Singed Molecule's Age of Worms

We have finally made it off that accursed island. Most of us have, at any rate. Galan was slain in our battle against the dracha and their undead monstrosities, his body infected by the green worms of Kyuss. Aramir tells me that the dracha insisted upon burning his body to prevent him from rising again as a spawn of Kyuss. He is truly lost to us, his body burnt to ash. Even the magic of the priests cannot return him to a body that no longer exists.

Galan was a valiant comrade and he shall be missed. More than once, his skills and knowledge were the only thing that stood between us and oblivion. We shall do all we can to honor his memory and his sacrifice.

I almost died as well. The only reason I draw breath is because Aramir was able to banish the undead abominations and then rush to my side to prevent me from slipping over the border into death.

Once again, I owe my life to Aramir…but none of us would have lived to tell the tale if not for the dracha themselves. After our opening volley damaged their catapults and injured many of them, the dracha at the far catapults actually turned against their leader! Soon after battle was joined, two immense swarms of green worms emerged from the pit, followed by two powerful undead—according to Blackrazor (she sensed them beforehand), they were more powerful than the treants. One was an armored warrior with a greatsword; the other was shaped like a humanoid but moved more like a beast—with the exception that it walked on air! Both were obviously infested with the green worms, and it soon became clear that they carried powerful magic within them. The warrior called down roaring columns of unholy black fire. The airwalker fired ribbons of black flame. They both were potent enough that they could stand against our best attacks.

Galan was hit by one of the warrior’s columns of unholy fire, and then fell to a powerful sword stroke. The accursed worm swarm immediately moved over his body. My mind reeling at seeing my friend fall, I noticed the leader of the dracha catapult crew behead one of his brethren at the pit—and noticed the airwalker stagger as if harmed by this act. I shouted out to Aramir, who immediately moved to dispatch the remaining dracha at the pit. I fired off magic missiles from a wand, but it was not enough to slay one of the pit dracha. In my haste, I got too close to the cursed warrior and was cut down just as Galan had been. I was the lucky one, though, for as I said Aramir managed to slay the last of the praying dracha before the swarming worms could finish me off.

Aramir tells me that the dracha had been “uncomfortable” with their masters for some time but thought there was nothing they could do. Our example, three against twenty, gave them the courage to stand against evil. If they had not found their courage, we would have fallen and Illthane’s plan may have come to fruition (I am told that the plan was to fire masses of green worms at the copper dragons when they flew to the Isle from Farshore).

The seven surviving dracha joined us on the boat (apparently they had no desire to experience the wrath of Illthane). Urol was true to his word—the copper dragons met us on the way to Farshore and escorted us the rest of the way. I wish I had been awake to see it—I’m sure they were magnificent. Now I recuperate from my injuries and await an audience with Eligos. I hope he has some answers for us.

Many of us began this journey. Few reached the Isle of Dread, fewer still have escaped.

My companions sent me south on the dragon Selenia’s back to ensure that the necessary information and material reached Eligos. The three heroes then set upon the enemy and poor Galan made the ultimate sacrifice.

I found Farshore to be prepared and ready to meet the threat the foul dragon Ilthane and her Dracha minions represent. With little discussion we turned around and flew back north with a squadron of dragons. We found Kavr’n’n, Aramir and a handful of Dracha afloat.

As they tell it, Galan fell to a Kyuss spawned warrior. The foul creatures were preparing the beach for the Dragon attack with the intent of infecting the glorious coppers with worm spawn! In personal combat Galan was struck down and consumed by the undead worms. My heart grows heavy at the thought.

All of my companions would have been wiped out, however, if the bulk of the Dracha had not come to their senses and turned against their undead companions. They showed the way to defeat the Kyuss Spawn, only a few moments too late.

So many friends and allies lay dead on the Island or in the depths surrounding it. What once seemed a grand adventure now rings hollow and hopeless. The humid misty confines of that dark place will haunt my dream for the remainder of my days.

My flesh is battered, but my spirit is buoyed. We have met a dragon, a Copper named Selenia. Just seeing Selenia’s beauty and strength reminds me of home, and at the same time reminds me of why I left my home in the first place.

