Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 32

Written by: Flamereptile

Written: 05/07/26

Theta Campaign - Return of the Dragon Queen – Episode 32

This week’s tale begins with the party on the cult skyship. Prinze has just broken free of the binding magics of the Oracle of the Frost Faithful, Velistra Frostveil, and in his flurry of blows, stunned both the Oracle and her Justiciar, Maelrix Ironscale.

Allistair, having just quaffed a few healing potions dashes along the hull of the ship to return to the fray, but as he returns, the acid arrow protruding from Maximus implodes, covering him with even more acid.

Falling unconscious by the impounding damage, Maximus’ body tries to heal itself, but the residual acid nullifies his latent ability, causing him to perish. The party laments the loss of a comrade, but hasn’t the time to truly morn his death.

Beezul, cut down moments before by the Justiciar, struggles to stay alive, regaining a minute sense of self in the process.

Velistra and Maelrix watch on, unable to move their bodies for the time being, smug in the deaths of two of their foes.

*** Alonzo Bolin ***

Alonzo heard the crashes and bangs from above deck. He stood in the cargo hold, surrounded by hundreds of sheep pilfered from keep the ship had raided a few days prior. Two cultists, who believed Alonzo as nothing more than another recruit, poked and prodded two exhausted manticores that had defended the keep and the flock.

He wasn’t fond of the ship attacking that keep while it was undefended, or for the inhabitants of the ship itself.

“The Faith of the Chromatic Queen… more like the Cult of the Dragon Queen.” He thought.

Shouting echoed from above, calling Alonzo and the Cultists to disembark and ambush their target. Alonzo dropped his gray robe, pulled out a cigar, and lit it, taking a deep puff.

He had a pretty good business going before refusing service to one of these punks. As soon as he did, they wrecked his shop and started making his smuggling operations awfully difficult over the last few months. And the number of his family that he’s had to patch up because of their shenanigans had gotten out of hand. He had to do something.

A man of action, Alonzo used his connections to find out where this adventuring party lived, one that had been causing trouble for the cult. He knew that if he was going to do something, he’d have to find them personally.

Alonzo walked over to two barrels marked with red streak and knocked on their tops.

*** Dolgrak ***

Dolgrak was miserable. He hated being shoved in a barrel. He hated the bleating of sheep. And most of all, he hated the waiting for action.

Only a few short months ago he was sailing the great lakes of the underdark, but a slight lapse in judgement sucked his ship down into the abyss and ejected it into the overworld. With his ship destroyed and his crew killed in the ascent, he had hit rock bottom, or rather… what was they called it in the overworld again? Nevermind that.

A few weeks ago, while looking for work in a pub, Dolgrak was approached by a man in a suit that smoked a cigar. He called himself Alonzo Bolin and he wanted to hire Dolgrak to help him take care of a few punks.

Dolgrak needed money, and a foot in the door to success, and Alonzo was obviously very successful. He obliged, and the next thing he knew he was being shoved into a barrel and loaded onto a ship. All he knew was to wait for a knock and to kill whomever Alonzo pointed at, but honestly, after the last few miserable days in this barrel, he might take a jab at Alonzo first.

At least, that’s what Dolgrak thought to himself before he heard a solid thud on his barrel lid.

*** Alonzo & Dolgrak ***

Alonzo turned and drew his hand crossbow as his cult robe fell to the floor. He strode forward, pointed it at one of the cultists and said, “Bang.” as he unloaded two bolts into it. The cultists dropped into a heap of gray robes and their white mask clattered to the deck.

Alonso strode forward and up the stairs, disregarding the shocked second cultists. A second later, Dolgrak and another hired mercenary erupted from their barrels. The mercenary unloaded a crossbow bolt into the remaining cultists, pinning them to the hull, and both followed behind Alonzo.

Dolgrak strode up the stairwell, ahead of Alonzo and drew his rapier, stabbing a cultist twice. The cultist, while surprised at the sudden stabbing, turned and slashed a dagger at Dolgrak, narrowly missing.

