Fuck. Dimdoor back to the mansion, before he gets transported who-knows-where.

Teleportation magic and the Mists do not tend to mix well. 

After a lurching sensation, he finds himself outside a different mist-shrouded settlement, not the one he was aiming for. 

This one has high walls, many tents that have sprung up outside them from a temporary population boom, and construction work ongoing to install more ballistae atop the walls.

... Dimdoor again? He tries to target the manor once more, but his magic tells him that it's not a valid target, as it's too far.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He looks at the ballistæ and decides against flying in. Besides, his shoulder Qhor is telling him that he should be saving his spell slots until he's better oriented.

He approaches the gates of the city, hoping they won't ask for some kind of pass or local money.

The gates have two guards posted at them, both armed with spear and shield. They take a look at his outfit in a brief but cautious inspection. 

"You're here for the offensive, right?" One of them asks. "Head to the keep, it's through the second set of walls on the rise, Sir Isteval is inside."

So, on the one hand he doesn't like to lie, on the other hand he really doesn't want to try and explain the whole situation to a random city guard, and on the Mage Hand he can just reply "Thank you" which is technically not lying and head for the keep.

If this Sir Isteval is heading "the offensive" then he must be an officer or something, and probably has maps that can help with getting oriented.

The keep is easy to find, three stories tall and surrounded by a two-story stone wall, both older than the town wall with some more recently build guard towers. The gate is open, and from inside comes the regular clang of hammers in the smithy. The guards of the keep have a similar reaction to him, and he is shortly shown inside to a comfortable sitting-room to wait for a few minutes.

Sir Isteval receives him in a dining room with a soot-blackened ceiling. He is an older man, wearing gleaming armor and a rich purple cloak with the emblem of a blazing sun as a brooch. He stands up with a wince and limps over to Reed with the aid of a bone walking stick. The chamber has an ominous feeling to it, a sense of vague pressure reminiscent of the darker parts of Ravenloft, but it is alleviated by the man's reassuring presence as he gets closer. 

"I am Sir Isteval. The servants said you were here to see me?"

(It is a convenient fact that the trade tongue derived from Chondathan is mutually intelligible with the Ravenloft equivalent.)

Also in the room are a serious man in strange armor that has some kind of cloak joining the arms and sides, and a stern older noblewoman wearing a circlet. The two of them are conversing quietly over a table with a map spread over it, dotted with small tokens. 

"I heard you're leading the organization of the offensive." Still technically the truth.

Wait, no, he should be actually honest with this person. He could Bluff, and it would be fun, but he has no reason to.

"I don't know if I'll join it. Mostly because I know nothing about you, or this place. I was with my party until an hour or so ago, but then the Mists brought me here."

"I was in Souragne, esteemed - if not voluntary - guest of the local Power That Be. Which domain are we in now? I didn't recognize it from what little I saw."

Isteval opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. 

"The mists? Souragne? I'm afraid I know of neither of those. This is the duchy of Daggerford, ruled by Duchess Morwen here." He gives a respectful nod towards the noblewoman at the map.

"As for myself, I am a retired paladin of Lathander, formerly of Amaunator, and have had a long career of service to the kingdom of Cormyr to the south." His lips quirk up in faint amusement at having to describe himself to someone, apparently a rare experience for him. 

"It's good that you have questions about what's going on. In this case, it is by my judgment a just war: The Cult of the Dragon has been raiding settlements from the Greenfields to the High Forest, gathering a hoard in honor of their new patron goddess Tiamat." He slips into a short speech, polished by repetition. "If you find a quiet moment, you may be able to hear for yourself the distant blare of the magical horn they are using to herald Her coming and call the chromatic dragons of the continent to gather under their banner. The factions of the Sword Coast have united to stop them. Most of the forces are already underway, but the flying knights of the Feathergale Society under Sir Merosska here are mustering to be our duchy's contribution to the cause, and we welcome all the aid anyone like yourself can offer as well."

"The... Mists, yes? Looks like fog, it's mostly impassable except for some narrow paths through domains. On some occasions instead you walk in and find yourself... elsewhere. It mostly is just a random far-flung domain, we actually got to Souragne that way. Never heard of Daggerford, but then again I'm not a scholar, so I wouldn't have known anyway."

