Session Preface:
As you take one last look through the crystalline chambers, the beauty and ruin of the scene remain in sharp contrast to your eyes. The felled dragonic carcass remains smoldering from eldritch energy, divine smite, and arcane arrows, oozing dark, pungent blood onto the translucent stone which radiantly refracts the bright, shimmering light of winter's setting sun against the pure, undisturbed snow of the mountain's peak.
By the time you return to the kobold's denizen, you discover an eerie and empty silence already lies heavy over the cramped corridors rife with the scent of stale piss and wet earth. While many of the defensive traps remain in tact and in place, these would-be setbacks soon after become routine. Leading the party's slow and methodical movements, Endriel's keen eye's become familiar with the patterns employed by the clever kobold. By the early morning of the second day of your journey, it requires naught more than a knowing look and nod from the elf for the remainder of the party to easily steer clear of a false pit or to step over the hidden trip wires.
On the second evening, still somewhere beneath the foothills of the Nether Mounrtains a handful of hours east of Velqwen, you decide to make camp in a chamber wide enough to allow all six party members to rest fully outstretched, a luxury after the last few days of narrow chambers and back-aching of stooping and crawling. Individual rays of moonlight find their way into the cavern through a tall and narrow natural chimney overhead. Although the evening's meal is simple rations, you are able to light a small campfire and make the most of the momentary respite, each of you allowing your thoughts to wander through recent events and curiosities about the days to still yet to come.
As the fire begins to dwindle to embers, Stragri stirs from silently watching the fire, turning towards the two Avraathian dragonborn. "So, tell me," she says, the first time she's initiated a conversation since your first introduction, "Avraathe and her people, what are they truly like? Are they all akin to the two of you, or something else entirely?"
Returning to Velqwen
As you draw closer to Velqwen, the dull grey stone of the Nether Mountains soon gives way to the strange and displaced sandstone of the ruins of some distant ancient kingdom. Morning light and a slight movement of fresh air lead you towards the underground opening through which you departed only a few days prior.
Whereas you left to the bustling sound of researchers toiling in the sand in search of buried secrets, there is a hollow quiet and an emptiness as you step into the chamber to find no one else nearby. Only as you begin climbing the ladder and pull yourselves up to the surface level do you hear the sounds of some distant noise, perhaps a clanging of metalwork, only interrupted by indecipherable voices, deep and growling.
Then, as you exit the massive structure, the streets are entirely empty. Your ears are immediately drawn to the far western edge of Velqwen. What sounded like the work of forges rings out as now clearly the chaos of battle. The deep, bellowing voices roar in the foul, orcish tongue, seemingly in the hundreds. As you move decisively towards the noise, your eyes trace the walls as they come into view past the central ruins of the city. Along the walls, dozens of archers stand firm, firing volley after volley into what you can only imagine is a sea of orcs beyond. As you move towards the gate, a single, high-pitched cry breaks through the cacophony of war. "Hey! Over here! We need help! They've found a way in!"
Turning towards the source of this plea, you see a courtyard through which orcs have weakened one portion of the wall and look to soon begin pouring into the city. Standing before the incoming wave are three lone figures - the young dragonborn child who nearly struck Parathrax to make the speaker's point clad in polished armor a size too large for him, the speaker himself, holding a simple shield and spear, and Zisilu, who, obviously still hindered by her crippled leg, leans against a column for support with a bow and arrow nocked.
As you move towards them, the first line of orcs find their way through the rubble of the wall and descend upon the speaker and his ally, their massive axes swinging wildly with rage and bloodlust.
Session Summary:
The party swiftly descend into the battle as wave upon wave of orcs and their ilk push their way through the crumbling exterior wall into the courtyard. The first charge to crash against the defenders of Velqwen appear to be disfigured and infected orcs intentionally nurtured to harbor disease and contagion alike. As they inevitably fall in battle, their massive growths filled with icor and puss burst forth in a noxic acid which burns away the flesh of those within range. These monstrosities are followed by the rank and file orcs which pour through the gaps in the walls relentlessly with their massive axes swinging wildly with rage. These warriors are supplemented by the mysterious one-eyed mages who conjure spears which hover over the battlefield creating chaos for those who thought they were safe from the push of the frontlines.
Soon after a troll also pushes through the exterior defenses, its razor sharp claws and teeth singlehandedly tearing through several members of Velqwen's army, leaving the Speaker and his aid in critical condition. With the speaker forced to retreat due to his injuries, Parathrax finds himself bearing the responsibility of leading the troops and inspiring his immediate allies. Summoning forth his renewed strength and the new powers discovered through his new blade, Parathrax surrounds his allies with guardians of his bloodline who wielded the same divine blade in generations past.
As the party and their allies eventually whittle down the countless hoard before them, the orcs make a final push towards overrunning the courtyard. Finally, the battle captain Yulmar the Stubborn forces her way through the frontlines to clear a path for her army into the city proper. A behemoth of an orc, towering over the troll and seeming more a giant than a descendent of Gruumsh, Yulmar's boulder-esqe fists shatter the earth as she creates tremors with each lumbering step. Yulmar effortlessly grapples Parathrax, smashing him haplessly against the courtyard structures and nearly squeezing the very life out of him as simultaneously the mages overwhelm Vorothruun with their magical weapons. It is once again only through the quick thinking and deft aim of Endriel the party manages to escape the conflict without further casualty.
Once the hulking form of Yulmar falls, the morale of the orc invasion shatters and an immediate retreat ensues. As the chaos of battle settles, the party return to the Speaker to convene about recent events and necessary next steps.
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