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…
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