In the valley below, Barzuln the Frigid had assembled his pack of dark hearted kin- Dire wolves, rats, and bats under his command as well as shifters and lycanthropes who heeded his malevolent call. The party also saw Barzuln's companion, and now they could see that the wikkawak Mosh had identified was long dead, its fur held on in patches- a corpse reanimated under Barzuln's vampiric control.

The lumbering bugbear zombie had a coffin lashed to its back- no doubt the way their quarry had continued throughout the days and gained his lead.

After taking a moment to assess the situation, the party descended into the valley below using spells and forms of flight to reach the valley floor, to face off against the threat.

Some of the Night Pack seemed surprised by the intrusion, but the dwarf did not even turn around, his attention focused on the silver tree before them. Although outnumbered, the party worked better together than the loose knit pack of their dark-hearted foes. Empowered by the spirit of Lamannia, and gifted with the blessing of Vvaraak the party unleashed their acidic breath upon the shifters and lycanthropes surrounding them, streams of green viscous acid that burned through flesh and fur and bone.

Korrazah's weapons danced, cracking bone after bone, while Etalman's arrows found their mark time and time again. Alarin used blade and spell as Mosh brought his enemies low with his blessed spear. Raxys used the cover of invisibility to step between his allies and end several of the Pack with Journey.

Their morale shaken, the surviving members of the Night Pack abandoned the outlandish vampire and fled back to the wilds of Lamannia from whence they hailed. Barzuln's zombie ally was quickly undone by the wrath of the group, and they were ready to face Kionna's creator. Korrazah sundered the coffin the wikkawak carried, preventing the vampire's escape. Barzuln was a strong adversary, but his focus was upon wresting the fabeled prize from the tree. Barzuln's bones began to shift and crack, his white hair and beard spreading across his entire body as his form grew. Everyone quickly realized that not only was Barzuln a vampire, but he was also a weretiger of the North.

Coordinating all of their attacks against the hybrid beast, the party landed blow after blow- noticing that their weapons glanced off the thick hide of Barzuln if they were not blessed. Fortunately the preparations the party had made to fight a vampire paid off and the holy enchantments ensorcelled into their blades and bows cut deep into the unnatural dwarf.

The white fur of the tiger was soon stained red, dripping with blood from dozens of gashes and arrow wounds. In a panic Barzuln leapt away from the party onto the silver tree. It dawned on them that this was no mere silvered oak tree, but an enormous silver hued treant. Barzuln's claws cut deep into her bark, but Barzuln did not reach his goal. As he neared the acorns of the tree, Etalman's arrows pierced the vampire in quick succession and the weretiger dissipated into a cloud of gas… but his coffin was destroyed so the vampire lord had nowhere to flee and nowhere to lick his wounds. Calling out to the Traveler, Raxys expended a burst of energy normally reserved for healing his friends. The holy light tore through the gaseous vampire as the morning dawn pierces the fog of night. Barzuln the Frigid was no more… and the treant opened her eyes, pools of unending silver, to greet the party.





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