We return to the house. When we get there, Miriana tells the group she has something to say. “I’ve begun to remember a few things about why I’m here,” she says quietly. “When I showed up in the city, that was the first time I was me. But I used to be an entity called ”/campaigns/serathis/characters/mirinith" class=“wiki-content-link”>Mirinith. I lived through the drammojh wars. I think I tried to change myself, somehow, but the ritual went wrong. I think parts of me are still dreaming. I think…"
We return to Phargaryn to attempt to get the coin; unfortunately, it had been sold to the Jaren. After some heated discussion (Genn, in particular, is most angry), we go to the merchant’s quarter to see if we can get it back. He is less than cooperative, despite our best efforts. We discuss options; attacking it outright, trying to steal it, and other plans. Orad spies on it after the market closes, and sees it fold up its table magically before disappearing. Lacking both information and options (as usual), we abandon thought of the coin for now, cast the dice of fate, and make for Stonepile Lake.
We go through the orange portal; this room is identical, save for looking down onto a map, the pits are full of molten lava — so is the ceiling. Three groups that appear to be undead versions of us appear at the other entrances, mimicking our motions. They fall easily, but seem to deal as much damage as we ourselves, and as quickly. They also don’t completely follow the party, but rather seem to react in the way we would ourselves. This, of course, means that Kirmaul — all of them — soon charges toward the center to do battle. Genn drops a fireball on the group before any of them can attack; the real Kirmaul shrugs off this blast, but it drops the undead versions. The rest of the group fans out and deals with the other skeletons and zombies. They seem to turn to ash as they die, and there is some discussion about whether Genn might have accidentally torched the ones the party was actually looking for. Lacking any options, however, the Stormfront presses on.
The next room is radiating heat; the searing flames in the room quickly start to damage everyone save Genn, thanks to his elemental abilities. Of course, the fire and flames are not the only the the party confronts; there is also some horrid creature in the center of the room, part flesh and part fire. Kirmaual, true to form, decides this enemy must die by her axe, and charges toward it; however, her liege lord Alibard chooses the better part of valor, and makes for the exit to the right, ordering the rest of the group loudly through the portal. They comply; Genn makes sure everyone else is out before ducking through himself.
The group again says the mantra, and is shocked that 1) it contains a dragon, and that 2) the mantra prevents the dragon from attacking them on site. “Any who revere the Havninar Trinity are welcome here,” it says, offering to give us quarter and provide for us. The group exchanges meaningful glances and eye rolls; we now can see clearly that this is the creature who did not attack us, and therefore we have to slay it. We hedge around a bit, but Miriana finally discretely casts some protective spells on herself and moves toward the dragon, thinking that perhaps she can again use her dream abilities before the wyrm can react. The dragon notices her spells, however, guess her intent, and combat begins.
The battle is intense, with many of the party falling at one point or another, only to be either healed or finding some inner strength to continue the fight. Miriana, for all her magical ability, is quickly knocked down. The Northmen press the attack, led by their king, and in the end, despite him bleeding from multiple wounds and looking close to broken, we hail Abilard, King of the North — dragonslayer.
A quick search of the room reveals a total of 20,864 GP, plus whatever we want from the dragon — head, teeth, claws, skin, etc. We take all we can, and place into bags of holding. The entrails of the dragon are indeed a clue of some sort; they are knotted in a way that is not natural, but we cannot immediately guess what it might mean.
Abilurd relishes the blood-soaked rush of victory a moment longer, looking around at his compatriots whose efforts slayed the dragon. His eyes remain longer on Kirmaul and Orad, fellow Rmunskians. The pride is overwhelming. Light-headed even. Or perhaps that’s not pride. As his very un-lady-like chest beating ends, he realizes it is not dragon blood he’s covered in, but his own. He wobbles, feeling weak — and reaches out toward Udyr….
Kirmaul looks at Abilurd curiously. “What good will falling down do?” she asks, completely in earnest.