11 - Tides of Tiamat's Blight

 

The Rusty Cauldron bustled with life, a stark contrast to the tension simmering among its latest patrons. Seated around a dimly lit corner table, five adventurers conferred in hushed tones, their discussion punctuated by the occasional clatter of mugs and laughter from the tavern’s regulars. Zephyr, the sharp-eyed elven ranger, leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his bow. Atheila, the human wizard, pored over an ancient map spread across the table, her brow furrowed in thought. Besa, a stoic dragonborn cleric, adjusted the straps of his gleaming armor, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats. Willian, the enigmatic warlock, sipped from his mug, his dark gaze fixed on the flickering fire in the hearth. LeMaire, their steadfast paladin, sat with arms crossed, an aura of calm resolve surrounding him.

The quiet was shattered by a sudden gust of wind that extinguished the hearth’s flames. The room fell silent as a figure materialized in a swirl of arcane light. Aranis Silvermane, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light, stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. The elven wizard's robes shimmered with magical energy as he approached the group.

“Friends,” Aranis began, his voice carrying a weight of urgency, “I bring grave news. The Crimson Sash of Leadership has fallen into the hands of the Cult of the Dragon.”

The adventurers exchanged uneasy glances. They had faced the Cult before, but the stakes were rising. Aranis unfolded a second map, pointing to a dense, tangled region labeled Chondalwood. “The Cradle of the Vines lies deep within this forest. The temple’s wards have been corrupted, and the Cult’s influence spreads like a blight. You must recover the Sash before they can wield its power.”

Atheila’s eyes gleamed as Aranis handed her a scroll. “This will purify the wards,” he said. “Use it wisely—it can be cast but once.”

The ranger, Zephyr, studied the map. “The Chondalwood isn’t just a forest. It’s alive, ancient, and unforgiving. We’ll need to tread carefully.”

“And the Cult has stationed draconians to guard the temple,” Aranis added grimly. “These are not dragonborn, but twisted abominations—creations born of corrupted dragon eggs. They are formidable foes.”

A murmur of discontent rippled through the group. Besa clenched his jaw, his claws tightening into fists. “Such desecration is an affront to dragonkind. They will answer for their crimes.”

LeMaire nodded. “We’ll prepare carefully. Their spellcasters will be our first targets.”

The party spent the evening strategizing, their resolve hardening with every passing moment. By dawn, they were resupplied and ready. The journey to the Chondalwood awaited.

Into the Chondalwood

The road leading to the Chondalwood was uneventful, though an unnatural silence seemed to grow the closer they came to the forest’s edge. The trees loomed like sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting together to form a dense canopy that blocked out the sun. Atheila shivered as she stepped into the shadow of the woods. “It’s as if the forest itself is watching us,” she murmured.

Zephyr knelt at the edge of the path, examining the ground. “It is watching,” he replied quietly. “The Chondalwood has a will of its own. Show it respect, and it may let us pass. Anger it, and it will be as deadly as any blade.”

The group nodded, moving forward with care. The forest seemed alive in a way none of them had experienced before. Roots shifted subtly underfoot, and leaves rustled in whispers that carried no wind. Besa muttered a quiet prayer, his hand resting on the hilt of his mace. LeMaire stayed at the rear, his gaze sweeping their surroundings for danger.

Hours passed as they navigated the labyrinthine woods. The map Aranis had provided highlighted dangers—quicksand pits, ancient traps, and predator dens—but Zephyr’s sharp eyes and Besa’s divine senses kept the party on track. When the sound of distant drumming reached their ears, the group froze.

Zephyr motioned for silence and crept ahead, his movements soundless as a shadow. He returned moments later, his face grim. “There’s a clearing up ahead. Four draconians, heavily armed, and two cultists conducting some kind of ritual. They’re gathered around an altar—looks like it’s been overgrown with roots.”

Atheila’s brow furrowed. “The corrupted wards,” she whispered. “They’re fueling their magic through the altar.”

LeMaire rested a hand on his sword, its hilt faintly glowing in the dim light. “What’s our plan?”

