Once again, Randall falls unconscious at an enemy's hands.
Njord grunts in pain after one of the demon's claws carves bloody grooves in his hairy arm.
With another fierce shout, the big ulfen swings at the babau again.
Seeing Randall felled, Antal tries to rush to his aid only to hesitate due to his own substantial wounds. The grinning halfling pauses long enough to mend himself.
Asht'el's eyes narrow as he sees Randall go down. Realizing Firiel needs a distraction, he points another flaming finger at the drowess before drawing his weapon and moving in.
The evil priestess laughs and starts her flail spinning again.
"What chance do you really think you have against me? Against us? Your kind are vermin, barely capable of speech! We were masters of this world when your races were in their infancy!"
The wounded demon snarls and attacks Njord again.
Fíriel winces in pain at the flail-wound, waiting for Ash to step up again before dodging forward to slap the woman full in the face. She follows up the freezing slap with a jab toward the gut.
The woman shrieks in pain again and then staggers, only now realizing the severity of her wounds. She gets a desperate gleam in her pupil-less eyes.
"No. I can't die. I need to live to see this world covered in darkness again!"
Antal grins widely and points his finger at the woman. "Hey! B~$&! lady! How about a nice bit of pain for ya!"
And with that, a piercing beam of light goes streaking in her direction.
Antal's ray strikes true but the evil beauty shrugs it off.
Jametor's eyes glow red before his hand reaches out toward the demon and a cone of fire shoots from his hand.
Slightly more frustrated now, the little halfling's eyes sparkle as he calls the void to the drow's consciousness.
After batting his opponent's attacks aside, Njord presses his attack to finish the demon off.
Njord lands another solid blow splitting open the demon's belly and dropping it to the sand. Unlike the demons fought earlier, this one's remains don't vanish.
With the range afforded him by his spear, Asht lifts the palm of one hand to send another sheet of flame at the drow woman.
Her flesh catches fire and with one last defiant howl of hatred, she succumbs to her wounds.
Fíriel rushes to Randall's side. "Randall, are you alright? Njord, Antal, come help him!"
*groan*
Njord sheathes his sword and rushes to the halflings's sides.
"That b~+%* got him good", he mutters aloud.
"Antal and Asht, get over here with those healing wands. Randall's hurt bad."
Jametor begins examining the demon to learn what he can about it, without touching the slime that seemed to damage Njord.
Njord fishes out a couple potions and pours the contents along Randall's wounds.
"You alright little guy?"
Squinting into the sunlight after quite a start as he woke up, "Ah, hells. Why does it always seem like I'm the one looking up at the ceiling when the fight is done? Did she get away again?"
"Nope. You almost took her down before she did that magic thing... and now she's dead."
Njord wraps an arm around the halfling's shoulders and helps him sit up.
"Ya just got more courage than sense. Har!" the big ulfen says. "That's why I like you!"
"She's dead. Asht burned her up."
Randall smiles at the big Ulfen wanly. "If I have no sense, courage is optional. I don't feel very good. What was it she was doing? I felt this cold chill like a wave come from her, the second one was really bad, and then she hit me with that weapon so fast I didn't see it coming."
He shudders, "I hope she was the tough one! Do you suppose there are more?"
Njord shakes his head.
"Don't know little guy but I think I'm ready to get back to Riddleport. Sam's been through hell and we gotta tell Kwava 'bout what we found here."
"Agreed. I need to sleep in a bed. For a week." Seeing the smoking corpse, his nature kicks in, "So, did anyone check her for valuable gear yet?"
He takes all three of his hit points over to start looting the body / aiding someone else in looting the body.
Beyond her equipment which, beyond being a bit scorched, is all of excellent make, Randall finds a thin tome.
The final book turns out to be a journal penned by the drow woman's hand. Within, Shiindira makes several mentions of Depora, her former friend and lover, turned bitter hated rival. the more recent excerpts make mention of Shindiira's excitement at being accepted into a House Azrinae. A drow by the name of Nolveniss is mentioned several times as well; Shindiira is quite explicit in the ways in which she plans to use him as her consort once she returns to him in Celwynvian with a large amount of noqual and akatas to show him her power.
The last dozen entries display a dramatic shift in tone, becoming an almost scientific list of observations of the strange meteorological effects that preceded the falling star, the impact itself, and developments afterward. Most ominous of all, the journal mentions an event or object called an “Armageddon Echo”.
Calling out to the elf, "When you have finished studying her pet, I think I found her diary, Jametor!"
