DM Note: Just Allan and Derek this session, with Lynien run 'unbubbled' by request.| DM Note: Just Allan and Derek this session, with Lynien run 'unbubbled' by request. |
Gorfang and Eloy paused then, to collect their thoughts and consider the options for their next move. Earlier discussions were resurrected and reconsidered carefully.
"So how would we contact a dragon?" asked Gorfang. "I know how," said Eloy. He related some more details of his previous scrying contact with a dragon - without revealing which or what was said - and warned them of what had happened at the end of that contact. "I don't want my head to explode," he finished plaintively. Gorfang stood up. "Whatever we decide; let's finish up here first."
The three companions then picked through Matrioshka's treasure, selecting the best and loading it into their Bags of Holding. Lynien informed them with cheerful unconcern that she'd already bagged all the gemstones, but neither of the others had a problem with that.
| Item | Notes | Taken By |
|---|---|---|
| Staff | Swarming Insects | Eloy |
| Manual | Quickness of Action | Gorfang |
| Ring | X-Ray Vision | Lynien |
| Ring | Force Shield | Lynien |
| Staff | Viper | Eloy |
| Potion | Love | Eloy |
| Robe | of Eyes | Gorfang |
| Buckler | +3 | Gorfang |
All this while, the survivors of the creatures released from Matrioshka's jars had been wandering around the summoning hall, some aimlessly, some trying to make sense of their surroundings and find an escape. These were the more intelligent and less aggressive of the fiend's captives, the ones stored for their memory capacity rather than fighting ability, and posed no threat. Gorfang and Eloy looked at each other with one mind. No witnesses. Grimly, the three strode among the largely helpless creatures, smiting ruthlessly left and right. Some tried feebly to fight, some fled in search of nonexistent hiding places, some begged futilely for mercy, but all were hewn down in their own blood in the end, except for a very few who hurled themselves off the island to die in the eternal depths of Heppetah.
Of the one hundred and eight githmorein who had come to the island with them, seventy-six had died in the fighting. Of the remaining thirty-two and their commander Bainlin, there was no sign. The companions considered going to search the githmorein island but finally decided against it.
Gorfang's manor house was quiet and dark, but suddenly the darkness of the kitchen was reft by a slash of otherworldly light as a short black dagger cut through from nowhere, neatly bisected the kitchen table, and opened an aperture through which Gorfang, Eloy and Lynien trooped wearily, covered in blood from head to heel.
Gorfang spotted his cook, huddled in panic in a corner and staring at the two halves of the table, and barked "Food!" at her. A moment later, he added, "Anything unusual happened in the last day or so?" The woman began reeling off a selection of domestic mishaps and his interest waned immediately. "Fix the table," he added and stalked out.
"If we're going to meet a dragon," commented Gorfang, "I'm having a bath." The other two turned slowly to look incredulously at him. "I want to look my best," he pointed out, "and I don't want to smell more like dinner than I can help." Eloy produced his scroll of Scrying, and Gorfang fetched a large mirror from one of the bedrooms. "Outside!" he said, "if anything nasty comes through, I don't want it in the house! In case of fire; break glass."
As they walked through the gardens, all three kept involuntarily glancing skywards, the impending cataclysm always on the edge of their subconscious.
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Eloy read the scroll slowly and carefully, concentrating on the dragon Ohmond, and worked the spell. Slowly the mirror clouded, and an image formed. It was indeed, as intended, Ohmond, but not just Ohmond. The big red reptile was in mid-air, flying - flying very fast - over snow-cloaked mountains, and surrounded as far as the scry-eye could see by other dragons. Tens... scores... hundreds of dragons; far more than the companions had seen banished from Vorsand on the night of the theft. Then another realization jolted him. The westering sun was over the dragon's right shoulder; he - they - were flying southwards.
Skufruss' control had failed.
The massive head swung upwards. "Greetings, you bipedal bastard," grated the monster, "I know you - associate of the Cursed One." Gorfang spoke first. "I was going to discuss a deal with Your Greatness," he said, and then had to repeat in a shout due to the windrush of the dragon's flight, "connected with a certain Sceptre." Ohmond's laval eyes narrowed. "If you knew where it was," he said, "what would you want?" Gorfang smiled. Gotcha! "My pick of the treasure of Vorsand, and a little help with some other plans," he said.
