With the spectral undead departed the Shadowfell falls to darkness, the only light remaining is the glow of the heroes magic. Crom steps toward the fallen sword of Karna-Kar that juts from the earth, then something twitches on his back... the Shadow Maul. Once it was the end of Karna-Kar's tail, Crom grabs the maul, confirming it's unsettling movement. As he does he notices the ground, scattered body parts of the felled dragon are rolling and drifting toward the largest parts of his remaining torso. Crom takes the Shadow Maul, swings it as hard as he can and splits it upon the twelve foot blade skewering the cracked earth. It shatters into several pieces, vertebrae flying in every direction. The remaining parts of Void Wing begin to disintegrate into fine ash and scatter on the winds. He is destroyed, completely and truly.
The wind grows stronger, intensifying ten fold, with it comes wailing and a returning light. Mornington, Edward, Amarion, and Crom all try to take cover behind what little terrain there is in the nearby area, finding only a couple of small boulders. The light reaches them and a torrent of undead spirits flow toward the location of the sword and the location of Karna-Kar's demise. They flow upwards and spiral around into a great vortex in the sky, fading from sight as their screams fade with them. Out of the gloom, a glowing figure approaches them, he wears a misshapen breastplate and shield, and still bares his weapon close. Fenris Velante, his spirit one of many trapped in this plane, gives a heart felt speech to those of his lost fellowship. He tells them he was part of a horde of undead that were heading to the city of Spearpoint, both within the Material Plane and the Shadowfell. His commanded impulse told him they were to cross the river, and descend upon a great tower. Fenris feels the figurative bars of his imprisonment fading, with Karna-Kar dead he is no longer bound by the undead dragon's command, nor by his unfinished business. He manages to give his final farewell before he is drawn into the vortex of souls, fading away with the others, and passing to whatever lies for him beyond.
Crom paces about the giant sword. It is too big for him to wield, but he can sense he can attune when he places a hand upon the handle. Edward casts identify as a ritual, which summons the "presence", a dark featureless figure begins lingering at the edge of their light. They are startled at first, but it doesn't seem to move or show threat. Eventually it speaks, telling them of the champions pact, the sword's fallen owners, how it fell into their world and was shrouded by a great forest for years. Finally, it speaks of the price to be paid by taking it for themselves, a contribution, souls of those slain by the blade. With the Identify spell complete, it is revealed to be the Sword of Baphomet, the most potent magical weapon they have encountered so far. Crom agrees to the champions pact, as he attunes the sword shrinks to a size befitting it's wielder, and he fastens it on his back. They look around, and the presence is nowhere to be seen. Mornington provides everyone with shelter by casting Tiny Hut, and they all rest in the bleak landscape, hidden and protected. With no way of telling if morning has arrived or not, Amarion wakes the others a while after his trance ends, judging the timing the best he can. They pack as the hut's spell comes to an end, and begin towards the vague skyline of the city to the south. However, something is out there in the darkness, stalking their passage across the plains.
They travel for a time, each of them start to feel dark thoughts creep into their mind, of doubt, of fear, paranoias and nightmares, the very environment supressing any positive emotions they might have been carrying. Their light reveals the monolithic walls of Spearpoint ahead. They differ in this plane, no longer constructed of individual stones, just solid dark rock. Just as they are deciding which way to follow it, they are ambushed. A creature made of whirling shadow but also bestial tooth and claw jumps on Edward and begins ripping him to shreds. He is almost dragged out of the the party's small pool of light before the others descend on the creature. Amarion's Dawn Shard proves itself once again as its radiance devastates the creature of shadow, sending it cowering back to the endless darkness. Edward is badly injured, blood running from his wounds, but he gets to his feet and they collectively choose to follow the wall north. They soon come to an angular and misshapen archway that must be one of the city gatehouses on the material plane. They notice stalactites hang within the archway, and exercising some caution, Edward summons his Familiar Artax wishing to get a view over the wall, lest they stumble into another ambush. To Edwards horror, as his fiendish owl flies up to crest the wall, two of the stalactites detach from the archway and glide towards Artax. They are not stalactites at all, but in fact Darkmantle. Like a cross between bat and octopus, they propel themselves towards the owl and smother him with the efficiency of predators in their hunting grounds. Edward's connection with his familiar is severed as the owl dies.
