Totally off-topic but I just wanted to tell you guys I have a daughter!
She was born on Wednesday (Game night!) and is a total star
Check her out at misterjeff | Daar zijn we dan!
Congrats!
Also. Welcome to the SH, Krellic and RedTonic.
Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
Congrats!
Also. Welcome to the SH, Krellic and RedTonic.
shilsen
Adventurer
With the strange Mist monsters disposed of, the Guardian Angels use a portable hole to heal their wounds, entering the extradimensional space to separate themselves from the conditions of the Mournland. Once they are all completely hale, then Nameless, Luna and Korm conjure up the regular collection of phantom stags and steeds to transport the entire group. The Angels mount up and, using the connection with Mual-Tar as a guide, race through the Mournland towards the Chaos Serpent.
The journey is essentially uneventful, especially considering that it is the Mournland. The incredible speed of the Angels' magical transport—combined with their ability to fly—allows them to simply bypass whatever obstacles they encounter or creatures they spot. Not that they see many, even taking their location into account. What they do spot on a couple of occasions are bands of aberrations traveling in the same general direction that they are—or battling some of the strange denizens of the Mournland—but the Angels do not pause to destroy them, focusing rather on reaching Mual-Tar's location as quickly as possible.
Within a couple of hours, their link to the Chaos Serpent indicates that they are no more than a dozen or so miles from its position. After traversing another couple of miles, the Angels spot the Glass Plateau. Intriguingly, huge swathes of it, ranging in size from only a few hundred feet in width to areas nearly half a mile across, appear to have been somehow flattened out and destroyed, allowing the plain beyond to encroach onto the area the Plateau once occupied. Of more immediate interest, however, is a large encampment of aberrations almost directly ahead of the Angels. As they slow down and approach to study the camp from a distance, the Angels find that it is bounded by a low wall a few feet in height, within which stand some of the organically grown structures that the creatures of Xoriat appear to use. There must be approximately five hundred aberrations within, they estimate, most of them dolgrims, but with some more powerful species present. In their examination, they also spot another such encampment to both left and right, albeit a little further away, each about two miles from the one nearest to them.
“Let's see if we can circle around them,” Nameless suggests, and the Angels proceed to do so. But as they near the next camp that they saw, another one appears beyond it. As Luna, whose incredible eyesight first detects the farther collection of aberrations, points it out, Korm frowns thoughtfully. “So it looks like they're in a giant circle, right?”
“Yes,” says Gareth. “Considering the distance, it must be … about … ”
“Twelve miles,” rasps Nameless. “And two hundred feet, which seems needlessly imprecise. More to the point, we should find Mual-Tar at the center of it.”
“There's enough of a space between any two of the camps to get through easily,” points out Korm. “Should we just ride through or fight them?”
“Ride,” opines Six pragmatically. “Save our resources till we absolutely have to fight.”
“Agreed,” says Gareth, and the others agree with the paladin and the warforged. Finding a spot as far from the two nearest camps as possible, the Angels speed through the gap. Though the aberrations in the two camps do spot them, going by the significant amount of movement in each area, they are too far away and moving too quickly to be intercepted, and soon leave the camps behind.
Within a minute or two, as the magical mounts race through the air a couple of feet above the crystalline surface of the Glass Plateau, the Angels spot more encampments. These ones, it quickly emerges, depict a similar and smaller circle within the larger one they passed through. They are individually larger, holding perhaps a thousand inhabitants each, and the gap between one camp and and the next is only about a mile.
“Ride through again?” asks Gareth, and when the others agree, the Angels again proceed to race through one of the gaps, staying as far from either camp as possible. As they ride past, Six leans sideways to peer as closely as he can at one of the encampments. Then he rumbles, his mechanical tones contriving to convey the frown that his metal visage cannot, “I am quite certain that one is built on the ruins of the Lord of Blades' camp – where the warforged we met on our way to the Cyst were.”
