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| Map of the Colossus |
The group pressed deeper into the Colossus, scaling the sheer steel ladder into the next colossal section: the machine's shoulders. This 30-foot chamber was a defunct war-room (L20), its vast space dominated by a massive, weathered stone table. Maps and ancient scrolls lay strewn across its surface - the forgotten tactics of a long-dead war.
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| A Stone Golem |
Vinthanamel, curiosity overcoming caution, was the first to approach. His fingers closed around the edge of a scroll—and in that instant, the floor seemed to groan. The stone table began to shudder, morph, and rise, its surface sloughing off the brittle maps. With a grinding roar, it transformed into a towering Stone Golem, its rocky fists already swinging.
Bessok surged forward, a blur of protective motion, tackling Vinthanamel clear of the attack. As the massive creature focused on the armored warrior, Morthwyl and Joe unleashed a torrent of attacks. Taking the hint, Vinthanamel sprinted for cover in a side chamber (L21a), a space cluttered with a forgotten ballista and scattered ammunition. Glancing south, he spied another room (L25), one containing a large, enticing chest. But first, the golem had to fall.
Despite the immediate danger, the battle was swift. The creature's heavy stone fists delivered bone-jarring blows, and its strange power momentarily slowed Morthwyl to a glacial crawl, but the combined onslaught was too much. The Stone Golem shattered into rubble.
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| A Mimic's True Form |
Vinthanamel immediately drew their attention to the nearby chest, a strange, perfect artifact that screamed "trap." Bessok, ever the point man, cautiously moved in. The moment his hands touched the lid to test it, they stuck tight. This was no treasure - it was a Mimic, a horrifying predator concealed as mundane bait!
A desperate flurry of steel and Joe's whistling arrows followed, ending the Mimic's ambush in a bloody, messy heap on the floor.
After a brief, tense look around the shoulder level, they confirmed their path: one of the Colossus's massive arms was crushed and embedded in the glass plateau, the other offered no immediate exit. It was time to go up.
Vinthanamel led the ascent (L26), the recovered rod pieces confirming the route was still above. But as he climbed, a dark, cylindrical shape appeared over the edge of the next level. Before he could react, a deafening blast erupted - a powerful jet of water that struck him like a battering ram, ripping him clean off the ladder! Plunging toward the rubble below, he miraculously triggered his flying boots, arresting his fall and regaining control. Shaken and now at the back of the group, he wisely decided to let the heavy armor lead the charge from here on.
Morthwyl was the first to reach the next section, scrambling into the mouth of the Colossus (L27). Here, a precarious three-foot wall was all that separated them from the outside world - a world perpetually shrouded in the chilling mists of the Mournlands. The chamber was occupied by three Warforged, their leader stepping forward with cold, metallic certainty: the Colossus was theirs, and they would defend it to the death.
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| Glaive, the Warforged Leader, and his Scouts |
The air instantly filled with the snap of firing crossbow bolts from the two supporting Warforged, while the leader, wielding a vicious Glaive, charged Morthwyl. Bessok quickly followed, positioning himself opposite the leader to secure a deadly flanking advantage. Driven by desperation, Joe joined the fray, his life-stealing sword flashing, attempting to siphon back the vitality lost in the previous battles.
Perhaps overextending himself, Joe soon found himself in dire straits. He retreated to a corner, only for the two remaining Warforged to immediately lock onto the "easier target." They pinned him brutally, their armblades plunging into his side, scoring dangerous wounds.
Vinthanamel, last off the ladder, took in the chaotic scene. His eyes narrowed, and with a swift articulation of arcane words, the earth beneath them seemed to tear open. A writhing mass of black, oily tentacles erupted from the ground, lashing out at friend and foe alike! The tentacles wrapped around limbs, restraining the enemy Warforged almost instantly, while the resilient heroes managed to fight through the binding.
The tide was turning - until the inherent magical volatility of the Mournlands struck back.
A sudden, jarring feedback loop ripped through Vinthanamel’s spell. The arcane power backfired, coalescing into a blazing, fiery explosion! Scorched by the blast and simultaneously pummeled by the Warforged leader, Bessok knew he had moments left. He made a desperate choice. Focusing the latent power within his robe, he executed a frantic, instant transport - ripping himself clear of the battle and into the Astral Sea.
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| A Star Angler |
The relief was instant, but horrifying. He materialized mere feet from a Star Angler, the same powerful, monstrous creature they had encountered on a previous planar visit!
