Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)

[shilsen]

The city of Flamekeep, capital of Thrane, sits along the western cliffs of the inland bay of Scions Sound, most of it rising along the sides of a multilayered pedestal of rock. Far to the east, one can barely make out the distant island of Thronehold, original – and now abandoned – seat of the Kingdom of Galifar. The highest tier of the city supports the Cathedral, its white alabaster walls, supported by massive flying buttresses and fitted with dozens of tall, stained glass windows, looking down over the rest of the city. A stream of people flows in and out of the main gates of the Cathedral, both worshippers from the city below and the surrounding kingdom, and pilgrims who have traveled across Khorvaire to see the heart of the Silver Flame.

The Angels teleport in to the location Cedric described, a short distance from the main gates and off to the side. Awaiting them is a small group, most human but two of them warforged, all wearing tabards bearing the Silver Flame and with holy symbols around their necks. They eye the adventurers warily as they appear, and then one steps forward to say, “You are expected. Please follow me.” As the Angels follow them towards the main gates, two creatures spring to life from where they had been perched, on the stone walls nearby. They look like gargoyles, but with unusually pale gray wings and hide, sharply pointed ears and backward-curving horns. Though they have never seen them before, Gareth and Nameless recognize them as wingwyrds, descendants of normal gargoyles that were touched by the Silver Flame and now serve and protect temples of the Flame. The wingwyrds swoop low once to study the Angels and then flap their way towards the higher levels of the Cathedral towering above.

The worshippers lined up at the main gates look askance at the group as they are given immediate ingress, but the guards ignore their irritated grumbling and quickly lead the Angels into the giant antechamber beyond the gates and through one of the many doors leading into the Cathedral interior. They proceed along a number of corridors, with silver-inlaid black marble floors and ornate pillars, a perfect marriage of majesty and decadence. A number of people, some of whom must be clerics and paladins, pass the group. Most look curiously at them, but none stop to ask questions. The Angels’ guides do not stop for the most part either, only doing so once or twice to check where the Keeper is. While they do get some answers, nobody they speak to seems absolutely sure.

“I guess she doesn’t work like your friend Ythana,” comments Luna.

“Probably not,” says Gareth quietly, feeling a combination of both fascination at seeing the Cathedral and a strange apprehension at meeting the Keeper. Then he says thoughtfully, “I wonder how they knew we were coming. Maybe the Archierophant told them.”

“She didn’t know when we were showing up, and considering her general response to you nowadays, I don’t think she’s interested in telling anyone about you,” grins Korm.

If their escorts hear any of this exchange, they do not stop to answer or explain. But they halt instantly as a ball rolls into their corridor from around the turn at the end. It is followed quickly by a bizarre creature. Its general shape is that of a very large black dog, but a second look at the three pairs of legs gives the initial impression the lie. The head too, while canine in shape, has a large under-jaw that extends beyond the upper to reveal the large fangs on both, and has a pair of bonelike horns protruding from each side of the skull.

The creature lopes up to the ball and grabs it, and then turns to face the group. After staring at them for a moment, it drops the ball and growls questioningly. A soft voice from around the corner asks curiously, “What is it, Skaravojen?” The creature turns to look in that direction, and seconds later, a small slim girl, dressed in simple gray robes, walks around the corner. She looks to be about ten years old, has gray eyes, short-cropped dark hair, a chocolate-colored complexion, and is barefoot.

The escorts salute her as one, and one says, “The Guardian Angels, Keeper,” but the Angels note that none of them steps towards her. Or maybe not towards Skaravojen, who is standing beside her and still watching the group. The girl, Jaela Daran, Keeper of the Flame, spiritual and temporal ruler of Thrane, smiles and walks towards them.

“Hello,” she says, “I’m happy that you are here.” Addressing the guards, Jaela then says, “Thank you for bringing them to me. You can go now.” The members of the escort hesitate for a second, glancing at the heavily armed group, clearly wondering if they should leave them with the Keeper alone, but then bow and depart.

Once they have done so, Jaela says, “Come with me,” and leads the Angels down the otherwise deserted corridor, Skaravojen following close behind her. She opens a door, revealing a comfortable sitting room beyond, and heads in. “Please, sit down,” Jaela says before taking a seat of her own, her feet dangling incongruously above the floor. Her strange pet promptly places itself at her feet.

The Angels seat themselves around her, Luna unsurprisingly flopping down near Skaravojen. “Can I pet him?”

Gareth snaps, “Luna!” but Jaela simply smiles. “That’s all right, and yes, you can. Skaravojen, be nice.” The beast looks at Jaela and then yawns, revealing a triple set of fangs, and then lies down. Luna immediately begins to play with it, which it suffers patiently.

“Oh my god! He’s so cute! Can I have him?” This time, Gareth simply puts his head in his hands at the question, but again Jaela simply smiles. “I’m sorry, but I really need him.” Evidently having worked out what the next question would be, she quickly adds, “And he’s unique, so I can’t find another one for you. House Vadalis made him over six hundred years ago to protect the Keepers.”

“Damn! I’m really beginning to hate those dragonmarked bastards! Why do they get to do all the fun stuff and have all the interesting things? But wait! Maybe if I tell them that I want a…”

“Luna,” says Nameless tiredly, “We’re here on business, not to find you a pet.” He looks at the Keeper. “You were expecting us?”

“Yes,” says Daela, “Cedric sent me a message. He is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

Ah, that explains it! “Yes,” says Gareth.

“Is he well?” asks Jaela. “It has been over a year since I saw him last.”

“He’s fine, though he has picked up a strange appearance from helping a lich deal with a curse, and his eyes are all black now. But he’s all right. So is the lich he helped.” Gareth looks curiously at Jaela, wondering what her response to the news of a paladin aiding a lich would be. After a second of concern, Jaela laughs. “He would. If he’s a friend, then you know he’s a little strange. Last time he was here, he taught me about the … birds and the bees.” She giggles. “It was very … informative.”

Gareth (unwillingly) attempts to visualize Cedric explaining the facts of life to an eleven year old girl, who also happens to be the Keeper of the Flame, but there are some things his imagination cannot do. Luckily, Jaela moves on to other subjects. Her expression turns serious and she looks at the Angels. “But we have more important issues. You are here to speak of the daelkyr, are you not?”

“Yes,” says Nameless. “Did Cedric mention that?”

“He mentioned Xoriat, but that is not how I know. I have spoken to the Flame and it has told me the daelkyr are coming. And that you are going to the Mournland to attempt to prevent it. Correct?”

“Yes,” answers Six this time, adding, “It’s a pleasure to meet someone who actually receives predictions with precise details.”

“It is no credit to me. The Flame tells me what it will, and I have no choice in the matter. And not all details are precise. I know that your going to the Mournland will help, but not as much as you would like it to.”

