Episode 15 – From Forest to Desert

A Call to Another Land

The towering emerald canopies of Y’hserin swayed gently as the Roving Adventurers gathered in the great city’s central courtyard, where silver fountains shimmered under the morning sun. High Eldress Vaelithil, draped in flowing robes of woven moonlight silk, stood before them, her ageless face marked with concern.

“You are to journey westward to Illidian,” she intoned, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “A forgotten temple has been unearthed, its foundations older than the sands that buried it. There are whispers of an ancient power stirring within. But that is not all—strange tempests have risen along the coasts, and with them, creatures that should not exist in these waters.”

Faylen’s fingers tightened around the longbow strapped across her back. “What kind of creatures?” she asked, curiosity and apprehension interwoven.

Vaelithil’s piercing gaze settled upon her. “Serpentine horrors with scales of twilight. Beasts of the abyss, speaking in tongues no mortal should understand.”

Marcho exhaled sharply, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “Well, that sounds promising.”

With the charge given and supplies gathered, the adventurers set forth toward Faethmare, anticipation and unease dancing in equal measure within their ranks.

Voyage Across the Seas

The Sun’s Embrace, a sleek galleon built for speed and endurance, carried them westward into the vast sapphire expanse. The first days passed in relative peace—Makhulim engaged the sailors in hearty drinking bouts, Nayzungit offered blessings to calm the waves, Faylen pored over ancient tomes, and Marcho found himself preoccupied with card games and the pockets of the unwary.

But on the fourth night, the sea turned against them.

A storm unlike any the seasoned sailors had seen erupted from the depths. The sky darkened to ink, the wind screamed like a banshee, and the ocean churned as if possessed. Then, through the chaos, they saw them—shapes in the water, watching with luminous eyes.

Tentacled limbs lashed the ship’s hull. A monstrous silhouette broke the surface, its body twisting unnaturally. The crew fought valiantly, hacking at the creatures as the ship teetered between survival and ruin. Arrows flew from Faylen’s bow, while Marcho clung to the rigging, slashing at clawed hands reaching for him. Makhulim, axes in hand, roared in defiance as he severed a writhing appendage attempting to drag a deckhand into the abyss.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm ceased. The creatures vanished beneath the waves, leaving only silence and the wreckage of their onslaught. Blood stained the deck, but The Sun’s Embrace endured. They had survived, but the message was clear—something unnatural was awakening in the depths.

Arrival in Bantanath

Bantanath rose from the coastline like a mirage of gold and stone. Ivory minarets pierced the sky, great domes gleamed in the desert sun, and the scent of cardamom and roasted meats filled the air. Merchants shouted in a dozen tongues, their wares a blend of silk, spices, and artifacts dredged from the shifting sands.

The adventurers barely had time to admire the grandeur before they were approached by a broad-shouldered man with deep olive skin and dark, curling hair streaked with gray. Gratine Hydrea, their contact, greeted them with an embrace as warm as the desert air.

“You arrive at a troubled time, my friends,” he said, leading them through the bustling streets. “The ruins of the Dunes of Fate have been uncovered—but not without consequence. My dearest friend, Julikno, ventured there with an expedition. None have returned.”

His voice grew somber as they reached the courtyard of his estate. “There are others who seek the temple’s secrets. Some for knowledge, some for greed. And some,” he hesitated, “for reasons more sinister.”

The Mystery of the Dunes of Fate

Seated around a low table adorned with brass lanterns and sweet dates, the adventurers listened as Gratine recounted the legend of the Dunes of Fate.

“It is said that the temple predates even the first kings of Illidian. It was swallowed by the sands when the gods turned their gaze away. Those who disturb it invite their wrath.”

Marcho smirked. “Gods do love their curses.”

Gratine’s expression remained grave. “This is not just legend. The sands have been… different. Travelers report shadows moving in the dunes, whispers carried on the wind. And now, with the recent storms at sea, I fear the two may be connected.”

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling of a brazier.

“We leave at dawn,” Makhulim declared, his voice steady. The others nodded, their resolve firm.

Preparation and Planning

The party spent the evening navigating the labyrinthine markets of Bantanath, acquiring desert garb, replenishing rations, and bartering for maps from a wizened cartographer missing three fingers.

As they feasted on roasted lamb and honeyed pastries, they debated their approach.

“We establish a base camp first,” Makhulim insisted.

Marcho scoffed. “That’s slow. We follow the first sign of treasure.”

Before the discussion could become heated, a voice from the shadows interjected. “Perhaps you should first consider who else is watching you.”

The speaker vanished before they could react, leaving only a folded parchment on the table. The message was clear: they were not the only ones after the temple’s secrets.

The Night Attack

The silence of midnight was shattered by steel.

Shadows poured into their chambers, daggers glinting in the dim candlelight. Makhulim barely had time to rise before a blade found his side, blood darkening his tunic. Nayzungit bellowed a prayer to Angradd, his greataxe Clementine cutting through the nearest assassin.

Marcho and Faylen fought with precision, their training turning the confined space into a battleground. The assassins were skilled, but they had not expected such fierce resistance. By the time the last of them fell, the room was a ruin of splintered furniture and bloodstained rugs.

Makhulim, clutching his wound, gave Nayzungit a begrudging nod. “You’re not so bad with those prayers after all.”

Dawn of a Perilous Journey

The sun rose over Bantanath, painting the city in hues of amber and crimson. The Roving Adventurers, now battle-worn and wary, mounted their camels at the city gates.

Gratine watched them with a solemn expression. “May the sands be kind to you.”

With that, they set forth, the desert stretching endlessly before them. The secrets of the ruins awaited, and with them, the answers to a mystery far older—and far deadlier—than any of them had anticipated.