#138 - Derailment

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

We advanced into the next car before the harpy could recover, pursued by endless shadows. Izzeth held our rear, his byeshk scimitar tearing through the insubstantial creatures. “I’ll hold them off,” he called ahead, and set his stance to block their passage.

The injured harpy paced us outside the train, I caught glimpses of her through small windows. The train shuddered as the shadow dragon’s claws raked its roof. Sunlight was just beginning to appear along the horizon. I prayed it would drive the dark creatures off.

Finally, we breached the engine car. The entry hall terminated in a wide receiving room, with a thick door separating the driver’s compartment from the rest of the train. As Cypher, Clarion, Magnus, Bale and I entered—where Alaea had vanished to I hadn’t a clue—a smug voice mocked us from the shadows. “Members of House Orien only permitted beyond this point.”

“We’re here to enforce that,” I replied, still unable to locate our foes, as close as they sounded.

Movement from the shadows, a small figure with a crossbow sent a bolt our way. Cypher and I rushed for the door opposite the room. As I brushed past a large stone pillar, it began to turn, revealing itself as a stone golem rousing laboriously from its rest, too slowly to stop us.

While Clarion and Magnus engaged, and Bale provided ranged support, Cypher clicked open the lock on the door and we burst though. Arrow fire from skeletons rained from either side, pinging off our armor.

At the helm before a wide, thick glass shield stood the train’s driver, an withered man controlling a cog-and-gem-covered contraption by a pair of leather reins, like it was a coach and the elemental within a mere horse. His posture was tense, and beside him stood a human wearing a packed, cluttered vest. Clearly an artificer, a flesh-and-blood mirror of Cypher. Beside him sat a wide, warded stone cylinder, just the right size to house a barrel of the Mire.

Bale’s green blasts flashed in the edges of my vision, then the familiar clatter of de-animated bones sounded. I rushed the artificer, backing him away from the Mire, but trying not to kill him outright. If we could take him alive we might gain enough secrets about the Mire to disenchant or destroy it, and perhaps information about Avashad’s schemes.

Cypher knelt by the barrel, ignoring the blades flying over his head, fully subsumed in the puzzle the runes presented.

In the room we had left behind, an ungodly crash sounded, shaking the entire car down to the rails and nearly tossing us from our feet. I had a suspicion Magnus had taken care of the golem. I would later learn that he had decided to activate an Immovable Rod directly in front of the stone golem. It wasn't his best, or worst, idea, and it did rid us of the formidable construct—but also denied us further help from Magnus.

At Cypher’s touch, a seam in the barrel shifted and the hatch swung easily open. A flash of light burst from within, followed by an acrid smell and a smoke black cloud. He was profoundly affected. Metal pieces tarnished as the smoke touched, wood shriveled and created gaps wide enough to stick fingers in. The gems that served as his eyes exploded with a sharp crack and he toppled like a felled tree.

I was certain he was dead. In the next moment, the train’s windshield shattered inward and the roaring of wind snatched away my shout. A shadow blocked the light, and the dragon’s head appeared, twisting down from above. It looked battered, dull, but crammed head and shoulders inside in an attempt to escape the rising sun.

Clarion bulled past me, sparing a glance for Cypher before standing beside his corpse and driving the dragon back. Bale followed in, picking off the artificer’s barbed homunculus as it scurried about.

Along the room’s far wall, Avashad the rakshasa lounged—if it was him. There was no way of knowing what illusions cloaked these fiendish beings. He was so still, I hadn’t noticed his arrival. As usual, he seemed disinclined to engage in any combat and the rest of us had our hands too full to provide him. The dragon locked eyes with him, and Avashad nodded once.

The artificer was wily, and without aid I couldn’t get a hold on him. The dragon snatched him in one massive claw and pulled him free from the train. Precariously positioned, but far from my reach. If anything else, we couldn’t let him escape.

Then the dragon bent its head down and decapitated the driver, removing head and shoulders in one gulp. The rushing wind splattered blood across the entire back wall and all combatants.

Above, where the artificer had escaped, the familiar fwoomph of a fireball sounded, then another. From Aleae’s vantage point, there was no escape.

Avashad gestured once. I ducked, feeling a wash of magic target me, though I wasn’t sure the effect. Then he turned, strode into a rift that appeared in the air, and vanished. I spun around—

—just as the train flipped.

#137 - Illusions and Shadows

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

After some more discussion on our part, Izzeth turned to the curtain hiding the Lady Dark and answered her riddle. “A medusa.”

Lady Dark flung the curtain aside. I flinched and looked down as she twirled out to the center of the chamber, until I realized that the horrific visage she wore was merely a mask. Quiet laughter emerged from the other chamber where Avashad lounged. He had kept one catlike eye on us through the doorway the entire time and, aside from the discomfort he had shown at Aleae’s song, didn’t appear distressed by our activities.

He claimed he couldn’t alter the passage of time here. I hesitated to believe him, though it wouldn’t make a difference. We were being delayed and we could not allow the Mire hidden on this train to reach Sharn.

After several seconds, Izzeth asked Lady Dark if she had a clue for us.

"She has nothing to give,” the rakshasa replied for her. It seemed none of the guests spoke unless it was to speak their riddles. "...for you have gathered all the clues already."

Soft clapping from the rakshasa then.

Still, we hadn’t achieved the way out. Magnus, Bale, Clarion, and Cypher each brought forth the papers they had won, which bore the letters N, E, A, and C.

The illusion had granted us all objects in place of our gear, and this proved to be the missing piece. Clarion raised his CANE in one gloved hand. In the clear crystal sat a small, silver key. He’d been carrying it the entire time. He smashed the crystal against the carpet and inserted the key into the lock of the door that had been identified as the way out. It turned smoothly.

Avashad sighed in quiet frustration as the illusion began to fade away.

I closed my hands around the shaft of the Risian Fang. The cold it radiated steadied me as much as the physical support when the rocking of the lighting rail resumed.

