Gwen-Farryn and the disk
Session 10 October 2024
The chaos settles just a little as I realize we’re not switching bodies anymore—thank the gods. I glance around, seeing Patience looking utterly baffled. It clicks: Hallaster’s soul is in there, unable to swap us again. Relief floods me, though it’s short-lived as I lock eyes with Calyx.
Calyx—Farryn’s great love, if those reports are to be believed—stands with an unsettling confidence. Hallaster, now with the soul of Malik, charges at him, grappling with blood-soaked hands. The crimson runs down Hallaster’s beard, smearing onto Calyx’s face in a grotesque display.
I’m livid. With the dwarven thrower in my hand, I hurl it three times, each strike slamming into Calyx. “IF YOU’RE WORTHY, FARRYN WILL COME AND SAVE YOU!” I shout, daring him to prove himself.
Calyx begins chanting, his voice deep and rhythmic, but Jaf’ar moves fast, cutting him off with a spell that leaves him stuttering, unable to complete the incantation. Before anyone can breathe, the fiery moth returns, teleporting both Calyx and Patience (with Hallaster’s soul) away.
I whirl around, spotting Hallaster’s true body (currently with Malik’s soul) collapse. The body dissolves into a puddle of water, just like mine had earlier.
The white dragon, still bristling with power, turns its icy gaze to Calyx. “THAT IS NOT HOW CALYX IS, YOU IMPOSTER!” it snarls, fumes pouring from its nostrils. In a flash, it bites into Calyx, snapping the staff from his grasp and ripping off his arm with a sickening crunch.
The dragon follows up with a claw strike but misses, its frustration palpable. Jaf’ar raises the staff of power and levitates Patience, holding Hallaster’s soul in place. I seize the opportunity, throwing the dwarven thrower three more times, each hit landing with satisfying force.
Calyx teleports upward toward Patience, likely to help Hallaster, but Jaf’ar’s quick intervention cuts the action short, sending Calyx tumbling back to the ground.
The dragon surges forward again, tearing into Calyx with icy fury. “FAKE!” it roars as it shreds him apart. But then, there’s a deafening explosion. The fiery moth bursts, and when the smoke clears, Calyx stands whole and healed.
Jaf’ar, unshaken, steps in with Corvax, Morph’s sword, and strikes Calyx, shouting, “FOR CORVIX, ummm, CORVAX!” The blade bites deep, and I take advantage of the moment, hurling the dwarven thrower three more times.
Calyx morphs before my eyes, transforming into a hulking, snarling wolf. His eyes glow with malice.
The dragon lunges again, snapping at the wolf’s legs and taunting it. “COLD IS STRONGER THAN FIRE!” it bellows.
Jaf’ar fumbles with the iron flask, muttering, “Oopsiefloopsy,” as he tries to aim it at Calyx. Nothing happens, though, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
I focus, throwing the dwarven thrower once more. It slams into the wolf, and his wildshape shatters. Calyx reverts to his gnomish form, battered and bloodied. My second and third throws hit true, and finally, he crumples to the ground.
With a ragged breath, Calyx whispers, “Sorry… I really tried…” His form doesn’t dissolve into water like Hallaster’s, and I feel a pang of something—pity, maybe?
The dragon (Farryn) approaches me, its scaled face glowing with pride. “LOOKING GOOD, HUH?” it says, preening slightly.
I grin and pat its massive head. “HELL YEAAAAHHH,” I reply, unable to hide my admiration.
The battle is finally over. The room feels heavy with the aftermath, everyone slowly checking bodies and regrouping. Jaf’ar suggests that he can use True Polymorph to return us to our original bodies.
Farryn, still in the dragon’s form, asks about reviving Calyx. Jaf’ar takes Patience’s body—still housing Hallaster’s soul—away, and I stay behind with Farryn.
Grond, bless his mechanical heart, performs Warding Grond on me, ensuring I’m protected.
