We awoke as Otaaryliakkarnos, the silver dragon we knew in her human form as Elia, set us down in Waterdeep at dawn. With a little time before the Council of Waterdeep was to meet, Tegan and Gunx popped into a nearby common room to entertain some of the City of Splendor’s early risers, treating them to a tour de force impromptu performance of our bard’s most recent compositions. The rest of our party spent the time picking up essential supplies. We all met back at the Council chambers, where Elia presented our prisoner, Neronvain, and reported our victory over Chuff.
The Council of Waterdeep was quite unanimously impressed by our prowess, and their adulation was almost as delicious as King Melandrach’s obvious rage and shame concerning his treacherous wayward son, Neronvain. A fine reminder to the pompous elves that, like all mortals, they too are subject to the caprice of Lady Doom.
Elia further informed the Council that Protanther the Golden, a former King of Justice, had invoked an ancient Draconic Rite of Council, summoning our Fellowship as fate’s chosen representatives to speak for the humanoids of Faerûn. With that, our Fellowship left the council chambers with Elia, who once again transformed into Otaaryliakkarnos the Silver, and graciously allowed us to mount her.
Otaaryliakkarnos flew northeast at great speed, telling us it would take a mere two days to arrive at an undisclosed location within the Nether Mountains in Luruar. With the mighty Dessarin River below us, to the west we spotted “The Granary of the North,” Goldenfields, the magnificent walled Chauntean abbey built high upon a verdant plateau. By noon, we passed over the village of Womford and the famed Bargewright Inn, bustling with late summer travellers, but on the horizon, we noted too much smoke rising from the town of Red Larch, likely victimized recently by a Dragon Cult raid. Still, we pressed on to the northeast. As evening approached, we could see that a similar fate seemed to have befallen Beliard, a small trading village that was home to, as well as a meeting place for, many cattle ranchers.
As the sun began to set, Otaaryliakkarnos set us down to camp for the night somewhere between the east side of Jundar’s Pass and the western edge of the High Forest, and she excused herself to hunt for her evening meal. We began to set up camp when we suddenly became aware that a ten-man Dragon Cult assassination squad had somehow found us. Arrows whistled through the trees, with Gunx catching one, but getting grazed by another. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning crackled from an orb-holding cultist toward Jorad and Gunx, sparking them both into action. Tegan and Jorad answered the cultist lightning with their own thunder, each casting Shatter at the centre of their group. Gunx bolted straight through the enemy ranks, stopping to attack a cultist at the rear of their group. I cast a Vitriolic Sphere at the previously Shattered central group, watching with satisfaction as the dead cultists dissolved, hissing and screaming, then silent.
Tolarin charged ahead and, like his brother Gunx, the monks each took on two cultists, who attacked with fanatical pack tactics. Brick and Tegan focused on attackers to their north, Brick firing arrows and Tegan muddling minds with his Synaptic Static spell. Jorad fired a Witchbolt at a lone cultist to the west, effectively leashing the villain like a dog with a shock collar. As Gunx and Tolarin gave a beating to the four cultist they had between them, I expertly cast another Vitriolic Sphere at all four of their opponents, satisfyingly melting two of them, including their evident leader. Tolarin bashed a cultist senseless, Brick killed two more in close combat, and Tegan Viciously Mocked the remaining three, breaking their morale and causing them to flee.
Blessed Beshaba, thank you for allowing me to witness the misfortune the Dragon Cult has wrought upon the Sword Coast, and thank you for allowing me to be your vessel, to deliver misfortune back unto the Dragon Cult, klaatu barada nicto amen.