Oh, a paladin. Well, they tend to be sticklers for Law, but at least they're Good about it, it's something he can work with.

"Never heard of Tiamat, but then again I'm not particularly religious. Qhor - the party's cleric - worships Ezra, and I usually sent prayers Her way, she seems cool. Chromatic dragons are pretty evil overall, that's a clear sign that the Cult is in fact Bad News yeah. And if you are not lying about being a paladin that's also pretty reliable."

"To be clear, I do believe that you are a paladin and you're not lying but... anyone can say the words 'I'm a paladin'."

"That... Hmm. There are legends, of people going missing in the fogs around Eveningstar, of how Gondegal the Usurper vanished into the mists and his nemesis Knightengale followed. It is said that the barriers between planes are thinner around Daggerford too. But there are no mists closing off the duchy from the rest of the continent, the closest that come to mind are the fogs that hide the elf-city of Evereska from unworthy visitors."

"I am not a scholar either, and our court mage has recently passed. Delfen Yellowknife, the wizard, or Sir Darfin Floshin, the elf-lord, may be of more help to you there."

Sir Isteval chuckles. "It has been a long time since I've been asked to prove my paladinhood, but I cannot fault your vigilance."

He takes out a dagger and makes a small cut on his forearm. Showing it to Reed, it does not close - until he lays a hand over it, and without word or gesture a glow of warm sunlight shines forth briefly to heal the tiny wound.

Yeah, that will do it. Especially because he doesn't need to trust this person a lot, just enough to not be hiding something horrible.

"If I were to join your campaign what would you have me do? I'm probably not best spent as part of the military, hierarchy is... not my forte"

"For that, I'll hand you over to Sir Merosska." He beckons the strangely-armored knight over. "Thurl, we have another prospective volunteer here, a fellow free spirit brought here by strange mists. How might he assist your Society?"

The other man approaches, with a stormy face and windswept hair.

"We are supposed to be taking off tonight," he mutters, then addresses Reed somewhat curtly. "Name? What can you offer? Have you ever flown before?"

This Thurl is doubtful about another addition to his cohort, but Reed's adventuring attire and Sir Isteval's good word is enough to get a hearing.

"Reed. Reed de Book. I'm a fifth circle sorcerer, and Fly is indeed one of the spells I can cast. A pleasure to meet you, sir."

He nods, a little more respectful. "You'll have to share a griffon, we'll be flying a long distance to catch up with the rest of the offensive. Have you any spells useful against dragons on the wing?"

"Deeeepends which dragons? My Hold Monster is unlikely to work on a big one. I have a rod to try and make it stick harder though, occasionally it works. I have Fireball and Lightning Bolt for pure damage - I usually pick the one I expect to be more effective. Oh, and Searing Light at first circle - which is unusual."

Searing Light at first 'circle'? If it's not a difference in language, this Reed must be powerful.

"Pure damage is usually the way to go. You know not to waste your spells against a dragon that's immune to them, and how to cast without catching your allies in the blast?"

"Yeah, I can recognize the main ones. Red is immune to fire, blue to electricity, so I'd use the other one. If we're up against uncommon ones I'd need a refresher. Oh, and I can give some extra oomph to spells to bypass Spell Resistance if needed. I have experience with shooting at angles and corners to avoid catching my party in the blast radius, and I'm practicing with more free-form shaping but I'm not quite there."

That kind of metamagic sounds like a sorcerer alright.

"We're taking off after sunset to steal a march on any spies the cult has in town. Don't tell that to anybody, and come by the camp discreetly around dusk to get ready for flight. If you're as good as you say, you'll get a share of the spoils as well as the glory."

"Sounds like a plan! How do I get to the camp? I'm very new here and not yet familiar with the city."

"We're inside the palisade, just behind the walls of the keep. The watchwords for tonight are 'air and darkness'."

"See you there then!"

He's almost out of the door when he remembers about his empty ring.

"Actually, I'd love to have a quick chat with your arcanist before I go, if they can spare the time?" 

"Delfen? He can usually be found in his tower, outside the town walls to the north. If he's not there, one of his apprentices should be able to tell you where he's gone."