“We’re used to that,” says Nameless. “A lot!”

Jaela continues. “War with Xoriat is coming, one way or another.” She sighs. “And your coming means the end of Thrane as I know it, for good or ill.”

Not expecting that comment, Gareth says uncomprehendingly, “Huh?!” drawing a guffaw from Korm. Glaring at the Gatekeeper, the paladin looks back to Jaela. “The end of Thrane?”

“I do not know how or why, but that is what the Flame told me is the result of your coming.” The little girl cocks her head to the side. “Tell me, Gareth, if you had the choice to end the Silver Flame’s existence in our world, but in thus ending it could end the coming of Xoriat, would you?”

“Uh….” Once again, Gareth is caught off-guard by an unexpected question and unsure exactly what to say. Jaela looks at him for a moment longer and then adds, “The question applies to the rest of you too.”

Nameless answers, speaking slowly and picking his words very carefully. “I would do whatever is necessary to prevent Xoriat from coming to Eberron. And I would not ask anything of others that I would not be willing to do myself.” Korm nods and says simply, “What he said.” Six and Luna agree, and finally Gareth says, “I agree too. If I may ask, why do you ask this question?”

“As with Thrane, I believe your coming and this invasion may mean great changes for the Flame too.” Jaela takes a deep breath and firms her small shoulders, and there is utter certainty in her voice now. “But we too shall do what we must. The armies of Thrane will stand ready for this war, whether anyone stand with us or not.” She looks around. “If you wish, I will send word to the rulers of the various nations about what is to come. They will be suspicious and their response will probably not be exactly what I would wish, but they will believe me more than they will if you attempt to persuade them about the situation.”

“I think we should wait until we return from the Mournland,” says Nameless, and then corrects himself. “If we return from the Mournland. I suggest giving us two weeks. If we aren’t back by then, I don’t think we will be.”

“Very well. But before you go, I would like to aid you however I can. Is there anything you need?”

Luna opens her mouth instantly, and then scowls as four voices say at once, “No! She said you can’t have him!”

Gareth sighs again and then says, “I have a strange question. Can you tell me if I am really a paladin?”

The others chuckle and Korm guffaws as Jaela tilts her head curiously. Gareth quickly continues, “It’s just that I once discovered the powers I had were actually granted by a demon imprisoned in my father’s sword. And we’ve had our bodies modified by Mordain the Fleshweaver, a powerful mage, and he said he had made me a paladin again. I’d just like to know for sure whether I am a paladin, or something like with the demon is going on again.”

Whether Jaela understands all of this or not, she nods, “Of course,” and leans over as he rises and goes to a knee before her. Jaela places her small hand on the paladin’s forehead and murmurs something under her breath. Silver fire plays around her hand and Gareth feels warmth on his brow – and then, strangely, inside his head. After a couple of seconds, Jaela nods and removes her hand.

“Yes, you are a paladin.”

Gareth releases the breath he had been holding, but before he can speak, she repeats, “Yes, you are a paladin. But you walk the brink – in a very different way than Cedric does. Tell me, do you think you are proud? And do you think he is?”

Not expecting this question either, Gareth says thoughtfully, “I think I am. I think I should have some pride in what the Flame has bestowed on me. And I think Cedric is proud too. He is different from me and does many things that I wouldn’t, so I’m not quite sure, but I think he is.”

Jaela nods. “Yes. You are proud. All paladins are proud, since they walk as the hand of their god, but too much pride and that way lies a fall. Cedric is prouder than you. But his pride is only for himself, not to be shown to or flung at others, because he is also completely certain – because he questions himself every moment of every day. You are not certain, but you do not question, or at least not as much as you could, so you wear your pride as a shield against the world. Let it go, and be what you were chosen to be.”

Not sure he completely understands, but not planning to argue or ask too many questions, Gareth simply bows his head. “Tell me,” says Jaela, “Is there any other way I can help?”

I don’t want to ask so many things, but… Gareth says, a trifle hesitantly, “Actually, I have a problem. We encountered a strange, aberration-made temple in the Shadow Marches and it drained me, and I have not been able to recover at all even though it was two days ago and I have attempted a lesser restoration and a restoration. We’re not sure what the effect was. Perhaps you could tell me what it is?” Somehow he can’t yet bring himself to ask Jaela directly to cure it.

“Certainly.” The Keeper again lays her hand on his head, and after a couple of seconds, the silvery fire appears again. Jaela closes her eyes, murmuring something indistinct under her breath. Then she makes a simple gesture with her other hand and pronounces a few words, and the silvery flames flash incredibly brightly for a moment, before fading away. “There.”

Gareth feels the warmth flow from his brow through all of him, and as it passes, he feels completely rejuvenated. Not only does the muzziness in his head fade, but he feels healthier and more alive than he ever has. He remains in the same position, completely shocked, having recognized what she just did. She just used a miracle on me! For me! After a few seconds of silence, he says, “I … do not know … what to say.”

Nameless, himself impressed at the magnitude of the magic Jaela just used, says dryly, “Say ‘thank you,’ Gareth.”

Gareth throws him a dirty look as Jaela giggles, and then bows deeply to the Keeper. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” As Gareth rises and resumes his seat, Jaela leans back in her chair, kicking a bare foot idly back and forth like a bored schoolgirl. “Is there anything else I can do for all of you before you leave?”

“Well,” says Six, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a sheet of parchment, covered with what looks like a list in multiple columns, “I did have a list of scrolls…”

“SIX!” Jaela giggles again at Gareth’s cry and waves a hand to show that it’s all right. “I shall see what I can do. And when you are gone, I shall speak to the Council of Cardinals. They shall not like what I have to say, but when you return from the Mournland, we shall stand ready to aid as needed.” Her voice turns deeper and strangely sonorous as she speaks, and for just a few seconds, the Angels hear not just an eleven year old girl, but the living voice of the Silver Flame on earth. “And you will return. Beyond that, I cannot see.”

 

[shilsen]

The Angels spend most of the next day helping move members of the expedition and equipment for it to the points from which it will enter the Mournland. They also spend a little time talking with Fett via the farspeaking amulet, discussing the possibility of hiring an airship to fly over the Mournland with them. Fett has found a group of privateers who own a particularly fast and maneuverable ship called the Sirocco, which rumor says they actually stole from House Lyrandar and only retain due to some deal worked out with the dragonmarked house, but the price they ask is too abortive.

At which point Six, who had suggested the airship in the first place, makes the mistake of suggesting something else. “What about a flying carpet? The point of having a flying platform is for us to have a space to withdraw to above the Mournland.”

Luna’s eyes light up immediately. “A carpet? A flying carpet? That would be so cool!”

