Tanith dips a big hand into the mythical water bringing a mouthful to his lips.
"Bottoms up."
As the waters trickle onto Astraden's tongue, her words suddenly fall away.
So does the rest of the world. The six adventurers watch the world blur like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, until the only solid shapes are each other, Clunk, and winding golden threads that form around their wrists. These threads trail off into the distance, and the adventurers find their vision fuzzes and blurs whenever they try to follow a thread's length farther than a few feet from their bodies.
Pull the thread and wait seven seconds, and you shall be returned to your own time.
Everyone is suddenly overwhelmed by the rush of alien yet strangely familiar memories. The blurry world around them swirls away into a vortex of lightning and wind, fire and rain, ending in the utter darkness of nothingness. They only float adrift in this silence for a few moments, but it's still long enough to feel the cold perpetuity of the infinite weighing down.
Suddenly, they find themselves standing on a windy bluff overlooking an immense and lush canyon. Trees grow right up to the canyon’s rim, and far to the south, the faint, looming specter of a pale mountain is visible.
The din of distant battle finds the heroes' ears, and as if rising from the ground on ledges and mesas both near and far, armies of creatures fade into view. In the distance, cities smoke in ruin, and the sky is cast with a dark pallor.
The cacophonous moans of the undead ride the wind, and in the distance, the PCs can see huge numbers of humanoids battling against what seems like an endless wave of the dead.
Creatures Spiny's Six has faced before are here in legions—spawn of Kyuss of all shapes and sizesm wormcallers, morhgs, eviscerator beetles, overworms, and ulgurstastas like the Apostle of Kyuss who nearly overtook the Free City Arena. Yet there are other, stranger creatures as well. Enormous worm-dripping centipedes cause the ground they walk on to steam and bubble and boil like hot pokers plunged into ice. Immense black scorpions' mere presence seems to turn the living on their allies. Horrific worm-like dragons breathe out swaths of writhing green Kyuss worm swarms upon their prey.
And wheeling in the distant skies above many miles away, attended by numerous smaller dragons, soars a titanic shape—a skeletal red dragon of horrifying size.
Dragotha.
Cuetzpalli is awed at the sight of so much battle.
"Bruh..."
His exclamation seems almost involuntary. His jaw hangs a slack. His hand flies subconsciously to the hilt of Kelmarchen as the war-song rises within him.
Astraden looks similarly shocked. She looks up at the sun, trying to gauge the time, the season, but shakes her head in confusion. There are no reliable landmarks here. Her eyes get big.
"The druids didn't say anything about this being safe. I think we're really in the past. This is crazy. No one get merced or lost back here, all right?"
"...oh."
Carina can do little but observe the scene in a mix of horror and awe.
"...that's...that's a lot of baddies."
"The druids didn't say anything about this being safe. I think we're really in the past. This is crazy. No one get merced or lost back here, all right?"
"...and nobody become your own great-great-great grandparent, because it's gross and makes family reunions really confusing!" Eben adds, as an addendum to the standard time travel rules. "I guess this is where/when Dragotha hides her phylactery? So we're just here to see that? So we don't have to, like, fight the entire Kyuss army of doom?"
"I guess so. Kind of unfair for them to send us back here just to fight their old wars for them and die. Though, if they did that to all the adventurers that came in search of the Library, it might be kinda effective."
Astraden begins layering protective and enhancing spells over herself and her comrades. "I do think we should be ready for a fight, though. Wouldn't surprise me if some of those worm things could teleport."
- 0-level (4) - create water, guidance, light, stabilize
- 1st-level (4+1+D) - liberating command, obscuring mist,
protection from law (D), shield of faith (3)
- 2nd-level (4+1+D) - communal protection from evil,
eagle's splendor, invisibility (D), lesser restoration,owl's wisdom, remove paralysis, remove paralysis
- 3rd-level (4+1+D) - dispel magic, magic circle against law (D),
magic vestment, prayer,stone shape (2)
- 4th-level (4+1+D) - chaos hammer (D),
death ward, death ward, death ward, death ward, death ward
- 5th-level (4+D) - breath of life,
communal air walk, dispel law (D),greater magic weapon, undeath ward
- 6th-level (3) - freedom of movement, greater dispel magic,
mass bear's endurance
- 7th-level (3) - summon monster vii (2),
wall of silver
- 8th-level (2) -
holy aura, spellscar
ClunkClunkEbenFarrukhEbenFarrukhClunkFarrukhClunkEbenFarrukh
Astraden starts by stone shaping some of the stone from beneath the party's feet into a rough shelter, not sturdy enough to withstand sustained attacks from, say, a dragon, but enough to give cover overhead. She watches the distant red wyrm nervously as she enchants Tanith's weapon and Clunk's robes and begins laying down protections against negative energy, evil, undead and other unpleasant things.
Everyone's ears pop at the same time, and they feel time fully settle around them. A voice rings out behind them:
"Good. You have arrived."
