Tales of Amn

Season 2, Session 6

[June 3, 2025]

Excerpted from the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

Echos of the implosion rattled in the distance. His Holiness stood before us, drawing slow, deep breaths, surrounded by broken glass and overturned, splintered, wooden pews. Blood still dripping from his ears, he began to laugh; a crazed, hysterical sound that echoed off the stone walls of the church. His face contorting into a wicked smile, his eyes slowly met ours; they burned with a deranged ire. His laughter soon ceasing, he launched into a bitter diatribe.

The searing pain in my chest returned and steadily intensified as His Holiness ranted about the foolishness of our actions. His anger building, he claimed that it was his duty to educate us on the consequences of our meddling. We all steeled ourselves for whatever he was about to unleash, when a throng of shadows slunk out from the cracks in the stone floor. They quickly encircled us and a shroud of darkness eclipsed my vision. For moments, I felt unmoored from the earth, and although my chest still burned, my senses were deprived of anything else. I saw nothing, heard nothing, as though I were adrift in a void.

Slowly my senses returned to me. An unfamiliar landscape came into focus. We were surrounded by a barren, red-orange landscape. A blistering heat radiated from the sky and the ground, it was suffocating. The only landmark was a large stone church; similar in style to the church we’d just left, but much larger in scale. A frenetic wind intermittently pelted us with sand. This was not a land with which I could claim familiarity, and a feeling of dread twisted in my stomach. It was then I realized that our party was incomplete. Only Claera and the halfling stood at my side, Critter lazily pecked at the sand behind me, and rather surprisingly, Madame Primm was not ten feet away, sat criss-cross, casually sipping a cup of tea and playing a bizarre looking game of solitaire in the sand.

Spouting her usual vagaries in response to our questions, it was unclear how long Madame Primm might have been there before we arrived, but she did suggest that we head to the church and see just what it was we’d “been walking towards”. A pointed look in my direction gave me pause and I wondered again just how much more Madame Primm knew than she ever willingly revealed.

Claera and the halfling wasted no time hurrying to the doors of the church. I took a slower gait, the burning in my chest and the ball of dread in my gut each growing exponentially as I neared the towering edifice. Whether it was Bane or His Holiness behind this, although I firmly suspected the former, I had begun to feel that in my haste to save my friends, I may very well have doomed us all.

Translated from the Journals of Scarbula the Flea, Inhabitant of Daisy the Cat’s Left Flank

An enormous explosion rattled the earth, and my host’s back went up. I had barely regained my equilibrium when we were yanked sideways toward the stone walls of the church. Rather than crashing into them, as I expected, we somehow passed through, hurtling end over end, amorphous shapes and colors streaming past us until we were suddenly deposited upon solid ground. Our new environment was dark, damp, cold, and very quiet. Dim torches affixed to the wall were the only source of illumination. We had also lost much of our party; only my host and the Dragon-born were present.

Upon further inspection, we found ourselves in a small cell, a probably defunct dungeon now being used for storage was my guess, as crates and barrels were stacked all around us. My host slipped easily through the bars and began to clean herself diligently. I made myself scarce while she groomed. The dragon-born listened intently to muffled, faraway voices, before he reached through the bars and tried his best to break the lock. It could not be broken. He looked to Daisy for assistance, and she strolled back through the bars, sniffing at the crates inside the cell, before zeroing in one in particular. Drakon pried the top off to reveal a cache of gun powder. Carefully lining the threshold of the bars with the powder, he reared back, inhaling deeply. Daisy skittered across the room to seek cover, as he blew a trail of fire over the bottom of the bars. The line of powder crackled and popped before the flare of fire died down. In the aftermath, the dragon-born easily dislodged the barrier and placed it off to the side. Exploring the main space thoroughly, we found only more crates and barrels. Marked for trade in the common tongue, Drakon read that they were all bound for the same place. Chances were fair that they had all arrived at their final destination and we were somehow back in Athkatla.

Bored with exploration, my host leapt up and settled on the shoulders of the hulking dragon-born as he made his way to the main corridor. I was happy to be perched as high as we were, as one look below showed that the floor was coated in a thick, boggy sludge. His pace slowed by the muck, we made slow gains. Then suddenly, Drakon yelped in pain. A bear trap was hidden below and had caught his leg. Inspecting the unit, he easily pried it open and discarded the snare. Apparently no worse for the hear, he continued his ascent through the dark and musty tunnels.

The sudden intrusion of voices gave us all pause. A crossing of tunnels lay ahead and before we knew it, a goblin passed by the opening, freezing as he caught sight of us. Daisy arched her back and hissed savagely, shooting poison spray toward the goblin. Drakon wasted no time charging the solitary guard and sliced at him with his glaive. The goblin put up a fight but was no match for the dragon-born, he was quickly defeated and Drakon decapitated him solemnly and with consideration for a fellow soldier. Moving along, we continued to rise in the chambers, the air getting fresher and dryer all the time. We reached an intersection and Drakon paused to weigh the options. Daisy leapt down to the ground and assertively chose a direction. Drakon followed.

