Festival Frenzy

Dear Diary,
 
Cairn Fussil. Gone. Reduced to smoldering rubble in a single, fiery night. Not exactly the morale booster a budding mage needs, but hey, such is the life of an adventurer, right? (Though a life with slightly less near-death experiences would be truly delightful.)
 
Back in the comforting embrace of Feyris' tavern, I sought solace in the familiar scent of ale and grilled meats. Surprisingly, the place was bustling – a stark contrast to the heavy silence that now clung to my heart. But duty called, and duty, in the form of dusty tomes and cryptic symbols, beckoned from my room upstairs.
 
Flaming Sphere – mastered! Now I can conjure a ball of fiery fury without setting my eyebrows ablaze (again). Comprehend Languages – finally cracked that one! No more deciphering cryptic Ignan riddles with a dictionary the size of an overweight gnome. Progress, I suppose.
 
Amarra's absence looms large. My mentor vanished into thin air (literally!). The weight of her expectations pressed down on me, a constant reminder of the unfinished quest and the knowledge I still yearned to acquire.
 
Anyway, enough moping. Town crier just announced a peace festival with the draconic army! Remember that time we snuck out of Keralon on that super-secret Hedgeknight mission? Yeah, that's how this whole thing started. Apparently, our little peace-brokering escapade (and Norgar's undeniable bromance with Alistan) actually worked! Gotta say, feeling pretty proud of ourselves right now.
 
The city's already buzzing with excitement. Banners are going up, merchants are flocking in, and the bards are probably sharpening their lutes as we speak. Sounds like things are going to get pretty lively around here. Maybe a little too lively for studying obscure magical texts. Looks like this mage is gonna have to trade in his dusty tomes for some festival fun (and maybe, just maybe, a chance encounter with some kind of fairytale maiden). Wish me luck, diary!
 
But just as we were about to melt into a pile of parties and festival treats, who waltzes in but Robert Talespinner himself! Turns out, our bard extraordinaire got swept up in the whole draconic army arrival thing. Poor guy, apparently, the city was a chaotic mess (though knowing Robert, he probably found a way to turn it into an epic tale by now). We spent the next few hours catching up, trading war stories. The man's even decided to extend his stay and rent a room next door!
 
Speaking of questionable, Robert also brought a letter for Hayley from Zem and Sapphira. My sister has been a whirlwind since we got back – apparently, being a noble knight comes with guard duty and all sorts of grown-up responsibilities. Meanwhile, Liliana's been slumming it in the taverns, reliving her "wild Feywild days" as she puts it. Me and Gael, on the other hand, decided to stick to the middle ground – a little exploration of the city's diverse nightlife, you know, for research purposes. Managed to snag some valuable contacts, a couple of merchants and the like – gotta build that network, right?
 
Speaking of Gael, the guy's got me worried. Five years alone in the woods seems to have taken its toll. I get that he's probably still mourning his stag mentor, Sylvesse (RIP, the majestic beast), but come on, a little companionship wouldn't hurt! Tried to set him up with some lovely ladies – your friendly neighborhood mage makes a fantastic wingman, if I do say so myself – but the guy wouldn't budge. All he wants to do is hang out with dusty old men in coffee bars, "building connections" with merchants and travelers. I mean, who chooses cigars over flirting? Maybe I should join Liliana on her next pub crawl – at least she knows how to have a good time!
 
The day of the dragonborn army's arrival dawned bright and bustling. The planned parade route snaked through the heart of Keralon, promising a spectacle unlike any other. We decided to snag a prime viewing spot – the roof of Erna's Wish!
 
The tavern itself was a different story. Even at the crack of dawn, the common room buzzed with pre-festival jitters. Feyris barely had a moment to spare, tossing us the key to the roof with a gruff "Keep it quiet up there, alright?" Apparently, a rooftop mosh pit wasn't part of the festivities.
 
Liliana and Alistan, bless their hearts, arrived laden with festival delights – a "dragon bun" (a suspiciously familiar pastry), "dragonfire elixirs" (hopefully fruit punch, not actual fire), and candied "dragon scales" (gummy bears, anyone?). Robert, the bard extraordinaire, joined us on the rooftop perch, and with fifteen minutes to spare, we eagerly awaited the spectacle.
 
A small contingent of dragonborn on drakes marked the approaching delegation. It was a far cry from an invading army that people had initially feared, more like the diplomatic envoy that people liked. Relief washed over me, quickly replaced by awe as the gate creaked open. Trumpets blared, and the procession began. Leading the way were none other than Norgar and Ragnar, looking every bit the powerful dragonborn in their fancy dragonscale armor.
 
