The group finds themselves in the ruins of the Elven city surrounded by the molten and charred remains of a once thriving town. The terrible horror shakes them to the core, leaving a reek of doom upon their minds. They can only plumb the shallow depths of despair before pulling themselves together to herd the village of werewolves to a safer location. The Black Dragon’s fury dogs their every step, and they decide to veer far from their home to avoid facing such sheer devastating power.
Thus their steps lead them to an ancient ruin shrouded by fog. Rumors abounded about the unsettling mist, but the truth proved that the bank was much larger than foretold. The mist thickened as the group moved deeper into the abandoned city. Many of the buildings were eroded with neglect and looting. A wall loomed out of the chill fog to block their progress into the town. It didn’t prove an obstacle for long, the damage to the defensive structure was extensive and a large breach made an easy access point. They continued into the deepening mist and began to notice an unnatural chill to the air. The sound of moving water drew their attention and like the sirens call beckoned them hither. From within the chill fog emerged a large fountain with water still cascading down the broken statue. As the group spread out to inspect such a strange find when a sudden attack from out of the mist drew blood from Garen, the dwarf. The creature bared teeth and claws and drank deep of the stout dwarf’s lifeblood. The party was divided and a separated herd is easy prey for a deadly predator, so they called out and formed up back to back to face their foe. The conniving vampire tried to divide and consume his meal, but found them too tough and was dispersed into the mist. The heroes tried to follow the form to it’s lair, knowing that it would return for vengeance if it made it to rest in the casket. But, the confusion of battle, mist and haste left the group floundering blindly, until Garen accidentally stumbled into the creatures crypt by way of a broken street opening. He quickly gathered his wits and will and laid waste to the sarcophagus before the mist form could enter it.
The wandering group managed to home in on the dwarf’s yelps of glee from finding the enemy and a large horde of treasure. The warm glint of gold played across the room, along with ancient treasures of power: a bronze suit of plate mail worn by the fabled Mages of Saroon, Gloves of Ogres Might, the Gauntlet of the Mountain King, Full Plate armor of the Defender, and and Elven Oath bow. They felt battle worn but well satisfied with their plunder, so a long rest was in order.
The next day dawned and the group outfitted themselves with the new looted items. Bernard the wizard donned the infamous armor and began to feel a strong pull toward the city center. The party decided to follow this magical call and see what portents it would reveal. They approached an ancient castle gatehouse, but before they could enter a large serpentine form unfurled from the chilling mist. It was a huge beast, armored serpent body, large fanged mouth dripping with acidic ichor, and fetid hot breath; it was a Behir. A foul and horrid beast of ancient times brought to life in front of them with hate in it’s burning eyes. The beast swallowed the foaming barbarian whole, but was tattered by the fury of Thallin’s assault with the Oathbow. Garen, Sigmund, and Bernard battered, blasted and bore into the creature with reckless abandon until it fell. The howling, flaming beast burst open with a roar from the emerging barbarian, Gronk.
The strange lure continued to pull them further into the fortress, almost as if challenging them to continue. The mists parted to reveal a glowing eldritch orb, with the figure of a female Mage of Saroon staring into it. She slowly turned, her slender form turning into the emaciated visage of vile undeath, a liche. With the wave of her hand fire engulfed the party, burning pain lancing through our heroes. The group struck back but were unable to reach her with their deadly assault. She slid to the side with ease and sent white hot plasma streaking across the room through the barbarian, knight and the wizard. To her surprise the staff of storms reflected the bolt of lightning back at her from the wizards hand. Unfortunately this inflicted more damage on Gronk and Sigmund. Her fortune rapidly dwindled when the warriors closed in around her. She used her corruptive touch attacks and finally a cloud of death formed around her. First Sigmund fell from the necrotic rot of her touch, then Gronk bleeding profusely called out for Bernard to strike and kill him with the Liche in his grasp. Thus, the wizard fueled with righteous rage called the fury of the storm cloud down upon them all. The liche was destroyed but with her remains laid Sir Sigmund and the fearless Gronk.