Location: Tyriex, Draconia
Date: 23 Thunsheer 840 PD (calendar of Exandria)
Occasion: The incipient party have been yoinked from Whitestone and yeeted to the outskirts of Tyriex, former capital of Draconia.
Party Members:
- Bob the Therapist – changeling warlock with a couch for a familiar
- Flora Zosna – loxodon paladin
- Jeremiah Callows – human cleric
- Stubby – half-elf artificer
- Tāmerai – gnome bard
- Tunk – bugbear monk
The Sitch: The incipient party are on the road, having just walked for about an hour to reach the edges of Tyriex proper.
The Adventure Continues
Our incipient party reach the outskirts of what was once Tyriex. Even from a distance, they can see that the city is all but ruined, save for one tower in excellent condition. Skeletal remains of dragonborn lay scattered all around, wherever they landed when the once-flying city, which had fallen and risen, fell again for perhaps the last time. Bob’s keen eye for medical and arcane detail enable him to inform the party that they appeared to have been killed by magical means. Meanwhile, his couch-familiar goes poking around at the door of one of the houses still (somewhat) standing. The sound of a dropped cup or plate alerts the group to danger incoming, and Tunk suggests that Bob call his couch back to them, but it is too late: a zombie emerges from the house, followed soon by three more.
Attacked first, Jeremiah deals the first damage, and also the last damage of the fight: a fitting and satisfying bookend to the action. The others acquit themselves admirably as well. Flora, Tunk, and Jeremiah do the most damage, but the others come in clutch with their ready assistance and help keep the dead really dead. Inside, this was a farmer’s house, disused for at least as long as anyone in the party has been alive. Everything’s rusted to the point of not even being useful as scrap metal. It’s basically Dead By Daylight up in this bitch. The wood on all the tools has rotted. Judging by the level of dust all over everything, it’s been a while since anyone lived here. The house seems empty now, not only of life (or unlife) but also of anything of value. There is a cup lying on the floor, doubtless the object dropped that alerted the group to the zombies’ presence. They had interrupted tea time, apparently.
Investigation of the zombie teahouse reveals signs of significant amounts of dragonborn footprints, doing that dragging associated with really first-class shambling. Just aimlessly wandering around, no real pattern, but the number of distinct prints means there are more zombies out here. Many more.
The exterior of the home yields nothing of probative value, other than the fact that with only one exception, one of the earliest bodies found by the group, the bodies in this area are tailless dragonborn. Ravinites.
Stubby looks for specific information & finds little, no specific directionality to whatever magic killed these zombies. It’s like someone aimed a Guiding Bolt and hit the building instead of people, probably. Looks like it came from all directions.
Flora checks, but does not sense any undead in the immediate vicinity. She also investigates the T-shaped building, finding nothing important, just a skeleton with a pitchfork through their chest.
Jeremiah heals Tunk, the only party member to have taken any damage, thus demonstrating that not only can he fight if he’s minded to do so, but he can be useful after a fight as well. Then, having had a fairly stressful day, he finds a stone bench that has not yet crumbled and takes a seat, wondering out loud, “What else could possibly happen?”
Someone was going to tempt fate; it’s somehow appropriate that the one to do it is a cleric. A “wet rock” rises up like it’s Black Friday at Bergdorff’s. A grey ooze. Jeremiah, Bob, and Stubby take care of it with amazing efficiency. As the group gaze around at their handiwork, someone’s tummy rumbles, and someone else wonders what time it is. “I’m hungry, is anyone else hungry? Is it time for food?”
Now everyone realizes why they’ve felt a growing discomfort, and it isn’t because of the zombies. It’s because the sun is exactly where it was when they arrived here from Whitestone. Just hanging there, nearly at zenith. Which is strange twice. Once because it hasn’t moved at all, and strange again because when they first arrived in what should be Draconia/Ravinia, it should have been quite late in the evening. This is Draconia/Ravinia, and it is the capital city of Tyriex, but… it’s not in the right place. Or something.
Everyone lets that thought sink into their bones for a moment, and then decides pretty much simultaneously that there’s nothing they can do about it. There is something they can do about their hunger. Jeremiah makes a sandwich for Bob. People bring out their tarts, oranges, trail mix, jerky. Apparently much food was acquired at the buffet tables in Whitestone earlier. The river is clear enough that people feel safe drinking from it, so they do. Tāmerai quietly regrets not having her tea things with her, but overcomes her own hesitation at “eating like savages” in favor of keeping body and soul together. [The sentiment is unvoiced, and no one claimed any insight checks, so this writer has no idea if anyone else realized this train of thought.]
As they enjoy their meal and an hour’s respite, Stubby offers Tunk an interesting looking rock with some wires twisted around it. “If you throw it, it will make a loud noise. Distraction.” She continues tinkering with something or other.