Alonzo and the mercenary quickly followed behind, with the mercenary cutting down two cultists with his longsword.

The cultists in the lower deck, now aware of Alonzo, Dokgrak, and the mercenary, split into two groups. The first group rushes the trio, surrounding them and stabbing at them with their daggers, while the second, from a safe distance, fire their hand crossbows into the group. Alonzo and the mercenary were fortunate enough to be wearing armor that could deflect the cultists’ incoming dagger swipes, but each took a few crossbow bolts.

Dolgrak was not as lucky. Three times he was slashed by the cultists that surrounded him, and another three times was he struck by incoming crossbow bolts, but he would not be deterred. Deep Gnomes were made of tougher stuff than your common man or elf.

Suddenly, SPIRITGUARDIANs erupted out from Alonzo, surrounding him, Dolgrak, the Mercenary, and several of the cultists surrounding them. Immediately, the cultists were cut to ribbons, leaving behind a bloody mess. Remarkable, Dolgrak and the mercenary were spared Alonzo’s fury.

*** Above Deck ***

Above deck, a hand reached out from behind a door, grabbing the unconscious Beezul and dragging him into the cover of the nearby cabin, but this cover was not safety. The cultist that had dragged Beezul into cover did not do so to save him, but to put this wretch out of his misery while remaining safe.

The cultist plunged her dagger into the throat of Beezul and drew it across, spilling crimson blood onto the deck. The life faded from Beezul’s eyes, and he died. The cultist, standing over his fresh corpse, cackled.

The crew on the poop deck panicked as Prinze bore down on their Oracle and Justiciar. One grabbed towards Velistra, pulling her a few feet towards safety, while another shoved Maelrix back out of Prinze’s reach. Six more cultists interposed themselves between their Oracle and Justiciar and Prinze, all charging towards him in an attempt to push him from the deck. Six cultists charged and six cultists fell onto the main deck.

The cultists on the forecastle, seeing the failure of their comrades, raised their crossbows and fired a volley at Prinze. Not one bolt struck Prinze, but one was returned after being caught and flung back, striking the cultist in the mask, killing them instantly.

In retaliation, Prinze draws from his back a folding chair, but this isn’t just any folding chair. Prinze Draws the Adamantium Folding Chair, an artifact forged in the blood of hundreds of humanoid frogs. An artifact so powerful the stars themselves applaud its use.

He cocked the Adamantium Folding Chair, making a loud “tchk-tch” sound and swings it. A thunderous burst rings out, catching nearly all of the cultists upon the poop deck. They are thrown back with a bone shattering crack, and two were even ejected off the stern of the ship. Six fresh corpses tumbled to the deck in heaps, leaving the Oracle and Justiciar unguarded.

Prinze then produced his Javelin of Lightning, carefully lining up a shot straight through Velistra’s heart. Still stunned by his strike earlier, Velistra Frostveil failed to move out of the arc created by the javelin in time. It pierced her heart, and her corpse fell backwards off of the stern, past Allistair, and onto the ground below.

Not finished yet, Prinze reeled his head back, charging up a mighty breath, then coated Maelrix Ironscale in a cloud of poison. two of the three remaining cultists on the poop deck was caught up in the cloud, first coughing, then bleeding through their various orifices. Red liquid oozed from behind their mask before they crumpled to the deck, dead. Maelrix regained his faculties just as the cloud overtook him.

Allistair, unable to catch the falling Velistra, ran down along the starboard hull of the skyship, down to the gunports on the lower deck. He peaked his head in, seeing a gaggle of cultists all pushing and shoving each other to be the first up the stairs and on the main deck. He conjured a small glowing orb on the tip of his finger and tossed it through the gunport, ducking outside as it erupted into a ball of flames.

Satisfied at the pile of charred corpses, and the now burning state of the lower deck, Allistair began his return to the main deck.

