The weary group, having endured the harrowing depths of the Air Temple, paused only long enough to loot their hard-won ground. Then, with heavy steps, they began the arduous ascent, following the curving stairway back into the Sighing Valley and finally across to Feathergale Spire. Finding comfort in the spire's now-empty rooms, they allowed themselves a moment of respite, healing their wounds and washing away the grime of battle. Amidst their recovery, Joe decided to test fate, attempting to attune with the Spear of the Queen Aerisi, the potent artifact he had claimed.
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| Windvane |
Joe quickly realized the spear's corrupting influence, breaking away from the attunement before it could consume him. In violent rejection, the spear flew from his hands, propelled across the room to clatter into a far corner. Though none wished to wield it, neither did they wish to discard such a potent, perhaps useful, artifact. It was carefully stowed in Bessok’s bag of holding.
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| Hippogriff |
Taking to the air, the Hippogriffs carried them high above the Sumber Hills, offering a breath-taking panorama of rolling hills, shimmering lakes, and winding streams. An hour into their south-eastward flight towards Bargewright, something extraordinary occurred. Like a distant, colossal explosion, the clouds violently rushed outwards from a central point, then were sucked back in at impossible speed, vanishing over the horizon. The sky was left clear and blue, perfect flying weather.
Slightly unnerved, the group continued, the Hippogriffs drifting effortlessly on the winds. Several miles later, as they crossed the Cairn Road, they spotted a skirmish to the west: High Forest Guards battling Fire Cultists. A cultist unleashed a fireball, but a guard swiftly raised a magical barrier, deflecting it harmlessly. The Guard seemed to be handling the situation with ease, so the group pressed on. Far below, another detachment of mounted Guard marched along the road, protecting locals who had refused to abandon their homes.
Closer to Bargewright, the reason for the earlier "explosion" became terrifyingly clear. The entire area encompassing Bargewright and Womford was engulfed in a monstrous rainstorm, a solid, opaque wall of water that reduced visibility to mere feet. The Hippogriffs balked, refusing to enter the deluge, forcing the group to land and ride them on the ground. The moment they entered the storm, they were instantly drenched, the roar of the downpour almost deafening. The ground transformed into inches-thick mud and churning puddles. The curving road up to Bargewright had disintegrated, only scattered stones providing a treacherous guide.
As they slogged towards the town, grim discoveries emerged from the churning mud: bloated bodies, tent parts, backpacks, and supplies, briefly surfacing in the relentless downpour before being re-submerged. Empty, unblinking eyes stared into the rain, twisted arms frozen in a last, desperate struggle to pull free.
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| Bargewright faces the Storm |
Reaching Bargewright, they were almost shocked to find it still standing. The outer sections had collapsed, dragged down the hill by the mudslides, but the town's core, built on solid stone, remained. Near the entry gates of what was now the only accessible section, a determined female Dwarf barked orders, shouting at a guard trying to pull an Ox from the stables. They were too slow. A terrible groan of creaking foundations and cracking wood rent the air. The stables gave up their fight, sliding over the hill's edge. Bessok, leaping into action, spurred his Hippogriff forward, extending an arm to grasp the guard’s arm just as he was about to be pulled over. The rest—the confused Ox, the entire building—slid downwards, shattering as it bounced into the grey, watery abyss.
While this chaos unfolded, Joe scoured the surrounding area, finding and pulling several trapped refugees from the suffocating mud, more lives saved by their timely arrival. A brief conversation with the female Dwarf revealed that most survivors were huddled inside the Inn, many needing urgent medical attention. Bessok immediately agreed to help, and the Dwarf rushed off to direct him. Tying their Hippogriffs outside, Joe conjuring a magical rain cover for them, the group entered the Inn. Most tables were taken by the wounded: cuts, concussions, broken limbs, crushed torsos—some on the very brink of death. Bessok wasted no time, tending to as many as he could.
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| Nalaskur Thaelond |
A thought struck Nalaskur. He asked if they’d passed Womford, fearing for its fate. Realizing the full scope of the disaster, the group rose, determined to offer assistance.
Back on their Hippogriffs, the creatures dug their claws into the slippery mud, half-sliding down the hill towards Ironford Bridge. The bridge still stood, but the river below raged, dangerously high. Two stone dragons, their wings arched, loomed ominously, water streaming from their claws and wings as the rain hammered down.
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| Map of Womford |
Crossing the bridge into Womford, muffled shouts and arguments pierced the downpour. A large group huddled beneath the town's central oak tree, armed with makeshift weapons—carving knives, pitchforks, hand axes—illuminated by a single, struggling lantern. A woman cried, gesturing wildly at a man trying to calm her. Her daughter was gone, vanished in the rush to this meeting point. Others had seen the "Womford Bat" tonight, a creature that had plagued the town for some time, described as a man with bat-like wings. More residents arrived, fleeing the rising river. One mentioned an old man with a lost leg, trapped in his house. The group now had a mission beyond merely leading people to safety.