Nameless shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be worth it. We could afford one, and even though they’re really rare we might be able to find a couple for sale in Sharn, but they’re too small. The largest ones are only ten feet long and wide, and cost over twice what our house does.”

“Maybe we can get one of the biggest ones,” asks Gareth, “And use it with Luna and you on it, since you have the most powerful spells. The rest of us could be in the portable hole. Or just get a smaller one with you the only one outside, with an invisibility spell on you.”

“I think we should get two medium sized ones or two big ones and sell the house in Sharn so we never have to go back ever,” Luna says excitedly.

“You’re already bought out of the house,” points out Nameless. “And you don’t have to go back. We’d probably prefer it if you never went back to Sharn.” I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you there would say the same. Turning to Gareth, he says, “And how long would you sit in the hole? Remember, we’d need to enter the Mournland multiple times if we did…”

Luna interrupts, “Yes, but it would help you raise money for the carpets. Which affects me! I can die, you know! And they don’t want you there either! In case you’re forgetting, you’re being thrown out of your community! And it’s supported by your government!” She jabs a finger at Gareth. “Just like the Thranish Inquisition!”

“Hey!” says Gareth indignantly. “Leave me out of this! I had nothing to do with the Inquisition, remember?”

“Have they told you yet where in Sharn you’re allowed to live?” Luna continues, growing more and more excited, “Sure … Emerald Claw cell … fine … illegal enforcement dogs … turncoats … they can live anywhere … they’re welcome! But you’re not! I don’t think you guys get it!”

Nameless ignores the discussion about the house, having had enough of the subject, and focuses on the other. “You want a carpet. You have enough money to buy one. You’ll have to trade most of your magic items for it, but you can get one if you really want it. Your call.”

“But what’s wrong with them?! If you guys chip in we can get a lot. We could get four and tie them together and have one giant one! And I could make it fly faster by casting wind spells behind it! It would be cool! And fun!”

The alienist’s voice turns flatter as he gets more irritated. “Nobody else wants one. They're slow. They don't carry enough. There’s no way to secure yourself on one. And they are horribly expensive for essentially no advantages.”

“No advantages! You can sleep on one and get your spells back! You can stand on one and cast spells! You can enhance their speed with spells! And it’s not like going in some horrid hole!”

Nameless snaps, “Anyone who can cast spells in our group can already fly! You can’t enhance the speed of a carpet of flying with spells. Summoning up a wind or something is just going to make it difficult to control and maybe knock people off the carpet.” He waves a hand at her gigantic form and says through almost gritted teeth. “Carpet of flying. Ten feet by ten feet. Capacity – 800 pounds. A typical dire bear is a dozen feet long and weighs as much as 8,000 pounds. And then there’s you! DO. THE. MATH!”

Luna looks down at herself. Everyone remains silent, awaiting a response, but after a few seconds she looks up and says only, “Oh!”

Nameless lifts both eyebrows, and then looks up at the sky, spreading his arms. “Let Xoriat come! Now that I’ve actually managed to shut Luna up, nothing is ever going to be impossible for me!”

* * * * * * * * * *
Two days later, the Angels stand at the border of Breland, staring at the wall of Dead-Gray Mist which marks the border of the Mournland. It rises before them to a height of approximately five hundred feet, though they can see plumes and mountains of mist which rise much higher.

Behind them are stand a large number of tents and a couple of small buildings, extending around the Orien road as it comes up to the mist. Over a hundred and fifty people move around the area, comprising the half of the expedition which will be entering the Mournland from this location. They include Cannith artificers and warforged, Deneith mercenaries (consisting of a troop of Dhakaani hobgoblins from the Ruus Dhakaan clan, and a squad of warforged veterans of the Last War), scholars from Morgrave University, and ex-Cyrans of all descriptions. The hobgoblins and warforged, who will be providing security for the others, are all heavily armed. Almost all of the warforged wear the harnesses that Six introduced to House Cannith, having been fitted with them to increase survivability in the Mournland. A small squad of soldiers from Fort Kennrun is also present, to provide additional security for the group who will stay outside the Mournland.

Corven is present too, since he will be entering with them, though he will be leaving within hours to meet the other half of the expedition. He walks over to the Angels and says, “Ready to head in?”

“Yes,” says Nameless. “Anything particular we should keep in mind?”

“Just the sort of stuff I’ve already told you. You’ll find it disorienting in the mist and visibility will be almost nonexistent, but try to keep heading dead east. There’s no way to say how thick it is at this point. Don’t panic if it takes longer than you think it should.” He chuckles. “Of course, you guys can handle anything you run into better than anyone else, so that’s probably redundant.”

“I think we should rope ourselves together for greater safety,” says Six.

“Good idea,” agrees Nameless. Then, to Corven, he says, “Maybe we should carry a rope laying it out behind us, so you have something to follow.”

Corven nods. “I’m not sure how well that’ll work, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

A couple of minutes later, a pair of warforged stand ready with a huge coil of rope, one end of which is tied around the waist of Luna in the lead, and looped around each of her companions. Corven nods and gives the Angels a thumbs-up, and they walk into the Dead-Gray Mist.

As soon as the mist envelops them, the Angels find that it is even thicker and more impenetrable to sight than a fog cloud. The people immediately before and behind them disappear from sight, and it’s barely possible to see a hand when placed an inch or two from one’s face. Sound too is drastically muffled, and within seconds they can barely hear their own footfalls. Nameless’ arcane sight begins to malfunction seconds after entering, the auras he detects from his companions flickering and shifting. Gradually the auras spread and separate into threes, until it seems to him that instead of his four companions, three of each are walking next to each other. The constant shifting of the auras also begins to give him a headache.

“I don’t like this one bit!” growls Luna. Korm’s muffled voice replies, “Join the club. Let’s keep going and get out.”

The Angels continue, finding that the mist is beginning to become somewhat claustrophobic. The feel of the Orien trade road below their feet quickly fades away. Seconds after that happens, Six – who is bringing up the rear – feels the rope go slack behind him. “Hold on!” he says, causing the others to halt, and then pulls in the rope. It ends only a dozen feet behind him in a neat cut, without any signs of fraying. “The rope’s been cut,” he explains. “And very close behind me, though I felt nothing.”

“Great! That’s all…,” begins Gareth, and then stops as he sees a face appear in the mist near his. It disappears instantly, but the paladin has enough time to see that it looks like a particularly sad young woman’s, with tears streaming down her face. A soft, wordless murmur reaches his ears, but seeming to come from the opposite direction to the face. “Did anyone else see that?!”

There’s silence for a moment and then a couple of the others say, “If you mean a face, then yes.”