Emror
As the group are about to feel ready to get up and go exploring again, they hear a voice. They turn to find a dragonborn man, who introduces himself as Emror, “the last Ravinite.” He is friendly, perhaps a little odd, and hopes the group aren’t with HER, by whom he means the white dragon. The group assure him that they are not, but they do know where she is right now — at least, if the white dragon he knows is the same one who appeared over Whitestone earlier today.
Through conversation, the group learn that Emror would very much like to leave Ravinia, but cannot. He’s prevented, magically. However, he thinks that if he could find what he calls “the crests,” he could either make them work again, or break them, and he’d be able to leave. Judging by how the group managed to defend themselves against the zombies and the ooze, he feels that they’re capable and might be able to help them. He offers hospitality for the night in his tower, and the group gratefully accept.
As the group walk to Emror’s tower, he explains that it is shielded magically so that the zombies and oozes can’t get in. This was done by his former master in the arcane arts, who is now dead.
Inside the tower, the group admire two statues at the entrance. One is of Tofor Brotorus, former ruler of Ravinia and member of the Tal’Dorei Council; this statue is missing its face, but the name plaque is still present and mostly legible. The other is of a Draconian, complete with tail. This time, the statue is mostly intact, but the plaque is illegible until Jeremiah casts Mending to restore the writing and reveal that it says “Tiberius Stormwind. He Encouraged Peace.”
Emror’s definitely gone a bit mental, but not in a bad way, the group decide. He talks to himself and to inanimate objects; he seems to know what time of day it is, despite the sun’s lack of movement, but not what day or year it is. He is surprised to learn that it is 840 P.D. “That means I am thirty-five!” He does not look thirty-five, he looks closer to 100 years old, to those of the party who have encountered dragonborn and know how they age. But no one calls him out on it.
The entire tower is freakishly well kept. Some things are threadbare and faded, but it is all very, very clean. Nothing seems rusted or crumbling. Only the throne, which may have been taken from what was once the castle at the north side of town, seems at all to have suffered from the effects of time and war.
Tunk asks if Emror has a library, and Emror explains that he keeps his books in what he thinks was once an armory, upstairs. He shows them — it looks more like a former torture room, to some of them, but it is indeed filled with books on shelves — and also shows them the guest room, which looks even more like a former torture room, albeit as meticulously clean as everything else in the tower. Discreetly, Tāmerai casts Detect Magic. Only the two statues give off any type of magical aura (well, and certain objects carried by her companions); the magic is Transmutation.
In gratitude for Emror’s very kind offer of hospitality, Jeremiah asks him if the group can help him in any way. Emror asks if they can help find the levitating crests so he can leave the city, and so the group can leave the city as well.
As most of them are leaving the master bedroom and armory, Bob and Stubby spot some of his bedtime reading: Tusk Love, The Daring Trials And Tribulations of Taryon Darington, The Courting Of The Queen (yes! The Courting Of The Crick has a sequel!). He likes trashy romances and adventure books and smut. He also has some very, very dry diaries of a young person who lived sometime pre-Cataclysm with ambition to become an archmage, which Bob attempts to read for a while, then gives up. There are also some very hardcore books on magic in the bedroom, which Bob sees but no one else does.
Stubby, however, finds a box with a label that reads “Percival.” It contains a small jar of black powder, a bag of metal balls, some vials filled with a gel, a flint. Tāmerai tells Emror that Stubby’s father’s name is Percival, and that he uses materials such as those in the box. Emror grandly offers the box and its contents to Stubby, if she can use them, and she accepts with alacrity.
Tāmerai’s magical detection is still active. She notes that a statue in the armory and a handful of scrolls on the top shelf in the bedroom give off magical vibes. She looks for more items of interest, but the spell fades.
Jeremiah and Flora investigate the kitchen, finding that while it is not fully stocked with all the staples and amenities, they can scrounge together enough to make a nourishing meal of fresh fruits, wild vegetables, some “fresh” (nicely aged) kobold meat (more than one party suppresses a negative reaction), a little rice, and some nuts and fruit that the party have with them. While they cook, Tāmerai uses Prestidigitation to clean everything they use, so that when the meal is ready, the kitchen is once again spotless.
Over dinner, Emror mentions that the group can have the run of the house, but for two areas. His master bedroom is for himself alone, though they can come in when he’s awake and look at books; and the basement. The basement, he says, is where he hid for weeks during the war. It’s a place where he was sad and afraid, and he doesn’t want anyone to get trapped in there like he was. Tāmerai privately feels he is lying, but does not call him out about it. Does he keep something special there, that he doesn’t want to share? Is it dangerous in ways he’d rather not explain? What’s with the basement? The group agree to stay out of the basement, and they might even be sincere about it.
The group retire to the guest room (former torture chamber) and take a long rest.
Take your meds.
Hydrate.
Don’t forget to love each other.
Is it Game Day yet?