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…
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