"We will never serve the two-legged again!" roared the dragon. "No," said Gorfang, "of course, but I would like to discuss alliance. Anyway, the Sceptre. What if I bring it to you?" Ohmond considered. "Then I may trust you," he said at last. "I remember you; a creature of like mind." Gorfang grinned. "Are you the leader?" he asked. Ohmond rumbled deep inside; it might have been a laugh. "No," he said. "A call was sent out, and many brethren joined us. Skufruss' fatal mistake was to send us north; north where the dragons are. Saryn Darrath is here." That last name carried a tone of respect and awe that raised the hackles on Eloy's neck.
An idea came to Gorfang. "I do know where the Sceptre is; will you meet me?" Ohmond frowned. "We will not turn aside. Speed is all, speed to reach the Cursed One before he has a chance to regain the Sceptre." "You don't need to," Gofang said, "meet us at Fal Torth." He described the ruins where they'd first encountered the Sarkrith, and Ohmond nodded. "I know it," he said, "we will be there in twelve hours." Eloy let the spell end.
"We'd better get back to Heppetah," he said, "and find it." Gorfang grinned. "We could," he admitted, "or we could just give 'em this," and he produced the Sceptre with a flourish.
With several hours to kill, the companions rode into the city and split up, taking care of various items of business before their arranged meeting with the dragon. Eloy took himself off to his budding temple to visit Crastinuc the priest and see how things were going; he planned to make the staves from Matrioshka's treasure part of the cult's regalia. Lynien paid a visit to Guild Venter's bank, depositing some of the more incrimminating of her possessions in her personal vault. Gorfang renewed some of his supplies, acquired some cold-weather clothing, and checked in with some contacts, but generally kept a low profile to avoid being recognized.
Then they returned to Southwold and slept for a while, building their strength for the trials to come. Around 1am, they gathered in the moonlit garden and Gorfang donned his Ring of Slow Teleportation. Over the next fifteen minutes the three faded slowly out of Lossal and into the mountain fortress of Gadûhvrás.
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Gorfang's infant orc kingdom was still there, although morale was a bit low. The lack of female orcs had finally occurred to the colonists; it hadn't yet been so long that the female trolls started to look attractive, and so there was a degree of grumbling. Gorfang did his best to improve matters, and the keg of ale he'd brought brightened the orcs, but Shufghoth was more encouraged by Gorfang's mention that he had located a source of lots more orcs of both genders.
Donning their furs, the three stepped through the teleport circle to the ruined giant city in the land once called Fal Torth.
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The transition was savage, from the slightly dank but warm caves of the orcs to the brutal cold of the icy northlands in a step. Tightening their furs against the blizzard, the three stepped off the teleport circle and glanced around. Snow blasted into their faces, making visibility very limited. As their eyes accustomed themselves to the conditions, they became aware of movements at the edges of the ruin-strewn valley, and gradually six or eight remorhaz came into view, the snow hissing from their raised spines. Slowly, the monsters prowled closer, but then suddenly vanished as if spooked by something. For a moment or two there was no sign of why, and the the sky darkened and dragons began to descend into the valley.
First a couple of small white dragons dropped onto the ruins about halfway up the valley sides and perched there, looking around in an agitated fashion. Three green dragons landed at the brink of visibility towards the end of the valley and squatted there in a cloud of chlorine. Then Ohmond winged down close to the three humanoids, folding his wings and nodding at Gorfang. All these were impressive, but paled into insignificance compared to the next arrival.
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A vast, dark bulk settled majestically out of the snow-whipped sky, blocking most of what light there was, and touched down in the valley, filling most of it. A head the size of a large house swept from side, and deep-set eyes alive with ancient wisdom and evil regarded each of them in turn.
Setram had been large and powerful, but next to this creature he was a mere lizard. A thrill of fear touched the edges of each of the companions' minds, and each knew that Saryn Darrath was reining in the effects of his dragonfear lest it break their minds. A voice like huge boulders tumbling over each other in an underground riverbed spoke, shaking the ground on which they stood.
