The Battle for Tarithnesti

07 Deepkolt 349 AC

EN ROUTE TO TARITHNESTI

“Damnit! We’ve been tricked! A damn illusion!” Kysek shouts. “They know we’re coming! This was meant as a distraction and to give away our position! No matter! We’ve got this!” the elf adds. He brings Dusk back to the tree tops and turns an 45-degree angled path to the right of what his original trajectory was. He sticks to the trees and shadows of the forest intent on changing his arrival approach after being  duped into giving away his position. The two now fly for the city. No stopping; only watching for something that can actually attack.

The forest rushes past in a blur of frost-covered trees. Needles and leaves are dragged along in Dusk's wake as the mighty griffon races along. Branches whip by, dangerously close as she weaves between bough and limb at a reckless pace.

Kysek’s eyes dart to and fro, searching for enemies ahead. Bubo clings to his shoulder, the owl watches the sky and their back trail. For several tense minutes, there is only adrenaline and the sound of rushing wind.

Bubo sees it first - movement above the clouds. Two shapes, huge and descending fast. Kysek senses the owl's alarm. He turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Green dragons drop out of the clouds. Riders cling to their backs, one armored and one one robed, leaning low over the emerald-scaled necks as the dragons dive toward Kysek and Dusk.

They had been waiting above the weather. The illusion below had never been meant to stop him, just to slow him long enough for the hunters to arrive.

One dragon opens its jaws mid-dive, sickly green vapor already leaking between rows of curved teeth. The other banks wide, clearly attempting to cut off escape toward the city.

Kysek tells Bubo to fly. He banks Dusk up and away from the cutoff dragon. He urges Dusk up faster than he’s ever pushed her before. Once above his attackers; he pulls his wand of lightning from his cloak aims it at the rider preventing his return to the city and unleashes it. He also urges Dusk to grab the rider from atop the breath weapon dragon. The knight of the Barrie Grange thinks as he acts; eliminate the riders, and possibly have a chance.

ALSO EN ROUTE TO TARITHNESTI (from the second farmhouse)

Romulus, riding at the center atop Macula, is the first to feel the wrongness settle into his instincts rather than his senses.
The scouts on point slow. Not because they’ve seen something—but because they haven’t seen anything at all... No deer... No birds...No squirrels or chipmunks moving in the brush.

A crack like thunder splits the forest as white-scaled shapes descend from above the canopy line, dropping through branches and sunlight in brutal, controlled dives. White dragons.

Atop them—mounted riders in pale armor, their silhouettes almost blending with the dragons’ hides and the morning mist. Lances angled downward, formation tight, disciplined in a way that speaks of drilled repetition rather than chaos.

ON THE EASTERN RIDGES

"Njigba! Sound the horns! The city must be warned!” Ornforithalas shouts.

A low, deep call rolls out through the forest canopy. Not a single note, but a sequence—coded, practiced, meant to carry as far as wind and terrain will allow.

Miles away, another scout hears the blast of the horn and raises his own to his lips, repeating the code.

Closer to town, a third scout hears and repeats the sequence.

The warning begins spreading toward the city like a living thing.

AT THE CRYSTAL QUARRY

Grotto looks to the tower and sees the smoke. "They need our aid! I will head to the tower. You keep up the good work, Mr. Greenbeans!" he tells his wee ally.

"LEAF! GREENLEAF!” Cassidy shouts after the rapidly departing dwarf, waving frantically.

But Grotto is already gone. The dwarf barrels down the quarry trail with relentless determination, boots hammering stone as he descends toward the river below. Loose gravel scatters behind him. Low branches slap against his shoulders and beard, but he barely notices.

Every instinct forged through years of hardship tells him that every second matters. His lungs burn by the time he reaches the riverbank.

The dock juts out over dark, swiftly moving water, and there he finds the crossing system: two heavy ropes stretched taut across the river, each connected to a flat wooden ferry platform. The mechanism is simple but sturdy. Pull the rope from one side, and the ferry drags itself across the current. One ferry currently rests on Grotto’s side of the river.

Back in the crystal-lined tunnels, the air buzzes with frightened motion as Ra’ziir’s scouts begin organizing the evacuation. Children are gathered first, wrapped in blankets and hurried toward the deeper chambers while anxious parents scramble to collect whatever possessions they can carry. Bedrolls, food sacks, tools, and bundles of clothing are hastily assembled under the pale gleam of crystal light reflecting through the cavern walls.

“Take only what you need!” Cor orders firmly. “Move quickly!”

Nearby, Therionel leans heavily upon his walking stick, breathing harder than he wishes anyone to notice. The old elf studies the long tunnel leading toward the surface with visible uncertainty. The thought of a prolonged retreat through forest trails clearly weighs upon him.

Then Cassidy returns from yelling after Grotto, “No.”

The single word cuts through the panic.
The kender steps toward the center of the chamber, eyes moving across scouts, miners, and families alike. “I have spent days in these tunnels. They are defensible.”
His voice steadies the room almost immediately. “Move the children deeper inside. Set archers at the mouth to keep watch. The barricades are already prepared—we collapse them as we fall back if we can’t keep the Dragonarmy at bay.”

Several scouts exchange glances. Suddenly the chaos feels less like a plan.

Cassidy points deeper into the quarry network. “If we cannot hold, we evacuate through the secondary tunnels. But abandoning these caverns now means dying in the open.”

Cor’s expression tightens as he considers the strategy. The tunnels narrow enemy numbers. Chokepoints favor defenders. Prepared collapses could delay an army far longer than fleeing civilians ever could.