“Oh,” says Luna, “Do you want to stop and check what happened? We could kill them and then you could check the area?”
There is silence for a long moment and then Six replies, “No. I warned them and they said they would leave. And we have more … important things to do.” The warforged straightens in his seat but, despite the words, he looks back thoughtfully at the aberration encampment as it recedes quickly behind them.
Until Korm whistles softly and says, “Now look at that!”
Ahead of the Guardian Angels, located at the spot which once, many months ago, the Black Cyst had occupied, is one final aberration encampment. This one is gigantic, stretching over two miles across, and must contain tens of thousands of aberrations. Around the camp is a twenty-foot high wall, partially constructed and partially grown, within which stand hundreds of structures, many of them bearing a close resemblance to the ones which the Guardian Angels first encountered in the subterranean cavern with the ziggurat.
Perhaps the similarity is heightened by the fact that there stands something at the center of the encampment which seems even more distinctly a familiar – another ziggurat, one which seems the twin of the one that the Angels encountered—and where most of them eventually died—in the Shadow Marches. The only real difference is that this one seems to be constructed of stylized worms, resembling Mual-Tar but much smaller at only about twenty feet in length each.
The Guardian Angels have little leisure to study the scene. Coiled next to the ziggurat—which stands in an open area at the camp's center—is the Chaos Serpent, its body gleaming brightly with silver radiance, the light extending in a corona about a dozen feet from its form. Moments after the Angels pause to consider the sight before them, Mual-Tar suddenly extends itself, its upper half rising to a good hundred feet above the ground and turning in their direction. As the aberrations in the area around it scatter in seeming panic at the leviathan's movement, it dives into the ground and disappears in an instant.
And all the Angels, even though none of them were actually concentrating on the link with it at this moment, feel it approaching. Rapidly.
“Wait!” says Luna, as she realizes what she feels about the speed of its advance. “Am I imagining things or is it traveling faster than our stags?”
“No, you're not imagining it,” says Korm grimly. “That explains a lot of things about how it got where it did as fast as it does.”
“That's … insane!” says Gareth. “How does it get through solid ground that way?”
“I don't know,” says Six, speaking quickly, “But I prefer not to find out. Let's leave – now!”
“Agreed,” snaps Nameless, “Running will only give us some time before it catches us. And I really don't want to try evading it physically. I think it's time to risk a teleport.”
Nobody disagrees and as everyone gathers around, the alienist casts his spell. There is the familiar wrenching sense of dislocation that they have encountered whenever using similar spells in the Mournland and then they find themselves standing before the Dead-Gray Mist.
“Interesting. It appears to have worked,” says Nameless, before he focuses on the link to Mual-Tar. After about a minute, he says, “Based on the direction, I'm certain we're a good bit south-east of where we entered. I believe we traveled about four hundred miles further than I had intended to. But I can't work out our precise location without spending some time traveling back and forth and triangulating. Which is probably not necessary.”
“No,” says Six. “I vote we leave. We already learned what we need to.”
Again, nobody disagrees, and the Angels prepare themselves and proceed into the Mist. Despite the usual odd sounds and effects which they have encountered every time they entered it, their passage through the barrier around the Mournland passes with relative ease. Until Korm, in the lead, steps out of it and falls off a cliff.
“Ouch! Hey!” The startled Gatekeeper has no time to react before he hits some rocks a hundred or so feet lower, which he manages to grab onto. Then he extends cloaker-like wings from his back and slowly flaps his way back up to the others, who have paused above, heads protruding from the mist and studying the surrounding area. Then they take flight in various ways and all fly down to the ground some five hundred feet below.
After a little consideration of the stars and moons appearing in the evening sky above them, Nameless works out that they are on the border of Darguun, where the hobgoblins of Lhesh Haruuc rule. “We appear to have shifted in space and time too,” he explains, “since it shouldn't be anywhere close to evening yet. I think we lost approximately six hours.”