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"Young Ohmond has told me that you are beings likely to keep your word, and willing to aid us against the Cursed One," he said. "I have come out of my retirement to put this.. Kin ... in his place. What will you want in exchange for your help?"
Gorfang cleared his throat as he gazed up at the immense dragon. "We would ask for our pick of the treasure of the Dark Tower," he called up. "Some things in there are actually ours, and we'd like to retrieve them." Saryn Darrath rumbled slightly. "I also wish to take some of the Tower's contents," he commented, "but I doubt our tastes coincide." Eloy grinned. "Magical things?" he asked. "In retirement I have my hobbies," he conceded.
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At this moment, Vengan Doomstealer emerged from the blizzard and settled opposite Ohmond. He nodded at Eloy, who was suddenly very glad that he had held his hand when the big white was helpless and healed him instead of attacking him. Encouraged, he glanced up at Saryn Darrath.
"We would also ask for the death of the red dragon Setram," he said boldly, quaking inside. Saryn Darrath thought for a moment. "I know him," he said finally, "and have no loyalties to him. We shall discuss this afterwards, after there is something to trade for."
Gorfang spoke again. "Can we ride with you and join the attack?" he asked. Saryn Darrath looked - if it were possible - slightly surprised. "I will pass the word that you are allies," he said, "but when Vorsand is sacked my bretheren will be wild dragons, and I cannot warrant that you will be safe. " Gorfang nodded. "If I give you the Sceptre, will I be your best friend?" he asked. "I have known many of your shape in my lifetime," replied the vast dragon, "but it would be a good start. Do you have the Sceptre, then?"
Gorfang reached carefully into his Bag of Holding, drew out the Sceptre of the Dragon Lords, and dropped it into the wagon-sized talon that Saryn Darrath extended towards him. At the sight, all the dragons in the valley, and many more out of immediate sight, sent up a devastating roar of bestial triumph that split stone, battered the eardrums of the companions, and collapsed several of the ruins in the valley. Echoes raced up and down the valley to be lost in the snow. Eloy's knees buckled and he let them, dropping to his knees as if in homage to the significance of the event. Crawler, thought Gorfang, though he recognized the tactic.
Slowly, Saryn Darrath closed his claws around the sceptre. With a seemingly tiny crunch, the mighty talisman that had shaped an empire was crushed, and one of the greatest magical items ever made in the world of Alair was destroyed forever. The coiled power within it was released in a shattering shockwave which blasted out from the dragon's claw. Gorfang, Eloy, Lynien, Ohmond and Vengan were close enough to Saryn Darrath for his power to save them from the effects, but two of the lesser dragons nearby keeled over dead and the rest staggered away, stunned and bleeding. Saryn Darrath himself swayed, a faint moan of pain emerging between his mighty jaws.
The next moment, with a series of appalling smacks, ten or more dragons plunged out of the sky, dead before they hit the ground, and roars of pain echoed across the sky from the survivors as the shockwave radiated outwards from the scene.
--- All across Alair, dragons and draconic creatures felt the destruction of the Sceptre --
In the far south, a young prince of the Erlyid, a man gifted with Kin blood through his mother, gasped and dropped to his knees as his vision blurred under a hammer-blow of a headache....
Somewhere, not anywhere that can be easily described, the Kin known only as the Scorpion twisted in pain as the shockwave drove in upon him from all the infinite planes on which he existed simultaneously....
All through the Dark Tower, the Kin who were still there staggered or fell, coughed and screamed, wracked with pain. The most powerful of them shook it off quickly, but others were plunged into unconsciousness....
Kenric Blackstorm cursed savagely as he shook off the sudden clench of pain, and supported his master's tall, gaunt form as it sagged. Skufruss' grey face was, if possible, even greyer as he gasped out the words: "It's gone - the Sceptre is destroyed! We're lost here. Get them out; get them out."
In the north, further north than Vorsand, a party of lizardman warriors led by four of the Kin in search of lost treasures among the mountains were scattered into unconsciousness by the psychic blow. When the lizardmen recovered, hours later, it was to find the Kin dead as stones, blood drying around their eyes and ears...
Deep in a cavern, somewhere under the Engeror Mountains, the free dragon Setram writhed and thrashed in agony, smashing and tearing the rock around him into splinters and dust, blood leaking from his nostrils....
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