SS.2.2 The Lash, Flame, and Frost
Session Preface
During an extended lull in conversation while traversing the mountains towards the Lady's Hand, the day's turn of events continues to play in each of your minds. Endriel, you retrace your steps along the mountain pass taken some twelve hours ago, reflecting on the unanticipated situation you now find yourself in. Your mind turns over the new information you have taken in, trying to find the threads to weave together into a cohesive story. What motivation has brought The Feathered here? Who are these two new companions, and what is their true purpose? Should something be done to intervene in Avraathe? Who would even be able to help? Who are the others in the monastery? How does their purpose align with The Feathered? Do we really know anything about any of this? And that's to speak nothing of Malus, whoever or wherever he may be. As these questions and more dance in your mind, you are comforted by the quiver that bounces against your back, considering your second visit to this peculiar place may not be as simple or as safe. Parathrax, you cannot shake the strange feeling of nostalgia and disgust coexisting in your thoughts. How familiar it felt to spar with your father, like so many years ago. And how even more dissonant to realize it was not him at all. How did the creature know your father's tendencies? His muscle memory? Even the look he got when the adrenaline flooded his veins was the same from your memories. And even in knowing it to be an imposter, you can't help but see the ice-shard ravaged form of your father. Against your scales, you can feel him bleeding out on his own home's floor, staining the carpet you used to lie on as you would listen to him strategize and plan and organize, trying to master his reasoning and tactics. The image of his face, contorted in what you now see to be the instinctive fear of a trapped animal, looking up at you with a notion of dread and regret swims in the forefront of your mind until each knot in a tree resembles his grimace staring back at you. Vorothruun, your feet seem to carry you effortlessly up and up and up the crooked and jagged paths winding from the valley towards the plateau and the monastery you seek. Regardless of the unexpected encounter with the false image of your father, your mind is sharp with the intent focus of purpose and desire. Though you move physically further from the internal tether in Avraathe, you feel yourself moving ever closer to truth and the power that comes as a result of such understanding. This trek is merely one small step in the journey towards the only thing that matters - completing the crown to stand before Ragnalla and once and for all be acknowledged as the worthy disciple you know yourself to be, unlike these feathered fools who have kidnapped your father and hide behind the protection of a lesser god's followers. After hiking through the better part of the afternoon, the three of you find yourselves in a small clump of trees at the plateau of the Lady Peak, just as the doppelgänger revealed you would. Shroud in the silhouette of the mountain's shadow in sharp contrast against the magnificent Avraathian sunset stands a single story monastery that has clearly seen better days. Much of the grounds around the dull grey stone structure are uneven, with jagged gashes carved into the rocky soil. The far corner of the building is entirely crumbled where the wall meets the poorly repaired roofing. Two sets of large wooden arched doors stand shut before you. On each set of doors you notice a burned etching of a whip with nine tails. Your examination of these symbols is broken by a dry and sputtering cough from along the far wall ahead of you. Clad in shadow and feathers, a tall and pale-skinned man draws a dark cloth to his mouth, muttering something under his breath. Realizing you are not alone, you scan the perimeter quickly and detect another three individuals all wearing the same black leather armor and feathered cloaks you are all too familiar with by now. One stands in shadows near the doors closest to you and another two pace closer to the cliffside. One of the cultists near the doors barks out, "Keep that damned illness to yourself, Iberis! Last thing we need is that cough spreading through camp. What did I tell you? We've got this area covered. Go walk the far side. Yell if you see that bastard elf." The pale Brother Iberis sighs heavily, only to be interrupted by another fit of coughs. As he curses once more and catches his breath, the feathered cloak fans out in the wind as turns on his heel and begins to walk back the way he came, his head hung low. The remaining Feathered exchange a series of snickers and snide remarks before returning to their task of keeping watch for intruders, such as yourselves.Session Summary