"Thank you very much!"

He waves at Sir Merosska "See you tonight!"

He'll fly walk towerward. Looking at the position of the sun, north should be... that way? He has the time to be wrong, no biggie.

Delfen's tower is tall and hard to miss. It looks like it's fallen into ruin and been patched up again at least twice, with three different sets of stonework and two large tarpaulins stretched over gaps in the wall and roof to keep out the wind and rain. The cool glow of magical lighting emanates from within, and as Reed approaches he can hear an energetic voice delivering a lesson on spellcasting.

"Now, from the target, draw forth a loose thread of the Weave, and pull it through one of the loops of your spell-knot. It's that simple! Release the knot, and all that bound-up tension goes shooting down the strings as bolts of force. You remember the chapter on standing waves?"

Yupp, that's definitely a wizard tower!

In this moment he's so happy he never had to study to be able to wield magic, it sounds... tedious. Sometimes he envies the theoretically unlimited spells that a wizard can know, but he's happy with the tactical flexibility he has.

And besides, there are very few problems that can't be solved with the timely application of Lots Of Fire... or Lots Of Lightning if the monster resists fire.

"Hello, may I come in? I've been directed here by Sir Isteval."

"Remember, that connection to the target is what makes the bolts so unerring, but any good Shield spell looks like a hairball under Detect Magic. You reach for a thread and you'll grab one of those, and then your missile will just unerringly impact the Shield while your opponent laughs. Try it on the targets, just the targeting step for now."

A well-groomed man lifts the tarp on the wall and sticks his head out. "Come on in!"

The ground floor door opens by itself, revealing a living room of opulent but aged and water-damaged furniture also partway through being patched up again. Delfen's footsteps can be heard on the unsteady wooden spiral stairs around the tower's inner circumference as he descends.

"I like your tower, it's very eclectic!" His tone and smile are genuine.

"Reminds me of when I first moved into my own place. Bought some very good but incredibly damaged furniture, thinking I could just Mend it, but it's such a chore that I've never gotten around to it. I've come here to ask for some arcane guidance. I'm a sorcerer, and my understanding of magic is intuitive rather than learned, so I trust your judgement will be more discerning. I would like to get the opportunity to study a scroll - or a spell cast - of first or second circle, to store it in my ring." He points to his right hand.

"I'm pretty decent at spellcraft, but I could definitely use some help in choosing a spell. I think the ring could even store a divine spell, but probably won't be as good at it."

"Yes, this time around I'm fixing the roof first, then getting the furniture nice again, but that's not ideal for guests in the meantime." With a snap of his fingers the smell of damp turns to the scent of pine needles, a simple Prestidigitation.

"An interesting item, and an interesting challenge! What are your needs - offense, defense, transport or sensing? If that's not too personal, I've known some sorcerers to guard their repertoires closely since they can't change their spells."

"I've... never needed to hide it, we've been traveling so much that it wouldn't have made a huge difference." Also he never though about it, and it might be a good idea if he ever settles down. Seems unlikely for the moment, it's not as if he has a wife. "I mostly have offensive spells, my role in the party was Postman, I left flexibility and utility to my wizard friend. I do have transport and sensing at higher circles. At first and second - beside offense - I have Mage Armor, Shield, Silent Image, Detect Thoughts and Invisibility. I think that now that I'm traveling alone I should pick something for sensing or defense - even though Mage Armor is pretty good, and I'm somewhat resistant to fire."

"An ancestor with red or gold scales? My sympathies with the Cult activity then."

"Those are most of the staples I recommend to apprentices. Mirror Image? My student Vexter made good use of that in his planar travels, though it does compete with your Invisibility. Perhaps a Web or an Obscuring Mist, to cover your retreat from anything with the senses to see through your illusions? As for your own senses, the only other divinations that come to mind would be See Invisibility or Locate Object, and I've had little use for either of those."

"Nnnno. I thought so too at first - I do have a fire affinity - but I never got a breath weapon, despite making it to fifth circle. I got some healing instead."

"Ooooh, Mirror Image is a great call. We used to have a party wand, but if I'm on my own it would be very useful! I do also love Web, but with my reduced repertoire it feels a bit too limited. Even though being able to trap your opponent and then set them on fire is always fun!"