They headed for the old man's house. En route, a building with lights on and an open door caught their eye. Two Luskan-looking individuals were inside, trying to force open a chest. Leaving this to Rowan, the others pressed on. Gark found the old man stuck on his front porch, his wooden leg firmly wedged in the mud. Reaching down from his Hippogriff, Gark easily pulled him free, then, with a resolute nod, declared he would escort the townspeople back to Bargewright and departed.
Inside the building, Rowan confronted the two Luskan-looking thieves. They spun a clumsy tale about saving wealth from the flood, then tried to cut him in on their "discovery"—the life savings of an old couple. Rowan, unimpressed, easily picked the chest's lock. When the thieves lunged, he dispatched them swiftly. Easy money.
Outside, Joe and Bessok continued their search, Joe finding a bloodless body in a small alley, two puncture wounds on its neck. As Rowan rejoined them, his sharp ears caught the soft whimpering of a child to the south, a lost cry barely audible over the hammering rain. They quickly moved towards the sound, finding a young girl huddled under a building's awning. A quick check confirmed no vampire bites; she was the missing daughter. They hoisted her onto a Hippogriff, heading back towards the town centre.
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| The Womford Bat |
The "bat" was a man with a strange cloak, a figure they recognized from Bargewright Inn, often seen with another gentleman. But this was no mere man. Fangs bared, eyes glowing red, claws extended—a vampire. Despite its monstrous nature, the group attacked with ruthless efficiency. Bessok called down divine power again and again, while arrows and blows from the others tore into the creature until it dissolved into dust, leaving only its magical cloak and armour in Bessok’s hands.
As the creature fell, the waters rose. A magical surge from the orb’s detonation caused a monstrous twenty-foot-high wall of water to sweep through Womford, obliterating everything in its path. Still on their Hippogriffs, the group struggled to gain brief flight in the driving rain, leaping from collapsing rooftop to collapsing rooftop until they finally landed on the stone base of the mills. Though tilting precariously, they held.
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| Womford Destroyed |
Once the waters receded, the group descended, trudging back up the muddy hill to Bargewright, where Gark had already delivered the Womford residents. The female Dwarf, still in command despite the ongoing rain, directed the new refugees to temporary shelter.
The group, finding a moment to breathe, entered the Inn. Gark spotted him: the mysterious individual who had always accompanied the "Womford Bat." Without a word, Gark pulled a bottle of holy water from his pack, strode over, and flung it into the man's face. Skin hissed and burned. The man sprang up with unnatural speed, seizing Gark by the neck, lifting him, and slamming him to the ground. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?" he snarled, now fully transformed: bared fangs, glowing red eyes, sharp claws.
Yet, eerily, the other patrons seemed unaffected. Half a dozen guards rose from their seats, swords drawn, facing the group with cold intent. A vampire he might be, but this was a Zhentarim operation. The silence in the Inn was absolute.
The group quickly worked to de-escalate. The vampire, surprisingly, slowly cooled, his skin repairing itself as he made to help Gark up. Perhaps a mistaken action, Gark shifted into a massive bear form, causing the vampire to pause, then return to his seat. "Good customers," he muttered, "I'll let one indiscretion go."
Once the tension broke, the guards sheathed their swords, resuming their conversations. The Inn's volume returned. Nalaskur, exhaling a long, tense breath, approached. Their orders were placed, new magical items promised, and beds for the night secured. Priority customers, indeed! But Nalaskur also laid bare Bargewright’s dire situation. With the influx from Womford and the lost supplies, they had food for only a few days. The next ship delivery was a week away, and their dock was gone. The farming community to the east, Summerfeld, needed to know what had happened, and more importantly, they desperately needed livestock. The group agreed to help, then finally sought their well-deserved rest.
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| Vector 063, Rogue Modron |
Leaving the peculiar helper to its work, the group mounted their Hippogriffs, finally taking to the open skies. As they flew away from Bargewright, the full scale of the storm’s destruction became horrifyingly apparent: bodies in the mud, shattered remnants of town walls, scattered buildings, and lost belongings strewn across the hillside.
Further east, the River Dessarin was slowly receding, but the Womford docks were now sunken, masts rising like desperate fingers from the water. Womford itself was nearly gone, only skeletal remnants of buildings and the precariously tilted mills remaining. Even the mighty Oak in the town center had snapped, lying across the ruins of a home.
Continuing east along the Iron Road, which eventually dipped south, they reached Summerfeld Farming Community. From above, it resembled Womford with a large central Oak, this one surrounded by quaint benches. The farms looked healthy, grain weeks from harvest, but the livestock count was suspiciously low—only a handful of sheep and cows dotted the fields.