We were traveling south on an ancient roadbed, hoping to reach the Southern Village before nightfall, when we heard ground-shaking roars and saw huge shapes flying in the distance. A young copper dragon with fresh wounds landed on the road, saw us, and said “The Sea Wyvern,” before lapsing into unconsciousness. Before we could lend assistance, five armored dracha flew in from the jungle. I was so excited and surprised to see my own kind again, it took a moment for me to realize the unthinkable: they actually meant the dragon harm! And even more amazingly, these dracha knew us. They were Illthane’s minions, and wanted us dead.

Even outnumbered, it was soon clear that we would best these enemy dracha. These were worthy adversaries, but our trials on this island have toughened us. And Aramir wielded Blackrazor against them—after seeing what it did against the centipede, it was no surprise that these foes could not stand before its might.

These wretches resorted to devious tactics once they lost the advantage of numbers. One of them wrestled Urol to the ground, threatening to harm him if we did not stand down. Unfortunately for them, Aramir does not speak Draconic: he launched himself at the grappling pair and pulled the dracha off of Urol. The leader then attempted to slay the unconscious Copper, mouthing some self-serving lie about “duty”, but died himself with Galan’s axe in his back. The last dracha attempted to escape, and I was so incensed that I lost my head: despite rather grievous wounds, I flew after him, attacking him with one of my wands. But these dracha, despite their lack of honor, were better fliers than I, and better warriors besides. I very nearly died for my trouble, saved by Aramir’s arrow.

Galan had healed the Copper, who awoke and introduced herself as Selenia (at least, I believe it to be a female). She told us that her family, including her mother and older sisters, were patrolling Farshore because the sage Eligos had learned that Illthane was planning to attack. The patrolling Coppers had kept the Black away, but had not been able to prevent Illthane from attacking the Southern Village. Even now, more of her dracha minions hold the village—our only way to leave this cursed island. Selenia had come here against her mother’s instructions looking for us…and was almost killed by Illthane for her troubles. Now we have a wounded Copper, we are hunted by an angry Black, and a there is a village full of enemies between us and the dubious safety of the sea.

I know that the wisest course of action would be to find a way to leave here and find a measure of safety under the sheltering wings of Selenia’s family. But a deep part of me smolders with rage at these dracha. They have abandoned their heritage to serve Illthane the Black, and through her, Kyuss himself. What measure of greed or dishonor could cause them to shut their eyes to the evil they do in their master’s name? How could they have forgotten the purpose behind their very creation? Are they blind to the weight of shame they force upon all of us? I wish to confront them, to get them to abandon their present course. And failing that, my dragon’s heart wishes to see them broken and destroyed.

Selenia gives me hope, and these fallen dracha give me a thirst for justice. Together, these are enough to shred the despair in which this island has cloaked me.

Lydara is dead and her loss lies heavy on my heart. Our losses are mounting and I wonder which of us will be next. How many more lives will our mission claim? If we fail, how many more lives will be crushed by the ascension of Kyuss?

We are finally out of the undermountain passage, in the open sunlight and constant peril of the Isle. The last few hundred yards were the most dangerous of the trip. After those vile flesh-things, we attempted to cross the second bridge. We had assumed that the bridge would be unstable, but the danger came not from the structure. Instead, an enormous centipede uncoiled itself from its hiding place under the bridge. The huge monster summoned by the Faceless One could have been one of this thing’s hatchlings. It slashed at Aramir with its mandibles, nearly killing him. The wild elf had seemed indestructible as long as I had known him, but the deadly creatures here just may have his measure. I was unable to assist him, as the monstrous vermin bit at me before I could complete a spell. It nearly killed Urol as he hurried to assist. Luckily, I was able to drag Urol to safety and Galan, praise his courage and skills, was able to save Aramir from death’s door. Aramir unslung Blackrazor for the second time, and this time the foul weapon dispatched the great centipede rather than turning on its wielder.