With only a heartbeat to spare, Bessok wrenched himself back to the mortal plane. He returned just as the leader was drawing its last breaths under the furious weight of Morthwyl’s hammer. The remaining two Warforged were floundering; Joe, recovering his composure, blew one back with a magically enchanted hand fan.
The battle had broken. One by one, the mechanical soldiers collapsed into lifeless husks, leaving the group panting and bruised, surrounded by the fallen in the silent, misty mouth of the giant.
The group, freshly blessed and patched up by Bessok, began the climb to the final section. They ascended into a chamber (L28) where rusty chains and dripping pipes hung like grotesque metallic arteries. A rhythmic, deep red light pulsed through these pipes, converging on a central circular dais. Upon it sat the object of their quest: a colossal, oversized brain forged from iron-gray ceramic. Its surface was carved with mesmerizing, alien grooves, and from a crack in its frontal lobe, a thin, sickly gray liquid seeped, pooling around the platform.
Floating serenely above this iron brain, casting the eerie light in fractured patterns across the room, was the prize: a small, slender segment of the legendary Rod of Seven Parts.
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| The Gray Matter Engine |
Morthwyl, cautious and armored, took point, finding the final chamber deceptively silent. Vinthanamel, driven by the lure of the artifact, strode forward. As he did, the gray liquid beneath the dais began to spin and coalesce, rising into the air with uncanny, fluid motion. It solidified into the shape of a humanoid figure who introduced himself as Landro.
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| Landro |
When the group tentatively suggested taking him along, Landro's fluid form seemed to shimmer with sudden enthusiasm. He revealed he could be housed within a common elemental gem. Without hesitation, Vinthanamel purged the existing elemental from a gem, and Landro poured his consciousness into the vessel.
As they moved to claim the prize, the new passenger offered a warning: removing the Rod piece would trigger the Colossus's self-destruct sequence, activating its powerful guardians in the process.
With the threat of imminent annihilation looming, the plan was simple. The group scrambled back down through the Titan, fleeing to a safe distance outside. Bessok remained alone, a lone figure before the glowing prize. Once they signaled they were clear, he reached up. A brief, sharp psychic feedback surged through him as his fingers closed around the Rod piece. The objective secured, he engaged his robe's power, tearing himself and the artifact out of reality and into the sanctuary of the Astral Sea.
This time, the transit was clearer. In the distance, he glimpsed the monumental, calcified remains of a dead god, while a lightning-fast Spelljammer ship zipped across the cosmic backdrop.
Back on the material plane, the remaining heroes heard the inevitable: a cold, metallic voice boomed the warning. "One minute until self-destruct."
The countdown reached zero, and the Colossus was consumed in a devastating, blinding explosion. The sheer force pulverized the Titan and shattered the entire section of the Glass Plateau it was embedded in. Glass shards and twisted metal flew hundreds of feet high, forcing the group to dive for desperate cover.
Moments later, Bessok reappeared - but there was nothing left to stand on. The floor, the Colossus, the entire plateau section - gone. He began a sickening hundreds-of-feet freefall toward the mist-shrouded earth. Before impact, he ported one final time.
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| An Astral Dreadnought |
With the dust still settling from the Colossus's demise, Vinthanamel quickly secured the newly acquired Rod segment, slotting it into the others. Three pieces secured, four to go - a palpable sense of momentum surged through the group! The completed, heavier artifact was entrusted to Morthwyl, the team's anchor, to guard.
Vinthanamel wasted no time. Uttering the intricate arcane incantations, a blinding flash of teleportation magic tore them free from the desolate Mournlands, instantly depositing them on the outskirts of Rhukaan Dral. The hobgoblin stronghold was as grim and heavily armed as ever, with the massive, unnerving Geriviar still patrolling the perimeter.
They plunged back into the familiar dimness of The Clenched Fist tavern. There, Lady Elaydren d'Cannith and Failin, the man who had spirited them into the deadly region, awaited them, engaged in a quiet, conspiratorial drink. The reunion was brief and transactional. The group presented the recovered schema from Whitehearth, and in return, they were paid handsomely. Crucially, they kept silent about the duplicate schema still in their possession, a valuable secret held back for a future, more profitable exchange.
The next morning, the geographical hopscotch continued. Vinthanamel teleported them across the continent once more, landing them in the towering metropolis of Sharn. Utilizing his street smarts and criminal connections, Joe swiftly moved to fence the remaining spoils. The duplicate schema, along with the salvaged maps and scrolls from the Colossus, found a ready buyer. The mission's payoff doubled, netting the group another significant haul for their dangerous escapades.
