of Clan Urza…
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Eberron Adventure: Session Fifty-Nine
So there they were, experimenting.
The wasteland now known as the Mournland is a deadly place for even the most stalwart adventurer, as magic is twisted and normal healing fails. Their first expedition to Kalazart was a bloody affair, and the party was quite interested to see what they could do to avoid spilling their own blood, particularly as the cleric Francis has deserted.
The human wizard Kylar had some ideas, and before the party embarked on their next expedition, all agreed to try out these experiments. The fiery airship had pressed through the shroud of Dead Gray Mist that surrounded the Mournland, the new goblin deckhands and new halfling pilot Cora Scalesaddle learning the proverbial ropes of air travel by magical airship, now named “That’s Bullship.”
The ship ventured only a few hundred feet into the wasteland. The human wizard Kylar, gnome Barbarian(/Ranger) Gnofulk and the human monk Turnin descended to the ground, ready to test.
The warforged cook, Chef, had done up a lot of popcorn, which was being munched on by the NPC crew and the half-orc barbarian Ula and the tiefling sorceress Comfort, as they swapped inside jokes in Infernal.
After some preparation, the wizard was ready. He prepared Leomond’s Tiny Hut, and a small dome winked into existence. The Mournland twists the spell, and while it goes off, Kylar’s intelligence is swapped with his strength. His jaw goes slack, and a little drool droops out while his robes tighten with
Kylar needs a volunteer to get hurt, and Ula dutifully stumbles off the airship, suffering some bruises after the 20 foot drop from the deck to the hard barren ground. She and Turnin enter the spacious hut, and the monk tries to heal the barbarian with knowledge gain from all the way back dealing with the Sealers of the Stone Maw. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
Next up is Rope Trick, and buff Kylar opens a small pocket dimension, wish a rope leading up to it. The buff wizard recoils a bit as the spell bites back, inflicting some psychic damage. Gnofulk gleefully stabs himself, and climbs up. It’s then pointed out that because Ula didn’t heal in the Hut… well, the gnome didn’t need to hurt himself. Oh well. Ula climbs up too, and homebrew healing potions from Kaz are tossed up to the pair of barbarians, along with beer chasers. Surprisingly, the healing potions do take effect, and likewise-hit dice are able to be expended.
The final experiment is discarded. The wizard posited that someone may be able to fly high enough to break out of the Dead Grey Mist that entombs the Mournland… but that doesn’t seem like a practical way to heal.
The party lounge around, and the day is spent with the new crew practicing. Long rests are found to not recover hit dice in the Mournland. The party has some ways to heal, but the Mournland will still be plenty dangerous…
The airship departs the Mournland, and the party spend a final day in Breland, resting up. Their pilot Ruth, befriended (and bedded) during the Race of the Eight Winds preparation, has joined them in their expeditions with the fiery airship, and in her final resupply efforts, has procured two greater healing potions for the good of the expedition.
Fully rested, fully healed, and with all their various abilities recharged, the party decide they are ready to venture into the Mournland again.
Their goal is to keep to themselves; head northeast for around four days to explore the settlement of Ula’s (probably deceased) clan, and then head southeast for around four days to the former capitol of Metrol, which per rumors, has a teleportation circle that isn’t working, a vault filled with treasure, and who knows what else amount it’s seven plateaus and palaces…
The party does indeed keep to themselves, avoiding a handful of natural sights, and an unnatural one, with a monolith of flesh that appears to be fused screaming bodies.. best to avoid that. The Mournland... continues to be a wasteland. Dead trees are spotted here and here, and the once rolling, grassy fields and dry and barren. The Dead Gray Mist continues to form, writhe and eventually dissipate according to its own unknowable whims, and in short order captures the mist captures the attention of the goblin deck hands. They start to point it out to one another, and more often than not it looks like a fat snake. They… aren’t terribly creative. Occasionally, Kylar conjures his own mist, shaping it into other creatures, but still, the goblins call each conjuration out for looking like fat snakes.
The party is wary, and the trip starts to pass uneventfully as they keep watch. Along the trip, Ula opens up a little more about her clan. They settled down in Cyre, and served as scouts for the army of Cyre for two generations. Just prior to the cataclysmic Mourning, which devastated all life in the nation, and turned it into the desolate, mist-shrouded Mournland, her half brother killed their mutual father, asserting control of Clan Urza. Ula got drunk, stole the Clan’s magical shield, and woke up in Sharn.
In the afternoon of the second day, the sky is overcast, as always. Turnin is in his quarters, exercising his mind muscle by getting quizzed by the goblin deckhand Strudel with some flashcards. His results are…. well, Kylar is also studying below deck, researching this and that.
On deck, Captain Rhogar is at the helm, keeping a steady course. Ula is pacing nearby, now worried about what might have happened to her clan. Gnofulk is idly scritching Nutasha, his flying squirrel mount at the bow, and Comfort is swindling three of the goblin deck hands in games of dice.
The goblins continue to be distracted by the Mists, pointing out more and more fat snakes. One looks up and notices a raincloud passing out of a mist bank, and gets excited, poking his confederates. Being city goblins, they’ve never been this close to a cloud before! Look at how dark it is! Why is it so low? Wait.. are clouds supposed to have arms???
The dark cloud billows speedily towards the fiery airship. Flashes deep within rupture out through the surface, and twin bolts of arcing lightning impact the deck, linger, and then coalesce into hovering semi-humanoid bodies made from cloud and lightning...
Nutasha is shooed back by Gnofulk, and Comfort does the same with the goblin deckhands as she simultaneously speedily pockets more winnings.
One of the stormspawn is the first to move, swooshing over a few more feet to Gnofulk at the bow and clawing at the gnome with an arm of twisted lightning. The gnome is zapped, but rebuttals heartily with his magical axe, Squirrelenbane.
The second stormspawn hovers back a few feet and caresses Comfort – and is Hellishly Rebuked by the tiefling for failing to get her consent in the encounter. Ula rages, non-distinct Ancestral Protectors springing up around her, and dashes down from the helm into the melee to help Comfort. Unfortunately, her mundane axe swishes right through the stormspawn, and the half orc curses. Loudly.
Comfort shouts down towards the aperture leading belowdecks, to try and alert Kylar and Turnin, and then twins a Firebolt. While she misses the one assailing her, the cantrip connects with the one battling Gnofulk, and it pops, dissipating into nothing.
