Session 114

Removing the Curse

Chapter 1: Starfire Opal

Fazanna lifted the Starfire Opal from the idol with deliberate care, her movements heavy with ritual intent. She placed the jewel upon an anvil inscribed with glowing runes, its surface humming with restrained power. With a steady voice, she commanded Shank to wield his pyrocaustic gift and strike at the gem’s heart.

Shank answered with fire. His great axe ignited in primal flame, the weapon burning with destructive purpose as he swung with perfect precision. The strike landed true, and the Starfire Opal shattered in a blinding eruption of evocation energy. The shockwave tore through the chamber like a storm unchained.

But the price was steep. As the gem broke, a part of Fazanna’s essence was ripped away. The primal surge severed her forever from the school of evocation, stripping her of its spells like a thief in the night. The cost of victory carved its mark deep into her soul.

The force of the strike also pushed Shank’s weapon to its breaking point. The axe groaned under the strain, its magic unraveling as cracks split across the blade. Yet, sensing the flaw in his swing at the last moment, Shank pulled back just enough to spare his weapon, saving it from being reduced to little more than a ruined husk.

Chapter 2: Search for a Sacrificial Volunteer

Shank, Anvar, Safi, and Fazanna descended into the Warrens, the shadowed quarter of Tyr where the destitute clung to survival in crumbling shacks and dust-choked alleys. Their purpose was grim—seeking a soul desperate enough to trade life for coin, to die so that their loved ones might endure. It was a quest steeped in moral compromise, their resolve tested by the weight of their own intentions.

Their first encounter was with an old man, his skin marred by a terminal disease Anvar quickly recognized. At first, he listened, his hollow eyes betraying a quiet resignation. But Safi’s pride flared, and with a careless word the fragile bridge of trust was broken. The man turned bitter and withdrew, leaving them with nothing but failure.

Next came a young woman clutching her child. At first, she mistook Safi’s approach for something far baser, but when the truth emerged, her weary expression shifted—she considered it. Yet before the moment could ripen, Shank’s temper ignited. Harsh words and threats spilled forth, and with fear in her eyes she fled into the maze of alleys, clutching her child tightly to her chest.

Time slipped away, shadows lengthening toward twilight. At last, Anvar found three brothers working to patch their crumbling mud-brick shelter, one of them gravely ill. Hope stirred; the brothers weighed the offer, desperation flickering in their eyes. But before the deal could settle, Fazanna spoke an incantation, her magic twisting the air. To the frightened brothers, it was the mark of a defiler. Terror gripped them, and they recoiled, driving the group away with curses and fear.

As the sun sank, the party conceded defeat, weary and empty-handed. They turned back toward their bastion, their mission unfulfilled. Yet Shank lingered in the Warrens, unwilling to abandon the search. Alone in the dying light, he pressed on, determined to succeed where the others had failed.

Chapter 3: Shank's Night Out

As the sun bled into the horizon, shadows swallowed the Warrens, and Shank pressed on alone through its twisting alleys. The air was heavy with dust and the scent of decay when four small figures leapt from the gloom, their blades flashing as they drove steel into his legs. Pain seared him, but Shank’s sheer strength turned aside the worst of the assault.

With a roar, he struck back—not with his axe, but with brutal, open-handed blows. His smacks landed like thunder, felling the child-sized assailants one by one until they lay sprawled upon the broken earth. Breathing heavily, Shank loomed over their slight forms, his gaze narrowing. They were no mere shadows of the Warrens, but flesh and blood—perhaps even desperate souls.

Rather than leave them to the filth and dark, he bound their limbs and gathered them up. With grim resolve, he carried the unconscious figures back toward the bastion. In his mind, a thought took root—perhaps among these unwilling captives, one could yet serve as the sacrifice the group sought.

