Session 16

Alustriel had not been exaggerating. The Mournlands was an awful place.

Everywhere they looked was the same. Grey mists over a rocky landscape dotted with dead trees and deep gulleys. It was the most soul crushingly terrible place any of them had seen, and that included Ebyn who was born in the Shadowfell. At least his homeland maintained a semblance of life, here everything appeared dead.

They took a few hours to get themselves oriented.

The ever-present mist made visibility a challenge, but with Hoot surveying the area from the air, they managed to piece together enough landmarks to allow for navigation. Apart from the odd mountain in the distance the entire area was little more than a grey featureless mass.

“Which way should we go?” Seknafret asked, peering up through the mist hoping for a glimpse of the sun.

“North,” Xalen said confidently.

“Why north?” Brabara said.

Xalen shrugged. “Why not?”

Seknafret looked back over her shoulder at the portal. “How will we get back here once we find the next piece?”

“Don’t worry. I can teleport us here,” Ebyn said. “The portal’s uniqueness makes it an excellent target.”

“That is good,” Seknafret said. “So, north then?”

“Perhaps I could cast some auguries first,” Ebyn said. “See what the weave can tell us?”

Brabara scoffed. “Failed divinations is what created this whole mess. Let’s just go.”

They’d walked for a little less than an hour when a deep rumble echoed in the distance. The group stopped to look around just as the ground beneath them shook, causing a shower of small pebbles to cascade down from the massive stones around them.

One nearby boulder cracked with a sound like lightning. Shards of rock went flying, and everyone fell flat on the ground, covering their heads with their hands until the shaking stopped.

Ebyn sent Hoot aloft once silence returned to the area. The owl flew up above the mist, Ebyn’s vision paired to the creature so he could see through its eyes.

“What is this place?” Ebyn said. “The whole horizon has changed.”

“What do you mean?” Brabara asked.

“One of the prominent mountains we’d selected to navigate by is gone,” Ebyn explained. “Replaced by another, in a different location.”

“Fuck,” Brabara spat. “Without permanent landmarks to navigate by we’ll end up going in circles.”

Xalen sucked a breath. “So, what? We’re lost?”

Brabara nodded. “Effectively, yes.”

“You’re from the desert right, Seknafret?” Xalen said. “You don’t have mountains and roads and whatever to navigate with and the wind makes the landscape change all the time, right?”

Seknafret nodded. “That is correct, yes.”

“So, how do your people get around? How do they keep from getting lost in the ever-shifting sands?”

“Since we can’t rely on the land,” Seknafret said. “My people look to the skies; we use the stars to guide us.”

Xalen smiled. “That’s it then. Stars.”

Seknafret shook her head and pointed up. “Except…”

Xalen looked up. “Fuck.”

Hoot landed noisily on Ebyn’s shoulder, and they all turned to see Ebyn sitting there with a wide grin on his face. “So, shall I cast some auguries now, or wait for Xalen to completely lose his mind first?”

Brabara rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. We’ll use your magic to guide us.”

Ebyn hummed to himself as he cleared a small patch of ground and set up for the ritual. His eyes closed as the incantation began, and the others waited for the spell to complete.

“He’s going to be insufferable after this,” Brabara said.

“I don’t care as long as we don’t end up lost,” Xalen said. “I’ve spent most of my life in a city, so I’m used to narrow horizons, but not like this. The sooner we can be away from here the better.”

“That way,” Ebyn said, pointing once the ritual was complete. “The nearest fallen colossus is in that direction.”

---

It was hard going.

Rocky terrain and poor visibility forced them to double back and change direction on many occasions. Ebyn’s magically attuned lodestone kept them moving in generally the right direction despite the many twists and turns.

As they walked, they started to notice that the landscape was not quite as devoid of life as they initially thought. Scavengers and other small vermin peered at them from burrows and holes, but the creatures all appeared changed in some way.

Spikes and horns grew from their bodies in unnatural, even painful looking ways. Strange, deep-throated growls could be heard in the distance, the many rocks and gullies causing the calls to echo around which made it impossible to determine the source of the unnerving cries.

