Dragon Bell 2

Dragon Bell

2

The Aluminium Falcon soars above the broken uplands of Terwa, the minarets of Cloudspire receding from view as they leave behind the imposing edifice of the snow-capped Stoneheart mountain range. Upon its deck is secured the enormous, glinting Dragon Bell, hijacked by Mbe’ke kobolds from beneath the noses of the Skyseeker Dwarfs.
Hovering above the climbing skyship, Aera surveys her foes. Two winged kobolds, two kobold henchmen, and a dragonshield elite kobold warrior stare back at her with defiance. And from the stern, where a large, red gem glows and hums, the tattooed, black-scaled dragonborn leans arrogantly upon his staff, about which a pink pseudodragon is coiled.
The dragonshield hurls his spear at Aera, who flaps backwards just in time as the haft whizzes past her face, ruffling her feathers. Incanting her draconic sorcery, she wards herself against blades as the winged kobolds take to the air.
Silent as the night, Quelenna clambers over the gunwale and sneaks up behind the dragonshield, who yowls with pain as she clobbers him with her magical shillelagh. The staff is a blur of deadly blows in her hands, and she knocks the creature back again and again until finally she kicks him overboard, limp and unconscious.
Seeing their commander perish, the remaining kobolds look to each other nervously, but soon find their nerve as the rune-inked dragonborn unleashes a blast of necrotic magic that barely misses Quelenna.
“Bring them to me, dead or alive!” he barks.
“Yes, Cap’n Mreksh!” they holler, and renew their attacks. But they are no match for our heroes, who dispatch the diminutive reptile-men with a lethal combination of thunder-wave, firebolt, arrow, quarrel, and blade.
Quelenna summons a magical fog cloud, but the dragonborn, Mreksh the Defiler, rushes out of it and levels his staff against her with a snarl. The pseudodragon clambers on to his shoulder and hisses from its perch.
But just then a shadow looms behind them, blocking out the sun. All look around to see a hot air balloon racing towards them, locked on a collision course. Carried by racing high altitude winds, they see the whites of the eyes of the balloon’s dwarvish captain, desperately trying to fire more gas into the balloon to climb above them. But he is too late.
Before any have chance to react, the balloon smashes into the hull of the Aluminium Falcon, its cables wrapping around the skyskiff’s sails. Quelenna is knocked sprawling across the deck, and Aera is clipped and sent spinning away by the basket, her wings wrapping round her, as the dwarf is catapulted unceremoniously on to the prow before them.
Unbalanced, Mreksh is hurled over the gunwale. Clawing desperately for something to grab on to, he plummets out of sight, howling with rage.
Aera, heavily winded, has managed to arrest her freefall, and watches as the plummeting dragonborn creates a magical sphere of energy between his palms. He turns it over and over in his hands as he falls, until his own form begins to swirl and vanish into it like vapour. Just before he teleports away, Puddles the pseudodragon flies away, and is soon but a distant speck in the vastness of blue.
Breaking apart, most of the balloon falls away, although some of its canvas is still entangled. It takes chunks of the skyship with it, and several large, wooden crates tumble from its crumpled basket.
Aera alights on the skyship as Quelenna is clambering on to her feet. The tabaxi lays her hands upon her friend and ally, and Aera feels the warm glow of healing druidic magic course through her flesh and into her veins.
A plaintive groan brings their attention to the dwarf prone on the floor in front of them. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes.
“Wha– what happened?” he asks confusedly. “Where in seven heavens am I?”
“You crashed into us!” says Aera.
“And the remains of your balloon and cargo have gone crashing to the desert below,” says Quelenna.
“Och, no! My tea!” he cries. “My precious tea!”
From the back of the ship the humming of the jewel drops ominously in pitch and then goes silent, its red glow sputtering and growing dim before extinguishing entirely. The Aluminium Falcon begins to yaw wildly from side to side, and then its nose pitches down and it starts to lose altitude.
“Never mind your tea! We’ve got bigger things to worry about!” yells Aera.
They rush to the stern where the gem sits mute, dull, and inoperative.
“Can you fix it?” Quelenna asks the dwarf.
He scratches his beard and pokes at it gingerly.
“I’m afraid not, lassie. My expertise lies in balloons – and tea. Not in magic!”
“Looks like we’re going down!” shouts Quelenna as large sand dunes rise to meet them.
“I have an idea!” says Aera, and flits across to one of the sails, cutting a large piece away with her dagger. “Hold on to the edges of this, like a parachute, and I’ll hold on to you – it just might break our fall enough for us to survive!”
“Ummm…” says the dwarf, pointing to himself with a question mark over his head.
But it is too late. The skyskiff ploughs heavily into the dunes, bouncing off one and careering headlong into another, before lurching forwards and burying itself halfway into the sand, its prow smashed to smithereens.
The three of them are hurled from the deck on impact, and thump painfully into the sand before rolling to a halt. But it would appear Aera’s plan worked, for they are battered and bruised – but alive!
Another groan from a few metres away; it would seem dwarfs are made of sturdy stuff.
“That’s my second crash today,” he moans. “I’m having no luck at all, by Rava!”
“Erm… I’m Aera, and this is Quelenna,” says the aarakokra sorceress, approaching the muttering dwarf. “It might have been an accident, but you just saved us from a dangerous enemy. It was touch and go for me back there. The kobolds were feeble, but that dragonborn was wielding some powerful magic.”
“Ah, you’re welcome… I think.” The dwarf peers up at them googly-eyed, trying hard to focus his gaze in the blazing sunlight. “I’m Harsk, by the way. Harsk Deadeye. Some call me Lucky. I’m a tea-trader from Bard’s Gate. Well, originally I hail from the Cantons. I’ve travelled around a wee bit. I was on my way to Lankhmar when the trade winds changed and blew me off course.”
As he rises unsteadily to his feet, Aera and Quelenna notice he is carrying a hefty, curved axe, and heavy crossbow is strapped to his broad back – not the usual accoutrements of a simple merchant.
They manage to salvage some dry rations from the hold of the Aluminium Falcon, but the Dragon Bell is half-buried in the dune and far too heavy for them to extract from the wreckage.
Looking about them, they see only sand dunes stretching away for miles around. In the very far distance, out to the west, the faint line of the Stonehearts can just be discerned, stretching away to the north and south.
A stark contrast to the cold and lofty peaks around Cloudspire, they feel the desert sun burning down upon them as drifting sand eddies around their ankles.
“Well, then,” says Harsk gruffly, gazing around at the featureless dunes. “What in seven heavens do we do now?”