The Angels begin to hear more soft murmurs and whispers, though the words are never clear, and a few faces, usually sad and weeping, which disappear as soon as they disappear. “They’re not magical,” says Nameless, “Or at least not of a kind my arcane sight detects.”

“Gareth, can you detect evil in the area?” Six asks.

Gareth groans. “I just knew you’d say that. Okay, but I am not going to detect thoughts, in case anyone thought of suggesting it!”

Nameless says, “Thank the gods! He’s finally learning!”

Gareth ignores the comment and concentrates and, a second later, begins to detect multiple moderately evil auras around them. The strange thing is that each aura appears as a point rather than an actual form, and it disappears as soon as he detects it. It is like being surrounded by sparks of evil, which constantly flash into life and disappear as quickly. Gareth explains what he detected and says, “Could be undead, since they detect as evil whether they really are or not.”

“I’m thinking it’s quite possible this entire Mist is made up of the souls of those slain on the Day of Mourning,” says Nameless.

“So we’re inside a giant mist of undead?” asks Luna. “That’s just great!” A second later, she gives a startled growl as something cold strokes the side of her muzzle. Though she cannot see the source and it lasts only a long second, she could swear that it was a small hand. “Gah! Something just touched me!”

As Luna speaks, a bell begins to toll to the Angels’ left, its mournful tones ringing clearly through the otherwise muffling mist.

“All right,” says Nameless decisively. “That’s it. I wanted to avoid trying unusual experiments here, but I think it’s time.”

“What do you want to do?” Gareth asks suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” Nameless grins. He fumbles blindly in a pouch and produces a pinch of powdered iron, before casting a spell. The iron disappears, as does the mist in a ten foot radius about him. His magical abilities and enhancements fade away too, as the anti-magic field takes effect, leaving the alienist significantly weaker, but right now he thinks it’s worth it.

Despite the removal of the mist in his location, Nameless can see nothing, and he quickly produces a tinderbox and lights a torch. “I can’t remember the last time we had to rely on something like this.”

The other Angels gather close around him, benefiting from the field too, not even Luna complaining at the disappearance of her bear form. They stand in a hemisphere with pitch black walls, formed by the mist held at bay by Nameless’ spell. After studying it for a few seconds, Six steps out of the field, firmly holding onto Korm’s shoulder while doing so, and then returns to say, “It’s weird. The mist seems much thicker around the area, as if it were trying to get back in. That’s what’s making it so black. It’s a little lighter when you get a foot or so from your field.”

“Well, it’s not getting in for the next 2 hours, so let’s move on. Maybe this will help with getting through.”

The Angels proceed to do so, forming a tight cluster around Nameless. After walking on for a good fifteen minutes, Korm says, “Anybody else certain we’re going in the right direction? We’ve covered a good distance.”

“Search me,” says Gareth. “Direction’s impossible to make out here. But I don’t think turning around will do any good.”

“Agreed,” says Six. “I just hope we haven’t got turned around already and are walking north or south and circling the Mournland. Let’s keep going.”

It eventually takes the Angels over an hour since they entered before they suddenly stumble onto what looks like the remnants of an Orien trade road. Following it, only a minute or two later they step through the Mist.

A blasted and broken land stretches around them, cloaked in an eternal twilight, which shines – if one can use that term for the weak gray corpse-light – from the Dead-Gray Mist which forms not just a wall but a ceiling for the land, hanging thickly a little over a hundred feet above it. Much of the ground is exposed, gray earth, and the only common vegetation seems to be a coarse grass and some twisted bushes. A few trees dot the landscape or grow in small clumps, with completely bare branches and twisted, blackened bark. The ground, flat but uneven, undulates into the distance as far as one can see. Corpses dot the ground here and there, as befits the Angels’ position in the world’s largest mass grave.

 

[ajanders]

Little Known Fact...
The last words ever spoken in Cyre were: "Evict the druid Luna..."

 

[Rackhir]

It suddenly occurred to me that Luna's right on the cusp of being a Batman villain.
Can I steal bits of her character for an Eberron game?

It's worth pointing out that taking ANYTHING from Luna (even if it's just ideas) is a VERY bad plan. Well, at least if you want to keep living. If you're trying to commit suicide then it's a terrific idea.

 

[javcs]

Well, technically, that wouldn't be suicide.

Luna killing you != you killing you.

It's having a massive death wish.

 

[Rackhir]

Well, technically, that wouldn't be suicide.

Luna killing you != you killing you.

It's having a massive death wish.

I'm not seeing the difference between stealing from Luna and stepping out in front of a freight train. It's not like you don't know what's going to happen.

 

[Furby076]

I'm not seeing the difference between stealing from Luna and stepping out in front of a freight train. It's not like you don't know what's going to happen.

Oh, there's a huge difference. One involves you getting yourself killed. The other involves you getting everyone in a 3 mile radius of you killed.

Messing with Luna is like tempting the fates of genocide.

 

[shilsen]

Ah, Luna! What would we do without her? No, don't answer that. It's liable to make the other PCs cry.

* * * * * * * * * *

Besides the Mournland itself, what catches the Angels’ attention is the sight of the members of the expedition, setting up camp a few hundred feet away. “Weren’t they supposed to be waiting for us?” asks Gareth. Korm shrugs, “Maybe they got tired of waiting.” Meanwhile, Luna glances at Nameless, whose anti-magic field she has stepped out of. A thin coating of fog clings to the outside of the field. “You might want to turn that off. It looks like you brought some mist with you.”

“Really?” asks the alienist. “I was wondering why things are foggy in here.” He dismisses the spell. For a second, the fog which covered the hemisphere just hangs there, and then it swiftly flows inwards. Tendrils of mist flow around Nameless, stretching and expanding until they envelop him from head to toe, so that he has his own personal little cloud, extending about a foot from his body. The misty covering makes his shape and outline indistinct, but it also cuts down on visibility for him. “What the hell?” says Nameless, waving his arms around, but the fog sticks to and moves with him.

“Interesting,” says Six. “Looks like this place has a lot of surprises for us.”

Nameless shrugs. “I’ll see if I can do something about it later. On a positive note, I can sense where the dimensional seal is.” He points off towards the northeast. “Any idea how far?” asks Six. “No,” the alienist replies. “I just get a direction. Maybe I’ll know more when we’re closer.”

Corven has been walking over to the group while they have been talking, and when he arrives he asks, “What’s up with Nameless?”

“No idea,” says Gareth. “Have you ever heard of something like this?”

“Someone with a personal bit of the Mist? Never. So what happened to you guys? I was beginning to wonder if we lost you. We waited for an hour after you left before beginning to send others through. Everyone who was supposed to come through, except five of the Dhakaani, who seem to have disappeared.”

“How long were we in there?” asks Six.

“A little over four hours. Didn’t you know that?”