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| Lady Alustriel Silverhand |
The scene that greeted them was jarringly, wonderfully normal. Instead of arcane preparations and worried strategists, they were met by the delighted sounds of laughter and playful screams! Natalia and Alustriel were engaged in a lively game of tickle-chase. Natalia seemed fully settled, and Alustriel had stepped naturally into the role of a fun-loving guardian. After the grim reality of Eberron and its war-torn world, this simple, happy domesticity was a welcome balm - a powerful reminder that the legendary Wizards Three were, beneath their power, just people.
Only Tasha, the dark witch, looked on with undisguised disgust, failing to grasp the point of such frivolous happiness.
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| Mordenkainen |
But the planar stresses of Eberron demanded one last act. The heroes excused themselves and made a beeline for the vibrant, chaotic streets of Sigil. They dissolved into the city's winding alleys to wind down: enjoying drinks, indulging in new purchases, and relaxing until the stress and lingering echoes of the war-zone had fully faded. They would only return to the Sanctum when they were truly ready for the next phase.
The moment they were ready, the group returned to the Sanctum. Morthwyl produced the newly acquired Rod piece from her bag of holding, and the Wizards Three - alongside the newly empowered Vinthanamel - gathered for the critical Ritual.
The combined might of the wizards focused, swiftly learning the Rod segment's secrets and zeroing in on the location of the next piece. A surge of planar and scrying magic attempted to pierce the distance, but the vision was instantly obscured by an all-too-familiar sight: Mists.
"Eberron again?" Alustriel questioned, the sheer difficulty of the last mission still fresh.
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| Tasha |
But Tasha was relentless. With a raw push of power, she forced her clairvoyance through the swirling vapor. For a terrifying second, the mists parted, revealing a dark, haunted land, dominated by a castle perched on a distant hill and a mournful village below. Then, the fog swallowed the image whole.
Tasha’s voice was grim. "I know that castle. This isn't Eberron, it's the Domains of Dread. That is Barovia."
The ritual collapsed. The stakes had fundamentally changed. Tasha explained the grim reality: they couldn't simply walk into a Domain of Dread. Worse, they couldn't leave unless the malevolent Dark Powers that governed the domain allowed it. This was less a mission and more a potential life sentence. However, she had a lead: they must travel to the Sword Coast, seek out the town of Daggerford, and ask for Madame Eva at the Lady Luck Tavern.
Domains of Dread. Dark Powers. An impossible prison. This was shaping up to be their hardest retrieval yet. Bessok opened a portal, and the group flashed back to the majestic city of Waterdeep.
Taking a moment for vital preparation, the group split. Bessok sought out the powerful Laeral Silverhand, High Lady of Waterdeep, to brief her on their progress and gather local intelligence. Laeral confirmed that Gark, their former companion, had successfully completed his work: Red Larch was now entirely encased by trees and mighty Treants. She couldn't get in to visit, but her scrying confirmed the area was secure.
Meanwhile, Vinthanamel embarked on a desperate circuit of local temples, stockpiling as much holy water as he could - an ominous sign of what he expected to face. Joe and Morthwyl made the tactical decision to travel to Daggerford on foot, confident they could cover the distance quickly, especially with Bessok's speed boost.
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| The Sword Coast |
As they began their journey south along the coast, a chilling anomaly appeared. Vinthanamel abruptly realized that the Ardeep Forest - the beautiful Elfwood he remembered from his past, a home to his people - was simply missing.
The rest of the group only knew the area as the Black Scar: a vast, desolate expanse of fine ash and blackened rock stretching to the horizon. Vinthanamel's insistence that a thriving forest once stood there jarred Bessok. He delved into his own historical lore, realizing with alarm that the origin of the Black Scar was completely absent from every record. Something this catastrophic should be legendary.
Reaching out to his god, Bessok demanded answers about the legends surrounding the area. He was instantly rewarded with a horrific divine vision: He saw the beautiful, sprawling Elfwood, elves dwelling in the branches... then, the vision lurched forward, and the entire forest crumbled into black dust, every tree, every animal, every Elf, vanishing in an instant.
The vision ended, and Bessok's connection to Vecna - the ultimate enemy - flared with devastating feedback. A psychic thunderclap pounded his mind: Vecna himself had caused this. The Whispered One was actively rewriting the multiverse, eradicating entire histories and locations to shape reality into his own personal domain.
The Wizards Three were right. But why was Vinthanamel the only one who remembered the original truth? It was a question that offered no comfort, only the chilling realization that reality itself was unraveling around them.