"Do you need it to be from a scroll? I have it prepared today."

"Well, a scroll is convenient in that I can take my time with it, with seeing it cast I'm more likely than not to get it but it's still a coin flip. It wouldn't consume the scroll, if that matters."

"Not a ring of Spell Storing, but one of Spell Knowledge? Mystra must favor you. Here, watch closely, I'll perform the gestures first, then the words, then both of them together so you can study the spell itself..."

"Oh, yeah, that's how it's called. I'm bad with names, sorry. Sorcerers, you know?" He makes a self-deprecating gesture. "Yeah, that will probably help."

Reed casts Detect Magic and focuses his whole attention on Delfen, trying to understand the spell structure well enough so that he can squeeze it into his ring.

It takes a while, but he's not in a rush and can try again and again until it works.

"Thank you, that was incredibly helpful. May I repay you somehow? I do know Mending, and I don't have any pressing requirements on my time."

"Hmm, how about you show off some of your spells to my students? I think these are mostly beyond Mending at this point, though you could bring up a stool to demonstrate the cantrip."

"I'd love to! One of my quirks is being able to cast a first circle Searing Light. Would that be interesting?"

It's probably something they've never seen before, and it would only use some of his first circle slots, leaving the bigger ones free for tonight's operation, which he will not mention, cause it's a secret, and he's so good at keeping secrets! (Mostly by forgetting about them).

"Or a fireball. Fireball's a classic."

"Oh yes! A Fireball might get the town watch ringing the alarm bells, everyone's so on edge lately, we usually go down to the river for demonstrations of those spells, but a Searing Light would be excellent."

He leads Reed upstairs, where four apprentices are repeating the gestures for Magic Missile towards a battered training dummy. 

"We have a guest! Our sorcerous visitor here - what was your name again? - has come by to offer a surprise demonstration of his own magic."

His students are a mixed group: Two well-fed human teenagers in well-made clothing who could be siblings, a gold dwarf woman with a skeptical expression and a gold necklace over her beard, and a halfling barely visible apart from his hairy feet emerging from the folds of a blue hat and robes that look to have been made for a human. 

"I'm Reed. Reed de Book" he used to be annoyed at his parents, but nowadays he just finds it hilarious.

"My sorcery gives me Searing Light at first circle. It's normally divine magic and third circle but... sorcery is like that sometimes. I'm going to demonstrate it a couple times, against the training dummy. Are you ready?"

The students nod with varying degrees of eagerness (the halfling's hat almost falls off, while the humans are playing it cool) and move to the edges of the room to watch.

Searing Light! He intentionally tries for slightly less damage than usual, to avoid damaging the dummy too much.

Ooooh, he could do his fire trick! "I'm now going to apply a metamagic to the spell. As a sorcerer, I can do it at will and it only takes me a bit longer to cast. I know wizards need to prepare their spell specifically for that, but this is a small change and - best part of it - it doesn't make the spell harder to cast."

Incendiary Searing Light!

Aaaaand now the dummy is predictably on fire. Ray of Frost, Ray of Frost. Good, good, the dummy is still in one piece. Mostly.

"We could learn to do that too?" The awestruck halfling asks.

"Perhaps, if you study very hard," Delfen says. "Such metamagic was the domain of wizards and sorcerers equally in the time before the Spellplague. Now that Mystra is reborn, such workings come instinctively to sorcerers, but we wizards must rediscover how our own spells should be reshaped to tweak them in the same way."

"Do you have questions? I'm not as smart as your teacher, but I may have an interestingly different point of view."

"What's the biggest monster you've killed with your magic?" Asks the young man.

"How does your magic work? Do you really not have to study anything?" Asks the young woman.

"Is it true that sorcerers pass down their magic like hair and eye colors?" Asks the dwarf.

"What are the best spells to know?" Asks the halfling.

"Biggest monster... we've fought a minotaur once, it was pretty big! I didn't deal the last blow though, so technically doesn't count I guess."

"Indeed, my magic runs in the blood and I didn't need to study. I still took some time to learn things with my party's mage, it's useful to know some theory, but I don't need it to cast spells. It's just that spells are only a part of what makes someone a caster, there's also magic items, identifying magic, someone does crafting or scribing scrolls... the options are many."