Six glances back at his companions, who corroborate what he thought. “We thought we were in there for a little over an hour.”

Corven looks surprised for a moment and then smiles grimly. “Welcome to the Mournland.” Then he looks past the Angels. “What the…?!”

Turning around, the adventurers see a figure step out of the Mist, garbed in the distinctive spiked armor that the Dhakaani wear. Garbed in the armor, however, is not a hobgoblin but a skeleton. The figure marches smartly out of the Mist and then drops on its face. The skeleton begins to fall apart instantly, the bones dissolving into a soft mush, which then turns to dust and blows away. Right behind the first skeleton, connected to it by a rope looped around their waists, emerges a second armored skeleton, which also collapses and melts away. By the time Corven and the Angels reach it, a third skeleton has emerged and is moldering on the ground, and a fourth follows suit.

The fifth and last figure to emerge is not a skeleton but a hobgoblin, armed and armored like the others. He marches out as smartly as the others and then collapses like them. Corven catches him as he falls, grunting with the effort, before the Angels help him. The hobgoblin does not resist in any way, and when they look at his face they find that both of his eyes are milky-white and absolutely blind. Whatever happened to him – and his companions – in the Mist, there is no way to know, since he seems completely incapable of any response.

The Angels carry the afflicted hobgoblin to where the rest of the expedition are working, many of whom have stopped and are watching worriedly. While a pair of healers check on the Dhakaani, Corven says, “Four casualties coming through the Mist.” He looks at the almost comatose hobgoblin. “Five. I’ve heard of worse. And better.” He takes a deep breath and then asks, “Have you decided what you will be doing?”

“We’re going to be heading … well, thataway,” says Nameless, indicating the direction in which he senses the dimensional seal to be.

“Hmm. That actually works out for us. Very well, actually. You said you were willing to accompany and protection one of our groups, until their paths and yours diverged. That’s the general direction of the Lord of Blades’ camp, which our largest party – and the one going deepest into the Mournland – will head towards. If you’re traveling with them, I’ll feel a lot better about their situation. They should be ready to leave in an hour. Does that work for you?”

“Yes,” says Nameless, “I think that we….” Then he stops, looks at Six and grins. “Actually, why am I answering? What do you think?”

Surprised, Six looks at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“I did say that once we get in the Mournland you can display your tactical genius to us. So you might as well start making the decisions. Take it away, Six.”

The warforged looks at him for a few seconds and then shrugs. “Fine by me.” He turns to Corven, watching with an amused smile. “That sounds fine.”

The Angels proceed to help the expedition set up its camp. Tents and makeshift huts are raises, a protective fence is set up, a screen of scouts is sent out (in pairs), and the groups that are to go out this day prepare themselves. An hour later, the group that will head for the Lord of Blades’ camp is ready to leave. It consists of eight artificers and scholars, ten hobgoblins, and eight warforged. The Angels speak to the leader of the group, Lamaan d’Cannith, and after some discussion, decide that they will travel about five hundred feet in advance of the group, so that they will be the first to encounter any trouble in the way. The leader of the Dhakaani contingent, Suur Dhakaan, a burly hobgoblin whose face and arms are covered in tribal tattoos, and Saber, a female warforged who commands the others, are informed of the arrangement too. Finally, Corven bids the Angels goodbye, wishing them best of luck, and they head off into the corpse-land that was once Cyre, the Jewel of Galifar.

The Angels head over the rolling plains that make up this area of the Mournland, with the expedition party following once they have built up enough of a lead. Nameless skims the ground with his overland flight, intermittently rising into the air to scout the area they are passing through. Though his range of vision is severely limited by the undulating landscape, his personal covering of fog and the fact that he doesn’t risk getting close to the Dead-Gray Mist overhead, the aerial view does give the group some warning of what is ahead.

As the expedition camp recedes behind them, the Angels find more and more corpses dotting the landscape around them. There seems little or no commonality to them. Some are alone and others in groups. Some have clearly died from their wounds, some from other causes which apparently range from starvation to suffocation to fear, and some of them have no evident cause. The one thing that is constant is that every body seems perfectly preserved.

Luna stops at sight of the first large collection of bodies. “Let’s search them! Nameless, is there anything magical on them? Maybe they’ll have something interesting on them!”

“Luna, we are not stopping to search every group of….” Nameless stops and looks at Six. “You want to explain to her, boss?”

“Somebody should have told me this was part of the job,” says Six, before addressing Luna. “We really don’t have time for this. And the less we interfere in the Mournland, the better.”

“Damn! Why do I never get to have any fun?” wails Luna.

“Because when you have fun, Khorvaire cries,” says Korm, before turning and heading away. “Amen!” says Gareth and follows, as do Six and Nameless quickly. Luna follows, grumbling loudly.

As the group continues onwards, they begin to encounter more of the strange sights that they have heard are so common in the Mournland. The first building they see is what looks like a farmhouse, far off to the side of their path, but it is a little difficult to be sure, since it looks like it was flattened by a gigantic weight.

A few minutes later, they pass a large pool of water, which has an oily slick on the surface. As they walk by, the surface seems to clear, and they see their skeletal forms reflected in it, except for Six. “Oh, that’s nice,” says Korm. Six nods. “I knew I would like this place.”

Nameless, who has given the reflection a look and then ascended to scout the area again, calls down. “Heads up, people! Living spell on the way.”

“Ooh!” Luna’s excitement is obvious. “Where? Where?!”

Nameless points at a low hillock nearby, about forty feet above the level his companions are at. “Coming up from the other side.” He frowns. “From everything I’ve learned of them, they’re like oozes, with an ability to sense things only within some fifty or sixty feet, and that one was easily five hundred feet away. And it turned around and headed right for us.”

“Can we outrun it?” asks Gareth.

“No. It’s at least twice as fast as Luna and you. And if we bypass it, the expedition will probably run into it.” Nameless looks at Six. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I propose running at it and hacking it,” says Korm.

“No!” says Six. “We back up, let it come over the top, and fill it full of arrows. Why do you think I had Nameless enchant all of those arrows?” Matching actions to words, Six backs away from the location the living spell is supposed to appear at. “Will spells work on it?”

“Yes. They have some resistance to magic, but not enough to bother us, I think. It looks like a fire spell, but that won’t make it actually immune to fire, so your flame strikes will work on it, Luna.”

“But I don’t want to kill it!” protests Luna. “I want to keep it!”

“We already covered this, Luna – it will not work! It’s mindless, uncontrollable, and violent.” Nameless hesitates and grins. “Yes, I know that makes it sound just like you, but it won’t work. Trust me. Please trust me. For once.”

Gareth, meanwhile, has readied his bow, muttering, “I can’t remember when I used this last.” As Six hands him half a dozen enchanted arrows, Korm says, “Give me some too.” The paladin looks at him in surprise. “You have a bow?”