Jametor looks over the demon one more time before heading over to the others.
"A journal you say, no spellbook or anything else? The journal may be of use, though, I guess now is as good a time as any to test out my language skill. One of you more worldly types might want to check that demon out, he's not here by some normal summoning spell."
As Jametor gets to the group he notices Randall looking over the armor and weapons.
Casting Detect Magic, he begins studying the items.
After he is done, Jametor begins reading the journal and completely ignores the rest of the group, as normal.
Jametor identifies the following items:
+1 Gloryborn Mithril Breastplate
Belt of Dexterity +2
Cape of the Mountebank
Metamagic Rod of Lesser Extend (which I forgot to mention)
The flail and shield are masterwork and were enchanted with greater magic weapon/magic vestment.
From the ciphermage spellbooks.
Protection from Law
Icicle Dagger
Hydraulic Push
Flareburst
Burning Hands
Magic Missile
Scare
Darkvision
Gathering the drow woman's belongings and saying a farewell to Devil's Elbow, the party climbs aboard the Flying Cloud and begins the half-day trip back to Riddleport.
***
The Cloud and its passengers arrive at Riddleport's docks to see that little has changed in the few days that have passed. The docks are bit further along in their reconstruction but otherwise there's no activity worth noting.
As soon as she's stepped a foot on solid earth, Sam pulls Njord down to plant a kiss on him and excuses herself. "I have to report in and tell the mages what happened on Devil's Elbow. They need to know about Fenella and the others. Thank you for everything. I'll be in touch."
Akron and what few of Clegg's former employees remain step off the ship in a daze, feeling like the nightmare they've lived through might have been a dream. The musclebound bare-chested shoanti seems sure of one thing at least.
"I'll be by the Goblin for that coin and to discuss my rematch", he growls before wandering off with the other thugs.
***
A few days later, business continues as usual. The party awaits word from Kwava but in the meantime life goes on. It's a slow afternoon when a familiar dwarf enters the Goblin's front doors.
"Excuse me. Is Randall Quickstep, Firiel Goldworthy, or Jametor Darksbane around? I'd like to have a word with them", he asks aloud.
Fíriel stands from the bar where she was feeding Prickles his lunch. "Master Goldhammer, good day to you!" she exclaims, smiling at the dwarf warmly.
The bushy-bearded dwarf perks up. He looks a great deal better put together and cleaned up than last time the party saw him.
"Greetings lass. I'm happy to see you as well. As soon as I heard you and your friends made it back from that gods forsaken isle, I just had to come say my thanks. Did ya find whatever you were looking for?"
Fíriel nods. "We brought back some rather rare skymetal, if our resident wizard is to be believed." She taps one little finger on the side of her nose and winks. "Not that we really want word of that getting out."
"As ya probably knew, my men and I were there digging for the stuff but I'm just as glad you and your friends managed to pick it up. My clan, the Goldhammers, we're well versed in working with all forms of skymetal. It'd mean the world to me if you allowed us to forge a few things for ya - free of charge. Just working with such a rare metal would be an honor for our smiths."
After an uneventful return sail to Riddleport, Asht’el is surprisingly nervous about what comes next. Where do we all go? Will I still be part of this group when we get back to town and go our separate ways? He is amazed, and very pleased indeed, to learn that the party all reside at the Goblin, and that there is a room for him there as well. To make things even better, his only obligation is to help in the running of the place – a much more pleasant task than being an enforcer at the door of some pirate’s dive, or working with Clegg and his gang.
After settling in and getting to know the place a bit, Asht’el finds he’s able to use his natural charm to engage guests, and occasionally dissuade any who are unwelcome from crossing the threshold. He also soon finds another useful outlet for his charm – following in Jametor’s wake, smoothing any ruffled feathers and tending to any crushed toes that the bluntly-spoken elf might have brought about. All in all, he is very happy with the change in his fortunes, and feels that one day he might be able to call the Goblin home, a sensation he hasn’t known in quite a while.
Jametor, hearing his name spoken by the dwarf wanders down from his normal perch in the catwalks. Seeing Firiel and the dwarf in conversation, he walks up to them. As the dwarf finishes his comment.
"Well met and good to see you hale and hearty Master Goldsmith, perhaps we can offer you some of our fine ale and we can speak about everyone's time on the island and your generous offer, perhaps somewhere more private?"
The dwarf grins and nods. "An ale would be fine lad, even if it is that watered down piss the pirates round here seem to like so much."