The Journey to Meliora

March to the Tri-Lakes
 
The road stretched long and treacherous ahead, but Kemurial and his companions pressed onward, bound by duty and the weight of their mission. The northern winds carried the promise of war, and as they ventured through the wilds, the Guilded Iron prepared for the unknown.
 
Day 1 – The Airship and the Storm of Wings
 
The wreckage of the airship loomed before them, its metal hull torn open like a carcass in a lion's den. Scorch marks marred the steel plating, and deep, jagged claw marks told the tale of an aerial ambush. No bodies remained—only the cold, empty husks of their belongings, scattered in the wreck like whispers of vanished lives.
 
"This was no simple crash," Freya murmured, her violet eyes scanning the wreckage with a keen intellect. "Something came for them after they were grounded."
 
Rory crouched beside a torn scrap of blue-hued scale embedded in the hull. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. "Dragons," he said simply. "Small ones."
 
Kemurial sifted through the wreckage and found something untouched by the destruction—a delicate silver earring, humming with faint magic. He pocketed it, making a note to identify it later. That was when the sound of wings filled the air.
 
"Take cover!"
 
The party ducked into the airship's broken remains just as the sky darkened with dragon shadows. Clawed wings sliced through the air in coordinated patterns, hunting. They had found their prey.
 
Lim Dul grunted. "They know we're here."
Kemurial met his gaze, then Rory’s. The warrior nodded. "We fight," Rory said simply.
 
The battle was short, brutal. Rory was a whirlwind of death, his blades cleaving through wyrmlings with savage precision. When the dust settled, three lay slain at his feet. The party retrieved glimmering blue scales—remnants of a battle swiftly won but leaving unsettling implications.
 
Rory’s expression darkened. "If these dragons are part of the Dragon Phalanx… we may have a bigger problem than an invasion."
 
No one argued. We decided to continue traveling not wanting to be near the wyrmling corpses when their mother comes looking.
 
That night, the campfire burned low, and the silence was heavy.
 
Day 2 – River’s Wrath and Caution in the Wild
 
Morning came cloaked in mist. As the party moved along the riverbank, the ground beneath them gave way, and they plunged into the freezing waters. Supplies tumbled from their packs, and they scrambled to save what they could.
 
Lim Dul waded onto shore, wringing water from his cloak. "Brilliant. This is why I avoid rivers."
 
Kemurial ignored the sarcasm and checked their gear. Some rations were ruined, but they could manage.
 
Rory sniffed the air. "Something foul ahead."
 
A bloated, tentacled mass lurked in the shallows—an Otyugh, waiting for the careless. Rather than engage, they skirted the beast’s territory, and the rest of the day passed without incident.
 
Day 3 – The Sleeping Banner
A strange banner fluttered along the path, draped over a low rock. Instinct made Kemurial halt.
 
Freya narrowed her eyes. "It’s warded."
Indeed, as they examined it from a safe distance, they recognized the signs—sleep paralysis magic woven into the fabric. Rather than risk it, they gave the trap a wide berth, pressing forward in wary silence.
 
Day 4 – Undead Shadows
 
The rhythmic clatter of hooves against hardened earth echoed in the air. From the tree line, they watched as undead centaurs—hollow-eyed and silent—moved in grim formation.
 
They took cover in the bushes before being spotted.
 
"Let’s cut them down before they become a problem," Kemurial suggested, hand on his blade.
 
Lim Dul and Rory shook their heads in unison. "Unnecessary risk. We wait."
Freya glanced at Kemurial. "Your call."
 
Kemurial watched the unnatural creatures with distaste but nodded. "Let them pass. There’s no sense wasting strength before we reach our goal."
 
Lim Dul scoffed but said nothing, his silence laced with disapproval.
 
Day 5 – The Mammoth’s Sorrow
 
The mesa was a graveyard. Bones littered the earth, and the air carried the weight of something unseen. When Kemurial extended his divine sense, the presence emerged—a spectral mammoth, its form shimmering with sorrow.
 
It spoke of a sacred tusk, shattered in defilement. The party followed its guidance to a darkened cave, where an altar lay desecrated. The tusk, cleaved in two, rested upon cold stone.
 
"Freya?" Kemurial looked to her.
She unfurled a scroll and murmured incantations. The stone shifted, merging the tusk’s halves in temporary wholeness.
The mammoth spirit bowed its head. "You have given hope to the lost. Take this."
A spectral horn manifested before them. One use. One devastating charge.
 
Kemurial accepted it with reverence. "We’ll find a way to restore the tusk fully."
 
Lim Dul sighed rolling his eyes. "More altruism. Shocking."
 
Day 6 – The Cursed Wereboar
 
We found Jestin on the road—a man cursed with lycanthropy, his eyes filled with terror at what he had become. Kemurial inexperience as a leader reveals itself as he dithered between putting him out of his misery or taking on the complicated task of trying to cure him. He was coherent enough to request mercy even a forceful mercy, and Kemurial did not hesitate.
 
"We’ll take him to be cured," he declared.
Lim Dul sneered. "Fantastic. Let’s bring a raging beast along with us."
 
That night, the full moon rose, and Jestin’s howls tore through the dark. None slept well.
 
"I’m going to say it," Lim Dul muttered at dawn, eyes red from exhaustion. "This is a disaster waiting to happen."
 
Kemurial merely tightened Jestin’s restraints. "Then we prevent it from happening."
 
Lim Dul sighed. "You really believe that, don’t you?"
 
"I have to."
 
Day 7 – Arrival in Meliora
 
At the city gates, the guards inspected all newcomers for disease. Jestin, bound but unharmed, drew suspicion.
 
"Lycanthropy," Kemurial explained. "We seek a healer."
 
It took a heavy price, but Jestin was taken to be cured. Kemurial paid extra to ensure the man’s future, ignoring Lim Dul’s disapproving stare.
 
"Way to see it through to the end ?" the warrior finally asserted.
 
Kemurial smiled. "We do the best we can. As you said we can’t save everyone."
 
Meeting Ealchrelm
 
The streets of Meliora bustled, and in the theistic quarter, Kemurial’s path crossed with a man in trouble.
 
Ealchrelm, a local entertainer, was cornered by thuggish debt collectors. Without hesitation, Kemurial stepped in.
"You owe us," one thug growled.
"I’ll cover his debt," Kemurial interjected.
The thug sneered. "Generous. But he owes in more than coin."
 
With a flick of magic and the weight of his presence, Kemurial convinced them otherwise. As they left, Ealchrelm looked at him with wary gratitude.
 
"You’re an odd one," the entertainer admitted.
 
After some conversation Ealchrelm let slip,
 
"The Tieflings in Emberhold… you should be wary. People say there's no war, but I think it's just a matter of time."
 
Kemurial took the warning to heart.
 
Their journey was far from over. The Tri-Lakes awaited. The invasion loomed. And in the distance, the embers of war smoldered unseen.
 
Time to get back and reqroup.