The Determination of an Undead Kobold

Dear Diary,
 
We emerged from the dusty depths of Hollowhill, with two prisoners in tow! We used our handy escape rope to climb out of that creepy hole. As we blinked in the sunlight, Reynis materialized from the nearby bushes – talk about perfect timing! Apparently, four or five hours underground feels like an eternity when you're waiting on a bunch of adventurers who keep getting sidetracked by cultists and dragon skulls.
 
We filled him in on our findings – the altar that cursed him, the lack of magic on our end to reverse it (curse these beginner spells!), and the scroll option (gotta find someone with good penmanship, those things can be pricey!). We also had sent word to Keralon before – so reinforcements might be on their way, hopefully with a high-level magic user? Fingers crossed!
 
Night was approaching, and with Reynis still cursed, we needed a plan (and some strong coffee). Here's the thing – his monstrous form can teleport through shadows, which is kind of a party foul when you're trying to keep him contained. Brainstorming session commenced!
 
Thankfully, Alistan, our resident knight-in-shining-armor (and apparently an expert in livestock restraint), found some sturdy manacles at the general store. They weren't exactly high fashion, but hopefully they'd do the trick for our temporary dragon-man friend.
 
We handed over our two cultist prisoners to Zem and Saphira – those two can handle some guard duty. Dadroz also volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on the cultists, which made me more comfortable with the situation as I have no doubt that Dadroz’ swift reflexes would knock them back out before they had a chance to stir.
 
We headed to Reynis’ former camp and got comfortable. Then came the not-so-fun part – Reynis' transformation. When he started to change, we unleashed everything in our magical arsenal (firebolts, divine fury, the whole shebang), but it wasn't enough to knock out the beastly form. With a roar that could shake a mountain, it burst through the chains like they were made of paper. Oops.
 
Time for round two! We went all-out assault again, this time with more success. Thankfully, we managed to subdue the beast before it could turn the nearby forest into its personal stomping ground. Phew!
 
The beast reverted back to Reynis, so we decided to head back to Ravensfield. With him (hopefully) under control and the cultists safely detained, at least we could get some sleep (and maybe a celebratory pastry – adventuring is hungry work!). However when we arrived back, our cultist prisoners, bless their unfortunate souls, had woken up in the meantime.
 
Liliana greeted them with a chipper "good morning!" This, of course, sparked a hilarious debate between her and Alistan about the proper etiquette for waking up grumpy, dungeon-dwelling cultists. Let's just say "good morning" wasn't on the list.
 
Our prisoners, unsurprisingly, remained silent. The "professor," as we'd learned, wore a permanent scowl that could curdle milk. Liliana decided to try and reason with him (bless her heart). Her attempt to denounce his work only elicited a smug smirk from the professor – not exactly the warm and fuzzy response we were hoping for.
 
Hayley took a different approach. She delved into the professor's mind, a mental spelunking expedition if you will. Turns out, the guy was scared – terrified, actually. He fully expected to be toast (metaphorically speaking, of course).
 
Alistan cut to the chase. He demanded answers about Fezzir's goals. The professor, however, remained tight-lipped. But Hayley, with a mental nudge deeper into his thoughts, revealed a juicy tidbit – he'd been tasked with creating a ritual to turn people into dragons!
 
The professor, realizing Hayley could crack his mental vault like a particularly easy nut, finally spilled the beans. He justified his creepy experiments by claiming they were necessary sacrifices for the "greater good" – yeah, right. Apparently, they envisioned themselves and their sacrifices being celebrated as heroes after their dragonic transformation. Talk about a warped sense of heroism!
 
Gael questioned their logic. Why turn people into dragons? Apparently, the professor believed humans were weak and frail, while ancient creatures like dragons were strong. His solution? Become dragons ourselves, of course! Talk about a superiority complex on steroids.
 
They believed they were entitled to power, that it could only be seized, not earned. Apparently, in their twisted worldview, power could only be stolen from gods or fairies. Liliana tried to argue that people could grow in power themselves, but the professor scoffed at the notion.
 
Alistan asked why they were kidnapping people instead of using their own cultist buddies. The professor, the pragmatist (in his own twisted way), explained that cultists were needed for "menial labor" – not exactly a glamorous job description.
 
