Lynch’s Journal #152

With Seto dead the whirlwind beings to slow. Its howling battle cries begin to die down. As the massive white wolf paces just behind the vortex, the form of a person begins to take shape. As winds fade to nothing a man in thick furs stands before us.

From behind, Lithia ask the strange ally his name. Hobbling on one leg as Amon supports her, there is pain in her voice. Hopefully her leg is not as bad as it looks.

The man announces himself as Aeomere, a druid from the Tribe of Frozen Paths. Giving the large wolf a friendly scratch of appreciated, he calls the beast Fang. In my teaches from Nataku I had learned of those who could become one with the elements. This must be the case with this northerner.

As he begins his tale, Aeomere had needed reassurance we were not the Vecna cultists he had battled previously. Motioning to the plague masks strapped to both Princess Muun and Balasar’s belts, claiming they had worn those. But unlike them, we had not uses their explosive orbs. Hearing our conversation about the slain cultist of Orcus gave him no doubts that were not the enemy but possible allies with the same goals.

That last statement makes my blood boil. I can see it is Lithia’s eyes as well as she realizes what that meant. Before the sorceress can accuse him, I beat her to it, pointing at that Aeomere knew of the dragon and let us walk into the lair purposely.

Amon calls for us to calm down, reminding me that there was a time that I did not trust most people myself. I cannot argue against that. When I first arrived in Red Larch paranoia had myself in a firm grip when it came to anyone being a member of the Restless Hand.

With that fact I ask him to reveal his left arm to the shoulder blade. With our enemies out here it cannot hurt to be sure this is not some trap. But if there is the brand of my former guild, there will be no hesitation from any of us to kill Aeomere.

There is no argument from the druid as he removes his fur cloak and hide armor, revealing the entire upper body as proof that he can be trusted. Though still seething at being used as bait, I nod in satisfaction to Prince Frost.

Not being satisfied with how little we need to trust Aeomere, Lithia throws a fit of rage at her husband and myself. She claims that if he knew of the dangers here, what stops him from leading us into other he may know about?

Balasar finally speaks up, informing Lithia that all of his divine abilities to detect a foe were met with no resistance when cast. With that the princess takes a depth breath to release her frustrations.

Then Vax steps out of the darkness of a hallway, unscathed from the dragon.

Infuriated once again, the sorceress summons her rage and unleashes it upon the Champion of the Raven Queen. Sparks of magical energy flicker in her eyes. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Lithia demands to know why the rogue never aided us against Seto. As a spell takes shape in one hand, Princes Frost questions if maybe it is he who should it be trusted.

A fair point.

Vax is smart and dares not look up at his accuser. It is obvious he feels ashamed as he absently stares at the ground. Taking a deep breathe to steady himself, the elf admits that the aura of the dragon seeded fear deep within him that could not be overcome. Reluctantly, the elf admits that act of cowardice makes him question if he should even be the champion to his god.

Before Lithia can continue berating, Amon motions for her to stop as Vax walks out into the courtyard in silence. As the sound washes over us all, I begin to question if our ally is who he claims to be.

She turns her frustration back to Aeomere, demanding to know why he is out here by himself. The druid answers

that a vision of great evil in the northern glacier had came to the grand seer of his village. Seeking to eliminate any threats to the area, the chieftain sent their best warriors on the hunt to destroy it. Pointing to the fallen Orcus cultists, he mentions battling some of their ranks during his search.

With that the four of us are in agreement that his presence will be beneficial. Not only does the druid possess power but he will be a better guide through the frozen terrain than myself. If he proves to be as useful as he was against Seto, Aeomere will be an ally we will definitely need on our search for Brask, Tuskgutter and Lothric.

Lynch’s Journal #151

A flood of emotions hit me like an archmage’s fireball. Fear and shock draw my attention away from the battle with the dragon.

What have I done?

I was so sure Cindermaw would hear my pledge and except it due to my past deed’s alongside Lothric. With Novak dead, there was no doubt in my mind the neveomancer’s prized blade had lost its enhanced bond to him. Now that the Sunbreaker Gem has fueled it with magic, will it resurrect him?

