Now that we were done with, you know, our year’s worth of delays, we finally headed deeper into the Spire and made our way toward the room that used to be that Valthalak dude’s lair. Or study. Or…office. Whatever the hell you call it when you’re some kind of weird-ass draconic summoner what’s supposed to be dead only not exactly because what the fuck. Good thing Mokvar still remembered the lay of the land in there — I would have ended up wandering around in circles if it’d been up to me. Still, I have to say, Blackrock Spire IS a pretty impressive place, as far as fortresses go. Kind of a shame it’s been sitting here mostly unused ever since the Blackrock clan cleared out. Well, other than ghostly dragon dudes or whatever.
We ran into a few more of those reanimated dragonkin on our way, but we made pretty short work of them. Still not sure what’s up with these dragon guys lurking around. I figure it’s got something to do with Valthalak being up and sort of kicking again, but fuck if Mokvar was any help piecing that together. He was pretty evasive, and it’s not like it would be news if somebody around here knew more than they were letting on, and fuck, Mokvar’s pretty much the grand poobah of that club at this point.
Valthalak’s room was just creepy dark, and it was in this echo-y part of the Spire where you could swear there was somebody — or a bunch of somebodies — talking just out of range for you to make out clearly. Still, Mokvar seemed like he was no stranger to the place, even after however many years. Once we were all in position, it was time to catch ol’ Mr. Part-Time Dead Drakonid’s attention. Mokvar summoned up an imp, which apparently really liked running its mouth, mostly about what a tool it thought Mokvar was, and yeah, Mokvar, doesn’t it suck when you get stuck with ungrateful insubordinate minions? Karma, dude, karma.
Anyway, though, the imp shut up right quick once Mokvar whipped out that Nether Prism doohickey and started channeling…um… I don’t know, he started doing some warlock stuff with it. Fuck if I know. It looked kind of purple, if that helps at all. Point is, firing up his warlock hocus pocus seemed to do the trick, because within a minute or so, in the middle of the room, who should start to appear in shimmery, mostly-transparent form but the dragon troublemaker himself, Valthalak. And of course, before he could even bother getting past his whole noncorporeal thing, he had to go into this whole greeting for us, Mokvar especially. You know, the usual spiel you get from bad guys when you crash their pad, where they pretend to be happy to see you and go on about unexpected guests and pleasant surprises and act like they’re all polite and shit except they have a TONE. I don’t know what it is with these guys. They all do this shit. There must be a manual or something.
Point is, though, before Valthalak was solid enough for us to do much about him directly, he started summoning up these wraith guys. Like, lots of them. So now I was finally getting to meet the famous spectral assassins that caused so much trouble for Mokvar and apparently made him go all batshit and stuff. More importantly, though, now I was finally getting to stop standing around and listening to people yap yap yap and get back to something more in line with my area of expertise.
I can kind of see how a bunch of these assassins would have been trouble for Mokvar solo, but with the whole crowd of us there, they weren’t nearly so much of a problem. At least not individually. Only trouble was that there were so damn many of them, just fading in out of the darkness in bunches, and it didn’t look like they were slowing down. We kept hacking them down, though, whittling the numbers down little by little.