“Or gained them?” asks Luna, suggesting enthusiastically, “Maybe we went back in time? That would be cool!”
“Right,” says Nameless, his tone non-committal, before asking the Angels to gather around again. Once they have, he uses another teleport to take them back to their mansion in Sharn.
Arriving without a mishap, the adventurers ascertain from Fett and Trillia that the passage of time has been precisely what Nameless calculated it to be. Having done so, they—or at least all of them other than Six—turn in for the night.
* * * * *
The next day is a particularly busy one for the Guardian Angels. It begins with an early sending, this one from Essirise in Argonnessen, who says, “Am returning in two days with allies and powerful magic. Also information about Mual-Tar. Time for aberration ritual near. Must attack them soon as possible.”
After Nameless responds that the Angels have some useful information too and then communicates the silver dragon's message, Luna grumbles, “Of course we have limited time! Story of my life! I wanted to decorate the nursery today. And do some shopping!”
After half-choking on the heroes feast that he and the others (bar Six) are eating, Korm coughs to clear his throat, gives her an amused look, and then addresses the group as a whole, “So – what's our agenda today?”
Six—who has now got to the point that he keeps a detailed list of the Angels' past and future activities, meetings, contacts, et al—flips open a notebook and speaks while studying it, “The trolls from the hags and the Cannith artificers are supposed to be ready today. We're supposed to hear from the Lyrandar airships today too. Corven said the Cyrans will be ready tomorrow. Smith, Crucible and Blue said they can have some warforged ready to go today, but a few more days will help better prepare them and mean more are available.” He closes the notebook and says, “I suggest we wait a few days to collect as much aid as possible. Based on what we saw, we will need it. And more. What can we do about the Worm?”
Gareth rubs his head worriedly. “That's the one thing that worries me. Aberration armies we can handle. But that thing ….” He shakes his head.
“I have a couple of 'cunning' plans regarding Mual-Tar that I'm still formulating,” rasps Nameless, “but at this juncture I have been unable to create one in which I have any confidence of … success. This ritual, however, must be interrupted. Unless something new shows up—and I hope that Essirise brings something of the kind—we may have to simply amass as much firepower and aid as we can and hope for the best.”
“Oh, great!” Korm chuckles sardonically. “We're all gonna die! But we might as well have a little fun before that. Since having less aberrations added to that gigantic army is probably a good idea, why don't we fly around and smash some armies today? Stop them from joining up with the ones in the Mournland?”
“Sounds good to me,” says Gareth.
Nameless opens his mouth to say something when Luna interrupts, “Yeah, that could be fun, but what about the shopping? I wanted all of you to come and pick out things for the nursery. Remember, I'm going to be a mom!”
The alienist's eyes widen faintly and then he quickly says, “Nobody's forgetting that. But dealing with some of the armies is probably a better investment of our time. We can … go shopping once we've dealt with the invasion.” Six, not adding anything, nods vigorously.
“Bah! You … guys!” Luna grunts, but she doesn't push the issue.
The divinely-provided breakfast is soon disposed of, but not before the Angels receive another sending. This one is from Stormhome, the two captains confirming that House Lyrandar has provided permission for them to aid the Angels and stating that their airships can be in Sharn in three days. After a quick discussion, the Angels ask them to travel to Flamekeep instead, where they will meet the airships.
With that done, the group prepares themselves for departure. Once they are all ready and have gathered in the foyer of the Gray House, Gareth asks, “So how do we find the armies? Just flying around looking for them will take a lot of time.”
“We won't. I have a better plan,” says Six.
A short time later, in the Korranberg Chronicle's primary offices in Sharn, the reporter Flim Turen finds himself talking to the Guardian Angels. Once they explain what they want and why, he shakes his head and chuckles. “You realize this isn't information we normally share, right? I'll happily give it to you, but please don't be telling anyone the source.”
“Of course not!” scoffs Luna. “We know how to keep a secret!”
