The Heroes Strike Back

Ander, seeing his target fall, can't see anything more, so he begins heading north toward the other two foes. He feels the heat of the flaming sphere and is forced to stop approaching lest he be burned.

Swaying on his feet as his vision swims and his mouth fils with blood, Torden is awestruck that Stormbreaker continues to crackle with divine energy! Marthammor Duin be praised! Torden wills the spectral mace to attack Kayne as he swings Stormbreaker at the Nightlord's chest.

Sulprax knows he's out of smites himself, but sees that Torden's hammer is lined up for a mighty blow. As the Night Lord intercepts the cleric's hammer with a well-practiced parry, Sulprax knocks him off balance just enough to give Torden an opening.

Sulprax's timely assist provides exactly the opening Torden needs. He can feel the divine will of his god guiding him now. Perhaps everything that Torden has done in his few short centuries have been leading to this - ending the dark reign of an upstart terrorizing the good people of Whitesparrow. The dwarf swings hard, Stormbreaker aimed for the Nightlord's masked face....and hits nothing but air!

Ignoring the pain from getting hit by his friend's old weapon, Pageflap gets back up from ducking to avoid an Eldritch blast. He looks towards his flaming sphere and sees two more enemies still up and running.

Noting that the Night Lord is the more heavily damaged of the two, Pageflap puts the last of his magical might into shooting three magic missiles all at him.

The Night Lord, the man once known as Gardren, collapses from repeated magical strikes. He slumps to the ground, his heavy gold mask clanking loudly against the stone floor.

Kayne looks terrified that his captain is down, and he's surrounded. He drops Iman's glaive and makes a run for the castle entrance.

A strong wind blows through the castle, coming from the feast fall, dispelling the fog. From the feast hall, the bright green glow of the portals has intensified. They have merged into a single portal wide enough to drive a wagon through. Ghastly vines and repulsive tentacles are creeping through the viridian portal. Beyond are many silhouettes of Blightwalkers and worse approaching.

From the portal, an etheral female voice calls out as if from beyond the grave.

"My servants fulfilled their roles perfectly." the voice whispers. "My children, descendants of those who abandoned me long ago, you have my permission to grovel before your Goddess - Sorrow."

Torden's heart sinks. He and his companions have fought valiantly, given everything they had - some have even lost their lives! - all for naught?

"Is this how the world ends? Because I failed? Because I wasn't good enough?" Torden fights back tears of rage and despair. "O great Watcher over Wanderers, heed me, I pray! Strengthen your servant, one last time, that I may keep the darkness at bay for even just one more sunrise!"

With that, Torden charges forward, and immediately he knows his prayer has been heard. With each step, the dwarven cleric feels the power of Marthammor Duin growing within him. Lightning courses through his veins and haloes him with sparks that shoot forth to incinerate the writhing tentacles. A divine wind propels him with the strength of a gale as he leaps into the air and back down, slamming Stormbreaker into the ground, knocking the blight walkers off their feet. And this is just the beginning; Torden's lips curl into a smile as he surges forward once more with a thunderous war cry, a living holy tempest, to turn back the tide of battle.

Kit stands, shocked. Barely able to move. The thought of this battle going the way of the last overwhelms him. I'm not meant for this, he thinks. I just needed to get out of town. I'm an actor playing a part. This is not the role for me. His vision blurs as tears begin to fill his eyes. Not at the thought of death. He had already prepared himself for that. But at the thought of not being worthy. Of failing. Of being found out. Fraud.

Kit closes his eyes and begins to mutter, To die, to sleep—no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep—to sleep, perchance to dream. His knees grow weak and he feels himself about to simply sit down when Torden's shout and charge bring him around.

He opens his eyes with a shock. Seeing Torden, a man he barely knows, take the fight to the enemy Kit was trained to fight, the enemy he sold a piece of his soul for the power to overcome, fills him with shame and pride.

Kit grins. Aye, Torden, aye! he shouts. Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colors wave! And either victory or else a grave!