I kneel by Calyx’s body, Farryn’s dwarven thrower at my side. Carefully, I check for anything useful: a Bag of Holding, a Ring of Fire Resistance, a Periapt of Wound Closure, a Sending Stone, and a gleaming Mithril Splint Armor.
I tie the bag to Farryn’s belt, ready to press on.
I am in awe of the dragon, and I know Farryn’s soul is in it. It looms before me, immense and powerful. The dragon comes closer, its voice rumbles, “I know what you think… Come, let’s see the portal.”
I walk up to it, examining the shimmering gateway. It pulses with energy, but I can’t quite tell what it is. “It’s a portal—obviously,” I say, a little frustrated. “But I don’t know how to open it.”
I glance around, noting the scarecrows hanging eerily in the room. “Maybe we should call Scarecrow,” I suggest, half-joking, “Let him hang out with the others.”
The dragon laughs, the sound deep and echoing, before it moves toward the exit. “Let’s go,” it says, and I follow.
We enter another room, and in the center stands a massive statue of Hallaster. The dragon turns to me, its voice now even more commanding. “Investigate that.”
I approach the statue, running my hands along its cold stone surface, searching for hidden compartments or anything unusual. I feel every inch of it, but after a long while, I come up empty. “This is taking way too long,” I mutter to myself.
“Nice workingggg,” the dragon teases.
I roll my eyes, but then an idea strikes me. “Well, if I can’t find anything useful,” I say with a grin, “I might as well change it up.”
I move quickly, deciding to transform the statue. Instead of Hallaster, I sculpt Farryn riding Grond. It feels right, a personal touch.
The dragon, still in Farryn’s form, walks past the antimagic field. Suddenly, the dragon shakes, its massive wings flaring out. “WHO IS THIS?” it bellows. “WHERE IS HALLASTER?” The dragon lifts into the air, confused.
Then, I hear Farryn’s voice—clear and strong—coming from the dragon. “Continue, continue!” It’s enough to spur me on.
I step back, admiring my work, then signal Grond to pull me away. The dragon growls, and I know it’s trying to tell me to stop playing with the antimagic field. “Open another door,” it demands.
The rest of the party finally catches up. Malik, currently inhabiting Patience’s body, uses mage hand to open the next door. Inside, there’s a strange sight: a damaged flying disk, sitting in the center of the room.
I look at Grond and then back at the disk. “Let’s see what this thing can do,” I say, taking a deep breath.
I fly up, Grond in tow, and approach the disk. I inspect the control panel, find a button, and press it. The top of the disk opens, revealing a cockpit meant for one.
I hesitate for a moment, then climb in, taking my seat. The joystick in front of me looks complicated, but I can tell it’s locked. There are three modes: fly, land, and teleport. I fiddle with it, experimenting.
To my surprise, the disk begins to hover! I’m doing it! I zoom up and down, barely able to contain my excitement. It’s a bumpy ride, though, as the joystick is temperamental, but I manage to keep the thing off the ground.
I look down at the teleport button. I know I shouldn’t press it, but curiosity gets the better of me. My finger hovers over the button, and before I can stop myself, I press it.
In an instant, a flash of lightning erupts, and the disk vanishes.
I blink as the world changes around me. The blue sky stretches endlessly above, and below, rocky hills and green landscapes roll out in all directions. The disk has materialized at the top of a mountain, and I’m left sitting in it, staring in disbelief.
My heart races. My fuel tank is empty. I have no idea where I am.
I take a deep breath. It’s a familiar feeling, the one where I know I can fix things, but it’s also daunting. I rummage through my tools, breaking open the panels of the disk. I start researching, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
There’s something in the machine that’s absorbing energy from the sun. If I’m patient, maybe in 24 hours, I’ll have enough power to teleport again.
I look around at the barren landscape, mountains stretching far and wide. There are no forests, no oceans—just rocks and hills. It’s quiet here, too quiet.
Time passes. I feel the presence of Farryn growing stronger inside me, as if I’m becoming more attuned to his thoughts and instincts. It’s an odd sensation, but somehow comforting as I continue my work, filling the magic tank and waiting for the disk to charge.
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