"Yeah, there is a good chance that if I ever have a kid they'll inherit some of my magic, and in turn mine probably comes from my dad. Mom told me he was a pretty decent fella, part of the city guard."

"The answer really depends! I tend to specialize in flames and bringing it to my enemies. The other arcane in the party instead has ten thousand tricks to befuddle, confuse and control them. Someone who is interested in archeology and exploration will favor divination, a soldier is more effective empowering his allies than direct damage, a researcher will need protections from when her experiments invariably explode and more spell for unraveling magic. Who would you like to grow into?"

That sets the students chattering about their own aspirations. The humans are both from a wealthy family but want magic so that they can have some independent personal power, to be less reliant on the loyalty of hirelings and business partners. The halfling meanwhile has grand aspirations of becoming an archmage of the most eccentric and enigmatic variety, the kind of figure to become legend and make everyone think twice about picking on one of the small folk. 

The dwarf is the most ambivalent, because Mystra has already died once in her lifetime and the odds are good that she'll live through another disruption to the Weave that could force her to start over again with her magic. Even so, jobs like identifying magic items, setting alarms, or translating languages are lucrative enough that she expects her lessons to pay for themselves within a few years. 

Delfen for his part is content to encourage the conversation along, and only gives Reed a nudge when the sky starts to darken. 

Oh crap it's almost time for the meeting!

"It has been lovely meeting you all, but I should really go, it's late and as you all know mages need their beauty sleep."

He tries to sneak as close as possible to the camp before they notice him. It's good practice; invisibility helps with stealth but not making noises helps way more.

He can get quite close! There are guards on watch, but their minds are occupied with the flight to come. 

"Halt! Who goes there?" Calls out the sentry who does finally hear his approach.

"Air and darkness! I was asked to report to the camp at sunfall."

"You were? Come on in."

Within the perimeter, they are readying themselves for lift-off. The outermost tents remain standing, the camp fires remain lit, but the menagerie of flying steeds are being loaded up with provisions and equipment. 

Thurl catches sight of Reed, and beckons him over. 

"You'll ride with Savra Belabranta, her griffon can take two."

He points her out to him.

"Happy to ride with her! Although - I must admit - I've never quite mastered the skill of riding flying beasts, so please make sure I'm tied down properly and it's safe for me to ride."

"I've used two firsts and one fourth today, my other slots are available for you."

"Just scream loud if you fall off, someone should have a Feather Fall for you," Thurl says, slapping Reed on the back as a half-shove towards his pilot for tonight. 

He's probably joking?

"I... do have Feather Fall. But thanks for the vote of confidence."

He follows the push Savraward, curious about the griffon.

"Good evening, m'lady. I've been told I'll be riding with you tonight. I'm Reed de Book, but feel free to simply call me Reed."

Savra wears a plumed leather helmet a little like a falconry cap, secured with a chin-strap, and she has a jockey's build.

She snorts. "I've heard worse noms de guerre. We've got a tandem saddle on Ponybane here, so you'll be sat behind me." 

With a pat to the tawny flank, her steed sinks down low to let him climb on. The saddle is a confusing arrangement of taut leather and silk rope, with just a thin blanket for comfort. 'Ponybane' makes a disgruntled clicking noise until she feeds it a morsel of jerky that it plucks from her hand with a beak large enough to chomp the limb off.

Nom de guerre? Reed is his given name! Well, no matter.

That is a big beak.

"I'm happy to be behind you." and further away from that maw.

He manages to hop on the saddle with surprising (1d20 + 4 = 20) grace, and tries to search for ways to strap himself to the griffon.

"Not that one, unless you want to spend the flight dangling underneath him. Hold still..."

Savra proceeds to strap him on, securing his legs to the griffon with separate loops for ankle and knee, then passing him a belt to buckle about his waist.

By the time she's done, the other riders are lining up for takeoff by a cleared stretch of ground, lit by lanterns on either side. Hippogriffs and pegasi first, then the griffons, and a young wyvern bringing up the rear.

He wouldn't mind spending the time under - not the time.