The group huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Zephyr outlined the clearing's layout, marking positions on the map. Atheila cast Mage Armor, her skin briefly glowing as the protective spell settled over her. Besa placed a hand on Zephyr’s shoulder, murmuring an incantation that formed a shimmering bond between them. “This will share the burden of any harm you take,” the cleric said.

Zephyr nodded. “Thank you.”

“We go with precision,” LeMaire said firmly. “Zephyr, take the high ground and fire the opening shot. Besa, your Silence spell will stop their incantations. Atheila, no fire—if the flames spread, we could destroy the forest itself.”

The wizard rolled her eyes but smirked. “Fine. No fire.”

The group moved into position. Zephyr climbed a nearby tree with practiced ease, taking a perch that offered a clear view of the clearing. Below, LeMaire drew his sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the shadows. Besa gripped his warhammer, his tail flicking as he prepared to charge. Atheila stood back, clutching her staff, her mind racing through her repertoire of spells.

Zephyr drew his bowstring taut, his keen eyes locking onto one of the chanting cultists. With a deep breath, he released the arrow. It whistled through the air and struck its target with a dull thud. The cultist staggered, clutching the shaft protruding from his shoulder.

The clearing erupted into chaos.

The Clearing Erupts

Zephyr’s arrow struck true, and the cultist’s chant broke into a pained cry. The dark energy swirling around the altar wavered for a moment, but the draconians were quick to react. Their reptilian eyes gleamed as they raised their crude scimitars, scanning the trees for the attacker.

Besa stepped forward and thrust his clawed hand into the air, calling on the divine power of Bahamut. A shimmering dome of silence enveloped the cultists and the altar, snuffing out their chanting like a candle in a gale. One of the cultists opened his mouth to cast a spell, but no sound emerged. He stumbled, his hands grasping at the air in desperation.

The draconians, however, weren’t so easily deterred. One barked a guttural command, and the group surged forward, their movements fluid despite their heavy armor. LeMaire was ready. With a quick prayer, he extended his hand, and divine light surged through his fingertips. One of the draconians froze mid-charge, its muscles locking as Hold Person took hold.

“Focus fire on the spellcasters!” LeMaire barked, his voice ringing with authority.

From her position at the rear, Atheila flourished her staff, the air around her crackling with necrotic energy. With a sharp gesture, she cast Withering Bloom. Dark tendrils of magic erupted around the cultists and three of the draconians, sapping their strength. Though the spell connected, the enemies’ resilience was apparent as they staggered but remained standing.

Besa charged forward, unleashing a guttural roar as he inhaled deeply and expelled a torrent of acid from his jaws. The corrosive spray engulfed the draconians, their armor hissing and smoking as the acid ate away at the crude metal. The creatures shrieked in fury but pressed on, their determination unbroken.

From his perch in the tree, Zephyr nocked another arrow and loosed it at the cultist he had wounded earlier. The arrow struck cleanly, and the cultist collapsed, the dark energy surrounding the altar dissipating further. But as Zephyr reached for another arrow, his foot slipped on the branch, and his bow tumbled from his grasp.

“Damn it,” he muttered, scrambling down the tree as the battle raged below.

LeMaire strode forward, his sword gleaming with divine light. The first draconian to meet his blade fell with a single, devastating strike. As its body hit the ground, it erupted in a violent explosion of shards and smoke. LeMaire shielded his face, narrowly avoiding the deadly debris. “They explode when they die!” he shouted. “Keep your distance if you can!”

Atheila grinned and leveled her staff at one of the draconians. A sickly green ray of magic lanced out, striking the creature in the chest. Poison coursed through its veins, and it collapsed, its body exploding like the first. Atheila shielded herself with her cloak, her sharp reflexes saving her from harm.

Besa swung his warhammer in a wide arc, connecting with another draconian’s chest. The force of the blow staggered the creature, but it retaliated with a slash of its scimitar, scoring a shallow cut along Besa’s arm. Unfazed, the dragonborn pressed the attack, his eyes blazing with righteous fury.

Zephyr rejoined the fray, bow in hand, and loosed two quick arrows at the remaining cultist. Both struck true, and the cultist crumpled to the ground, lifeless. With the spellcasters defeated, only two draconians remained, their feral determination undiminished.