The dread grips them further, thoughts of their connections in their home plane falling to ill fate, thoughts of their own past afflictions manifesting once more, thoughts that they may not make it out of here alive. They must get into the city, their only lead is some tower across the river, the one that splits the city in two. Amarion steps up to try and sneak under the remaining Darkmantle that hang in the archway. He uses the command word and extinguishes the light emitting from Dawn Shard. With the soft steps of his elven boots, and the keen vision of his elven eyes, he manages to sneak past the looming creatures. He tries to see if there are stairs that lead up the wall, to throw rope for his companions to climb. But any stairs that exist in the real city have no mark here, as if all detail and character have been stripped from their Spearpoint counterpart. Instead Amarion can only show the dim glow of his sword as a waypoint for the others to follow. Crom makes it across undetected, only a small rustle of wing membrane as he does. Edward is next and slowly crawls with his elven cloak shrouding him, leaving him looking like the rocky ground below. Mornington is last and had been using his Lantern of Judgment to guide the others, he pauses just in time to extinguish its light before he gets too close and alerts the creatures above. With effortless dexterity, he makes it across to join the others, stood now in a wide street of the foreboding city.
The buildings are very strange, more monolithic rock stands in place of what should be houses, shops, taverns, and more. Some are mere crumbled piles of rock, but most feel very much like the tall walls that pen them in. They continue moving south by lantern light, following one of the main wider streets that form the arteries of the city. They travel some distance before they start to notice changes to some of the "buildings". It appears some have been modified, tunnelled into, shabby wooden doors or high walkways constructed onto the large cube rocks. In the distance they even see the twinkle of light that might originate from within some of these dwellings. Something flutters in the air, wings. Suddenly, flying chaotically into view is a fiendish looking creature, not a Darkmantle, but something else. It looks like an eye held in the palm of a clawed hand, lifted by wings. Its eye focuses on the light of Mornington's lantern and then it flies furiously towards it. Everyone draws weapons to see if they can be the one to strike first, but before anyone gets the chance, the creature disappears. The trained eye of a magic user sees that the creature has some kind of innate teleportation. A moment later, Mornington's lantern rapidly gets brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. It explodes in a flash of white light, burning and blinding all around it. It's enough to make Edward succumb to his wounds, he falls to the floor, motionless and unconscious. Crom can hear flapping and waves his hand out in front of him grabbing the wing of the Light Thief Fiend. Amarion activates the light of Dawn Shard, and by the time their vision returns, Crom has blindly smashed the creature into a bloody pulp on the floor.
Amarion uses the healing powers of his faith to heal Edward, and once mobile again, they extinguish their light sources. They travel in a line, each gripping the pack of the one in front, Amarion leads them with his dark vision as they make further progress down the main street. They start to see these presumed dwellings more clearly now, but have little idea of who, or what, could be occupying them. At least it must be something of passing intelligence, they figure, given the construction carried out. They decide to approach one such building, light spilling through the cracks in a crudely constructed door. Mornington knocks and announces himself as a traveller looking for help. Something shuffles inside and extinguishes the light, but there is no answer, Mornington tries to persuade further that they mean no harm and are just looking for guidance through the city. Instead of forcefully entering, they decide to walk through the smaller streets until they find another, this time they find more success. After knocking and announcing themselves, a hatch is opened, a silhouetted head filling its view. A gruff voice talks to them with caution, but now that Mornington can actually have a conversation its not long before he manages to convince the individual with the potential for trade.