It was dark, yet it had been barely past dawn when the wizards teleported us onto the train. I thought for a moment my fears had been realized, until I remembered the tunnel far in the distance I’d spotted through the window. Scant comfort—the tunnel was on the train’s last leg to Sharn.

Torg and Warlaz were behind us in the hallway running through the rail car we had entered while simultaneously entering the illusion. Both beasts shifted impatiently as we regained our senses, stumbled, rubbed eyes, checked our gear. It would have been the perfect opportunity for an ambush, but the rakshasa and his "dinner guests" were well and truly gone...if they had actually been here.

We agreed to press on quickly. I warned the others to stand aside, then ordered the gorgon for the door to the next car. Between him and Clarion, they tore it down. A bolt of blue light—as of the dangerous energy discharged by a ballista—flashed by through the opening, smashing through the closed door on the other end.

Torg charged through heedless of the ballista, and we advanced behind him. Clarion entered the first chamber to the right and I took cover in the left. Immediately I was beset upon by several shadows, like the ones we had seen the shadow dragon create from the corpses of the prisoners in the cauldron room in Glyphstone. These must have been raised from the passengers.

Right as I destroyed the first, I was plunged into Bale’s increasingly familiar darkness. I seized the opportunity to duck back out into the hall and advance under its cover. We didn’t have the time to spare to deal with shades and here there were no more civilians. Avashad may have succeeded in delaying us after all.

Bale and Clarion held the doorways against the shades. When I emerged from the darkness I saw the ballista was damaged by Torg’s hooves, no operator in sight. Cypher was able to convince the gorgon to back off long enough to clamber onto the platform and raise it toward the ceiling. Hopefully, he would remember to duck before it reached the tunnel ceiling.

Aleae, Izzeth and I faced a few shadows that had slipped past Bale’s darkness, then I heard harpy song from above and ahead at the next car. Not the charming sort we had faced before, but violent—this was the deadly voice of their chieftainess.

Then a muffled discharge from the ballista above, and a thump as the harpy jumped down to the platform connecting the to train cars. Her razor wind shot through the corridor and forced us away.

But Cypher persistently lowered the ballista back down inside for another shot as the rest of us fought the wind. The projectile took her full in the chest and cut off the song. It left our ears ringing, but our way forward cleared—though she herself was not removed from our path yet.

#136 - Riddles on a Train

The shadow dragon, which Aleae had roused and angered with her spells, unleashed its wrath upon Magnus, who stood outside the rail car door and was unable to escape it. A torrent of necrotic energy fell upon him instead of a blast of proper fire, but he survived it. Then he climbed through the door again.

Inside, the fire elemental was quickly dispatched with some measure of cooperation. The gorgon, Torg, had been conjured by Wynn—the metal sphere that summoned him had been given to the party by Elidac's wizards, and she decided the lightning rail battles were the best place for it appear. Normally, close quarters combat isn't the best place for a steel-plated bull, but Torg didn't care. He seems perpetually cranky, and would fight on their sight, if not with subtly.

Wynn prompted Torg to ram the door into the present cart—and the fire elemental had come into its path. The two contended, but ultimately the elemental could not endure the onslaught of Torg and the PCs.

Once all enemies were dispatched, the party continued to the next cart. Just inside the door, they found a corridor leading up to a red, velvet curtain. They sent Warlaz through it first, then Torg. Both seemed to vanish in the dark and did not return. Something was odd about this particular rail cart. After deliberating, Magnus strode on and disappeared beyond the curtain. Izzeth followed.

The rest of the party hesitated at this, and Clarion even sent a Message to Magnus. Based on his reply, the part decided to follow. One by one they entered, most grudingly...

As told by Magnus of the Island of Seren / Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

I’m not used to this, but I am no longer completely startled. Blast all these wizards and their magic. They can’t just meet by a fire or in a tavern. It seems they like to have meetings in little spaces they design themselves.

In the middle of our battle to get to the front of the lightning rail, to save Sharn from the barrel of poison at the front of it, we stepped through a door and through a curtain and are suddenly not on board any long. It’s what my companions have been calling a “pocket dimension,” whatever that means.

Izzeth and I entered first and were cut off from the rest of the group. Only a few seconds passed
before Clarion sent me a spell-message asking where we were. I told him that I didn't know but we couldn't go back and we were safe; they should come through (there was nowhere else to go).

Here, I had no armor, only fine clothes (someday I will buy some). I had no weapons (I could not sense Storrgrim the giant or his winter wolf), only a bouquet of small blue flowers. And we were in some fine apartment somewhere with soft music playing. I will say, it was at least a welcome relief from the massive battle, and my wound did hurt less. I should have bled right through these fine clothes, but somehow I did not.

It wasn't long before the rest of the party made it through to this place, all dressed in fine clothes. For most of us it made some sense, dresses and capes and hose and doublets. The women wore dresses and gowns, though only Aleae looked comfortable enough in this form. I have grown accustomed to seeing Wynn as a battle-hardened soldier clad in metal armor. Here she wore a dress of black and looked as unaccustomed as I was to such finery. Each was carrying an object: a cup, flowers, a cane, a fan, a comb, a harp, a book. Regular party guests, that was us.

Clarion and Cypher, on the other had, did not look normal, or even quite like warforged. They looked like men wearing a warforged costumes, including graven silvery and gold masks and matching gloves. No flesh was visible. We all seemed a bit confused, and each spent a few minutes experimenting with the new forms ( I imagine that all the magic-using folks were working hard to figure out what this place was). I hung back, hoping that they will have some guidance. I wasn't planning to bash someone with the bouquet of blue and white flowers in my hand.

It wasn't long before Aleae and Cypher moved forward in the hallway where we had appeared. To the left was an open door, and to the right, another. There were people within, and they started speaking with them. Having already noticed that the rear door was just a painting (no going back that way), I investigated the real-looking door at the opposite end of the hallway, and found it locked.

I could see that the conversation was with a bunch of other well-dressed folks, most of them wearing masks. On was wearing a red dragon mask. “Garcerix?” I whispered, but he only looked back at me and said nothing.