A strangely similar look of fleeting pain flashes over her companions' faces, and though Flim retains a placid calm, his eyes flicker slightly. “Yes. Quite,” he says, before rising. “Give me a minute.”
It actually takes a quarter of an hour, but at the end of that time, the Angels find themselves looking at a large map of Khorvaire, covered in multiple marks, arrows, and lines which would not normally appear on such a document, with accompanying notes in the margin. “There you go,” says Flim. “Umm ... enjoy yourselves?”
“Oh, we will,” says Korm, with a grim chuckle, as he and his companions head for the door. Luna pauses as they are exiting and says cheerfully, “We'll be back soon. Don't think I've forgotten that column I promised to write for you on Sharn society and surviving Xoriat invasions. And Korm's got some new recipes for his one too!”
This time, Flim's twitch is a little stronger, but luckily the closing door hides it.
Outside, Gareth looks at Six and says, “Nice thinking.”
The warforged inclines his head. “Thank you. It seemed obvious that if anyone on the continent has a good idea where the armies are, it would have to be the gnomes. And with their connection to House Sivis and access to their information network, the Korranberg Chronicle seemed the right place to go.” He emits a mechanical chuckle. “I was hoping the Sharn office would have the information, since they know us – and I don't think we wanted to go to Zilargo for the information.”
Korm scowls and shivers theatrically. “No. Xoriat is bad enough to deal with!” Then he grins. “Now let's go blow some sh*t up!”
* * * * *
With the information at hand, the Guardian Angels spend the next few hours using Nameless' greater teleports or a master earth provided by Luna or Korm to traverse the leagues of Khorvaire. At each of their destinations, they search around until they find the aberration army they know to be in the area – and then do what they do best.
In southern Thrane, refugees fleeing their village in fear of a nearby force of aberrations stop and look back hopefully at the sound of magical explosions behind them, wondering if the army of Flamekeep—known to be far to the north—has arrived to provide aid. Instead, in a moment that will be enshrined in legend among them and their descendants, five eclectic individuals crest a hilltop near them, in the lead a gigantic flying bear ridden by a man in shining armor bearing the insignia of the Silver Flame. The man calls out to them, “You are safe now. The aberrations are dead or have fled. You can return to your homes. And if Cedric Galan comes by, tell him he's welcome!”
An hour later, a Karrnathi commander at Fort Bones marshals his troops as they prepare for a sortie against the aberration army camped nearby. As he is in the middle of an inspirational speech, explaining how the people of Karrnath are counting on them to drive these intruders from their land, one of the watchmen on the walls gapes and then slowly turns to call down to him. “Colonel – you might want to see this!”
The commander hurriedly runs up the steps to reach the parapets, just as a very odd-looking quintet of people flies up into view on the opposite side. The man in the lead speaks in a raspy voice, as if exceedingly hoarse, “You people use the bones of your enemies in the wall, right?”
Taken completely aback at their advent but having an inkling who these might be, all the Karrnathi warrior can think of is nodding slowly.
“Good. We brought you some.”
The warforged near the speaker flies forward to hover above the battlements and then upends what must be a bag of holding, causing a cascade of heads, limbs and other body parts—many of them evidently scorched clean of flesh to leave only bone—to flow out of it. Then he nods and flies back.
“Compliments of the chef,” chuckles the hugely muscular orc, floating nearby on lazily flapping leathery wings. “That mindflayer was excellent!”
As the Karrnathis stare, only the skeletons and zombies on the battlements stolidly ignoring the newcomers, the five individuals gather around and then—as the first speaker casts a spell—disappear.
Alas, there are no such viewers to befuddle and amaze, when the Guardian Angels locate the aberration army on the borders of the Icewood in the northeast of Karrnath. It is especially unfortunate, since the results of that battle are directly connected to the future fate of Khorvaire and the climactic events that end the War of the Angels.