On one occasion Xalen spotted a one-eyed squirrel-like creature tracking them as they passed by the hollowed-out husk of a dead tree. Seknafret struck the disfigured vermin with an eldritch blast, and it died in a puff of fur and spiked bone.

“I hate this place,” Brabara muttered, not for the first time, as she walked past with a shudder.

By the time night fell, the four of them were so on edge that even the familiar scrape of whetstone on blade had heads turning. The persistent gloom was bad enough during the day, but at night it took on a sinister aspect.

Sounds and calls of whatever passed for animals in this blighted region increased as the sky darkened. At one stage, something large lumbered past their camp, obscured in the gloom.

“What was that?” Brabara said, eyes wide as she stared beyond Ebyn’s magical dome into the mist.

“Try and relax,” Ebyn said, looking far from relaxed himself. “We’re safe here. Nothing can enter the shelter for as long as I am in it.”

Brabara scoffed. “Let’s hope you don’t have to take a piss in the middle of the night then.”

Ebyn chuckled and lifted a waterskin. “That’s why I have this.”

“Ew,” Seknafret said. “Can we change the subject please.”

“That one eyed thing watching us,” Xalen said. “Was that what I think it was?”

Ebyn let out a long breath. “Honestly, who knows. It could be nothing, we’ve all seen how the wildlife here has been warped. Or…”

“It could be that Vecna is watching us,” Brabara finished after Ebyn trailed off.

“Or that,” the wizard said finally. “We can do nothing about either one, so I suggest we just let it go.”

Brabara sighed and resumed her staring. “Did I mention that I hate this place?”

Nobody spoke much after that. The Mournlands oppressive atmosphere had each of them focussed inward. There was something deeply wrong with this place and they all felt it.

Once sleep finally took them, they all had another vivid dream:

With his mother, Mazzel, dead, Vecna became a ward of the state.

Fleeth was a large city. Located at the frontiers of the Kingdom of Keoland, Fleeth was an independent vassal kingdom. Despite officially being considered a monarchy, the priesthood controlled most aspects of government. Thus Vecna, like all his fellow orphans, was trained in the holy order of Pholtus, God of light, resolution, and law.

During his time in the orphanage, Vecna kept his magical skills hidden, forcing himself to temper his urges and play along. Soon his keen mind earned him a role as a scribe and librarian.

Years passed, and Vecna used the access afforded him to scour the great library within the temple where he found and read all manner of forbidden lore.

Forced to keep such studies a secret, his predicament taught him patience and subtlety, while his intelligence earned him favour among his peers. He quickly rose in station, using a combination of natural aptitude and murder to eventually rise to become head librarian - the youngest ever to reach such a vaunted office. 

They all awoke feeling like they had barely slept at all. Brabara especially fared badly with dark rings below her eyes and a general feeling of tiredness. She sat up and stretched, noting how everyone seemed reluctant to rise.

“I assume we all shared a dream again?” she said while strapping her armour with practised skill.

“More of a nightmare, I’d say,” Xalen said as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

Ebyn had taken up his notebook and was writing furiously. “They are fascinating whatever you want to call them.”

“Fascinating, yes,” Seknafret said. “But draining. If things continue like this, we’ll be dead on our feet in under a week.”

Ebyn looked up. “Yes, that is a good point. Upon our return to the sanctum, we must research ways to deal with such exhaustion.”

Xalen eyed Ebyn suspiciously. “You don’t seem to be suffering like the rest of us.”

“I’ve been having these types of visions most of my life,” Ebyn said while continuing to write. “Perhaps I am just more used to their impact.”

“Hmm,” Brabara said and looked out into the daylight gloom. “Well, another day of joy awaits us. Let’s get to it”

They broke camp and resumed their journey.

By midday, after numerous twists and turns, they reached the edge of what must have been a battlefield. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of corpses littered the ground.

Humanoid bodies lay at unnatural angles with limbs cut off, some with rusted weapons still embedded in chests, and skulls, while others seemed blasted as if by fire or melted by acid. Others still appeared to have been crushed – perhaps stepped on by one of the Colossi that they were searching for. A vast cornucopia of different ways to die.

