I am amazed at the sight before me. It seems like we are finally close to our objective and standing here in the presence of the Chainspire is more awe inspiring than when I beheld the gigantic monolith of Luminos the Mighty. Vakka, the ancient silver dragon who has been the guardian of the Chainspire has welcomed us into the eye of the storm surrounding Tempest Isle and has agreed to join us on our quest. She opened a Dimension Door that allowed us to pass safely through the maelstrom and I cannot help but think her added might will serve us well. Few can stand against her chilling Cold Breath and her Paralyzing Breath will be a great asset in the coming battle.

Word has reached us that the Cult of the Dragon has made moves to secure assistance in penetrating the storms surrounding Tempest Isle and that several of our elven allies’ lives are to be the bargaining chip. Information gleaned from the recovered tome, A Recent History of the Moonshaes, points to the cult striking a bargain with Sycorax to gain entry onto the isle while they assist her in reclaiming the land she formerly ruled. We’ve all been advised on ways to avoid the Wicked Tongue of the harpy and will be steadfast in keeping from falling under her Captivating Song. If all goes well, our elven comrades will be back in our ranks shortly.

Though our quest has been relatively successful thus far and we have in our possession the keys needed to enter the gates of the Palace of Luminos the Mighty, my party has been unable to penetrate the powerful storms surrounding Tempest Isle. We’ve been sent to determine the whereabouts of Legunt, the “Royal Lorekeeper” of Claugiyliamatar, who was supposedly sent on an errand to secure information on how to penetrate the mighty tempest but has yet to return. While investigating, several witnesses have confirmed that Legunt was carried off by Blackthorn, a powerful wyvern known to terrorize the surrounding area. We are on our way to his cavernous abode and have been armed with much knowledge from the local villagers. Blackthorn is known to strike simultaneously with his razor sharp teeth and his long, serpentine tail. Woe to him who is pierced by his Stinger and exposed to its Deadly Venom.

We’ve been in the Nether Mountains for several weeks. Though we’ve been working close to the forces of the Cult of the Dragon, the excavation surrounding the large monolith has been relatively uneventful until this morning. Someone, somehow, has summoned Sarpiel, a movanic deva angel and he was not too happy to see so many evil creatures amongst those who might be corrupted by them. Now the uneasy truce has been shattered and the upper base camps are in immense turmoil. Though the glorious good angel was doing well holding his own thanks to his Holy Warhammer and Shield of Virtue, my comrades and I have leapt into service to help him dispense his Righteous Fury. We must continue to do everything we can to make sure the keys do not fall into the wrong hands.

After making our way through the deserted forest, my company has set up camp in a small clearing for a well-deserved rest. As we gathered around the campfire and shared stories of past adventures, I’ve felt compelled to write down a tale too outlandish to believe as told by one of my party. As we sat around partaking of our meal, he recounted to us “The Tale of Umberlis”: “The legend begins with the introduction of Spite, a runty, black dragon who was bullied and forced out of the choicest of swamps. Eventually he took to the caves; consoled solely by “Inky”, a tattered, black cloak. There he stayed for several centuries. Alone. Unwanted. Slowly slipping into a seeming madness. Over time, he became a thing of shadow; dark and hidden. His Shadow Breath became a thing most frightening, able to inflict a Necrotic Oppression upon those which it fell.”