We soon came upon a more brightly lit room, two human guards sat inside, wiling away their watch. Drakon did his best to remain undetected, but the heavy footfalls of such a large creature were impossible to disguise and we were detected. Daisy slunk into the room, drawing their attention away from the hall. She quickly cast a charm spell over one of the guards, who began to fawn over her and ply her with treats. The other guard remained suspicious and scolded his partner for his distraction. Taking advantage of the momentary lapse, Drakon moved swiftly into the space, he came up behind the suspicious guard and raised his glaive high above his head. Sensing him, the guard turned. “Matteus!” Drakon exclaimed, recognizing the guard and his partner Luther from their time in the Adventurers Guild. He halted his glaive mid-swing and attempted to calm the situation and maybe get some answers, but the guards were not willing to avoid conflict and so the dragon-born had no choice but to render them both unconscious.

Looking around the room, it was clear to all of us, that we were in fact, back in Athkatla, and, worse than that, had somehow found ourselves unwilling guests of the Empire.

Excerpted from the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

The halfling’s rage had been visibly building throughout his approach, and by the time he reached the entryway to the church, he was vibrating with it. He stormed through the doors ahead of us all. Claera quickly sidestepped to peer through a window rather than enter, and Madame Primm just skipped inside seemingly without a care. I took a deep breath to fortify myself and stepped across the threshold as the fire in my chest seared.

Inside was quiet, and a welcome respite from the heat and wind, but the air carried a heavy sense of foreboding. Much like the scene Shadow described from his solo encounter with His Holiness, a single hooded acolyte knelt before the altar. This acolyte, however, was enormous in stature and his robes were covered in blood. Sensing trouble, I’m sure, Claera cast an enlarge spell on the halfling just as Madame Primm approached the figure and drew his attention.

The figure rose and turned to face us. A booming voice erupted from beneath the hood before he pushed it back to reveal the dark and still shadowy face of Lord Bane. Looking directly at me, he said, “Little elf, it’s time we talked.” His words felt like a flaming hand gripping me by the throat; what exactly had I brought down upon us? And would we even be able to survive it?

Now much larger and still seething with rage, the halfling exploded forward and charged Bane. He didn’t get within twenty feet before he was propelled backwards into the air. Madame Primm reacted quickly and used a mage hand to catch him mid-flight.

Bane laughed heartily at the sight of the halfling dangling in the air, screaming and flailing in a desperate attempt to reach him. He was clearly delighted by the uncontrolled anger on display. Bane then reminded me of my debt to him and I did my best to appear grateful and confident, rather than simply petrified. It was when he mentioned a debt owed by my friends that I truly faltered, after all, none of them had willingly made a pact as I had. I pled with him, “I made the deal. I owe you. My friends should be left out of it.” None of that mattered to Bane, he had rescued all of us, and so all of us owed him a debt. And he declared that we had the chance to earn his help for the future simply by entertaining him. Still fuming, the halfling screamed that he would rip Bane’s arms off and beat him with them. This only made the dark lord chuckle with amusement. I tensed as I wondered exactly what entertainment could mean for a creature like Bane.

Still outside, Claera was the first to see the shadowy figures hurtling across the landscape toward the church. He quickly moved to join us inside. The shadows followed him through the door and began to take shape. One formed a large, hulking, predatory beast, another a faceless black knight, and two more consolidated into ghostlike, humanoid forms hovering menacingly just above the floor.

As Witnessed and Described by the Mycorrhizal Network of the Forest in the Land of No Sun

The halfling Shawn Shinglesby suddenly appeared amongst our trees; we recognized him from the last time he entered these primeval woods. He looked shaken and slightly queasy, holding his stomach and breathing deeply in an apparent effort to calm himself. He was positively trembling with the spark of pent up magic. After several long minutes, he steadied. Looking around, he rubbed his hands together until they began to glow. Hearing flickers of life and laughter somewhere in the distance, he set off in pursuit of other beings.

It was a rough hike, over uneven and overgrown terrain, with no small amount of backtracking as he tried to follow the faraway sounds of life as they bounced around the forest. Only once he leaned slightly into his innate sense of magic, did Shawn start to feel a pull in a singular direction. He soon came upon an enormous and ancient tree, gnarled by time and brimming with an otherworldly energy. Shawn was drawn to it and made a swift approach. A large branch swung outwardly in a protective gesture, but the halfling successfully dodged the attack. He then tried his best to speak to the behemoth, but the tree could not understand him, nor communicate with him.