"Thank you! I do have Feather Fall, so in case of emergency don't spend too much effort trying to save me from falling, but it's nice to know I'm properly tied now!"

When they're into the air he'll attempt to have some chit-chat with Savra.

"Ponybane is such a cool name, where does it come from?"

Savra puts his arms around her waist and takes the reins once it's their turn to take to the air. Lifting off is an unpleasant experience, the saddle too minimal to help much with the chafing from the griffon's powerful wings beating, the shifting muscles of his back and his bounding gait. Once they're airborne, the movements are smoother, and soon they're soaring through the night sky, in the center of the formation of flying knights. There are scattered clouds, some low enough that their size can be appreciated as they drift past, but there is enough light from the moon and its trail of debris reaching the ground to glint off the river that they are following. 

"He broke out the stables when he wasn't much more than a chick, flew into the city and slaughtered a whole dray-team of ponies and gorged himself on them. Everyone on board the vehicle was cowering inside scared out of their wits when the grooms finally tracked him down. He's had a taste for pony ever since, if any goes to the butcher's near his hatching-day he gets a whole carcass as a treat."

Savra scratches the edge of his beak affectionately. 

"He's a menace, but he's my menace, and he can be a big softy when he's got a full belly."

He casually looks around the night sky, appreciating the view.

What the heck is up with the moon? Reed is about to ask Savra, when he realizes that it would give away that he's way more foreign to this place that he wants to let on.

"I'm... glad you keep it well fed."

"You and everyone else in biting distance!"

"How do you like the view, is this your first time flying? Or would you rather not be reminded about how high up we are?"

"Oh, they view is great! I can Fly on my own, but I rarely get this high - I only get ten minutes and don't want to also need a Feather Fall, it's uncouth."

"I'm also very much enjoying the company, flying with such a majestic creature - Ponybane is cool too."

It takes her a moment, then she laughs at his flirtation. "Ha! Just you wait, when we get to the Well we can show you some real stunts. How does your spell compare?"

"More convenient, nice to be personally in control, but also you can't do much in ten minutes. It's mostly useful for combat rather than travel."

It is a long journey. Two days' hard flying along the Delimbiyr to Secomber, where they restock on rations and feed for the mounts. 

("If the Council weren't so incompetent, we could ride the whole way on riverboats, keep the mounts rested and get there faster," Savra grumbles. "But without screening forces to sweep the skies and riverbeds for ambushes, we'd be easy targets for even a young dragon, so fly we must.")

From there, they bank South-East, three days over the seemingly endless expanse of moorland, devoid of any sign of inhabitation other than the occasional empty ruin.

(Inexplicably, on the third day there is another supply dump waiting for them, a small pile of crates on a relatively dry rise by an empty plain, with Dancing Lights signalling their location but no tracks or other sign of their benefactor. Inside the crates is elf-bread, stacks upon stacks of a sweet rolled pastry embedded with nuts. Thurl is not surprised, and informs the group that the new provisions can be trusted, but he is close-lipped on their source.)

The seventh day of their travel is a wet one, the sky above overcast and the ground below shrouded in mists. They fly through the drizzle between the two, navigating by compass and by the peaks of the Serpent Hills that are tall enough to be visible. 

A cry splits the air.

Then a gout of flame erupts from the clouds above as a red dragon dives at the flying group! Two pegasi and their riders plummet from the air, wing-feathers incinerated.

"Scatter and circle! Charge between breaths!" Thurl calls out.

It never works but it's definitely worth trying. If it does, it could save them a lot of hassle.

Reed grabs one of the rods attached to his belt. Persistent Hold monster.

Please work please work please work.

It does not work. This is an adult red dragon, a creature of legend, and it shrugs off the spell despite the metamagic. A molten eye locks on to the caster responsible.

Acting with an alacrity that Reed will not have seen in his prior adventuring, one beat of its huge wings propels it half the distance between them, and en route its tail lashes out to split a hippogriff in half. Bolts of lightning are thrown at it by some of the other mages in the Feathergale Knights, most of them only glancing hits.