The journey is essentially uneventful, especially considering that it is the Mournland. The incredible speed of the Angels' magical transport—combined with their ability to fly—allows them to simply bypass whatever obstacles they encounter or creatures they spot. Not that they see many, even taking their location into account. What they do spot on a couple of occasions are bands of aberrations traveling in the same general direction that they are—or battling some of the strange denizens of the Mournland—but the Angels do not pause to destroy them, focusing rather on reaching Mual-Tar's location as quickly as possible.
Within a couple of hours, their link to the Chaos Serpent indicates that they are no more than a dozen or so miles from its position. After traversing another couple of miles, the Angels spot the Glass Plateau. Intriguingly, huge swathes of it, ranging in size from only a few hundred feet in width to areas nearly half a mile across, appear to have been somehow flattened out and destroyed, allowing the plain beyond to encroach onto the area the Plateau once occupied. Of more immediate interest, however, is a large encampment of aberrations almost directly ahead of the Angels. As they slow down and approach to study the camp from a distance, the Angels find that it is bounded by a low wall a few feet in height, within which stand some of the organically grown structures that the creatures of Xoriat appear to use. There must be approximately five hundred aberrations within, they estimate, most of them dolgrims, but with some more powerful species present. In their examination, they also spot another such encampment to both left and right, albeit a little further away, each about two miles from the one nearest to them.
“Let's see if we can circle around them,” Nameless suggests, and the Angels proceed to do so. But as they near the next camp that they saw, another one appears beyond it. As Luna, whose incredible eyesight first detects the farther collection of aberrations, points it out, Korm frowns thoughtfully. “So it looks like they're in a giant circle, right?”
“Yes,” says Gareth. “Considering the distance, it must be … about … ”
“Twelve miles,” rasps Nameless. “And two hundred feet, which seems needlessly imprecise. More to the point, we should find Mual-Tar at the center of it.”
“There's enough of a space between any two of the camps to get through easily,” points out Korm. “Should we just ride through or fight them?”
“Ride,” opines Six pragmatically. “Save our resources till we absolutely have to fight.”
“Agreed,” says Gareth, and the others agree with the paladin and the warforged. Finding a spot as far from the two nearest camps as possible, the Angels speed through the gap. Though the aberrations in the two camps do spot them, going by the significant amount of movement in each area, they are too far away and moving too quickly to be intercepted, and soon leave the camps behind.
Within a minute or two, as the magical mounts race through the air a couple of feet above the crystalline surface of the Glass Plateau, the Angels spot more encampments. These ones, it quickly emerges, depict a similar and smaller circle within the larger one they passed through. They are individually larger, holding perhaps a thousand inhabitants each, and the gap between one camp and and the next is only about a mile.
“Ride through again?” asks Gareth, and when the others agree, the Angels again proceed to race through one of the gaps, staying as far from either camp as possible. As they ride past, Six leans sideways to peer as closely as he can at one of the encampments. Then he rumbles, his mechanical tones contriving to convey the frown that his metal visage cannot, “I am quite certain that one is built on the ruins of the Lord of Blades' camp – where the warforged we met on our way to the Cyst were.”
“Oh,” says Luna, “Do you want to stop and check what happened? We could kill them and then you could check the area?”
There is silence for a long moment and then Six replies, “No. I warned them and they said they would leave. And we have more … important things to do.” The warforged straightens in his seat but, despite the words, he looks back thoughtfully at the aberration encampment as it recedes quickly behind them.
Until Korm whistles softly and says, “Now look at that!”
Ahead of the Guardian Angels, located at the spot which once, many months ago, the Black Cyst had occupied, is one final aberration encampment. This one is gigantic, stretching over two miles across, and must contain tens of thousands of aberrations. Around the camp is a twenty-foot high wall, partially constructed and partially grown, within which stand hundreds of structures, many of them bearing a close resemblance to the ones which the Guardian Angels first encountered in the subterranean cavern with the ziggurat.
