The dank, dark cave echoed with the screeches of the dark mantles as they swarmed around the party. Thalmiir, his face encased in the inky blackness of one of the creatures, stabbed frantically at the squid-like monstrosity to no avail. Desperate, the dwarf staggered towards his allies, praying they could pry the aberration loose.
But the dark mantle only clung tighter, bashing its victim for a bruising 9 damage as it wrapped its tendrils around Thalmiir’s head. In the magical darkness, Bhakris groped blindly, trying to locate his goblin companion Hat. His questing hands found purchase and the genasi grappled the squirming dark mantle attached to his friend.
Bartholemeow lashed out with his rapier, the darkness fouling his aim but still scoring a hit. “Hold fast, Hat!” the feylost feline called out encouragingly, infusing the goblin with bardic inspiration.
Maddened with rage and pain, Thalmiir smashed his helmeted head against the ground, trying to crush his tormentor, but only managed to lightly concuss himself. At the edge of the unnatural shadow, Waer’dara reached in, offering to pull her beleaguered allies to safety.
A wet crunch heralded the dark mantle’s retaliation. Hat crumpled bonelessly to the ground, bleeding and unconscious from the critical blow. Pebblesong, guided by the goblin’s pained cry, stumbled into the darkness. She swung out with her staff but only managed to clang it off Hat’s shield.
The goblin’s breathing grew wet and labored as he failed to cling to life. But Bhakris, still maintaining his iron grip on Hat’s attacker, drove his longsword through the creature with a triumphant shout. The dark mantle fell limp and its conjured darkness faded away.
“Well done! Keep a tight hold on that thing!” Bartholomeow praised. The cat scanned the area for Hat, spotting his crumpled form. He pondered quickly stabbing the near-dead goblin to grant a merciful end, but thought better of it. Instead, the bard tried to grab Hat’s foot to cast a much-needed healing word, but couldn’t locate it in the lingering shadows.
Pebblesong heard a gurgling moan and a frustrated draconic voice snap at her to get back. She grasped blindly and found Waer’dara’s hand at the edge of the darkness. Together, they dragged Hat’s limp body out into the light where the dwarf finally cast her healing magic.
Color returned to the goblin’s cheeks as positive energy coursed through him. But his precious hat, the source of his artificer abilities, was missing. In the remaining globe of darkness, Thalmiir continued his ill-advised headbutting strategy, unaware of his companion’s plight.
Upon regaining his feet, Hat stepped back and hurled a firebolt into the dark, praying it would incinerate one of the cave’s horrors. The flash lit up the shadows, revealing a very crispy Thalmiir as the dwarf toppled over unconscious, the dark mantle peeling off his smoking face.
“Whoops! Sorry!” the mortified goblin called out. Debate briefly raged about whether such a fumble was appropriate for brave heroes, but the damage was done regardless.
Bhakris dragged his squirming, squid-like captive into the light - an awful “jelly bat” from the far realms. Thalmiir’s body tumbled after it, landing in a heap. The genasi pummelled the aberration savagely, leaving it at death’s door. Bartholemeow tried to taunt the creature but it seemed uncomprehending of his jibes.
Groaning, Thalmiir regained his footing and unceremoniously hacked the jelly bat in two with his battleaxe. Only one inky black cloud remained in the rear of the cavern. Waer’dara fired an ineffectual eldritch blast into it as Pebblesong charged in recklessly.
The dwarf’s thunderwave did little damage, but forced the last creature out into the open, revealing its battered carapace. Hat, having redonned his saliva-soaked hat, scorched it further with a firebolt. The jelly bat tried to flee but Bhakris skewered it to the wall with a well-aimed javelin.
In the aftermath, the party realized several of Bartholemeow’s encouraging words had gone unused in the chaotic melee. Perhaps they could have turned the tide for Thalmiir. But for now, their attention turned to the bossy draconic voice still buried in the rubble.
Bartholemeow presented one of the felled jelly bats to the unseen creature, who demanded the “disrespectful” adventurers dig it free. Only then would it deign to answer their questions.
Though exhausted from the battle, Bhakris and Pebblesong set to shifting rocks off the fractious reptile. They uncovered a haughty but adorable brass dragon wyrmling, glaring up at them imperiously.
The party tried to ascertain the dragon’s motives, but could get no clear read, other than it had taken offense at their “lack of initiative.” Thalmiir made a mental note to watch for treachery - one could never trust a dragon, no matter how cute.
As the genasi and dwarf continued excavating their new scaly acquaintance, Bartholemeow pestered it with questions, trying to work its origins into an inspiring song. The dragon, giving her name as Dabshabah, cut him off irritably, unaccustomed to such a casual interrogation.
Finally free, Dabshabah chastised the group as lacking insight, but supposedly sufficient to serve her purposes. The dragon was wounded and not-so-subtly angled her wingtip at the party’s healers expectantly. Alas, no more healing was forthcoming.
Dabshabah declared their performance “adequate” and offered to let them bask in her presence as reward. This self-aggrandizement went over poorly. The dragon clarified she was on a noble quest and they were lucky to be chosen to accompany her.
Thalmiir sized up the wyrmling - too small to be a serious threat unless she got the jump on them. Better to play along for now and keep a wary eye out.
The day stretched on as the party made camp with their imperious new companion. Dabshabah wheedled shamelessly for more healing, especially from Bhakris. Bartholemeow used the downtime to interrogate the dragon on recent events.
Apparently, Dabshabah had been on a “mystical journey” when she was ambushed by an adult red dragon who uncouthly relieved itself on her. The wyrmling escaped into the caverns, which held some sort of ancient warding magic that kept her mighty foe at bay.
Now with the party’s aid, the little brass dragon would recover and continue her cryptic quest. What that quest entailed, she declined to elaborate on, other than it would bring her great glory and esteem.
And so the band of battered sellswords and the eccentric beast settled in for a much needed rest. Bartholemeow composed overblown odes to their victory as Pebblesong studied draconic lore, all while their pint-sized despot dozed fitfully amidst the carnage.
Trouble was sure to follow wherever Dabshabah led, but for now the jelly bats were vanquished and the Urn of Chauntea would have to wait. The adventurers dreamt of dragons, gold, and glory as the darkness pressed in around their meager fire.
Session Notes