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| Daggerford |
The unsettling realization of Vecna's multiversal edits hung heavy, but the heroes pressed on. By midday, they reached Daggerford, a surprisingly bustling town. Finding the Lady Luck Tavern, dedicated to the Goddess Tymora, was easy - it was already packed with a motley crew ranging from farmers to hard-bitten mercenaries.
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| The Lady Luck Tavern |
They paused at the door, taking in the boisterous scene until the barkeep, a granite-faced woman named Glenys, yelled them into action: "You gonna gawk all day or order a drink?"
Bessok immediately stepped up to the bar, securing a round for the group and, with a discreet tone, asking for Madame Eva. The rest settled into a corner booth, maintaining a professional watch. It didn't take long to realize they were the center of attention. A table of adventurers - a Dwarf, an Elf, a Halfling, and a Human - were conspiratorially whispering and stealing glances.
Joe, utilizing his sharp lip-reading skills, cracked the code: they weren't being eyed suspiciously, they were being worshipped. The Halfling, Pip, was assuring his companions, "That's definitely them. The heroes who cleared the Elemental Cults!"
Basking in their newfound legend status, Bessok and the others went over to introduce themselves. Pip recounted seeing them in Yartar and confirmed their reputation had exploded. Tales of their exploits - slaying Elemental Princes, battling dragons, and saving the population of Womford from utter catastrophe - were now traveling the length of the Sword Coast, turning them into planar legends.
The heroes happily shared drinks and accepted the praise before retreating to their own table as their food arrived.
Joe, however, wasn't done. His professional eye had spotted one of his undercover agents sitting alone. He pulled the man aside for a quiet, rapid-fire debriefing. The spy revealed a local power struggle among Daggerford's nobles, fueled by a sinister rumor: one house was attempting to summon a dark entity in the basement of the northern keep to aid in their takeover.
Joe relayed the intelligence - a tempting, but secondary crisis. Their focus, however, was about to shift entirely.
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| Alenka |
She introduced herself as Alenka, and her first words were a stark warning: "Are you truly certain you wish to cross into the Domains of Dread? Few who enter ever return."
The group confirmed their resolve. Alenka delivered their instructions: A ship named the Endurance would dock within the hour, seeking crew. They would be hired, but must obey orders, ask no questions, and cause no trouble. This obedient passage was their only hope of reaching their destination. She finished with a chilling flourish: "The Dark Powers themselves might require you to 'perform a little dance' for them to reach Barovia, but I am confident you can manage."
The deal was struck. To pay forward some good fortune, Bessok magicked a lavish feast onto the bar for the entire tavern, tossing a generous pouch of gold to Glenys. With a final exchange of nods, the heroes departed, heading for the docks to meet the ominous ship that would carry them to the Land of the Mists.
Waiting by the water, the group felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere. A thin, chilling layer of low-hanging fog suddenly crept over the river. Out of this unnatural mist, the Endurance, a large three-masted ship, sailed silently into view. The moment the anchor dropped, the eerie quiet was shattered by the boisterous cheers of sailors returning from a long voyage.
As the gangplank crashed down, the crew surged ashore, eager for the nearest tavern. One of them, passing by, subtly pressed a note into Vinthanamel's hand: The ship is looking for crew. Alenka's prediction - or arrangement - was perfectly unfolding.
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| The Endurance - Main Deck |
The heroes hailed the deck and Captain Garvyn, a sturdy man, soon appeared. He ushered them to the stern, grilling them on their capabilities. He was clearly delighted to hear they included a Wizard and a Cleric - a stroke of luck indeed. Garvyn then assigned them empty cabins below deck, informing them they would set sail an hour before dawn.
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| The Endurance - Lower Decks |
The night was broken by the thunder of returning sailors - drunken voices and stomping feet marked their return before a deep silence settled over the ship.
An hour before dawn, the First Mate, Brummett, woke them and assigned their shifts: 8 AM to 4 PM for everyone, with the exception of Joe, who, acting the secretive loner, took the 4 PM to midnight shift in the crows' nest.
As the ship pulled away from Daggerford, Bessok immediately rushed up the rigging. Calling on his divine power, he worked a weather miracle, summoning a strong, pushing wind to fill the sails and send them surging out to sea. The sailors whooped with appreciation - a glorious day had begun! The clear water was alive with playful dolphins leaping alongside, and gulls danced overhead.