Alonzo, having emerged onto the main deck, narrowly missing the fireball beneath him, noticed the cultist standing over Beezul. He calmly turned, leveled his crossbow at it, and fired. The cultist was pinned against the hull of the deck behind it. Alonzo strode into the cover of the cabin, standing over the corpse of Beezul, and began casting a rejuvenating spell.

The mercenary followed behind Alonzo, seeking to protect his employer. Noticing the large number of cultists on the main deck, he turned and began swinging at them. The first strike cut down a cultist where it stood, but the mercenary became overzealous. A second strike missed, then the third and a fourth. In seconds, the mercenary was surrounded by the approaching cultists.

Maelrix emerged from the cloud of poisonous gas, furious at the fate of his Oracle. He gripped his frosty Warhammer and charged at Prinze, slamming it three times into him. Blow after blow, Prinze held his ground. He had no other option at this point.

Enraged farther by his own strikes, not hard enough to strike down the infidel that laid a hand on his Oracle, Maelrix swung wildly six more times, but Prinze had met his stride. Taking three to the chest, and beginning to cough up blood, Prinze deflected Maelrix’s additional strikes, then, as the hoard of cultists behind him unleashed a volley of crossbow fire at him while he was preoccupied, he caught one of the bolts, redirecting it into the throat of Maelrix Ironscale.

Maelrix stumbled backwards, close to death. But he could not let this traitor be his end. He contemplated jumping ship, but the abomination had torn one of his wings asunder. He was faced with no other option than to fight.

But Maelrix would not live to see another strike. Like a flash of lightning, Prinze pinned two daggers into the eyeholes of the mask of the final cultist upon the poop deck, too stunned to dodge or defend itself. He then ran forwards, flipping off of the chest plate of Maelrix, striking him twice and cracking his ribs. He then followed by expelling a second cloud of poisonous gas into the Justiciar’s face, and finally, while holding himself up face-to-face to his foe, Prinze’s poisonous breath became a jet of acidic spit.

The skin of Maelrix Ironscale peeled back, revealing the bone and skull beneath. His eyes sizzled as the life left them. To add insult to injury, Prinze produced the rotting skull of Velistra Frostveil, from the last time he had killed her, and bashed it against the skull of Maelrix.

Watching in horror as their own bolts were used against their Justiciar, the cultists on the main deck turned their attention towards a deep gnome emerging from the lower deck. They fired at him, riddling him with bolts, but he continued on.

Dozens of them dropped their crossbows, drawing their daggers instead, and surrounded the mercenary and Dolgrak. They swung wildly, leaving both with cuts and gashes across their bodies. Blood oozed from their wounds and they felt themselves close to death. “Why would they get tangled up with that elven mobster?” they both thought as a pale, dark clothed figure crested the ship’s rail.

Allistair crested over the rail of the skyship, overlooking the main deck. “What a mess.” He thought, looking over the dozens of cultists surrounding this new, unidentified warrior. “Not his problem.” Crossed his mind as Allistair flicked another ball of flames over the main deck, immolating cultist and mercenary alike.

Dolgrak had seen this coming, the flames that was, and ducked beneath the cultists that surrounded and stabbed at him. They were wreathed in flames, while he was protected by his new, crispy, shield.

Allistair’s fireball had left the lower deck and the main deck roaring with flames. Unless they were put out soon, this ship was not long for this world.

Alonzo finished his healing spell, shattering its diamond component and returning Beezul to life. Then, in the same breath, uttered some healing words to further heal the fallen dragonkin. Now, healing words from Alonzo are not so much as words that encourage the body to heal, rather, they are threats of what happens if it fails to do so. Regardless of the nature of the spell, many of Beezul’s wounds knit themselves back together, restoring him to fighting condition.