The massive stormcloud hovers near the bow of the ship, and two more arcs of lighting hits the deck, up by Rhogar at the helm, and a bit behind Gnofulk.
Kylar heard both the rumbles and Comfort’s call. Thankfully the wizard had swapped out flowing robes for tighter-fighting adventuring robes long ago and is able to run up the stairs without tripping. The wizard reaches the aperture, surveys the situation, and tries to rattle the lightning beings with the Shatter spell.
The Mournland, as always, twists the spell. As the loud ringing noise emits from a point on the deck, Kylar winks out of existence. The stormspawn amidships are unaffected by the resounding thunder damage, and the one in the stern by Captain Rhogar, attacks the dragonborn. But the former battle master deftly sidesteps the aggression.
Turnin has also been summoned, having left Strudel and the flashcards safely below. He arrives at the aperture a moment after Kylar winks out of existence. The monk is fast, and he scampers up and with maximum effort unleashes a staggering number of blows against the stormspawn threatening Rhogar. The flurry of fists is enough the beat the lightning being into submission, though as it disburses, it pops, and both Rhogar and Turnin are subjected to a small Thunderwave, and then hops down to assist Ula and Comfort.
Gnofulk is aware of Ula’s predicament, and has the presence of mind to toss his magical axe in her direction. Unfortunately, the toss falls short, and the weapon skitters nearby. Still angry, the Gnome draws the Hordebreaker Scimitar, recovered from Zyn, and with the scimitar and a mundane hand axe, slices at the stormspawn near him at the bow.
The second stormspawn amidships is surrounded by Turnin, Comfort and Ula. It claws at Ula, its attention drawn to the half orc by her spectral protectors. Ula angrily reels, then recovers the magical axe, and slipping her tower shield behind her hacks mercilessly with a two-handed chop.
The brawl on deck continues, and while the party makes headway dealing with the waves of stormspawn, the mighty storm approaches, spilling over the bow of the ship that cleaves the stormspawn deep.
Turnin runs towards the big storm, and with his cool staff and handwraps, pounds some cloud bits away. Gnofulk deals with another stormspawn, and as the scimitar slices and dissipates, the ensuing small Thunderwave pushed Gnofulk into range of the menacing storm, as Ula hacks at it alongside the monk. The huge storm lashes out with its lightning body, but fails to connect with any of the adventurers.
With only one stormspawn around for now, the party focuses on the big storm. The cloud of angry lightning takes a beating from Turnin and Gnofulk, and a brutal, devastating cleave from Ula using Squirrelenbane. The storm is a shadow of itself, but not disbursed yet.
Kylar winks back into existence, at takes the time lapse like a champ. He casts Poison Spray. Again the Mournland twists the spell, though no immediate effects present themselves. Unfortunately, the poison is ineffective against a being made of clouds and lightning.
Still, the storm is quite diminished, and the monk is able to sneak the last blow in. The cloud bursts, and while the Thunderwave sound is gigantic, the party doesn’t seem to reel as much as they expected, and they turn to see Kylar with a faint aura; the Mournlant twist of his latest spell.
Turnin continues to be quick, and easily makes it the 15 or so feet back to engage the final, lingering stormspawn. Fists strike, and the monk channels his Ki to push the stormspawn off the deck.
It can hover though, and while inconvenienced, doesn’t seem too perturbed. Ula and Gnofulk both recognize the fight is as good as over. Comfort quickly makes it official with another Firebolt.
The party has taken some hit, but is not too bloodied. The raging barbarians tanked much of the damage. Still, with their new knowledge, several of Kaz the Kobold’s healing potions are procured, and Kylar summons his pocket dimension using Rope Trick. Unfortunately, yet again, the Mournland twists the spell, and while the hole materializes, the wizard recoils as his brain is burned with psychic feedback.
Even with some healing available, the Mournland continues to be a very dangerous place! What else could be in store for the party? Ula’s clan settlement should be only a day or so away…
The wasteland now known as the Mournland is a deadly place for even the most stalwart adventurer, as magic is twisted and normal healing fails. Their first expedition to Kalazart was a bloody affair, and the party was quite interested to see what they could do to avoid spilling their own blood, particularly as the cleric Francis has deserted.
The human wizard Kylar had some ideas, and before the party embarked on their next expedition, all agreed to try out these experiments. The fiery airship had pressed through the shroud of Dead Gray Mist that surrounded the Mournland, the new goblin deckhands and new halfling pilot Cora Scalesaddle learning the proverbial ropes of air travel by magical airship, now named “That’s Bullship.”
The ship ventured only a few hundred feet into the wasteland. The human wizard Kylar, gnome Barbarian(/Ranger) Gnofulk and the human monk Turnin descended to the ground, ready to test.
The warforged cook, Chef, had done up a lot of popcorn, which was being munched on by the NPC crew and the half-orc barbarian Ula and the tiefling sorceress Comfort, as they swapped inside jokes in Infernal.
After some preparation, the wizard was ready. He prepared Leomond’s Tiny Hut, and a small dome winked into existence. The Mournland twists the spell, and while it goes off, Kylar’s intelligence is swapped with his strength. His jaw goes slack, and a little drool droops out while his robes tighten with
Kylar needs a volunteer to get hurt, and Ula dutifully stumbles off the airship, suffering some bruises after the 20 foot drop from the deck to the hard barren ground. She and Turnin enter the spacious hut, and the monk tries to heal the barbarian with knowledge gain from all the way back dealing with the Sealers of the Stone Maw. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
Next up is Rope Trick, and buff Kylar opens a small pocket dimension, wish a rope leading up to it. The buff wizard recoils a bit as the spell bites back, inflicting some psychic damage. Gnofulk gleefully stabs himself, and climbs up. It’s then pointed out that because Ula didn’t heal in the Hut… well, the gnome didn’t need to hurt himself. Oh well. Ula climbs up too, and homebrew healing potions from Kaz are tossed up to the pair of barbarians, along with beer chasers. Surprisingly, the healing potions do take effect, and likewise-hit dice are able to be expended.
The final experiment is discarded. The wizard posited that someone may be able to fly high enough to break out of the Dead Grey Mist that entombs the Mournland… but that doesn’t seem like a practical way to heal.
The party lounge around, and the day is spent with the new crew practicing. Long rests are found to not recover hit dice in the Mournland. The party has some ways to heal, but the Mournland will still be plenty dangerous…
The airship departs the Mournland, and the party spend a final day in Breland, resting up. Their pilot Ruth, befriended (and bedded) during the Race of the Eight Winds preparation, has joined them in their expeditions with the fiery airship, and in her final resupply efforts, has procured two greater healing potions for the good of the expedition.