Vinthanamel joined the handsome navigator, Peregrine, quickly absorbing the intricacies of celestial navigation, while Morthwyl took a turn as lookout in the crows' nest. Bessok remained aloft, a divine engine ensuring a constant, perfect wind.
The work was brutal. The constant, repetitive labor aboard the ship felt far more exhausting than any sudden rush of adventure. By the end of their shift, the heroes were drained. The crew change was marked by another torrent of pounding footsteps.
Joe, emerging to take his lonely post in the crows' nest, was rewarded first by the sight of the still-playful dolphins and then by a magnificent sunset painting the horizon.
But with the sun gone, the atmosphere chilled. Joe began to hear strange, insistent whispers close by, emanating from no visible source. Was it the wind, the straining ropes, or something else entirely? He didn't believe it was the sea. As the sky darkened, a thick, creeping fog began to roll in, heightening the unnerving experience. He was deeply relieved when his shift ended, descending to join the off-duty crew for a warm meal prepared by the cook, Basil.
The group settled into their respective sleep spots. An hour or two later, Vinthanamel and Bessok were suddenly awakened by a persistent, rhythmic knocking on their cabin door.
Vinthanamel opened it to find a man who should not have been there - a man dressed in the simple clothes of a landsman or townsman. "Jacob," the figure introduced himself, excusing the interruption and apologizing for the wrong cabin. The man turned and started walking toward the stairs leading to the deck.
But Bessok’s Cleric senses screamed. He lunged, trying to grab Jacob, to stop him from leaving, only for his arms to pass straight through the figure! Jacob didn't even flinch. Bessok watched as the ethereal townsman continued his ascent, rapidly fading into nothing as he reached the deck above.
Alarmed by the ghostly presence, Bessok sought out the only wakeful soul: Basil, the cook. The tired man, however, mistook Bessok's questions about spirits and ghosts as the prelude to an unsolicited sermon. Unable to communicate the severity of the threat, Bessok dropped the subject, settling for a quiet game of dice to ease the lingering tension.
Returning to his rest, Bessok was awakened just hours later for his shift - and found the elements were already doing his job. A furious storm was brewing on the horizon, and the crew was bracing.
Knowing he could do more than just summon favorable winds, Bessok ascended the rigging and reached out for his divine power, intending to conjure a weather-averting miracle.
Halfway through the casting, an immense, crushing presence slammed into his consciousness. He realized, with terror, that he had caught the attention of something truly colossal - a cosmic eye that regarded him as nothing more than a bug upon a greater hand. His connection to his god was violently severed, the miracle fizzling out.
A split second later, a powerful, unseen force smashed him out of the rigging. He flew through the air, crashing heavily onto the wet, shuddering deck. Sailors instantly swarmed him, but Bessok shrugged off their concern, calling upon his god's power once more to instantly seal his wounds. Standing defiant, he worked to rally the shaken crew: whatever evil was watching, it would not break the ship!
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| The Endurance in the Storm |
By the end of their shift, the storm was a howling crescendo. The Endurance bucked and plunged over colossal waves, water washing over the decks and knocking sailors off their feet. Still, the Captain and the Navigator clung to the helm, steering the vessel directly into the oncoming torrent.
Joe's shift was pure hell. He briefly climbed to the crows' nest, but the sky was so choked with black clouds and spray that visibility was nil. The Captain quickly called him down, fearing to lose him to the wind, assigning him to the bow to watch for rocks or wreckage.
As the wind reached deafening strength, a sail finally tore loose, snapping violently across the deck. Joe and several crew members rushed to secure the canvas, fighting the wind's brutal power. When his shift ended, Joe was soaked, exhausted, and craving sleep. Even the kitchen offered no comfort - all cooking was impossible, leaving them with only dry rations.
Sleep should have been easy, even through the storm's roar. But late in the night, Morthwyl was pulled from slumber by the sound of persistent, mournful crying.
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| Charlotte |
Morthwyl, remembering Jacob, knew this child - this Charlotte - should not be there. But the need in the girl’s eyes was immediate. "I've lost my doll," Charlotte revealed. Morthwyl, agreeing to the bizarre request, allowed the girl to take her hand.
In an instant, Morthwyl found herself not in the crew quarters, but in the cargo hold, approaching a cabin door. Inside the small room, after a brief search, she found the missing doll tangled in the child’s bedsheets. Content, Charlotte settled into her bed, and Morthwyl carefully tucked her in, bidding her goodnight.
Leaving the room, the fighter blinked, and suddenly she was back beside her own hammock, with no memory of how she traversed the ship.
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