Having witnessed Prinze’s elimination of their Oracle and Justiciar, and the loss of their brethren by Allistair’s fireball on the main deck, the cultists on the forecastle of the skyship wrestled with their faith, contemplating fleeing for their lives. But they would hold strong. One cultist, near the back of the group, would grasp her crossbow and shout as if victory was already hers, firing towards Prinze. The remaining cultists followed suit, releasing a volley of bolts towards Prinze.

Three bolts would strike him of the eleven shot, and one he would catch and return across the deck into the throat of one of the cultists. Seeing Allistair, and knowing what would come next, Prinze shrugged off the bolts to make time to shove the corpse of Maelrix within his bag. After all, there was valuable loot on his corpse, and the burning skyship, which was plummeting in freefall, had a timer on its life.

The success of the remaining cultists was fleeting, however, because as Prinze returned the bolt to its sender, and the cultists looked back in unison to the horror of another fallen comrade, the realization of how outclassed they were dawned on them.

As their brother fell, and they prepared another volley towards Prinze, the forecastle was set ablaze by a flung ball of fire. Allistair’s eyes burned hot as he immolated the front half of the ship…

Time crept forward as the imminent threat of Allistair’s fireball expanded out from its point of origin. It washed over the cultists it was intended to target, scorching robe and flesh and mask alike. The flames licked out over the forecastle in every direction, seeking for more and more to consume.

 Like a colony of tiny, burning insects, it crept down the hull, finding nine barrels. Curious, or as curious as a mindless ball of fire can be, it began to chew through the barrels in search of its next meal. Time slowed farther, nearly to a halt. The tiny flames breached the barrels and beheld the feast of a lifetime. A fine, black powder. Everything a growing fire could want and more. It was enough for this colony to grow and expand more than it could have ever imagined. It rejoiced! Sang aloud as it flooded the barrels and reproduced without limits. The tiny colony of flames looked onwards at their success.

These stupid giants, even the one that had blessed them upon this land, had stood there for generations like statues as the flames licked up every granule of powder and expanded their domain. Soon, the reckoning of fire would be upon them and…

In a flash, the front half of the skyship was gone.

One second it was there, the next, it wasn’t. Replaced by a ball of fire that flung shrapnel out in all directions at a supersonic speed. It wasn’t just the front half, Allistair realized, but over three quarters of the whole ship, just gone in an instant. The party had been lucky to survive, as if background calculations were scrutinized over for hours to determine who would live and who would die. And they had determined, as if by the roll of the dice, to spare them. The whole back quarter of the ship really

The remaining portion of the ship, which had been thrust in the opposite direction the ship in its whole had been moving, began to plummet once more. Falling behind it, because they were effectively thrown back by the force of the explosion, Prinze and Beezul deployed their wings once more. Allistair, who was still concentrating on his fly spell, effortlessly hovered above as the wreckage plummeted below. Alonzo and Dolgrak, who had never had the need to fly before, and thus were unprepared for a sudden fall, wished that they had been.

But it was all for nought, as Allistair came to the sudden realization of what he had truly just done. He hadn’t just finished the last of the cultists, nor had he just destroyed the ship that was responsible for the destruction of their keep. No, he had just condemned his people, the surviving servants and workers of their lost keep to death. Stunned, he plummeted towards the ground in grief, joining the falling bodies. The groundskeeper and his family… The shepherd’s apprentices… The barmaid… Dozens of Koblds, hundreds of innocent sheep, and the two manticores they were intended to feed, all gone in a second. Scorched husks of their former selves…

This.

Could.

Not.

Be…

The sound of five golden coins clattering against the wood of a table echoed across the multiverse.

As their brother fell, and they prepared another volley towards Prinze, the forecastle was cast in a freezing mist that coated the cultists, their crossbows, and the forecastle in a layer of ice. Memories that had never happened left their eyes along with their lives.

Allistair dropped to the poop deck in a cold sweat. He didn’t even think he was capable of sweating, and yet, here he was, drenched. But there wasn’t time for grief or panic. Not yet. He had to check if they were here. If his people were still alive.