Fully rested, fully healed, and with all their various abilities recharged, the party decide they are ready to venture into the Mournland again.
Their goal is to keep to themselves; head northeast for around four days to explore the settlement of Ula’s (probably deceased) clan, and then head southeast for around four days to the former capitol of Metrol, which per rumors, has a teleportation circle that isn’t working, a vault filled with treasure, and who knows what else amount it’s seven plateaus and palaces…
The party does indeed keep to themselves, avoiding a handful of natural sights, and an unnatural one, with a monolith of flesh that appears to be fused screaming bodies.. best to avoid that. The Mournland... continues to be a wasteland. Dead trees are spotted here and here, and the once rolling, grassy fields and dry and barren. The Dead Gray Mist continues to form, writhe and eventually dissipate according to its own unknowable whims, and in short order captures the mist captures the attention of the goblin deck hands. They start to point it out to one another, and more often than not it looks like a fat snake. They… aren’t terribly creative. Occasionally, Kylar conjures his own mist, shaping it into other creatures, but still, the goblins call each conjuration out for looking like fat snakes.
The party is wary, and the trip starts to pass uneventfully as they keep watch. Along the trip, Ula opens up a little more about her clan. They settled down in Cyre, and served as scouts for the army of Cyre for two generations. Just prior to the cataclysmic Mourning, which devastated all life in the nation, and turned it into the desolate, mist-shrouded Mournland, her half brother killed their mutual father, asserting control of Clan Urza. Ula got drunk, stole the Clan’s magical shield, and woke up in Sharn.
In the afternoon of the second day, the sky is overcast, as always. Turnin is in his quarters, exercising his mind muscle by getting quizzed by the goblin deckhand Strudel with some flashcards. His results are…. well, Kylar is also studying below deck, researching this and that.
On deck, Captain Rhogar is at the helm, keeping a steady course. Ula is pacing nearby, now worried about what might have happened to her clan. Gnofulk is idly scritching Nutasha, his flying squirrel mount at the bow, and Comfort is swindling three of the goblin deck hands in games of dice.
The goblins continue to be distracted by the Mists, pointing out more and more fat snakes. One looks up and notices a raincloud passing out of a mist bank, and gets excited, poking his confederates. Being city goblins, they’ve never been this close to a cloud before! Look at how dark it is! Why is it so low? Wait.. are clouds supposed to have arms???
The dark cloud billows speedily towards the fiery airship. Flashes deep within rupture out through the surface, and twin bolts of arcing lightning impact the deck, linger, and then coalesce into hovering semi-humanoid bodies made from cloud and lightning...
Nutasha is shooed back by Gnofulk, and Comfort does the same with the goblin deckhands as she simultaneously speedily pockets more winnings.
One of the stormspawn is the first to move, swooshing over a few more feet to Gnofulk at the bow and clawing at the gnome with an arm of twisted lightning. The gnome is zapped, but rebuttals heartily with his magical axe, Squirrelenbane.
The second stormspawn hovers back a few feet and caresses Comfort – and is Hellishly Rebuked by the tiefling for failing to get her consent in the encounter. Ula rages, non-distinct Ancestral Protectors springing up around her, and dashes down from the helm into the melee to help Comfort. Unfortunately, her mundane axe swishes right through the stormspawn, and the half orc curses. Loudly.
Comfort shouts down towards the aperture leading belowdecks, to try and alert Kylar and Turnin, and then twins a Firebolt. While she misses the one assailing her, the cantrip connects with the one battling Gnofulk, and it pops, dissipating into nothing.
The massive stormcloud hovers near the bow of the ship, and two more arcs of lighting hits the deck, up by Rhogar at the helm, and a bit behind Gnofulk.
Kylar heard both the rumbles and Comfort’s call. Thankfully the wizard had swapped out flowing robes for tighter-fighting adventuring robes long ago and is able to run up the stairs without tripping. The wizard reaches the aperture, surveys the situation, and tries to rattle the lightning beings with the Shatter spell.
The Mournland, as always, twists the spell. As the loud ringing noise emits from a point on the deck, Kylar winks out of existence. The stormspawn amidships are unaffected by the resounding thunder damage, and the one in the stern by Captain Rhogar, attacks the dragonborn. But the former battle master deftly sidesteps the aggression.
Turnin has also been summoned, having left Strudel and the flashcards safely below. He arrives at the aperture a moment after Kylar winks out of existence. The monk is fast, and he scampers up and with maximum effort unleashes a staggering number of blows against the stormspawn threatening Rhogar. The flurry of fists is enough the beat the lightning being into submission, though as it disburses, it pops, and both Rhogar and Turnin are subjected to a small Thunderwave, and then hops down to assist Ula and Comfort.
Gnofulk is aware of Ula’s predicament, and has the presence of mind to toss his magical axe in her direction. Unfortunately, the toss falls short, and the weapon skitters nearby. Still angry, the Gnome draws the Hordebreaker Scimitar, recovered from Zyn, and with the scimitar and a mundane hand axe, slices at the stormspawn near him at the bow.
The second stormspawn amidships is surrounded by Turnin, Comfort and Ula. It claws at Ula, its attention drawn to the half orc by her spectral protectors. Ula angrily reels, then recovers the magical axe, and slipping her tower shield behind her hacks mercilessly with a two-handed chop.
The brawl on deck continues, and while the party makes headway dealing with the waves of stormspawn, the mighty storm approaches, spilling over the bow of the ship that cleaves the stormspawn deep.
Turnin runs towards the big storm, and with his cool staff and handwraps, pounds some cloud bits away. Gnofulk deals with another stormspawn, and as the scimitar slices and dissipates, the ensuing small Thunderwave pushed Gnofulk into range of the menacing storm, as Ula hacks at it alongside the monk. The huge storm lashes out with its lightning body, but fails to connect with any of the adventurers.
With only one stormspawn around for now, the party focuses on the big storm. The cloud of angry lightning takes a beating from Turnin and Gnofulk, and a brutal, devastating cleave from Ula using Squirrelenbane. The storm is a shadow of itself, but not disbursed yet.
Kylar winks back into existence, at takes the time lapse like a champ. He casts Poison Spray. Again the Mournland twists the spell, though no immediate effects present themselves. Unfortunately, the poison is ineffective against a being made of clouds and lightning.