I chimed in. I asked about their long-term plan – what happened after everyone became a dragon? The professor, with a maniacal gleam in his eye, explained that once they were all dragons, they'd be unstoppable! No equals, just pure domination! World domination by dragon-people, you see? Not exactly the bedtime story we were hoping for.
 
Hayley pushed for more information. Sadly, the professor didn't know the location of the Keralon base or Fezzir's hideout.
 
I decided to press the professor about the champion they sent to Keralon. What did this mysterious figure look like? The professor, however, slammed his mouth shut faster than a clam at high tide. Hayley, maybe a little addicted to mind-reading at this point, stepped forward.
 
The professor, in a desperate attempt to keep his secrets, did something truly bizarre. He bit down on his own tongue and SPIT IT OUT! Talk about a commitment to silence! Liliana, probably the only one of us with a decent stomach, rushed forward with a healing spell. Thankfully, the bleeding stopped, but the poor guy's tongue remained firmly detached.
 
Let's just say that incident put a damper on the interrogation for a bit. We stared at the professor, who sported a rather unsettling bloody grin, and the severed tongue on the floor. It wasn't exactly the image we were going for.
 
The other cultist prisoner, who up until now had been wisely keeping his mouth shut, turned a rather interesting shade of green at the sight. Suddenly, he started waving his hands frantically, clearly eager to talk. Seems like the professor's little display of "tongue fu" had him rethinking his silence.
 
He offered a description of the champion in exchange for his freedom – a tempting offer, considering the whole "missing tongue" thing had put a screeching halt to our interrogation with the professor. Alistan shut that down faster than you can say "prisoner swap." Making deals with kidnappers and murderers? Not on his watch.
 
Liliana tried a different approach. She suggested we could put in a good word for the chatty cultist, maybe get him a lighter sentence. But the guy, wasn't buying it. Apparently, in his mind, a lighter sentence still meant a death sentence. So, with a heavy sigh (and maybe a touch of disappointment – who wouldn't want to hear all about this champion?), we decided against letting the guy go. Back in went the gag.
 
After the interrogation shenanigans, we decided to call it a night. Watches were set, and dreams of comfy beds and delicious breakfasts filled our heads (well, most of our heads – Liliana probably dreamt of smiting evil and Alistan likely dreamt of perfectly executed battle strategies).
 
The problem of Reynis's curse still loomed large, though. We needed a solution, and fast. Our quest for a "scroll of polymorph" led us to Dan, the friendly (and now barn-owning) Consortium leader.
 
With a hopeful glint in my eye, I inquired about the spell. Dan disappeared into his inventory (which, thanks to recent deliveries, was overflowing). Sadly, the scroll we needed wasn't in stock.
 
But Dan wasn't one to give up easily. He offered a suggestion, albeit with a touch of hesitation (probably worried we'd think less of him for it). Turns out, Dan wasn't always a traveling merchant – he used to be a Ravensfielder himself!
 
The solution he proposed was… unconventional, to say the least. Apparently, there was a dead tree on the outskirts of town, a place where criminals used to meet their untimely demise (not exactly a cheerful historical landmark). A path lined with peculiar mushrooms led from the tree to some standing stones etched with mysterious runes. In the center sat a bowl – a rather ominous centerpiece, if you ask me.
 
The real kicker? You then had to offer a sacrifice – a chicken would do. Then, a hag would appear (delightful!). And this delightful hag, according to Dan, might be able to help us with a spell scroll (although, knowing hags, it wouldn't exactly be a bargain).
 
I relayed this information back to the others, who, unsurprisingly, weren't exactly thrilled with the idea of bartering with a swamp-dwelling hag. Chicken sacrifices? Standing stones? It all sounded a bit too "evil fey deals" for their taste.
 
Hayley, however, ever the determined one, decided to take another crack at the professor's mind. This time, she managed to glean a juicy detail – the champion they sent to Keralon was a young man with a penchant for flamboyant hairstyles and a wardrobe dominated by the color red (shocking, I know, for a group of cultists).
 
The surprise? This champion also sported a rather fetching red hat, complete with red plumes. Alistan, with a sigh that could deflate a dragon, recognized the description all too well. It matched our bardic friend, Robert Talespinner, perfectly. His penchant for disappearing acts and fascination with dragons suddenly made a whole lot more sense.
 