It didn't take long to see the heart of the problem. A robed human, with the tiger's head, and the backwards hands of a rakshasa, sat comfortably on a sofa. Dressed in a smoking jacket, he puffed away at a pipe.

I said out loud, “Avashad?”

“That would be ridiculous,” he aswered, smiling.

“Yes, it would.” I say.

Aleae came forward and used the harp she had in her hands to play an elvish song of some kind. The words were in a different language, and the rakshasa did not seem pleased with it. Eventually I asked him why he was here.

“I believe it is time for civility, he said. When we asked about this place, he admitted it was not real. We already suspected this place will somehow the work of illusions, and even on Seren we have heard of rakshasas. They are masters of deception. Even copper dragons, who love trickery, do not stoop to the illusions of these fiends.

"It is designed to delay you with nonviolence," the rakshasa, who never gave his name, went on. "You may not understand this now, but it is really for the best. Some of my associates would like you to survive, and so I would ask that you simply sit down, relax, have a drink. Wait and see what’s to come. It won’t be all as unpleasant as you imagine.”

But we refused, and so the rakshasa sighed. “Very well. The rules are quite simple. For your sake, friends, let us hope you are not. Each guest here has a quandary." He indicated the masked party guests and introduced them by their "names."

"Solve it for them, politely, doing no violence, and they may give you one clue. Find all the clues and you will have the key to your only way out of here.” He indicated the front door, and that would make sense. If we were still, in truth, aboard a lightning rail cart, then that door would be facing the front. We were very close now to reaching the engine car.

I again asked the rakshasa why resort to this deception.

"Playing for time, of course,” he answered.

“Time we do not have,” I said, to him and to my friends. "This rail must not reach Sharn. We have to stop it."

So, the party gamely sets about talking with all the masked guests, gathering riddles as we try to answer. It was made clear that we could provide only one answer to each "quandary." And these quandaries were mostly riddles. Stinking rakshasas!

The woman named Lady Cockatrice indicated a painting on the wall above her: “I have neither brothers nor sisters, but this woman’s mother is the daughter of my mother. Who is the woman in the painting?”

“Your daughter” we answered after some debate.

This was correct. She gave us a piece of paper with the letter N on it.

The Chimera Brothers each had their own riddle.

The riddle of Master Lion was:  "A humble seamstress is in love with the queen’s son. She goes before the queen and asks to marry her son. The queen, who has become paranoid and wishes to curry favor with her court by showing how generous she can be, considers the request. Then she makes a deal. The queen, who loves her son and wishes not to lose him to a commoner, says publicly that she will write ‘Yes’ on one scroll and ‘No’ on another. In the morning, the seamstress will have to choose one scroll randomly in front of the court. That night, the seamstress learns from a spy that the queen plans on writing ‘No’ on both scrolls. How can the seamstress be sure she gets to marry the queen’s son?”

We debated this one a lot. We answered that the seamstress must claim one scroll and open the other, showing “no” to the queen proving that the one she holds must be “yes.” That was not the answer, or least was not acceptable.

The riddle of Master Goat was:  "A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose one of three methods of execution: The first is a pit filled with the fires of Fernia. The second pit is filled with Talentan lions that haven’t eaten for three years. The third pit is filled with the blade-wielding assassins from House Phiarlan. Which pit is safest for him to enter?”

We quickly answered this one. "The pit with the dead lions in it," for not eating for three years means they would be dead.

This was correct. He gave us a piece of paper with the letter E on it.

The riddle of Master Dragon was: “A foolish thief attempts to steal from the hoard of a mighty dragon. He is caught, of course, and is brought before the dragon to receive punishment. The dragon feels merciful and tells the thief he may choose the manner of his own death. When the thief replies, the dragon lets him go free. How did the thief wish to die?”

We also solved this one after some talk. Talk that was taking much too long. "Old age” was our answer.

This was correct. He gave us a piece of paper with the letter A on it.

The riddle of Lady Drow was a game of Conqueror, the Karrnathi game of strategy which only Clarion and Wynn knew how to play. She said, “I wish to win this game. Will you let me win? If I win, I will give you what you seek. If you win, I will banish this illusion altogether.”

We agreed to let her win, and with Wynn's help Bale played her and lost.

Shee gave us a piece of paper with the letter C on it.

The riddle of Lord Griffon was odder: “I am a very jealous man. I would like you to give something to me. Give me one of your possessions—whatever you deem the most valuable. Whatever you give me, I will not give back."

It seemed as though we were meant to choose from among the objects we had carried into this illusion: a cup, a bouquet of flowers, a cane, a fan, a comb, a harp, a book. Or perhaps not. It might have been something more abstract? We were stumped.

The riddle of Lady Dark, who seemed nothing more than a pair of green slippers behind a black curtain—blocking our view of her: “Because beauty is my right and power my wage / You will not live and you will not age / Hold fast, my love, if only you will see / For only darkness can protect you from me."

We had many answers in mind: the dawn, time, a paintbrush, but we could not agree on any, so we did not yet give an answer. I think the answer might be a medusa, but I didn't say anything yet. These folks are much smarter than I am.

And somewhere, the lightning rail we are on speeds towards Sharn, and the death of a city looms.

Time.  Playing for time.  I hate Avashad.

#135 - Smoke, Screams, and Chain Lightning

From the journal of Diva’un Mur'ss, last of House Zaughym, Bale of Nightfall, Drinker of the Blood of Erebus the Thrice Unforgiven, Bringer of Darkness / Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

Aleae and I share a heritage of innate resistance to the harpy's song—the fey-born are not easily beguiled by petty charms—and so neither of us succumbed to its cloying refrain. Wind buffeted us and the rocking of the car made it difficult to concentrate on anything other than keeping my balance. Fortunately it took little concentration to throw eldritch energies at the remaining harpy. My blasts knocked it from its perch on the steel roof of the lightning rail and almost immediately Alea telekinetically grabbed the creature with her mind-magic. There was but a momentary struggle as the invisible hand gripped the feathered siren and then it plunged out of sight. After an electric ripping sound from below us, all that remained of the harpy was a spray of feathers.

