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The party has bonded, and collectively resists the call to abandon their wizard and forge ahead to fight until they win or die against the countless red-eyed beasts swarming from the growing mists at the gate.
Though Stormshield has chosen their path, they will bring in the Red Suns to support their assault and Stormshield himself will be coming to their front to lead the attack.
The party leaves in the night, well before the next assault takes place, heading toward Estrawlia to investigate what has happened to the temple of Pelor at the hands of the six dog wizards.
The party encounters Shade on their way. Through his shrouded face, he tells them there will be any surviving members of the Handaris Council making their way toward their houses in the Kraymorden cities. He rides on a different path to find them. The party sees smoke on the horizon and intercepts a Red Sun and two of his guard on their way toward the smoke. They fight and kill them.
At the scene of the smoke, another Red Sun and two guards watch as a rabid beast attacks a carriage holding a young wizard and a Durgar defending him. While they dispatch the Red Sun and his guard, the young wizard takes the attack from the beast and implodes the wagon and the beast in a tremendous ball of fire. All are dead but in a sealed chest there is a scroll and map, a divine scroll granting a speak with dead, and a map of a select station in Sandrypha to the south.
The scroll allows the party to speak with the charred remains of the young wizard. He tells them his master sent him home, letting his house know that his brother, a specialized mage, was one of seven mages who became highly invested in the arcane practices of demonology. Though he separated from the other six. This wizard has long separated from the Handaris Council, but hold roots in Buelstapher, reachable through Sandrypha.
The map is vague, but mentions the door lays with the Red Dog.
**Clapping with gusto**
Fun, fun, fun! Oooo the door lays with the Red Dog…hmmm wonder what that means. Yummy.Forward we trudge, unable or unwilling to turn aside. T’ward the smoke-filled horizon, a grimace of death upon our faces.
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