Perhaps the similarity is heightened by the fact that there stands something at the center of the encampment which seems even more distinctly a familiar – another ziggurat, one which seems the twin of the one that the Angels encountered—and where most of them eventually died—in the Shadow Marches. The only real difference is that this one seems to be constructed of stylized worms, resembling Mual-Tar but much smaller at only about twenty feet in length each.
The Guardian Angels have little leisure to study the scene. Coiled next to the ziggurat—which stands in an open area at the camp's center—is the Chaos Serpent, its body gleaming brightly with silver radiance, the light extending in a corona about a dozen feet from its form. Moments after the Angels pause to consider the sight before them, Mual-Tar suddenly extends itself, its upper half rising to a good hundred feet above the ground and turning in their direction. As the aberrations in the area around it scatter in seeming panic at the leviathan's movement, it dives into the ground and disappears in an instant.
And all the Angels, even though none of them were actually concentrating on the link with it at this moment, feel it approaching. Rapidly.
“Wait!” says Luna, as she realizes what she feels about the speed of its advance. “Am I imagining things or is it traveling faster than our stags?”
“No, you're not imagining it,” says Korm grimly. “That explains a lot of things about how it got where it did as fast as it does.”
“That's … insane!” says Gareth. “How does it get through solid ground that way?”
“I don't know,” says Six, speaking quickly, “But I prefer not to find out. Let's leave – now!”
“Agreed,” snaps Nameless, “Running will only give us some time before it catches us. And I really don't want to try evading it physically. I think it's time to risk a teleport.”
Nobody disagrees and as everyone gathers around, the alienist casts his spell. There is the familiar wrenching sense of dislocation that they have encountered whenever using similar spells in the Mournland and then they find themselves standing before the Dead-Gray Mist.
“Interesting. It appears to have worked,” says Nameless, before he focuses on the link to Mual-Tar. After about a minute, he says, “Based on the direction, I'm certain we're a good bit south-east of where we entered. I believe we traveled about four hundred miles further than I had intended to. But I can't work out our precise location without spending some time traveling back and forth and triangulating. Which is probably not necessary.”
“No,” says Six. “I vote we leave. We already learned what we need to.”
Again, nobody disagrees, and the Angels prepare themselves and proceed into the Mist. Despite the usual odd sounds and effects which they have encountered every time they entered it, their passage through the barrier around the Mournland passes with relative ease. Until Korm, in the lead, steps out of it and falls off a cliff.
“Ouch! Hey!” The startled Gatekeeper has no time to react before he hits some rocks a hundred or so feet lower, which he manages to grab onto. Then he extends cloaker-like wings from his back and slowly flaps his way back up to the others, who have paused above, heads protruding from the mist and studying the surrounding area. Then they take flight in various ways and all fly down to the ground some five hundred feet below.
After a little consideration of the stars and moons appearing in the evening sky above them, Nameless works out that they are on the border of Darguun, where the hobgoblins of Lhesh Haruuc rule. “We appear to have shifted in space and time too,” he explains, “since it shouldn't be anywhere close to evening yet. I think we lost approximately six hours.”
“Or gained them?” asks Luna, suggesting enthusiastically, “Maybe we went back in time? That would be cool!”
“Right,” says Nameless, his tone non-committal, before asking the Angels to gather around again. Once they have, he uses another teleport to take them back to their mansion in Sharn.
Arriving without a mishap, the adventurers ascertain from Fett and Trillia that the passage of time has been precisely what Nameless calculated it to be. Having done so, they—or at least all of them other than Six—turn in for the night.
* * * * *
The next day is a particularly busy one for the Guardian Angels. It begins with an early sending, this one from Essirise in Argonnessen, who says, “Am returning in two days with allies and powerful magic. Also information about Mual-Tar. Time for aberration ritual near. Must attack them soon as possible.”