The hostage which we rescued couldn't be left on the roof and I was hardly equipped or inclined to carry her to safety. Alea's telekinetic grasp again proved its worth and its flexible nature, as it gently cradled the unconscious passenger and lowered her to the platform connecting the cars.

To my right, motion attracted my gaze. I turned quickly enough to see a a body launched from a window of the car below me. It was not one of my companions, so I did not regret my smile at the sight.

I advanced towards the forward edge of the car, to lower myself down. My eyes squinted against the wind, the unaccustomed daylight, and the smoke. Smoke? Before I began my precarious climb to the platform below, I could see a gout of flame explode from the hatch of the car ahead of us. The dragon, awaiting us nearly three cars away, became only an outline seen through the black smoke which poured from the hatch and several windows before us. The muffled screams of passengers carried on the wind near the inferno decided my next action for me. With a word, I expended much of my eldritch power to surround myself with a chill shield. I hoped it would help me to contend with what lay ahead.

As I carefully lowered myself, I took a moment to cast one last glance at the dragon silhouette. In front of the behemoth, several smaller (thank the Underdark) figures were wrestling a metal ballistae. The roof of the rail was no longer feeling safe and so I dropped to the platform. The unconscious passenger seemed secure enough where she was. With the sounds of combat behind me and the smoke pouring from the car ahead, I could think of no better place to leave her.

I could see Aleae had confidently advanced to the roof of the next car, but I steeled myself to face the smoke and flame of the next car's interior.

Finding the door locked, I managed to wriggle through a window into the smoke-filled car. I landed poorly, but nothing jumped from the smoke to take advantage of my weakness. I felt unaccustomed sympathy for those unprepared for my cloak of darkness as I could barely see my hand before my face. I stayed low to avoid some of the smoke and headed to my right in order to open a window—perhaps the car would clear if properly ventilated...

A spear lanced from the smoke! I parried it, but a clawed hand followed and further damaged my tattered leather armor. I couldn't tell if my armor was still providing the least bit of protection, or if it was only the life-force of those I had killed before that resisted the attack. The creature—another tall, black-spindled demon it seemed—grunted after touching me. The icy bite of my frigid shield had hurt him more than he had hurt me.

A sudden but brief gust of cold, which felt colder still after the heat in the car, rushed through me. Some powerful magic had been deployed ahead of me which I only later learned was Magnus channeling the power of his weapon—the mace that has been called Defiler's Bane—from the roof of the car. I could only hope that the cold had resulted in less flame remaining to test my shield. From the car behind me, an eerie wailing issued. I couldn't imagine what Clarion and Wynn where facing, but I had other concerns.

I instinctively brought forth my darkness and taking advantage of the spear-wielding fiend's confusion, blasted the creature back. I managed to avoid a second set of attacks as the creature rushed at me in an attempt to impale and claw me. Half a moment later, Cypher slipped into the car behind me, avoiding the stab of a second spear-wielding demon that I had not seen. Now we faced two. The warforged rushed past the demons into my darkness and hid behind me.

I was nonplussed with the warforged, but those who wear the mantle of rogue, as Cypher did, would often seek such advantages. I suppose he has come to recognize my friendly eclipse as the sanctuary that it is.

The smoke stirred and the open windows dissipated it a little at a time, but still more than half the car remained unseen. As I focused on my two demonic opponents, in my peripheral vision I could see flashes of fire which never seemed to come from the same place twice. Then there was a series of bone-rattling detonations followed by a horrible scream of pain and anger that could only have issued from the maw of the dragon outside.

What seemed seconds, but was only an instant latter came another detonation which was louder still. My opponents and I froze in place for a moment and the world was silent. None bore witness to the spell-storm on the lightning rail roof except Aleae herself, who stood boldly against the shadow dragon and the arcane ballistae levied against her. It was my later understanding that though she was struck by blasts of her energy, she held her ground and badly wounded her foes with both fire and lightning. She had slain one man, sent another retreating, destroyed the ballistae, and set the dragon leaping back. If Aleae survived this encounter, she is well underway to becoming an accomplished archmage.

But I and my foes paused only for that one moment, and then both demons converged on me. I backed up, parrying their lunges, and in my darkness one managed to trip over Cypher, fumbling his attack. Cypher counter-attacked the injured demon from behind and I took advantage of the distraction to blast the fiend's head clean off. I reveled in the strength that flowed through me with a fresh kill—all the more sweet for its being a slave of Katashka on which I feasted.

I heard a bellow from the car I had left behind, which was easily louder than the dragon's howl. But while the dragon had voiced pain, this new call, whatever the beast that could make it, was a challenge. Added to the previous sounds and sights of magic and carnage, It was clear that my compatriots were in equally challenging struggles around me and that those battles must be epic indeed.

Cypher and I turned our attention to the remaining demon when a spark of light at the edge of my sight roared into a rough-limbed column of flame.  A fire elemental creature charged at us, but faltered. It seemed unwilling to enter my sphere of darkness, as if unfamiliar with the very concept.

The smoke continued to clear showing the charred rail car beyond the elemental. Small fires were still scattered among debris that had been piled up as either a blockade OR food for the hungry flames—our enemy's attempt to slow our advance. Most of the pile was still covered with a frost that had obviously extinguished most of the flames, opening the way forward for us.

With a nominally coordinated chaos, my compatriots seem to be fighting three or four discrete battles at once. While it may end in the death of one of them, I cannot argue that this apparent lack of strategy is keeping our opponents disoriented as we flow by them like water, or a particularly deadly flood. Perhaps enough of us will survive long enough to stop this hurtling apocalypse for the city of Sharn.

With that bit of optimism, perhaps stolen from the fiend as I drained its life-force, I steeled myself for the greater challenges to come.

#134 - Advancing Above and Below

The Journal of Wynn Dennavar 

Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

We slew the remainder of the demons and enemy casters in the increasingly cramped rail car. There was no time to linger once the area was clear. We’d saved those we could, but at least one civilian had died during the conflict.