“Yup!” The Gatekeeper grins from ear to ear, reaches into his magical haversack and pulls out a weapon.

Six looks at the giant implement skeptically. “Did you just take a branch and tie a rope to it?” Gareth adds, “Branch? I’ve seen smaller trees!”

Korm waves his bow at them dismissively. “Bah! I’m no good with bows anyway, and you mentioned the whole archery thing earlier, so when we were in Sharn I picked up a big bow*. At least when I hit it’ll do a lot of damage. Now give me some arrows!”

The discussion is finally interrupted by the appearance of the living spell over the top of the hillock. It is a shapeless mass, nearly a dozen feet across, mostly transparent but shot through with streaks of crackling flame, and it leaves a trail of scorched earth and grass behind it. Even though the Angels are nearly two hundred feet away from it, the creature heads right for them, picking up speed as it advances.

Right into a volley of arrows. Though Six is the only accurate archer among the three, the living spell’s large shape is difficult to miss, and its structure provides little resistance to the magical arrows, which rip large chunks out of it. Spells from Nameless and Luna complete the job and only seconds later, the creature slow, then halts, and finally falls apart into a grayish sludge.

“Phew!” Luna waves a paw in front of her muzzle as an acrid stench wafts from the remnants to them. “That’s foul!” The others give the remains a wide berth as they prepare to head on, but Nameless flies over to hover over them. Then, to the disgust of the others, he reaches down, picks up a sliver of the gray goop, and pops it in his mouth.

Korm looks at the others. “And you say I eat weird sh-t!”

“What?” says Nameless. “It smelled appetizing and I was curious.”

Six just shakes his head and turns away. I know it’s that eating that screws them up! And the shitting. And the sex.

“That’s just wrong, Nameless!” complains Luna. “First you won’t let me keep it. Then you make me help you kill it. And then you eat it in front of me! I’m just glad I don’t have a pony or a kitten. Who knows what you’d do to it?”

At this point, a voice interrupts, “That was very impressive! All of you are clearly very skilled.”

The Angels spin around, weapons coming to the ready, to see a well-dressed elf walking towards them, garbed as if he were coming from a high society party. He has a friendly smile on his angular face and is twirling a flute in his hand, the back of which displays a clearly visible dragonmark.

“Undead?” asks Six quietly. “I don’t know,” says Nameless in a similar tone, “But he detects strongly of necromantic and universal magic.”

The elf walks up and asks pleasantly, “What are you doing in the Mournland? Few travelers pass through here.”

Nobody answers the question, and instead, Luna asks bluntly, “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“I am a member of House Phiarlan,” he answers. “I was caught here on the Day of Mourning and I promised the Traveler anything as long as he’d let me survive. He did. And this is my home now.”

Gareth studies him carefully. The paladin knows that, like House Cannith, House Phiarlan used to have one of its major enclaves in Cyre, which was lost on the Day of Mourning. Coincidentally, every major Phiarlan member of the enclave was outside Cyre on that day, which has led to suspicion in various quarters about whether the Phiarlans knew what was coming. He also remembers the tales he has heard of those who gain gifts from the Traveler, whose gifts always come with a hidden price. Gareth considers trying to detect thoughts but settles for simply detecting evil, not wanting to risk what happened at the ziggurat of R’lyeh. To his gaze, the entire landscape has a faintly evil aura to it, but the elf does not detect as such.

“We’re just passing through,” says Korm. “What do you want with us?” The Phiarlan smiles, and replies, “You are welcome here. I will be happy to show you around my home.” As he speaks, each of the Angels simultaneously notices that his eyes are completely black, with tiny specks in them. As soon as they do so, they each feel a strange ennui for a moment, accompanied by a faint tickling in their minds, the combination of which prevents any action. The elven eyes seem to expand and fill the watcher’s view until they cover the entire horizon. As they expand, the watcher realizes that the eyes actually consist of a completely dark sky full of stars. There is a sense of vertigo and the Angels feel themselves falling forward into the dark expanse.

And then suddenly the eyes are gone, as are the Phiarlan, only the soft whisper of fading flute music to show that he had been present. “O-kay!” growls Luna, looking around suspiciously. “Can we just blast the next person we see here?”

The Angels proceed onwards, keeping a careful eye out for the Phiarlan, but he does not reappear. Instead, the next strange experience they have is a shower of rain. For a certain given value of rain.

The first sign of it is something hitting Luna’s head and bouncing off. “Hey!” she says and looks up, only to have something smack into her eye. “Hey!” Blinking to clear her vision, Luna looks down to see what it was, having heard it land on the ground. “HEY! I got hit in the eye!” She points at the object. “By an EYE!”

The others look down to see what seems to be a human eye lying on the ground, complete with eyelids and lashes, a little piece of bloody fiber extending from its rear. It blinks slowly up at them. As they look at it, more objects begin to pelt down around them, some bouncing off, others hitting particularly hard surfaces like Gareth’s armor and exploding with a soft sound, spraying jelly everywhere.

“Let’s move!” The Angels hurry forward, covering their heads, ignoring the feeling and squelching sound of eyes exploding beneath their tread. The rain becomes quickly heavier and they speed up as well, till they are running. After nearly half a minute, they burst out of the rain. Having taken a few steps to make sure, they look back to see an area over five hundred feet wide where a shower of eyeballs continues to fall, now so heavy that the eyes are beginning to form small piles.

The Angels hurry on, cleaning themselves off along the way, not wanting to wait and see if the eyes turn into anything else. “That’s disgusting!” grumbles Luna, having stopped for a moment to conjure a shower of water on herself and now moving on with seriously wet fur. “I’m beginning to get pissed off at this place!” The others promptly give her a slightly wider berth, and not just due to the smell of sodden bear.

Luckily, for her (and unfortunately, for them), the next unusual occurrence is perfectly suited for Luna’s tastes. As the group is passing around another of the myriad low rises that make up this area, they hear a loud meow coming from the top of it. Walking towards them is a large tabby cat, with black markings on the fur that make it look just like a miniature tiger. She has a golden chain around her neck which holds a small metal collar. As the Angels stop and look at it, she speeds up, bounding down the low hillside and padding up to them.

“Oooh!” says Luna and walks up to the cat, which looks fearlessly up at the giant bear. Then it purrs, steps forward and rubs itself against her leg. “Awww!” goes Luna immediately. “That’s so sweet! I’m keeping her!”

“Oh, no – you’re not!” says Six. Luna immediately rounds on him, while the cat sits there and looks around. “Why not?” she growls. “It’s just a cat!”

“That’s my point,” explains the warforged. “It’s a cat. In the Mournland. What kind of cat could survive here? That’s definitely not just a cat!”

