Hallomakk Stromm Sends to Lirael that Waterdeep is under attack by Undead of Orcus. He summons Ardan the Untouchable and sends him to Ched Nasad. Lirael is also joined by Ralf, a wandering Underdark demonslayer.
With difficulty Dhaunayane manages to re-open the portal, only three can get through - Ralf Ardan & Lirael, to face the dangers beyond...
Dragotha, gargantuan dracolich - level 31 Solo - 115,000
2 Glabrezu 20,400
8 Ghouls 18,000
Total: 153400/3= 51,133
Ascend the Tower to the Final Conflict - level 30 major quest = 19,000 each
825,000 XP for Level 29
+10,000 Session Account
LEVEL 29 REACHED
1 million XP for Level 30
As the party rests overnight in Ched Nasad, Hallomakk Stromm Sends that Waterdeep is under attack by undead...
“Hurry!” said Dhaunayane as she struggled to hold the portal open. Sweat dripped down her dark, narrow face. “I can’t hold it open much longer!”
Lirael pushed through, even though she caught a glimpse of bleached white bone that made her hesitate. Arden the Untouchable joined her, as well as the enigmatic demon hunter Ralf, cradling his ridiculously large Demonbane axe in his hands. It was good to see Arden again, even in such circumstances. He had grown even more powerful in his absence and all indications were that they would need his expertise. Dunstan and Jareth were both nursing wounds from previous forays as they tried and tried to reach Orcus in his stronghold. Dhaunayane looked exhausted.
“We’ll join you as soon as we can,” said the drow, “but for now, go and Lloth be with you.”
“Tempus, more like,” growled Ralf. He didn’t trust the drow and had made that plain, though he’d lived in and among them for the last ten years.
There was a moment of dizziness and dislocation as they emerged on the other side of the portal. Then there was a moment of sheer panic as they beheld the gargantuan hulk of Dragotha, a dracolich. The stench of brimstone and carrion washed over them. Arden immediately went on the attack, as if he had been expecting the dragon to be there. His shots rang straight and true, riddling the skull of Dragotha with arrows. It was disconcerting to see the arrow sticking straight out of its eye socket as it stared at them with malevolent but impotent rage.
Lirael backed up to get a better shot while Ralf ran in to attack the dragon’s relatively unprotected chest. The two treachery demons began closing in from either side but soon began to change their minds as Dragotha began to succumb to their concentrated attack. When the dragon fell, one of the demons fled. Lirael and Arden continued to follow it with their arrows, unwilling to meet that particular foe again and it finally fell with a piercing dying scream into the pit of undead below who, by the sound of it, found treachery demon to be a particularly nice treat. Ralf sliced into the remaining demon and soon the three were staring at each other, wondering if they should go on or wait for the others. Was there time? To be honest, none of them had expected to make it this far.
Lirael took a deep breath. “Let’s go,” she said. “The least we can do is scout ahead and see if Orcus is across the bridge.” She felt in her pocket for the weight of a polished stone that Jorah had given her once, what felt like forever ago, after a picnic. It wasn’t fancy or grand, but it was solid. Just like Jorah. She hoped she would see him again.
They carefully crossed the bridge, avoiding the place where Jareth had nearly fallen to his doom. There were no more treachery demons or vrocks or even dragons, but instead a small horde of fawning undead at the feet of a fat, purring rakshasa that was all too familiar. He stood and welcomed them, if that is what you would call it.
“You are on the wrong side of history here,” said Lirael, wishing she had something to stuff in her ears against the honeyed words of his she knew would come. She prepared herself mentally to use the Turn Undead ritual that she had recently learned but it soon became apparent that it wouldn’t be necessary as the ghouls quickly fell to their arrows and the rakshasa, no longer preening, ran for the stairs.
“What should we do now?” asked Ralf. “You’ve been here before. Should we go after the beast?”
Lirael eyed the statues, still glowing with an eerie necrotic energy, and the pile of undead. Then she eyed the pit. “Let’s get rid of them,” she said. “I’d rather they not re-animate at our backs.”
Together they pushed the dead undead into the pit and then poured gallons of holy water that they had been storing in the portable hole over the statues until they had crumbled into a seething pile of rubble. Shrieks from whatever undead lurked in the pit below echoed up to them and then died out as the holy water did its job.
There was a loud rumble as of a host of undead rising and a shiver went down all their spines.
“If your friends don’t get here soon, we are doomed,” said Ralf. He hefted his axe.
Arden nodded grimly. “I fear we cannot delay much longer. He only grows stronger.”
“They’ll get here,” said Lirael. “They have to. If they don’t, it won’t just be us that’s doomed.”