“I’m not walking through that,” Xalen said.

Ebyn glanced down at the lodestone, renewed by his morning auguries. “It’s pointing directly through it.”

“It’ll still do that once we’re around it,” Seknafret said with a shudder. “Nothing good can come from crossing a field with so many dead.”

Brabara nodded. “Let’s find a way around. There’s no telling what we’ll encounter in there.”

They continued along the edge of the killing field, walking for over a mile before the dead started to thin out. It was another mile before the way ahead was clear entirely.

Sometime that afternoon, through a momentary clearing of the mist, the Juices caught a glimpse of five humanoid figures walking in single file across a bridge some distance away. The four of them took cover behind one of the many large boulders and Ebyn sent Hoot out to investigate.

By transferring his senses to the owl, he noted that the humanoids were warforged. Never having seen beings like these before, Ebyn had Hoot fly a little closer to get a better look, but backed away when one of the five figures, a tall purple warforged wearing a tattered white cloak, glanced up in the direction of the owl.

“They are coming this way,” Ebyn said softly to the others. “Take cover.”

The group hunkered down while the five travellers moved passed them. Neither party gave any sign that they’d seen the other and after several tense minutes the five warforged moved off behind them and were hidden by the mist.

“Do we follow them?” Brabara said, stepping out from cover.

“To what end?” Ebyn said. “Our goal is still ahead of us.”

Brabara shrugged. “Maybe we could talk with them. They might know where we can find a docent thingy.”

“Or they could try and kill us,” Xalen offered.

“I think we continue on our path,” Seknafret said. “Let’s see what Ebyn’s divinations yield before we risk engaging with the locals. Remember, Alustriel said that it might have been warforged, or a faction within them, who caused this devastation.”

Brabara considered that a moment. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

By late afternoon, the party reached one of the massive, rusted metal carcasses of a Colossus. Its gargantuan metal frame was roughly man shaped and would have stood almost a hundred feet tall were it upright. The circular hollows of its arms and legs were big enough for Brabara to stand fully erect and the massive frame of its chest could hold a dozen or more people.

“Imagine having to fight one of these in a battle,” Brabara said as she kicked away some debris. “I’d shit my pants and run the other way.”

Ebyn looked at the destruction surrounding the fallen fighting machine and nodded. “And I’d be right behind you.”

“As long as that’s upwind of course,” Xalen added with a smirk.

The group searched the wreckage for a docent for several hours to no avail. Finally, Ebyn grew sick of the manual search and moved off to the side to ask for magical guidance. The wizard threw his hands up at the conclusion of his ritual and yelled in frustration.

“What’s wrong,” Seknafret said, a concerned expression on her face.

“There is no docent here,” Ebyn replied as he collected his ritual items. “We’re wasting our time. I asked the wrong question in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first sought guidance I asked for the location of the nearest colossus,” Ebyn began. “And here we are, but our search, and my magic, has just confirmed that this colossus does not have a docent.”

Xalen looked up. “So, we can stop looking?”

“Yes,” Ebyn said loud enough for all to hear. “There’s nothing here.”

Seknafret scratched her neck. “Now what?”

‘It’s almost dark,” Ebyn said. “Let’s make camp here for the night and I will ask again in the morning.”

Disheartened, the party once more retreated into Ebyn’s magical hut and tried to get some sleep. As with the two previous nights, a dream came upon them:

Vecna, having been Head Librarian for several years, spent as much time as he could studying. He had built up a stock of forbidden books and scrolls, stolen from the vast collection he oversaw and as part of his research devised a vile experiment. When he was ready, Vecna walked the streets of Fleeth at night corrupting wells in different parts of the city with a vile parasite his foul magics had created.

People soon started to fall sick. Only a handful at first, but soon in their hundreds.

The priesthood had never seen anything like it. Healing magic proved useless unless the subject was caught early. Once the disease took hold, death was a certainty, and thousands of the city’s residents died.

Vecna, who was seen as a respected scholar of some renown, offered his aid to resolve the crisis. He asked to have the bodies stockpiled around the city so he could study the effects of the disease in different parts of town.