He rose to his feet and rushed through the flames to the lower deck where he found a holding cell, one he hadn’t noticed before while casting his fireball down here. He rushed to it and peered inside. There, laying on the deck, was the groundskeeper draped in his wife’s jacket with a wet cloth over his forehead. Frank was alive.

His wife, Linda knelt over him in shock at recent events, and his condition. Their three children sit huddled in a corner of the cell. Their dreary expression lightened when they saw Allistair’s face peering at them through the bars.

“Are you alright?” asked Allistair

“No, we aren’t” replied Linda, “Frank was hurt by those masked marauders, and we’ve been down here without food or water for days.”

“Sit tight, we’ll get you out of here.” Allistair said as he began pulling at the lock. He needed a key, but where would they find one before the ship impacted the ground?

Beezul stood from the deck where Alonzo hovered over him. Weary of the man next to him, he asked, “Did we win?”

“Don’t think we did yet.” He said, shaking the false memories from his head, “The ship’s falling and we need to get off.”

Beezul nodded as he contemplated carrying this new potential ally off the plummeting ship, but opted to assess the state of the ship for a moment before doing so. He extended his wings and flew onto the main deck, seeing little more than charred corpses and the main deck set ablaze. He looked down the stairwell, seeing Allistair rush off out of sight. Curious if he might need help, he began his descent, but he was stopped before he could drop below deck.

The burning corpse of Maximus lay pockmarked with acid burns upon the main deck. A tear flecked down Beezul’s cheek as he thought, “I liked Maximus.” Beezul grabbed the corpse, tossed it over his shoulder, and descended belowdeck.

Seeing Allistair pressed against the cell, Beezul asked, “What are they doing in there? What’s going on?”

Allistair, calculating the probability of getting the groundskeeper and his family out of the cell and to safety replied, “They’re locked in there. We need a key, or a lockpick, and we need to get ourselves and them off of the ship before it crashes in… oh about twenty seconds! Do you have any thoughts?”

Now panicking, Beezul pulled out a doorknob from his pocket, intending to flee into his magnificent hive until the crash had passed, but that struck an idea in Beezul.

“The hive! We can all fit inside of it, and as long as the door’s closed before the impact we should all be safe!”

“Good idea, except there’s one problem. We can’t get into the cell and we don’t know where everybody is!” shouted Allistair.

Beezul shrugged, attached the magical doorknob to the hull and turned it, opening a door that had not previously been there.

Alonzo, preparing to head below deck to provide aid to Allistair and Beezul, noticed a chest sitting along the hull of this cabin. Staring at it for just a moment, he grabbed it, placing it below his arm, and ran below deck. He completed his descent just as Beezul, the ruddy brown dragonkin monstrosity, finished turning a doorknob against the hull, opening a door that had not existed a moment before.

“What’s going on down here?” he asked.

“We’re searching for the missing employees of our keep. We’ve found the groundskeeper and his family, but we’re still missing the shepherds, the barmaid, and a few dozen kobolds. I don’t know if we can save the sheep and Manticores.” Replied Allistair in a panic.

“I’ll go look for your gal. Any idea where she is?”

Allistair and Beezul stared at Alonzo for a moment before Beezul, sarcastically, replied, “If we knew where she was we wouldn’t be missing her.”

The humor was lost on Alonzo, who glared back at Beezul, “Watch it.” He said before siding the chest through Beezul’s door, throwing his cloak behind him, and flying back up the stairs.

Allistair and Beezul looked at one another and shrugged as Dolgrak nearly tumbled down the stairs. Catching himself on the last step, he rushed towards Allistair and Beezul, asking, “Do you need that unlocked?” gesturing towards the cell door.

“Can you do that?” asked Beezul.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Replied Dolgrak as he produced and lockpicking set from his pocket.