Still, the storm is quite diminished, and the monk is able to sneak the last blow in. The cloud bursts, and while the Thunderwave sound is gigantic, the party doesn’t seem to reel as much as they expected, and they turn to see Kylar with a faint aura; the Mournlant twist of his latest spell.
Turnin continues to be quick, and easily makes it the 15 or so feet back to engage the final, lingering stormspawn. Fists strike, and the monk channels his Ki to push the stormspawn off the deck.
It can hover though, and while inconvenienced, doesn’t seem too perturbed. Ula and Gnofulk both recognize the fight is as good as over. Comfort quickly makes it official with another Firebolt.
The party has taken some hit, but is not too bloodied. The raging barbarians tanked much of the damage. Still, with their new knowledge, several of Kaz the Kobold’s healing potions are procured, and Kylar summons his pocket dimension using Rope Trick. Unfortunately, yet again, the Mournland twists the spell, and while the hole materializes, the wizard recoils as his brain is burned with psychic feedback.
Even with some healing available, the Mournland continues to be a very dangerous place! What else could be in store for the party? Ula’s clan settlement should be only a day or so away…
Monday, September 2, 2019
Eberron Adventure: Session Fifty-Eight
The dragonborn Captain Rhogar cautiously piloted the fiery airship through the dense barrier of Dead Grey Mist that entombs the dreaded Mournland. The ship moved ponderously through the mist; the crew and party watchful for anything.
The airship ship breached, tendrils of the dense mist clinging, almost clawing at the ship and the fiery circle that propelled it.
Now across the border and in Breland, the party quickly slump and collapse. In the Mournland, they could not heal, and their bodies were now apparently struggling to catch up. The crew had taken some hits, but mostly faired far better than the party, and set about tending to the wounds of the party while their bodies recovered as well as resupplying provisions.
Over the first few days, the fiery airship was brought to the nearby city of Varinoth, a few miles from the border. The deceased red-shirted goblins Yip and Yap were buried; Ruth sent word back to Sharn; Chef resupplied the foodstocks; and Captain Rhogar oversaw it all.
On the fourth day, the gnome barbarian(/ranger) Gnofluk awoke, fully healed and recovered. The dwarf cleric of light, Francis, did likewise. The gnome tended to his gliding mount, a flying squirrel named Nutasha. The dwarf absconded, abandoning the party and the expedition.
By the seventh day, the rest of the party, consisting of Kylar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Ula the half-orc barbarian, and Turnin the human monk, had fully recovered. The resupply was well underway, and Chef’s stores were becoming well stocked once again. Ruth had made regular trips to the nearby city (borrowing Ula’s boat), and had some leads on some new crew members.
Turnin and Kylar chatted, and both realized that monk, by way of his dragonmark, could allow the wizard to remove the cursed ring that had been turning all his conjurations green for most of the campaign.
While Comfort continued resting, the remainder of the party decided to explore the nearby city. Gnofulk rode Nutasha down, a long slow glide from the fiery airship, now named the Elliott Suxx (sorry duder; just guess who picked the name), parked and floating high in the sky down towards the town about a mile away. The rest piled into Ula’s skiff, flying behind the squirrel.
The city was on the smaller side; a few thousand people at most. The architecture was simple, though many shops and buildings looked to reach three stories. The party had approached from the east, and from their starting height of around 200 feet, they saw virtually no farms; the farmers has almost all relocated to the safer, western outskirts of the small city.
The guards monitored, but were unconcerned with the approaching skiff; they knew of Ruth’s recent trips to the city and the resupply underway. Nutasha was a sight to behold though, gliding down to the ground, the flying squirrel was very glad to be free of the oppressive Mourland. Horses and small carts were permitted, so Gnofulk continued to ride towards the small barbican. The rest of the party secured the skiff nearby, under the watchful eyes of the guard.
Ever talkative, Turnin chatted up the guard, bragging about the recent excursion to the dangerous Mournland… though curious as to whether an authority on the Mournland could be found in Varinoth. Particularly one that knew how to heal in the wasteland…
Alas, the lowly guard can do little to help the monk. The city is mostly small-time merchants surrounding by farmers. No grand wizard resides here, and while the population has a… familiarity with the Mournland, most have learned that it’s best to just stay away. It’s spooky and dangerous for the common folk. However, given their familiarity, the guard notes that it could be worth asking around. Some of the populace used to live in what would become the Mournland. They may have info on places in their now distorted and dangerous homeland that could be useful to adventurers.
Turnin decides to pursue a more divine option first, and leads the party towards a temple dedicated to the Sovereign Host; a religion veneration an orderly pantheon. There, a Dwarf in blue and yellow robes answers the monk’s questions.. arguably unsatisfactorily. She doesn’t divulge any secret ways to heal in the Mournland, and as a pretty average person, mostly echoes the general best-practices that the common folk observe, which is avoidance. Turnin attempts a donation, but the coin somehow lodges in his throat when he attempts to flip it to the local priest.
The group hits up a bar next – the Battlekeg – and is greeted by an energetic dwarf, Ungrin Battlekeg. Despite some “who’s on first” confusion, it is eventually realized that the bar is named after the dwarf. The dwarf is a little embarrassed by his current stock. For beers, only IPAs are on tap. He’s got some whiskey and hard liquor, and reminisces about good Cyrean Brandy.
To Ungrin’s surprise, Gnofulk reaches into his pack and offers up a shot of some Cyrean brandy, recovered from the Mournland (formerly Cyre). The dwarf’s eyes water a bit. He’s touched, and the gnome has won him over. Whatever the party wants is on the house.
They learn that Ungrin has been in business here for 30 some years. Not too much time for a dwarf, all things considered. Some distant relatives and acquaintances were lost in the Mourning event, but most of his close losses came from the lengthy continent-wide Last War, which had culminated in the mysterious Mourning.
Bars and inns are hubs, and Ungrin admits to serving occasional adventuring bands, but they are not terribly common.
Ula’s certainly devasted (likely entirely deceased) clan had been mercenaries for Cyre in the last war. Presumed lost to the Mourning, her first trip to the Mournland hadn’t uncovered any clues or signs of life. She inquired after her clan with Ungrin, but the dwarf could only shrug. He didn’t know anything, but hey, look at that orc at the end of the bar! Maybe he knows something?