The party closed in, their teamwork precise. LeMaire’s blade cleaved through another draconian, its explosive death narrowly avoided by a quick sidestep. The final draconian, still paralyzed by LeMaire’s Hold Person, stood helpless as the party surrounded it. Besa bound the creature with ropes, his hands steady despite the heat of battle.

“Let’s see what you know,” LeMaire said, his voice cold.

Interrogation and Revelations

The restrained draconian writhed against the ropes, its yellow eyes glaring with a hatred that burned hotter than any fire. LeMaire knelt before it, his sword gleaming in the dappled light that filtered through the canopy. Besa stood behind him, his imposing dragonborn form casting a shadow over the prisoner. Atheila prepared the Zone of Truth spell, her lips moving in silent incantation as a faint shimmer of divine energy surrounded the group.

“You’ll find it easier to speak the truth,” Atheila said coolly, lowering her staff. “Or don’t. It makes no difference—we’ll know.”

The draconian hissed, its voice a guttural rasp. “You think you’ve won? The Cult’s reach is endless. My death means nothing.”

LeMaire’s expression didn’t waver. “Your death will come, but not before you tell us what we need to know. Why is the Cult desecrating the forest? What are you after?”

The draconian snarled but fell silent as the magic of the Zone of Truth compelled it to speak. Its jaws clenched as if resisting, but finally, it relented. “The Cradle of the Vines serves as a conduit,” it spat. “The forest’s ancient magic fuels the ritual, strengthening the Cult’s hold on this land.”

“And the Sash?” Zephyr asked, stepping forward with an arrow loosely nocked on his bowstring. “Where is it?”

The draconian’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “The Crimson Sash of Leadership lies deeper within the temple, protected by magic and warriors far stronger than me. Even if you reach it, you’ll never leave alive.”

Besa’s voice rumbled with anger. “Your kind corrupts the natural order. You are an abomination to dragonkind. Who leads you?”

The prisoner’s eyes narrowed. “Kalthrex,” it growled. “A high-ranking servant of the Cult. His power rivals that of the dragons themselves.”

LeMaire pressed the point of his sword against the draconian’s chest. “Where is Kalthrex?”

“Not here,” the draconian admitted, its voice dripping with disdain. “He watches from the main camp, not far from the Cradle of the Vines. He waits for the ritual’s completion.”

Atheila exchanged a glance with LeMaire. “The temple isn’t the end,” she said quietly. “The Cult has layered their plans, and Kalthrex is at the heart of it.”

The draconian barked a harsh laugh. “You think you’ll stop us? Fools. Tiamat’s glory cannot be denied.”

“Enough.” LeMaire sheathed his sword and stepped back. “We have what we need.”

Besa raised his warhammer, his gaze unflinching as he brought it down on the draconian’s skull. Its body exploded in a final, violent burst of shards and smoke, but the group had anticipated the blast and stood clear.

---

The Path to the Temple

The party regrouped, their expressions grim as they prepared to move deeper into the Chondalwood. Besa cast a healing spell, mending the worst of their wounds, while Atheila rifled through the remains of the clearing. Among the debris, she uncovered a scroll of Counterspell, its parchment glinting faintly with arcane energy, along with several glittering gems and an amber orb.

Zephyr pocketed a moonstone, glancing at it with a small smile. “This will make a fine ring for Nella,” he murmured.

Atheila arched an eyebrow but said nothing, stowing the scroll in her pack. “Let’s not linger. The forest doesn’t feel safer just because we cleared this area.”

They pressed on, the oppressive weight of the forest thickening with every step. The drumming they had heard earlier was now silent, replaced by a faint, almost imperceptible hum that set their nerves on edge. The air grew heavier, and the trees seemed to close in around them, their roots twisting unnaturally.

Finally, the temple came into view. It was a crumbling structure of moss-covered stone, its once-proud walls adorned with draconic graffiti. The large wooden doors at its entrance were scarred and burned, a testament to the Cult’s desecration.

Zephyr crouched, scanning the area for movement. “No guards outside,” he reported, his voice low. “But that doesn’t mean it’s empty.”

