End of Gunlinger report day 7
Putting away his journey book Brenton gathered his gunna and returned to the task at hand—getting the hell out of Undermountain. Over the days color seems to have drained from his normally smug features; from wandering the endless halls he thinks.
“Sounds of gunfire ahead Sai,” Uthrac said from point…
He and Uthrac are what remains of Piergeiron’s special team; losing Balin to one of Halaster's undead toys along the way. It had taken them nearly three days to find the dragon-kin’s back trail, and what they found startled them, because of what this portended.
“Scatter-shot by the sound of the rapport, and close,” Uthrac added. He wore an anxious look these days, as he did now. He was as eager to be freed from the dungeon as Brenton was…
Brenton estimated there was two-dozen robed individuals in a four arcs around what looked like an illusion of a dragon’s head. The slowly rotating illusion was pale, ghostly and appeared to be conversing with its audience who wore masks of white- each with a different terrible expression.
“Ok let us move out.” Brenton said, “Remember the face of your father and use be careful.” I do not wish to be left alone was the rest of his thought, but refrained…
seven dragon horns. Then fear gripped Uthrac, panic welling in his warrior’s eyes, and suddenly a dragon appeared out of the rocks—and expelled a thick noxious cloud of nerve-gas.
“Ahead and to the right, about fifty feet.” Uthrac paused and allowed Brenton the rest of the way to the source of the din…
The cloud of dragon-breath overwhelmed Vhaas almost immediately causing him to go mad with terror. Dropping his guns, Vhaas ran head-long into the advancing dragon cultists, sacrifing himself so that he and Uthrac could escape (that’s what Breton tells himself). Unfortunately the tactic was only a delay as the dragon cultists have been steadily tracking them for over four days.
Snapping Brenton from his ponderings was a battle, thoroughly engaged, between a cluster of dwarves each armed with scatter-shot rifles. He branded them Flamebeards because with each blast from their rifle came a vigorous patting of ones smoldering beard. What was most curious of all was the symbol emblazioned on their weapons and shields: a hybrid symbol of Gond’s cog over Moradin’s anvil, like a sun over an iron mountain.
Beyond the dwarves, their opponents, and the origin of the magical firestorm against the dwarves—Thayans who are pressed into a small cavern pinned down and unable to escape. Brenton surveyed the Thayans and discovered he knew at least one of them: Tyrus Pagatha. Brenton’s pulse quickened, something deep in his Ka told him Tyrus knew a way out of the Undermountain.
“Brenton, behind us!” Uthrac warned, as a group of dragon cultists rounded the corner fifty feet back. They had finally caught up with he and Uthrac. The cultists quickly began throwing searing lances of magical death down the hall towards him.
A plan began to form in Brenton’s mind- one that will have the dwarves fighting the dragon cultists, while he and the rest make their escape in the confusion.