Effortlessly he flicked the picks inside the lock, unlatching it. Suddenly, the ship lurched, and with the cell door now swinging open, Dolgrak turned and rushed towards Beezul’s door. He stopped, however, in the doorway, looking back as Allistair and Beezul rushed inside of the cell to grab the groundskeeper and his family.

Beezul, seeing the cell has been unlocked, threw the corpse of Maximus into the magnificent beehive and rushed to join Allistair in the cell. Allistair, who had just administered a potion of healing to Frank, the groundskeeper, grabbed the hand of Frank’s youngest, Daniel, and lead him inside of the magnificent beehive.

“Sit here and don’t touch anything.” He said to Daniel, and the boy nodded.

Beezul, less gentle than Allistair had been, grabbed Arnold, Frank’s middle child, beneath his arm and tossed Frank over his shoulder, rushing back into the hive to safety. As Beezul rushed past Dolgrak, Dolgrak sighed deeply, turning away from safety and back onto the burning lower deck.

Dolgrak navigated the flames, coming to Linda and her daughter, Taylor, and grabbing both by the hands, leading them to safety in the hive.

Prinze, disconnected from the denizens of the keep, produced his broom and allowed it to carry him away from the plummeting ship. He watched as flames trailed behind it for a moment before turning for a more important task: finding the corpse of Velistra Frostveil. He gently descended down towards the ground to search for her body. He would be damned if he let if fall in the hands of the cult and they resurrected her again. In retrospective, though, he did still possess her skull from the last time he killed her, so he wasn’t actually sure how to keep her down.

Weeks prior, in the village of Westrun far to the north, they had encountered a draconic beast that could not be slain unless it was first struck by a weapon made of onyx. Perhaps that was what he needed to finally put the Oracles and Justiciars to rest? He shook the distracting thought from his mind as he began his search.

Alonzo, set his sights above deck, searching the cabins for this missing barmaid. He looked towards the bow of the ship, seeing two cabin doors. He checked the door to his right, seeing nothing more than a dining cabin, though it did appear the kitchen was well stocked. Probably from his raided storehouses.

He then checked the cabin on the left, opening the door to an awful sight. A woman, beautiful by all rights, lay naked upon the cabin’s bed unconscious. Her clothes lay shredded upon the floor. It was obvious she was taken captive at some time and ravaged by the cult, another reason for Alonzo to despise them.

He grabbed a crumpled blanked from the nearby table, gently wrapped it around her, and lifted her from the bed. Still gently, he left the cabin, activating his cloak and separating from the falling ship. Her long, red hair blew around him in the wind as he watched the ship plummet.

Allistair, satisfied with at least saving the groundskeeper and his family, emerged from the Beezul’s magnificent beehive once more and descended into the hold. Terror washed over him as he recalled the memory that never was. The hold held hundreds of fluffy sheep and two manticores shackled, on all four legs, to the deck. Thick leather bands wrapped around them, preventing their wings from extending, and wraps around their tails prevented their spikes from flaring out. Worse yet, above all of the impending lost sheep and manticores, was the dozens of kobolds stuffed into cages.

Could he save them? How many could he save? What of the sheep? What if he disintegrated the hull beneath the manticores? No. They couldn’t fly. He couldn’t even get them free. The spell wasn’t versatile enough. What should he do? What could he do?

Nothing…

Dejected, Allistair returned to the magnificent beehive with only seconds left before impact. He sat against the wall, curled up, and rocked gently.

Beezul waited the entrance to the hive until the very last second, in case anybody else made it to safety, before closing the door. The plummeting noises of the ship went silent to the humming of the warm hive.

From above, Prinze and Alonzo watched the skyship impact the ground, and a second later, erupt into a massive fireball. Smoke, dust, and shrapnel was launched upwards in the shape of a mushroom, and oddly enough, a memory sparked in them as the back quarter of the ship was flung out of the cloud of dust, impacting the ground a moment later.

That is where this week’s tale ends, and next week’s tale will begin.