After Nameless responds that the Angels have some useful information too and then communicates the silver dragon's message, Luna grumbles, “Of course we have limited time! Story of my life! I wanted to decorate the nursery today. And do some shopping!”
After half-choking on the heroes feast that he and the others (bar Six) are eating, Korm coughs to clear his throat, gives her an amused look, and then addresses the group as a whole, “So – what's our agenda today?”
Six—who has now got to the point that he keeps a detailed list of the Angels' past and future activities, meetings, contacts, et al—flips open a notebook and speaks while studying it, “The trolls from the hags and the Cannith artificers are supposed to be ready today. We're supposed to hear from the Lyrandar airships today too. Corven said the Cyrans will be ready tomorrow. Smith, Crucible and Blue said they can have some warforged ready to go today, but a few more days will help better prepare them and mean more are available.” He closes the notebook and says, “I suggest we wait a few days to collect as much aid as possible. Based on what we saw, we will need it. And more. What can we do about the Worm?”
Gareth rubs his head worriedly. “That's the one thing that worries me. Aberration armies we can handle. But that thing ….” He shakes his head.
“I have a couple of 'cunning' plans regarding Mual-Tar that I'm still formulating,” rasps Nameless, “but at this juncture I have been unable to create one in which I have any confidence of … success. This ritual, however, must be interrupted. Unless something new shows up—and I hope that Essirise brings something of the kind—we may have to simply amass as much firepower and aid as we can and hope for the best.”
“Oh, great!” Korm chuckles sardonically. “We're all gonna die! But we might as well have a little fun before that. Since having less aberrations added to that gigantic army is probably a good idea, why don't we fly around and smash some armies today? Stop them from joining up with the ones in the Mournland?”
“Sounds good to me,” says Gareth.
Nameless opens his mouth to say something when Luna interrupts, “Yeah, that could be fun, but what about the shopping? I wanted all of you to come and pick out things for the nursery. Remember, I'm going to be a mom!”
The alienist's eyes widen faintly and then he quickly says, “Nobody's forgetting that. But dealing with some of the armies is probably a better investment of our time. We can … go shopping once we've dealt with the invasion.” Six, not adding anything, nods vigorously.
“Bah! You … guys!” Luna grunts, but she doesn't push the issue.
The divinely-provided breakfast is soon disposed of, but not before the Angels receive another sending. This one is from Stormhome, the two captains confirming that House Lyrandar has provided permission for them to aid the Angels and stating that their airships can be in Sharn in three days. After a quick discussion, the Angels ask them to travel to Flamekeep instead, where they will meet the airships.
With that done, the group prepares themselves for departure. Once they are all ready and have gathered in the foyer of the Gray House, Gareth asks, “So how do we find the armies? Just flying around looking for them will take a lot of time.”
“We won't. I have a better plan,” says Six.
A short time later, in the Korranberg Chronicle's primary offices in Sharn, the reporter Flim Turen finds himself talking to the Guardian Angels. Once they explain what they want and why, he shakes his head and chuckles. “You realize this isn't information we normally share, right? I'll happily give it to you, but please don't be telling anyone the source.”
“Of course not!” scoffs Luna. “We know how to keep a secret!”
A strangely similar look of fleeting pain flashes over her companions' faces, and though Flim retains a placid calm, his eyes flicker slightly. “Yes. Quite,” he says, before rising. “Give me a minute.”
It actually takes a quarter of an hour, but at the end of that time, the Angels find themselves looking at a large map of Khorvaire, covered in multiple marks, arrows, and lines which would not normally appear on such a document, with accompanying notes in the margin. “There you go,” says Flim. “Umm ... enjoy yourselves?”
“Oh, we will,” says Korm, with a grim chuckle, as he and his companions head for the door. Luna pauses as they are exiting and says cheerfully, “We'll be back soon. Don't think I've forgotten that column I promised to write for you on Sharn society and surviving Xoriat invasions. And Korm's got some new recipes for his one too!”
