The group has a few more minor dithery bits to iron out and at one point they teleport back to the Tormite Mound to gather up Kormier, First of Torm. He is eager to participate in the assault that will end the longest-running existential threat to his new homeland. Plans are laid, examined, discussed, dithered and scrapped. New plans are formulated and variants are examined. In the end, it will cost Malchor a few years of life, but he will get to play with his new toys, so that will be fun.
The group windwalks at high speeds through the cyclops-filled corridors, causing much consternation in their wake. Any pursuit is abandoned once it becomes clear in which direction the suicidal gas clouds are traveling. They are speed-running towards the largest existential threat to their existence and the cyclopean view is ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’.
After resolidifying, the group takes in the archway that lies before them, shrouded in an impenetrable darkness. They take one more look at each other, suck a deep breath and step through the curtain of darkness…
…straight into a scene of such torture and depravity, such horror-inducing sights, smells and sounds, that even this heroic company must pause. Some cleverly worded wish-lawyering leaves the group unaffected by Malchor’s spell of time stop. With all time frozen, they realize that their transit across this cavernous room will eat up any advantage they might possess, so a second instance of the wish spell gets them within striking distance of their foe, who is now frozen in time like an insect in a bit of amber. The group unloads with melee and spells, but in the end one of Ivan’s wild swings cuts through the top of the villain’s head once time resumes and his putrid, pustule-ridden brains spill all over the floor. They pause only for a second before teleporting back to Immersea.
A day later, Malchor and company survey the vast, swampy morass in which the towering fortress resides. They gaze upon the twisted walls of the hellish prison and recall the terrible legacy that lies scrawled upon every fear-soaked manacle, depraved torture chamber and mass grave. With that, Malchor trades yet another year of life to cast a spell of utter destruction, one that blasts all living (and unliving) things in the area with raw power, wiping them out, shattering the walls of the fortress and causing the edifice to tumble into a ruined heap. As parts of it sink into the surrounding marshes, this marks the end of Coburn’s legacy of villainy. With any luck, they’ve also crushed the black hag of dreamnapping and Lady Punchthroat.
What is left? To ride the airship, tend the grapes and enjoy the Moonsea Manorhouse!
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