Later that morning, they spied a large, silvery form gliding through the cool mountain air of the Greypeak Mountains; no matter how fast they were, it seemed to always keep a great distance from them, as if it was intentionally spying upon them. The heroes made their way through a fog-enshrouded valley and eventually discovered a middle-aged elf, dressed in richly afforded merchant’s clothes; strangely, he sat upon the roiling fog as if it were solid, and lazily strummed a harp. They spoke at short length with him about the nature of the mountains and the evil therein, and although the cleric and psion suspected otherwise, he denied being a dragon. He explained that Zhedarak was in grave danger, and their past considered, they were perhaps the best to aid this troubled mining town.
With their guide Kaeyterodel finding them a wide and fairly smooth expanse of rock, they set their tents – both real and decoy – under the starless night, the orange of the fire lighting up the barren valley. The heroes had slept during the remainder of the day and, going upon the cleric’s divinations, stayed up all the night, hoping to spring an ambush upon the fell beast. Later that night, when the hexblade and psychic warrior were on watch, the leering beast leapt silently from the dark and chill shadows. The cleric leapt into action and cast a barrier of purity and goodness to contain the beast. The hexblade managed to direct his shadow companion near the creature, leeching its luck away, while his own curse caused it’s reactions and defences to dull under a sparkling purple haze. The psion lashed out with his razor-sharp mind and severely harmed the creature – now powerless to prevent such vicious psychic strikes due to the hexblade. The warlock summoned eldritch fire along his arms and fired a devastating bolt directly through the beast, immolating it wholly as it burst into searing orange flames, screaming in the night.
That next morning, the heroes hurried back to Zhedarak, with the head of the wendio in tow – as proof of the vile beast’s death. Yet, as they moved, they entered a swirling blizzard, that, upon clearing left them nearly minutes from the dwarven town! Within the swirling storm, they see a horned head within the cloud, and the psychic warrior channelled his powers to grow to the size of an ogre and empower his blade, but as the snow cleared, they realized it was merely one of the mountain yaks that the dwarves of Zhedarak rely upon – they appeared within a herdsman’s pasture, and there were scared dwarven herdsmen looking up upon the strange giant that just stepped out of a magical blizzard. The cleric and psion agreed that an unknown ally – perhaps the silver dragon they’d believed they’d encountered earlier – had lent them a hand, while the psychic warrior made amends with the terrified farmers. Back within town, they told Cannith of their victory against his former hunt. He was pleased, but morose, and explained that he and his families were leaving Zhedarak for good due to the tragedy – with that, he gifted upon the heroes a manor house within the city, and left.
The cleric spent the next day consulting his spells and prayers, casting a series of divinations to discover what had befell Doomseer Tharanak Stonefist, amongst other questions for the heroes. The psion managed to speak with fellow dwarven psion, who was able to use his mastery of the mind to psychically rewire his knowledge, unlocking new potential by reforging a few of his older powers into newer ones. With that, they left for the Moathouse, with the Torch of Revealing in hand.
Upon arrival at this accursed place, the warlock activated the torch and after some great searching, managed to find a strange area of floor that was made with glass-like bricks, hard as iron – someone had buried treasure within the very foundation of the crumbling ruin itself. Within it, was a small chest and several decayed skeletons. Searching the torture room, the oily black haze of the unholy torch revealed a secret passage down into a level below; the psion climbed down, and was ambushed by several ghouls and walking dead below! His psionic senses warning him at the last possible moment, he assaulted his undead foes with cryokinetic ice, levelling most of them and freezing them fast to the floor. The cleric flew down the chamber and tried to call his faith against them, but was too slow. The psychic warrior, eager to get into melee, leapt down the chimney-passage, and fell heavily upon the gnome psion, but managed to slash down the remaining ghastly creature.
They arrived in the barracks. Although this new place was unfortunately familiar to them, they decided to search it again, with the black aid of their torch. They re-examined the ghoulish warrens that were carven through the wall of a catacomb, and followed them through with lines of rope to secure their safe exit. After an hour of claustrophobic searching, they discovered a hidden temple to elemental evil, within a massive polyhydral room, carved from the rock itself. At the center, there was an altar, and a strangely placed pillar. The Torch of Revealing shone through the four-sided relief statue in the middle of the room, and revealed a swirling, formless horror trapped within a previously invisible blackish crystal prism. The cleric and warlock correctly identified this as a sacrificial room, with this foul creature perhaps serving as direct mouth-piece to The Elder Elemental Eye. The gnome tried to parley with it in the black language of demons, but this only seemed to rouse the beast greatly, and black mist seeped from the gnome’s mouth as he spoke, greatly fatiguing and draining him, as the alter absorbed this lost energy.
Not wishing this evil creature to remain within the Realms, The cleric knew his chances were slim, but he spoke a prayer of dismissal, and truly considered himself blessed when there was a hideous screeching as the creature was banished back to whatever foul hell it crept from, as the crystal broke and shattered – the sacrificial room still thick with evil, but somehow less so.