Afterward, he seemed flush with vitality with a strange gleam in his eye. It faded as we rested, but still it gave me cause for concern. Aramir assured me that he would not fall under the weapon’s spell, but I wonder how he can be so certain.

After resting the night, we crossed the bridge and found some sort of burial chamber. Six mummies rested in niches in the walls, seemingly unaware of us. We arrayed ourselves hoping to bottle them up while whittling them down. Our plan was for naught: as the mummies moved against us, a powerful wave of dread washed over me and I could do nothing except watch the undead things attack my friends. When I finally found my courage, the mummies were overrunning us. Aramir had once again taken the brunt of their attacks, but Lydara suffered the most grievous injury of all: she had been infected with the mummy’s curse. We finally rallied and destroyed the last of the things, but too late to save her.

Her face was wasting away before our eyes, and she knew she was dying. I have never seen anything so horrible. She begged her brother to end her life, to give her a clean death. These wild elves are made of stern stuff, for I do not think I could have done it. Aramir lifted an axe borrowed from Galan, and removed his own sister’s head at a stroke.

We brought her body with us, of course, and soon found the exit into the sunlight. Aramir wanted to bury her, but Urol said we were close to Farshore. The colony must have a priest with the power to return Lydara to the lands of the living. Now we must make all haste to bring her body to safety before decay sets in.

The litany of my failings scrolls through my mind. If I had thought quicker on my feet, the centipede might not have almost killed two of my friends. If I had kept my wits about me, if I had planned better, Lydara might be alive now. I fear that I will let my friends down again in the trials yet to come…but if I shirk this responsibility, who will take it up in my place?

We have been traveling underground for three days now. Even I find the darkness oppressive. I don’t know how the others can stand it. I can almost feel the weight of the mountains bearing down upon us. I long for open skies.

It had been a fairly straight path until today. We came to a series of rooms, and some choices to make. One path led back towards the north, the direction we had come from. Two bridges led south across a chasm. The western bridge led to two rooms containing the foulest air that I can recall. This place is more ancient than I can tell, and it gave me pause to wonder what could possibly carry such a stench after uncounted centuries.

As we were checking for secret ways, the possible source of the stench made itself known to us. Three vile creatures floated down from the ceiling, catching Aramir and me unawares despite Galan’s shout of alarm. About a yard across, they resembled nothing more than veils made of dead flesh—complete with bits of hair and other less savory reminders of their origins. The creatures fastened to Aramir’s arm and shoulder, and to my head and neck. They immediately began to feed upon our flesh…and it felt as if they also feasted upon our force of will. It took some doing to remove the repulsive creatures, tearing at our own skin, doing as much harm to ourselves in the process. Once again I give thanks to my draconic forebears for gifting me with a tough hide—without that protection, the creatures would have done far worse.

Carrying the ugly wounds from our latest encounter, we abandoned the western passage as a dead end… (to be continued)

Aramir used Blackrazor today, and it almost killed him.

We found the statue that the Aranea told us about, and it was at the center of a desecrated area swarming with the green worms of Kyuss. We were attacked by two treants who had been killed and then raised as foul undead by the Kyuss worms. The normally benevolent creatures swatted us with their mighty limbs and trampled us beneath their roots as we tried to fight them off. Galan’s axes proved especially effective, as did my Flame Sphere spell.

The last treant was almost destroyed when Aramir sustained an injury that broke his control. He finally succumbed to Blackrazor’s charms and wielded the cursed weapon against the huge spawn of Kyuss. As the druid had warned him, the weapon had no power against an undead creature—the force of the blow was redirected at Aramir in a flash of black light, what I presume to be negative energy. His strength was sapped, even as the treant was healed by the blow. Galan and I managed to destroy the poor creature as Lydara and Urol tended to Aramir, unconscious and near death’s door by his own weapon.

Aramir is a great friend to me, but he has always been…impulsive. I hope he learns from this dire experience and puts the foul weapon away, never to be tempted by its call again.

