Magni reappears from his vessel, noticeably shaking and panting from his encounter. He frantically looks around to all his allies who had busied themselves looting and eating dragon, a rather odd sight for the little kobold. He opens his mouth to speak up about what just happened, but hesitates. As everyone begins to file out of the rotunda, he instead just gathers up his things and follows close behind silently. Perhaps the big lady dragon can calm his fears.
OP
A sea breeze carries the mingled scents of salt and earth, but it does little to lift the heavy quiet that has settled over the group. Zesty leads the way, his crimson tail twitching absently, his Lockbuster pistol glinting in the sunlight as he fiddles with it in its holster. Behind him, Aims'orreh walks with steady resolve, though his face shows quiet contemplation, his greataxe resting on his shoulder. Short Order follows next, still deep in thought as he ponders his recent vision. Moonsprout, humming a mournful melody, and Nac, silent as stone, walk behind him. Kutshort and Magni bring up the rear, their expressions caught between uncertainty and resignation.
The lower plaza of Dragon's Rest opens before them, a serene sight after the chaos of their journey. At its center stands a gleaming statue of a proud bronze dragon—Runara's father—its vigilant gaze seeming to track the party's movements. Along the cliff wall, the monastic cells stand as they always have, their carved doors promising rest and familiarity. Yet the rooms' modest comfort feels distant now, weighed down by the memory of those who will not return. A few kobolds dart across the plaza, their cheerful greetings offering a brief, flickering warmth as they thank the group with unpracticed enthusiasm.
Passing by Myla's workshop, Zesty's steps falter. His golden eyes flick toward the open door, its interior cleared of fire damage but devoid of its kobold tinkerer. The faint scent of ash lingers, and the space feels empty, its occupant's absence striking a hollow chord. Zesty hesitates, as if to call out, but instead exhales softly and moves on, his expression briefly clouded.
At the next bend, they pass the temple kitchen, its open door spilling light and the savory aroma of roasting vegetables into the cool air. Inside, Tarak works with quiet precision, slicing herbs with gnarled hands in an even rhythm. Across the room, Varnoth sits with her prosthetic leg propped on a low stool, her weathered face set in a scowl as she wrestles with the device's stubborn mechanism. She mutters something under her breath and tightens a hinge with a sharp turn of her screwdriver.
Zesty pauses at the door, his red form outlined by the sunlight. Clearing his throat, he peers inside. "Myla?" he asks, his tone unusually subdued.
Tarak glances up, his eyes softening. Setting down his knife, he wipes his hands on a cloth. "She went up the cliffside," he says, his voice calm but heavy. "To the gravesite. Mek and Minn…" His words falter, but the unspoken weight lingers. Varnoth, still hunched over her work, nods gruffly without looking up. "She's been up there for a while," she says, her tone clipped but not unkind. "If you're going to find her, that's where she'll be."
Zesty absorbs the news with a quiet nod. "Thanks," he murmurs. His gaze lingers on the hearth's steady fire before he turns away, rejoining the group with a distracted air. He had revisited all the sites he deemed worthy of reverence, but had not yet been to the gravesite overlooking the ocean.
The stone steps wind upward, steep but familiar, the sun sinking lower on the horizon as the adventurers climb. At one switchback, Moonsprout halts, his small frame silhouetted against the vast expanse of the ocean below. He stares out at the endless waves, his melancholy tune trailing off as he takes in the view. His wistful silence speaks for them all.
At last, they reach the temple plateau, where the temple of Bahamut stands timeless against the fading light. The polished stone pillars gleam faintly, their intricate carvings catching the last rays of the sun. At the temple's entrance, Runara waits, as still and composed as the sanctuary itself. Her bronze eyes sweep over the group, and though she says nothing at first, the faint tremor of power in the air tells them she already knows. The wyrmling's life is gone, its essence absorbed into the island's ancient magic.
"Welcome back," she says, her voice as soft and steady as the tide. "You have done what must be done. Sparkrender's fury will trouble this island no longer, though I know the weight of that act lingers with you. I regret that he couldn't be reasoned out of his fate, but I do not begrudge you your actions."
From within her robes, she produces a pouch of gold. The coins gleam as she offers it to the party, and Nac steps forward to accept it with quiet gratitude, the weight of the reward no match for the burden of their deeds. By the heft of the bag, Nac estimates it holds around four hundred gold.