They are allowed into the shabby dwelling, and the grey skinned figure, as well as two others, are heavily garbed in wrappings covering almost all of their bodies. Only their eyes and the tips of their pointed ears can be seen amongst the cloth. A fourth figure sits by the fire they have lit at the room's centre, he stares at the flames with an expression of frozen trauma. His skin seems to be burnt, scarred, and altogether difficult to look at. He says nothing for their entire visit, doesn't acknowledge them, just stares at the flames. The tall figure that answered the door introduces himself, his name is Nasra and he is interested in this trade they speak of. Mornington simply tells him what they are after, the tower. Nasra explains that they need to cross the river to get there, and to cross the river they need the boatman, and the boatman doesn't just listen to just anyone. Heclaims he can introduce them to someone that can help, but it'll cost them. Sensing that these are not the most savoury of individuals to be bargaining with, Mornington's tone shifts. With the rest of the party posturing behind him, he makes it very clear that they are not to be messed with, and its best if Nasra helps them unconditionally. Mornington tells them of their recent victory over Karna-Kar and that it would be unwise to do anything to disappoint them. Nasra links together details that confirm Mornington's story; the dead trapped by Void Wing dragged to the beyond after his death, the sounds of battle that echoed across the city, the change in the winds now that his power has passed.
With reluctant obedience, Nasra alone leads them out into the streets and guides them through winding roads. After a short journey they round a corner and see a building altogether out of place, a humble cottage, thatched roof and wattle and daub walls. An altogether regular building sitting among the grim angular rock that makes up the rest of the city. As they approach the door to the cottage the door swings open, and stood in its threshold is Mornington Lormanston! Less dishevelled than the real one stood with his companions, all of them mouths open in shock. "Ahhhhh I must've sensed your approach. Please, come in, make yourself comfortable!"
The party filter into the very pleasant, warming cottage, slowly realising who is hosting them. Like being visited by someone you had only met in a blurred dream, they realise this shapeshifting individual is Zyranthis. A peculiar being they met in the very same cottage, in the Astral Plane during their alarming shortcut of planar travel. They sit, Nasra included, and the questions and answers begin to flow. After being questioned over how he ended up in this place, Zyranthis explains that the Astral Plane was getting increasingly treacherous, especially for someone with his history. The angels seem to be very busy, troubled even, as more invaders have been appearing, invaders that do not belong in their cosmos. Zyranthis looked to escape to another plane, but travel can be limited to those that do not align with the plane they intend as their destination. He only managed to slip into the Shadowfell, a sign he admits must mean he still has some atoning to do, perhaps this is why their paths have crossed again! Zyranthis seems uplifted that this opportunity has fallen so neatly before him, his imitation of Mornington complete with eccentric flourishes of word and gesture. He asks how he can help and they tell him of the tower and the need to cross the river. He exclaims that they must be referring to The Woven Pillars, well as they exist in the material plane anyway. He jumps to his feet, assuring he can help, he just needs to make the correct arrangements, send the right signals. Nasra states that he's owed something for getting them here, and before the party can interject, Zyranthis says he will cover Nasra's inconvenience. "The usual?" says Nasra, and Zyranthis nods in agreement. After informing the party that they can rest a moment and wait in his cottage, Zyranthis and Nasra leave to "make arrangements". Just as Zyranthis leaves the cottage his appearance shifts, now appearing as a duplicate of Nasra.
The party enjoy a short comfortable rest in the cottage, almost forgetting the dark world that stretches out just beyond the windows. Before they know it, Zyranthis returns with Nasra, who in turn is joined by his two similarly dressed companions. Zyranthis shifts form once more, now looking like Edward, and pulls up the hood of his elven cloak before beckoning them to follow. They head out into the streets and are lead eastward until they hit the large walls that separate city from river. They are lead along the wall until they come to a wide, broken section that spills into a pebbly shore by the rivers edge. For the first time in this plane, they are faced with a somewhat pleasant view. Until they find out what they are truly looking at. The river is dotted with thousands of soft glowing orbs of light, shifting and pulsating in intensity, like the river carries the stars along its current. Zyranthis points out that these are in fact countless Will 'o' Wisps floating just above the water. None would survive a crossing without the boatman's help, and right on cue, some of the lights shift aside making way for a boat that gently banks, pebbles shifting under its bow.