The orc was in plain working clothes, enjoying a drink near the end of a normal day. He’s interested in the sway of the approaching barbarian, and offers to buy her a drink. Quickly finishing the first so she can start on her second, they chat. Awkwardly. Both turn out to be strangers to one another; and while the worker orc has hear generally of Clan Urza, he doesn’t know anything specific on any of it’s members.
Dissatisfied, Ula slams her second, and wanders away to the dismay of the orc. The party promise to check in with Ungrin later, and maybe sell him some unopened bottles of brandy if they find any. Gnofulk remounts Nutasha, and all depart.
Ungrin Battlekeg had pointed the party towards a nearby blacksmith – John Smith – formerly of Cyre.
Nearby clanging confirms they’re heading in the right direction, and soon they find the smith working away in his front lawn, waving at passersby, like the party. Seeing adventurers, he pauses working, and beckons them over, wondering what they need made.
Kyler orders 20 double-sided spikes. Who knows what the wizard has in store for those.
Gnofulk actually has a special request. He’s obviously got this mount, but the last expedition into the Mournland was not fun for Nutasha. The gnome wonders if there is some kind of barding or armor that could be made? It’s a tall order, but John thinks he can work something out.
While he measurers Nutasha, the party relate their Mournland stories to him. John relates that he immigrated from Cyre about 10 years ago, missing the cataclysmic Mourning. Originally from the ringed merchant city of Kalazart, the smith admits that his old stomping grounds have basically gone to hell.
The party is quick to agree. Turnin confides that the party had been referring to the ringed city as Kalafart, and John admits to calling it Kalashart in his youth. Sad high-five.
John immigrated with his family when he was a kid, and doesn’t have any grand heirlooms that need retrieving. He chides the adventures a bid when they bemoan the lack of loot. The Mourning happened 4 years ago; Kalazart is a relatively short jaunt into the Mournland; and it was a well-known merchant city. John is surprised that they found anything worthwhile at all. All the easy things would have likely been picked over by looters/scavengers/adventurers already.
Turnin is a bit shook. Where was he a few weeks ago with this information? Why, right here of course.
John will have the spikes shortly, and some kind of armor figured out in a few days. It will still be a few days before the resupply is finished, so the party agrees to come back later.
On their way back to the fiery airship, they decide to make one final stop at the local Chapel of the Silver Flame, to see if Francis has showed up.
There they meet a slim human, Immith, dressed in the white and silver robes of her station as a local preacher. The building is simple stone; the main room stark, spacious and illuminated by a large silver-colored flame billowing from a large brazier in the center of the room. Cooly, Immith answers the party’s questions.
Immith has been to the Mournland a few times herself, recently to rescue wandering children. She also knows of a few groups of Silver Flame warriors who have braved the Mournland to free children taken by things, and to purge evil areas with holy fire and flaming swords.
Ula perks up at the mention of burning things, however, Immith notes that a tithe is requested of its adherents. The barbarian checks her pockets, and decides not to part with anything. That’s probably for the best. Being a half-orc, it’s arguable how far she’d get in the zealous, human-centric organization…
Her advice for Mournland travelers is to keep it brief, and since magic can be complicated, rely on steel. Strike first, and strike hard.
The party is a bit taken back by the brutality of the woman, but take her advice to heart. They leave a message for Francis, should he stop by. Who knows where the cleric went. Wait, did anyone every really get a good look at him? What’s his last name? Are we sure he isn’t just Shadowale in disguise?
The party depart, and over dinner, discuss their next excursion in more detail, reviewing what they know of the Mournland.
Their intended destination is the capitol city of Metrol, a small metropolis on the water, pierced by a crown of seven plateaus topped by seven palaces.
However, Metrol is far to the east. Ula is insistent that they first stop at her clan’s camp so she can check it out. It’s practically on their way.. depending on the path the party takes.
They settle on a path, entering the Mournland north of the lightning rail line, and heading straight to the remains of Clan Urza, then south to find the lightning rail line heading east from Kalazart, and following that all the way to Metrol. There, they will see what they can find, and if things go bad, they can continue heading east, into the Talenta Plains, dominated by the halfling tribes. Metrol practically abuts the border on the east, so hopefully, if respite is needed, it can be found quickly…
The airship ship breached, tendrils of the dense mist clinging, almost clawing at the ship and the fiery circle that propelled it.
Now across the border and in Breland, the party quickly slump and collapse. In the Mournland, they could not heal, and their bodies were now apparently struggling to catch up. The crew had taken some hits, but mostly faired far better than the party, and set about tending to the wounds of the party while their bodies recovered as well as resupplying provisions.
Over the first few days, the fiery airship was brought to the nearby city of Varinoth, a few miles from the border. The deceased red-shirted goblins Yip and Yap were buried; Ruth sent word back to Sharn; Chef resupplied the foodstocks; and Captain Rhogar oversaw it all.
On the fourth day, the gnome barbarian(/ranger) Gnofluk awoke, fully healed and recovered. The dwarf cleric of light, Francis, did likewise. The gnome tended to his gliding mount, a flying squirrel named Nutasha. The dwarf absconded, abandoning the party and the expedition.
By the seventh day, the rest of the party, consisting of Kylar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Ula the half-orc barbarian, and Turnin the human monk, had fully recovered. The resupply was well underway, and Chef’s stores were becoming well stocked once again. Ruth had made regular trips to the nearby city (borrowing Ula’s boat), and had some leads on some new crew members.
Turnin and Kylar chatted, and both realized that monk, by way of his dragonmark, could allow the wizard to remove the cursed ring that had been turning all his conjurations green for most of the campaign.
While Comfort continued resting, the remainder of the party decided to explore the nearby city. Gnofulk rode Nutasha down, a long slow glide from the fiery airship, now named the Elliott Suxx (sorry duder; just guess who picked the name), parked and floating high in the sky down towards the town about a mile away. The rest piled into Ula’s skiff, flying behind the squirrel.
The city was on the smaller side; a few thousand people at most. The architecture was simple, though many shops and buildings looked to reach three stories. The party had approached from the east, and from their starting height of around 200 feet, they saw virtually no farms; the farmers has almost all relocated to the safer, western outskirts of the small city.
The guards monitored, but were unconcerned with the approaching skiff; they knew of Ruth’s recent trips to the city and the resupply underway. Nutasha was a sight to behold though, gliding down to the ground, the flying squirrel was very glad to be free of the oppressive Mourland. Horses and small carts were permitted, so Gnofulk continued to ride towards the small barbican. The rest of the party secured the skiff nearby, under the watchful eyes of the guard.