Runara then reveals a pristine pearl and turns her focus to Magni Kragtail. The kobold's eyes widen as her gaze falls on him. "Magni," she says, her tone deepening. "You carry within you a spark of the dragons' power. Though small in stature, your heart and your magic mark you as kin to dragonkind. This is for you."
She holds out the pearl, its surface glowing faintly in the dimming light. "From one dragon to another," she says with quiet warmth. "This pearl will sharpen your magic, helping you strike true when your aim falters. Let it remind you of your potential and of the legacy we share."
Magni hesitates, his clawed hands trembling as he accepts the pearl. It pulses faintly at his touch, as if recognizing him. He stares at it, voice cracking as he whispers, "Thank you. I don't know what else to say."
"You need not say anything," Runara replies. "Only remember this place, and remember what dragons—no matter their size—can achieve." The group watches in silence, the moment heavy with quiet understanding.
As her keen, bronze-colored eyes sweep across the group, her gaze catches on Kutshort, who stands at the edge of the gathering. Draped over his shoulder, folded unevenly, is the tattered wing membrane of Sparkrender, its deep-blue surface still glistening faintly with residual energy.
Runara steps forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if not to startle the rogue. "Kutshort," she says, her voice calm yet commanding. Her gaze flicks to the wing draped across him, and she gestures gently. "You carry something of Sparkrender's—a remnant of his might. That membrane still hums with the dragon's power."
Kutshort hesitates, gripping the leathery wing as though unsure whether to hold on tighter or let it go. "Didn't think it was worth much more than a trophy," he mutters, his tone dismissive but his eyes betraying curiosity.
Runara shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. "It is more than a trophy. The magic imbued in it could be shaped into something new, something useful. Wasted as it is, but preserved… it could serve you well." She steps closer, extending her hand toward the material. "With my guidance, I could help you fashion this into a cloak—one that allows you to borrow from the wyrmling's connection to the earth. A boon to aid your journey ahead."
Kutshort's sharp eyes narrow. After a pause, he nods, offering it forward. Runara takes the membrane with practiced care, her touch reverent yet firm. "A gift from one who fell to his own ambition," she murmurs, her gaze distant. "Let it become something greater, in your hands."
Under Runara's concentration, the fabric shimmers with magical energy and cascades like a waterfall of sand from her grip. She hands it back to Kutshort carefully, wearing a faint smile.
"And now, I offer you two a choice." She addresses Magni and Kutshort together. "The portals that brought you here can be reopened, if you wish to return to the worlds you came from."
Runara straightens, addressing the group once more. "To all of you, Dragon's Rest will always be your sanctuary, should you choose to stay. But if the road calls to you, I will provide whatever you need. Whatever your path, know that you leave this island as more than what you were."
As the party takes in her words, the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the temple in the soft glow of twilight. Together, the adventurers turn toward their next steps, the weight of their choices still heavy, yet their resolve shining brighter than the fading sun.
The Dragons of Stormwreck Isle campaign has concluded.
((Figured Magni and Kutshort didn't get any fancy item the last time you guys did, so I gave them something now.
I'm calling the campaign done but I'm going to leave it open for you guys to RP and talk about what you might want to do in the future. I dropped a few hints at future campaigns already but I can also just give the options in less narrative terms.))
Wondrous Item, uncommon (requires attunement by a spellcaster)
This pristine pearl shimmers with an inner light, as though infused with the essence of moonlight on calm seas. When held or worn by a spellcaster, it enhances their ability to focus their magical energies with pinpoint accuracy.
Properties:
- While attuned to this pearl, you gain a +1 bonus to spell attack rolls.
- The pearl must be on your person and visible (such as worn as a pendant, embedded in a staff, or carried in hand) to grant this bonus.
Wondrous Item, rare (requires attunement)
This rugged blue cloak seems to shimmer faintly with the texture of shifting soil and stone. When worn, it grants the wearer a faint connection to the earth, allowing them to momentarily borrow its strength to move through it with ease.
Properties:
- While attuned to this cloak, you can use an action to burrow through nonmagical, unworked earth and stone as if you had a burrowing speed equal to your walking speed. This effect lasts for up to 10 minutes or until you end it as a bonus action.
- You do not leave behind a tunnel that others can use; the earth closes seamlessly behind you.
- Once this ability has been used, it cannot be used again until you complete a long rest.
))