Undeterred, Shawn tried again, “Please can you tell me where the magic folk are?” The tree, again, did not respond. Thinking the question might be directed at her, Jiff, a small korred, a tiny humanoid with grey skin and the legs of a goat, peeked out from behind a knobbly root. “I’m magic folk.” she said. “Me too,” said Shawn, “I’m looking for other magic folk.” Jiff stroked her mossy beard thoughtfully before she explained, “you’re in the wrong place.”

“Can you show me the right place?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me where they are?”

“Hmm. Over there somewhere.” She gestured vaguely in several directions at once. “Can you communicate with them?”

“No.”

“Well, then how can I find them?” Shawn begged, beginning to feel a bit hopeless. Jiff thought hard about this. Then inspiration struck, “Have you tried yelling?”

It seemed like as good an option as any, so Shawn tried yelling into the woods. No one answered.

Desperate to find the caravan of travelers, and realizing that it was his magical senses that had led him to this tree, Shawn leaned in just a bit more to his arcane abilities. Again, he felt a pull in a particular direction. As he embraced the tug of magic, the shadows in the forest became more concrete, he began to hear the faint tinkling of bells and he quickly followed them. It wasn’t long before he came across a parade of carts. The group of travelers was significantly larger than the last time he’d been here. Scanning those closest to him, he recognized a woman from Honiesale. She seemed lethargic as he approached her, but she did recognize him. She didn’t remember how she got there, “I was in the market, and then I was just walking here, in the woods.” she told him. The more he talked to her, the more she seemed to shake off her hazy state, and panic began to set in. Why didn’t she remember how she got here? Where was here?

Shawn looked around and realized that all of the mortal people in the caravan appeared to be under some sort of trance. Realizing he had unwittingly caused a disruption, and reluctant to make things worse, he moved toward the front where the lantern bearers led the way. There he found Woev, one of the humanoid creatures that had been with Leidim upon their first meeting at the festival. Shawn asked them about his parents, but they claimed not to know his parents, nor to know their whereabouts. “Those that were willing to follow are here. Those who did not, are not.”, they told him.

Perceiving that Shawn would not leave them alone until he had answers, Leidim halted the caravan and invited the halfling to search the procession for his parents. Scanning the crowd, he eventually found them in the middle of the pack. They were safe. A deep sigh of relief escaped him. Wishing not to disturb their peaceful trance, he did not go to them, but instead, turned back to Woev, “How did I get here? And how do I get back to my friends?”. Woev rolled their eyes, “No one is stopping you. You just have to want to leave.”

Excerpted from the Diary of Vadania “Necro” Amakiir

A battle was clearly what Bane had in mind. Madame Primm began scribbling furiously on parchment with a glowing quill; whatever she was attempting was far beyond me. The rest of us readied ourselves for a fight. The halfling’s rage having only grown while he was suspended in mid-air, he quickly, and violently, dispatched a wraith, then went after the beast, cutting it down with speed and precision. Bane cackled with glee. Claera made light work of the Knight while Madame Primm focused her attention on Bane himself. She cast some sort of spell and Bane began to thrash with crazed laughter. The foundation of the church itself seemed to be shaking with his convulsions.

Madame Primm giggled with delight at the sight. The halfling saw his chance to attack the dark lord, charging and swinging fiercely with his axe, Bane took a hit but never stopped laughing, the power of the spell he was under unable to obscure his deranged pleasure at the unexpected turn of events. Meanwhile, Claera expertly employed his dagger to dispose of the final wraith. With our adversaries thwarted, we all turned to Bane. Madame Primm lifted her trance and Bane’s howling faded to a dull titter before ceasing completely. He pushed himself to a seated position and took a deep, stabilizing breath. Incantation aside, he had indeed been entertained. He was quick to congratulate us on a thrilling display. In gratitude for our performance he bestowed upon me the powers and privileges of a warlock.The ever present burning in my upper torso intensified and coalesced to form what felt like a hand pressing firmly against my chest. It felt as though I were being branded, the pain swelling quickly to a white-hot fever before dissipating. In a deep, raspy voice, he told me, “That was wonderful. We are going to have a great time working together. You will know that I’m watching over you and that I will assist you; I hope you learn well and quick what it means to work for me.” I could not stop the chill that passed through my very bones at that, but there was little to be done. I had made a pact to save my friends, and Bane had kept up his end of the bargain, at least I believed that he had - I still had no idea where the rest of our party had gone.

Bane was also impressed with the halfling. His raw temper and unrestrained violence had thrilled the Black Lord and he chuckled with amusement at the diminutive warrior. As a consideration, he gifted the halfling with a crude, black, Hellish-looking axe. The halfling took the weapon and held it with skeptical reverence, undoubtedly it held great power, but given its source, what infernal darkness may lie within its blade? Bane looked us over, smiling wickedly, before he said, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done when next we meet.” With a sickening pop, the church disappeared and we found ourselves at the forest’s edge just outside of Honiesale.