He will not let this man go it alone. He will not let these people die as he gives in to sorrow and despair. This Blight will not despoil this earth, this world. He feels his connection to the Fey growing. His connection to the soil. The earth. And he knows he is not alone in this fight. The very world will fight with him.

Kit raises his fist into the air and shouts, Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or close the wall up with our dead! Strike up the drum and march courageously!

As Kit's fist rises, the ground next to Sorrow trembles. The flagstones crack open, and a fist of dirt and stone rises up. Kit opens his hand and makes a snatching motion, and the dirt fist does the same, grasping the "goddess" and lifting her off her feet.

Now I will show myself to have more of the serpent than the dove! Kit closes his fist and squeezes as his earthen hand does the same, and Sorrow screams in pain.

As the portal opens and the enemies start pouring in, Ander's expression hardens. Just like when the hordes of orcs he helped to defeat so many years ago started their invasion, he has a clear duty. For the first time in years, he feels like he's fulfilling his purpose.

Holding his bow out, he once again calls Canthus to his side, "We have work to do, my oldest friend." he says as he pats the wolf on the head. As Torden rushes forward, Canthus is right beside him. As they crash into the ranks of the enemy, the coordination between Ander and Canthus is astonishing. As Canthus fights, every opening he creates is punctuated by an arrow, each time finding the smallest openings as Canthus twists and darts around.

Fingers raw and bleeding from firing so many arrows, Ander eventually runs out. Dropping his bow, he pulls his blades and rushes forward to engage his foes at the side of his faithful companion. He's not sure if victory can be achieved, but he knows that he and Canthus will make every inch that the enemy moves forward a painful experience...

A sense of panic fills Pageflap as monsters start advancing through the portal. With all the magic saturating the room his magic senses are beginning to feel overwhelmed. His instincts scream for him to start throwing all of his ice knives at the enemies, they are so close together, he is bound to fell many of them... He takes a step back, half in preparation, half in retreat in case things go wrong again. Maybe third group's a charm? Oh, but Kit's still alive, he likes that guy...

His mind torn in several directions, he begins to be overwhelmed by the lack of options that he can find. The Kenku curse feels as if it is screaming at him, berating him for feeling like he was clever at all as its influence is tight against him.

His foot bumps into something and he looks down to see Gardren's golden mask, fallen off his burnt and missile'd body. As satisfying as it would be to reminisce on finally felling the guy one minute ago, his magic vision notices something odd about it. Taking his pack off, Pageflap dumps everything in it onto the floor. He digs through the pile, looking at all the junk he's collected, before finally finding the earring of Lady Winter. Channeling his magic through it takes a while, so he sends his weasel to help out as much as he can through its use of the Shocking Grasp cantrip.

As the three warriors and weasel standing between Pageflap and the horde begin to tire out, the Kenku's spell completes and he finds out at last what the mask can do. With a bit of trepidation, he places it upon his face and the voice of Sorrow begins to whisper to him. A bit. It doesn't quite fit right, what with the beak and all. Makes it a bit easier to ignore the voices actually.

But more importantly, Sorrow should also be able to hear the voice of Pageflap! Though not having his own, the evil goddess would have to settle for the nice, familiar voice of the Night Lord that Pageflap stole. She never saw him die, he's pretty sure. All he had to do was find the right words to use though, but the Kenku curse was pulling itself more and more taunt around his very soul. Mind coming up black as he goes through his mental recordings of everything the Gardren said since he first heard him, Pageflap clutches the feathers on his head in frustration.

He gives out a frustrated squawk and looks around to see what else he can do to help. His eyes land on a piece of paper.
That note...

They were planning on doing something with it...

He was going to... rearrange the letters, forge a new note. Use the Night Lord's handwriting to lure Nightblades away. Before they came up with a safer plan. Move the letters around. Move the sounds. Use what he had, what he could use, but in different ways than intended. Like he had done before, now and then, when his curse got a crack in it.

Something snaps in Pageflap and his eyes wander around everywhere, seeing what he could use.

