I don’t even know where to begin. So much happened in the past few days. Kiris Dahn is no more. The city was blasted to ruin by an enormous unholy machine. The unease, the dreams, the odd weather, the fleeing of the animals—it was all birth pangs. The universe fighting to not let it out. Imagine a steam train. Now imagine it on the scale of a grand temple, with an engine build like an obsidian cathedral to Asmodeus. And it flew, tracks assembling in the air before it and dispersing into steam and lightning behind it.
The train crashed through the planes into our world as we tried to escape Kiris Dahn with the Slaying Stone. We managed that feat, though only because the conductor of the abyssal machine seemed to have no interest in the stone. We were only saved by the intervention of the Brass Dragon. We were correct in assuming that it had taken the stone, but it had no intention to use it, only to keep it from goblin hands.
The conductor of the train, a man in black winged armor, seemed to be taking our measure. The Dragon, Trystys, may have done some damage to the train, because the conductor rode down on a fragment of it and sent the machine itself back to the sky. He took a survivor from the city and twisted him into a steam-powered golem, but we defeated it. What he wants, I can’t say.
When we returned to Treona’s tower. She destroyed the stone. We learned the truth about Kiris Hoyt, learned that Treona has a mentor worried about his brother, a rival wizard. None of it matters. It seems petty with that conductor, the man called Vae Victis. Ba’htmein once had his back snapped like a twig by an avatar of the war god, and yet when I spoke with him via sending stone, even he seemed rattled.
Treona’s mentor, Xaiv, asked us to travel to the Dwarven city of Hammerfast. According to Zena, it’s a city of the dead, haunted by ghosts of the past. If Treona’s books have no answers about Vae Victis and the Demon Train, perhaps the dead do.