Game summary for March 4, 2008; present characters included Chuck Ahammer (shield dwarf master thrower/rogue/thunderthrower), Grim Firestorm (shield dwarf barbarian/battlerager/frenzied berserker/warmain), Iapetus Hasur (hu-charad giant rogue/scout/vigilante), Lady Aridarye Phylund Brokengulf (human aristocrat/harbinger/ranger cohort), Lyrin Sinbal (simian incantatrix/ring sage/warmage), Morak Beardfist (shield dwarf fighter/rage cleric), and Taravin Truesilver (human gray guard/paladin of honor/pious templar).
The Mercenaries spent some time requipping themselves in Longsaddle and taking an audience with Malchor Harpell. They told him what had transpired, and he asked them their plans should Kyuss’ prison be found with Dragotha. The Mercenaries had no answer for that situation but decided to take the fight to Dragotha anyway. They used a sending to speak with Lashonna who urged haste in confronting the dracolich before he could build a new phylactery. Morak used discern location to pinpoint Dragotha and confirm he was within the Wormcrawl Fissure. The team whisked themselves via magic to the Fissure and set off within.
The downward sloping fissure proved to be a very wide chasm cloaked in mist so thick the sunlight could not reach the bottom. Within the fissure, Lyrin experienced a vision of Balakarde being tortured and rotting away into a pile of worms. Thereafter, a steady tug pulls Lyrin one direction, while Morak’s find the path leads another toward Dragotha’s Writhing Sanctum. While discussing which way to go, a dry, deep voice snarled out, “This is the last place you should have come, lover.”
The party spun about to find the green-flame eyes of Prendergast Brokengulf staring balefully upon Aridarye. Beside him stood a worm-draped wormcaller, and the writhing true form of Gazzilfek. Much to the Mercenaries’ surprise, a very much undead Filge stood behind Prendergast, black necromantic flames whipping around his body. Within a heartbeat, Filge sent waves of necromancy across the party, spiraling everyone into exhaustion. He then caused a plague to erupt, weakening and blinding several. Prendergast lunged forward, slashing a wickedly serrated dire blade and hacked into his lovely wife. With a grin of malice, Prendergast swept Aridarye’s head from her shoulders. Meanwhile, Gazzilfek moved up and slashed into Lyrin while the wormcaller walked into the air and sent a barrage of darkness rays down upon Beardfist.
The party attempted to scatter and take some defensive positions but found themselves hard pressed. Grim came roaring into the forefront, and quick-thinking Chuck hurled Lyrin to safety and then hid from the attackers. Iapetus, blinded by disease, charged into the melee, swinging wildly. Lyrin began a steady barrage of magical attacks, and Taravin started engaging the foes about him. Filge sent life-sapping magic down upon Morak, stripping him of the ability to cast the majority of his spells. Only through his fast-thinking use of a wand of restoration allowed him to stay in the fight.
The battle started to turn in favor of the Mercenaries, with the undead trying vainly to slaughter Grim in his tracks. Both the dwarven battlerager and the party paladin put pressure on Filge, forcing him to unleash a deadly keening wail. So horrid was the sound, that it stopped cold the hearts of both Chuck and Iapetus, who collapsed in heaps. Lyrin harnessed the power of sunlight and eradicated Gazzilfek, Filge, and the wormcaller, leaving only the blackclad death knight, Prendergast, standing. He took a desperate charge at Beardfist and pressured him with his attacks. Grim attempted to lay him low but found his charge met and countered. Knowing he could not penetrate the death knight’s tremendous armor, Taravin moved in and channeled his divine power into the undead madman. Green flame spewed from the death knight’s eyes, and he exploded in a conflagration of emerald abyssal fire. As the fires died out, the translucent form of Prendergast, still armed and armored, glowered at Taravin and faded into nothingness. With the last foe vanquished, Grim came out of his frenzy and succumbed to the staggering damage he had received.
With four of their own slaughtered within the first hour of entering the Wormcrawl Fissure, the Mercenaries find themselves questioning again what they are doing here. How many more such minions can Dragotha throw at them, and how terrible must the dracolich be if such powerful undead are at his beck and call? Looming like a spectre over the thoughts of the vicious red dracolich hangs the possibility that Kyuss himself waits somewhere deep in the dark of the Fissure.
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