The city officials agreed, and Vecna soon had hundreds of bodies stored in warehouses around the city. Officially this was to help Vecna find a cure, but this was all part of Vecna’s plan. The bodies continued to pile up before one of the priests stumbled on a way to cure the afflicted.

As the city made plans to dispose of the dead in storage, Vecna enacted the next part of his plan. A ritual of awakening.

The parasite he’d added to the water responded to his magic and all over the city the warehouses holding the dead burst open. The dead stalked the streets and unleashed a terrible carnage on the rest of the population.

Vecna, satisfaction brimming, looked on from his balcony as the city burned around him.

The following morning both Seknafret and Xalen awoke feeling completely unrefreshed, but Brabara was exhausted, barely able to sit up enough to don her armour.

“I’m getting pretty sick of these nightmares,” Brabara said. “I think I’ve forgotten what a good night’s sleep feels like.”

Seknafret came up to her and placed a hand over Brabara’s chest. “Hold still,” she said. “This will help.”

Seknafret’s hand glowed briefly and in a moment, vigour returned to Brabara. She felt better, rested, and ready to face the day.

“That’s amazing,” Brabara said. “Thank you, Seknafret.”

Ebyn sat, as had become the norm, making a record of the dream in his journal while Xalen made ready to break camp.

 “Hold on,” Seknafret said with a gasp. “How many days since we left Neverwinter?”

Ebyn looked up. “Hard to be certain since being on the Astral Plane made determination of night and day difficult.”

“Best guess?” Seknafret said.

Ebyn did some quick calculations. “Ten days, maybe. Give or take.”

“Thanks,” Seknafret said, then stood up and went outside.

Ebyn watched her exit the dome with a raised eyebrow, then resumed his writing.

Once they’d finished breaking camp they found Seknafret sitting a short distance away, eyes closed, and face turned toward the rising sun. Before her was a palm frond with a small pile of sand at its centre, atop which rested a strange looking beetle.

“Are you ready?” Brabara asked once it was clear Seknafret was not going to acknowledge them standing there.

She opened an eye. “We cannot go anywhere today,” she said.

Ebyn blinked. “What!? Why?”

“I could not complete my worship,” she said, eyes closed again. “As you know, every tenday I must sit to greet the rising sun, grounded by the sand of my homeland braced by the flora and fauna of my people.”

Brabara nodded. “Yes, we’ve seen you do this before.”

“What you haven’t seen is what must happen when this ritual cannot be completed,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” Ebyn said. “You’re doing it, you’ve done it.”

Seknafret shook her head and picked up the beetle. “Take a look at this.”

Xalen, with a quick glance at the others, stepped forward and took the beetle, turning it over as he studied it. He shrugged then passed it across to Ebyn who did the same.

“What are we supposed to be seeing?” Ebyn said, passing the insect to Brabara.

“That beetle has been changed,” Seknafret said. “Look closely, you’ll see horns have begun to sprout from its head and its eyes have adopted a metallic hue.”

Brabara peered closer. “Okay, I can see that. Why does that matter?”

Ebyn gasped.

“It means,” Seknafret began, “that this can no longer be considered as the fauna of my people, and my ritual is incomplete. As such I must observe Uoyckuf. I must remain here facing the sun from dawn to dusk or risk angering my patron.”

Ebyn took the mutated beetle from Brabara and examined it closely, his pallid skin even whiter than usual.

“So what? We just stay here for the day?” Xalen asked.

Brabara shrugged. “Works for me. Even despite Sekna’s magic I’m exhausted. A day of doing nothing might be good.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s a good idea,” Ebyn said, holding the beetle between thumb and forefinger. “A kind of corruption pervades this place, we can all feel it, and what has happened to this beetle is proof.”

Brabara frowned. “Proof of what?”

Ebyn looked at her gravely. “This place is changing us. Slowly, of course, but this simple lifeform is already displaying its effects. I fear that if we stay too long in The Mournlands, we too shall experience mutations like those we’ve seen on all the living creatures here.”

“But Seknafret can’t move today,” Brabara said.

Ebyn nodded. “I understand that, but from tomorrow we should proceed with haste.”

