Attempted Abduction

This party seems to reluctantly be accepting our collective fate. Last night I spent a substantial amount of time in my house, back under the House of Knowledge in Veldorn, studying ancient texts Percy had unearthed and thinking more deeply about magic and the planes than I ever have. Over breakfast, Roscoe seems to finally understand what is so important about his unseen supporter, and Duraz is still mulling over all that he was told at Iztoz. Seksgar heard a snippet of my conversations with Percy, which I didn’t think was possible from my house. After the time I spent in my home on Veldorn researching and refreshing myself, I also convinced Fern to hand over the journal. I hate holding it, but it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that this particular mage’s belonging would end up in our hands⁠—not when he’s surfaced so many times.
 
I also experimentally brought Roscoe with me into the Ethereal Plane⁠—just for a few seconds. It worked, though he seemed more horrified by the experience than I would have expected. He also said his robe now allows him to see into the Ethereal? I might have to ask to borrow that at some point…
 
I asked Quinn, the ranger seemingly sponsoring us within the mountain, to take me to Irene, the captain of the Iztoz guard, who seemed understandably wary of us still. She demanded to know how we knew about the cultists’ tattoos under their tongues, and I told her truthfully that we first learned back in Tantras. I need to work on my delivery of news to people, because most of what I have to say these days sounds like something a raving mad person would say. I showed her some of my scars and implored her to brace for more incursion. She told me the cultists in Iztoz had been here looking for a pair of important objects and had been discovered already inside the vault.
 
We prepared to go to Cofre, but Tara stayed behind, opting to spend time here in the mountain of Lepota to find her way. Blackthorne, ever skeptical, stayed with her for now to make sure “there isn’t any funny business.” Hunniiam transported the rest of us quite close to Cofre and helped arrange for mounts for most of us. If we made decent time, we should have arrived before sunset. Roscoe finally got information relayed through Theodora, mostly Waterdeep-based things, but also news of Tantras that reiterated the dire situation. We both learned at about the same time that the half of Force Grey traveling to Eiswald had made it.
 
As we approached a small orc town on the way to Cofre, we opted to hug the mountains and not traverse out in the open, which was a brilliant plan because there were several massive rocs plucking lifeless orc bodies from the town. There appeared to be no life there at all. As we tried to pass unseen, we watched a tendril of smoke rise and form a giant spider over the town. Lolth wanted us to know it was her.
 
We found a poor teenage boy hiding up the hill, and Duraz and Seksgar spoke to him, learning the “slimy women” (Yochlols) had come and told the town “it was time.” Anyone who wouldn’t join the attack was killed for so-called cowardice, so the boy may well have been the only survivor in the end. The boy told us his people were tasked with waking up “the monster that sleeps in the mountain” nearby and then joining the fray further along. They had left the day prior, so we all felt the same sense of urgency to move onward. We had to continue evading the rocs for some time, but the large birds were soon forgotten as we crested the last foothill and came upon the absolute chaos of the war below.
 
I do not exaggerate when I say there were thousands of orcs, hundreds of ogre- and troll-like creatures, goblins, hobgoblins, monstrous things I’ve never seen before… the dwarves of Cofre are impressive fighters, and upon our arrival, they seemed to be holding the hordes back. As we teetered on the verge of running in to defend Duraz’s homeland, the vault guards, Azryn and Onryn, we met in Iztoz recommended that we make intelligent decisions about some of the objects we carried, and they along with Fern left to make haste back to Waterdeep, where they would be of more assistance to the larger mission. And then we who remained entered the fray.
 
Despite the chaos of the battle, the dwarves of Cofre held their own well, and their mandate was clearly to protect the gate. Their forces were attempting to divide the enemy horde and place strategic flanks while a small contingent fought their way across, though every time I looked at their advance, they seemed to dwindle in number. Roscoe spied strange, shadowy spaces moving of their own volition across the battlefield. Dwarves in the space when they passed through just... disappeared. I still don't understand what or how they were, but they were portals, in a way, and also alive. They had a corporeal nature, too.
 