Past the bulk of Magnus’s great white wolf, I saw a warforged standing outside the door to the next train. The others dispersed—Cypher and Clarion and Izzeth joining me and Bale, Aleae, and Magnus clambering back to the roof. He left his wolf, glaring around with blood caked on its mouth, resenting whatever delay kept it from the fight.

From what I could see through the small window on the lightning rail’s heavy outside door, the warforged bore no insignia. It and its companion carried weapons, nothing else. After Cypher unlocked it, I cracked the door a few inches and asked who they were.

“Concerned passengers,” one replied.

I had trouble believing that. Two experienced Karrn veterans leaping in to finish off a troll, I understood. Two armed and unmarked warforged feeling concern for a random assortment of travelers? By now I could imagine a warforged like Clarion feeling and demonstrating concern, even Cypher when it came to his Brelish loyalties, but they showed that concern visibly in the styled gear they carried, and through speech and action. These two had none of that.

One looked upward and wordlessly started climbing the precarious ladder toward the roof, where the others were. I braced the outer door and called for them to stand down. Neither did. Instead, the one facing me drew a greatsword from where it hung on its back.

Sounds of combat began above. I had full confidence that Aleae alone could throw it off the rail if it caused trouble, let alone with the assistance of Magnus and Bale. The warforged on the ground level turned abruptly away, and in an easy motion yanked free one of the pins keeping the rail cars coupled. That it came free meant the chains were already removed—their work?

I threw open the door and between myself and the two truly concerned warforged, and we took the unmarked one down before it could pull the remaining pin. Above, the rooflings leapt across—the second warforged predictably and unceremoniously flung beneath the rail by unseen magic.

The Karrns looked to me for orders again. I worried that the dangers here were beyond those any normal soldier could face, even those whose loyalties I knew I could trust. But when I suggested they guard the surviving passengers, they told me they wouldn’t be able to assist if left behind. Ultimately it was their choice. I waved them over and we pulled the final pin.

Ahead in the next car, something had caused the others pause. Not knowing what was going on, I quietly approached Izzeth, who whispered to me that more foes were holding hostages out the windows—ready to drop them if we did not surrender.

A moment later, as if from some unheard signal, Clarion called a charge and burst through one of the ajar doors flanking the hall.

Advancing after him, I saw one lean, crossbow-armed human and another unmarked warforged. The enemy rogue shouted orders to yet-unseen others to drop the hostages. I also heard the distant, muffled song of harpies—too quiet to affect those of us inside the car, but hopefully the rooflings were becoming inured by now.

I glimpsed the warforged pause, staring upward for a moment, empty hand extended out the window, before turning after Clarion. Remembering Aleae flinging bodies from the train, I could guess she was hoisting the hostages upward to safety with her spell of telekinesis.

The rogue produced a crossbow and struck Izzeth. It appeared to do more harm than a simple bolt merited, given his reaction. I suspected some trick or poison. Here I didn’t spot any demons or casters, but we were being endlessly slowed on our progress to reach the Mire, and Sharn drew ever nearer as the lightning rail ascended a mountainside.

#133 - Battle on the Rail

Aboard the lightning rail...

With Magnus having vanished over the side of the lightning rail—flung overboard by a harpy—the others regrouped on board the next cart. It was a passenger car of some kind, with private rooms instead of an open room for steerage.

Clarion and the winter wolf Warlaz leapt to its roof, the latter snarling and demanding to be led to "the carnage." No full explanation was ever given, but their understanding was that this horse-sized wolf had, in life, been a companion to the frost giant Storgrimm—who now inhabited Magnus's bone mace—who in turn had been a part of the original Winter Coalition. Now Warlaz was a spirit himself able to manifest only temporarily in a flesh-and-ice form.

While Clarion went below, the Warlaz lingered on the adjoining roof, awaiting battle.

With Cypher's direction, the PCs managed to disconnect the chains and pins that bound the passenger cart they were on with the four behind it (two steerage carts and two cargo carts), leaving only six carts in the caravan of this lightning rail. Slowly the four cars drifted away, with a few puzzled passengers looking on.

Inside the passenger car, in the hallway that ran between staterooms, a Wall of Stone had been conjured, presumably by the agents of Katashka. A human passenger, and a priest of Boldrei, had been sent to the PCs to warn them. He pleaded with them to stop, to go no further, or the terrorists would kill their passenger hostages. Meanwhile, the two Karrn passengers, veterans in their own right, had joined the PCs and wished to help.

Clarion, himself a servant of Dol Arrah, explained to the priest that their mission could not, should not, be averted. If they stopped, far more people would be killed. His words and conviction was enough to convince the human priest that the risk of further death was one they would all have to take. The priest decided to help, and said he could attempt to dispel the Wall of Stone.


Meanwhile, Wynn and Cypher sought other means to get past the wall—on the exterior of the car, through the windows. They only got partway through this plan when the Wall of Stone vanished.

The PCs faced new foes, and their captives. Already they could see several of the rail's Deneith guards had been killed. The PCs looked upon the scene and, refusing to lay down their weapons as demanded, the attacked swiftly.

A deadly battle was joined.

The enemies numbered several humans with no obvious affiliation. Perhaps they were mere mercenaries. Human spellcasters—a wizard, and two clerics—and one heavily-armored swordsman were the first ones, but there were a couple of tall fiends with black leathery skin and upward-curving horns at the back of their heads. They bore spears, long sharp claws, and hideous faces.

By this time, the Elidac-sent griffon had swooped down and scooped up Magnus where he'd fallen and caught up to the still-speeding lightning rail. The winged beast dropped him off on the platform that jutted out from the now-rearmost car. He climbed ot the roof, then raced across it to enter the car at the opposite end, along with Warlaz, by means of a hatch.