Chapter 4: Shank's Crime

At dawn, the bastion shook with heavy fists pounding upon its gates. The companions roused in alarm, only to be met by their servant, who announced with dread that the city guard waited at the front—demanding Shank. The charge struck like a thunderclap: he was accused of kidnapping four children. To the horror of his companions, Shank did not deny it. Instead, with blunt honesty, he admitted the crime.

Dragged before the templar court, Shank’s outrage flared. He railed against the injustice, his voice filled with defiance, yet in his fury he damned himself. His words, meant to justify, instead bound him in guilt, each one weaving the noose tighter while he remained blind to his own folly. Again and again, he insisted the children—and some shadowy mastermind—were the ones who should pay.

As the trial wore on, the group’s eyes fell upon a figure beside the judge: a man cloaked in a hooded cowl, his face veiled, whispering into the templar’s ear like a serpent offering counsel. Meanwhile, the supposed parents of the children wept bitterly for their offspring’s suffering. Yet it was plain to all with discerning eyes that they were no true kin, their grief a charade.

Still, Shank’s own confession shackled the judge’s will. Bound by law and circumstance, the templar delivered the verdict: twelve days in the city prison and a fine of two hundred gold pieces—or else hard labor to pay the debt.

Chapter 5: An Old Enemy

During his time in the city’s grim prison, Shank’s cunning surfaced. He persuaded a fellow inmate, Rufus, to take his place as the group’s intended sacrifice, a choice weighed with desperation and calculation. When his sentence ended and the group paid the steep two-hundred-gold-piece fine, Shank returned triumphant, eager to share the success of his grim negotiation. But hope quickly curdled into frustration; when they arrived at Rufus’ home, the man was gone, vanished like a shadow at noon.

Shortly after, a messenger arrived with a summons, directing Shank and the others to the palace of Sadira. They were led into a small, austere meeting room where Nobleman Verrasi awaited, a figure whose gaze carried both judgment and ambition. Sadira questioned them regarding their recent transgressions, acts openly defying the laws of Tyr. Verrasi intended to expose their crimes to the city council, but Sadira, acknowledging their service as heroes, sought a subtler resolution. The group confessed without hesitation, their culpability laid bare. When Verrasi pressed, Shiv’s temper flared; a veiled threat hung in the air before they were ushered from the room, tension crackling behind them.

By the following day, the consequences crystallized: the council demanded the group’s banishment and the seizure of their bastion. With grim determination, the companions packed their belongings and arranged for their possessions to be sent by wagon to Altaruk, leaving Tyr behind, the city’s laws and politics closing the chapter on their time there.

Chapter 6: To the Volcano

The group ventured toward the brooding volcano at the edge of Altaruk, its dark peak belching smoke that twisted into the blood-red sky. The air shimmered with heat, carrying the acrid scent of sulfur and molten rock. Their first challenge was a crumbling stone bridge, its cracked surface threatening to collapse under even the lightest step. Every footfall sent echoes into the abyss below, a terrifying reminder of the molten rivers waiting to claim them.

Past the bridge, channels of glowing lava snaked across the volcanic plain, roaring and spitting fire with relentless fury. Safi staggered under the heat, his skin slick with sweat, his body trembling as exhaustion gnawed at his limbs. Fazanna’s sharp gaze kept watch as the group pressed on, but the mountain seemed alive, shifting and trembling with a menacing rhythm.

A sudden rockslide thundered down the slope without warning, stones smashing into the ground around them. One jagged boulder struck Safi, leaving him bruised and gasping, his steps faltering on the unstable path. Flames licked the edges of the trail, and the scent of scorched stone filled their lungs.

As they navigated past a bubbling lava pit, the earth groaned beneath them. An eruption blasted a column of blinding smoke into the air, swirling in suffocating clouds that stung their eyes and coated their tongues with ash. Coughing and reeling, they stumbled to clear ground, hearts pounding with each crack of the earth.