Ever talkative, Turnin chatted up the guard, bragging about the recent excursion to the dangerous Mournland… though curious as to whether an authority on the Mournland could be found in Varinoth. Particularly one that knew how to heal in the wasteland…
Alas, the lowly guard can do little to help the monk. The city is mostly small-time merchants surrounding by farmers. No grand wizard resides here, and while the population has a… familiarity with the Mournland, most have learned that it’s best to just stay away. It’s spooky and dangerous for the common folk. However, given their familiarity, the guard notes that it could be worth asking around. Some of the populace used to live in what would become the Mournland. They may have info on places in their now distorted and dangerous homeland that could be useful to adventurers.
Turnin decides to pursue a more divine option first, and leads the party towards a temple dedicated to the Sovereign Host; a religion veneration an orderly pantheon. There, a Dwarf in blue and yellow robes answers the monk’s questions.. arguably unsatisfactorily. She doesn’t divulge any secret ways to heal in the Mournland, and as a pretty average person, mostly echoes the general best-practices that the common folk observe, which is avoidance. Turnin attempts a donation, but the coin somehow lodges in his throat when he attempts to flip it to the local priest.
The group hits up a bar next – the Battlekeg – and is greeted by an energetic dwarf, Ungrin Battlekeg. Despite some “who’s on first” confusion, it is eventually realized that the bar is named after the dwarf. The dwarf is a little embarrassed by his current stock. For beers, only IPAs are on tap. He’s got some whiskey and hard liquor, and reminisces about good Cyrean Brandy.
To Ungrin’s surprise, Gnofulk reaches into his pack and offers up a shot of some Cyrean brandy, recovered from the Mournland (formerly Cyre). The dwarf’s eyes water a bit. He’s touched, and the gnome has won him over. Whatever the party wants is on the house.
They learn that Ungrin has been in business here for 30 some years. Not too much time for a dwarf, all things considered. Some distant relatives and acquaintances were lost in the Mourning event, but most of his close losses came from the lengthy continent-wide Last War, which had culminated in the mysterious Mourning.
Bars and inns are hubs, and Ungrin admits to serving occasional adventuring bands, but they are not terribly common.
Ula’s certainly devasted (likely entirely deceased) clan had been mercenaries for Cyre in the last war. Presumed lost to the Mourning, her first trip to the Mournland hadn’t uncovered any clues or signs of life. She inquired after her clan with Ungrin, but the dwarf could only shrug. He didn’t know anything, but hey, look at that orc at the end of the bar! Maybe he knows something?
The orc was in plain working clothes, enjoying a drink near the end of a normal day. He’s interested in the sway of the approaching barbarian, and offers to buy her a drink. Quickly finishing the first so she can start on her second, they chat. Awkwardly. Both turn out to be strangers to one another; and while the worker orc has hear generally of Clan Urza, he doesn’t know anything specific on any of it’s members.
Dissatisfied, Ula slams her second, and wanders away to the dismay of the orc. The party promise to check in with Ungrin later, and maybe sell him some unopened bottles of brandy if they find any. Gnofulk remounts Nutasha, and all depart.
Ungrin Battlekeg had pointed the party towards a nearby blacksmith – John Smith – formerly of Cyre.
Nearby clanging confirms they’re heading in the right direction, and soon they find the smith working away in his front lawn, waving at passersby, like the party. Seeing adventurers, he pauses working, and beckons them over, wondering what they need made.
Kyler orders 20 double-sided spikes. Who knows what the wizard has in store for those.
Gnofulk actually has a special request. He’s obviously got this mount, but the last expedition into the Mournland was not fun for Nutasha. The gnome wonders if there is some kind of barding or armor that could be made? It’s a tall order, but John thinks he can work something out.
While he measurers Nutasha, the party relate their Mournland stories to him. John relates that he immigrated from Cyre about 10 years ago, missing the cataclysmic Mourning. Originally from the ringed merchant city of Kalazart, the smith admits that his old stomping grounds have basically gone to hell.
The party is quick to agree. Turnin confides that the party had been referring to the ringed city as Kalafart, and John admits to calling it Kalashart in his youth. Sad high-five.
John immigrated with his family when he was a kid, and doesn’t have any grand heirlooms that need retrieving. He chides the adventures a bid when they bemoan the lack of loot. The Mourning happened 4 years ago; Kalazart is a relatively short jaunt into the Mournland; and it was a well-known merchant city. John is surprised that they found anything worthwhile at all. All the easy things would have likely been picked over by looters/scavengers/adventurers already.
Turnin is a bit shook. Where was he a few weeks ago with this information? Why, right here of course.
John will have the spikes shortly, and some kind of armor figured out in a few days. It will still be a few days before the resupply is finished, so the party agrees to come back later.
On their way back to the fiery airship, they decide to make one final stop at the local Chapel of the Silver Flame, to see if Francis has showed up.
There they meet a slim human, Immith, dressed in the white and silver robes of her station as a local preacher. The building is simple stone; the main room stark, spacious and illuminated by a large silver-colored flame billowing from a large brazier in the center of the room. Cooly, Immith answers the party’s questions.
Immith has been to the Mournland a few times herself, recently to rescue wandering children. She also knows of a few groups of Silver Flame warriors who have braved the Mournland to free children taken by things, and to purge evil areas with holy fire and flaming swords.
Ula perks up at the mention of burning things, however, Immith notes that a tithe is requested of its adherents. The barbarian checks her pockets, and decides not to part with anything. That’s probably for the best. Being a half-orc, it’s arguable how far she’d get in the zealous, human-centric organization…
Her advice for Mournland travelers is to keep it brief, and since magic can be complicated, rely on steel. Strike first, and strike hard.
The party is a bit taken back by the brutality of the woman, but take her advice to heart. They leave a message for Francis, should he stop by. Who knows where the cleric went. Wait, did anyone every really get a good look at him? What’s his last name? Are we sure he isn’t just Shadowale in disguise?
The party depart, and over dinner, discuss their next excursion in more detail, reviewing what they know of the Mournland.
Their intended destination is the capitol city of Metrol, a small metropolis on the water, pierced by a crown of seven plateaus topped by seven palaces.
However, Metrol is far to the east. Ula is insistent that they first stop at her clan’s camp so she can check it out. It’s practically on their way.. depending on the path the party takes.