Hold Person spells were used in abundance, and it was one such spell cast by Izzeth that saved one of the passengers—a noble, by the look of him—from being outright decapitated by the enemy swordsman. And though one of the black-skinned fiends ran its spear through another—a noblewoman—Izzeth also pulled her back from the brink of death with a well-timed Healing Word.

Wynn was halfway from one window to another outside the car when she used the teleportation magic of her weapon, the Fang of Risia, to appear inside one of the staterooms. Therein, a family had been held hostage by one of the demons—but Clarion had intervened and drawn its ire. Together the Karrn and Aundairian saved these passengers.

Cypher, Aleae, Clarion, Wynn, and Bale fought hard, but there were some casualties. The enemy wizard cast a Cold of Cone which, while harming only one PC, completely froze and slew the human priest of Boldrei. Likewise, a demons struck down one of the Karrns. Yet Wynn bore down one of them. After unleashing a Fireball, the enemy wizard used Misty Step to move quickly across the battlefield, attempting to escape the fray. Bale pursued him.

By the time Magnus and Warlaz appeared at the far end of the battle, another stateroom door had opened and out issued horrific demons whose malformed bodies were mostly gaping, fang-filled mouths. It was apparent a number of passengers had been held hostage within that room and now stood lined up in fear. Magnus even witnessed one passenger falling to the floor, his throat slit. Someone or something within had begun to slay them.

The battle was not yet ended.

 

#132 - Riding the Rail

From the journal of Diva’un Mur'ss, last of House Zaughym, Bale of Nightfall, Drinker of the Blood of Erebus the Thrice Unforgiven, Bringer of Darkness / Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

Transcribed into the Common tongue:


Much later than the events described below, most of the others rested while I quietly completed the ritual that would give my familiar his favorite form. Durag coalesced and was soon recognizable as a subterranean bat. It was with some regret that I summoned him. I knew a tantrum that was coming and my fiendish familiar didn’t disappoint.

This is no lightning rail! You promised I would see the rail! he cried through our telepathic link. Durag’s thoughts raged and wheeled simultaneously.

"Patience, brother. Would you have had our mission fail? There was no time to properly summon you. Would you have had me bring you back wingless and earless?" I attempted reasonably.

You promised. While I couldn’t read his expressions in his bat form, his thoughts had turned regretful. I am imagining the speed, the air. The currents of fear. Innocents trampling each other to escape. You blasting the Great Katashka’s acolytes through windows, their broken bodies bursting like ripe fruit with the terrible impact of the land. Durag ended excitedly.

"I don’t believe we were going fast enough for that," I replied.

So you did throw them from the train! Durag asked.

"Would you have me tell my story?"

Yes, yes, yes. But who did you kill? he pressed.

"I will start from the beginning. You remember the mages?” I began. “While you were indisposed, they completed their portal and were convinced, with Cypher as their focus, that we could step through and would find ourselves on the lightning rail headed to Sharn. Every moment I delayed would bring the Mire closer to Sharn, so you see why I couldn’t bring you?”

No. Durag could be obstinate.

“Trust me. So with what little rest we had managed, we stepped through the portal.”

Onto the lightning rail? Durag quipped hopefully.

“My story,” I snapped. The mages claimed there would be a path to our destination. We stepped into the space between spaces. There was a path, true enough, but we were surrounded by grey nothing.  I couldn’t tell if I was looking out at miles of grey or but a few feet. Once we had all adjusted to our surroundings the lot of us advanced. The path—stone I think—stretched ahead, and while it wended unobscured before us, I had no sense of distance or any end to it.  After what could have been no more than moments but was perhaps much longer, Magnus exclaimed and pointed. The blasted rubble of some stone building littered the grey expanse. The blasted refuse floated what seemed a short distance away, until a small figure standing in half a shattered stone room belied it’s true distance. The small figure was a giant with a weapon taller than myself.”

Did you blast it from its perch?  It would have fallen for eternity. Truly a missed opportunity if you did not. Durag’s thoughts leaked into my mind.

“You do not poke a sleeping giant.” I replied. “Especially one who was not sleeping. In any case we continued until we had travelled a distance that seemed both negligible and immeasurable for a time that was both brief and too long. Later I realized this had been the Astral Plane. The plane between planes, the nothingness between all things. Wynn was the the first to note another portal before us and after a moment spent deciding our roles we stepped through."

In arcane circles, many strange and esoteric
tales are told of the Astral Plane.

I became aware that I was speaking my side of the conversation aloud, but Durag was only thinking his side. Should one of my companions be listening, I suppose they couldn’t think worse of me than they already did.

The lightning rail? Did you get to the lightning rail? Durag couldn’t help himself.

“Yes, it was finally the rail. My first feeling was discomfort. There was constant movement, almost as pronounced as the movement on a ship.”

Like when you killed the captain and blasted his lifeless body from his own ship? Durag’s thought was somehow higher pitched as I got to the good part.

“Yes,” I said, “Much like when I killed the captain, and honestly I planned to mete out similar ends to Katashka’s followers. Most of them, of course; not you. But you know, no plan survives contact with raksashas and their servants.”

“We had hoped for an inconspicuous entrance. It was not to be. The portal we stepped out of was both a strange sight and not silent. A rending sound made by the air itself could be heard even above the hum of the lightning rail. This was followed by a loud pop as my final companion, the eladrin Alea, stepped through the portal and it puckered closed. It left no sign that it had ever been, but we were immediately noticed by an assortment of steerage passengers. Truly, there appeared to be two of each race and nation represented in the enormous rail car in which we stood. Despite the disorienting facts that flooded my eyes, it was the smells that I remember most. Behind us were two heavily used privies and before us a wave of unwashed humans and humanoids, foods of a dozen nations, a hint of dwarf and a dash of something else.”

I stopped for a moment to drink, clearing my palate of the memory of the uncivilized odors. Durag seemed less inclined to interrupt now that my story had moved to the lightning rail.

The House Orien lightning rail is an experience. It is swift, crowded, filled with light and sound, with windows open to the sky and the overland sun. It is perilous, a conveyance that would be unthinkable to the tribes of my people.