The boatman stands upon his vessel, a tall featureless figure with heavy robes draped from head to toe, as silent as he is dark. Zyranthis gestures, and the party board the ship along with Nasra and his companions. Zyranthis whispers something to the boatman while mimicking his form, but when he returns to sit with the others, he changes to Crom. The boat leaves the pebbled shore with unseen propulsion, the boatman guiding the rudder with one arm upon a lever. The Will 'o' Wisps gently move aside as they pass across the river and its thickening fog. Slowly, the whispers of the dead begin to swim in the heads of the four heroes. Negative thoughts stack upon each other and Crom finds himself looking over the edge of the boat, into the black depths below. Just as he begins to crave the cool water within his lungs, Amarion notices, and pulls Crom back by his shoulder, assuring he sits away from the edges, Zyranthis nods at the elf for his vigilance and Amarion finds himself looking upon his own face as the planar being shifts again. The remainder of the ride passes without trouble, only the oppressive feeling of the Shadowfell still pressing on their minds. The boat scrapes against the pebble shore, completing their crossing.
The party step off the boat one by one, while Zyranthis and the others remain. He warns them that they ought to move quickly, the tower is close, and he hopes they make it unscathed. The boat dislodges from the bank, and Zyranthis, appearing as Amarion still, waves to the party with a wistful smile. Nasra and the two others stand in the boat and move up behind him, and to the alarm of the party, they draw long, jagged daggers. Their arms raise up high, and they plunge their weapons into the back of Zyranthis. He makes not a sound, his expression still fixed, still waving his farewell. The knives fall again and again as the self proclaimed clipped wing withers to a prone position. Nasra and the others pull down the cloth that covers their mouths and begin feeding upon a magical smoke that seems to pour from the body of Zyranthis. Shocked, confused, and caught completely flat footed, the party are helpless to do anything with the boat drifting into deeper waters. They stand there for a few moments trying to make sense of what just happened, and then the boat is no longer in sight, fog and star-like glow blanketing their view.
They have no option but to move on, and revert to their previous approach to navigating. They kill their light sources and look for tall buildings, only just standing out against the slightly less dark sky. They see the tower protruding in the skyline and start navigating the streets on this side of the city. They see no modified dwellings on this leg of their journey, but after a time can hear distant footfall that seems to be following them through the streets. They quicken their pace and before long they find themselves in a large open space before several towers extend up into the dark clouds above. Some have crumbled, others collapsed entirely, but the central tower remains strong and intact. They hasten again, feeling they are close to their goal, and hopefully close to freedom, wanting nothing more than to leave this place of dread behind. As they approach the main tower they pass other smaller buildings, broken and split and carved. Their eyes are drawn into certain room's where they see glowing figures within. Prioritising stealth as they try to navigate towards the tower, they glimpse a closer look and see the spirits in detail. Seemingly held here for unknown ages, most are wizened old men, long beards and robes, chained within their room's. They lie still or collapsed over stone tablets, some making feint sounds of prolonged suffering. This registers as another thing the party wish not to tamper with, but make note of what they've witnessed. They dash for the tower, almost sure that they've lost what ever was following. The towers base opens into a large entry way with broken stairs leading upwards and a much larger central staircase leading down. At the end of the stairs leading down they see a glow, one of surprising colour compared to the endless greys and blacks of this mirrored world.
Descending the stairs, the four adventurers exchange a glance of relief once they finally see a portal up ahead. A solid stone archway, glowing runes adorning its peak. Edward notices something about the runes, they are not all made alike. Some appear to be newer carvings, their technique and aging differing from those originally made during the time of the Dargean Empire. It's been modified, but by who? Like many of the obstacles they have faced this day, they can only press forward and hope this modification does not impact them. One by one they step into the swirling glow of the portals threshold, each of their stomachs shifting as they cross the boundaries between planes.
As they step back into their home plane, they feel a weight lifted from their shoulders, from their dread addled minds, as if surfacing for air. They find themselves stood in an octagonal room, one ornate in construction featuring plinths on many of the walls, and a corridor stretches out before them. A large double doorway can been seen a ways down the corridor, but its broken, twisted, and scorched. They realise many of the walls in here are marked with the signs of battle, they focus on the floor around them as debris lies everywhere, smashed glass, armour, weapons, robes. As they look closer they realise something about the ornate armour scattered around the room, each piece is corroded, worn... tarnished. The forces loyal to Void Wing must have used the portal, as Fenris had mentioned the hordes that were travelling here, no doubt lead by The Tarnished. With the eerie silence surrounding them they look onward, ready to discover what has become of the Woven Pillars of Spearpoint.
Next Session. 109
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