They settle on a path, entering the Mournland north of the lightning rail line, and heading straight to the remains of Clan Urza, then south to find the lightning rail line heading east from Kalazart, and following that all the way to Metrol. There, they will see what they can find, and if things go bad, they can continue heading east, into the Talenta Plains, dominated by the halfling tribes. Metrol practically abuts the border on the east, so hopefully, if respite is needed, it can be found quickly…
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Eberron Adventure: Session Fifty-Seven
So there they were… after a ridiculous fight.
Aboard their fiery airship, trying to leave the Mournland, the party had stumbled upon a contingent of the Perpetual Legion at dusk. Ula the half orc had blasted apart the warforged group’s homunculus platform with the ship’s lightning cannon, while Turnin the human monk had been polymorphed into a tyrannosaur for a frontal assault, supported by Comfort the tiefling sorceress and Gnofulk the gnome barbarian.
The battle now over, the human wizard Kylar dismisses the polymorph spell from the airship, and on the battlefield Turnin shrinks to his normal stature, though Comfort is still getting a piggy-back ride that shows no signs of stopping.
Francis the dwarf cleric, retires for his evening prayers.
Ula and Kylar descend to the battlefield using the half-orc’s skiff, and the quintet pokes through the wreckage in the waning light.
Of the warforged… nothing remains. As a dinosaur, Turnin’s jaws had done a number on the warforged baddies, and pieces were scattered everywhere. Oddly enough, the monk still had bits of metal in his teeth, but seemed unbothered by it.
The monk had been mop-up though. The lightning cannon had vaporized several of the other warforged. None would be coming back.
The cannon shot had also rent the tall, walking, homunculus platform in two, the halves having collapses and fallen towards each other. A piece is twisted free for posterity. Perhaps future scrying.
Picking through the wreckage, Kylar ritually casts a spell to detect magic, but finds nothing, and is psychically harmed by the Mournland’s spell twist for his efforts to boot. The party uncovers nothing but mundane weapons from their opponents.
In addition to warforged, the platform held been carrying some cargo, all in a pile, which the party knows to be partially metal. Upon closer inspection, the party discovers that the pile is undecayed corpses (since decay is absent from the Mournland), many still armor-clad. Based on the insignia and markings, the party deduces that the warforged are savaging corpses from the Mournland.
Night has set, and Turnin has seen enough. Still toting Comfort around, the Monk hops back into the skiff, and the party soon returns to the ship. The monk marches right down to the galley to confront the party’s warforged companion, Chef the uh.. chef.
The monk demands to know what the Perpetual Legion would want with bodies. The warforged is disgusted at the thought, but has no grand insight to offer. Chef answers the monk’s questions while working up some pierogi. I mean, muses the warforged, what use could there be for corpses in a dreamworld of magic and DieFi rods?
The party trickles in as Turnin continues to ponder the potential uses of corpses, but the talk goes no where fast. Chef eventually opens up the galley for some evening snacks, hoping the party will take their noms elsewhere, and they do.
Turnin is fascinated with the pierogi, and takes a bowl of it up to the main deck. Gnofulk grabs a bowl of nuts, and descends into the hold to munch with Nutasha. Comfort liked the flying squirrel snuggles, and also heads into the hold with her cornbread and honey. The sorceress is wary to interrupt Francis’ nightly meditations. Apparently brand new to snacking, Ula munches on a raw onion, and Kylar eschews snacking altogether and simply heads down into the engine room to catch up with Kaz the kobold and the wounded chief engineer Montgomery Dwarf.
Snacking doesn’t take long, and soon the party is reshuffling, ready to turn in for the evening.
The fiery airship continues westward, and as they take in a little evening air before retiring for the night, Kylar and Turnin spot the still-idling Ghost Train. A quick survey using Kylar’s familiar doesn’t note anything unexpected. The train still idles. The broken warforged still lay where the party left them… as far as the wizard recalls…
The night passes uneventfully, and Chef whips up some pierogi, eggs and OJ for breakfast. The fiery airship continues on, westward, following the lightning rail back towards Breland.
As ever, the Mournland is desolate. The sky is ever-hazy, obscured by the Dead Gray Mist, which appears, twists, and disappears all over the land. The party has had enough of this spooky glumness. A passing wind whispers the most hurtful things, and most of the crew recoils from some (minor) psychic damage.
They spend the day watching the horizon as the fiery airship meanders over the hills. The path back is slightly different, and a few new things are spotted.
Lounging, Ula sees what looks to be a campsite over a nearby hill. The half-orc keeps this to herself though. It’s high-time the party get out of the Mournland.
Minutes later, what appear to be bodies are seen on another hill. The party decides to check it out, and descends in Ula’s skiff.
The party finds an elf in simple armor, face up. Investigating, they find him stabbed in the back with a small, thin dagger.
Turnin flips over of the other bodies with his staff and gasps. The monk was taken in as a child after the brutal death of his parents at the hands of bandits. He never knew his parents, but he knew a little about their killers; criminals with the gang sign of a Silver Fig Leaf. The dead elf woman has such an emblem. Also her throat has been slit.
The monk is intrigued, and takes the emblem, but the woman is a stranger to him.
The last body is overturned by Comfort, and the tiefling is likewise surprised. It is a large half-orc male, with a huge scar covering the left side of his face. The orc was a young pimp in Sharn when Comfort was starting out, tried to “show her the ropes,” and later killed one of the tiefling’s old friends, in addition to trying to kill Comfort. The sorceress kicks the orc hard. In places.
It’s a little mystery these three corpses. Who knows why they were here.
With one final kick, Comfort wheels around, back to the skiff. The past is the past and if this terrible half-orc is dead, good riddance. The tiefling wants out of the Mournland to heal.
The party soon follows her lead. The trio of corpses is interesting, but not worth investigating more. The party pile back into the skiff, and the day-drunk half-orc Ula brings them back.
The party lounge on deck, keeping watch while they snack away the last few miles. Soon, they will have traversed the Dead-Grey mist barrier again. They’ll be able to rest and heal, and the world of Eberron will then lie before them. They should decide on a plan of action.
They have many places they could go. Specifically, Comfort has some mortuary jewels that could be returned to the ancient elves in the island nation of Aerenal. Generally, they know of an alleged “false” god to be killed in the mysterious continent of Xen’Drik.
However, Turnin’s arguments to return to the Mournland sway the others, though not without great hesitation. The monk still doesn’t know what his abusive friend Skull Buddy could be up to with the nefarious Perpetual Legion, and he really wants to know.