“There was no outcry at our appearance,” I continued, "But many of the passengers who sat in benches before us moved to give us a wide berth. Three guards, uniformed in the livery of House Deneith—the human house of Sentinel—immediately approached us from the other end of the car and Aleae advanced towards them confidently. I followed her, thinking to support whatever tale she would spin, but only too late realized we were the least well equipped to negotiate. Neither the eladrin nor myself had set foot on a lightning rail before and my familiarity with proper train-hopping etiquette was non-existent. Fortunately, Clarion's unfailingly polite manner kept the exchange from venturing too far south.

Even with Clarion's assistance, we were not able to satisfyingly explain our odd entrance and the necessity of stopping the train. The guards were finally convinced to relay a message to their commanders, but only if we laid down our arms.”

I had misjudged my audience. These details left Durag unsatisfied and he was obviously preparing to interrupt again. He was no longer raptly watching.  He shifted his wings and his nostrils flared, but before I could hear his objection, I said “We fight soon, and I promise, someone is exiting the moving rail the hard way.”

Who was slain first? Durag's thought burst into my mind. Get to the good part.

“I cannot testify to his death, but one of the guards ended up being an rakshasa—a member of the lower, warrior caste, I suspect.” Now I had Durag’s attention. “I engaged him, but despite my best intentions to blast him from the train, it was Aleae who, with the telekinetic force of her magic, thrust him bodily through a window and dropped him out of sight into the Brelish countryside.”

“But this train had many cars and this was but the first. Magnus and I climbed to the roof of the next car and advanced this way. I focused my power on speeding my progress and Magnus relied on sheer strength to advance quickly. The roof provided respite from the olfactory assault that was a crowded steerage car and gave us a view of various flying figures approaching and keeping pace with the rail.  Ahead, a disturbingly large winged creature kept pace most easily. Then a burst of flames appeared overhead many cars ahead of us and, as if it were a signal, and the flying figures began to converged on the rail.”

Was the large one a dragon? More than carnage, Durag was fascinated by dragons. Hated them and loved them all at once for their power and for the enmity that dragons and fiends have shared since the Age of Demons.

“Patience, Durag, the dragon comes later,” I continued. “Magnus and I reached the front of the car as two harpies alighted on the roof behind us. Before dropping to the walkway between cars we harassed them with arrows and eldritch blasts but managed little more than to disturb their feathers. We stormed into the next car but found a crush of passengers trying to flee the way we had come. Our companions joined us and each of us was forced to push, bully, and threaten our way through the crowd.”

Durag had to ask. Did you kill any of the cattle? 

I didn’t glance at him as I said, “They are not cattle. I have told you before I would not weigh myself down further with more innocent blood.”

Then how did you get past them? It is easier to walk or fly above the dead.

“I attempted to be reasonable. When that didn’t work, I dropped my illusory disguise and showed them my true face.

"I also threatened to eat them.” I admitted.

“It was then that I saw what had frightened the cattle—I mean, the passengers. A troll was raging at the other end of the car, though how anyone would abide such a passenger before now is beyond me. Perhaps it was summoned with a spell. Benches had been tossed about like sticks and guards lay dead. The harpies took that moment to perch at the windows of the rail and use their vile songs to charm those within. It was largely ineffectual against us, but many of the passengers became enthralled. Aleae continued to use her Telekinesis to great effect. She grasped one of the sirens with a hand of force and dragged it from view. Scorched feathers rose where the harpy had been moments before.

With a few words between my companions, we took to our roles. Magnus engaged the troll and he and Clarion bulled their way past. I shifted my focus from enhancing my speed and cloaked myself in darkness. A guard advanced toward me and despite the inky blackness of my spell, stared directly at me as he attacked without hindrance. The guard was not as he appeared. A feline visage seemed to momentarily be visible where his human face had been and his hands turned to claws—another rakshasa-kin. The second harpy entered the car and continued its song.

I cleared my throat. “To put it briefly, I prevailed and all of them fell. Then I...”

Details! The word exploded from Durag’s mind. Speak of spilled blood and shattered bones.

I continued, “Yes, details, details. Well I managed to occupy the troll a bit longer, primarily by 'letting' it rend and bite me. It seemed the guard was immune to my magics—further confirmation that this was a fiend—although I was able to scratch him with my rapier.

Finally Aleae dispatched the harpy who had made her way into the car and Wynn savagely beat the troll and the fiendish "human" guard. I finally managed to separate from the troll before it took another bite out of me and attempted to make a meal of me. I blasted its head clean off and knocked its body twenty feet from where it had been.

Two passengers—veterans of the war, it seemed—showed some backbone and began to put the troll's remains to the torch. Wynn continued to lay about with her partisan, punishing the guard that I suspected was another rakshasa. With a flurry of stabs and chops using both ends of her weapon, she brought the snarling creature to his knees and seemed to have things well in hand.

Behind me my companions had opened the locked door to the next car and as I turned from the troll’s corpse and headed toward them, I saw Cypher.

I do not know what he had discovered on his scouting mission, but he now sported a green hat and was occupied at the mechanism that connected the two cars together. I did not see my other companions who had gone ahead, but soon I saw evidence of another fight on the roof. I could hear a strange song on the air—like a harpy's luring song but somehow sharper. I also heard Clarion and saw a glimpse of Magnus on the edge of the roof as he was buffeted and cut by something unseen.

Izzeth passed me to join in the combat. I am almost positive that he saw my injuries as he went and felt no urge to heal me. I do believe that half-drow has a full-drow grudge against me.”

It was at that moment I noticed Durag was not the only one listening to me. Izzeth was paying attention to my one-sided story and he didn’t look approving.

I didn’t pause from the telling. “Once I had assisted Cypher with the connecting mechanism, it was ready to release the cars behind us, but our companions were now on the roof of that car. Cypher and I left the connection and scrambled to the roof to join the combat.