Just when we thought things might settle down in Ravensfield, all hell broke loose. Shouts and screams erupted from outside, shattering the evening tranquility. We bolted out of the house, adrenaline surging through our veins like a bad case of the hiccups.
 
Alistan and Liliana, the picture of efficiency, wasted no time. With a synchronized leap, Liliana landed on Alistan's trusty steed, Thorin, and off they charged towards the heart of the village, Alistan urging the horse forward with a determined yell.
 
The scene that greeted us was pure chaos. Creatures unlike anything we'd ever encountered lumbered through the streets – part human, part dragon, and radiating a seriously creepy vibe. Mixed in with this unsettling menagerie were zombie kobolds – yes, you read that right, undead kobolds! It was like someone had unleashed a particularly nasty horror play in the middle of our peaceful village. The demon dragon cult, clearly, wasn't playing around.
 
Gael didn't miss a beat. Even mid-run, he managed to nock an arrow with impressive dexterity and launched it towards one of the larger creatures. Unfortunately, the distance proved challenging, and the arrow sailed harmlessly past its target.
 
Taking a deep breath, I channeled my inner fire mage and unleashed a flaming orb on one of the smaller kobolds. The creature shrieked as the flames engulfed its flesh, a gruesome but necessary measure. My sister summoned a circle of sharp spikes that materialized right in the middle of the square, catching some of the advancing creatures by surprise.
 
The remaining dragon-men (can we officially call them that now, diary?) roared and charged towards us, their movements a grotesque mix of human and reptilian. Dadroz wasted no time – an arrow found its mark, sending one of the zombie kobolds back to its final dirt nap.
 
Alistan and Liliana, a fearsome mounted duo, charged into the fray. Liliana unleashed a barrage of fey magic bolts, while Alistan directed Thorin, his trusty steed, to plow through the zombie horde. Liliana, with a graceful leap, dismounted and dispatched a zombie with a single, well-placed strike. Alistan, meanwhile, became a whirlwind of steel, knocking weapons from the grasp of the remaining creatures and leaving a trail of fallen zombies in his wake. Thorin, proving himself a valuable member of the team, stomped one of the unfortunate kobold zombies into dust, adding a touch of equine brutality to the fight.
 
The battle raged on, a chaotic whirlwind of claws, fangs, and desperate spells. Just when we thought we were gaining the upper hand, a hulking brute of a creature emerged from behind a house, its gaze fixated on Dadroz.
 
Dadroz, bless his quick reflexes, dove into the nearest bush like a startled rabbit – stealth mode activated! A heartbeat later, an arrow whizzed from the bush, lodging itself deep in the creature's shoulder. The brute let out a roar that could curdle milk, then proceeded to do something truly disgusting – it SPIT ACID!
 
Dadroz, despite his valiant bush-diving maneuver, wasn't entirely spared. The acid splashed across him, eliciting a whimper that would have made a wounded puppy proud.
 
Meanwhile, I decided to unleash a little firestorm on the remaining zombie kobolds. The flaming sphere roared back to life, engulfing the creatures in a fiery inferno. Just to be sure, I tossed in a few extra firebolts for good measure.
 
But these weren't your average zombies, diary. They were the persistent kind – the kind who kept shambling forward even while engulfed in flames. It was like trying to extinguish a particularly stubborn campfire.
 
There was one kobold in particular who deserves a special mention in the "Most Determined Undead Creature" award category. This little guy was burned, pummeled, trampled, and generally poked and prodded, but it just wouldn't stay down! It was only when Gael, with a sigh and a perfectly aimed arrow, finally put the poor thing out of its misery that the rest of us could breathe a sigh of relief. Talk about a relentless foe!
 
With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to the source of these unholy creatures. Following a trail of suspicious footprints that led out of the village and into the forest, we were suddenly ambushed… from above! Four dragonels, each a miniature dragon with a rider perched on its back, swooped down from the sky, claws bared and swords flashing.
 