Luna just growls irritably and then looks down at the cat, which has rolled over and is batting at her paws, each of them many times the size of its entire body. “It’s somebody’s cat.” She reads the sign. “It says ‘Valthera.’ Pretty name. I’m keeping her, and maybe we’ll find her owner.”

“At which point you’ll kill him so you can keep his cat, right?” grins Korm.

Luna grins back but says nothing. But when Nameless asks, “Is there anything else on the collar? Like a ‘if found, return to daelkyr at …’?” she shakes her head. “Nope. Just her name. But maybe she can tell us who her owner is.” She casts a spell, allowing herself to speak with animals, and others get to enjoy the incongruous sight of Luna meowing at the cat. The cat cocks its head and looks at her curiously, before patting her on the muzzle with a paw and meowing something back.

Luna grins, licks it and then shakes her head. “She doesn’t say anything. She’s just making the sounds but not actually saying anything which counts as speech for cats. Either my spell didn’t work or there’s something wrong with her.” Before anyone can say anything about that, she quickly adds, “But I’m still keeping her! She’s cute!”

“You’re apparently cute too, to some people,” says Six, “But that doesn’t stop you from being incredibly dangerous, you know. Cute doesn’t mean safe. Remember the little gnome girl in the red riding hood in that tower in the Demon Wastes?”

Korm shudders. “Eww! That’s a memory I didn’t need recalled.”

Luna is about to argue, when Gareth interrupts, “Um, guys!” The paladin points up at the Mist above them and some distance away. Maybe two hundred feet ahead and off to their right, a huge segment of the ceiling of thick fog has receded, forming a roughly cylindrical hole which extends upwards some five hundred feet but shows no end to the Mist. Halfway up the size of the cylinder a gigantic creature, which resembles a partly translucent manta ray with a couple of hemispherical protrusions on its underside and a long flail-like tail extending behind it, is floating gently across the hole.

“Luna!” Six says urgently, “Don’t flame strike it! Actually, don’t do anything to it.”

“I wasn’t about to,” Luna growls sulkily, watching with the others as the creature makes its way across the hole and disappears into the fog on the other side. The hole in the Mist begins to flow together too.

“Note to self,” says Nameless. “Fly closer to the ground.”

“See, Luna,” Six turns to the druid, “Now that – whatever the hell it was – is normal. For the Mournland. I don’t want to see it again or meet it, but it seems perfectly in keeping with this place. But a cat, on the other hand, makes me go – wait, that’s not right!”

“Listen! You bums won’t let me get a living spell, so I’m keeping the cat. No argument about it. If you wussies are scared of her, you can stay at a distance.” She turns and pokes the cat, sending it rolling end over end. “But I won’t. Because I love you. Yes I do. Don’t you love your mummy Luna too?” She picks up the cat in a giant paw and kisses it. “Yeth, yeth you do!”

Korm gazes sadly at the giant bear kissing and making baby talk with the cat. “I think we just made the Mournland more insane. Let’s go.”

The group moves on, with the cat following them, either being carried by Luna or walking along. It seems extremely friendly and attempts to rub up against a couple of the others, but that just makes them a little more paranoid. The fact that it seems singularly unfazed by any combat they engage in doesn’t help matters. When another living spell approaches and is annihilated from a distance with magic and arrows, the cat watches with interest and then begins to lick itself.


* The player (Atlatl Jones) decided that since he was going to take a non-proficiency penalty anyway, he was going to pick up a composite greatbow.

 

[shilsen]

About an hour later, the Angels see what looks like a ruined village, consisting almost entirely of piles of rubble. Midway between the village and them is another small pile which appears to be the remains of a small house. Sitting atop it with his head in his hands is a humanoid figure. The presence of such a figure in the Mournland would be strange enough, but this one also happens to be mostly transparent. Despite the others’ suggestion that they detour around him, Luna insists that they speak to the ‘cool see-through guy’ and Korm backs her up, having grown tired of trying to avoid things here.

He walks up, and when he is about fifty feet away, the figure jumps up and looks around, calling worriedly, “Who is it? Is anyone there?”

When he does, he looks right at Korm and doesn’t seem to see the Gatekeeper. Though it is difficult to be certain with his wispy and intangible figure, Korm gets the impression that he is blind. Okay – that’s weird! Then again, this is the perfect place for it. “Greetings,” he says, walking a couple of steps closer. “I am Korm. Who are you?”

The man’s head whips around at the sound of his voice and he stares right at Korm. Then he reaches down, picks up a near-transparent cane, and begins to walk towards the Gatekeeper. “The Host be praised! My name is Barnabas! There was an earthquake and I can’t find anyone and I’ve been stuck here for what seems like weeks! I’m so hungry and thirsty. Can you help me, please? I can’t find Rufus. I’m helpless without him and I’ve been searching for him everywhere!” The man’s voice is on the verge of panic.

What? By this point, the others have walked over to join Korm, and he whispers, “This is insane, but I think he’s blind. And dead. And doesn’t know it. And is looking for somebody called Rufus.”

“Excuse me, Barnabas,” says Gareth as politely and soothingly as he can, “But can you tell us what Rufus looks like and how we can recognize him?”

The man seems a little perturbed at the new voice, but he answers, “He’s about this high,” indicating a level around his upper thigh, “And covered in red fur. He’s a really good dog and he comes immediately when you call. Very friendly.”

“Perfect!” Six says, softly and disgustedly, “We have a dead, blind man looking for his dog!”

Unfortunately, his tone isn’t as soft as could be. Barnabas’ head snaps up and he looks around. “Dead? Who’s dead?”

“You’re dead,” says Luna immediately. “Sorry.”

“What? Are you threatening me?” Barnabas backs away, waving his mostly non-existent cane desperately. “Don’t hurt me! I’m just a poor blind man!”

Nameless gives Luna a dirty look. “Thanks, Luna! I’m sure he needed that.” Then turning to Barnabas, he explains, “I’m sorry for my companion’s insensitivity, but you really are dead. It appears you are a ghost. And you’ve been here for the last four years, since Cyre was destroyed in the ‘earthquake’ you felt.”

Barnabas shouts, “Leave me alone, you bastards!” and turns and flees, can waving before him. And just as he reaches the edge of the rubble, runs into something solid, though only he can feel it. The scene is almost comical, as the ghost bounces off something, feels around desperately, opens something, shuts it and then huddles in a spot in plain view.

“I think,” Nameless says thoughtfully, “His house still exists for him, maybe only because he believes it’s there. Fascinating!”

Gareth, who has now begun to detect evil in the area, says, “He shows up as moderately evil, so he probably is an undead, like a ghost.”

“Interesting as all this is,” says Six, “We really need to move on.”