This time, Flim's twitch is a little stronger, but luckily the closing door hides it.
Outside, Gareth looks at Six and says, “Nice thinking.”
The warforged inclines his head. “Thank you. It seemed obvious that if anyone on the continent has a good idea where the armies are, it would have to be the gnomes. And with their connection to House Sivis and access to their information network, the Korranberg Chronicle seemed the right place to go.” He emits a mechanical chuckle. “I was hoping the Sharn office would have the information, since they know us – and I don't think we wanted to go to Zilargo for the information.”
Korm scowls and shivers theatrically. “No. Xoriat is bad enough to deal with!” Then he grins. “Now let's go blow some sh*t up!”
* * * * *
With the information at hand, the Guardian Angels spend the next few hours using Nameless' greater teleports or a master earth provided by Luna or Korm to traverse the leagues of Khorvaire. At each of their destinations, they search around until they find the aberration army they know to be in the area – and then do what they do best.
In southern Thrane, refugees fleeing their village in fear of a nearby force of aberrations stop and look back hopefully at the sound of magical explosions behind them, wondering if the army of Flamekeep—known to be far to the north—has arrived to provide aid. Instead, in a moment that will be enshrined in legend among them and their descendants, five eclectic individuals crest a hilltop near them, in the lead a gigantic flying bear ridden by a man in shining armor bearing the insignia of the Silver Flame. The man calls out to them, “You are safe now. The aberrations are dead or have fled. You can return to your homes. And if Cedric Galan comes by, tell him he's welcome!”
An hour later, a Karrnathi commander at Fort Bones marshals his troops as they prepare for a sortie against the aberration army camped nearby. As he is in the middle of an inspirational speech, explaining how the people of Karrnath are counting on them to drive these intruders from their land, one of the watchmen on the walls gapes and then slowly turns to call down to him. “Colonel – you might want to see this!”
The commander hurriedly runs up the steps to reach the parapets, just as a very odd-looking quintet of people flies up into view on the opposite side. The man in the lead speaks in a raspy voice, as if exceedingly hoarse, “You people use the bones of your enemies in the wall, right?”
Taken completely aback at their advent but having an inkling who these might be, all the Karrnathi warrior can think of is nodding slowly.
“Good. We brought you some.”
The warforged near the speaker flies forward to hover above the battlements and then upends what must be a bag of holding, causing a cascade of heads, limbs and other body parts—many of them evidently scorched clean of flesh to leave only bone—to flow out of it. Then he nods and flies back.
“Compliments of the chef,” chuckles the hugely muscular orc, floating nearby on lazily flapping leathery wings. “That mindflayer was excellent!”
As the Karrnathis stare, only the skeletons and zombies on the battlements stolidly ignoring the newcomers, the five individuals gather around and then—as the first speaker casts a spell—disappear.
Alas, there are no such viewers to befuddle and amaze, when the Guardian Angels locate the aberration army on the borders of the Icewood in the northeast of Karrnath. It is especially unfortunate, since the results of that battle are directly connected to the future fate of Khorvaire and the climactic events that end the War of the Angels.
carborundum
Adventurer
Excellent stuff - and typical Shilsen to end on a cliffhanger like that.
Gnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!
Gnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!
I am dying to know what Shil created for the post-wrap up
I thought that was called "The Kingmaker Campaign".
Kingmmaker is. About 5 to 10 years after GA campaign. Stuff happened, and without going into detail here (since it would spoil stuff for our readers) it would be cool to see the ending.
Last edited:
carborundum
Adventurer
Like we don't have enough to get worked up about while waiting for THE END!!!
shilsen
Adventurer
In the interests of avoiding my grading (I have 80 end-of-semester papers sitting on my desk right now), I completed another update and sent it off to Rackhir, who's nice enough to double check them before I post, so it should be up here in a few days.
Similar Threads
Spelljammer
Spelljammer Collector’s Guide Revisited