Its mere presence is terrifying. Of those wheeling around to charge at it, only a few pairs of rider and steed both manage to hold their nerve instead of faltering in fear, and those that do connect are met with the dragon's maw and claws waiting for them. A single lance scrapes along the scales of the dragon's spine; the rest fall broken with their wielders.

Fire kindles once more in the dragon's throat, a heat like a furnace that can be felt from here. It locks eyes with Reed again and resumes its pursuit.

Rude. Luckily it's a fire dragon. Reed is not particularly afraid of fire.

On the other hand Ponybane and Savra should probably be normally afraid of it. Dammit.

"Getting us outta here. Accept the spell and immediately dive for the ground." Dimension Door - bringing them both with him if they're willing - targeting a couple meters above the trees and as distant as possible. He picks the same direction the dragon is coming from to make it harder to spot them.

"Whoa!'

Ponybane flaps to a halt, and Savra quickly guides her steed to land under the cover of one of the trees before the dragon can spot them again. 

"Do you have a spell for this? It's going to be a slaughter," she says, looking up through the foliage. 

The dragon roars, and another blast of flame sweeps across the sky.

"Oh, I have many."

Fly. If he was with his party he'd take the time to properly buff, but people are dying right now, so. Another Dimension Door, targeting the air about a hundred feet behind the dragon.

He had considered invisibility, but he can probably tank the fire better than most here, so it's time to be brave. And a little reckless.

"Hey ugly face, the postman is here. I've come to deliver" - dramatic pause - "PAIN."

He'll grab his other rod and prepare to throw lightning at the dragon as soon as it gets in range.

The dragon is more than cooperative about getting within range. Most of the other knights have already given up on offense and scattered. With surprising agility it reverses direction, twisting around in the air and flapping to gain altitude before swooping down on Reed again. He'll only have time for the one lightning bolt before it's closed the rest of the distance between them. 

"Take this, you oversized lizard!"

Empowered Lightning Bolt (1.5 * (10d6 = 44), DC 22). It's not as good as his Fireball, but a Fireball would be completely useless here.

The dragon takes the bolt straight on, roaring in anger. It's hurt, more than any of the other attacks managed to do to it, but not impeded at all by the shock. Opening its mouth wide, it exhales a gargantuan gout of dragonflame that engulfs Reed and sixty feet of sky around him. It is impossibly hot, a clinging conflagration, only marginally less damaging than being fully immersed in lava would be. Just the noise of the air burning around him is so thunderous as to almost be deafening.

And then, unlike lesser dragons Reed may have fought, it flaps its wings again, surging forward through its own flames to send a claw reaching through the blaze to try and snatch him from the sky.

Ouch. He had tried to dodge the fire, but got quite unlucky (1d20 + 8 = nat 1) and ended up right in the middle of it.

That's a lot of fire. Reed is quite fire resistant, but this is way more than he expected.

He tries to Dimension Door away through the noise but the claw takes him by surprise and he loses the spell.

And then the dragon's grip on him tightens with bone-crushing force, pulling him into the fanged jaws that close around his torso.

Well. Fuck.

It's not as if he doesn't know what happens when he tries to cast while grappled. It fails. And this time he doesn't have Qhor with a Breath of Life ready.

But still, it's the principle of the matter.

Dimension D... the dragon is too strong.

He loses the spell.

The world goes black.

The sun is not so shrouded over Toril as in the Domains of Dread.

The Dark Powers have long bent events towards repeating tragedies, cycles of love and hope and loss that torment the darklords. On Toril, the flow of time is more mutable. Chronomancers have walked the timestream since the days of Jeriah Chronos of ancient Netheril, naturally-formed time gates in secluded locations offer passage to the past or future, and black obelisks are scattered across the realms to avert catastrophe by turning back time, though they could not save their creators from the archlich Vecna. 

(One such obelisk remains standing in Nightstone, near Daggerford.)

The sun rolls back across the sky.

Reed finds himself outside a mist-shrouded settlement, with high walls, many tents that have sprung up outside them from a temporary population boom, and construction work ongoing to install more ballistae atop the walls.

What.

The last thing he remembers was becoming a dragon's snack, and now he is completely unhurt and his magic feels replenished.

He checks his ring. It doesn't contain Mirror Image.

Is this some kind of afterlife? It looks suspiciously like the city he left about a week ago.