A small group of somber druids stands upon the ledge. The four druids at the forefront are instantly recognizable as the Wild Watchers--but living and human, as they were before being subsumed by the spell of Last Resort. The speaker's face is gaunt with hardship, and his robes are matted with blood. It is Tylanthros, though he shows no signs of recognizing the heroes he will not meet for 1,500 years. As he approaches, Tylanthros speaks with a voice that is cracked and wearied, but resolute.
"The wizard said you would be here. The heroes of prophecy." His lips curve upward in a wry smile. The living Tylanthros is surprisingly youthful--perhaps in his early thirties--but he is clearly the eldest of the druids assembled. "We can hold them off no longer, but the Order of the Storm has been... successful in its task."
He indicates the dozen or so other members of the Order of the Storm behind him. They cluster around a large package, a strange container with its sides carved in the shapes of leering demonic and draconic faces.
"We gave all we had against the dracolich, and still it wasn't enough. Not even the great archmages of your time could best her in spellcraft, and if her phylactery is destroyed now, her only choice will be to release the Herald of the Age of Worms. She has to go for the throat if she's threatened. It's how archmages work. But if we can hide it... if we can put her out of reckoning, create doubt, perhaps the dracolich will remember that she can still die, and she might return to her web and delay for more scheming. We must buy time."
His brow furrows. "When you return to your time, I am told you must tell Tenser that the Archmage Drawmij is dead and gone, and the Circle of Eight has broken, whatever that means. He failed in the end to foil prophecy or avenge Bucknard, and so his duties now fall to you.
"To Tanith, the Mightiest Champion of Kord.
"To Cuetzpalli, the Master, Servant and Wielder of Kelmarchen.
"To Carina Viera, the Stygian Panacea.
"To Astraden Limhaare, the Laughing Rogue's Favorite.
"To Eben MacTeague, the Arrowsong Minstrel.
"And to Erip, pupil of Tenser's pupil, Heir to the Broken Circle."
He clears his throat. "You must hold off the spawn that even now scramble at the edges of the cliffs around us while our trusted allies stall their aerial forces."
As the druid mentions an ally, a familiar figure steps forward from the crowd: a young woman dressed in ornate silver armor who can be none other than the Alhaster bard Lashonna. Her eyes are bright and burning with determination. "I will engage Dragotha and her mutineers myself to buy you as much time as I can, Heroes." She advances past the party and towards the edge of the cliff. "And I swear, if she crosses my path, I will bring that monster to ground."
"Don't engage Dragotha directly!" Tylanthros warns her.
"I cannot look myself in the mirror another day knowing I didn't try."
"Lashonna, you must join Viruinne in focusing on the lesser dragons. Lure her away! Even the two of you together cannot beat her. No one can."
"And yet someone will have to." She turns and flashes the party a smile that is sad, but also cocky. "Perhaps we will see~"
Stygian Panacea...?
...that title is so damn COOL!
"...we'll get it done, sir." Carina nods.
"Wait... Erip?" Eben looks around, to see if Clunk has been replaced by a dwarf he's never met, who may or may not be a skeleton crawling with acidic beetles.
"Wait... Erip?" Eben looks around, to see if Clunk has been replaced by a dwarf he's never met, who may or may not be a skeleton crawling with acidic beetles.
Farrukh grimaces. "Before your time. She was with us at the start, but...not for long. That was before death was just an inconvenience for us."
"Well... they seem to be expecting her to be here now. You sure it wasn't just another inconvenience? Also, did we know that Lashonna was, like, some ancient warrior?"
extended (using the rod) arcane concordance around Eben, lasts the encounter. Using it to extend all spells cast by me or any other arcance caster within 10 feet.
greater magic weapon on Eben & Cuetz, lasts all day (+3 enhancement)
freedom of movement on Tanith, Farrukh, & Cuetz, lasts 'full dungeon'
good hope on the group, lasts full dungeon
moment of greatness on the group, lasts full dungeon.
cat's grace on me, lasts full dungeon
mirror image on me, lasts full dungeon,
shield on me, lasts full dungeon,
gravity bow on me, lasts full dungeon.
Eben also clangs his bracers together to activate them, granting him aspect of the falcon, and has his Quickening Metamagic rod at hand.
"Well, she has done some impressive stuff for someone who looks so young . . ." Astraden says thoughtfully. "Hey, Lashonna, how old are you right now? I think you should go for it," she says with a wink.
"Eben, you mind stabbing me and Clunk with that skin-toughening stick again?" Astraden asks.
Eben pokes with the stick.
Tanith looks around in shock an awe. "Wait, are we dead? Did that stuff kill us?"
Astraden's explanation calms the big man down. He nods in understanding.
Hearing his name spoken by these ancient druids with the title Mightiest Champion makes Tanith's massive chest swell with pride until he registers that this is occurring hundreds of years in the past. He was meant to be here and now. Everything he and his friends had been through had lead to this moment.
He offers Carina his hand and looks to Lashonna.
"What kind of spawn are we dealing with? The ones with the fiery swords or something worse?"
Carina takes Tanith's hand. She's shaking a little.
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The spell affects all allies within the spell's area at the moment you cast it. Your allies gain a +2 luck bonus to AC, on attack rolls, and on saving throws, or a +3 luck bonus if they worship the same deity as you.