A harpy was grappling with Magnus while Izzeth and Clarion had engaged a substantially larger and I daresay more colorful harpy who could only have been their leader. Not some minor boss but the chieftainess of her tribe. I knew this was Callain of the Bloody Word, leader of the Wind Howlers flight. My former allies had mentioned her though I had only glimpsed her from afar in Glyphstone.

It was she who had brought her tribe of harpies from out of Droaam in alliance with Trazzen. Our efforts at Glyphstone had whittled down that tribe, and now I believe this is all that remained of her army of monstrous women. Yet she seemed cooler of mind than her minions, angry but collected. She would not be half as easy to kill than they.


Worse, Callain's song didn’t charm but instead blasted and flayed the unwary. When she sang, the air itself cut like razor blades. I returned the favor and knocked her back with repeated eldritch spells, which eventually blasted the song from her lips altogether. Magnus managed to move clear of her deadly song and using the powers of his ice-bone mace—which I still cannot quantify—he summoned, right there on that very rooftop, a mighty winter wolf. I had never seen its like: like a great worg, but snow-white in hue and glowing blue eyes.

An instant after the wolf appeared, it lunged at Callain and struck her in the back. Her deadly song was halted!

But the fight wasn't won yet. In that moment I looked back toward Magnus. The lesser harpy he'd been grappling with, and was largely ignoring in favor of more dangerous foes, swooped upon him again! Though his body mass was considerably greater than hers, the savagery and tenacity of harpies is legendary. She pounced upon him in just the right moment, when his balance was compromised. With a grunt and a snap of her wings, she dragged him from the roof of the rail, and both of them dropped out of sight!

The winged harpy reappeared in my sight further out, riding the air currents. Magnus, however, had vanished.

Durag was overjoyed, Magnus fell from the train! Did his neck snap upon impact? Did his body break upon a rock? Did more harpies descend and tear him apart in a grisly feast?! What happened?

He was hooked. The little fiend needed to hear the rest of the story and it was my moment to take advantage of that. “Enough for tonight. If you would hear the rest of the story, promise to behave and I will continue tomorrow.”

Durag was taken aback. We had gotten to the best part. Is there going to be a dragon?

Now, to press home my advantage. “If you would hear the rest, swear to behave for a day. Don’t foul my companions' drinking water while they sleep. Don’t lick their rations. Say it or there will be no story tomorrow.”

Durag settled. You have my pledge, until tomorrow.

I smiled. “Agreed.” I looked over to see Izzeth’s horrified expression, who promptly checked his rations.

Here follows an excerpt from the memoirs of Varston of Karrnath / Zarantyr 26th, 999 YK

Kel and I had shared in an uneventful journey for most of our time aboard the lightning rail. The landscapes of enemy nations—no, former enemies, I must remind myself daily—flew past as like bleeding paintings. They were not real to me, not physical. Just images through a glass pane. At every check point and border since we left home, our papers were checked, our arms scrutinized. The Aundairians were haughty, the Brelanders were condescending, but we managed it without starting any fights.


Sharn had job opportunities for us, and a Karrnathi embassy so we'd find food that actually tasted good to eat when we got there. Just had to get there.

But in that last fateful hour, our lightning rail journey was not so uneventful. Evidently arcane terrorists had compromised the security of our rail—even the Deneith guards had been infiltrated. We might not have known about it but for the arrival of a parade of...I suppose they were civilians who, given their appearance, were either conscripted Brelish mercenaries or else carnival freaks. It was difficult to say which.

First, they were leaderless—a serious error on their part—and accordingly, each member of their party strove in a different direction. None were subordinate, none were senior. No chain of command united them. But for all that they were individually courageous and accomplished warriors. They fought unearthly foes with the conviction of a Karrn. What in Khyber motivated them?

The most notable surely was a Karrn. She did not wear the silver and black of the Conqueror's army, but she fought like a tempered general and outclassed the fiendish creature that masqueraded as human. She would have slain it then and there, but a white-gowned elf witch flung the demon out a window with invisible hand, after roughing up one of those damnable harpies with. The elf waif was pretty in a sneeze-too-hard-and-she'll-fall-down sort of way, but she was obviously an accomplished mage. Why she was dressed for a gala, I do not understand. Perhaps she was a noblewoman and these were her retainers? She lingered at the back of the fray, so this seemed likely.

There was also some sort of tribal warrior among them. The big man wore his scars and burns as if they were armor, and little else, as he ran about with a great bone maul. The troll didn't even seem to concern him; he had other enemies in mind, I guessed. The brute must been one of those savage hunters from the Shadow Marches, the sort you have to throw meat at to keep from attacking his allies. There was also a bizarre warforged with pipes protruding from its armor like quills, but it carried a shield and a metal-shod staff. Every now now and then, flashes of white light would appear around it. I daresay I think it was some sort of priest-construct. There was another elf-blood among them, hooded and garbed like a forest scout, but he mostly ran past and, I think, climbed to the roof after the others.

Somehow in the chaos, a Host-be-damned troll had appeared, and the one who paused to engage it was this party's strangest member: a bloody dark elf. A necromancer, if ever I saw one. I would not have guessed him to be an ally at all if he didn't fight the same enemies. Then I lost sight of him altogether when a great orb of darkness appeared, swallowing half the steerage cart and all of our enemies. Dark energies blasted within and without that sphere, though I only saw it from a distance—it was difficult to push through the crowd of terrified civilians. When at last Kel and I moved up close enough to engage, the troll came flying out of that arcane darkness in two pieces. The head had been decapitated by the dark elf's magic in mid-air. A gout of black-green ichor stained my own clothes; maybe that would be helpful to show my prospective employers in Sharn.

When the troll's body and head hit the ground, we wasted no time and set upon it before it could grow together again. I've carried a tinderbox on me ever since the summer of 979 when those Cyran bastards lured my unit too close that Khyber-shitting troll den. I'd rather be a weak-armed Aundairian than let a troll get the better of me again.

Kel asked the white-clad elf what was going on while I ran to speak with the Karrn. She, not the waif, would have the better sense to know where we were needed. Whatever was happening on this rail, we would engage it.

Death holds no terror.