---

Hoot flew in lazy circles above the camp.

Ebyn set his familiar the task of keeping an eye on their surroundings while they waited for Seknafret’s atonement to complete.

Around midafternoon, Hoot spotted a column of five warforged approaching the area and alerted Ebyn. He transferred his vision into the fey creature and sent it up to get another look. The warforged looked to be the same five they’d seen the previous day but given their lack of experience with such beings he couldn’t be sure.

Brabara and Xalen took up position in front of the still seated Seknafret, while Ebyn moved a short distance away and ducked behind a rock.

A purple skinned figure wearing a tattered white cloak emerged from the mist a few minutes later. It stopped when he saw them standing there and held an arm up to signal his fellows to stop moving.

“Hello, the camp,” the purple figure said. It spoke clearly, but the voice had a metallic undertone. “We have no desire for violence.”

“Hello, travellers,” Xalen replied. “We wish you no harm and bid you join us in peace.”

The purple warforged took a few cautious steps forward and bowed. “I am called Mercy.”

Xalen nodded in response. “Welcome, Mercy. I am Xalen, this is Brabara, and my seated companion is Seknafret.”

Mercy signalled for his companions to come closer. “It is good to make your acquaintance, Xalen, Brabara, and Seknafret. These are my friends, Courage, Faith, Perseverance, and Honour.” He introduced each warforged as it stepped out of the mist.

Each figure was unique, sporting different colours, markings, and facial features. If these warforged were indeed constructs, it was clear that they were not all made from a single pattern.

Ebyn emerged from behind the rock and approached the others. The five warforged looked at one another as he came into view, but nobody said anything.

“So, what brings you out here?” Brabara said. “Can we offer you some food?”

Mercy shook his head. “We have no need of sustenance.” He tilted his head to the side slightly and paused. “You must be from a long way away not to know such a thing.”

“Indeed, we are,” Ebyn said. “We are here on a quest of the utmost importance. We seek a piece of an artifact that will help us prevent a great evil. Perhaps you might know where we might find it?”

Mercy tilted his head to the other side as he looked at Ebyn. “The Mournlands are strewn with such magic. When the day of mourning came, and the terrible blight settled on this once great land, many powerful magics were lost here.”

Brabara shook her head. “That’s just great. We’ll be months looking for the rod piece.”

“I would not advise that,” Mercy said. “The Mournlands are not safe for the living.”

“The living?” Xalen asked.

“It is what we call your kind,” Mercy explained. “Those born of flesh instead of the forge.”

“We have seen the way it has warped the animals and birds here,” Ebyn said. “Is that what you are referring to?”

“That,” said Mercy, “And there are other dangers. Those of my kind who follow The Lord of Blades. They will not abide your presence here.”

“We do not plan to remain here long,” Ebyn said.

Mercy nodded. “This is wise.”

“What about a docent,” Xalen said. “Do you know where we can find one of those?”

Mercy’s eyes narrowed, and there was a shift in the mood of the assembled warforged. “What do you want with a docent?”

“We’re told that a docent can help us with the search,” Ebyn explained. “By coupling its power to an item in our possession we can find what we seek quickly.”

“I see,” Mercy said, and gripped his weapons tightly. “My people hold docents to be sacred. A docent is, like us, a sentient being. But thousands upon thousands have been killed in wars pursued by the living. We will not allow you to bring more harm to these most precious of beings.”

Ebyn held up his hands, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. “We had no idea of their value to you, nor were we aware of their sentience. We were told only that their magic when combined with ours would allow us to find what we seek. None of us wish to cause it, nor anyone, harm.”

There was a brief silence as Mercy and the other warforged studied the group. Metal eyes shifted from person to person causing Xalen to slip a knife from his wrist in case of any trouble.

“Please understand our mistrust,” Mercy said finally, all tension gone from him. “There are many treasure hunters in these lands who seek such things for profit or personal gain. We cannot allow them to fall back into the hands of the living. We fear they will enslave them for their machines of war once again.”

“We understand,” said Ebyn. “And that is not our intention.”