Lashonna just grins in reply to Astraden's comment. "Hey, 'Astraden', look me up in a couple thousand."
With that final pronouncement, she spreads wide her arms and springs over the edge of the ledge--and transforms into a magnificent silver dragon.
With a single tremendous beat of her wings, she launches into the air and soars off toward the distant forces.
As she wings away, Tylanthros speaks again. “We go now, to hide the phylactery within its cradle in Kongen-Thulnir. Hold the line, or the Age of Worms shall doom us all!”
And yet...
As the druids make their retreat, leaving the party to buy them precious time, it becomes obvious that moving the dracolich’s soul cage is proving a slow and costly effort. They don’t seem willing to touch the thing, holding it suspended in a palanquin carved of solid—no-doubt brittle—obsidian that requires advancement at a snail’s pace. Several of them pause to weave spells of obscuring mist and fog cloud, but with the size of their party, this seems more meant to discourage teleportations or ranged attacks than to dissuade any pursuit.
They won’t make it clear of the horde before the horde arrives to engage. It’s up to Spiny’s Six.
As the party scrambles to prepare, hearing the distant metal boots tramping up the path to the ledge…
“This is…” Clunk has stood stock-still since the party’s arrival. Now he turns to stare at the others with a deep, troubled intensity. “This is not correct. We should not be here.”
Scrying sensors. Three of them.
"This seems silly. Why don't we just take the phylactery with us back to our time?" Astraden says, watching the druids struggle.
Eben drops a haste on the assembled party.
Clunk turns to Astraden, aghast. "Would you give up your own thread to shatter the gears of--"
His head snaps to the side as he stares at something Astraden can't see.
Everyone’s ears give a pop.
As it turns out, the party had less time than they thought.
The Swords of Kyuss have no need to walk.
A wormcaller in a muddy white robe rips its way through empty air to appear by the cliff’s edge. Four similarly-dressed Swords of Kyuss follow, teleported directly up the slope.
“This is…” Clunk has stood stock-still since the party’s arrival. Now he turns to stare at the others with a deep, troubled intensity. “This is not correct. We should not be here.”
Farrukh does a bit of a double-take. "Wait are we ACTUALLY here? I thought this was some kind of...vision quest or something."
Farrukh takes up a more serious combat stance, then inches forward.
Basically setting up a big bubble that makes it hard for enemies to close in on us and attack the squishies.
"We need to be extra careful here. Would be pretty embarrassing to die before we're ever born. Not to mention the...paradox headache."
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Eben points to the dragons in the sky. "Look, you remember how Viruine remembered us before, even though we'd never met? That's because we were here. This is whatchamacallit. Stable time hoop. We're totally supposed to be here." He looks at the approaching Kyuss spawn. "Ugh. So, remember, the knight guys have worms in their eye sockets that like, suck out brains or something, so... yeah watch out for that kinda thing."
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Clunk turns to Astraden, aghast. "Would you give up your own thread to shatter the gears of--"
Astraden answers with a blithe expression. "Nah, who are we to say whether the phylactery is supposed to stay here in this time or disappear to the future? You're freaking me out, Clunk, why does a little time travel have you so on edge? Like Eben said, this is a stable time hoop. Viruinne knows us, and I could swear Lashonna knew us in Alhaster, too."
"A stable time loop is still a para--"
*POP*
Another wormcaller in nothing but its basic armor appears directly behind the party, dangerously close to the wall of mists. Four Swords of Kyuss crawl their way into existence around it.
The wormcaller gives a sibilant shriek of delight and raises a cleaver still dripping the blood of some luckless soul down below. Its knights wear spiked armor that has been ‘decorated’ with the remains of their kills.
Carina swallows and readies a holy bomb.
The Swords of Kyuss raise their blades toward the party and utter words in the ancient tongue of the Flanaess.
Small beads of dark energy appear at the party's center, then swell, pulse, and explode in terrible bursts of negative energy.
And with a final pop, a third wormcaller in blue silks appears at a third angle to the party, pinning them with three more Swords of Kyuss directly between the cliffs and the new arrivals.
Well, seems like this group's for me, Cuetzpalli thinks as he springs into action.
The bloodrager is a blaze of pure magical enhancement as the multiple layers of magic surging around him turn his blow into an explosive laser-light show of carnage.
Tanith reels, regretting not getting the protection from negative energy that his friends had to foresight to prepare.
Tanith blinks in surprise, grateful for having protected himself wisely. Just like all his friends.
Cuetzpalli rushes forth and hacks into the lead Pale Sword, nearly cutting it in two with a single brutal swing.
Reeling from Cuetzpalli's strike, the Sword of Kyuss and its kin make a furious counterassault, moving to surround him.
The silk-clad Swords of Kyuss, appearing to notice that the blast did nothing, glance at their leader questioningly. One hisses something questioning to the wormcaller in an archaic-sounding tongue; the wormcaller declares its response in airy, feminine tones.
"Protect me, Swords. I shall make short work of these pathetic 'wards' of theirs."
The Swords nod and strike readied poses.