After days of chaos, separation, and close calls, the AV Club finally reunited at the Fleabag Inn. As Wisp recounted being shadowed by Grey Guards, the group, uneasy but determined, resolved to follow their last lead: Stone Forge. After some digging, they learned it was located in the port district and set off in search of answers.
Their search led them to an unassuming bakery—a family-run operation staffed by three friendly dwarves. Tyr quickly charmed them earning their trust. While Tyr enjoyed the bakery’s warm hospitality, Sayah quietly slipped away and discovered a hidden, cultist lair beneath the bakery. Merla used Message to reach out to Sayah and discovered the layer. Descending, they discovered a darkness.
Confronting the lone cultist below, the AV Club demanded access to a heavily warded door. The cultist, unwilling to fight, handed over the key with little resistance. Beyond the door, they encountered a vicious flame skull, fiercely guarding a seemingly empty chamber save for an intricately inscribed circle etched into the floor.
The battle was brutal. The flame skull unleashed its fury, dropping several members of the AV Club before they managed to destroy it. Exhausted and wounded, the group barely had a moment to recover before disaster struck. As Tyr, intrigued by the runic circle, stepped onto its surface, a flash of purple light engulfed him, and he vanished.
With no time to waste, the party debated their next move. Choosing to risk the unknown, they stepped into the circle themselves. Moments later, they found themselves atop a craggy mountain, surrounded by the ruins of an ancient monastery. Despite the desolation, the statue of the god Talos stood tall and unblemished, with offerings scattered at its base.
Among the offerings, Romark uncovered a small wooden box. Inside was a deck of ornately inscribed vellum cards, radiating immense magical power. As they regrouped and surveyed their surroundings, they spotted a foreboding fortress in the distance. The banners of Talos, god of storms and destruction, hung proudly from its battlements—a chilling sign of what was yet to come.