Cor and one of Ra'ziir's scouts, Vaelin, make their way to the mouth of the mineshaft. They look out over the quarry pit, looking at the narrow, steep and winding path up from its depths, they notice several places where they could set up deadfalls to slow the approach of soldiers  - spots that would leave invaders exposed to Elven arrows.

Then, Vaelin freezes.

Cor looks at his companion, following his gaze toward the east. That's when he sees them as well.

Dragons.

One green and one white, both flying directly towards them. Both bearing riders. Both when scaly figures clinging to all four of their legs.

Just then, the sound of warning horns reaches their ears.

AT THE FIRST FARMSTEAD (en route to Tarithnesti)

Upon returning to Raven and the other scouts, Ra’ziir begins scanning the area for Redclaw.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything…” he says to Raven before briefing him on the situation with Cedron, the Tower, and what is happening at the quarry.

“I can enchant the rest of us with a spell of flight that will hasten our arrival  to the quarry…”

Without waiting for a response, Ra’ziir signals his scouts to assemble, fallen comrades and all, “We’re flying the rest of the way…” and begins casting.

One by one, the scouts feel the strange sensation of weight loosening from their limbs as invisible magic takes hold.

The entire company lifts silently into the air and surges forward above the forest canopy, racing toward the quarry beneath a sky darkening toward evening.

Wind tears through cloaks and hair as the trees blur below them. Barely a minute passes before Ra’ziir stiffens mid-flight.

A voice enters his mind - Not Raven’s thoughts through their shared mindlink. Someone else.

"You showed me a kindness long denied me by my own people, so I offer you this mercy—abandon Tarithnesti or suffer its fate.”

Ra’ziir glances about, activating his Arcane Sight first and then his permanent See Invisibility, to scan for enemies but no one is there. Ra’ziir ignores the voice at first, but then responds with a laugh, “We’re coming for you…”

Raven keeps pace at the rear of the group, slightly off to the side and higher than the others. Below, the forest spreads out in a sea of green. The wind tugs at his gear, its effects abated, but not quite canceled by the magic of his coat.

He looks down. Ra’ziir leads the scouts, the point of a deadly spear racing toward Tarithnesti. The scouts maintain a tight formation, disciplined despite their unusual method of travel. Raven’s hand drifts to Nightwatcher's hilt and he concentrates on its power to detect things unseen.

THE PROTECTOR'S TOWER

Parnitha’s expression remains steady as she places the chain into Cedron’s hands, but there is a weight in the gesture that goes beyond metal and crystal. The green gem catches the light, pulsing faintly as though it recognizes its purpose.

“Take it,” she says, her voice low but firm. “Head upstairs. There is a ring of silver surrounding the beacon with a slot in it. Put the crystal in. Speak the words: ‘By House Protector’s oath—Light the forest,’ while turning the crystal like a key.”

Cedron feels the gravity of it immediately. Not just the object—but what it represents. He closes his fingers carefully around the chain, as if afraid that hesitation alone might fail the city.

As he climbs, he repeats the phrase under his breath. “By House Protector’s oath—Light the forest…”

As he reaches the upper level, cold wind blows through the large, arched windows. As he steps onto the landing, the air "feels" heavier, charged with mystic potential. He quickly finds the opening in the silver ring and inserts the gem.

He twists the gem and speaks the words.

A whirrrrrrring sound begins to build somewhere deep inside of the Crystal, gradually increasing in pitch. Energy crackles around the gem and begins to travel up the crystal.

Cedron watches the power start to build. For the briefest of seconds, he catches a glimpse of movement in the crystal's reflective surface.

A shape clings to the shadows of the support columns, mottled gray and blending almost perfectly against the stone.

Acidic drool drips from its opened maw, each drop sizzling as it strikes the polished granite of the floor. A reverse-curved dagger, gleaming softly in the glow of the rising sun, clenched in one clawed hand.

Cedron, being on guard since Parnitha’s ambush, casts Displacement on himself then draws his sword and turns to face the shape in the reflection.

With a word, Cedron's outline blurs and splits. The air bends around him, making his true position unclear. The kapak leaps forward, expecting easy prey but stops short when Cedron turns, sword at the ready. The draconian's eyes dart from the priest to the crystal and the energy slowly illuminating the beacon.

Cedron raises his sword, faking an attack and triggers his ring of telekinesis. An invisible beam of force lances out, catching the draconian in the chest and knocking him back against one of the pillars. The stone cracks on impact, knocking the breath out of the priest's would-be assailant.

Shadow steps through the wrecked command chamber with a practiced stillness that doesn’t match the chaos around him. Broken furniture, scorched stonework, and hastily treated injuries tell the story of an attack that came fast and hard—but didn’t finish what it started.

He extends a hand. “Commander.”

Parnitha accepts it, rising with controlled effort. “Are you injured?”

“I have been worse,” she answers simply, and the tone ends the discussion before it can begin.

He "thinks" towards Spewer, “Go outside and keep watching the sky on all sides for the dragons.”

The spitting crawler obeys instantly and climbs out onto a ledge and begins scanning the sky.

“What happened here? Who attacked the tower and what happens when Cedron lights up the tower? Does it do anything or just warn others to our plight?” Shadow looks back and forth from the room that is in shambles and nervously out the balcony into the section of sky that he can see and watches for the enemy.

"An aurak - it took the shape of Lieutenant Fenar. I don't know for how long. He tried to take the crystal. We fought." Parnitha walks toward the door, using her hammer as a cane, "The beacon is a signal. It does not summon aid directly—but it tells every ally, every warded post, every listening order: Tarithnesti requests aid. If anyone can answer, they will know where to come.”

The drow shakes his head, "Shapeshifters. I hate Shapeshifters.”