Atheila raised a hand and cast Detect Magic. The faint aura of corrupted energy lingered around the temple, but the doors and walls themselves held no specific enchantments. “No traps that I can sense,” she said, though her tone held a note of caution.

LeMaire stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Then we go in together. Stay close, stay alert.”

Besa and LeMaire took the lead, pushing open the heavy doors with a groaning creak. The party stepped inside, their weapons drawn, ready for whatever lay beyond.

The Desecrated Temple

The air inside the temple was stifling, thick with the acrid stench of burning incense and decay. The faint glow of a blue obelisk at the far end of the chamber bathed the room in eerie light. Four stone pillars supported the cracked ceiling, and at the center of it all, a robed figure chanted in an ancient tongue, standing before the obelisk.

Flanking the figure were three tall, silver-scaled draconians. Their clawed hands gripped wicked-looking weapons, and their eyes glinted with cruel intelligence. The lead draconian snarled as the group entered, the sound reverberating off the walls. The robed figure turned, their chanting faltering as they noticed the intruders.

“You should have stayed in the shadows,” the figure hissed, their voice reverberating unnaturally. “Now, you’ll die in the light of Tiamat’s glory.”

The party froze for a heartbeat, assessing the scene. Zephyr was the first to move, his bowstring taut as he loosed two arrows in quick succession. The first found its mark in one of the draconians, embedding deep in its shoulder. The second grazed another draconian’s thigh. Both staggered but remained upright, snarling in fury.

LeMaire surged forward, his sword igniting with divine energy. With a sweeping motion, he activated the blade’s enchanted power, unleashing a gale of wind that threw the draconians backward, clearing a path toward the obelisk. “Move!” he barked to his companions.

Atheila, standing at the rear, focused her attention on a glowing blue cylinder near the obelisk. Inside, a humanoid figure appeared to be trapped, their features obscured by the magical energy. She raised her staff and chanted, attempting to Dispel Magic on the cylinder. The spell failed, and she cursed under her breath, her frustration momentarily breaking her composure.

Besa stepped forward, his warhammer glowing faintly as he invoked Bahamut’s power. “You defile this sacred place,” he intoned, his voice heavy with condemnation. He pointed at the chanting figure, summoning a storm cloud above the obelisk. A bolt of lightning struck the area, forcing the robed figure to stumble backward, their concentration shattered.

The draconians recovered quickly, their silver scales catching the faint light as they charged. One of them split into three identical versions, its magic confusing the group. Zephyr narrowed his eyes, focusing on the subtle differences in movement. With two more arrows, he struck the true target, inflicting grievous wounds.

The lead draconian closed the distance to LeMaire, swinging its sword in a wide arc. LeMaire raised his shield just in time, deflecting the blow but sliding back a step from the force. “They’re stronger than the ones outside,” he warned, gritting his teeth.

Atheila extended her hands, flames licking at her fingertips as she unleashed a Fireball toward the clustered enemies near the obelisk. The explosion rocked the chamber, the flames consuming the draconians and the robed figure. Two of the draconians fell, their bodies exploding into shards of molten silver. The robed figure emerged scorched but alive, their face twisted in rage.

“Fools!” the figure roared. “You meddle in the plans of gods!”

A deep, guttural roar suddenly echoed from beyond the obelisk. The ground trembled as a large green dragon emerged from the shadows, its emerald scales glinting ominously. It spread its massive wings, the gust of air extinguishing the remnants of the fire.

“Reinforcements,” Zephyr muttered, his voice grim.

The dragon’s eyes locked on the party, its maw curling into a menacing smile. “You will make excellent offerings to Tiamat,” it growled, its voice like thunder.

The Green Dragon's Wrath

The green dragon wasted no time, unleashing a deafening roar that echoed through the desecrated temple. Its jaws opened wide, and a sickly green mist poured forth—a deadly cloud of poison aimed directly at the party. The gas filled the chamber, thick and choking. Atheila coughed violently, clutching her staff as the noxious fumes engulfed her.