I don't know how long we fought. I don't believe I've been in a larger battle before. In the initial chapter of the fight, though, we hit a rhythm I did not know us capable of and we were something approximating competent. Perhaps one might even say powerful. We certainly were a welcome addition alongside the ranks of the dwarves already embroiled in the battle. Our attention was swiftly drawn by a shriek and the accompanying cacophony of earth churning, bones breaking, metal crushing, and wood snapping. We had found the cause of the scarred ribbons of battlefield Roscoe and I identified earlier. It was a fucking dragon.
 
It was amethyst in color, crystalline, with a breath weapon like nothing I have heard of before. Creatures and objects in its path simply crumpled in on themselves, stunned or worse. The way it tore through things, it was evident to me that it was force magic in its purest form. I didn't even know that was possible. The dragon soon demonstrated that it could teleport, and, horrifyingly, in its arcane repertoire was planar magic.
 
I spent a while thinking it was here, under Lolth’s command, to break into Cofre for an artifact the Baraba needed. As we fought it, Duraz became a stunning large bird surrounded by his own lightning magic. And Roscoe put himself in incredible danger to do an impressive strike that really turned the tides in our favor. Except suddenly the dragon was no longer interested in the rest of the fight and turned its attention to me.
 
It got me firmly in its mouth once, and I only managed to get away by slipping into the Ethereal Plane, but the fucking thing was too fast and powerful for it to be that easy. I felled it from the sky, but it got me again, its claws raking through me, and then it began to cast. I felt the planar magic, and though I’m not entirely sure to which plane it was trying to take me in that moment, the vibration of the note that resonated made me feel sick. I can only conclude it was aiming for the Abyss. I’m not totally sure what happened. I vaguely recall screaming in draconic and remembering a passage from the texts I had studied earlier before I… wrapped myself in the membrane between the Ethereal and Prime? The dragon’s incantation failed, and it was livid. I scrambled to free myself from its claw, but another spell was already coming from its throat, the same sickening tone of a place I did not wish to go resonating behind its spell. And then Seksgar came from out of NOWHERE and destroyed its concentration on the incantation, thwarting it again. And then a ballista unceremoniously ended the beast.
 
And then, as I was still reeling from the DRAGON SITUATION, that horrific fishy humanoid thing with a terrifying mouth came for me and sunk its claws into the holes the dragon had left in me. I had barely anything left in me (literally and figuratively) but managed to will myself thirty or so feet away and, importantly, out of its grasp. And then I ended it with the last fire arrow Cas had made for me ages ago. All I wanted to do was collapse somewhere in a corner, but the war wasn’t over. I was in no state to be in a fray, but I put on a showing I think my war tactician father would have been proud of and picked off what I could from the sky. I don’t know how I didn’t pass out from blood loss or shock. That entire part of the night is hazy.
 
The dwarves of Cofre turned the tides and eventually the fighting ceased. Most of us trudged around making sure corpses really were corpses while Duraz got an absolute tongue lashing from his mother, locked away in a crackling sphere of energy, silenced. It would have been more hilarious if I weren’t on the brink of passing out. Duraz’s mother is not a fan of Fern, honestly not a fan of firbolgs writ large, and she blames me for the attack, saying they were clearly here to get me. She knew my name and what I am. I don’t think she trusts any of us (except Seksgar), and she point blank said Duraz won’t be leaving Cofre now that he’s back. She did heal me, though the magic felt distinctly Oghma-esque at the same time.
 
We eventually made it into Cofre. The guards were… thorough. Maybe if I hadn’t been so wiped I would have mustered some shame. They took one of my belongings before allowing me in. Something I need to spend time with, but that makes me nervous to touch. Inside, the space we entered seemed like a massive complex until Duraz told us we were idiots and this was essentially the penned-in area for outsiders. I took a hot bath in a barrel⁠—a barrel not made for someone of my height⁠—and showed the party the physical traces of things that have happened to me in recent months. I cannot stress enough that I had no energy for shame or modesty. And here we are, theoretically sleeping. I hope I’m able to rest, and I hope tomorrow brings less outright war and more information. We need to figure out how to not lose Duraz from this party, too.
 
Oh, and… I want to make armor from that fucking dragon’s hide.