Safi and Fazanna felt the full weight of the heat’s assault. Limbs grew heavy, minds fogged, and each breath became an effort. Even as they leaned on one another for support, the volcano’s presence pressed down, a living force of fire and stone that seemed to test their courage and resolve. Every step forward was a battle, every glance over their shoulder a reminder that the mountain would not forgive weakness.

Chapter 7: A Hermit

The group crested a jagged ridge and found themselves in a scorched ravine, where the wind carried the bitter tang of sulfur and ash. There, among twisted volcanic rock and steaming fissures, a solitary figure emerged: Zerakh, the hermit. His skin was weathered like cracked stone, his eyes sharp and glinting with an uncanny awareness, as if he had memorized every contour of the volcanic wasteland. He moved with the ease of someone who had long made this desolation his home, each step deliberate and unhurried.

Zerakh spoke with a voice that rasped like shifting gravel, offering them a secret path—a hidden pass that would take them straight into the heart of the volcano. The promise carried weight; the group sensed that without his guidance, the treacherous slopes and molten channels would swallow them whole.

Negotiation was tense. Words were chosen as carefully as steps on the unstable ground, each party testing the other. Finally, the group offered a drake claw, a token of both danger and value, and Zerakh’s expression shifted. The corners of his mouth hinted at a sly approval, his gaze lingering on them as if to measure their courage and cunning. With the pact sealed, he led the way, the secret pass awaiting them like a doorway into fire itself, and the air around them seemed to thrum with anticipation and peril.

Chapter 8: Heart of the Volcano

The secret path led them deep into the heart of the volcano, opening into a blistering chamber of molten fury. Four ash mephits hissed and swirled before them, their forms flickering with smoke and ember, while two massive lava elementals roared from molten beds, shaking the very floor with their molten weight.

Safi unleashed a blinding Sunburst, incinerating the ash mephits in a violent eruption of ash and fire that choked the air. One lava elemental plummeted into the molten bed, its roar fading into the bubbling lava, but the other rose with a deafening surge. Zahraan shrouded himself in darkness, dashing forward like a shadow given form. Fazanna took to the ceiling, hovering above the inferno, while Shiv and Anvar flanked the sides, poised to strike. Shank strode across the lava, solid footing forming beneath his boots, and commanded Cursy to guard Anvar.

The remaining elemental burst from the lava bed, spewing molten streams over all nearby and slamming Safi with arms of flowing fire. Shank met it head-on, swinging his great axe with precision and fury, stunning the elemental before cleaving it in a final explosion of molten rock. The second elemental erupted, hammering Safi with devastating blows, one strike nearly felling him entirely. From above, Fazanna summoned the tolling of death, while Anvar hurled his returning dagger with unerring aim. Safi echoed the spell, sending the elemental reeling.

Zahraan advanced through his darkness, teleporting directly into the elemental’s form, each strike splattering him with burning lava. Shiv activated his flying boots, darting across the chamber to strike the molten foe with a crushing maul, the impact sending rivers of lava cascading around him. One by one, the lava elementals fell, the chamber filled with steam, smoke, and the lingering scent of scorched stone, the group standing amidst the blazing chaos, victorious but scorched and weary from the searing inferno.

Chapter 9: Vermilion Diamond

Fazanna stepped carefully across jagged stones scattered across the molten heart of the volcano, each step radiating heat that singed the air around her. With a steady hand, she hurled the vermilion diamond into the churning lava below. The gem sank instantly, swallowed by the molten fury, sending sparks and flashes across the searing expanse.

The act came at a terrible cost. The heat of the volcanic core seared through her very being, leaving scars that would never fade. Fazanna staggered back, the inferno’s wrath marking her permanently; her vitality diminished, the blaze claiming ten of her life’s essence forever. Amid the roar of molten stone and fire, she stood resolute, the price of her action etched into her body as indelibly as it was into her spirit.