The crowd erupted in cheers, a vibrant tapestry of flags and flowers dancing in the air. The knights, ever stoic, guided the procession forward, while Norgar and Ragnar acknowledged the well wishes with regal waves. Liliana, ever the show-off, used her flaming sword to grab their attention, earning a nod and a small bow from both.
 
Then, chaos erupted. As Norgar bowed, he lost his balance and tumbled spectacularly off his drake. The procession screeched to a halt, replaced by the sounds of frantic shouts and a flurry of arrows. Ragnar, with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior, leaped off his own drake and rushed to his adopted son's side. The knights whirled around, scanning the rooftops for threats. Panic rippled through the crowd, a stark contrast to the joyous cheers just moments before. We, frozen on the rooftop, could only watch in stunned silence as the dragonborn formed a protective circle around the fallen Norgar. Hayley, the quick thinker, dispatched Fiachna to Norgar's aid, while Liliana and her keen eyes spotted the would-be assassins on a nearby rooftop.
 
Gael, bless his elven reflexes, reacted like a bolt of lightning. Vines erupted from the rooftop, courtesy of his primal magic, entangling the assassins in a verdant prison. Liliana unleashed a hex on one of the attackers, followed by a wild magical bolt as she rushed into battle.
 
Alistan rallied us into action. He barked orders at Gael to keep the assassins pinned down while he launched himself with impressive agility to the next rooftop, closing the distance on one of the assailants. I joined the fray with a well-aimed firebolt, searing the assassin's leg just as he attempted to escape. Dadroz, never one to miss an opportunity, delivered a swift blow with a blunted arrow, sending the would-be killer sprawling.
 
On the opposite rooftop, a chilling sight emerged – an undead creature, its hands glowing with a sickly blue light. It launched a bolt of energy towards Alistan, striking him with a sickening thud. Alistan staggered, barely clinging to the edge of the building. The remaining assassins, seizing their chance, unleashed a barrage of arrows, but Alistan deflected them with his shield.
 
Hayley, with a witch's cunning, conjured a row of wicked spikes that erupted from the rooftop beneath the assassins' feet. Gael, not missing a beat, rained arrows down on them, finding his mark with a fierce strike. The assassins, trapped and desperate, writhed in pain.
 
Alistan, in a feat of stunning acrobatics that had Liliana cheering, navigated a taut washing line to confront the undead creature. Seeing the undead creature cornered, I summoned a flaming sphere, blocking its escape route and bathing it in an eerie orange glow. Alistan, fueled by both adrenaline and concern for his fallen dragonborn comrade, charged towards the creature.
 
The undead creature, sensing its imminent doom, tried to cast a spell, but its efforts were in vain. Alistan delivered a decisive blow, his sword finding its mark. I followed suit, crushing the creature with my flaming sphere, reducing it to a pile of smoldering embers.
 
The battle raged on multiple fronts. The assassins, trapped by Hayley's spikes, writhed in pain as Gael's arrows rained down. One, desperate for escape, managed to pull himself free, only to lose his footing on the washing line and plummet to his death.
 
Suddenly, a monstrous roar shattered the air. A giant Manticore, its wings casting a grotesque shadow, landed heavily on Erna's Wish! Panic surged through me as the creature swiped at Gael, who narrowly dodged, tumbling away with a gash on his arm. Liliana positioned herself between the Manticore and the rest of us, facing the beast head-on.
 
The fight with the remaining assassins and the undead creature had taken its toll, but we weren't about to give up. Alistan charged towards the Manticore, while Hayley's curses hampered the beast's movement. Liliana landed a glancing blow on the Manticore as it attempted to take flight. Dadroz, proving his worth once again, brought the creature down with a well-placed arrow, sending it crashing through Erna's Wish and causing a shower of roof tiles.
 
The adrenaline rush of the fight slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a chilling realization: the battle wasn't over yet. The sounds of clashing steel from the street below could still be heard across the rooftops. Several figures in dark robes, an unsettling echo of the traitorous guards we'd faced before, were locked in combat with the dragonborn.
 
Alistan noticed one of the robed figures breaking away after what appeared to be a successful pickpocket on the still-injured Norgar. With a shout, he took off in pursuit, Gael transforming into a wisp of mist right beside him, blurring into the crowd with practiced ease. Hayley, quick-thinking as ever, dispatched her raven, Fiachna, to track the fleeing figure.
 