“May we sit,” Mercy asked, indicating the ground around them.

“Of course,” Brabara said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Mercy sat down on crossed legs and the four remaining warforged took their seats in an arc to either side. Brabara plopped down on a nearby rock while Xalen and Ebyn sat on the ground.

“What exactly happened here,” Brabara said. “We’ve heard stories, but… I mean look at this place.”

“The day of mourning did more than lay waste to Cyre,” Mercy explained. “The bulk of the armies of five kingdoms died on that day. Millions were killed, both living and warforged, as the dead-grey mist rolled over the lands. A terrible day for many, but for my people it marks the moment when we were finally made free.”

“With the generals and war leaders dead, the surviving rulers agreed to free us in the name of peace,” another of the warforged, Faith, continued. “That freedom meant we would no longer merely be designated by unit, rank, and number. Instead, we each choose a name that resonates with our virtues.”

“I am glad that something good could come from such destruction,” Ebyn said. “And to find you five here with such righteous names.”

Mercy inclined his head in response. “I should warn you,” he said. “Not all my kind chose the path of peace. There are some who have merely exchanged a living warlord for one of their own kind. The Lord of Blades has recruited many of us to his banner and his people patrol these lands with a goal of wiping clear any living who would dare come here.”

“How will we know if we encounter followers of this Lord of the Blades?” Xalen asked.

Perseverence turned to look at him. “You will know them because they will try and kill you. There is no mercy for your kind in them.”

“Can we avoid them perhaps,” Brabara offered.

“The best way to avoid them is to leave The Mournlands. There is more danger here than you could possibly imagine.”

Ebyn sighed. “We cannot leave, at least not without the artifact we seek, and to find that we need a docent.”

Mercy looked at him for a long moment. “If you truly mean them no harm, we may be able to help you. There is a place, Ialos, a few days north of here. A docent can be found there.”

“And will they just let us have it?” Ebyn said.

“No,” Mercy said flatly. “Not far outside of Ialos is a small cave. Go there and wait for us. We will meet you there and introduce you to the keepers. It will be their decision as to whether to grant you access to the docent, but with my support it should be possible.”

“Thank you, Mercy,” Ebyn said. “Thanks to all of you. You have taught us much.”

Mercy and his band stood up in a single smooth motion.

“We will leave you now,” Mercy said. “Promise you will wait for us before entering Ialos. I cannot guarantee your survival should you attempt to approach without us.”

Brabara stood and extended her right arm. Mercy looked at it, tilted his head, and then extended his own.

“We will wait,” Brabara said as they shook hands.

Mercy took one final glance at the four companions before he and his band stepped into the mists and disappeared out of sight.

Ebyn smiled. “Turns out that today wasn’t a waste after all.”

Brabara chuckled. “See, the gods do provide for those who adhere to their teachings.”

Seknafret rose once the sun had sunk below the horizon. She walked around the area for several minutes to bring feeling to her legs then returned to the others as they sat eating rations in silence.

“Thank you,” she said. “Uoyckuf is complete. We can travel again tomorrow.”

“What happens ten days from now?” Xalen asked.

Seknafret shrugged. “Hopefully we’re gone from here by then and I can find a replacement beetle from my homeland.”

“And if not?”

“Then I will spend another day like this.”

Night fell. Sleep came, and with it another nightmare.

Vecna, now a man in his prime, has become a scholar of international renown.

Despite the acclaim he has garnered in public, in private he continues to strive for his art. He spends long nights penning a work of Vile Darkness. He has kept meticulous records of his many successful experiments and magical creations, but he has come to realize that he has reached the limit of what he can achieve in Fleeth. He departs the city on what he calls an extended research tour with all the pomp and ceremony his exalted position affords him.

Now free of the shackles of his double life, Vecna dedicates every moment to the pursuit of his goals. He follows an ancient map into the Dry Steppes, a vast desert created by an ancient cataclysm, where he finds a long-abandoned temple.

Once there he casts a summoning ritual – reading from his own Book of Vile Darkness to call upon Mok’slyk – the serpent – who, after measuring Vecna’s dark soul, agrees to teach him the nature of pure magic.