Well, only one way to find out what's happening.

He walks towards the city gates.

Well, this is eerie. Reed is pretty sure they said the exact same words the previous time he was here.

"Thank you, I'll head straight there."

He goes to find Sir Isteval. The path is as he remembers it. He can't be sure, but he has the feeling that everything is as he remembers it.

It is all exactly as he recalls.

"I am Sir Isteval. The servants said you were here to see me?"

Yeah, the paladin sure doesn't seem to recognize Reed. More importantly, Thurl is here and is not surprised to see Reed alive.

"I'm here to join the offensive. I am a sorcerer of some power although..."

Yeah, the best policy is still to be honest with a paladin.

"Ok, so. I have an utterly unbelievable story about how I got there, which means that I'm probably confused or missing something."

"I found myself in front of your city some minutes ago, but my last memory is being snacked upon by a red dragon, while trying to defend the expedition Thurl which will lead and leaves tonight. I know it doesn't make sense, I don't get it either to be honest."

"That is... not completely unbelievable, but I would want to hear more to trust such a vision. Was there any symbolism to signify it was granted to you by a god?"

"Not... really? When Qhor got a vision from Ezra he was quite sure it was from his goddess. This didn't feel like a dream? For one, it was way too... vivid? And also, I remember the last week in way more details than I would expect from a dream."

He looks towards Thurl: "Darkness and air".

"Who told you that?" He asks sharply. "None of my knights should have shared that with an outsider."

"It could have been plucked from their minds with a Detect Thoughts,"  Sir Isteval says. "No magic I've ever heard of can send someone back in time."

Like most people in Faerûn, he is ignorant of all the methods to do so which do exist.

"Yeah, going back in time is a good literary device, not something that happens in the real world. And yet... these memories come from... somewhere. And the most important of them is probably how it showed my death. After a week of flying east we got attacked by a red dragon. It didn't have magic, so it mustn't have been too old, but it still sliced through our flyers, so maybe it didn't need to use any?"

"I died trying to bring it down - I had underestimated how much fire a red dragon can breathe, I am resistant but it wasn't enough, and then it grabbed me and... well. Squishy mage, grabby dragon, the ending is overdetermined. Would have still been worth it if it allowed the others to bring it down or at least escape."

"How big was it? Horse-size, or bigger?"

Sir Isteval gives Thurl a questioning look.

"The Cult of the Dragon has made a lot of enemies. We don't need to know which one gave you those memories to guess they're enemies of our enemy. Being particularly vigilant on a specific day shouldn't be a set-up for a trap. Can you remember the details of where and when the dragon struck? Any landmarks? Or are we going to have to bring you along to jog your memory."

Reed takes a couple steps back.

"I'd say about this size" he points at the distance between him and Thurl "from snout to the base of the tail."

"I'm happy to come along, but the issue is that it was a really foggy day, the only landmarks were some mountain peaks in the distance... oh, that night we had slept in an abandoned old amphitheatre? Lots of red stone."

"An amphitheater? Sounds ancient Netherese, or Anaurian. Red stone would place it in those iron-rich parts of the Serpent Hills. The dragon... Landillew, perhaps? She has been known to target armed bands of adventurers, and to strike from the air rather than wait for them to come to her lair."

"Yes, you'd better come along. We'll get everything you can recall and drill on counter-dragon tactics on the wing. Heavy crossbows as standard equipment for all over lances and swords, and a more dispersed formation once we're in the region."

"You know the passphrase for the camp already, we'd have a heard time keeping you out," he adds gruffly.

"Meet you at the camp then!"

He'll go bother Delfen for Mirror Image. Or maaaybe Resist Energy. Yeah, Resist Energy sounds like a better plan considering... everything.

"Darkness and air."

"It's 'Air and Darkness', but go on through."

"Thank you!" he makes a half salute, almost but not quite serious enough.

Can he find Thurl? In his memories he should be in the middle of the camp, but it's a bit earlier now - he wanted more time to flirt with get to know the person he'll ride with.

Thurl is currently in his tent eating, most of the knights are having a light meal of eggs and greens fried over the campfires in preparation for take-off. With a bit of searching he could find Savra among them.