Chapter 10: To the Sea of Silt

After a brief meeting with Sortar’s Army, the companions departed with renewed purpose. The soldiers had received them as allies and friends, offering them food and encouragement before sending them on their way. Sortar himself had spoken of a man who might aid them—a silt skimmer captain, seasoned in navigating the perilous tides of the Silt Sea.

Their path led them to the coast, where the land gave way to the endless gray expanse of silt that stretched farther than the eye could see. It was there they met Captain K’Rash, a hardened sailor with weathered skin and sharp, calculating eyes that spoke of countless voyages across the deadly sea.

The negotiations with him were clumsy at first, their words poorly chosen and their offers ill-timed. For a moment, it seemed as if K’Rash might dismiss them outright, but instead he lingered, studying them with a predator’s patience. At last, with a rough laugh and a nod, he agreed to their request.

Whether it was greed, curiosity, or some hidden motive that swayed him, none of the group could say. But K’Rash’s word was given, and with it, their path forward: a voyage into the deep reaches of the Silt Sea, where danger and mystery awaited beneath the drifting gray horizon.

Chapter 11: Battle in the Silt Sea

The captain slowed the skimmer, his sharp eyes fixed on the shifting gray surface. In a low voice, he warned the group they had reached the place. The stillness lasted only a heartbeat before the sea erupted—an enormous adult silt worm tore from the depths, flanked by three writhing juveniles.

Safi, defiant, strode to the prow of the craft and unleashed a blazing sunburst. The light seared across the dunes, forcing the beasts to dive back into the choking silt. The group erupted into debate, uncertainty crackling like static in the air, when suddenly the surface exploded again. The adult worm lunged upward with terrifying speed, its gaping maw closing around Safi in a single, crushing swallow.

Shiv did not hesitate. His boots carried him skyward, his massive maul blazing with fury as he descended upon the monster. Blow after blow rained down, each strike shaking the beast’s colossal frame. Then Shank, his great axe wreathed in primal fire, struck the killing blow. The creature let out a deathly shudder before collapsing into the silt, its maw forcing open as it regurgitated Safi’s broken body.

The companions rushed to recover him, while beneath the surface the three juveniles fled into the endless gray, leaving only silence and the drifting wake of their escape.

Chapter 12: Siltsone Gem

The silt skimmer glided across the gray expanse until the captain raised a hand, pointing toward a shadowed stretch of shifting surface. Beneath them, he explained, yawned a deep trench, a drop into the unknown heart of the Silt Sea.

With solemn resolve, Fazanna stepped forward, clutching the siltstone gem. She whispered no words of farewell, only tightened her grip before casting it into the suffocating depths. The gem sank quickly, vanishing into the silt. For five long minutes the companions waited, the silence broken only by the groaning timbers of the skimmer and the slow hiss of wind. Then Fazanna felt it—the sharp, sickening tear of magic unraveling, the gem’s power wrenched into nothingness.

But the victory came at a terrible cost. Fazanna’s throat burned, her words faltered, and she realized with horror that her voice was slipping away. From that moment onward, her speech was cursed, fragile as ash. Each new day, she would be forced to battle against the affliction, her will tested by fate itself. Failure would strip her of every voice she had—spoken word, language, even the silent gift of telepathy—leaving her in silence for an entire day, locked away in her own mind.

The gem was gone. The trench was sealed. But Fazanna carried the scars of its destruction, a price her body and spirit would never forget.

Chapter 13: Plea for Help

After returning to shore, the companions made the short journey back to Altaruk, the dust of the desert still clinging to them. As they approached the gates, a voice rang out above the crowd. It was Lari, a Raamite half-elf noblewoman, her every movement steeped in the polish of high birth. Yet her eyes betrayed her, darting toward shadowed alleys, restless and watchful.

When her gaze settled on Karnos, a flicker of recognition passed between them. Her smile was faint, tinged not with warmth but with memory. Their past had been fleeting, a bond of desire rather than love, but now she wielded it with purpose.