Luckily, I have a sixth sense for impending decapitation (a valuable skill in this line of work!). Spotting a shimmering sword hurtling towards my head, I channeled my magical mojo and twisted fate itself. Suddenly, I was standing a few feet to the side, narrowly avoiding a gruesome haircut. The dragonelrider, however, wasn't so lucky. Their attack went horribly wrong, their sword flailing harmlessly through the air.
 
This close call, however, wasn't without its consequences. The dragonel, annoyed at having missed its target, raked its claws down my back, leaving a stinging trail of fury and minor dragon-scratchies.
 
But these dragon-riding fiends weren't finished yet. They circled back, their swords glinting menacingly in the fading light. This time, however, I wasn't so lucky. Just as I braced myself for another attack, a sword sliced through the air, carving a painful wound on my arm.
 
Desperation fueling my steps, I scrambled for the nearest building, bursting through the door with a dramatic (and slightly undignified) crash. Once inside, I slammed the door shut, heart pounding like a drum solo.
 
A quick peek through the back window revealed a scout plummeting from the sky, courtesy of a well-placed arrow from Dadroz (seriously, the man is a hidden sharpshooting gem!). Through the front window, I saw Liliana and Alistan battling the dragonriders with fierce determination. Unfortunately, the dragonels' agility made them elusive targets, swords flashing past them as they dodged and weaved.
 
My poor sister even took a hit from one of the dragonels, adding insult to injury. This wasn't looking good, diary. Trapped indoors, wounded, and with my companions facing aerial assaults… what was a brave adventurer to do?
 
Feeling trapped and more than a little singed, I burst out of the house, vengeance fueling my every move. A flaming missile streaked towards the rider who dared to harm my sister, leaving them with a nasty burn – payback for messing with a mage's sibling!
 
My little show of offensive magic, however, did provide a much-needed distraction. Seizing the opportunity, Hayley scrambled towards the house, dodging sharp claws and gnashing teeth like a seasoned pro. She burst through the door, gasping for breath and sporting a few new "battle souvenirs" – namely, some rather nasty scratches.
 
Meanwhile, outside, the battle raged on. One particularly grumpy dragonel, freed from its rider thanks to Dadroz's impressive archery skills, landed right in front of Liliana and Alistan. Claws lashed out and the scene became a chaotic dance of dodge, block, and counter-attack.
 
Just as things seemed to be reaching a critical point, disaster struck! The dragonel, with a swipe of its razor-sharp claws, ripped open a gash on poor Thorin's throat. The valiant steed let out a whinny of pain, buckled, and sent Alistan tumbling to the ground.
 
Seeing this, I knew I had to act fast and ran back out again. Another barrage of magic missiles erupted from my fingertips, finding their mark on one of the remaining scouts. Gael did the same, sending the other scout to meet his fiery demise. Satisfied with my contribution, I fled back in to the safety of the house. (Don’t judge me, diary. Liliana and Alistan were fighting in full-on armor, meanwhile I am fighting in a *robe* that has trouble holding itself together on a good day.)
 
The riderless dragonels, free from their aerial masters, landed with ferocious growls, ready to unleash their own brand of claw-and-fang fury. One particularly grumpy beast focused its attention on the house where Liliana and I were hiding. With a terrifying roar, it launched itself at the door, its claws tearing into the wood like a particularly enthusiastic paper shredder.
 
Desperate to keep it at bay, I summoned a flaming sphere, hoping to deter its advance. It worked – the dragonel recoiled from the fiery barrier, its reptilian eyes filled with a healthy dose of fear.
 
Feeling like a cornered rat, I raced around the house, desperately searching for a better position. Just as I rounded a corner, a sound sliced through the air – a booming horn call that echoed through the twilight sky.
 
We all looked up, and there it was – a majestic wyvern, a two-legged dragon with leathery wings, soaring above us. Perched on its back sat a figure clad in shimmering golden armor. Friend or foe? It was too early to tell.
 
The arrival of this mysterious dragon-rider had definitely put a pause on the battle. The dragonels, sensing a shift in power, beat hasty retreats, soaring back into the sky.
 
We were left with a battlefield littered with the aftermath of the fight, our own wounds a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Liliana, our strongest fighter, looked particularly worse for wear, I don’t know if we can still count on her in the next few hours. One thing's for sure, diary – if another fight breaks out, we might be in some serious trouble…