“No!” says Luna. “We need to help him and find his dog.”

“Seriously, Luna,” says Korm, “What is with you and pets?”

“Animals! A real druid would understand!”

Nameless sighs and says, “Loath as I am to agree with Luna, it’s just possible that’s what is keeping him here. Some ghosts stay around due to unfinished business.” Gareth says, “Yes, that’s true, but I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“Hello! Mournland!” With that said, Luna walks over to the pile of rubble that once was the blind man’s house. “He’s probably in here somewhere.” The giant bear begins to dig, causing the blind ghost to cry out in alarm. She ignores him for the most part, growling once or twice for him to shut up. The volume of earth Luna can move is amazing, and in a couple of minutes, she says, “Hey! I think I found it!”

As the others gather around, Luna unearths the corpse of not just a dog but of Barnabas too. From the looks of the bodies and their positioning, the man was killed instantly by something falling on his head, and the dog was attempting to drag his body out when the building collapsed on it. “Oh, that’s sad!” says Luna mournfully. Then she raises her voice and calls to Barnabas, who is huddled against an invisible wall with both arms wrapped around his head. “Hey, Barnabas! We found Rufus!”

The ghost looks up slowly, the sound of hope and tears in his voice. “Rufus? You found …” Then he stops and turns to look in a different direction, immediately causing all of the Angels to turn and look, some drawing weapons. But there is nothing there, or at least not for them. For the ghost it’s a different matter, since he clearly hears something. “Rufus? Rufus! Here, boy – here! Come to me!”

The ghost rises to his knees and then is shoved backwards by an invisible force. Which he promptly wraps his arms around and begins kissing, crying and muttering incoherently. As he does so, he begins to fade away.

The Angels watch in fascination as his shape quickly disappears. As the last vestige of the ghost disappears, somewhere on the very cusp of their hearing, there is a sound. A single, joyful bark. Then there is silence.

It is broken by the sound of a huge bear sniffling slightly. “Aww! That was sad!” Luna rubs the back of a paw against a suspiciously red pair of eyes and then says, “I think we did our good deed for the day. Should we search the village for stuff?”

“NO!” The rest of the Angels promptly turn and stride quickly away.

Some time after leaving the ruined village behind, the Angels spot a stream rising over a nearby hill and flowing by, a large loop of it crossing their path. The fact that its waters are a blood red would already draw attention, but it also happens to flow a good tend feet or so above the ground. Six and Nameless take one look at it, look at each other and say, “Yeah.” And promptly detour so as to give it a wide berth.

Leaving the river of blood behind, the group proceeds onwards without incident, until they come over the top of a rise to look down on a battlefield. This is the largest of the battlefields they have seen by far, a rough oval nearly a mile long littered with the bodies of the fallen. There are corpses of various species and sizes, at least a couple of them giant-sized. Though the sight of a battlefield is hardly unusual here, what does seem strange is the presence of a few hundred people. They move through the carnage, evidently looking for their loved ones, and the sound of their weeping carries to the Angels. Even stranger is the result of one of the mourners succeeding in their search. Whenever one finds a corpse they recognize, there is a cry of sorrow and then they fade away like smoke on the wind. And in their place remains a single black rose growing out of the ground. Scores of the flowers dot the battlefield.

“I should stop saying this,” begins Luna, “But this really is…”

At which point Six darts past her, heading for the battlefield at full speed. Nameless skims the ground a few feet behind the warforged, flying in the same direction.

“…very weird!”

“Nameless! Six!” shouts Gareth, “What’s going on?”

“Stop talking and stop them!” shouts Korm, quickly summoning a phantom stag. “Fine,” says Luna, gesturing and casting too. Immediately, the rough grass around Six reaches up and writhes around his feet, trying to arrest his motion. He stumbles, tears himself free and keeps running, but the vegetation continues to try to entangle him, substantially retarding his speed. It provides just enough time for a charging bear to throw itself onto the warforged, knocking him to the ground and pinning him down, as he disappears from sight under her bulk.

Nameless is only mildly luckier, since Korm’s solution to the problem is to stick out an arm like a small tree limb while his stag rides at full speed past the alienist. The impact knocks the breath out of Nameless and flips him around in mid-air. The alienist lands flat on his face and as he pushes himself back up, Korm returns, grabs him and continues onwards. With the stag’s speed, they are next to Gareth a couple of seconds later.

By this point, the paladin has cast a magic circle against evil, and as soon as Nameless enters it, his expression clears. Realizing immediately what happened, he says, “Damn! It was some kind of compulsion. I felt like I had to get there and find someone!”

“Great! So is it gone now or do you have to stay in here?” asks Gareth.

“Don’t know. Korm, hold onto me.” The Gatekeeper nods, “Don’t worry – I’ll be gentle.” Nameless ignores the quip and steps out of the magic circle cautiously. After a few seconds, he says, “It seems to be gone now.”

“Hey!” yells Luna, from where she lies spread-eagled in the middle of the circle of grasping vegetation, shifting slightly back and forth. “If you idiots are done, can someone come over here and fix Six? He’s tickling me!” Then she pauses, and a happy grin crosses her face, as she shifts slightly and lowers her head slightly to address Six, who is now only visible as a bulge under her side. “Yes, that’s the perfect spot! A little harder, please!”

Korm grabs Gareth. “Quick! Before she starts getting really happy!”

A few minutes later, Korm rides up to the expedition group and informs them that they need to take a large detour to avoid a problematic battlefield near their path. Once they have done so, they find the Angels waiting for them, ready to make camp. Even though night never dims the eternal corpse-light that shines on the Mournland, the two groups have been traveling long enough to need to rest now.

Nameless creates a magnificent mansion for the entire group and they enter the extradimensional space one by one, the members of the expedition marveling at the lavish chambers inside. But when the Angels are about to do so, he shakes his head. “You’re not coming in there with the cat, Luna.”

“What? What’s wrong with Valthera?!”

“I don’t know. And I don’t intend to find out while I’m sleeping. It is not coming in.”

The others take Nameless’ part and after some grumbling and threats of grievous bodily harm, Luna desists and says that she’ll stay outside with it. Nameless puts up a rope trick for the cat and her, which the two of them disappear into.

The rest of the Angels enter the mansion. As Nameless does so, the others notice wisps of fog appearing and flowing in behind him, but there is no untoward effect that they can see. Nevertheless, just to be on the safe side, they organize watches and arrange for multiple people to stay together during the night.

With all preparations taken care of, the Angels and their guests dine on the sumptuous meal that the spell provides and then fall asleep, wondering what the next day holds for them.

 

[shilsen]

The next update will take a little while, since I'm about to start teaching in a couple of days, but in case you're interested, I've made an update to my World's Worst Paladin thread here:

http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=4004723