More abominations are about to exit, heading towards their closest target, Torden. Using what remains of the Flaming Sphere, Pageflap hurls it towards the portal and parks it at the entrance, hopefully weakening them enough for Torden to deal with them all at once. What remains of Pageflap's Arcane Ward is put to better use, as he uses it as a portable shield, throwing it at Ander as he is running out of arrows. Kit doesn't seem to be in too much trouble what with the floor deciding to help him by sprouting a fist to strike his enemies.

The Kenku reaches down for the spellbook he first saw days ago in a store run by a man called Gavun, remembering the tales he had listened to. He remembered a name from that story and decided to put it to use. Skimming his spells, he started seeing them in a new light. His soul feels loose and his mind feels limber as if a damn holding back his creativity has broken loose.

He begins to cast Feather Fall, but twists it around in a way that seems obvious now. He begins to Fly.

A great joy fills his heart and his soul sings in the air, the Kenku held aloft by his own power. Looking down he can see the battle as it goes on. Pushing away his joy for now, Pageflap flexes his creative muscles once more and begins to forge the Night Lord's voice, moving the sounds of his voice as he sees fit, and inventing a new sentence for the now dead Gardren to speak. "Mother Sorrow, I hear something..."

As he twisted Feather Fall, Pageflap begins twisting another of his favored spells. Beginning to cast Prestidigitation, he instead casts a Minor Illusion to fill the hall with a new sound. The sound of beating, leathery wings.

Perching himself on the chandelier, Pageflap rubs his talons together. He recasts Prestidigitation, and twists it into another new, different spell. He recalls pictures he's seen in his travels, and stories told by elder Kenku in his younger days at the Wizard's Tower. Molding his spell, he conjures a Major Image on the chandelier. To the surprise of those below who were not paying close enough attention, the area above the fight now seems to be occupied by a very large, white dragon. Using some clever twists in magic, anyone who can see one's Magical Aura also sees a dragon.

Pageflap has it roar.

"Icasaracht the Frostbane! She has come down from the north! Flee! We must flee! Her breath will hill us all!" screams 'Gardren.'

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Pageflap takes a second to focus as he conjures up a Sleet Storm, careful of its placement. In conjunction, Pageflap conjures up one more Ice Knife. Aiming it at the Flaming Sphere which is on its last legs, he lets it fry from his hands to hit the orb of fire. Red turns to blue and heat turns to cold as what Pageflap decided to dub the 'Ice Knife Sphere' begins shooting a piercing cold in all directions, albeit without the actual piercing, damaging all around it.

Sitting on the chandelier, preparing his Shield spell just in case, Pageflap feels pride in what he is doing. Flying. Speaking. Being clever. He remembers the Kenku race and its reputation, and hopes Kit one day spreads the tale of how he tried to con a goddess and weasel his way out of his curse at once.

"She's coming after us! Close the portal! Close the portal!" He added a bit of Skeetz to that one.

The Blight monsters reeled as Torden, Ander, and Canthus unleashed their assault. Lightning flashed alongside sharp-tooth jaws - nature itself rallying against the unnatural abominations. The scene was adorned with Kit Marlowe's original poetry, who boldly tangled with Goddess herself.

While his allies engage the enemy forces, it will go down in history as Pageflap's genius ruse that won that day. With the Night Lord's mask and his new-found command over magic and thought, he transcended his limitations. Indeed, Sorrow did close the portal and abandoned her foothold on the moon of Arkasia.

From that day on, the Heroes of Whitesparrow always stay close to the region. Some merely kept one eye on the area while their adventures took them far and wide, but others took up residence in Whitesparrow Keep - gifted to them by the grateful townspeople - and worked hard to bring peace and prosperity to the region.

If you could visit Whitesparrow today, you'd barely recognize it. Now a bustling center of trade and industry, these events are the stuff of legends. You can still visit the old Summerspring Inn (still leaking), right next to that giant, cyclopean hand. Just outside is a stone-paved plaza that people call ' Heroes' Square' and it is ringed by weathered stone statues of those brave adventurers who saved the Whitesparrow those many years ago, and perhaps the world.

THE END