"Hold your breath and keep moving!" Besa shouted, his voice strained as he summoned divine energy to shield himself. The cleric’s radiant aura surrounded him, providing a barrier that lessened the poison’s grip on his lungs.

Zephyr darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the brunt of the attack. He raised his bow, his sharp eyes locking onto a weak point in the dragon’s scaled hide. With steady hands, he loosed an arrow that struck true, burying itself just below the beast’s wing joint. The dragon hissed in pain, swinging its massive tail in retaliation. Zephyr ducked low, the tail narrowly missing him as it smashed into a pillar, sending shards of stone flying.

Atheila, her voice hoarse but resolute, planted her staff into the ground. “Enough of this!” she snarled, channeling her energy into a fiery incantation. Flames erupted in a swirling circle, encasing the dragon in a towering Wall of Fire. The beast roared again, thrashing as the flames licked at its scales. The searing heat forced the dragon to recoil, but its fury was far from quenched.

The robed figure near the obelisk seized the opportunity to chant once more, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. Dark tendrils of energy began to coalesce around the obelisk, feeding its malevolent glow. “They’re trying to activate it!” LeMaire yelled, surging forward with his sword raised high.

The paladin charged through the poisonous mist, divine light radiating from his blade. He reached the robed figure and swung with all his might, the strike cleaving through the dark energy surrounding them. The cultist staggered, blood seeping from a deep wound, but they refused to fall. “You cannot stop the will of Tiamat!” the figure spat, raising a hand to cast Inflict Wounds. Black energy surged toward LeMaire, but his divine aura repelled the attack, the spell dissipating harmlessly.

Besa stood firm near the center of the room, his warhammer crackling with divine power. With a roar of his own, he invoked Call Lightning, summoning a bolt of radiant energy that struck the dragon squarely on its back. The beast shrieked in rage, its body smoking from the impact. It reared up, spreading its wings as it prepared to leap into the air.

“Not so fast!” Zephyr shouted. He fired another arrow, this time aiming for the dragon’s head. The arrow grazed its snout, causing the dragon to flinch and abort its flight. It crashed back to the ground, its claws raking deep grooves into the stone floor.

Atheila seized the moment. Her staff glowed with crackling energy as she cast Lightning Bolt, the arc of magic striking the dragon and continuing through the remaining draconian that still fought in its shadow. Both creatures roared in pain, their scales blackened by the electric surge.

The dragon’s movements grew sluggish, its body heaving with exertion as it struggled against the combined assault. LeMaire and Besa advanced in unison, their weapons gleaming with divine light. With a final, synchronized strike, they brought their weapons down on the dragon’s exposed neck. The beast let out one last defiant roar before collapsing, its massive form shaking the ground.

---

Securing the Relic

As the dust settled, the group turned their attention to the obelisk. The robed cultist lay dead at its base, their blood pooling in the cracks of the stone. The glowing blue cylinder that had held the humanoid figure flickered and vanished, releasing its prisoner. A human man staggered forward, his expression dazed but his movements full of purpose.

“Who... are you?” LeMaire asked cautiously, stepping forward with his sword still drawn.

The man looked at the party, his eyes narrowing. “I was trapped... but I know these monsters well. They belong to the Cult of the Dragon. I owe you my thanks, but I owe them my vengeance.”

Before more could be said, Atheila approached the obelisk, her fingers tracing its surface. “This power... it’s tied to the Sash,” she murmured. With careful hands, she found a hidden compartment at the base of the obelisk. Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, lay the Crimson Sash of Leadership.

She held it up, its crimson fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light. “We have it,” she said softly, though her voice carried a note of unease.

Zephyr nodded but kept his bow in hand. “Then let’s not waste time. The Cult knows we’re here. We should return to Cobblecrest before reinforcements arrive.”

LeMaire agreed, sheathing his sword. “Agreed. But we’ll need to stay sharp on the way back. The fight isn’t over yet.”

The party gathered their spoils quickly, including a treasure hoard of coins, gems, and magical items they had uncovered in the dragon’s lair. With their mission accomplished and the Crimson Sash secured, they began the arduous journey back to Cobblecrest, the weight of their victory tempered by the knowledge that greater battles still lay ahead.