Reluctantly, the party agrees that once they are through the Dead Grey Mist Barrier, and in Breland, they will rest up, resupply, and then return to the dangerous wasteland that is the Mournland…
Aboard their fiery airship, trying to leave the Mournland, the party had stumbled upon a contingent of the Perpetual Legion at dusk. Ula the half orc had blasted apart the warforged group’s homunculus platform with the ship’s lightning cannon, while Turnin the human monk had been polymorphed into a tyrannosaur for a frontal assault, supported by Comfort the tiefling sorceress and Gnofulk the gnome barbarian.
The battle now over, the human wizard Kylar dismisses the polymorph spell from the airship, and on the battlefield Turnin shrinks to his normal stature, though Comfort is still getting a piggy-back ride that shows no signs of stopping.
Francis the dwarf cleric, retires for his evening prayers.
Ula and Kylar descend to the battlefield using the half-orc’s skiff, and the quintet pokes through the wreckage in the waning light.
Of the warforged… nothing remains. As a dinosaur, Turnin’s jaws had done a number on the warforged baddies, and pieces were scattered everywhere. Oddly enough, the monk still had bits of metal in his teeth, but seemed unbothered by it.
The monk had been mop-up though. The lightning cannon had vaporized several of the other warforged. None would be coming back.
The cannon shot had also rent the tall, walking, homunculus platform in two, the halves having collapses and fallen towards each other. A piece is twisted free for posterity. Perhaps future scrying.
Picking through the wreckage, Kylar ritually casts a spell to detect magic, but finds nothing, and is psychically harmed by the Mournland’s spell twist for his efforts to boot. The party uncovers nothing but mundane weapons from their opponents.
In addition to warforged, the platform held been carrying some cargo, all in a pile, which the party knows to be partially metal. Upon closer inspection, the party discovers that the pile is undecayed corpses (since decay is absent from the Mournland), many still armor-clad. Based on the insignia and markings, the party deduces that the warforged are savaging corpses from the Mournland.
Night has set, and Turnin has seen enough. Still toting Comfort around, the Monk hops back into the skiff, and the party soon returns to the ship. The monk marches right down to the galley to confront the party’s warforged companion, Chef the uh.. chef.
The monk demands to know what the Perpetual Legion would want with bodies. The warforged is disgusted at the thought, but has no grand insight to offer. Chef answers the monk’s questions while working up some pierogi. I mean, muses the warforged, what use could there be for corpses in a dreamworld of magic and DieFi rods?
The party trickles in as Turnin continues to ponder the potential uses of corpses, but the talk goes no where fast. Chef eventually opens up the galley for some evening snacks, hoping the party will take their noms elsewhere, and they do.
Turnin is fascinated with the pierogi, and takes a bowl of it up to the main deck. Gnofulk grabs a bowl of nuts, and descends into the hold to munch with Nutasha. Comfort liked the flying squirrel snuggles, and also heads into the hold with her cornbread and honey. The sorceress is wary to interrupt Francis’ nightly meditations. Apparently brand new to snacking, Ula munches on a raw onion, and Kylar eschews snacking altogether and simply heads down into the engine room to catch up with Kaz the kobold and the wounded chief engineer Montgomery Dwarf.
Snacking doesn’t take long, and soon the party is reshuffling, ready to turn in for the evening.
The fiery airship continues westward, and as they take in a little evening air before retiring for the night, Kylar and Turnin spot the still-idling Ghost Train. A quick survey using Kylar’s familiar doesn’t note anything unexpected. The train still idles. The broken warforged still lay where the party left them… as far as the wizard recalls…
The night passes uneventfully, and Chef whips up some pierogi, eggs and OJ for breakfast. The fiery airship continues on, westward, following the lightning rail back towards Breland.
As ever, the Mournland is desolate. The sky is ever-hazy, obscured by the Dead Gray Mist, which appears, twists, and disappears all over the land. The party has had enough of this spooky glumness. A passing wind whispers the most hurtful things, and most of the crew recoils from some (minor) psychic damage.
They spend the day watching the horizon as the fiery airship meanders over the hills. The path back is slightly different, and a few new things are spotted.
Lounging, Ula sees what looks to be a campsite over a nearby hill. The half-orc keeps this to herself though. It’s high-time the party get out of the Mournland.
Minutes later, what appear to be bodies are seen on another hill. The party decides to check it out, and descends in Ula’s skiff.
The party finds an elf in simple armor, face up. Investigating, they find him stabbed in the back with a small, thin dagger.
Turnin flips over of the other bodies with his staff and gasps. The monk was taken in as a child after the brutal death of his parents at the hands of bandits. He never knew his parents, but he knew a little about their killers; criminals with the gang sign of a Silver Fig Leaf. The dead elf woman has such an emblem. Also her throat has been slit.
The monk is intrigued, and takes the emblem, but the woman is a stranger to him.
The last body is overturned by Comfort, and the tiefling is likewise surprised. It is a large half-orc male, with a huge scar covering the left side of his face. The orc was a young pimp in Sharn when Comfort was starting out, tried to “show her the ropes,” and later killed one of the tiefling’s old friends, in addition to trying to kill Comfort. The sorceress kicks the orc hard. In places.
It’s a little mystery these three corpses. Who knows why they were here.
With one final kick, Comfort wheels around, back to the skiff. The past is the past and if this terrible half-orc is dead, good riddance. The tiefling wants out of the Mournland to heal.
The party soon follows her lead. The trio of corpses is interesting, but not worth investigating more. The party pile back into the skiff, and the day-drunk half-orc Ula brings them back.
The party lounge on deck, keeping watch while they snack away the last few miles. Soon, they will have traversed the Dead-Grey mist barrier again. They’ll be able to rest and heal, and the world of Eberron will then lie before them. They should decide on a plan of action.
They have many places they could go. Specifically, Comfort has some mortuary jewels that could be returned to the ancient elves in the island nation of Aerenal. Generally, they know of an alleged “false” god to be killed in the mysterious continent of Xen’Drik.
However, Turnin’s arguments to return to the Mournland sway the others, though not without great hesitation. The monk still doesn’t know what his abusive friend Skull Buddy could be up to with the nefarious Perpetual Legion, and he really wants to know.
Reluctantly, the party agrees that once they are through the Dead Grey Mist Barrier, and in Breland, they will rest up, resupply, and then return to the dangerous wasteland that is the Mournland…