As we rested from our trial, I scouted out a trench that wound through the infested ground to an entrance to the catacombs beneath the statue. The worms do not enter the trench, so it appears to offer safe passage. The huge statue represents a humanoid carrying a terrible weapon, seemingly a cross between a morningstar and a halberd. Aramir thinks this could be a statue of Kyuss himself, and I cannot disagree—the presence of the green worms is too strong to be coincidence. Urol took an impression of the statue’s inscription to share with Eligos.

We will rest the night in the safe haven of the Rope Trick once again, and head underground in the morning. I wonder how the foul presence of Kyuss will have twisted the already-lethal denizens of this island.

We found the statue of the long dead king as the Aranea queen had described. It was a massive structure, perhaps thirty feet high, but it was the weapon that the statue held that struck me the most. It was a cross between a morning star and a halberd. A strange combination and the coincidence that one is my arm of choice and the other of necessity gave me pause. Worse still we found that the ground around the statue, perhaps an area of several hundred square feet, had indeed been desecrated. Kyuss spawn spewed endlessly from within the earth. Why here? Were they here because of us, or we here because of them? The air elemental on the train to Sasserine told me of the great battle and the fall of Zozial. Kyuss had wielded a great and terrible weapon. Might this be a statue of Kyuss?

Finally the enemy is again in sight. Our travel to this island was not an accident and the perils that we have faced were not random chance. Those that we have lost were not the victioms of fate, but rather casualties of a war that they never knew that they were waging. While the others would think me mad, I find great comfort in all of this. I am once again on purpose

A once subterranean tunnel cut a path from the edge of the tree line across this unholy region, ultimately disappearing beneath the earth at the base of the statue. Kavr’n’n volunteered to fly around the statue and inspect the tunnel before the lot of us made the dangerous trip across the infested land. As he approached the statue two Treants, concealed amongst the trees at the periphery of the clearing, raced towards him and with their mighty limbs batted him out of the sky. He landed hard, but while bruised his leather hide protected him from the greater threat of the worms that writhed around him. These Treants were undead and as we have seen too many times now, infested with the worms.

Kavr’n’n retreated out of the clearing into safer territory, and the Treants charged. As the battle ensued these massive creatures chose the tactic of trampling us with devastating effect. Given their immense size and speed, none of us were able to escape their charge. Continuously we were stomped into the earth and my counter attacks with the morning star had minimal impact as did Lydara’s arrows. Galan demonstrated a combat prowess against them than I have always thought him capable of, but did not witness until now. His axes, crafted for the very purpose of felling trees, became their natural enemy. He wounded them severely as Kavrn’n used his spells to command arcane fire to burn them.

Galan and I stood shoulder to shoulder as he delivered a death blow to the first Treant. As it fell with a horrible shriek, it spewed worms at the both of us in a foul spray. Hastily we batted at them as if extinguishing a fire from our cloaks. The remaining Treant overran us and again I found myself straining to rise from the earth after the onslaught. I was more severely injured than I have been since this war began and in that moment I lost myself to rage. Knowing that I could destroy this creature with one massive blow, I dropped the morning star, planted my feet and swung Blackrazor in a wide arc, dropping my shoulder at the point of impact for maximum power. I would cut it in half.

In those moments all sense of what was happening on the battle field escaped me. I was not certain if Galan had survived the charge. I did not know where Kavr’n’n or Lydara were positioned. In the distance I thought I heard the echo of Kavrn’n screaming a warning, but I was lost. My vision was singular. She was the finest that I have ever held. She was power.

As Blackrazor struck the undead Treant, I saw a blinding flash of black light that felt as though it tore from the fabric of my soul. The pain was unlike any that I have ever felt in battle. It was I imagine like being burned alive. As I struck the earth and the blackness enveloped me, I understood her true form.

She is evil. She is malignant. She is the devourer of souls and has destroyed all those who were foolish enough to try and possess her.

I am free.

It has now been four days on the Isle. I concentrate on making notes, sketches and generally observing the ecology of this dread place. The light as it pierces the upper canopy and fights its way to the jungle floor is exceptionally beautiful. The flowers and fauna are spectacular. Nature unbound.

Yet still Avner is dead. The crew of the Wyvern sits at the bottom of the sea. The dark weapon Blackrazor eats at Aramir and I can sense something foul and not-of-this-world powering the internal engine of this island. This place is tainted.