“Heroes of Tyr,” she declared, her voice steady though desperation laced its edges. “Raam stands on the brink of ruin. A horde of merciless creatures advances upon the city. Our leaders bicker like spoiled children. They sent emissaries, and the horde answered with slaughter. Still, they argue. Still, they do nothing.”

Her tone dropped to a whisper as she stepped closer, urgency sharpening her words. “If no one acts, Raam will be buried in dust and blood. I do not trust my city’s rulers, but I trust in you. Your names carry weight. You can do what Raam’s nobles refuse to—save its people.”

Her eyes lingered on Karnos, heavy with unspoken history. “Karnos… whatever lay between us before, I would not call upon it lightly. But this is life or death. I need your help. Raam needs your help.”

The companions gave their assent. Without hesitation, Lari produced a slender wand, snapped it in two, and in a flash of searing magic the world around them dissolved—teleporting them into the unknown.

Chapter 14: Day of Light

The companions appeared outside Raam’s Nawab Gate, only to be swept at once into chaos. The city-state seethed in pandemonium, rivaling even the day King Kalak of Tyr fell twelve years prior. The streets writhed with fear—citizens fled blindly from building to building, some seeking refuge in shadows, others bolting for the desert to the north and west. A small band of desperate men shouted themselves hoarse, herding survivors into a fortified northern district, where it seemed the last defenders of Raam would make their stand.

To the south, the city roared with horror. Screams of terror cut through the air, mingling with the flare of magic and the shrill, inhuman cries of triumph from an enemy still largely unseen. The companions soon encountered a frantic Raamite urging people toward the merchant’s quarter. Breathless and wild-eyed, he spat venom at the noble houses.

The house of M’ke, he explained, had known of the oncoming horde for days, yet squandered the warning in bitter disputes with rival nobles. When the creatures appeared at the Mastyrial Gate, their hesitation had doomed the city. Leviath the Calm alone rallied a force to resist, but their efforts were futile. Over two thousand horrors surged against the paltry defense, and the walls were smashed as easily as clay. Nobles and merchants, true to their nature, sealed themselves in the Noble Quarter, abandoning the city to ruin—until Leviath broke down their gates to force them to offer sanctuary.

But the worst had yet to come. When the first assault ended, the invaders stood victorious among the ruins of the gate—and then the Dragon himself appeared. All had believed the monster slain by Tyr’s rebels years ago, yet here he was, alive and terrible. Despair swept through Raam like a plague. A white-flag emissary was sent, as once Abalach-Re had done to appease the beast. Yet the emissary was seized, dragged before the Dragon, and drained of life until his body crumbled to ash.

The Raamite’s voice dropped to a shudder. Worse than the Dragon’s wrath was the sight that followed—a congregation of hundreds, men and women of many races, poured from a long-abandoned building, proclaiming the Dragon their savior. They too were reduced to lifeless husks, their faith rewarded with death. It became clear: the invaders cared not for conquest alone, but for sacrifices to feed their master’s endless hunger.

With Leviath’s battered force retreating to the Noble Quarter, those left behind cowered in the southern districts, hunted by enemy patrols. “Raam will never be the same,” the man whispered, his eyes burning with anger. Then, louder: “Some of us are going back into the city to rescue the trapped—and to strike back, if only in ambush. Quick cuts. Swift kills. Will you stand with us?”

The companions agreed. Lari’s face softened with relief, her thanks hurried but heartfelt. Then she turned and vanished into the press of fleeing citizens, leaving the group to face a city teetering on the edge of annihilation.

Chapter 15: Finding Nanda

The moment the group stepped into the Mastyrial Gate district, a sense of wrongness pressed upon them like a physical weight. The air was heavy and stale, carrying the acrid tang of old incense and dust. Buildings leaned precariously against one another, shutters sagging, courtyards abandoned for years. No laughter rang out. No merchants’ calls. Not even the desperate bark of a beggar. Only silence, thick and suffocating.