Liliana and I unleashed a volley of magic after the thief, hoping to slow them down for our friends on the ground. Unfortunately, our spells found their mark a bit too late and he managed to get away. Alistan and Gael also lost sight of the thief in the bustling crowd, but Fiachna, Hayley's loyal raven, kept a watchful gaze, leading them back on the trail.
 
Dadroz joined the chase, though with a bit of delay after a few wrong turns. A tense ten minutes passed before Alistan and Gael finally cornered the thief in a deserted square. But their triumph was short-lived. Two more cultists, their faces hidden in shadows and daggers glinting in the waning sunlight, emerged from the periphery.
 
Hayley, experiencing the chase through Fiachna's eyes, relayed the scene to us. Apparently, Gael unleashed a barrage of thorny vines, attempting to restrict the cultists' movements. A fierce melee erupted, Alistan and Gael fending off the thieves while Dadroz, with practiced precision, skewered a surprised cultist with his rapier.
 
Then, everything turned sinister. Through Fiachna's eyes, Hayley saw one of the cultists mutter a chilling phrase in a language only she understood, "release the beast."
One of the cultists flung open a nearby gate, revealing a horrifying monstrosity – a patchwork undead creature stitched together from the mismatched corpses of at least a dozen people. The sight, according to Hayley's description, was enough to curdle your blood.
 
Alistan lured the grotesque creature into Gael's existing vine trap. The ploy offered a temporary reprieve, allowing them to unleash a flurry of arrows. However, the arrows seemed to have little effect on the stitched-together monstrosity.
 
Desperate and losing ground, Alistan resorted to waving a lit torch at the creature. It recoiled momentarily, only to retaliate with a bone-crushing blow that sent Alistan sprawling, the air knocked out of his lungs.
 
Dadroz, realizing the gravity of the situation, sent me a frantic message. My reply was simple, yet urgent – run. This fight wasn't one for blades and arrows. It called for magic, and Liliana (who had been busy delivering the captured assassin to the city guards) was the closest one who could answer that call.
 
We sprinted through the crowded streets, fueled by a mix of fear and urgency. Reaching the scene just in time, we witnessed a chaotic tableau – the city guards, emboldened by Dadroz's arrival, had managed to hack the flesh golem into pieces. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was one nonetheless.
 
Just as we were catching our breath (and dodging nervous glances from the increasingly jumpy townsfolk), who waltzes in but Sir Donovan himself, knight of the prestigious Octagon Order. Apparently, twice the cultist attacks, twice our merry band gets tangled up in it. Seems a bit suspicious, even for Keralon.
 
Sir Donovan seemed more intrigued than suspicious. He did the whole "official inquiry" thing, which mostly involved listening to Alistan (knightly bragging mode: activated) recount the epic takedown of the flesh golem, and Liliana (dramatic paladin mode: engaged) describe the terrifying Manticore encounter. Hearing it all put together, the traitor’s monster collection is as eclectic as Feyris's bar clientele.
 
On the bright side, the captured assassins sported the same nifty tattoo as the previous bunch, solidifying our theory of these guys being major Fenhunter-haters. Sir Donovan agreed, though he found their attempt to assassinate the dragonborn delegation in broad daylight particularly puzzling.
 
Turns out that the entire fight was a distraction, those sneaky cultists tried to snag something shiny from the delegation. Luckily, Alistan, Gael and Dradoz helped retrieve the item from the fleeing thief before being almost pummeled to death by the patchwork flesh golem. Sir Donovan showered us with thanks (and whispers of a formal palace pat-on-the-back to come).
 
Then came the real kicker. Alistan was lamenting the lack of a magical blade against the flesh golem. Turns out, Sir Donovan has a heart of gold (or maybe a well-stocked armory). He casually handed Alistan a guard's sword, positively glowing with basic runes (probably worth a small village back home, but hey, free stuff!). Apparently, the guard can just "request" another one. Talk about a knightly upgrade!
 
Gael tried to refuse some gem-encrusted rings Sir Donovan offered to cover our expenses (elf math must be different, because those things were blingin'). But with a well-timed reminder about the bottomless pit that is a mage's magical supply bill, I convinced him to accept.
 
We limped back to Erna's Wish, the city abuzz with post-attack clean-up. Feyris wasn't exactly thrilled about the roof damage (though he didn't blame us, which is a win in my book). Luckily, Hayley used some magic to patch up the worst of the cracks.
 
So, here we are, bruised but not broken, with a story to tell. This festival may have taken a detour, but hey, at least it wasn't a *boring* one!