We found Lithira and her brood among the ruins of an ancient civilization. The others nearly turned this to disaster, but thankfully I speak Sylvan and prevented her from ordering her brood to attack. I am not fond of spiders, but managed to maintain my cool as the gargantuan guardians of this Aranea queen surrounded us.

As per my readings, there is a passage under the mountains that will take us to the eastern coast road. Most chilling was Lithira’s warning as we left. The entrance to the passage is to be found at the statue of an old priest King. This place is recently desecrated, she said. Some old evil has returned and she is planning to move her brood to distance them from the dangers that have taken nest.

Our fellowship is splintering. Aramir and Kavr’n’n grow cold and distant. Galan and Lydara have taken on the leadership, but without the Dracha’s insights or Aramir’s heart, we are all beginning to lose morale. I fear the island will consume us.

Avner is dead, and we almost lost Galan and Lydara as well. He was crushed by a boulder thrown by a stone giant. He died with the sound of their coarse, brutish laughter in his ears. I will hear that sound in my dreams, mocking my every failure. I never understood Avner, and I must admit that at first I did not fully trust him, but he will be missed.

We were forced to cross a wide chasm as a group of stone giants lobbed boulders at us from the opposite side. Urol thinks they might have been a group of adolescents, out for a little mischief. He also says that stone giants are not “evil”—and if this is the case, I dread the day when I meet a giant worthy of being called evil.

Aramir thought that I should just fly the group across one at a time, but I was nearly knocked out of the sky by a boulder yesterday. I had no desire to make myself a target, not just once but ten times (five comrades plus return trips). Aramir made some comment about my not wanting to help others in the group, and this disturbs me. Was it Blackrazor talking, or does he truly think me a coward? Our losses were heavy, and I cannot help but think that we might have been able to escape more cleanly if we had taken a different approach. In desperation, I burned through a host of spells to cloak most of us with invisibility before flying the remaining group across the chasm. If I had done this sooner, Avner might still be alive.

This island saps our resources by the day and my heart is filled with dread. Truly this isle earns its name.

We started out in the morning, as rested as we could be given the circumstances. I thought it would be good to feel dry land beneath my feet once more, but right now I find myself longing for the deck of the Sea Wyvern beneath my feet.

I have never seen jungle like this. Not in Tomoachan, not in the swamps outside Fort Blackwall. The heat and humidity are like a physical weight upon us. How is it possible that it is more humid on land than it was on the deck of a ship on the open sea, with water all about? Large biting insects plague my friends, but are unable to pierce my scales with their mandibles. The foliage is unlike anything I have seen before. The trees, the vines, the leaves on the bushes are huge. As if we have shrunk to less than half our size—or, more likely, as if they have grown here unmolested since the dawn of time.

We were slogging our miserable way through this jungle when Galan stopped us with a raised hand. “Something is hunting us.”

We were attacked by a pack of six ferocious lizards that Galan called megaraptors. Standing twelve feet tall with wicked killing talons on their feet, the beasts were truly formidable adversaries. We lost Densu, and each of the rest of us is sorely wounded from the battle.

I burned through spells like I have not done before, and Aramir and Galan plied their weapons with their usual skill. Lydara, I think, would have died if not for Urol’s ministrations. The thick foliage blocked her arrows from their targets—as lethal as she normally is, in this fight she was next to helpless. The very jungle itself was working against us—except, of course, on the occasions where it blocked one of the raptors’ claws. The terrain here can cut both ways.

The most potent spells I know were sporadic in their effect on the beasts. Oddly enough, the most effective spell in the battle was a relatively simple spell called Shocking Grasp, which I learned long ago but have never before had to use in combat.

We shall have to give serious thought to how we face the threats on this island. We have been here for less than two full days and have already faced greater danger than we have encountered for some time.

We will have to use all of our skill and cunning to survive. For I am sure that the denizens of this island will be using all of their skill and cunning to devour us.

For now, we must press on. I can only hope that we are not tested like this again today, for if we are I do not think we can survive.