One house drew their attention. Half-collapsed and jagged, its doorway was crudely blocked with fallen stone, as if to keep something in—or something out. From within came a faint flutter, the sway of fabric caught in the dim light.

Inside, fractured shutters cast sharp, skeletal beams across the gloom. Cushions lay strewn, urns cracked and toppled, the room untouched for years. In a corner sat a lone figure—a tall half-elf woman, her skin drawn tight from exhaustion, eyes wide and glassy. She did not blink, did not move, save for the faint twitch of her lips, whispering words too soft to hear. She seemed imprisoned within her own mind, staring past the world into a terror no one could see.

The companions approached cautiously. Safi attempted to read her thoughts but found only silence, a void where her mind should have been. Outside, a dray patrol passed, and the group held their breath, hiding until the danger moved on.

Deciding to bring the woman back to the Noble Quarter for safety, they made their way carefully through the streets. They were soon met by figures identifying themselves as members of the Veiled Alliance, their leader Nandi present. Without hesitation, the group handed her over, entrusting her to those who might offer the protection the city itself had long since failed to provide.

Chapter 16: Leviath the Calm

In the heart of the Noble District, the companions finally encountered Leviath the Calm. The half-giant’s presence was imposing, yet his voice carried a measured authority that cut through the tension of the besieged city.

“The first part of the battle is over, my friends,” Leviath began, his tone grave. “We have lost much. The creature that calls itself the Dragon has slaughtered thousands outright, and drained the life force of another thousand. Were it not said that the Dragon had been slain, one might think the levy had returned to Raam. But this is only the beginning, and the struggle is far from over. Many still remain trapped in the southern districts.”

He swept a hand toward the city’s chaotic expanse. “My scouts report that the dray—these creatures—have claimed large swaths of the southern streets, hunting for those who hide. Elsewhere, another battle rages at the edge of the Coins Quarter, where the Night Runners of the elf tribe fight desperately. It is, by all accounts, the largest engagement still ongoing.”

Leviath’s gaze met each of theirs, sharp and urgent. “In moments, a group of us will return to the southern streets to rescue those still trapped before they are found. The main force of dray is scattered, small bands of a dozen or fewer patrolling alleyways. We cannot stand against the full tide of them—but these scattered forces are vulnerable. Are you with us?”

Without hesitation, the group agreed, ready to venture back into the streets of Raam, where danger lurked in every shadow and the desperate cries of the trapped echoed through the ruins.

Chapter 17: A Gladiator in Need

Venturing back into the southern districts of Raam, the group stumbled upon a familiar figure—Toranthis the Gladiator—fleeing desperately from a patrol of relentless dray. Chaos erupted instantly. Safi attempted a cone of cold, only to have one of the dray templars deftly counter it. Thinking quickly, Safi shifted into a kirre, the six-legged predator of Athas, nimble and fierce.

Shiv baited the enemy, switching places with the kirre, and charged a dray fighter, his maul swinging with reckless precision. Using his maneuvering attack, he pulled his brother Shank closer into the fray. Shank’s great axe roared through the air, felling two dray warriors with brutal efficiency before striking again through his action surge. Meanwhile, Fazanna’s magic quickened Shank’s movements, her spell amplifying the fury of the arena that now raged in him.

Anvar surged forward, unleashing a mind blast that left three dray stunned, two completely incapacitated. Cursy leapt into the fray, scattering the remaining dray, whose morale broke under the heroes’ relentless assault. Zahraan failed to intercept one fleeing templar, but the two stunned dray were swiftly dispatched by Toranthis, who then paused only to offer a quick nod of thanks before disappearing into the chaos of the city.

In the aftermath, the southern streets fell silent once more, the dray routed and the companions standing victorious amid the ruin, a brief reprieve in the relentless night of terror that had engulfed Raam.

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