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| Map of the Summerfeld Farming Community |
Their massive winged mounts caused a stir. People shouted, pointing, and a little boy, disregarding caution, ran up to hug a Hippogriff’s clawed leg. Luckily, these Hippogriffs were well-trained, gazing at the child with what could only be described as a bird-like smile.
Wasting no time, the group explained the plight of Bargewright and Womford, the urgent need for livestock and supplies. The locals were eager to help, but confirmed the issue: livestock had been disappearing. "Tommy saw something," they muttered, "but he's the local drunk, so nobody listens."
Nobody but the group. They found Tommy in the Barren Barrel tavern, already deeply in his cups despite it being lunchtime. He stammered out his tale: he’d fallen asleep in old Hershel's barn and witnessed "strange grey-skinned Dwarves" with a "large rock creature" snatching sheep. "It wasn't a dream, honest!"
Joe searched the area, finding tracks matching Tommy's description, along with a strange, broken gem. Bessok recognized it: a gem used in summoning rituals. Perhaps the "rock creature" was summoned?
While Joe tracked, Rowan took to the air, his sharp eyes scanning the woodlands at the edge of the Forlorn Hills. He spotted them: two grey dwarves scurrying through the trees. He followed, keeping them in sight as they reached a valley in the hills, where a strange door was carved into the mountainside. The dwarves spoke words, runes glowed around the door, and it swung open. They rushed inside, closing it behind them.
Their hideout found, the others joined Rowan in the valley. Bessok recognized the Dwarven runes on the door: "Speak what stone is best and find that which you speak." Recalling the books they'd taken from the Water cult, Bessok searched his memory for the ancient Dwarves' favoured stone. "Deepstone," he spoke. The runes flared, the door swung open, and they stepped into the unknown.
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| Map of the Mines |
A long, winding stairway (1) descended into a dimly lit, small room filled with ancient, useless weapons and armour. Northwards, a doorway opened into what appeared to be a barracks (2). Several Grey Dwarves, or Duergar, lay sleeping on beds lining the walls, while the two Rowan had tracked sat before a crackling fireplace. Battle erupted instantly. Gark, shifting into a deadly Sabre-Toothed Tiger, pounced on a sleeping Duergar, ending its life before it could even stir. Bessok roared, rushing the two awake Duergar. Rowan darted to another sleeping foe, his blade flashing. Joe held back, his arrows finding marks near Bessok.
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| Duergar |
They moved to the next door, entering a corridor that branched left (3) and right. The left offered nothing of immediate interest, so they turned right to a crossroads. To the north (4), a small fence secured a dozen sheep, likely the first of the stolen livestock, penned near what seemed to be the original, now-eroded mine entrance. To the east, a mess hall with tables led to another area (5) holding several secured pigs and cows.
The southern path, however, led to a set of doors that opened into a large forge (6). Three Duergar toiled over a weapon. Another fight erupted, with the Duergar again proving little match for the group’s coordinated assault. Bessok, a smith himself, recognized the weapon they were forging and felt a surge of inspiration. With help from the others, especially Rowan, who expertly etched glowing runes into the blade, they finished it: a magnificent Dragon Slayer Longsword!
Weapon claimed, they continued south into a large storeroom (7), where more of Summerfeld's horses were being held. A rail track curved east, then north, leading into a sprawling, blue-glowing crystal cavern (8). At its centre, a table where a Warlord and more Duergar discussed tactics. Bessok charged in, unleashing the spectral fury of his ancestors, who slammed into the enemy. The Warlord, recognizing immediate peril, vanished, the heavy clomp of his boots echoing northwards into a red-glowing chamber.
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| Young Red Dragon, Thrazzix the Lazy |
Rowan rushed around the Dragon to engage the Warlord, while Bessok and Gark, now in bear form, attacked the Dragon head-on. With a single, searing breath, the Dragon unleashed a torrent of fire onto the two in front of it. Lava from the surrounding pool erupted, splashing onto the unfortunate pair, a devastating blow that almost felled Bessok. But with true dwarven stubbornness, he shook it off, a raw surge of divine power healing him back to fighting strength.
It was a perilous, brutal fight, but it was Rowan who delivered the final, decisive blow. Previous attacks had glanced off the Dragon’s iron-hard scales, but careful study had revealed a weakness. With a swift flick of his rapier, the blade slipped between the scales, plunging directly into the heart of the beast. A colossal roar of pain and anguish tore through the chamber, abruptly cut short as the mighty Dragon collapsed into silent death.
The Warlord? Gark, still in tiger form, lunged, knocking him clean off the platform and into the churning lava below. Taking a moment to gather themselves, they healed their remaining wounds, then began the joyous task of counting their newfound gold. It was a lot. A lot.
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