A new alliance is formed between Parathrax and Vorothruun and their new elven companion Endriel Magkas as they make their way to the Lady's Hand Monestary to rescue Parathraaj from the factions present including The Feathered and the worshipers of Loviatar. Around the campfire during the first evening of their trek towards the monastery, Parathrax and Endriel spend the brief reprieve to share a drink (a favorite thick and frothy brew Beldan special ordered for Parathrax) and to discuss a bit of their experiences, bonding over the commonality of duty and their lives as soldiers. Parathrax is able to bring Endriel up to speed to the best of his ability as to the details of their place and circumstances in Avraathe. In turn, Endriel describes some of his years in Silverymoon training as an arcane archer in the spellguard. After sunfall the next evening, the trio make their way to the Lady's Hand to find several guards outside. Easily distracted by their own in-fighting and a portal stone thrown by Vorothruun, the party makes their way towards the exterior of the prison cells, killing one of the Feathered, Brother Iberis, and leaving him in a position implying he took his own life. Through the small window of his cell, Parathrax sees the first glimpse of his father, a tortured shell of himself. Seeing no way forward from this position, the trio sneak past the still-distracted would-be guards and enter the main hallway of the monastery. Though attempting to maintain hidden on their way toward the prison cells, the sleeping priests of Loviatar stir and delve straight into defending their leader, the Whipmistress. Using her spectral whips of fire and frost, along with the other fanatic's spells provided by their devotion to the Maiden of Pain, the cultists managed to overwhelm Vorothruun, but not before he managed to kill their leader while Endriel made efficient work of her followers. Following the chaos of battle and a brief moment for nursing wounds and refocussing their efforts, the party approached the prisons, where Parathrax encountered his father for the first time in years. Seeing his terrible condition, Parathrax convinced his father he was not another form of torture, but instead was here to help him escape and to heal him. The two dragonborn exchanged brief questions and exchanges regarding their presence and the last day they shared before returning to the task at hand. After a tearful embrace, healing, and equipping, the two soldiers rejoined Endriel and Vorothruun and made their way towards the encampment of the Feathered. Choosing to disregard a stealthy approach, Vorothruun immediately blasted one of the two leaders of the Feathered's camp with another hectic battle ensuing. Parathrax took the brunt of the enemy's focus, nearly falling unconscious in the process of defending his brother and father. As the tide of battle shifted in the adventurers favor thanks to the arrows of Endriel and Parathrax's defensive wards and tactical positioning, one of the warlock leaders, Wingbearer Caltha, took her chance to teleport away, leaving the other, Wingbearer Vicna, with naught but a desperate attempt to escape on his own. As he tried to flee, Parathrax, blood dripping from his mouth and spilling over his armor, turned and channeled the last of his energy into a single brutal strike full of rage and smite, splintering Vicna's spine as his body spilled across the cracked tile floor of then empty monastery.Relations
Allies
Parathraaj: Gazing into the cell, the slumped over form of your father rests in the corner. Blindfolded, Parathraaj stirs at the sound of your approach. “Tiamat take you, I’m not going to tell you shit!” He growls with a faltering ferocity. As he lifts his head, the work of the willing whips is abundantly clear. You notice his nose, obviously broken and bent sideways with caked blood running from nostrils to the top of his swollen, chapped, and busted lip. His right ear has been nocked, a perfectly straight line sliced across the top. As he extends a hand in your direction, the fingertips have been sliced methodically to the bone showing on his first knuckles. Most disparagingly, both of his horns have been shaved down to just an inch above the scalp.
Adversaries
The Whipmistress: Wearing a fine black gown of lace with threads woven to depict tails branching from whips and overlapping one another, the whipmistress appears to be a relatively young woman with blonde hair and piercing green eyes shining through a translucent black veil adorning her head. She moves gracefully, her arms ever so subtext swaying by her side. Where her lace sleeves end, you can clearly make out scars like a spiderweb or shattered glass painted across her fair skin.
Wingbearer Vicna: a thin and brooding figure, his sharp expressions and elongated face place his malcontent on full display. Wearing the same dark leather armor with additional embellishments of wings and claws stitched in, he seems out of place wearing no feathery cloak. He pushes long dark hair back out of his eyes and sneers in your direction.
Wingbearer Caltha: advances in age, the frail in form human woman before you would seem almost maternal, wrapped in a shawl of grey feathers if it weren’t for the dark tattoos of eldritch symbols running down her neck and underneath thinning whisps of graying hair. As such, she gives off a presence of confident wisdom and looks unperturbed by your interruption.
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