Then the stinging pain of the tentacles remind me something far more sinister has the weapon. Those guys abnormal….. things… I had encountered when that bastard flung me through their realms. Never will I forget the agonizing torment my mind and body experienced with each new nightmare encountered.

The Reptile of the Lake.

The Terror or the Marsh.

The Slumbering Horror.

And the Lord in Yellow, the one who marked me with a curse that has haunted

my every dream and waking moment. Wherever I travel, whoever I am with, the yellow sign urges me to murder those dear to my heart. Since that damned day in the throne room of Icewall castle it has been with me.

As the violet flash fades and my site returns the pain rushes in, burning within my mind. Looking on as the smoldering dragon climbs to the second floor to face the sorcerer, there is no sound of the walls cracking under his weight. Only the gibbering language of those nightmares given life echoing in my ears. Just outside the corners of my eyes I see that the yellow sign lurks. The presence of it urges me to do its bidding.

It was he, this unspeakable one, who took the sword and gem. The King wanted me to know who answered my plea.

Anger swells within my like an ocean storm. Taking Thoughts and Prayer from theirs sheaths, I march from the rubble of the collapse wall. There is no time to dwells on my misfortune as Lithia backs away from the maw of Seto.

The wind howls through the mountains and rushes over the broken stones. Its frigid touch flutters my cloak and then, to my surprise, lifts me so lightly in the air to move me aside.

What in the godsdamned Nine Hells?

Next, the rubble where I had just been rumbles to life as a whirlwind swoops in from the opening, launching the debris at the white wyrm. With each connecting strike, Seto flinches from the unexpected phenomenon. Through the roaring rotation there is a voice.

It tells me to flank the beast.

Not sure of what I am witnessing, I have no choice but to trust this….. whatever is it. Moving behind shattered columns I make may way toward Princess Muun.

Amon gets to his feet, sees his beloved face to face with the dragon and screams in denial. Ignore the stinging stones flung at him, Seto smiles a wicked, fang filled grin at Prince Frost. He slowly snakes his head back toward Lithia, hissing her a promise of a slow death.

Out to the left there is a white blur past the whirlwind and his barrage of rubble. My body tense at the thought of a smaller wyrm moving in to attack Balasar from above. Before I can shout a warning to the paladin, the beast screams out in pain as a large winter wolf lands on his spine and digs its teeth into Seto’s neck.

The wind howls louder as it twirls forward, pulling some of the rubble within its circulating form. As the aggressive canine causes its prey to thrash around, Lithia leaps from the railing to come crashing to the main floor before Amon can catch her. Much like it had done myself, the living air gently brushes them aside as it crashes into the dragon and wolf.

Despite the gale, the animal maintains its grip on the Seto’s back and lower neck. Blood glazes the snow colored scales. The vortex picks up strength, causing the stones within to crash into the wyrm’s joins and claws. Screeching in desperation, it is finally pulled free and slammed to the lower floor as the wolf leaps to safety.

Seizing the opportunity, I lunge toward Seto’s head as he attempts to get to his feet. Before he can raise it off the cold, stone floor, Thoughts and Prayers are plunged into his left eye. His scream of agonizing pain barely escapes his maw as the whirlwind slams his snout with a heavy column.

Snarling with anger, the white wolf leaps down to attack the remaining eye. With razor sharp claws, it tears and shreds the tough hide. Blood flows from each wound, shimmering in the rays of sun light as it drips to the snow. Before the dragon can thrash away from our barrage it is shoved into the rows of cells behind it, struggling against the strength of the vortex.

Seto pushes off the wall against the force. The sound of buckling iron bars and crumbling stone is lost in the roar of defiance. With all of its strength the dragon refuses to be defeated by mere mortals, refuses to give in to death. Managing to turn its head, a blast of icy shards is unleashed into gale with little affect.

And then the thrashing ceases as Balasar’s blessed greatsword is drove right behind the jaw. Yanking the blade free, the blood flows freely from the throat while we back away from the beast. It turns its head toward us with a gurgling growl of rage. Then the blue eyes go wide with fear as the wyrm’s takes a stumbling, weak step forward.

With a chilling exhale, the life fades from Seto’s eyes.